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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..66eaa1e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68291 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68291) diff --git a/old/68291-0.txt b/old/68291-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a57d7f2..0000000 --- a/old/68291-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14499 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Studying the short-story, by J. Berg -Esenwein - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Studying the short-story - -Author: J. Berg Esenwein - -Release Date: June 11, 2022 [eBook #68291] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Andrés V. Galia, QMacrocarpa and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STUDYING THE -SHORT-STORY *** - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - -In the plain text version text in italics is enclosed by underscores -(_italics_), and small capitals are represented in upper case as in -SMALL CAPS. - -The book cover was modified by the transcriber and has been added to -the public domain. - -A number of words in this book have both hyphenated and non-hyphenated -variants. For the words with both variants present the one more used -has been kept. - -Obvious punctuation and other printing errors have been corrected. - - - * * * * * - - - Studying the Short-Story - - SIXTEEN SHORT-STORY CLASSICS - WITH INTRODUCTIONS, NOTES AND - A NEW LABORATORY STUDY METHOD - FOR INDIVIDUAL READING AND - USE IN COLLEGES AND SCHOOLS - - - BY - J. BERG ESENWEIN, A.M., LIT.D. - EDITOR OF THE WRITER’S MONTHLY - - REVISED EDITION - - THE WRITER’S LIBRARY - EDITED BY J. BERG ESENWEIN - - - HINDS, HAYDEN & ELDREDGE, INC. - NEW YORK PHILADELPHIA CHICAGO - - - Copyright 1912 - BY J. BERG ESENWEIN - - Copyright 1918 - BY J. BERG ESENWEIN - - - TO - MOTHER - - - - - TABLE OF CONTENTS - - PAGE - - TO TEACHERS AND STUDENTS vii - - PUBLISHERS’ NOTE xi - - AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF THE - SHORT-STORY xiii - - I. STORIES OF ACTION AND ADVENTURE 1 - - MÉRIMÉE AND HIS WRITINGS 4 - “Mateo Falcone,” _Prosper Mérimée_ 8 - - STEVENSON AND HIS WRITINGS 29 - - “A Lodging for the Night,” _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 34 - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 67 - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF ACTION AND ADVENTURE 68 - - - II. STORIES OF MYSTERY AND FANTASY 69 - - POE AND HIS WRITINGS 72 - “The Purloined Letter,” _Edgar Allan Poe_ 76 - - JACOBS AND HIS WRITINGS 108 - “The Monkey’s Paw,” _W. W. Jacobs_ 111 - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 129 - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF MYSTERY AND FANTASY 130 - - III. STORIES OF EMOTION 131 - - DAUDET AND HIS WRITINGS 135 - “The Last Class,” _Alphonse Daudet_ 139 - - KIPLING AND HIS WRITINGS 147 - “Without Benefit of Clergy,” _Rudyard Kipling_ 151 - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 189 - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF EMOTION OR SENTIMENT 190 - - - IV. HUMOROUS STORIES 191 - - HENRY AND HIS WRITINGS 194 - “The Ransom of Red Chief,” _O. Henry_ 198 - - BARRIE AND HIS WRITINGS 215 - “The Courting of T’Nowhead’s Bell,” _James M. Barrie_ 219 - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 249 - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE HUMOROUS STORIES 250 - - - V. STORIES OF SETTING 251 - - HARTE AND HIS WRITINGS 255 - “The Outcasts of Poker Flat,” _Bret Harte_ 259 - - MAUPASSANT AND HIS WRITINGS 277 - - “Moonlight,” _Guy de Maupassant_ 281 - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 290 - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF SETTING 290 - - - VI. IMPRESSIONISTIC STORIES 291 - - HAWTHORNE AND HIS WRITINGS 297 - “The White Old Maid,” _Nathaniel Hawthorne_ 302 - “The Fall of the House of Usher,” _Edgar Allan Poe_ 320 - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 351 - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE IMPRESSIONISTIC STORIES 352 - - - VII. CHARACTER STUDIES 353 - - “The Piece of String,” _Guy de Maupassant_ 356 - - COPPÉE AND HIS WRITINGS 368 - “The Substitute,” _François Coppée_ 371 - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 388 - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE CHARACTER STUDIES 389 - - - VIII. PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDIES 390 - - “Markheim,” _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 394 - - MORRISON AND HIS WRITINGS 422 - “On the Stairs,” _Arthur Morrison_ 425 - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 431 - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDIES 432 - - BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 433 - - INDEX 437 - - - - - TO TEACHERS AND STUDENTS - - -Growing out of my former volume, _Writing the Short-Story_, appeared -the use for a new book that should contain a large number of -short-stories arranged and annotated in form suitable for school or -private study. Accordingly, the unique marginal arrangement for notes, -which was first used in the study of Maupassant’s “The Necklace,” -in the earlier work, was also adopted in this, with the addition of -exhaustive critical introductions and comments. Further study, whether -by classes or by individuals, has been facilitated by the reading -references upon the authors represented, and--arranged under each -of the eight type-groups--the explicit lists of ten representative -short-stories available for reading and analysis. - -Five points were had in mind as a basis for the selection of the -stories included in this collection: First, the real merit of the -story, as illustrating the short-story structurally perfect, or as -nearly perfect as could be found in combination with the other points -desired; second, the typical qualities of the story, as standing -for the class it was to represent; third, its intrinsic literary -interest for the general reader; fourth, its representative quality as -illustrating the author’s tone and style; fifth, its suitability for -class and private study and analysis. - -Other stories are equally brilliant and equally representative, -but some are too long to fit into such a selection; others are not -available because of publishers’ rules; still others are morally -unsuitable for the uses of mixed classes of young people; while -many capital stories are the work of authors who have not produced -consistently good work. - -The tone of many of the stories included is sad, and their endings -tragic; this is accidental and has not at all governed the selection -from my belief that stories of tragic quality are necessarily the -greatest; though the tragic phases of life, being the most intense, -are the most likely to offer attractive themes to authors who prefer -to deal with strong and subtle situations. The same is true of stories -dealing with sex problems, but these have been excluded for obvious -reasons. Livelier and more cheerful stories either were not as -representative of the types I desired to exhibit, or were rejected from -other motives. Those who study these selections with a view to writing -the short-story will do well to bear in mind that fiction of gloomy -tone must be very well written and on themes of unusual power to atone -for their depressing qualities. - -For the use of teachers and their pupils, a series of general questions -has been prepared (p. xxxi), besides questions at the end of each -section. Of course these will be regarded as suggestive rather than -exhaustive. - -The margins left blank in the stories marked “For Analysis” may be used -for pencil notes, at the option of the teacher. For further study, -strips of writing paper may be attached to the margins of stories -cut from the magazines and full notes added by the pupil. _Writing -the Short-Story_ will be found an especially practical adjunct in -making the marginal analyses and notes, as that work gives much space -to the general structure of the short-story and an analysis of its -parts. The nomenclature of _Writing the Short-Story_ has been observed -in this volume, as well as the typographical arrangement, where -practicable--especially the practise of indicating short-stories by -quotation marks, while printing book-titles in italics. - -I venture to hope that the present work may prove helpful in disclosing -to lovers of the short-story, as well as to those who wish merely -to study its technique, the means by which authors of international -distinction have secured their effects. - - J. BERG ESENWEIN -Philadelphia, June 8, 1912. - - - NOTE TO REVISED EDITION - -The only changes made in the original text are such typographical -corrections as were needed and a considerable addition to the -bibliography. - - J. B. E. - -Springfield, Mass., May 1, 1918. - - - - - PUBLISHERS’ NOTE - - -The wide usefulness of _Writing the Short-Story_, by the author of this -volume, as evidenced by its adoption for class use in the foremost -American universities, colleges, and schools, and by the many thousands -of well-known writers and younger aspirants who have found it so -helpful in their craft, has encouraged the author to undertake the -present work. Mere collections of short-stories are not lacking, but no -other volume presents an authoritative international selection, with -comprehensive classifications under leading short-story types, critical -and biographical introductions, illuminating marginal notes, and -opportunities for original study afforded by margins for the student’s -notes, together with questions and lists of stories for examination and -study. Whether used singly or as a companion volume with _Writing the -Short-Story_, it is confidently believed that the present work will -prove a notable contribution to the literature of this most popular and -significant literary form. - - THE PUBLISHERS - - - - - AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF THE SHORT-STORY - - -Fiction as an art has made more progress during the last hundred years -than any other literary type. The first half of the nineteenth century -especially developed a consciousness of subject matter and form in both -the novel and the short-story which has created an epoch as notable in -the history of fiction as was the age of Shakespeare in the progress of -the drama. In Great Britain, France, Russia, Germany, and America arose -fictional artists of distinguished ability, while in other nations -writers of scarcely less merit soon followed. - -The novel demands a special study, so even for its relation to our -theme--the short-story--the reader must be referred to such works as -specialize on the longer form.[1] - -A comprehensive treatment of the short-story would include an inquiry -into the origins of all short fictional forms, for every story that -is short is popularly known as a short story. The fullest and best -guide for such a study is Henry Seidel Canby’s historical and critical -treatise, _The Short Story in English_. - -Naturally, an inquiry into origins would prove to be measurably -profitless and certainly dry for the general student were it not -supplemented by the reading of a great many stories--preferably in the -original--which illustrate the steps in short-story development from -earliest times.[2] - -A further field for a comprehensive survey would be a critical -comparison of the modern form with its several ancestral and -contributory forms, from original sources. - -A third examen would be devoted to the characteristics and tendencies -of the present-day short-story as presented in volume form and, -particularly, in the modern magazine. - -A fourth, would undertake to study the rhetoric of the form.[3] - -None of these sorts of study can be exhaustively presented in this -volume, yet all are touched upon so suggestively and with such full -references that the reader may himself pursue the themes with what -fullness he elects. The special field herein covered will be, I -believe, sufficiently apparent as the reader proceeds. - -Let it be understood from the outstart that throughout this volume -the term short-story is used rather loosely to cover a wide variety of -short fiction; yet presently it will be necessary to show precisely -how the modern form differs from its fictive ancestors, and that -distinction will assume some importance to those who care about -recognizing the several short fictional forms and who enjoy calling -things by their exact names. - - * * * * * - -The first story-teller was that primitive man who in his -wanderings afield met some strange adventure and returned to his -fellows to narrate it. His narration was a true story. The first -fictionist--perhaps it was the same hairy savage--was he who, having -chosen to tell his adventure, also resolved to add to it some details -wrought of his own fancy. That was fiction, because while the story was -compounded of truth it was worked out by the aid of imagination, and -so was close kin to the story born entirely of fancy which merely uses -true-seeming things, or veritable contributory facts, to make the story -“real.” - -Egyptian tales, recorded on papyrus sheets, date back six thousand -years. Adventure was their theme, while gods and heroes, beasts -and wonders, furnished their incidents. When love was introduced, -obscenities often followed, so that the ancient tales of pure adventure -are best suited to present-day reading. - -What is true of Egypt 4000 B. C. is equally true of Greece many -centuries later. The Homeric stories will serve as specimens of -adventure narrative; and the Milesian tales furnish the erotic type. - -As for the literary art of these early fictions, we need only refer -to ancient poetry to see how perfect was its development two thousand -and more years ago; therefore--for the poets were story-tellers--we -need not marvel at the majestic diction, poetic ideas, and dramatic -simplicity of such short-stories as the Egyptian “Tales of the -Magicians,”[4] fully six thousand years old; the Homeric legends, told -possibly twenty-five hundred years ago;[5] “The Book of Esther,”[6] -written more than twenty-one hundred years ago; and the stories by -Lucius Apuleius, in _The Golden Ass_,[7] quite two thousand years old. - -In form these ancient stories were of three types: the anecdote (often -expanded beyond the normal limits of anecdote); the scenario, or -outline of what might well have been told as a longer story; and the -tale, or straightforward chain of incidents with no real complicating -plot. - -Story-telling maintained much the same pace until the early middle -ages, when the sway of religious ideas was felt in every department -of life. Superstition had always vested the forces of nature with -more than natural attributes, so that the wonder tale was normally -the companion of the war or adventure story. But now the power of the -Christian religion was laying hold upon all minds, and the French -_conte dévot_, or miracle story, recited the wonderful doings of the -saints in human behalf, or told how some pious mystic had encountered -heavenly forces, triumphed over demons and monsters of evil, and -performed prodigies of piety. - -These tales were loosely hung together, and exhibited none of the -compression and sense of orderly climax characteristic of the -short-story to-day. In style the early medieval stories fell far -below classic models, naturally enough, for language was feeling the -corrupting influences of that inrush of barbarian peoples which at -length brought Rome to the dust, while culture was conserved only in -out-of-the-way places. In form these narratives were chiefly the tale, -the anecdote, and the episode, by which I mean a fragmentary part of a -longer tale with which it had little or no organic connection. - -The _conte dévot_ in England was even more crude, for Old English was -less polished than the speech of France and its people more heroic than -literary. - -When we come to the middle of the fourteenth century we find in two -great writers a marked advancement: Chaucer’s _Canterbury Tales_ -and Boccaccio’s _Decameron_--the former superior to the latter in -story-telling art--opened up rich mines of legend, adventure, humor, -and human interest. All subsequent narrators modeled their tales -after these patterns. Chaucer’s “The Pardoner’s Tale” has many -points in common with the modern short-story, and so has Boccaccio’s -_novella_, “Rinaldo,” but these approaches to what we now recognize -as the short-story type were not so much by conscious intention as -by a groping after an ideal which was only dimly existent in their -minds--so dimly, indeed, that even when once attained it seems not to -have been pursued. For the most part the _fabliaux_[8] of Chaucer and -the _novelle_[9] of Boccaccio were rambling, loosely knit, anecdotal, -lacking in the firmly fleshed contours of the modern short-story. Even -the _Gesta Romanorum_, or _Deeds of the Romans_--181 short legends and -stories first printed about 1473--show the same ear marks. - -About the middle of the sixteenth century appeared _The Arabian -Nights_, that magic carpet which has carried us all to the regions of -breathless delight. The story of “Ali Baba and The Forty Thieves,” -for one, is as near an approach to our present-day short-story as was -Irving’s “Rip Van Winkle,” and quite unsurpassed in all the literature -of wonder-tales. - -Thus for two thousand years--yes, for six thousand years--the -essentials of short story narration were unchanged. What progress had -been made was toward truth-seeming, clearer characterization, and a -finer human interest, yet so surpassing in these very respects are some -of the ancient stories that they remain models to-day. Chiefly, then, -the short fiction of the eighteenth century showed progress over that -of earlier centuries in that it was much more consistently produced by -a much greater number of writers--so far as our records show. - -Separately interesting studies of the eighteenth-century essay-stories -of Addison, Steele, Johnson and others in the English periodicals, -the _Spectator_, _Tatler_, _Rambler_, _Idler_, and _Guardian_ might -well be made, for these forms lead us directly to Hawthorne and -Irving in America. Of almost equal value would be a study of Defoe’s -ghost stories (1727) and Voltaire’s development of the protean French -detective-story, in his “Zadig,” twenty years later. - -With the opening of the nineteenth century the marks of progress -are more decided. The first thirty years brought out a score of the -most brilliant story-tellers imaginable, who differ from Poe and his -followers only in this particular--they were still perfecting the tale, -the sketch, the expanded anecdote, the episode, and the scenario, for -they had neither for themselves nor for their literary posterity set up -a new standard, as Poe was to do so very soon. - -Of this fecund era were born the German weird tales of Ernst Amadeus -Hoffmann and J. L. Tieck; the _Moral Tales_ of Maria Edgeworth, and -the fictional episodes of Sir Walter Scott in Scotland; the anecdotal -tales and the novelettes of Prosper Mérimée and Charles Nodier in -France; the tales of Pushkin, the father of Russian literature; and -the tale-short-stories of Washington Irving and Nathaniel Hawthorne -in America. Here too lies a fascinating field of study, over which -to trace the approach towards that final form, so to call it, which -was both demonstrated and expounded by Poe. It must suffice here to -observe that Irving preferred the easy-flowing essay-sketch, and the -delightful, leisurely tale (with certain well-marked tendencies toward -a compact plot), rather than the closely organized plot which we -nowadays recognize as the special possession of the short-story. - -In France, from 1830 to 1832, Honoré de Balzac produced a series of -notable short-stories which, while marvels of narration, tend to be -condensed novels in plot, novelettes in length, or expanded anecdotes. -However, together with the stories of Prosper Mérimée, they furnish -evidence for a tolerably strong claim that the modern short-story -was developed as a fixed form in France before it was discovered in -America--a claim, however, which lacks the elements of entire solidity, -as a more critical study would show. - -From 1830 on, it would require a catalogue to name, and volumes to -discuss, the array of European and American writers who have produced -fictional narratives which have more or less closely approached the -short-story form. Until 1835, when Edgar Allan Poe wrote “Berenice” and -“The Assignation,” the approaches to the present form were sporadic -and unsustained and even unconscious, so far as we may argue from the -absence of any critical standard. After that year both Poe and others -seemed to strive more definitely for the close plot, the repression of -detail, the measurable unity of action, and the singleness of effect -which Poe clearly defined and expounded in 1842. - -Since Poe’s notable pronouncement, the place of the short-story as a -distinctive literary form has been attested by the rise and growth of -a body of criticism, in the form of newspaper and magazine articles, -volumes given broadly to the consideration of fiction, and books -devoted entirely to the short-story. Many of these contributions to -the literature of criticism are particularly important because their -authors were the first to announce conclusions regarding the form which -have since been accepted as standard; others have traced with a nice -sense of comparison the origin and development of those earlier forms -of story-telling which marked the more or less definite stages of -progress toward the short-story type as at present recognized; while -still others are valuable as characterizing effectively the stories of -well-known writers and comparing the progress which each showed as the -short-story moved on toward its present high place. - -Some detailed mention of these writings, among other critical and -historical productions, may be of value here, without at all attempting -a bibliography, but merely naming chronologically the work of those -critics who have developed one or more phases of the subject with -particular effectiveness.[10] - -Interesting and informing as all such historical and comparative -research work certainly is, it must prove to be of greater value to -the student than to the fiction writer. True, the latter may profit by -a profound knowledge of critical distinctions, but he is more likely, -for a time at least, to find his freedom embarrassed by attempting to -adhere too closely to form, whereas in fiction a chief virtue is that -spontaneity which expresses _itself_. - -But there would seem to be some safe middle-ground between a flouting -of all canons of art, arising from an utter ignorance and contempt of -the history of any artistic form, and a timid and tied-up unwillingness -to do anything in fiction without first inquiring, “Am I obeying the -laws as set forth by the critics?” The short-story writer should be -no less unhampered because he has learned the origin and traced the -growth of the ancient fiction-forms and learned to say of his own work, -or that of others, “Here is a fictional sketch, here a tale, and here -a short-story”--if, indeed, he does not recognize in it a delightful -hybrid. - -By far the most important contribution to the subject of short-story -criticism was made by Edgar Allan Poe, when in May, 1842, he published -in _Graham’s Magazine_ a review of Hawthorne’s _Tales_, in which he -announced his theory of the short-story--a theory which is regarded -to-day as the soundest of any yet laid down. - -In 1876, Friedrich Spielhagen pointed out in his _Novelle oder Roman_ -the essential distinction between the novel and the short-story.[11] - -In 1884, Professor Brander Matthews published in the _Saturday Review_, -London, and in 1885 published in _Lippincott’s Magazine_, “The -Philosophy of the Short-story,” in which, independently of Spielhagen, -he announced the essential distinction between the novel and the -short-story, and pointed out its peculiarly individual characteristics. -In a later book-edition, he added greatly to the original essay by -a series of quotations from other critics and essayists, and many -original comparisons between the writings of master short-story tellers. - -In March 11, 1892, T. W. Higginson contributed to _The Independent_ -an article on “The Local Short-Story,” which was the first known -discussion of that important type. - -In 1895, Sherwin Cody published anonymously in London the first -technical treatise on the rhetoric of the short-story, “The Art of -Story Writing.” - -In 1896, Professor E. H. Lewis instituted in Chicago University the -first course of instruction in the art of story-writing. - -In 1898, Charles Raymond Barrett published the first large work on -_Short Story Writing_, with a complete analysis of Hawthorne’s “The -Ambitious Guest,” and many important suggestions for writers. - -In the same year Charity Dye first applied pedagogical principles to -the study of the short story, in _The Story-Teller’s Art_. - -In 1902, Professor Lewis W. Smith published a brochure, _The Writing of -the Short Story_, in which psychological principles were for the first -time applied to the study and the writing of the short-story. - -In 1902, Professor H. S. Canby issued _The Short Story_, in which the -theory of impressionism was for the first time developed. In 1903, this -essay was included in _The Book of the Short Story_, Alexander Jessup -collaborating, together with specimens of stories from the earliest -times and lists of tales and short-stories arranged by periods. - -In 1904, Professor Charles S. Baldwin developed a criticism of -_American Short Stories_ which has been largely followed by later -writers. - -In 1909, Professor H. S. Canby produced _The Short Story in English_, -the first voluminous historical and critical study of the origins, -forms, and content of the short-story. - - * * * * * - -I have dwelt upon the history of the short-story thus in outline -because we often meet the inquiry--sometimes put ignorantly, sometimes -skeptically--What is a short-story? Is it anything more than a story -that is short? - -The passion for naming and classifying all classes of literature -may easily run to extreme, and yet there are some very great values -to be secured by both the reader and the writer in arriving at some -understanding of what literary terms mean. To establish distinctions -among short fictive forms is by no means to assert that types which -differ from the technical short-story are therefore of a lower order -of merit. Many specimens of cognate forms possess an interest which -surpasses that of short-stories typically perfect. - -Ever since Poe differentiated the short-story from the mere short -narrative we have come to a clearer apprehension of what this form -really means. I suppose that no one would insist upon the standards -of the short-story as being the criterion of merit for short -fiction--certainly I should commit no such folly in attempting to -establish an understanding, not to say a definition, of the form. More -than that: some short-stories which in one or more points come short of -_technical_ perfection doubtless possess a human interest and a charm -quite lacking in others which are technically perfect--just as may be -the case with pictures. - -Some things, however, the little fiction must contain to come -technically within the class of perfect short-stories. It must be -centralized about one predominating incident--which may be supported -by various minor incidents. This incident must intimately concern one -central character--and other supporting characters, it may be. The -story must move with a certain degree of directness--that is, there -must be a thorough exclusion of such detail as is needless. This -central situation or episode or incident constitutes, in its working -out, the plot; for the plot must not only have a crisis growing out of -a tie-up or crossroads or complication, but the very essence of the -plot will consist in the resolution or untying or denouement of the -complication. - -Naturally, the word plot will suggest to many a high degree of -complexity; but this is by no means necessary in order to establish the -claims of a fictitious narrative to being a short-story. Indeed, some -of the best short-stories are based upon a very slender complication; -in other words, their plots are not complex. - -Elsewhere[12] I have defined the short-story, and this statement -may serve to crystallize the foregoing. “A short-story is a brief, -imaginative narrative, unfolding a single predominating incident and a -single chief character; it contains a plot, the details of which are -so compressed, and the whole treatment so organized, as to produce a -single impression.” - -But some of these points need to be amplified. - -A short-story is brief not merely from the fact that it contains -comparatively few words, but in that it is so compressed as to omit -non-essential elements. It must be the narration of a single incident, -supported, it may be, by other incidents, but none of these minor -incidents must rival the central incident in the interest of the -reader. A single character must be preëminent, but a pair of characters -coördinate in importance may enjoy this single preëminence in the -story, yet no minor characters must come to overshadow the central -figure. The story will be imaginative, not in the sense that it must -be imaginary, or that the facts in the story may not be real facts, -but they must be handled and organized in an imaginative way, else it -would be plain fact and not fiction. The story must contain a plot; -that is to say, it must exhibit a character or several characters in -crisis--for in plot the important word is crisis--and the denouement is -the resolution of this crisis. Finally, the whole must be so organized -as to leave a unified impression upon the mind of the reader--it must -concentrate and not diffuse attention and interest. - -All of the same qualities that inhere in the short-story may also -be found in the novelette, except that the novelette lacks the -compression, unity and simplicity of the short-story and is therefore -really a short novel. Both the novel and the novelette admit of -sub-plots, a large number of minor incidents, and even of digressions, -whereas these are denied to the short-story, which throws a white light -on a single crucial instance of life, some character in its hour of -crisis, some soul at the crossroads of destiny. - -There is a tendency nowadays to give a mere outline of a story--so to -condense it, so to make it swift, that the narration amounts to merely -an outline without the flesh and blood of the true short-story. In -other words, there is a tendency to call a scenario of a much longer -story--for instance the outline of a novelette--a short-story. This -extreme is as remote from the well-rounded short-story form as the -leisurely novelette, padded out with infinite attention to detail. - -The tale differs from the short-story in that it is merely a succession -of incidents without any real sense of climax other, for example, than -might be given by the close of a man’s life, the ending of a journey, -or the closing of the day. The tale is a chain; the short-story is a -tree. The links of the chain may be extended indefinitely, but there -comes a time when the tree can grow no longer and still remain a -perfect tree. The tale is practically without organization and without -plot--there is little crisis, and the result of the crisis, if any -there be, would be of no vital importance to the characters, for no -special change in their relations to each other grows out of the crisis -in the tale. - -A sketch is a lighter, shorter, and more simple form of fiction -than the short-story. It exhibits character in a certain stationary -situation, but has no plot, nor does it disclose anything like a crisis -from which a resolution or denouement is demanded. It might almost be -called a picture in still life were it not that the characters are -likely to live and to move. - -In these introductory pages I have emphasized and reëmphasized these -distinctions in various ways, because to me they seem to be important. -But after all they are merely historical and technical. A man may be -a charming fellow and altogether admirable even if his complexion -quarrels with his hair and his hands do not match his feet in relative -size. - - * * * * * - -The present tendency of the British and American short-story is a -matter of moment because no other literary form commands the interest -of so many writers and readers. All literature is feeling the hand of -commerce, but the short-story is chiefly threatened. The magazine is -its forum, and the magazine must make money or suspend. Hence the chief -inquiry of the editor is, What stories will make my magazine sell? And -this is his attitude because his publisher will no longer pay a salary -to an editor whose magazine must be endowed, having no visible means of -support. - -These conditions force new standards to be set up. The story must have -literary merit, it must be true to life, it must deal sincerely with -great principles--up to the limit of popularity. Beyond that it must -not be literary, truthful, or sincere. Popularity first, then the -rest--if possible. - -All this is a serious indictment of the average magazine, but it is -true. Only a few magazines regard their fiction as literature and not -as merely so much merchandise, to be cut to suit the length of pages, -furnish situations for pictures, and create subscriptions by readers. -Yet somehow this very commercialized standard is working much good in -spite of itself. It is demanding the best workmanship, and is paying -bright men and women to abandon other pursuits in order to master a -good story-telling method. It is directing the attention of our ablest -literators to a teeming life all about them when otherwise they might -lose themselves in abstractions “up in the air.” It is, for business -reasons, insisting upon that very compression to which Maupassant -attained in the pursuit of art. It is building up a standard of precise -English which has already advanced beyond the best work of seventy -years ago--though it has lost much of its elegance and dignity. - -In a word, the commercialized short-story is a mirror of the times--it -compasses movement, often at the expense of fineness, crowds incidents -so rapidly that the skeleton has no space in which to wear its flesh, -and prints stories mediocre and worse because better ones will not be -received with sufficient applause. - -But while the journalized short-story adopts the hasty standards of the -newspaper because the public is too busy to be critical, in some other -respects it mirrors the times more happily. The lessons of seriousness -it utters with the lips of fun. Its favorite implement is a rake, but -it does uncover evils that ought not to remain hidden. Finally, it -concerns itself with human things, and tosses speculations aside; it -carefully records our myriad-form local life as the novel cannot; and -it has wonderfully developed in all classes the sense of what is a good -story, and that is a question more fundamental to all literature than -some critics might admit. - - * * * * * - -Here then is a new-old form abundantly worth study, for its -understanding, its appreciation, and its practise. If there is on one -side a danger that form may become too prominent and spirit too little, -there are balancing forces to hold things to a level. The problems, -projects and sports of the day are, after all, the life of the day, and -as such they furnish rightful themes. Really, signs are not wanting -that point to the truth of this optimistic assertion: The mass of the -people will eventually do the right, and they will at length bring out -of the commercialized short-story a vital literary form too human to be -dull and too artistic to be bad. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES FOR CLASS OR INDIVIDUAL STUDY OF A - SHORT-STORY - -1. Estimating from an average page, how many words has this story? - -2. What type of story is it chiefly? - -3. Does it subordinately illustrate any other types also? If so, which? - -4. Is the title adequate? - -5. What is its theme? - -6. Write out a brief scenario of the plot. - -7. Are the incidents arranged in effective order? - -8. How many characters (a) speak, (b) are present but do not speak, (c) -are referred to but are not present? - -9. Are the characters idealized, or are they quite true to life? - -10. Are the characters individualized? Point out how the author -accomplishes this result. - -11. What is the author’s attitude toward his characters? - -12. What is the proportion of dialogue to description and comment? - -13. What do you think of the dialogue? - -14. Do you regard this story as being realistic, romantic, idealistic, -or composite? - -15. Is the author’s purpose apparent? If so, what is it? - -16. Are there any weak points in the plot? - -17. Is the introduction interesting and clear? - -18. Does the story end satisfactorily? - -19. Is the conclusion either too long or too short? - -20. Would any parts of the story be improved either by shortening or by -expanding? Be specific. - -21. Does the story arouse in you any particular feeling, or mood? - -22. What are the especially strong points of the story? - -23. Write a general appreciation, using about two hundred words. - -24. What is the final impression the story makes upon you? - - - NOTE - -Nine distinct methods for the study of a novel are outlined in the -appendix to _The Study of a Novel_, by Selden L. Whitcomb. Some of -these may be applied to the short-story. Some excellent study methods -and questions are given in _The Writing of the Short Story_, by Lewis -Worthington Smith. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[1] Excellent and comprehensive works, dealing more especially with the -English novel, are: _The English Novel_, Sidney Lanier (_Scribners_, -1883, 1897); _The Development of the English Novel_, Wilbur L. Cross -(_Macmillan_, 1899); _The Evolution of the English Novel_, Francis -Hovey Stoddard (_Macmillan_, 1900); _A Study of Prose Fiction_, Bliss -Perry (Houghton-Mifflin, 1902); _The Study of A Novel_, Selden L. -Whitcomb (Heath, 1905); _The Technique of the Novel_, Charles F. Horne -(_Harpers_, 1908); _Materials and Methods of Fiction_, Clayton Hamilton -(Baker-Taylor, 1908). - -[2] Good collections arranged historically are, _The Book of the Short -Story_, Alexander Jessup and Henry Seidel Canby; and _The Short-story_, -Brander Matthews. The former contains lists of stories short and long -grouped by periods. - -[3] A full study of this character has been attempted in the present -author’s _Writing The Short-Story_, Hinds, Hayden and Eldredge. New -York, 1909. - -[4] _Egyptian Tales_, W. M. Flinders Petrie. - -[5] _Stories from Homer_, Church. - -[6] _The Bible as English Literature_, J. H. Gardiner. - -[7] _A History of Latin Literature_, George A. Simcox. - -[8] The _fabliau_, a French form adopted by the English, is an amusing -story told in verse, generally of eight-syllable line. Another poetic -form of the period is the _lai_, a short metrical romance. - -[9] The Italian _novella_ was popular in England down to the late -Elizabethan period. It is a diverting little story of human interest -but told with no moral purpose, even when it is reflective. In purpose -it is the direct opposite of the _exemplum_, which is a moral tale told -to teach a lesson, and may be compared to the “illustration” which the -exhorter repeats in the pulpit to-day. - -[10] For a fuller examination of the bibliography of the subject refer -to the bibliographical notes in the books by Matthews, Baldwin, Perry, -Jessup and Canby, Canby, Dye, C. A. Smith, and the editor of this -volume--all referred to in detail elsewhere herein. A supplementary -bibliographical note will also be found on p. 433. - -[11] For this important record of the discriminations of a critic -little known in America, we are indebted to Professor C. Alphonso -Smith’s work on _The American Short Story_. - -[12] _Writing the Short-Story_, p. 30. - - - - - I - STORIES OF ACTION AND ADVENTURE - - _Mateo Falcone._--PROSPER MÉRIMÉE. - _A Lodging for the Night._--ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. - - - But the great majority of novels and plays represent human life in - nothing more faithfully than in their insistence upon deeds. It is - through action--tangible, visible action upon the stage, or, in the - novel, action suggested by the medium of words--that the characters - of the play and the novel are ordinarily revealed. In proportion as - high art is attained in either medium of expression this action is - marked by adequacy of motive, by conformity to the character, by - progression and unity.--BLISS PERRY, _A Study of Prose Fiction_. - - - Studying The Short-Story - - - STORIES OF ACTION AND ADVENTURE - -Few words are needed to set forth the meaning of this caption, for -the designation is sufficiently explicit. One point, however, it will -be well to emphasize: In fiction all action worthy of the name is -the outward manifestation of an inward condition. There is a sense, -therefore, in which all stories that are not mere pictures of internal -states are stories of action; just as it may be said that all stories -are stories of thought, feeling, and resolve. The point of distinction -lies here: in which direction does the story tend? - -In one class, outward action is seen to work profoundly upon the -inward life, and the story shows us the workings of this influence in -its final effect upon the inward man and his character. In another, -an inward state is the basis, the premise, the initial force, in the -story, and from that beginning the story goes on to show by a series of -outward movements just how this great inward force operates in and upon -conduct. In a third class, outward and inward action balance. - -Now when the outward or visible action, prominently displaying physical -movement, becomes paramount, whether shown as cause or as effect, -we have the action-story, and sometimes the adventure-story. And in -proportion as the interest of the reader centers in what the characters -_do_ instead of in what they _are_, the story departs from the subtler -forms, such as the character-study and the psychological-study, and -action or adventure becomes the type. Reverse these conditions, and -another sort is the result. - -Naturally, many variations are possible with these two chief -ingredients ready for use. One story may begin with soul action, -then proceed to show us bodily action with great vividness, and end -by taking us back into the man’s inner life. Another may progress on -contrary lines; and so on, in wide variety. The final test as to what -is the predominating type lies in the appeal to the interest of the -reader: is it based chiefly on what the characters are or on what they -do? Is it the why, or the how, the motive or the happening, that is -most absorbing? The best stories, even the best action and adventure -yarns, are likely to show a fair proportion of both. - - - MÉRIMÉE AND HIS WRITINGS - -Prosper Mérimée was born in Paris, September 28, 1803. His father, -a Norman, was a professor in the _École des Beaux-Arts_, and his -mother, Anne Moreau, who had English blood in her veins, was also an -artist. Prosper attended the _Collège Henri IV_, and in the home of -his parents met the _literati_ of the day. He undertook the study of -law, but soon abandoned it, and spent some years in observing life -while journeying abroad. He made much of ancient and modern languages, -becoming especially proficient in Spanish. Upon his return to Paris -he served in public office, and held the post of Inspector General of -Public Monuments until declining health compelled him to retire. He -was elected to several learned societies and became a commander of the -Legion of Honor, and, in 1844, a member of the French Academy. Nine -years later he was made a Senator of France, an honor he owed to the -friendship of the Empress Eugénie. He died at Cannes on the 23rd of -September, 1870, at the age of sixty-seven. - -Prosper Mérimée was a successful poet, translator, novelist, and -short-story writer. His translations of the Russian novelists have been -pronounced excellent. “Colomba” is a romantic novelette of singular -power and charm. His most famous short-stories are “The Taking of the -Redoubt,” “Tamango,” “Federigo,” “The Etruscan Vase,” “The Vision of -Charles XI,” “The Venus of Ille,” “The Pearl of Toledo,” “Carmen” (on -which Bizet’s opera is founded), “Arsène Guillot,” and “Mateo Falcone”; -which follows, in a translation by the editor of this volume. It was -first published in the _Revue de Paris_, May, 1829. - - * * * * * - -Among French masters of the short-story, Mérimée easily holds place -in the first rank. Both personality and genius are his, and both -well repay careful study. He was an alert student of history, -to whom its anecdotal side made strongest appeal. The detached, -impersonal, unprejudiced attitude of the historian is seen in his -short-stories, for he tells his narrative impartially, with a sort of -take-it-or-leave-it air, allowing the story to make its own appeal -without any special pleading on his part. His story-telling manner is, -therefore, one of ironical coldness. He delighted to tell his tales -in the matter-of-fact manner of the casual traveller who has picked -up a good yarn and passes it on just as it was told him. And this -literary attitude was a reflex of his personality. To him, to love -deeply was to endure pain, to follow impulse was to court trouble, to -cherish enthusiasms was to delude the mind, so he schooled himself to -appear impassive. Yet now and then in his lucid and clear-cut stories, -as in his urbane life, a certain sweetness is revealed which speaks -alluringly of the tender spirit within. - - All my life I have sought to free myself from prejudices, to - be a citizen of the world before being a Frenchman, but now - all these garments of philosophy are nothing to me. To-day I - bleed for the wounds of the foolish French, I mourn for their - humiliations, and, however ungrateful and absurd they may be, I - love them still.--PROSPER MÉRIMÉE, _letter to Madame de - Beaulaincourt_ (Marquise de Castellane), written, ten days before - his death, on hearing from his friend Thiers that the disaster of - Sedan was irreparable and that the Empire was a thing of the past. - - A gallant man and a gentleman, he has had the reward he would have - wished. He has been discreetly and intimately enjoyed by delicate - tastes.... It was his rare talent to give us those limpid, rapid, - full tales, that one reads in an hour, re-reads in a day, which - fill the memory and occupy the thoughts forever.--ÉMILE FAGUET, - quoted by GRACE KING, in C. D. WARNER’S _Library of the World’s - Best Literature_. - - _Colomba_, _Mateo Falcone_, _La Double Méprise_, _La Vénus d’Ille_, - _L’Enlèvement de la Redoute_, _Lokis_, have equals, but no - superiors, either in French prose fiction or in French prose. Grasp - of human character, reserved but masterly description of scenery, - delicate analysis of motive, ability to represent the supernatural, - pathos, grandeur, simple narrative excellence, appear turn by - turn in these wonderful pieces, as they appear hardly anywhere - else.--GEORGE SAINTSBURY, _A Short History of French Literature_. - - While inferior to Stendhal as a psychologist, notwithstanding - the keenness of his analysis, he excels him in opening out and - developing action, and in composing a work whose parts hang well - together. In addition he possesses a “literary” style,--not the - style of an algebraist, but that of an exact, self-sustained - writer. He attains the perfection of form in his particular - line. Nearly all his stories are masterpieces of that rather dry - and hard, though forceful, nervous, and pressing style, which - constitutes him one of the most original and most characteristic - novelists of the century.--GEORGES PELLISSIER, _The Literary - Movement in France_. - - I do not scruple to apply the word _great_ to Mérimée, a word - which is not to be used lightly, but of which he is thoroughly - deserving. His style is the purest and clearest of our century; no - better model could possibly be found for our present generation. - His prose, to my mind, together with that of Musset, Fromentin, - and Renan, is the most beautiful modern prose which has ever been - written in the French language. Like the great classics of the 17th - century, he never wrote a passage merely to please the eye or the - ear; his sole aim was to express thought, and the colour of his - language, which is so pre-eminently true to nature, is of a rare - sobriety; he never studies effect, and, nevertheless, invariably - attains it.--EDOUARD GRENIER, _Literary Reminiscences_. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON MÉRIMÉE - -_Miscellaneous Studies_, Walter Pater (1895); _Modern French -Literature_, Benjamin W. Wells (1896); _Contes et Nouvelles, by -Prosper Mérimée_, edited by J. E. Michell (1907); _A Century of French -Fiction_, Benjamin W. Wells (1898); _Prosper Mérimée_, Arthur Symonds, -in _A Century of French Romance_, edited by Edmund W. Gosse (1901); -_Six Masters in Disillusion_, Algar Therold (1909). - - - MATEO FALCONE - BY PROSPER MÉRIMÉE - - _Translation by The Editor_ - - -NOTE: The technical terms used in the marginal notes explanatory of -the short-stories throughout this work follow the terminology used and -treated fully in the present author’s _Writing the Short-Story_. - -[Sidenote: A story of local-color because the Corsican customs -determine the destinies of the characters. It is equally a -character-study and a psychological study. Note how characters -harmonize with setting, throughout.] - -[Sidenote: Setting is minutely given, yet not diffusely.] - -As one comes out of Porto-Vecchio, and turns northwest toward the -center of the island, the ground is seen to rise quite rapidly, and -after three hours’ walk by tortuous paths, blocked by large masses of -rocks, and sometimes cut by ravines, the traveler finds himself on -the edge of a very extensive _maquis_. This bush is the home of the -Corsican shepherds, and of whomsoever has come into conflict with the -law. It is well known that the Corsican laborer, to spare himself the -trouble of fertilizing his lands, sets fire to a certain stretch of -forest; so much the worse if the flames spread further than is needed; -whatever happens, he is sure to have a good harvest by sowing upon -this ground, enriched by the ashes of the very trees which it grows. -When the corn is plucked, he leaves the straw, because it is too much -trouble to gather it. The roots, which have remained in the ground -without being harmed, sprout in the following spring into very thick -shoots, which in a few years attain a height of seven or eight feet. -This sort of underwood it is that they call _maquis_. It is composed -of different kinds of trees and shrubs, all mixed and tangled, just as -they were planted by God. Only with the hatchet in hand can a man open -a passage, and there are _maquis_ so dense and so tufted that even the -wild sheep can not penetrate them. - -[Sidenote: One of Mérimée’s deft personal touches, as though he were -telling the story to Corsicans.] - -[Sidenote: Why “brown”?] - -[Sidenote: The vendetta. See Mérimée’s novelette _Colomba_.] - -2. If you have killed a man, go into the _maquis_ of Porto-Vecchio, and -with a good gun and powder and ball, you will live there in safety. Do -not forget a brown cloak with a hood, which serves as a coverlet and a -mattress. The shepherds will give you milk, cheese, and chestnuts, and -you will have nothing to fear from justice, nor from the relatives of -the dead man, unless it be when you have to go down into the town to -renew your munitions. - -[Sidenote: Sense of reality. Setting becomes specific. Begins with -social characterization.] - -[Sidenote: Note force of “nobly.”] - -[Sidenote: Proceeds to physical characterization.] - -[Sidenote: Hint of climax.] - -[Sidenote: Illustrative anecdotes.] - -3. The house of Mateo Falcone, when I was in Corsica in 18--, was half -a league from this _maquis_. He was a comparatively rich man for that -country, living nobly, that is to say, without doing anything, on -the products of his herds, which the shepherds, a species of nomads, -led to pasture here and there on the mountains. When I saw him, two -years after the event which I am about to relate, he seemed to me -about fifty years of age at the most. Picture a small, but robust man, -with curly hair black as jet, and aquiline nose, lips thin, large and -animated eyes, and a deeply tanned complexion. His skill in shooting -was considered extraordinary, even in his country, where there were so -many good shots. For example, Mateo would never fire on a sheep with -buckshot, but at a hundred and twenty paces he would bring it down with -a bullet in its head, or in the shoulder, as he chose. At night he -could use his gun as easily as by day, and they told me the following -example of his skill, which will perhaps seem incredible to those who -have not traveled in Corsica. At eighty paces, a lighted candle was -placed behind a transparent piece of paper as large as a plate. He took -aim, then the candle was extinguished, and after a moment in the most -complete darkness, he shot and pierced the transparency three times out -of four. - -[Sidenote: Advances to moral characterization.] - -[Sidenote: Further anecdote.] - -4. With a talent so surpassing, Mateo Falcone had gained a great -reputation. He was said to be as loyal a friend as he was dangerous -an enemy. Otherwise obliging and charitable, he lived at peace with -everyone in the district of Porto-Vecchio. But they tell of him that -when at Corte, where he had gotten a wife, he had very vigorously freed -himself of a rival who was reputed to be as redoubtable in war as in -love; at all events, people attributed to Mateo a certain gunshot which -surprised this rival as he was shaving before a small mirror hung in -his window. - -[Sidenote: Primitive ideals.] - -[Sidenote: Central character introduced unobtrusively.] - -[Sidenote: Vendetta and clan spirit.] - -[Sidenote: Introduction ends.] - -5. The affair having been hushed up, Mateo married. His wife Giuseppa -had first presented him with three daughters (which enraged him), but -finally a son came, whom he named Fortunato: he was the hope of the -family, the inheritor of the name. The girls were well married; their -father could reckon, in case of need, upon the poniards and rifles of -his sons-in-law. The son was only ten years old, but he was already -showing signs of a promising disposition. - -[Sidenote: ACTION BEGINS. Foundation for crisis.] - -[Sidenote: FIRST PLOT INCIDENT. (A plot incident is essential to a -plot; to change it would be to alter the plot materially.)] - -[Sidenote: An old-style literary device.] - -6. On a certain day in autumn, Mateo and his wife set out early to -visit one of their flocks in a clearing of _maquis_. Little Fortunato -wished to accompany them, but the clearing was too far away; besides, -someone must stay to guard the house; so the father refused: we shall -soon see if he had no occasion to repent. - -[Sidenote: Setting in contrast with crisis about to appear.] - -[Sidenote: All the footnotes are by Mérimée.] - -[Sidenote: Action now supersedes setting.] - -[Sidenote: Note force of “irregular.”] - -[Sidenote: Dramatic introduction of a leading character, and -preparation for first crisis.] - -[Sidenote: SECOND PLOT INCIDENT.] - -7. He had been gone for some hours, and little Fortunato was tranquilly -stretched out in the sunshine, looking at the blue mountains, and -thinking that on the next Sunday he would be going to town to dine -with his uncle the corporal,[13] when he was suddenly interrupted in -his meditations by the firing of a gun. He got up and turned toward -that side of the plain from which the sound had come. Other gunshots -followed, fired at irregular intervals, and each time they came nearer -and nearer. At last on the path which led from the plain to Mateo’s -house, appeared a man wearing a cap pointed like those worn by the -mountaineers. He was bearded and covered with rags, and dragged himself -along with difficulty by leaning on his gun. He had just received a -gunshot wound in the thigh. - -8. This man was a bandit,[14] who having set out at night to get some -powder from the town, had fallen on the way into an ambush of Corsican -soldiers.[15] After a vigorous defense he had succeeded in making his -retreat, hotly pursued and skirmishing from rock to rock. But he had -gained only a little on the soldiers, and his wound made it hopeless -for him to reach the _maquis_ before being overtaken. - -9. He approached Fortunato and said to him: - -[Sidenote: Crisp dialogue gives feeling of intensity.] - -10. “You are the son of Mateo Falcone?” - -11. “Yes.” - -12. “I am Gianetto Sanpiero. I am pursued by the yellow collars.[16] -Hide me, for I can go no further.” - -13. “And what will my father say if I hide you without his permission?” - -14. “He will say that you have done right.” - -15. “How do you know?” - -16. “Hide me quickly; they are coming.” - -17. “Wait till my father comes.” - -18. “How can I wait! A curse upon it! They will be here in five -minutes. Come, hide me, or I will kill you.” - -[Sidenote: Note the lad’s constant coolness, and sly calculation.] - -19. Fortunato answered him with the utmost coolness: - -20. “Your gun is empty, and there are no more cartridges in your -_carchera_.”[17] - -21. “I have my stiletto.” - -22. “But could you run as fast as I can?” - -23. He gave a leap, and put himself out of reach. - -24. “You are no son of Mateo Falcone! Will you then allow me to be -taken in front of your home?” - -[Sidenote: The right of asylum to kin is sacred to primitive peoples.] - -[Sidenote: Note force of “seemed.”] - -25. The child seemed to be touched. - -26. “What will you give me if I hide you?” he asked him, drawing nearer. - -[Sidenote: Crisis particularized.] - -[Sidenote: PLOT INCIDENT PARTICULARIZED.] - -[Sidenote: Shows value of the reward.] - -27. The fugitive felt in the leather pouch that hung at his belt, and -took out a five-franc piece, which he had reserved, no doubt, for -powder. Fortunato smiled at sight of the piece of money, and seizing -hold of it, he said to Gianetto: - -[Sidenote: Revelation of character.] - -28. “Fear nothing!” - -[Sidenote: RESOLUTION OF FIRST CRISIS.] - -[Sidenote: Author’s real estimate of the boy.] - -29. He quickly made a large hole in a haystack which stood near by the -house, Gianetto crouched down in it, and the child covered him up in -such a way as to leave a little space for breathing, without making -it possible for any one to suspect that the hay concealed a man. He -acted, still further, with the cunning of a tricky savage. He went and -brought a cat and her kittens, and set them on top of the haystack to -make believe that it had not been recently touched. Then noticing the -blood-stains on the path near the house, he carefully covered them with -dust. This done, he lay down again in the sun with the utmost calmness. - -[Sidenote: THIRD PLOT INCIDENT. See ¶12.] - -[Sidenote: A deputy in command.] - -[Sidenote: Note complication by this relationship.] - -30. Some minutes later six men in brown uniforms with yellow collars, -commanded by an adjutant, stood before Mateo’s door. This adjutant was -a distant relative of Falcone--for in Corsica more remote degrees of -relationship are recognized than elsewhere. His name was Tidora Gamba; -he was an energetic man, greatly feared by the banditti, many of whom -he had already hunted down. - -[Sidenote: Crisis recurs.] - -31. “Good day, little cousin,” he said, coming up to Fortunato. “How -you have grown! Have you seen a man passing just now?” - -[Sidenote: Cunning in character further revealed.] - -32. “Oh, I am not so tall as you, Cousin,” the child replied with a -foolish look. - -33. “That time’s coming. But have you not seen a man pass by?--Tell me.” - -34. “If I have seen a man pass by?” - -35. “Yes, a man with a pointed cap and a waistcoat embroidered in red -and yellow?” - -36. “A man with a pointed cap and a waistcoat embroidered in red and -yellow?” - -37. “Yes; answer quickly, and don’t repeat my questions.” - -38. “This morning Monsieur le Curé passed our door on his horse Piero. -He asked me how papa was, and I told him--” - -[Sidenote: Suspense.] - -39. “Ah, you little rascal, you are making game of me! Tell me at once -which way Gianetto went, for it is he that we are after, and I am -certain he took this path.” - -40. “How do you know that?” - -41. “How do I know that? I know you have seen him.” - -[Sidenote: Child’s crafty nature increasingly disclosed.] - -42. “Does one see passers-by when one is asleep?” - -43. “You were not asleep, you little demon; the gunshots would have -waked you.” - -44. “You think, then, Cousin, that your guns make a great noise? My -father’s rifle makes much more.” - -45. “May the devil confound you, you young scamp! I am sure enough -that you have seen Gianetto. Perhaps you have even hidden him. Here, -comrades, go into this house, and see if our man is not there. He could -walk only on one foot, and he has too much good sense, the rascal, to -have tried to reach the _maquis_ limping. Besides, the marks of blood -stop here.” - -[Sidenote: Sly appeal to the fear inspired by Mateo’s reputation.] - -46. “Whatever will papa say!” asked Fortunato, with a chuckle; “what -will he say when he finds out that his house has been entered while he -was away!” - -[Sidenote: Note use of suspense throughout. The story is one long -crisis.] - -47. “Good-for-nothing!” cried the adjutant Gamba, taking him by the -ear, “do you know that I am able to make you change your tune? Perhaps -when I have given you a score or more thwacks with the flat of a sword, -you will speak at last!” - -48. But Fortunato still laughed derisively. - -49. “My father is Mateo Falcone!” he said with energy. - -50. “Do you know, you little rogue, that I can carry you off to Corte, -or to Bastia? I’ll make you sleep in a dungeon, on a pallet of straw, -your feet in irons, and I’ll have you guillotined, if you don’t tell -me where Gianetto Sanpiero is.” - -51. The child burst out laughing at this foolish threat. He only -repeated: - -52. “My father is Mateo Falcone!” - -[Sidenote: Compare with ¶4 and ¶49.] - -53. “Adjutant,” whispered one of the _voltigeurs_, “we’d better not -embroil ourselves with Mateo.” - -[Sidenote: Setting is thus interwoven with the story, though slightly.] - -[Sidenote: Character revelation.] - -54. Gamba seemed evidently embarrassed. He talked in a low voice with -his soldiers, who had already been through the house. It was not a -lengthy operation, for the cabin of a Corsican consists of only a -single square room. The furniture comprises a table, some benches, -a few boxes, and utensils for hunting and housekeeping. Meanwhile, -little Fortunato caressed his cat, and seemed maliciously to enjoy the -embarrassment of the _voltigeurs_ and his cousin. - -[Sidenote: Suspense augmented.] - -55. One soldier came up to the haystack. He looked at the cat and -carelessly gave a dig at the hay with his bayonet, shrugging his -shoulders as if he thought the precaution were ridiculous. Nothing -stirred, and the face of the child did not betray the least emotion. - -[Sidenote: More crafty coolness.] - -[Sidenote: The turn in the plot.] - -[Sidenote: FOUNDATION FOR MAIN CRISIS.] - -56. The adjutant and his troop were in despair; they were looking -seriously toward the edge of the plain, as though disposed to return -the way they had come; when their chief--convinced that threats would -produce no effect upon the son of Falcone--thought he would make one -last effort by trying the power of cajoleries and presents. - -57. “Little Cousin,” he said, “you seem to be a wide-awake young fellow -enough. You will get on! But you play a mean trick with me; and, if I -did not fear to give pain to my cousin Mateo, devil take me, I’d carry -you off with me!” - -58. “Bah!” - -59. “But, when my cousin returns I shall relate to him the whole -affair, and for your having gone to the trouble to tell me a lie, he -will give you the whip till he draws blood.” - -60. “Do you know that?” - -61. “You’ll find out! But, see here--be a good lad, and I’ll give you -something.” - -62. “I, my Cousin, will give you some advice--it is, that if you delay -any more Gianetto will reach the _maquis_, then it will take a cleverer -fellow to go and hunt for him.” - -[Sidenote: Main crisis augmented.] - -[Sidenote: PLOT INCIDENT PARTICULARIZED.] - -63. The adjutant drew from his pocket a silver watch worth quite ten -crowns; and seeing how the little Fortunato’s eyes sparkled when he -looked at it, he said, as he held the watch suspended at the end of its -steel chain: - -[Sidenote: Character appeal.] - -64. “You rogue! you would like very well to have such a watch as -this hung round your neck, and to go and promenade the streets of -Porto-Vecchio, proud as a peacock; people would ask you, ‘What time is -it?’ and you would reply, ‘Look at my watch!’” - -65. “When I am grown up, my uncle the corporal will give me a watch.” - -66. “Yes; but your uncle’s son has one already--not such a fine one as -this, it is true--of course, he is younger than you.” - -67. The child sighed. - -68. “Well, would you like this watch, little Cousin?” - -[Sidenote: Suspense.] - -[Sidenote: Illustration.] - -69. Fortunato, ogling the watch out of the corner of his eyes, looked -just as a cat does when they suddenly offer it a chicken. Because it is -afraid a joke is being played on it, it dares not pounce upon its prey, -and from time to time it turns away its eyes so as not to succumb to -the temptation; but it constantly licks its chops, as if to say to its -master, “But your joke is a cruel one!” - -70. However, the adjutant Gamba seemed to be offering the watch in good -faith. Fortunato did not hold out his hand, but he said to him with a -bitter smile: - -71. “Why do you jest with me?” - -72. “By Heaven, I am not joking! Only tell me where Gianetto is and -this watch is yours.” - -[Sidenote: Compare with ¶67.] - -73. Fortunato allowed an incredulous sigh to escape him; and, fixing -his black eyes on those of the adjutant, he sought to find in them the -faith he wished to have in his words. - -[Sidenote: A typical Latin protest.] - -74. “May I lose my epaulets,” cried the adjutant, “if I do not give you -the watch on these terms! My comrades are witnesses, and I cannot go -back on my word!” - -[Sidenote: A key to the plot.] - -[Sidenote: MAIN CRISIS.] - -75. So speaking, he held the watch nearer and nearer until it almost -touched the pale cheeks of the child, whose face showed plainly the -combat going on in his heart between covetousness and his respect -for the laws of hospitality. His bare breast heaved violently, and -he seemed to be almost stifling. All the time the watch dangled and -turned, and sometimes grazed the tip of his nose. At length, little by -little, his right hand lifted toward the watch, the ends of his fingers -touched it, and it rested wholly on his palm, except that the adjutant -still loosely held the end of the chain. The face was blue, the case -was newly polished--in the sunshine it seemed to be all afire. The -temptation was too strong. - -[Sidenote: CRISIS RESOLVED AND DOWNWARD ACTION BEGINS. HENCEFORWARD WE -SEE THE RESULTS OF CRISIS, LEADING TO THE CLIMAX.] - -[Sidenote: Still sly.] - -76. So Fortunato raised his left hand and with his thumb pointed -over his shoulder to the haystack against which he was standing. The -adjutant understood him immediately. He let go the end of the chain; -Fortunato felt himself sole possessor of the watch. He jumped up with -the agility of a deer, and moved ten paces away from the stack, which -the _voltigeurs_ at once began to overturn. - -77. It was not long before they saw the hay move, and a bleeding man, -poniard in hand, came forth. But when he tried to rise to his feet, -his stiffening wound would not permit him to stand. He fell down. -The adjutant threw himself upon him and snatched away his stiletto. -Speedily, he was securely bound, in spite of his resistance. - -78. Gianetto, laid on the ground and tied like a bundle of fagots, -turned his head toward Fortunato, who had drawn nearer. - -79. “Son of--,” he said to him with more contempt than anger. - -[Sidenote: FIRST CONTRIBUTORY INCIDENT. (A contributory incident might -be changed or even omitted without vitally changing the plot.)] - -[Sidenote: Tardy attempt to appear sincere.] - -[Sidenote: His contempt is all for Fortunato.] - -80. The boy threw to him the silver-piece that he had received from -him, feeling conscious that he no longer merited it; but the outlaw -seemed not to notice this action. He said to the adjutant in a -perfectly cool voice: - -[Sidenote: SECOND CONTRIBUTORY INCIDENT.] - -81. “My dear Gamba, I am not able to walk; you will be obliged to carry -me to the town.” - -82. “You could run as fast as a kid just now,” retorted his cruel -captor. “But be easy, I am so glad to have caught you that I could -carry you for a league on my own back without being tired. All the -same, my friend, we are going to make a litter for you out of some -branches and your cloak, and at the farm at Crespoli we shall find some -horses.” - -[Sidenote: Character revelation.] - -[Sidenote: Let-down in tension.] - -83. “Good!” said the prisoner. “You had better also put a little straw -on your litter that I may travel more easily.” - -[Sidenote: NEW AND RESULTANT CRISIS. FOURTH PLOT INCIDENT.] - -[Sidenote: Contrast to tragic spirit of the story.] - -[Sidenote: Local color.] - -84. While the _voltigeurs_ were occupied, some making a sort of -stretcher out of chestnut boughs, and others dressing Gianetto’s wound, -Mateo Falcone and his wife suddenly appeared in a bend of the path -which led from the _maquis_. The wife advanced, bending laboriously -under an enormous bag of chestnuts, while her husband came up jauntily, -carrying in his hand only a gun, while another was slung over his -shoulder, for it is unworthy of a man to carry any other burden than -his weapons. - -[Sidenote: “Bagatelle” discloses the Corsican attitude.] - -85. At sight of the soldiers, Mateo’s first thought was that they had -come to arrest him. But why that idea? Had he any quarrel with the law? -No. He bore a good reputation. He was, as they say, particularly well -thought of; but he was a Corsican, a mountaineer, and there are but -few Corsican mountaineers who, if they scrutinize their memories well, -cannot find some pecadillo--some gunshot, some dagger thrust, or some -similar bagatelle. Mateo, more than most, had a clear conscience, for -it was fully ten years since he had pointed his gun against a man; but -all the same he was prudent, and he put himself in position to make a -good defense, if need be. - -[Sidenote: To reload his weapons, as appears in ¶87.] - -86. “Wife,” said he to Giuseppa, “put down your sack and keep yourself -in readiness.” - -[Sidenote: Suspense.] - -[Sidenote: Local color.] - -87. She obeyed on the instant. He gave her the gun that was slung -over his shoulder, and which would likely cause him inconvenience. -He cocked the one he had in his hand and advanced slowly toward the -house, skirting the trees which bordered the path, and ready at the -least hostile demonstration to throw himself behind the largest -trunk, whence he could fire from cover. His wife walked close behind -him, holding his spare gun and his cartridge box. The duty of a good -housewife, in case of conflict, is to reload her husband’s weapons. - -[Sidenote: Development of fourth incident.] - -88. On the other side, the adjutant was very uneasy at sight of Mateo -advancing thus upon them with measured steps, his gun forward and his -finger on the trigger. - -[Sidenote: Key.] - -[Sidenote: A fight would ensue.] - -89. “If it should chance,” thought he, “that Gianetto is related to -Mateo, or that he is his friend, and he intends to protect him, the -bullets of his two guns will come to two of us as sure as a letter to -the post, and if he should aim at me, good-bye to our kinship!” - -[Sidenote: Note force of “alone.”] - -90. In this perplexity, he put on a courageous front and went forward -alone toward Mateo to tell him of the matter, while greeting him like -an old acquaintance; but the brief space that separated him from Mateo -seemed to him terribly long. - -[Sidenote: Note constraint.] - -91. “Hello! Ah! my old comrade,” he called out. “How are you, old -fellow? It’s I, Gamba, your cousin.” - -[Sidenote: Resolution of suspense.] - -92. Mateo, without replying a word, stopped, and while the other was -speaking he imperceptibly raised the muzzle of his rifle in such a -manner that it was pointing heavenward by the time the adjutant came up -to him. - -93. “Good day, brother,”[18] said the adjutant, holding out his hand. -“It’s a very long time since I’ve seen you.” - -94. “Good day, brother.” - -[Sidenote: Diminutive for Giuseppa.] - -[Sidenote: There is something manlike in most of Mérimée’s female -characters.] - -95. “I just came in, while passing, to say ‘good day’ to you and -my cousin Pepa. We have had a long journey to-day; but we must not -complain of fatigue, for we have taken a famous prize. We have just got -hold of Gianetto Sanpiero.” - -96. “God be praised!” exclaimed Giuseppa. “He stole one of our milch -goats last week.” - -[Sidenote: Character contrast.] - -97. These words rejoiced Gamba. - -98. “Poor devil!” said Mateo. “He was hungry.” - -[Sidenote: New crisis. PREPARATION FOR CLIMAX.] - -99. “The fellow defended himself like a lion,” pursued the adjutant, -slightly mortified. “He killed one of the men, and, not content with -that, he broke Corporal Chardon’s arm; but that is not such a great -disaster, for he is nothing but a Frenchman.... Then he hid himself so -cleverly that the devil would not have been able to find him. Without -my little cousin Fortunato, I should never have discovered him.” - -100. “Fortunato!” cried Mateo. - -101. “Fortunato!” repeated Giuseppa. - -102. “Yes, Gianetto was hidden way down in your haystack; but my little -cousin showed me his trick. So I will speak of him to his uncle the -corporal, that he may send him a fine present for his trouble. And his -name and yours will be in the report which I shall send to _Monsieur -l’avocat général_.” - -103. “Malediction!” said Mateo under his breath. - -[Sidenote: Misunderstanding adds to complication.] - -104. They had now rejoined the detachment. Gianetto was already laid -on the litter and they were ready to leave. When he saw Mateo in the -company of Gamba, he smiled a strange smile; then, turning himself -toward the door of the house, he spat on the threshold as he cried out: - -[Sidenote: Key to plot. FIFTH PLOT INCIDENT.] - -105. “House of a traitor!” - -106. No one but a man who had made up his mind to die would have dared -to utter the word “traitor” as applying to Falcone. One good stroke of -the dagger, which would not need to be repeated, would have immediately -repaid the insult. But Mateo made no other gesture than that of putting -his hand to his head like a dazed man. - -[Sidenote: THIRD CONTRIBUTORY INCIDENT.] - -[Sidenote: Is this repentance, fear, hypocrisy, or an attempt to -placate his father?] - -107. Fortunato had gone into the house upon seeing his father come -up. He reappeared shortly with a jug of milk, which he offered with -downcast eyes to Gianetto. “Keep away from me!” cried the outlaw in a -voice of thunder. - -108. Then turning to one of the _voltigeurs_, - -109. “Comrade, give me a drink of water,” he said. - -[Sidenote: Delineation of mood by suggestion.] - -110. The soldier placed the gourd in his hands, and the bandit drank -the water given him by a man with whom he had just exchanged gunshots. -He then asked that they would tie his hands across his breast instead -of having them behind his back. - -111. “I prefer,” he said, “to lie down at my ease.” - -[Sidenote: FOURTH CONTRIBUTORY INCIDENT.] - -112. When they had adjusted them to his satisfaction, the adjutant -gave the signal to start, said adieu to Mateo--who answered never a -word--and went down at a quick pace toward the plain. - -[Sidenote: Suspense.] - -113. Some ten minutes passed before Mateo opened his mouth. The child -looked with an uneasy eye first at his mother, then at his father, who, -leaning on his gun, was gazing at him with a gaze of concentrated wrath. - -[Sidenote: PREPARATION FOR CLIMAX.] - -[Sidenote: SIXTH AND FINAL PLOT INCIDENT.] - -114. “You begin well,” said Mateo at last, in a voice calm but -terrifying to those who knew the man. - -115. “Father!” exclaimed the child with tears in his eyes, drawing near -as if to fall upon his knees. - -116. But Mateo only cried out: - -117. “Away from me!” - -118. The child stopped and began to sob, standing motionless a few -steps from his father. - -119. Giuseppa came near. She had just perceived the chain of the watch -dangling about from Fortunato’s blouse. - -[Sidenote: Contrast with ¶114.] - -120. “Who gave you that watch?” she asked him severely. - -[Sidenote: Note the sly use of “cousin.”] - -121. “My cousin the adjutant.” - -[Sidenote: FIFTH CONTRIBUTORY INCIDENT.] - -122. Falcone seized the watch, and, throwing it violently against a -stone, broke it into a thousand pieces. - -123. “Woman,” he said, “this child--is he mine?” - -124. Giuseppa’s brown cheeks flamed brick-red. - -125. “What are you saying, Mateo? Do you know to whom you are speaking?” - -[Sidenote: Key.] - -126. “Well, this child is the first of his race who has committed a -treason.” - -[Sidenote: Decision, and foundation for final crisis.] - -[Sidenote: FULL RESULTANT CRISIS.] - -127. Fortunato’s sobs and hiccoughs redoubled, and Falcone kept his -lynx-eyes always fixed upon him. At length he struck the ground with -the butt of his gun; then he flung it across his shoulder and, calling -to Fortunato to follow him, retook the way to the _maquis_. The child -obeyed. - -128. Giuseppa ran after Mateo, and seized him by the arm. - -129. “He is your son,” she said to him in a trembling voice, fixing her -black eyes on those of her husband, as though to read what was passing -through his mind. - -[Sidenote: Note the double meaning.] - -130. “Let me go,” replied Mateo: “I am his father.” - -131. Giuseppa embraced her son, and went back crying into the hut. She -threw herself on her knees before an image of the Virgin, and prayed -with fervor. - -[Sidenote: Forecast.] - -132. Meanwhile, Falcone had walked about two-hundred yards along the -path, and stopped at a little ravine, which he descended. He sounded -the earth with the butt of his gun and found it soft and easy to dig. -The spot seemed suitable for his design. - -[Sidenote: Suspense.] - -133. “Fortunato, go near to that large rock.” - -134. The boy did as he was commanded, then he knelt down. - -135. “Say your prayers.” - -136. “Father, Father, do not kill me!” - -137. “Say your prayers!” repeated Mateo in a terrible voice. - -[Sidenote: “Our Father, etc.,” “I believe in God, etc.”] - -138. The child, all stammering and sobbing, repeated the _Pater_ and -the _Credo_. The father, in a firm voice responded Amen at the close of -each prayer. - -139. “Are those all the prayers that you know?” - -[Sidenote: “Hail Mary, etc.” A liturgical prayer.] - -140. “I also know the _Ave Maria_, and the _Litany_ that my aunt taught -me, Father.” - -141. “It is rather long, but it doesn’t matter.” - -[Sidenote: Note force of “achieved.”] - -142. The child achieved the _Litany_ in a faint voice. - -143. “Have you finished?” - -[Sidenote: Contrast with his former vicious “coolness.”] - -144. “Oh, Father, Father, mercy! Pardon me! I will never do it again! -I will beg my cousin the corporal with all my might for mercy for -Gianetto!” - -145. He went on speaking; Mateo loaded his rifle and took aim as he -said: - -146. “May God forgive you!” - -[Sidenote: FULL CLIMAX AND DENOUEMENT.] - -147. The boy made a desperate effort to get up and clasp his father’s -knees, but he had not time. Mateo fired, and Fortunato fell dead. - -[Sidenote: Note force of “throwing.”] - -148. Without throwing a single glance at the body, Mateo returned to -his house to fetch a spade with which to bury his son. He had taken but -a few steps when he met Giuseppa, who had run out, alarmed by the sound -of the firing. - -149. “What have you done?” - -150. “Justice!” - -151. “Where is he?” - -[Sidenote: SIXTH CONTRIBUTORY INCIDENT.] - -[Sidenote: Swift conclusion.] - -[Sidenote: Character revelation.] - -152. “In the ravine; I am going to bury him. He died a Christian; I -shall have a mass sung for him. Let some one tell my son-in-law Tiodoro -Bianchi to come and live with us.” - - - STEVENSON AND HIS WRITINGS - -Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson, as he was baptized, was born November -13, 1850, at Edinburgh, Scotland, of Scotch parents. He entered -Edinburgh University when he was seventeen, intending to learn his -father’s profession, civil engineering--though he had always longed -to be a writer, having dictated books at the precocious ages of six, -seven, and nine. At twenty-one he decided to study law, and four years -later passed the bar examination in his native city. In 1880 he married -Mrs. Osbourne, with whose son, Lloyd, he collaborated in the writing -of several stories. Stevenson’s health, which was never robust, sent -him on many journeys in search of strength--to the European continent, -several times to the United States, and once on a two years’ voyage to -the South Seas. In 1890 he finally settled in Samoa, where he died at -his home, Vailima, December 3, 1894. He was buried on the nearby summit -of Mount Vaea. - -Stevenson was a brilliant novelist, essayist, poet, and short-story -writer. _Treasure Island_, _Kidnapped_, _The Master of Ballantrae_, -and _Weir of Hermiston_--the last of which he left unfinished--are -his best novels. His journeys were chronicled by such delightful -travel-sketches as _An Inland Voyage_, _Travels With a Donkey_, and -_The Silverado Squatters_. _A Child’s Garden of Verse_ contains his -best poems. His most noteworthy essays are found in _Memories and -Portraits_, and _Familiar Studies of Men and Books_. Most famous among -his short-stories are “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” -(a novelette in length), “The Pavilion on the Links,” “Thrawn Janet,” -“Will o’ the Mill,” “The Sire de Malétroit’s Door,” “The Merry Men,” -“Markheim,” published first in _Unwin’s Annual_, London, 1885, and -given in this volume in full, and “A Lodging for the Night,” which -follows entire. It was first published in _The Temple Bar_ magazine, -October, 1877. - - * * * * * - -Stevenson was a supreme craftsman. No writer of the short-story in -English, except Edgar Allan Poe, was so conscious of his art and -so gifted to create up to the measure of his orderly knowledge. In -criticism of the story-teller’s art, Poe was the greater originator, -Stevenson the more brilliant generalizer; Poe was the deeper, -Stevenson the broader; Poe’s opinions as to form grew largely out of -his own consciousness, and shaped his practices--they were arrived -at deductively: Stevenson’s standards grew as his creations shaped -themselves, and were measurably molded by his own writings--they were -examples of inductive reasoning. Thus Stevenson was doubly equipped to -produce incomparably the greatest group of short-stories ever written -by a Briton before the days of Kipling, and some sound critics will -dispute even this reservation. In charm, in dash of style, in a sense -of form, in pure romantic spirit, and in penetrating human interest, -Stevenson ranks among the ten greatest short-story-tellers of his era. - - I wonder if any one had ever more energy upon so little - strength?--R. L. STEVENSON, _Vailima Letters_. - - In the highest achievements of the art of words, the dramatic and - the pictorial, the moral and romantic interest, rise and fall - together by a common and organic law. Situation is animated with - passion, passion clothed upon with situation. Neither exists - for itself, but each inheres indissolubly with the other. This - is high art; and not only the highest art possible in words, - but the highest art of all, since it combines the greatest mass - and diversity of the elements of truth and pleasure. Such are - epics, and the few prose tales that have the epic weight.--R. L. - STEVENSON, _A Gossip on Romance_. - - The stories of Stevenson exhibit a double union, as admirable as it - is rare. They exhibit the union of splendid material with the most - delicate skill in language; and they exhibit the union of thrilling - events with a remarkable power of psychological analysis.--WILLIAM - LYON PHELPS, _Essays on Modern Novelists_. - - Mr. Stevenson enjoys the reputation of being the modern - representative of the romantic school of fiction. There are others - of high repute, for romanticism is now the vogue, but there is - hardly any other whose name we would care to link with that of - Walter Scott.--WILLIAM H. SHERAN, _Handbook of Literary Criticism_. - - Perhaps the first quality in Mr. Stevenson’s works, now so many - and so various, which strikes a reader, is the buoyancy, the - survival of the child in him. He has told the world often, in - prose and verse, how vivid are his memories of his own infancy.... - The peculiarity of Mr. Stevenson is not only to have been a - fantastic child, and to retain, in maturity, that fantasy ripened - into imagination: he has also kept up the habit of dramatising - everything, of playing, half consciously, many parts, of making - the world “an unsubstantial fairy place....” It is the eternal - child that drives him to seek adventures and to sojourn among - beach-combers and savages.--ANDREW LANG, _Essays in Little_. - - It has been stated that the finer qualities of Stevenson are - called out by the psychological romance on native soil. He did - some brilliant and engaging work of foreign setting and motive.... - Judged as art, “The Bottle Imp” and “The Beach of Falesa” are - among the triumphs of ethnic interpretation, let alone their more - external charms of story. And another masterpiece of foreign - setting, “A Lodging for the Night,” is further proof of Stevenson’s - ability to use other than Scotch motives for the materials of his - art.... Few novelists of any race have beaten this wandering Scot - in the power of representing character and envisaging it, and there - can hardly be successful characterization without this allied power - of creating atmosphere.--RICHARD BURTON, _Masters of the English - Novel_. - - Not until 1877, and Robert Louis Stevenson’s first published - narrative, does any Englishman of real caliber show both desire and - ability to do something _new_ with the short story. This narrative - was “A Lodging for the Night,” published in _Temple Bar_ for - October.... “A Lodging for the Night” is as clearly and consciously - an impressionistic short story as George Meredith’s contemporary - novelettes are not of that category; the two stories which followed - (“Will o’ the Mill” and “The Sire de Malétroit’s Door”) would - assure the most timid critic of our generation that here was a - master in this department of fiction.... There is “The Strange Case - of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” that short story thrown over into the - form of a detective romance.... Or there is “Markheim,” a story - less powerful in execution, but more excellent in workmanship, - and an almost ideal example of the impressionistic short story. - Flaubert might have written the description of the curiosity - shop as the murderer saw it, with its accusing clock-voices, its - wavering shadows, from the inner door “a long slit of daylight like - a pointing finger.” And Flaubert would have praised the skilful - gradation of incident and description, whereby conscience gains - and gains in the struggle for Markheim’s mind. But Hawthorne would - have been prouder still of the plot--a weak man with a remnant of - high ideals suddenly realizing that his curve is plotted and can - lead him only downwards.... How like to Hawthorne’s usual way is - Stevenson’s determination to make, at all costs, a moral issue the - outcome of his story!... “Will o’ the Mill” is like a twice-told - tale not only in theme; its whole effect is Hawthornesque. “A - Lodging for the Night” has for its kernel a question of ethics.--H. - S. CANBY, _The Short Story in English_. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON STEVENSON - -_Mr. Stevenson’s Methods in Fiction_, A. Conan Doyle (1890); _Robert -Louis Stevenson, An Elegy_, Richard Le Gallienne (1895); _Robert -Louis Stevenson_, Walter Raleigh (1895); _Vailima Letters_, to -Sidney Colvin (1895); _Adventures in Criticism_, A. T. Quiller-Couch -(1896); _Critical Kit-Kats_, Edmund W. Gosse (1896); _Studies in Two -Literatures_, Arthur Symons (1897); _Life of Robert Louis Stevenson_, -Graham Balfour (1901); _Stevenson’s Attitude to Life_, J. F. Genung -(1901); _Memories of Vailima_, Isobel Strong and Lloyd Osbourne (1903); -_Robert Louis Stevenson_, W. R. Nicoll and G. K. Chesterton. - - - FOR ANALYSIS - - A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT - BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON - - -It was late in November, 1456. The snow fell over Paris with rigorous, -relentless persistence; sometimes the wind made a sally and scattered -it in flying vortices; sometimes there was a lull, and flake after -flake descended out of the black night air, silent, circuitous, -interminable. To poor people, looking up under moist eyebrows, it -seemed a wonder where it all came from. Master Francis Villon had -propounded an alternative that afternoon, at a tavern window; was -it only Pagan Jupiter plucking geese upon Olympus? or were the holy -angels moulting? He was only a poor master of arts, he went on; and as -the question somewhat touched upon divinity, he durst not venture to -conclude. A silly old priest from Montargis, who was among the company, -treated the young rascal to a bottle of wine in honor of the jest and -grimaces with which it was accompanied, and swore on his own white -beard that he had been just such another irreverent dog when he was -Villon’s age. - -2. The air was raw and pointed, but not far below freezing; and the -flakes were large, damp, and adhesive. The whole city was sheeted -up. An army might have marched from end to end and not a footfall -given the alarm. If there were any belated birds in heaven, they saw -the island like a large white patch, and the bridges like slim white -spars, on the black ground of the river. High up overhead the snow -settled among the tracery of the cathedral towers. Many a niche was -drifted full; many a statue wore a long white bonnet on its grotesque -or sainted head. The gargoyles had been transformed into great false -noses, drooping toward the point. The crockets were like upright -pillows swollen on one side. In the intervals of the wind, there was a -dull sound of dripping about the precincts of the church. - -3. The cemetery of St. John had taken its own share of the snow. All -the graves were decently covered; tall white housetops stood around -in grave array; worthy burghers were long ago in bed, be-nightcapped -like their domiciles; there was no light in all the neighborhood but -a little peep from a lamp that hung swinging in the church choir, and -tossed the shadows to and fro in time to its oscillations. The clock -was hard on ten when the patrol went by with halberds and a lantern, -beating their hands; and they saw nothing suspicious about the cemetery -of St. John. - -4. Yet there was a small house, backed up against the cemetery wall, -which was still awake, and awake to evil purpose, in that snoring -district. There was not much to betray it from without; only a stream -of warm vapor from the chimney-top, a patch where the snow melted -on the roof, and a few half-obliterated footprints at the door. But -within, behind the shuttered windows, Master Francis Villon, the poet, -and some of the thievish crew with whom he consorted, were keeping the -night alive and passing round the bottle. - -5. A great pile of living embers diffused a strong and ruddy glow -from the arched chimney. Before this straddled Dom Nicolas, the -Picardy monk, with his skirts picked up and his fat legs bared to the -comfortable warmth. His dilated shadow cut the room in half; and the -firelight only escaped on either side of his broad person, and in a -little pool between his outspread feet. His face had the beery, bruised -appearance of the continual drinker’s; it was covered with a network of -congested veins, purple in ordinary circumstances, but now pale violet, -for even with his back to the fire the cold pinched him on the other -side. His cowl had half fallen back, and made a strange excrescence on -either side of his bull neck. So he straddled, grumbling, and cut the -room in half with the shadow of his portly frame. - -6. On the right, Villon and Guy Tabary were huddled together over -a scrap of parchment; Villon making a ballad which he was to call -the “Ballad of Roast Fish,” and Tabary spluttering admiration at his -shoulder. The poet was a rag of a man, dark, little, and lean, with -hollow cheeks and thin black locks. He carried his four-and-twenty -years with feverish animation. Greed had made folds about his eyes, -evil smiles had puckered his mouth. The wolf and pig struggled together -in his face. It was an eloquent, sharp, ugly, earthly countenance. His -hands were small and prehensile, with fingers knotted like a cord; -and they were continually flickering in front of him in violent and -expressive pantomime. As for Tabary, a broad, complacent, admiring -imbecility breathed from his squash nose and slobbering lips: he -had become a thief, just as he might have become the most decent of -burgesses, by the imperious chance that rules the lives of human geese -and human donkeys. - -7. At the monk’s other hand, Montigny and Thevenin Pensete played a -game of chance. About the first there clung some flavor of good birth -and training, as about a fallen angel; something long, lithe, and -courtly in the person; something aquiline and darkling in the face. -Thevenin, poor soul, was in great feather: he had done a good stroke -of knavery that afternoon in the Faubourg St. Jacques, and all night -he had been gaining from Montigny. A flat smile illuminated his face; -his bald head shone rosily in a garland of red curls; his little -protuberant stomach shook with silent chucklings as he swept in his -gains. - -8. “Doubles or quits?” said Thevenin. - -9. Montigny nodded grimly. - -10. “Some may prefer to dine in state,” wrote Villon, “On bread and -cheese on silver plate. Or, or--help me out, Guido!” - -11. Tabary giggled. - -12. “Or parsley on a golden dish,” scribbled the poet. - -13. The wind was freshening without; it drove the snow before it, and -sometimes raised its voice in a victorious whoop, and made sepulchral -grumblings in the chimney. The cold was growing sharper as the night -went on. Villon, protruding his lips, imitated the gust with something -between a whistle and a groan. It was an eerie, uncomfortable talent of -the poet’s, much detested by the Picardy monk. - -14. “Can’t you hear it rattle in the gibbet?” said Villon. “They -are all dancing the devil’s jig on nothing, up there. You may -dance, my gallants, you’ll be none the warmer! Whew! what a gust! -Down went somebody just now! A medlar the fewer on the three-legged -medlar-tree!--I say, Dom Nicolas, it’ll be cold to-night on the St. -Denis Road?” he asked. - -15. Dom Nicolas winked both his big eyes, and seemed to choke upon his -Adam’s apple. Montfaucon, the great grisly Paris gibbet, stood hard by -the St. Denis Road, and the pleasantry touched him on the raw. As for -Tabary, he laughed immoderately over the medlars; he had never heard -anything more light-hearted; and he held his sides and crowed. Villon -fetched him a fillip on the nose, which turned his mirth into an attack -of coughing. - -16. “Oh, stop that row,” said Villon, “and think of rhymes to ‘fish.’” - -17. “Doubles or quits,” said Montigny, doggedly. - -18. “With all my heart,” quoth Thevenin. - -19. “Is there any more in that bottle?” asked the monk. - -20. “Open another,” said Villon. “How do you ever hope to fill that -big hogshead, your body, with little things like bottles? And how do -you expect to get to heaven? How many angels, do you fancy, can be -spared to carry up a single monk from Picardy? Or do you think yourself -another Elias--and they’ll send the coach for you?” - -21. “_Hominibus impossible_,” replied the monk, as he filled his glass. - -22. Tabary was in ecstasies. - -23. Villon filliped his nose again. - -24. “Laugh at my jokes, if you like,” he said. - -25. “It was very good,” objected Tabary. - -26. Villon made a face at him. “Think of rhymes to ‘fish,’” he -said. “What have you to do with Latin? You’ll wish you knew none -of it at the great assizes, when the devil calls for Guido Tabary, -_clericus_--the devil with the humpback and red-hot finger-nails. -Talking of the devil,” he added, in a whisper, “look at Montigny!” - -27. All three peered covertly at the gamester. He did not seem to be -enjoying his luck. His mouth was a little to a side; one nostril nearly -shut, and the other much inflated. The black dog was on his back, as -people say in terrifying nursery metaphor; and he breathed hard under -the grewsome burden. - -28. “He looks as if he could knife him,” whispered Tabary, with round -eyes. - -29. The monk shuddered, and turned his face and spread his open hands -to the red embers. It was the cold that thus affected Dom Nicolas, and -not any excess of moral sensibility. - -30. “Come, now,” said Villon--“about this ballad. How does it run so -far?” And beating time with his hand he read it aloud to Tabary. - -31. They were interrupted at the fourth rhyme by a brief and fatal -movement among the gamesters. The round was completed, and Thevenin -was just opening his mouth to claim another victory, when Montigny -leaped up, swift as an adder, and stabbed him to the heart. The blow -took effect before he had time to move. A tremor or two convulsed his -frame; his hands opened and shut, his heels rattled on the floor; then -his head rolled backward over one shoulder with the eyes wide open; and -Thevenin Pensete’s spirit had returned to Him who gave it. - -32. Everyone sprung to his feet; but the business was over in two -twos. The four living fellows looked at each other in rather a ghastly -fashion; the dead man contemplating a corner of the roof with a -singular and ugly leer. - -33. “My God!” said Tabary; and he began to pray in Latin. - -34. Villon broke out into hysterical laughter. He came a step forward -and ducked a ridiculous bow at Thevenin, and laughed still louder. -Then he sat down suddenly, all of a heap, upon a stool, and continued -laughing bitterly as though he would shake himself to pieces. - -35. Montigny recovered his composure first. - -36. “Let’s see what he has about him,” he remarked; and he picked the -dead man’s pockets with a practiced hand, and divided the money into -four equal portions on the table. “There’s for you,” he said. - -37. The monk received his share with a deep sigh, and a single stealthy -glance at the dead Thevenin, who was beginning to sink himself and -topple sideways off the chair. - -38. “We’re all in for it,” cried Villon, swallowing his mirth. “It’s -a hanging job for every man jack of us that’s here--not to speak of -those who aren’t.” He made a shocking gesture in the air with his -raised right hand, and put out his tongue and threw his head on one -side, so as to counterfeit the appearance of one who has been hanged. -Then he pocketed his share of the spoil, and executed a shuffle with -his feet as if to restore the circulation. - -39. Tabary was the last to help himself; he made a dash at the money, -and retired to the other end of the apartment. - -40. Montigny stuck Thevenin upright in the chair, and drew out a -dagger, which was followed by a jet of blood. - -41. “You fellows had better be moving,” he said, as he wiped the blade -on his victim’s doublet. - -42. “I think we had,” returned Villon, with a great gulp. “Damn his fat -head!” he broke out. “It sticks in my throat like phlegm. What right -has a man to have red hair when he is dead?” And he fell all of a heap -again upon the stool, and fairly covered his face with his hands. - -43. Montigny and Dom Nicolas laughed aloud, even Tabary feebly chiming -in. - -44. “Cry baby,” said the monk. - -45. “I always said he was a woman,” added Montigny, with a sneer. “Sit -up, can’t you?” he went on, giving another shake to the murdered body. -“Tread out that fire, Nick!” - -46. But Nick was better employed; he was quietly taking Villon’s purse, -as the poet sat, limp and trembling, on the stool where he had been -making a ballad not three minutes before. Montigny and Tabary dumbly -demanded a share of the booty, which the monk silently promised as -he passed the little bag into the bosom of his gown. In many ways an -artistic nature unfits a man for practical existence. - -47. No sooner had the theft been accomplished than Villon shook -himself, jumped to his feet, and began helping to scatter and -extinguish the embers. Meanwhile Montigny opened the door and -cautiously peered into the street. The coast was clear; there was no -meddlesome patrol in sight. Still it was judged wiser to slip out -severally; and as Villon was himself in a hurry to escape from the -neighborhood of the dead Thevenin, and the rest were in a still greater -hurry to get rid of him before he should discover the loss of his -money, he was the first by general consent to issue forth into the -street. - -48. The wind had triumphed and swept all the clouds from heaven. Only a -few vapors, as thin as moonlight, fleeted rapidly across the stars. It -was bitter cold; and by a common optical effect, things seemed almost -more definite than in the broadest daylight. The sleeping city was -absolutely still; a company of white hoods, a field full of little -alps, below the twinkling stars. Villon cursed his fortune. Would it -were still snowing! Now, wherever he went, he left an indelible trail -behind him on the glittering streets; wherever he went he was still -tethered to the house by the cemetery of St. John; wherever he went -he must weave, with his own plodding feet, the rope that bound him to -the crime and would bind him to the gallows. The leer of the dead man -came back to him with a new significance. He snapped his fingers as if -to pluck up his own spirits, and choosing a street at random, stepped -boldly forward in the snow. - -49. Two things preoccupied him as he went; the aspect of the gallows -at Montfaucon in this bright, windy phase of the night’s existence, -for one; and for another, the look of the dead man with his bald head -and garland of red curls. Both struck cold upon his heart, and he kept -quickening his pace as if he could escape from unpleasant thoughts by -mere fleetness of foot. Sometimes he looked back over his shoulder with -a sudden nervous jerk; but he was the only moving thing in the white -streets, except when the wind swooped round a corner and threw up the -snow, which was beginning to freeze, in spouts of glittering dust. - -50. Suddenly he saw, a long way before him, a black clump and a couple -of lanterns. The clump was in motion, and the lanterns swung as though -carried by men walking. It was a patrol. And though it was merely -crossing his line of march, he judged it wiser to get out of eyeshot -as speedily as he could. He was not in the humor to be challenged, and -he was conscious of making a very conspicuous mark upon the snow. Just -on his left hand there stood a great hotel, with some turrets and a -large porch before the door; it was half-ruinous, he remembered, and -had long stood empty; and so he made three steps of it, and jumped into -the shelter of the porch. It was pretty dark inside, after the glimmer -of the snowy streets, and he was groping forward with outspread hands, -when he stumbled over some substance which offered an indescribable -mixture of resistances, hard and soft, firm and loose. His heart gave -a leap, and he sprung two steps back and stared dreadfully at the -obstacle. Then he gave a little laugh of relief. It was only a woman, -and she dead. He knelt beside her to make sure upon this latter point. -She was freezing cold, and rigid like a stick. A little ragged finery -fluttered in the wind about her hair, and her cheeks had been heavily -rouged that same afternoon. Her pockets were quite empty; but in her -stocking, underneath the garter, Villon found two of the small coins -that went by the name of whites. It was little enough, but it was -always something, and the poet was moved with a deep sense of pathos -that she should have died before she had spent her money. That seemed -to him a dark and pitiful mystery; and he looked from the coins in his -hand to the dead woman, and back again to the coins, shaking his head -over the riddle of man’s life. - -51. Henry V. of England, dying at Vincennes just after he had conquered -France, and this poor jade cut off by a cold draught in a great man’s -doorway, before she had time to spend her couple of whites--it seemed -a cruel way to carry on the world. Two whites would have taken such -a little while to squander; and yet it would have been one more good -taste in the mouth, one more smack of the lips, before the devil got -the soul, and the body was left to birds and vermin. He would like -to use all his tallow before the light was blown out and the lantern -broken. - -52. While these thoughts were passing through his mind, he was feeling, -half mechanically, for his purse. Suddenly his heart stopped beating; a -feeling of cold scales passed up the back of his legs, and a cold blow -seemed to fall upon his scalp. He stood petrified for a moment; then -he felt again with one feverish movement; and then his loss burst upon -him, and he was covered at once with perspiration. To spend-thrifts -money is so living and actual--it is such a thin veil between them -and their pleasures! There is only one limit to their fortune--that -of time; and a spendthrift with only a few crowns is the Emperor of -Rome until they are spent. For such a person to lose his money is to -suffer the most shocking reverse, and fall from heaven to hell, from -all to nothing, in a breath. And all the more if he has put his head in -the halter for it; if he may be hanged to-morrow for that same purse, -so dearly earned, so foolishly departed! Villon stood and cursed; he -threw the two whites into the street; he shook his fist at heaven; -he stamped, and was not horrified to find himself trampling the poor -corpse. Then he began rapidly to retrace his steps toward the house -beside the cemetery. He had forgotten all fear of the patrol, which was -long gone by at any rate, and had no idea but that of his lost purse. -It was in vain that he looked right and left upon the snow; nothing -was to be seen. He had not dropped it in the streets. Had it fallen in -the house? He would have liked dearly to go in and see; but the idea -of the grisly occupant unmanned him. And he saw besides, as he drew -near, that their efforts to put out the fire had been unsuccessful; on -the contrary, it had broken into a blaze, and a changeful light played -in the chinks of door and window, and revived his terror for the -authorities and Paris gibbet. - -53. He returned to the hotel with the porch, and groped about upon the -snow for the money he had thrown away in his childish passion. But he -could only find one white; the other had probably struck sideways and -sunk deeply in. With a single white in his pocket, all his projects -for a rousing night in some wild tavern vanished utterly away. And -it was not only pleasure that fled laughing from his grasp; positive -discomfort, positive pain, attacked him as he stood ruefully before the -porch. His perspiration had dried upon him, and although the wind had -now fallen, a binding frost was setting in stronger with every hour, -and he felt benumbed and sick at heart. What was to be done? Late as -was the hour, improbable as was success, he would try the house of his -adopted father, the chaplain of St. Benoit. - -54. He ran there all the way, and knocked timidly. There was no answer. -He knocked again and again, taking heart with every stroke; and at last -steps were heard approaching from within. A barred wicket fell open in -the iron-studded door, and emitted a gush of yellow light. - -55. “Hold up your face to the wicket,” said the chaplain, from within. - -56. “It’s only me,” whimpered Villon. - -57. “Oh, it’s only you, is it?” returned the chaplain; and he cursed -him with foul unpriestly oaths for disturbing him at such an hour, and -bade him be off to hell, where he came from. - -58. “My hands are blue to the wrist,” pleaded Villon; “my feet are dead -and full of twinges; my nose aches with the sharp air; the cold lies -at my heart. I may be dead before morning. Only this once, father, and -before God, I will never ask again!” - -59. “You should have come earlier,” said the ecclesiastic coolly. -“Young men require a lesson now and then.” He shut the wicket and -retired deliberately into the interior of the house. - -60. Villon was beside himself; he beat upon the door with his hands and -feet, and shouted hoarsely after the chaplain. - -61. “Wormy old fox!” he cried. “If I had my hand under your twist, I -would send you flying headlong into the bottomless pit.” - -62. A door shut in the interior, faintly audible to the poet down long -passages. He passed his hand over his mouth with an oath. And then the -humor of the situation struck him, and he laughed and looked lightly up -to heaven, where the stars seemed to be winking over his discomfiture. - -63. What was to be done? It looked very like a night in the frosty -streets. The idea of the dead woman popped into his imagination, and -gave him a hearty fright; what had happened to her in the early night -might very well happen to him before morning. And he so young! and with -such immense possibilities of disorderly amusement before him! He felt -quite pathetic over the notion of his own fate, as if it had been some -one else’s, and made a little imaginative vignette of the scene in the -morning when they should find his body. - -64. He passed all his chances under review, turning the white between -his thumb and forefinger. Unfortunately he was on bad terms with some -old friends who would once have taken pity on him in such a plight. He -had lampooned them in verses; he had beaten and cheated them; and yet -now, when he was in so close a pinch, he thought there was at least -one who might perhaps relent. It was a chance. It was worth trying at -least, and he would go and see. - -65. On the way two little accidents happened to him which colored his -musings in a very different manner. For, first he fell in with the -track of a patrol, and walked in it for some hundred yards, although -it lay out of his direction. And this spirited him up; at least he -had confused his trail; for he was still possessed with the idea of -people tracking him all about Paris over the snow, and collaring him -next morning before he was awake. The other matter affected him quite -differently. He passed a street corner, where, not so long before, a -woman and her child had been devoured by wolves. This was just the -kind of weather, he reflected, when wolves might take it into their -heads to enter Paris again; and a lone man in these deserted streets -would run the chance of something worse than a mere scare. He stopped -and looked upon the place with an unpleasant interest--it was a center -where several lanes intersected each other; and he looked down them -all, one after another, and held his breath to listen, lest he should -detect some galloping black things on the snow or hear the sound of -howling between him and the river. He remembered his mother telling -him the story and pointing out the spot, while he was yet a child. His -mother! If he only knew where she lived, he might make sure at least -of shelter. He determined he would inquire upon the morrow; nay, he -would go and see her too, poor old girl! So thinking, he arrived at his -destination--his last hope for the night. - -66. The house was quite dark, like its neighbors; and yet after a few -taps, he heard a movement overhead, a door opening, and a cautious -voice asking who was there. The poet named himself in a loud whisper, -and waited, not without some trepidation, the result. Nor had he -to wait long. A window was suddenly opened, and a pailful of slops -splashed down upon the doorstep. Villon had not been unprepared for -something of the sort, and had put himself as much in shelter as the -nature of the porch admitted; but for all that, he was deplorably -drenched below the waist. His hose began to freeze almost at once. -Death from cold and exposure stared him in the face; he remembered he -was of phthisical tendency, and began coughing tentatively. But the -gravity of the danger steadied his nerves. He stopped a few hundred -yards from the door where he had been so rudely used, and reflected -with his nose. He could only see one way of getting a lodging, and that -was to take it. He had noticed a house not far away, which looked as if -it might be easily broken into, and thither he betook himself promptly, -entertaining himself on the way with the idea of a room still hot, with -a table still loaded with the remains of supper, where he might pass -the rest of the black hours and whence he should issue, on the morrow, -with an armful of valuable plate. He even considered on what viands -and what wines he should prefer; and as he was calling the roll of his -favorite dainties, roast fish presented itself to his mind with an odd -mixture of amusement and horror. - -67. “I shall never finish that ballad,” he thought to himself; and -then, with another shudder at the recollection, “Oh, damn his fat -head!” he repeated fervently, and spat upon the snow. - -68. The house in question looked dark at first sight; but as Villon -made a preliminary inspection in search of the handiest point of -attack, a little twinkle of light caught his eye from behind a -curtained window. - -69. “The devil!” he thought. “People awake! Some student or some -saint, confound the crew! Can’t they get drunk and lie in bed snoring -like their neighbors! What’s the good of curfew, and poor devils of -bellringers jumping at a rope’s end in bell-towers? What’s the use of -day, if people sit up all night! The gripes to them!” He grinned as he -saw where his logic was leading him. “Every man to his business, after -all,” added he, “and if they’re awake, by the Lord, I may come by a -supper honestly for once, and cheat the devil.” - -70. He went boldly to the door and knocked with an assured hand. On -both previous occasions, he had knocked timidly and with some dread -of attracting notice; but now, when he had just discarded the thought -of a burglarious entry, knocking at a door seemed a mighty simple and -innocent proceeding. The sound of his blows echoed through the house -with thin, phantasmal reverberations, as though the house were empty; -but these had scarcely died away before a measured tread drew near, -a couple of bolts were withdrawn, and one wing was opened broadly, as -though no guile or fear of guile were known to those within. A tall -figure of a man, muscular and spare, but a little bent, confronted -Villon. The head was massive in bulk, but finely sculptured; the nose -blunt at the bottom, but refining upward to where it joined a pair of -strong and honest eyebrows; the mouth and eyes surrounded with delicate -markings, and the whole face based upon a thick white beard, boldly -and squarely trimmed. Seen as it was by the light of a flickering -hand-lamp, it looked, perhaps, nobler than it had a right to do; but it -was a fine face, honorable rather than intelligent, strong, simple, and -righteous. - -71. “You knock late, sir,” said the old man, in resonant, courteous -tones. - -72. Villon cringed, and brought up many servile words of apology; at a -crisis of this sort, the beggar was uppermost in him, and the man of -genius hid his head with confusion. - -73. “You are cold,” repeated the old man, “and hungry? Well, step in.” -And he ordered him into the house with a noble enough gesture. - -74. “Some great seigneur,” thought Villon, as his host, setting down -the lamp on the flagged pavement of the entry, shot the bolts once more -into their places. - -75. “You will pardon me if I go in front,” he said, when this was -done; and he preceded the poet up-stairs into a large apartment, -warmed with a pan of charcoal and lit by a great lamp hanging from -the roof. It was very bare of furniture; only some gold plate on a -sideboard; some folios; and a stand of armor between the windows. -Some smart tapestry hung upon the walls, representing the crucifixion -of our Lord in one piece, and in another a scene of shepherds and -shepherdesses by a running stream. Over the chimney was a shield of -arms. - -76. “Will you seat yourself,” said the old man, “and forgive me if I -leave you? I am alone in my house to-night, and if you are to eat I -must forage for you myself.” - -77. No sooner was his host gone than Villon leaped from the chair on -which he had just seated himself, and began examining the room, with -the stealth and passion of a cat. He weighed the gold flagons in his -hand, opened all the folios, and investigated the arms upon the shield, -and the stuff with which the seats were lined. He raised the window -curtains, and saw that the windows were set with rich stained glass -in figures, so far as he could see, of martial import. Then he stood -in the middle of the room, drew a long breath, and, retaining it with -puffed cheeks, looked round and round him, turning on his heels, as if -to impress every feature of the apartment on his memory. - -78. “Seven pieces of plate,” he said. “If there had been ten, I would -have risked it. A fine house, and a fine old master, so help me all the -saints!” - -79. And just then, hearing the old man’s tread returning along the -corridor, he stole back to his chair, and began humbly toasting his wet -legs before the charcoal pan. - -80. His entertainer had a plate of meat in one hand and a jug of wine -in the other. He sat down the plate upon the table, motioning Villon -to draw in his chair, and, going to the sideboard, brought back two -goblets, which he filled. - -81. “I drink your better fortune,” he said, gravely touching Villon’s -cup with his own. - -82. “To our better acquaintance,” said the poet, growing bold. A mere -man of the people would have been awed by the courtesy of the old -seigneur, but Villon was hardened in that matter; he had made mirth for -great lords before now, and found them as black rascals as himself. And -so he devoted himself to the viands with a ravenous gusto, while the -old man, leaning backward, watched him with steady, curious eyes. - -83. “You have blood on your shoulder, my man,” he said. - -84. Montigny must have laid his wet right hand upon him as he left the -house. He cursed Montigny in his heart. - -85. “It was none of my shedding,” he stammered. - -86. “I had not supposed so,” returned his host, quietly. “A brawl?” - -87. “Well, something of that sort,” Villon admitted with a quaver. - -88. “Perhaps a fellow murdered?” - -89. “Oh, no, not murdered,” said the poet, more and more confused. -“It was all fair play--murdered by accident. I had no hand in it, God -strike me dead!” he added, fervently. - -90. “One rogue the fewer, I dare say,” observed the master of the house. - -91. “You may dare to say that,” agreed Villon, infinitely relieved. -“As big a rogue as there is between here and Jerusalem. He turned up -his toes like a lamb. But it was a nasty thing to look at. I dare say -you’ve seen dead men in your time, my lord?” he added, glancing at the -armor. - -92. “Many,” said the old man. “I have followed the wars, as you -imagine.” - -93. Villon laid down his knife and fork, which he had just taken up -again. - -94. “Were any of them bald?” he asked. - -95. “Oh, yes, and with hair as white as mine.” - -96. “I don’t think I should mind the white so much,” said Villon. -“His was red.” And he had a return of his shuddering and tendency to -laughter, which he drowned with a great draught of wine. “I’m a little -put out when I think of it,” he went on. “I knew him--damn him! And -then the cold gives a man fancies--or the fancies give a man cold, I -don’t know which.” - -97. “Have you any money?” asked the old man. - -98. “I have one white,” returned the poet, laughing. “I got it out of a -dead jade’s stocking in a porch. She was as dead as Cæsar, poor wench, -and as cold as a church, with bits of ribbon sticking in her hair. This -is a hard world in winter for wolves and wenches and poor rogues like -me.” - -99. “I,” said the old man, “am Enguerrand de la Feuillee, seigneur de -Brisetout, bailly du Patatrac. Who and what may you be?” - -100. Villon rose and made a suitable reverence. “I am called Francis -Villon,” he said, “a poor master of arts in this university. I know -some Latin, and a deal of vice. I can make chansons, ballads, lais, -virelais, and roundels and I am very fond of wine. I was born in a -garret and I shall not improbably die upon the gallows. I may add, my -lord, that from this night forward I am your lordship’s very obsequious -servant to command.” - -101. “No servant of mine,” said the knight; “my guest for this evening, -and no more.” - -102. “A very grateful guest,” said Villon, politely, and he drank in -dumb show to his entertainer. - -103. “You are shrewd,” began the old man, tapping his forehead, “very -shrewd; you have learning; you are a clerk; and yet you take a small -piece of money off a dead woman in the street. Is it not a kind of -theft?” - -104. “It is a kind of theft much practiced in the wars, my lord.” - -105. “The wars are the field of honor,” returned the old man, proudly. -“There a man plays his life upon the cast; he fights in the name of his -lord the king, his Lord God, and all their lordships the holy saints -and angels.” - -106. “Put it,” said Villon, “that I were really a thief, should I not -play my life also, and against heavier odds?” - -107. “For gain, but not for honor.” - -108. “Gain?” repeated Villon, with a shrug. “Gain! The poor fellow -wants supper, and takes it. So does the soldier in a campaign. Why, -what are all these requisitions we hear so much about? If they are not -gain to those who take them, they are loss enough to the others. The -men-at-arms drink by a good fire, while the burgher bites his nails to -buy them wine and wood. I have seen a good many plowmen swinging on -trees about the country; ay, I have seen thirty on one elm, and a very -poor figure they made; and when I asked some one how all these came to -be hanged, I was told it was because they could not scrape together -enough crowns to satisfy the men-at-arms.” - -109. “These things are a necessity of war, which the low-born must -endure with constancy. It is true that some captains drive overhard; -there are spirits in every rank not easily moved by pity; and indeed -many follow arms who are no better than brigands.” - -110. “You see,” said the poet, “you cannot separate the soldier -from the brigand; and what is a thief but an isolated brigand with -circumspect manners? I steal a couple of mutton chops, without so much -as disturbing people’s sleep; the farmer grumbles a bit, but sups none -the less wholesomely on what remains. You come up blowing gloriously -on a trumpet, take away the whole sheep, and beat the farmer pitifully -into the bargain. I have no trumpet; I am only Tom, Dick, or Harry; I -am a rogue and a dog, and hanging’s too good for me--with all my heart; -but just ask the farmer which of us he prefers, just find out which of -us he lies awake to curse on cold nights.” - -111. “Look at us two,” said his lordship. “I am old, strong, and -honored. If I were turned from my house to-morrow, hundreds would be -proud to shelter me. Poor people would go out and pass the night in -the streets with their children, if I merely hinted that I wished to -be alone. And I find you up, wandering homeless, and picking farthings -off dead women by the wayside! I fear no man and nothing; I have -seen you tremble and lose countenance at a word. I wait God’s summons -contentedly in my own house, or, if it please the king to call me out -again, upon the field of battle. You look for the gallows; a rough, -swift death, without hope or honor. Is there no difference between -these two?” - -112. “As far as to the moon,” Villon acquiesced. “But if I had been -born Lord of Brisetout, and you had been the poor scholar Francis, -would the difference have been any the less? Should I not have been -warming my knees at this charcoal pan, and would not you have been -groping for farthings in the snow? Should not I have been the soldier -and you the thief?” - -113. “A thief?” cried the old man. “I a thief! If you understood your -words you would repent them.” - -114. Villon turned out his hands with a gesture of inimitable -impudence. “If your lordship had done me the honor to follow my -argument!” he said. - -115. “I do you too much honor in submitting to your presence,” said -the knight. “Learn to curb your tongue when you speak with old and -honorable men, or some one hastier than I may reprove you in a sharper -fashion.” And he rose and paced the lower end of the apartment, -struggling with anger and antipathy. Villon surreptitiously refilled -his cup, and settled himself more comfortably in the chair, crossing -his knees and leaning his head upon one hand and the elbow against the -back of the chair. He was now replete and warm, and he was in nowise -frightened for his host, having gauged him as justly as was possible -between two such different characters. The night was far spent, and in -a very comfortable fashion after all; and he felt morally certain of a -safe departure on the morrow. - -116. “Tell me one thing,” said the old man, pausing in his walk. “Are -you really a thief?” - -117. “I claim the sacred rights of hospitality,” returned the poet. “My -lord, I am.” - -118. “You are very young,” the knight continued. - -119. “I should never have been so old,” replied Villon, showing his -fingers, “if I had not helped myself with these ten talents. They have -been my nursing mothers and my nursing fathers.” - -120. “You may still repent and change.” - -121. “I repent daily,” said the poet. “There are few people more given -to repentance than poor Francis. As for change, let somebody change my -circumstances. A man must continue to eat, if it were only that he may -continue to repent.” - -122. “The change must begin in the heart,” returned the old man -solemnly. - -123. “My dear lord,” answered Villon, “do you really fancy that I -steal for pleasure? I hate stealing, like any other piece of work or -of danger. My teeth chatter when I see a gallows. But I must eat, I -must drink, I must mix in society of some sort. What the devil! Man -is not a solitary animal--_Cui Deus fœminam tradit_. Make me king’s -pantler--make me abbot of St. Denis; make me bailly of the Patatrac; -and then I shall be changed indeed. But as long as you leave me the -poor scholar Francis Villon, without a farthing, why, of course, I -remain the same.” - -124. “The grace of God is all-powerful.” - -125. “I should be a heretic to question it,” said Francis. “It has -made you lord of Brisetout and bailly of the Patatrac; it has given -me nothing but the quick wits under my hat and these ten toes upon my -hands. May I help myself to wine? I thank you respectfully. By God’s -grace, you have a very superior vintage.” - -126. The lord of Brisetout walked to and fro with his hands behind -his back. Perhaps he was not yet quite settled in his mind about the -parallel between thieves and soldiers; perhaps Villon had interested -him by some cross-thread of sympathy; perhaps his wits were simply -muddled by so much unfamiliar reasoning; but whatever the cause, he -somehow yearned to convert the young man to a better way of thinking, -and could not make up his mind to drive him forth again into the -street. - -127. “There is something more than I can understand in this,” he said -at length. “Your mouth is full of subtleties, and the devil has led you -very far astray; but the devil is only a very weak spirit before God’s -truth, and all his subtleties vanish at a word of true honor, like -darkness at morning. Listen to me once more. I learned long ago that a -gentleman should live chivalrously and lovingly to God, and the king, -and his lady; and though I have seen many strange things done, I have -still striven to command my ways upon that rule. It is not only written -in all noble histories, but in every man’s heart, if he will take care -to read. You speak of food and wine, and I know very well that hunger -is a difficult trial to endure; but you do not speak of other wants; -you say nothing of honor, of faith to God and other men, of courtesy, -of love without reproach. It may be that I am not very wise--and yet -I am--but you seem to me like one who has lost his way and made a -great error in life. You are attending to the little wants, and you -have totally forgotten the great and only real ones, like a man who -should be doctoring toothache on the Judgment Day. For such things as -honor and love and faith are not only nobler than food and drink, but -indeed I think we desire them more, and suffer more sharply for their -absence. I speak to you as I think you will most easily understand me. -Are you not while careful to fill your belly, disregarding another -appetite in your heart, which spoils the pleasure of your life and -keeps you continually wretched?” - -128. Villon was sensibly nettled under all this sermonizing. “You think -I have no sense of honor!” he cried. “I’m poor enough, God knows! It’s -hard to see rich people with their gloves, and you blowing in your -hands. An empty belly is a bitter thing, although you speak so lightly -of it. If you had had as many as I, perhaps you would change your tune. -Any way, I’m a thief--make the most of that--but I’m not a devil from -hell, God strike me dead. I would have you to know I’ve an honor of my -own, as good as yours, though I don’t prate about it all day long, as -if it was a God’s miracle to have any. It seems quite natural to me; I -keep it in its box till it’s wanted. Why, now, look you here, how long -have I been in this room with you? Did you not tell me you were alone -in the house? Look at your gold plate! You’re strong, if you like, but -you’re old and unarmed, and I have my knife. What did I want but a jerk -of the elbow and here would have been you with the cold steel in your -bowels, and there would have been me, linking in the streets, with an -armful of golden cups! Did you suppose I hadn’t wit enough to see that? -And I scorned the action. There are your damned goblets as safe as in a -church, there are you with your heart ticking as good as new, and here -am I, ready to go out again as poor as I came in, with my one white -that you threw in my teeth! And you think I have no sense of honor--God -strike me dead!” - -129. The old man stretched out his right arm. “I will tell you what you -are,” he said. “You are a rogue, my man, an impudent and black-hearted -rogue and vagabond. I have passed an hour with you. Oh! believe me, I -feel myself disgraced! And you have eaten and drunk at my table. But -now I am sick at your presence; the day has come, and the night-bird -should be off to his roost. Will you go before, or after?” - -130. “Which you please,” returned the poet, rising. “I believe you to -be strictly honorable.” He thoughtfully emptied his cup. “I wish I -could add you were intelligent,” he went on, knocking on his head with -his knuckles. “Age! age! the brains stiff and rheumatic.” - -131. The old man preceded him from a point of self-respect; Villon -followed, whistling, with his thumbs in his girdle. - -132. “God pity you!” said the lord of Brisetout at the door. - -133. “Good-bye, papa,” returned Villon, with a yawn. “Many thanks for -the cold mutton.” - -134. The door closed behind him. The dawn was breaking over the white -roofs. A chill, uncomfortable morning ushered in the day. Villon stood -and heartily stretched himself in the middle of the road. - -135. “A very dull old gentleman,” he thought. “I wonder what his -goblets may be worth.” - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY - -1. Briefly write out the plot of the story. - -2. Which incidents are essential to the story (plot incidents)? - -3. Which incidents could be altered without vitally changing the story -(developing incidents)? For a discussion of these types of incidents -see the present author’s _Writing the Short-Story_, pp. 174-181. - -4. Show how one such change could be made. - -5. Does the external (visible or bodily) action stand out as clearly as -the internal (invisible or soul) action? - -6. (a) Is the story probable? (b) Usual? (c) Convincing?--That is, does -it seem real? - -7. What are its strongest points, to you? - -8. Criticise its weak points, if any. - -9. Can you suggest any improvements? - -10. (a) Do you know any stories similar in theme? (b) If so, which is -the better story, to you, and why? - -11. Briefly write out the plots of three stories of action or -adventure, taken from any book or magazine. - -12. Compare one of them with one of these two stories. - - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF ACTION AND ADVENTURE - -“After He was Dead,” Melville Davisson Post. _Atlantic Monthly_, -April, 1911. - -“The Attack on the Mill,” Émile Zola. Translated in _Great Short -Stories_. - -“The Taking of the Redoubt,” Prosper Mérimée. Translated in -_Short-Story Masterpieces_. - -“The Man Who Would be King,” Rudyard Kipling. In _The Phantom -Rickshaw_ (and other stories). - -“The Sire de Malétroit’s Door,” Robert Louis Stevenson. In _New -Arabian Nights_. - -“The Diamond Lens,” Fitz-James O’Brien. In _Short Story Classics, -American_. - -“The Young Man in a Hurry,” Robert W. Chambers. _Harper’s -Magazine_, Aug., 1903. - -“A Fight for the Tsarina,” Maurus Jókai. Translated in -_Masterpieces of Fiction_. - -“The Window that Monsieur Forgot,” Mary Imlay Taylor. _The -Booklovers Magazine_, Jan., 1904. - -“Blood o’ Innocence,” George W. Knapp. _Lippincott’s Magazine_, -Nov., 1907. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[13] AUTHOR’S NOTE.--Corporals were formerly the chief officers of the -Corsican communes after they had rebelled against their feudal lords. -To-day they still occasionally give the name to a man who--because of -his property, his relationships, and his business--commands a certain -influence, and a sort of effective magistracy over a parish or a -canton. The Corsicans divide themselves, after ancient custom, into -five castes: gentlemen (of whom some, _magnifiques_, are of higher -estate, and some of lower, _signori_), corporals, citizens, plebeians, -and foreigners. - -[14] AUTHOR’S NOTE.--This word is synonymous with outlaw. - -[15] AUTHOR’S NOTE.--_Voltigeurs_, that is, a body raised by the -government of late years which acts in conjunction with the police to -maintain order. - -[16] AUTHOR’S NOTE.--The uniform of the _voltigeurs_ was at that period -brown, with a yellow collar. - -[17] AUTHOR’S NOTE.--A leather belt which served the joint purpose of a -cartridge box and pocket for dispatches and orders. - -[18] AUTHOR’S NOTE.--_Buon giorno, fratello_--the ordinary salutation -of the Corsicans. - - - - - II - STORIES OF MYSTERY AND FANTASY - - _The Purloined Letter._--EDGAR ALLAN POE - _The Monkey’s Paw._--W. W. JACOBS - - - The fact is ... that, in the riddle story, the detective was an - after-thought, or, more accurately, a _deus ex machina_ to make - the story go. The riddle had to be unriddled; and who could do - it so naturally and readily as a detective? The detective, as - Poe saw him, was a means to this end; and it was only afterwards - that writers perceived his availability as a character. Lecoq - accordingly becomes a figure in fiction, and Sherlock, while he was - as yet a novelty, was nearly as attractive as the complications in - which he involved himself.--JULIAN HAWTHORNE, Introduction to _The - Lock and Key Library_. - - The literature of ghosts is very ancient. In visions of the night, - and in the lurid vapors of mystic incantations, figures rise and - smile, or frown and disappear. The Witch of Endor murmurs her - spell, and “an old man cometh up, and he is covered with a mantle.” - Macbeth takes a bond of fate, and from Hecate’s caldron, after - the apparition of an armed head and that of a bloody child, “an - apparition of a child crowned, with a tree in his hand, rises.” The - wizard recounts to Lochiel his warning vision, and Lochiel departs - to his doom. There are stories of the Castle of Otranto and of The - Three Spaniards, and the infinite detail of “singular experiences,” - which make our conscious daily life the frontier and border-land of - an impinging world of mystery.--GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS, Introduction - to _Modern Ghosts_. - - - STORIES OF MYSTERY AND FANTASY - -Even more deeply seated and elemental than our love for the mysterious -is our passion for undertaking its solution. It is this, doubtless, -that challenges us to match our wits with the clever rogues of fiction, -and to pit our resources of detection against the forces seen and -unseen which play in tales of the weird, the mysterious, and the -unexplained. - -Such stories readily fall into two classes, with as many sub-sorts as -the invention of man may compass--those which are soluble and those -which are not. Of the former, the detective story is the more common, -followed at no very great distance by the tale which seems to involve -the supernatural, but whose mystery transpires quite plainly in the -end. Of the latter are all those inexplicable wonder-fictions dealing -with shapes that haunt the dream-dusk, the whole shadow-land of wraiths -and spirits and presences and immaterialities which cross the borders -of experience at the call of fantasy. They are all the inheritance -of the credulous age in which romance was born, and few of us are -so engirded with the armor of stoicism that we cannot enjoy their -gathering goose-flesh and creeping spinal chill. Hawthorne and Poe and -Irving were masters here. - -The processes of inductive reasoning by which Voltaire’s Zadig -reconstructed actual occurrences from trivial clues have developed into -modern detective stories of uncounted variety, in which the criminal is -hunted down by a professional sleuth. Then, too, the “clever amateur” -often takes a hand in the game, and even accident plays at times, -until there is no end to the possible combinations growing out of pure -reasoning employed to unravel the tangle. - -Much the same processes are employed to discover the -pseudo-supernatural mystery, like Fitz-James O’Brien’s solved -ghost-story, “What Was It? A Mystery.” But when we enter the domain -of the unexplained, the story tends to become a study of fear and of -pure mystery, like Marion Crawford’s “The Upper Berth,” and “The Damned -Thing,” by Ambrose Bierce. - -Poe was the great American originator of the detective story, and -to-day his “Purloined Letter,” reproduced here in full, “The Mystery of -Marie Rogêt,” and “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” are unsurpassed. - - - POE AND HIS WRITINGS - -Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston, January 19, 1809. His father, of -a good Maryland family, was an actor, and his mother an actress of -English extraction. Both parents dying before Edgar was three, he, -with his brother William and sister Rosalie, was left homeless in -Richmond, where each found a protector. Mrs. Allan adopted Edgar, -giving him his middle name, and bestowing at the same time every -opportunity that wealth could offer. He was sent to school at Stoke -Newington, England, attended a private school in Richmond, and entered -the University of Virginia, but remained there less than a year, for -his reckless and erratic temperament champed under the restraints of -routine. He was placed in Mr. Allan’s counting-room, but ran away to -enlist in the United States Army as “Edgar Allan Perry.” After the -death of Mrs. Allan, her husband secured Poe’s discharge from the army -and his appointment to West Point as a cadet, July 1, 1830; but after -six months Poe contrived to be dismissed. He had already published -his poems successfully, so he went to New York, in the early part of -1831, to begin his professional literary life. For four years--1833 -to 1837--he wrote brilliantly for _The Southern Literary Messenger_, -in Baltimore. Then he went successively to New York and Philadelphia, -where he worked on various literary enterprises for six years. In 1844 -he returned to New York, and became assistant to N. P. Willis, in whose -journal, _The Mirror_, “The Raven” appeared in 1845. Poe’s literary -reputation was now established both in America and abroad, most of his -masterpieces having been created during the turbulent years of his -wanderings. In 1835 he had been married to Virginia Clemm, his cousin, -and her early death in 1847 broke his spirit. His health had already -succumbed to his morbid temperament--which magnified every sorrow of -his chaotic career--and to the excesses of drugs and drink. He died -most unhappily, October 7, 1849, at the age of forty--a master spirit -pitifully wrecked before his prime. - -Poe was a remarkable poet, essayist, critic, and short-story writer. -“The Raven,” “Lenore,” “Ulalume,” “The Bells,” “Annabel Lee,” -“Israfel,” and “To One in Paradise” are among his best poems. Probably -the greatest of his stories are, “MS. Found in A Bottle,” “The -Assignation,” “Ligeia,” “The Murders in The Rue Morgue,” “The Mystery -of Marie Rogêt,” “A Descent into The Maelstrom,” “The Masque of The Red -Death,” “The Pit and the Pendulum,” “The Gold Bug,” “The Black Cat,” -“The Cask of Amontillado,” “The Fall of the House of Usher,” first -published in _Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine_, September, 1839--and “The -Purloined Letter,” first published in _The Gift_, an “annual,” in 1845. - -Poe was the greatest conscious artist that American literature has -ever known. He not only looked backward upon his own work and, as -did Stevenson, clearly traced the operations of his mind in its -production, but he built up a structure of literary theory which has -been powerfully attacked, indeed, but whose walls remain substantially -whole to-day. To his constructive criticism of the short-story is -directly due its present advanced form, for while current practice -has widely departed from Poe’s morbid, gloomy, extravagant themes and -formal, abundant diction, his stories are still unsurpassed for vigor, -atmosphere, invention, and thrill, and his laws of composition are read -everywhere with the respect due authority. - - - Ah, dream too bright to last! - Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise - But to be overcast! - A voice from out the Future cries, - “Onward!”--but o’er the Past - (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies, - Mute--motionless--aghast! - - EDGAR ALLAN POE, _The Assignation_. - - - Had you lived a generation later, honor, wealth, applause, success - in Europe and at home, would all have been yours.--ANDREW LANG, - _Letters to Dead Authors_. - - There are literary evolutionists who, in their whim of seeing in - every original writer a copy of some predecessor, have declared - that Hawthorne is derived from Tieck, and Poe from Hoffmann.... - If the adjective American has any meaning at all, it qualifies - Poe and Hawthorne. They were American to the core. They both - revealed the curious sympathy with Oriental moods of thought - which is often an American characteristic. Poe, with his cold - logic and his mathematical analysis, and Hawthorne, with his - introspective conscience and his love of the subtle and the - invisible, are representative of phases of American character not - to be mistaken by any one who has given thought to the influence - of nationality.... Nothing better of its kind has ever been done - than the “Pit and the Pendulum,” or than the “Fall of the House - of Usher” (which has been compared aptly with Browning’s “Childe - Roland to the Dark Tower Came” for its power of suggesting - intellectual desolation). Nothing better of its kind has ever been - done than the “Gold Bug,” or than the “Purloined Letter,” or than - the “Murders in the Rue Morgue.”--BRANDER MATTHEWS, _The Philosophy - of the Short-story_. - - The conception of gloomy terror which impregnates “The House of - Usher” is as complete as the idea of medieval chivalry underlying - _Ivanhoe_.... To be sure, the terror in his stories, so he said in - his preface to the _Tales of the Grotesque and the Arabesque_, was - “not of Germany, but of the soul....” Yet one can readily believe - that his Roderick in “The House of Usher,” who pored over books - which had the “character of phantasm,” Morella, who was interested - in the transcendentalism of Schelling and Fichte, Ægæus, whom “the - realities of the world affected--as visions,” are all identical - with the Young Poe when he freed his mind and later his fancy in - the fields where Novalis sought the blue flower and all the German - romanticists wandered.... To say that Poe was a creature of German - influence would be absurd. To say that German thought and fancy - were sympathetic to his genius, would be putting it too mildly. - Between these extremes the truth must lie.--H. S. CANBY, _The Short - Story in English_. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON POE - -_Prose Writers of America_, Rufus W. Griswold (1870); _Short Studies -of American Authors_, Thomas W. Higginson (1880); _Letters to Dead -Authors_, Andrew Lang (1886); _Criticisms on Contemporary Thought_, -Richard H. Hutton (1894); _American Lands and Letters_, Donald G. -Mitchell (1897-99); _Life of Edgar Allan Poe_, R. H. Stoddard (1899); -_Poe and Some of His Critics_, C. W. Hubner (1906); _Life of Edgar -Allan Poe, Personal and Literary_, George E. Woodberry (1909); _Edgar -Allan Poe, A Critical Study_, Arthur Ransome (1910). - - - THE PURLOINED LETTER - - Nil sapientiae odiosius acumina nimio.--_Seneca._ - (Nothing is more odious to wisdom than too great acumen.) - - BY EDGAR ALLAN POE - -[Sidenote: FORMAL INTRODUCTION.] - -[Sidenote: Dupin appears as the detective in Poe’s other mystery -stories, “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” and “The Mystery of Marie -Rogêt.”] - -[Sidenote: _Au troisième_--third flight, or fourth floor.] - -[Sidenote: Compare this story with Sardou’s “A Scrap of Paper.”] - -[Sidenote: G---- also appears in “The Mystery of Marie Rogêt.”] - -At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 18--, I -was enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and a meerschaum, in -company with my friend C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back library, -or book closet, _au troisième, No. 33 Rue Dunôt, Faubourg St. -Germain_. For one hour at least we had maintained a profound silence; -while each, to any casual observer, might have seemed intently and -exclusively occupied with the curling eddies of smoke that oppressed -the atmosphere of the chamber. For myself, however, I was mentally -discussing certain topics which had formed matter for conversation -between us at an earlier period of the evening; I mean the affair of -the Rue Morgue, and the mystery attending the murder of Marie Rogêt. I -looked upon it, therefore, as something of a coincidence, when the door -of our apartment was thrown open and admitted our old acquaintance, -Monsieur G----, the Prefect of the Parisian police. - -[Sidenote: Careless English.] - -2. We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly half as much -of the entertaining as of the contemptible about the man, and we had -not seen him for several years. We had been sitting in the dark, and -Dupin now arose for the purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down again, -without doing so, upon G----'s saying that he had called to consult -us, or rather to ask the opinion of my friend, about some official -business which had occasioned a great deal of trouble. - -3. “If it is any point requiring reflection,” observed Dupin, as he -forbore to enkindle the wick, “we shall examine it to better purpose -in the dark.” - -[Sidenote: Later writers of detective stories follow Poe’s lead in -showing contempt for police officials.] - -4. “That is another of your odd notions,” said the Prefect, who had a -fashion of calling everything “odd” that was beyond his comprehension, -and thus lived amid an absolute legion of “oddities.” - -5. “Very true,” said Dupin, as he supplied his visitor with a pipe, and -rolled towards him a comfortable chair. - -6. “And what is the difficulty now?” I asked. “Nothing more in the -assassination way, I hope?” - -7. “Oh, no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the business is _very_ -simple, indeed, and I make no doubt that we can manage it sufficiently -well ourselves; but then I thought Dupin would like to hear the details -of it, because it is so excessively _odd_.” - -8. “Simple and odd,” said Dupin. - -[Sidenote: Poe makes G---- to serve as a foil for Dupin, while the -narrator plays Watson to Dupin’s Sherlock--but Poe came first!] - -9. “Why, yes; and not exactly that, either. The fact is, we have all -been a good deal puzzled because the affair is so simple, and yet -baffles us altogether.” - -[Sidenote: Forecast of denouement. Note how this point is emphasized.] - -10. “Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts you at -fault,” said my friend. - -11. “What nonsense you _do_ talk!” replied the Prefect, laughing -heartily. - -12. “Perhaps the mystery is a little _too_ plain,” said Dupin. - -13. “Oh, good Heavens! who ever heard of such an idea?” - -14. “A little _too_ self-evident.” - -[Sidenote: Later imitators freely use this scheme of the superior pose -of the police.] - -15. “Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ho! ho! ho!” roared our visitor, -profoundly amused. “Oh, Dupin, you will be the death of me yet!” - -16. “And what, after all, is the matter on hand?” I asked. - -[Sidenote: This device has since been much overworked.] - -17. “Why, I will tell you,” replied the Prefect, as he gave a long, -steady, and contemplative puff, and settled himself in his chair. “I -will tell you in a few words; but, before I begin, let me caution you -that this is an affair demanding the greatest secrecy, and that I -should most probably lose the position I now hold were it known that I -confided it to any one.” - -[Sidenote: LENGTHY INTRODUCTION ENDS. Note that this is one unified -story, with much philosophising, but no minor episodes.] - -18. “Proceed,” said I. - -19. “Or not,” said Dupin. - -[Sidenote: The foundation laid; SUMMARY OF PROBLEM.] - -20. “Well, then; I have received personal information from a very -high quarter that a certain document of the last importance has been -purloined from the royal apartments. The individual who purloined it is -known; this beyond a doubt; he was seen to take it. It is known, also, -that it still remains in his possession.” - -21. “How is this known?” asked Dupin. - -[Sidenote: Development of problem.] - -22. “It is clearly inferred,” replied the Prefect, “from the nature -of the document, and from the non-appearance of certain results which -would at once arise from its passing out of the robber’s possession; -that is to say, from his employing it as he must design in the end to -employ it.” - -23. “Be a little more explicit,” I said. - -24. “Well, I may venture so far as to say that the paper gives its -holder a certain power in a certain quarter where such power is -immensely valuable.” The Prefect was fond of the cant of diplomacy. - -25. “Still I do not quite understand,” said Dupin. - -[Sidenote: Importance of problem.] - -26. “No? well; the disclosure of the document to a third person, who -shall be nameless, would bring in question the honor of a personage of -most exalted station; and this fact gives the holder of the document an -ascendency over the illustrious personage whose honor and peace are so -jeopardized.” - -[Sidenote: Philosophy of problem.] - -27. “But this ascendency,” I interposed, “would depend upon the -robber’s knowledge of the loser’s knowledge of the robber. Who would -dare--” - -[Sidenote: Unique situation: the thief is known.] - -[Sidenote: Method and circumstances of the theft related.] - -[Sidenote: See note on ¶115, p. 104.] - -[Sidenote: Note “the”.] - -28. “The thief,” said G----, “is the Minister D----, who dares all -things, those unbecoming as well as those becoming a man. The method of -the theft was not less ingenious than bold. The document in question--a -letter, to be frank--had been received by the personage robbed while -alone in the royal _boudoir_. During its perusal she was suddenly -interrupted by the entrance of the other exalted personage, from -whom especially it was her wish to conceal it. After a hurried and -vain endeavor to thrust it in a drawer, she was forced to place it, -open as it was, upon a table. The address, however, was uppermost, -and, the contents thus unexposed, the letter escaped notice. At this -juncture enters the Minister D----. His lynx eye immediately perceives -the paper, recognizes the handwriting of the address, observes the -confusion of the personage addressed, and fathoms her secret. After -some business transactions, hurried through in his ordinary manner, -he produces a letter somewhat similar to the one in question, opens -it, pretends to read it, and then places it in close juxtaposition to -the other. Again he converses for some fifteen minutes upon the public -affairs. At length in taking leave he takes also from the table the -letter to which he had no claim. Its rightful owner saw, but of course -dared not call attention to the act, in the presence of the third -personage, who stood at her elbow. The minister decamped, leaving his -own letter--one of no importance--upon the table.” - -29. “Here, then,” said Dupin to me, “you have precisely what you demand -to make the ascendency complete--the robber’s knowledge of the loser’s -knowledge of the robber.” - -[Sidenote: Results of theft.] - -[Sidenote: End of statement of case as a problem.] - -30. “Yes,” replied the Prefect; “and the power thus attained has, for -some months past, been wielded, for political purposes, to a very -dangerous extent. The personage robbed is more thoroughly convinced, -every day, of the necessity of reclaiming her letter. But this, of -course, cannot be done openly. In fine, driven to despair, she has -committed the matter to me.” - -[Sidenote: Character development.] - -[Sidenote: Satire supports his attitude toward the police.] - -31. “Than whom,” said Dupin, amid a perfect whirlwind of smoke, “no -more sagacious agent could, I suppose, be desired, or even imagined.” - -[Sidenote: Character delineation.] - -32. “You flatter me,” replied the Prefect; “but it is possible that -some such opinion may have been entertained.” - -33. “It is clear,” said I, “as you observe, that the letter is still in -possession of the minister; since it is this possession, and not any -employment of the letter, which bestows the power. With the employment -the power departs.” - -[Sidenote: ATTEMPTS AT RECOVERY OF THE PURLOINED LETTER. SECOND STAGE -OF THE PLOT.] - -34. “True,” said G----, “and upon this conviction I proceeded. My first -care was to make thorough search of the minister’s hotel; and here -my chief embarrassment lay in the necessity of searching without his -knowledge. Beyond all things, I have been warned of the danger which -would result from giving him reason to suspect our design.” - -[Sidenote: _Au fait_--to the point; therefore, at home.] - -35. “But,” said I, “you are quite _au fait_ in these investigations. -The Parisian police have done this thing often before.” - -36. “Oh, yes; and for this reason I did not despair. The habits of the -minister gave me, too, a great advantage. He is frequently absent from -home all night. His servants are by no means numerous. They sleep at a -distance from their master’s apartment, and being chiefly Neapolitans, -are readily made drunk. I have keys, as you know, with which I can -open any chamber or cabinet in Paris. For three months, a night has -not passed during the greater part of which I have not been engaged, -personally, in ransacking the D---- Hotel. My honor is interested, and, -to mention a great secret, the reward is enormous. So I did not abandon -the search until I had become fully satisfied that the thief is a more -astute man than myself. I fancy that I have investigated every nook and -corner of the premises in which it is possible that the paper can be -concealed.” - -37. “But is it not possible,” I suggested, “that although the letter -may be in possession of the minister, as it unquestionably is, he may -have concealed it elsewhere than upon his own premises?” - -[Sidenote: Inferential reasoning.] - -38. “This is barely possible,” said Dupin. “The present peculiar -condition of affairs at court, and especially of those intrigues -in which D---- is known to be involved, would render the instant -availability of the document--its susceptibility of being produced -at a moment’s notice--a point of nearly equal importance with its -possession.” - -39. “Its susceptibility of being produced?” said I. - -[Sidenote: Note the distinction.] - -40. “That is to say, of being _destroyed_,” said Dupin. - -[Sidenote: A just inference.] - -41. “True,” I observed; “the paper is clearly then upon the premises. -As for its being upon the person of the minister, we may consider that -as out of the question.” - -42. “Entirely,” said the Prefect. “He has been twice waylaid, as if by -footpads, and his person rigorously searched under my own inspection.” - -43. “You might have spared yourself this trouble,” said Dupin. “D----, -I presume, is not altogether a fool, and, if not, must have anticipated -these waylayings as a matter of course.” - -44. “Not _altogether_ a fool,” said G----; “but then he’s a poet, which -I take to be only one remove from a fool.” - -45. “True,” said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful whiff from his -meerschaum, “although I have been guilty of certain doggerel myself.” - -46. “Suppose you detail,” said I, “the particulars of your search.” - -[Sidenote: The thoroughness of the search tends to interest the reader -in the problem as a difficult one.] - -[Sidenote: On Poe’s “police methods” most modern detective writers have -drawn for material.] - -47. “Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we searched _everywhere_. -I have had long experience in these affairs. I took the entire -building, room by room, devoting the nights of a whole week to each. -We examined, first, the furniture of each apartment. We opened every -possible drawer; and I presume you know that, to a properly trained -police agent, such a thing as a _secret_ drawer is impossible. Any -man is a dolt who permits a ‘secret’ drawer to escape him in a search -of this kind. The thing is _so_ plain. There is a certain amount of -bulk--of space--to be accounted for in every cabinet. Then we have -accurate rules. The fiftieth part of a line could not escape us. After -the cabinets we took the chairs. The cushions we probed with the fine -long needles you have seen me employ. From the tables we removed the -tops.” - -48. “Why so?” - -[Sidenote: Doubtless the narrator speaks.] - -49. “Sometimes the top of a table, or other similarly arranged piece -of furniture, is removed by the person wishing to conceal an article; -then the leg is excavated, the article deposited within the cavity, and -the top replaced. The bottoms and tops of bed-posts are employed in the -same way.” - -50. “But could not the cavity be detected by sounding?” I asked. - -[Sidenote: Note improper shifting of tenses in question and answer.] - -51. “By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a sufficient -wadding of cotton be placed around it. Besides, in our case we were -obliged to proceed without noise.” - -52. “But you could not have removed--you could not have taken to pieces -_all_ articles of furniture in which it would have been possible to -make a deposit in the manner you mention. A letter may be compressed -into a thin spiral roll, not differing much in shape or bulk from a -large knitting-needle, and in this form it might be inserted into -the rung of a chair, for example. You did not take to pieces all the -chairs?” - -[Sidenote: Note how ingeniously Poe weaves his knowledge of detective -methods into the actual search of the story.] - -53. “Certainly not; but we did better--we examined the rungs of every -chair in the hotel, and indeed, the jointings of every description of -furniture, by the aid of a most powerful microscope. Had there been any -traces of recent disturbance we should not have failed to detect it -instantly. A single grain of gimlet-dust, for example, would have been -as obvious as an apple. Any disorder in the gluing--any unusual gaping -in the joints--would have sufficed to insure detection.” - -54. “I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the boards and the -plates, and you probed the beds and the bed-clothes, as well as the -curtains and carpets?” - -55. “That, of course; and when we had absolutely completed every -particle of the furniture in this way, then we examined the house -itself. We divided its entire surface into compartments, which we -numbered, so that none might be missed; then we scrutinized each -individual square inch throughout the premises including the two houses -immediately adjoining, with the microscope, as before.” - -[Sidenote: This seems to be a break in the chain of probability, as -G---- has already carefully explained how he was able to go over D----'s -house with impunity.] - -56. “The two houses adjoining!” I exclaimed; “you must have had a great -deal of trouble.” - -57. “We had; but the reward offered is prodigious.” - -58. “You include the _grounds_ about the houses?” - -59. “All the grounds are paved with brick. They gave us comparatively -little trouble. We examined the moss between the bricks, and found it -undisturbed.” - -60. “You looked among D---- 's papers, of course, and into the books of -the library?” - -[Sidenote: Note unusual word.] - -61. “Certainly; we opened every package and parcel; we not only -opened every book, but we turned over every leaf in each volume, not -contenting ourselves with a mere shake, according to the fashion of -some of our police officers. We also measured the thickness of every -book-_cover_, with the most accurate admeasurement, and applied to each -the most jealous scrutiny of the microscope. Had any of the bindings -been recently meddled with, it would have been utterly impossible that -the fact should have escaped observation. Some five or six volumes, -just from the hands of the binder, we carefully probed, longitudinally, -with the needles.” - -62. “You explored the floors beneath the carpets?” - -63. “Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and examined the boards -with the microscope.” - -64. “And the paper on the walls?” - -65. “Yes.” - -66. “You looked into the cellars?” - -67. “We did.” - -[Sidenote: Dupin would not have said this.] - -68. “Then,” I said, “you have been making a miscalculation, and the -letter is _not_ on the premises, as you suppose.” - -[Sidenote: FIRST DEDUCTION REJECTED.] - -69. “I fear you are right there,” said the Prefect. “And now, Dupin, -what would you advise me to do?” - -[Sidenote: THIRD STAGE OF PLOT.] - -70 “To make a thorough research of the premises.” - -71. “That is absolutely needless,” replied G----. “I am not more sure -that I breathe than I am that the letter is not at the Hotel.” - -[Sidenote: Preparation for denouement.] - -72. “I have no better advice to give you,” said Dupin. “You have, of -course, an accurate description of the letter?” - -[Sidenote: Attempt to mislead reader.] - -[Sidenote: Note the patronizing “good gentleman.”] - -73. “Oh, yes.” And here the Prefect, producing a memorandum-book, -proceeded to read aloud a minute account of the internal, and -especially of the external, appearance of the missing document. Soon -after finishing the perusal of this description, he took his departure, -more entirely depressed in spirits than I had ever known the good -gentleman before. - - -74. In about a month afterwards he paid us another visit, and found us -occupied very nearly as before. He took a pipe and a chair, and entered -into some ordinary conversation. At length I said: - -75. “Well, but G----, what of the purloined letter? I presume you have -at last made up your mind that there is no such thing as overreaching -the minister?” - -76. “Confound him, say I--yes; I made the reëxamination, however, as -Dupin suggested--but it was all labor lost, as I knew it would be.” - -77. “How much was the reward offered, did you say?” asked Dupin. - -78. “Why, a very great deal--a _very_ liberal reward--I don’t like to -say how much precisely; but one thing I _will_ say, that I wouldn’t -mind giving my individual check for fifty thousand francs to any one -who would obtain me that letter. The fact is, it is becoming of more -and more importance every day; and the reward has been lately doubled. -If it were trebled, however, I could do no more than I have done.” - -79. “Why, yes,” said Dupin drawlingly, between the whiffs of his -meerschaum, “I really--think, G----, you have not exerted yourself--to -the utmost in this matter. You might--do a little more, I think, eh?” - -80. “How?--in what way?” - -[Sidenote: FOURTH STAGE OF PLOT.] - -[Sidenote: Illustrative anecdote of Dr. John Abernethy, the English -surgeon.] - -81. “Why [puff, puff], you might [puff, puff] employ counsel in the -matter, eh? [puff, puff, puff] Do you remember the story they tell of -Abernethy?” - -82. “No; hang Abernethy!” - -83. “To be sure! hang him and welcome. But once upon a time, a certain -rich miser conceived the design of sponging upon this Abernethy for a -medical opinion. Getting up, for this purpose, an ordinary conversation -in a private company, he insinuated his case to the physician as that -of an imaginary individual.” - -84. “‘We will suppose,’ said the miser, ‘that his symptoms are such -and such; now, doctor, what would _you_ have directed him to take?’” - -85. “‘Take!’ said Abernethy, ‘why, take _advice_, to be sure.’” - -86. “But,” said the Prefect, a little discomposed, “I am _perfectly_ -willing to take advice, and to pay for it. I would _really_ give fifty -thousand francs to any one who would aid me in the matter.” - -[Sidenote: MINOR CLIMAX.] - -87. “In that case,” replied Dupin, opening a drawer, and producing -a check-book, “you may as well fill me up a check for the amount -mentioned. When you have signed it, I will hand you the letter.” - -[Sidenote: Character delineation.] - -[Sidenote: CLIMAX.] - -[Sidenote: The plot _seems_ to end here, for long reasoning and -explanation follow. There is, however, a second climax as Dupin’s story -reaches its denouement.] - -88. I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutely thunderstricken. -For some minutes he remained speechless and motionless, looking -incredulously at my friend with open mouth, and eyes that seemed -starting from their sockets; then, apparently recovering himself in -some measure, he seized a pen, and after several pauses and vacant -stares, finally filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand -francs, and handed it across the table to Dupin. The latter examined -it carefully and deposited it in his pocket; then, unlocking an -_escritoire_, took thence a letter and gave it to the Prefect. This -functionary grasped it in a perfect agony of joy, opened it with -a trembling hand, cast a rapid glance at its contents, and then, -scrambling and struggling to the door, rushed at length unceremoniously -from the room and from the house, without having uttered a syllable -since Dupin had requested him to fill up the check. - -89. When he had gone, my friend entered into some explanations. - -[Sidenote: FIRST STAGE OF DUPIN’S ACCOUNT. This account places Dupin’s -methods in artistic contrast with those of the Prefect.] - -90. “The Parisian police,” he said, “are exceedingly able in their -way. They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, and thoroughly versed -in the knowledge which their duties seem chiefly to demand. Thus, when -G---- detailed to us his mode of searching the premises at the Hotel -D----, I felt entire confidence in his having made a satisfactory -investigation--so far as his labors extended.” - -91. “So far as his labors extended?” said I. - -[Sidenote: Not a precise statement.] - -92. “Yes,” said Dupin. “The measures adopted were not only the best of -their kind, but carried out to absolute perfection. Had the letter been -deposited within the range of their search, these fellows would, beyond -a question, have found it.” - -93. I merely laughed, but he seemed quite serious in all that he said. - -[Sidenote: Illustrative anecdote.] - -[Sidenote: Joint inductive-deductive method of reasoning.] - -[Sidenote: Inductive reasoning.] - -94. “The measures, then,” he continued, “were good in their kind, and -well executed; their defect lay in their being inapplicable to the -case, and to the man. A certain set of highly ingenious resources are, -with the Prefect, a sort of Procrustean bed to which he forcibly adapts -his designs. But he perpetually errs by being too deep or too shallow -for the matter in hand; and many a schoolboy is a better reasoner than -he. I knew one about eight years of age, whose success at guessing in -the game of ‘even and odd’ attracted universal admiration. This game -is simple, and is played with marbles. One player holds in his hand a -number of these toys, and demands of another whether that number is -even or odd. If the guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong, -he loses one. The boy to whom I allude won all the marbles of the -school. Of course he had some principle of guessing; and this lay in -mere observation and admeasurement of the astuteness of his opponents. -For example an arrant simpleton is his opponent, and, holding up his -closed hand asks, ‘Are they even or odd?’ Our schoolboy replies, ‘Odd,’ -and loses; but upon the second trial he wins, for he then says to -himself, ‘The simpleton had them even upon the first trial, and his -amount of cunning is just sufficient to make him have them odd upon -the second; I will therefore guess odd;’ he guesses odd, and wins. -Now, with a simpleton a degree above the first, he would have reasoned -thus: ‘This fellow finds that in the first instance I guessed odd, -and in the second he will propose to himself, upon the first impulse, -a simple variation from even to odd, as did the first simpleton; but -then a second thought will suggest that this is too simple a variation, -and finally he will decide upon putting it even as before. I will -therefore guess even;’ he guesses even, and wins. Now this mode of -reasoning in the schoolboy, whom his fellows term ‘lucky’--what, in its -last analysis, is it?” - -[Sidenote: Reduced to untechnical language.] - -95. “It is merely,” I said, “an identification of the reasoner’s -intellect with that of his opponent.” - -[Sidenote: Compare with Barrie’s statement on p. 217.] - -[Sidenote: 1 and 2, French authors and moralists; 3, astute Italian -statesman; 4, Italian thinker.] - -96. “It is,” said Dupin; “and, upon inquiring of the boy by what -means he effected the _thorough_ identification in which his success -consisted, I received answer as follows: ‘When I wish to find out how -wise, or how stupid, or how good, or how wicked is any one, or what are -his thoughts at the moment, I fashion the expression of my face, as -accurately as possible, in accordance with the expression of his, and -then wait to see what thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or heart, -as if to match or correspond with the expression.’ This response of the -schoolboy lies at the bottom of all the spurious profundity which has -been attributed to Rochefoucauld, to La Bruyère, to Machiavelli, and to -Campanella.” - -97. “And the identification,” I said, “of the reasoner’s intellect with -that of his opponent’s, depends, if I understand you aright, upon the -accuracy with which the opponent’s intellect is admeasured.” - -[Sidenote: Analysis.] - -[Sidenote: Observe how fond Poe is of long paragraphs.] - -[Sidenote: Astute comment.] - -[Sidenote: Note the length of this paragraph.] - - -[Sidenote: A cumbersomely long sentence.] - -[Sidenote: _Recherchés_--carefully sought out.] - -[Sidenote: Note force of “hidden.”] - -[Sidenote: “The undistributed middle” is a form of logical fallacy.] - -98. “For its practical value it depends upon this,” replied Dupin, -“and the Prefect and his cohort fail so frequently, first, by default -of this identification, and secondly, by ill-admeasurement, or -rather through non-admeasurement, of the intellect with which they -are engaged. They consider only their _own_ ideas of ingenuity; and, -in searching for anything hidden, advert only to the modes in which -_they_ would have hidden it. They are right in this much--that their -own ingenuity is a faithful representative of that of _the mass_; but -when the cunning of the individual felon is diverse in character from -their own, the felon foils them, of course. This always happens when -it is above their own, and very usually when it is below. They have no -variation of principle in their investigations; at best, when urged -by some unusual emergency, by some extraordinary reward, they extend -or exaggerate their old modes of _practice_, without touching their -principles. What, for example, in this case of D----, has been done to -vary the principle of action? What is all this boring, and probing, -and sounding, and scrutinizing with the microscope, and dividing the -surface of the building into registered square inches--what is it all -but an exaggeration _of the application_ of the one principle or set -of principles of search, which are based upon the one set of notions -regarding human ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in the long routine -of his duty, has been accustomed? Do you not see he has taken it for -granted that _all_ men proceed to conceal a letter--not exactly in a -gimlet-hole bored in a chair leg--but, at least, in _some_ out of the -way hole or corner suggested by the same tenor of thought which would -urge a man to secrete a letter in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair leg? -And do you not see, also, that such _recherchés_ nooks for concealment -are adapted only for ordinary occasions and would be adopted only by -ordinary intellects; for, in all cases of concealment, a disposal of -the article concealed--a disposal of it in this _recherché_ manner--is, -in the very first instance, presumable and presumed; and thus its -discovery depends, not at all upon the acumen, but altogether upon the -mere care, patience, and determination of the seekers; and where the -case is of importance--or, what amounts to the same thing in policial -eyes, when the reward is of magnitude--the qualities in question have -_never_ been known to fail. You will now understand what I meant in -suggesting that, had the purloined letter been hidden anywhere within -the limits of the Prefect’s examination--in other words, had the -principle of its concealment been comprehended within the principles of -the Prefect, its discovery would have been a matter altogether beyond -question. This functionary, however, has been thoroughly mystified; -and the remote source of his defeat lies in the supposition that the -minister is a fool because he has acquired renown as a poet. All fools -are poets; this the Prefect _feels_; and he is merely guilty of a _non -distributio medii_ in thence inferring that all poets are fools.” - -[Sidenote: Note the following series of unusual statements.] - -99. “But is this really the poet?” I asked. “There are two brothers, -I know; and both have attained reputation in letters. The minister, I -believe, has written learnedly on the Differential Calculus. He is a -mathematician and no poet.” - -100. “You are mistaken; I know him well; he is both. As poet _and_ -mathematician he would reason well; as mere mathematician he could not -have reasoned at all, and thus would have been at the mercy of the -Prefect.” - -101. “You surprise me,” I said, “by these opinions, which have been -contradicted by the voice of the world. You do not mean to set at -naught the well-digested idea of centuries. The mathematical reason has -long been regarded as _the_ reason _par excellence_.” - -[Sidenote: “It may be said that every public idea, every received -convention, is a piece of stupidity, for it has suited the greater -number.”--NICOLAS CHAMFORT.] - -[Sidenote: This whole section of the story triumphs notwithstanding -its undue length of learned discussion and its formal diction. It -must be admitted that in these respects the present-day short-story -is in advance of Poe. A number of paragraphs here fail to advance the -narration _as fiction_.] - -102. “‘_Il y a à parier_,’” replied Dupin, quoting from Chamfort, -“‘_que toute idée publique, toute convention reçue, est une sottise, -car elle a convenu au plus grand nombre_.’ The mathematicians, I grant -you, have done their best to promulgate the popular error to which -you allude, and which is none the less an error for its promulgation -as truth. With an art worthy a better cause, for example, they have -insinuated the term ‘analysis’ into application to algebra. The French -are the originators of this practical deception; but if a term is of -any importance--if words derive any value from applicability--then -‘analysis’ conveys ‘algebra,’ about as much as, in Latin, ‘_ambitus_’ -implies ‘ambition,’ ‘_religio_,’ ‘religion,’ or ‘_homines honesti_,’ a -set of _honorable_ men.” - -103. “You have a quarrel on hand, I see,” said I, “with some of the -algebraists of Paris; but proceed.” - -[Sidenote: Unusual form. Throughout, note Poe’s unusual choice of -words.] - -[Sidenote: As a piece of pure reasoning this long treatise is not -without its defects, but it does bring out--though too laboriously to -please--the point at which Dupin is driving.] - -[Sidenote: Jacob Bryant.] - -[Sidenote: He speaks figuratively.] - -[Sidenote: A striking satire.] - -[Sidenote: More satire.] - -104. “I dispute the availability, and thus the value of that reason -which is cultivated in any especial form other than the abstractly -logical. I dispute, in particular, the reason educed by mathematical -study. The mathematics are the science of form and quantity; -mathematical reasoning is merely logic applied to observation upon form -and quantity. The great error lies in supposing that even the truths -of what is called _pure_ algebra are abstract or general truths. And -this error is so egregious that I am confounded at the universality -with which it has been received. Mathematical axioms are _not_ axioms -of general truth. What is true of _relation_--of form and quantity--is -often grossly false in regard to morals, for example. In this latter -science it is very usually _un_true that the aggregated parts are -equal to the whole. In chemistry, also, the axiom fails. In the -consideration of motive it fails; for two motives, each of a given -value, have not, necessarily, a value when united equal to the sum of -their values apart. There are numerous other mathematical truths which -are only truths within the limits of _relation_. But the mathematician -argues, from his _finite truths_, through habit, as if they were of an -absolutely general applicability--as the world indeed imagines them -to be. Bryant, in his very learned ‘Mythology,’ mentions an analogous -source of error, when he says that ‘although the Pagan fables are not -believed, yet we forget ourselves continually, and make inferences -from them as existing realities.’ With the algebraists, however, who -are Pagans themselves, the ‘Pagan fables’ _are_ believed and the -inferences are made, not so much through lapse of memory as through an -unaccountable addling of the brains. In short, I never yet encountered -the mere mathematician who could be trusted out of equal roots, or one -who did not clandestinely hold it as a point of his faith that _x_^2 -+ _px_ was absolutely and unconditionally equal to _q_. Say to one of -these gentlemen, by way of experiment, if you please, that you believe -occasions may occur where _x_^2 + _px_ is not altogether equal to _q_, -and, having made him understand what you mean, get out of his reach as -speedily as convenient, for beyond doubt he will endeavor to knock you -down.” - -[Sidenote: Note the force of “last.”] - -[Sidenote: A return from the special argument to the practical.] - -[Sidenote: Application of the foregoing principles.] - -[Sidenote: A difficult point explained.] - -[Sidenote: Note the unusual use of “to,” instead of “at.”] - -[Sidenote: Is this probable?] - -[Sidenote: Compare ¶95.] - -[Sidenote: Key. Compare ¶10.] - -105. “I mean to say,” continued Dupin, while I merely laughed at his -last observations, “that if the minister had been no more than a -mathematician the Prefect would have been under no necessity of giving -me this check. I knew him, however, as both mathematician and poet, -and my measures were adapted to his capacity with reference to the -circumstances by which he was surrounded. I knew him as courtier, too, -and as a bold _intriguant_. Such a man, I considered, could not fail -to be aware of the ordinary policial modes of action. He could not -have failed to anticipate--and events have proved that he did not fail -to anticipate--the waylayings to which he was subjected. He must have -foreseen, I reflected, the secret investigations of his premises. His -frequent absences from home at night, which were hailed by the Prefect -as certain aids to his success, I regarded only as ruses, to afford -opportunity for thorough search to the police, and thus the sooner to -impress them with the conviction to which G----, in fact, did finally -arrive--the conviction that the letter was not upon the premises. I -felt, also, that the whole train of thought, which I was at some pains -in detailing to you just now, concerning the invariable principle of -policial action in searches for articles concealed--I felt that this -whole train of thought would necessarily pass through the mind of the -minister. It would imperatively lead him to despise all the ordinary -_nooks_ of concealment. _He_ could not, I reflected, be so weak as not -to see that the most intricate and remote recess of his hotel would be -as open as his commonest closets to the eyes, to the probes, to the -gimlets, and to the microscopes of the Prefect. I saw, in fine, that -he would be driven, as a matter of course, to _simplicity_, if not -deliberately induced to it as a matter of choice. You will remember, -perhaps, how desperately the Prefect laughed when I suggested, upon our -first interview, that it was just possible this mystery troubled him so -much on account of its being so _very_ self-evident.” - -106. “Yes,” said I, “I remember his merriment well. I really thought he -would have fallen into convulsions.” - -[Sidenote: A return to philosophising.] - -[Sidenote: Force of inertia.] - -[Sidenote: This inquiry is the heart of the inference.] - -107. “The material world,” continued Dupin, “abounds with very strict -analogies to the immaterial; and thus some color of truth has been -given to the rhetorical dogma, that metaphor, or simile, may be made -to strengthen an argument, as well as to embellish a description. The -principle of the _vis inertiæ_, for example, seems to be identical in -physics and metaphysics. It is not more true in the former, that a -large body is with more difficulty set in motion than a smaller one, -and that its subsequent momentum is commensurate with this difficulty, -than it is, in the latter, that intellects of the vaster capacity, -while more forcible, more constant, and more eventful in their -movements than those of inferior grade, are yet the less readily moved, -and more embarrassed and full of hesitation in the first few steps of -their progress. Again: have you ever noticed which of the street signs -over the shop doors are the most attractive of attention?” - -108. “I have never given the matter a thought,” I said. - -[Sidenote: Illustrative example.] - -[Sidenote: Note the diction.] - -[Sidenote: Compare ¶94 and ¶98.] - -[Sidenote: Summary of ”accusation” against the Prefect’s sagacity.] - -109. “There is a game of puzzles,” he resumed, “which is played upon -a map. One party playing requires another to find a given word--the -name of town, river, state, or empire--any word, in short, upon the -motley and perplexed surface of the chart. A novice in the game -generally seeks to embarrass his opponents by giving them the most -minutely lettered names; but the adept selects such words as stretch in -large characters from one end of the chart to the other. These, like -the over-largely lettered signs and placards of the street, escape -observation by dint of being excessively obvious; and here the physical -oversight is precisely analogous with the moral inapprehension by which -the intellect suffers to pass unnoticed those considerations which are -too obtrusively and too palpably self-evident. But this is a point, it -appears, somewhat above or beneath the understanding of the Prefect. -He never once thought it probable, or possible, that the minister had -deposited the letter immediately beneath the nose of the whole world, -by way of best preventing any portion of that world from perceiving it. - -[Sidenote: Note the alliteration.] - -[Sidenote: Climax of Dupin’s inferential reasoning.] - -[Sidenote: BEGINNING OF REAL PLOT.] - -[Sidenote: INCIDENT OF DUPIN’S STORY.] - -[Sidenote: From this point the narration is free from the formalities -of expression which mar the central section of the story. These, -however, were a characteristic of Poe and his era.] - -[Sidenote: Note the use of “now.”] - -110. “But the more I reflected upon the daring, dashing, and -discriminating ingenuity of D----; upon the fact that the document must -always have been _at hand_, if he intended to use it to good purpose; -and upon the decisive evidence, obtained by the Prefect, that it was -not hidden within the limits of that dignitary’s ordinary search--the -more satisfied I became that, to conceal this letter, the minister had -resorted to the comprehensive and sagacious expedient of not attempting -to conceal it at all. - -111. “Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair of green -spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite by accident, at the -ministerial hotel. I found D---- at home, yawning, lounging, and -dawdling, as usual, and pretending to be in the last extremity of -_ennui_. He is, perhaps, the most really energetic human being now -alive--but that is only when nobody sees him. - -112. “To be even with him, I complained of my weak eyes, and lamented -the necessity of the spectacles, under cover of which I cautiously and -thoroughly surveyed the whole apartment, while seemingly intent only -upon the conversation of my host. - -113. “I paid especial attention to a large writing-table near which he -sat, and upon which lay confusedly some miscellaneous letters and other -papers, with one or two musical instruments and a few books. Here, -however, after a long and very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing to -excite particular suspicion. - -[Sidenote: Dupin’s reasoning sustained.] - -114. “At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the room, fell upon a -trumpery filigree card-rack of paste-board, that hung dangling, by a -dirty blue ribbon, from a little brass knob just beneath the middle of -the mantelpiece. In this rack, which had three or four compartments, -were five or six visiting cards and a solitary letter. This last -was much soiled and crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across the -middle--as if a design, in the first instance, to tear it entirely up -as worthless had been altered, or stayed, in the second. It had a large -black seal, bearing the D---- cipher _very_ conspicuously, and was -addressed, in a diminutive female hand, to D----, the minister himself. -It was thrust carelessly, and even, as it seemed, contemptuously, into -one of the uppermost divisions of the rack. - -[Sidenote: Throughout, Poe used punctuation more freely than is now the -custom.] - -[Sidenote: It was the custom in earlier times simply to fold a letter, -seal it with a wafer, and address it on the back, which was allowed to -remain otherwise blank. This accounts for there being no reference to -an envelope, and also for the refolding of the letter.] - -115. “No sooner had I glanced at this letter than I concluded it to be -that of which I was in search. To be sure, it was, to all appearance, -radically different from the one of which the Prefect had read us so -minute a description. Here the seal was large and black, with the D---- -cipher; there it was small and red, with the ducal arms of the S---- -family. Here the address, to the minister, was diminutive and feminine; -there, the superscription, to a certain royal personage, was markedly -bold and decided; the size alone formed a point of correspondence. But, -then, the _radicalness_ of these differences, which was excessive; -the dirt, the soiled and torn condition of the paper, so inconsistent -with the _true_ methodical habits of D----, and so suggestive of a -design to delude the beholder into an idea of the worthlessness of the -document; these things, together with the hyper-obtrusive situation -of this document, full in the view of every visitor, and thus exactly -in accordance with the conclusions to which I had previously arrived; -these things, I say, were strongly corroborative of suspicion, in one -who came with the intention to suspect. - -[Sidenote: Note use of “fold” and its derivatives.] - -[Sidenote: A good device.] - -116. “I protracted my visit as long as possible, and while I maintained -a most animated discussion with the minister, upon a topic which I knew -well had never failed to interest and excite him, I kept my attention -really riveted upon the letter. In this examination, I committed to -memory its external appearance and arrangement in the rack; and also -fell, at length, upon a discovery which set at rest whatever trivial -doubt I might have entertained. In scrutinizing the edges of the paper, -I observed them to be more _chafed_ than seemed necessary. They -presented the _broken_ appearance which is manifested when a stiff -paper, having been once folded and pressed with a folder, is refolded -in a reversed direction, in the same creases or edges which had formed -the original fold. This discovery was sufficient. It was clear to me -that the letter had been turned, as a glove, inside out, re-directed, -and re-sealed. I bade the minister good-morning, and took my departure -at once, leaving a gold snuff-box upon the table. - -[Sidenote: APPARENT FULL CLIMAX.] - -117. “The next morning I called for the snuff-box, when we resumed, -quite eagerly, the conversation of the preceding day. While thus -engaged, however, a loud report, as if of a pistol, was heard -immediately beneath the windows of the hotel, and was succeeded by a -series of fearful screams, and the shoutings of a mob. D---- rushed to -a casement, threw it open, and looked out. In the meantime, I stepped -to the card-rack, took the letter, put it in my pocket, and replaced it -by a _facsimile_ (so far as regards externals) which I had carefully -prepared at my lodgings--imitating the D---- cipher very readily by -means of a seal formed of bread. - -[Sidenote: Concluding explanations.] - -[Sidenote: Note how the climax of Dupin’s story also serves as the -climax of the Prefect’s earlier statement of the problem and his -efforts to solve it.] - -118. “The disturbance in the street had been occasioned by the frantic -behavior of a man with a musket. He had fired it among a crowd of women -and children. It proved, however, to have been without ball, and the -fellow was suffered to go his way as a lunatic or a drunkard. When -he had gone, D---- came from the window, whither I had followed him -immediately upon securing the object in view. Soon afterwards I bade -him farewell. The pretended lunatic was a man in my own pay.” - -119. “But what purpose had you,” I asked, “in replacing the letter by a -_facsimile_? Would it not have been better, at the first visit, to have -seized it openly and departed?” - -[Sidenote: In the interest in Dupin’s reasoning and its results we have -lost sight of the real importance of the letter.] - -[Sidenote: Is “was” correct?] - -[Sidenote: The descent to Avernus (the fabled entrance to the Infernal -Regions) is easy.] - -[Sidenote: Monster to be shuddered at.] - -120. “D----,” replied Dupin, “is a desperate man, and a man of nerve. -His hotel, too, is not without attendants devoted to his interest. -Had I made the wild attempt you suggest I might never have left the -ministerial presence alive. The good people of Paris might have heard -of me no more. But I had an object apart from these considerations. You -know my political prepossessions. In this matter I act as a partisan -of the lady concerned. For eighteen months the minister has had her -in his power. She has now him in hers--since, being unaware that the -letter is not in his possession, he will proceed with his exactions -as if it was. Thus will he inevitably commit himself at once to his -political destruction. His downfall, too, will not be more precipitate -than awkward. It is all very well to talk about the _facilis descensus -Averni_; but in all kinds of climbing, as Catalani said of singing, it -is far more easy to get up than to come down. In the present instance -I have no sympathy--at least no pity--for him who descends. He is -that _monstrum horrendum_, an unprincipled man of genius. I confess, -however, that I should like very well to know the precise character -of his thoughts, when, being defied by her whom the Prefect terms ‘a -certain personage,’ he is reduced to opening the letter which I left -for him in the card-rack.” - -121. “How? Did you put anything particular in it?” - -[Sidenote: REAL CLIMAX.] - -122. “Why, it did not seem altogether right to leave the interior -blank--that would have been insulting. D----, at Vienna, once did me an -evil turn, which I told him, quite good-humoredly, I should remember. -So, as I knew he would feel some curiosity in regard to the identity of -the person who had outwitted him, I thought it a pity not to give him -a clew. He is well acquainted with my MS., and I just copied into the -middle of the blank sheet the words:-- - - ‘---- Un dessein si funeste, S’il n’est digne d’Atrée, est digne de - Thyeste.’ - -[Sidenote: A design so baleful, if not worthy of Atreus, is worthy of -Thyestes.] - -They are to be found in Crébillon’s ‘Atrée.’” - - - JACOBS AND HIS WRITINGS - -William Wymark Jacobs was born in London, September 8, 1863, the son of -William Gage Jacobs. He was educated at private schools, and entered -the employ of the Post Office Savings Bank at sixteen. Four years -later he secured a regular clerkship there. He began his literary -career at the age of twenty-one with a contribution to the _Blackfriars -Magazine_, a publication conducted by the clerks at the Post Office, -and from that he was led to contributing articles to various London -papers, though he retained his Civil Service position until 1899. His -remarkable acquaintance with nautical subjects, and characters of the -coasting trade and seaport wharves, was acquired during several years -spent in Wapping, while his father was wharfinger there, as during -that period the younger Jacobs was brought into contact with many -seamen and wharf hands, and came to know many of them very well. In -1900 he married Agnes Eleanor Williams. Some of Jacobs’ most popular -collections of stories are _Many Cargoes_; _More Cargoes_; _Short -Cruises_; _Odd Craft_; _Captains All_; _Light Freights_; and _The -Lady of the Barge_. His longer stories include _A Master of Craft_, -_Dialstone Lane_; _Salthaven_, and _At Sunwich Port_. - -Mr. Jacobs is known mostly by his delightfully quaint and humorous -character delineations of river, shore, and sea-faring folk. The -remarkable short-story given herewith, however, is of a very different -sort and discloses a mastery of the weird, of the supernatural, which -is not surpassed in the whole short-story field. With a sureness of -character-drawing which is nothing short of amazing in a humorist, -he outlines scene and actors, and when the crises are reached--so -completely is all visualized--we are able to infer the swift-moving -climax with scarce the need of a word. “The Monkey’s Paw” is one of the -most dramatically poignant stories of the supernatural ever written, -and invites us to a closer study of its gifted and versatile author. - - It [a sea-life] is a man’s life. It teaches self-restraint and - discipline and the art of governing men. It is a fine, healthy - life that breeds men. All that I mean to say is that distance - lends enchantment to the view, and that the essential romance and - comedy of the life of those who go down to the sea in ships are - intensified in the perspective of years.--W. W. JACOBS, _London - Daily Chronicle_. - - Londoners, in particular, should hail him with applause, for he has - done more than make them laugh; he has added character to their - river. Henceforward no one who has read _Many Cargoes_ will look - at a passing barge with an apathetic gaze. He will see before him - not merely a vehicle of porterage, but a hot-bed of liquorish and - acceptable sarcasm.--_Academy_ (London). - - Mr. Jacobs has two great gifts: one is the power to place a - simple-minded man in a corner, excite our sympathies for him, - magnify his embarrassments, and keep us engrossed all the time.... - But we do not consider that herein lies Mr. Jacobs’s special - distinction.... It is in his eye for character, his knowledge of a - certain kind of human nature, his genius for the little touches, as - we prefer to call them, that Mr. Jacobs stands out so notably. No - one now writing can manage the little touches as Mr. Jacobs can, at - once so naturally, so truthfully, so usefully, and so joyously.... - None of them actually helps the plot, but every one of them is so - much added to the characters and conditions of the story.--IBID. - - We cannot think of any other books with which to compare Mr. - Jacobs’s, because there are none just like them. To-day a number - of the best and brightest English and American writers seem to - be getting their inspiration from the sea.... Each one of these - has his own particular field, and in presenting the humour - of the sailor’s life and environment no one approaches Mr. - Jacobs.--BOOKMAN (New York). - - We are acquainted with one pronounced pessimist, who maintains - defiantly and aggressively that he never reads anything in the - nature of modern fiction. “Except, of course,” he adds, “the short - stories of W. W. Jacobs, which certainly make me laugh....” We are - inclined to believe that there are a number of men who are of the - same mind in regard to the work of Mr. Jacobs. Yet we do not think - that his most ardent admirer, after having laid aside one of his - books for three days, would be able to give more than the vaguest - description of the tales contained therein. To this rule there are, - however, several exceptions. “The Monkey’s Paw,” as grewsome a - story as has appeared for years, was one.--IBID. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON JACOBS - -_Sketch of W. W. Jacobs_, _Current Literature_, vol. 26, 117; His -_Work_, _Academy_, vol. 52, 496; _Living Age_, vol. 218, 366; _Strand_, -vol. 16, 676; _W. W. Jacobs_, _Book News_, vol. 19; _The Little -Touches_ (Review of _A Master of Craft_), _Academy_, vol. 59; _A New -Humorist_, _Spectator_, vol. 78; _More Cargoes_ (Review), _Public -Opinion_, vol. 25; _The Skipper’s Wooing_ (Review), _Saturday Review_, -vol. 84. - - - FOR ANALYSIS - - THE MONKEY’S PAW[19] - BY W. W. JACOBS - - - I - -Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of -Laburnam Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. -Father and son were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the -game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and -unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired -old lady knitting placidly by the fire. - -2. “Hark at the wind,” said Mr. White, who having seen a fatal mistake -after it was too late, was amiably desirous of preventing his son from -seeing it. - -3. “I’m listening,” said the latter, grimly surveying the board as he -stretched out his hand. “Check.” - -4. “I should hardly think that he’d come to-night,” said his father, -with his hand poised over the board. - -5. “Mate,” replied the son. - -6. “That’s the worst of living so far out,” bawled Mr. White, with -sudden and unlooked-for violence; “of all the beastly, slushy, -out-of-the-way places to live in, this is the worst. Pathway’s a bog, -and the road’s a torrent. I don’t know what people are thinking about. -I suppose because only two houses in the road are let, they think it -doesn’t matter.” - -7. “Never mind, dear,” said his wife, soothingly; “perhaps you’ll win -the next one.” - -8. Mr. White looked up sharply, just in time to intercept a knowing -glance between mother and son. The words died away on his lips, and he -hid a guilty grin in his thin grey beard. - -9. “There he is,” said Herbert White, as the gate banged to loudly and -heavy footsteps came toward the door. - -10. The old man rose with hospitable haste, and opening the door, was -heard condoling with the new arrival. The new arrival also condoled -with himself, so that Mrs. White said, “Tut, tut!” and coughed gently -as her husband entered the room, followed by a tall, burly man, beady -of eye and rubicund of visage. - -11. “Sergeant-Major Morris,” he said, introducing him. - -12. The sergeant-major shook hands, and taking the proffered seat -by the fire, watched contentedly while his host got out whiskey and -tumblers and stood a small copper kettle on the fire. - -13. At the third glass his eyes got brighter, and he began to talk, -the little family circle regarding with eager interest this visitor -from distant parts, as he squared his broad shoulders in the chair and -spoke of wild scenes and doughty deeds; of wars and plagues and strange -peoples. - -14. “Twenty-one years of it,” said Mr. White, nodding at his wife and -son. “When he went away he was a slip of a youth in the warehouse. Now -look at him.” - -15. “He don’t look to have taken much harm,” said Mrs. White, politely. - -16. “I’d like to go to India myself,” said the old man, “just to look -round a bit, you know.” - -17. “Better where you are,” said the sergeant-major, shaking his head. -He put down the empty glass, and sighing softly, shook it again. - -18. “I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers,” -said the old man. “What was that you started telling me the other day -about a monkey’s paw or something, Morris?” - -19. “Nothing,” said the soldier, hastily. “Leastways nothing worth -hearing.” - -20. “Monkey’s paw?” said Mrs. White, curiously. - -21. “Well, it’s just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps,” said -the sergeant-major, offhandedly. - -22. His three listeners leaned forward eagerly. The visitor -absentmindedly put his empty glass to his lips and then set it down -again. His host filled it for him. - -23. “To look at,” said the sergeant-major, fumbling in his pocket, -“it’s just an ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy.” - -24. He took something out of his pocket and proffered it. Mrs. White -drew back with a grimace, but her son, taking it, examined it curiously. - -25. “And what is there special about it?” inquired Mr. White as he took -it from his son, and having examined it, placed it upon the table. - -26. “It had a spell put on it by an old fakir,” said the -sergeant-major, “a very holy man. He wanted to show that fate ruled -people’s lives, and that those who interfered with it did so to their -sorrow. He put a spell on it so that three separate men could each have -three wishes from it.” - -27. His manner was so impressive that his hearers were conscious that -their light laughter jarred somewhat. - -28. “Well, why don’t you have three, sir?” said Herbert White, cleverly. - -29. The soldier regarded him in the way that middle age is wont to -regard presumptuous youth. “I have,” he said, quietly, and his blotchy -face whitened. - -30. “And did you really have the three wishes granted?” asked Mrs. -White. - -31. “I did,” said the sergeant-major, and his glass tapped against his -strong teeth. - -32. “And has anybody else wished?” persisted the old lady. - -33. “The first man had his three wishes. Yes,” was the reply; “I don’t -know what the first two were, but the third was for death. That’s how I -got the paw.” - -34. His tones were so grave that a hush fell upon the group. - -35. “If you’ve had your three wishes, it’s no good to you now, then, -Morris,” said the old man at last. “What do you keep it for?” - -36. The soldier shook his head. “Fancy, I suppose,” he said, slowly. -“I did have some idea of selling it, but I don’t think I will. It has -caused enough mischief already. Besides, people won’t buy. They think -it’s a fairy tale, some of them; and those who do think anything of it -want to try it first and pay me afterward.” - -37. “If you could have another three wishes,” said the old man, eyeing -him keenly, “would you have them?” - -38. “I don’t know,” said the other. “I don’t know.” - -39. He took the paw, and dangling it between his forefinger and thumb, -suddenly threw it upon the fire. White, with a slight cry, stooped down -and snatched it off. - -40. “Better let it burn,” said the soldier, solemnly. - -41. “If you don’t want it, Morris,” said the other, “give it to me.” - -42. “I won’t,” said his friend doggedly. “I threw it on the fire. If -you keep it, don’t blame me for what happens. Pitch it on the fire -again like a sensible man.” - -43. The other shook his head and examined his new possession closely. -“How do you do it?” he inquired. - -44. “Hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud,” said the -sergeant-major, “but I warn you of the consequences.” - -45. “Sounds like the Arabian Nights,” said Mrs. White, as she rose and -began to set the supper. “Don’t you think you might wish for four pairs -of hands for me?” - -46. Her husband drew the talisman from his pocket, and then all three -burst into laughter as the sergeant-major, with a look of alarm on his -face, caught him by the arm. - -47. “If you must wish,” he said, gruffly, “wish for something sensible.” - -48. Mr. White dropped it back in his pocket, and placing chairs, -motioned his friend to the table. In the business of supper the -talisman was partly forgotten, and afterward the three sat listening -in an enthralled fashion to a second installment of the soldier’s -adventures in India. - -49. “If the tale about the monkey’s paw is not more truthful than those -he has been telling us,” said Herbert, as the door closed behind their -guest, just in time for him to catch the last train, “we shan’t make -much out of it.” - -50. “Did you give him anything for it, father?” inquired Mrs. White, -regarding her husband closely. - -51. “A trifle,” said he, colouring slightly. “He didn’t want it, but I -made him take it. And he pressed me again to throw it away.” - -52. “Likely,” said Herbert, with pretended horror. “Why, we’re going to -be rich, and famous and happy. Wish to be an emperor, father, to begin -with; then you can’t be hen-pecked.” - -53. He darted round the table, pursued by the maligned Mrs. White armed -with an antimacassar. - -54. Mr. White took the paw from his pocket and eyed it dubiously. “I -don’t know what to wish for, and that’s a fact,” he said, slowly. “It -seems to me I’ve got all I want.” - -55. “If you only cleared the house, you’d be quite happy, wouldn’t -you?” said Herbert, with his hand on his shoulder. “Well, wish for two -hundred pounds, then; that’ll just do it.” - -56. His father, smiling shamefacedly at his own credulity, held up the -talisman, as his son, with a solemn face, somewhat marred by a wink at -his mother, sat down at the piano and struck a few impressive chords. - -57. “I wish for two hundred pounds,” said the old man distinctly. - -58. A fine crash from the piano greeted the words, interrupted by a -shuddering cry from the old man. His wife and son ran toward him. - -59. “It moved,” he cried, with a glance of disgust at the object as it -lay on the floor. - -60. “As I wished, it twisted in my hand like a snake.” - -61. “Well, I don’t see the money,” said his son as he picked it up and -placed it on the table, “and I bet I never shall.” - -62. “It must have been your fancy, father,” said his wife, regarding -him anxiously. - -63. He shook his head. “Never mind, though; there’s no harm, but it -gave me a shock all the same.” - -64. They sat down by the fire again while the two men finished their -pipes. Outside, the wind was higher than ever, and the old man started -nervously at the sound of a door banging up-stairs. A silence unusual -and depressing settled upon all three, which lasted until the old -couple rose to retire for the night. - -65. “I expect you’ll find the cash tied up in a big bag in the middle -of your bed,” said Herbert, as he bade them good-night, “and something -horrible squatting up on top of the wardrobe watching you as you pocket -your ill-gotten gains.” - -66. He sat alone in the darkness, gazing at the dying fire, and seeing -faces in it. The last face was so horrible and so simian that he gazed -at it in amazement. It got so vivid that, with a little uneasy laugh, -he felt on the table for a glass containing a little water to throw -over it. His hand grasped the monkey’s paw, and with a little shiver he -wiped his hand on his coat and went up to bed. - - - II - -67. In the brightness of the wintry sun next morning as it streamed -over the breakfast table he laughed at his fears. There was an air -of prosaic wholesomeness about the room which it had lacked on the -previous night, and the dirty, shrivelled little paw was pitched on the -sideboard with a carelessness which betokened no great belief in its -virtues. - -68. “I suppose all old soldiers are the same,” said Mrs. White. “The -idea of our listening to such nonsense! How could wishes be granted in -these days? And if they could, how could two hundred pounds hurt you, -father?” - -69. “Might drop on his head from the sky,” said the frivolous Herbert. - -70. “Morris said the things happened so naturally,” said his father, -“that you might if you so wished attribute it to coincidence.” - -71. “Well, don’t break into the money before I come back,” said Herbert -as he rose from the table. “I’m afraid it’ll turn you into a mean, -avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you.” - -72. His mother laughed, and following him to the door, watched him -down the road; and returning to the breakfast table, was very happy at -the expense of her husband’s credulity. All of which did not prevent -her from scurrying to the door at the postman’s knock, nor prevent her -from referring somewhat shortly to retired sergeant-majors of bibulous -habits when she found that the post brought a tailor’s bill. - -73. “Herbert will have some more of his funny remarks, I expect, when -he comes home,” she said, as they sat at dinner. - -74. “I dare say,” said Mr. White, pouring himself out some beer; “but -for all that, the thing moved in my hand; that I’ll swear to.” - -75. “You thought it did,” said the old lady soothingly. - -76. “I say it did,” replied the other. “There was no thought about it; -I had just--What’s the matter?” - -77. His wife made no reply. She was watching the mysterious movements -of a man outside, who, peering in an undecided fashion at the house, -appeared to be trying to make up his mind to enter. In mental -connection with the two hundred pounds, she noticed that the stranger -was well dressed, and wore a silk hat of glossy newness. Three times he -paused at the gate, and then walked on again. The fourth time he stood -with his hand upon it, and then with sudden resolution flung it open -and walked up the path. Mrs. White at the same moment placed her hands -behind her, and hurriedly unfastening the strings of her apron, put -that useful article of apparel beneath the cushion of her chair. - -78. She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at ease, into the room. He -gazed at her furtively, and listened in a preoccupied fashion as the -old lady apologized for the appearance of the room, and her husband’s -coat, a garment which he usually reserved for the garden. She then -waited as patiently as her sex would permit, for him to broach his -business, but he was at first strangely silent. - -79. “I--was asked to call,” he said at last, and stooped and picked a -piece of cotton from his trousers. “I come from Maw and Meggins.” - -80. The old lady started. “Is anything the matter?” she asked, -breathlessly. “Has anything happened to Herbert? What is it? What is -it?” - -81. Her husband interposed. “There, there, mother,” he said, hastily. -“Sit down, and don’t jump to conclusions. You’ve not brought bad news, -I’m sure, sir;” and he eyed the other wistfully. - -82. “I’m sorry--” began the visitor. - -83. “Is he hurt?” demanded the mother, wildly. - -84. The visitor bowed in assent. “Badly hurt,” he said, quietly, “but -he is not in any pain.” - -85. “Oh, thank God!” said the old woman, clasping her hands. “Thank -God for that! Thank--” - -86. She broke off suddenly as the sinister meaning of the assurance -dawned upon her and she saw the awful confirmation of her fears in -the other’s averted face. She caught her breath, and turning to her -slower-witted husband, laid her trembling old hand upon his. There was -a long silence. - -87. “He was caught in the machinery,” said the visitor at length in a -low voice. - -88. “Caught in the machinery,” repeated Mr. White, in a dazed fashion, -“yes.” - -89. He sat staring blankly out at the window, and taking his wife’s -hand between his own, pressed it as he had been wont to do in their old -courting-days nearly forty years before. - -90. “He was the only one left to us,” he said, turning gently to the -visitor. “It is hard.” - -91. The other coughed, and rising, walked slowly to the window. “The -firm wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with you in your great -loss,” he said, without looking round. “I beg that you will understand -I am only their servant and merely obeying orders.” - -92. There was no reply; the old woman’s face was white, her eyes -staring, and her breath inaudible; on the husband’s face was a look -such as his friend the sergeant might have carried into his first -action. - -93. “I was to say that Maw and Meggins disclaim all responsibility,” -continued the other. “They admit no liability at all, but in -consideration of your son’s services, they wish to present you with a -certain sum as compensation.” - -94. Mr. White dropped his wife’s hand, and rising to his feet, gazed -with a look of horror at his visitor. His dry lips shaped the words. -“How much?” - -95. “Two hundred pounds,” was the answer. - -96. Unconscious of his wife’s shriek, the old man smiled faintly, put -out his hands like a sightless man, and dropped, a senseless heap, to -the floor. - - - III - -97. In the huge new cemetery, some two miles distant, the old people -buried their dead, and came back to a house steeped in shadow and -silence. It was all over so quickly that at first they could hardly -realize it, and remained in a state of expectation as though of -something else to happen--something else which was to lighten this -load, too heavy for old hearts to bear. - -98. But the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation--the -hopeless resignation of the old, sometimes miscalled, apathy. Sometimes -they hardly exchanged a word, for now they had nothing to talk about, -and their days were long to weariness. - -99. It was about a week after that the old man, waking suddenly in the -night, stretched out his hand and found himself alone. The room was in -darkness, and the sound of subdued weeping came from the window. He -raised himself in bed and listened. - -100. “Come back,” he said, tenderly. “You will be cold.” - -101. “It is colder for my son,” said the old woman, and wept afresh. - -102. The sound of her sobs died away on his ears. The bed was warm, and -his eyes heavy with sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then slept until a -sudden wild cry from his wife awoke him with a start. - -103. “The paw!” she cried wildly. “The monkey’s paw!” - -104. He started up in alarm. “Where? Where is it? What’s the matter?” - -105. She came stumbling across the room toward him. “I want it,” she -said, quietly. “You’ve not destroyed it?” - -106. “It’s in the parlour, on the bracket,” he replied marvelling. -“Why?” - -107. She cried and laughed together, and bending over, kissed his cheek. - -108. “I only just thought of it,” she said, hysterically. “Why didn’t I -think of it before? Why didn’t you think of it?” - -109. “Think of what?” he questioned. - -110. “The other two wishes,” she replied, rapidly. “We’ve only had one.” - -111. “Was not that enough?” he demanded, fiercely. - -112. “No,” she cried, triumphantly; “we’ll have one more. Go down and -get it quickly, and wish our boy alive again.” - -113. The man sat up in bed and flung the bed-clothes from his quaking -limbs. “Good God, you are mad!” he cried, aghast. - -114. “Get it,” she panted; “get it quickly, and wish--Oh, my boy, my -boy!” - -115. Her husband struck a match and lit the candle. “Get back to bed,” -he said, unsteadily. “You don’t know what you are saying.” - -116. “We had the first wish granted,” said the old woman, feverishly; -“why not the second?” - -117. “A coincidence,” stammered the old man. - -118. “Go and get it and wish,” cried his wife, quivering with -excitement. - -119. The old man turned and regarded her, and his voice shook. “He has -been dead ten days, and besides he--I would not tell you else, but--I -could only recognize him by his clothing. If he was too terrible for -you to see then, how now?” - -120. “Bring him back,” cried the old woman, and dragged him toward the -door. “Do you think I fear the child I have nursed?” - -121. He went down in the darkness, and felt his way to the parlour, and -then to the mantelpiece. The talisman was in its place, and a horrible -fear that the unspoken wish might bring his mutilated son before him -ere he could escape from the room seized upon him, and he caught his -breath as he found that he had lost the direction of the door. His brow -cold with sweat, he felt his way round the table, and groped along the -wall until he found himself in the small passage with the unwholesome -thing in his hand. - -122. Even his wife’s face seemed changed as he entered the room. It was -white and expectant, and to his fears seemed to have an unnatural look -upon it. He was afraid of her. - -123. “Wish!” she cried in a strong voice. - -124. “It is foolish and wicked,” he faltered. - -125. “Wish!” repeated his wife. - -126. He raised his hand. “I wish my son alive again.” - -127. The talisman fell to the floor, and he regarded it fearfully. Then -he sank trembling into a chair as the old woman, with burning eyes, -walked to the window and raised the blind. - -128. He sat until he was chilled with the cold, glancing occasionally -at the figure of the old woman peering through the window. The -candle-end, which had burned below the rim of the china candle-stick, -was throwing pulsating shadows on the ceilings and walls, until, with -a flicker larger than the rest, it expired. The old man, with an -unspeakable sense of relief at the failure of the talisman, crept back -to his bed, and a minute or two afterward the old woman came silently -and apathetically beside him. - -129. Neither spoke, but lay silently listening to the ticking of the -clock. A stair creaked, and a squeaky mouse scurried noisily through -the wall. The darkness was oppressive, and after lying for some time -screwing up his courage, he took the box of matches, and striking one, -went downstairs for a candle. - -130. At the foot of the stairs the match went out, and he paused to -strike another; and at the same moment a knock, so quiet and stealthy -as to be scarcely audible, sounded on the front door. - -131. The matches fell from his hand and spilled in the passage. He -stood motionless, his breath suspended until the knock was repeated. -Then he turned and fled swiftly back to his room, and closed the door -behind him. A third knock sounded through the house. - -132. “What’s that?” cried the old woman, starting up. - -133. “A rat,” said the old man in shaking tones--“a rat. It passed me -on the stairs.” - -134. His wife sat up in bed listening. A loud knock resounded through -the house. - -135. “It’s Herbert!” she screamed, “It’s Herbert!” - -136. She ran to the door, but her husband was before her, and catching -her by the arm, held her tightly. - -137. “What are you going to do?” he whispered hoarsely. - -138. “It’s my boy; it’s Herbert!” she cried, struggling mechanically. -“I forgot it was two miles away. What are you holding me for? Let go. I -must open the door.” - -139. “For God’s sake don’t let it in,” cried the old man, trembling. - -140. “You’re afraid of your own son,” she cried, struggling. “Let me -go. I’m coming, Herbert; I’m coming.” - -141. There was another knock, and another. The old woman with a sudden -wrench broke free and ran from the room. Her husband followed to the -landing, and called after her appealingly as she hurried downstairs. -He heard the chain rattle back and the bottom bolt drawn slowly and -stiffly from the socket. Then the old woman’s voice, strained and -panting. - -142. “The bolt,” she cried, loudly. “Come down. I can’t reach it.” - -143. But her husband was on his hands and knees groping wildly on the -floor in search of the paw. If he could only find it before the thing -outside got in. A perfect fusillade of knocks reverberated through the -house, and he heard the scraping of a chair as his wife put it down in -the passage against the door. He heard the creaking of the bolt as it -came slowly back, and at the same moment he found the monkey’s paw, and -frantically breathed his third and last wish. - -144. The knocking ceased suddenly, although the echoes of it were -still in the house. He heard the chair drawn back, and the door -opened. A cold wind rushed up the staircase, and a long loud wail of -disappointment and misery from his wife gave him courage to run down -to her side, and then to the gate beyond. The street lamp flickering -opposite shone on a quiet and deserted road. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY - -1. Does it add to the interest of a story, for you, when you are -baffled by its mystery up to the very end? - -2. What author’s detective stories do you consider the best? Why? - -3. If possible, secure a copy of Voltaire’s “Zadig,” and write a short -paper on Zadig’s reasoning. - -4. Does the introduction of an element of the supernatural increase or -lessen the interest of a story, for you? - -5. Write about two-hundred words comparing (a) the work of Poe’s Dupin -with Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes; (b) with that of any other fictional -detective--Chesterton’s Father Brown, for example. - -6. Explain what is meant by _inductive_ reasoning. - -7. Select from some magazine (a) a good detective story, and (b) a good -story of the unexplained, or supernatural. (c) Discuss the relative -merits of each. - -8. Do you prefer Jacobs as a writer of humorous stories of sea-faring -folk or as a writer of the weird? - -9. Which of Poe’s stories do you like best, and why? - - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF MYSTERY AND FANTASY - -“The Horla,” Guy de Maupassant, translated in _Modern Ghosts_. - -“The Lost Duchess,” Anonymous, in _The Lock and Key Library_. - -“The Golden Ingot,” Fitz-James O’Brien, in _The Lock and Key Library_. - -“The Gold Bug,” Edgar Allan Poe, in _Tales_. - -“The Black Spaniel,” Robert Hichens, in volume of same title. - -“The Upper Berth,” F. Marion Crawford, in _Short-Story Classics, -American_. - -“The Adventure of the Dancing Men,” A. Conan Doyle, in _The Return of -Sherlock Holmes_. - -“The Venus of Ille,” Prosper Mérimée, translated in _Little French -Masterpieces_. - -“The Pavilion on the Links,” Robert Louis Stevenson, in _New Arabian -Nights_. - -“The Damned Thing,” Ambrose Bierce, in _Short-Story Classics, American_. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[19] Copyright, 1902, by Dodd, Mead & Co., in the collection of -short-stories, _The Lady of the Barge_. Used by permission. - - - - - III - STORIES OF EMOTION - - _The Last Class._--ALPHONSE DAUDET - _Without Benefit of Clergy._--RUDYARD KIPLING - - In painting we may represent any fine figure we please; but we - never can give it those enlivening touches which it may receive - from words. To represent an angel in a picture, you can only draw - a beautiful young man winged: but what painting can furnish out - any thing so grand as the addition of one word, “the angel of the - _Lord_?...” Now, as there is a moving tone of voice, an impassioned - countenance, an agitated gesture, which affect independently of - the things about which they are exerted, so there are words, and - certain dispositions of words, which being peculiarly devoted to - passionate subjects, and always used by those who are under the - influence of any passion, touch and move us more than those which - far more clearly and distinctly express the subject-matter. We - yield to sympathy what we refuse to description.--EDMUND BURKE, _On - the Sublime and Beautiful_. - - - STORIES OF EMOTION - -Fictional plots deal with the inner man quite as often as with the -outer. Indeed, the action of the soul is more real, intense and -interesting than mere visible action could possibly be. For this -reason the master story-tellers nearly always interpret the inner -life--whether of thought, of emotion, or of decision--by displaying -the outer, instead of by merely analyzing and discussing the thoughts, -feelings and decisions of their characters. The more clearly this outer -action pictures the inner man, the more real does the character become -to us and the more perfectly do we grasp the whole story. - -As a universal human experience, emotion[20] mingles with all -manifestations of life. In the short-story it finds various expression -in the hilarious fun of “Pigs is Pigs,” by Butler; the character humor -of Barrie’s “Thrums” stories; the mingled humor and pathos of Harte’s -“The Luck of Roaring Camp”; the patriotic sentiment of Daudet’s “The -Siege of Berlin”; the mystic sympathy of Kipling’s “They”; the idyllic -love of the Book of Ruth; the incomparable psychological insight of -Maupassant’s “A Coward”; the cold, revengeful jealousy of Balzac’s “La -Grande Bretêche”; the choking, supernatural terror of Poe’s “The Pit -and the Pendulum”; the tragic passion of Mérimée’s “Mateo Falcone,” and -all the myriad shades and combinations of shades which lie between. - -Naturally, each story in this entire collection illustrates one or -another emotional phase, as even a cursory reading will make clear. -What, for example, could be more intense than the emotions of those -two parents, as depicted in “The Monkey’s Paw?” But for this group -two stories have been selected as being typical examples of emotional -expression, because in them human feeling predominates over all other -characteristics and really makes the story. - -“The Last Class,” which is here presented in a translation by the -editor of this volume, is rich in local color, in impressionism, and in -character drawing, but as an unaffected picture of patriotic feeling -it is unsurpassed in the literature of the short-story. There is not a -single jarring emotional tone, not the slightest exaggeration of true -emotional values. With singular repression, Daudet secures his effects -by suggesting rather than fully expressing the profound feelings of the -school-master, his pupils, and the visitors; and when the majestically -simple climax is reached, we have accepted the reality of it all and -have received a single effective and lasting impression. - -“Without Benefit of Clergy,” the second specimen, is left for the -reader to analyze and discuss. Surely this most sadly touching of all -love-stories presents the poignant pity, the inevitable disaster, the -final heart-break of unsanctified love, as never before or since in -the pages of fiction. - - - DAUDET AND HIS WRITINGS - -Alphonse Daudet was born at Nîmes, France, May 13, 1840. Here and at -Lyons he received his education. At the age of seventeen he and his -brother Ernest went to Paris, where Alphonse published his first long -poem two years later. This began his literary success. From 1860 to -1865 he served as secretary in the Cabinet of the Duke de Morny, and at -the early age of twenty-five was decorated with the Cross of the Legion -of Honor. He was profoundly impressed by the memories of his early life -and frequently revisited his native Provence. The South-of-France tone -is distinguishable in much of his work, just as the powerful feelings -called forth by the Franco-Prussian war find expression in other of his -writings. He died in Paris, December 16, 1897. - -Alphonse Daudet was a dramatist, poet, novelist, and short-story -writer. _The Nabob_, _Sappho_, _Jack_, _Kings in Exile_, _Numa -Roumestan_, _Fromont and Risler_, _The Evangelist_, and the “Tartarin” -books are his best known novels. Among his best short-stories are “The -Pope’s Mule,” “The Death of the Dauphin,” “The Three Low Masses,” -“The Elixir of the Reverend Father Gaucher,” “Old Folks,” and “Master -Cornille’s Secret”--all from the collection, _Letters from My Mill_. -The following little masterpieces are from his _Monday Tales_: “The -Game of Billiards,” “The Child Spy,” “The Little Pies,” “Mothers,” -“The Siege of Berlin,” and “The Last Class.” - -At the close of the Franco-Prussian war, in 1871, France was forced to -cede to Germany almost all of Alsace, about nine thousand square miles -of territory, in addition to an indemnity of one billion dollars. “The -Last Class” was held, therefore, about 1872, and the story was first -published in 1873. - - * * * * * - -Daudet’s literary genius sounded every note, from farce, delicate -humor, and satire, to poetic pathos, dramatic action, character -analysis, and social criticism. He resembled Dickens in his humor, -but displayed more emotional tenderness, and, in his later work, -more satire, than did the English writer. Though he may be called -the literary descendant of Balzac, whose novels systematically -depicted French society in all its phases, Daudet was less a social -philosopher and more a man expressing his own personality through his -work. Comparing him with Maupassant, we find his stories less perfect -in form, but far richer in human feeling. Though at times he dealt -with subjects which English readers consider broad, his sympathy -unmistakably appears to be with his nobler characters. - - When only ten years of age, I was already haunted at times by the - desire to lose my own personality, and incarnate myself in other - beings; the mania was already laying hold of me for observing and - analyzing, and my chief amusement during my walks was to pick out - some passerby, and to follow him all over Lyons, through all his - idle strollings or busy occupations, striving to identify myself - with his life, and to enter into his innermost thoughts.--ALPHONSE - DAUDET, _Thirty Years of Paris_. - - Daudet expresses many things; but he most frequently expresses - himself--his own temper in the presence of life, his own feeling on - a thousand occasions.--HENRY JAMES, _Partial Portraits_. - - Life, as he knows it, is sad, full of disappointment, bitterness, - and suffering; and yet the conclusion he draws from experience is - that this life, with all its sadness, is well worth living.--RENÉ - DOUMIC, _Contemporary French Novelists_. - - The short stories are Daudet at his best, a style tense, virile, - full of suppressed energy.... There is a nobler strain in these - stories than speaks from the pages of _Le Petit Chose_ [“Little - What’s-His-Name”],--the ring of passionate patriotism, no longer - the voice of Provence, or of Paris, but the voice of France.... - The touching story, _La Dernière Classe_, might have come from the - lips of an Alsatian, so true is it to the spirit of Alsace during - those sorrowful days that followed the Franco-Prussian War.--MARION - MCINTYRE, Introduction to _Works_. - - Daudet’s two main series of stories (_Letters from My Mill_ and - _Monday Tales_) contain between sixty and seventy pieces.... They - represent Daudet the poet, with his exquisite fancy, his winning - charm, his subtle, indescribable style, his susceptibility to all - that is lovely and joyous in nature and in human life; in short, - in his sunny, mercurial Provençal temperament.... But there was - another Daudet more or less superimposed upon this sunny, poetic - Daudet, true child of Provence. Upon few Frenchmen of a generation - ago did the terrible years of the Franco-Prussian War and the - Commune produce a more sobering impression. The romanticist and - poet deepened into a realistic observer of human life in all its - phases.--W. P. TRENT, Introduction to the volume on Daudet, in - _Little French Masterpieces_. - - The charm reflected in his works lay in the man himself, and - earned for him a host of friends and an unclouded domestic life--it - lay in his open, sunny, inconsequent, southern nature, with his - quick sympathies, his irony at once forcible and delicate, his - ready tears. It lay in the spontaneousness of his talent, in his - Provençal gift of improvisation.... And it lay, too, in what was - an essential characteristic of his nature, his rapid alternation - of mood. Take even the slightest of his _Contes_ [stories].... - Within a few pages he is in turn sad, gay, sentimental, ironical, - pathetic, and one mood glides into the next without jar or - friction.--V. M. CRAWFORD, _Studies in Foreign Literature_. - - His stories first of all amuse, excite, distress himself.... - He never could, indeed, look on them disinterestedly, either - while they were making or when they were made. He made them with - actual tears and laughter; and they are read with actual tears - and laughter by the crowd.... But he had no philosophy behind - his fantastic and yet only too probable creations. Caring, as he - thought, supremely for life, he cared really for that surprising, - bewildering pantomime which life seems to be to those who watch its - coloured movement, its flickering lights, its changing costumes, - its powdered faces, without looking through the eyes into the - hearts of the dancers. He wrote from the very midst of the human - comedy; and it is from this that he seems at times to have caught - the bodily warmth and the taste of the tears and the very ring of - the laughter of men and women....--ARTHUR SYMONS, _Studies in Prose - and Verse_. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON DAUDET - -_Chats about Books_, Mayo W. Hazeltine (1883); _French Fiction of -To-day_, M. S. Van de Velde (1891); _Alphonse Daudet; a Biographical -and Critical Study_, R. H. Sherard (1894); _The Literary Movement -in France_, Georges Pellissier (1897); _Literary Likings_, Richard -Burton (1898); _The Historical Novel_, Brander Matthews (1901); _French -Profiles_, Edmund W. Gosse (1905); _Short-Story Masterpieces_, J. Berg -Esenwein (1912). - - - THE LAST CLASS - (La Dernière Classe) - - THE STORY OF A LITTLE ALSATIAN - BY ALPHONSE DAUDET - - _Translation by The Editor_ - -[Sidenote: INTRODUCTION plunges us at once into the action. There is -one main incident throughout. The narrator is immediately seen to be a -child, and surmised to be a boy.] - -That morning I was very late for school, so I was terribly afraid of -a scolding--particularly since Master Hamel had said that he would -examine us on participles, and I knew not the first word about them! -For a little while I thought of playing truant and wandering the fields. - -2. The day was so warm, so clear! - -[Sidenote: Setting. Note how the rural community is suggested.] - -3. I could hear the blackbirds whistling on the border of the wood; and -back of the sawmill, in the Rippert field, the Prussian soldiers were -drilling. All of this was much more tempting to me than participial -rules--but I was strong enough to resist and away to school I ran, as -fast as I could. - -[Sidenote: Small municipalities have mayors, in France.] - -[Sidenote: The tone is struck here. Forecast of crisis.] - -[Sidenote: Franco-Prussian War.] - -4. As I passed by the mayor’s office, I observed that a number of -people were assembled before the little board on which notices were -generally posted. For two years every piece of bad news had come -from that board--defeats in battle, conscriptions, orders from -headquarters--and, without stopping, I wondered: - -[Sidenote: Forecasts a crisis.] - -5. “What can it be this time!” - -[Sidenote: Note the Prussian name. Alsace was a border province.] - -6. Just then, as I was running across the square, Wachter the -blacksmith, who with his apprentice stood reading the placard, called -after me: - -[Sidenote: Hint of crisis to come. CONTRIBUTORY INCIDENT.] - -7. “You needn’t hurry so fast, my lad, you’ll get to school soon -enough!” - -[Sidenote: The school was held in the master’s house.] - -8. I thought he was making game of me, and I kept right on, reaching -Master Hamel’s little yard quite out of breath. - -[Sidenote: Unusual air depicted by contrast.] - -[Sidenote: The story proper begins.] - -[Sidenote: An old custom.] - -9. Ordinarily, as school was opening, the uproar was so great that it -could be heard clear out on the street--desk-lids opening and shutting, -lessons droned aloud in unison, pupils holding their ears shut to learn -their lessons easier, while the master’s great ferrule beat upon the -desks: - -10. “A little quietness!” - -[Sidenote: Contrast.] - -11. I had counted on all this noise to enable me to reach my seat -unnoticed; but on that particular day everything was as quiet as a -Sabbath morning. Through the open window I saw my schoolmates already -ranged in their places, and Master Hamel pacing to and fro, his -formidable iron ferrule under his arm. In the midst of that complete -silence I had to open the door and go in! You can well imagine whether -I blushed and was afraid! - -[Sidenote: Contrast.] - -12. But, quite to the contrary, Master Hamel looked at me with no sign -of anger, and then very gently said: - -[Sidenote: Evidently a small school.] - -13. “Go directly to your seat, my little Frantz--we were about to begin -without you.” - -[Sidenote: At which others were also seated.] - -[Sidenote: All the contrasts prepare us for the crisis.] - -[Sidenote: Prussian name.] - -[Sidenote: Dazed.] - -14. Immediately I stepped over the bench and sat down at my desk. Only -then, when I had partly gotten over my fright, did I observe that our -master was wearing his handsome blue riding-coat, his plaited ruff, -and his black silk embroidered breeches--worn only on inspection -days or when prizes were awarded. Furthermore, there was something -extraordinary, something solemn, about the whole school. But what -astounded me more than anything else was to see a number of people from -the village sitting, as silent as we, on the usually empty benches at -the back of the room: old Father Hauser with his three-cornered hat, -the ex-mayor, the former postman, besides a number of others. All -seemed cast down, and Father Hauser had brought with him an old primer, -with chewed up leaves, which he held wide-open up-side-down on his -knees, and lying on it his huge spectacles. - -15. While I was marvelling at all this, Master Hamel had mounted his -platform, and in the same gentle and serious voice with which he had -greeted me, he said to us: - -[Sidenote: FOUNDATION OF CLIMAX. Summary of the theme. Compare with -Longfellow’s _Evangeline_.] - -[Sidenote: This law went into effect July 1, 1870.] - -16. “My children, this is the last day that I shall keep school. The -order has come from Berlin that nothing but German shall be taught in -the schools of Alsace and Lorraine. The new school-master will arrive -to-morrow. This is the last class in French--I beg of you to be very -attentive!” - -17. His simple words overwhelmed me. This, then, was the notice they -had posted at the mayor’s office. Oh, the scoundrels! - -[Sidenote: The crisis becomes personal.] - -18. My last lesson in French! - -[Sidenote: Scarcely a paragraph but appeals to emotion in some form.] - -[Sidenote: The _Saar_ flows northward into the _Moselle_.] - -19. And I was scarcely able to write! Then I was never to learn! I -must stop short just where I was! How angry with myself it made me to -remember the time I had frittered away, and the lessons I had missed -while hunting birds’ nests or sliding on the Saar! My books now seemed -to me like old comrades from whom it broke my heart to part, and only a -moment since I had found them--my grammar, my sacred history--so dull, -and so heavy to carry! It was just the same when I thought of Master -Hamel. He was going away. I should never see him again--the thought -made me forget all his punishments and strokes with the ferrule. - -[Sidenote: Shift to interest in the Master.] - -[Sidenote: Now to the villagers.] - - -[Sidenote: Age indicated, thus adding to the pathos.] - -[Sidenote: THESE ARE THE KEY WORDS.] - -20. Poor old man! So it was in honor of that last lesson in French that -he had donned his Sunday best--and now I understood why those old folks -from the village were seated at the back of the room. It seemed to say -they regretted that they had not visited the school oftener. Besides, -it was a sort of way of thanking our teacher for his forty years of -devoted service, and of showing their love for the fatherland which was -passing away. - -[Sidenote: Note how Daudet arouses our sympathies by avoiding -generalities and centering our interest upon persons.] - -21. Just at this point in my reflections I heard my name called--it was -my turn to recite. Oh, I would have given anything to be able to recite -without a slip, in a strong, clear voice, that celebrated rule about -participles; but at the very first words I grew confused and I only -stood there at my bench swaying back and forward, my heart swelling, -not daring to lift my head. At length I heard Master Hamel saying to me: - -[Sidenote: Ordinary rebuke is swallowed up in the great common sorrow.] - -[Sidenote: Daudet here teaches all France a lesson--and all nations as -well.] - -22. “My little Frantz, I shall not scold you; you are punished enough, -I think. It is so with all of us; every day we reassure ourselves: -‘Bah! I have plenty of time. To-morrow I shall learn.’ Then you see -what happens. Alas! it has ever been the great misfortune of our -Alsace to defer its lessons until the morrow. And now these people are -justified in saying to us, ‘What, you pretend to be French, and you are -able neither to speak nor to write your language!’ But in all this you -are not the most guilty one, my poor Frantz--we are all worthy of a -full measure of self-reproach. - -[Sidenote: Note M. Hamel’s simple sincerity.] - -23. “Your parents have not taken enough care to see that you got an -education. They preferred to save a few more sous by putting you to -work in the fields or in the factories. And I--have I nothing for -which to blame myself? Have I not frequently sent you to water my -garden instead of keeping you at your books? Or have I ever hesitated -to dismiss school when I wanted to go trout-fishing?” - -24. So Master Hamel, passing from one theme to another, began to speak -to us about our French language. He said that it was the most beautiful -language in the whole world--the most clear, the most substantial; that -we must ever cherish it among ourselves, and never forget it, for when -a nation falls into bondage, just so long as it clings to its language, -it holds the key of its prison.[21] - -[Sidenote: The attention follows the lead of the emotions.] - -[Sidenote: So does the teacher’s skill.] - -25. Then he took a grammar and read us our lesson. I was astonished -to see how readily I understood! Everything he said seemed to me so -easy--so very easy. I believe that never before had I listened so -attentively, and that he, in turn, had never explained things with such -infinite patience. It almost seemed as though the poor fellow wished to -impart all his knowledge to us before he left us--to drive it all into -our heads with one blow. - -[Sidenote: A proof of unusual absorption.] - -[Sidenote: Note the pathos of the appeal.] - -26. The lesson ended, we went on to the exercises in penmanship. For -that day Master Hamel had gotten ready some entirely new copies on -which he had written in a neat, round hand: “France, Alsace, France, -Alsace.” The slips of paper looked like tiny flags, waving all -about the room and hanging from the rods of our desks. You should -have seen how diligently everyone worked, and how quiet it was! Only -the scratching of the pens over the paper could be heard. Once some -beetles flew in, but nobody paid any attention to them--not even the -very smallest chaps, who were struggling to draw their oblique lines -with a will and an application as sincere as though even the lines -themselves were French.... Pigeons cooed in low tones on the roof of -the schoolhouse, and as I listened to them I thought to myself: - -27. “I wonder if they are going to make them coo in German too!” - -[Sidenote: A picture. All of these contributory pictures stand in lieu -of contributory incidents. The whole is highly unified.] - -[Sidenote: The lad reasons as a lad--to him the pathos is not for -himself but for the old man.] - -28. Now and then, as I lifted my eyes from my task, I saw Master Hamel -seated motionless in his chair, and staring at things about him as -though in that look he would carry away with him the whole of his -little schoolhouse. Think of it! For forty years he had occupied that -same place, his yard in front of him, and his school always unchanged. -Only the benches and desks were rubbed by use until they were polished; -the walnuts in the yard had grown large, and the hop-vine he himself -had planted now hung in festoons from the windows clear to the roof. -How heartbreaking it must have been for that poor man to leave all -this--to hear his sister moving to and fro in the room overhead as -she packed their trunks! Next day they were going away--to leave the -fatherland forever. - -29. All the same, he had the courage to keep the school to the very -closing minute. The writing over, we had our lesson in history. Then -the little ones sang in unison their _ba, be, bi, bo, bu_. Yonder, at -the back of the room, old Father Hauser was holding his spelling-book -with both hands, and with the aid of his great spectacles he spelled -out the letters--one could see that even he too was applying himself. -Emotion shook his voice, and to hear him was so droll that we all -wanted to laugh--and to cry. Ah! I shall always remember that last -class. - -[Sidenote: PREPARATION FOR CLIMAX.] - -[Sidenote: FORMAL CRISIS--the end approaches.] - -[Sidenote: Note the force of this.] - -[Sidenote: Moral qualities affect the physical.] - -30. Suddenly the church clock sounded twelve. Then the Angelus. At the -same instant were heard under our very windows the trumpets of the -Prussians returning from drill. Pale as death, Master Hamel rose from -his chair. Never had he seemed so large. - -31. “My friends,” he began; “my friends, I--I--” - -32. But something choked him. He could not end the sentence. - -[Sidenote: Note the intensity.] - -33. Then he turned to the blackboard, seized a piece of chalk, and, -bearing with all his strength, he wrote in the largest letters he could -make: - -[Sidenote: FULL CLIMAX.] - -34. “VIVE LA FRANCE!” - -35. Then he stood there, his head leaning against the wall, and -without a word he signed to us with his hand: - -36. “It is the end ... go!” - - - KIPLING AND HIS WRITINGS - -Joseph Rudyard Kipling was born in Bombay, India, December 30, 1865, -of English parents, his father, J. Lockwood Kipling, an artist of -ability, having been in the colonial Civil Service. He was educated -at the United Services College, Devon, but returned to India in 1882 -and became an editorial writer and correspondent. In 1889 he began -extensive travels. For several years he resided in Brattleboro, -Vermont, but returned to England and settled in Rottingdean, Sussex. - -Rudyard Kipling has attained celebrity as poet, novelist, and -short-story writer. His best-known poems are found in the collections -entitled _Departmental Ditties_, _Barrack-Room Ballads_, _The Seven -Seas_, and _The Five Nations_. _Kim_ is his ablest novel. The two -“Jungle Books” constitute a remarkable collection of connected tales -of the jungle folk. His best short-stories are found in the following -volumes: _Soldiers Three_ (the “Mulvaney” stories, “The Man Who -Was,” etc.), _The Phantom Rickshaw_ (“The Man Who Would be King,” -“The Strange Ride of Morrowbie Jukes,” etc.), _Wee Willie Winkie and -Other Stories_ (“The Drums of the Fore and Aft,” “Under the Deodars,” -etc.), _The Day’s Work_ (“The Bridge Builders,” “The Brushwood Boy,” -etc.), and _Traffic and Discoveries_ (“They,” etc.). “Without Benefit -of Clergy” first appeared in _Macmillan’s Magazine_ (London) in -June, 1890, and in the June 7th and 14th, 1890, numbers of _Harper’s -Weekly_ (New York). In the same year it was published in the volume, -_The Courting of Dinah Shadd, and Other Stories_, but in 1891 it was -included in the volume _Life’s Handicap: being Stories of Mine Own -People._ - - * * * * * - -Rudyard Kipling is without doubt the greatest of living short-story -writers, though in interest his later fiction does not equal his -productions of the early nineties. His journalistic work drilled him in -compression; his precocious intuitions and personal experience of life -in India opened up a fresh and fascinating field; his genius taught him -how to tell his stories with unfailing variety, a robust humor, and -an understanding of the human heart quite uncanny in one so young. In -style, he is a master of the unexpected; in narration, he is by turns -deliberate and swift; in atmospheric painting, he transports us to real -places, wherein real folk do real things. - - Tell them first of those things that thou hast seen and they - have seen together. Thus their knowledge will piece out thy - imperfections. Tell them of what thou alone hast seen, then what - thou hast heard, and since they be children tell them of battles - and kings, horses, devils, elephants, and angels, but omit not to - tell them of love and such like. All the earth is full of tales to - him who listens and does not drive away the poor from his door. - The poor are the best of tale-tellers; for they must lay their ear - to the ground every night.--RUDYARD KIPLING, Preface to _Life’s - Handicap_. - - The tremulous passion of Ameera, her hopes, her fears, and her - agonies of disappointment, combine to form by far the most tender - page which Mr. Kipling has written.--EDMUND GOSSE, _Questions at - Issue_. - - ... The truly appreciative reader should surely have no quarrel - with the primitive element in Mr. Kipling’s subject-matter, or with - what, for want of a better name, I may call his love of low life. - What is that but essentially a part of his freshness? And for what - part of his freshness are we exactly more thankful than for just - this smart jostle that he gives the old stupid superstition that - the amiability of a story-teller is the amiability of the people - he represents--that their vulgarity, or depravity, or gentility, - or fatuity are tantamount to the same qualities in the painter - himself?--HENRY JAMES, Introduction to _Works_. - - It was not until “Without Benefit of Clergy” that he came to his - full strength in pathetic prose. The history of Ameera is one of - the triumphs of the short story. Its characterization is vivid; its - progress direct and poignant. I do not wish even for an instant to - seem to cheapen one of the most touching and beautiful stories in - the world when I call it journalism. But the voice of the desolate - mother breaking into the nursery rime of the wicked crow, - - “And the wild plums grow in the jungle, only a penny a pound, - Only a penny a pound, baba--only--,” - - and every pathetic moment, is chosen by an inspired sense for what - would most feelingly grasp the interest of the reader. This is high - art, with intense feeling behind it--otherwise it would not be so - excellent. But it is also good journalism.--HENRY SEIDEL CANBY, - _The Short-Story in English._ - - For Mr. Kipling to write a story without some firm human touch, - however slight, would be impossible.... In his effects Mr. - Kipling is usually photographic (“cinematographic” is better), - but his methods are almost invariably, for want of a better word, - “artistic.” I mean that whereas the principle of selection, - which is a vital principle of art, can operate but little in - photography, it is seen to be remarkably active in all Mr. - Kipling’s best work. His stories, so to speak, represent the - epigram of action, the epigram of a given situation.... It is from - the lives of such Englishmen ... that Mr. Kipling has gathered so - many of his vivid anecdotes. A great number of them ... are the - lesser lights and darks contributing to such more serious elements - of the general picture as “At the End of the Passage,” “Without - Benefit of Clergy,” “In Flood Time,” “The Man Who Was,” behind - which looms vast in the background the image of that old Sphinx of - the Plains complete in mystery as no other writer has ever been - able to suggest her.... Also he had written at least one love-story - (“Without Benefit of Clergy”) that broke one’s heart.... For all - the humour and buoyancy of his writings, Mr. Kipling is at heart - a pessimist, and, perhaps, his sincerest expression of opinion in - regard to the government of the universe is contained in the fierce - Omarian exclamation of Holden in “Without Benefit of Clergy,” - addressed to no one in particular, but evidently meant to reach far - up into the skies: “O you brute! You utter brute!” So Omar bade - Allah “man’s forgiveness give and take.”--RICHARD LE GALLIENNE, - _Rudyard Kipling: A Criticism_. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON KIPLING - -_Essays in Little_, Andrew Lang (1894); _Cervantes, Zola, Kipling -& Co._, in _Aspects of Modern Fiction_, Brander Matthews (1896); -_My Contemporaries in Fiction_, J. D. C. Murray (1897); _A Ken of -Kipling_, Will M. Clemens (1899); _Victorian Novelists_, James Oliphant -(1899); _A Kipling Primer_, F. L. Knowles (1899); _The Religion of -Mr. Kipling_, W. B. Parker (1899); _Rudyard Kipling, A Biographical -Sketch_, C. E. Norton (1899). - - - FOR ANALYSIS - - WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY - BY RUDYARD KIPLING - - Before my Spring I garnered Autumn’s gain, - Out of her time my field was white with grain, - The year gave up her secrets to my woe. - Forced and deflowered each sick season lay, - In mystery of increase and decay; - I saw the sunset ere men saw the day, - Who am too wise in that I should not know. - - _Bitter Waters._ - - - I - -“But if it be a girl?” - -2. “Lord of my life, it cannot be. I have prayed for so many nights, -and sent gifts to Sheikh Badl’s shrine so often, that I know God will -give us a son--a man-child that shall grow into a man. Think of this -and be glad. My mother shall be his mother till I can take him again, -and the mullah of the Pattan mosque shall cast his nativity--God send -he be born in an auspicious hour!--and then, thou wilt never weary of -me, thy slave.” - -3. “Since when hast thou been a slave, my queen?” - -4. “Since the beginning--till this mercy came to me. How could I be -sure of thy love when I knew that I had been bought with silver?” - -5. “Nay, that was the dowry. I paid it to thy mother.” - -6. “And she has buried it, and sits upon it all day long like a hen. -What talk is yours of dower! I was bought as though I had been a -Lucknow dancing-girl instead of a child.” - -7. “Art thou sorry for the sale?” - -8. “I have sorrowed; but to-day I am glad. Thou wilt never cease to -love me now?--answer, my king.” - -9. “Never--never. No.” - -10. “Not even though the _mem-log_--the white women of thy own -blood--love thee? And remember, I have watched them driving in the -evening; they are very fair.” - -11. “I have seen fire-balloons by the hundred. I have seen the moon, -and--then I saw no more fire-balloons.” - -12. Ameera clapped her hands and laughed. “Very good talk,” she said. -Then with an assumption of great stateliness: “It is enough. Thou hast -my permission to depart--if thou wilt.” - -13. The man did not move. He was sitting on a low red-lacquered couch -in a room furnished only with a blue and white floor-cloth, some rugs, -and a very complete collection of native cushions. At his feet sat -a woman of sixteen, and she was all but all the world in his eyes. -By every rule and law she should have been otherwise, for he was an -Englishman, and she a Mussulman’s daughter bought two years before from -her mother, who, being left without money, would have sold Ameera -shrieking to the Prince of Darkness if the price had been sufficient. - -14. It was a contract entered into with a light heart; but even before -the girl had reached her bloom she came to fill the greater portion -of John Holden’s life. For her, and the withered hag, her mother, he -had taken a little house overlooking the great red-walled city, and -found--when the marigolds had sprung up by the well in the courtyard -and Ameera had established herself according to her own ideas of -comfort, and her mother had ceased grumbling at the inadequacy of the -cooking-places, the distance from the daily market, and at matters -of housekeeping in general--that the house was to him his home. Any -one could enter his bachelor’s bungalow by day or night, and the life -that he led there was an unlovely one. In the house in the city his -feet only could pass beyond the outer courtyard to the women’s rooms; -and when the big wooden gate was bolted behind him he was king in his -own territory, with Ameera for queen. And there was going to be added -to this kingdom a third person whose arrival Holden felt inclined to -resent. It interfered with his perfect happiness. It disarranged the -orderly peace of the house that was his own. But Ameera was wild with -delight at the thought of it, and her mother not less so. The love -of a man, and particularly a white man, was at the best an inconstant -affair, but it might, both women argued, be held fast by a baby’s -hands. “And then,” Ameera would always say, “then he will never care -for the white _mem-log_. I hate them all--I hate them all.” - -15. “He will go back to his own people in time,” said the mother; “but -by the blessing of God that time is yet afar off.” - -16. Holden sat silent on the couch thinking of the future, and his -thoughts were not pleasant. The drawbacks of a double life are -manifold. The Government, with singular care, had ordered him out of -the station for a fortnight on special duty in the place of a man who -was watching by the bedside of a sick wife. The verbal notification -of the transfer had been edged by a cheerful remark that Holden ought -to think himself lucky in being a bachelor and a free man. He came to -break the news to Ameera. - -17. “It is not good,” she said slowly, “but it is not all bad. There -is my mother here, and no harm will come to me--unless indeed I die of -pure joy. Go thou to thy work and think no troublesome thoughts. When -the days are done I believe ... nay, I am sure. And--and then I shall -lay _him_ in thy arms, and thou wilt love me forever. The train goes -to-night, at midnight is it not? Go now, and do not let thy heart be -heavy by cause of me. But thou wilt not delay in returning? Thou wilt -not stay on the road to talk to the bold white _mem-log_. Come back to -me swiftly, my life.” - -18. As he left the courtyard to reach his horse that was tethered -to the gate-post, Holden spoke to the white-haired old watchman who -guarded the house, and bade him under certain contingencies despatch -the filled-up telegraph-form that Holden gave him. It was all that -could be done, and with the sensations of a man who has attended his -own funeral Holden went away by the night mail to his exile. Every hour -of the day he dreaded the arrival of the telegram, and every hour of -the night he pictured to himself the death of Ameera. In consequence -his work for the state was not of first-rate quality, nor was his -temper towards his colleagues of the most amiable. The fortnight ended -without a sign from his home, and, torn to pieces by his anxieties, -Holden returned to be swallowed up for two precious hours by a dinner -at the club, wherein he heard, as a man hears in a swoon, voices -telling him how execrably he had performed the other man’s duties, and -how he had endeared himself to all his associates. Then he fled on -horseback through the night with his heart in his mouth. There was no -answer at first to his blows on the gate, and he had just wheeled his -horse round to kick it in when Pir Khan appeared with a lantern and -held his stirrup. - -19. “Has aught occurred?” said Holden. - -20. “The news does not come from my mouth, Protector of the Poor, -but--” He held out his shaking hand as befitted the bearer of good news -who is entitled to a reward. - -21. Holden hurried through the courtyard. A light burned in the upper -room. His horse neighed in the gateway, and he heard a shrill little -wail that sent all the blood into the apple of his throat. It was a new -voice, but it did not prove that Ameera was alive. - -22. “Who is there?” he called up the narrow brick staircase. - -23. There was a cry of delight from Ameera, and then the voice of the -mother, tremulous with old age and pride--“We be two women and--the -man--thy--son.” - -24. On the threshold of the room Holden stepped on a naked dagger, that -was laid there to avert ill-luck, and it broke at the hilt under his -impatient heel. - -25. “God is great!” cooed Ameera in the half-light. “Thou hast taken -his misfortunes on thy head.” - -26. “Ay, but how is it with thee, life of my life? Old woman, how is it -with her?” - -27. “She has forgotten her sufferings for joy that the child is born. -There is no harm; but speak softly,” said the mother. - -28. “It only needed thy presence to make me all well,” said Ameera. “My -king, thou hast been very long away. What gifts hast thou for me? Ah, -ah! It is I that bring gifts this time. Look, my life, look! Was there -ever such a babe? Nay, I am too weak even to clear my arm from him.” - -29. “Rest then, and do not talk. I am here, _bachari_ [little woman].” - -30. “Well said, for there is a bond and a heel-rope [_peecharee_] -between us now that nothing can break. Look--canst thou see in this -light? He is without spot or blemish. Never was such a man-child. _Ya -illah!_ he shall be a pundit--no, a trooper of the Queen. And, my life, -dost thou love me as well as ever, though I am faint and sick and worn? -Answer truly.” - -31. “Yea. I love as I have loved, with all my soul. Lie still, pearl, -and rest.” - -32. “Then do not go. Sit by my side here--so. Mother, the lord of this -house needs a cushion. Bring it.” There was an almost imperceptible -movement on the part of the new life that lay in the hollow of Ameera’s -arm. “Aho!” she said, her voice breaking with love. “The babe is a -champion from his birth. He is kicking me in the side with mighty -kicks. Was there ever such a babe! And he is ours to us--thine and -mine. Put thy hand on his head, but carefully, for he is very young, -and men are unskilled in such matters.” - -33. Very cautiously Holden touched with the tips of his fingers the -downy head. - -34. “He is of the faith,” said Ameera; “for lying here in the -night-watches I whispered the Call to Prayer and the Profession of -Faith into his ears. And it is most marvellous that he was born upon a -Friday, as I was born. Be careful of him, my life; but he can almost -grip with his hands.” - -35. Holden found one helpless little hand that closed feebly on his -finger. And the clutch ran through his body till it settled about his -heart. Till then his sole thought had been for Ameera. He began to -realise that there was some one else in the world, but he could not -feel that it was a veritable son with a soul. He sat down to think, and -Ameera dozed lightly. - -36. “Get hence, _sahib_,” said her mother under her breath. “It is not -good that she should find you here on waking. She must be still.” - -37. “I go,” said Holden submissively. “Here be rupees. See that my -_baba_ gets fat and finds all that he needs.” - -38. The chink of the silver roused Ameera. “I am his mother, and no -hireling,” she said weakly. “Shall I look to him more or less for the -sake of money? Mother, give it back. I have borne my lord a son.” - -39. The deep sleep of weakness came upon her before the sentence was -completed. Holden went down to the courtyard very softly, with his -heart at ease. Pir Khan, the old watchman, was chuckling with delight. -“This house is now complete,” he said, and without further comment -thrust into Holden’s hands the hilt of a sabre worn many years ago when -he, Pir Khan, served the Queen in the police. The bleat of a tethered -goat came from the well-curb. - -40. “There be two,” said Pir Khan, “two goats of the best. I bought -them, and they cost much money; and since there is no birth-party -assembled their flesh will be all mine. Strike craftily, _sahib_! ’Tis -an ill-balanced sabre at the best. Wait till they raise their heads -from cropping the marigolds.” - -41. “And why?” said Holden, bewildered. - -42. “For the birth-sacrifice. What else? Otherwise the child being -unguarded from fate may die. The Protector of the Poor knows the -fitting words to be said.” - -43. Holden had learned them once with little thought that he would ever -speak them in earnest. The touch of the cold sabre-hilt in his palm -turned suddenly to the clinging grip of the child up-stairs--the child -that was his own son--and a dread of loss filled him. - -44. “Strike!” said Pir Khan. “Never life came into the world but life -was paid for it. See, the goats have raised their heads. Now! With a -drawing cut!” - -45. Hardly knowing what he did, Holden cut twice as he muttered the -Mohammedan prayer that runs: “Almighty! In place of this my son I offer -life for life, blood for blood, head for head, bone for bone, hair -for hair, skin for skin.” The waiting horse snorted and bounded in -his pickets at the smell of the raw blood that spirted over Holden’s -riding-boots. - -46. “Well smitten!” said Pir Khan, wiping the sabre. “A swordsman was -lost in thee. Go with a light heart, heaven-born. I am thy servant, and -the servant of thy son. May the Presence live a thousand years and ... -the flesh of the goats is all mine?” Pir Khan drew back richer by a -month’s pay. Holden swung himself into the saddle and rode off through -the low-hanging wood-smoke of the evening. He was full of riotous -exultation, alternating with a vast vague tenderness directed towards -no particular object, that made him choke as he bent over the neck of -his uneasy horse. “I never felt like this in my life,” he thought. -“I’ll go to the club and pull myself together.” - -47. A game of pool was beginning, and the room was full of men. Holden -entered, eager to get to the light and the company of his fellows, -singing at the top of his voice: - - “‘In Baltimore a-walking, a lady I did meet!’” - -48. “Did you?” said the club-secretary from his corner. “Did she happen -to tell you that your boots were wringing wet? Great goodness, man, -it’s blood!” - -49. “Bosh!” said Holden, picking his cue from the rack. “May I cut in? -It’s dew. I’ve been riding through high crops. My faith, my boots are -in a mess, though!” - - 50. “‘And if it be a girl she shall wear a wedding-ring, - And if it be a boy he shall fight for his king, - With his dirk, and his cap, and his little jacket blue, - He shall walk the quarter-deck--’” - -51. “Yellow on blue--green next player,” said the marker monotonously. - -52. “_He shall walk the quarter-deck_'--Am I green, marker?--_He -shall walk the quarter-deck_'--eh! that's a bad shot--‘_As his daddy -used to do_!’” - -53. “I don’t see that you have anything to crow about,” said a zealous -junior civilian acidly. “The Government is not exactly pleased with -your work when you relieved Sanders.” - -54. “Does that mean a wigging from headquarters?” said Holden with an -abstracted smile. “I think I can stand it.” - -55. The talk beat up round the ever-fresh subject of each man’s work, -and steadied Holden till it was time to go to his dark empty bungalow, -where his butler received him as one who knew all his affairs. Holden -remained awake for the greater part of the night, and his dreams were -pleasant ones. - - - II - -56. “How old is he now?” - -57. “_Ya illah!_ What a man’s question! He is all but six weeks old; -and on this night I go up to the housetop with thee, my life, to count -the stars. For that is auspicious. And he was born on a Friday under -the sign of the Sun, and it has been told to me that he will outlive us -both and get wealth. Can we wish for aught better, beloved?” - -58. “There is nothing better. Let us go up to the roof, and thou shalt -count the stars--but a few only, for the sky is heavy with cloud.” - -59. “The winter rains are late, and maybe they come out of season. -Come, before all the stars are hid. I have put on my richest jewels.” - -60. “Thou hast forgotten the best of all.” - -61. “_Ai!_ Ours. He comes also. He has never yet seen the skies.” - -62. Ameera climbed the narrow staircase that led to the flat roof. -The child, placid and unwinking, lay in the hollow of her right arm, -gorgeous in silver-fringed muslin with a small skull-cap on his head. -Ameera wore all that she valued most. The diamond nose-stud that takes -the place of the Western patch in drawing attention to the curve of -the nostril, the gold ornament in the centre of the forehead studded -with tallow-drop emeralds and flawed rubies, the heavy circlet of -beaten gold that was fastened round her neck by the softness of the -pure metal, and the chinking curb-patterned silver anklets hanging -low over the rosy ankle-bone. She was dressed in jade-green muslin as -befitted a daughter of the Faith, and from shoulder to elbow and elbow -to wrist ran bracelets of silver tied with floss silk, frail glass -bangles slipped over the wrist in proof of the slenderness of the hand, -and certain heavy gold bracelets that had no part in her country’s -ornaments but, since they were Holden’s gift and fastened with a -cunning European snap, delighted her immensely. - -63. They sat down by the low white parapet of the roof, overlooking the -city and its lights. - -64. “They are happy down there,” said Ameera. “But I do not think that -they are as happy as we. Nor do I think the white _mem-log_ are as -happy. And thou?” - -65. “I know they are not.” - -66. “How dost thou know?” - -67. “They give their children over to the nurses.” - -“I have never seen that,” said Ameera with a sigh, “nor do I wish -to see. _Ahi!_”--she dropped her head on Holden’s shoulder--“I have -counted forty stars, and I am tired. Look at the child, love of my -life, he is counting too.” - -68. The baby was staring with round eyes at the dark of the heavens. -Ameera placed him in Holden’s arms, and he lay there without a cry. - -69. “What shall we call him among ourselves?” she said. “Look! Art thou -ever tired of looking? He carries thy very eyes. But the mouth--” - -70. “Is thine, most dear. Who should know better than I?” - -71. “’Tis such a feeble mouth. Oh, so small! And yet it holds my heart -between its lips. Give him to me now. He has been too long away.” - -72. “Nay, let him lie; he has not yet begun to cry.” - -73. “When he cries thou wilt give him back--eh? What a man of mankind -thou art! If he cried he were only the dearer to me. But, my life, what -little name shall we give him?” - -74. The small body lay close to Holden’s heart. It was utterly helpless -and very soft. He scarcely dared to breathe for fear of crushing it. -The caged green parrot that is regarded as a sort of guardian spirit -in most native households moved on its perch and fluttered a drowsy -wing. - -75. “There is the answer,” said Holden. “Mian Mittu has spoken. He -shall be the parrot. When he is ready he will talk mightily and run -about. Mian Mittu is the parrot in thy--in the Mussulman tongue, is it -not?” - -76. “Why put me so far off?” said Ameera fretfully. “Let it be like -unto some English name--but not wholly. For he is mine.” - -77. “Then call him Tota, for that is likest English.” - -78. “Ay, Tota, and that is still the parrot. Forgive me, my lord, for -a minute ago, but in truth he is too little to wear all the weight of -Mian Mittu for name. He shall be Tota--our Tota to us. Hearest thou, O -small one? Littlest, thou art Tota.” She touched the child’s cheek, and -he waking, wailed, and it was necessary to return him to his mother, -who soothed him with the wonderful rhyme of “_Aré koko, Jaré koko!_” -which says: - - “Oh, crow! Go crow! Baby’s sleeping sound, - And the wild plums grow in the jungle, only a penny a pound, - Only a penny a pound, _baba_, only a penny a pound.” - -79. Reassured many times as to the price of those plums, Tota cuddled -himself down to sleep. The two sleek, white well-bullocks in the -courtyard were steadily chewing the cud of their evening meal; old -Pir Khan squatted at the head of Holden’s horse, his police sabre -across his knees, pulling drowsily at a big water-pipe that croaked -like a bull-frog in a pond. Ameera’s mother sat spinning in the lower -veranda, and the wooden gate was shut and barred. The music of a -marriage-procession came to the roof above the gentle hum of the city, -and a string of flying-foxes crossed the face of the low moon. - -80. “I have prayed,” said Ameera, after a long pause, “I have prayed -for two things. First that I may die in thy stead if thy death is -demanded, and in the second that I may die in the place of the child. -I have prayed to the Prophet and to Beebee Miriam [the Virgin Mary]. -Thinkest thou either will hear?” - -81. “From thy lips who would not hear the lightest word?” - -82. “I asked for straight talk, and thou hast given me sweet talk. Will -my prayers be heard?” - -83. “How can I say? God is very good.” - -84. “Of that I am not sure. Listen now. When I die, or the child dies, -what is thy fate? Living, thou wilt return to the bold white _mem-log_, -for kind calls to kind.” - -85. “Not always.” - -86. “With a woman, no; with a man it is otherwise. Thou wilt in this -life, later on, go back to thine own folk. That I could almost endure -for I should be dead. But in thy very death thou wilt be taken away to -a strange place and a paradise that I do not know.” - -87. “Will it be paradise?” - -88. “Surely, for who would harm thee? But we two--I and the -child--shall be elsewhere, and we cannot come to thee, nor canst thou -come to us. In the old days, before the child was born, I did not think -of these things; but now I think of them always. It is very hard talk.” - -89. “It will fall as it will fall. To-morrow we do not know, but to-day -and love we know well. Surely we are happy now.” - -90. “So happy that it were well to make our happiness assured. And thy -Beebee Miriam should listen to me; for she is also a woman. But then -she would envy me! It is not seemly for men to worship a woman.” - -91. Holden laughed aloud at Ameera’s little spasm of jealousy. - -92. “Is it not seemly? Why didst thou not turn me from worship of thee, -then?” - -93. “Thou a worshipper! And of me? My king, for all thy sweet words, -well I know that I am thy servant and thy slave, and the dust under thy -feet. And I would not have it otherwise. See!” - -94. Before Holden could prevent her she stooped and touched his feet; -recovering herself with a little laugh she hugged Tota close to her -bosom. Then, almost savagely: - -95. “Is it true that the bold white _mem-log_ live for three times the -length of my life? Is it true that they make their marriages not before -they are old women?” - -96. “They marry as do others--when they are women.” - -97. “That I know, but they wed when they are twenty-five. Is that true?” - -98. “That is true.” - -99. “_Ya illah!_ At twenty-five! Who would of his own will take a wife -even of eighteen? She is a woman--aging every hour. Twenty-five! I -shall be an old woman at that age, and--those _mem-log_ remain young -forever. How I hate them!” - -100. “What have they to do with us?” - -101. “I cannot tell. I know only that there may now be alive on this -earth a woman ten years older than I who may come to thee and take thy -love ten years after I am an old woman, gray-headed, and the nurse of -Tota’s son. That is unjust and evil. They should die too.” - -102. “Now, for all thy years thou art a child, and shalt be picked up -and carried down the staircase.” - -103. “Tota! Have a care for Tota, my lord! Thou at least art as foolish -as any babe!” Ameera tucked Tota out of harm’s way in the hollow of her -neck, and was carried downstairs laughing in Holden’s arms, while Tota -opened his eyes and smiled after the manner of the lesser angels. - -104. He was a silent infant, and almost before Holden could realise -that he was in the world, developed into a small gold-coloured little -god and unquestioned despot of the house overlooking the city. Those -were months of absolute happiness to Holden and Ameera--happiness -withdrawn from the world, shut in behind the wooden gate that Pir Khan -guarded. By day Holden did his work with an immense pity for such as -were not so fortunate as himself, and a sympathy for small children -that amazed and amused many mothers at the little station gatherings. -At nightfall he returned to Ameera--Ameera, full of the wondrous doings -of Tota; how he had been seen to clap his hands together and move his -fingers with intention and purpose--which was manifestly a miracle; -how, later, he had of his own initiative crawled out of his low -bedstead on to the floor and swayed on both feet for the space of three -breaths. - -105. “And they were long breaths, for my heart stood still with -delight,” said Ameera. - -106. Then Tota took the beasts into his councils--the well-bullocks, -the little gray squirrels, the mongoose that lived in a hole near the -well, and especially Mian Mittu, the parrot, whose tail he grievously -pulled, and Mian Mittu screamed till Ameera and Holden arrived. - -107. “O villain! Child of strength! This to thy brother on the -housetop! _Tobah, tobah!_ Fie! Fie! But I know a charm to make him wise -as Suleiman and Aflatoun [Solomon and Plato]. Now look,” said Ameera. -She drew from an embroidered bag a handful of almonds. “See! we count -seven. In the name of God!” - -108. She placed Mian Mittu, very angry and rumpled, on the top of his -cage, and seating herself between the babe and the bird she cracked -and peeled an almond less white than her teeth. “This is a true charm, -my life, and do not laugh. See! I give the parrot one half and Tota -the other.” Mian Mittu with careful beak took his share from between -Ameera’s lips, and she kissed the other half into the mouth of the -child, who ate it slowly with wondering eyes. “This I will do each -day of seven, and without doubt he who is ours will be a bold speaker -and wise. Eh, Tota, what wilt thou be when thou art a man and I am -gray-headed?” Tota tucked his fat legs into adorable creases. He could -crawl, but he was not going to waste the spring of his youth in idle -speech. He wanted Mian Mittu’s tail to tweak. - -109. When he was advanced to the dignity of a silver belt--which, with -a magic square engraved on silver and hung round his neck, made up the -greater part of his clothing--he staggered on a perilous journey down -the garden to Pir Khan and proffered him all his jewels in exchange -for one little ride on Holden’s horse, having seen his mother’s mother -chaffering with peddlers in the veranda. Pir Khan wept and set the -untried feet on his own gray head in sign of fealty, and brought the -bold adventurer to his mother’s arms, vowing that Tota would be a -leader of men ere his beard was grown. - -110. One hot evening, while he sat on the roof between his father and -mother watching the never-ending warfare of the kites that the city -boys flew, he demanded a kite of his own with Pir Khan to fly it, -because he had a fear of dealing with anything larger than himself, -and when Holden called him a “spark” he rose to his feet and answered -slowly in defence of his new-found individuality: _“Hum 'park nahin -hai. Hum admi hai_ [I am no spark, but a man].” - -111. The protest made Holden choke and devote himself very seriously -to a consideration of Tota’s future. He need hardly have taken the -trouble. The delight of that life was too perfect to endure. Therefore -it was taken away as many things are taken away in India--suddenly and -without warning. The little lord of the house, as Pir Khan called him, -grew sorrowful and complained of pains who had never known the meaning -of pain. Ameera, wild with terror, watched him through the night, -and in the dawning of the second day the life was shaken out of him -by fever--the seasonal autumn fever. It seemed altogether impossible -that he could die, and neither Ameera nor Holden at first believed the -evidence of the little body on the bedstead. Then Ameera beat her head -against the wall and would have flung herself down the well in the -garden had Holden not restrained her by main force. - -112. One mercy only was granted to Holden. He rode to his office in -broad daylight and found waiting him an unusually heavy mail that -demanded concentrated attention and hard work. He was not, however, -alive to this kindness of the gods. - - - III - -113. The first shock of a bullet is no more than a brisk pinch. The -wrecked body does not send in its protest to the soul till ten or -fifteen seconds later. Holden realised his pain slowly, exactly as he -had realised his happiness, and with the same imperious necessity for -hiding all traces of it. In the beginning he only felt that there had -been a loss, and that Ameera needed comforting where she sat with her -head on her knees shivering as Mian Mittu from the housetop called: -_Tota! Tota! Tota!_ Later, all his world and the daily life of it rose -up to hurt him. It was an outrage that any one of the children at the -band-stand in the evening should be alive and clamorous, when his own -child lay dead. It was more than mere pain when one of them touched -him, and stories told by over-fond fathers of their children’s latest -performances cut him to the quick. He could not declare his pain. He -had neither help, comfort, nor sympathy; and Ameera at the end of each -weary day would lead him through the hell of self-questioning reproach -which is reserved for those who have lost a child, and believe that -with a little--just a little--more care it might have been saved. - -114. “Perhaps,” Ameera would say, “I did not take sufficient heed. Did -I, or did I not? The sun on the roof that day when he played so long -alone and I was--ahi! braiding my hair--it may be that the sun then -bred the fever. If I had warned him from the sun he might have lived. -But oh, my life, say that I am guiltless! Thou knowest that I loved him -as I love thee. Say that there is no blame on me, or I shall die--I -shall die!” - -115. “There is no blame--before God, none. It was written, and how -could we do aught to save? What has been, has been. Let it go, beloved.” - -116. “He was all my heart to me. How can I let the thought go when -my arm tells me every night that he is not here? _Ahi! Ahi!_ O Tota, -come back to me--come back again, and let us be all together as it was -before!” - -117. “Peace, peace! For thine own sake, and for mine also, if thou -lovest me--rest.” - -118. “By this I know thou dost not care; and how shouldst thou? The -white men have hearts of stone and souls of iron. Oh, that I had -married a man of mine own people--though he beat me--and had never -eaten the bread of an alien!” - -119. “Am I an alien--mother of my son?” - -120. “What else--_sahib_?... Oh, forgive me--forgive! The death has -driven me mad. Thou art the life of my heart, and the light of my eyes, -and the breath of my life, and--and I have put thee from me, though -it was but for a moment. If thou goest away, to whom shall I look for -help? Do not be angry. Indeed, it was the pain that spoke and not thy -slave.” - -121. “I know, I know. We be two who were three. The greater need -therefore that we should be one.” - -122. They were sitting on the roof as of custom. The night was a warm -one in early spring, and sheet-lightning was dancing on the horizon to -a broken tune played by far-off thunder. Ameera settled herself in -Holden’s arms. - -123. “The dry earth is lowing like a cow for the rain, and I--I am -afraid. It was not like this when we counted the stars. But thou lovest -me as much as before, though a bond is taken away? Answer!” - -124. “I love more because a new bond has come out of the sorrow that we -have eaten together, and that thou knowest.” - -125. “Yea, I knew,” said Ameera in a very small whisper. “But it is -good to hear thee say so, my life, who art so strong to help. I will -be a child no more but a woman and an aid to thee. Listen! Give me my -_sitar_ and I will sing bravely.” - -126. She took the light silver-studded _sitar_ and began a song of -the great hero Rajah Rasalu. The hand failed on the strings, the tune -halted, checked, and at a low note turned off to the poor little -nursery-rhyme about the wicked crow: - - “‘And the wild plums grow in the jungle, only a penny a pound, - Only a penny a pound, _baba_--only....’” - -127. Then came the tears and the piteous rebellion against fate till -she slept, moaning a little in her sleep, with the right arm thrown -clear of the body as though it protected something that was not there. -It was after this night that life became a little easier for Holden. -The ever-present pain of loss drove him into his work, and the -work repaid him by filling up his mind for nine or ten hours a day. -Ameera sat alone in the house and brooded, but grew happier when she -understood that Holden was more at ease, according to the custom of -women. They touched happiness again, but this time with caution. - -128. “It was because we loved Tota that he died. The jealousy of God -was upon us,” said Ameera. “I have hung up a large black jar before our -window to turn the evil eye from us, and we must make no protestations -of delight, but go softly underneath the stars, lest God find us out. -Is that not good talk, worthless one?” - -129. She had shifted the accent on the word that means “beloved,” in -proof of the sincerity of her purpose. But the kiss that followed the -new christening was a thing that any deity might have envied. They went -about henceforward saying: “It is naught, it is naught”; and hoping -that all the Powers heard. - -130. The Powers were busy on other things. They had allowed thirty -million people four years of plenty wherein men fed well and the crops -were certain, and the birth-rate rose year by year; the districts -reported a purely agricultural population varying from nine hundred -to two thousand to the square mile of the overburdened earth; and -the Member for Lower Tooting, wandering about India in pot-hat -and frock-coat, talked largely of the benefits of British rule and -suggested as the one thing needful the establishment of a duly -qualified electoral system and a general bestowal of the franchise. His -long-suffering hosts smiled and made him welcome, and when he paused -to admire, with pretty picked words, the blossom of the blood-red -dhak-tree that had flowered untimely for a sign of what was coming, -they smiled more than ever. - -131. It was the Deputy Commissioner of Kot-Kumharsen, staying at the -club for a day, who lightly told a tale that made Holden’s blood run -cold as he overheard the end. - -132. “He won’t bother any one any more. Never saw a man so astonished -in my life. By Jove, I thought he meant to ask a question in the House -about it. Fellow passenger in his ship--dined next him--bowled over by -cholera and died in eighteen hours. You needn’t laugh, you fellows. -The Member for Lower Tooting is awfully angry about it; but he’s more -scared. I think he’s going to take his enlightened self out of India.” - -133. “I’d give a good deal if he were knocked over. It might keep a -few vestrymen of his kidney to their own parish. But what’s this about -cholera? It’s full early for anything of that kind,” said the warden of -an unprofitable salt-lick. - -134. “Don’t know,” said the Deputy Commissioner reflectively. “We’ve -got locusts with us. There’s sporadic cholera all along the north--at -least we’re calling it sporadic for decency’s sake. The spring crops -are short in five districts, and nobody seems to know where the rains -are. It’s nearly March now. I don’t want to scare anybody, but it seems -to me that Nature’s going to audit her accounts with a big red pencil -this summer.” - -135. “Just when I wanted to take leave, too!” said a voice across the -room. - -136. “There won’t be much leave this year, but there ought to be a -great deal of promotion. I’ve come in to persuade the Government to put -my pet canal on the list of famine-relief works. It’s an ill wind that -blows no good. I shall get that canal finished at last.” - -137. “Is it the old programme then,” said Holden; “famine, fever, and -cholera?” - -138. “Oh, no. Only local scarcity and an unusual prevalence of seasonal -sickness. You’ll find it all in the reports if you live till next year. -You’re a lucky chap. _You_ haven’t got a wife to send out of harm’s -way. The hill stations ought to be full of women this year.” - -139. “I think you’re inclined to exaggerate the talk in the _bazars_,” -said a young civilian in the secretariat. “Now I have observed--” - -140. “I daresay you have,” said the Deputy Commissioner, “but you’ve -a great deal more to observe, my son. In the meantime, I wish to -observe to you--” and he drew him aside to discuss the construction of -the canal that was so dear to his heart. Holden went to his bungalow -and began to understand that he was not alone in the world, and -also that he was afraid for the sake of another--which is the most -soul-satisfying fear known to man. - -141. Two months later, as the Deputy had foretold, Nature began to -audit her accounts with a red pencil. On the heels of the spring -reapings came a cry for bread, and the Government, which had decreed -that no man should die of want, sent wheat. Then came the cholera from -all four quarters of the compass. It struck a pilgrim-gathering of half -a million at a sacred shrine. Many died at the feet of their god; the -others broke and ran over the face of the land carrying the pestilence -with them. It smote a walled city and killed two hundred a day. The -people crowded the trains, hanging on to the foot-boards and squatting -on the roofs of the carriages, and the cholera followed them, for at -each station they dragged out the dead and the dying. They died by the -roadside, and the horses of the Englishmen shied at the corpses in the -grass. The rains did not come, and the earth turned to iron lest man -should escape death by hiding in her. The English sent their wives away -to the hills and went about their work, coming forward as they were -bidden to fill the gaps in the fighting-line. Holden, sick with fear of -losing his chiefest treasure on earth, had done his best to persuade -Ameera to go away with her mother to the Himalayas. - -142. “Why should I go?” said she one evening on the roof. - -143. “There is sickness, and people are dying, and all the white -_mem-log_ have gone.” - -144. “All of them?” - -145. “All--unless perhaps there remain some old scald-head who vexes -her husband’s heart by running risk of death.” - -146. “Nay; who stays is my sister, and thou must not abuse her, for I -will be a scald-head too. I am glad all the bold _mem-log_ are gone.” - -147. “Do I speak to a woman, or a babe? Go to the hills and I will -see to it that thou goest like a queen’s daughter. Think, child. In a -red-lacquered bullock-cart, veiled and curtained, with brass peacocks -upon the pole and red cloth hangings. I will send two orderlies for -guard, and--” - -148. “Peace! Thou art the babe in speaking thus. What use are those -toys to me? _He_ would have patted the bullocks and played with the -housings. For his sake, perhaps--thou hast made me very English--I -might have gone. Now, I will not. Let the _mem-log_ run.” - -149. “Their husbands are sending them, beloved.” - -150. “Very good talk. Since when hast thou been my husband to tell me -what to do? I have but borne thee a son. Thou art only all the desire -of my soul to me. How shall I depart when I know that if evil befall -thee by the breadth of so much as my littlest finger-nail--is that not -small?--I should be aware of it though I were in paradise. And here, -this summer thou mayest die--_ai, janee_, die! and in dying they might -call to tend thee a white woman, and she would rob me in the last of -thy love!” - -151. “But love is not born in a moment or on a death-bed!” - -152. “What dost thou know of love, stone-heart? She would take thy -thanks at least and, by God and the Prophet and Beebee Miriam the -mother of thy Prophet, that I will never endure. My lord and my love, -let there be no more foolish talk of going away. Where thou art, I am. -It is enough.” She put an arm round his neck and a hand on his mouth. - -153. There are not many happinesses so complete as those that are -snatched under the shadow of the sword. They sat together and laughed, -calling each other openly by every pet name that could move the wrath -of the gods. The city below them was locked up in its own torments. -Sulphur fires blazed in the streets; the conches in the Hindu temples -screamed and bellowed, for the gods were inattentive in those days. -There was a service in the great Mohammedan shrine, and the call to -prayer from the minarets was almost unceasing. They heard the wailing -in the houses of the dead, and once the shriek of a mother who had lost -a child and was calling for its return. In the gray dawn they saw the -dead borne out through the city gates, each litter with its own little -knot of mourners. Wherefore they kissed each other and shivered. - -154. It was a red and heavy audit, for the land was very sick and -needed a little breathing space ere the torrent of cheap life should -flood it anew. The children of immature fathers and undeveloped mothers -made no resistance. They were cowed and sat still, waiting till the -sword should be sheathed in November if it were so willed. There -were gaps among the English, but the gaps were filled. The work of -superintending famine-relief, cholera-sheds, medicine-distribution, and -what little sanitation was possible, went forward because it was so -ordered. - -155. Holden had been told to keep himself in readiness to move to -replace the next man who should fall. There were twelve hours in each -day when he could not see Ameera, and she might die in three. He was -considering what his pain would be if he could not see her for three -months, or if she died out of his sight. He was absolutely certain that -her death would be demanded--so certain that when he looked up from the -telegram and saw Pir Khan breathless in the doorway, he laughed aloud. -“And?” said he-- - -156. “When there is a cry in the night and the spirit flutters into the -throat, who has a charm that will restore? Come swiftly, heaven-born! -It is the black cholera.” - -157. Holden galloped to his home. The sky was heavy with clouds, for -the long-deferred rains were near and the heat was stifling. Ameera’s -mother met him in the courtyard, whimpering: “She is dying. She is -nursing herself into death. She is all but dead. What shall I do, -_sahib_?” - -158. Ameera was lying in the room in which Tota had been born. She made -no sign when Holden entered, because the human soul is a very lonely -thing and, when it is getting ready to go away, hides itself in a misty -border-land where the living may not follow. The black cholera does its -work quietly and without explanation. Ameera was being thrust out of -life as though the Angel of Death had himself put his hand upon her. -The quick breathing seemed to show that she was either afraid or in -pain, but neither eyes nor mouth gave any answer to Holden’s kisses. -There was nothing to be said or done. Holden could only wait and -suffer. The first drops of the rain began to fall on the roof, and he -could hear shouts of joy in the parched city. - -159. The soul came back a little and the lips moved. Holden bent down -to listen. “Keep nothing of mine,” said Ameera. “Take no hair from my -head. _She_ would make thee burn it later on. That flame I should feel. -Lower! Stoop lower! Remember only that I was thine and bore thee a son. -Though thou wed a white woman to-morrow, the pleasure of receiving in -thy arms thy first son is taken from thee forever. Remember me when -thy son is born--the one that shall carry thy name before all men. His -misfortunes be on my head. I bear witness--I bear witness”--the lips -were forming the words on his ear--“that there is no God but--thee, -beloved!” - -160. Then she died. Holden sat still, and all thought was taken from -him--till he heard Ameera’s mother lift the curtain. - -161. “Is she dead, _sahib_?” - -162. “She is dead.” - -163. “Then I will mourn, and afterwards take an inventory of the -furniture in this house. For that will be mine. The _sahib_ does not -mean to resume it? It is so little, so very little, _sahib_, and I am -an old woman. I would like to lie softly.” - -164. “For the mercy of God be silent a while. Go out and mourn where I -cannot hear.” - -165. “_Sahib_, she will be buried in four hours.” - -166. “I know the custom. I shall go ere she is taken away. That matter -is in thy hands. Look to it, that the bed on which--on which she lies--” - -167. “Aha! That beautiful red-lacquered bed. I have long desired--” - -168. “That the bed is left here untouched for my disposal. All else -in the house is thine. Hire a cart, take everything, go hence, and -before sunrise let there be nothing in this house but that which I have -ordered thee to respect.” - -169. “I am an old woman. I would stay at least for the days of mourning -and the rains have just broken. Whither shall I go?” - -170. “What is that to me? My order is that there is a going. The -house-gear is worth a thousand rupees, and my orderly shall bring thee -a hundred rupees to-night.” - -171. “That is very little. Think of the cart-hire.” - -172. “It shall be nothing unless thou goest, and with speed. O woman, -get hence and leave me with my dead!” - -173. The mother shuffled down the staircase, and in her anxiety to -take stock of the house-fittings forgot to mourn. Holden stayed by -Ameera’s side and the rain roared on the roof. He could not think -connectedly by reason of the noise, though he made many attempts to -do so. Then four sheeted ghosts glided dripping into the room and -stared at him through their veils. They were the washers of the dead. -Holden left the room and went out to his horse. He had come in a -dead, stifling calm through ankle-deep dust. He found the courtyard a -rain-lashed pond alive with frogs; a torrent of yellow water ran under -the gate, and a roaring wind drove the bolts of the rain like buckshot -against the mud walls. Pir Khan was shivering in his little hut by the -gate, and the horse was stamping uneasily in the water. - -174. “I have been told the _sahib’s_ order,” said Pir Khan. “It is -well. This house is now desolate. I go also, or my monkey face would -be a reminder of that which has been. Concerning the bed, I will bring -that to thy house yonder in the morning; but remember, _sahib_, it will -be to thee a knife turning in a green wound. I go upon a pilgrimage, -and I will take no money. I have grown fat in the protection of the -Presence whose sorrow is my sorrow. For the last time I hold his -stirrup.” - -175. He touched Holden’s foot with both hands, and the horse sprang out -into the road, where the creaking bamboos were whipping the sky and -all the frogs were chuckling. Holden could not see for the rain in his -face. He put his hands before his eyes and muttered: - -176. “Oh, you brute! You utter brute!” - -177. The news of his trouble was already in his bungalow. He read the -knowledge in his butler’s eyes when Ahmed Khan brought in food, and -for the first and last time in his life laid a hand upon his master’s -shoulder, saying: “Eat, _sahib_, eat. Meat is good against sorrow. I -also have known. Moreover the shadows come and go, _sahib_; the shadows -come and go. These be curried eggs.” - -178. Holden could neither eat nor sleep. The heavens sent down eight -inches of rain in that night and washed the earth clean. The waters -tore down walls, broke roads, and scoured open the shallow graves on -the Mohammedan burying-ground. All next day it rained, and Holden sat -still in his house considering his sorrow. On the morning of the third -day he received a telegram which said only: “Ricketts, Myndonie. Dying. -Holden relieve. Immediate.” Then he thought that before he had departed -he would look at the house wherein he had been master and lord. There -was a break in the weather, and the rank earth steamed with vapour. - -179. He found that the rains had torn down the mud pillars of the -gateway, and the heavy wooden gate that had guarded his life hung -lazily from one hinge. There was grass three inches high in the -courtyard; Pir Khan’s lodge was empty, and the sodden thatch sagged -between the beams. A gray squirrel was in possession of the veranda, -as if the house had been untenanted for thirty years instead of three -days. Ameera’s mother had removed everything except some mildewed -matting. The _tick-tick_ of the little scorpions as they hurried -across the floor was the only sound in the house. Ameera’s room and -the other one where Tota had lived were heavy with mildew; and the -narrow staircase leading to the roof was streaked and stained with -rain-borne mud. Holden saw all these things, and came out again to meet -in the road Durga Dass, his landlord--portly, affable, clothed in white -muslin, and driving a C-spring buggy. He was overlooking his property -to see how the roofs stood the stress of the first rains. - -180. “I have heard,” said he, “you will not take this place any more, -_sahib_?” - -181. “What are you going to do with it?” - -182. “Perhaps I shall let it again.” - -183. “Then I will keep it on while I am away.” - -184. Durga Dass was silent for some time. “You shall not take it on, -_sahib_,” he said. “When I was a young man I also--But to-day I am a -member of the Municipality. Ho! Ho! No. When the birds have gone, what -need to keep the nest? I will have it pulled down--the timber will sell -for something always. It shall be pulled down, and the Municipality -shall make a road across as they desire, from the burning-ghaut to the -city wall, so that no man may say where this house stood.” - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY - -1. Using the term “Emotion”[22] broadly, make a list of all the -emotions you can. - -2. Which of these are displayed in “The Last Class”? - -3. Which in “Without Benefit of Clergy”? - -4. Cite different passages, by referring to the numbered paragraphs, in -which certain specific emotions are displayed. - -5. Do you notice any emotional expressions which seem to you to be -either extravagant, or weak, or in any way untrue to life? - -6. Point out how the author conveys the ideas of emotion, such as by -emotional words, gestures, attitudes, etc. - -7. Write five short original paragraphs expressing five different -emotions, using varied means of conveying the impressions of strong -feeling. - -8. Select from some magazine a story of the emotional type, and point -out in a few words why you consider it to be a typically emotional -story. - - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF EMOTION OR SENTIMENT - -“A Doctor of The Old School,” Ian Maclaren, in _The Days of Auld -Lang Syne_. - -“A Descent into the Maelstrom,” Edgar Allan Poe, in _Tales_. - -“The Duchess at Prayer,” Edith Wharton, in _Crucial Instances_. - -“A Lear of the Steppes,” Ivan Turgeneff, translated in _The Book of -The Short-Story_. Jessup and Canby. - -“The Death of the Dauphin,” Alphonse Daudet, translated in _Little -French Masterpieces_. - -“The Birthmark,” Nathaniel Hawthorne, in _Mosses From an Old Manse_. - -“Tennessee’s Partner,” Bret Harte, in _The Luck of Roaring Camp and -Other Stories_. - -“The Death of Olivier Becaille,” Émile Zola, translated in -_Masterpieces of Fiction_. - -“They,” Rudyard Kipling, in _Traffic and Discoveries_. - -“Juggler to ‘Our Lady,’” Anatole France, in _Short-Story -Masterpieces_. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[20] Emotion is a broad word loosely used to embrace all the tones of -inner feeling, from the palest sentiment depicted by a Jane Austen, to -the darkest passion of a Werther.--_Writing the Short-Story_, p. 181, -which see for a fuller discussion of emotion in the short-story. - -[21] “S’il tient sa langue, il tient la clé qui de ses chaînes le -délivre.”--FREDERIC MISTRAL, a poet friend of Daudet’s. - -[22] NOTE.--Any good psychology is likely to help you understand the -nature of emotion in general. - - - - - IV - HUMOROUS STORIES - - _The Ransom of Red Chief._--O. HENRY - _The Courting of T’Nowhead’s Bell._--J. M. BARRIE - - - Sydney Smith uses this word [humor] to cover any thing that - is ridiculous and laughable. So the epithet _comic_ is quite - indiscriminately applied. But we ought not to submit to this - loose application; for there are plenty of other words to make - proper distinctions for us amid our pleasurable moods, and permit - us to reserve humor for something which is neither punning, wit, - satire, nor comedy. Humor may avail itself of all these mental - exercises, but only as a manager casts his stock company to set - forth the prevailing spirit of a play. Comedy, for instance, - represents sorrows, passions, and annoyances, but shows them - without the sombre purpose of tragedy to enforce a supreme will - at any cost. All our weaknesses threaten in comedy to result in - serious embarrassments, but there is such inexhaustible material - for laughter in the whims and follies with which we baffle - ourselves and others, that the tragic threat is collared just in - time and shaken into pleasure. All kinds of details of our life - are represented, which tragedy could never tolerate in its main - drift towards the pathos of defeated human wills and broken hearts. - Tricks, vices, fatuities, crotchets, vanities, play their game for - a stake no higher than the mirth of outwitting each other; and - they all pay penalties of a light kind which God exacts smilingly - for the sake of keeping our disorders at a minimum. Comedy also - finds a great deal of its charm in the unconsciousness of an - infirmity. We exhibit ourselves unawares: each one is perfectly - understood by everybody but himself; so we plot and vapor through - an intrigue with placards on each back, where all but the wearers - can indulge their mirth at seeing us parading so innocently with - advertisements of our price and quality.--JOHN WEISS, _Wit, Humor, - and Shakespeare_. - - - HUMOROUS STORIES - -There are as many kinds of humorous stories as there are kinds of -humor, ranging from gentle mirth, comedy, fun, and farce, to burlesque, -ridicule, satire and irony. Some stories are typically humorous in -their central situation, as Mark Twain’s “The Celebrated Jumping -Frog of Calaveras County”; others abound in a whole series of funny -situations, as “The King of Boyville,” by William Allen White; others, -again, are rich in the humorous sayings by the writer, rather than -revealed in humorous plot, as in Artemus Ward’s sketch, “Horace -Greeley’s Ride to Placerville”; still others put the humor into the -speech of the characters, as in “The Phonograph and the Graft,” by O. -Henry; while yet others exhibit two or more of the foregoing kinds, and -are by turns gay, or whimsical, or satirical, as the characters and -happenings may permit, mingling humor of plot with mirth of word and -incident. - -The two chief ingredients of humor--though for the most part it defies -analysis--are surprise, and a feeling of incongruity. But these must -be accompanied by no higher emotion. It would surprise us to meet the -incongruous sight of a half-clad child struggling in the snow, but -the vision would not be humorous--the higher emotion of pity would -preclude that. But to see an arrogant fop stripped of his finery and -floundering and spluttering in a snow drift into which he had been -tossed, _would_ be funny--to others. - -Merely for a story to possess humor would not warrant our classing it -as a humorous story, for humor is a sunny ray gleaming often through -literature and life, but when the typical spirit and prevailing -treatment of the story are humorous, it may properly be so entitled. - - - HENRY AND HIS WRITINGS - -William Sidney Porter, otherwise known as “O. Henry,” was born in -1867, in Greensboro, N. C.--the descendant of several governors of -that state, it may be remarked in passing. While still very young he -went to Texas and received his education at an academy there. Because -of poor health he was unable to attend college, so he spent two and -a half years of his early manhood on a cattle ranch. Following that -period came his journalistic work on the Houston _Post_, and a little -ten-page weekly story-paper of his own, _The Iconoclast_--afterwards -renamed _The Rolling Stone_--most of the stories for which he wrote -himself. After several years in Houston, he visited Central America -with a friend--a trip which, later, yielded rich material for his first -book. Then followed a short period as a drug clerk in Austin, Texas. -Next we see him in New Orleans, again embarked upon literary work; -and there it was that he first showed real promise as a short-story -writer, and there also that he adopted his unique pseudonym--the -surname of which was selected at random from a newspaper account of a -social function, and the initial letter because it was the “easiest -letter written.” About eight years before his death he came to New -York, in response to an offer from one of the magazine editors there, -and after that his name became well-known and his success assured. -He died in New York City, June 5, 1910, at the age of forty-two. His -three earliest books are perhaps the ones by which he is best known; -_Cabbages and Kings_, _The Four Million_, and _The Trimmed Lamp_. -Eleven volumes of short-stories comprise his literary output. The later -stories do not enhance his reputation, though some of them are in his -best vein--notably “The Ransom of Red Chief,” contained in the volume -_Whirligigs_, published the year of his death. His last book, _Sixes -and Sevens_, was issued posthumously, in 1911. - - * * * * * - -Of all short-story writers O. Henry was easily first as a master of -surprise. The sudden and often astounding reversals at the end of his -stories became delightfully characteristic, and the reader with the -O. Henry habit played a happy though always losing game with himself -in trying to forecast the denouement of each new story. Sometimes the -yarn-spinner would delight in leading us to curl our lip, and say, -“Pshaw, O. Henry is employing a rather old device--in fact, this is -quite trite--” and then all in an instant the sly phrase would peep -forth to show that we had been caught from ambush; for O. Henry had -scant reverence for the reader’s dignity--he poked fun at him as -laughingly as could Shakespeare himself, on occasion. - -No other writer ever made slang so really funny, yet few knew better -the richness of serious English diction for really literary ends. Not -that he embellished his sentences, but that he appraised every word -at its true value before uttering it as literary coin. When he said -that one of his characters was “denounced by the name of----” (I have -forgotten what), he extracted the full essence from those six words, -and that is art. - -Other short-story writers have been as trenchant in wit, others -as keen in observation, but none has known so wide a variety of -common-folk as O. Henry. Four great types he understood with rare -completeness: the Texan (_Heart of the West_), the Central American -(_Cabbages and Kings_), the middle-and lower-class New Yorker (_The -Four Million_),--and Everybody Else (_all of his eleven books of -short-stories_). - - O. Henry’s advice to young writers as to the secret of short-story - writing is well known. “There are two rules,” he said. “The first - rule is to write stories that please yourself. There is no second - rule.” He was once facetiously asked if there were a second rule, - what that rule would be. “Sell the story,” he answered.--G. J. - NATHAN, _O. Henry in His Own Bagdad_. _The Bookman_, vol. 31. - - O. Henry has often been called “the Yankee Maupassant,” and up to - a certain point the characterization is suggestive. His stories - have the swiftness and point of the anecdote, as Maupassant’s - have. He employs just enough art to keep alive the reader’s - interest for the laugh or the gasp to which everything else leads - up.... As a humorist he was American to the finger tips. That is - to say, he secured his effects by over-statement, which is the - salient characteristic of American humor.... Mark Twain was a world - humorist; O. Henry was an American humorist.--_A Typically American - Short-Story Writer_ (_Current Literature_, vol. 49). - - The author seems to know almost every type of man--the rich and - portly financier, the “fly” newsboy or district messenger, the - denizens of the great hotels, the “salesladies,” the chorus girls, - the women in the shop, the raffish hangers-on of the saloons, the - gamblers, and the grafters.... Mr. Porter is a real _flâneur_ of - the American type, only, he confines himself to no boulevard, to - no city, to no state, nor even to a single country. The world, - in fact, is his oyster, and he has learned almost unconsciously - to open it and to extract from it alike the meat and the salty - juices.... He gets down to the very heart of things. He sees the - humour and the pathos blended; yet, on the whole, he is an optimist - ... who believes that in every human being there is to be found - something good, however mixed it may be with other qualities; - and, like a true American, he can see and chuckle at the humour - of it all.--HARRY THURSTON PECK, _Some Representative American - Story-Tellers_, _The Bookman_, vol. 31. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON O. HENRY - -_Some American Story-Tellers_, Frederic Taber Cooper (1911); _Life of -O. Henry_, Peyton Steger (1911); _O. Henry Biography_, C. Alphonso -Smith (1916). Magazine articles: _The Bookman: The Personal O. Henry_, -29, 345; 29, 579; _O. Henry’s Shorter Stories_, Justus Miles Forman, -31, 131; _Sketch of O. Henry_, 31, 456; _Representative American -Story-Tellers_, Harry Thurston Peck, 31, 477; _O. Henry in His Own -Bagdad_, G. J. Nathan, 31, 477. _North American Review_, 187, 781. - - - THE RANSOM OF RED CHIEF[23] - BY O. HENRY - -[Sidenote: INTRODUCTION.] - -[Sidenote: Setting and characters.] - -[Sidenote: A favorite form of humor with O. Henry.] - -It looked like a good thing; but wait till I tell you. We were down -South, in Alabama--Bill Driscoll and myself--when this kidnapping idea -struck us. It was, as Bill afterward expressed it, “during a moment of -temporary mental apparition”; but we didn’t find that out till later. - -[Sidenote: Setting more specific.] - -[Sidenote: Satire of contrast--frequent with author.] - -2. There was a town down there, as flat as a flannel-cake, and called -Summit, of course. It contained inhabitants of as undeleterious and -self-satisfied a class of peasantry as ever clustered around a Maypole. - -[Sidenote: The narrator is not consistently ungrammatical.] - -[Sidenote: The introduction develops the foundation of the PLOT -SITUATION gradually.] - -3. Bill and me had a joint capital of about six hundred dollars, and we -needed just two thousand dollars more to pull off a fraudulent town-lot -scheme in Western Illinois with. We talked it over on the front steps -of the hotel. Philoprogenitiveness, says we, is strong in semi-rural -communities; therefore, and for other reasons, a kidnapping project -ought to do better there than in the radius of newspapers that send -reporters out in plain clothes to stir up talk about such things. We -know that Summit couldn’t get after us with anything stronger than -constables and, maybe, some lackadaisical blood-hounds and a diatribe -or two in the Weekly Farmers’ Budget. So, it looked good. - -[Sidenote: The humor takes the form of situation, diction, satire, and -sly little surprises throughout.] - -4. We selected for our victim the only child of a prominent citizen -named Ebenezer Dorset. The father was respectable and tight, a mortgage -fancier and a stern, upright collection-plate passer and forecloser. -The kid was a boy of ten, with bas-relief freckles, and hair the color -of the cover of the magazine you buy at the news-stand when you want to -catch a train. Bill and me figured that Ebenezer would melt down for a -ransom of two thousand dollars to a cent. But wait till I tell you. - -[Sidenote: Setting for main action.] - -5. About two miles from Summit was a little mountain, covered with a -dense cedar brake. On the rear elevation of this mountain was a cave. -There we stored provisions. - -[Sidenote: MAIN ACTION BEGINS: FIRST PLOT INCIDENT.] - -6. One evening after sundown, we drove in a buggy past old Dorset’s -house. The kid was in the street, throwing rocks at the kitten on the -opposite fence. - -7. “Hey, little boy!” says Bill, “would you like to have a bag of candy -and a nice ride?” - -[Sidenote: CONTRIBUTORY INCIDENT.] - -[Sidenote: As a matter of technique, note that contributory incidents -might be varied or omitted without altering the plot _essentially_. -These are not all specifically noted in this story.] - -8. The boy catches Bill neatly in the eye with a piece of brick. - -9. “That will cost the old man an extra five hundred dollars,” says -Bill, climbing over the wheel. - -10. That boy put up a fight like a welterweight cinnamon bear; but, at -last, we got him down in the bottom of the buggy and drove away. We -took him up to the cave, and I hitched the horse in the cedar brake. -After dark I drove the buggy to the little village, three miles away, -where we had hired it, and walked back to the mountain. - -[Sidenote: “Bill” and “the Kid” serve as the contesting characters.] - -11. Bill was pasting court-plaster over the scratches and bruises on -his features. There was a fire burning behind the big rock at the -entrance of the cave, and the boy was watching a pot of boiling coffee, -with two buzzard tail-feathers stuck in his red hair. He points a stick -at me when I come up, and says: - -[Sidenote: Note title of the story.] - -[Sidenote: “Bill” never smiles.] - -12. “Ha! cursed paleface, do you dare to enter the camp of Red Chief, -the terror of the plains?” - -[Sidenote: Note how the author uses swift changes to humorous effect.] - -13. “He’s all right now,” says Bill, rolling up his trousers and -examining some bruises on his shins. “We’re playing Indian. We’re -making Buffalo Bill’s show look like magic-lantern views of Palestine -in the town hall. I’m Old Hank, the Trapper, Red Chief’s captive, and -I’m to be scalped at daybreak. By Geronimo! that kid can kick hard.” - -[Sidenote: ESSENTIAL, or PLOT, SITUATION.] - -14. Yes, sir, that kid seemed to be having the time of his life. The -fun of camping out in a cave had made him forget that he was a captive -himself. He immediately christened me Snake-eye, the Spy, and announced -that, when his braves returned from the warpath, I was to be broiled -at the stake at the rising of the sun. - -15. Then we had supper; and he filled his mouth full of bacon and bread -and gravy, and began to talk. He made a during-dinner speech something -like this: - -[Sidenote: Somewhat overdone, but we must judge the story not as comedy -but as farce, which blithely assumes the improbable as true.] - -16. “I like this fine. I never camped out before; but I had a pet -'possum once, and I was nine last birthday. I hate to go to school. -Rats ate up sixteen of Jimmy Talbot’s aunt’s speckled hen’s eggs. Are -there any real Indians in these woods? I want some more gravy. Does the -trees moving make the wind blow? We had five puppies. What makes your -nose so red, Hank? My father has lots of money. Are the stars hot? I -whipped Ed Walker twice, Saturday. I don’t like girls. You dasent catch -toads unless with a string. Do oxen make any noise? Why are oranges -round? Have you got beds to sleep on in this cave? Amos Murray has got -six toes. A parrot can talk, but a monkey or a fish can’t. How many -does it take to make twelve?” - -[Sidenote: ESSENTIAL SITUATION.] - -17. Every few minutes he would remember that he was a pesky red-skin, -and pick up his stick rifle and tip-toe to the mouth of the cave to -rubber for the scouts of the hated paleface. Now and then he would let -out a war-whoop that made Old Hank the Trapper, shiver. That boy had -Bill terrorized from the start. - -18. “Red Chief,” says I to the kid, “would you like to go home?” - -[Sidenote: KEY.] - -[Sidenote: Use of the unexpected.] - -19. “Aw, what for?” says he. “I don’t have any fun at home. I hate to -go to school. I like to camp out. You won’t take me back home again, -Snake-eye, will you?” - -20. “Not right away,” says I. “We’ll stay here in the cave a while.” - -21. “All right!” says he. “That’ll be fine. I never had such fun in all -my life.” - -[Sidenote: A tribute throughout to the dime dreadful.] - -[Sidenote: Narrator lapses now and then into “better” language.] - -22. We went to bed about eleven o’clock. We spread down some wide -blankets and quilts and put Red Chief between us. We weren’t afraid -he’d run away. He kept us awake for three hours, jumping up and -reaching for his rifle and screeching: “Hist! pard,” in mine and Bill’s -ears, as the fancied crackle of a twig or the rustle of a leaf revealed -to his young imagination the stealthy approach of the outlaw band. -At last, I fell into a troubled sleep, and dreamed that I had been -kidnapped and chained to a tree by a ferocious pirate with red hair. - -[Sidenote: Contrast.] - -23. Just at daybreak, I was awakened by a series of awful screams from -Bill. They weren’t yells, or howls, or shouts, or whoops, or yawps, -such as you’d expect from a manly set of vocal organs--they were simply -indecent, terrifying, humiliating screams, such as women emit when -they see ghosts or caterpillars. It’s an awful thing to hear a strong, -desperate, fat man scream incontinently in a cave at daybreak. - -24. I jumped up to see what the matter was. Red Chief was sitting -on Bill’s chest, with one hand twined in Bill’s hair. In the other -he had the sharp case-knife we used for slicing bacon; and he was -industriously and realistically trying to take Bill’s scalp, according -to the sentence that had been pronounced upon him the evening before. - -[Sidenote: PLOT SITUATION.] - -[Sidenote: Note that the author develops his story by the use of -progressive plot _situations_ and contributory (non-essential) -incidents.] - -25. I got the knife away from the kid and made him lie down again. But, -from that moment, Bill’s spirit was broken. He laid down on his side -of the bed, but he never closed an eye again in sleep as long as that -boy was with us. I dozed off for a while, but along toward sun-up I -remembered that Red Chief had said I was to be burned at the stake at -the rising of the sun. I wasn’t nervous or afraid; but I sat up and lit -my pipe and leaned against a rock. - -26. “What you getting up so soon for, Sam?” asked Bill. - -27. “Me?” says I. “Oh, I got a kind of a pain in my shoulder. I thought -sitting up would rest it.” - -28. “You’re a liar!” says Bill. “You’re afraid. You was to be burned at -sunrise, and you was afraid he’d do it. And he would, too, if he could -find a match. Ain’t it awful, Sam? Do you think anybody will pay out -money to get a little imp like that back home?” - -29. “Sure,” said I. “A rowdy kid like that is just the kind that -parents dote on. Now, you and the Chief get up and cook breakfast, -while I go up on the top of this mountain and reconnoitre.” - -[Sidenote: Note the humorous use of the language of -“literature”--sparingly.] - -[Sidenote: PLOT SITUATION.] - -[Sidenote: KEY.] - -30. I went up on the peak of the little mountain and ran my eye over -the contiguous vicinity. Over toward Summit I expected to see the -sturdy yeomanry of the village armed with scythes and pitchforks -beating the country-side for the dastardly kidnappers. But what I saw -was a peaceful landscape dotted with one man ploughing with a dun -mule. Nobody was dragging the creek; no couriers dashed hither and -yon, bringing tidings of no news to the distracted parents. There was -a sylvan attitude of somnolent sleepiness pervading the section of -the external outward surface of Alabama that lay exposed to my view. -“Perhaps,” says I to myself, “it has not yet been discovered that the -wolves have borne away the tender lambkin from the fold. Heaven help -the wolves!” says I, and I went down the mountain to breakfast. - -31. When I got to the cave I found Bill backed up against the side of -it, breathing hard, and the boy threatening to smash him with a rock -half as big as a cocoanut. - -[Sidenote: Contrast of unexpected.] - -32. “He put a red-hot boiled potato down my back,” explained Bill, “and -then mashed it with his foot; and I boxed his ears. Have you got a gun -about you, Sam?” - -33. I took the rock away from the boy and kind of patched up the -argument. “I’ll fix you,” says the kid to Bill. “No man ever yet struck -the Red Chief but what he got paid for it. You better beware!” - -[Sidenote: Return to first style of narration.] - -34. After breakfast the kid takes a piece of leather with strings -wrapped around it out of his pocket and goes outside the cave unwinding -it. - -[Sidenote: A Frank R. Stockton expression.] - -35. “What’s he up to now?” says Bill, anxiously. “You don’t think he’ll -run away, do you, Sam?” - -36. “No fear of it,” says I. “He don’t seem to be much of a home body. -But we’ve got to fix up some plan about the ransom. There don’t seem -to be much excitement around Summit on account of his disappearance; -but maybe they haven’t realized yet that he’s gone. His folks may think -he’s spending the night with Aunt Jane or one of the neighbors. Anyhow, -he’ll be missed to-day. To-night we must get a message to his father -demanding the two thousand dollars for his return.” - -[Sidenote: Plot situation hidden, action halts.] - -37. Just then we heard a kind of war-whoop, such as David might have -emitted when he knocked out the champion Goliath. It was a sling that -Red Chief had pulled out of his pocket, and he was whirling it around -his head. - -38. I dodged, and heard a heavy thud and a kind of a sigh from Bill, -like a horse gives out when you take his saddle off. A niggerhead -rock the size of an egg had caught Bill just behind the left ear. He -loosened himself all over and fell in the fire across the frying pan -of hot water for washing the dishes. I dragged him out and poured cold -water on his head for half an hour. - -[Sidenote: This expression is more clever than natural to “Bill.”] - -39. By and by, Bill sits up and feels behind his ear and says: “Sam, do -you know who my favorite Biblical character is?” - -40. “Take it easy,” says I. “You’ll come to your senses presently.” - -[Sidenote: Slaughter of the Innocents.] - -41. “King Herod,” says he. “You won’t go away and leave me here alone, -will you, Sam?” - -[Sidenote: See ¶4.] - -42. I went out and caught that boy and shook him until his freckles -rattled. - -[Sidenote: Note the use of the incongruous.] - -43. “If you don’t behave,” says I, “I’ll take you straight home. Now, -are you going to be good, or not?” - -44. “I was only funning,” says he sullenly. “I didn’t mean to hurt Old -Hank. But what did he hit me for? I’ll behave, Snake-eye, if you won’t -send me home, and if you’ll let me play the Black Scout to-day.” - -45. “I don’t know the game,” says I. “That’s for you and Mr. Bill to -decide. He’s your playmate for the day. I’m going away for a while, on -business. Now, you come in and make friends with him and say you are -sorry for hurting him, or home you go, at once.” - -[Sidenote: PLOT INCIDENT.] - -46. I made him and Bill shake hands, and then I took Bill aside and -told him I was going to Poplar Cove, a little village three miles from -the cave, and find out what I could about how the kidnapping had been -regarded in Summit. Also, I thought it best to send a peremptory letter -to old man Dorset that day, demanding the ransom and dictating how it -should be paid. - -[Sidenote: Do these men seem like actual criminals? See comment on ¶ -16.] - -47. “You know, Sam,” says Bill, “I’ve stood by you without batting an -eye in earthquakes, fire and flood--in poker games, dynamite outrages, -police raids, train robberies and cyclones. I never lost my nerve yet -till we kidnapped that two-legged skyrocket of a kid. He’s got me -going. You won’t leave me long with him, will you, Sam?” - -[Sidenote: Irony.] - -48. “I’ll be back some time this afternoon,” says I. “You must keep the -boy amused and quiet till I return. And now we’ll write the letter to -old Dorset.” - -[Sidenote: KEY.] - -49. Bill and I got paper and pencil and worked on the letter while -Red Chief, with a blanket wrapped around him, strutted up and down, -guarding the mouth of the cave. Bill begged me tearfully to make the -ransom fifteen hundred dollars instead of two thousand. “I ain’t -attempting,” says he, “to decry the celebrated moral aspect of parental -affection, but we’re dealing with humans, and it ain’t human for -anybody to give up two thousand dollars for that forty-pound chunk of -freckled wildcat. I’m willing to take a chance at fifteen hundred -dollars. You can charge the difference up to me.” - -[Sidenote: PREPARATION FOR CRISIS.] - -50. So, to relieve Bill, I acceded, and we collaborated a letter that -ran this way: - -[Sidenote: In intelligence of expression, does this letter correspond -to the general style of the narrator?] - - _Ebenezer Dorset, Esq.:_ - - We have your boy concealed in a place far from Summit. It is - useless for you or the most skilful detectives to attempt to find - him. Absolutely, the only terms on which you can have him restored - to you are these: We demand fifteen hundred dollars in large bills - for his return; the money to be left at midnight at the same spot - and in the same box as your reply--as hereinafter described. If you - agree to these terms, send your answer in writing by a solitary - messenger to-night at half-past eight o’clock. After crossing Owl - Creek, on the road to Poplar Cove, there are three large trees - about a hundred yards apart, close to the fence of the wheat field - on the right-hand side. At the bottom of the fence-post, opposite - the third tree, will be found a small paste-board box. - - The messenger will place the answer in this box and return - immediately to Summit. - - If you attempt any treachery or fail to comply with our demand as - stated, you will never see your boy again. - - If you pay the money as demanded, he will be returned to you safe - and well within three hours. These terms are final, and if you do - not accede to them no further communication will be attempted. - - TWO DESPERATE MEN. - -51. I addressed this letter to Dorset, and put it in my pocket. As I -was about to start, the kid comes up to me and says: - -[Sidenote: Character delineation and by-play.] - -52. “Aw, Snake-eye, you said I could play the Black Scout while you was -gone.” - -53. “Play it, of course,” says I. “Mr. Bill will play with you. What -kind of a game is it?” - -54. “I’m the Black Scout,” says Red Chief, “and I have to ride to the -stockade to warn the settlers that the Indians are coming. I’m so tired -of playing Indian myself. I want to be the Black Scout.” - -55. “All right,” says I. “It sounds harmless to me. I guess Mr. Bill -will help you foil the pesky savages.” - -56. “What am I to do?” says Bill, looking at the kid suspiciously. - -57. “You are the hoss,” says Black Scout. “Get down on your hands and -knees. How can I ride to the stockade without a hoss?” - -58. “You’d better keep him interested,” said I, “till we get the scheme -going. Loosen up.” - -59. Bill gets down on his all fours, and a look comes in his eye like a -rabbit’s when you catch it in a trap. - -[Sidenote: The two are typically in character in these paragraphs.] - -60. “How far is it to the stockade, Kid?” he asks, in a husky manner of -voice. - -61. “Ninety miles,” says the Black Scout. “And you have to hump -yourself to get there on time. Whoa, now!” - -62. The Black Scout jumps on Bill’s back and digs his heels in his side. - -63. “For Heaven’s sake,” says Bill, “hurry back, Sam, as soon as you -can. I wish we hadn’t made the ransom more than a thousand. Say, you -quit kicking me or I’ll get up and warm you good.” - -[Sidenote: PLOT SITUATION.] - -64. I walked over to Poplar Cove and sat around the post-office -and store, talking with the chawbacons that came in to trade. One -whiskerando says that he hears Summit is all upset on account of Elder -Ebenezer Dorset’s boy having been lost or stolen. That was all I wanted -to know. I bought some smoking tobacco, referred casually to the price -of black-eyed peas, posted my letter surreptitiously and came away. The -postmaster said the mail-carrier would come by in an hour to take the -mail on to Summit. - -65. When I got back to the cave Bill and the boy were not to be found. -I explored the vicinity of the cave, and risked a yodel or two, but -there was no response. - -66. So I lighted my pipe and sat down on a mossy bank to await -developments. - -67. In about half an hour I heard the bushes rustle, and Bill wabbled -out into the little glade in front of the cave. Behind him was the -kid, stepping softly like a scout, with a broad grin on his face. Bill -stopped, took off his hat and wiped his face with a red handkerchief. -The kid stopped about eight feet behind him. - -[Sidenote: Typical O. Henry speech in this paragraph.] - -68. “Sam,” says Bill, “I suppose you’ll think I’m a renegade, but I -couldn’t help it. I’m a grown person with masculine proclivities and -habits of self-defence, but there is a time when all systems of egotism -and predominance fail. The boy is gone. I have sent him home. All is -off. There was martyrs in old times,” goes on Bill, “that suffered -death rather than give up the particular graft they enjoyed. None of -’em ever was subjugated to such supernatural tortures as I have been. I -tried to be faithful to our articles of depredation; but there came a -limit.” - -69. “What’s the trouble, Bill?” I asks him. - -70. “I was rode,” says Bill, “the ninety miles to the stockade, not -barring an inch. Then, when the settlers was rescued, I was given oats. -Sand ain’t a palatable substitute. And then, for an hour I had to try -to explain to him why there was nothin’ in holes, how a road can run -both ways and what makes the grass green. I tell you, Sam, a human can -only stand so much. I takes him by the neck of his clothes and drags -him down the mountain. On the way he kicks my legs black-and-blue from -the knees down; and I’ve got to have two or three bites on my thumb and -hand cauterized. - -[Sidenote: Note the stage trick of a character in ignorance while the -audience enjoys his delusion. The surprise is his, not ours.] - -71. “But he’s gone”--continues Bill--“gone home. I showed him the road -to Summit and kicked him about eight feet nearer there at one kick. I’m -sorry we lose the ransom; but it was either that or Bill Driscoll to -the madhouse.” - -72. Bill is puffing and blowing but there is a look of ineffable peace -and growing content on his rose-pink features. - -73. “Bill,” says I, “there isn’t any heart disease in your family, is -there?” - -74. “No,” says Bill, “nothing chronic except malaria and accidents. -Why?” - -75. “Then you might turn around,” says I, “and have a look behind you.” - -[Sidenote: Suggestion.] - -[Sidenote: Straight delineation. The former is the better art.] - -[Sidenote: PLOT SITUATION.] - -76. Bill turns and sees the boy, and loses his complexion and sits down -plump on the ground and begins to pluck aimlessly at grass and little -sticks. For an hour I was afraid for his mind. And then I told him -that my scheme was to put the whole job through immediately and that -we would get the ransom and be off with it by midnight if old Dorset -fell in with our proposition. So Bill braced up enough to give the kid -a weak sort of a smile and a promise to play the Russian in a Japanese -war with him as soon as he felt a little better. - -[Sidenote: PLOT INCIDENT.] - -77. I had a scheme for collecting that ransom without danger of being -caught by counterplots that ought to commend itself to professional -kidnappers. The tree under which the answer was to be left--and the -money later on--was close to the road fence with big, bare fields on -all sides. If a gang of constables should be watching for any one to -come for the note they could see him a long way off crossing the fields -or in the road. But no sirree! At half-past eight I was up in that tree -as well hidden as a tree toad, waiting for the messenger to arrive. - -78. Exactly on time, a half-grown boy rides up the road on a bicycle, -locates the paste-board box at the foot of the fence-post, slips a -folded piece of paper into it and pedals away again back toward Summit. - -79. I waited an hour and then concluded the thing was square. I slid -down the tree, got the note, slipped along the fence till I struck the -woods, and was back at the cave in another half an hour. I opened the -note, got near the lantern and read it to Bill. It was written with a -pen in a crabbed hand, and the sum and substance of it was this: - -[Sidenote: MAIN PLOT INCIDENT.] - -[Sidenote: CLIMAX.] - - _Two Desperate Men._ - - Gentlemen: I received your letter to-day by post, in regard to the - ransom you ask for the return of my son. I think you are a little - high in your demands, and I hereby make you a counter-proposition, - which I am inclined to believe you will accept. You bring Johnny - home and pay me two hundred and fifty dollars in cash, and I agree - to take him off your hands. You had better come at night for the - neighbors believe he is lost, and I couldn’t be responsible for - what they would do to anybody they saw bringing him back. - - Very respectfully, - EBENEZER DORSET. - - -80. “Great pirates of Penzance!” says I, “of all the impudent--” - -[Sidenote: Suggestion.] - -81. But I glanced at Bill, and hesitated. He had the most appealing -look in his eyes I ever saw on the face of a dumb or a talking brute. - -[Sidenote: Serio-comic.] - -82. “Sam,” says he, “what’s two hundred and fifty dollars, after all? -We’ve got the money. One more night of this kid will send me to a bed -in Bedlam. Besides being a thorough gentleman, I think Mr. Dorset is a -spendthrift for making us a liberal offer. You ain’t going to let the -chance go, are you?” - -83. “Tell you the truth, Bill,” says I, “this little he ewe lamb has -somewhat got on my nerves, too. We’ll take him home, pay the ransom, -and make our get-away.” - -[Sidenote: Extreme of contrast.] - -84. We took him home that night. We got him to go by telling him that -his father had bought a silver-mounted rifle and a pair of moccasins -for him, and we were going to hunt bears the next day. - -[Sidenote: DENOUEMENT.] - -[Sidenote: CONTRASTING PLOT SITUATION--Summary of the plot-outcome.] - -85. It was just twelve o’clock when we knocked at Ebenezer’s front -door. Just at the moment when I should have been abstracting the -fifteen hundred dollars from the box under the tree, according to the -original proposition, Bill was counting out two hundred and fifty -dollars into Dorset’s hand. - -[Sidenote: Note free use of simile.] - -86. When the kid found out we were going to leave him at home he -started up a howl like a calliope and fastened himself as tight as -a leech to Bill’s leg. His father peeled him away gradually, like a -porous plaster. - -87. “How long can you hold him?” asks Bill. - -88. “I’m not as strong as I used to be,” says old Dorset. “But I think -I can promise you ten minutes.” - -[Sidenote: Humor of hyperbole.] - -89. “Enough,” says Bill. “In ten minutes I shall cross the Central, -Southern and Middle Western States, and be legging it trippingly for -the Canadian border.” - -[Sidenote: RESULTANT CLIMAX.] - -90. And, as dark as it was, and as fat as Bill was, and as good a -runner as I am, he was a good mile and half out of Summit before I -could catch up with him. - - - BARRIE AND HIS WRITINGS - -James Matthew Barrie was born at Kirriemuir (“Thrums”), Scotland, -on the 9th of May, 1860. He is the son of a physician, whom he has -lovingly embodied as “Dr. McQueen”; his mother and sister also will -live as “Jess” and “Leeby.” He was educated at Dumfries Academy, -entering the University of Edinburgh at eighteen, from which he was -graduated in 1882 with the degree of M.A., taking honors in English -literature. He began writing literary criticisms for the _Edinburgh -Courant_ at this period. Several months after his graduation Barrie -took a position on a Nottingham newspaper, leaving that city for -London in 1885, where his literary career commenced in earnest; -but success did not come until after the customary struggles and -hindrances to which young literary aspirants are ever subject. In -1893 he married Miss Ansell, an actress, whom he divorced in 1909. -Some of his best-known books are _Auld Licht Idylls_; _A Window in -Thrums_; _Margaret Ogilvy_; _My Lady Nicotine_; _The Little Minister_ -(afterwards dramatized); _Sentimental Tommy_; _Tommy and Grizel_ (a -sequel), and _The Little White Bird_. He also wrote several plays, the -most notable of which are _The Professor’s Love Story_; _Peter Pan_ (a -partial dramatization of _The Little White Bird_); _Quality Street_; -and _What Every Woman Knows_. It is interesting to note that Mr. Barrie -did not succeed in securing the magazine publication of “The Courting -of T’Nowhead’s Bell,” which is given herewith; it was first issued -between book covers, in 1888. - - * * * * * - -Barrie is a versatile story-teller, though he deals mostly with Scotch -characters. His early work exhibits his short-story ability at its -best. The warm human interest of _A Window in Thrums_ and _Auld Licht -Idylls_, is matched only by Ian Maclaren’s _Beside the Bonnie Briar -Bush_ and _The Days of Auld Lang Syne_. A quaint character-humor, with -swift flashes of pathos, pervades all his work, which for local-color -and insight into the character of the Scotch rural dweller has won a -place of distinction among the stories of present-day writers. With -Barrie, realism is rarely unpleasant; he sees all things with a gentle -eye. Even when in his keen ability to penetrate to the heart of things -he discovers the weaknesses of humanity, he also finds redeeming -virtues. Thus his characters are continually disclosing their true -natures underneath the garb and custom of picturesque life, and we -feel ourselves to be kin to them, every one. His dialect in itself is -masterly and often deliciously humorous, so that actions and dialogue -in themselves common-place take on an extraordinary interest. No modern -writer has a greater gift of character-drawing, and none is more -sympathetically human in his interpretations of the Scotch commoner. - - It is my contemptible weakness that if I say a character smiled - vacuously, I must smile vacuously; if he frowns or leers, I frown - or leer; if he is a coward or given to contortions, I cringe, or - twist my legs until I have to stop writing to undo the knot. I bow - with him, eat with him, and gnaw my moustache with him. If the - character be a lady with an exquisite laugh, I suddenly terrify you - by laughing exquisitely. One reads of the astounding versatility - of an actor who is stout and lean on the same evening, but what is - he to the novelist who is a dozen persons within the hour?--J. M. - BARRIE, _Margaret Ogilvy_. - - There are writers who can plan out their story beforehand as - clearly as though it were a railway journey, and adhere throughout - to their original design--they draw up what playwrights call a - scenario--but I was never one of those. I spend a great deal of - time indeed in looking for the best road in the map and mark it - with red ink, but at the first bypath off my characters go. “Come - back,” I cry, “you are off the road.” “We prefer this way,” they - reply. I try bullying. “You are only people in a book,” I shout, - “and it is my book, and I can do what I like with you, so come - back!” But they seldom come, and it ends with my plodding after - them.--J. M. BARRIE, Introduction to _When a Man’s Single_. - - The chief features of Barrie’s style are a quaintness of - expression, a simple directness of narrative, and an unfailing - sense of humor--often as though the author were chuckling to - himself as he wrote. His gift for descriptive writing--probably the - best test of “style”--is very marked, though he makes little of - it.--J. A. HAMMERTON, _J. M. Barrie and His Books_. - - _Auld Licht Idylls_ is a set of regular descriptions of the life - of “Thrums,” with special reference to the ways and character of - the “Old Lights,” the stubborn conservative Scotch Puritans; it - contains also a most amusing and characteristic love story of the - sect (“The Courting of T’Nowhead’s Bell”), and a satiric political - skit.--CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER’S _Library of the World’s Best - Literature_. - - By the time “Auld Licht Idylls” appeared, he had achieved a - reputation,--at least a local one. This book had an immediate - success, and ran rapidly through several editions. His mother had - been an Auld Licht in her youth.... Mrs. Barrie, knowing them - from the inside, could tell all sorts of quaint and marvellous - tales about them, whose humor was sure to please. It was from her - stories that the Idylls were mainly drawn, so she was in a sense a - collaborator with her son in their production.--HATTIE T. GRISWOLD, - _Personal Sketches of Recent Authors_. - - As a literary artist he belongs in the foremost rank. He has that - sense of the typical in incident, of the universal in feeling, and - of the suggestive in language, which mark the chiefs of letters. - No one can express an idea with fewer strokes; he never expands a - sufficient hint into an essay. His management of the Scotch dialect - is masterly: he uses it sparingly, in the nearest form to English - compatible with retaining the flavor; he never makes it so hard as - to interfere with enjoyment; in few dialect writers do we feel so - little alienness.--CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER’S _Library of the World’s - Best Literature_. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON BARRIE - -_My Contemporaries in Fiction_, by J. D. C. Murray (1897); _Theology -of Modern Literature_, by S. Law Wilson (1899); _Fame and Fiction_, by -E. A. Bennett (1901); _J. M. Barrie and His Books_, by J. A. Hammerton -(1902). - - - FOR ANALYSIS - - THE COURTING OF T’NOWHEAD’S BELL - BY JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE - -For two years it had been notorious in the square that Sam’l Dickie -was thinking of courting T’Nowhead’s Bell, and that if little Sanders -Elshioner (which is the Thrums pronunciation of Alexander Alexander) -went in for her he might prove a formidable rival. Sam’l was a weaver -in the Tenements, and Sanders a coal-carter whose trade-mark was a bell -on his horse’s neck that told when coals were coming. Being something -of a public man, Sanders had not so high a social position as Sam’l, -but he had succeeded his father on the coal-cart, while the weaver had -already tried several trades. It had always been against Sam’l, too, -that once when the kirk was vacant he had advised the selection of the -third minister who preached for it on the ground that it came expensive -to pay a large number of candidates. The scandal of the thing was -hushed up, out of respect for his father, who was a God-fearing man, -but Sam’l was known by it in Lang Tammas’ circle. The coal-carter was -called Little Sanders to distinguish him from his father, who was -not much more than half his size. He had grown up with the name, and -its inapplicability now came home to nobody. Sam’l’s mother had been -more far-seeing than Sanders’. Her man had been called Sammy all his -life because it was the name he got as a boy, so when their eldest -son was born she spoke of him as Sam’l while still in his cradle. The -neighbours imitated her, and thus the young man had a better start in -life than had been granted to Sammy, his father. - -2. It was Saturday evening--the night in the week when Auld Licht young -men fell in love. Sam’l Dickie, wearing a blue glengarry bonnet with -a red ball on the top, came to the door of a one-story house in the -Tenements and stood there wriggling, for he was in a suit of tweeds for -the first time that week, and did not feel at one in them. When his -feeling of being a stranger to himself wore off, he looked up and down -the road, which straggles between houses and gardens, and then, picking -his way over the puddles, crossed to his father’s henhouse and sat down -on it. He was now on his way to the square. - -3. Eppie Fargus was sitting on an adjoining dike knitting stockings, -and Sam’l looked at her for a time. - -4. “Is’t yersel, Eppie?” he said at last. - -5. “It’s a’ that,” said Eppie. - -6. “Hoo’s a’ wi’ ye?” asked Sam’l. - -7. “We’re juist aff an’ on,” replied Eppie cautiously. - -8. There was not much more to say, but as Sam’l sidled off the henhouse -he murmured politely, “Ay, ay.” In another minute he would have been -fairly started, but Eppie resumed the conversation. - -9. “Sam’l,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye, “ye can tell Lisbeth -Fargus I’ll likely be drappin’ in on her aboot Munday or Teisday.” - -10. Lisbeth was sister to Eppie, and wife of Tammas McQuhatty, better -known as T’Nowhead, which was the name of his farm. She was thus Bell’s -mistress. - -11. Sam’l leaned against the henhouse as if all his desire to depart -had gone. - -12. “Hoo d’ye kin I’ll be at the T’Nowhead the nicht?” he asked, -grinning in anticipation. - -13. “Ou, I’se warrant ye’ll be after Bell,” said Eppie. - -14. “Am no sure o’ that,” said Sam’l, trying to leer. He was enjoying -himself now. - -15. “Am no sure o’ that,” he repeated, for Eppie seemed lost in -stitches. - -16. “Sam’l--” - -17. “Ay.” - -[Sidenote: Asking her.] - -18. “Ye’ll be spierin’ her sune noo, I dinna doot?” - -19. This took Sam’l, who had only been courting Bell for a year or two, -a little aback. - -20. “Hoo d’ye mean, Eppie?” he asked. - -21. “Maybe ye’ll do’t the nicht.” - -22. “Na, there’s nae hurry,” said Sam’l. - -23. “Weel, we’re a’ coontin’ on’t, Sam’l.” - -24. “Gae wa wi’ ye.” - -25. “What for no?” - -26. “Gae wa wi’ ye,” said Sam’l again. - -27. “Bell’s gie an’ fond o’ ye, Sam’l.” - -28. “Ay,” said Sam’l. - -29. “But am dootin’ ye’re a fell billy wi’ the lasses.” - -30. “Ay, oh, I d’na kin, moderate, moderate,” said Sam’l, in high -delight. - -31. “I saw ye,” said Eppie, speaking with a wire in her mouth, “gaein’ -on terr’ble wi’ Mysy Haggart at the pump last Saturday.” - -32. “We was juist amoosin’ oorsels,” said Sam’l. - -33. “It’ll be nae amoosement to Mysy,” said Eppie, “gin ye brak her -heart.” - -34. “Losh, Eppie,” said Sam’l, “I didna think o’ that.” - -35. “Ye maun kin weel, Sam’l, 'at there’s mony a lass wid jump at ye.” - -36. “Ou, weel,” said Sam’l, implying that a man must take these things -as they come. - -37. “For ye’re a dainty chield to look at, Sam’l.” - -38. “Do ye think so, Eppie? Ay, ay; oh, I d’na kin am onything by the -ordinar.” - -39. “Ye mayna be,” said Eppie, “but lasses doesna do to be ower -partikler.” - -40. Sam’l resented this, and prepared to depart again. - -41. “Ye’ll no tell Bell that?” he asked anxiously. - -42. “Tell her what?” - -43. “Aboot me an’ Mysy.” - -44. “We’ll see hoo ye behave yersel, Sam’l.” - -45. “No 'at I care, Eppie; ye can tell her gin ye like. I widna think -twice o’ tellin’ her mysel.” - -46. “The Lord forgie ye for leein’, Sam’l,” said Eppie, as he -disappeared down Tammy Tosh’s close. Here he came upon Henders Webster. - -[Sidenote: Alley, or court.] - -47. “Ye’re late, Sam’l,” said Henders. - -48. “What for?” - -49. “Ou, I was thinkin’ ye wid be gaen the length o’ T’Nowhead the -nicht, an’ I saw Sanders Elshioner makkin’s wy there an oor syne.” - -50. “Did ye?” cried Sam’l, adding craftily, “but it’s naething to me.” - -51. “Tod, lad,” said Henders, “gin ye dinna buckle to, Sanders’ll be -carryin’ her off.” - -52. Sam’l flung back his head and passed on. - -53. “Sam’l!” cried Henders after him. - -54. “Ay,” said Sam’l, wheeling round. - -55. “Gie Bell a kiss frae me.” - -56. The full force of this joke struck neither all at once. Sam’l began -to smile at it as he turned down the school-wynd, and it came upon -Henders while he was in his garden feeding his ferret. Then he slapped -his legs gleefully, and explained the conceit to Will’um Byars, who -went into the house and thought it over. - -57. There were twelve or twenty little groups of men in the square, -which was lit by a flare of oil suspended over a cadger’s cart. Now and -again a staid young woman passed through the square with a basket on -her arm, and if she had lingered long enough to give them time, some of -the idlers would have addressed her. As it was, they gazed after her, -and then grinned to each other. - -58. “Ay, Sam’l,” said two or three young men as Sam’l joined them -beneath the town clock. - -59. “Ay, Davit,” replied Sam’l. - -60. This group was composed of some of the sharpest wits in Thrums, and -it was not to be expected that they would let this opportunity pass. -Perhaps when Sam’l joined them he knew what was in store for him. - -61. “Was ye lookin’ for T’Nowhead’s Bell, Sam’l?” asked one. - -62. “Or mebbe ye was wantin’ the minister?” suggested another, the -same who had walked out twice with Christy Duff and not married her -after all. - -63. Sam’l could not think of a good reply at the moment, so he laughed -good-naturedly. - -64. “Ondoobtedly she’s a snod bit crittur,” said Davit archly. - -65. “An’ michty clever wi’ her fingers,” added Jamie Deuchars. - -66. “Man, I’ve thocht o’ makkin’ up to Bell mysel,” said Peter Ogle. -“Wid there be ony chance, think ye, Sam’l?” - -67. “I’m thinkin’ she widna hae ye for her first, Pete,” replied Sam’l, -in one of those happy flashes that come to some men, “but there’s nae -sayin’ but what she micht tak ye to finish up wi’.” - -68. The unexpectedness of this sally startled everyone. Though Sam’l -did not set up for a wit, however, like Davit, it was notorious that he -could say a cutting thing once in a way. - -69. “Did ye ever see Bell reddin’ up?” asked Pete, recovering from his -overthrow. He was a man who bore no malice. - -70. “It’s a sicht,” said Sam’l solemnly. - -71. “Hoo will that be?” asked Jamie Deuchars. - -[Sidenote: Little ones.] - -72. “It’s well worth yer while,” said Pete, “to ging atower to the -T’Nowhead an’ see. Ye’ll mind the closed-in beds i’ the kitchen? Ay, -well, they’re a fell spoilt crew, T’Nowhead’s litlins, an’ no that -aisy to manage. Th’ither lasses Lisbeth’s hae’n had a michty trouble -wi’ them. When they war i’ the middle o’ their reddin’ up the bairns -wid come tumlin’ about the floor, but, sal, I assure ye, Bell didna -fash lang wi’ them. Did she, Sam’l?” - -73. “She did not,” said Sam’l, dropping into a fine mode of speech to -add emphasis to his remark. - -74. “I’ll tell ye what she did,” said Pete to the others. “She -juist lifted up the litlins, twa at a time, an’ flung them into the -coffin-beds. Syne she snibbit the doors on them, an’ keepit them there -till the floor was dry.” - -75. “Ay, man, did she so?” said Davit admiringly. - -76. “I’ve seen her do’t mysel,” said Sam’l. - -77. “There’s no a lassie makes better bannocks this side o’ Fetter -Lums,” continued Pete. - -78. “Her mither tocht her that,” said Sam’l; “she was a gran’ han’ at -the bakin’, Kitty Ogilvy.” - -79. “I’ve heard say,” remarked Jamie, putting it this way, so as not -to tie himself down to anything, “'at Bell’s scones is equal to Mag -Lunan’s.” - -80. “So they are,” said Sam’l, almost fiercely. - -81. “I kin she’s a neat han’ at singein’ a hen,” said Pete. - -82. “An’ wi’t a’,” said Davit, “she’s a snod, canty bit stocky in her -Sabbath claes.” - -83. “If onything, thick in the waist,” suggested Jamie. - -84. “I dinna see that,” said Sam’l. - -85. “I d’na care for her hair either,” continued Jamie, who was very -nice in his tastes; “something mair yallowchy wid be an improvement.” - -86. “A’body kins,” growled Sam’l, “'at black hair’s the bonniest.” - -87. The others chuckled. - -88. “Puir Sam’l!” Pete said. - -89. Sam’l not being certain whether this should be received with a -smile or a frown, opened his mouth wide as a kind of compromise. This -was position one with him for thinking things over. - -90. Few Auld Lichts, as I have said, went the length of choosing a -helpmate for themselves. One day a young man’s friends would see him -mending the washing-tub of a maiden’s mother. They kept the joke until -Saturday night, and then he learned from them what he had been after. -It dazed him for a time, but in a year or so he grew accustomed to the -idea, and they were then married. With a little help he fell in love -just like other people. - -91. Sam’l was going the way of the others, but he found it difficult -to come to the point. He only went courting once a week, and he could -never take up the running at the place where he left off the Saturday -before. Thus he had not, so far, made great headway. His method of -making up to Bell had been to drop in at T’Nowhead on Saturday nights -and talk with the farmer about the rinderpest. - -92. The farm kitchen was Bell’s testimonial. Its chairs, tables, and -stools were scoured by her to the whiteness of Rob Angus’s sawmill -boards, and the muslin blind on the window was starched like a child’s -pinafore. Bell was brave, too, as well as energetic. Once Thrums had -been overrun with thieves. It is now thought that there may have been -only one, but he had the wicked cleverness of a gang. Such was his -repute that there were weavers who spoke of locking their doors when -they went from home. He was not very skilful, however, being generally -caught, and when they said they knew he was a robber he gave them their -things back and went away. If they had given him time there is no -doubt that he would have gone off with his plunder. One night he went -to T’Nowhead, and Bell, who slept in the kitchen, was wakened by the -noise. She knew who it would be, so she rose and dressed herself and -went to look for him with a candle. The thief had not known what to do -when he got in, and as it was very lonely he was glad to see Bell. She -told him he ought to be ashamed of himself, and would not let him out -by the door until he had taken off his boots so as not to soil the -carpet. - -93. On this Saturday evening Sam’l stood his ground in the square, -until by and by he found himself alone. There were other groups there -still, but his circle had melted away. They went separately, and no one -said good-night. Each took himself off slowly, backing out of the group -until he was fairly started. - -94. Sam’l looked about him, and then, seeing that the others had gone, -walked round the townhouse into the darkness of the brae that leads -down and then up to the farm of T’Nowhead. - -95. To get into the good graces of Lisbeth Fargus you had to know her -ways and humour them. Sam’l, who was a student of women, knew this, and -so, instead of pushing the door open and walking in, he went through -the rather ridiculous ceremony of knocking. Sanders Elshioner was also -aware of this weakness of Lisbeth’s, but, though he often made up his -mind to knock, the absurdity of the thing prevented his doing so when -he reached the door. T’Nowhead himself had never got used to his wife’s -refined notions, and when any one knocked he always started to his -feet, thinking there must be something wrong. - -96. Lisbeth came to the door, her expansive figure blocking the way in. - -97. “Sam’l,” she said. - -98. “Lisbeth,” said Sam’l. - -99. He shook hands with the farmer’s wife, knowing that she liked it, -but only said, “Ay, Bell,” to his sweetheart, “Ay, T’Nowhead,” to -McQuhatty, and “It’s yersel, Sanders,” to his rival. - -100. They were sitting round the fire, T’Nowhead, with his feet on the -ribs, wondering why he felt so warm, and Bell darned a stocking, while -Lisbeth kept an eye on a goblet full of potatoes. - -101. “Sit into the fire, Sam’l,” said the farmer, not, however, making -way for him. - -102. “Na, na,” said Sam’l, “I’m to bide nae time.” Then he sat into -the fire. His face was turned away from Bell, and when she spoke he -answered her without looking round. Sam’l felt a little anxious. -Sanders Elshioner, who had one leg shorter than the other, but looked -well when sitting, seemed suspiciously at home. He asked Bell questions -out of his own head, which was beyond Sam’l, and once he said something -to her in such a low voice that the others could not catch it. -T’Nowhead asked curiously what it was, and Sanders explained that he -had only said, “Ay, Bell, the morn’s the Sabbath.” There was nothing -startling in this, but Sam’l did not like it. He began to wonder if he -was too late, and had he seen his opportunity would have told Bell of -a nasty rumour that Sanders intended to go over to the Free Church if -they would make him kirk-officer. - -103. Sam’l had the good-will of T’Nowhead’s wife, who liked a polite -man. Sanders did his best, but from want of practice he constantly made -mistakes. To-night, for instance, he wore his hat in the house because -he did not like to put up his hand and take it off. T’Nowhead had not -taken his off either but that was because he meant to go out by and by -and lock the byre door. It was impossible to say which of her lovers -Bell preferred. The proper course with an Auld Licht lassie was to -prefer the man who proposed to her. - -104. “Ye’ll bide a wee, an’ hae something to eat?” Lisbeth asked Sam’l, -with her eyes on the goblet. - -105. “No, I thank ye,” said Sam’l, with true gentility. - -106. “Ye’ll better?” - -107. “I dinna think it.” - -108. “Hoots aye; what’s to hender ye?” - -109. “Weel, since ye’re sae pressin’, I’ll bide.” - -110. No one asked Sanders to stay. Bell could not, for she was but the -servant, and T’Nowhead knew that the kick his wife had given him meant -that he was not to do so either. Sanders whistled to show that he was -not uncomfortable. - -111. “Ay then, I’ll be stappin’ ower the brae,” he said at last. - -112. He did not go, however. There was sufficient pride in him to get -him off his chair, but only slowly, for he had to get accustomed to the -notion of going. At intervals of two or three minutes he remarked that -he must now be going. In the same circumstances Sam’l would have acted -similarly. For a Thrums man it is one of the hardest things in life to -get away from anywhere. - -113. At last Lisbeth saw that something must be done. The potatoes were -burning, and T’Nowhead had an invitation on his tongue. - -114. “Yes, I’ll hae to be movin’,” said Sanders, hopelessly, for the -fifth time. - -115. “Guid nicht to ye, then, Sanders,” said Lisbeth. “Gie the door a -fling-to, ahent ye.” - -116. Sanders, with a mighty effort, pulled himself together. He looked -boldly at Bell, and then took off his hat carefully. Sam’l saw with -misgivings that there was something in it which was not a handkerchief. -It was a paper bag glittering with gold braid, and contained such an -assortment of sweets as lads bought for their lasses on the Muckle -Friday. - -117. “Hae, Bell,” said Sanders, handing the bag to Bell in an off-hand -way as if it were but a trifle. Nevertheless he was a little excited, -for he went off without saying good-night. - -118. No one spoke. Bell’s face was crimson. T’Nowhead fidgeted on his -chair, and Lisbeth looked at Sam’l. The weaver was strangely calm -and collected, though he would have liked to know whether this was a -proposal. - -119. “Sit in by to the table, Sam’l,” said Lisbeth, trying to look as -if things were as they had been before. - -120. She put a saucerful of butter, salt, and pepper near the fire to -melt, for melted butter is the shoeing-horn that helps over a meal of -potatoes. Sam’l, however, saw what the hour required, and jumping up, -he seized his bonnet. - -121. “Hing the tatties higher up the joist, Lisbeth,” he said with -dignity; “I’se be back in ten meenits.” - -122. He hurried out of the house, leaving the others looking at each -other. - -123. “What do ye think?” asked Lisbeth. - -124. “I d’na kin,” faltered Bell. - -125. “Thae tatties is lang o’ comin’ to the boil,” said T’Nowhead. - -126. In some circles a lover who behaved like Sam’l would have been -suspected of intent upon his rival’s life, but neither Bell nor Lisbeth -did the weaver that injustice. In a case of this kind it does not much -matter what T’Nowhead thought. - -127. The ten minutes had barely passed when Sam’l was back in the farm -kitchen. He was too flurried to knock this time, and, indeed, Lisbeth -did not expect it of him. - -128. “Bell, hae!” he cried, handing his sweetheart a tinsel bag twice -the size of Sander’s gift. - -129. “Losh preserve’s!” exclaimed Lisbeth; “I’se warrant there’s a -shillin’s worth.” - -130. “There’s a’ that, Lisbeth--an’ mair,” said Sam’l, firmly. - -131. “I thank ye, Sam’l,” said Bell, feeling an unwonted elation as she -gazed at the two paper bags in her lap. - -132. “Ye’re ower extravegint, Sam’l,” Lisbeth said. - -133. “Not at all,” said Sam’l; “not at all. But I widna advise ye to -eat thae ither anes, Bell--they’re second quality.” - -134. Bell drew back a step from Sam’l. - -135. “How do ye kin?” asked the farmer shortly, for he liked Sanders. - -136. “I spiered i’ the shop,” said Sam’l. - -137. The goblet was placed on a broken plate on the table with the -saucer beside it, and Sam’l, like the others, helped himself. What he -did was to take potatoes from the pot with his fingers, peel off their -coats, and then dip them into the butter. Lisbeth would have liked to -provide knives and forks, but she knew that beyond a certain point -T’Nowhead was master in his own house. As for Sam’l, he felt victory in -his hands, and began to think that he had gone too far. - -138. In the meantime Sanders, little witting that Sam’l had trumped -his trick, was sauntering along the kirk-wynd with his hat on the side -of his head. Fortunately he did not meet the minister. - -139. The courting of T’Nowhead’s Bell reached its crisis one Sabbath -about a month after the events above recorded. The minister was in -great force that day, but it is no part of mine to tell how he bore -himself. I was there, and am not likely to forget the scene. It was a -fateful Sabbath for T’Nowhead’s Bell and her swains, and destined to -be remembered for the painful scandal which they perpetrated in their -passion. - -140. Bell was not in the kirk. There being an infant of six months in -the house it was a question of either Lisbeth or the lassie’s staying -at home with him, and though Lisbeth was unselfish in a general way, -she could not resist the delight of going to church. She had nine -children besides the baby, and being but a woman, it was the pride of -her life to march them into the T’Nowhead pew, so well watched that -they dared not misbehave, and so tightly packed that they could not -fall. The congregation looked at that pew, the mothers enviously, when -they sang the lines-- - - “Jerusalem like a city is - Compactly built together.” - -141. The first half of the service had been gone through on this -particular Sunday without anything remarkable happening. It was at -the end of the psalm which preceded the sermon that Sanders Elshioner, -who sat near the door, lowered his head until it was no higher than -the pews, and in that attitude, looking almost like a four-footed -animal, slipped out of the church. In their eagerness to be at the -sermon many of the congregation did not notice him, and those who did -put the matter by in their minds for future investigation. Sam’l, -however, could not take it so coolly. From his seat in the gallery he -saw Sanders disappear, and his mind misgave him. With the true lover’s -instinct he understood it all. Sanders had been struck by the fine -turn-out in the T’Nowhead’s pew. Bell was alone at the farm. What -an opportunity to work one’s way up to a proposal. T’Nowhead was so -overrun with children that such a chance seldom occurred, except on a -Sabbath. Sanders, doubtless, was off to propose, and he, Sam’l, was -left behind. - -142. The suspense was terrible. Sam’l and Sanders had both known all -along that Bell would take the first of the two who asked her. Even -those who thought her proud admitted that she was modest. Bitterly the -weaver repented having waited so long. Now it was too late. In ten -minutes Sanders would be at T’Nowhead; in an hour all would be over. -Sam’l rose to his feet in a daze. His mother pulled him down by the -coat-tail, and his father shook him, thinking he was walking in his -sleep. He tottered past them, however, hurried up the aisle, which -was so narrow that Dan’l Ross could only reach his seat by walking -sideways, and was gone before the minister could do more than stop in -the middle of a whirl and gape in horror after him. - -143. A number of the congregation felt that day the advantage of -sitting in the loft. What was a mystery to those downstairs was -revealed to them. From the gallery windows they had a fine open view to -the south; and as Sam’l took the common, which was a short cut though a -steep ascent, to T’Nowhead, he was never out of their line of vision. -Sanders was not to be seen, but they guessed rightly the reason why. -Thinking he had ample time, he had gone round by the main road to save -his boots--perhaps a little scared by what was coming. Sam’l’s design -was to forestall him by taking the shorter path over the burn and up -the common. - -144. It was a race for a wife, and several onlookers in the gallery -braved the minister’s displeasure to see who won. Those who favoured -Sam’l’s suit exultingly saw him leap the stream, while the friends of -Sanders fixed their eyes on the top of the common where it ran into the -road. Sanders must come into sight there, and the one who reached this -point first would get Bell. - -145. As Auld Lichts do not walk abroad on the Sabbath, Sanders would -probably not be delayed. The chances were in his favour. Had it -been any other day in the week Sam’l might have run. So some of the -congregation in the gallery were thinking, when suddenly they saw him -bend low and then take to his heels. He had caught sight of Sander’s -head bobbing over the hedge that separated the road from the common, -and feared that Sanders might see him. The congregation who could crane -their necks sufficiently saw a black object, which they guessed to be -the carter’s hat, crawling along the hedge-top. For a moment it was -motionless, and then it shot ahead. The rivals had seen each other. -It was now a hot race. Sam’l, dissembling no longer, clattered up the -common, becoming smaller and smaller to the onlookers as he neared the -top. More than one person in the gallery almost rose to their feet -in their excitement. Sam’l had it. No, Sanders was in front. Then -the two figures disappeared from view. They seemed to run into each -other at the top of the brae, and no one could say who was first. The -congregation looked at one another. Some of them perspired. But the -minister held on his course. - -146. Sam’l had just been in time to cut Sanders out. It was the -weaver’s saving that Sanders saw this when his rival turned the -corner; for Sam’l was sadly blown. Sanders took in the situation and -gave in at once. The last hundred yards of the distance he covered at -his leisure, and when he arrived at his destination he did not go in. -It was a fine afternoon for the time of the year, and he went round to -have a look at the pig, about which T’Nowhead was a little sinfully -puffed up. - -147. “Ay,” said Sanders, digging his fingers critically into the -grunting animal; “quite so.” - -148. “Grumph,” said the pig, getting reluctantly to his feet. - -149. “Ou ay; yes,” said Sanders, thoughtfully. - -150. Then he sat down on the edge of the sty, and looked long and -silently at an empty bucket. But whether his thoughts were of -T’Nowhead’s Bell, whom he had lost for ever, or of the food the farmer -fed his pig on, is not known. - -151. “Lord preserve’s! Are ye no at the kirk?” cried Bell, nearly -dropping the baby as Sam’l broke into the room. - -152. “Bell!” cried Sam’l. - -153. Then T’Nowhead’s Bell knew that her hour had come. - -154. “Sam’l,” she faltered. - -155. “Will ye hae’s, Bell?” demanded Sam’l, glaring at her sheepishly. - -156. “Ay,” answered Bell. - -157. Sam’l fell into a chair. - -158. “Bring’s drink o’ water, Bell,” he said. But Bell thought the -occasion required milk, and there was none in the kitchen. She went out -to the byre, still with the baby in her arms, and saw Sanders Elshioner -sitting gloomily on the pigsty. - -159. “Weel, Bell,” said Sanders. - -160. “I thocht ye’d been at the kirk, Sanders,” said Bell. - -161. Then there was a silence between them. - -162. “Has Sam’l spiered ye, Bell?” asked Sanders, stolidly. - -163. “Ay,” said Bell again, and this time there was a tear in her eye. -Sanders was little better than an “orra man,” and Sam’l was a weaver, -and yet--But it was too late now. Sanders gave the pig a vicious poke -with a stick, and when it had ceased to grunt, Bell was back in the -kitchen. She had forgotten about the milk, however, and Sam’l only got -water after all. - -164. In after days, when the story of Bell’s wooing was told, there -were some who held that the circumstances would have almost justified -the lassie in giving Sam’l the go-by. But these perhaps forgot that -her other lover was in the same predicament as the accepted one--that -of the two, indeed, he was the more to blame, for he set off to -T’Nowhead on the Sabbath of his own accord, while Sam’l only ran after -him. And then there is no one to say for certain whether Bell heard -of her suitors’ delinquencies until Lisbeth’s return from the kirk. -Sam’l could never remember whether he told her, and Bell was not sure -whether, if he did, she took it in. Sanders was greatly in demand for -weeks after to tell what he knew of the affair, but though he was twice -asked to tea to the manse among the trees, and subjected thereafter to -ministerial cross-examinations, this is all he told. He remained at the -pigsty until Sam’l left the farm, when he joined him at the top of the -brae, and they went home together. - -165. “It’s yersel, Sanders,” said Sam’l. - -166. “It is so, Sam’l,” said Sanders. - -167. “Very cauld,” said Sam’l. - -168. “Blawy,” assented Sanders. - -169. After a pause-- - -170. “Sam’l,” said Sanders. - -171. “Ay.” - -172. “I’m hearin’ yer to be mairit.” - -173. “Ay.” - -174. “Weel, Sam’l she’s a snod bit lassie.” - -175. “Thank ye,” said Sam’l. - -176. “I had ance a kin’ o’ notion o’ Bell mysel,” continued Sanders. - -177. “Ye had?” - -178. “Yes, Sam’l; but I thocht better o’t.” - -179. “Hoo d’ye mean?” asked Sam’l, a little anxiously. - -180. “Weel, Sam’l, mairitch is a terrible responsibeelity.” - -181. “It is so,” said Sam’l, wincing. - -182. “An’ no the thing to tak up withoot conseederation.” - -183. “But it’s a blessed and honourable state, Sanders; ye’ve heard the -minister on’t.” - -184. “They say,” continued the relentless Sanders, “'at the minister -doesna get on sair wi’ the wife himsel.” - -185. “So they do,” cried Sam’l, with a sinking at the heart. - -186. “I’ve been telt,” Sanders went on, “'at gin ye can get the upper -han’ o’ the wife for a while at first, there’s the mair chance o’ a -harmonious exeestence.” - -187. “Bell’s no the lassie,” said Sam’l, appealingly, “to thwart her -man.” - -188. Sanders smiled. - -189. “D’ye ye think she is, Sanders?” - -190. “Weel, Sam’l, I d’na want to fluster ye, but she’s been ower lang -wi’ Lisbeth Fargus no to hae learnt her ways. An a’body kins what a -life T’Nowhead has wi’ her.” - -191. “Guid sake, Sanders, hoo did ye no speak o’ this afore?” - -192. “I thocht ye kent o’t, Sam’l.” - -193. They had now reached the square, and the U. P. kirk was coming -out. The Auld Licht kirk would be half an hour yet. - -194. “But, Sanders,” said Sam’l, brightening up, “ye was on yer wy to -spier her yersel.” - -195. “I was, Sam’l,” said Sanders, “and I canna but be thankfu’ ye was -ower quick for’s.” - -196. “Gin’t hadna been you,” said Sam’l, “I wid never hae thocht o’t.” - -197. “I’m sayin’ naething agin Bell,” pursued the other, “but, man -Sam’l, a body should be mair deleeberate in a thing o’ the kind.” - -198. “It was michty hurried,” said Sam’l, woefully. - -199. “It’s a serious thing to spier a lassie,” said Sanders. - -200. “It’s an awfu’ thing,” said Sam’l. - -201. “But we’ll hope for the best,” added Sanders, in a hopeless voice. - -202. They were close to the Tenements now, and Sam’l looked as if he -were on his way to be hanged. - -203. “Sam’l?” - -204. “Ay, Sanders.” - -205. “Did ye--did ye kiss her, Sam’l?” - -206. “Na.” - -207. “Hoo?” - -208. “There was varra little time, Sanders.” - -209. “Half an 'oor,” said Sanders. - -210. “Was there? Man Sanders, to tell ye the truth, I never thoct o’t.” - -211. Then the soul of Sanders Elshioner was filled with contempt for -Sam’l Dickie. - -212. The scandal blew over. At first it was expected that the minister -would interfere to prevent the union, but beyond intimating from the -pulpit that the souls of Sabbath-breakers were beyond praying for, and -then praying for Sam’l and Sanders at great length, with a word thrown -in for Bell, he let things take their course. Some said it was because -he was always frightened lest his young men should intermarry with -other denominations, but Sanders explained it differently to Sam’l. - -213. “I hav’na a word to say agin the minister,” he said, “they’re -gran’ prayers, but, Sam’l, he’s a mairit man himsel.” - -214. “He’s a’ the better for that, Sanders, isna he?” - -215. “Do ye no see,” asked Sanders, compassionately, “'at he’s tryin’ -to mak the best o’t?” - -216. “Oh, Sanders, man!” said Sam’l. - -217. “Cheer up, Sam’l,” said Sanders, “it’ll sune be ower.” - -218. Their having been rival suitors had not interfered with their -friendship. On the contrary, while they had hitherto been mere -acquaintances, they became inseparables as the wedding-day drew near. -It was noticed that they had much to say to each other, and that when -they could not get a room to themselves they wandered about together in -the churchyard. When Sam’l had anything to tell Bell he sent Sanders to -tell it, and Sanders did as he was bid. There was nothing that he would -not have done for Sam’l. - -219. The more obliging Sanders was, however, the sadder Sam’l grew. He -never laughed now on Saturdays, and sometimes his loom was silent half -the day. Sam’l felt that Sanders’s was the kindness of a friend for a -dying man. - -220. It was to be a penny wedding, and Lisbeth Fargus said it was -delicacy that made Sam’l superintend the fitting-up of the barn by -deputy. Once he came to see it in person, but he looked so ill that -Sanders had to see him home. This was on the Thursday afternoon, and -the wedding was fixed for Friday. - -221. “Sanders, Sanders,” said Sam’l, in a voice strangely unlike his -own, “it’ll a’ be ower by this time the morn.” - -222. “It will,” said Sanders. - -223. “If I had only kent her langer,” continued Sam’l. - -224. “It wid hae been safer,” said Sanders. - -[Sidenote: Flower.] - -225. “Did ye see the yallow floor in Bell’s bonnet?” asked the accepted -swain. - -226. “Ay,” said Sanders, reluctantly. - -227. “I’m dootin’--I’m sair dootin’ she’s but a flichty, licht-hearted -crittur after a’.” - -228. “I had ay my suspeecions o’t,” said Sanders. - -229. “Ye hae kent her langer than me,” said Sam’l. - -230. “Yes,” said Sanders, “but there’s nae gettin’ at the heart o’ -women. Man Sam’l they’re desperate cunnin’.” - -231. “I’m dootin’t; I’m sair dootin’t.” - -232. “It’ll be a warnin’ to ye, Sam’l, no to be in sic a hurry i’ the -futur,” said Sanders. - -233. Sam’l groaned. - -234. “Ye’ll be gaein up to the manse to arrange wi’ the minister the -morn’s mornin’,” continued Sanders, in a subdued voice. - -235. Sam’l looked wistfully at his friend. - -236. “I canna do’t, Sanders,” he said, “I canna do’t.” - -237. “Ye maun,” said Sanders. - -238. “It’s aisy to speak,” retorted Sam’l, bitterly. - -239. “We have a’ oor troubles, Sam’l,” said Sanders, soothingly, “an’ -every man maun bear his ain burdens. Johnny Davie’s wife’s dead, an’ -he’s no repinin’.” - -240. “Ay,” said Sam’l, “but a death’s no a mairitch. We hae haen deaths -in our family too.” - -241. “It may a’ be for the best,” added Sanders, “an’ there wid be a -michty talk i’ the hale country-side gin ye didna ging to the minister -like a man.” - -242. “I maun hae langer to think o’t,” said Sam’l. - -243. “Bell’s mairitch is the morn,” said Sanders, decisively. - -244. Sam’l glanced up with a wild look in his eyes. - -245. “Sanders,” he cried. - -246. “Sam’l?” - -247. “Ye hae been a guid friend to me, Sanders, in this sair -affliction.” - -248. “Nothing ava,” said Sanders; “dount mention’d.” - -249. “But, Sanders, ye canna deny but what your rinnin oot o’ the kirk -that awfu’ day was at the bottom o’d a’.” - -250. “It was so,” said Sanders, bravely. - -251. “An’ ye used to be fond o’ Bell, Sanders.” - -252. “I dinna deny’t.” - -253. “Sanders laddie,” said Sam’l, bending forward and speaking in a -wheedling voice, “I aye thocht it was you she likeit.” - -254. “I had some sic idea mysel,” said Sanders. - -255. “Sanders, I canna think to pairt twa fowk sae weel suited to ane -anither as you an’ Bell.” - -256. “Canna ye, Sam’l?” - -257. “She wid mak ye a guid wife, Sanders. I hae studied her weel, and -she’s a thrifty, douce, clever lassie. Sanders, there’s no the like o’ -her. Mony a time, Sanders, I hae said to mysel, There’s a lass ony man -micht be prood to tak. A’body says the same, Sanders. There’s nae risk -ava, man: nane to speak o’. Tak her, laddie, tak her, Sanders; it’s a -grand chance, Sanders. She’s yours for the spierin. I’ll gie her up, -Sanders.” - -258. “Will ye, though?” said Sanders. - -259. “What d’ye think?” said Sam’l. - -260. “If ye wid rayther,” said Sanders, politely. - -261. “There’s my han’ on’t,” said Sam’l. “Bless ye, Sanders; ye’ve been -a true frien’ to me.” - -262. Then they shook hands for the first time in their lives; and soon -afterwards Sanders struck up the brae to T’Nowhead. - -263. Next morning Sanders Elshioner, who had been very busy the night -before, put on his Sabbath clothes and strolled up to the manse. - -264. “But--but where is Sam’l?” asked the minister; “I must see -himself.” - -265. “It’s a new arrangement,” said Sanders. - -266. “What do you mean, Sanders?” - -267. “Bell’s to marry me,” explained Sanders. - -268. “But--but what does Sam’l say?” - -269. “He’s willin’,” said Sanders. - -270. “And Bell?” - -271. “She’s willin’, too. She prefers’t.” - -272. “It is unusual,” said the minister. - -273. “It’s a’ richt,” said Sanders. - -274. “Well, you know best,” said the minister. - -275. “You see the hoose was taen, at ony rate,” continued Sanders. “An -I’ll juist ging in til’t instead o’ Sam’l.” - -276. “Quite so.” - -277. “An’ I cudna think to disappoint the lassie.” - -278. “Your sentiments do you credit, Sanders,” said the minister; “but -I hope you do not enter upon the blessed state of matrimony without -full consideration of its responsibilities. It is a serious business, -marriage.” - -279. “It’s a’ that,” said Sanders, “but I’m willin’ to stan’ the risk.” - -280. So, as soon as it could be done, Sanders Elshioner took to wife -T’Nowhead’s Bell, and I remember seeing Sam’l Dickie trying to dance at -the penny wedding. - -281. Years afterwards it was said in Thrums that Sam’l had treated Bell -badly, but he was never sure about it himself. - -282. “It was a near thing--a michty near thing,” he admitted in the -square. - -283. “They say,” some other weaver would remark, “'at it was you Bell -liked best.” - -284. “I d’na kin,” Sam’l would reply, “but there’s nae doot the lassie -was fell fond o’ me. Ou, a mere passin’ fancy’s ye micht say.” - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY - -1. In a few sentences, state whether the humor of this story centers -in the central situation, the several incidents, the dialogue, the -character, or in the climax. - -2. If in more than one element, name them in the order of their -interest, or humor, to you. - -3. Does the humor go to the limit of silliness at any point? - -4. Point out any passages which are serio-comic. - -5. Define (a) Farce, (b) Burlesque, (c) Comedy, (d) Wit, (e) Satire. - -6. Point out passages in this or any other stories which illustrate the -foregoing types. - -7. Name other humorous stories by O. Henry and J. M. Barrie. - -8. Name the best humorous story you know. - - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE HUMOROUS STORIES - -“The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County,” Mark Twain, in -_Short Stories and Sketches_, Vol. I. - -“Mike Grady’s Safety,” Will Lewis, _Everybody’s Magazine_, Aug., -1905. - -“Their First Formal Call,” Grace MacGowan Cooke, in volume of same -title. - -“The Day of the Dog,” George Barr McCutcheon, in volume of same -title. - -“Edgar, the Choir-Boy Uncelestial,” _McClure’s Magazine_, Jan., -1902. - -“The Pope’s Mule,” Alphonse Daudet, translated in _Short-Story -Masterpieces_. - -“Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff,” Bret Harte, _Harper’s -Magazine_, Mar., 1901. - -“The Phonograph and the Graft,” O. Henry, in _Cabbages and Kings_. - -“The King of Boyville,” William Allen White, in _Tales from -McClure’s_. - -“The Bob-tailed Car,” Brander Matthews, in _The Family Tree_. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[23] Copyright, 1910, by Doubleday, Page and Co., and used by -permission. - - - - - V - STORIES OF SETTING - - _The Outcasts of Poker Flat._--BRET HARTE - _Moonlight._--GUY DE MAUPASSANT - - - It is the habit of my imagination to strive after as full a vision - of the medium in which a character moves as of the character - itself. The psychological causes which prompted me to give such - details of Florentine life and history as I have given [in - _Romola_] are precisely the same as those which determined me in - giving the details of English village life in _Silas Marner_ or the - “Dodson” life, out of which were developed the destinies of poor - Tom and Maggie.--GEORGE ELIOT, quoted in her _Life_ by J. W. CROSS. - - - STORIES OF SETTING - -“Setting consists of the circumstances, material and immaterial, in -which the characters are seen to move in the story. Its elements -are time, place, occupations, and (I lack a more expressive word) -conditions.”[24] - -To be classified properly as a story of setting, a narrative must be -more than merely rich in local-color--as the characteristic environment -of a certain district, as set forth in fiction, is often called. The -true story of setting is one in which the setting has a vital bearing -on the natures or the destinies of the characters. To be sure, the -setting of a story, like the staging of a play, has an important part -in the realistic presentation of the scene, but setting assumes a -predominating part when it actually moves the characters to certain -deciding actions, as do the snow-storm in “The Outcasts of Poker Flat,” -and the soft light of the moon in “Moonlight.” - -The local-color story is one which could not have been set elsewhere -without vitally changing, that is to say destroying, the story. For -example, Balzac’s “The Unknown Masterpiece” is set almost entirely -in an artist’s studio. The story would be slain by dragging it away -from that atmosphere. But it is also a story of setting, because, -whatever internal influences also affected the characters, the setting -influences their destinies--the men and the women live lives as -determined by their surroundings. “Mateo Falcone,” too, is a story of -setting, but not primarily so; for while it could have happened only -in Corsica, and the local-color is singularly vivid, it is primarily a -story of human motive and action. - -Because of the powerful effect of environment upon character--in -fiction just as in real life--the reader often judges of coming events -by the feeling of the setting. The stage manager knows this, too, and -accompanies, or even forecasts, a moral crisis by having lights, music, -sounds, and other stage accessories harmonize with the mood of the -actors. Or, contrariwise, the tone of the piece may best be brought out -by a setting in contrast. - -Observe how in the two stories illustrating this type the authors never -draw pictures of costumes and scenery just for the sake of description, -as beginners might do. The setting, to Harte and Maupassant, is vitally -a part of the story, and any unnecessary detail would mar the harmony -of the whole. Too much were worse than too little. - -“When the characters live, move, and have their being in the setting, -the result is ‘atmosphere.’ Atmosphere is thus an effect. It is felt, -not seen. _Through_ its medium the reader must see all the action, yes, -all the details of the story. Atmosphere gives value to the tones of -fiction as in real life it does to landscape. The hills are actually -the same in cloud and in sunshine, but the eye sees them as different -through the mediate atmosphere. And so setting and characters, -perfectly adjusted, make the reader, that is to say the beholder, see -the story in the very tones the literary artist desires. A story of the -sea has an atmosphere of its own, but the atmosphere does not consist -merely of the accurately colored picture of sea and strand and sailor -and ship and sky. The whole story is informed with the _spirit_ of the -sea--its tang clings to the garments, its winds breathe through every -passage, its wonderful lights and glooms tone the whole story. Without -it the story would be a poor thing, bloodless and inert.”[25] - - - HARTE AND HIS WRITINGS - -Francis Bret Harte was born in Albany, New York, August 25, 1839, of -gentle parents. Abandoning his common-school education at the age -of fifteen, he followed the lure of the gold craze to California, -but neither teaching nor mining enriched him, so in 1857 he became -a compositor on the _Golden Era_, San Francisco. He then edited the -_Californian_, and in 1864 was appointed secretary of the branch Mint, -remaining until 1870. Two years before, however, he had become editor -of the new _Overland Monthly_, where some of his best work appeared. -This position did not prove permanent, and even less so was that of the -professorship of “recent literature” in the University of California, -for in 1871 he removed to New York. In 1878 he became United States -Consul at Crefeld, Germany, and in 1880 was transferred to Glasgow, -Scotland, holding this post until 1885. His later life was spent -chiefly in London, where his brilliant talents brought him the full -recognition of _littérateurs_. He died in London, May 6, 1902. - -Bret Harte was a poet, critic, novelist, and short-story writer. His -novels give him no such claim to fame as do his other writings. His -best-known dialect verses are “The Society Upon the Stanislaus,” “Jim,” -“Dickens in Camp,” “Dow’s Flat,” and “Plain Language From Truthful -James” (often called “The Heathen Chinee”). His best sketches and -short-stories include “The Luck of Roaring Camp,” “An Heiress of Red -Dog,” “Miggles,” “Tennessee’s Partner,” “M’liss,” “The Idyl of Red -Gulch,” “Brown of Calaveras,” and “The Outcasts of Poker Flat”--which -was first published in _The Overland Monthly_, January, 1869. - - * * * * * - -If artistic repression, dramatic feeling, mingled humor and pathos, -deft character drawing, a sure sense of a “good story,” and the ability -to win the reader in spite of himself--if the certain possession of all -these are marks of fictional genius, surely Bret Harte deserves the -name. For themes, he chose--and doubtless over-colored at times--the -people and the happenings of '49 during the gold craze, and not a few -have charged him with a fondness for heroes and heroines of undoubted -reputations--for evil. Social outcasts, they say, he treated too -tenderly. But Bret Harte himself effectively answered this criticism -when he said: - -“When it shall be proven to him that communities are degraded and -brought to guilt and crime, suffering or destitution, from a -predominance of this quality [too much mercy]; when he shall see -pardoned ticket-of-leave men elbowing men of austere lives out of -situation and position, and the repentant Magdalen supplanting the -blameless virgin in society, then he will lay aside his pen and extend -his hand to the new Draconian discipline in fiction. But until then he -will, without claiming to be a religious man or a moralist, but simply -as an artist, reverently and humbly conform to the rules laid down by a -Great Poet, who created the parable of the ‘Prodigal Son’ and the ‘Good -Samaritan,’ whose works have lasted eighteen hundred years, and will -remain when the present writer and his generation are forgotten.” - - The secret of the American short story is the treatment of - characteristic American life, with absolute knowledge of its - peculiarities and sympathy with its methods; with no fastidious - ignoring of its habitual expression, or the inchoate poetry that - may be found even hidden in its slang; with no moral determination - except that which may be the legitimate outcome of the story - itself; with no more elimination than may be necessary for the - artistic conception, and never from the fear of the fetich of - conventionalism. Of such is the American short story of to-day--the - germ of American literature to come.--BRET HARTE, _The Rise of the - Short Story, Cornhill Magazine_, July, 1899. - - He expounds an important half-truth which has been too much - neglected: that as being is greater than seeming, appearances - are often deceitful; under the most repellent exterior a soul of - goodness may exist. But if we study him over much, we may become - victims of the delusion that any person whose dress and manners are - respectable, is, to say the least, a suspicious character, while - drunken and profane ruffians are the saints of the earth.--WALTER - LEWIN, _The Abuse of Fiction_. - - Mr. Kipling is a great man at sentiment (though we hear more of - his anti-sentimental side), but has he written a child-story we - can remember as long as “The Luck of Roaring Camp,” or anything - we shall remember as long as “The Outcasts of Poker Flat,” or - “Tennessee’s Partner”? These things are not so exact in their - “business” (to borrow a term from still another art), but, perhaps - on that very account, they remain symbols of the human heart. - They have the simplicity of classics, a simplicity in which all - unnecessary subtleties are dissolved.--RICHARD LE GALLIENNE, - _Rudyard Kipling: A Criticism_. - - His own style, as finally formed, leaves little to be desired; - it is clear, flexible, virile, laconic and withal graceful. Its - full meaning is given to every word, and occasionally, like all - original masters of prose, he imparts into a familiar word a - racier significance than it had possessed before. His genius is - nowhere more unmistakable than in the handling of his stories, - which is terse to the point of severity, yet wholly adequate; - everything necessary to the matter in hand is told, but with an - economy of word and phrase that betokens a powerful and radical - conception.--JULIAN HAWTHORNE and LEONARD LEMMON, _American - Literature_. - - Tennessee’s Partner, John Oakhurst, Yuba Bill, Kentucky, are as - long-lived, seemingly, as any characters in nineteenth century - fiction.... What gives these characters their lasting power? Why - does that highly melodramatic tragedy in the hills above Poker - Flat, with its stagy reformations, and contrasts of black sinner - and white innocent, hold you spellbound at the thirtieth as at - the first reading? Why does Tennessee’s Partner make you wish to - grasp him by the hand? Bret Harte believed, apparently, that it - was his realism which did it.... But we do not wait to be told by - Californians, who still remember the red-shirt period, that Roaring - Camp is not realism.... Not the realism, but the idealization, of - this life of the Argonauts was the prize Bret Harte gained.--HENRY - S. CANBY, _The Short Story in English_. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON HARTE - -_Early Recollections of Bret Harte_, C. W. Stoddard, _Atlantic -Monthly_, vol. 78; _Bret Harte in California_, Noah Brooks, _Century -Magazine_, vol. 58; _American Humor and Bret Harte_, G. K. Chesterton, -_Critic_, vol. 41; _Life of Bret Harte_, T. E. Pemberton (1903); _Bret -Harte_, H. W. Boynton, in _Contemporary Men of Letters_ series (1905); -_Life of Bret Harte_, H. C. Merwin (1911). - - - THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT - BY BRET HARTE - -[Sidenote: Central character.] - -[Sidenote: Crisis at once forecasted.] - -[Sidenote: Preliminary setting.] - -As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker -Flat on the morning of the twenty-third of November, 1850, he was -conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding -night. Two or three men, conversing earnestly together, ceased as he -approached, and exchanged significant glances. There was a Sabbath lull -in the air, which, in a settlement unused to Sabbath influences, looked -ominous. - -[Sidenote: Physical delineation interwoven with the progress of the -story.] - -[Sidenote: Summary of tone of the fundamental situation. FOUNDATION -CRISIS.] - -2. Mr. Oakhurst’s calm, handsome face betrayed small concern of these -indications. Whether he was conscious of any predisposing cause, was -another question. “I reckon they’re after somebody,” he reflected; -“likely it’s me.” He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with -which he had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his -neat boots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture. - -[Sidenote: Situation explained.] - -[Sidenote: FOUNDATION PLOT INCIDENT.] - -[Sidenote: Euphemism.] - -3. In point of fact, Poker Flat was “after somebody.” It had lately -suffered the loss of several thousand dollars, two valuable horses, and -a prominent citizen. It was experiencing a spasm of virtuous reaction, -quite as lawless and ungovernable as any of the acts that had provoked -it. A secret committee had determined to rid the town of all improper -persons. This was done permanently in regard to two men who were then -hanging from the boughs of a sycamore in the gulch, and temporarily in -the banishment of certain other objectionable characters. I regret to -say that some of these were ladies. It is but due to the sex, however, -to state that their impropriety was professional, and it was only in -such easily established standards of evil that Poker Flat ventured to -sit in judgment. - -[Sidenote: Note the author’s slight ironic tone, which later gives way -to simple pathos.] - -4. Mr. Oakhurst was right in supposing that he was included in this -category. A few of the committee had urged hanging him as a possible -example, and a sure method of reimbursing themselves from his pockets -of the sums he had won from them. “It’s agin justice,” said Jim -Wheeler, “to let this yer young man from Roaring Camp--an entire -stranger--carry away our money.” But a crude sentiment of equity -residing in the breasts of those who had been fortunate enough to win -from Mr. Oakhurst overruled this narrower local prejudice. - -[Sidenote: Character delineation.] - -5. Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with philosophic calmness, none -the less coolly that he was aware of the hesitation of his judges. He -was too much of a gambler not to accept Fate. With him life was at best -an uncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in favor of -the dealer. - -[Sidenote: First group of characters.] - -[Sidenote: First group of characters.] - -[Sidenote: Climax of first crisis.] - -[Sidenote: End of Introduction and groundwork.] - -6. A body of armed men accompanied the deported wickedness of Poker -Flat to the outskirts of the settlement. Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was -known to be a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the -armed escort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young -woman familiarly known as “The Duchess”; another, who had gained the -infelicitous title of “Mother Shipton”; and “Uncle Billy,” a suspected -sluice-robber and confirmed drunkard. The cavalcade provoked no -comments from the spectators, nor was any word uttered by the escort. -Only, when the gulch which marked the uttermost limit of Poker Flat was -reached, the leader spoke briefly and to the point. The exiles were -forbidden to return at the peril of their lives. - -[Sidenote: THIRD STAGE OF FIRST PLOT INCIDENT.] - -[Sidenote: Is “their” well used?] - - -[Sidenote: Paragraph of character delineation.] - -7. As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in a -few hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from Mother -Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy. The -philosophic Oakhurst alone remained silent. He listened calmly to -Mother Shipton’s desire to cut somebody’s heart out, to the repeated -statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the -alarming oaths that seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he rode -forward. With the easy good-humor characteristic of his class, he -insisted upon exchanging his own riding-horse, “Five Spot,” for the -sorry mule which the Duchess rode. But even this act did not draw the -party into any closer sympathy. The young woman readjusted her somewhat -draggled plumes with a feeble, faded coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the -possessor of “Five Spot” with malevolence, and Uncle Billy included the -whole party in one sweeping anathema. - -[Sidenote: Second preliminary setting.] - -[Sidenote: FOUNDATION FOR MAIN CRISIS.] - -8. The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced -the regenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer -some invitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range. -It was distant a day’s severe journey. In that advanced season, the -party soon passed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foothills -into the dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras. The trail was narrow -and difficult. At noon the Duchess, rolling out of her saddle upon -the ground, declared her intention of going no further, and the party -halted. - -[Sidenote: MAIN SETTING.] - -[Sidenote: Character contrasts.] - -9. The spot was singularly wild and impressive. A wooded amphitheatre, -surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, -sloped gently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked the -valley. It was, undoubtedly, the most suitable spot for a camp, had -camping been advisable. But Mr. Oakhurst knew that scarcely half the -journey to Sandy Bar was accomplished, and the party were not equipped -or provisioned for delay. This fact he pointed out to his companions -curtly, with a philosophic commentary on the folly of “throwing up -their hand before the game was played out.” But they were furnished -with liquor, which in this emergency stood them in place of food, fuel, -rest, and prescience. In spite of his remonstrances, it was not long -before they were more or less under its influence. Uncle Billy passed -rapidly from a bellicose state into one of stupor, the Duchess became -maudlin, and Mother Shipton snored. Mr. Oakhurst alone remained erect, -leaning against a rock, calmly surveying them. - -[Sidenote: Setting in harmony with tone of story.] - -10. Mr. Oakhurst did not drink. It interfered with a profession which -required coolness, impassiveness and presence of mind, and, in his -own language, he “couldn’t afford it.” As he gazed at his recumbent -fellow-exiles, the loneliness begotten of his pariah-trade, his habits -of life, his very vices, for the first time seriously oppressed him. -He bestirred himself in dusting his black clothes, washing his hands -and face, and other acts characteristic of his studiously neat habits, -and for a moment forgot his annoyance. The thought of deserting his -weaker and more pitiable companions never perhaps occurred to him. -Yet he could not help feeling the want of that excitement which, -singularly enough, was most conducive to that calm equanimity for which -he was notorious. He looked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand -feet sheer above the circling pines around him; at the sky, ominously -clouded; at the valley below, already deepening into shadow. And, doing -so, suddenly he heard his own name called. - -[Sidenote: Second group of characters.] - -[Sidenote: OPENING OF MAIN PLOT SITUATION.] - -11. A horseman slowly ascended the trail. In the fresh, open face of -the newcomer Mr. Oakhurst recognized Tom Simson, otherwise known as -“The Innocent” of Sandy Bar. He had met him some months before over -a “little game,” and had, with perfect equanimity, won the entire -fortune--amounting to some forty dollars--of that guileless youth. -After the game was finished, Mr. Oakhurst drew the youthful speculator -behind the door and thus addressed him: “Tommy, you’re a good little -man, but you can’t gamble worth a cent. Don’t try it over again.” He -then handed him his money back, pushed him gently from the room, and so -made a devoted slave of Tom Simson. - -[Sidenote: Character Contrasts.] - -12. There was a remembrance of this in his boyish and enthusiastic -greeting of Mr. Oakhurst. He had started, he said, to go to Poker -Flat to seek his fortune. “Alone?” No, not exactly alone; in fact (a -giggle), he had run away with Piney Woods. Didn’t Mr. Oakhurst remember -Piney? She that used to wait on the table at the Temperance House? They -had been engaged a long time, but old Jake Woods had objected, and so -they ran away, and were going to Poker Flat to be married, and here -they were. And they were tired out, and how lucky it was they had found -a place to camp, and company. All this the Innocent delivered rapidly, -while Piney, a stout, comely damsel of fifteen, emerged from behind the -pine-tree, where she had been blushing unseen, and rode to the side of -her lover. - -[Sidenote: First effect of the newcomers on the tone of the first group -of characters. This furnishes the _motif_ for the story.] - -13. Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sentiment, still less -with propriety; but he had a vague idea that the situation was not -felicitous. He retained, however, his presence of mind sufficiently -to kick Uncle Billy, who was about to say something, and Uncle Billy -was sober enough to recognize in Mr. Oakhurst’s kick a superior power -that would not bear trifling. He then endeavored to dissuade Tom Simson -from delaying further, but in vain. He even pointed out the fact that -there was no provision, nor means of making a camp. But, unluckily, the -Innocent met this objection by assuring the party that he was provided -with an extra mule loaded with provisions, and by the discovery of a -rude attempt at a log-house near the trail. “Piney can stay with Mrs. -Oakhurst,” said the Innocent, pointing to the Duchess, “and I can shift -for myself.” - -[Sidenote: Further effect.] - -[Sidenote: FOUNDATION FOR MAIN CRISIS--NOT YET APPARENT.] - -14. Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst’s admonishing foot saved Uncle Billy -from bursting into a roar of laughter. As it was, he felt compelled -to retire up the cañon until he could recover his gravity. There he -confided the joke to the tall pine-trees, with many slaps of his -leg, contortions of his face, and the usual profanity. But when -he returned to the party, he found them seated by a fire--for the -air had grown strangely chill and the sky overcast--in apparently -amicable conversation. Piney was actually talking in an impulsive, -girlish fashion to the Duchess, who was listening with an interest and -animation she had not shown for many days. The Innocent was holding -forth, apparently with equal effect, to Mr. Oakhurst and Mother -Shipton, who was actually relaxing into amiability. “Is this yer a -d--d picnic?” said Uncle Billy, with inward scorn, as he surveyed the -sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and the tethered animals in the -foreground. Suddenly an idea mingled with the alcoholic fumes that -disturbed his brain. It was apparently of a jocular nature, for he felt -impelled to slap his leg again and cram his fist into his mouth. - -[Sidenote: Local color.] - -15. As the shadows crept slowly up the mountain, a slight breeze rocked -the tops of the pine-trees, and moaned through their long and gloomy -aisles. The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine-boughs, was set -apart for the ladies. As the lovers parted, they unaffectedly exchanged -a parting kiss, so honest and sincere that it might have been heard -above the swaying pines. The frail Duchess and the malevolent Mother -Shipton were probably too stunned to remark upon this last evidence -of simplicity, and so turned without a word to the hut. The fire was -replenished, the men lay down before the door, and in a few minutes -were asleep. - -[Sidenote: Change--approach of main crisis.] - -16. Mr. Oakhurst was a light sleeper. Toward morning he awoke benumbed -and cold. As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowing -strongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leave -it--snow! - -[Sidenote: Forecasted in ¶14.] - -17. He started to his feet with the intention of awakening the -sleepers, for there was no time to lose. But turning to where Uncle -Billy had been lying, he found him gone. A suspicion leaped to his -brain and a curse to his lips. He ran to the spot where the mules -had been tethered; they were no longer there. The tracks were already -rapidly disappearing in the snow. - -[Sidenote: Tone of character.] - -[Sidenote: Contrast with crisis. Note casual physical description.] - -[Sidenote: MAIN PLOT INCIDENT--What follows is its outgrowth.] - -[Sidenote: Crisis acute.] - -18. The momentary excitement brought Mr. Oakhurst back to the fire with -his usual calm. He did not waken the sleepers. The Innocent slumbered -peacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virgin -Piney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attended -by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over -his shoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn. It came -slowly in a whirling mist of snow-flakes, that dazzled and confused the -eye. What could be seen of the landscape appeared magically changed. He -looked over the valley, and summoned up the present and future in two -words,--“snowed in!” - -[Sidenote: As the story progresses note how the physical crises and the -moral crises keep pace.] - -19. A careful inventory of the provisions, which, fortunately for the -party, had been stored within the hut, and so escaped the felonious -fingers of Uncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and prudence -they might last ten days longer. “That is,” said Mr. Oakhurst, -_sotto voce_ to the Innocent, “if you’re willing to board us. If you -ain’t--and perhaps you’d better not--you can wait till Uncle Billy -gets back with provisions.” For some occult reason, Mr. Oakhurst could -not bring himself to disclose Uncle Billy’s rascality, and so offered -the hypothesis that he had wandered from the camp and had accidentally -stampeded the animals. He dropped a warning to the Duchess and Mother -Shipton, who of course knew the facts of their associate’s defection. -“They’ll find out the truth about us _all_ when they find out -anything,” he added, significantly, “and there’s no good frightening -them now.” - -[Sidenote: Lull in crisis.] - -[Sidenote: From this point the story develops gradually and by closely -knit incidents in direct succession, all growing out of the setting, -which furnishes the physical crisis.] - -[Sidenote: Pseudo crisis.] - -[Sidenote: Resolution of pseudo crisis.] - -20. Tom Simson not only put all his worldly store at the disposal -of Mr. Oakhurst, but seemed to enjoy the prospect of their enforced -seclusion. “We’ll have a good camp for a week, and then the snow’ll -melt, and we’ll all go back together.” The cheerful gayety of the young -man, and Mr. Oakhurst’s calm infected the others. The Innocent, with -the aid of pine-boughs, extemporized a thatch for the roofless cabin, -and the Duchess directed Piney in the rearrangement of the interior -with a taste and tact that opened the blue eyes of that provincial -maiden to their fullest extent. “I reckon now you’re used to fine -things at Poker Flat,” said Piney. The Duchess turned away sharply to -conceal something that reddened her cheek through its professional -tint, and Mother Shipton requested Piney not to “chatter.” But when Mr. -Oakhurst returned from a weary search for the trail, he heard the sound -of happy laughter echoed from the rocks. He stopped in some alarm, -and his thoughts first naturally reverted to the whiskey, which he had -prudently _cachéd_. “And yet it don’t somehow sound like whiskey,” -said the gambler. It was not until he caught sight of the blazing -fire through the still blinding storm and the group around it that he -settled to the conviction that it was “square fun.” - -[Sidenote: Contrast with the actual danger.] - -[Sidenote: Contrast is the author’s main reliance in this story.] - -[Sidenote: Contrast with character-habits. A hint of character change.] - -[Sidenote: Is “Covenanter’s” well used?] - -21. Whether Mr. Oakhurst had _cachéd_ his cards with the whiskey -as something debarred the free access of the community, I cannot -say. It was certain that, in Mother Shipton’s words, he “didn’t say -cards once” during the evening. Haply the time was beguiled by an -accordion, produced somewhat ostentatiously by Tom Simson from his -pack. Notwithstanding some difficulties attending the manipulation of -his instrument, Piney Woods managed to pluck several reluctant melodies -from its keys, to an accompaniment by the Innocent on a pair of bone -castanets. But the crowning festivity of the evening was reached in -a rude camp-meeting hymn, which the lovers, joining hands, sang with -great earnestness and vociferation. I fear that a certain defiant -tone and Covenanter’s swing to its chorus, rather than any devotional -quality, caused it speedily to infect the others, who at last joined in -the refrain:-- - - “I’m proud to live in the service of the Lord, - And I’m bound to die in His army.” - -22. The pines rocked, the storm eddied and whirled above the miserable -group, and the flames of their altar leaped heavenward, as if in token -of the vow. - -[Sidenote: Hope.] - -[Sidenote: Character revelation.] - -23. At midnight the storm abated, the rolling clouds parted, and the -stars glittered keenly above the sleeping camp. Mr. Oakhurst, whose -professional habits had enabled him to live on the smallest possible -amount of sleep, in dividing the watch with Tom Simson, somehow -managed to take upon himself the greater part of that duty. He excused -himself to the Innocent, by saying that he had “often been a week -without sleep.” “Doing what?” asked Tom. “Poker!” replied Oakhurst, -sententiously; “when a man gets a streak of luck,--nigger-luck,--he -don’t get tired. The luck gives in first. Luck,” continued the gambler, -reflectively, “is a mighty queer thing. All you know about it for -certain is that it’s bound to change. And it’s finding out when it’s -going to change that makes you. We’ve had a streak of bad luck since -we left Poker Flat,--you come along, and slap you get into it, too. If -you can hold your cards right along, you’re all right. For,” added the -gambler, with cheerful irrelevance:-- - - “‘I’m proud to live in the service of the Lord, - And I’m bound to die in His army’.” - - -[Sidenote: Note the union of setting with the progress of the story.] - -[Sidenote: Contrast.] - -[Sidenote: KEY TO SETTING.] - -[Sidenote: Character change--a key passage.] - -[Sidenote: Contributory incident.] - -24. The third day came, and the sun, looking through the -white-curtained valley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly -decreasing store of provisions for the morning meal. It was one of the -peculiarities of that mountain climate that its rays diffused a kindly -warmth over the wintry landscape, as if in regretful commiseration of -the past. But it revealed drift on drift of snow piled high around -the hut,--a hopeless, uncharted, trackless sea of white lying below -the rocky shores to which the cast-aways still clung. Through the -marvellously clear air the smoke of the pastoral village of Poker Flat -rose miles away. Mother Shipton saw it, and from a remote pinnacle of -her rocky fastness, hurled in that direction a final malediction. It -was her last vituperative attempt, and perhaps for that reason was -invested with a certain degree of sublimity. It did her good, she -privately informed the Duchess. “Just you go out there and cuss, and -see.” She then set herself to the task of amusing “the child,” as she -and the Duchess were pleased to call Piney. Piney was no chicken, but -it was a soothing and ingenious theory of the pair thus to account for -the fact that she didn’t swear and wasn’t improper. - -[Sidenote: Developing or contributory incident.] - -25. When night crept up again through the gorges, the reedy notes of -the accordion rose and fell in fitful spasms and long-drawn gasps by -the flickering camp-fire. But music failed to fill entirely the aching -void left by insufficient food, and a new diversion was proposed by -Piney,--story-telling. Neither Mr. Oakhurst nor his female companions -caring to relate their personal experiences, this plan would have -failed, too, but for the Innocent. Some months before he had chanced -upon a stray copy of Mr. Pope’s ingenious translation of the Iliad. He -now proposed to narrate the principal incidents of that poem--having -thoroughly mastered the argument and fairly forgotten the words--in -the current vernacular of Sandy Bar. And so for the rest of that -night the Homeric demigods again walked the earth. Trojan bully and -wily Greek wrestled in the winds, and the great pines in the cañon -seemed to bow to the wrath of the son of Peleus. Mr. Oakhurst listened -with quiet satisfaction. Most especially was he interested in the -fate of “Ash-heels,” as the Innocent persisted in denominating the -“swift-footed Achilles.” - -[Sidenote: Note upward and downward movement--alternations of hope and -despair, but a gradual deepening of the crisis.] - -[Sidenote: Note the contrast between the epithet “outcasts” and the -feeling with which they are now invested.] - -[Sidenote: Character progress.] - -[Sidenote: Hint of later character revelation.] - -[Sidenote: FIRST CHARACTER CLIMAX.] - -26. So with small food and much of Homer and the accordion, a week -passed over the heads of the outcasts. The sun again forsook them, and -again from leaden skies the snow-flakes were sifted over the land. -Day by day closer around them drew the snowy circle, until at last -they looked from their prison over drifted walls of dazzling white, -that towered twenty feet above their heads. It became more and more -difficult to replenish their fires, even from the fallen trees beside -them, now half hidden in the drifts. And yet no one complained. The -lovers turned from the dreary prospect and looked into each other’s -eyes, and were happy. Mr. Oakhurst settled himself coolly to the -losing game before him. The Duchess, more cheerful than she had been, -assumed the care of Piney. Only Mother Shipton--once the strongest of -the party--seemed to sicken and fade. At midnight on the tenth day -she called Oakhurst to her side. “I’m going,” she said, in a voice of -querulous weakness, “but don’t say anything about it. Don’t waken the -kids. Take the bundle from under my head and open it.” Mr. Oakhurst did -so. It contained Mother Shipton’s rations for the last week, untouched. -“Give ’em to the child,” she said, pointing to the sleeping Piney. -“You’ve starved yourself,” said the gambler. “That’s what they call -it,” said the woman, querulously, as she lay down again, and, turning -her face to the wall, passed quietly away. - -[Sidenote: PLOT INCIDENT.] - -27. The accordion and the bones were put aside that day, and Homer was -forgotten. When the body of Mother Shipton had been committed to the -snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside, and showed him a pair of -snow-shoes, which he had fashioned from the old pack-saddle. “There’s -one chance in a hundred to save her yet,” he said, pointing to Piney; -“but it’s there,” he added, pointing toward Poker Flat. “If you can -reach there in two days she’s safe.” “And you?” asked Tom Simson. “I’ll -stay here,” was the curt reply. - -[Sidenote: Preparation for climax.] - -28. The lovers parted with a long embrace. “You are not going, too?” -said the Duchess, as she saw Mr. Oakhurst apparently waiting to -accompany him. “As far as the cañon,” he replied. He turned suddenly, -and kissed the Duchess, leaving her pallid face aflame, and her -trembling limbs rigid with amazement. - -29. Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst. It brought the storm again and -the whirling snow. Then the Duchess, feeding the fire, found that some -one had quietly piled beside the hut enough fuel to last a few days -longer. The tears rose to her eyes, but she hid them from Piney. - -[Sidenote: Characters in full change.] - -[Sidenote: Note the repression of this entire climax. Simple, quiet -sentences are enough.] - -30. The women slept but little. In the morning, looking into each -other’s faces, they read their fate. Neither spoke; but Piney, -accepting the position of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm -around the Duchess’s waist. They kept this attitude for the rest of -the day. That night the storm reached its greatest fury, and, rending -asunder the protecting pines, invaded the very hut. - -[Sidenote: No melodrama here.] - -[Sidenote: SECOND CHARACTER CLIMAX.] - -31. Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the fire, which -gradually died away. As the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess crept -closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: “Piney, can you -pray?” “No, dear,” said Piney, simply. The Duchess, without knowing -exactly why, felt relieved, and putting her head upon Piney’s shoulder, -spoke no more. And so reclining, the younger and purer pillowing the -head of her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, they fell asleep. - -[Sidenote: Local color in harmony with spirit of story.] - -[Sidenote: Symbolism of physical nature.] - -32. The wind lulled as if it feared to waken them. Feathery drifts of -snow, shaken from the long pine-boughs, flew like white-winged birds, -and settled about them as they slept. The moon through the rifted -clouds looked down upon what had been the camp. But all human stain, -all trace of earthly travail, was hidden beneath the spotless mantle -mercifully flung from above. - -[Sidenote: Poetic euphemism.] - -33. They slept all that day and the next, nor did they waken when -voices and footsteps broke the silence of the camp. And when pitying -fingers brushed the snow from their wan faces, you could scarcely have -told from the equal peace that dwelt upon them, which was she that had -sinned. Even the law of Poker Flat recognized this, and turned away, -leaving them still locked in each other’s arms. - -[Sidenote: MAIN CHARACTER CLIMAX, AND DENOUEMENT.] - -34. But at the head of the gulch, on one of the largest pine-trees, -they found the deuce of clubs pinned to the bark with a bowie-knife. It -bore the following, written in pencil, in a firm hand:-- - - BENEATH THIS TREE - LIES THE BODY - OF - JOHN OAKHURST, - WHO STRUCK A STREAK OF BAD LUCK - ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER, 1850, - AND - HANDED IN HIS CHECKS - ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1850. - -[Sidenote: SWIFT CONCLUSION.] - -And pulseless and cold, with a derringer by his side and a bullet in -his heart, though still calm as in life, beneath the snow lay he who -was at once the strongest and yet the weakest of the outcasts of Poker -Flat. - - - MAUPASSANT AND HIS WRITINGS - -Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant was born in Normandy, France, in -1850. In that picturesque region he passed his youth, and returned -thither for frequent sojourns in later life. Having finished his -studies, he became an employé in the government service in Paris. -This experience, his love for athletics, and his recollections of the -Franco-Prussian war, he turned to good account in his fictional work. -His literary education was conducted by Gustave Flaubert, his uncle and -god-father, under whom he served so rigid an apprenticeship that when -he produced his first short-story, “Tallow Ball” (_Boule de Suif_), -his preceptor pronounced it a masterpiece, as indeed it is. He died in -1893, at the age of 43, by his own hand, his reason having failed after -some years of increasing depression and gloom. - -Though his productive period covered only ten years, Guy de Maupassant -has left several notable novels, some fair poetry, and a large number -of remarkable short-stories. Most of his work deals more frankly with -the sordid side of life than American society approves, but many of his -short-stories are unexceptionable. Among the best of these are “The -Necklace,” “The Horla,” “Happiness,” “Vain Beauty,” “A Coward,” “A -Ghost,” “Little Soldier,” “The Wolf,” “Moonlight,” and “The Piece of -String.” - -Technically, Maupassant was the most finished short-story writer -of all; but he lacked spiritual power, and so he himself missed -much of the world’s beauty, and disclosed but little to others. -Rarely can the reader feel the least throb of sympathy of the author -for his characters. Technically flawless, his work is too often -cold, and the warm ideals of a tender heart are chiefly absent. An -inflexible realist, he pressed his method farther than did Flaubert, -a really strong novelist. From life’s raw materials Maupassant wove -incomparably brilliant fiction-fabrics, equally distinguished for plot, -characterization, and style; but it cannot be said that he interpreted -life with a wholesome, uplifting spirit. - - Happy are they whom life satisfies, who can amuse themselves, and - be content ... who have not discovered, with a vast disgust, ... - that all things are a weariness.--GUY DE MAUPASSANT. - - He who destroys the ideal destroys himself. In art and in life - Maupassant lived in the lower order of facts, the brutal world of - events unrelated to a spiritual order. He drained his senses of the - last power of sensation and reaction; he plunged headlong into the - sensual life upon which they opened when the luminous heaven above - the material world was obliterated. Madness always lies that way as - a matter of physiology as well as of morals, and Maupassant went - the tragic way of the sensualist since time began.--HAMILTON W. - MABIE, in _The Outlook_. - - Maupassant saw life with his senses, and he reflected on it - in a purely animal revolt, the recoil of the hurt animal. His - observation is not, as it has been hastily assumed to be, cold; it - is as superficially emotional as that of the average sensual man, - and its cynicism is only another, not less superficial, kind of - feeling. He saw life in all its details, and his soul was entangled - in the details. He saw it without order, without recompense, - without pity; he saw it too clearly to be duped by appearances, and - too narrowly to distinguish any light beyond what seemed to him the - enclosing bounds of darkness.--ARTHUR SYMONS, _Studies in Prose and - Verse_. - - He has produced a hundred short tales and only four regular novels; - but if the tales deserve the first place in any candid appreciation - of his talent it is not simply because they are so much the more - numerous: they are also more characteristic; they represent him - best in his originality, and their brevity, extreme in some cases, - does not prevent them from being a collection of masterpieces.... - What they have most in common is their being extremely strong, and - after that their being extremely brutal.... M. de Maupassant sees - human life as a terribly ugly business relieved by the comical, - but even the comedy is for the most part the comedy of misery, of - avidity, of ignorance, helplessness, and grossness.--HENRY JAMES, - _Partial Portraits_. - - His short-stories are masterpieces of the art of story-telling, - because he had a Greek sense of form, a Latin power of - construction, and a French felicity of style. They are simple, - most of them; direct, swift, inevitable, and inexorable in their - straightforward movement. If art consists in the suppression of - non-essentials, there have been few greater artists in fiction - than Maupassant. In his Short-stories there is never a word - wasted, and there is never an excursus. Nor is there any feebleness - or fumbling. What he wanted to do he did, with the unerring - certainty of Leatherstocking, hitting the bull’s-eye again and - again. He had the abundance and the ease of the very great artists; - and the half-dozen or the half-score of his best stories are among - the very best Short-stories in any language.--BRANDER MATTHEWS, - _The Philosophy of the Short-Story_. - - His firm, alert prose is so profoundly French, free from - neologisms, strong in verbs, sober in adjectives, every sentence - standing out with no apparent effort, no excess, like a muscle in - the perfect body of a young athlete.... He has that sense of the - real which so many naturalists lack, and which the care for exact - detail does not replace.... His predilection for ordinary scenes - and ordinary types is everywhere evident; he uses all kinds of - settings,--a café, a furnished room, a farmyard, seen in their - actual character without poetic transfiguration, with all their - vulgarity, their poverty, their ugliness. And he uses, too, all - kinds of characters,--clerks, peasants of Normandy, petty bourgeois - of Paris and of the country. They live the empty, tragic, or - grotesque hours of their lives; are sometimes touching, sometimes - odious; and never achieve greatness either in heroism or in - wickedness. - - They are not gay, these stories; and the kind of amusement they - afford is strongly mixed with irony, pity, and contempt. Gayety, - whether brutal, frank, mocking, or delicate, never leaves this - bitter taste in the heart. How pitiful in its folly, in its - vanity, in its weakness, is the humanity which loves, weeps, or - agitates in the tales of Maupassant! There, virtue if awkward is - never recompensed, nor vice if skillful punished; mothers are not - always saints, nor sons always grateful and respectful; the guilty - are often ignorant of remorse. Then are these beings immoral? To - tell the truth, they are guided by their instincts, by events, - submissive to the laws of necessity, and apparently released by the - author from all responsibility.--FIRMIN ROZ, _Guy de Maupassant_, - in WARNER’S _Library of the World’s Best Literature_. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON MAUPASSANT - -_French Fiction of To-day_, M. S. Van de Velde (1891); _Some French -Writers_, Edward Delille (1893); _Studies in Two Literatures_, Arthur -Symons (1897); _French Literature of To-day_, Yetta Blaze de Bury -(1898); _A Century of French Fiction_, Benjamin W. Wells (1898); -_Contemporary French Novelists_, René Doumic (1899). - - - FOR ANALYSIS - - MOONLIGHT - (CLAIR DE LUNE) - - BY GUY DE MAUPASSANT - - _Translation by The Editor_[26] - -The Abbé Marignan bore well his title of Soldier of the Church. He -was a tall priest, and spare; fanatical, perpetually in a state of -spiritual exaltation, but upright of soul. His every belief was -settled, without even a thought of wavering. He imagined sincerely that -he understood his God thoroughly, that he penetrated His designs, His -will, His purposes. - -2. As with long strides he promenaded the garden walk of his little -country presbytery, sometimes a question would arise in his mind: -“Why did God create that?” And, mentally taking the place of God, he -searched obstinately for the answer--and nearly always found it. -It would not have been like him to murmur, in an outburst of pious -humility: “O Lord, thy designs are impenetrable!” Rather might he say -to himself: “I am the servant of God; I ought to know the reasons for -what He does, or, if I know them not, I ought to divine them.” - -3. To him all nature seemed created with a logic as absolute as it -was admirable. The “wherefore” and the “because” always corresponded -perfectly. Dawn was made to gladden our waking, the day to ripen the -crops, the rain to water them, the evening to prepare for slumber, and -the night was darkened for sleep. - -4. The four seasons met perfectly all the needs of agriculture; and -to the priest it was quite inconceivable that nature had no designs, -and that, on the contrary, all living things were subjects of the same -inexorable laws of period, climate, and matter. - -5. But he did hate woman! He hated her unconscionably, and by instinct -held her in contempt. Often did he repeat the words of Christ, “Woman, -what have I to do with thee?” And he would add, “One might think that -God Himself did not feel quite content with this one work of his -hands!” To him, indeed, woman was the child twelve times unclean of -whom the poet speaks. She was the temptress who had ensnared the first -man, and who constantly kept up her work of damnation--she was a -feeble, dangerous, and mysteriously troublous creature. And even more -than her accursed body did he hate her loving spirit. - -6. He had often felt that women were regarding him tenderly, and even -though he knew himself to be invulnerable, it exasperated him to -recognize that need for loving which fluttered ever-present in their -hearts. - -7. In his opinion, God had created woman only to tempt man and to -test him. She should never be even approached without those defensive -measures which one would take, and those fears which one would harbor, -when nearing a trap. In fact, she was precisely like a trap, with her -lips open and arms extended towards man. - -8. Only toward nuns did he exercise any indulgence, for they were -rendered harmless by their vow. But he treated them harshly just the -same, because, ever-living in the depths of their pent-up and humble -hearts, he discerned that everlasting tenderness which constantly -surged up toward him, priest though he was. - -9. Of all this he was conscious in their upturned glances, more -limpid with pious feeling than the looks of monks; in the spiritual -exaltations in which their sex indulged; in their ecstasies of love -toward Christ, which made the priest indignant because it was really -woman’s love, carnal love. Of this detestable tenderness he was -conscious, too, in their very docility, in the gentleness of their -voices when they addressed him, in their downcast eyes, and in their -submissive tears when he rudely rebuked them. - -10. So he would shake his cassock when he left the convent door, and -stride off, stretching his legs as if fleeing before some danger. - -11. Now the abbé had a niece who lived with her mother in a little -house near by. He was determined to make of her a sister of charity. - -12. She was pretty, giddy, and a born tease. When he preached at -her, she laughed; and when he became angry with her, she kissed him -vehemently, pressing him to her bosom, while he would instinctively -seek to disengage himself from this embrace--which, all the same, -gave him a thrill of exquisite joy, awaking deep within his soul that -feeling of fatherhood which slumbers in every man. - -13. Often as they walked together along the foot-paths through the -fields, he would talk with her of God, of his God; but she scarcely -heard him, for she was looking at the sky, the grass, the flowers, with -a joy of life which beamed from her eyes. Sometimes she would dart away -to catch some flying creature, crying as she brought it back: “See, my -uncle, how pretty it is; I should like to kiss it.” And that passion to -kiss insects, or lilac flowers, disturbed, irritated, and repelled the -priest, who recognized even in that longing the ineradicable love which -blooms perennial in the heart of woman. - -14. And now one day the sacristan’s wife, who was the Abbé Marignan’s -housekeeper, cautiously told him that his niece had a lover! - -15. He was dreadfully shocked, and stood gasping for breath, lather all -over his face, for he was shaving. - -16. When at length he was able to think and speak, he cried: “It is not -true. You are lying, Mélanie!” - -17. But the peasant woman laid her hand over her heart: “May our Lord -judge me if I am lying, _monsieur le curé_. I tell you she goes out to -meet him every night as soon as your sister is in bed. They meet each -other down by the river. You need only go there between ten o’clock and -midnight to see for yourself.” - -18. He stopped rubbing his chin and began pacing the room violently, as -was his custom in times of serious thought. When at length he did try -to finish his shaving he cut himself three times, from nose to ear. - -19. All day long he was silent, though almost exploding with -indignation and wrath. To his priestly rage against the power of love -was now added the indignation of a spiritual father, of a teacher, of -the guardian of souls, who has been deceived, robbed, and trifled with -by a mere child. He felt that egotistical suffocation which parents -experience when their daughter tells them that she has selected a -husband without their advice and in defiance of their wishes. - -20. After dinner he tried to read a little, but he could not--he grew -more and more exasperated. When the clock struck ten, he grasped his -cane, a formidable oaken club which he always carried when he went -out at night to visit the sick. With a smile he examined this huge -cudgel, gripped it in his solid, countryman’s fist, and flourished it -menacingly in the air. Then, suddenly, with grinding teeth, he brought -it down upon a chair-back, which fell splintered to the floor. - -21. He opened his door to go out; but paused upon the threshold, -surprised by such a glory of moonlight as one rarely sees. - -22. And as he was endowed with an exalted soul of such a sort as the -Fathers of the Church, those poetic seers, must have possessed, he -became suddenly entranced, moved by the grand and tranquil beauty of -the pale-faced night. - -23. In his little garden, all suffused with the tender radiance, -his fruit-trees, set in rows, outlined in shadows upon the paths -their slender limbs of wood, scarce clothed with verdure. The giant -honeysuckle, clinging to the house wall, exhaled its delicious, honeyed -breath--the soul of perfume seemed to hover about in the warm, clear -night. - -24. He began to breathe deep, drinking in the air as drunkards drink -their wine; and he walked slowly, ravished, amazed, his niece almost -forgotten. - -25. When he reached the open country he paused to gaze upon the broad -sweep of landscape, all deluged by that caressing radiance, all drowned -in that soft and sensuous charm of peaceful night. Momently the frogs -sounded out their quick metallic notes, and distant nightingales added -to the seductive moonlight their welling music, which charms to dreams -without thought--that gossamer, vibrant melody born only to mate with -kisses. - -26. The Abbé moved again, his courage unaccountably failing. He felt as -though he were enfeebled, suddenly exhausted--he longed to sit down, to -linger there, to glorify God for all His works. - -27. A little farther on, following the winding of the little river, -curved a row of tall poplars. Suspended about and above the banks, -enwrapping the whole sinuous course of the stream with a sort of light, -transparent down, was a fine white mist, shot through by the moon-rays, -and transmuted by them into gleaming silver. - -28. The priest paused once again, stirred to the deeps of his soul by a -growing, an irresistible feeling of tenderness. - -29. And a doubt, an undefined disquietude, crept over him; he -discerned the birth of one of those questions which now and again came -to him. - -30. Why had God made all this? Since the night was ordained for -slumber, for unconsciousness, for repose, for forgetfulness of -everything, why should He make it lovelier than the day, sweeter than -dawn and sunset? And that star, slow-moving, seductive, more poetic -than the sun, so like to destiny, and so delicate that seemingly it was -created to irradiate things too subtle, too refined, for the greater -orb--why was it come to illumine all the shades? - -31. Why did not the most accomplished of all singing birds repose now -like the others, but sing in the unquiet dark? - -32. Why was this semi-veil cast over the world? Why this sighing of the -heart, this tumult of the soul, this languor of the flesh? - -33. Why this show of charms, never seen by men because they are asleep? -For whose eyes was all this sublime spectacle designed, all this wealth -of poetic loveliness diffused from heaven over the earth? - -34. And the Abbé did not understand it at all. - -35. But there below, at the very edge of the field, under the arching -trees wet with luminous mist, two shadows appeared, walking side by -side. - -36. The man was the taller, and had his arm about his sweetheart’s -neck; and from time to time he bent to kiss her forehead. They animated -suddenly the lifeless landscape, which enveloped their figures like a -divine frame fashioned expressly for them. They seemed, those two, like -a single being, the being for whom was created this tranquil, silent -night. Like a living answer, the answer which his Master had sent to -his question, they moved toward the priest. - -37. Overwhelmed, his heart throbbing, he stood still, and it seemed -as though there spread before him some Biblical scene, like the loves -of Ruth and Boaz, the working out of the Lord’s will in one of those -majestic dramas set forth in the lives of the saints. The verses of the -Song of Songs, the ardent cries, the call of the body--all the glowing -romance of that poem so aflame with tenderness and love, began to sing -itself into his mind. - -38. And he said to himself: “Perhaps God made nights such as this in -order to cast the veil of the ideal over the loves of men.” - -39. He withdrew before this pair, who went on arm in arm. True, it was -his niece; but now he asked himself if he had not been upon the verge -of disobeying God. And, indeed, if God did not permit love, why did he -visibly encompass it with glory such as this? - -40. And he fled, bewildered, almost ashamed, as if he had penetrated in -a temple wherein he had no right to enter. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY - -1. Precisely why do our surroundings affect our moods and actions? Give -examples from your own experience. - -2. Which seems to you to be the more frequent in fiction: harmony, or -contrast of character with setting? - -3. Which seems to you to be the more effective? Why? - -4. Outline the motives which actuated at least three of the characters -in “The Outcasts of Poker Flat.” - -5. Is the story overdrawn? - -6. Is the influence of the moonlight enough to account for the change -in the priest in “Moonlight,” or must we allow something for romance? - -7. Trace the several physical crises of Harte’s story from the very -beginning. - -8. Do the same for the moral crises. - -9. Show their inter-relation. - -10. Select from a magazine a story in which setting influences in some -way the actions of the characters, and point out precisely how. - - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF SETTING - -“A Leaf in the Storm,” Ouida, in _Stories by English Authors_. - -“Mrs. Knollys,” F. J. Stimson, _Century Magazine_, Nov., 1883. - -“Up the Coulée,” Hamlin Garland, in _Main Travelled Roads_. - -“The Girl at Duke’s,” James W. Linn, _McClure’s Magazine_, Aug., -1903. - -“The Dancin’ Party at Harrison’s Cove,” Charles Egbert Craddock, -_Atlantic Monthly_, May, 1878. - -“Twenty-Six and One,” Maxim Gorky, translated in volume of same -title. - -“The Unknown Masterpiece,” Honoré de Balzac, translated in _Little -French Masterpieces, Balzac_. - -“Red Bird,” Elizabeth Maury Coombs, _Lippincott’s Magazine_, Dec., -1911. - -“The Wall Opposite,” Pierre Loti, translated in _Short Story -Classics, Foreign_. - -“The End of the Tether,” Joseph Conrad, in _Youth_. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[24] From the author’s _Writing the Short-Story_, p. 149, which see for -a chapter on “The Setting of the Story.” - -[25] _Writing the Short-Story_, pp. 151-152. - -[26] Copyright, 1911, by J. B. Lippincott Co., and used by permission. - - - - - VI - IMPRESSIONISTIC STORIES - - _The White Old Maid._--NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE - _The Fall of the House of Usher._--EDGAR ALLAN POE - - - I prefer commencing with the consideration of an _effect_. Keeping - originality _always_ in view--for he is false to himself who - ventures to dispense with so obvious and so easily attainable - a source of interest--I say to myself, in the first place, “Of - the innumerable effects or impressions of which the heart, the - intellect, or (more generally) the soul is susceptible, what - one shall I, on the present occasion, select?” Having chosen a - novel first, and secondly, a vivid effect, I consider whether it - can be best wrought by incident or tone, or the converse, or by - peculiarity both of incident and tone--afterwards looking about me - (or rather within) for such combinations of event or tone as shall - best aid me in the construction of the effect.--EDGAR ALLAN POE, - _The Philosophy of Composition_. - - - IMPRESSIONISTIC STORIES - -The value of a literary term lies in the comprehensive and precise -picture which it calls up in the mind of him who reads it. So we -must seek to limit, as well as seize upon, the meaning of this word -“impressionistic.” - -The first purpose in telling a story would seem to be the pleasure -or the profit of the hearer--if we exclude the bore who tells a yarn -chiefly to please himself. But a closer scrutiny of certain stories -discloses other objects of the narrator, and these may be either -subordinate or paramount to considerations of benefit or entertainment. -The most important of these artistic purposes is to reproduce in -the hearer the full effect which a certain mood, theme, character, -situation, incident, or chain of incidents, originally made upon the -story-teller himself. When he succeeds in reproducing in others his -own feeling, by such means as we shall presently study, he does so by -impressionistic means. - -Poe, writing in _Graham’s Magazine_, May, 1842, says: “A skilful -literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, he has not fashioned -his thoughts to accommodate his incidents; but having conceived, with -deliberate care, a certain unique or single _effect_ to be wrought -out, he then invents such incidents--he then combines such events--as -may best aid him in establishing the preconceived effect. If his very -initial sentence tend not to the outbringing of this effect, then he -has failed in his first step. In the whole composition there should be -no word written, of which the tendency, direct or indirect, is not to -the one preëstablished design.” - -It does not seem probable that Poe meant to speak of impressionism -as constituting so much a distinct type of story as to point out its -importance as a method in all story-telling; and we must not overlook -its usefulness in this respect. Indeed, nearly all good short-stories -begin, in the mind of the author, and end, in the spirit of the reader, -with a more or less clear and unified impression. Still, certain little -fictions are, alike in theme and treatment, so decidedly conceived and -told with the purpose of leaving the reader under the spell of a mood, -a feeling, a character, or a situation, that they are IMPRESSIONISTIC -stories, rather than impressionistic STORIES. - -The natural tendency for the impressionistic writer is to subordinate -incident and plot to tone--in a word, to emphasize a picture, whether -internal or external, rather than a set of happenings, which in dealing -with fiction we call the action. So an impressionistic narrative -may really tell a story of situation, crisis, and denouement, or, -as is more likely to be the case, it may tend decidedly toward the -sketch. All depends upon the nature of the theme. Thus, the _beauty of -sacrifice_ demands an action to illustrate that abnegation, and all -the accessories must serve as high-lights and shadows to bring out -this motive in strong relief; but the _tone of gloom_ may be conveyed -without even the semblance of a plot. - -Now a story may produce a gloomy effect without deliberately picturing -an atmosphere of gloom--it may leave the reader with a vague, -pessimistic distaste for joy, and yet present no such picture. Or -it may marvellously delineate loneliness, without leaving that as -the final impression of the story. This is not impressionism, though -it may be very good story-telling. Impressionism is conscious art, -art prepense, and, as will be seen in the two stories presented as -examples in this section, subordinates everything to tonal effect; in -other words, the impressionistic story symbolizes in human action some -human mood or condition. For this reason such stories are often called -stories of symbolism. - - - HAWTHORNE AND HIS WRITINGS - -Nathaniel Hawthorne was born in Salem, Massachusetts, July 4, 1804. -His New England ancestors bore the name Hathorne, as did the author’s -sea-captain father--also a Nathaniel--who died at Surinam, Dutch -Guiana, when his son was four years old. In 1818 the family moved -to Raymond, Maine, but most of the youth’s education was gotten at -Salem, and there his family returned in 1820. The following year he -entered Bowdoin College, from which he was graduated in 1825. At -this time--when he was twenty-one--he had already begun _Twice-Told -Tales_; it was then, too, that he inserted the _w_ into his name. He -was now writing industriously, often under a pseudonym; he also did -considerable hack and editorial work. During 1839 and a part of 1840 -he served in the Boston Custom House; then he joined the Brook Farm -Community in 1841, but remained there only a short time. He married -Sophia Peabody in 1842. In 1846 he returned to the Customs service, -in Salem, remaining this time about three years. In 1853 he was -appointed by his classmate, President Pierce, as United States Consul -at Liverpool. During the more than three years of his consulship he -traveled widely in Great Britain, and later spent much time in Italy, -where some of his best work was accomplished. During the last years of -his life he wrote but intermittently, being a prey to depression and -ill health. He died at Plymouth, New Hampshire, May 19, 1864, and is -buried in the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Concord, Mass. - -Nathaniel Hawthorne was a remarkable novelist, essayist, and -short-story writer. _The Scarlet Letter_ and _The Marble Faun_, are his -greatest novels. _The House of the Seven Gables_ is a series of related -sketches rather than a romance. Probably his best short-stories are -“The Birthmark,” “Rappaccini’s Daughter,” and “Drowne’s Wooden Image,” -in _Mosses From An Old Manse_; “The Gray Champion,” “The Minister’s -Black Veil,” “The Gentle Boy,” “The Great Carbuncle,” “Dr. Heidegger’s -Experiment,” “The Ambitious Guest,” “Wakefield,” and “The White Old -Maid,” from _Twice-Told Tales_; and “The Great Stone Face,” “Ethan -Brand” and “The Snow-Image,” in _The Snow-Image and other Twice-Told -Tales_. These three collections contain also many charming sketches, -while _The Wonder Book_, and _Tanglewood Tales_ are rich in interest -for younger readers. - -“The White Old Maid,” given herewith in full, was first published in -the _New England Magazine_ for July, 1835, and was entitled “The Old -Maid in the Winding Sheet, by the Author of The Gray Champion.” - - * * * * * - -Hawthorne enjoyed the distinction of winning in his day the almost -unanimous approval of critics both at home and abroad, and this in a -period when criticism was not a gentle art. Time, moreover, has only -added to his praises. As a fiction writer he had depth, breadth, and -height. Hawthorne alone among the fictionists of his era may justly be -said to have a philosophy of his own; his themes cover a wide range; -and the loftiness of his ideals is well recognized. As Longfellow -discerned, and generously announced as early as 1837, Hawthorne was a -poet who wrote prose. He knew a mood in nature to match every human -emotion, and in her multiform life he saw images to enforce a thousand -striking comparisons. He was a student of the soul, too, albeit a -gloomy one, for the most part. But while the sombreness of lives beset -by stern problems oppressed him, and but little humor brightens his -pages, one searches in vain for a pessimistic spirit--Hawthorne’s -knowledge of the human heart saddened him, but it did not make him -misanthropic. One feels the reality, the vital bearing, of the things -he writes about. It is impossible to read him appreciatively and not -realize the sincerity of the man, and the fine earnestness, the -upright though severe justness, with which he viewed life. Sweetness, -beauty--haunting beauty, indeed--and a certain airy lightness, were -not wanting in his work; but the big tones--resonant, solemn at times, -and inspiring always--were poetic insight, fervid intensity, and lofty -purpose. Hawthorne was a seer. The inside of things was disclosed to -him. That which he could not see, he felt. And with a classic purity of -style he worded the fantastic, gloomy, lightsome, or tragic pageantry -of his creations in sentences that live and live. - - I wish God had given me the faculty of writing a sunshiny - book.--NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, _Letter to James T. Fields_. - - Soon to be all spirit, I have already a spiritual sense of human - nature, and see deeply into the hearts of mankind, discovering what - is hidden from the wisest.... My glance comprehends the crowd, and - penetrates the breast of the solitary man.--NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, - _My Home Return_, in _Tales and Sketches_. - - He uses his characters, like algebraic symbols, to work out certain - problems with; they are rather more, yet rather less, than flesh - and blood.--H. A. BEERS, quoted in Tappan’s _Topical Notes on - American Authors_. - - Hawthorne’s style, at its best, is one of the most perfect media - employed by any writer using the English language. Dealing, as it - usually does, with an immaterial subject-matter, with dream-like - impressions, and fantastic products of the imagination, it is - concrete without being opaque,--luminously concrete, one might - say. No other writer that I know of has the power of making his - fancies visible and tangible without impairing their delicate - immateriality. If any writer can put the rainbow into words, and - yet leave it a rainbow, surely that writer is Hawthorne.--RICHARD - LE GALLIENNE, _Attitudes and Avowals_. - - In all his most daring fantasies Hawthorne is natural; and though - he may project his vision far beyond the boundaries of fact, - nowhere does he violate the laws of nature.... A brutal misuse of - the supernatural is perhaps the very lowest degradation of the - art of fiction. But “to mingle the marvellous rather as a slight, - delicate, and evanescent flavour than as any actual portion of - the substance,” to quote from the preface to the _House of the - Seven Gables_, this is, or should be, the aim of the writer of - Short-stories whenever his feet leave the firm ground of fact as he - strays in the unsubstantial realms of fantasy.--BRANDER MATTHEWS, - _The Philosophy of the Short-story_. - - Hawthorne has been called a mystic, which he was not,--and a - psychological dreamer, which he was in very slight degree. He was - really the ghost of New England. I do not mean the “spirit,” nor - the “phantom,” but the ghost in the older sense in which that term - is used, the thin, rarefied essence which is to be found somewhere - behind the physical organization: embodied, indeed, and not by any - means in a shadowy or diminutive earthly tabernacle, but yet only - half embodied in it, endowed with a certain painful sense of the - gulf between his nature and its organization, always recognizing - the gulf, always trying to bridge it over, and always more or - less unsuccessful in the attempt. His writings are not exactly - spiritual writings, for there is no dominating spirit in them. - They are ghostly writings.... I may, perhaps, accept a phrase of - which Hawthorne himself was fond,--“the moonlight of romance,”--and - compel it to explain something of the secret of his characteristic - genius.--R. H. HUTTON, _Essays in Literary Criticism_. - - This, too [“The White Old Maid”], is a story, in the sense that - something happens; and yet the real story, by which I mean the - narrative which would logically connect and develop these events, - is just hinted at, and is not very important. It is subordinated, - indeed, to a new aim. “The White Old Maid” is narrative for a - purpose, and this purpose is to suggest an impression, and to leave - us with a vivid sensation rather than a number of remembered facts. - In short, it is contrived, not to leave a record of such and such - an old woman who did this or that, but rather to stamp upon our - minds the impression of a mystery-haunted house, mysterious figures - entering, strange words, and a terrible sorrow behind all. Towards - such a result the structure of the plot, every bit of description, - every carefully chosen word, directly tends.--HENRY SEIDEL CANBY, - _The Book of the Short Story_. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON HAWTHORNE - -_Hours in a Library_, Leslie Stephen (1874); _Study of Hawthorne_, -George Parsons Lathrop (1876); _Life_, in the _English Men of Letters_ -series, Henry James (1880); _Nathaniel Hawthorne and His Wife_, Julian -Hawthorne (1885); _Life_, in the _Great Writers_ series, Moncure D. -Conway (1890); _Personal Recollections of Nathaniel Hawthorne_, Horatio -Bridge (1893); _Memories of Hawthorne_, Rose Hawthorne Lathrop (1897); -_Nathaniel Hawthorne_, Anne Fields (1899); _Life_, in the _American Men -of Letters_ series, George Edward Woodberry (1902). - - - THE WHITE OLD MAID - BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE - -[Sidenote: Introduction of setting, giving atmosphere of story.] - -[Sidenote: FIRST PLOT SITUATION.] - -The moonbeams came through two deep and narrow windows, and showed -a spacious chamber richly furnished in an antique fashion. From one -lattice the shadow of the diamond panes was thrown upon the floor; the -ghostly light, through the other, slept upon a bed, falling between the -heavy silken curtains, and illuminating the face of a young man. But, -how quietly the slumberer lay! how pale his features! and how like a -shroud the sheet was wound about his frame! Yes; it was a corpse, in -its burial clothes. - -[Sidenote: This uncertainty strikes the tone of the story, which -trembles constantly between the real and the fancied, the physical -and the spirit world, keeping the reader in doubt as to whether he is -witnessing a manifestation of the supernatural or is deceived by the -mysterious atmosphere of the unusual.] - -[Sidenote: TWO MAIN CHARACTERS INTRODUCED.] - -2. Suddenly, the fixed features seemed to move with dark emotion. -Strange fantasy! It was but the shadow of the fringed curtain waving -betwixt the dead face and the moonlight, as the door of the chamber -opened and a girl stole softly to the bedside. Was there delusion -in the moonbeams, or did her gesture and her eye betray a gleam of -triumph, as she bent over the pale corpse--pale as itself--and pressed -her living lips to the cold ones of the dead? As she drew back from -that long kiss, her features writhed as if a proud heart were fighting -with its anguish. Again it seemed that the features of the corpse had -moved responsive to her own. Still an illusion! The silken curtain -had waved, a second time, betwixt the dead face and the moonlight, as -another fair young girl unclosed the door, and glided, ghostlike, to -the bedside. There the two maidens stood, both beautiful, with the pale -beauty of the dead between them. But she who had first entered was -proud and stately, and the other a soft and fragile thing. - -[Sidenote: Note the archaic, formal language, which sets the period in -the long ago.] - -3. “Away!” cried the lofty one. “Thou hadst him living! The dead is -mine!” - -[Sidenote: _Motif_ of story.] - -4. “Thine!” returned the other, shuddering. “Well hast thou spoken! The -dead is thine!” - -5. The proud girl started, and stared into her face with a ghastly -look. But a wild and mournful expression passed across the features of -the gentle one; and weak and helpless, she sank down on the bed, her -head pillowed beside that of the corpse, and her hair mingling with his -dark locks. A creature of hope and joy, the first draught of sorrow had -bewildered her. - -6. “Edith!” cried her rival. - -[Sidenote: Note “of the heart.”] - -7. Edith groaned, as with a sudden compassion of the heart; and -removing her cheek from the dead youth’s pillow, she stood upright, -fearfully encountering the eyes of the lofty girl. - -8. “Wilt thou betray me?” said the latter calmly. - -[Sidenote: Full statement of the _motif_, ending with ¶12. FOUNDATION -OF MAIN CRISIS.] - -9. “Till the dead bid me speak, I will be silent,” answered Edith. -“Leave us alone together! Go, and live many years, and then return, and -tell me of thy life. He, too, will be here! Then, if thou tellest of -sufferings more than death, we will both forgive thee.” - -10. “And what shall be the token?” asked the proud girl, as if her -heart acknowledged a meaning in these wild words. - -11. “This lock of hair,” said Edith, lifting one of the dark, -clustering curls that lay heavily on the dead man’s brow. - -[Sidenote: End of first part of story.] - -12. The two maidens joined their hands over the bosom of the corpse, -and appointed a day and hour, far, far in time to come, for their next -meeting in that chamber. The statelier girl gave one deep look at the -motionless countenance, and departed--yet turned again and trembled ere -she closed the door, almost believing that her dead lover frowned upon -her. And Edith, too! Was not her white form fading into the moonlight? -Scorning her own weakness she went forth, and perceived that a negro -slave was waiting in the passage with a wax-light, which he held -between her face and his own, and regarded her, as she thought, with -an ugly expression of merriment. Lifting his torch on high, the slave -lighted her down the staircase, and undid the portal of the mansion. -The young clergyman of the town had just ascended the steps, and bowing -to the lady, passed in without a word. - -[Sidenote: Second stage.] - -[Sidenote: Hawthorne’s first title for this story.] - -[Sidenote: Character delineation, largely mental and moral.] - -[Sidenote: Key.] - -[Sidenote: Contributory incident.] - -[Sidenote: Note language of symbolism.] - -[Sidenote: Key.] - -13. Years, many years, rolled on; the world seemed new again, so much -older was it grown since the night when those pale girls had clasped -their hands across the bosom of the corpse. In the interval, a lonely -woman had passed from youth to extreme age, and was known by all the -town as the “Old Maid in the Winding Sheet.” A taint of insanity had -affected her whole life, but so quiet, sad, and gentle, so utterly free -from violence, that she was suffered to pursue her harmless fantasies, -unmolested by the world, with whose business or pleasure she had nought -to do. She dwelt alone, and never came into the daylight, except to -follow funerals. Whenever a corpse was borne along the street in -sunshine, rain, or snow; whether a pompous train of the rich and proud -thronged after it, or few and humble were the mourners, behind them -came the lonely woman in a long white garment which the people called -her shroud. She took no place among the kindred or the friends, but -stood at the door to hear the funeral prayer, and walked in the rear of -the procession, as one whose earthly charge it was to haunt the house -of mourning, and be the shadow of affliction, and see that the dead -were duly buried. So long had this been her custom that the inhabitants -of the town deemed her a part of every funeral, as much as the coffin -pall, or the very corpse itself, and augured ill of the sinner’s -destiny unless the “Old Maid in the Winding Sheet” came gliding, like a -ghost, behind. Once, it is said, she affrighted a bridal party with her -pale presence, appearing suddenly in the illuminated hall, just as the -priest was uniting a false maid to a wealthy man, before her lover had -been dead a year. Evil was the omen to that marriage! Sometimes she -stole forth by moonlight and visited the graves of venerable Integrity, -and wedded Love, and virgin Innocence, and every spot where the ashes -of a kind and faithful heart were mouldering. Over the hillocks of -those favored dead would she stretch out her arms, with a gesture, as -if she were scattering seeds; and many believed that she brought them -from the garden of Paradise; for the graves which she had visited were -green beneath the snow, and covered with sweet flowers from April to -November. Her blessing was better than a holy verse upon the tombstone. -Thus wore away her long, sad, peaceful, and fantastic life, till few -were so old as she, and the people of later generations wondered how -the dead had ever been buried, or mourners had endured their grief, -without the “Old Maid in the Winding Sheet.” - -[Sidenote: Third stage.] - -[Sidenote: Preparation for main crisis.] - -[Sidenote: Opening of MAIN PLOT INCIDENT.] - -[Sidenote: Local-color.] - -[Sidenote: Central setting; return to original setting.] - -[Sidenote: Development of setting, and TONE OF AN EMPTY HOUSE.] - -14. Still years went on, and still she followed funerals, and was not -yet summoned to her own festival of death. One afternoon the great -street of the town was all alive with business and bustle, though the -sun now gilded only the upper half of the church spire, having left -the housetops and loftiest trees in shadow. The scene was cheerful -and animated, in spite of the sombre shade between the high brick -buildings. Here were pompous merchants, in white wigs and laced -velvet; the bronzed faces of sea-captains; the foreign garb and air -of Spanish creoles; and the disdainful port of natives of Old England; -all contrasted with the rough aspect of one or two back settlers, -negotiating sales of timber from forests where axe had never sounded. -Sometimes a lady passed, swelling roundly forth in an embroidered -petticoat, balancing her steps in high-heeled shoes, and courtesying -with lofty grace to the punctilious obeisances of the gentlemen. The -life of the town seemed to have its very centre not far from an old -mansion, that stood somewhat back from the pavement, surrounded by -neglected grass, with a strange air of loneliness, rather deepened than -dispelled by the throng so near. Its site would have been suitably -occupied by a magnificent Exchange or a brick block, lettered all over -with various signs; or the large house itself might have made a noble -tavern, with the “King’s Arms” swinging before it, and guests in every -chamber, instead of the present solitude. But owing to some dispute -about the right of inheritance, the mansion had been long without a -tenant, decaying from year to year, and throwing the stately gloom of -its shadow over the busiest part of the town. Such was the scene, and -such the time, when a figure unlike any that have been described was -observed at a distance down the street. - -[Sidenote: First main character.] - -15. “I espy a strange sail, yonder,” remarked a Liverpool captain; -“that woman in the long white garment!” - -16. The sailor seemed much struck by the object, as were several -others who, at the same moment, caught a glimpse of the figure that -had attracted his notice. Almost immediately the various topics of -conversation gave place to speculations, in an undertone, on this -unwonted occurrence. - -17. “Can there be a funeral so late this afternoon?” inquired some. - -18. They looked for the signs of death at every door--the sexton, the -hearse, the assemblage of black-clad relatives--all that makes up the -woful pomp of funerals. They raised their eyes, also, to the sun-gilt -spire of the church, and wondered that no clang proceeded from its -bell, which had always tolled till now when this figure appeared in the -light of day. But none had heard that a corpse was to be borne to its -home that afternoon, nor was there any token of funeral, except the -apparition of the “Old Maid in the Winding Sheet.” - -[Sidenote: Key.] - -19. “What may this portend?” asked each man of his neighbor. - -[Sidenote: Contrast.] - -[Sidenote: Impressionism vivid.] - -[Sidenote: Direct character description.] - -[Sidenote: Contrast.] - -[Sidenote: Character delineation by suggestion.] - -20. All smiled as they put the question, yet with a certain trouble -in their eyes, as if pestilence or some other wide calamity were -prognosticated by the untimely intrusion among the living of one -whose presence had always been associated with death and woe. What -a comet is to the earth was that sad woman to the town. Still she -moved on, while the hum of surprise was hushed at her approach, and -the proud and the humble stood aside, that her white garment might -not wave against them. It was a long, loose robe, of spotless purity. -Its wearer appeared very old, pale, emaciated, and feeble, yet glided -onward without the unsteady pace of extreme age. At one point of her -course a little rosy boy burst forth from a door, and ran, with open -arms, towards the ghostly woman, seeming to expect a kiss from her -bloodless lips. She made a slight pause, fixing her eye upon him with -an expression of no earthly sweetness, so the child shivered and stood -awe-struck, rather than affrighted, while the Old Maid passed on. -Perhaps her garment might have been polluted even by an infant’s touch; -perhaps her kiss would have been death to the sweet boy within a year. - -[Sidenote: Tone of story summarized.] - -21. “She is but a shadow,” whispered the superstitious. “The child put -forth his arms and could not grasp her robe!” - -[Sidenote: Crisis approaches.] - -[Sidenote: The house mentioned in paragraphs 1, 12 and 14.] - -22. The wonder was increased when the Old Maid passed beneath the porch -of the deserted mansion, ascended the moss-covered steps, lifted the -iron knocker, and gave three raps. The people could only conjecture -that some old remembrance, troubling her bewildered brain, had impelled -the poor woman hither to visit the friends of her youth; all gone from -their home long since and forever, unless their ghosts still haunted -it--fit company for the “Old Maid in the Winding Sheet.” An elderly -man approached the steps, and, reverently uncovering his gray locks, -essayed to explain the matter. - -[Sidenote: Note “None--have.”] - -[Sidenote: Contributory incident.] - -[Sidenote: First mention of name.] - -23. “None, Madam,” said he, “have dwelt in this house these fifteen -years agone--no, not since the death of old Colonel Fenwicke, whose -funeral you may remember to have followed. His heirs, being ill agreed -among themselves, have let the mansion-house go to ruin.” - -[Sidenote: Note atmosphere of vagueness.] - -24. The Old Maid looked slowly round with a slight gesture of one hand, -and a finger of the other upon her lip, appearing more shadow-like than -ever in the obscurity of the porch. But again she lifted the hammer, -and gave, this time, a single rap. Could it be that a footstep was now -heard coming down the staircase of the old mansion, which all conceived -to have been so long untenanted? Slowly, feebly, yet heavily, like the -pace of an aged and infirm person, the step approached, more distinct -on every downward stair, till it reached the portal. The bar fell on -the inside; the door opened. One upward glance towards the church -spire, whence the sunshine had just faded, was the last that the people -saw of the “Old Maid in the Winding Sheet.” - -[Sidenote: Tone of mystery.] - -25. “Who undid the door?” asked many. - -[Sidenote: See ¶12.] - -26. This question, owing to the depth of shadow beneath the porch, -no one could satisfactorily answer. Two or three aged men, while -protesting against an inference which might be drawn, affirmed that -the person within was a negro, and bore a singular resemblance to old -Cæsar, formerly a slave in the house, but freed by death some thirty -years before. - -27. “Her summons has waked up a servant of the old family,” said one, -half seriously. - -28. “Let us wait here,” replied another. “More guests will knock at the -door, anon. But the gate of the graveyard should be thrown open!” - -[Sidenote: Preparation for climax.] - -[Sidenote: No indication whence it came.] - -[Sidenote: Setting.] - -29. Twilight had overspread the town before the crowd began to -separate, or the comments on this incident were exhausted. One after -another was wending his way homeward, when a coach--no common spectacle -in those days--drove slowly into the street. It was an old-fashioned -equipage, hanging close to the ground, with arms on the panels, -a footman behind, and a grave, corpulent coachman seated high in -front--the whole giving an idea of solemn state and dignity. There was -something awful in the heavy rumbling of the wheels. The coach rolled -down the street, till, coming to the gateway of the deserted mansion, -it drew up, and the footman sprang to the ground. - -30. “Whose grand coach is this?” asked a very inquisitive body. - -[Sidenote: Three raps signify a formal demand for entrance.] - -31. The footman made no reply, but ascended the steps of the old house, -gave three raps with the iron hammer, and returned to open the coach -door. An old man, possessed of the heraldic lore so common in that day, -examined the shield of arms on the panel. - -[Sidenote: Setting.] - -32. “Azure, a lion’s head erased, between three flower-de-luces,” -said he; then whispered the name of the family to whom these bearings -belonged. The last inheritor of his honors was recently dead, after a -long residence amid the splendor of the British court, where his birth -and wealth had given him no mean station. “He left no child,” continued -the herald, “and these arms, being in a lozenge, betoken that the coach -appertains to his widow.” - -[Sidenote: SECOND MAIN CHARACTER.] - -[Sidenote: Contributory incident.] - -33. Further disclosures, perhaps, might have been made had not the -speaker suddenly been struck dumb by the stern eye of an ancient lady -who thrust forth her head from the coach, preparing to descend. As she -emerged, the people saw that her dress was magnificent, and her figure -dignified, in spite of age and infirmity--a stately ruin but with a -look, at once, of pride and wretchedness. Her strong and rigid features -had an awe about them, unlike that of the white Old Maid, but as of -something evil. She passed up the steps, leaning on a gold-headed -cane; the door swung open as she ascended--and the light of a torch -glittered on the embroidery of her dress, and gleamed on the pillars -of the porch. After a momentary pause--a glance backwards--and then a -desperate effort--she went in. The decipherer of the coat of arms had -ventured up the lowest step, and shrinking back immediately, pale and -tremulous, affirmed that the torch was held by the very image of old -Cæsar. - -[Sidenote: Subordinate character of central action.] - -[Sidenote: Compare ¶12.] - -34. “But such a hideous grin,” added he, “was never seen on the face of -mortal man, black or white! It will haunt me till my dying day.” - -[Sidenote: Note the use of shadows and twilights as accessories.] - -[Sidenote: KEY.] - -[Sidenote: Atmosphere--a sense of something about to occur.] - -35. Meanwhile, the coach had wheeled round, with a prodigious clatter -on the pavement, and rumbled up the street, disappearing in the -twilight, while the ear still tracked its course. Scarcely was it gone, -when the people began to question whether the coach and attendants, -the ancient lady, the spectre of old Cæsar, and the Old Maid herself, -were not all a strangely combined delusion, with some dark purport in -its mystery. The whole town was astir, so that, instead of dispersing, -the crowd continually increased, and stood gazing up at the windows of -the mansion, now silvered by the brightening moon. The elders, glad -to indulge the narrative propensity of age, told of the long-faded -splendor of the family, the entertainments they had given, and the -guests, the greatest of the land, and even titled and noble ones from -abroad, who had passed beneath that portal. These graphic reminiscences -seemed to call up the ghosts of those to whom they referred. So strong -was the impression on some of the more imaginative hearers, that two -or three were seized with trembling fits, at one and the same moment, -protesting that they had distinctly heard three other raps of the iron -knocker. - -[Sidenote: Contributory material.] - -36. “Impossible!” exclaimed others. “See! The moon shines beneath the -porch, and shows every part of it, except in the narrow shade of that -pillar. There is no one there!” - -37. “Did not the door open?” whispered one of these fanciful persons. - -38. “Didst thou see it, too?” said his companion, in a startled tone. - -[Sidenote: Vagueness.] - -[Sidenote: Tone.] - -39. But the general sentiment was opposed to the idea that a third -visitant had made application at the door of the deserted house. A -few, however, adhered to this new marvel, and even declared that a red -gleam like that of a torch had shone through the great front window, -as if the negro were lighting a guest up the staircase. This, too, was -pronounced a mere fantasy. But at once the whole multitude started, and -each man beheld his own terror painted in the faces of all the rest. - -40. “What an awful thing is this!” cried they. - -[Sidenote: Minor climax--preparation for main climax.] - -[Sidenote: Note shifting of tenses.] - -[Sidenote: Contributory incident.] - -41. A shriek too fearfully distinct for doubt had been heard within the -mansion, breaking forth suddenly, and succeeded by a deep stillness, -as if a heart had burst in giving it utterance. The people knew not -whether to fly from the very sight of the house, or to rush trembling -in, and search out the strange mystery. Amid their confusion and -affright, they are somewhat reassured by the appearance of their -clergyman, a venerable patriarch, and equally a saint, who had taught -them and their fathers the way to heaven for more than the space of an -ordinary life-time. He was a reverend figure, with long, white hair -upon his shoulders, a white beard upon his breast, and a back so bent -over his staff that he seemed to be looking downward continually, as if -to choose a proper grave for his weary frame. It was some time before -the good old man, being deaf and of impaired intellect, could be made -to comprehend such portions of the affair as were comprehensible at -all. But, when possessed of the facts, his energies assumed unexpected -vigor. - -42. “Verily,” said the old gentleman, “it will be fitting that I enter -the mansion-house of the worthy Colonel Fenwicke, lest any harm should -have befallen that true Christian woman whom ye call the ‘Old Maid in -the Winding Sheet.’” - -[Sidenote: Again a shift in the manner of narration.] - -43. Behold, then, the venerable clergyman ascending the steps of the -mansion, with a torch-bearer behind him. It was the elderly man who had -spoken to the Old Maid, and the same who had afterwards explained the -shield of arms and recognized the features of the negro. Like their -predecessors, they gave three raps with the iron hammer. - -44. “Old Cæsar cometh not,” observed the priest. “Well I wot he no -longer doth service in this mansion.” - -45. “Assuredly, then, it was something worse, in old Cæsar’s likeness!” -said the other adventurer. - -[Sidenote: One who ventures.] - -46. “Be it as God wills,” answered the clergyman. “See! my strength, -though it be much decayed, hath sufficed to open this heavy door. Let -us enter and pass up the staircase.” - -[Sidenote: Key to tone further developed.] - -47. Here occurred a singular exemplification of the dreamy state of a -very old man’s mind. As they ascended the wide flight of stairs, the -aged clergyman appeared to move with caution, occasionally standing -aside, and oftener bending his head, as it were in salutation, thus -practising all the gestures of one who makes his way through a throng. -Reaching the head of the staircase, he looked around with sad and -solemn benignity, laid aside his staff, bared his hoary locks, and was -evidently on the point of commencing a prayer. - -48. “Reverend Sir,” said his attendant, who conceived this a very -suitable prelude to their further search, “would it not be well that -the people join with us in prayer?” - -[Sidenote: Confusion between real and unreal further illustrated by -contributory material.] - -[Sidenote: Deft introduction of central character.] - -49. “Welladay!” cried the old clergyman, staring strangely around him. -“Art thou here with me, and none other? Verily, past times were present -to me, and I deemed that I was to make a funeral prayer, as many a time -heretofore, from the head of this staircase. Of a truth, I saw the -shades of many that are gone. Yea, I have prayed at their burials, one -after another, and the ‘Old Maid in the Winding Sheet’ hath seen them -to their graves!” - -[Sidenote: Tone.] - -[Sidenote: KEY.] - -50. Being now more thoroughly awake to their present purpose, he took -his staff and struck forcibly on the floor, till there came an echo -from each deserted chamber, but no menial to answer their summons. They -therefore walked along the passage, and again paused, opposite to the -great front window through which was seen the crowd, in the shadow and -partial moonlight of the street beneath. On their right hand was the -open door of a chamber, and a closed one on their left. The clergyman -pointed his cane to the carved oak panel of the latter. - -[Sidenote: Foundation situation.] - -51. “Within that chamber,” observed he, “a whole life-time since, did I -sit by the death-bed of a goodly young man, who, being now at the last -gasp”-- - -[Sidenote: Atmosphere.] - -[Sidenote: Note author’s device.] - -[Sidenote: The decision must be inferred.] - -[Sidenote: Tone of vagueness to the end.] - -52. Apparently there was some powerful excitement in the ideas which -had now flashed across his mind. He snatched the torch from his -companion’s hand, and threw open the door with such sudden violence -that the flame was extinguished, leaving them no other light than the -moonbeams, which fell through two windows into the spacious chamber. It -was sufficient to discover all that could be known. In a high-backed -oaken armchair, upright, with her hands clasped across her heart, and -her head thrown back, sat the “Old Maid in the Winding Sheet.” The -stately dame had fallen on her knees, with her forehead on the holy -knees of the Old Maid, one hand upon the floor and the other pressed -convulsively against her heart. It clutched a lock of hair, once sable, -now discolored with a greenish mould. As the priest and layman advanced -into the chamber, the Old Maid’s features assumed such a semblance -of shifting expression that they trusted to hear the whole mystery -explained by a single word. But it was only the shadow of a tattered -curtain waving betwixt the dead face and the moonlight. - -[Sidenote: CLIMAX.] - -[Sidenote: Vague denouement.] - -53. “Both dead!” said the venerable man. “Then who shall divulge the -secret? Methinks it glimmers to and fro in my mind, like the light and -shadow across the Old Maid’s face. And now ’tis gone!” - - - FOR ANALYSIS - - THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER - BY EDGAR ALLAN POE - - Son cœur est un luth suspendu; - Sitôt qu’on le touche il résonne. - - BERANGER. - - -During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn -of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, -I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary -tract of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the -evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know -not how it was, but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense -of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for -the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, because -poetic, sentiment with which the mind usually receives even the -sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon -the scene before me--upon the mere house, and the simple landscape -features of the domain, upon the bleak walls, upon the vacant eye-like -windows, upon a few rank sedges, and upon a few white trunks of decayed -trees--with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no -earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveler -upon opium: the bitter lapse into everyday life, the hideous dropping -off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the -heart, an unredeemed dreariness of thought, which no goading of the -imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What was it--I -paused to think--what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation -of the House of Usher? It was a mystery all insoluble; nor could I -grapple with the shadow fancies that crowded upon me as I pondered. I -was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion that while, -beyond doubt, there _are_ combinations of very simple natural objects -which have the power of thus affecting us, still the analysis of this -power lies among considerations beyond our depth. It was possible, I -reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the -scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, -or perhaps to annihilate, its capacity for sorrowful impression, and, -acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the precipitous brink of a -black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled lustre by the dwelling, and -gazed down--but with a shudder even more thrilling than before--upon -the remodeled and inverted images of the gray sedge, and the ghastly -tree-stems, and the vacant and eye-like windows. - -2. Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed to myself -a sojourn of some weeks. Its proprietor, Roderick Usher, had been -one of my boon companions in boyhood; but many years had elapsed -since our last meeting. A letter, however, had lately reached me in a -distant part of the country--a letter from him--which in its wildly -importunate nature had admitted of no other than a personal reply. -The MS. gave evidence of nervous agitation. The writer spoke of acute -bodily illness, of a mental disorder which oppressed him, and of an -earnest desire to see me, as his best and indeed his only personal -friend, with a view of attempting, by the cheerfulness of my society, -some alleviation of his malady. It was the manner in which all this, -and much more, was said--it was the apparent _heart_ that went with his -request--which allowed me no room for hesitation; and I accordingly -obeyed forthwith what I still considered a very singular summons. - -3. Although as boys we had been even intimate associates, yet I really -knew little of my friend. His reserve had been always excessive and -habitual. I was aware, however, that his very ancient family had been -noted, time out of mind, for a peculiar sensibility of temperament, -displaying itself, through long ages, in many works of exalted art, -and manifested of late in repeated deeds of munificent yet unobtrusive -charity, as well as in a passionate devotion to the intricacies, -perhaps even more than to the orthodox and easily recognizable -beauties, of musical science. I had learned, too, the very remarkable -fact that the stem of the Usher race, all time-honored as it was, had -put forth at no period any enduring branch; in other words, that the -entire family lay in the direct line of descent, and had always, with -a very trifling and very temporary variation, so lain. It was this -deficiency, I considered, while running over in thought the perfect -keeping of the character of the premises with the accredited character -of the people, and while speculating upon the possible influence which -the one, in the long lapse of centuries, might have exercised upon -the other,--it was this deficiency, perhaps, of collateral issue, -and the consequent undeviating transmission from sire to son of the -patrimony with the name, which had at length so identified the two as -to merge the original title of the estate in the quaint and equivocal -appellation of the “House of Usher,”--an appellation which seemed to -include, in the minds of the peasantry who used it, both the family and -the family mansion. - -4. I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat childish experiment, -that of looking down within the tarn, had been to deepen the first -singular impression. There can be no doubt that the consciousness of -the rapid increase of my superstition--for why should I not so term -it?--served mainly to accelerate the increase itself. Such, I have -long known, is the paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror as -a basis. And it might have been for this reason only, that, when I -again uplifted my eyes to the house itself from its image in the pool, -there grew in my mind a strange fancy,--a fancy so ridiculous, indeed, -that I but mention it to show the vivid force of the sensations which -oppressed me. I had so worked upon my imagination as really to believe -that about the whole mansion and domain there hung an atmosphere -peculiar to themselves and their immediate vicinity: an atmosphere -which had no affinity with the air of heaven, but which had reeked -up from the decayed trees, and the gray wall, and the silent tarn; a -pestilent and mystic vapor, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, and -leaden-hued. - -5. Shaking off from my spirit what _must_ have been a dream, I scanned -more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its principal feature -seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity. The discoloration of ages -had been great. Minute fungi overspread the whole exterior, hanging in -a fine tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart from any -extraordinary dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen; and -there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect -adaptation of parts and the crumbling condition of the individual -stones. In this there was much that reminded me of the specious -totality of old wood-work which has rotted for long years in some -neglected vault, with no disturbance from the breath of the external -air. Beyond this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric -gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing -observer might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which, -extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way down the -wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters -of the tarn. - -6. Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway to the house. -A servant in waiting took my horse, and I entered the Gothic archway -of the hall. A valet, of stealthy step, thence conducted me in silence -through many dark and intricate passages in my progress to the studio -of his master. Much that I encountered on the way contributed, I know -not how, to heighten the vague sentiments of which I have already -spoken. While the objects around me--while the carvings of the ceiling, -the sombre tapestries of the walls, the ebon blackness of the floors, -and the phantasmagoric armorial trophies which rattled as I strode, -were but matters of which, or to such as which, I had been accustomed -from my infancy,--while I hesitated not to acknowledge how familiar was -all this, I still wondered to find how unfamiliar were the fancies -which ordinary images were stirring up. On one of the staircases I -met the physician of the family. His countenance, I thought, wore a -mingled expression of low cunning and perplexity. He accosted me with -trepidation and passed on. The valet now threw open a door and ushered -me into the presence of his master. - -7. The room in which I found myself was very large and lofty. The -windows were long, narrow, and pointed, and at so vast a distance -from the black oaken floor as to be altogether inaccessible from -within. Feeble gleams of encrimsoned light made their way through the -trellised panes, and served to render sufficiently distinct the more -prominent objects around; the eye, however, struggled in vain to reach -the remoter angles of the chamber, or the recesses of the vaulted -and fretted ceiling. Dark draperies hung upon the walls. The general -furniture was profuse, comfortless, antique, and tattered. Many books -and musical instruments lay scattered about, but failed to give any -vitality to the scene. I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow. -An air of stern, deep, and irredeemable gloom hung over and pervaded -all. - -8. Upon my entrance, Usher arose from a sofa on which he had been -lying at full length, and greeted me with a vivacious warmth which -had much in it, I at first thought, of an overdone cordiality,--of -the constrained effort of the _ennuyé_ man of the world. A glance, -however, at his countenance, convinced me of his perfect sincerity. We -sat down; and for some moments, while he spoke not, I gazed upon him -with a feeling half of pity, half of awe. Surely man had never before -so terribly altered, in so brief a period, as had Roderick Usher! It -was with difficulty that I could bring myself to admit the identity -of the wan being before me with the companion of my early boyhood. -Yet the character of his face had been at all times remarkable. A -cadaverousness of complexion; an eye large, liquid, and luminous beyond -comparison; lips somewhat thin and very pallid, but of a surpassingly -beautiful curve; a nose of a delicate Hebrew model, but with a breadth -of nostril unusual in similar formations; a finely-moulded chin, -speaking, in its want of prominence, of a want of moral energy; hair -of a more than web-like softness and tenuity,--these features, with -an inordinate expansion above the regions of the temple, made up -altogether a countenance not easily to be forgotten. And now in the -mere exaggeration of the prevailing character of these features, and of -the expression they were wont to convey, lay so much of change that I -doubted to whom I spoke. The now ghastly pallor of the skin, and the -now miraculous lustre of the eye, above all things startled and even -awed me. The silken hair, too, had been suffered to grow all unheeded, -and as, in its wild gossamer texture, it floated rather than fell -about the face, I could not, even with effort, connect its arabesque -expression with any idea of simple humanity. - -9. In the manner of my friend I was at once struck with an incoherence, -an inconsistency; and I soon found this to arise from a series of -feeble and futile struggles to overcome an habitual trepidancy, an -excessive nervous agitation. For something of this nature I had indeed -been prepared, no less by his letter than by reminiscences of certain -boyish traits, and by conclusions deduced from his peculiar physical -conformation and temperament. His action was alternately vivacious and -sullen. His voice varied rapidly from a tremulous indecision (when the -animal spirits seemed utterly in abeyance) to that species of energetic -concision--that abrupt, weighty, unhurried, and hollow-sounding -enunciation, that leaden, self-balanced, and perfectly modulated -guttural utterance--which may be observed in the lost drunkard, or the -irreclaimable eater of opium, during the periods of his most intense -excitement. - -10. It was thus that he spoke of the object of my visit, of his earnest -desire to see me, and of the solace he expected me to afford him. He -entered at some length into what he conceived to be the nature of his -malady. It was, he said, a constitutional and a family evil, and one -for which he despaired to find a remedy,--a mere nervous affection, he -immediately added, which would undoubtedly soon pass off. It displayed -itself in a host of unnatural sensations. Some of these, as he detailed -them, interested and bewildered me; although, perhaps, the terms and -the general manner of the narration had their weight. He suffered much -from a morbid acuteness of the senses; the most insipid food was alone -endurable; he could wear only garments of certain texture; the odors -of all flowers were oppressive; his eyes were tortured by even a faint -light; and there were but peculiar sounds, and these from stringed -instruments, which did not inspire him with horror. - -11. To an anomalous species of terror I found him a bounden slave. “I -shall perish,” said he, “I _must_ perish in this deplorable folly. -Thus, thus, and not otherwise, shall I be lost. I dread the events of -the future, not in themselves, but in their results. I shudder at the -thought of any, even the most trivial, incident, which may operate upon -this intolerable agitation of soul. I have, indeed, no abhorrence of -danger, except in its absolute effect,--in terror. In this unnerved, in -this pitiable condition, I feel that the period will sooner or later -arrive when I must abandon life and reason together in some struggle -with the grim phantasm, FEAR.” - -12. I learned moreover at intervals, and through broken and equivocal -hints, another singular feature of his mental condition. He was -enchained by certain superstitious impressions in regard to the -dwelling which he tenanted, and whence for many years he had never -ventured forth, in regard to an influence whose supposititious force -was conveyed in terms too shadowy here to be restated,--an influence -which some peculiarities in the mere form and substance of his family -mansion had, by dint of long sufferance, he said, obtained over his -spirit; an effect which the physique of the gray walls and turrets, and -of the dim tarn into which they all looked down, had at length brought -about upon the morale of his existence. - -13. He admitted, however, although with hesitation, that much of the -peculiar gloom which thus afflicted him could be traced to a more -natural and far more palpable origin,--to the severe and long-continued -illness, indeed to the evidently approaching dissolution, of a tenderly -beloved sister, his sole companion for long years, his last and only -relative on earth. “Her decease,” he said, with a bitterness which I -can never forget, “would leave him (him, the hopeless and the frail) -the last of the ancient race of the Ushers.” While he spoke, the lady -Madeline (for so was she called) passed slowly through a remote portion -of the apartment, and, without having noticed my presence, disappeared. -I regarded her with an utter astonishment not unmingled with dread, and -yet I found it impossible to account for such feelings. A sensation of -stupor oppressed me, as my eyes followed her retreating steps. When a -door, at length, closed upon her, my glance sought instinctively and -eagerly the countenance of the brother; but he had buried his face in -his hands, and I could only perceive that a far more than ordinary -wanness had overspread the emaciated fingers through which trickled -many passionate tears. - -14. The disease of the lady Madeline had long baffled the skill of her -physicians. A settled apathy, a gradual wasting away of the person, -and frequent although transient affections of a partially cataleptical -character, were the unusual diagnosis. Hitherto she had steadily borne -up against the pressure of her malady, and had not betaken herself -finally to bed: but, on the closing-in of the evening of my arrival -at the house, she succumbed (as her brother told me at night with -inexpressible agitation) to the prostrating power of the destroyer; and -I learned that the glimpse I had obtained of her person would thus -probably be the last I should obtain,--that the lady, at least while -living, would be seen by me no more. - -15. For several days ensuing, her name was unmentioned by either Usher -or myself; and during this period I was busied in earnest endeavors to -alleviate the melancholy of my friend. We painted and read together; or -I listened, as if in a dream, to the wild improvisation of his speaking -guitar. And thus, as a closer and still closer intimacy admitted me -more unreservedly into the recesses of his spirit, the more bitterly -did I perceive the futility of all attempt at cheering a mind from -which darkness, as if an inherent positive quality, poured forth upon -all objects of the moral and physical universe, in one unceasing -radiation of gloom. - -16. I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn hours I -thus spent alone with the master of the House of Usher. Yet I should -fail in any attempt to convey an idea of the exact character of the -studies, or of the occupations, in which he involved me, or led me the -way. An excited and highly distempered ideality threw a sulphureous -lustre over all. His long, improvised dirges will ring forever in my -ears. Among other things, I hold painfully in mind a certain singular -perversion and amplification of the wild air of the last waltz of Von -Weber. From the paintings over which his elaborate fancy brooded, -and which grew, touch by touch, into vaguenesses at which I shuddered -the more thrillingly because I shuddered knowing not why,--from these -paintings (vivid as their images now are before me) I would in vain -endeavor to educe more than a small portion which should lie within -the compass of merely written words. By the utter simplicity, by the -nakedness of his designs, he arrested and overawed attention. If ever -mortal painted an idea, that mortal was Roderick Usher. For me at -least, in the circumstances then surrounding me, there arose, out of -the pure abstractions which the hypochondriac contrived to throw upon -his canvas, an intensity of intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt I -ever yet in the contemplation of the certainly glowing yet too concrete -reveries of Fuseli. - -17. One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, partaking -not so rigidly of the spirit of abstraction, may be shadowed forth, -although feebly, in words. A small picture presented the interior of an -immensely long and rectangular vault or tunnel, with low walls, smooth, -white, and without interruption or device. Certain accessory points -of the design served well to convey the idea that this excavation -lay at an exceeding depth below the surface of the earth. No outlet -was observed in any portion of its vast extent, and no torch, or -other artificial source of light, was discernible; yet a flood of -intense rays rolled throughout, and bathed the whole in a ghastly and -inappropriate splendor. - -18. I have just spoken of that morbid condition of the auditory -nerve which rendered all music intolerable to the sufferer, with the -exception of certain effects of stringed instruments. It was, perhaps, -the narrow limits to which he thus confined himself upon the guitar, -which gave birth, in great measure, to the fantastic character of his -performances. But the fervid _facility_ of his impromptus could not -be so accounted for. They must have been, and were, in the notes as -well as in the words of his wild fantasias (for he not unfrequently -accompanied himself with rhymed verbal improvisations), the result of -that intense mental collectedness and concentration to which I have -previously alluded as observable only in particular moments of the -highest artificial excitement. The words of one of these rhapsodies I -have easily remembered. I was, perhaps, the more forcibly impressed -with it as he gave it, because, in the under or mystic current of its -meaning, I fancied that I perceived, and for the first time, a full -consciousness, on the part of Usher, of the tottering of his lofty -reason upon her throne. The verses, which were entitled “The Haunted -Palace,” ran very nearly, if not accurately, thus:-- - - - I. - - In the greenest of our valleys - By good angels tenanted, - Once a fair and stately palace-- - Radiant palace--reared its head. - In the monarch Thought’s dominion, - It stood there; - Never seraph spread a pinion - Over fabric half so fair. - - - II. - - Banners yellow, glorious, golden, - On its roof did float and flow - (This--all this--was in the olden - Time long ago), - And every gentle air that dallied, - In that sweet day, - Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, - A winged odor went away. - - - III. - - Wanderers in that happy valley - Through two luminous windows saw - Spirits moving musically - To a lute’s well-tunèd law, - Round about a throne, where sitting, - Porphyrogene, - In state his glory well befitting, - The ruler of the realm was seen. - - - IV. - - And all with pearl and ruby glowing - Was the fair palace door, - Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, - And sparkling evermore, - A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty - Was but to sing, - In voices of surpassing beauty, - The wit and wisdom of their king. - - - V. - - But evil things, in robes of sorrow, - Assailed the monarch’s high estate; - (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow - Shall dawn upon him, desolate!) - And, round about his home, the glory - That blushed and bloomed - Is but a dim-remembered story - Of the old time entombed. - - - VI. - - And travellers now within that valley - Through the red-litten windows see - Vast forms that move fantastically - To a discordant melody; - While, like a ghastly rapid river, - Through the pale door, - A hideous throng rush out forever, - And laugh--but smile no more. - - -19. I well remember that suggestions arising from this ballad led us -into a train of thought, wherein there became manifest an opinion of -Usher’s which I mention, not so much on account of its novelty (for -other men have thought thus) as on account of the pertinacity with -which he maintained it. This opinion, in its general form, was that of -the sentience of all vegetable things. But in his disordered fancy, -the idea had assumed a more daring character, and trespassed, under -certain conditions, upon the kingdom of inorganization. I lack words -to express the full extent or the earnest _abandon_ of his persuasion. -The belief, however, was connected (as I have previously hinted) with -the gray stones of the home of his forefathers. The conditions of -the sentience had been here, he imagined, fulfilled in the method of -collocation of these stones,--in the order of their arrangement, as -well as in that of the many fungi which overspread them, and of the -decayed trees which stood around; above all, in the long undisturbed -endurance of this arrangement, and in its reduplication in the still -waters of the tarn. Its evidence--the evidence of the sentience--was to -be seen, he said (and I here started as he spoke), in the gradual yet -certain condensation of an atmosphere of their own about the waters and -the walls. The result was discoverable, he added, in that silent yet -importunate and terrible influence which for centuries had moulded the -destinies of his family, and which made _him_ what I now saw him,--what -he was. Such opinions need no comment, and I will make none. - -20. Our books--the books which for years had formed no small portion -of the mental existence of the invalid--were, as might be supposed, in -strict keeping with this character of phantasm. We pored together over -such works as the Ververt and Chartreuse of Gresset; the Belphegor of -Machiavelli; the Heaven and Hell of Swedenborg; the Subterranean Voyage -of Nicholas Klimm by Holberg; the Chiromancy of Robert Flud, of Jean -D’Indaginé, and of De la Chambre; the Journey into the Blue Distance -of Tieck; and the City of the Sun of Campanella. One favorite volume -was a small octavo edition of the _Directorium Inquisitorum_, by the -Dominican Eymeric de Gironne; and there were passages in Pomponius -Mela, about the old African Satyrs and Ægipans, over which Usher would -sit dreaming for hours. His chief delight, however, was found in the -perusal of an exceedingly rare and curious book in quarto Gothic,--the -manual of a forgotten church,--the _Vigilæ Mortuorum secundum Chorum -Ecclesiæ Maguntinæ_. - -21. I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, and of -its probable influence on the hypochondriac, when one evening, having -informed me abruptly that the lady Madeline was no more, he stated -his intention of preserving her corpse for a fortnight (previously -to its final interment), in one of the numerous vaults within the -main walls of the building. The worldly reason, however, assigned for -this singular proceeding was one which I did not feel at liberty to -dispute. The brother had been led to his resolution (so he told me) by -consideration of the unusual character of the malady of the deceased, -of certain obtrusive and eager inquiries on the part of her medical -men, and of the remote and exposed situation of the burial-ground of -the family. I will not deny that when I called to mind the sinister -countenance of the person whom I met upon the staircase, on the day of -my arrival at the house, I had no desire to oppose what I regarded as -at best but a harmless, and by no means an unnatural, precaution. - -22. At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the arrangements -for the temporary entombment. The body having been encoffined, we two -alone bore it to its rest. The vault in which we placed it (and which -had been so long unopened that our torches, half smothered in its -oppressive atmosphere, gave us little opportunity for investigation) -was small, damp, and entirely without means of admission for light; -lying, at great depth, immediately beneath that portion of the building -in which was my own sleeping apartment. It had been used apparently, -in remote feudal times, for the worst purposes of a donjon-keep, -and in later days as a place of deposit for powder, or some other -highly combustible substance, as a portion of its floor, and the -whole interior of a long archway through which we reached it, were -carefully sheathed with copper. The door, of massive iron, had been -also similarly protected. Its immense weight caused an unusually sharp -grating sound as it moved upon its hinges. - -23. Having deposited our mournful burden upon tressels within this -region of horror, we partially turned aside the yet unscrewed lid -of the coffin, and looked upon the face of the tenant. A striking -similitude between the brother and sister now first arrested my -attention; and Usher, divining, perhaps, my thoughts, murmured out some -few words from which I learned that the deceased and himself had been -twins, and that sympathies of a scarcely intelligible nature had always -existed between them. Our glances, however, rested not long upon the -dead, for we could not regard her unawed. The disease which had thus -entombed the lady in the maturity of youth, had left, as usual in all -maladies of a strictly cataleptical character, the mockery of a faint -blush upon the bosom and the face, and that suspiciously lingering -smile upon the lip which is so terrible in death. We replaced and -screwed down the lid, and having secured the door of iron, made our -way, with toil, into the scarcely less gloomy apartments of the upper -portion of the house. - -24. And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, an observable -change came over the features of the mental disorder of my friend. His -ordinary manner had vanished. His ordinary occupations were neglected -or forgotten. He roamed from chamber to chamber with hurried, unequal, -and objectless step. The pallor of his countenance had assumed, if -possible, a more ghastly hue, but the luminousness of his eye had -utterly gone out. The once occasional huskiness of his tone was heard -no more; and a tremulous quaver, as if of extreme terror, habitually -characterized his utterance. There were times, indeed, when I thought -his unceasingly agitated mind was laboring with some oppressive secret, -to divulge which he struggled for the necessary courage. At times, -again, I was obliged to resolve all into the mere inexplicable vagaries -of madness, for I beheld him gazing upon vacancy for long hours, in -an attitude of the profoundest attention, as if listening to some -imaginary sound. It was no wonder that his condition terrified--that it -infected me. I felt creeping upon me, by slow yet certain degrees, the -wild influences of his own fantastic yet impressive superstitions. - -25. It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the night of the -seventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady Madeline within -the donjon, that I experienced the full power of such feelings. Sleep -came not near my couch, while the hours waned and waned away. I -struggled to reason off the nervousness which had dominion over me. I -endeavored to believe that much if not all of what I felt was due to -the bewildering influence of the gloomy furniture of the room,--of the -dark and tattered draperies which, tortured into motion by the breath -of a rising tempest, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, and -rustled uneasily about the decorations of the bed. But my efforts were -fruitless. An irrepressible tremor gradually pervaded my frame; and at -length there sat upon my very heart an incubus of utterly causeless -alarm. Shaking this off with a gasp and a struggle, I uplifted myself -upon the pillows, and, peering earnestly within the intense darkness -of the chamber, hearkened--I know not why, except that an instinctive -spirit prompted me--to certain low and indefinite sounds which came, -through the pauses of the storm, at long intervals, I knew not whence. -Overpowered by an intense sentiment of horror, unaccountable yet -unendurable, I threw on my clothes with haste (for I felt that I should -sleep no more during the night), and endeavored to arouse myself from -the pitiable condition into which I had fallen, by pacing rapidly to -and fro through the apartment. - -26. I had taken but a few turns in this manner, when a light step on an -adjoining staircase arrested my attention. I presently recognized it as -that of Usher. In an instant afterward he rapped with a gentle touch at -my door, and entered, bearing a lamp. His countenance was, as usual, -cadaverously wan--but, moreover, there was a species of mad hilarity in -his eyes,--an evidently restrained hysteria in his whole demeanor. His -air appalled me--but anything was preferable to the solitude which I -had so long endured, and I even welcomed his presence as a relief. - -27. “And you have not seen it?” he said abruptly, after having stared -about him for some moments in silence,--“you have not then seen -it?--but, stay! you shall.” Thus speaking, and having carefully shaded -his lamp, he hurried to one of the casements, and threw it freely open -to the storm. - -28. The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted us from our -feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous yet sternly beautiful night, and -one wildly singular in its terror and its beauty. A whirlwind had -apparently collected its force in our vicinity, for there were frequent -and violent alterations in the direction of the wind; and the exceeding -density of the clouds (which hung so low as to press upon the turrets -of the house) did not prevent our perceiving the life-like velocity -with which they flew careering from all points against each other, -without passing away into the distance. I say that even their exceeding -density did not prevent our perceiving this; yet we had no glimpse of -the moon or stars, nor was there any flashing forth of the lightning. -But the under surfaces of the huge masses of agitated vapor, as well -as all terrestrial objects immediately around us, were glowing in the -unnatural light of a faintly luminous and distinctly visible gaseous -exhalation which hung about and enshrouded the mansion. - -29. “You must not--you shall not behold this!” said I shudderingly, to -Usher, as I led him with a gentle violence from the window to a seat. -“These appearances, which bewilder you, are merely electrical phenomena -not uncommon--or it may be that they have their ghastly origin in -the rank miasma of the tarn. Let us close this casement; the air is -chilling and dangerous to your frame. Here is one of your favorite -romances. I will read, and you shall listen;--and so we will pass away -this terrible night together.” - -30. The antique volume which I had taken up was the “Mad Trist” of -Sir Launcelot Canning; but I had called it a favorite of Usher’s more -in sad jest than in earnest; for, in truth, there is little in its -uncouth and unimaginative prolixity which could have had interest for -the lofty and spiritual ideality of my friend. It was, however, the -only book immediately at hand; and I indulged a vague hope that the -excitement which now agitated the hypochondriac might find relief (for -the history of mental disorder is full of similar anomalies) even -in the extremeness of the folly which I should read. Could I have -judged, indeed, by the wild, overstrained air of vivacity with which he -hearkened, or apparently hearkened, to the words of the tale, I might -well have congratulated myself upon the success of my design. - -31. I had arrived at that well-known portion of the story where -Ethelred, the hero of the Trist, having sought in vain for peaceable -admission into the dwelling of the hermit, proceeds to make good an -entrance by force. Here, it will be remembered, the words of the -narrative run thus:-- - -32. “And Ethelred, who was by nature of a doughty heart, and who was -now mighty withal on account of the powerfulness of the wine which he -had drunken, waited no longer to hold parley with the hermit, who, in -sooth, was of an obstinate and maliceful turn, but, feeling the rain -upon his shoulders, and fearing the rising of the tempest, uplifted -his mace outright and with blows made quickly room in the plankings of -the door for his gauntleted hand; and now, pulling therewith sturdily, -he so cracked, and ripped, and tore all asunder, that the noise of the -dry and hollow-sounding wood alarumed and reverberated throughout the -forest.” - -33. At the termination of this sentence I started, and for a moment -paused; for it appeared to me (although I at once concluded that my -excited fancy had deceived me)--it appeared to me that from some very -remote portion of the mansion there came, indistinctly, to my ears, -what might have been in its exact similarity of character the echo (but -a stifled and dull one certainly) of the very cracking and ripping -sound which Sir Launcelot had so particularly described. It was, beyond -doubt, the coincidence alone which had arrested my attention; for, -amid the rattling of the sashes of the casements, and the ordinary -commingled noises of the still increasing storm, the sound, in itself, -had nothing, surely, which should have interested or disturbed me. I -continued the story:-- - -34. “But the good champion Ethelred, now entering within the door, was -so enraged and amazed to perceive no signal of the maliceful hermit; -but, in the stead thereof, a dragon of a scaly and prodigious demeanor, -and of a fiery tongue, which sate in guard before a palace with a floor -of silver; and upon the wall there hung a shield of shining brass with -this legend enwritten:-- - - Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin; - Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win. - -And Ethelred uplifted his mace, struck upon the head of the dragon, -which fell before him, and gave up his pesty breath, with a shriek so -horrid and harsh, and withal so piercing, that Ethelred had fain to -close his ears with his hands against the dreadful noise of it, the -like whereof was never before heard.” - -35. Here again I paused abruptly, and now with a feeling of wild -amazement, for there could be no doubt whatever that, in this instance, -I did actually hear (although from what direction it proceeded I -found it impossible to say) a low and apparently distant, but harsh, -protracted, and most unusual screaming or grating sound,--the exact -counterpart of what my fancy had already conjured up for the dragon’s -unnatural shriek as described by the romancer. - -36. Oppressed as I certainly was, upon the occurrence of this second -and most extraordinary coincidence, by a thousand conflicting -sensations, in which wonder and extreme terror were predominant, I -still retained sufficient presence of mind to avoid exciting, by any -observation, the sensitive nervousness of my companion. I was by no -means certain that he had noticed the sounds in question; although, -assuredly, a strange alteration had during the last few minutes -taken place in his demeanor. From a position fronting my own, he had -gradually brought round his chair, so as to sit with his face to the -door of the chamber; and thus I could but partially perceive his -features, although I saw that his lips trembled as if he were murmuring -inaudibly. His head had dropped upon his breast; yet I knew that he was -not asleep, from the wide and rigid opening of the eye as I caught a -glance of it in profile. The motion of his body, too, was at variance -with this idea, for he rocked from side to side with a gentle yet -constant and uniform sway. Having rapidly taken notice of all this, I -resumed the narrative of Sir Launcelot, which thus proceeded:-- - -37. “And now the champion, having escaped from the terrible fury of the -dragon, bethinking himself of the brazen shield, and of the breaking up -of the enchantment which was upon it, removed the carcass from out of -the way before him, and approached valorously over the silver pavement -of the castle to where the shield was upon the wall; which in sooth -tarried not for his full coming, but fell down at his feet upon the -silver floor, with a mighty great and terrible ringing sound.” - -38. No sooner had these syllables passed my lips than--as if a shield -of brass had indeed, at the moment, fallen heavily upon a floor of -silver--I became aware of a distinct, hollow, metallic, and clangorous -yet apparently muffled reverberation. Completely unnerved, I leaped to -my feet; but the measured rocking movement of Usher was undisturbed. -I rushed to the chair in which he sat. His eyes were bent fixedly -before him, and throughout his whole countenance there reigned a stony -rigidity. But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder, there came a -strong shudder over his whole person; a sickly smile quivered about his -lips; and I saw that he spoke in a low, hurried, and gibbering murmur, -as if unconscious of my presence. Bending closely over him, I at length -drank in the hideous import of his words. - -39. “Not hear it?--yes, I hear it, and _have_ heard it. -Long--long--long--many minutes, many hours, many days, have I heard -it, yet I dared not--oh, pity me, miserable wretch that I am!--I -dared not--I _dared_ not speak! _We have put her living in the -tomb!_ Said I not that my senses were acute? I _now_ tell you that -I heard her first feeble movements in the hollow coffin. I heard -them--many, many days ago--yet I dared not--_I dared not speak!_ And -now--to-night--Ethelred--ha! ha!--the breaking of the hermit’s door, -and the death-cry of the dragon, and the clangor of the shield!--say -rather, the rending of her coffin, and the grating of the iron hinges -of her prison, and her struggles within the coppered archway of the -vault! Oh, whither shall I fly? Will she not be here anon? Is she not -hurrying to upbraid me for my haste? Have I not heard her footsteps -on the stair? Do I not distinguish that heavy and horrible beating -of her heart? Madman!”--here he sprang furiously to his feet, and -shrieked out his syllables, as if in the effort he were giving up his -soul--“_Madman! I tell you that she now stands without the door!_” - -40. As if in the superhuman energy of his utterance there had been -found the potency of a spell, the huge antique panels to which the -speaker pointed threw slowly back, upon the instant, their ponderous -and ebony jaws. It was the work of the rushing gust--but then without -those doors there _did_ stand the lofty and enshrouded figure of the -lady Madeline of Usher! There was blood upon her white robes, and the -evidence of some bitter struggle upon every portion of her emaciated -frame. For a moment she remained trembling and reeling to and fro upon -the threshold--then, with a low moaning cry, fell heavily inward upon -the person of her brother, and, in her violent and now final death -agonies, bore him to the floor a corpse, and a victim to the terrors he -had anticipated. - -41. From that chamber and from that mansion I fled aghast. The storm -was still abroad in all its wrath as I found myself crossing the old -causeway. Suddenly there shot along the path a wild light, and I turned -to see whence a gleam so unusual could have issued; for the vast house -and its shadows were alone behind me. The radiance was that of the -full, setting, and blood-red moon, which now shone vividly through that -once barely discernible fissure, of which I have before spoken as -extending from the roof of the building, in a zigzag direction, to the -base. While I gazed, this fissure rapidly widened--there came a fierce -breath of the whirlwind--the entire orb of the satellite burst at -once upon my sight--my brain reeled as I saw the mighty walls rushing -asunder--there was a long, tumultuous shouting sound like the voice -of a thousand waters--and the deep and dank tarn at my feet closed -sullenly and silently over the fragments of the “_House of Usher_.” - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY - -1. State as briefly as possible the impression made upon you by the -story under consideration. - -2. Cite passages which are most effective in making this impression. - -3. Do you find any jarring elements which tend to mar the single -impression? - -4. Does the story approach any types besides that of the -impressionistic? - -5. Mention any weak points you discover. - -6. Write about three hundred words on the merits of the story. - -7. Try to find an impressionistic story in some present-day magazine. - -8. Criticise Poe’s language, in general and in particular. - -9. Would either of these stories be popular if written to-day by an -unknown author? - -10. Would cutting improve either of these stories? If so, say where. - -11. Compare Hawthorne’s style with that of Poe. - -12. Which story do you prefer, and why? - - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE IMPRESSIONISTIC STORIES - -“The Luck of Roaring Camp,” Bret Harte, in _The Luck of Roaring -Camp and Other Stories_. - -“The Father,” Björnstjerne Björnson, translated in _Stories by -Foreign Authors, Scandinavian_. - -“A Journey,” Edith Wharton, in _The Greater Inclination_. - -“The Brushwood Boy,” Rudyard Kipling, in _The Day’s Work_. - -“The Great Stone Face,” Nathaniel Hawthorne, in _The Snow-Image and -Other Twice-Told Tales_. - -“A Passion in the Desert,” Honoré de Balzac, translated in _Little -French Masterpieces, Balzac_. - -“The Pit and the Pendulum,” Edgar Allan Poe, in _Tales_. - -“The Silent Woman,” Leopold Kompert, translated in _Modern Ghosts_. - -“Jesus Christ in Flanders,” Honoré de Balzac, translated in _Little -French Masterpieces, Balzac_. - -“Silence,” Leonid Andreyev, translated in _Short-Story -Masterpieces_. - - - - - VII - CHARACTER STUDIES - - _The Piece of String._--GUY DE MAUPASSANT - _The Substitute._--FRANÇOIS COPPÉE - - - Most of us, in actual life, are accustomed to distinguish people - who are worth our while from people who are not; and those of us - who live advisedly are accustomed to shield ourselves from people - who cannot, by the mere fact of what they are, repay us for the - expenditure of time and energy we should have to make to know - them. And whenever a friend of ours asks us deliberately to meet - another friend of his, we take it for granted that our friend has - reasons for believing that the acquaintanceship will be of benefit - or of interest to both. Now the novelist stands in the position - of a friend who asks us to meet certain people whom he knows; and - he runs the risk of our losing faith in his judgment unless we - find his people worth our while.... He ... owes us an assurance - that they shall be even more worth while than the average actual - person.--CLAYTON HAMILTON, _Materials and Methods of Fiction_. - - - CHARACTER STUDIES - -A character-study, whether in the form of a sketch, a tale, or a -short-story, attempts to reveal individual human nature by the -unfolding of the story. - -In the sketch it will be a photograph of character in a striking mood, -under stress of emotion, or just before, or during, or after a crisis -that is peculiarly suited to showing either the full character or one -of its interesting phases. Some photographs consist of bold masses of -light and shade, others are so handled as to bring out a multitude -of details. The sketch allows in a literary way the same methods of -treatment, but the typical sketch avoids unnecessary minutiæ. - -The tale is also a photograph, but instead of being a single stationary -picture, it is a moving-picture, delineating character by a chain of -incidents which allow us to see what the characters are by what they -do. True to the type of the tale, it does not deal with character -crisis, but merely reveals character in a series of illuminating deeds. - -In the character short-story the author’s method is more complicated, -for the whole mechanism of the story--introduction, plot, dialogue, -and conclusion--are designed to show us the characters under stress -of emotion and the results of that emotional arousement. We learn -the characters of the characters--for there is a distinction here--by -seeing how they act upon each other, how they solve problems, how they -meet the crises of life--what effect trouble or joy has upon them--and -the final outcome of it all. It is like studying a human being while -he is being subjected to a test, and observing the development of his -character, or its failure to stand the test, in that critical moment. - -By this it will be seen that a character-study is a story with a -purpose--a purpose deeper than that of affording entertainment from the -plot. The finest stories are those which so interest us in the action, -or plot, of the story proper that the profound character disclosures -and changes are borne in upon us while we are watching the progress of -the story. It is this subtle balance of narrative and character-study -which presents the story-teller’s art at its best. - - - THE PIECE OF STRING - (LA FICELLE) - - BY GUY DE MAUPASSANT - - _Translation by The Editor_ - -[Sidenote: Introduction.] - -[Sidenote: Establishes the general setting, and station in life of the -characters.] - -[Sidenote: Minute observation.] - -On all the roads around Goderville the peasants and their wives were -coming towards the town, for it was market-day. The men swung along at -an easy gait, their whole bodies swaying forward with every movement -of their long, twisted legs--legs misshapen by hard work: by holding -down the plough, which throws up the left shoulder while it deforms -the figure; by mowing grain, the effort of which spreads the knees too -wide apart to permit them to stand quite steady; by all the tedious -and laborious tasks of the fields. Their blue blouses, starched and -glossy as though varnished, and decorated at collar and cuffs with neat -designs in white stitching, puffed out about their bony forms just like -balloons all ready to rise, from which protruded a head, two arms, and -two legs. - -[Sidenote: Characterization.] - -[Sidenote: Local-color by character description.] - -2. Some of the men were leading a cow or a calf at the end of a rope. -Following close behind, the wives switched the animals over the back -with branches still covered with leaves, in order to quicken their -pace. The women carried on their arms great baskets from which the -heads of chickens and ducks protruded, and they walked with a shorter, -quicker step than the men--each withered figure erect and wrapped in a -scanty little shawl pinned across her flat bosom, each head done up in -a white cloth, bound close about the hair and surmounted by a cap. - -3. Now a wagonette passed, drawn by a nag at a fitful trot, grotesquely -shaking up the two men seated side by side, and the woman in the back -of the vehicle, who clutched its sides to lessen the rough jolting. - -[Sidenote: Local-color.] - -4. In the Goderville market-place there was a great crowd--a medley of -man and beast. The horns of the cattle, the high, long-napped hats of -the prosperous peasants, and the head-dresses of the women, rose above -the level of the throng. And the voices--sharp, shrill, squawking--rose -in a wild, incessant clamor, which was dominated now and then by a -great guffaw of laughter emitted from the robust chest of some sturdy -bumpkin, or by the long-drawn-out lowing of a cow tethered to the wall -of a house. - -5. Everything there smelled of the stable--the milk, the manure, the -hay, the sweat, gave forth that acrid, offensive odor of man and animal -so peculiar to dwellers of the fields. - -[Sidenote: CHIEF CHARACTER.] - -[Sidenote: The Normans are said to be typically “ambitious, positive, -bold, tricky, economical.”] - -[Sidenote: FOUNDATION PLOT INCIDENT.] - -[Sidenote: CHIEF COMPLICATION.] - -[Sidenote: RESULTANT COMPLICATION.] - -6. Master Hauchecorne, of Bréauté, had just arrived at Goderville, -and was moving toward the square, when he observed a little piece -of string on the ground. Economical, like a true Norman, Master -Hauchecorne thought that everything which could be used was worth -saving; so he stooped down painfully, for he suffered from rheumatism, -picked up from the dirt the insignificant scrap of twine, and was -just about to roll it up with care when he noticed Master Malandin, -the harness-maker, standing on his doorstep looking at him. Once the -two men had had a difference over the matter of a halter, and ever -since they had remained angry with each other, cherishing their spite. -Master Hauchecorne was seized with a sort of shame at having his -enemy thus see him searching in the mud for a mere scrap of string. -He therefore hastily hid away his find in his blouse, and then in his -breeches-pocket. At the same time he pretended to be still searching -in the dirt for something which he had not been able to find. Finally -he moved on toward the market-place, his head thrust forward, his body -bent double by his pains. - -[Sidenote: Local-color.] - -[Sidenote: See note on ¶6.] - -7. In a moment he was lost in the slowly shifting, noisy throng, -agitated by its own constant chafferings. The peasants felt of the -cows, turned away, came back again, much puzzled--always fearful of -being over-reached in the bargain, never reaching a decision, watching -the eye of the vendor, seeking ever to unmask the ruse of the man and -the defect in his animal. - -8. The women, having set their huge baskets at their feet, took out -their poultry, which they laid on the ground with legs tied together, -terror-stricken eyes, and scarlet combs. - -9. They listened to offers, maintaining their price with a keen air but -impassive face, or else suddenly deciding to take the counter offer, -crying out to the slowly retreating customer: - -10. “It’s settled, Master Anthime, I’ll give them to you!” - -11. At length, little by little, the square became empty, and when the -Angelus sounded noon, those who lived too far away to go home repaired -to the inns. - -[Sidenote: Setting for main crisis.] - -12. At Jourdain’s, the large hall was crowded with diners, while the -great courtyard was full of vehicles of every sort--carts, gigs, -wagonettes, tilburies, traps, nameless carriages, yellow with mud, -shapeless, patched, shafts pointing to heaven like two arms, or with -noses in the ground and backs in the air. - -13. Right opposite the diners at table, the immense fireplace, all -brightly aflame, cast a lively warmth on the backs of those ranged -along the right. Three spits were turning, laden with chickens, -pigeons, and legs of mutton; and a delectable odor of roasting meat, -and of juices streaming over the browned skin, rose from the hearth, -kindled good humor and made everyone’s mouth water. - -[Sidenote: Note how the author gathers the people to witness the -crisis.] - -[Sidenote: _Maît’_--colloquial abbreviation for _Maître_, equal here to -“Mine Host.”] - -14. All the aristocracy of the plough were eating there, at _Maît’ -Jourdain’s_, inn-keeper and horse-trader--a sly fellow who had made -money. - -15. The dishes went round, and, like the jugs of yellow cider, were -emptied. Everyone told of his affairs: his sales and his purchases. -They exchanged news of the crops--the weather was good for vegetables, -but a trifle wet for wheat. - -[Sidenote: Approach of crisis.] - -[Sidenote: Typical of their class.] - -16. Suddenly the roll of a drum sounded in the courtyard before the -house. Instantly everyone was on his feet, save a few indifferent ones, -and ran to the door or to the windows, with mouth still full and napkin -in hand. - -17. After the public crier had ended his tattoo, he shouted out in a -jerky voice, making his pauses at the wrong time: - -[Sidenote: Preparation for crisis.] - -18. “Be it known to the people of Goderville, and in general to -all--persons present at the market, that there was lost this morning, -upon the Beuzeville road between--nine and ten o’clock, a black leather -pocketbook, containing five hundred francs and some business papers. -You are requested to return it--to the mayor’s office, without delay, -or to Master Fortuné Houlbrèque of Manneville. There will be twenty -francs reward.” - -19. Then the man went away. Once again was heard afar the muffled roll -of the drum and the faint voice of the crier. - -20. Then they began to talk over the incident, estimating the -chances Master Houlbrèque had of recovering or of not recovering his -pocketbook. Meanwhile the meal went on. - -21. They were finishing coffee when the corporal of gendarmes appeared -in the doorway. - -22. He asked: - -[Sidenote: Closer approach of crisis.] - -23. “Master Hauchecorne of Bréauté--is he here?” - -24. Master Hauchecorne, who was seated at the other end of the table, -replied: - -25. “That’s me.” - -26. And the corporal replied: - -27. “Master Hauchecorne, will you have the goodness to go with me to -the mayor’s office. _Monsieur le maire_ would like to speak with you.” - -[Sidenote: Note how throughout the author emphasizes physical -characteristics as indicating character.] - -[Sidenote: Minute observation.] - -28. The peasant--surprised, disturbed--drained his glass at a gulp, -got up, and, more doubled up than in the morning, because the first -steps after a rest were always particularly difficult, he started off, -repeating: - -29. “That’s me, that’s me,” and he followed the corporal. - -30. The mayor was awaiting him, seated in an armchair. He was the -notary of the place, a large man, grave, and pompous in speech. - -[Sidenote: FULL CRISIS.] - -31. “Master Hauchecorne,” said he, “you were seen to pick up this -morning, on the Beuzeville road, the pocketbook lost by Master -Houlbrèque, of Manneville.” - -32. The countryman, speechless, stared at the mayor, already terrified -by this suspicion which rested upon him without his understanding why. - -33. “Me, me, I picked up that pocketbook?” - -34. “Yes, exactly you.” - -35. “Word of honor, I ain’t even so much as seen it.” - -36. “You were seen.” - -37. “They saw me, me? Who’s it 'as seen me?” - -[Sidenote: Note how the complication is involved by personal prejudice.] - -38. “Monsieur Malandin, the harness-maker.” - -39. Then the old man remembered, and understood. Reddening with rage, -he cried: - -40. “Ah! he saw me, that cad! He saw me pick up this here string--look, -_m’sieu le maire_.” - -41. And, fumbling at the bottom of his pocket, he pulled out the little -bit of cord. - -42. But the mayor, incredulous, shook his head. - -43. “You will not make me believe, Master Hauchecorne, that Monsieur -Malandin, who is a man worthy of belief, has mistaken that bit of -string for a pocketbook.” - -44. The peasant, furious, raised his hand and spat to one side, thus to -attest his honor, repeating: - -45. “All the same it’s the truth of the good God, the holy truth, -_m’sieu le maire_. There! Upon my soul and my salvation, I say it -again.” - -46. The mayor replied: - -[Sidenote: Circumstantial evidence. The miser’s character helps condemn -him unjustly.] - -47. “After having picked the thing up, you even hunted a long time in -the mud to see if some piece of money had not fallen out.” - -48. The good man choked with indignation and fear. - -49. “How can anyone tell--how can anyone tell--lies like that to -misrepresent an honest man! How can anyone tell--” - -50. However he might protest, no one believed him. - -51. He was confronted with Monsieur Malandin, who repeated and -sustained his affirmation. They railed at each other for a whole hour. -At his own request, Master Hauchecorne was searched. They found nothing -upon him. - -[Sidenote: Suspense.] - -52. At last, the mayor, greatly perplexed, sent him away, with the -warning that he would advise the public prosecutor, and ask for orders. - -53. The news had spread. When he came out of the mayor’s office the -old man was surrounded and questioned with a curiosity either serious -or bantering, but into which not the least indignation entered. And he -began to recount the history of the piece of string. No one believed -him. They laughed. - -[Sidenote: Tone of story.] - -54. He went on, halted by everyone, stopping his acquaintances, -renewing endlessly his recital and his protestations, showing his -pockets turned inside out to prove that he had nothing. - -[Sidenote: Note Maupassant’s use of the short paragraph.] - -55. They said to him: - -56. “G’long, you old rascal!” - -57. And he grew angry, working himself into exasperation, into a fever, -desperate at not being believed, not knowing what to do, and always -repeating his story. - -58. Night came on. He must go home. He started out with three -neighbors to whom he showed the place where he had picked up the piece -of string; and all along the road he kept talking of his adventure. - -59. That evening, he made a round of the village of Bréauté, in order -to tell everyone of the matter. He encountered none but unbelievers. - -60. He was ill of it all night. - -61. The next day, about one o’clock in the afternoon, Marius Paumelle, -a farm-hand of Master Breton’s, the market-gardener at Ymauville, -returned the pocketbook and its contents to Master Houlbrèque, of -Manneville. - -[Sidenote: Apparent resolution of the complication.] - -62. This man asserted, in substance, that he had found the article on -the road; but, not being able to read, he had carried it home and given -it to his employer. - -63. The news spread to the suburbs. Master Hauchecorne was informed of -it. He set himself at once to journeying about and commenced to narrate -his story as completed by the denouement. He was triumphant. - -64. “Wha’ made me feel bad,” he said, “wasn’t the thing itself, you -understand, but it was the lies. There’s nothing hurts you like being -blamed for a lie.” - -[Sidenote: Tone of story.] - -[Sidenote: FOUNDATION FOR CLIMAX.] - -65. All day long he talked of his adventure, he recounted it on the -roadways to the people who passed, at the tavern to the folks who -drank, at the dismissal of church on the following Sunday. He even -button-holed strangers to tell it to them. - -[Sidenote: RESULTANT COMPLICATION.] - -Now, he was tranquil, and yet something else bothered him without his -being able to tell precisely what. People did not seem to be convinced. -He felt as if they gossiped behind his back. - -66. On Tuesday of the following week, he went to the Goderville market, -solely impelled by the desire to relate his story. Malandin, standing -in his doorway, began to laugh when he saw him pass. Why? - -67. He accosted a farmer of Criquetot who would not let him finish, -but giving him a dig in the pit of the stomach, cried out in his face, -“G’long, you great rogue!” Then he turned on his heel. - -[Sidenote: Peasant simplicity.] - -68. Master Hauchecorne stood speechless, growing more and more -disturbed. Why had he called him “great rogue”? - -69. When seated at table at Jourdain’s tavern, he again began to -explain the affair. - -70. A Montivilliers horse-dealer called out to him: - -71. “Go on, go on, you old trickster, I know you, and your piece of -string!” - -72. Hauchecorne stammered, “But--they--found it, the pocketbook!” - -73. But the other retorted: - -[Sidenote: DENOUEMENT AS TO THE RESULTANT COMPLICATION.] - -[Sidenote: FINAL COMPLICATION.] - -74. “Be quiet, daddy! There’s one who finds it, and one who takes it -back. No one sees it, no one recognizes it, no one is the wiser for it.” - -75. The peasant sat dumbfounded. He understood at last. They accused -him of having returned the pocketbook by a confederate, an accomplice. - -76. He tried to protest. Everyone at the table began to laugh. - -77. He could not finish his dinner, and left amidst their mockeries. - -[Sidenote: Key.] - -78. He returned home, ashamed and indignant, strangled by his anger, -by his confusion, and all the more thunderstruck because, with his -Norman cunning, he was quite capable of having done the thing of which -they had accused him, and even of boasting of it as a good trick. It -appeared to him confusedly as impossible to prove his innocence, for -his trickery was well known. And he felt struck to the heart with the -injustice of the suspicion. - -[Sidenote: Tone.] - -[Sidenote: Key.] - -79. Again he began to tell of his adventure, every day lengthening -his recital, advancing each time new proofs, more energetic -protestations, and more solemn oaths which he conjured up in his hours -of solitude--his mind was occupied solely by the story of the piece -of string. They believed him all the less as his defense became more -complicated and his reasoning more fine-spun. - -[Sidenote: Complication summarized.] - -80. “Ha, they are liar’s reasons!” they said behind his back. - -81. He realized it; he fretted over it; he exhausted himself in futile -efforts. - -82. He visibly wasted away. - -83. The wags now made him recite “The Piece of String” for their -amusement, as one persuades a soldier who has been through a -campaign, to tell the story of his battles. His mind, attacked at its -foundations, began to totter. - -84. Towards the end of December he took to his bed. - -85. During the first days of January he died, and, in the delirium of -his mortal agony he protested his innocence, repeating: - -[Sidenote: CLIMAX.] - -86. “--a li’l’ piece of string ... a li’l’ piece of string ... see, -here it is, _m’sieu le maire_.” - - - COPPÉE AND HIS WRITINGS - -François Edouard Joachim Coppée was born in Paris, January 12, 1842. He -was educated at the _Lycée St. Louis_, and early attracted attention -by his poetic gifts. He held office as Librarian of the Senate, and -also Guardian of the Archives at the _Comédie Française_. The honors -of membership in the French Academy and that of being decorated with -the Cross of the Legion of Honor were given him in 1883 and 1888 -respectively. He died May 23, 1908. - -François Coppée was a poet, dramatist, and short-story writer. The -collection _Poèmes Modernes_, published at the age of twenty-seven, -contains some remarkable work which well represents his talent. The -plays _Madame de Maintenon_ and _Le Luthier de Crémone_ rank with his -best dramatic work. Among his short-story gems are “The Sabots of -Little Wolff,” “At Table,” “Two Clowns,” “The Captain’s Vices,” “My -Friend Meurtrier,” “An Accident,” and “The Substitute.” - - * * * * * - -As a novelist, Coppée left no permanent mark upon his times, for in -this field he was far surpassed by his contemporaries; but as a writer -of little prose fictions, he stands well forward among that brilliant -group which includes those immortals of the short-story--Maupassant, -Daudet, and Mérimée. From the work of these masters, Coppée’s is well -distinguished. The Norman Maupassant drew his lines with a sharper -pencil, and, by the same token, an infinitely harder one; Daudet, -child of Provence though he was, dipped his stylus more often in the -acid of satire; and the Parisian Mérimée, though nearer than any other -to Coppée in his manner of work, was less in sympathy with his own -characters than the warmer-hearted author of “The Sabots of Little -Wolff” and “The Substitute”--which follows in a translation by the -author of this volume. Coppée was almost an idealist--certainly he -was quick to respond to the call of the ideal in his themes. Amidst -so much that is sordid and gross in French fiction, how refreshing -it is to read a master who could be truthful without wallowing, -moral without sermonizing, compassionate without sniveling, humorous -without buffooning, and always disclose in his stories the spirit of a -sympathetic lover of mankind. Like Dickens, he chose the lowly for his -characters, and like Dickens, he found poetry in their simple lives. - - In common with other modern French writers, with Daudet, - Maupassant, and others, Coppée excels in the writing of tales. - His prose is remarkable for the same qualities that appear in his - poetical works: sympathy, tenderness, marked predilection for the - weak, the humble, and especially a masterly treatment of subjects - essentially Parisian and modern.--ROBERT SANDERSON, _François - Coppée_, in WARNER’S _Library of the World’s Best Literature_. - - Compassion is the chief quality of this little - masterpiece,--compassion and understanding of a primitive type - of character. The author shows us the good in a character not - altogether bad; and he almost makes us feel that the final - sacrifice was justifiable. He succeeds in doing this chiefly - because he shows us the other characters only as they appeared to - Jean François, thus focusing the interest of the reader on this - single character.--BRANDER MATTHEWS, _The Short-story_. - - More than Daudet, Coppée deserves the title of the French Dickens. - A fellow member of the French Academy, José de Heredia, calls - him “the poet of the humble, painting with sincere emotion - his profound sympathy for the sorrows, the miseries, and the - sacrifices of the meek.” As an artist in fiction, says Heredia, - “Coppée possesses preëminently the gift of presenting concrete - fact rather than abstraction,” and a “great grasp of character,” - enabling him “to show us the human heart and intellect in full - play and activity”--both of which endowments were the supreme - characteristics of the author of _Nicholas Nickleby_ and _David - Copperfield_.--MERION M. MILLER, Introduction to _The Guilty Man_. - - Contrast the touching pathos of the “Substitute,” poignant in his - magnificent self-sacrifice, by which the man who has conquered - his shameful past goes back willingly to the horrible life he has - fled from, that he may save from a like degradation and from an - inevitable moral decay the one friend he has in the world, all - unworthy as this friend is--contrast this with the story of the - gigantic deeds “My Friend Meurtrier” boasts about unceasingly, not - knowing that he has been discovered in his little round of daily - domestic duties--making the coffee of his good old mother, and - taking her poodle out for a walk.... No doubt M. Coppée’s _contes_ - [stories] have not the sharpness of Maupassant’s nor the brilliancy - of M. Daudet’s. But what of it? They have qualities of their own. - They have sympathy, poetry, and a power of suggesting pictures not - exceeded, I think, by those of either Maupassant or M. Daudet. M. - Coppée’s street views in Paris, his interiors, his impressionist - sketches of life under the shadow of Notre Dame, are convincingly - successful.--BRANDER MATTHEWS, _Aspects of Fiction_. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON COPPÉE - -Introduction to _Ten Tales by Coppée_, Brander Matthews (1890); _Books -and Play-Books_, Brander Matthews (1895); _Literary Movement in France -during the Nineteenth Century_, Georges Pellissier (1897); _Hours with -Famous Parisians_, Stuart Henry (1897). - - - FOR ANALYSIS - - THE SUBSTITUTE - (LE REMPLAÇANT) - - BY FRANÇOIS COPPÉE - - _Translation by The Editor_[27] - - -He was scarcely ten years old when he was first arrested as a vagabond. - -2. Thus he spoke to the judges: - -3. I am called Jean François Leturc, and for six months now I’ve -been with the man who sings between two lanterns on the Place de la -Bastille, while he scrapes on a string of catgut. I repeat the chorus -with him, and then I cry out, ‘Get the collection of new songs, ten -centimes, two sous!’ He was always drunk and beat me; that’s why the -police found me the other night, in the tumble-down buildings. Before -that, I used to be with the man who sells brushes. My mother was a -laundress; she called herself Adèle. At one time a gentleman had given -her an establishment, on the ground-floor, at Montmartre. She was a -good worker and loved me well. She made money because she had the -clientele of the café waiters, and those people use lots of linen. -Sundays, she would put me to bed early to go to the ball; but week -days, she sent me to the Brothers’ school, where I learned to read. -Well, at last the _sergent-de-ville_ whose beat was up our street, -began always stopping before her window to talk to her--a fine fellow, -with the Crimean medal. They got married, and all went wrong. He didn’t -take to me, and set mamma against me. Every one boxed my ears; and it -was then that, to get away from home, I spent whole days on the Place -Clichy, where I got to know the mountebanks. My stepfather lost his -place, mamma her customers; she went to the wash-house to support her -man. It was there she got consumption--from the steam of the lye. She -died at Lariboisière. She was a good woman. Since that time I’ve lived -with the brush-seller and the catgut-scraper. Are you going to put me -in prison?” - -4. He talked this way openly, cynically, like a man. He was a ragged -little rascal, as tall as a boot, with his forehead hidden under a -strange mop of yellow hair. - -5. Nobody claimed him, so they sent him to the Reform School. - -6. Not very intelligent, lazy, above all maladroit with his hands, he -was able to learn there only a poor trade--the reseating of chairs. -Yet he was obedient, of a nature passive and taciturn, and he did not -seem to have been too profoundly corrupted in that school of vice. -But when, having come to his seventeenth year, he was set free again -on the streets of Paris, he found there, for his misfortune, his -prison comrades, all dreadful rascals, exercising their low callings. -Some were trainers of dogs for catching rats in the sewers; some -shined shoes on ball nights in the Passage de l’Opéra; some were -amateur wrestlers, who let themselves be thrown by the Hercules of -the side-shows; some fished from rafts out in the river, in the full -sunlight. He tried all these things a little, and a few months after -he had left the house of correction he was arrested anew for a petty -theft: a pair of old shoes lifted from out an open shop-window. Result: -a year of prison at Sainte-Pélagie, where he served as valet to the -political prisoners. - -[Sidenote: Revolutionary songs of 1793.] - -[Sidenote: _Tu_--thou--used only in familiar address.] - -7. He lived, astonished, among this group of prisoners, all very young -and negligently clad, who talked in loud voices and carried their heads -in such a solemn way. They used to meet in the cell of the eldest of -them, a fellow of some thirty years, already locked up for a long -time and apparently settled at Sainte-Pélagie: a large cell it was, -papered with colored caricatures, and from whose windows one could see -all Paris--its roofs, its clock-towers, and its domes, and far off, -the distant line of the hills, blue and vague against the sky. There -were upon the walls several shelves filled with books, and all the old -apparatus of a _salle d’armes_--broken masks, rusty foils, leather -jackets, and gloves that were losing their stuffing. It was there that -the “politicians” dined together, adding to the inevitable “soup and -beef” some fruit, cheese, and half-pints of wine that Jean François -went out to buy in a can--tumultuous repasts, interrupted by violent -disputes, where they sang in chorus at the dessert the _Carmagnole_ -and _Ça ira_. They took on, however, an air of dignity on days when -they made place for a newcomer, who was at first gravely treated as -“_citizen_,” but who was the next day _tutoyed_, and called by his -nickname. They used big words there--Corporation, Solidarity, and -phrases all quite unintelligible to Jean François, such as this, for -example, which he once heard uttered imperiously by a frightful little -hunchback who scribbled on paper all night long: - -8. “It is settled. The cabinet is to be thus composed: Raymond in the -Department of Education, Martial in the Interior, and I in Foreign -Affairs.” - -[Sidenote: Police headquarters.] - -9. Having served his time, he wandered again about Paris, under the -surveillance of the police, in the fashion of beetles that cruel -children keep flying at the end of a string. He had become one of -those fugitive and timid beings whom the law, with a sort of coquetry, -arrests and releases, turn and turn about, a little like those platonic -fishermen who, so as not to empty the pond, throw back into the water -the fish just out of the net. Without his suspecting that so much honor -was done to his wretched personality, he had a special docket in the -mysterious archives of _la rue de Jérusalem_, his name and surnames -were written in a large back-hand on the gray paper of the cover, and -the notes and reports, carefully classified, gave him these graded -appellations: “the man named Leturc,” “the prisoner Leturc,” and at -last “the convicted Leturc.” - -[Sidenote: The California, a cheap eating-house in Paris.] - -[Sidenote: In drawing lots for military service the higher numbers give -exemption, and this he secured by drawing “a good number.”] - -[Sidenote: A receiver of stolen goods.] - -10. He stayed two years out of prison, dining _à la Californie_, -sleeping in lodging-houses, and sometimes in lime-kilns, and taking -part with his fellows in endless games of pitch-penny on the -boulevards near the city gates. He wore a greasy cap on the back of his -head, carpet slippers, and a short white blouse. When he had five sous, -he had his hair curled. He danced at Constant’s at Montparnasse; bought -for two sous the jack-of-hearts or the ace-of-spades, which were used -as return checks, to resell them for four sous at the door of Bobino; -opened carriage-doors as occasion offered; led about sorry nags at the -horse-market. Of all the bad luck--in the conscription he drew a good -number. Who knows whether the atmosphere of honor which is breathed -in a regiment, whether military discipline, might not have saved -him? Caught in a haul of the police-net with the younger vagabonds -who used to rob the drunkards asleep in the streets, he denied very -energetically having taken part in their expeditions. It was perhaps -true. But his antecedents were accepted in lieu of proof, and he was -sent up for three years to Poissy. There he had to make rough toys, -had himself tattooed on the chest, and learned thieves’ slang and the -penal code. A new liberation, a new plunge into the Parisian sewer, -but very short this time, for at the end of hardly six weeks he was -again compromised in a theft by night, aggravated by violent entry, -a doubtful case in which he played an obscure rôle, half dupe and -half fence. On the whole, his complicity seemed evident, and he was -condemned to five years’ hard labor. His sorrow in this adventure was, -chiefly, to be separated from an old dog which he had picked up on a -heap of rubbish and cured of the mange. This beast loved him. - -[Sidenote: Straw was stuffed into the sabots to cushion the feet.] - -[Sidenote: The northwest storm-wind from the Mediterranean.] - -11. Toulon, the ball on his ankle, the work in the harbor, the blows -from the staves, the wooden shoes without straw, the soup of black -beans dating from Trafalgar, no money for tobacco, and the horrible -sleep on the filthy camp-bed of the galley slave, that is what he knew -for five torrid summers and five winters blown upon by the _Mistral_. -He came out from there stunned, and was sent under surveillance -to Vernon, where he worked for some time on the river; then, an -incorrigible vagabond, he broke exile and returned again to Paris. - -12. He had his savings, fifty-six francs--that is to say, time enough -to reflect. During his long absence, his old and horrible comrades -had been dispersed. He was well hidden, and slept in a loft at an old -woman’s, to whom he had represented himself as a sailor weary of the -sea, having lost his papers in a recent shipwreck, and who wished -to essay another trade. His tanned face, his calloused hands, and a -few nautical terms he let fall one time or another, made this story -sufficiently probable. - -13. One day when he had risked a saunter along the streets, and -when the chance of his walk had brought him to Montmartre, where he -had been born, an unexpected memory arrested him before the door of -the Brothers’ school in which he had learned to read. Since it was -very warm, the door was open, and with a single glance the passing -incorrigible could recognize the peaceful schoolroom. Nothing was -changed: neither the bright light shining in through the large windows, -nor the crucifix over the desk, nor the rows of seats furnished with -leaden ink-stands, nor the table of weights and measures, nor the map -on which pins stuck in still pointed out the operations of some ancient -war. Heedlessly and without reflecting, Jean François read on the -blackboard these words of the Gospel, which a well-trained hand had -traced as an example of penmanship: - - Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than - over ninety and nine just persons which need no repentance. - -14. It was doubtless the hour for recreation, for the Brother professor -had left his chair, and, sitting on the edge of a table, he seemed to -be telling a story to all the _gamins_ who surrounded him, attentive -and raising their eyes. What an innocent and gay countenance was that -of the beardless young man, in long black robe, with white necktie, -with coarse, ugly shoes, and with badly cut brown hair pushed up at the -back. All those pallid faces of children of the populace which were -looking at him seemed less childlike than his, above all when, charmed -with a candid, priestly pleasantry he had made, he broke out with a -good and frank peal of laughter, which showed his teeth sound and -regular--laughter so contagious that all the scholars broke out noisily -in their turn. And it was simple and sweet, this group in the joyous -sunlight that made their clear eyes and their blonde hair shine. - -15. Jean François looked at the scene some time in silence, and, for -the first time, in that savage nature all instinct and appetite, there -awoke a mysterious and tender emotion. His heart, that rude, hardened -heart, which neither the cudgel of the galley-master nor the weight -of the watchman’s heavy whip falling on his shoulders was able to -stir, beat almost to bursting. Before this spectacle, in which he saw -again his childhood, his eyes closed sadly, and, restraining a violent -gesture, a prey to the torture of regret, he walked away with great -strides. - -16. The words written on the blackboard came back to him. - -17. “If it were not too late, after all!” he murmured. “If I could -once more, like the others, eat my toasted bread honestly, sleep out -my sleep without nightmare? The police spy would be very clever to -recognize me now. My beard, that I shaved off down there, has grown out -now thick and strong. One can borrow somewhere in this big ant-heap, -and work is not lacking. Whoever does not go to pieces soon in the hell -of the galleys comes out agile and robust; and I have learned how to -climb the rope-ladders with loads on my back. Building is going on all -around here, and the masons need helpers. Three francs a day,--I have -never earned so much. That they should forget me, that is all I ask.” - -18. He followed his courageous resolution, he was faithful to it, -and three months afterward he was another man. The master for whom -he labored cited him as his best workman. After a long day passed on -the scaffolding, in the full sun, in the dust, constantly bending and -straightening his back to take the stones from the hands of the man -below him and to pass them to the man above him, he went to get his -soup, at the cheap eating house, tired out, his legs numb, his hands -burning, and his eyelashes stuck together by the plaster, but content -with himself, and carrying his well-earned money in the knot of his -handkerchief. He went out without fear, for his white mask made him -unrecognizable, and, then, he had observed that the suspicious glance -of the policeman seldom falls on the real worker. He was silent and -sober. He slept the sound sleep of honest fatigue. He was free. - - * * * * * - -19. At last--supreme recompense!--he had a friend. - -20. It was a mason’s helper like himself, named Savinien, a little -peasant from Limoges, red-cheeked, who had come to Paris with his -stick over his shoulder and his bundle on the end of it, who fled from -the liquor-dealers and went to mass on Sundays. Jean François loved -him for his piety, for his candor, for his honesty, for all that he -himself had lost, and so long ago. It was a passion profound, reserved, -disclosing itself in the care and forethought of a father. Savinien, -himself easily moved and self-loving, let things take their course, -satisfied only in that he had found a comrade who shared his horror -of the wine-shop. The two friends lived together in a furnished room, -fairly clean, but their resources were very limited; they had to take -into their room a third companion, an old man from Auvergne, sombre -and rapacious, who found a way of economizing out of his meagre wages -enough to buy some land in his own province. - -21. Jean François and Savinien scarcely left each other. On days of -rest they took long walks in the environs of Paris and dined in the -open air in one of those little country inns where there are plenty -of mushrooms in the sauces and innocent enigmas on the bottoms of the -plates. There Jean François made his friend tell him all those things -of which those born in the cities are ignorant. He learned the names -of the trees, the flowers, the plants; the seasons for the different -harvests; he listened avidly to the thousand details of a farmer’s -labors: the autumn’s sowing, the winter’s work, the splendid _fêtes_ of -harvest-home and vintage, and the flails beating the ground, and the -noise of the mills by the borders of the streams, and the tired horses -led to the trough, and the morning hunting in the mists, and, above -all, the long evenings around the fire of vine-branches, shortened -by tales of wonder. He discovered in himself a spring of imagination -hitherto unsuspected, finding a singular delight in the mere recital of -these things, so gentle, calm, and monotonous. - -22. One anxiety troubled him, however, that Savinien should not come -to know his past. Sometimes there escaped him a shady word of thieves’ -slang, an ignoble gesture, vestiges of his horrible former existence; -and then he felt the pain of a man whose old wounds reopen, more -especially as he thought he saw then in Savinien the awakening of -an unhealthy curiosity. When the young man, already tempted by the -pleasures which Paris offers even to the poorest, questioned him about -the mysteries of the great city, Jean François feigned ignorance and -turned the conversation; but he had now conceived a vague inquietude -for the future of his friend. - -23. This was not without foundation, and Savinien could not long -remain the naïve rustic he had been on his arrival in Paris. If the -gross and noisy pleasures of the wine-shop always were repugnant to -him, he was profoundly troubled by other desires full of danger for -the inexperience of his twenty years. When the spring came, he began -to seek solitude, and at first he wandered before the gayly lighted -entrances to the dancing-halls, through which he saw the girls going -in couples, without bonnets--and with their arms around each other’s -waists, whispering low. Then, one evening, when the lilacs shed their -perfume, and the appeal of the quadrilles was more entrancing, he -crossed the threshold, and after that Jean François saw him change -little by little in manners and in visage. Savinien became more -frivolous, more extravagant; often he borrowed from his friend his -miserable savings, which he forgot to repay. Jean François, feeling -himself abandoned, was both indulgent and jealous; he suffered and -kept silent. He did not think he had the right to reproach; but his -penetrating friendship had cruel and insurmountable presentiments. - -24. One evening when he was climbing the stairs of his lodging, -absorbed in his preoccupations, he heard in the room he was about to -enter a dialogue of irritated voices, and he recognized one as that of -the old man from Auvergne, who lodged with him and Savinien. An old -habit of suspicion made him pause on the landing, and he listened to -learn the cause of the trouble. - -25. “Yes,” said the man from Auvergne angrily, “I am sure that some one -has broken open my trunk and stolen the three louis which I had hidden -in a little box; and the man who has done this thing can only be one -of the two companions who sleep here, unless it is Maria, the servant. -This concerns you as much as me, since you are the master of the house, -and I will drag you before the judge if you do not let me at once open -up the valises of the two masons. My poor hoard! It was in its place -only yesterday; and I will tell you what it was, so that, if we find -it, no one can accuse me of lying. Oh, I know them, my three beautiful -gold pieces, and I can see them as plainly as I see you. One was a -little more worn than the others, of a slightly greenish gold, and that -had the portrait of the great Emperor; another had that of a fat old -fellow with a queue and epaulets; and the third had a Philippe with -side-whiskers. I had marked it with my teeth. No one can trick me, not -me. Do you know that I needed only two others like those to pay for my -vineyard? Come on, let us look through the things of these comrades, or -I will call the police. Make haste!” - -26. “All right,” said the voice of the householder; “we’ll search with -Maria. So much the worse if you find nothing, and if the masons get -angry. It is you who have forced me to it.” - -27. Jean François felt his heart fill with fear. He recalled the -poverty and the petty borrowings of Savinien, the sombre manner he had -borne the last few days. Yet he could not believe in any theft. He -heard the panting of the man from Auvergne in the ardor of his search, -and he clenched his fists against his breast as if to repress the -beatings of his heart. - -28. “There they are!” suddenly screamed the victorious miser. “There -they are, my louis, my dear treasure! And in the Sunday waistcoat of -the little hypocrite from Limoges. Look, landlord! they are just as I -told you. There’s the Napoleon, and the man with the queue, and the -Philippe I had dented with my teeth. Look at the mark. Ah, the little -rascal with his saintly look! I should more likely have suspected the -other. Ah, the villain! He will have to go to the galleys!” - -29. At this moment Jean François heard the well-known step of Savinien, -who was slowly mounting the stairs. - -30. “He is going to his betrayal,” thought he. “Three flights. I have -time!” - -31. And, pushing open the door, he entered, pale as death, into the -room where he saw the landlord and the stupefied servant in a corner, -and the man from Auvergne on his knees amid the disordered clothes, -lovingly kissing his gold pieces. - -32. “Enough of this,” he said in a thick voice. “It is I who have taken -the money and who have put it in my comrade’s trunk. But that is too -disgusting. I am a thief and not a Judas. Go hunt for the police. I’ll -not try to save myself. Only, I must say a word in private to Savinien, -who is here.” - -33. The little man from Limoges had, in fact, just arrived, and, seeing -his crime discovered, and believing himself lost, he stood still, his -eyes fixed, his arms drooping. - -34. Jean François seized him violently about the neck as though to -embrace him; he pressed his mouth to Savinien’s ear and said to him in -a voice low and supplicating: - -35. “Be quiet!” - -36. Then, turning to the others: - -37. “Leave me alone with him. I shall not go away, I tell you. Shut us -up, if you wish, but leave us alone.” - -38. And, with a gesture of command, he showed them the door. They went -out. - -39. Savinien, broken with anguish, had seated himself on a bed, and -dropped his eyes without comprehending. - -40. “Listen,” said Jean François, who approached to take his hands. “I -understand you have stolen three gold pieces to buy some trifle for a -girl. That would have cost six months of prison for you. But one does -not get out of that except to go back again, and you would have become -a pillar of the police tribunals and the courts of assizes. I know all -about them. I have done seven years in the Reform School, one year -at Sainte-Pélagie, three years at Poissy, and five years at Toulon. -Now, have no fear. All is arranged. I have taken this affair on my -shoulders.” - -41. “Unhappy fellow!” cried Savinien; but hope was already coming back -to his cowardly heart. - -42. “When the elder brother is serving under the colors, the younger -does not go,” Jean François went on. “I’m your substitute, that’s all. -You love me a little, do you not? I am paid. Do not be a baby. Do not -refuse. They would have caught me one of these days, for I have broken -my exile. And then, you see, that life out there will be less hard for -me than for you; I know it, and shall not complain if I do not render -you this service in vain and if you swear to me that you will not do it -again. Savinien, I have loved you well, and your friendship has made me -very happy, for it is thanks to my knowing you that I have kept honest -and straight, as I might have been, perhaps, if I had had, like you, a -father to put a tool in my hands, a mother to teach me my prayers. My -only regret was that I was useless to you and that I was deceiving you -about my past. To-day I lay aside the mask in saving you. It is all -right. Come, good-bye! Do not weep; and embrace me, for already I hear -the big boots on the stairs. They are returning with the police; and we -must not seem to know each other so well before these fellows.” - -43. He pressed Savinien hurriedly to his breast, and then he pushed him -away as the door opened wide. - -44. It was the landlord and the man from Auvergne, who were bringing -the police. Jean François started forward to the landing and held out -his hands for the handcuffs and said, laughing: - -45. “Forward, bad lot!” - -46. To-day he is at Cayenne, condemned for life, as an incorrigible. - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY - -1. Write a paragraph showing how character is affected (a) unfavorably -and (b) favorably by the two tests, as shown by these two stories. - -2. In your opinion, was each character changed or merely revealed by -the crisis which occurred in each instance? - -3. Which of these stories seems the more real to you? - -4. Have you ever heard of a similar instance in real life? If so, cite -it. - -5. Write a paragraph contrasting the trivial and the important crisis -in each story, though both led to important results. - -6. Set down all the traits of character exhibited by the two leading -actors in each story. - -7. Select a character-study from some book or magazine and write a -brief discussion of it. - -8. Do the same for another character-study by (a) Maupassant, and (b) -Coppée. - - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE CHARACTER STUDIES - -“The Captain’s Vices,” François Coppée, translated in _Ten Tales by -Coppée_. - -“The Incarnation of Krishna Mulvaney,” Rudyard Kipling, in -_Soldiers Three_. - -“A New England Nun,” Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, in volume of same -title. - -“The Old Gentleman of the Black Stock,” Thomas Nelson Page, -_Harper’s Magazine_, Oct., 1894. - -“The Sick-a-Bed Lady,” Eleanor Hallowell Abbott, in volume of same -title. - -“The Insurgent,” Ludovic Halévy, translated in _Short-Story -Masterpieces_. - -“Caybigan,” James Hopper, in volume of same title. - -“The Liar,” Henry James, in _Short-Story Classics, American_. - -“Editha,” W. D. Howells, in _Harper’s Novelettes_. - -“Our Sermon Taster,” Ian Maclaren, in _Beside the Bonnie Briar -Bush_. - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[27] Copyright, 1911, by J. B. Lippincott Co., and used by permission. - - - - - VIII - PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDIES - - _Markheim._--ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON - _On the Stairs._--ARTHUR MORRISON - - - He [the author] can sometimes rouse our intense curiosity and - eagerness by the mere depiction of a psychological state, as Walter - Pater has done in the case of Sebastian Storck and other personages - of his _Imaginary Portraits_. The fact that “nothing happens” - in stories of this kind may be precisely what most interests - us, because we are made to understand what it is that inhibits - action.--BLISS PERRY, _A Study of Prose Fiction_. - - - PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDIES - -A subtle distinction is to be observed between the character-study and -the psychological study, but it will not be supposed that writers of -short-stories plainly label the distinction, or that the two types are -frequently, if ever, found entirely separate. In the character-study -more attention is paid to the true natures of the actors, and the -demonstration of their natures is shown in the action of the story; in -the psychological study more stress is laid upon the actual operation -of thought, feeling and purpose--it is a laboratory study of what goes -on in the human heart, to use a somewhat vague but necessary term, -under stress of crisis. - -The psychological study is the most difficult because the most -penetrating of all short-story forms, and in consequence the most rare -in its perfect presentation. To show the processes of reasoning, the -interplay of motive, the power of feeling acting upon feeling, and -the intricate combinations of these, calls for the most clear-sighted -understanding of man, and the utmost skill in literary art, lest -the story be lost in a fog of tiresome analysis and discussion. In -“Markheim” and “On the Stairs,” two master story-tellers are easily -at their best, for they never obtrude their own opinions, but swiftly -and with a firm onward movement the stories disclose the true inward -workings of the unique characters, while from mood, speech, and action -we infallibly infer all the soul-processes by which their conclusions -are reached. - - - MARKHEIM - BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON - -[Sidenote: INTRODUCTION. Remarkable because it at once touches upon the -external crisis of the story.] - -“Yes,” said the dealer, “our wind-falls are of various kinds. Some -customers are ignorant, and then I touch a dividend on my superior -knowledge. Some are dishonest,” and here he held up the candle, so -that the light fell strongly on his visitor, “and in that case,” he -continued, “I profit by my virtue.” - -[Sidenote: Note double reason.] - -2. Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his -eyes had not yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in -the shop. At these pointed words, and before the near presence of the -flame, he blinked painfully and looked aside. - -[Sidenote: See how daringly the author plays with the reader -without arousing suspicion. Compare Stevenson’s reasoning as to the -reader’s suspicions with Dupin’s reasoning in “The Purloined Letter,” -pp. 91, 92.] - -[Sidenote: Markheim has been there before.] - -3. The dealer chuckled. “You come to me on Christmas-day,” he resumed, -“when you know that I am alone in my house, put up my shutters, and -make a point of refusing business. Well, you will have to pay for that; -you will have to pay for my loss of time, when I should be balancing -my books; you will have to pay, besides, for a kind of manner that I -remark in you to-day very strongly. I am the essence of discretion, -and ask no awkward questions; but when a customer can not look me in -the eye, he has to pay for it.” The dealer once more chuckled; and -then, changing to his usual business voice, though still with a note of -irony, “You can give, as usual, a clean account of how you came into -possession of the object?” he continued. “Still your uncle’s cabinet? A -remarkable collector, sir!” - -4. And the little, pale, round-shouldered dealer stood almost on -tip-toe, looking over the top of his gold spectacles, and nodding his -head with every mark of disbelief. Markheim returned his gaze with one -of infinite pity, and a touch of horror. - -[Sidenote: Forecast.] - -[Sidenote: Insincerity evident.] - -5. “This time,” he said, “you are in error. I have not come to sell, -but to buy. I have no curios to dispose of; my uncle’s cabinet is bare -to the wainscot; even were it still intact, I have done well on the -Stock Exchange, and should more likely add to it than otherwise, and my -errand to-day is simplicity itself. I seek a Christmas-present for a -lady,” he continued, waxing more fluent as he struck into the speech he -had prepared; “and certainly I owe you every excuse for thus disturbing -you upon so small a matter. But the thing was neglected yesterday; I -must produce my little compliment at dinner; and, as you very well -know, a rich marriage is not a thing to be neglected.” - -6. There followed a pause, during which the dealer seemed to weigh -this statement incredulously. The ticking of many clocks among the -curious lumber of the shop, and the faint rushing of the cabs in a near -thoroughfare, filled up the interval of silence. - -[Sidenote: Compare this setting, as it is gradually unfolded, with that -of Gautier’s “The Mummy’s Foot.”] - -7. “Well, sir,” said the dealer, “be it so. You are an old customer -after all; and if, as you say, you have the chance of a good marriage, -far be it from me to be an obstacle. Here is a nice thing for a lady -now,” he went on, “this hand-glass--fifteenth century, warranted; comes -from a good collection, too; but I reserve the name, in the interests -of my customer, who was just like yourself, my dear sir, the nephew and -sole heir of a remarkable collector.” - -[Sidenote: Analyse its nature.] - -8. The dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and biting voice, had -stooped to take the object from its place; and, as he had done so, -a shock had passed through Markheim, a start both of hand and foot, -a sudden leap of many tumultuous passions to the face. It passed as -swiftly as it came, and left no trace beyond a certain trembling of the -hand that now received the glass. - -[Sidenote: Contributory incident.] - -9. “A glass,” he said, hoarsely, and then paused, and repeated it more -clearly. “A glass? For Christmas? Surely not?” - -10. “And why not?” cried the dealer. “Why not a glass?” - -[Sidenote: Forecast.] - -11. Markheim was looking upon him with an indefinable expression. -“You ask me why not?” he said. “Why, look here--look in it--look at -yourself! Do you like to see it? No! nor I--nor any man.” - -12. The little man had jumped back when Markheim had so suddenly -confronted him with the mirror; but now, perceiving there was nothing -worse on hand, he chuckled. “Your future lady, sir, must be pretty hard -favoured,” said he. - -[Sidenote: Note the working of Markheim’s morbid conscience, not yet -understood by himself.] - -13. “I ask you,” said Markheim, “for a Christmas-present, and you give -me this--this damned reminder of years, and sins and follies--this -hand-conscience! Did you mean it? Had you a thought in your mind? Tell -me. It will be better for you if you do. Come, tell me about yourself. -I hazard a guess now, that you are in secret a very charitable man?” - -[Sidenote: FIRST MORAL CRISIS.] - -14. The dealer looked closely at his companion. It was very odd, -Markheim did not appear to be laughing; there was something in his face -like an eager sparkle of hope, but nothing of mirth. - -15. “What are you driving at?” the dealer asked. - -16. “Not charitable?” returned the other, gloomily. “Not charitable; -not pious; not scrupulous; unloving, unbeloved; a hand to get money, a -safe to keep it. Is that all? Dear God, man, is that all?” - -17. “I will tell you what it is,” began the dealer, with some -sharpness, and then broke off again into a chuckle. “But I see this is -a love match of yours, and you have been drinking the lady’s health.” - -18. “Ah!” cried Markheim, with a strange curiosity. “Ah, have you been -in love? Tell me about that.” - -[Sidenote: Note change of attitude.] - -19. “I,” cried the dealer. “I in love! I never had the time, nor have I -the time to-day for all this nonsense. Will you take the glass?” - -[Sidenote: Analyse the forces back of Markheim’s parleying.] - -20. “Where is the hurry?” returned Markheim. “It is very pleasant to -stand here talking; and life is so short and insecure that I would not -hurry away from any pleasure--no, not even from so mild a one as this. -We should rather cling, cling to what little we can get, like a man at -a cliff’s edge. Every second is a cliff, if you think upon it--a cliff -a mile high--high enough, if we fall, to dash us out of every feature -of humanity. Hence it is best to talk pleasantly. Let us talk of each -other; why should we wear this mask? Let us be confidential. Who knows, -we might become friends?” - -21. “I have just one word to say to you,” said the dealer. “Either make -your purchase, or walk out of my shop.” - -[Sidenote: Note how quickly Markheim follows the unconscious lead.] - -22. “True, true,” said Markheim. “Enough fooling. To business. Show me -something else.” - -[Sidenote: FIRST EXTERNAL CRISIS.] - -23. The dealer stooped once more, this time to replace the glass upon -the shelf, his thin blonde hair falling over his eyes as he did so. -[Sidenote: Note all these.] - -Markheim moved a little nearer, with one hand in the pocket of his -great-coat; he drew himself up and filled his lungs; at the same time -many different emotions were depicted together on his face--terror, -horror and resolve, fascination and a physical repulsion; and through a -haggard lift of his upper lip, his teeth looked out. - -[Sidenote: He was prepared for the crime.] - -24. “This, perhaps, may suit,” observed the dealer; and then, as he -began to re-arise, Markheim bounded from behind upon his victim. The -long, skewerlike dagger flashed and fell. The dealer struggled like a -hen, striking his temple on the shelf, and then tumbled on the floor in -a heap. - -[Sidenote: FIRST MINOR CLIMAX.] - -[Sidenote: Beginning of the internal action. Note how all external -things now begin to play upon the internal man.] - -[Sidenote: Throughout, note Stevenson’s rich imagery, and also his -unusual vocabulary.] - -[Sidenote: An unusual word.] - -25. Time had some score of small voices in that shop, some stately and -slow as was becoming to their great age; others garrulous and hurried. -All these told out the seconds in an intricate chorus of tickings. Then -the passage of a lad’s feet, heavily running on the pavement, broke in -upon these smaller voices and startled Markheim into the consciousness -of his surroundings. He looked about him awfully. The candle stood -on the counter, its flame solemnly wagging in a draught; and by that -inconsiderable movement, the whole room was filled with noiseless -bustle and kept heaving like a sea: the tall shadows nodding, the gross -blots of darkness swelling and dwindling as with respiration, the faces -of the portraits and the china gods changing and wavering like images -in water. The inner door stood ajar, and peered into that leaguer of -shadows with a long slit of daylight like a pointing finger. - -[Sidenote: Picture.] - -[Sidenote: Evidence of premeditation.] - -[Sidenote: Note the interplay of the outward picture and Markheim’s -mind. Keep before you always the double movement of this study as both -progress side by side, finally resulting in the predominance of the -spiritual.] - -26. From these fear-stricken rovings, Markheim’s eyes returned to -the body of his victim, where it lay both humped and sprawling, -incredibly small and strangely meaner than in life. In these poor, -miserly clothes, in that ungainly attitude, the dealer lay like so much -sawdust. Markheim had feared to see it, and, lo! it was nothing. And -yet, as he gazed, this bundle of old clothes and pool of blood began -to find eloquent voices. There it must lie; there was none to work the -cunning hinges or direct the miracle of locomotion--there it must lie -till it was found. Found! ay, and then? Then would this dead flesh lift -up a cry that would ring over England, and fill the world with the -echoes of pursuit. Ay, dead, or not, this was still the enemy. “Time -was that when the brains were out,” he thought; and the first word -struck into his mind. Time, now that the deed was accomplished--time, -which had closed for the victim, had become instant and momentous for -the slayer. - -27. The thought was yet in his mind, when, first one and then another, -with every variety of pace and voice--one deep as the bell from a -cathedral turret, another ringing on its treble notes the prelude of a -waltz--the clocks began to strike the hour of three in the afternoon. - -[Sidenote: The old motive reasserts itself.] - -[Sidenote: PLOT INCIDENT.] - -[Sidenote: As fear subsides craft returns.] - -[Sidenote: A significant expression.] - -[Sidenote: Contrast physical and moral fear. Consider how the two are -related.] - -28. The sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that dumb chamber -staggered him. He began to bestir himself, going to and fro with the -candle, beleaguered by moving shadows, and startled to the soul by -chance reflections. In many rich mirrors, some of home designs, some -from Venice or Amsterdam, he saw his face repeated and repeated, as it -were an army of spies; his own eyes met and detected him; and the sound -of his own steps, lightly as they fell, vexed the surrounding quiet. -And still as he continued to fill his pockets, his mind accused him, -with a sickening iteration, of the thousand faults of his design. He -should have chosen a more quiet hour; he should have prepared an alibi; -he should not have used a knife; he should have been more cautious, and -only bound and gagged the dealer, and not killed him; he should have -been more bold, and killed the servant also; he should have done all -things otherwise; poignant regrets, weary, incessant toiling of the -mind to change what was unchangeable, to plan what was now useless, to -be the architect of the irrevocable past. Meanwhile, and behind all -this activity, brute terrors, like scurrying of rats in a deserted -attic, filled the more remote chambers of his brain with riot; the -hand of the constable would fall heavy on his shoulder, and his nerves -would jerk like a hooked fish; or he beheld, in galloping defile, the -dock, the prison, the gallows, and the black coffin. - -[Sidenote: Note the primary use of the word “rumor.”] - -[Sidenote: Contrast.] - -[Sidenote: Study of fear.] - -[Sidenote: Impressionism.] - -29. Terror of the people in the street sat down before his mind like -a besieging army. It was impossible, he thought, but that some rumor -of the struggle must have reached their ears and set on edge their -curiosity; and now, in all the neighboring houses, he divined them -sitting motionless and with uplifted ear--solitary people, condemned -to spend Christmas dwelling alone on memories of the past, and now -startlingly recalled from that tender exercise; happy family parties, -struck into silence round the table, the mother still with raised -finger: every degree and age and humor, but all, by their own hearths, -prying and hearkening and weaving the rope that was to hang him. -Sometimes it seemed to him he could not move too softly; the clink of -the tall Bohemian goblets rang out loudly like a bell; and alarmed by -the bigness of the ticking, he was tempted to stop the clocks. And -then, again, with a swift transition of his terrors, the very silence -of the place appeared a source of peril, and a thing to strike and -freeze the passerby; and he would step more boldly, and bustle aloud -among the contents of the shop, and imitate, with elaborate bravado, -the movements of a busy man at ease in his own house. - -[Sidenote: An important observation.] - -[Sidenote: Note how his reasoning becomes hyper-acute.] - -[Sidenote: Forecast.] - -30. But he was now so pulled about by different alarms that, while -one portion of his mind was still alert and cunning, another trembled -on the brink of lunacy. One hallucination in particular took a strong -hold on his credulity. The neighbor hearkening with white face beside -his window, the passerby arrested by a horrible surmise on the -pavement--these could at worst suspect, they could not know; through -the brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds could penetrate. But -here, within the house, was he alone? He knew he was; he had watched -the servant set forth sweethearting, in her poor best, “out for the -day” written in every ribbon and smile. Yes, he was alone, of course; -and yet, in the bulk of empty house above him, he could surely hear -a stir of delicate footing--he was surely conscious, inexplicably -conscious of some presence. Ay, surely; to every room and corner of the -house his imagination followed it; and now it was a faceless thing, and -yet had eyes to see with; and again it was a shadow of himself; and yet -again behold the image of the dead dealer, reinspired with cunning and -hatred. - -31. At times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the open door -which still seemed to repel his eyes. [Sidenote: Note force of -“blind.”] - -The house was tall, the skylight small and dirty, the day blind -with fog; and the light that filtered down to the ground story was -exceedingly faint, and showed dimly on the threshold of the shop. And -yet, in that strip of doubtful brightness, did there not hang wavering -a shadow? - -[Sidenote: Pseudo crisis.] - -[Sidenote: Contributory incident.] - -32. Suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial gentleman began -to beat with a staff on the shop-door, accompanying his blows with -shouts and railleries in which the dealer was continually called upon -by name. Markheim, smitten into ice, glanced at the dead man. But no! -he lay quite still; he was fled away far beyond earshot of these blows -and shoutings; he was sunk beneath seas of silence; and his name, which -would once have caught his notice above the howling of a storm, had -become an empty sound. And presently the jovial gentleman desisted from -his knocking and departed. - -[Sidenote: Note “apparent.”] - -[Sidenote: Key.] - -33. Here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be done, to get -forth from this accusing neighborhood, to plunge into a bath of London -multitudes, and to reach, on the other side of day, that haven of -safety and apparent innocence--his bed. One visitor had come: at any -moment another might follow and be more obstinate. To have done the -deed, and yet not to reap the profit, would be too abhorrent a failure. -The money, that was now Markheim’s concern; and as a means to that, -the keys. - -[Sidenote: Note subsidence of acute fears and rise of his true mood.] - -[Sidenote: Carefully consider the question of Markheim’s sanity, -judging only from the story as thus far told.] - -[Sidenote: Reaction.] - -34. He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, where the shadow -was still lingering and shivering; and with no conscious repugnance -of the mind, yet with a tremor of the belly, he drew near the body -of his victim. The human character had quite departed. Like a suit -half-stuffed with bran, the limbs lay scattered, the trunk doubled, -on the floor; and yet the thing repelled him. Although so dingy and -inconsiderable to the eye, he feared it might have more significance -to the touch. He took the body by the shoulders, and turned it on its -back. It was strangely light and supple, and the limbs, as if they had -been broken, fell into the oddest postures. The face was robbed of all -expression; but it was as pale as wax, and shockingly smeared with -blood about one temple. That was, for Markheim, the one displeasing -circumstance. It carried him back, upon the instant, to a certain fair -day in a fisher’s village: a gray day, a piping wind, a crowd upon the -street, the blare of brasses, the booming of drums, the nasal voice of -a ballad singer; and a boy going to and fro, buried over head in the -crowd and divided between interest and fear, until, coming out upon -the chief place of concourse, he beheld a booth and a great screen -with pictures, dismally designed, garishly colored: Brownrigg with -her apprentice; the Mannings with their murdered guest; Weare in the -death-grip of Thurtell; and a score besides of famous crimes. The thing -was as clear as an illusion; he was once again that little boy; he was -looking once again, and with the same sense of physical revolt, at -these vile pictures; he was still stunned by the thumping of the drums. -A bar of that day’s music returned upon his memory; and at that, for -the first time, a qualm came over him, a breath of nausea, a sudden -weakness of the joints, which he must instantly resist and conquer. - -[Sidenote: Key. What caused this benumbed conscience?] - -35. He judged it more prudent to confront than to flee from these -considerations; looking the more hardily in the dead face, bending -his mind to realize the nature and greatness of his crime. So little -a while ago that face had moved with every change of sentiment, that -pale mouth had spoken, that body had been all on fire with governable -energies; and now, and by his act, that piece of life had been -arrested, as the horologist, with interjected finger, arrests the -beating of the clock. So he reasoned in vain; he could rise to no more -remorseful consciousness; the same heart which had shuddered before -the painted effigies of crime, looked on its reality unmoved. At best, -he felt a gleam of pity for one who had been endowed in vain with all -those faculties that can make the world a garden of enchantment, one -who had never lived and who was now dead. But of penitence, no, not a -tremor. - -[Sidenote: PLOT INCIDENT.] - -[Sidenote: Forecast of moral crisis.] - -36. With that, shaking himself clear of these considerations, he found -the keys and advanced toward the open door of the shop. Outside, it -had begun to rain smartly; and the sound of the shower upon the roof -had banished silence. Like some dripping cavern, the chambers of the -house were haunted by an incessant echoing, which filled the ear and -mingled with the ticking of the clocks. And, as Markheim approached the -door, he seemed to hear, in answer to his own cautious tread, the steps -of another foot withdrawing up the stair. The shadow still palpitated -loosely on the threshold. He threw a ton’s weight of resolve upon his -muscles, and drew back the door. - -[Sidenote: Note harmony of setting with tone of approaching crisis.] - -[Sidenote: Compare Stevenson’s combination of fact and fantasy with -Hawthorne’s in “The White Old Maid.”] - -[Sidenote: Rise toward crisis.] - -[Sidenote: Body and spirit.] - -[Sidenote: A notable passage.] - -37. The faint, foggy daylight glimmered dimly on the bare floor and -stairs; on the bright suit of armor posted, halbert in hand, upon the -landing; and on the dark wood-carvings, and framed pictures that hung -against the yellow panels of the wainscot. So loud was the beating of -the rain through all the house that, in Markheim’s ears, it began to -be distinguished into many different sounds. Footsteps and sighs, the -tread of regiments marching in the distance, the chink of money in the -counting, and the creaking of doors held stealthily ajar, appeared to -mingle with the patter of the drops upon the cupola and the gushing of -the water in the pipes. The sense that he was not alone grew upon him -to the verge of madness. On every side he was haunted and begirt by -presences. He heard them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop, -he heard the dead man getting to his legs; and as he began with a great -effort to mount the stairs, feet fled quietly before him and followed -stealthily behind. If he were but deaf, he thought, how tranquilly he -would possess his soul. And then again, and hearkening with every fresh -attention, he blessed himself for that unresisting sense which held the -outposts and stood a trusty sentinel upon his life. His head turned -continually on his neck; his eyes, which seemed starting from their -orbits, scouted on every side, and on every side were half-rewarded as -with the tail of something nameless, vanishing. The four-and-twenty -steps to the first floor were four-and-twenty agonies. - -[Sidenote: Note the exception.] - -[Sidenote: Note how suspense in the reader is maintained by disclosing -Markheim’s suspense.] - -[Sidenote: Key.] - -[Sidenote: Is this normal?] - -38. On that first story, the doors stood ajar, three of them like three -ambushes, shaking his nerves like the throats of cannon. He could -never again, he felt, be sufficiently immured and fortified from men’s -observing eyes; he longed to be home, girt in by walls, buried among -bed-clothes, and invisible to all but God. And at that thought he -wondered a little, recollecting tales of other murderers and the fear -they were said to entertain of heavenly avengers. It was not so, at -least, with him. He feared the laws of nature, lest, in their callous -and immutable procedure, they should preserve some damning evidence -of his crime. He feared tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitious -terror, some scission in the continuity of man’s experience, some -willful illegality of nature. He played a game of skill, depending on -the rules, calculating consequence from cause; and what if nature, as -the defeated tyrant overthrew the chess-board, should break the mold of -their succession? The like had befallen Napoleon (so writers said) when -the winter changed the time of its appearance. The like might befall -Markheim: the solid walls might become transparent and reveal his -doings like those of bees in a glass hive; the stout planks might yield -under his foot like quicksands and detain him in their clutch; ay, and -there were soberer accidents that might destroy him; if, for instance, -the house should fall and imprison him beside the body of his victim; -or the house next door should fly on fire, and the firemen invade him -from all sides. These things he feared; and, in a sense, these things -might be called the hands of God reached forth against sin. But about -God himself he was at ease; his act was doubtless exceptional, but so -were his excuses, which God knew; it was there, and not among men, -that he felt sure of justice. - -[Sidenote: Note action of auto-suggestion.] - -[Sidenote: Remarkable relief in suspense period.] - -39. When he had got safe into the drawing-room, and shut the door -behind him, he was aware of a respite from alarms. The room was -quite dismantled, uncarpeted besides, and strewn with packing cases -and incongruous furniture; several great pier-glasses, in which he -beheld himself at various angles, like an actor on the stage; many -pictures, framed and unframed, standing with their faces to the wall; -a fine Sheraton sideboard, a cabinet of marquetry, and a great old -bed, with tapestry hangings. The windows opened to the floor; but by -great good fortune the lower part of the shutters had been closed, and -this concealed him from the neighbors. Here, then, Markheim drew in a -packing case before the cabinet, and began to search among the keys. It -was a long business, for there were many; and it was irksome, besides; -for, after all, there might be nothing in the cabinet, and time was on -the wing. But the closeness of the occupation sobered him. With the -tail of his eye he saw the door--even glanced at it from time to time -directly, like a besieged commander pleased to verify the good estate -of his defenses. But in truth he was at peace. The rain falling in the -street sounded natural and pleasant. Presently, on the other side, the -notes of a piano were wakened to the music of a hymn, and voices of -many children took up the air and words. How stately, how comfortable -was the melody! How fresh the youthful voices! Markheim gave ear to it -smilingly, as he sorted out the keys; and his mind was thronged with -answerable ideas and images; church-going children and the pealing of -the high organ; children afield, bathers by the brookside, ramblers on -the brambly common, kite-flyers in the windy and cloud-navigated sky; -and then, at another cadence of the hymn, back again to church, and the -somnolence of summer Sundays, and the high genteel voice of the parson -(which he smiled a little to recall) and the painted Jacobean tombs, -and the dim lettering of the Ten Commandments in the chancel. - -[Sidenote: Powerful contrast.] - -[Sidenote: Approach of moral crisis.] - -40. And as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, he was startled to his -feet. A flash of ice, a flash of fire, a bursting gush of blood, went -over him, and then he stood transfixed and thrilling. A step mounted -the stair slowly and steadily, and presently a hand was laid upon the -knob, and the lock clicked, and the door opened. - -[Sidenote: Markheim perceives only a physical danger. Note how long he -remains dead to any moral judgment of himself.] - -[Sidenote: Here is a real though unrecognized moral crisis. Fear -eventually leads to his moral triumph.] - -41. Fear held Markheim in a vice. What to expect he knew not, whether -the dead man walking, or the official ministers of human justice, or -some chance witness blindly stumbling in to consign him to the gallows. -But when a face was thrust into the aperture, glanced round the room, -looked at him, nodded and smiled as if in friendly recognition, and -then withdrew again, and the door closed behind it, his fear broke -loose from his control in a hoarse cry. At the sound of this the -visitant returned. - -[Sidenote: Note the symbolism of the closed door.] - -42. “Did you call me?” he asked, pleasantly, and with that he entered -the room and closed the door behind him. - -[Sidenote: KEY.] - -[Sidenote: This states the problem.] - -43. Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes. Perhaps there -was a film upon his sight, but the outlines of the newcomer seemed to -change and waver like those of the idols in the wavering candle-light -of the shop; and at times he thought he knew him; and at times he -thought he bore a likeness to himself; and always, like a lump of -living terror, there lay in his bosom the conviction that this thing -was not of the earth and not of God. - -44. And yet the creature had a strange air of the common-place, as he -stood looking on Markheim with a smile; and when he added: “You are -looking for the money, I believe?” it was in the tones of everyday -politeness. - -45. Markheim made no answer. - -46. “I should warn you,” resumed the other, “that the maid has left her -sweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be here. If Mr. Markheim be -found in this house, I need not describe to him the consequences.” - -47. “You know me?” cried the murderer. - -48. The visitor smiled. “You have long been a favorite of mine,” he -said; “and I have long observed and often sought to help you.” - -49. “What are you?” cried Markheim: “the devil?” - -[Sidenote: This is an important passage.] - -50. “What I may be,” returned the other, “cannot affect the service I -propose to render you.” - -[Sidenote: Forecast of Markheim’s struggle with his better self.] - -51. “It can,” cried Markheim; “it does! Be helped by you? No, never; -not by you! You do not know me yet, thank God, you do not know me!” - -52. “I know you,” replied the visitant, with a sort of kind severity or -rather firmness. “I know you to the soul.” - -[Sidenote: Does Markheim really know himself?] - -53. “Know me!” cried Markheim. “Who can do so? My life is but a -travesty and slander on myself. I have lived to belie my nature. All -men do; all men are better than this disguise that grows about and -stifles them. You see each dragged away by life, like one whom bravos -have seized and muffled in a cloak. If they had their own control--if -you could see their faces, they would be altogether different, they -would shine out for heroes and saints! I am worse than most; myself is -more overlaid; my excuse is known to me and God. But, had I the time, I -could disclose myself.” - -54. “To me?” inquired the visitant. - -[Sidenote: Note the author’s name for Markheim.] - -[Sidenote: Seek a cause for such reasoning.] - -55. “To you before all,” returned the murderer. “I supposed you were -intelligent. I thought--since you exist--you would prove a reader of -the heart. And yet you would propose to judge me by my acts! Think of -it; my acts! I was born and I have lived in a land of giants; giants -have dragged me by the wrists since I was born out of my mother--the -giants of circumstance. And you would judge me by my acts! But can you -not look within? Can you not understand that evil is hateful to me? Can -you not see within me the clear writing of conscience, never blurred by -any willful sophistry, although too often disregarded? Can you not read -me for a thing that surely must be common as humanity--the unwilling -sinner?” - -[Sidenote: Note the distinction between the final importance of cause -and effect.] - -[Sidenote: Contrast.] - -[Sidenote: MINOR MORAL CRISIS.] - -56. “All this is very feelingly expressed,” was the reply. “But it -regards me not. These points of consistency are beyond my province, -and I care not in the least by what compulsion you may have been -dragged away, so as you are but carried in the right direction. But -time flies; the servant delays, looking in the faces of the crowd and -at the pictures on the hoardings, but still she keeps moving nearer; -and remember, it is as if the gallows itself was striding toward you -through the Christmas streets! Shall I help you; I, who know all? Shall -I tell you where to find the money?” - -[Sidenote: A test of Markheim’s consistency.] - -57. “For what price?” asked Markheim. - -58. “I offer you the service for a Christmas gift,” returned the other. - -59. Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind of bitter -triumph. “No,” said he, “I will take nothing at your hands; if I were -dying of thirst, and it was your hand that put the pitcher to my lips, -I should find the courage to refuse. It may be credulous, but I will do -nothing to commit myself to evil.” - -60. “I have no objection to a death-bed repentance,” observed the -visitant. - -61. “Because you disbelieve their efficacy!” Markheim cried. - -[Sidenote: Key.] - -[Sidenote: Is this irony?] - -62. “I do not say so,” returned the other; “but I look on these things -from a different side, and when the life is done my interest falls. -The man has lived to serve me, to spread black looks under color of -religion, or to sow tares in the wheat-field, as you do, in a course -of weak compliance with desire. Now that he draws so near to his -deliverance, he can add but one act of service--to repent, to die -smiling, and thus to build up in confidence and hope the more timorous -of my surviving followers. I am not so hard a master. Try me. Accept -my help. Please yourself in life as you have done hitherto; please -yourself more amply, spread your elbows at the board; and when the -night begins to fall and the curtains to be drawn, I tell you, for -your greater comfort, that you will find it even easy to compound your -quarrel with your conscience, and to make a truckling peace with God. -I came but now from such a death bed, and the room was full of sincere -mourners, listening to the man’s last words: and when I looked into -that face, which had been set as a flint against mercy, I found it -smiling with hope.” - -[Sidenote: Markheim has judged the example.] - -63. “And do you, then, suppose me such a creature?” asked Markheim. “Do -you think I have no more generous aspirations than to sin, and sin, and -sin, and, at last, sneak into heaven? My heart rises at the thought. -Is this, then, your experience of mankind? or is it because you find -me with red hands that you presume such baseness? and is this crime of -murder indeed so impious as to dry up the very springs of good?” - -[Sidenote: Is this true reasoning?] - -[Sidenote: Note the detached attitude.] - -[Sidenote: Note paradox.] - - -64. “Murder is to me no special category,” replied the other. “All sins -are murder, even as all life is war. I behold your race, like starving -mariners on a raft, plucking crusts out of the hands of famine and -feeding on each other’s lives. I follow sins beyond the moment of their -acting; I find in all that the last consequence is death; and to my -eyes, the pretty maid who thwarts her mother with such taking graces on -a question of a ball, drips no less visibly with human gore than such -a murderer as yourself. Do I say that I follow sins? I follow virtues -also; they differ not by the thickness of a nail, they are both scythes -for the reaping angel of Death. Evil, for which I live, consists not in -action but in character. The bad man is dear to me; not the bad act, -whose fruits, if we could follow them far enough down the hurtling -cataract of the ages, might yet be found more blessed than those of the -rarest virtues. And it is not because you have killed a dealer, but -because you are Markheim, that I offered to forward your escape.” - -[Sidenote: An unusual expression.] - -[Sidenote: Note use of “of.”] - -[Sidenote: Could that have been?] - -65. “I will lay my heart open to you,” answered Markheim. “This crime -on which you find me is my last. On my way to it I have learned many -lessons; itself is a lesson, a momentous lesson. Hitherto I have been -driven with revolt to what I would not; I was a bond-slave to poverty, -driven and scourged. There are robust virtues that can stand in these -temptations; mine was not so: I had a thirst of pleasure. But to-day, -and out of this deed, I pluck both warning and riches--both the power -and a fresh resolve to be myself. I become in all things a free actor -in the world; I begin to see myself all changed, these hands the agents -of good, this heart at peace. Something comes over me out of the past; -something of what I have dreamed on Sabbath evenings to the sound of -the church organ, of what I forecast when I shed tears over noble -books, or talked, an innocent child, with my mother. There lies my -life; I have wandered a few years, but now I see once more my city of -destination.” - -66. “You are to use this money on the Stock Exchange, I think?” -remarked the visitor; “and there, if I mistake not, you have already -lost some thousands?” - -[Sidenote: Self-deception uncovered.] - -67. “Ah,” said Markheim, “but this time I have a sure thing.” - -68. “This time, again, you will lose,” replied the visitor, quietly. - -69. “Ah, but I keep back the half!” cried Markheim. - -70. “That also you will lose,” said the other. - -[Sidenote: Moral crisis begins to appear to Markheim.] - -[Sidenote: Self-deception still struggling.] - -71. The sweat started upon Markheim’s brow. “Well, then, what matter?” -he exclaimed. “Say it be lost, say I am plunged again in poverty, shall -one part of me, and that the worse, continue until the end to override -the better? Evil and good run strong in me, haling me both ways. I -do not love the one thing, I love all. I can conceive great deeds, -renunciations, martyrdoms; and though I be fallen to such a crime as -murder, pity is no stranger to my thoughts. I pity the poor; who knows -their trials better than myself? I pity and help them; I prize love, I -love honest laughter; there is no good thing nor true thing on earth -but I love it from my heart. And are my vices only to direct my life, -and my virtues to lie without effect, like some passive lumber of the -mind? Not so; good, also, is a spring of acts.” - -[Sidenote: Here the story is plainly didactic.] - -72. But the visitant raised his finger. “For six-and-thirty years that -you have been in this world,” said he, “through many changes of fortune -and varieties of humor, I have watched you steadily fall. Fifteen years -ago you would have started at a theft. Three years back you would -have blenched at the name of murder. Is there any crime, is there any -cruelty or meanness, from which you still recoil?--five years from now -I shall detect you in the fact! Downward, downward, lies your way; nor -can anything but death avail to stop you.” - -73. “It is true,” Markheim said, huskily, “I have in some degree -complied with evil. But it is so with all: the very saints, in the mere -exercise of living, grow less dainty, and take on the tone of their -surroundings.” - -[Sidenote: Key.] - -74. “I will propound to you one simple question,” said the other; “and -as you answer, I shall read to you your moral horoscope. You have grown -in many things more lax; possibly you do right to be so; and at any -account, it is the same with all men. But granting that, are you in any -one particular, however trifling, more difficult to please with your -own conduct, or do you go in all things with a looser rein?” - -[Sidenote: MINOR MORAL CLIMAX.] - -[Sidenote: Markheim at last sees himself.] - -75. “In any one?” repeated Markheim, with an anguish of consideration. -“No,” he added, with despair, “in none! I have gone down in all.” - -76. “Then,” said the visitor, “content yourself with what you are, for -you will never change; and the words of your part on this stage are -irrevocably written down.” - -77. Markheim stood for a long while silent, and indeed it was the -visitor who first broke the silence. “That being so,” he said, “shall I -show you the money?” - -78. “And grace?” cried Markheim. - -79. “Have you not tried it?” returned the other. “Two or three years -ago, did I not see you on the platform of revival meetings, and was not -your voice the loudest in the hymn?” - -80. “It is true,” said Markheim; “and I see clearly what remains for me -by way of duty. I thank you for these lessons from my soul: my eyes are -opened, and I behold myself at last for what I am.” - -81. At this moment, the sharp note of the door-bell rang through the -house; and the visitant, as though this were some concerted signal for -which he had been waiting, changed at once in his demeanor. - -[Sidenote: FULL MORAL CRISIS.] - -[Sidenote: PHYSICAL RESULTANT CRISIS.] - -[Sidenote: Final test.] - -82. “The maid!” he cried. “She has returned, as I forewarned you, and -there is now before you one more difficult passage. Her master, you -must say, is ill; you must let her in, with an assured but rather -serious countenance--no smiles, no overacting, and I promise you -success! Once the girl within, and the door closed, the same dexterity -that has already rid you of the dealer will relieve you of this last -danger in your path. Thenceforward you have the whole evening--the -whole night, if needful--to ransack the treasures of the house and to -make good your safety. This is help that comes to you with the mask of -danger. Up!” he cried: “up, friend; your life hangs trembling in the -scales; up, and act!” - -83. Markheim steadily regarded his counsellor. “If I be condemned to -evil acts,” he said, “there is still one door of freedom open--I can -cease from action. If my life be an ill thing, I can lay it down. -Though I be, as you say truly, at the beck of every small temptation, -I can yet, by one decisive gesture, place myself beyond the reach of -all. My love of good is damned to barrenness; it may, and let it, be! -But I have still my hatred of evil; and from that, to your galling -disappointment, you shall see that I can draw both energy and courage.” - -[Sidenote: Who was the visitant?] - -84. The features of the visitor began to undergo a wonderful and lovely -change; they brightened and softened with a tender triumph; and, even -as they brightened, faded and dislimned. But Markheim did not pause to -watch or understand the transformation. He opened the door and went -downstairs very slowly, thinking to himself. His past went soberly -before him; he beheld it as it was, ugly and strenuous like a dream, -random as chance-medley--a scene of defeat. Life, as he thus reviewed -it, tempted him no longer; but on the further side he perceived a quiet -haven for his bark. He paused in the passage, and looked into the -shop, where the candle still burned by the dead body. It was strangely -silent. Thoughts of the dealer swarmed into his mind, as he stood -gazing. And then the bell once more broke out into impatient clamor. - -85. He confronted the maid upon the threshold with something like a -smile. - -[Sidenote: MORAL CLIMAX. DENOUEMENT.] - -86. “You had better go for the police,” said he: “I have killed your -master.” - - - MORRISON AND HIS WRITINGS - -Arthur Morrison was born in Kent, England, in 1863. After some -experience as a clerk in the civil service, as the secretary of a -charity trust in the East End of London, and as a journalist on the -editorial staff of an evening paper, he settled down definitely to his -career as novelist and writer on oriental art. He is best known as a -journalist, however, and his familiarity with the East End has largely -contributed to his success in depicting the sordid life of London’s -“mean streets,” as the “remorseless realism” of his pictures testify. -Mr. Morrison’s literary work was in the nature of prose and verse -panegyrizing bicycles and bicycling. His principal works, apart from -several plays and magazine contributions, are _Tales of Mean Streets_; -the several _Martin Hewitt_ (detective) books; _A Child of the Jago_; -_To London Town_; _The Hole in the Wall_; _The Red Triangle_; _The -Green Eye of Goona_ (published in America as _The Green Diamond_); and -_The Painters of Japan_. - -Mr. Morrison’s best fiction is not large in bulk, for his detective -stories are surpassed both in merit and in popular appeal by more than -one writer on similar themes; but in his _Tales of Mean Streets_, -which contains the appended study, “On the Stairs,” he has attained -a compressed power equalled only by the French realists and scarcely -surpassed even by them. He has brought the art of suggestion to a high -pass, his swiftness and firmness of delineation are equally effective, -and though his subjects are sordid and often depressing they live -before us as real folk. - - The introduction to _Tales of Mean Streets_ appeared in - _Macmillan’s Magazine_ in October, 1891, where it was called - simply, “A Street.” This sketch attracted the attention of Mr. - W. E. Henley, who gave the young writer the benefit of his own - knowledge and criticism; and it is to Henley and to Walter Besant - that Mr. Morrison makes special acknowledgment for help in the - technicalities and mechanism of his tales. Most of these _Tales of - Mean Streets_ appeared in the _National Observer_ (while Henley was - the editor), and a few in the _Pall Mall Budget_.--_Book Buyer_ - (London), vol. 12. - - If the modern novel about the slums, such as novels of Mr. Arthur - Morrison, or the exceedingly able novels of Mr. Somerset Maugham, - are intended to be sensational, I can only say that that is a noble - and reasonable object, and that they attain it.... It may be ... - it is necessary to have in our fiction the image of the horrible - and hairy East-ender, merely to keep alive in us a fearful and - childlike wonder at external peculiarities.... To summarize, our - slum fiction is quite defensible as æsthetic fiction; it is not - defensible as spiritual fact.--GILBERT K. CHESTERTON, _Heretics_. - - Ever seeking the clean-cut, picturesque phrase and the vivid - word, he produced a very striking picture of the East End. But, - nevertheless, it was not quite satisfactory and convincing. Human - nature does not alter so much with conditions as he seems to - think. A little less or a little more morality does not affect its - elements.... Mr. Morrison’s strongest gift in writing is a cynicism - that is almost brutal. With it he elaborates the features of all - his characters till the impression is produced that one savage, - hideous, ugly coster and one gaudy-feathered, bedizened “Jonah” - have acted as models for all his studies of Jagodom. Moreover, his - success has been achieved in pictures of the brutal.--_Academy_ - (London), vol. 52. - - The “mean streets” are streets in London.... [They] have found in - Arthur Morrison an interpreter who lifts them out of their meanness - upon the plane of a just claim to human sympathy. He lets us see - the relief. Bill Napper, the drunken kerb-whacker, come into - property and defending it against the rascally labor agitator, - Scuddy Lond, mixing religious fervor and till-tapping with entire - sincerity, Simmons and Ford, victims of their joint wife’s “jore” - and mania for trouser-making, even the Anarchists of the Red Cow - group, appeal to us with a sense almost of kinship because we feel - that the figures are real. They are capital character-studies - besides. Dickens never made a finer than the thief Scuddy Lond, or - than Billy Chope.... The art of these stories seems flawless. Mr. - Morrison’s gift amounts to genius.--JACOB RIIS, _Romances of “The - Other Half,” The Book Buyer_, vol. 12. - - - FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON MORRISON - -_Methods of Arthur Morrison_, _Academy_, vol. 50, 531; _His Work, -Academy_, vol. 52, 493; _Blackwood’s Magazine_, vol. 163, 734; _How to -Write a Short Story, Bookman_, vol. 5, 45; _Morrison as a Realist_, -H. D. Traill, _Fortnightly_, vol. 67, 65; _Reply_, A. Morrison, _New -Review_, vol. 16, 326; _Child of the Jago: True to Facts_, A. O. Jay, -_Fortnightly_, vol. 67, 324. - - - FOR ANALYSIS - - ON THE STAIRS - BY ARTHUR MORRISON - -The house had been “genteel.” When trade was prospering in the East -End, and the ship-fitter or block-maker thought it no shame to live in -the parish where his workshop lay, such a master had lived here. Now, -it was a tall, solid, well-bricked, ugly house, grimy and paintless in -the joinery, cracked and patched in the windows: where the front door -stood open all day long; and the womankind sat on the steps, talking -of sickness and deaths and the cost of things; and treacherous holes -lurked in the carpet of road-soil on the stairs and in the passage. For -when eight families live in a house, nobody buys a door-mat, and the -street was one of those streets that are always muddy. It smelt, too, -of many things, none of them pleasant (one was fried fish); but for all -that it was not a slum. - -2. Three flights up, a gaunt woman with bare forearms stayed on her way -to listen at a door which, opening, let out a warm, fetid waft from a -close sick-room. A bent and tottering old woman stood on the threshold, -holding the door behind her. - -3. “An’ is 'e no better now, Mrs. Curtis?” the gaunt woman asked, with -a nod at the opening. - -4. The old woman shook her head, and pulled the door closer. Her jaw -waggled loosely in her withered chaps: “Nor won’t be; till 'e’s gone.” -Then after a certain pause, “'E’s goin’,” she said. - -5. “Don’t doctor give no 'ope?” - -6. “Lor’ bless ye, I don’t want to ast no doctors,” Mrs. Curtis -replied, with something not unlike a chuckle. “I’ve seed too many on -’em. The boy’s a-goin’, fast; I can see that. An’ then”--she gave the -handle another tug, and whispered--“he’s been called.” She nodded -amain; “Three seprit knocks at the bed-head las’ night; an’ I know what -_that_ means!” - -7. The gaunt woman raised her brows, and nodded. “Ah, well,” she said, -“we all on us comes to it some day, sooner or later. An’ it’s often a -'appy release.” - -8. The two looked into space beyond each other, the elder with a nod -and a croak. Presently the other pursued, “'E’s been a very good son, -ain’t 'e?” - -9. “Ay, ay, well enough son to me,” responded the old woman, a -little peevishly; “an’ I’ll 'ave ’im put away decent, though there’s -on’y the Union for me after. I can do that, thank Gawd!” she added, -meditatively, as chin on fist she stared into the thickening dark over -the stairs. - -10. “When I lost my pore 'usband,” said the gaunt woman with a certain -brightening, “I give ’im a 'ansome funeral. 'E was a Oddfeller, an’ I -got twelve pound. I 'ad a oak caufin an’ a open 'earse. There was a -kerridge for the fam’ly an’ one for 'is mates--two 'orses each, an’ -feathers, an’ mutes; an’ it went the furthest way round to the cimitry. -'Wotever 'appens, Mrs. Manders,’ says the undertaker, ‘you’ll feel -as you’ve treated 'im proper; nobody can’t reproach you over that.’ -An’ they couldn’t. 'E was a good 'usband to me, an’ I buried ’im -respectable.” - -11. The gaunt woman exulted. The old, old story of Manders’s funeral -fell upon the other one’s ears with a freshened interest, and she -mumbled her gums ruminantly. “Bob’ll 'ave a 'ansome buryin', too,” she -said. “I can make it up, with the insurance money, an’ this, an’ that. -On’y I dunno about mutes. It’s a expense.” - -12. In the East End, when a woman has not enough money to buy a thing -much desired, she does not say so in plain words; she says the thing -is an “expense,” or a “great expense.” It means the same thing, but -it sounds better. Mrs. Curtis had reckoned her resources, and found -that mutes would be an “expense.” At a cheap funeral mutes cost -half-a-sovereign and their liquor. Mrs. Manders said as much. - -13. “Yus, yus, 'arf-a-sovereign,” the old woman assented. Within, the -sick feebly beat the floor with a stick. “I’m a-comin’,” she cried -shrilly; “yus, 'arf-a-sovereign, but it’s a lot, an’ I don’t see 'ow -I’m to do it--not at present.” She reached for the door-handle again, -but stopped and added, by after-thought, “Unless I don’t 'ave no -plooms.” - -14. “It 'ud be a pity not to 'ave plooms. I 'ad--” - -15. There were footsteps on the stairs: then a stumble and a testy -word. Mrs. Curtis peered over into the gathering dark. “Is it the -doctor, sir?” she asked. It was the doctor’s assistant; and Mrs. -Manders tramped up to the next landing as the door of the sick-room -took him in. - -16. For five minutes the stairs were darker than ever. Then the -assistant, a very young man, came out again, followed by the old woman -with a candle. Mrs. Manders listened in the upper dark. “He’s sinking -fast,” said the assistant. “He _must_ have a stimulant. Dr. Mansell -ordered port wine. Where is it?” Mrs. Curtis mumbled dolorously. “I -tell you he _must_ have it,” he averred with unprofessional emphasis -(his qualification was only a month old). “The man can’t take solid -food, and his strength must be kept up somehow. Another day may make -all the difference. Is it because you can’t afford it?” “It’s a -expense--sich a expense, doctor,” the old woman pleaded. “An’ wot with -'arf-pints o’ milk an’--” She grew inarticulate, and mumbled dismally. - -17. “But he must have it, Mrs. Curtis, if it’s your last shilling: -it’s the only way. If you mean you absolutely haven’t the money--” and -he paused a little awkwardly. He was not a wealthy young man--wealthy -young men do not devil for East End doctors--but he was conscious -of a certain haul of sixpences at nap the night before; and, being -inexperienced, he did not foresee the career of persecution whereon he -was entering at his own expense and of his own motion. He produced five -shillings: “If you absolutely haven’t the money, why--take this and get -a bottle--good: not at a public-house. But mind, _at once_. He should -have had it before.” - -18. It would have interested him, as a matter of coincidence, to know -that his principal had been guilty of the selfsame indiscretion--even -the amount was identical--on that landing the day before. But, as Mrs. -Curtis said nothing of this, he floundered down the stair and out -into the wetter mud, pondering whether or not the beloved son of a -Congregational minister might take full credit for a deed of charity on -the proceeds of sixpenny nap. But Mrs. Curtis puffed her wrinkles, and -shook her head sagaciously as she carried in her candle. From the room -came a clink as of money falling into a teapot. And Mrs. Manders went -about her business. - -19. The door was shut, and the stair a pit of blackness. Twice a lodger -passed down, and up and down, and still it did not open. Men and women -walked on the lower flights, and out at the door, and in again. From -the street a shout or a snatch of laughter floated up the pit. On the -pavement footsteps rang crisper and fewer, and from the bottom passage -there were sounds of stagger and sprawl. A demented old clock buzzed -divers hours at random, and was rebuked every twenty minutes by the -regular tread of a policeman on his beat. Finally, somebody shut the -street-door with a great bang, and the street was muffled. A key turned -inside the door on the landing, but that was all. A feeble light shone -for hours along the crack below, and then went out. The crazy old clock -went buzzing on, but nothing left that room all night. Nothing that -opened the door.... - -20. When next the key turned, it was to Mrs. Manders’s knock, in the -full morning; and soon the two women came out on the landing together, -Mrs. Curtis with a shapeless clump of bonnet. “Ah, 'e’s a lovely -corpse,” said Mrs. Manders. “Like wax. So was my 'usband.” - -21. “I must be stirrin’,” croaked the old woman, “an’ go about the -insurance an’ the measurin’ an’ that. There’s lots to do.” - -22. “Ah, there is. 'Oo are you goin’ to 'ave,--Wilkins? I 'ad Wilkins. -Better than Kedge, _I_ think: Kedge’s mutes dresses rusty, an’ their -trousis is frayed. If you was thinkin’ of 'avin’ mutes--” - -23. “Yus, yus,”--with a palsied nodding,--“I’m a-goin’ to 'ave mutes: I -can do it respectable, thank Gawd!” - -24. “And the plooms?” - -25. “Ay, yus, and the plooms too. They ain’t sich a great expense, -after all.” - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY - -1. What are the points of similarity between the Character-Study and -the Psychological Study? - -2. Define (a) Psychology, (b) Realism. - -3. Does Markheim’s change of heart seem to you to be genuine? Give your -reasons. - -4. Analyze his motives fully. - -5. Is the supernatural element convincing? - -6. Could conscience produce the same effect as the Visitant? - -7. What impression did Stevenson seek to convey by “Markheim”? - -8. Fully analyze the thoughts, feelings, and motives of the mother. - -9. Can you detect Morrison’s motive in writing “On the Stairs”? - -10. Fully analyze one other psychological study, from any source. - - - TEN REPRESENTATIVE PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDIES - -“A Coward,” Guy de Maupassant, translated in _The Odd Number_. - -“Another Gambler,” Paul Bourget, translated in _Stories by Foreign -Authors_. - -“La Bretonne,” André Theuriet, translated in _Short-Story -Masterpieces_. - -“The Song of Death,” Hermann Sudermann, translated in _The Indian -Lily_. - -“The Recovery,” Edith Wharton, in _Crucial Instances_. - -“Billy-Boy,” John Luther Long, in volume of same title. - -“The Executioner,” Honoré de Balzac, translated in _Masterpieces of -Fiction_. - -“The Revolt of ‘Mother,’” Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, _Harper’s -Magazine_, vol. 81, 553. - -“The Lady or the Tiger,” Frank R. Stockton, in volume of same title. - -“The Man Without a Country,” Edward Everett Hale, in _Short Story -Classics, American_. - - - BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE - -An extended list of books and magazine articles on the short-story -will be found on pages 375-378, 426-431 of the present author’s -_Writing the Short-Story_, New York, Hinds, Hayden and Eldredge -(1909), xiv+441 pp. Most of the bibliographical references here -appended also appear in the revised edition of _Writing the -Short-Story_ (1918). Magazine articles have not been included, as -they may be found listed in the cumulative periodical indexes. -For several years, _The Writer’s Monthly_, Springfield, Mass., a -periodical for literary workers, has printed monthly a list of -magazine articles of interest to writers. - -_Notes on the Influence of E. T. A. Hoffman on Edgar Allan Poe_, G. -Gruener, Modern Language Association of America (1904). - -_How to Write_, Charles Sears Baldwin. Macmillan (1906). Chapters -on “How to Tell a Story,” and “How to Describe.” Based upon Bible -narratives. - -_The Art of the Short-Story_, George W. Gerwig. Werner (1909). A -brief general study. Out of print. - -_The Short Story in English_, Henry Seidel Canby. Holt (1909). An -exhaustive examination into the origin and development of the form. - -_A History of Story Telling_, Arthur Ransome. Stokes (1909). - -_Studies in Several Literatures_, Harry Thurston Peck. Dodd, Mead -(1909). Chapters on “Poe,” and “The Detective Story.” - -_The Art of Writing_ (also issued under the title, _The Art of -Short Story Writing_), George Randolph Chester. The Publishers -Syndicate (1910). A collection of brief notes on all phases of the -title-subject. - -_The Fiction Factory_, John Milton Edwards (pseudonym). Editor Co. -(1911). “The author tells how he conceived, planned, wrote and sold -$100,000 worth of manuscripts.” - -_The Craftsmanship of Writing_, Frederic Taber Cooper. Dodd, Mead -(1912). These papers appeared serially in _The Bookman_, New York. - -_The Plot of the Short Story_, Henry Albert Phillips. -Stanhope-Dodge (1912). The technique and mechanics of plot. - -_The American Short Story_, C. Alphonso Smith. Ginn (1912). An -American reprint of one of the author’s lectures delivered as -Roosevelt Professor at the University of Berlin. - -_The Art and Business of Story Writing_, W. B. Pitkin. Macmillan -(1912). - -_The American Short Story_, Elias Lieberman. Editor Co. (1912). - -_The Art of Story Writing_, J. Berg Esenwein and Mary Davoren -Chambers. Home Correspondence School (1913). A study of the shorter -fictional forms--the anecdote, fable, parable, tale, sketch, and -short-story--with outlines for study and instruction. - -_The Technique of the Mystery Story_, Carolyn Wells. Home -Correspondence School (1913). - -_Art in Short Story Narration_, Henry Albert Phillips. -Stanhope-Dodge (1913). - -_The Art of Writing_, Preface to “The Nigger of the Narcissus,” -Joseph Conrad. Doubleday (1914). - -_Short Stories in the Making_, Robert Wilson Neal. Oxford -University Press (1914). - -_The Author’s Craft_, Arnold Bennett. Doran (1914) - -_The Art of the Short Story_, Carol Grabo. Scribner (1914). - -_The Modern Short-Story_, Lilian Notestein and Waldo H. Dunn. -Barnes (1914). - -_On the Art of Writing_, A. Quiller-Couch. Putnam (1916). - -_The Contemporary Short Story_, Harry T. Baker. Heath (1916). - -_The Short-Story_, Barry Pain. Doran (1916). Reprint of an earlier -English edition. - -_The Thirty Six Dramatic Situations_, Georges Polti. Editor Co. -(1916). - -_A Handbook of Story Writing_, Blanche Colton Williams. Dodd, Mead -(1917). - -_Children’s Stories and How to Tell Them_, J. Berg Esenwein and -Marietta Stockard. Home Correspondence School (1917). - -_Helps for Student-Writers_, Willard E. Hawkins. The Student-Writer -Press (1917). - -_The Technique of Fiction Writing_, Robert Saunders Dowst. Editor -Co. (1917). - -Besides the edited collections of miscellaneous short-stories -included in the first edition of _Writing the Short-Story_, which -need not be reproduced here, are the following. In most instances -the collections are prefaced by introductory notes by the editors -named. - -_The Best American Tales_, W. P. Trent and John Bell Henneman. -Crowell (1907). - -_International Library of Fiction_ (3 vols.), William Patten. -Collier (1910). - -_The Great English Short-Story Writers_ (2 vols.), William J. and -Coningsby W. Dawson. Harper (1910). - -_The Lock and Key Library_ (10 vols.), Julian Hawthorne. This is -an expansion of the six-volume edition of _Mystery and Detective -Stories_ (6 vols.). Review of Reviews Co. (1912). - -_Short-Story Masterpieces, French_ (2 vols.), J. Berg Esenwein. -Home Correspondence School (1912). - -_Short-Story Masterpieces, Russian_ (2 vols.), J. Berg Esenwein. -Home Correspondence School (1913). - -_A Collection of Short Stories_, L. A. Pittenger. Macmillan (1913). - -_A Study of the Short Story_, Henry S. Canby. Holt (1913). - -_A Book of Short Stories_, Stuart P. Sherman. Holt (1914). - -_Types of the Short-Story_, Benjamin A. Heydrick. Scott, Foresman -(1914). - -_The Short-Story_, E. A. Cross. McClurg (1914). - -_Modern Short Stories_, Margaret Ashmun. Macmillan (1914). - -_Short Stories_, Leonard Moulton. Houghton, Mifflin (1915). - -_Short Stories for High Schools_, Rosa M. R. Mikels. Scribner -(1915). - -_Elements of the Short Story_, E. E. Hale, Jr., and F. T. Dawson. -Holt (1915). - -_Short Stories from “Life,”_ T. L. Masson. Doubleday (1916). - -_Short Stories and Selections, for Use in Secondary Schools_, -Emilie K. Baker. Macmillan (1916). - -_Representative Short Stories_, Nina Hart and Edna M. Perry. -Macmillan (1917). - -_The Best Short Stories of 1915, and The Yearbook of the American -Short Story_, E. J. O’Brien. Small, Maynard (1916). - -Similar collections by the same editor have been issued for 1916 -and 1917, and others for later years are to follow. - -_Atlantic Narratives_, Charles Swain Thomas. Atlantic Monthly Press -(1918). - -_Index to Short Stories._ Ina TenEyck Firkins. Wilson. - - - - - INDEX - - -In this index, names of authors are printed in small capitals and -titles of books in italics; titles of short-stories are enclosed in -quotations, and general persons and subjects are in Roman type. It -has not seemed necessary to index titles and authors which are merely -included in biographical and bibliographical notes. - - - A - -Action, 2, 3. - -ADDISON, JOSEPH, xix. - -Adventure (see Action), xvi, 3. - -Anecdote, xvi, xvii, xx. - -_Arabian Nights_, xviii. - - - B - -BALDWIN, CHARLES S., xxiv. - -BALZAC, HONORÉ DE, xx, 134, 253. - -BARRIE, JAMES M., 133, 215-249. - -BARRETT, CHARLES RAYMOND, xxiii. - -BEERS, H. A., 300. - -BERANGER, 320. - -Bibliography of Short-Story, xxi, 433. - -BIERCE, AMBROSE, 72. - -BOCCACCIO, xviii; - _Decameron_, xvii; - _Rinaldo_, xvii. - -BURKE, EDMUND, 132. - -BURTON, RICHARD, 32. - -BUTLER, ELLIS PARKER, 133. - - - C - -CANBY, H. S., xxiv, 32, 33, 75, 76, 149, 258, 301, 302. - -Characters, 4, 354, 355, 356. - -Character Studies, 353-389. - -CHAUCER, GEOFFREY, xviii, - _Canterbury Tales_, xvii, - _Pardoner’s Tale_, xvii. - -CHESTERTON, GILBERT K., 424. - -CODY, SHERWIN, xxiii. - -Comedy, 192. - -_Conte dévot_, xvi, xvii. - -Contributory incident, 21, 199. - -COPPÉE, FRANÇOIS, 134, 368-388. - -“Courting of T’Nowhead’s Bell, The,” 219-249. - -CRAWFORD, F. MARION, 72. - -CRAWFORD, V. M., 137, 138. - -Crisis, xxvi, 355. - -CROSS, J. W., 252. - -CURTIS, GEORGE WILLIAM, 70. - - - D - -DAUDET, ALPHONSE, 133-147. - -DEFOE, DANIEL, xix. - -Denouement, xxvi. - -Detective Story, xix. - -Developing incident (see contributory incident). - -DYE, CHARITY, xxiii. - - - E - -EDGEWORTH, MARIA, _Moral Tales_, xix. - -Egyptian tales, xv, xvi. - -ELIOT, GEORGE, 252. - -Emotion, Stories of, 131-190. - -Episode, xvii, xix. - -Essay-Stories, xix. - -_Esther, Book of_, xvi. - -Exercises, xxxi, 67, 129, 189, 249, 290, 351, 388, 431. - - - F - -_Fabliau_, xviii. - -FAGUET, ÉMILE, 6. - -“Fall of the House of Usher, The,” 320-351. - -Fiction, Art of, xiii. - -FLAUBERT, GUSTAVE, 32, 33. - - - G - -Ghosts, 70. - -_Golden Ass, The_, Apuleius, xvi. - -_Graham’s Magazine_, xxii, 295. - -GRENIER, EDOUARD, 7. - -GRISWOLD, HATTIE T., 218. - -_Guardian_, xix. - - - H - -HAMILTON, CLAYTON, 354. - -HAMMERTON, J. A., 218. - -_Handbook of Literary Criticism_, 31. - -HARTE, BRET, 133, 253, 254. - -HAWTHORNE, JULIAN, 70, 258. - -HAWTHORNE, NATHANIEL, xix, xxii, xxiii, 33, 71, 75, 297-319. - -HENRY, O., 193-215. - -HIGGINSON, THOMAS WENTWORTH, xxiii. - -HOFFMAN, E. A., xix, 75. - -Homeric stories, xv. - -Humorous Stories, 191-250. - -HUTTON, R. H., 301. - - - I - -_Idler_, xix. - -Impressionistic Stories, 293-352. - -INDEPENDENT, xxiii. - -IRVING, WASHINGTON, xix, 71; - _Rip Van Winkle_, xviii. - - - J - -JACOBS, W. W., 108-129. - -JAMES, HENRY, 137, 149, 279. - -JESSUP, ALEXANDER, xxiv. - -JOHNSON, SAMUEL, xix. - - - K - -KING, GRACE, 6, 7. - -KIPLING, RUDYARD, 31, 133, 147-189, 258. - - - L - -LANG, ANDREW, 32, 75. - -“Last Class, The,” 134, 136, 139-147. - -LE GALLIENNE, RICHARD, 150, 258, 300. - -LEMMON, LEONARD, 258. - -LEWIN, WALTER, 257, 258. - -LEWIS, E. H., xxiii. - -_Lippincott’s Magazine_, xxiii. - -Local color, 8, 254 (see setting). - -“Lodging for the Night, A,” 32, 34-67. - -LONGFELLOW, H. W., 299. - - - M - -MABIE, HAMILTON WRIGHT, 279. - -MCINTYRE, MARION, 137. - -MACLAREN, IAN, 216. - -“Mateo Falcone,” 8-29, 134, 254. - -MATTHEWS, BRANDER, xxiii, 75, 280, 370, 371. - -“Markheim,” 32, 33, 393-422. - -MAUPASSANT, GUY DE, vii, xxix, 133, 196, 254, 277-290, 356-368. - -MÉRIMÉE, PROSPER, xix, xx, 4, 8-29. - -Milesian Tales, xvi. - -MILLER, MERION M., 370. - -“Moonlight,” 253, 278, 281-290. - -“Monkey’s Paw, The,” 110-129, 134. - -MORRISON, ARTHUR, 422-431. - -Mystery and Fantasy Stories, 69-130. - - - N - -NATHAN, G. J., 196. - -NODIER, CHARLES, xix. - -Novel, xiii. - -Novelette, xx, xxvii. - -_Novella_, xvii, xviii. - - - O - -O’BRIEN, FITZ-JAMES, 72. - -“On the Stairs,” 393, 425-431. - -“Outcasts of Poker Flat, The,” 253, 258-277. - - - P - -PATER, WALTER, 392. - -PECK, HARRY THURSTON, 197. - -PELLISSIER, GEORGES, 7. - -PERRY, BLISS, 2, 392. - -PHELPS, WILLIAM LYON, 31. - -“Piece of String, The,” 356-368. - -Plot, xxv. - -Plot incident, 11. - -POE, EDGAR ALLAN, xix, xx, xxi, xxii, xxv, - 30, 72-107, 134, 294, 295, 296, 320-351. - -Psychological Studies, 391-432. - -“Purloined Letter, The,” 72, 75-107. - -PUSHKIN, xix. - - - Q - -Questions, see Exercises. - - - R - -_Rambler_, xix. - -“Ransom of Red Chief, The,” 198-215. - -Representative Stories, Lists of, 68, 130, 190, 250, 290, 351, 389, 432. - -RIIS, JACOB, 424. - -Romanticism, 31. - -ROZ, FIRMIN, 280. - -_Ruth, Book of_, 133. - - - S - -Sadness in Stories, viii. - -SAINTSBURY, GEORGE, 7. - -SANDERSON, ROBERT, 370. - -_Saturday Review_, xxiii. - -Scenario, xvi, xxvii. - -SCOTT, SIR WALTER, xix. - -Setting, Stories of, 251-290. - -SHERAN, WILLIAM H., 31. - -_Short History of French Literature_, 7. - -Short-Story, origin of, xx; - defined, xxv, xxvi; - Study of, xiii, xiv. - -Sketch, xxviii, 355. - -SMITH, C. ALFONSO, xxiii. - -SMITH, LEWIS W., xxiii. - -_Spectator_, xix. - -SPIELHAGEN, FRIEDRICH, xxiii. - -STEELE, RICHARD, xix. - -STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS, 29-67, 393-422. - -Story-tellers, xv, xvi. - -“Substitute, The,” 371-388. - -SYMONS, ARTHUR, 138, 279. - - - T - -Tale, xv, xvii, xx, xxvii, 355. - -_Taller_, xix. - -TIECK, J. L., xix, 75. - -To Teachers, vii. - -TRENT, W. P., 137. - -TWAIN, MARK, 193. - - - V - -VOLTAIRE, xix, 72. - - - W - -WARD, ARTEMUS, 193. - -_Warner Library_, 6, 7, 218, 280, 370. - -WEISS, JOHN, 192. - -“White Old Maid, The,” 302-319. - -WHITE, WILLIAM ALLEN, 193. - -“Without Benefit of Clergy,” 134, 148-189. - -_Writing the Short-Story_, vii, ix, xi, xxvi, 133, 253, 255. - - - Z - -_Zadig_, xix, 72. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STUDYING THE SHORT-STORY *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Berg Esenwein</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Studying the short-story</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: J. Berg Esenwein</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 11, 2022 [eBook #68291]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Andrés V. Galia, QMacrocarpa and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STUDYING THE SHORT-STORY ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp51" id="cover" style="max-width: 64.1875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="tnote"> - <p class="center p4 big1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - -<p>In the plain text version text in italics is enclosed by underscores -(_italics_), and small capitals are represented in upper case as in -SMALL CAPS.</p> - -<p>The book cover was modified by the transcriber and has been added to -the public domain.</p> - -<p>A number of words in this book have both hyphenated and non-hyphenated -variants. For the words with both variants present the one more used -has been kept.</p> - -<p>Obvious punctuation and other printing errors have been corrected.</p> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr class="tb x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h1>Studying the Short-Story</h1> -</div> - -<p class="big1 p2 center">SIXTEEN SHORT-STORY CLASSICS<br /> -WITH INTRODUCTIONS, NOTES AND<br /> -A NEW LABORATORY STUDY METHOD<br /> -FOR INDIVIDUAL READING AND<br /> -USE IN COLLEGES AND SCHOOLS</p> - - -<p class="center p6" >BY</p> -<p class="center big3">J. BERG ESENWEIN, A.M., <span class="smcap">Lit.D.</span></p> -<p class="center">EDITOR OF THE WRITER’S MONTHLY</p> - -<p class="center p2">REVISED EDITION</p> - -<p class="center big1 p2">THE WRITER’S LIBRARY<br /> -EDITED BY J. BERG ESENWEIN</p> - -<p class="center p6 big1">HINDS, HAYDEN & ELDREDGE, <span class="smcap">Inc.</span><br /> -<small>NEW YORK <span style="padding-left: 2em; ">PHILADELPHIA</span> <span style="padding-left: 2em; ">CHICAGO</span></small></p> - - - - - -<div class="chapter"><p class="center p6" >Copyright 1912<br /> -<span class="smcap">By J. Berg Esenwein</span></p> - -<p class=" center p1 p6b" >Copyright 1918<br /> -<span class="smcap">By J. Berg Esenwein</span></p> -</div> - - - -<div class="chapter"><p class="center p6 p6b big1" >TO<br /> -MOTHER</p> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="p4 big2 center">TABLE OF CONTENTS</p> -</div> - - - - -<table class="autotable" summary="toc"> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"> </td> -<td class="tdc"><small>PAGE</small></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"> </td> -<td class="tdl">TO TEACHERS AND STUDENTS</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_vii">vii</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"> </td> -<td class="tdl">PUBLISHERS’ NOTE</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_xi">xi</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"> </td> -<td class="tdl">AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF THE SHORT-STORY</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_xiii">xiii</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 0.5em; ">I. </td> -<td class="tdl">STORIES OF ACTION AND ADVENTURE</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> -</tr> - - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mérimée and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“Mateo Falcone,” <em>Prosper Mérimée</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Stevenson and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“A Lodging for the Night,” <em>Robert Louis Stevenson</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Suggestive Questions for Study</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ten Representative Stories of Action and Adventure</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 0.5em; ">II. </td> -<td class="tdl">STORIES OF MYSTERY AND FANTASY</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Poe and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“The Purloined Letter,” <em>Edgar Allan Poe</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Jacobs and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“The Monkey’s Paw,” <em>W. W. Jacobs</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Suggestive Questions for Study</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ten Representative Stories of Mystery and Fantasy</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 0.5em; ">III. </td> -<td class="tdl">STORIES OF EMOTION</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Daudet and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“The Last Class,” <em>Alphonse Daudet</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Kipling and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“Without Benefit of Clergy,” <em>Rudyard Kipling</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Suggestive Questions for Study</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ten Representative Stories of Emotion or Sentiment</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 0.5em; ">IV. </td> -<td class="tdl">HUMOROUS STORIES</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Henry and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“The Ransom of Red Chief,” <em>O. Henry</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Barrie and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“The Courting of T’Nowhead’s Bell,” <em>James M. Barrie</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Suggestive Questions for Study</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ten Representative Humorous Stories</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_250">250</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 0.5em; ">V. </td> -<td class="tdl">STORIES OF SETTING</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Harte and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_255">255</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“The Outcasts of Poker Flat,” <em>Bret Harte</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Maupassant and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“Moonlight,” <em>Guy de Maupassant</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Suggestive Questions for Study</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ten Representative Stories of Setting</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 0.5em; ">VI. </td> -<td class="tdl">IMPRESSIONISTIC STORIES</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Hawthorne and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“The White Old Maid,” <em>Nathaniel Hawthorne</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_302">302</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“The Fall of the House of Usher,” <em>Edgar Allan Poe</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_320">320</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Suggestive Questions for Study</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_351">351</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ten Representative Impressionistic Stories</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_352">352</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 0.5em; ">VII. </td> -<td class="tdl">CHARACTER STUDIES</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“The Piece of String,” <em>Guy de Maupassant</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_356">356</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Coppée and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“The Substitute,” <em>François Coppée</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_371">371</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Suggestive Questions for Study</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_388">388</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ten Representative Character Studies</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_389">389</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr" style="padding-right: 0.5em; ">VIII. </td> -<td class="tdl">PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDIES</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_390">390</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“Markheim,” <em>Robert Louis Stevenson</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_394">394</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Morrison and His Writings</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_422">422</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl">“On the Stairs,” <em>Arthur Morrison</em></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_425">425</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Suggestive Questions for Study</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_431">431</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ten Representative Psychological Studies</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_432">432</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"> </td> -<td class="tdl">BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_433">433</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"> </td> -<td class="tdl">INDEX</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_437">437</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" >TO TEACHERS AND STUDENTS</h2> -</div> - - -<p>Growing out of my former volume, <em>Writing the Short-Story</em>, -appeared the use for a new book that should contain -a large number of short-stories arranged and annotated -in form suitable for school or private study. Accordingly, -the unique marginal arrangement for notes, -which was first used in the study of Maupassant’s “The -Necklace,” in the earlier work, was also adopted in this, -with the addition of exhaustive critical introductions and -comments. Further study, whether by classes or by individuals, -has been facilitated by the reading references -upon the authors represented, and—arranged under -each of the eight type-groups—the explicit lists of ten -representative short-stories available for reading and -analysis.</p> - -<p>Five points were had in mind as a basis for the selection -of the stories included in this collection: First, the -real merit of the story, as illustrating the short-story -structurally perfect, or as nearly perfect as could be -found in combination with the other points desired; -second, the typical qualities of the story, as standing for -the class it was to represent; third, its intrinsic literary -interest for the general reader; fourth, its representative -quality as illustrating the author’s tone and style; fifth, -its suitability for class and private study and analysis.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</span></p> - -<p>Other stories are equally brilliant and equally representative, -but some are too long to fit into such a selection; -others are not available because of publishers’ rules; -still others are morally unsuitable for the uses of mixed -classes of young people; while many capital stories are -the work of authors who have not produced consistently -good work.</p> - -<p>The tone of many of the stories included is sad, and -their endings tragic; this is accidental and has not at all -governed the selection from my belief that stories of -tragic quality are necessarily the greatest; though the -tragic phases of life, being the most intense, are the most -likely to offer attractive themes to authors who prefer to -deal with strong and subtle situations. The same is true -of stories dealing with sex problems, but these have been -excluded for obvious reasons. Livelier and more cheerful -stories either were not as representative of the types -I desired to exhibit, or were rejected from other motives. -Those who study these selections with a view to writing -the short-story will do well to bear in mind that fiction -of gloomy tone must be very well written and on themes -of unusual power to atone for their depressing qualities.</p> - -<p>For the use of teachers and their pupils, a series of -general questions has been prepared (p. xxxi), besides -questions at the end of each section. Of course these -will be regarded as suggestive rather than exhaustive.</p> - -<p>The margins left blank in the stories marked “For -Analysis” may be used for pencil notes, at the option of -the teacher. For further study, strips of writing paper -may be attached to the margins of stories cut from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</span> -magazines and full notes added by the pupil. <em>Writing -the Short-Story</em> will be found an especially practical adjunct -in making the marginal analyses and notes, as that -work gives much space to the general structure of the -short-story and an analysis of its parts. The nomenclature -of <em>Writing the Short-Story</em> has been observed in -this volume, as well as the typographical arrangement, -where practicable—especially the practise of indicating -short-stories by quotation marks, while printing book-titles -in italics.</p> - -<p>I venture to hope that the present work may prove -helpful in disclosing to lovers of the short-story, as well -as to those who wish merely to study its technique, the -means by which authors of international distinction have -secured their effects.</p> - -<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;"> -<span class="smcap">J. Berg Esenwein</span></p> - -<p>Philadelphia, June 8, 1912.</p> - - -<p class="center p2"><small>NOTE TO REVISED EDITION</small></p> - - -<p>The only changes made in the original text are such -typographical corrections as were needed and a considerable -addition to the bibliography.</p> - -<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">J. B. E.</p> - -<p>Springfield, Mass., May 1, 1918.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" >PUBLISHERS’ NOTE</h2> -</div> - - -<p>The wide usefulness of <em>Writing the Short-Story</em>, by -the author of this volume, as evidenced by its adoption -for class use in the foremost American universities, colleges, -and schools, and by the many thousands of well-known -writers and younger aspirants who have found -it so helpful in their craft, has encouraged the author to -undertake the present work. Mere collections of short-stories -are not lacking, but no other volume presents an -authoritative international selection, with comprehensive -classifications under leading short-story types, critical -and biographical introductions, illuminating marginal -notes, and opportunities for original study afforded by -margins for the student’s notes, together with questions -and lists of stories for examination and study. Whether -used singly or as a companion volume with <em>Writing the -Short-Story</em>, it is confidently believed that the present -work will prove a notable contribution to the literature -of this most popular and significant literary form.</p> - -<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">The Publishers</span></p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" >AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY -OF THE SHORT-STORY</h2> -</div> - - -<p>Fiction as an art has made more progress during the -last hundred years than any other literary type. The -first half of the nineteenth century especially developed -a consciousness of subject matter and form in both the -novel and the short-story which has created an epoch as -notable in the history of fiction as was the age of Shakespeare -in the progress of the drama. In Great Britain, -France, Russia, Germany, and America arose fictional -artists of distinguished ability, while in other nations -writers of scarcely less merit soon followed.</p> - -<p>The novel demands a special study, so even for its -relation to our theme—the short-story—the reader -must be referred to such works as specialize on the -longer form.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>A comprehensive treatment of the short-story would -include an inquiry into the origins of all short fictional -forms, for every story that is short is popularly known -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</span>as a short story. The fullest and best guide for such a -study is Henry Seidel Canby’s historical and critical -treatise, <em>The Short Story in English</em>.</p> - -<p>Naturally, an inquiry into origins would prove to be -measurably profitless and certainly dry for the general -student were it not supplemented by the reading of a -great many stories—preferably in the original—which -illustrate the steps in short-story development from -earliest times.<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - -<p>A further field for a comprehensive survey would -be a critical comparison of the modern form with its -several ancestral and contributory forms, from original -sources.</p> - -<p>A third examen would be devoted to the characteristics -and tendencies of the present-day short-story as presented -in volume form and, particularly, in the modern -magazine.</p> - -<p>A fourth, would undertake to study the rhetoric of the -form.<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> - -<p>None of these sorts of study can be exhaustively presented -in this volume, yet all are touched upon so suggestively -and with such full references that the reader -may himself pursue the themes with what fullness he -elects. The special field herein covered will be, I believe, -sufficiently apparent as the reader proceeds.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</span></p> - -<p>Let it be understood from the outstart that throughout -this volume the term short-story is used rather loosely -to cover a wide variety of short fiction; yet presently it -will be necessary to show precisely how the modern form -differs from its fictive ancestors, and that distinction will -assume some importance to those who care about recognizing -the several short fictional forms and who enjoy -calling things by their exact names.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The first story-teller was that primitive man who in -his wanderings afield met some strange adventure and -returned to his fellows to narrate it. His narration was -a true story. The first fictionist—perhaps it was the -same hairy savage—was he who, having chosen to tell -his adventure, also resolved to add to it some details -wrought of his own fancy. That was fiction, because -while the story was compounded of truth it was worked -out by the aid of imagination, and so was close kin to -the story born entirely of fancy which merely uses true-seeming -things, or veritable contributory facts, to make -the story “real.”</p> - -<p>Egyptian tales, recorded on papyrus sheets, date back -six thousand years. Adventure was their theme, while -gods and heroes, beasts and wonders, furnished their incidents. -When love was introduced, obscenities often -followed, so that the ancient tales of pure adventure are -best suited to present-day reading.</p> - -<p>What is true of Egypt 4000 B. C. is equally true -of Greece many centuries later. The Homeric stories<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</span> -will serve as specimens of adventure narrative; and the -Milesian tales furnish the erotic type.</p> - -<p>As for the literary art of these early fictions, we need -only refer to ancient poetry to see how perfect was its -development two thousand and more years ago; therefore—for -the poets were story-tellers—we need not -marvel at the majestic diction, poetic ideas, and dramatic -simplicity of such short-stories as the Egyptian -“Tales of the Magicians,”<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> fully six thousand years old; -the Homeric legends, told possibly twenty-five hundred -years ago;<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> “The Book of Esther,”<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> written more than -twenty-one hundred years ago; and the stories by Lucius -Apuleius, in <em>The Golden Ass</em>,<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> quite two thousand years -old.</p> - -<p>In form these ancient stories were of three types: -the anecdote (often expanded beyond the normal limits -of anecdote); the scenario, or outline of what might well -have been told as a longer story; and the tale, or straightforward -chain of incidents with no real complicating plot.</p> - -<p>Story-telling maintained much the same pace until the -early middle ages, when the sway of religious ideas was -felt in every department of life. Superstition had always -vested the forces of nature with more than natural -attributes, so that the wonder tale was normally the companion -of the war or adventure story. But now the -power of the Christian religion was laying hold upon all -minds, and the French <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">conte dévot</i>, or miracle story, recited<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</span> -the wonderful doings of the saints in human behalf, -or told how some pious mystic had encountered heavenly -forces, triumphed over demons and monsters of evil, and -performed prodigies of piety.</p> - -<p>These tales were loosely hung together, and exhibited -none of the compression and sense of orderly climax -characteristic of the short-story to-day. In style the -early medieval stories fell far below classic models, naturally -enough, for language was feeling the corrupting -influences of that inrush of barbarian peoples which at -length brought Rome to the dust, while culture was conserved -only in out-of-the-way places. In form these -narratives were chiefly the tale, the anecdote, and the -episode, by which I mean a fragmentary part of a longer -tale with which it had little or no organic connection.</p> - -<p>The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">conte dévot</i> in England was even more crude, for -Old English was less polished than the speech of France -and its people more heroic than literary.</p> - -<p>When we come to the middle of the fourteenth century -we find in two great writers a marked advancement: -Chaucer’s <em>Canterbury Tales</em> and Boccaccio’s <em>Decameron</em>—the -former superior to the latter in story-telling art—opened -up rich mines of legend, adventure, humor, and -human interest. All subsequent narrators modeled their -tales after these patterns. Chaucer’s “The Pardoner’s -Tale” has many points in common with the modern -short-story, and so has Boccaccio’s <em>novella</em>, “Rinaldo,” -but these approaches to what we now recognize as the -short-story type were not so much by conscious intention -as by a groping after an ideal which was only dimly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</span> -existent in their minds—so dimly, indeed, that even -when once attained it seems not to have been pursued. -For the most part the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fabliaux</i><a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> of Chaucer and the -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">novelle</i><a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> of Boccaccio were rambling, loosely knit, anecdotal, -lacking in the firmly fleshed contours of the -modern short-story. Even the <em>Gesta Romanorum</em>, or -<em>Deeds of the Romans</em>—181 short legends and stories -first printed about 1473—show the same ear marks.</p> - -<p>About the middle of the sixteenth century appeared -<em>The Arabian Nights</em>, that magic carpet which has carried -us all to the regions of breathless delight. The story -of “Ali Baba and The Forty Thieves,” for one, is as -near an approach to our present-day short-story as was -Irving’s “Rip Van Winkle,” and quite unsurpassed in -all the literature of wonder-tales.</p> - -<p>Thus for two thousand years—yes, for six thousand -years—the essentials of short story narration were unchanged. -What progress had been made was toward -truth-seeming, clearer characterization, and a finer human -interest, yet so surpassing in these very respects are -some of the ancient stories that they remain models to-day. -Chiefly, then, the short fiction of the eighteenth -century showed progress over that of earlier centuries -in that it was much more consistently produced by a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</span>much greater number of writers—so far as our records -show.</p> - -<p>Separately interesting studies of the eighteenth-century -essay-stories of Addison, Steele, Johnson and others -in the English periodicals, the <em>Spectator</em>, <em>Tatler</em>, <em>Rambler</em>, -<em>Idler</em>, and <em>Guardian</em> might well be made, for these -forms lead us directly to Hawthorne and Irving in -America. Of almost equal value would be a study of -Defoe’s ghost stories (1727) and Voltaire’s development -of the protean French detective-story, in his “Zadig,” -twenty years later.</p> - -<p>With the opening of the nineteenth century the marks -of progress are more decided. The first thirty years -brought out a score of the most brilliant story-tellers -imaginable, who differ from Poe and his followers only -in this particular—they were still perfecting the tale, -the sketch, the expanded anecdote, the episode, and the -scenario, for they had neither for themselves nor for -their literary posterity set up a new standard, as Poe -was to do so very soon.</p> - -<p>Of this fecund era were born the German weird -tales of Ernst Amadeus Hoffmann and J. L. Tieck; the -<em>Moral Tales</em> of Maria Edgeworth, and the fictional -episodes of Sir Walter Scott in Scotland; the anecdotal -tales and the novelettes of Prosper Mérimée and Charles -Nodier in France; the tales of Pushkin, the father of -Russian literature; and the tale-short-stories of Washington -Irving and Nathaniel Hawthorne in America. Here -too lies a fascinating field of study, over which to trace -the approach towards that final form, so to call it, which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</span> -was both demonstrated and expounded by Poe. It must -suffice here to observe that Irving preferred the easy-flowing -essay-sketch, and the delightful, leisurely tale -(with certain well-marked tendencies toward a compact -plot), rather than the closely organized plot which we -nowadays recognize as the special possession of the -short-story.</p> - -<p>In France, from 1830 to 1832, Honoré de Balzac produced -a series of notable short-stories which, while marvels -of narration, tend to be condensed novels in plot, -novelettes in length, or expanded anecdotes. However, -together with the stories of Prosper Mérimée, they furnish -evidence for a tolerably strong claim that the modern -short-story was developed as a fixed form in France -before it was discovered in America—a claim, however, -which lacks the elements of entire solidity, as a more -critical study would show.</p> - -<p>From 1830 on, it would require a catalogue to name, -and volumes to discuss, the array of European and -American writers who have produced fictional narratives -which have more or less closely approached the short-story -form. Until 1835, when Edgar Allan Poe wrote -“Berenice” and “The Assignation,” the approaches to -the present form were sporadic and unsustained and even -unconscious, so far as we may argue from the absence -of any critical standard. After that year both Poe and -others seemed to strive more definitely for the close -plot, the repression of detail, the measurable unity of -action, and the singleness of effect which Poe clearly -defined and expounded in 1842.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxi">[Pg xxi]</span></p> - -<p>Since Poe’s notable pronouncement, the place of the -short-story as a distinctive literary form has been attested -by the rise and growth of a body of criticism, in -the form of newspaper and magazine articles, volumes -given broadly to the consideration of fiction, and books -devoted entirely to the short-story. Many of these contributions -to the literature of criticism are particularly -important because their authors were the first to announce -conclusions regarding the form which have since -been accepted as standard; others have traced with a -nice sense of comparison the origin and development of -those earlier forms of story-telling which marked the -more or less definite stages of progress toward the short-story -type as at present recognized; while still others are -valuable as characterizing effectively the stories of well-known -writers and comparing the progress which each -showed as the short-story moved on toward its present -high place.</p> - -<p>Some detailed mention of these writings, among other -critical and historical productions, may be of value -here, without at all attempting a bibliography, but merely -naming chronologically the work of those critics who -have developed one or more phases of the subject with -particular effectiveness.<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p> - -<p>Interesting and informing as all such historical and -comparative research work certainly is, it must prove -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxii">[Pg xxii]</span>to be of greater value to the student than to the fiction -writer. True, the latter may profit by a profound knowledge -of critical distinctions, but he is more likely, for a -time at least, to find his freedom embarrassed by attempting -to adhere too closely to form, whereas in fiction a -chief virtue is that spontaneity which expresses <em>itself</em>.</p> - -<p>But there would seem to be some safe middle-ground -between a flouting of all canons of art, arising from an -utter ignorance and contempt of the history of any -artistic form, and a timid and tied-up unwillingness to -do anything in fiction without first inquiring, “Am I -obeying the laws as set forth by the critics?” The -short-story writer should be no less unhampered because -he has learned the origin and traced the growth of the -ancient fiction-forms and learned to say of his own work, -or that of others, “Here is a fictional sketch, here a tale, -and here a short-story”—if, indeed, he does not recognize -in it a delightful hybrid.</p> - -<p>By far the most important contribution to the subject -of short-story criticism was made by Edgar Allan Poe, -when in May, 1842, he published in <em>Graham’s Magazine</em> -a review of Hawthorne’s <em>Tales</em>, in which he announced -his theory of the short-story—a theory which is regarded -to-day as the soundest of any yet laid down.</p> - -<p>In 1876, Friedrich Spielhagen pointed out in his -<em>Novelle oder Roman</em> the essential distinction between the -novel and the short-story.<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxiii">[Pg xxiii]</span></p> -<p>In 1884, Professor Brander Matthews published in the -<em>Saturday Review</em>, London, and in 1885 published in -<em>Lippincott’s Magazine</em>, “The Philosophy of the Short-story,” -in which, independently of Spielhagen, he announced -the essential distinction between the novel and -the short-story, and pointed out its peculiarly individual -characteristics. In a later book-edition, he added greatly -to the original essay by a series of quotations from other -critics and essayists, and many original comparisons between -the writings of master short-story tellers.</p> - -<p>In March 11, 1892, T. W. Higginson contributed to -<em>The Independent</em> an article on “The Local Short-Story,” -which was the first known discussion of that important -type.</p> - -<p>In 1895, Sherwin Cody published anonymously in London -the first technical treatise on the rhetoric of the -short-story, “The Art of Story Writing.”</p> - -<p>In 1896, Professor E. H. Lewis instituted in Chicago -University the first course of instruction in the art of -story-writing.</p> - -<p>In 1898, Charles Raymond Barrett published the first -large work on <em>Short Story Writing</em>, with a complete -analysis of Hawthorne’s “The Ambitious Guest,” and -many important suggestions for writers.</p> - -<p>In the same year Charity Dye first applied pedagogical -principles to the study of the short story, in <em>The Story-Teller’s -Art</em>.</p> - -<p>In 1902, Professor Lewis W. Smith published a brochure, -<em>The Writing of the Short Story</em>, in which psychological<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxiv">[Pg xxiv]</span> -principles were for the first time applied to the -study and the writing of the short-story.</p> - -<p>In 1902, Professor H. S. Canby issued <em>The Short Story</em>, -in which the theory of impressionism was for the first -time developed. In 1903, this essay was included in <em>The -Book of the Short Story</em>, Alexander Jessup collaborating, -together with specimens of stories from the earliest times -and lists of tales and short-stories arranged by periods.</p> - -<p>In 1904, Professor Charles S. Baldwin developed a -criticism of <em>American Short Stories</em> which has been -largely followed by later writers.</p> - -<p>In 1909, Professor H. S. Canby produced <em>The Short -Story in English</em>, the first voluminous historical and critical -study of the origins, forms, and content of the short-story.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I have dwelt upon the history of the short-story thus -in outline because we often meet the inquiry—sometimes -put ignorantly, sometimes skeptically—What is a short-story? -Is it anything more than a story that is short?</p> - -<p>The passion for naming and classifying all classes of -literature may easily run to extreme, and yet there are -some very great values to be secured by both the reader -and the writer in arriving at some understanding of what -literary terms mean. To establish distinctions among -short fictive forms is by no means to assert that types -which differ from the technical short-story are therefore -of a lower order of merit. Many specimens of cognate -forms possess an interest which surpasses that of short-stories -typically perfect.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxv">[Pg xxv]</span></p> - -<p>Ever since Poe differentiated the short-story from the -mere short narrative we have come to a clearer apprehension -of what this form really means. I suppose that -no one would insist upon the standards of the short-story -as being the criterion of merit for short fiction—certainly -I should commit no such folly in attempting to -establish an understanding, not to say a definition, of -the form. More than that: some short-stories which -in one or more points come short of <em>technical</em> perfection -doubtless possess a human interest and a charm quite -lacking in others which are technically perfect—just as -may be the case with pictures.</p> - -<p>Some things, however, the little fiction must contain -to come technically within the class of perfect short-stories. -It must be centralized about one predominating -incident—which may be supported by various minor incidents. -This incident must intimately concern one central -character—and other supporting characters, it may -be. The story must move with a certain degree of -directness—that is, there must be a thorough exclusion -of such detail as is needless. This central situation or -episode or incident constitutes, in its working out, the -plot; for the plot must not only have a crisis growing -out of a tie-up or crossroads or complication, but the -very essence of the plot will consist in the resolution or -untying or denouement of the complication.</p> - -<p>Naturally, the word plot will suggest to many a high -degree of complexity; but this is by no means necessary -in order to establish the claims of a fictitious narrative -to being a short-story. Indeed, some of the best short-stories<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxvi">[Pg xxvi]</span> -are based upon a very slender complication; in -other words, their plots are not complex.</p> - -<p>Elsewhere<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> I have defined the short-story, and this -statement may serve to crystallize the foregoing. “A -short-story is a brief, imaginative narrative, unfolding a -single predominating incident and a single chief character; -it contains a plot, the details of which are so compressed, -and the whole treatment so organized, as to -produce a single impression.”</p> - -<p>But some of these points need to be amplified.</p> - -<p>A short-story is brief not merely from the fact that it -contains comparatively few words, but in that it is so -compressed as to omit non-essential elements. It must -be the narration of a single incident, supported, it may -be, by other incidents, but none of these minor incidents -must rival the central incident in the interest of the -reader. A single character must be preëminent, but a -pair of characters coördinate in importance may enjoy -this single preëminence in the story, yet no minor characters -must come to overshadow the central figure. The -story will be imaginative, not in the sense that it must -be imaginary, or that the facts in the story may not be -real facts, but they must be handled and organized in an -imaginative way, else it would be plain fact and not fiction. -The story must contain a plot; that is to say, it -must exhibit a character or several characters in crisis—for -in plot the important word is crisis—and the denouement -is the resolution of this crisis. Finally, the whole -must be so organized as to leave a unified impression -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxvii">[Pg xxvii]</span>upon the mind of the reader—it must concentrate and -not diffuse attention and interest.</p> - -<p>All of the same qualities that inhere in the short-story -may also be found in the novelette, except that the novelette -lacks the compression, unity and simplicity of the -short-story and is therefore really a short novel. Both -the novel and the novelette admit of sub-plots, a large -number of minor incidents, and even of digressions, -whereas these are denied to the short-story, which throws -a white light on a single crucial instance of life, some -character in its hour of crisis, some soul at the crossroads -of destiny.</p> - -<p>There is a tendency nowadays to give a mere outline -of a story—so to condense it, so to make it swift, that -the narration amounts to merely an outline without the -flesh and blood of the true short-story. In other words, -there is a tendency to call a scenario of a much longer -story—for instance the outline of a novelette—a short-story. -This extreme is as remote from the well-rounded -short-story form as the leisurely novelette, padded out -with infinite attention to detail.</p> - -<p>The tale differs from the short-story in that it is -merely a succession of incidents without any real sense -of climax other, for example, than might be given by -the close of a man’s life, the ending of a journey, or the -closing of the day. The tale is a chain; the short-story -is a tree. The links of the chain may be extended indefinitely, -but there comes a time when the tree can grow -no longer and still remain a perfect tree. The tale is -practically without organization and without plot—there -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxviii">[Pg xxviii]</span> -is little crisis, and the result of the crisis, if any there be, -would be of no vital importance to the characters, for -no special change in their relations to each other grows -out of the crisis in the tale.</p> - -<p>A sketch is a lighter, shorter, and more simple form of -fiction than the short-story. It exhibits character in a -certain stationary situation, but has no plot, nor does it -disclose anything like a crisis from which a resolution or -denouement is demanded. It might almost be called a -picture in still life were it not that the characters are -likely to live and to move.</p> - -<p>In these introductory pages I have emphasized and -reëmphasized these distinctions in various ways, because -to me they seem to be important. But after all they are -merely historical and technical. A man may be a charming -fellow and altogether admirable even if his complexion -quarrels with his hair and his hands do not match -his feet in relative size.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The present tendency of the British and American -short-story is a matter of moment because no other literary -form commands the interest of so many writers -and readers. All literature is feeling the hand of commerce, -but the short-story is chiefly threatened. The -magazine is its forum, and the magazine must make -money or suspend. Hence the chief inquiry of the editor -is, What stories will make my magazine sell? And this -is his attitude because his publisher will no longer pay -a salary to an editor whose magazine must be endowed, -having no visible means of support.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxix">[Pg xxix]</span></p> - -<p>These conditions force new standards to be set up. -The story must have literary merit, it must be true to -life, it must deal sincerely with great principles—up to -the limit of popularity. Beyond that it must not be -literary, truthful, or sincere. Popularity first, then the -rest—if possible.</p> - -<p>All this is a serious indictment of the average magazine, -but it is true. Only a few magazines regard their -fiction as literature and not as merely so much merchandise, -to be cut to suit the length of pages, furnish situations -for pictures, and create subscriptions by readers. -Yet somehow this very commercialized standard is working -much good in spite of itself. It is demanding the -best workmanship, and is paying bright men and women -to abandon other pursuits in order to master a good -story-telling method. It is directing the attention of our -ablest literators to a teeming life all about them when -otherwise they might lose themselves in abstractions “up -in the air.” It is, for business reasons, insisting upon -that very compression to which Maupassant attained in -the pursuit of art. It is building up a standard of precise -English which has already advanced beyond the best -work of seventy years ago—though it has lost much of -its elegance and dignity.</p> - -<p>In a word, the commercialized short-story is a mirror -of the times—it compasses movement, often at the expense -of fineness, crowds incidents so rapidly that the -skeleton has no space in which to wear its flesh, and -prints stories mediocre and worse because better ones -will not be received with sufficient applause.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxx">[Pg xxx]</span></p> - -<p>But while the journalized short-story adopts the hasty -standards of the newspaper because the public is too busy -to be critical, in some other respects it mirrors the times -more happily. The lessons of seriousness it utters with -the lips of fun. Its favorite implement is a rake, but it -does uncover evils that ought not to remain hidden. -Finally, it concerns itself with human things, and tosses -speculations aside; it carefully records our myriad-form -local life as the novel cannot; and it has wonderfully -developed in all classes the sense of what is a good story, -and that is a question more fundamental to all literature -than some critics might admit.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Here then is a new-old form abundantly worth study, -for its understanding, its appreciation, and its practise. -If there is on one side a danger that form may become -too prominent and spirit too little, there are balancing -forces to hold things to a level. The problems, projects -and sports of the day are, after all, the life of the day, -and as such they furnish rightful themes. Really, signs -are not wanting that point to the truth of this optimistic -assertion: The mass of the people will eventually do -the right, and they will at length bring out of the commercialized -short-story a vital literary form too human -to be dull and too artistic to be bad.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxxi">[Pg xxxi]</span></p> - - -<h3>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES FOR CLASS<br /> - OR INDIVIDUAL STUDY OF A SHORT-STORY</h3> - -<p>1. Estimating from an average page, how many words has -this story?</p> - -<p>2. What type of story is it chiefly?</p> - -<p>3. Does it subordinately illustrate any other types also? If -so, which?</p> - -<p>4. Is the title adequate?</p> - -<p>5. What is its theme?</p> - -<p>6. Write out a brief scenario of the plot.</p> - -<p>7. Are the incidents arranged in effective order?</p> - -<p>8. How many characters (a) speak, (b) are present but do -not speak, (c) are referred to but are not present?</p> - -<p>9. Are the characters idealized, or are they quite true to life?</p> - -<p>10. Are the characters individualized? Point out how the -author accomplishes this result.</p> - -<p>11. What is the author’s attitude toward his characters?</p> - -<p>12. What is the proportion of dialogue to description and comment?</p> - -<p>13. What do you think of the dialogue?</p> - -<p>14. Do you regard this story as being realistic, romantic, idealistic, -or composite?</p> - -<p>15. Is the author’s purpose apparent? If so, what is it?</p> - -<p>16. Are there any weak points in the plot?</p> - -<p>17. Is the introduction interesting and clear?</p> - -<p>18. Does the story end satisfactorily?</p> - -<p>19. Is the conclusion either too long or too short?</p> - -<p>20. Would any parts of the story be improved either by shortening -or by expanding? Be specific.</p> - -<p>21. Does the story arouse in you any particular feeling, or -mood?</p> - -<p>22. What are the especially strong points of the story?</p> - -<p>23. Write a general appreciation, using about two hundred -words.</p> - -<p>24. What is the final impression the story makes upon you?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxxii">[Pg xxxii]</span></p> - - -<p class="center p2">NOTE</p> - -<p>Nine distinct methods for the study of a novel are outlined in -the appendix to <em>The Study of a Novel</em>, by Selden L. Whitcomb. -Some of these may be applied to the short-story. Some excellent -study methods and questions are given in <em>The Writing of the -Short Story</em>, by Lewis Worthington Smith.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="footnotes"> -<p class="p2 center big1">FOOTNOTES: </p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Excellent and comprehensive works, dealing more especially with the -English novel, are: <em>The English Novel</em>, Sidney Lanier (<em>Scribners</em>, 1883, -1897); <em>The Development of the English Novel</em>, Wilbur L. Cross (<em>Macmillan</em>, -1899); <em>The Evolution of the English Novel</em>, Francis Hovey Stoddard (<em>Macmillan</em>, -1900); <em>A Study of Prose Fiction</em>, Bliss Perry (Houghton-Mifflin, -1902); <em>The Study of A Novel</em>, Selden L. Whitcomb (Heath, 1905); <em>The -Technique of the Novel</em>, Charles F. Horne (<em>Harpers</em>, 1908); <em>Materials and -Methods of Fiction</em>, Clayton Hamilton (Baker-Taylor, 1908).</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Good collections arranged historically are, <em>The Book of the Short Story</em>, -Alexander Jessup and Henry Seidel Canby; and <em>The Short-story</em>, Brander -Matthews. The former contains lists of stories short and long grouped -by periods.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> A full study of this character has been attempted in the present author’s -<em>Writing The Short-Story</em>, Hinds, Hayden and Eldredge. New York, 1909.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> <em>Egyptian Tales</em>, W. M. Flinders Petrie.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> <em>Stories from Homer</em>, Church.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> <em>The Bible as English Literature</em>, J. H. Gardiner.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> <em>A History of Latin Literature</em>, George A. Simcox.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fabliau</i>, a French form adopted by the English, is an amusing story -told in verse, generally of eight-syllable line. Another poetic form of the -period is the <i>lai</i>, a short metrical romance.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> The Italian <em>novella</em> was popular in England down to the late Elizabethan -period. It is a diverting little story of human interest but told with no -moral purpose, even when it is reflective. In purpose it is the direct opposite -of the <em>exemplum</em>, which is a moral tale told to teach a lesson, and may -be compared to the “illustration” which the exhorter repeats in the pulpit -to-day.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> For a fuller examination of the bibliography of the subject refer to the -bibliographical notes in the books by Matthews, Baldwin, Perry, Jessup and -Canby, Canby, Dye, C. A. Smith, and the editor of this volume—all referred -to in detail elsewhere herein. A supplementary bibliographical note -will also be found on p. 433.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> For this important record of the discriminations of a critic little known -in America, we are indebted to Professor C. Alphonso Smith’s work on <em>The -American Short Story</em>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> <em>Writing the Short-Story</em>, p. 30.</p> - -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" >I<br /> -STORIES OF ACTION AND -ADVENTURE</h2> -</div> - - - -<p class="center big1"><em>Mateo Falcone.</em>—<span class="smcap">Prosper Mérimée.</span></p> - -<p class="center big1 p6b"><em>A Lodging for the Night.</em>—<span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson.</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span></p> - - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="p1">But the great majority of novels and plays represent human -life in nothing more faithfully than in their insistence upon -deeds. It is through action—tangible, visible action upon the -stage, or, in the novel, action suggested by the medium of words—that -the characters of the play and the novel are ordinarily -revealed. In proportion as high art is attained in either medium -of expression this action is marked by adequacy of motive, by -conformity to the character, by progression and unity.—<span class="smcap">Bliss -Perry</span>, <em>A Study of Prose Fiction</em>.</p> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" >Studying The Short-Story</h2> -</div> - -<h3>STORIES OF ACTION AND ADVENTURE</h3> - - -<p>Few words are needed to set forth the meaning of this -caption, for the designation is sufficiently explicit. One -point, however, it will be well to emphasize: In fiction -all action worthy of the name is the outward manifestation -of an inward condition. There is a sense, therefore, -in which all stories that are not mere pictures of internal -states are stories of action; just as it may be said that -all stories are stories of thought, feeling, and resolve. -The point of distinction lies here: in which direction -does the story tend?</p> - -<p>In one class, outward action is seen to work profoundly -upon the inward life, and the story shows us the workings -of this influence in its final effect upon the inward -man and his character. In another, an inward state is -the basis, the premise, the initial force, in the story, and -from that beginning the story goes on to show by a series -of outward movements just how this great inward force -operates in and upon conduct. In a third class, outward -and inward action balance.</p> - -<p>Now when the outward or visible action, prominently -displaying physical movement, becomes paramount, -whether shown as cause or as effect, we have the action-story, -and sometimes the adventure-story. And in proportion -as the interest of the reader centers in what the -characters <em>do</em> instead of in what they <em>are</em>, the story departs -from the subtler forms, such as the character-study -and the psychological-study, and action or adventure becomes -the type. Reverse these conditions, and another -sort is the result.</p> - -<p>Naturally, many variations are possible with these two -chief ingredients ready for use. One story may begin -with soul action, then proceed to show us bodily action -with great vividness, and end by taking us back into the -man’s inner life. Another may progress on contrary -lines; and so on, in wide variety. The final test as to -what is the predominating type lies in the appeal to the -interest of the reader: is it based chiefly on what the -characters are or on what they do? Is it the why, or the -how, the motive or the happening, that is most absorbing? -The best stories, even the best action and adventure yarns, -are likely to show a fair proportion of both.</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3>MÉRIMÉE AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Prosper Mérimée was born in Paris, September 28, -1803. His father, a Norman, was a professor in the -<em>École des Beaux-Arts</em>, and his mother, Anne Moreau, -who had English blood in her veins, was also an artist. -Prosper attended the <em>Collège Henri IV</em>, and in the home<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> -of his parents met the <em>literati</em> of the day. He undertook -the study of law, but soon abandoned it, and spent some -years in observing life while journeying abroad. He -made much of ancient and modern languages, becoming -especially proficient in Spanish. Upon his return to -Paris he served in public office, and held the post of -Inspector General of Public Monuments until declining -health compelled him to retire. He was elected to several -learned societies and became a commander of the -Legion of Honor, and, in 1844, a member of the French -Academy. Nine years later he was made a Senator of -France, an honor he owed to the friendship of the -Empress Eugénie. He died at Cannes on the 23rd of -September, 1870, at the age of sixty-seven.</p> - -<p>Prosper Mérimée was a successful poet, translator, -novelist, and short-story writer. His translations of the -Russian novelists have been pronounced excellent. -“Colomba” is a romantic novelette of singular power -and charm. His most famous short-stories are “The -Taking of the Redoubt,” “Tamango,” “Federigo,” -“The Etruscan Vase,” “The Vision of Charles XI,” -“The Venus of Ille,” “The Pearl of Toledo,” “Carmen” -(on which Bizet’s opera is founded), “Arsène Guillot,” -and “Mateo Falcone”; which follows, in a translation -by the editor of this volume. It was first published in -the <em>Revue de Paris</em>, May, 1829.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Among French masters of the short-story, Mérimée -easily holds place in the first rank. Both personality and -genius are his, and both well repay careful study. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> -was an alert student of history, to whom its anecdotal -side made strongest appeal. The detached, impersonal, -unprejudiced attitude of the historian is seen in his short-stories, -for he tells his narrative impartially, with a sort -of take-it-or-leave-it air, allowing the story to make its -own appeal without any special pleading on his part. -His story-telling manner is, therefore, one of ironical -coldness. He delighted to tell his tales in the matter-of-fact -manner of the casual traveller who has picked up a -good yarn and passes it on just as it was told him. And -this literary attitude was a reflex of his personality. To -him, to love deeply was to endure pain, to follow impulse -was to court trouble, to cherish enthusiasms was to delude -the mind, so he schooled himself to appear impassive. -Yet now and then in his lucid and clear-cut stories, as in -his urbane life, a certain sweetness is revealed which -speaks alluringly of the tender spirit within.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="p1">All my life I have sought to free myself from prejudices, to -be a citizen of the world before being a Frenchman, but now all -these garments of philosophy are nothing to me. To-day I bleed -for the wounds of the foolish French, I mourn for their humiliations, -and, however ungrateful and absurd they may be, I love -them still.—<span class="smcap">Prosper Mérimée</span>, <em>letter to Madame de Beaulaincourt</em> -(Marquise de Castellane), written, ten days before his -death, on hearing from his friend Thiers that the disaster of -Sedan was irreparable and that the Empire was a thing of the -past.</p> - - -<p class="p1">A gallant man and a gentleman, he has had the reward he would -have wished. He has been discreetly and intimately enjoyed by -delicate tastes.... It was his rare talent to give us those limpid, -rapid, full tales, that one reads in an hour, re-reads in a day, -which fill the memory and occupy the thoughts forever.—<span class="smcap">Émile<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span> -Faguet</span>, quoted by <span class="smcap">Grace King</span>, in <span class="smcap">C. D. Warner’s</span> <em>Library of -the World’s Best Literature</em>.</p> - - -<p class="p1"><em>Colomba</em>, <em>Mateo Falcone</em>, <em>La Double Méprise</em>, <em>La Vénus d’Ille</em>, -<em>L’Enlèvement de la Redoute</em>, <em>Lokis</em>, have equals, but no superiors, -either in French prose fiction or in French prose. Grasp of -human character, reserved but masterly description of scenery, -delicate analysis of motive, ability to represent the supernatural, -pathos, grandeur, simple narrative excellence, appear turn by -turn in these wonderful pieces, as they appear hardly anywhere -else.—<span class="smcap">George Saintsbury</span>, <em>A Short History of French Literature</em>.</p> - - -<p class="p1">While inferior to Stendhal as a psychologist, notwithstanding -the keenness of his analysis, he excels him in opening out and -developing action, and in composing a work whose parts hang -well together. In addition he possesses a “literary” style,—not -the style of an algebraist, but that of an exact, self-sustained -writer. He attains the perfection of form in his particular line. -Nearly all his stories are masterpieces of that rather dry and -hard, though forceful, nervous, and pressing style, which constitutes -him one of the most original and most characteristic novelists -of the century.—<span class="smcap">Georges Pellissier</span>, <em>The Literary Movement -in France</em>.</p> - - -<p class="p1">I do not scruple to apply the word <em>great</em> to Mérimée, a word -which is not to be used lightly, but of which he is thoroughly -deserving. His style is the purest and clearest of our century; -no better model could possibly be found for our present generation. -His prose, to my mind, together with that of Musset, -Fromentin, and Renan, is the most beautiful modern prose which -has ever been written in the French language. Like the great -classics of the 17th century, he never wrote a passage merely to -please the eye or the ear; his sole aim was to express thought, -and the colour of his language, which is so pre-eminently true to -nature, is of a rare sobriety; he never studies effect, and, nevertheless, -invariably attains it.—<span class="smcap">Edouard Grenier</span>, <em>Literary Reminiscences</em>.</p> -</div> - - - - -<p class="p2 big1 center">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON MÉRIMÉE</p> - -<p><em>Miscellaneous Studies</em>, Walter Pater (1895); <em>Modern -French Literature</em>, Benjamin W. Wells (1896); <em>Contes -et Nouvelles, by Prosper Mérimée</em>, edited by J. E. Michell -(1907); <em>A Century of French Fiction</em>, Benjamin W. -Wells (1898); <em>Prosper Mérimée</em>, Arthur Symonds, in <em>A -Century of French Romance</em>, edited by Edmund W. -Gosse (1901); <em>Six Masters in Disillusion</em>, Algar Therold -(1909).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span></p> - -<div class="body1"> -<h3>MATEO FALCONE</h3> - -<p class="big05 center">BY PROSPER MÉRIMÉE</p> - -<p class="center"><em>Translation by The Editor</em></p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>: The technical terms used in the marginal notes explanatory of -the short-stories throughout this work follow the terminology used and -treated fully in the present author’s <em>Writing the Short-Story</em>.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">A story of local-color because -the Corsican customs -determine the destinies -of the characters. It -is equally a character-study -and a psychological -study. Note how characters -harmonize with setting, -throughout.</div> - - -<p class="p1">As one comes out of Porto-Vecchio, -and turns northwest toward the -center of the island, the ground is -seen to rise quite rapidly, and after -three hours’ walk by tortuous paths, -blocked by large masses of rocks, and -sometimes cut by ravines, the traveler -finds himself on the edge of a very -extensive <em>maquis</em>. This bush is the -home of the Corsican shepherds, and -of whomsoever has come into conflict -with the law. It is well known -that the Corsican laborer, to spare -himself the trouble of fertilizing his -lands, sets fire to a certain stretch of -forest; so much the worse if the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> -flames spread further than is needed;<span class="sidenote">Setting is minutely given, -yet not diffusely.</span> -whatever happens, he is sure to have -a good harvest by sowing upon this -ground, enriched by the ashes of the -very trees which it grows. When the -corn is plucked, he leaves the straw, -because it is too much trouble to -gather it. The roots, which have remained -in the ground without being -harmed, sprout in the following -spring into very thick shoots, which -in a few years attain a height of -seven or eight feet. This sort of underwood -it is that they call <em>maquis</em>. -It is composed of different kinds of -trees and shrubs, all mixed and tangled, -just as they were planted by -God. Only with the hatchet in hand -can a man open a passage, and there -are <em>maquis</em> so dense and so tufted -that even the wild sheep can not -penetrate them.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">One of Mérimée’s deft personal -touches, as though -he were telling the story -to Corsicans.</div> - -<p>2. If you have killed a man, go -into the <em>maquis</em> of Porto-Vecchio, -and with a good gun and powder -and ball, you will live there in safety. -Do not forget a brown cloak with a <span class="sidenote">Why “brown”?</span> -hood, which serves as a coverlet and -a mattress. The shepherds will give -you milk, <span class="sidenote">The vendetta. See Mérimée’s -novelette <em>Colomba</em>.</span>cheese, and chestnuts, and -you will have nothing to fear from -justice, nor from the relatives of the -dead man, unless it be when you -have to go down into the town to -renew your munitions.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Sense of reality. Setting -becomes specific. Begins with social characterization.</div> - - -<p>3. The house of Mateo Falcone, -when I was in Corsica in 18—, was -half a league from this <em>maquis</em>. He -was a comparatively rich man for -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span> -that country, living nobly, <span class="sidenote">Note force of “nobly.”</span>that is to -say, without doing anything, on the -products of his herds, which the -shepherds, a species of nomads, led -to pasture here and there on the -mountains. When I saw him, two -years after the event which I am -about to relate, he seemed to me -about fifty years of age at the most. <span class="sidenote">Proceeds to physical characterization.</span> -Picture a small, but robust man, with -curly hair black as jet, and aquiline -nose, lips thin, large and animated -eyes, and a deeply tanned complexion. <span class="sidenote">Hint of climax.</span> -His skill in shooting was considered -extraordinary, even in his -country, where there were so many -good shots. <span class="sidenote">Illustrative anecdotes.</span>For example, Mateo -would never fire on a sheep with -buckshot, but at a hundred and -twenty paces he would bring it down -with a bullet in its head, or in the -shoulder, as he chose. At night he -could use his gun as easily as by day, -and they told me the following example -of his skill, which will perhaps -seem incredible to those who have -not traveled in Corsica. At eighty -paces, a lighted candle was placed behind -a transparent piece of paper as -large as a plate. He took aim, then -the candle was extinguished, and after -a moment in the most complete -darkness, he shot and pierced the -transparency three times out of four.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Advances to moral characterization.</div> - - - -<p id="p4">4. With a talent so surpassing, -Mateo Falcone had gained a great -reputation. He was said to be as -loyal a friend as he was dangerous -an enemy. Otherwise obliging and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> -charitable, he lived at peace with -everyone in the district of Porto-Vecchio. -But they tell of him that -when at Corte, where he had gotten -a wife, he had very vigorously freed -himself of a rival who was reputed -to be as redoubtable in war as in -love; <span class="sidenote">Further anecdote.</span>at all events, people attributed -to Mateo a certain gunshot which -surprised this rival as he was shaving -before a small mirror hung in -his window.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Primitive ideals.</div> - - -<p>5. The affair having been hushed -up, Mateo married. His wife Giuseppa -had first presented him with -three daughters (which enraged -him), but finally a son came, <span class="sidenote">Central character introduced -unobtrusively.</span>whom -he named Fortunato: he was the -hope of the family, the inheritor of -the name. <span class="sidenote">Vendetta and clan spirit.</span>The girls were well married; -their father could reckon, in -case of need, upon the poniards and -rifles of his sons-in-law. <span class="sidenote">Introduction ends.</span>The son -was only ten years old, but he was -already showing signs of a promising -disposition.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Action Begins.</span> Foundation -for crisis.<br /> -<span class="smcap">First Plot Incident</span>.<br /> -(A plot incident is essential -to a plot; to change it -would be to alter the plot -materially.)<br /> -An old-style literary device.</div> - -<p>6. On a certain day in autumn, Mateo -and his wife set out early to -visit one of their flocks in a clearing -of <em>maquis</em>. Little Fortunato wished -to accompany them, but the clearing -was too far away; besides, someone -must stay to guard the house; so the -father refused: we shall soon see if -he had no occasion to repent.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Setting in contrast with -crisis about to appear.</div> - -<p>7. He had been gone for some -hours, and little Fortunato was tranquilly -stretched out in the sunshine, -looking at the blue mountains, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> -thinking that on the next Sunday he -would be going to town to dine with -his uncle the corporal,<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> <span class="sidenote">All the footnotes are by -Mérimée.</span> - when he was -suddenly interrupted in his meditations -by the firing of a gun. He got -up and turned toward that side of -the plain from which the sound had <span class="sidenote">Action now supersedes setting.</span> -come. Other gunshots followed, -fired at irregular intervals, and each -time they came nearer and nearer. <span class="sidenote">Note force of “irregular.”</span> -At last on the path which led from -the plain to Mateo’s house, appeared -a man wearing a cap pointed like -those worn by the mountaineers. <span class="sidenote">Dramatic introduction of a -leading character, and -preparation for first crisis.</span>He -was bearded and covered with rags, -and dragged himself along with difficulty -by leaning on his gun. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Second Plot Incident.</span></span>He -had just received a gunshot wound -in the thigh.</p> - -<p>8. This man was a bandit,<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> who -having set out at night to get some -powder from the town, had fallen on -the way into an ambush of Corsican -soldiers.<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> After a vigorous defense -he had succeeded in making his retreat, -hotly pursued and skirmishing -from rock to rock. But he had -gained only a little on the soldiers, -and his wound made it hopeless for -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>him to reach the <em>maquis</em> before being -overtaken.</p> - -<p>9. He approached Fortunato and -said to him:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Crisp dialogue gives feeling -of intensity.</div> - -<p>10. “You are the son of Mateo -Falcone?”</p> - -<p>11. “Yes.”</p> - - -<p id="par12">12. “I am Gianetto Sanpiero. I -am pursued by the yellow collars.<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> -Hide me, for I can go no further.”</p> - -<p>13. “And what will my father say -if I hide you without his permission?”</p> - -<p>14. “He will say that you have -done right.”</p> - -<p>15. “How do you know?”</p> - -<p>16. “Hide me quickly; they are -coming.”</p> - -<p>17. “Wait till my father comes.”</p> - -<p>18. “How can I wait! A curse -upon it! They will be here in five -minutes. Come, hide me, or I will -kill you.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the lad’s constant coolness, -and sly calculation.</div> - -<p>19. Fortunato answered him with -the utmost coolness:</p> - -<p>20. “Your gun is empty, and there -are no more cartridges in your <em>carchera</em>.”<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></p> - -<p>21. “I have my stiletto.”</p> - -<p>22. “But could you run as fast as -I can?”</p> - -<p>23. He gave a leap, and put himself -out of reach.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">The right of asylum to kin -is sacred to primitive peoples.</div> - -<p>24. “You are no son of Mateo Falcone! -Will you then allow me to be -taken in front of your home?”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p> - -<p>25. The child seemed to be touched.<span class="sidenote">Note force of “seemed.”</span></p> - -<p>26. “What will you give me if I -hide you?” he asked him, drawing -nearer.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Crisis particularized.<br /> -<span class="smcap">Plot Incident Particularized.</span></div> - -<p>27. The fugitive felt in the leather -pouch that hung at his belt, and took -out a five-franc piece, which he had -reserved, no doubt, for powder. -Fortunato smiled at sight of the piece <span class="sidenote">Shows value of the reward.</span> -of money, and seizing hold of it, he -said to Gianetto:</p> - - -<p>28. “Fear nothing!”<span class="sidenote">Revelation of character.</span> -</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Resolution of first crisis.</span></div> - - -<p>29. He quickly made a large hole -in a haystack which stood near by -the house, Gianetto crouched down -in it, and the child covered him up -in such a way as to leave a little -space for breathing, without making -it possible for any one to suspect that -the hay concealed a man. He acted, -still further, with the cunning of a -tricky savage. <span class="sidenote">Author’s real estimate of -the boy.</span>He went and brought -a cat and her kittens, and set them -on top of the haystack to make believe -that it had not been recently -touched. Then noticing the blood-stains -on the path near the house, he -carefully covered them with dust. -This done, he lay down again in the -sun with the utmost calmness.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Third Plot Incident.</span> -See <a href="#par12">¶12</a>.</div> - -<p>30. Some minutes later six men in -brown uniforms with yellow collars, -commanded by an adjutant, stood before -Mateo’s door. This adjutant -was a distant relative of Falcone—for -in Corsica more remote degrees<span class="sidenote">A deputy in command.</span> -of relationship are recognized than -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> -elsewhere. <span class="sidenote">Note complication by this -relationship.</span>His name was Tidora -Gamba; he was an energetic man, -greatly feared by the banditti, many -of whom he had already hunted -down.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Crisis recurs.</div> - -<p>31. “Good day, little cousin,” he -said, coming up to Fortunato. “How -you have grown! Have you seen a -man passing just now?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Cunning in character further -revealed.</div> - -<p>32. “Oh, I am not so tall as you, -Cousin,” the child replied with a foolish -look.</p> - -<p>33. “That time’s coming. But have -you not seen a man pass by?—Tell -me.”</p> - -<p>34. “If I have seen a man pass -by?”</p> - -<p>35. “Yes, a man with a pointed -cap and a waistcoat embroidered in -red and yellow?”</p> - -<p>36. “A man with a pointed cap -and a waistcoat embroidered in red -and yellow?”</p> - -<p>37. “Yes; answer quickly, and -don’t repeat my questions.”</p> - -<p>38. “This morning Monsieur le -Curé passed our door on his horse -Piero. He asked me how papa was, -and I told him—”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Suspense.</div> - -<p>39. “Ah, you little rascal, you are -making game of me! Tell me at -once which way Gianetto went, for -it is he that we are after, and I am -certain he took this path.”</p> - -<p>40. “How do you know that?”</p> - -<p>41. “How do I know that? I -know you have seen him.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Child’s crafty nature increasingly -disclosed.</div> - -<p>42. “Does one see passers-by -when one is asleep?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> - -<p>43. “You were not asleep, you little -demon; the gunshots would have -waked you.”</p> - -<p>44. “You think, then, Cousin, that -your guns make a great noise? My -father’s rifle makes much more.”</p> - -<p>45. “May the devil confound you, -you young scamp! I am sure enough -that you have seen Gianetto. Perhaps -you have even hidden him. -Here, comrades, go into this house, -and see if our man is not there. -He could walk only on one foot, and -he has too much good sense, the rascal, -to have tried to reach the <em>maquis</em> -limping. Besides, the marks of -blood stop here.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Sly appeal to the fear inspired -by Mateo’s reputation.</div> - -<p>46. “Whatever will papa say!” -asked Fortunato, with a chuckle; -“what will he say when he finds out -that his house has been entered while -he was away!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note use of suspense -throughout. The story is -one long crisis.</div> - -<p>47. “Good-for-nothing!” cried the -adjutant Gamba, taking him by the -ear, “do you know that I am able to -make you change your tune? Perhaps -when I have given you a score -or more thwacks with the flat of a -sword, you will speak at last!”</p> - -<p>48. But Fortunato still laughed derisively.</p> - -<p id="p49">49. “My father is Mateo Falcone!” -he said with energy.</p> - -<p>50. “Do you know, you little rogue, -that I can carry you off to Corte, or -to Bastia? I’ll make you sleep in a -dungeon, on a pallet of straw, your -feet in irons, and I’ll have you guillotined,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> -if you don’t tell me where -Gianetto Sanpiero is.”</p> - -<p>51. The child burst out laughing at -this foolish threat. He only repeated:</p> - -<p>52. “My father is Mateo Falcone!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Compare with <a href="#p4">¶4</a> and <a href="#p49">¶49</a>.</div> - -<p>53. “Adjutant,” whispered one of -the <em>voltigeurs</em>, “we’d better not embroil -ourselves with Mateo.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Setting is thus interwoven -with the story, though -slightly.</div> - - - -<p>54. Gamba seemed evidently embarrassed. -He talked in a low voice -with his soldiers, who had already -been through the house. It was not -a lengthy operation, for the cabin of -a Corsican consists of only a single -square room. The furniture comprises -a table, some benches, a few -boxes, and utensils for hunting and -housekeeping. Meanwhile, little Fortunato -caressed his cat, <span class="sidenote">Character revelation.</span>and seemed -maliciously to enjoy the embarrassment -of the <em>voltigeurs</em> and his cousin.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Suspense augmented.</div> - -<p>55. One soldier came up to the haystack. -He looked at the cat and carelessly -gave a dig at the hay with his -bayonet, shrugging his shoulders as -if he thought the precaution were -ridiculous. Nothing stirred, and the -face of the child did not betray the -least emotion.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">More crafty coolness.</div> - -<p>56. The adjutant and his troop -were in despair; they were looking -seriously toward the edge of the -plain, as though disposed to return -the way they had come; <span class="sidenote">The turn in the plot.</span>when their -chief—convinced that threats would -produce no effect upon the son of -Falcone—thought he would make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> -<span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Foundation for main -crisis.</span></span> -one last effort by trying the power of -cajoleries and presents.</p> - -<p>57. “Little Cousin,” he said, “you -seem to be a wide-awake young fellow -enough. You will get on! But -you play a mean trick with me; and, -if I did not fear to give pain to my -cousin Mateo, devil take me, I’d carry -you off with me!”</p> - -<p>58. “Bah!”</p> - -<p>59. “But, when my cousin returns -I shall relate to him the whole affair, -and for your having gone to the -trouble to tell me a lie, he will give -you the whip till he draws blood.”</p> - -<p>60. “Do you know that?”</p> - -<p>61. “You’ll find out! But, see here—be -a good lad, and I’ll give you -something.”</p> - -<p>62. “I, my Cousin, will give you -some advice—it is, that if you delay -any more Gianetto will reach the <em>maquis</em>, -then it will take a cleverer fellow -to go and hunt for him.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Main crisis augmented.</div> - - - -<p>63. The adjutant drew from his -pocket a silver watch worth quite ten -crowns; and seeing how the little -Fortunato’s eyes sparkled when he<span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Plot Incident Particularized.</span></span> -looked at it, he said, as he held the -watch suspended at the end of its -steel chain:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Character appeal.</div> - -<p>64. “You rogue! you would like -very well to have such a watch as -this hung round your neck, and to go -and promenade the streets of Porto-Vecchio, -proud as a peacock; people -would ask you, ‘What time is it?’ -and you would reply, ‘Look at my -watch!’”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span></p> - -<p>65. “When I am grown up, my -uncle the corporal will give me a -watch.”</p> - -<p>66. “Yes; but your uncle’s son has -one already—not such a fine one as -this, it is true—of course, he is -younger than you.”</p> - -<p id="par67">67. The child sighed.</p> - -<p>68. “Well, would you like this -watch, little Cousin?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Suspense.</div> - -<p>69. Fortunato, ogling the watch out -of the corner of his eyes, looked just -as a cat does when they suddenly offer -it a chicken. Because it is afraid -a joke is being played on it, it dares -not pounce upon its prey, and from -time to time it turns away its eyes so -as not to succumb to the temptation;<span class="sidenote">Illustration.</span> -but it constantly licks its chops, as if -to say to its master, “But your joke -is a cruel one!”</p> - -<p>70. However, the adjutant Gamba -seemed to be offering the watch in -good faith. Fortunato did not hold -out his hand, but he said to him with -a bitter smile:</p> - -<p>71. “Why do you jest with me?”</p> - -<p>72. “By Heaven, I am not joking! -Only tell me where Gianetto is and -this watch is yours.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Compare with <a href="#par67">¶67</a>.</div> - -<p>73. Fortunato allowed an incredulous -sigh to escape him; and, fixing -his black eyes on those of the adjutant, -he sought to find in them the -faith he wished to have in his words.</p> - - -<div class="sidenote">A typical Latin protest.</div> - -<p>74. “May I lose my epaulets,” cried -the adjutant, “if I do not give you -the watch on these terms! My comrades<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> -are witnesses, and I cannot go -back on my word!”</p> - - -<p>75. So speaking, he held the watch -nearer and nearer until it almost -touched the pale cheeks of the child, -whose face showed plainly the combat -going on in his heart between -covetousness and his respect for the -laws of hospitality. <span class="sidenote">A key to the plot.</span>His bare breast -heaved violently, and he seemed to be -almost stifling. All the time the -watch dangled and turned, and sometimes -grazed the tip of his nose. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Main Crisis.</span></span>At -length, little by little, his right hand -lifted toward the watch, the ends of -his fingers touched it, and it rested -wholly on his palm, except that the -adjutant still loosely held the end of -the chain. The face was blue, the -case was newly polished—in the sunshine -it seemed to be all afire. The -temptation was too strong.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Crisis resolved and Downward -Action Begins. -Henceforward we see -the Results of crisis, -leading to the Climax.</span></div> - -<p>76. So Fortunato raised his left -hand and with his thumb pointed -over his shoulder to the haystack -against which he was standing. The -adjutant understood him immediately. -He let go the end of the chain; Fortunato -felt himself sole possessor of -the watch. <span class="sidenote">Still sly.</span>He jumped up with the -agility of a deer, and moved ten -paces away from the stack, which the -<em>voltigeurs</em> at once began to overturn.</p> - -<p>77. It was not long before they saw -the hay move, and a bleeding man, -poniard in hand, came forth. But -when he tried to rise to his feet, his -stiffening wound would not permit -him to stand. He fell down. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> -adjutant threw himself upon him and -snatched away his stiletto. Speedily, -he was securely bound, in spite of his -resistance.</p> - -<p>78. Gianetto, laid on the ground -and tied like a bundle of fagots, -turned his head toward Fortunato, -who had drawn nearer.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">First Contributory Incident.</span> -(A contributory -incident might be changed -or even omitted without -vitally changing the -plot.)</div> - -<p>79. “Son of—,” he said to him -with more contempt than anger.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Tardy attempt to appear sincere. His contempt is all for Fortunato.</div> -<p>80. The boy threw to him the silver-piece -that he had received from -him, feeling conscious that he no -longer merited it; but the outlaw -seemed not to notice this action. He -said to the adjutant in a perfectly -cool voice:</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Second Contributory Incident.</span></div> - -<p>81. “My dear Gamba, I am not able -to walk; you will be obliged to carry -me to the town.”</p> - -<p>82. “You could run as fast as a kid -just now,” retorted his cruel captor. -“But be easy, I am so glad to have -caught you that I could carry you for -a league on my own back without being -tired. All the same, my friend, -we are going to make a litter for you -out of some branches and your cloak, -and at the farm at Crespoli we shall -find some horses.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Character revelation.<br /> -Let-down in tension.</div> - -<p>83. “Good!” said the prisoner. -“You had better also put a little -straw on your litter that I may travel -more easily.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">New and resultant crisis. Fourth Plot Incident.</span></div> - - -<p>84. While the <em>voltigeurs</em> were occupied, -some making a sort of stretcher -out of chestnut boughs, and others -dressing Gianetto’s wound, Mateo -Falcone and his wife suddenly appeared<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> -in a bend of the path which -led from the <em>maquis</em>. <span class="sidenote">Contrast to tragic spirit of -the story.</span>The wife advanced, -bending laboriously under an -enormous bag of chestnuts, while her -husband came up jauntily, carrying in -his hand only a gun, while another -was slung over his shoulder, <span class="sidenote">Local color.</span>for it is -unworthy of a man to carry any other -burden than his weapons.</p> - - -<p>85. At sight of the soldiers, Mateo’s -first thought was that they had come -to arrest him. But why that idea? -Had he any quarrel with the law? -No. He bore a good reputation. He -was, as they say, particularly well -thought of; but he was a Corsican, a -mountaineer, and there are but few -Corsican mountaineers who, if they -scrutinize their memories well, cannot -find some pecadillo—some gunshot, -some dagger thrust, or some similar -bagatelle. <span class="sidenote">“Bagatelle” discloses the -Corsican attitude.</span>Mateo, more than most, -had a clear conscience, for it was -fully ten years since he had pointed -his gun against a man; but all the -same he was prudent, and he put -himself in position to make a good -defense, if need be.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">To reload his weapons, as -appears in <a href="#par87">¶87</a>.</div> - -<p>86. “Wife,” said he to Giuseppa, -“put down your sack and keep yourself -in readiness.”</p> - - - -<p id="par87">87. She obeyed on the instant. He -gave her the gun that was slung over -his shoulder, and which would likely -cause him inconvenience. <span class="sidenote">Suspense.</span>He cocked -the one he had in his hand and advanced -slowly toward the house, -skirting the trees which bordered the -path, and ready at the least hostile<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span> -demonstration to throw himself behind -the largest trunk, whence he -could fire from cover. His wife -walked close behind him, holding his -spare gun and his cartridge box. <span class="sidenote">Local color.</span>The -duty of a good housewife, in case of -conflict, is to reload her husband’s -weapons.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Development of fourth incident.</div> - -<p>88. On the other side, the adjutant -was very uneasy at sight of Mateo -advancing thus upon them with measured -steps, his gun forward and his -finger on the trigger.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Key.</div> - -<p>89. “If it should chance,” thought -he, “that Gianetto is related to Mateo, -or that he is his friend, and he -intends to protect him, the bullets of -his two guns will come to two of us <span class="sidenote">A fight would ensue.</span> -as sure as a letter to the post, and if -he should aim at me, good-bye to our -kinship!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note force of “alone.”</div> - -<p>90. In this perplexity, he put on a -courageous front and went forward -alone toward Mateo to tell him of the -matter, while greeting him like an old -acquaintance; but the brief space that -separated him from Mateo seemed to -him terribly long.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note constraint.</div> - -<p>91. “Hello! Ah! my old comrade,” -he called out. “How are you, old -fellow? It’s I, Gamba, your cousin.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Resolution of suspense.</div> - -<p>92. Mateo, without replying a word, -stopped, and while the other was -speaking he imperceptibly raised the -muzzle of his rifle in such a manner -that it was pointing heavenward by -the time the adjutant came up to him.</p> - -<p>93. “Good day, brother,”<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> said the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>adjutant, holding out his hand. “It’s -a very long time since I’ve seen -you.”</p> - -<p>94. “Good day, brother.”</p> - - -<div class="sidenote">Diminutive for Giuseppa.</div> -<p>95. “I just came in, while passing, -to say ‘good day’ to you and my -cousin Pepa. We have had a long -journey to-day; but we must not complain -of fatigue, <span class="sidenote">There is something manlike -in most of Mérimée’s female -characters.</span>for we have taken a -famous prize. We have just got -hold of Gianetto Sanpiero.”</p> - -<p>96. “God be praised!” exclaimed -Giuseppa. “He stole one of our -milch goats last week.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Character contrast.</div> - -<p>97. These words rejoiced Gamba.</p> - -<p>98. “Poor devil!” said Mateo. -“He was hungry.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">New crisis. <span class="smcap">Preparation -for climax.</span></div> - -<p>99. “The fellow defended himself -like a lion,” pursued the adjutant, -slightly mortified. “He killed one -of the men, and, not content with -that, he broke Corporal Chardon’s -arm; but that is not such a great disaster, -for he is nothing but a Frenchman.... -Then he hid himself so -cleverly that the devil would not -have been able to find him. Without -my little cousin Fortunato, I -should never have discovered him.”</p> - -<p>100. “Fortunato!” cried Mateo.</p> - -<p>101. “Fortunato!” repeated Giuseppa.</p> - -<p>102. “Yes, Gianetto was hidden -way down in your haystack; but my -little cousin showed me his trick. -So I will speak of him to his uncle -the corporal, that he may send him -a fine present for his trouble. And -his name and yours will be in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> -report which I shall send to <em>Monsieur -l’avocat général</em>.”</p> - -<p>103. “Malediction!” said Mateo -under his breath.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Misunderstanding adds to -complication.</div> -<p>104. They had now rejoined the -detachment. Gianetto was already -laid on the litter and they were ready -to leave. When he saw Mateo in the -company of Gamba, he smiled a -strange smile; then, turning himself -toward the door of the house, he -spat on the threshold as he cried out:</p> - - - -<p>105. “House of a traitor!”</p> - -<p>106. No one but a man who had -made up his mind to die would have -dared to utter the word “traitor” as -applying to Falcone. <span class="sidenote">Key to plot. <span class="smcap">Fifth Plot -Incident.</span></span>One good stroke -of the dagger, which would not need -to be repeated, would have immediately -repaid the insult. But Mateo -made no other gesture than that of -putting his hand to his head like a -dazed man.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Third Contributory Incident.</span></div> - -<p>107. Fortunato had gone into the -house upon seeing his father come -up. He reappeared shortly with a -jug of milk, which he offered with <span class="sidenote">Is this repentance, fear, hypocrisy, -or an attempt to -placate his father?</span> -downcast eyes to Gianetto. “Keep -away from me!” cried the outlaw in -a voice of thunder.</p> - -<p>108. Then turning to one of the -<em>voltigeurs</em>,</p> - -<p>109. “Comrade, give me a drink of -water,” he said.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Delineation of mood by -suggestion.</div> - -<p>110. The soldier placed the gourd -in his hands, and the bandit drank -the water given him by a man with -whom he had just exchanged gunshots. -He then asked that they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> -would tie his hands across his breast -instead of having them behind his -back.</p> - -<p>111. “I prefer,” he said, “to lie -down at my ease.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Fourth Contributory Incident.</span></div> - -<p>112. When they had adjusted them -to his satisfaction, the adjutant gave -the signal to start, said adieu to Mateo—who -answered never a word—and -went down at a quick pace toward -the plain.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Suspense.</div> - -<p>113. Some ten minutes passed before -Mateo opened his mouth. The -child looked with an uneasy eye first -at his mother, then at his father, who, -leaning on his gun, was gazing at -him with a gaze of concentrated -wrath.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Preparation for Climax.</span> -<span class="smcap">Sixth and Final Plot Incident.</span></div> - -<p id="par114">114. “You begin well,” said Mateo -at last, in a voice calm but terrifying -to those who knew the man.</p> - -<p>115. “Father!” exclaimed the child -with tears in his eyes, drawing near -as if to fall upon his knees.</p> - -<p>116. But Mateo only cried out:</p> - -<p>117. “Away from me!”</p> - -<p>118. The child stopped and began -to sob, standing motionless a few -steps from his father.</p> - -<p>119. Giuseppa came near. She had -just perceived the chain of the watch -dangling about from Fortunato’s -blouse.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Contrast with <a href="#par114">¶114</a>.</div> - -<p>120. “Who gave you that watch?” -she asked him severely.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the sly use of -“cousin.”</div> - -<p>121. “My cousin the adjutant.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Fifth Contributory Incident.</span></div> - -<p>122. Falcone seized the watch, and, -throwing it violently against a stone, -broke it into a thousand pieces.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span></p> - -<p>123. “Woman,” he said, “this child—is -he mine?”</p> - -<p>124. Giuseppa’s brown cheeks -flamed brick-red.</p> - -<p>125. “What are you saying, Mateo? -Do you know to whom you are -speaking?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Key.</div> - -<p>126. “Well, this child is the first of -his race who has committed a treason.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Decision, and foundation -for final crisis.</div> - -<p>127. Fortunato’s sobs and hiccoughs -redoubled, and Falcone kept his lynx-eyes -always fixed upon him. At -length he struck the ground with the -butt of his gun; <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Full Resultant Crisis.</span></span>then he flung it -across his shoulder and, calling to -Fortunato to follow him, retook the -way to the <em>maquis</em>. The child -obeyed.</p> - -<p>128. Giuseppa ran after Mateo, and -seized him by the arm.</p> - -<p>129. “He is your son,” she said to -him in a trembling voice, fixing her -black eyes on those of her husband, -as though to read what was passing -through his mind.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the double meaning.</div> - -<p>130. “Let me go,” replied Mateo: -“I am his father.”</p> - -<p>131. Giuseppa embraced her son, -and went back crying into the hut. -She threw herself on her knees before -an image of the Virgin, and -prayed with fervor.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Forecast.</div> - -<p>132. Meanwhile, Falcone had -walked about two-hundred yards -along the path, and stopped at a little -ravine, which he descended. He -sounded the earth with the butt of -his gun and found it soft and easy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> -to dig. The spot seemed suitable -for his design.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Suspense.</div> - -<p>133. “Fortunato, go near to that -large rock.”</p> - -<p>134. The boy did as he was commanded, -then he knelt down.</p> - -<p>135. “Say your prayers.”</p> - -<p>136. “Father, Father, do not kill -me!”</p> - -<p>137. “Say your prayers!” repeated -Mateo in a terrible voice.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">“Our Father, etc.,” “I -believe in God, etc.”</div> - -<p>138. The child, all stammering and -sobbing, repeated the <em>Pater</em> and the -<em>Credo</em>. The father, in a firm voice -responded Amen at the close of each -prayer.</p> - -<p>139. “Are those all the prayers -that you know?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">“Hail Mary, etc.” A liturgical -prayer.</div> - -<p>140. “I also know the <em>Ave Maria</em>, -and the <em>Litany</em> that my aunt taught -me, Father.”</p> - -<p>141. “It is rather long, but it doesn’t -matter.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note force of “achieved.”</div> - -<p>142. The child achieved the <em>Litany</em> -in a faint voice.</p> - -<p>143. “Have you finished?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Contrast with his former -vicious “coolness.”</div> - -<p>144. “Oh, Father, Father, mercy! -Pardon me! I will never do it -again! I will beg my cousin the corporal -with all my might for mercy -for Gianetto!”</p> - -<p>145. He went on speaking; Mateo -loaded his rifle and took aim as he -said:</p> - -<p>146. “May God forgive you!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Full Climax and Denouement.</span></div> - -<p>147. The boy made a desperate effort -to get up and clasp his father’s -knees, but he had not time. Mateo -fired, and Fortunato fell dead.</p> - - -<div class="sidenote">Note force of “throwing.”</div> - -<p>148. Without throwing a single -glance at the body, Mateo returned to -his house to fetch a spade with which -to bury his son. He had taken but a -few steps when he met Giuseppa, -who had run out, alarmed by the -sound of the firing.</p> - -<p>149. “What have you done?”</p> - -<p>150. “Justice!”</p> - -<p>151. “Where is he?”</p> - - - - - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Sixth Contributory Incident.<br /></span> -Swift conclusion.<br /> -Character revelation.</div> - -<p>152. “In the ravine; I am going to -bury him.</p> -<p> He died a Christian; I -shall have a mass sung for him.</p> -<p> Let -some one tell my son-in-law Tiodoro -Bianchi to come and live with us.”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p> -<h3>STEVENSON AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> - -<p>Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson, as he was baptized, -was born November 13, 1850, at Edinburgh, Scotland, of -Scotch parents. He entered Edinburgh University when -he was seventeen, intending to learn his father’s profession, -civil engineering—though he had always longed to -be a writer, having dictated books at the precocious ages -of six, seven, and nine. At twenty-one he decided to -study law, and four years later passed the bar examination -in his native city. In 1880 he married Mrs. Osbourne, -with whose son, Lloyd, he collaborated in the -writing of several stories. Stevenson’s health, which was -never robust, sent him on many journeys in search of -strength—to the European continent, several times to -the United States, and once on a two years’ voyage to the -South Seas. In 1890 he finally settled in Samoa, where<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> -he died at his home, Vailima, December 3, 1894. He -was buried on the nearby summit of Mount Vaea.</p> - -<p>Stevenson was a brilliant novelist, essayist, poet, and -short-story writer. <em>Treasure Island</em>, <em>Kidnapped</em>, <em>The -Master of Ballantrae</em>, and <em>Weir of Hermiston</em>—the last -of which he left unfinished—are his best novels. His -journeys were chronicled by such delightful travel-sketches -as <em>An Inland Voyage</em>, <em>Travels With a Donkey</em>, -and <em>The Silverado Squatters</em>. <em>A Child’s Garden of -Verse</em> contains his best poems. His most noteworthy -essays are found in <em>Memories and Portraits</em>, and <em>Familiar -Studies of Men and Books</em>. Most famous among his -short-stories are “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and -Mr. Hyde” (a novelette in length), “The Pavilion on -the Links,” “Thrawn Janet,” “Will o’ the Mill,” “The -Sire de Malétroit’s Door,” “The Merry Men,” “Markheim,” -published first in <em>Unwin’s Annual</em>, London, 1885, -and given in this volume in full, and “A Lodging for the -Night,” which follows entire. It was first published in -<em>The Temple Bar</em> magazine, October, 1877.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Stevenson was a supreme craftsman. No writer of -the short-story in English, except Edgar Allan Poe, -was so conscious of his art and so gifted to create up to -the measure of his orderly knowledge. In criticism of -the story-teller’s art, Poe was the greater originator, -Stevenson the more brilliant generalizer; Poe was the -deeper, Stevenson the broader; Poe’s opinions as to form -grew largely out of his own consciousness, and shaped -his practices—they were arrived at deductively: Stevenson’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> -standards grew as his creations shaped themselves, -and were measurably molded by his own writings—they -were examples of inductive reasoning. Thus Stevenson -was doubly equipped to produce incomparably the -greatest group of short-stories ever written by a Briton -before the days of Kipling, and some sound critics will -dispute even this reservation. In charm, in dash of style, -in a sense of form, in pure romantic spirit, and in penetrating -human interest, Stevenson ranks among the ten -greatest short-story-tellers of his era.</p> - - -<p class="p1 blockquot">I wonder if any one had ever more energy upon so little -strength?—<span class="smcap">R. L. Stevenson</span>, <em>Vailima Letters</em>.</p> - - -<p class="p1 blockquot">In the highest achievements of the art of words, the dramatic -and the pictorial, the moral and romantic interest, rise and fall -together by a common and organic law. Situation is animated -with passion, passion clothed upon with situation. Neither exists -for itself, but each inheres indissolubly with the other. This is -high art; and not only the highest art possible in words, but the -highest art of all, since it combines the greatest mass and -diversity of the elements of truth and pleasure. Such are epics, -and the few prose tales that have the epic weight.—<span class="smcap">R. L. -Stevenson</span>, <em>A Gossip on Romance</em>.</p> - - -<p class="p1 blockquot">The stories of Stevenson exhibit a double union, as admirable -as it is rare. They exhibit the union of splendid material with -the most delicate skill in language; and they exhibit the union of -thrilling events with a remarkable power of psychological -analysis.—<span class="smcap">William Lyon Phelps</span>, <em>Essays on Modern Novelists</em>.</p> - - -<p class="p1 blockquot">Mr. Stevenson enjoys the reputation of being the modern representative -of the romantic school of fiction. There are others -of high repute, for romanticism is now the vogue, but there is -hardly any other whose name we would care to link with that -of Walter Scott.—<span class="smcap">William H. Sheran</span>, <em>Handbook of Literary -Criticism</em>.</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> - - - -<p class="p1 blockquot">Perhaps the first quality in Mr. Stevenson’s works, now so -many and so various, which strikes a reader, is the buoyancy, the -survival of the child in him. He has told the world often, in -prose and verse, how vivid are his memories of his own infancy.... -The peculiarity of Mr. Stevenson is not only to have been -a fantastic child, and to retain, in maturity, that fantasy ripened -into imagination: he has also kept up the habit of dramatising -everything, of playing, half consciously, many parts, of making -the world “an unsubstantial fairy place....” It is the eternal -child that drives him to seek adventures and to sojourn among -beach-combers and savages.—<span class="smcap">Andrew Lang</span>, <em>Essays in Little</em>.</p> - -<p class="p1 blockquot">It has been stated that the finer qualities of Stevenson are -called out by the psychological romance on native soil. He did -some brilliant and engaging work of foreign setting and motive.... -Judged as art, “The Bottle Imp” and “The Beach of -Falesa” are among the triumphs of ethnic interpretation, let -alone their more external charms of story. And another masterpiece -of foreign setting, “A Lodging for the Night,” is further -proof of Stevenson’s ability to use other than Scotch motives for -the materials of his art.... Few novelists of any race have -beaten this wandering Scot in the power of representing character -and envisaging it, and there can hardly be successful -characterization without this allied power of creating atmosphere.—<span class="smcap">Richard -Burton</span>, <em>Masters of the English Novel</em>.</p> - - -<p class="p1 blockquot">Not until 1877, and Robert Louis Stevenson’s first published -narrative, does any Englishman of real caliber show both -desire and ability to do something <em>new</em> with the short story. -This narrative was “A Lodging for the Night,” published in -<em>Temple Bar</em> for October.... “A Lodging for the Night” is as -clearly and consciously an impressionistic short story as George -Meredith’s contemporary novelettes are not of that category; -the two stories which followed (“Will o’ the Mill” and “The -Sire de Malétroit’s Door”) would assure the most timid critic -of our generation that here was a master in this department of -fiction.... There is “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. -Hyde,” that short story thrown over into the form of a detective -romance.... Or there is “Markheim,” a story less powerful in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> -execution, but more excellent in workmanship, and an almost -ideal example of the impressionistic short story. Flaubert might -have written the description of the curiosity shop as the murderer -saw it, with its accusing clock-voices, its wavering shadows, -from the inner door “a long slit of daylight like a pointing -finger.” And Flaubert would have praised the skilful gradation -of incident and description, whereby conscience gains and gains -in the struggle for Markheim’s mind. But Hawthorne would -have been prouder still of the plot—a weak man with a remnant -of high ideals suddenly realizing that his curve is plotted and -can lead him only downwards.... How like to Hawthorne’s -usual way is Stevenson’s determination to make, at all costs, a -moral issue the outcome of his story!... “Will o’ the Mill” -is like a twice-told tale not only in theme; its whole effect is -Hawthornesque. “A Lodging for the Night” has for its kernel -a question of ethics.—<span class="smcap">H. S. Canby</span>, <em>The Short Story in English</em>. -</p> - - - -<p class="p2 big1 center">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON -STEVENSON</p> - -<p><em>Mr. Stevenson’s Methods in Fiction</em>, A. Conan Doyle -(1890); <em>Robert Louis Stevenson, An Elegy</em>, Richard Le -Gallienne (1895); <em>Robert Louis Stevenson</em>, Walter -Raleigh (1895); <em>Vailima Letters</em>, to Sidney Colvin -(1895); <em>Adventures in Criticism</em>, A. T. Quiller-Couch -(1896); <em>Critical Kit-Kats</em>, Edmund W. Gosse (1896); -<em>Studies in Two Literatures</em>, Arthur Symons (1897); -<em>Life of Robert Louis Stevenson</em>, Graham Balfour -(1901); <em>Stevenson’s Attitude to Life</em>, J. F. Genung -(1901); <em>Memories of Vailima</em>, Isobel Strong and Lloyd -Osbourne (1903); <em>Robert Louis Stevenson</em>, W. R. Nicoll -and G. K. Chesterton.</p> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span></p> -</div> - -<p class="center p2">FOR ANALYSIS</p> - - -<div class="body1"> -<h3>A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT</h3> - -<p class="big05 center">BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</p> - -<p class="p1">It was late in November, 1456. -The snow fell over Paris with rigorous, -relentless persistence; sometimes -the wind made a sally and scattered -it in flying vortices; sometimes there -was a lull, and flake after flake descended -out of the black night air, silent, -circuitous, interminable. To poor -people, looking up under moist eyebrows, -it seemed a wonder where it -all came from. Master Francis Villon -had propounded an alternative -that afternoon, at a tavern window; -was it only Pagan Jupiter plucking -geese upon Olympus? or were the -holy angels moulting? He was only -a poor master of arts, he went on; -and as the question somewhat -touched upon divinity, he durst not -venture to conclude. A silly old -priest from Montargis, who was -among the company, treated the -young rascal to a bottle of wine in -honor of the jest and grimaces with -which it was accompanied, and -swore on his own white beard that he -had been just such another irreverent -dog when he was Villon’s age.</p> - -<p>2. The air was raw and pointed, -but not far below freezing; and the -flakes were large, damp, and adhesive. -The whole city was sheeted up. -An army might have marched from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> -end to end and not a footfall given -the alarm. If there were any belated -birds in heaven, they saw the island -like a large white patch, and the -bridges like slim white spars, on the -black ground of the river. High up -overhead the snow settled among the -tracery of the cathedral towers. -Many a niche was drifted full; many -a statue wore a long white bonnet -on its grotesque or sainted head. -The gargoyles had been transformed -into great false noses, drooping -toward the point. The crockets were -like upright pillows swollen on one -side. In the intervals of the wind, -there was a dull sound of dripping -about the precincts of the church.</p> - -<p>3. The cemetery of St. John had -taken its own share of the snow. -All the graves were decently covered; -tall white housetops stood -around in grave array; worthy -burghers were long ago in bed, be-nightcapped -like their domiciles; -there was no light in all the neighborhood -but a little peep from a -lamp that hung swinging in the -church choir, and tossed the shadows -to and fro in time to its oscillations. -The clock was hard on ten -when the patrol went by with halberds -and a lantern, beating their -hands; and they saw nothing suspicious -about the cemetery of St. John.</p> - -<p>4. Yet there was a small house, -backed up against the cemetery wall, -which was still awake, and awake<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> -to evil purpose, in that snoring district. -There was not much to betray -it from without; only a stream of -warm vapor from the chimney-top, -a patch where the snow melted on the -roof, and a few half-obliterated footprints -at the door. But within, behind -the shuttered windows, Master -Francis Villon, the poet, and some -of the thievish crew with whom he -consorted, were keeping the night -alive and passing round the bottle.</p> - -<p>5. A great pile of living embers -diffused a strong and ruddy glow -from the arched chimney. Before -this straddled Dom Nicolas, the -Picardy monk, with his skirts picked -up and his fat legs bared to the -comfortable warmth. His dilated -shadow cut the room in half; and the -firelight only escaped on either side -of his broad person, and in a little -pool between his outspread feet. His -face had the beery, bruised appearance -of the continual drinker’s; it -was covered with a network of congested -veins, purple in ordinary circumstances, -but now pale violet, for -even with his back to the fire the -cold pinched him on the other side. -His cowl had half fallen back, and -made a strange excrescence on either -side of his bull neck. So he straddled, -grumbling, and cut the room in -half with the shadow of his portly -frame.</p> - -<p>6. On the right, Villon and Guy -Tabary were huddled together over -a scrap of parchment; Villon making<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> -a ballad which he was to call the -“Ballad of Roast Fish,” and Tabary -spluttering admiration at his shoulder. -The poet was a rag of a man, -dark, little, and lean, with hollow -cheeks and thin black locks. He carried -his four-and-twenty years with -feverish animation. Greed had made -folds about his eyes, evil smiles had -puckered his mouth. The wolf and -pig struggled together in his face. -It was an eloquent, sharp, ugly, earthly -countenance. His hands were -small and prehensile, with fingers -knotted like a cord; and they were -continually flickering in front of him -in violent and expressive pantomime. -As for Tabary, a broad, complacent, -admiring imbecility breathed from -his squash nose and slobbering lips: -he had become a thief, just as he -might have become the most decent -of burgesses, by the imperious chance -that rules the lives of human geese -and human donkeys.</p> - -<p>7. At the monk’s other hand, Montigny -and Thevenin Pensete played -a game of chance. About the first -there clung some flavor of good birth -and training, as about a fallen angel; -something long, lithe, and courtly -in the person; something aquiline and -darkling in the face. Thevenin, poor -soul, was in great feather: he had -done a good stroke of knavery that -afternoon in the Faubourg St. -Jacques, and all night he had been -gaining from Montigny. A flat smile -illuminated his face; his bald head<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> -shone rosily in a garland of red -curls; his little protuberant stomach -shook with silent chucklings as he -swept in his gains.</p> - -<p>8. “Doubles or quits?” said Thevenin.</p> - -<p>9. Montigny nodded grimly.</p> - -<p>10. “Some may prefer to dine in -state,” wrote Villon, “On bread and -cheese on silver plate. Or, or—help -me out, Guido!”</p> - -<p>11. Tabary giggled.</p> - -<p>12. “Or parsley on a golden dish,” -scribbled the poet.</p> - -<p>13. The wind was freshening without; -it drove the snow before it, and -sometimes raised its voice in a victorious -whoop, and made sepulchral -grumblings in the chimney. The cold -was growing sharper as the night -went on. Villon, protruding his lips, -imitated the gust with something between -a whistle and a groan. It was -an eerie, uncomfortable talent of the -poet’s, much detested by the Picardy -monk.</p> - -<p>14. “Can’t you hear it rattle in the -gibbet?” said Villon. “They are all -dancing the devil’s jig on nothing, up -there. You may dance, my gallants, -you’ll be none the warmer! Whew! -what a gust! Down went somebody -just now! A medlar the fewer on -the three-legged medlar-tree!—I say, -Dom Nicolas, it’ll be cold to-night -on the St. Denis Road?” he asked.</p> - -<p>15. Dom Nicolas winked both his -big eyes, and seemed to choke upon -his Adam’s apple. Montfaucon, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> -great grisly Paris gibbet, stood hard -by the St. Denis Road, and the pleasantry -touched him on the raw. As -for Tabary, he laughed immoderately -over the medlars; he had never heard -anything more light-hearted; and he -held his sides and crowed. Villon -fetched him a fillip on the nose, which -turned his mirth into an attack of -coughing.</p> - -<p>16. “Oh, stop that row,” said Villon, -“and think of rhymes to ‘fish.’”</p> - -<p>17. “Doubles or quits,” said Montigny, -doggedly.</p> - -<p>18. “With all my heart,” quoth -Thevenin.</p> - -<p>19. “Is there any more in that bottle?” -asked the monk.</p> - -<p>20. “Open another,” said Villon. -“How do you ever hope to fill that -big hogshead, your body, with little -things like bottles? And how do you -expect to get to heaven? How many -angels, do you fancy, can be spared -to carry up a single monk from Picardy? -Or do you think yourself another -Elias—and they’ll send the -coach for you?”</p> - -<p>21. “<em>Hominibus impossible</em>,” replied -the monk, as he filled his glass.</p> - -<p>22. Tabary was in ecstasies.</p> - -<p>23. Villon filliped his nose again.</p> - -<p>24. “Laugh at my jokes, if you -like,” he said.</p> - -<p>25. “It was very good,” objected -Tabary.</p> - -<p>26. Villon made a face at him. -“Think of rhymes to ‘fish,’” he -said. “What have you to do with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> -Latin? You’ll wish you knew none -of it at the great assizes, when the -devil calls for Guido Tabary, <em>clericus</em>—the -devil with the humpback and -red-hot finger-nails. Talking of the -devil,” he added, in a whisper, -“look at Montigny!”</p> - -<p>27. All three peered covertly at -the gamester. He did not seem to -be enjoying his luck. His mouth -was a little to a side; one nostril -nearly shut, and the other much inflated. -The black dog was on his -back, as people say in terrifying -nursery metaphor; and he breathed -hard under the grewsome burden.</p> - -<p>28. “He looks as if he could knife -him,” whispered Tabary, with round -eyes.</p> - -<p>29. The monk shuddered, and -turned his face and spread his open -hands to the red embers. It was -the cold that thus affected Dom -Nicolas, and not any excess of moral -sensibility.</p> - -<p>30. “Come, now,” said Villon—“about -this ballad. How does it -run so far?” And beating time with -his hand he read it aloud to Tabary.</p> - -<p>31. They were interrupted at the -fourth rhyme by a brief and fatal -movement among the gamesters. -The round was completed, and Thevenin -was just opening his mouth to -claim another victory, when Montigny -leaped up, swift as an adder, -and stabbed him to the heart. The -blow took effect before he had time -to move. A tremor or two convulsed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> -his frame; his hands opened and shut, -his heels rattled on the floor; then -his head rolled backward over one -shoulder with the eyes wide open; -and Thevenin Pensete’s spirit had returned -to Him who gave it.</p> - -<p>32. Everyone sprung to his feet; -but the business was over in two -twos. The four living fellows looked -at each other in rather a ghastly -fashion; the dead man contemplating -a corner of the roof with a singular -and ugly leer.</p> - -<p>33. “My God!” said Tabary; and -he began to pray in Latin.</p> - -<p>34. Villon broke out into hysterical -laughter. He came a step forward -and ducked a ridiculous bow at Thevenin, -and laughed still louder. -Then he sat down suddenly, all of a -heap, upon a stool, and continued -laughing bitterly as though he -would shake himself to pieces.</p> - -<p>35. Montigny recovered his composure -first.</p> - -<p>36. “Let’s see what he has about -him,” he remarked; and he picked -the dead man’s pockets with a practiced -hand, and divided the money -into four equal portions on the table. -“There’s for you,” he said.</p> - -<p>37. The monk received his share -with a deep sigh, and a single -stealthy glance at the dead Thevenin, -who was beginning to sink himself -and topple sideways off the chair.</p> - -<p>38. “We’re all in for it,” cried Villon, -swallowing his mirth. “It’s a -hanging job for every man jack of us<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> -that’s here—not to speak of those -who aren’t.” He made a shocking -gesture in the air with his raised -right hand, and put out his tongue -and threw his head on one side, so -as to counterfeit the appearance of -one who has been hanged. Then he -pocketed his share of the spoil, and -executed a shuffle with his feet as if -to restore the circulation.</p> - -<p>39. Tabary was the last to help -himself; he made a dash at the -money, and retired to the other end -of the apartment.</p> - -<p>40. Montigny stuck Thevenin upright -in the chair, and drew out a -dagger, which was followed by a jet -of blood.</p> - -<p>41. “You fellows had better be -moving,” he said, as he wiped the -blade on his victim’s doublet.</p> - -<p>42. “I think we had,” returned -Villon, with a great gulp. “Damn -his fat head!” he broke out. “It -sticks in my throat like phlegm. -What right has a man to have red -hair when he is dead?” And he fell -all of a heap again upon the stool, -and fairly covered his face with his -hands.</p> - -<p>43. Montigny and Dom Nicolas -laughed aloud, even Tabary feebly -chiming in.</p> - -<p>44. “Cry baby,” said the monk.</p> - -<p>45. “I always said he was a woman,” -added Montigny, with a sneer. -“Sit up, can’t you?” he went on, -giving another shake to the murdered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> -body. “Tread out that fire, -Nick!”</p> - -<p>46. But Nick was better employed; -he was quietly taking Villon’s purse, -as the poet sat, limp and trembling, -on the stool where he had been making -a ballad not three minutes before. -Montigny and Tabary dumbly demanded -a share of the booty, which -the monk silently promised as he -passed the little bag into the bosom -of his gown. In many ways an artistic -nature unfits a man for practical -existence.</p> - -<p>47. No sooner had the theft been -accomplished than Villon shook himself, -jumped to his feet, and began -helping to scatter and extinguish the -embers. Meanwhile Montigny opened -the door and cautiously peered into -the street. The coast was clear; -there was no meddlesome patrol in -sight. Still it was judged wiser to -slip out severally; and as Villon was -himself in a hurry to escape from the -neighborhood of the dead Thevenin, -and the rest were in a still greater -hurry to get rid of him before he -should discover the loss of his -money, he was the first by general -consent to issue forth into the street.</p> - -<p>48. The wind had triumphed and -swept all the clouds from heaven. -Only a few vapors, as thin as moonlight, -fleeted rapidly across the stars. -It was bitter cold; and by a common -optical effect, things seemed almost -more definite than in the broadest -daylight. The sleeping city was absolutely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> -still; a company of white -hoods, a field full of little alps, below -the twinkling stars. Villon cursed -his fortune. Would it were still -snowing! Now, wherever he went, -he left an indelible trail behind him -on the glittering streets; wherever he -went he was still tethered to the -house by the cemetery of St. John; -wherever he went he must weave, -with his own plodding feet, the rope -that bound him to the crime and -would bind him to the gallows. The -leer of the dead man came back to -him with a new significance. He -snapped his fingers as if to pluck up -his own spirits, and choosing a street -at random, stepped boldly forward in -the snow.</p> - -<p>49. Two things preoccupied him -as he went; the aspect of the gallows -at Montfaucon in this bright, windy -phase of the night’s existence, for -one; and for another, the look of -the dead man with his bald head and -garland of red curls. Both struck -cold upon his heart, and he kept -quickening his pace as if he could -escape from unpleasant thoughts by -mere fleetness of foot. Sometimes -he looked back over his shoulder -with a sudden nervous jerk; but he -was the only moving thing in the -white streets, except when the wind -swooped round a corner and threw -up the snow, which was beginning to -freeze, in spouts of glittering dust.</p> - -<p>50. Suddenly he saw, a long way -before him, a black clump and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> -couple of lanterns. The clump was -in motion, and the lanterns swung as -though carried by men walking. It -was a patrol. And though it was -merely crossing his line of march, he -judged it wiser to get out of eyeshot -as speedily as he could. He was not -in the humor to be challenged, and -he was conscious of making a very -conspicuous mark upon the snow. -Just on his left hand there stood a -great hotel, with some turrets and a -large porch before the door; it was -half-ruinous, he remembered, and -had long stood empty; and so he -made three steps of it, and jumped -into the shelter of the porch. It was -pretty dark inside, after the glimmer -of the snowy streets, and he was -groping forward with outspread -hands, when he stumbled over some -substance which offered an indescribable -mixture of resistances, hard -and soft, firm and loose. His heart -gave a leap, and he sprung two steps -back and stared dreadfully at the -obstacle. Then he gave a little laugh -of relief. It was only a woman, and -she dead. He knelt beside her to -make sure upon this latter point. -She was freezing cold, and rigid like -a stick. A little ragged finery fluttered -in the wind about her hair, and -her cheeks had been heavily rouged -that same afternoon. Her pockets -were quite empty; but in her stocking, -underneath the garter, Villon -found two of the small coins that -went by the name of whites. It was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> -little enough, but it was always something, -and the poet was moved with -a deep sense of pathos that she -should have died before she had -spent her money. That seemed to -him a dark and pitiful mystery; and -he looked from the coins in his hand -to the dead woman, and back again -to the coins, shaking his head over -the riddle of man’s life.</p> - -<p>51. Henry V. of England, dying -at Vincennes just after he had conquered -France, and this poor jade -cut off by a cold draught in a great -man’s doorway, before she had time -to spend her couple of whites—it -seemed a cruel way to carry on the -world. Two whites would have taken -such a little while to squander; -and yet it would have been one more -good taste in the mouth, one more -smack of the lips, before the devil got -the soul, and the body was left to -birds and vermin. He would like to -use all his tallow before the light -was blown out and the lantern broken.</p> - -<p>52. While these thoughts were -passing through his mind, he was -feeling, half mechanically, for his -purse. Suddenly his heart stopped -beating; a feeling of cold scales passed -up the back of his legs, and a cold -blow seemed to fall upon his scalp. -He stood petrified for a moment; -then he felt again with one feverish -movement; and then his loss burst -upon him, and he was covered at -once with perspiration. To spend-thrifts<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> -money is so living and actual—it -is such a thin veil between them -and their pleasures! There is only -one limit to their fortune—that of -time; and a spendthrift with only a -few crowns is the Emperor of Rome -until they are spent. For such a -person to lose his money is to suffer -the most shocking reverse, and fall -from heaven to hell, from all to nothing, -in a breath. And all the more -if he has put his head in the halter -for it; if he may be hanged to-morrow -for that same purse, so dearly -earned, so foolishly departed! Villon -stood and cursed; he threw the -two whites into the street; he shook -his fist at heaven; he stamped, and -was not horrified to find himself -trampling the poor corpse. Then he -began rapidly to retrace his steps toward -the house beside the cemetery. -He had forgotten all fear of the -patrol, which was long gone by at -any rate, and had no idea but that -of his lost purse. It was in vain -that he looked right and left upon -the snow; nothing was to be seen. -He had not dropped it in the streets. -Had it fallen in the house? He -would have liked dearly to go in and -see; but the idea of the grisly occupant -unmanned him. And he saw -besides, as he drew near, that their -efforts to put out the fire had been -unsuccessful; on the contrary, it had -broken into a blaze, and a changeful -light played in the chinks of door -and window, and revived his terror<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> -for the authorities and Paris gibbet.</p> - -<p>53. He returned to the hotel with -the porch, and groped about upon the -snow for the money he had thrown -away in his childish passion. But -he could only find one white; the -other had probably struck sideways -and sunk deeply in. With a single -white in his pocket, all his projects -for a rousing night in some wild -tavern vanished utterly away. And -it was not only pleasure that fled -laughing from his grasp; positive -discomfort, positive pain, attacked -him as he stood ruefully before the -porch. His perspiration had dried -upon him, and although the wind -had now fallen, a binding frost was -setting in stronger with every hour, -and he felt benumbed and sick at -heart. What was to be done? Late -as was the hour, improbable as was -success, he would try the house of -his adopted father, the chaplain of -St. Benoit.</p> - -<p>54. He ran there all the way, and -knocked timidly. There was no answer. -He knocked again and again, -taking heart with every stroke; and -at last steps were heard approaching -from within. A barred wicket -fell open in the iron-studded door, -and emitted a gush of yellow light.</p> - -<p>55. “Hold up your face to the -wicket,” said the chaplain, from within.</p> - -<p>56. “It’s only me,” whimpered -Villon.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span></p> - -<p>57. “Oh, it’s only you, is it?” returned -the chaplain; and he cursed -him with foul unpriestly oaths for -disturbing him at such an hour, and -bade him be off to hell, where he -came from.</p> - -<p>58. “My hands are blue to the -wrist,” pleaded Villon; “my feet are -dead and full of twinges; my nose -aches with the sharp air; the cold -lies at my heart. I may be dead before -morning. Only this once, father, -and before God, I will never ask -again!”</p> - -<p>59. “You should have come earlier,” -said the ecclesiastic coolly. -“Young men require a lesson now -and then.” He shut the wicket and -retired deliberately into the interior -of the house.</p> - -<p>60. Villon was beside himself; he -beat upon the door with his hands -and feet, and shouted hoarsely after -the chaplain.</p> - -<p>61. “Wormy old fox!” he cried. -“If I had my hand under your twist, -I would send you flying headlong -into the bottomless pit.”</p> - -<p>62. A door shut in the interior, -faintly audible to the poet down long -passages. He passed his hand over -his mouth with an oath. And then -the humor of the situation struck -him, and he laughed and looked lightly -up to heaven, where the stars seemed -to be winking over his discomfiture.</p> - -<p>63. What was to be done? It -looked very like a night in the frosty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> -streets. The idea of the dead woman -popped into his imagination, and -gave him a hearty fright; what had -happened to her in the early night -might very well happen to him before -morning. And he so young! and -with such immense possibilities of -disorderly amusement before him! -He felt quite pathetic over the notion -of his own fate, as if it had been -some one else’s, and made a little -imaginative vignette of the scene in -the morning when they should find -his body.</p> - -<p>64. He passed all his chances under -review, turning the white between -his thumb and forefinger. Unfortunately -he was on bad terms with -some old friends who would once -have taken pity on him in such a -plight. He had lampooned them in -verses; he had beaten and cheated -them; and yet now, when he was in -so close a pinch, he thought there -was at least one who might perhaps -relent. It was a chance. It was -worth trying at least, and he would -go and see.</p> - -<p>65. On the way two little accidents -happened to him which colored his -musings in a very different manner. -For, first he fell in with the track of -a patrol, and walked in it for some -hundred yards, although it lay out -of his direction. And this spirited -him up; at least he had confused his -trail; for he was still possessed with -the idea of people tracking him all -about Paris over the snow, and collaring<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> -him next morning before he -was awake. The other matter affected -him quite differently. He passed -a street corner, where, not so long -before, a woman and her child had -been devoured by wolves. This was -just the kind of weather, he reflected, -when wolves might take it into -their heads to enter Paris again; and -a lone man in these deserted streets -would run the chance of something -worse than a mere scare. He stopped -and looked upon the place with -an unpleasant interest—it was a -center where several lanes intersected -each other; and he looked down -them all, one after another, and held -his breath to listen, lest he should detect -some galloping black things on -the snow or hear the sound of howling -between him and the river. He -remembered his mother telling him -the story and pointing out the spot, -while he was yet a child. His mother! -If he only knew where she lived, -he might make sure at least of -shelter. He determined he would inquire -upon the morrow; nay, he -would go and see her too, poor old -girl! So thinking, he arrived at his -destination—his last hope for the -night.</p> - -<p>66. The house was quite dark, like -its neighbors; and yet after a few -taps, he heard a movement overhead, -a door opening, and a cautious voice -asking who was there. The poet -named himself in a loud whisper, and -waited, not without some trepidation,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> -the result. Nor had he to wait long. -A window was suddenly opened, and -a pailful of slops splashed down upon -the doorstep. Villon had not -been unprepared for something of the -sort, and had put himself as much in -shelter as the nature of the porch -admitted; but for all that, he was -deplorably drenched below the waist. -His hose began to freeze almost at -once. Death from cold and exposure -stared him in the face; he remembered -he was of phthisical tendency, and -began coughing tentatively. But -the gravity of the danger steadied his -nerves. He stopped a few hundred -yards from the door where he had -been so rudely used, and reflected -with his nose. He could only see -one way of getting a lodging, and -that was to take it. He had noticed -a house not far away, which looked -as if it might be easily broken into, -and thither he betook himself promptly, -entertaining himself on the way -with the idea of a room still hot, with -a table still loaded with the remains -of supper, where he might pass the -rest of the black hours and whence -he should issue, on the morrow, with -an armful of valuable plate. He even -considered on what viands and what -wines he should prefer; and as he -was calling the roll of his favorite -dainties, roast fish presented itself to -his mind with an odd mixture of -amusement and horror.</p> - -<p>67. “I shall never finish that ballad,” -he thought to himself; and then,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> -with another shudder at the recollection, -“Oh, damn his fat head!” he -repeated fervently, and spat upon the -snow.</p> - -<p>68. The house in question looked -dark at first sight; but as Villon -made a preliminary inspection in -search of the handiest point of attack, -a little twinkle of light caught his -eye from behind a curtained window.</p> - -<p>69. “The devil!” he thought. -“People awake! Some student or -some saint, confound the crew! -Can’t they get drunk and lie in bed -snoring like their neighbors! What’s -the good of curfew, and poor devils -of bellringers jumping at a rope’s end -in bell-towers? What’s the use of -day, if people sit up all night! The -gripes to them!” He grinned as he -saw where his logic was leading him. -“Every man to his business, after -all,” added he, “and if they’re awake, -by the Lord, I may come by a supper -honestly for once, and cheat the -devil.”</p> - -<p>70. He went boldly to the door and -knocked with an assured hand. On -both previous occasions, he had -knocked timidly and with some dread -of attracting notice; but now, when -he had just discarded the thought of -a burglarious entry, knocking at a -door seemed a mighty simple and innocent -proceeding. The sound of his -blows echoed through the house with -thin, phantasmal reverberations, as -though the house were empty; but -these had scarcely died away before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> -a measured tread drew near, a couple -of bolts were withdrawn, and one -wing was opened broadly, as though -no guile or fear of guile were known -to those within. A tall figure of a -man, muscular and spare, but a little -bent, confronted Villon. The head -was massive in bulk, but finely sculptured; -the nose blunt at the bottom, -but refining upward to where it joined -a pair of strong and honest eyebrows; -the mouth and eyes surrounded -with delicate markings, and the -whole face based upon a thick white -beard, boldly and squarely trimmed. -Seen as it was by the light of a flickering -hand-lamp, it looked, perhaps, -nobler than it had a right to do; but -it was a fine face, honorable rather -than intelligent, strong, simple, and -righteous.</p> - -<p>71. “You knock late, sir,” said the -old man, in resonant, courteous tones.</p> - -<p>72. Villon cringed, and brought up -many servile words of apology; at a -crisis of this sort, the beggar was uppermost -in him, and the man of -genius hid his head with confusion.</p> - -<p>73. “You are cold,” repeated the -old man, “and hungry? Well, step -in.” And he ordered him into the -house with a noble enough gesture.</p> - -<p>74. “Some great seigneur,” thought -Villon, as his host, setting down the -lamp on the flagged pavement of the -entry, shot the bolts once more into -their places.</p> - -<p>75. “You will pardon me if I go in -front,” he said, when this was done;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> -and he preceded the poet up-stairs -into a large apartment, warmed with -a pan of charcoal and lit by a great -lamp hanging from the roof. It was -very bare of furniture; only some -gold plate on a sideboard; some -folios; and a stand of armor between -the windows. Some smart tapestry -hung upon the walls, representing the -crucifixion of our Lord in one piece, -and in another a scene of shepherds -and shepherdesses by a running -stream. Over the chimney was a -shield of arms.</p> - -<p>76. “Will you seat yourself,” said -the old man, “and forgive me if I -leave you? I am alone in my house -to-night, and if you are to eat I must -forage for you myself.”</p> - -<p>77. No sooner was his host gone -than Villon leaped from the chair on -which he had just seated himself, -and began examining the room, with -the stealth and passion of a cat. He -weighed the gold flagons in his hand, -opened all the folios, and investigated -the arms upon the shield, and the -stuff with which the seats were lined. -He raised the window curtains, and -saw that the windows were set with -rich stained glass in figures, so far -as he could see, of martial import. -Then he stood in the middle of the -room, drew a long breath, and, retaining -it with puffed cheeks, looked -round and round him, turning on his -heels, as if to impress every feature -of the apartment on his memory.</p> - -<p>78. “Seven pieces of plate,” he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> -said. “If there had been ten, I -would have risked it. A fine house, -and a fine old master, so help me all -the saints!”</p> - -<p>79. And just then, hearing the old -man’s tread returning along the corridor, -he stole back to his chair, and -began humbly toasting his wet legs -before the charcoal pan.</p> - -<p>80. His entertainer had a plate of -meat in one hand and a jug of wine -in the other. He sat down the plate -upon the table, motioning Villon to -draw in his chair, and, going to the -sideboard, brought back two goblets, -which he filled.</p> - -<p>81. “I drink your better fortune,” -he said, gravely touching Villon’s cup -with his own.</p> - -<p>82. “To our better acquaintance,” -said the poet, growing bold. A mere -man of the people would have been -awed by the courtesy of the old -seigneur, but Villon was hardened in -that matter; he had made mirth for -great lords before now, and found -them as black rascals as himself. -And so he devoted himself to the -viands with a ravenous gusto, while -the old man, leaning backward, watched -him with steady, curious eyes.</p> - -<p>83. “You have blood on your -shoulder, my man,” he said.</p> - -<p>84. Montigny must have laid his -wet right hand upon him as he left -the house. He cursed Montigny in -his heart.</p> - -<p>85. “It was none of my shedding,” -he stammered.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p> - -<p>86. “I had not supposed so,” returned -his host, quietly. “A brawl?”</p> - -<p>87. “Well, something of that sort,” -Villon admitted with a quaver.</p> - -<p>88. “Perhaps a fellow murdered?”</p> - -<p>89. “Oh, no, not murdered,” said -the poet, more and more confused. -“It was all fair play—murdered by -accident. I had no hand in it, God -strike me dead!” he added, fervently.</p> - -<p>90. “One rogue the fewer, I dare -say,” observed the master of the -house.</p> - -<p>91. “You may dare to say that,” -agreed Villon, infinitely relieved. “As -big a rogue as there is between here -and Jerusalem. He turned up his -toes like a lamb. But it was a nasty -thing to look at. I dare say you’ve -seen dead men in your time, my -lord?” he added, glancing at the armor.</p> - -<p>92. “Many,” said the old man. “I -have followed the wars, as you imagine.”</p> - -<p>93. Villon laid down his knife and -fork, which he had just taken up -again.</p> - -<p>94. “Were any of them bald?” he -asked.</p> - -<p>95. “Oh, yes, and with hair as -white as mine.”</p> - -<p>96. “I don’t think I should mind -the white so much,” said Villon. -“His was red.” And he had a return -of his shuddering and tendency -to laughter, which he drowned with -a great draught of wine. “I’m a little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> -put out when I think of it,” he -went on. “I knew him—damn him! -And then the cold gives a man fancies—or -the fancies give a man cold, -I don’t know which.”</p> - -<p>97. “Have you any money?” asked -the old man.</p> - -<p>98. “I have one white,” returned -the poet, laughing. “I got it out of -a dead jade’s stocking in a porch. -She was as dead as Cæsar, poor -wench, and as cold as a church, with -bits of ribbon sticking in her hair. -This is a hard world in winter for -wolves and wenches and poor rogues -like me.”</p> - -<p>99. “I,” said the old man, “am -Enguerrand de la Feuillee, seigneur -de Brisetout, bailly du Patatrac. -Who and what may you be?”</p> - -<p>100. Villon rose and made a suitable -reverence. “I am called Francis -Villon,” he said, “a poor master of -arts in this university. I know some -Latin, and a deal of vice. I can make -chansons, ballads, lais, virelais, and -roundels and I am very fond of wine. -I was born in a garret and I shall -not improbably die upon the gallows. -I may add, my lord, that from this -night forward I am your lordship’s -very obsequious servant to command.”</p> - -<p>101. “No servant of mine,” said -the knight; “my guest for this evening, -and no more.”</p> - -<p>102. “A very grateful guest,” said -Villon, politely, and he drank in -dumb show to his entertainer.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p> - -<p>103. “You are shrewd,” began the -old man, tapping his forehead, “very -shrewd; you have learning; you are -a clerk; and yet you take a small -piece of money off a dead woman -in the street. Is it not a kind of -theft?”</p> - -<p>104. “It is a kind of theft much -practiced in the wars, my lord.”</p> - -<p>105. “The wars are the field of -honor,” returned the old man, proudly. -“There a man plays his life upon -the cast; he fights in the name of his -lord the king, his Lord God, and all -their lordships the holy saints and -angels.”</p> - -<p>106. “Put it,” said Villon, “that I -were really a thief, should I not play -my life also, and against heavier -odds?”</p> - -<p>107. “For gain, but not for honor.”</p> - -<p>108. “Gain?” repeated Villon, with -a shrug. “Gain! The poor fellow -wants supper, and takes it. So does -the soldier in a campaign. Why, -what are all these requisitions we -hear so much about? If they are not -gain to those who take them, they are -loss enough to the others. The men-at-arms -drink by a good fire, while -the burgher bites his nails to buy -them wine and wood. I have seen a -good many plowmen swinging on -trees about the country; ay, I have -seen thirty on one elm, and a very -poor figure they made; and when I -asked some one how all these came -to be hanged, I was told it was because -they could not scrape together<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> -enough crowns to satisfy the men-at-arms.”</p> - -<p>109. “These things are a necessity -of war, which the low-born must endure -with constancy. It is true that -some captains drive overhard; there -are spirits in every rank not easily -moved by pity; and indeed many follow -arms who are no better than -brigands.”</p> - -<p>110. “You see,” said the poet, “you -cannot separate the soldier from the -brigand; and what is a thief but an -isolated brigand with circumspect -manners? I steal a couple of mutton -chops, without so much as disturbing -people’s sleep; the farmer grumbles a -bit, but sups none the less wholesomely -on what remains. You come -up blowing gloriously on a trumpet, -take away the whole sheep, and beat -the farmer pitifully into the bargain. -I have no trumpet; I am only Tom, -Dick, or Harry; I am a rogue and a -dog, and hanging’s too good for me—with -all my heart; but just ask the -farmer which of us he prefers, just -find out which of us he lies awake to -curse on cold nights.”</p> - -<p>111. “Look at us two,” said his -lordship. “I am old, strong, and -honored. If I were turned from my -house to-morrow, hundreds would be -proud to shelter me. Poor people -would go out and pass the night in -the streets with their children, if I -merely hinted that I wished to be -alone. And I find you up, wandering -homeless, and picking farthings off<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> -dead women by the wayside! I fear -no man and nothing; I have seen you -tremble and lose countenance at a -word. I wait God’s summons contentedly -in my own house, or, if it -please the king to call me out again, -upon the field of battle. You look -for the gallows; a rough, swift death, -without hope or honor. Is there no -difference between these two?”</p> - -<p>112. “As far as to the moon,” Villon -acquiesced. “But if I had been -born Lord of Brisetout, and you had -been the poor scholar Francis, would -the difference have been any the less? -Should I not have been warming my -knees at this charcoal pan, and would -not you have been groping for farthings -in the snow? Should not I -have been the soldier and you the -thief?”</p> - -<p>113. “A thief?” cried the old man. -“I a thief! If you understood your -words you would repent them.”</p> - -<p>114. Villon turned out his hands -with a gesture of inimitable impudence. -“If your lordship had done -me the honor to follow my argument!” -he said.</p> - -<p>115. “I do you too much honor in -submitting to your presence,” said the -knight. “Learn to curb your tongue -when you speak with old and honorable -men, or some one hastier than I -may reprove you in a sharper fashion.” -And he rose and paced the -lower end of the apartment, struggling -with anger and antipathy. Villon -surreptitiously refilled his cup,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> -and settled himself more comfortably -in the chair, crossing his knees and -leaning his head upon one hand and -the elbow against the back of the -chair. He was now replete and -warm, and he was in nowise frightened -for his host, having gauged him -as justly as was possible between two -such different characters. The night -was far spent, and in a very comfortable -fashion after all; and he felt -morally certain of a safe departure -on the morrow.</p> - -<p>116. “Tell me one thing,” said the -old man, pausing in his walk. “Are -you really a thief?”</p> - -<p>117. “I claim the sacred rights of -hospitality,” returned the poet. “My -lord, I am.”</p> - -<p>118. “You are very young,” the -knight continued.</p> - -<p>119. “I should never have been so -old,” replied Villon, showing his fingers, -“if I had not helped myself -with these ten talents. They have -been my nursing mothers and my -nursing fathers.”</p> - -<p>120. “You may still repent and -change.”</p> - -<p>121. “I repent daily,” said the poet. -“There are few people more given to -repentance than poor Francis. As -for change, let somebody change my -circumstances. A man must continue -to eat, if it were only that he may -continue to repent.”</p> - -<p>122. “The change must begin in -the heart,” returned the old man solemnly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span></p> - -<p>123. “My dear lord,” answered -Villon, “do you really fancy that I -steal for pleasure? I hate stealing, -like any other piece of work or of -danger. My teeth chatter when I see -a gallows. But I must eat, I must -drink, I must mix in society of some -sort. What the devil! Man is not a -solitary animal—<em>Cui Deus fœminam -tradit</em>. Make me king’s pantler—make -me abbot of St. Denis; make -me bailly of the Patatrac; and then I -shall be changed indeed. But as long -as you leave me the poor scholar -Francis Villon, without a farthing, -why, of course, I remain the same.”</p> - -<p>124. “The grace of God is all-powerful.”</p> - -<p>125. “I should be a heretic to question -it,” said Francis. “It has made -you lord of Brisetout and bailly of -the Patatrac; it has given me nothing -but the quick wits under my hat and -these ten toes upon my hands. May -I help myself to wine? I thank you -respectfully. By God’s grace, you -have a very superior vintage.”</p> - -<p>126. The lord of Brisetout walked -to and fro with his hands behind his -back. Perhaps he was not yet quite -settled in his mind about the parallel -between thieves and soldiers; perhaps -Villon had interested him by some -cross-thread of sympathy; perhaps his -wits were simply muddled by so much -unfamiliar reasoning; but whatever -the cause, he somehow yearned to -convert the young man to a better -way of thinking, and could not make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> -up his mind to drive him forth again -into the street.</p> - -<p>127. “There is something more -than I can understand in this,” he -said at length. “Your mouth is full -of subtleties, and the devil has led -you very far astray; but the devil -is only a very weak spirit before -God’s truth, and all his subtleties -vanish at a word of true honor, like -darkness at morning. Listen to me -once more. I learned long ago that -a gentleman should live chivalrously -and lovingly to God, and the king, -and his lady; and though I have -seen many strange things done, I -have still striven to command my -ways upon that rule. It is not only -written in all noble histories, but in -every man’s heart, if he will take -care to read. You speak of food -and wine, and I know very well that -hunger is a difficult trial to endure; -but you do not speak of other wants; -you say nothing of honor, of faith -to God and other men, of courtesy, -of love without reproach. It may be -that I am not very wise—and yet I -am—but you seem to me like one -who has lost his way and made a -great error in life. You are attending -to the little wants, and you have -totally forgotten the great and only -real ones, like a man who should be -doctoring toothache on the Judgment -Day. For such things as honor -and love and faith are not only -nobler than food and drink, but indeed -I think we desire them more,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> -and suffer more sharply for their -absence. I speak to you as I think -you will most easily understand me. -Are you not while careful to fill -your belly, disregarding another appetite -in your heart, which spoils -the pleasure of your life and keeps -you continually wretched?”</p> - -<p>128. Villon was sensibly nettled -under all this sermonizing. “You -think I have no sense of honor!” -he cried. “I’m poor enough, God -knows! It’s hard to see rich people -with their gloves, and you blowing -in your hands. An empty belly is a -bitter thing, although you speak so -lightly of it. If you had had as -many as I, perhaps you would -change your tune. Any way, I’m a -thief—make the most of that—but -I’m not a devil from hell, God strike -me dead. I would have you to -know I’ve an honor of my own, as -good as yours, though I don’t prate -about it all day long, as if it was -a God’s miracle to have any. It -seems quite natural to me; I keep -it in its box till it’s wanted. Why, -now, look you here, how long have -I been in this room with you? Did -you not tell me you were alone in -the house? Look at your gold plate! -You’re strong, if you like, but you’re -old and unarmed, and I have my -knife. What did I want but a jerk -of the elbow and here would have -been you with the cold steel in your -bowels, and there would have been -me, linking in the streets, with an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> -armful of golden cups! Did you -suppose I hadn’t wit enough to see -that? And I scorned the action. -There are your damned goblets as -safe as in a church, there are you -with your heart ticking as good as -new, and here am I, ready to go out -again as poor as I came in, with -my one white that you threw in my -teeth! And you think I have no -sense of honor—God strike me -dead!”</p> - -<p>129. The old man stretched out -his right arm. “I will tell you what -you are,” he said. “You are a -rogue, my man, an impudent and -black-hearted rogue and vagabond. -I have passed an hour with you. -Oh! believe me, I feel myself disgraced! -And you have eaten and -drunk at my table. But now I am -sick at your presence; the day has -come, and the night-bird should be -off to his roost. Will you go before, -or after?”</p> - -<p>130. “Which you please,” returned -the poet, rising. “I believe you -to be strictly honorable.” He -thoughtfully emptied his cup. “I -wish I could add you were intelligent,” -he went on, knocking on his -head with his knuckles. “Age! age! -the brains stiff and rheumatic.”</p> - -<p>131. The old man preceded him -from a point of self-respect; Villon -followed, whistling, with his thumbs -in his girdle.</p> - -<p>132. “God pity you!” said the lord -of Brisetout at the door.</p> - -<p>133. “Good-bye, papa,” returned -Villon, with a yawn. “Many thanks -for the cold mutton.”</p> - -<p>134. The door closed behind him. -The dawn was breaking over the -white roofs. A chill, uncomfortable -morning ushered in the day. Villon -stood and heartily stretched himself -in the middle of the road.</p> - -<p>135. “A very dull old gentleman,” -he thought. “I wonder what his -goblets may be worth.”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p> - -<h3>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY</h3> - -<p>1. Briefly write out the plot of the story.</p> - -<p>2. Which incidents are essential to the story (plot incidents)?</p> - -<p>3. Which incidents could be altered without vitally changing -the story (developing incidents)? For a discussion of these -types of incidents see the present author’s <em>Writing the Short-Story</em>, -pp. 174-181.</p> - -<p>4. Show how one such change could be made.</p> - -<p>5. Does the external (visible or bodily) action stand out as -clearly as the internal (invisible or soul) action?</p> - -<p>6. (a) Is the story probable? (b) Usual? (c) Convincing?—That -is, does it seem real?</p> - -<p>7. What are its strongest points, to you?</p> - -<p>8. Criticise its weak points, if any.</p> - -<p>9. Can you suggest any improvements?</p> - -<p>10. (a) Do you know any stories similar in theme? (b) If -so, which is the better story, to you, and why?</p> - -<p>11. Briefly write out the plots of three stories of action or -adventure, taken from any book or magazine.</p> - -<p>12. Compare one of them with one of these two stories.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p> - - -<h3>TEN REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF ACTION -AND ADVENTURE</h3> - -<div class="small1"> -<p>“After He was Dead,” Melville Davisson Post. <em>Atlantic -Monthly</em>, April, 1911.</p> - -<p>“The Attack on the Mill,” Émile Zola. Translated in -<em>Great Short Stories</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Taking of the Redoubt,” Prosper Mérimée. -Translated in <em>Short-Story Masterpieces</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Man Who Would be King,” Rudyard Kipling. -In <em>The Phantom Rickshaw</em> (and other stories).</p> - -<p>“The Sire de Malétroit’s Door,” Robert Louis Stevenson. -In <em>New Arabian Nights</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Diamond Lens,” Fitz-James O’Brien. In <em>Short -Story Classics, American</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Young Man in a Hurry,” Robert W. Chambers. -<em>Harper’s Magazine</em>, Aug., 1903.</p> - -<p>“A Fight for the Tsarina,” Maurus Jókai. Translated -in <em>Masterpieces of Fiction</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Window that Monsieur Forgot,” Mary Imlay Taylor. -<em>The Booklovers Magazine</em>, Jan., 1904.</p> - -<p>“Blood o’ Innocence,” George W. Knapp. <em>Lippincott’s -Magazine</em>, Nov., 1907.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="footnotes"> -<p class="p2 center big1">FOOTNOTES: </p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> <span class="smcap">Author’s Note.</span>—Corporals were formerly the chief officers of the Corsican -communes after they had rebelled against their feudal lords. To-day -they still occasionally give the name to a man who—because of his property, -his relationships, and his business—commands a certain influence, and -a sort of effective magistracy over a parish or a canton. The Corsicans divide -themselves, after ancient custom, into five castes: gentlemen (of whom -some, <em>magnifiques</em>, are of higher estate, and some of lower, <em>signori</em>), corporals, -citizens, plebeians, and foreigners.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> <span class="smcap">Author’s Note.</span>—This word is synonymous with outlaw.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> <span class="smcap">Author’s Note.</span>—<em>Voltigeurs</em>, that is, a body raised by the government -of late years which acts in conjunction with the police to maintain order.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> <span class="smcap">Author’s Note.</span>—The uniform of the <em>voltigeurs</em> was at that period -brown, with a yellow collar.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> <span class="smcap">Author’s Note.</span>—A leather belt which served the joint purpose of a -cartridge box and pocket for dispatches and orders.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">[18]</a> <span class="smcap">Author’s Note.</span>—<em>Buon giorno, fratello</em>—the ordinary salutation of the -Corsicans.</p> - -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">II<br /> -STORIES OF MYSTERY AND FANTASY</h2> - - - -<p class="center big1"><em>The Purloined Letter.</em>—<span class="smcap">Edgar Allan Poe</span></p> - -<p class="center big1 p6b"><em>The Monkey’s Paw.</em>—<span class="smcap">W. W. Jacobs</span></p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="p2">The fact is ... that, in the riddle story, the detective was an -after-thought, or, more accurately, a <em>deus ex machina</em> to make the -story go. The riddle had to be unriddled; and who could do it -so naturally and readily as a detective? The detective, as Poe -saw him, was a means to this end; and it was only afterwards -that writers perceived his availability as a character. Lecoq -accordingly becomes a figure in fiction, and Sherlock, while he -was as yet a novelty, was nearly as attractive as the complications -in which he involved himself.—<span class="smcap">Julian Hawthorne</span>, Introduction -to <em>The Lock and Key Library</em>.</p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>The literature of ghosts is very ancient. In visions of the -night, and in the lurid vapors of mystic incantations, figures rise -and smile, or frown and disappear. The Witch of Endor murmurs -her spell, and “an old man cometh up, and he is covered -with a mantle.” Macbeth takes a bond of fate, and from Hecate’s -caldron, after the apparition of an armed head and that of a -bloody child, “an apparition of a child crowned, with a tree in -his hand, rises.” The wizard recounts to Lochiel his warning -vision, and Lochiel departs to his doom. There are stories of -the Castle of Otranto and of The Three Spaniards, and the -infinite detail of “singular experiences,” which make our conscious -daily life the frontier and border-land of an impinging -world of mystery.—<span class="smcap">George William Curtis</span>, Introduction to -<em>Modern Ghosts</em>.</p> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> -<h3>STORIES OF MYSTERY AND FANTASY</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Even more deeply seated and elemental than our love -for the mysterious is our passion for undertaking its -solution. It is this, doubtless, that challenges us to match -our wits with the clever rogues of fiction, and to pit -our resources of detection against the forces seen and -unseen which play in tales of the weird, the mysterious, -and the unexplained.</p> - -<p>Such stories readily fall into two classes, with as many -sub-sorts as the invention of man may compass—those -which are soluble and those which are not. Of the former, -the detective story is the more common, followed at -no very great distance by the tale which seems to involve -the supernatural, but whose mystery transpires quite -plainly in the end. Of the latter are all those inexplicable -wonder-fictions dealing with shapes that haunt the -dream-dusk, the whole shadow-land of wraiths and -spirits and presences and immaterialities which cross the -borders of experience at the call of fantasy. They are -all the inheritance of the credulous age in which romance -was born, and few of us are so engirded with the -armor of stoicism that we cannot enjoy their gathering -goose-flesh and creeping spinal chill. Hawthorne and -Poe and Irving were masters here.</p> - -<p>The processes of inductive reasoning by which Voltaire’s -Zadig reconstructed actual occurrences from -trivial clues have developed into modern detective stories -of uncounted variety, in which the criminal is hunted -down by a professional sleuth. Then, too, the “clever -amateur” often takes a hand in the game, and even accident -plays at times, until there is no end to the possible -combinations growing out of pure reasoning employed to -unravel the tangle.</p> - -<p>Much the same processes are employed to discover the -pseudo-supernatural mystery, like Fitz-James O’Brien’s -solved ghost-story, “What Was It? A Mystery.” But -when we enter the domain of the unexplained, the story -tends to become a study of fear and of pure mystery, like -Marion Crawford’s “The Upper Berth,” and “The -Damned Thing,” by Ambrose Bierce.</p> - -<p>Poe was the great American originator of the detective -story, and to-day his “Purloined Letter,” reproduced here -in full, “The Mystery of Marie Rogêt,” and “The Murders -in the Rue Morgue,” are unsurpassed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span></p> -<h3>POE AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> - -<p class="p1">Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston, January 19, -1809. His father, of a good Maryland family, was an -actor, and his mother an actress of English extraction. -Both parents dying before Edgar was three, he, with his -brother William and sister Rosalie, was left homeless in -Richmond, where each found a protector. Mrs. Allan -adopted Edgar, giving him his middle name, and bestowing -at the same time every opportunity that wealth could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> -offer. He was sent to school at Stoke Newington, England, -attended a private school in Richmond, and entered -the University of Virginia, but remained there less than -a year, for his reckless and erratic temperament champed -under the restraints of routine. He was placed in Mr. -Allan’s counting-room, but ran away to enlist in the -United States Army as “Edgar Allan Perry.” After the -death of Mrs. Allan, her husband secured Poe’s discharge -from the army and his appointment to West Point as a -cadet, July 1, 1830; but after six months Poe contrived -to be dismissed. He had already published his poems -successfully, so he went to New York, in the early part -of 1831, to begin his professional literary life. For four -years—1833 to 1837—he wrote brilliantly for <em>The -Southern Literary Messenger</em>, in Baltimore. Then he -went successively to New York and Philadelphia, where -he worked on various literary enterprises for six years. -In 1844 he returned to New York, and became assistant -to N. P. Willis, in whose journal, <em>The Mirror</em>, “The -Raven” appeared in 1845. Poe’s literary reputation was -now established both in America and abroad, most of his -masterpieces having been created during the turbulent -years of his wanderings. In 1835 he had been married -to Virginia Clemm, his cousin, and her early death in -1847 broke his spirit. His health had already succumbed -to his morbid temperament—which magnified every sorrow -of his chaotic career—and to the excesses of drugs -and drink. He died most unhappily, October 7, 1849, at -the age of forty—a master spirit pitifully wrecked before -his prime.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> - -<p>Poe was a remarkable poet, essayist, critic, and short-story -writer. “The Raven,” “Lenore,” “Ulalume,” -“The Bells,” “Annabel Lee,” “Israfel,” and “To One -in Paradise” are among his best poems. Probably the -greatest of his stories are, “MS. Found in A Bottle,” -“The Assignation,” “Ligeia,” “The Murders in The -Rue Morgue,” “The Mystery of Marie Rogêt,” “A -Descent into The Maelstrom,” “The Masque of The Red -Death,” “The Pit and the Pendulum,” “The Gold Bug,” -“The Black Cat,” “The Cask of Amontillado,” “The -Fall of the House of Usher,” first published in <em>Burton’s -Gentleman’s Magazine</em>, September, 1839—and “The -Purloined Letter,” first published in <em>The Gift</em>, an “annual,” -in 1845.</p> - -<p>Poe was the greatest conscious artist that American -literature has ever known. He not only looked backward -upon his own work and, as did Stevenson, clearly traced -the operations of his mind in its production, but he built -up a structure of literary theory which has been powerfully -attacked, indeed, but whose walls remain substantially -whole to-day. To his constructive criticism of -the short-story is directly due its present advanced form, -for while current practice has widely departed from Poe’s -morbid, gloomy, extravagant themes and formal, abundant -diction, his stories are still unsurpassed for vigor, -atmosphere, invention, and thrill, and his laws of composition -are read everywhere with the respect due -authority.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container pw20"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="p1 small1">Ah, dream too bright to last!<br /> -Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But to be overcast!</span><br /> -A voice from out the Future cries,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Onward!”—but o’er the Past</span><br /> -(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mute—motionless—aghast!</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<p class="indent50"><span class="smcap">Edgar Allan Poe</span>, <em>The Assignation</em>.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Had you lived a generation later, honor, wealth, applause, -success in Europe and at home, would all have been yours.—<span class="smcap">Andrew -Lang</span>, <em>Letters to Dead Authors</em>.</p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="p1">There are literary evolutionists who, in their whim of seeing -in every original writer a copy of some predecessor, have declared -that Hawthorne is derived from Tieck, and Poe from Hoffmann.... -If the adjective American has any meaning at all, it qualifies -Poe and Hawthorne. They were American to the core. -They both revealed the curious sympathy with Oriental moods -of thought which is often an American characteristic. Poe, with -his cold logic and his mathematical analysis, and Hawthorne, -with his introspective conscience and his love of the subtle and -the invisible, are representative of phases of American character -not to be mistaken by any one who has given thought to the -influence of nationality.... Nothing better of its kind has ever -been done than the “Pit and the Pendulum,” or than the “Fall -of the House of Usher” (which has been compared aptly with -Browning’s “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came” for its -power of suggesting intellectual desolation). Nothing better of -its kind has ever been done than the “Gold Bug,” or than the -“Purloined Letter,” or than the “Murders in the Rue Morgue.”—<span class="smcap">Brander -Matthews</span>, <em>The Philosophy of the Short-story</em>.</p> - - -<p class="p1">The conception of gloomy terror which impregnates “The -House of Usher” is as complete as the idea of medieval chivalry -underlying <em>Ivanhoe</em>.... To be sure, the terror in his -stories, so he said in his preface to the <em>Tales of the Grotesque -and the Arabesque</em>, was “not of Germany, but of the soul....” -Yet one can readily believe that his Roderick in “The House -of Usher,” who pored over books which had the “character of -phantasm,” Morella, who was interested in the transcendentalism -of Schelling and Fichte, Ægæus, whom “the realities of the -world affected—as visions,” are all identical with the Young -Poe when he freed his mind and later his fancy in the fields -where Novalis sought the blue flower and all the German romanticists -wandered.... To say that Poe was a creature of -German influence would be absurd. To say that German thought -and fancy were sympathetic to his genius, would be putting it -too mildly. Between these extremes the truth must lie.—<span class="smcap">H. S. -Canby</span>, <em>The Short Story in English</em>.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p> - -<p class="p2 center big1">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON POE</p> - -<p><em>Prose Writers of America</em>, Rufus W. Griswold (1870); -<em>Short Studies of American Authors</em>, Thomas W. Higginson -(1880); <em>Letters to Dead Authors</em>, Andrew Lang -(1886); <em>Criticisms on Contemporary Thought</em>, Richard -H. Hutton (1894); <em>American Lands and Letters</em>, Donald -G. Mitchell (1897-99); <em>Life of Edgar Allan Poe</em>, R. H. -Stoddard (1899); <em>Poe and Some of His Critics</em>, C. W. -Hubner (1906); <em>Life of Edgar Allan Poe, Personal and -Literary</em>, George E. Woodberry (1909); <em>Edgar Allan -Poe, A Critical Study</em>, Arthur Ransome (1910).</p> - -<div class="body1"> -<h3>THE PURLOINED LETTER</h3> - -<p class="center p1"><small>Nil sapientiae odiosius acumina nimio.—<em>Seneca.</em></small></p> - -<p class="center"><small>(Nothing is more odious to wisdom than too great acumen.)</small></p> - -<p class="big05 center">BY EDGAR ALLAN POE</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Formal Introduction</span>.</div> - - -<p class="p1">At Paris, just after dark one gusty -evening in the autumn of 18—, I was -enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation -and a meerschaum, in company -with my friend C. Auguste Dupin,<span class="sidenote">Dupin appears as the detective -in Poe’s other mystery -stories, “The Murders -in the Rue Morgue,” -and “The Mystery of -Marie Rogêt.”<br /> -<em>Au troisième</em>—third flight, -or fourth floor.</span> -in his little back library, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> -book closet, <em>au troisième, No. 33 -Rue Dunôt, Faubourg St. Germain</em>. -For one hour at least we had maintained -a profound silence; while each, -to any casual observer, might have -seemed intently and exclusively occupied -with the curling eddies of -smoke that oppressed the atmosphere -of the chamber. <span class="sidenote">Compare this story with -Sardou’s “A Scrap of -Paper.”</span>For myself, however, -I was mentally discussing certain -topics which had formed matter -for conversation between us at an -earlier period of the evening; I mean -the affair of the Rue Morgue, and -the mystery attending the murder of -Marie Rogêt. I looked upon it, -therefore, as something of a coincidence,<span class="sidenote">G—— also appears in “The -Mystery of Marie Rogêt.”</span> -when the door of our apartment -was thrown open and admitted -our old acquaintance, Monsieur -G——, the Prefect of the Parisian -police.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Careless English.</div> - -<p>2. We gave him a hearty welcome; -for there was nearly half as much of -the entertaining as of the contemptible -about the man, and we had not -seen him for several years. We had -been sitting in the dark, and Dupin -now arose for the purpose of lighting -a lamp, but sat down again, -without doing so, upon G——'s saying -that he had called to consult us, -or rather to ask the opinion of my -friend, about some official business -which had occasioned a great deal -of trouble.</p> - -<p>3. “If it is any point requiring reflection,” -observed Dupin, as he forbore -to enkindle the wick, “we shall<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> -examine it to better purpose in the -dark.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Later writers of detective -stories follow Poe’s lead -in showing contempt for -police officials.</div> - -<p>4. “That is another of your odd -notions,” said the Prefect, who had -a fashion of calling everything -“odd” that was beyond his comprehension, -and thus lived amid an -absolute legion of “oddities.”</p> - -<p>5. “Very true,” said Dupin, as he -supplied his visitor with a pipe, and -rolled towards him a comfortable -chair.</p> - -<p>6. “And what is the difficulty -now?” I asked. “Nothing more in -the assassination way, I hope?”</p> - -<p>7. “Oh, no; nothing of that nature. -The fact is, the business is <em>very</em> -simple, indeed, and I make no doubt -that we can manage it sufficiently well -ourselves; but then I thought Dupin -would like to hear the details of it, -because it is so excessively <em>odd</em>.”</p> - -<p>8. “Simple and odd,” said Dupin.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Poe makes G—— to serve -as a foil for Dupin, while -the narrator plays Watson -to Dupin’s Sherlock—but -Poe came first!</div> - -<p>9. “Why, yes; and not exactly -that, either. The fact is, we have all -been a good deal puzzled because the -affair is so simple, and yet baffles us -altogether.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Forecast of denouement. -Note how this point is -emphasized.</div> - -<p id="par10">10. “Perhaps it is the very simplicity -of the thing which puts you at -fault,” said my friend.</p> - -<p>11. “What nonsense you <em>do</em> talk!” -replied the Prefect, laughing heartily.</p> - -<p>12. “Perhaps the mystery is a little -<em>too</em> plain,” said Dupin.</p> - -<p>13. “Oh, good Heavens! who ever -heard of such an idea?”</p> - -<p>14. “A little <em>too</em> self-evident.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Later imitators freely use -this scheme of the superior -pose of the police.</div> - -<p>15. “Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ho!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> -ho! ho!” roared our visitor, profoundly -amused. “Oh, Dupin, you -will be the death of me yet!”</p> - -<p>16. “And what, after all, is the -matter on hand?” I asked.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">This device has since been -much overworked.</div> - -<p>17. “Why, I will tell you,” replied -the Prefect, as he gave a long, steady, -and contemplative puff, and settled -himself in his chair. “I will tell you -in a few words; but, before I begin, -let me caution you that this is an affair -demanding the greatest secrecy, -and that I should most probably lose -the position I now hold were it -known that I confided it to any one.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Lengthy Introduction -Ends.</span> -Note that this is one unified -story, with much philosophising, -but no minor episodes.</div> - -<p>18. “Proceed,” said I.</p> - -<p>19. “Or not,” said Dupin.</p> - - -<p>20. “Well, then; I have received -personal information from a very -high quarter that a certain document -of the last importance has been purloined -from the royal apartments. The individual who purloined it is -known; this beyond a doubt; <span class="sidenote">The foundation laid; <span class="allsmcap">SUMMARY -OF PROBLEM</span>.</span> he was -seen to take it. It is known, also, -that it still remains in his possession.”</p> - -<p>21. “How is this known?” asked -Dupin.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Development of problem.</div> - -<p>22. “It is clearly inferred,” replied -the Prefect, “from the nature of the -document, and from the non-appearance -of certain results which would -at once arise from its passing out of -the robber’s possession; that is to say, -from his employing it as he must design -in the end to employ it.”</p> - -<p>23. “Be a little more explicit,” I -said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span></p> - -<p>24. “Well, I may venture so far as -to say that the paper gives its holder -a certain power in a certain quarter -where such power is immensely valuable.” -The Prefect was fond of the -cant of diplomacy.</p> - -<p>25. “Still I do not quite understand,” -said Dupin.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Importance of problem.</div> - -<p>26. “No? well; the disclosure of -the document to a third person, who -shall be nameless, would bring in -question the honor of a personage -of most exalted station; and this fact -gives the holder of the document an -ascendency over the illustrious personage -whose honor and peace are so -jeopardized.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Philosophy of problem.</div> - -<p>27. “But this ascendency,” I interposed, -“would depend upon the robber’s -knowledge of the loser’s knowledge -of the robber. Who would -dare—”</p> - - -<p>28. “The thief,” said G——, “is -the Minister D——, who dares all -things, those unbecoming as well as -those becoming a man. <span class="sidenote">Unique situation: the thief -is known.</span>The method -of the theft was not less ingenious -than bold. The document in question—a -letter, to be frank—had been -received by the personage robbed -while alone in the royal <em>boudoir</em>. -During its perusal she was suddenly -interrupted by the entrance of the -other exalted personage, from whom -especially it was her wish to conceal -it. <span class="sidenote">Method and circumstances -of the theft related.</span> After a hurried and vain endeavor -to thrust it in a drawer, she was -forced to place it, open as it was, upon -a table. The address, however,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> -was uppermost, and, the contents thus -unexposed, the letter escaped notice.<span class="sidenote">See note on <a href="#par115">¶115</a>, p. 104.</span> -At this juncture enters the Minister -D——. His lynx eye immediately -perceives the paper, recognizes the -handwriting of the address, observes -the confusion of the personage addressed, -and fathoms her secret. After -some business transactions, hurried -through in his ordinary manner, -he produces a letter somewhat similar -to the one in question, opens it, pretends -to read it, and then places it -in close juxtaposition to the other. -Again he converses for some fifteen -minutes upon the public affairs.<span class="sidenote">Note “the”.</span> At -length in taking leave he takes also -from the table the letter to which he -had no claim. Its rightful owner -saw, but of course dared not call attention -to the act, in the presence of -the third personage, who stood at -her elbow. The minister decamped, -leaving his own letter—one of no -importance—upon the table.”</p> - -<p>29. “Here, then,” said Dupin to me, -“you have precisely what you demand -to make the ascendency complete—the -robber’s knowledge of the loser’s -knowledge of the robber.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Results of theft.</div> - - -<p>30. “Yes,” replied the Prefect; -“and the power thus attained has, for -some months past, been wielded, for -political purposes, to a very dangerous -extent. The personage robbed is -more thoroughly convinced, every -day, of the necessity of reclaiming her -letter. <span class="sidenote">End of statement of case as -a problem.</span>But this, of course, cannot be -done openly. In fine, driven to despair, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> -she has committed the matter to -me.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Character development.<br /> -Satire supports his attitude -toward the police.</div> - -<p>31. “Than whom,” said Dupin, -amid a perfect whirlwind of smoke, -“no more sagacious agent could, I -suppose, be desired, or even imagined.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Character delineation.</div> - -<p>32. “You flatter me,” replied the -Prefect; “but it is possible that some -such opinion may have been entertained.”</p> - -<p>33. “It is clear,” said I, “as you observe, -that the letter is still in possession -of the minister; since it is this -possession, and not any employment -of the letter, which bestows the power. -With the employment the power -departs.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Attempts at recovery of -the purloined letter. -Second stage of the -plot.</span></div> - -<p>34. “True,” said G——, “and upon -this conviction I proceeded. My -first care was to make thorough -search of the minister’s hotel; and -here my chief embarrassment lay in -the necessity of searching without his -knowledge. Beyond all things, I -have been warned of the danger -which would result from giving him -reason to suspect our design.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><em>Au fait</em>—to the point; -therefore, at home.</div> - -<p>35. “But,” said I, “you are quite -<em>au fait</em> in these investigations. The -Parisian police have done this thing -often before.”</p> - -<p>36. “Oh, yes; and for this reason -I did not despair. The habits of the -minister gave me, too, a great advantage. -He is frequently absent -from home all night. His servants -are by no means numerous. They -sleep at a distance from their master’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> -apartment, and being chiefly Neapolitans, -are readily made drunk. I -have keys, as you know, with which -I can open any chamber or cabinet in -Paris. For three months, a night has -not passed during the greater part -of which I have not been engaged, -personally, in ransacking the D—— -Hotel. My honor is interested, and, -to mention a great secret, the reward -is enormous. So I did not abandon -the search until I had become fully -satisfied that the thief is a more astute -man than myself. I fancy that -I have investigated every nook and -corner of the premises in which it is -possible that the paper can be concealed.”</p> - -<p>37. “But is it not possible,” I suggested, -“that although the letter may -be in possession of the minister, as it -unquestionably is, he may have concealed -it elsewhere than upon his own -premises?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Inferential reasoning.</div> - -<p>38. “This is barely possible,” said -Dupin. “The present peculiar condition -of affairs at court, and especially -of those intrigues in which D—— is -known to be involved, would render -the instant availability of the document—its -susceptibility of being produced -at a moment’s notice—a point -of nearly equal importance with its -possession.”</p> - -<p>39. “Its susceptibility of being produced?” -said I.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the distinction.</div> - -<p>40. “That is to say, of being <em>destroyed</em>,” -said Dupin.</p> - - - -<p>41. “True,” I observed; “the paper<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> -is clearly then upon the premises. As -for its being upon the person of the<span class="sidenote">A just inference.</span> -minister, we may consider that as out -of the question.”</p> - -<p>42. “Entirely,” said the Prefect. -“He has been twice waylaid, as if -by footpads, and his person rigorously -searched under my own inspection.”</p> - -<p>43. “You might have spared yourself -this trouble,” said Dupin. -“D——, I presume, is not altogether -a fool, and, if not, must have anticipated -these waylayings as a matter of -course.”</p> - -<p>44. “Not <em>altogether</em> a fool,” said -G——; “but then he’s a poet, which -I take to be only one remove from a -fool.”</p> - -<p>45. “True,” said Dupin, after a -long and thoughtful whiff from his -meerschaum, “although I have been -guilty of certain doggerel myself.”</p> - -<p>46. “Suppose you detail,” said I, -“the particulars of your search.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">The thoroughness of the -search tends to interest -the reader in the problem -as a difficult one.</div> - - -<p>47. “Why, the fact is, we took our -time, and we searched <em>everywhere</em>. I -have had long experience in these affairs. -I took the entire building, -room by room, devoting the nights of -a whole week to each. We examined, -first, the furniture of each apartment. -We opened every possible drawer; -and I presume you know that, to a -properly trained police agent, such a -thing as a <em>secret</em> drawer is impossible. <span class="sidenote">On Poe’s “police methods” -most modern detective -writers have drawn for -material.</span> -Any man is a dolt who permits a -‘secret’ drawer to escape him in a -search of this kind. The thing is <em>so</em><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> -plain. There is a certain amount of -bulk—of space—to be accounted for -in every cabinet. Then we have accurate -rules. The fiftieth part of a -line could not escape us. After the -cabinets we took the chairs. The -cushions we probed with the fine long -needles you have seen me employ. -From the tables we removed the -tops.”</p> - -<p>48. “Why so?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Doubtless the narrator -speaks.</div> - -<p>49. “Sometimes the top of a table, -or other similarly arranged piece of -furniture, is removed by the person -wishing to conceal an article; then -the leg is excavated, the article deposited -within the cavity, and the top -replaced. The bottoms and tops of -bed-posts are employed in the same -way.”</p> - -<p>50. “But could not the cavity be -detected by sounding?” I asked.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note improper shifting of -tenses in question and -answer.</div> - -<p>51. “By no means, if, when the -article is deposited, a sufficient wadding -of cotton be placed around it. -Besides, in our case we were obliged -to proceed without noise.”</p> - -<p>52. “But you could not have removed—you -could not have taken -to pieces <em>all</em> articles of furniture in -which it would have been possible to -make a deposit in the manner you -mention. A letter may be compressed -into a thin spiral roll, not differing -much in shape or bulk from a -large knitting-needle, and in this -form it might be inserted into the -rung of a chair, for example. You -did not take to pieces all the chairs?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note how ingeniously Poe -weaves his knowledge of -detective methods into the -actual search of the story.</div> - -<p>53. “Certainly not; but we did better—we -examined the rungs of every -chair in the hotel, and indeed, the -jointings of every description of -furniture, by the aid of a most powerful -microscope. Had there been any -traces of recent disturbance we should -not have failed to detect it instantly. -A single grain of gimlet-dust, for example, -would have been as obvious as -an apple. Any disorder in the gluing—any -unusual gaping in the joints—would -have sufficed to insure detection.”</p> - -<p>54. “I presume you looked to the -mirrors, between the boards and the -plates, and you probed the beds and -the bed-clothes, as well as the curtains -and carpets?”</p> - -<p>55. “That, of course; and when we -had absolutely completed every particle -of the furniture in this way, then -we examined the house itself. We -divided its entire surface into compartments, -which we numbered, so -that none might be missed; then we -scrutinized each individual square -inch throughout the premises including -the two houses immediately adjoining, -with the microscope, as before.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">This seems to be a break in -the chain of probability, -as G—— has already carefully -explained how he -was able to go over -D——'s house with impunity.</div> - -<p>56. “The two houses adjoining!” -I exclaimed; “you must have had a -great deal of trouble.”</p> - -<p>57. “We had; but the reward offered -is prodigious.”</p> - -<p>58. “You include the <em>grounds</em> about -the houses?”</p> - -<p>59. “All the grounds are paved<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> -with brick. They gave us comparatively -little trouble. We examined -the moss between the bricks, and -found it undisturbed.”</p> - -<p>60. “You looked among D——'s -papers, of course, and into the books -of the library?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note unusual word.</div> - -<p>61. “Certainly; we opened every -package and parcel; we not only opened -every book, but we turned over -every leaf in each volume, not contenting -ourselves with a mere shake, -according to the fashion of some of -our police officers. We also measured -the thickness of every book-<em>cover</em>, -with the most accurate admeasurement, -and applied to each the most -jealous scrutiny of the microscope. -Had any of the bindings been recently -meddled with, it would have been -utterly impossible that the fact should -have escaped observation. Some five -or six volumes, just from the hands -of the binder, we carefully probed, -longitudinally, with the needles.”</p> - -<p>62. “You explored the floors beneath -the carpets?”</p> - -<p>63. “Beyond doubt. We removed -every carpet, and examined the boards -with the microscope.”</p> - -<p>64. “And the paper on the walls?”</p> - -<p>65. “Yes.”</p> - -<p>66. “You looked into the cellars?”</p> - -<p>67. “We did.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Dupin would not have said this.</div> - -<p>68. “Then,” I said, “you have been -making a miscalculation, and the letter -is <em>not</em> on the premises, as you suppose.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">First Deduction Rejected.</span></div> - -<p>69. “I fear you are right there,” -said the Prefect. “And now, Dupin, -what would you advise me to do?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Third Stage of Plot.</span></div> - -<p>70 “To make a thorough research -of the premises.”</p> - -<p>71. “That is absolutely needless,” -replied G——. “I am not more sure -that I breathe than I am that the letter -is not at the Hotel.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Preparation for denouement.</div> - -<p>72. “I have no better advice to -give you,” said Dupin. “You have, -of course, an accurate description of -the letter?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Attempt to mislead reader.</div> - -<p>73. “Oh, yes.” And here the Prefect, -producing a memorandum-book, -proceeded to read aloud a minute account -of the internal, and especially of -the external, appearance of the missing -document. Soon after finishing<span class="sidenote">Note the patronizing “good -gentleman.”</span> -the perusal of this description, he -took his departure, more entirely depressed -in spirits than I had ever -known the good gentleman before.</p> - - -<p>74. In about a month afterwards -he paid us another visit, and found -us occupied very nearly as before. -He took a pipe and a chair, and entered -into some ordinary conversation. -At length I said:</p> - -<p>75. “Well, but G——, what of the -purloined letter? I presume you -have at last made up your mind that -there is no such thing as overreaching -the minister?”</p> - -<p>76. “Confound him, say I—yes; I -made the reëxamination, however, as -Dupin suggested—but it was all -labor lost, as I knew it would be.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> - -<p>77. “How much was the reward offered, -did you say?” asked Dupin.</p> - -<p>78. “Why, a very great deal—a -<em>very</em> liberal reward—I don’t like to -say how much precisely; but one -thing I <em>will</em> say, that I wouldn’t mind -giving my individual check for fifty -thousand francs to any one who -would obtain me that letter. The -fact is, it is becoming of more and -more importance every day; and the -reward has been lately doubled. If -it were trebled, however, I could do -no more than I have done.”</p> - -<p>79. “Why, yes,” said Dupin drawlingly, -between the whiffs of his meerschaum, -“I really—think, G——, -you have not exerted yourself—to -the utmost in this matter. You -might—do a little more, I think, -eh?”</p> - -<p>80. “How?—in what way?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Fourth Stage of Plot.</span><br /> -Illustrative anecdote of Dr. -John Abernethy, the English -surgeon.</div> - -<p>81. “Why [puff, puff], you might -[puff, puff] employ counsel in the -matter, eh? [puff, puff, puff] Do -you remember the story they tell of -Abernethy?”</p> - -<p>82. “No; hang Abernethy!”</p> - -<p>83. “To be sure! hang him and -welcome. But once upon a time, a -certain rich miser conceived the design -of sponging upon this Abernethy -for a medical opinion. Getting up, -for this purpose, an ordinary conversation -in a private company, he insinuated -his case to the physician as -that of an imaginary individual.”</p> - -<p>84. “‘We will suppose,’ said the -miser, ‘that his symptoms are such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> -and such; now, doctor, what would -<em>you</em> have directed him to take?’”</p> - -<p>85. “‘Take!’ said Abernethy, -‘why, take <em>advice</em>, to be sure.’”</p> - -<p>86. “But,” said the Prefect, a little -discomposed, “I am <em>perfectly</em> willing -to take advice, and to pay for it. -I would <em>really</em> give fifty thousand -francs to any one who would aid me -in the matter.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Minor Climax.</span></div> - -<p>87. “In that case,” replied Dupin, -opening a drawer, and producing a -check-book, “you may as well fill -me up a check for the amount mentioned. -When you have signed it, I -will hand you the letter.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Character delineation.</div> - -<p>88. I was astounded. The Prefect -appeared absolutely thunderstricken. -For some minutes he remained -speechless and motionless, looking -incredulously at my friend with open -mouth, and eyes that seemed starting -from their sockets; then, apparently -recovering himself in some -measure, he seized a pen, and after -several pauses and vacant stares, -finally filled up and signed a check -for fifty thousand francs, and handed -it across the table to Dupin. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Climax.</span></span> -The latter examined it carefully and -deposited it in his pocket; then, unlocking -an <em>escritoire</em>, took thence a -letter and gave it to the Prefect.<span class="sidenote">The plot <em>seems</em> to end here, -for long reasoning and -explanation follow. There -is, however, a second climax -as Dupin’s story -reaches its denouement.</span> -This functionary grasped it in a perfect -agony of joy, opened it with a -trembling hand, cast a rapid glance -at its contents, and then, scrambling -and struggling to the door, rushed at -length unceremoniously from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> -room and from the house, without -having uttered a syllable since Dupin -had requested him to fill up the -check.</p> - -<p>89. When he had gone, my friend -entered into some explanations.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">First Stage of Dupin’s -Account.</span> This account -places Dupin’s methods in -artistic contrast with those -of the Prefect.</div> - -<p>90. “The Parisian police,” he said, -“are exceedingly able in their way. -They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, -and thoroughly versed in the -knowledge which their duties seem -chiefly to demand. Thus, when -G—— detailed to us his mode of -searching the premises at the Hotel -D——, I felt entire confidence in his -having made a satisfactory investigation—so -far as his labors extended.”</p> - -<p>91. “So far as his labors extended?” -said I.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Not a precise statement.</div> - -<p>92. “Yes,” said Dupin. “The -measures adopted were not only the -best of their kind, but carried out to -absolute perfection. Had the letter -been deposited within the range of -their search, these fellows would, beyond -a question, have found it.”</p> - -<p>93. I merely laughed, but he -seemed quite serious in all that he -said.</p> - - -<p id="par94">94. “The measures, then,” he continued, -“were good in their kind, and -well executed; their defect lay in -their being inapplicable to the case, -and to the man. A certain set of -highly ingenious resources are, with -the Prefect, a sort of Procrustean -bed to which he forcibly adapts his -designs. But he perpetually errs by -being too deep or too shallow for -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> -the matter in hand; and many a -schoolboy is a better reasoner than <span class="sidenote">Illustrative anecdote.</span> -he. I knew one about eight years of -age, whose success at guessing in the -game of ‘even and odd’ attracted -universal admiration. This game is -simple, and is played with marbles. -One player holds in his hand a number -of these toys, and demands of another -whether that number is even or -odd. If the guess is right, the guesser -wins one; if wrong, he loses one. -The boy to whom I allude won all the -marbles of the school. Of course he -had some principle of guessing; and -this lay in mere observation and admeasurement -of the astuteness of his <span class="sidenote">Joint inductive-deductive -method of reasoning.</span> -opponents. For example an arrant -simpleton is his opponent, and, holding -up his closed hand asks, ‘Are they -even or odd?’ Our schoolboy replies, -‘Odd,’ and loses; but upon the -second trial he wins, for he then says -to himself, ‘The simpleton had them -even upon the first trial, and his -amount of cunning is just sufficient to -make him have them odd upon the -second; I will therefore guess odd;’ -he guesses odd, and wins. Now, with -a simpleton a degree above the first, -he would have reasoned thus: ‘This -fellow finds that in the first instance<span class="sidenote">Inductive reasoning.</span> -I guessed odd, and in the second he -will propose to himself, upon the first -impulse, a simple variation from even -to odd, as did the first simpleton; but -then a second thought will suggest -that this is too simple a variation, -and finally he will decide upon putting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> -it even as before. I will therefore -guess even;’ he guesses even, -and wins. Now this mode of reasoning -in the schoolboy, whom his fellows -term ‘lucky’—what, in its last -analysis, is it?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Reduced to untechnical language.</div> - -<p id="par95">95. “It is merely,” I said, “an -identification of the reasoner’s intellect -with that of his opponent.”</p> - -<p>96. “It is,” said Dupin; “and, upon -inquiring of the boy by what means -he effected the <em>thorough</em> identification -in which his success consisted, I received -answer as follows: ‘When I -wish to find out how wise, or how -stupid, or how good, or how wicked -is any one, or what are his thoughts -at the moment, I fashion the expression -of my face, as accurately as possible,<span class="sidenote">Compare with Barrie’s statement -on p. <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</span> -in accordance with the expression -of his, and then wait to see what -thoughts or sentiments arise in my -mind or heart, as if to match or correspond -with the expression.’ This -response of the schoolboy lies at the <span class="sidenote">1 and 2, French authors -and moralists; 3, astute -Italian statesman; 4, Italian -thinker.</span> -bottom of all the spurious profundity -which has been attributed to Rochefoucauld, -to La Bruyère, to Machiavelli, -and to Campanella.”</p> - -<p>97. “And the identification,” I -said, “of the reasoner’s intellect -with that of his opponent’s, depends, -if I understand you aright, upon the -accuracy with which the opponent’s -intellect is admeasured.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Analysis.<br /> -Observe how fond Poe is of -long paragraphs.</div> - -<p id="par98">98. “For its practical value it depends -upon this,” replied Dupin, -“and the Prefect and his cohort fail -so frequently, first, by default of this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> -identification, and secondly, by ill-admeasurement, -or rather through non-admeasurement, -of the intellect with -which they are engaged. They consider -only their <em>own</em> ideas of ingenuity; -and, in searching for anything -hidden, advert only to the modes in -which <em>they</em> would have hidden it. -They are right in this much—that -their own ingenuity is a faithful representative -of that of <em>the mass</em>; but -when the cunning of the individual -felon is diverse in character from -their own, the felon foils them, of -course. This always happens when -it is above their own, and very usually -when it is below. They have no <span class="sidenote">Astute comment.</span> -variation of principle in their investigations; -at best, when urged by some -unusual emergency, by some extraordinary -reward, they extend or exaggerate -their old modes of <em>practice</em>, -without touching their principles. -What, for example, in this case of -D——, has been done to vary the -principle of action? What is all this <span class="sidenote">Note the length of this -paragraph.</span> -boring, and probing, and sounding, -and scrutinizing with the microscope, -and dividing the surface of the building -into registered square inches—what -is it all but an exaggeration <em>of -the application</em> of the one principle or -set of principles of search, which are -based upon the one set of notions -regarding human ingenuity, to which -the Prefect, in the long routine of his -duty, has been accustomed? Do you -not see he has taken it for granted -that <em>all</em> men proceed to conceal a letter—not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> -exactly in a gimlet-hole -bored in a chair leg—but, at least, -in <em>some</em> out of the way hole or <span class="sidenote">A cumbersomely long sentence.</span> -corner suggested by the same tenor -of thought which would urge a -man to secrete a letter in a gimlet-hole -bored in a chair leg? And -do you not see, also, that such -<em>recherchés</em> nooks for concealment -are adapted only for ordinary occasions -and would be adopted only by<span class="sidenote"><em>Recherchés</em>—carefully -sought out.</span> -ordinary intellects; for, in all cases -of concealment, a disposal of the article -concealed—a disposal of it in -this <em>recherché</em> manner—is, in the -very first instance, presumable and -presumed; and thus its discovery depends, -not at all upon the acumen, but -altogether upon the mere care, patience, -and determination of the seekers; -and where the case is of importance—or, -what amounts to the -same thing in policial eyes, when -the reward is of magnitude—the -qualities in question have <em>never</em> been -known to fail. You will now understand -what I meant in suggesting -that, had the purloined letter been -hidden anywhere within the limits of -the Prefect’s examination—in other -words, had the principle of its concealment <span class="sidenote">Note force of “hidden.”</span> -been comprehended within -the principles of the Prefect, its discovery -would have been a matter altogether -beyond question. This functionary, -however, has been thoroughly -mystified; and the remote source of -his defeat lies in the supposition that -the minister is a fool because he has -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> -acquired renown as a poet. All fools <span class="sidenote">“The undistributed middle” -is a form of logical -fallacy.</span> -are poets; this the Prefect <em>feels</em>; and -he is merely guilty of a <em>non distributio -medii</em> in thence inferring that all -poets are fools.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the following series of -unusual statements.</div> - -<p>99. “But is this really the poet?” -I asked. “There are two brothers, I -know; and both have attained reputation -in letters. The minister, I believe, -has written learnedly on the -Differential Calculus. He is a mathematician -and no poet.”</p> - -<p>100. “You are mistaken; I know -him well; he is both. As poet <em>and</em> -mathematician he would reason well; -as mere mathematician he could not -have reasoned at all, and thus would -have been at the mercy of the Prefect.”</p> - -<p>101. “You surprise me,” I said, -“by these opinions, which have been -contradicted by the voice of the -world. You do not mean to set at -naught the well-digested idea of -centuries. The mathematical reason -has long been regarded as <em>the</em> reason -<em>par excellence</em>.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">“It may be said that every -public idea, every received -convention, is a piece of -stupidity, for it has suited -the greater number.”—<span class="smcap">Nicolas -Chamfort.</span></div> - - -<p>102. “‘<em>Il y a à parier</em>,’” replied -Dupin, quoting from Chamfort, -“‘<em>que toute idée publique, toute convention -reçue, est une sottise, car elle -a convenu au plus grand nombre</em>.’ -The mathematicians, I grant you, -have done their best to promulgate -the popular error to which you allude, -and which is none the less an -error for its promulgation as truth. -With an art worthy a better cause, -for example, they have insinuated the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> -term ‘analysis’ into application to <span class="sidenote">This whole section of the -story triumphs notwithstanding -its undue length -of learned discussion and -its formal diction. It -must be admitted that in -these respects the present-day -short-story is in advance -of Poe. A number -of paragraphs here fail to -advance the narration <em>as -fiction</em>.</span> -algebra. The French are the originators -of this practical deception; but -if a term is of any importance—if -words derive any value from applicability—then -‘analysis’ conveys -‘algebra,’ about as much as, in -Latin, ‘<em>ambitus</em>’ implies ‘ambition,’ -‘<em>religio</em>,’ ‘religion,’ or ‘<em>homines honesti</em>,’ -a set of <em>honorable</em> men.”</p> - -<p>103. “You have a quarrel on hand, -I see,” said I, “with some of the -algebraists of Paris; but proceed.”</p> - - - -<p>104. “I dispute the availability, and -thus the value of that reason which -is cultivated in any especial form other -than the abstractly logical. I dispute, -in particular, the reason educed -by mathematical study. <span class="sidenote">Unusual form. Throughout, -note Poe’s unusual choice -of words.</span> The mathematics -are the science of form and -quantity; mathematical reasoning is -merely logic applied to observation -upon form and quantity. The great -error lies in supposing that even the -truths of what is called <em>pure</em> algebra -are abstract or general truths. And -this error is so egregious that I am -confounded at the universality with -which it has been received. Mathematical -axioms are <em>not</em> axioms of -general truth. What is true of <em>relation</em>—of -form and quantity—is -often grossly false in regard to -morals, for example. In this latter <span class="sidenote">As a piece of pure reasoning -this long treatise is -not without its defects, -but it does bring out—though -too laboriously to -please—the point at -which Dupin is driving.</span> -science it is very usually <em>un</em>true that -the aggregated parts are equal to the -whole. In chemistry, also, the axiom -fails. In the consideration of motive -it fails; for two motives, each of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> -given value, have not, necessarily, a -value when united equal to the sum -of their values apart. There are -numerous other mathematical truths -which are only truths within the -limits of <em>relation</em>. But the mathematician -argues, from his <em>finite -truths</em>, through habit, as if they -were of an absolutely general applicability—as -the world indeed -imagines them to be. <span class="sidenote">Jacob Bryant.</span>Bryant, in his -very learned ‘Mythology,’ mentions -an analogous source of error, when -he says that ‘although the Pagan -fables are not believed, yet we forget -ourselves continually, and make inferences -from them as existing realities.’ <span class="sidenote">He speaks figuratively.</span> -With the algebraists, however, -who are Pagans themselves, the -‘Pagan fables’ <em>are</em> believed and the -inferences are made, not so much -through lapse of memory as through -an unaccountable addling of the -brains. In short, I never yet encountered -the mere mathematician -who could be trusted out of equal -roots, or one who did not clandestinely -hold it as a point of his faith <span class="sidenote">A striking satire.</span> -that <em>x</em><sup>2</sup> + <em>px</em> was absolutely and unconditionally -equal to <em>q</em>. Say to one -of these gentlemen, by way of experiment, -if you please, that you believe -occasions may occur where -<em>x</em><sup>2</sup> + <em>px</em> is not altogether equal to <em>q</em>, <span class="sidenote">More satire.</span> -and, having made him understand -what you mean, get out of his reach -as speedily as convenient, for beyond -doubt he will endeavor to -knock you down.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the force of “last.”</div> - - -<p>105. “I mean to say,” continued Dupin, -while I merely laughed at his -last observations, “that if the minister -had been no more than a mathematician -the Prefect would have been -under no necessity of giving me this -check. I knew him, however, as both -mathematician and poet, and my -measures were adapted to his capacity -with reference to the circumstances -by which he was surrounded. <span class="sidenote">A return from the special -argument to the practical. <br /> -Application of the foregoing -principles.</span> -I knew him as courtier, too, and as -a bold <em>intriguant</em>. Such a man, I -considered, could not fail to be aware -of the ordinary policial modes of -action. He could not have failed to -anticipate—and events have proved -that he did not fail to anticipate—the -waylayings to which he was subjected. -He must have foreseen, I -reflected, the secret investigations of -his premises. <span class="sidenote">A difficult point explained.</span> His frequent absences -from home at night, which were hailed -by the Prefect as certain aids to his -success, I regarded only as ruses, to -afford opportunity for thorough -search to the police, and thus the -sooner to impress them with the -conviction to which G——, in fact, <span class="sidenote">Note the unusual use of -“to,” instead of “at.”</span> -did finally arrive—the conviction -that the letter was not upon the -premises. I felt, also, that the whole -train of thought, which I was at some -pains in detailing to you just now, -concerning the invariable principle of -policial action in searches for articles -concealed—I felt that this whole <span class="sidenote">Is this probable?</span> -train of thought would necessarily -pass through the mind of the minister. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> -It would imperatively lead him -to despise all the ordinary <em>nooks</em> of -concealment. <span class="sidenote">Compare <a href="#par95">¶95</a>.</span><em>He</em> could not, I reflected, -be so weak as not to see that -the most intricate and remote recess -of his hotel would be as open as his -commonest closets to the eyes, to the -probes, to the gimlets, and to the -microscopes of the Prefect. I saw, -in fine, that he would be driven, as a -matter of course, to <em>simplicity</em>, if not -deliberately induced to it as a matter -of choice. You will remember, -perhaps, how desperately the Prefect -laughed when I suggested, upon our <span class="sidenote">Key. Compare <a href="#par10">¶10</a>.</span> -first interview, that it was just possible -this mystery troubled him so -much on account of its being so -<em>very</em> self-evident.”</p> - -<p>106. “Yes,” said I, “I remember -his merriment well. I really thought -he would have fallen into convulsions.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">A return to philosophising.</div> - - -<p>107. “The material world,” continued -Dupin, “abounds with very -strict analogies to the immaterial; -and thus some color of truth has -been given to the rhetorical dogma, -that metaphor, or simile, may be -made to strengthen an argument, as -well as to embellish a description. -The principle of the <em>vis inertiæ</em>, <span class="sidenote">Force of inertia.</span> for -example, seems to be identical in -physics and metaphysics. It is not -more true in the former, that a large -body is with more difficulty set in -motion than a smaller one, and that its -subsequent momentum is commensurate -with this difficulty, than it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> -is, in the latter, that intellects of the -vaster capacity, while more forcible, -more constant, and more eventful in -their movements than those of inferior -grade, are yet the less readily -moved, and more embarrassed and -full of hesitation in the first few steps -of their progress. <span class="sidenote">This inquiry is the heart of -the inference.</span> Again: have you -ever noticed which of the street signs -over the shop doors are the most -attractive of attention?”</p> - -<p>108. “I have never given the matter -a thought,” I said.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Illustrative example.</div> - -<p>109. “There is a game of puzzles,” -he resumed, “which is played upon a -map. One party playing requires another -to find a given word—the -name of town, river, state, or empire—any -word, in short, upon the motley -and perplexed surface of the -chart. <span class="sidenote">Note the diction.</span> A novice in the game generally -seeks to embarrass his opponents -by giving them the most minutely -lettered names; but the adept selects -such words as stretch in large characters -from one end of the chart to -the other. These, like the over-largely -lettered signs and placards of -the street, escape observation by dint -of being excessively obvious; and -here the physical oversight is precisely -analogous with the moral inapprehension -by which the intellect suffers -to pass unnoticed those considerations -which are too obtrusively -and too palpably self-evident. But <span class="sidenote">Compare <a href="#par94">¶94</a> and <a href="#par98">¶98</a>.</span> -this is a point, it appears, somewhat -above or beneath the understanding -of the Prefect. He never once -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> -thought it probable, or possible, that <span class="sidenote">Summary of ”accusation” -against the Prefect’s sagacity.</span> -the minister had deposited the letter -immediately beneath the nose of the -whole world, by way of best preventing -any portion of that world from -perceiving it.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the alliteration.</div> - -<p>110. “But the more I reflected upon -the daring, dashing, and discriminating -ingenuity of D——; upon -the fact that the document must always -have been <em>at hand</em>, if he intended -to use it to good purpose; and -upon the decisive evidence, obtained -by the Prefect, that it was not hidden -within the limits of that dignitary’s -ordinary search—the more satisfied <span class="sidenote">Climax of Dupin’s inferential -reasoning.</span> -I became that, to conceal this letter, -the minister had resorted to the comprehensive -and sagacious expedient -of not attempting to conceal it at all.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Beginning of Real Plot.</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Incident of Dupin’s Story.</span><br /> -From this point the narration -is free from the -formalities of expression -which mar the central -section of the story. -These, however, were a -characteristic of Poe and -his era.</div> - - - -<p>111. “Full of these ideas, I prepared -myself with a pair of green -spectacles, and called one fine morning, -quite by accident, at the ministerial -hotel. I found D—— at home, -yawning, lounging, and dawdling, as -usual, and pretending to be in the -last extremity of <em>ennui</em>. He is, perhaps, -the most really energetic human<span class="sidenote">Note the use of “now.”</span> -being now alive—but that is only -when nobody sees him.</p> - -<p>112. “To be even with him, I complained -of my weak eyes, and lamented -the necessity of the spectacles, under -cover of which I cautiously and -thoroughly surveyed the whole apartment, -while seemingly intent only -upon the conversation of my host.</p> - -<p>113. “I paid especial attention to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> -a large writing-table near which he -sat, and upon which lay confusedly -some miscellaneous letters and other -papers, with one or two musical instruments -and a few books. Here, -however, after a long and very deliberate -scrutiny, I saw nothing to -excite particular suspicion.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Dupin’s reasoning sustained.</div> - -<p>114. “At length my eyes, in going -the circuit of the room, fell upon a -trumpery filigree card-rack of paste-board, -that hung dangling, by a dirty -blue ribbon, from a little brass knob -just beneath the middle of the mantelpiece. -In this rack, which had three -or four compartments, were five or -six visiting cards and a solitary letter. -This last was much soiled and -crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, -across the middle—as if a design, -in the first instance, to tear it entirely -up as worthless had been altered, or -stayed, in the second. It had a large -black seal, bearing the D—— cipher -<em>very</em> conspicuously, and was addressed, -in a diminutive female hand, to -D——, the minister himself. It was -thrust carelessly, and even, as it seemed, -contemptuously, into one of the -uppermost divisions of the rack.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Throughout, Poe used punctuation -more freely than -is now the custom.</div> - -<p id="par115">115. “No sooner had I glanced at -this letter than I concluded it to be -that of which I was in search. To -be sure, it was, to all appearance, -radically different from the one of -which the Prefect had read us so -minute a description. Here the seal -was large and black, with the D—— -cipher; there it was small and red,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> -with the ducal arms of the S—— -family. Here the address, to the -minister, was diminutive and feminine; -there, the superscription, to a -certain royal personage, was markedly -bold and decided; the size alone -formed a point of correspondence.<span class="sidenote">It was the custom in earlier -times simply to fold a -letter, seal it with a wafer, -and address it on the back, -which was allowed to remain -otherwise blank. -This accounts for there -being no reference to an -envelope, and also for -the refolding of the letter.</span> -But, then, the <em>radicalness</em> of these -differences, which was excessive; the -dirt, the soiled and torn condition of -the paper, so inconsistent with the -<em>true</em> methodical habits of D——, and -so suggestive of a design to delude -the beholder into an idea of the -worthlessness of the document; these -things, together with the hyper-obtrusive -situation of this document, full -in the view of every visitor, and thus -exactly in accordance with the conclusions -to which I had previously -arrived; these things, I say, were -strongly corroborative of suspicion, -in one who came with the intention -to suspect.</p> - - -<p>116. “I protracted my visit as long -as possible, and while I maintained -a most animated discussion with the -minister, upon a topic which I knew -well had never failed to interest and -excite him, I kept my attention really -riveted upon the letter. In this -examination, I committed to memory -its external appearance and arrangement -in the rack; and also fell, -at length, upon a discovery which set -at rest whatever trivial doubt I might -have entertained. <span class="sidenote">Note use of “fold” and its -derivatives.</span> In scrutinizing the -edges of the paper, I observed them -to be more <em>chafed</em> than seemed necessary.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> -They presented the <em>broken</em> -appearance which is manifested when -a stiff paper, having been once folded -and pressed with a folder, is refolded -in a reversed direction, in the same -creases or edges which had formed -the original fold. This discovery -was sufficient. It was clear to me -that the letter had been turned, as a -glove, inside out, re-directed, and re-sealed.<span class="sidenote">A good device.</span> -I bade the minister good-morning, -and took my departure at -once, leaving a gold snuff-box upon -the table.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Apparent Full Climax.</span></div> - -<p>117. “The next morning I called -for the snuff-box, when we resumed, -quite eagerly, the conversation of the -preceding day. While thus engaged, -however, a loud report, as if of a -pistol, was heard immediately beneath -the windows of the hotel, and -was succeeded by a series of fearful -screams, and the shoutings of a mob. -D—— rushed to a casement, threw -it open, and looked out. In the -meantime, I stepped to the card-rack, -took the letter, put it in my pocket, -and replaced it by a <em>facsimile</em> (so far -as regards externals) which I had -carefully prepared at my lodgings—imitating -the D—— cipher very -readily by means of a seal formed of -bread.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Concluding explanations.</div> - - -<p>118. “The disturbance in the street -had been occasioned by the frantic -behavior of a man with a musket. -He had fired it among a crowd of -women and children. It proved, -however, to have been without ball,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> -and the fellow was suffered to go his -way as a lunatic or a drunkard.<span class="sidenote">Note how the climax of -Dupin’s story also serves -as the climax of the Prefect’s -earlier statement of -the problem and his efforts -to solve it.</span> -When he had gone, D—— came from -the window, whither I had followed -him immediately upon securing the -object in view. Soon afterwards I -bade him farewell. The pretended -lunatic was a man in my own pay.”</p> - -<p>119. “But what purpose had you,” -I asked, “in replacing the letter by a -<em>facsimile</em>? Would it not have been -better, at the first visit, to have seized -it openly and departed?”</p> - - -<div class="sidenote">In the interest in Dupin’s -reasoning and its results -we have lost sight of the -real importance of the -letter.</div> - -<p>120. “D——,” replied Dupin, “is a -desperate man, and a man of nerve. -His hotel, too, is not without attendants -devoted to his interest. Had I -made the wild attempt you suggest I -might never have left the ministerial -presence alive. The good people of -Paris might have heard of me no -more. But I had an object apart -from these considerations. You -know my political prepossessions. -In this matter I act as a partisan of -the lady concerned. For eighteen -months the minister has had her in -his power. She has now him in hers—since, -being unaware that the letter -is not in his possession, he will -proceed with his exactions as if it -was.<span class="sidenote">Is “was” correct?</span> Thus will he inevitably commit -himself at once to his political -destruction. His downfall, too, will -not be more precipitate than awkward. <span class="sidenote">The descent to Avernus (the fabled -entrance to the -Infernal Regions) is easy.</span> -It is all very well to talk -about the <em>facilis descensus Averni</em>; -but in all kinds of climbing, as -Catalani said of singing, it is far<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> -more easy to get up than to come -down. In the present instance I -have no sympathy—at least no pity—for -him who descends. He is that -<em>monstrum horrendum</em>, an unprincipled -man of genius. I confess, <span class="sidenote">Monster to be shuddered at.</span> -however, that I should like very well -to know the precise character of his -thoughts, when, being defied by her -whom the Prefect terms ‘a certain -personage,’ he is reduced to opening -the letter which I left for him in the -card-rack.”</p> - -<p>121. “How? Did you put anything -particular in it?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Real Climax.</span></div> - -<p>122. “Why, it did not seem altogether -right to leave the interior -blank—that would have been insulting. -D——, at Vienna, once did -me an evil turn, which I told him, -quite good-humoredly, I should remember. -So, as I knew he would -feel some curiosity in regard to the -identity of the person who had outwitted -him, I thought it a pity not -to give him a clew. He is well acquainted -with my MS., and I just -copied into the middle of the blank -sheet the words:—</p> - -<div class="sidenote">A design so baleful, if not -worthy of Atreus, is worthy of Thyestes.</div> -<p class="p1 small1" style="padding-left: 4em;">‘——Un dessein si funeste,<br /> -S’il n’est digne d’Atrée, est digne de -Thyeste.’</p> - - - - -<p class="p1">They are to be found in Crébillon’s -‘Atrée.’”</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span></p> -</div> - -<h3>JACOBS AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> - -<p>William Wymark Jacobs was born in London, September -8, 1863, the son of William Gage Jacobs. He -was educated at private schools, and entered the employ -of the Post Office Savings Bank at sixteen. Four years -later he secured a regular clerkship there. He began his -literary career at the age of twenty-one with a contribution -to the <em>Blackfriars Magazine</em>, a publication conducted -by the clerks at the Post Office, and from that he was -led to contributing articles to various London papers, -though he retained his Civil Service position until 1899. -His remarkable acquaintance with nautical subjects, and -characters of the coasting trade and seaport wharves, -was acquired during several years spent in Wapping, -while his father was wharfinger there, as during that -period the younger Jacobs was brought into contact with -many seamen and wharf hands, and came to know many -of them very well. In 1900 he married Agnes Eleanor -Williams. Some of Jacobs’ most popular collections of -stories are <em>Many Cargoes</em>; <em>More Cargoes</em>; <em>Short Cruises</em>; -<em>Odd Craft</em>; <em>Captains All</em>; <em>Light Freights</em>; and <em>The Lady -of the Barge</em>. His longer stories include <em>A Master of -Craft</em>, <em>Dialstone Lane</em>; <em>Salthaven</em>, and <em>At Sunwich Port</em>.</p> - -<p>Mr. Jacobs is known mostly by his delightfully quaint -and humorous character delineations of river, shore, and -sea-faring folk. The remarkable short-story given herewith, -however, is of a very different sort and discloses a -mastery of the weird, of the supernatural, which is not -surpassed in the whole short-story field. With a sureness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> -of character-drawing which is nothing short of amazing -in a humorist, he outlines scene and actors, and when -the crises are reached—so completely is all visualized—we -are able to infer the swift-moving climax with scarce -the need of a word. “The Monkey’s Paw” is one of -the most dramatically poignant stories of the supernatural -ever written, and invites us to a closer study of -its gifted and versatile author.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>It [a sea-life] is a man’s life. It teaches self-restraint and -discipline and the art of governing men. It is a fine, healthy -life that breeds men. All that I mean to say is that distance -lends enchantment to the view, and that the essential romance -and comedy of the life of those who go down to the sea in -ships are intensified in the perspective of years.—<span class="smcap">W. W. Jacobs</span>, -<em>London Daily Chronicle</em>.</p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Londoners, in particular, should hail him with applause, for -he has done more than make them laugh; he has added character -to their river. Henceforward no one who has read <em>Many Cargoes</em> -will look at a passing barge with an apathetic gaze. He -will see before him not merely a vehicle of porterage, but a hot-bed -of liquorish and acceptable sarcasm.—<em>Academy</em> (London).</p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Mr. Jacobs has two great gifts: one is the power to place a -simple-minded man in a corner, excite our sympathies for him, -magnify his embarrassments, and keep us engrossed all the time.... -But we do not consider that herein lies Mr. Jacobs’s special -distinction.... It is in his eye for character, his knowledge of -a certain kind of human nature, his genius for the little touches, -as we prefer to call them, that Mr. Jacobs stands out so notably. -No one now writing can manage the little touches as Mr. Jacobs -can, at once so naturally, so truthfully, so usefully, and so joyously.... -None of them actually helps the plot, but every one -of them is so much added to the characters and conditions of -the story.—<span class="smcap">Ibid.</span></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>We cannot think of any other books with which to compare -Mr. Jacobs’s, because there are none just like them. To-day a -number of the best and brightest English and American writers -seem to be getting their inspiration from the sea.... Each one -of these has his own particular field, and in presenting the humour -of the sailor’s life and environment no one approaches Mr. -Jacobs.—<span class="smcap">Bookman</span> (New York).</p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>We are acquainted with one pronounced pessimist, who maintains -defiantly and aggressively that he never reads anything in -the nature of modern fiction. “Except, of course,” he adds, “the -short stories of W. W. Jacobs, which certainly make me laugh....” -We are inclined to believe that there are a number of men -who are of the same mind in regard to the work of Mr. Jacobs. -Yet we do not think that his most ardent admirer, after having -laid aside one of his books for three days, would be able to give -more than the vaguest description of the tales contained therein. -To this rule there are, however, several exceptions. “The -Monkey’s Paw,” as grewsome a story as has appeared for years, -was one.—<span class="smcap">Ibid.</span></p> -</div> - - -<p class="p2 big1 center">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON JACOBS</p> - -<p><em>Sketch of W. W. Jacobs</em>, <em>Current Literature</em>, vol. 26, -117; His <em>Work</em>, <em>Academy</em>, vol. 52, 496; <em>Living Age</em>, -vol. 218, 366; <em>Strand</em>, vol. 16, 676; <em>W. W. Jacobs</em>, -<em>Book News</em>, vol. 19; <em>The Little Touches</em> (Review of <em>A -Master of Craft</em>), <em>Academy</em>, vol. 59; <em>A New Humorist</em>, -<em>Spectator</em>, vol. 78; <em>More Cargoes</em> (Review), <em>Public -Opinion</em>, vol. 25; <em>The Skipper’s Wooing</em> (Review), <em>Saturday -Review</em>, vol. 84.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> - -<div class="body1"> -<p class="center p2">FOR ANALYSIS</p> - -<h3>THE MONKEY’S PAW<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></h3> - -<p class="big05 center">BY W. W. JACOBS</p> - - -<p class="p2 center">I</p> - -<p>Without, the night was cold and -wet, but in the small parlour of -Laburnam Villa the blinds were -drawn and the fire burned brightly. -Father and son were at chess, the -former, who possessed ideas about -the game involving radical changes, -putting his king into such sharp and -unnecessary perils that it even provoked -comment from the white-haired -old lady knitting placidly by the -fire.</p> - -<p>2. “Hark at the wind,” said Mr. -White, who having seen a fatal mistake -after it was too late, was amiably -desirous of preventing his son -from seeing it.</p> - -<p>3. “I’m listening,” said the latter, -grimly surveying the board as he -stretched out his hand. “Check.”</p> - -<p>4. “I should hardly think that he’d -come to-night,” said his father, with -his hand poised over the board.</p> - -<p>5. “Mate,” replied the son.</p> - -<p>6. “That’s the worst of living so -far out,” bawled Mr. White, with -sudden and unlooked-for violence; -“of all the beastly, slushy, out-of-the-way<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> -places to live in, this is the -worst. Pathway’s a bog, and the -road’s a torrent. I don’t know what -people are thinking about. I suppose -because only two houses in the -road are let, they think it doesn’t -matter.”</p> - - -<p>7. “Never mind, dear,” said his -wife, soothingly; “perhaps you’ll -win the next one.”</p> - -<p>8. Mr. White looked up sharply, -just in time to intercept a knowing -glance between mother and son. -The words died away on his lips, and -he hid a guilty grin in his thin grey -beard.</p> - -<p>9. “There he is,” said Herbert -White, as the gate banged to loudly -and heavy footsteps came toward -the door.</p> - -<p>10. The old man rose with hospitable -haste, and opening the door, -was heard condoling with the new -arrival. The new arrival also condoled -with himself, so that Mrs. -White said, “Tut, tut!” and coughed -gently as her husband entered -the room, followed by a tall, burly -man, beady of eye and rubicund of -visage.</p> - -<p>11. “Sergeant-Major Morris,” he -said, introducing him.</p> - -<p>12. The sergeant-major shook -hands, and taking the proffered seat -by the fire, watched contentedly -while his host got out whiskey and -tumblers and stood a small copper -kettle on the fire.</p> - -<p>13. At the third glass his eyes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> -got brighter, and he began to talk, -the little family circle regarding with -eager interest this visitor from distant -parts, as he squared his broad -shoulders in the chair and spoke of -wild scenes and doughty deeds; of -wars and plagues and strange peoples.</p> - -<p>14. “Twenty-one years of it,” said -Mr. White, nodding at his wife and -son. “When he went away he was -a slip of a youth in the warehouse. -Now look at him.”</p> - -<p>15. “He don’t look to have taken -much harm,” said Mrs. White, politely.</p> - -<p>16. “I’d like to go to India myself,” -said the old man, “just to look -round a bit, you know.”</p> - -<p>17. “Better where you are,” said -the sergeant-major, shaking his head. -He put down the empty glass, and -sighing softly, shook it again.</p> - -<p>18. “I should like to see those old -temples and fakirs and jugglers,” -said the old man. “What was that -you started telling me the other day -about a monkey’s paw or something, -Morris?”</p> - -<p>19. “Nothing,” said the soldier, -hastily. “Leastways nothing worth -hearing.”</p> - -<p>20. “Monkey’s paw?” said Mrs. -White, curiously.</p> - -<p>21. “Well, it’s just a bit of what -you might call magic, perhaps,” said -the sergeant-major, offhandedly.</p> - -<p>22. His three listeners leaned forward -eagerly. The visitor absentmindedly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> -put his empty glass to his -lips and then set it down again. -His host filled it for him.</p> - -<p>23. “To look at,” said the sergeant-major, -fumbling in his pocket, -“it’s just an ordinary little paw, -dried to a mummy.”</p> - -<p>24. He took something out of his -pocket and proffered it. Mrs. White -drew back with a grimace, but her -son, taking it, examined it curiously.</p> - -<p>25. “And what is there special -about it?” inquired Mr. White as -he took it from his son, and having -examined it, placed it upon the table.</p> - -<p>26. “It had a spell put on it by -an old fakir,” said the sergeant-major, -“a very holy man. He wanted -to show that fate ruled people’s -lives, and that those who interfered -with it did so to their sorrow. He -put a spell on it so that three separate -men could each have three -wishes from it.”</p> - -<p>27. His manner was so impressive -that his hearers were conscious that -their light laughter jarred somewhat.</p> - -<p>28. “Well, why don’t you have -three, sir?” said Herbert White, -cleverly.</p> - -<p>29. The soldier regarded him in -the way that middle age is wont to -regard presumptuous youth. “I -have,” he said, quietly, and his -blotchy face whitened.</p> - -<p>30. “And did you really have the -three wishes granted?” asked Mrs. -White.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span></p> - -<p>31. “I did,” said the sergeant-major, -and his glass tapped against his -strong teeth.</p> - -<p>32. “And has anybody else wished?” -persisted the old lady.</p> - -<p>33. “The first man had his three -wishes. Yes,” was the reply; “I -don’t know what the first two were, -but the third was for death. That’s -how I got the paw.”</p> - -<p>34. His tones were so grave that -a hush fell upon the group.</p> - -<p>35. “If you’ve had your three -wishes, it’s no good to you now, then, -Morris,” said the old man at last. -“What do you keep it for?”</p> - -<p>36. The soldier shook his head. -“Fancy, I suppose,” he said, slowly. -“I did have some idea of selling it, -but I don’t think I will. It has caused -enough mischief already. Besides, -people won’t buy. They think it’s -a fairy tale, some of them; and those -who do think anything of it want to -try it first and pay me afterward.”</p> - -<p>37. “If you could have another -three wishes,” said the old man, eyeing -him keenly, “would you have -them?”</p> - -<p>38. “I don’t know,” said the other. -“I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>39. He took the paw, and dangling -it between his forefinger and thumb, -suddenly threw it upon the fire. -White, with a slight cry, stooped -down and snatched it off.</p> - -<p>40. “Better let it burn,” said the -soldier, solemnly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></p> - -<p>41. “If you don’t want it, Morris,” -said the other, “give it to me.”</p> - -<p>42. “I won’t,” said his friend doggedly. -“I threw it on the fire. If -you keep it, don’t blame me for what -happens. Pitch it on the fire again -like a sensible man.”</p> - -<p>43. The other shook his head and -examined his new possession closely. -“How do you do it?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>44. “Hold it up in your right hand -and wish aloud,” said the sergeant-major, -“but I warn you of the consequences.”</p> - -<p>45. “Sounds like the Arabian -Nights,” said Mrs. White, as she rose -and began to set the supper. “Don’t -you think you might wish for four -pairs of hands for me?”</p> - -<p>46. Her husband drew the talisman -from his pocket, and then all three -burst into laughter as the sergeant-major, -with a look of alarm on his -face, caught him by the arm.</p> - -<p>47. “If you must wish,” he said, -gruffly, “wish for something sensible.”</p> - -<p>48. Mr. White dropped it back in -his pocket, and placing chairs, motioned -his friend to the table. In the -business of supper the talisman was -partly forgotten, and afterward the -three sat listening in an enthralled -fashion to a second installment of the -soldier’s adventures in India.</p> - -<p>49. “If the tale about the monkey’s -paw is not more truthful than those -he has been telling us,” said Herbert, -as the door closed behind their guest,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> -just in time for him to catch the last -train, “we shan’t make much out of -it.”</p> - -<p>50. “Did you give him anything -for it, father?” inquired Mrs. White, -regarding her husband closely.</p> - -<p>51. “A trifle,” said he, colouring -slightly. “He didn’t want it, but I -made him take it. And he pressed -me again to throw it away.”</p> - -<p>52. “Likely,” said Herbert, with -pretended horror. “Why, we’re going -to be rich, and famous and happy. -Wish to be an emperor, father, -to begin with; then you can’t be hen-pecked.”</p> - -<p>53. He darted round the table, -pursued by the maligned Mrs. White -armed with an antimacassar.</p> - -<p>54. Mr. White took the paw from -his pocket and eyed it dubiously. “I -don’t know what to wish for, and -that’s a fact,” he said, slowly. “It -seems to me I’ve got all I want.”</p> - -<p>55. “If you only cleared the house, -you’d be quite happy, wouldn’t you?” -said Herbert, with his hand on his -shoulder. “Well, wish for two hundred -pounds, then; that’ll just do -it.”</p> - -<p>56. His father, smiling shamefacedly -at his own credulity, held up the -talisman, as his son, with a solemn -face, somewhat marred by a wink at -his mother, sat down at the piano -and struck a few impressive chords.</p> - -<p>57. “I wish for two hundred -pounds,” said the old man distinctly.</p> - -<p>58. A fine crash from the piano<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> -greeted the words, interrupted by a -shuddering cry from the old man. -His wife and son ran toward him.</p> - -<p>59. “It moved,” he cried, with a -glance of disgust at the object as it -lay on the floor.</p> - -<p>60. “As I wished, it twisted in my -hand like a snake.”</p> - -<p>61. “Well, I don’t see the money,” -said his son as he picked it up and -placed it on the table, “and I bet -I never shall.”</p> - -<p>62. “It must have been your fancy, -father,” said his wife, regarding him -anxiously.</p> - -<p>63. He shook his head. “Never -mind, though; there’s no harm, but it -gave me a shock all the same.”</p> - -<p>64. They sat down by the fire again -while the two men finished their -pipes. Outside, the wind was higher -than ever, and the old man started -nervously at the sound of a door -banging up-stairs. A silence unusual -and depressing settled upon all three, -which lasted until the old couple rose -to retire for the night.</p> - -<p>65. “I expect you’ll find the cash -tied up in a big bag in the middle of -your bed,” said Herbert, as he bade -them good-night, “and something -horrible squatting up on top of the -wardrobe watching you as you pocket -your ill-gotten gains.”</p> - -<p>66. He sat alone in the darkness, -gazing at the dying fire, and seeing -faces in it. The last face was so -horrible and so simian that he gazed -at it in amazement. It got so vivid<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span> -that, with a little uneasy laugh, he -felt on the table for a glass containing -a little water to throw over it. -His hand grasped the monkey’s paw, -and with a little shiver he wiped his -hand on his coat and went up to bed.</p> - - -<p class="p2 center">II</p> - -<p>67. In the brightness of the wintry -sun next morning as it streamed over -the breakfast table he laughed at his -fears. There was an air of prosaic -wholesomeness about the room which -it had lacked on the previous night, -and the dirty, shrivelled little paw -was pitched on the sideboard with a -carelessness which betokened no great -belief in its virtues.</p> - -<p>68. “I suppose all old soldiers are -the same,” said Mrs. White. “The -idea of our listening to such nonsense! -How could wishes be granted -in these days? And if they could, -how could two hundred pounds hurt -you, father?”</p> - -<p>69. “Might drop on his head from -the sky,” said the frivolous Herbert.</p> - -<p>70. “Morris said the things happened -so naturally,” said his father, -“that you might if you so wished -attribute it to coincidence.”</p> - -<p>71. “Well, don’t break into the -money before I come back,” said Herbert -as he rose from the table. “I’m -afraid it’ll turn you into a mean, -avaricious man, and we shall have -to disown you.”</p> - -<p>72. His mother laughed, and following<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> -him to the door, watched him -down the road; and returning to the -breakfast table, was very happy at the -expense of her husband’s credulity. -All of which did not prevent her from -scurrying to the door at the postman’s -knock, nor prevent her from referring -somewhat shortly to retired sergeant-majors -of bibulous habits when she -found that the post brought a tailor’s -bill.</p> - -<p>73. “Herbert will have some more -of his funny remarks, I expect, when -he comes home,” she said, as they -sat at dinner.</p> - -<p>74. “I dare say,” said Mr. White, -pouring himself out some beer; “but -for all that, the thing moved in my -hand; that I’ll swear to.”</p> - -<p>75. “You thought it did,” said the -old lady soothingly.</p> - -<p>76. “I say it did,” replied the other. -“There was no thought about it; I -had just—What’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>77. His wife made no reply. She -was watching the mysterious movements -of a man outside, who, peering -in an undecided fashion at the -house, appeared to be trying to make -up his mind to enter. In mental -connection with the two hundred -pounds, she noticed that the stranger -was well dressed, and wore a silk -hat of glossy newness. Three times -he paused at the gate, and then walked -on again. The fourth time he -stood with his hand upon it, and then -with sudden resolution flung it open -and walked up the path. Mrs. White<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> -at the same moment placed her hands -behind her, and hurriedly unfastening -the strings of her apron, put that useful -article of apparel beneath the -cushion of her chair.</p> - -<p>78. She brought the stranger, who -seemed ill at ease, into the room. He -gazed at her furtively, and listened in -a preoccupied fashion as the old lady -apologized for the appearance of the -room, and her husband’s coat, a garment -which he usually reserved for -the garden. She then waited as patiently -as her sex would permit, for -him to broach his business, but he -was at first strangely silent.</p> - -<p>79. “I—was asked to call,” he said -at last, and stooped and picked a -piece of cotton from his trousers. “I -come from Maw and Meggins.”</p> - -<p>80. The old lady started. “Is anything -the matter?” she asked, breathlessly. -“Has anything happened to -Herbert? What is it? What is it?”</p> - -<p>81. Her husband interposed. -“There, there, mother,” he said, -hastily. “Sit down, and don’t jump -to conclusions. You’ve not brought -bad news, I’m sure, sir;” and he eyed -the other wistfully.</p> - -<p>82. “I’m sorry—” began the visitor.</p> - -<p>83. “Is he hurt?” demanded the -mother, wildly.</p> - -<p>84. The visitor bowed in assent. -“Badly hurt,” he said, quietly, “but -he is not in any pain.”</p> - -<p>85. “Oh, thank God!” said the old<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> -woman, clasping her hands. “Thank -God for that! Thank—”</p> - -<p>86. She broke off suddenly as the -sinister meaning of the assurance -dawned upon her and she saw the -awful confirmation of her fears in -the other’s averted face. She caught -her breath, and turning to her -slower-witted husband, laid her -trembling old hand upon his. There -was a long silence.</p> - -<p>87. “He was caught in the machinery,” -said the visitor at length in a -low voice.</p> - -<p>88. “Caught in the machinery,” repeated -Mr. White, in a dazed fashion, -“yes.”</p> - -<p>89. He sat staring blankly out at -the window, and taking his wife’s -hand between his own, pressed it as -he had been wont to do in their old -courting-days nearly forty years before.</p> - -<p>90. “He was the only one left to -us,” he said, turning gently to the -visitor. “It is hard.”</p> - -<p>91. The other coughed, and rising, -walked slowly to the window. “The -firm wished me to convey their -sincere sympathy with you in your -great loss,” he said, without looking -round. “I beg that you will understand -I am only their servant and -merely obeying orders.”</p> - -<p>92. There was no reply; the old -woman’s face was white, her eyes -staring, and her breath inaudible; on -the husband’s face was a look such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> -as his friend the sergeant might have -carried into his first action.</p> - -<p>93. “I was to say that Maw and -Meggins disclaim all responsibility,” -continued the other. “They admit -no liability at all, but in consideration -of your son’s services, they wish to -present you with a certain sum as -compensation.”</p> - -<p>94. Mr. White dropped his wife’s -hand, and rising to his feet, gazed -with a look of horror at his visitor. -His dry lips shaped the words. -“How much?”</p> - -<p>95. “Two hundred pounds,” was -the answer.</p> - -<p>96. Unconscious of his wife’s -shriek, the old man smiled faintly, put -out his hands like a sightless man, -and dropped, a senseless heap, to the -floor.</p> - - -<p class="p2 center">III</p> - -<p>97. In the huge new cemetery, some -two miles distant, the old people buried -their dead, and came back to a -house steeped in shadow and silence. -It was all over so quickly that at first -they could hardly realize it, and remained -in a state of expectation as -though of something else to happen—something -else which was to -lighten this load, too heavy for old -hearts to bear.</p> - -<p>98. But the days passed, and expectation -gave place to resignation—the -hopeless resignation of the old, -sometimes miscalled, apathy. Sometimes -they hardly exchanged a word,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> -for now they had nothing to talk -about, and their days were long to -weariness.</p> - -<p>99. It was about a week after that -the old man, waking suddenly in the -night, stretched out his hand and -found himself alone. The room was -in darkness, and the sound of subdued -weeping came from the window. He -raised himself in bed and listened.</p> - -<p>100. “Come back,” he said, tenderly. -“You will be cold.”</p> - -<p>101. “It is colder for my son,” said -the old woman, and wept afresh.</p> - -<p>102. The sound of her sobs died -away on his ears. The bed was -warm, and his eyes heavy with sleep. -He dozed fitfully, and then slept until -a sudden wild cry from his wife -awoke him with a start.</p> - -<p>103. “The paw!” she cried wildly. -“The monkey’s paw!”</p> - -<p>104. He started up in alarm. -“Where? Where is it? What’s the -matter?”</p> - -<p>105. She came stumbling across the -room toward him. “I want it,” she -said, quietly. “You’ve not destroyed -it?”</p> - -<p>106. “It’s in the parlour, on the -bracket,” he replied marvelling. -“Why?”</p> - -<p>107. She cried and laughed together, -and bending over, kissed his -cheek.</p> - -<p>108. “I only just thought of it,” -she said, hysterically. “Why didn’t -I think of it before? Why didn’t you -think of it?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span></p> - -<p>109. “Think of what?” he questioned.</p> - -<p>110. “The other two wishes,” she -replied, rapidly. “We’ve only had -one.”</p> - -<p>111. “Was not that enough?” he -demanded, fiercely.</p> - -<p>112. “No,” she cried, triumphantly; -“we’ll have one more. Go down and -get it quickly, and wish our boy alive -again.”</p> - -<p>113. The man sat up in bed and -flung the bed-clothes from his quaking -limbs. “Good God, you are -mad!” he cried, aghast.</p> - -<p>114. “Get it,” she panted; “get it -quickly, and wish—Oh, my boy, my -boy!”</p> - -<p>115. Her husband struck a match -and lit the candle. “Get back to -bed,” he said, unsteadily. “You -don’t know what you are saying.”</p> - -<p>116. “We had the first wish granted,” -said the old woman, feverishly; -“why not the second?”</p> - -<p>117. “A coincidence,” stammered -the old man.</p> - -<p>118. “Go and get it and wish,” -cried his wife, quivering with excitement.</p> - -<p>119. The old man turned and regarded -her, and his voice shook. -“He has been dead ten days, and besides -he—I would not tell you else, -but—I could only recognize him by -his clothing. If he was too terrible -for you to see then, how now?”</p> - -<p>120. “Bring him back,” cried the -old woman, and dragged him toward<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> -the door. “Do you think I fear the -child I have nursed?”</p> - -<p>121. He went down in the darkness, -and felt his way to the parlour, -and then to the mantelpiece. The -talisman was in its place, and a horrible -fear that the unspoken wish -might bring his mutilated son before -him ere he could escape from the -room seized upon him, and he caught -his breath as he found that he had -lost the direction of the door. His -brow cold with sweat, he felt his -way round the table, and groped along -the wall until he found himself in -the small passage with the unwholesome -thing in his hand.</p> - -<p>122. Even his wife’s face seemed -changed as he entered the room. It -was white and expectant, and to his -fears seemed to have an unnatural -look upon it. He was afraid of her.</p> - -<p>123. “Wish!” she cried in a -strong voice.</p> - -<p>124. “It is foolish and wicked,” he -faltered.</p> - -<p>125. “Wish!” repeated his wife.</p> - -<p>126. He raised his hand. “I wish -my son alive again.”</p> - -<p>127. The talisman fell to the floor, -and he regarded it fearfully. Then -he sank trembling into a chair as the -old woman, with burning eyes, walked -to the window and raised the -blind.</p> - -<p>128. He sat until he was chilled -with the cold, glancing occasionally at -the figure of the old woman peering -through the window. The candle-end,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> -which had burned below the rim -of the china candle-stick, was throwing -pulsating shadows on the ceilings -and walls, until, with a flicker larger -than the rest, it expired. The old -man, with an unspeakable sense of -relief at the failure of the talisman, -crept back to his bed, and a minute or -two afterward the old woman came -silently and apathetically beside him.</p> - -<p>129. Neither spoke, but lay silently -listening to the ticking of the clock. -A stair creaked, and a squeaky mouse -scurried noisily through the wall. -The darkness was oppressive, and after -lying for some time screwing up -his courage, he took the box of -matches, and striking one, went -downstairs for a candle.</p> - -<p>130. At the foot of the stairs the -match went out, and he paused to -strike another; and at the same -moment a knock, so quiet and stealthy -as to be scarcely audible, sounded on -the front door.</p> - -<p>131. The matches fell from his -hand and spilled in the passage. He -stood motionless, his breath suspended -until the knock was repeated. -Then he turned and fled swiftly back -to his room, and closed the door behind -him. A third knock sounded -through the house.</p> - -<p>132. “What’s that?” cried the old -woman, starting up.</p> - -<p>133. “A rat,” said the old man in -shaking tones—“a rat. It passed -me on the stairs.”</p> - -<p>134. His wife sat up in bed listening.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> -A loud knock resounded -through the house.</p> - -<p>135. “It’s Herbert!” she screamed, -“It’s Herbert!”</p> - -<p>136. She ran to the door, but her -husband was before her, and catching -her by the arm, held her tightly.</p> - -<p>137. “What are you going to do?” -he whispered hoarsely.</p> - -<p>138. “It’s my boy; it’s Herbert!” -she cried, struggling mechanically. -“I forgot it was two miles away. -What are you holding me for? Let -go. I must open the door.”</p> - -<p>139. “For God’s sake don’t let it -in,” cried the old man, trembling.</p> - -<p>140. “You’re afraid of your own -son,” she cried, struggling. “Let me -go. I’m coming, Herbert; I’m coming.”</p> - -<p>141. There was another knock, and -another. The old woman with a sudden -wrench broke free and ran from -the room. Her husband followed to -the landing, and called after her appealingly -as she hurried downstairs. -He heard the chain rattle back and -the bottom bolt drawn slowly and -stiffly from the socket. Then the old -woman’s voice, strained and panting.</p> - -<p>142. “The bolt,” she cried, loudly. -“Come down. I can’t reach it.”</p> - -<p>143. But her husband was on his -hands and knees groping wildly on -the floor in search of the paw. If he -could only find it before the thing -outside got in. A perfect fusillade of -knocks reverberated through the -house, and he heard the scraping of -a chair as his wife put it down in -the passage against the door. He -heard the creaking of the bolt as it -came slowly back, and at the same -moment he found the monkey’s paw, -and frantically breathed his third and -last wish.</p> - -<p>144. The knocking ceased suddenly, -although the echoes of it were still in -the house. He heard the chair drawn -back, and the door opened. A cold -wind rushed up the staircase, and a -long loud wail of disappointment and -misery from his wife gave him -courage to run down to her side, and -then to the gate beyond. The street -lamp flickering opposite shone on a -quiet and deserted road.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span></p> -<h3>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY</h3> - -<p>1. Does it add to the interest of a story, for you, when you are -baffled by its mystery up to the very end?</p> - -<p>2. What author’s detective stories do you consider the best? -Why?</p> - -<p>3. If possible, secure a copy of Voltaire’s “Zadig,” and write -a short paper on Zadig’s reasoning.</p> - -<p>4. Does the introduction of an element of the supernatural increase -or lessen the interest of a story, for you?</p> - -<p>5. Write about two-hundred words comparing (a) the work -of Poe’s Dupin with Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes; (b) with that of -any other fictional detective—Chesterton’s Father Brown, for -example.</p> - -<p>6. Explain what is meant by <em>inductive</em> reasoning.</p> - -<p>7. Select from some magazine (a) a good detective story, and -(b) a good story of the unexplained, or supernatural. (c) Discuss -the relative merits of each.</p> - -<p>8. Do you prefer Jacobs as a writer of humorous stories of -sea-faring folk or as a writer of the weird?</p> - -<p>9. Which of Poe’s stories do you like best, and why?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span></p> - - -<h3>TEN REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF MYSTERY -AND FANTASY</h3> - -<div class="small1"> -<p>“The Horla,” Guy de Maupassant, translated in <em>Modern -Ghosts</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Lost Duchess,” Anonymous, in <em>The Lock and Key -Library</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Golden Ingot,” Fitz-James O’Brien, in <em>The Lock -and Key Library</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Gold Bug,” Edgar Allan Poe, in <em>Tales</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Black Spaniel,” Robert Hichens, in volume of same -title.</p> - -<p>“The Upper Berth,” F. Marion Crawford, in <em>Short-Story -Classics, American</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Adventure of the Dancing Men,” A. Conan Doyle, -in <em>The Return of Sherlock Holmes</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Venus of Ille,” Prosper Mérimée, translated in -<em>Little French Masterpieces</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Pavilion on the Links,” Robert Louis Stevenson, -in <em>New Arabian Nights</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Damned Thing,” Ambrose Bierce, in <em>Short-Story -Classics, American</em>.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="footnotes"> -<p class="p2 center big1">FOOTNOTES: </p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">[19]</a> Copyright, 1902, by Dodd, Mead & Co., in the collection of short-stories, -<em>The Lady of the Barge</em>. Used by permission.</p> - -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" >III<br /> -STORIES OF EMOTION</h2> - - - - - -<p class="center big1"><em>The Last Class.</em>—<span class="smcap">Alphonse Daudet</span></p> - -<p class="center big1 p6b"><em>Without Benefit of Clergy.</em>—<span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span></span></p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="p1">In painting we may represent any fine figure we please; but -we never can give it those enlivening touches which it may receive -from words. To represent an angel in a picture, you can -only draw a beautiful young man winged: but what painting -can furnish out any thing so grand as the addition of one word, -“the angel of the <em>Lord</em>?...” Now, as there is a moving tone of -voice, an impassioned countenance, an agitated gesture, which -affect independently of the things about which they are exerted, -so there are words, and certain dispositions of words, which -being peculiarly devoted to passionate subjects, and always used -by those who are under the influence of any passion, touch and -move us more than those which far more clearly and distinctly -express the subject-matter. We yield to sympathy what we refuse -to description.—<span class="smcap">Edmund Burke</span>, <em>On the Sublime and -Beautiful</em>.</p> -</div> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p> -<h3>STORIES OF EMOTION</h3> -</div> - - -<p>Fictional plots deal with the inner man quite as often -as with the outer. Indeed, the action of the soul is more -real, intense and interesting than mere visible action could -possibly be. For this reason the master story-tellers -nearly always interpret the inner life—whether of -thought, of emotion, or of decision—by displaying the -outer, instead of by merely analyzing and discussing the -thoughts, feelings and decisions of their characters. -The more clearly this outer action pictures the inner man, -the more real does the character become to us and the -more perfectly do we grasp the whole story.</p> - -<p>As a universal human experience, emotion<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> mingles -with all manifestations of life. In the short-story it finds -various expression in the hilarious fun of “Pigs is Pigs,” -by Butler; the character humor of Barrie’s “Thrums” -stories; the mingled humor and pathos of Harte’s “The -Luck of Roaring Camp”; the patriotic sentiment of -Daudet’s “The Siege of Berlin”; the mystic sympathy -of Kipling’s “They”; the idyllic love of the Book of -Ruth; the incomparable psychological insight of Maupassant’s -“A Coward”; the cold, revengeful jealousy of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>Balzac’s “La Grande Bretêche”; the choking, supernatural -terror of Poe’s “The Pit and the Pendulum”; -the tragic passion of Mérimée’s “Mateo Falcone,” and all -the myriad shades and combinations of shades which lie -between.</p> - -<p>Naturally, each story in this entire collection illustrates -one or another emotional phase, as even a cursory reading -will make clear. What, for example, could be more -intense than the emotions of those two parents, as depicted -in “The Monkey’s Paw?” But for this group -two stories have been selected as being typical examples -of emotional expression, because in them human feeling -predominates over all other characteristics and really -makes the story.</p> - -<p>“The Last Class,” which is here presented in a translation -by the editor of this volume, is rich in local color, -in impressionism, and in character drawing, but as an -unaffected picture of patriotic feeling it is unsurpassed -in the literature of the short-story. There is not a single -jarring emotional tone, not the slightest exaggeration of -true emotional values. With singular repression, Daudet -secures his effects by suggesting rather than fully expressing -the profound feelings of the school-master, his pupils, -and the visitors; and when the majestically simple climax -is reached, we have accepted the reality of it all and have -received a single effective and lasting impression.</p> - -<p>“Without Benefit of Clergy,” the second specimen, is -left for the reader to analyze and discuss. Surely this -most sadly touching of all love-stories presents the -poignant pity, the inevitable disaster, the final heart-break<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> -of unsanctified love, as never before or since in the pages -of fiction.</p> - - -<h3>DAUDET AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> - -<p>Alphonse Daudet was born at Nîmes, France, May -13, 1840. Here and at Lyons he received his education. -At the age of seventeen he and his brother Ernest went -to Paris, where Alphonse published his first long poem -two years later. This began his literary success. From -1860 to 1865 he served as secretary in the Cabinet of the -Duke de Morny, and at the early age of twenty-five was -decorated with the Cross of the Legion of Honor. He -was profoundly impressed by the memories of his early -life and frequently revisited his native Provence. The -South-of-France tone is distinguishable in much of his -work, just as the powerful feelings called forth by the -Franco-Prussian war find expression in other of his -writings. He died in Paris, December 16, 1897.</p> - -<p>Alphonse Daudet was a dramatist, poet, novelist, and -short-story writer. <em>The Nabob</em>, <em>Sappho</em>, <em>Jack</em>, <em>Kings in -Exile</em>, <em>Numa Roumestan</em>, <em>Fromont and Risler</em>, <em>The -Evangelist</em>, and the “Tartarin” books are his best known -novels. Among his best short-stories are “The Pope’s -Mule,” “The Death of the Dauphin,” “The Three Low -Masses,” “The Elixir of the Reverend Father Gaucher,” -“Old Folks,” and “Master Cornille’s Secret”—all from -the collection, <em>Letters from My Mill</em>. The following -little masterpieces are from his <em>Monday Tales</em>: “The -Game of Billiards,” “The Child Spy,” “The Little Pies,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> -“Mothers,” “The Siege of Berlin,” and “The Last -Class.”</p> - -<p>At the close of the Franco-Prussian war, in 1871, -France was forced to cede to Germany almost all of -Alsace, about nine thousand square miles of territory, in -addition to an indemnity of one billion dollars. “The -Last Class” was held, therefore, about 1872, and the -story was first published in 1873.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Daudet’s literary genius sounded every note, from -farce, delicate humor, and satire, to poetic pathos, dramatic -action, character analysis, and social criticism. He -resembled Dickens in his humor, but displayed more -emotional tenderness, and, in his later work, more satire, -than did the English writer. Though he may be called -the literary descendant of Balzac, whose novels systematically -depicted French society in all its phases, Daudet -was less a social philosopher and more a man expressing -his own personality through his work. Comparing him -with Maupassant, we find his stories less perfect in form, -but far richer in human feeling. Though at times he -dealt with subjects which English readers consider broad, -his sympathy unmistakably appears to be with his nobler -characters.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>When only ten years of age, I was already haunted at times -by the desire to lose my own personality, and incarnate myself -in other beings; the mania was already laying hold of me for -observing and analyzing, and my chief amusement during my -walks was to pick out some passerby, and to follow him all over -Lyons, through all his idle strollings or busy occupations, striving<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> -to identify myself with his life, and to enter into his innermost -thoughts.—<span class="smcap">Alphonse Daudet</span>, <em>Thirty Years of Paris</em>.</p> - - -<p>Daudet expresses many things; but he most frequently expresses -himself—his own temper in the presence of life, his own -feeling on a thousand occasions.—<span class="smcap">Henry James</span>, <em>Partial Portraits</em>.</p> - - -<p>Life, as he knows it, is sad, full of disappointment, bitterness, -and suffering; and yet the conclusion he draws from experience -is that this life, with all its sadness, is well worth living.—<span class="smcap">René -Doumic</span>, <em>Contemporary French Novelists</em>.</p> - - -<p>The short stories are Daudet at his best, a style tense, virile, -full of suppressed energy.... There is a nobler strain in these -stories than speaks from the pages of <em>Le Petit Chose</em> [“Little -What’s-His-Name”],—the ring of passionate patriotism, no -longer the voice of Provence, or of Paris, but the voice of -France.... The touching story, <em>La Dernière Classe</em>, might have -come from the lips of an Alsatian, so true is it to the spirit of -Alsace during those sorrowful days that followed the Franco-Prussian -War.—<span class="smcap">Marion McIntyre</span>, Introduction to <em>Works</em>.</p> - - -<p>Daudet’s two main series of stories (<em>Letters from My Mill</em> and -<em>Monday Tales</em>) contain between sixty and seventy pieces.... -They represent Daudet the poet, with his exquisite fancy, his -winning charm, his subtle, indescribable style, his susceptibility -to all that is lovely and joyous in nature and in human life; -in short, in his sunny, mercurial Provençal temperament.... -But there was another Daudet more or less superimposed upon -this sunny, poetic Daudet, true child of Provence. Upon few -Frenchmen of a generation ago did the terrible years of the -Franco-Prussian War and the Commune produce a more sobering -impression. The romanticist and poet deepened into a realistic -observer of human life in all its phases.—<span class="smcap">W. P. Trent</span>, -Introduction to the volume on Daudet, in <em>Little French Masterpieces</em>.</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p> - - -<p>The charm reflected in his works lay in the man himself, and -earned for him a host of friends and an unclouded domestic life—it -lay in his open, sunny, inconsequent, southern nature, with -his quick sympathies, his irony at once forcible and delicate, his -ready tears. It lay in the spontaneousness of his talent, in -his Provençal gift of improvisation.... And it lay, too, in what -was an essential characteristic of his nature, his rapid alternation -of mood. Take even the slightest of his <em>Contes</em> [stories].... -Within a few pages he is in turn sad, gay, sentimental, ironical, -pathetic, and one mood glides into the next without jar or friction.—<span class="smcap">V. -M. Crawford</span>, <em>Studies in Foreign Literature</em>.</p> - - -<p>His stories first of all amuse, excite, distress himself.... -He never could, indeed, look on them disinterestedly, either while -they were making or when they were made. He made them -with actual tears and laughter; and they are read with actual -tears and laughter by the crowd.... But he had no philosophy -behind his fantastic and yet only too probable creations. Caring, -as he thought, supremely for life, he cared really for that surprising, -bewildering pantomime which life seems to be to those -who watch its coloured movement, its flickering lights, its changing -costumes, its powdered faces, without looking through the -eyes into the hearts of the dancers. He wrote from the very -midst of the human comedy; and it is from this that he seems -at times to have caught the bodily warmth and the taste of the -tears and the very ring of the laughter of men and women....—<span class="smcap">Arthur -Symons</span>, <em>Studies in Prose and Verse</em>.</p> -</div> - - -<p class="p2 big1 center">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON DAUDET</p> - -<p><em>Chats about Books</em>, Mayo W. Hazeltine (1883); -<em>French Fiction of To-day</em>, M. S. Van de Velde (1891); -<em>Alphonse Daudet; a Biographical and Critical Study</em>, R. -H. Sherard (1894); <em>The Literary Movement in France</em>, -Georges Pellissier (1897); <em>Literary Likings</em>, Richard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> -Burton (1898); <em>The Historical Novel</em>, Brander Matthews -(1901); <em>French Profiles</em>, Edmund W. Gosse (1905); -<em>Short-Story Masterpieces</em>, J. Berg Esenwein (1912).</p> - -<div class="body1"> -<h3>THE LAST CLASS</h3> - -<p class="center">(La Dernière Classe)</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Story of a Little Alsatian</span></p> - -<p class="big05 center">BY ALPHONSE DAUDET</p> - -<p class="center"><em>Translation by The Editor</em></p> - - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Introduction</span> plunges us at -once into the action. -There is one main incident -throughout. The narrator -is immediately seen -to be a child, and surmised -to be a boy.</div> - -<p>That morning I was very late for -school, so I was terribly afraid of a -scolding—particularly since Master -Hamel had said that he would examine -us on participles, and I knew -not the first word about them! For -a little while I thought of playing -truant and wandering the fields.</p> - -<p>2. The day was so warm, so clear!</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Setting. Note how the rural -community is suggested.</div> - -<p>3. I could hear the blackbirds -whistling on the border of the wood; -and back of the sawmill, in the Rippert -field, the Prussian soldiers were -drilling. All of this was much more -tempting to me than participial rules—but -I was strong enough to resist -and away to school I ran, as fast as -I could.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Small municipalities have -mayors, in France.</div> - - -<p>4. As I passed by the mayor’s office, -I observed that a number of people -were assembled before the little board -on which notices were generally posted.<span class="sidenote">The tone is struck here. -Forecast of crisis.</span> -For two years every piece of -bad news had come from that board—defeats -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> -in battle, <span class="sidenote">Franco-Prussian War.</span>conscriptions, orders -from headquarters—and, without -stopping, I wondered:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Forecasts a crisis.</div> - -<p>5. “What can it be this time!”</p> - -<p>6. Just then, as I was running -across the square, Wachter the blacksmith,<span class="sidenote">Note the Prussian name. -Alsace was a border province.</span> -who with his apprentice stood -reading the placard, called after me:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Hint of crisis to come. -<span class="smcap">Contributory Incident</span>.</div> - -<p>7. “You needn’t hurry so fast, -my lad, you’ll get to school soon -enough!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">The school was held in the -master’s house.</div> - -<p>8. I thought he was making game -of me, and I kept right on, reaching -Master Hamel’s little yard quite out -of breath.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Unusual air depicted by contrast.<br /> -The story proper begins.</div> - -<p>9. Ordinarily, as school was opening, -the uproar was so great that it -could be heard clear out on the street—desk-lids -opening and shutting, lessons -droned aloud in unison, pupils -holding their ears shut to learn their <span class="sidenote">An old custom.</span> -lessons easier, while the master’s -great ferrule beat upon the desks:</p> - -<p>10. “A little quietness!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Contrast.</div> - -<p>11. I had counted on all this noise -to enable me to reach my seat unnoticed; -but on that particular day -everything was as quiet as a Sabbath -morning. Through the open window -I saw my schoolmates already ranged -in their places, and Master Hamel -pacing to and fro, his formidable iron -ferrule under his arm. In the midst -of that complete silence I had to -open the door and go in! You can -well imagine whether I blushed and -was afraid!</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Contrast.</div> - -<p>12. But, quite to the contrary, -Master Hamel looked at me with no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> -sign of anger, and then very gently -said:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Evidently a small school.</div> - -<p>13. “Go directly to your seat, my -little Frantz—we were about to begin -without you.”</p> - - -<p>14. Immediately I stepped over the -bench and sat down at my desk.<span class="sidenote">At which others were also -seated.</span> -Only then, when I had partly gotten -over my fright, did I observe that -our master was wearing his handsome -blue riding-coat, his plaited ruff, -and his black silk embroidered -breeches—worn only on inspection -days or when prizes were awarded.<span class="sidenote">All the contrasts prepare us -for the crisis.</span> -Furthermore, there was something -extraordinary, something solemn, -about the whole school. But what -astounded me more than anything -else was to see a number of people -from the village sitting, as silent -as we, on the usually empty benches -at the back of the room: old Father -Hauser <span class="sidenote">Prussian name.</span>with his three-cornered hat, -the ex-mayor, the former postman, -besides a number of others. All -seemed cast down, and Father Hauser -had brought with him an old -primer, with chewed up leaves, <span class="sidenote">Dazed.</span> -which he held wide-open up-side-down -on his knees, and lying on it -his huge spectacles.</p> - -<p>15. While I was marvelling at all -this, Master Hamel had mounted -his platform, and in the same gentle -and serious voice with which he had -greeted me, he said to us:</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Foundation of Climax.</span> -Summary of the theme. -Compare with Longfellow’s -<em>Evangeline</em>.</div> - - - -<p>16. “My children, this is the last -day that I shall keep school. The -order has come from Berlin that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> -nothing but German shall be taught -in the schools of Alsace and Lorraine.<span class="sidenote">This law went into effect -July 1, 1870.</span> -The new school-master will -arrive to-morrow. This is the last -class in French—I beg of you to -be very attentive!”</p> - -<p>17. His simple words overwhelmed -me. This, then, was the notice they -had posted at the mayor’s office. Oh, -the scoundrels!</p> - -<div class="sidenote">The crisis becomes personal.</div> - -<p>18. My last lesson in French!</p> - - - -<p>19. And I was scarcely able to -write! Then I was never to learn! -I must stop short just where I was!<span class="sidenote">Scarcely a paragraph but appeals -to emotion in some -form.</span> -How angry with myself it made me -to remember the time I had frittered -away, and the lessons I had missed -while hunting birds’ nests or sliding -on the Saar! My books now seemed -to me like old comrades from -whom it broke my heart to part, and <span class="sidenote">The <em>Saar</em> flows northward -into the <em>Moselle</em>.</span> -only a moment since I had found -them—my grammar, my sacred history—so -dull, and so heavy to carry! -It was just the same when I thought -of Master Hamel. He was going -away. I should never see him again—the -thought made me forget all his -punishments and strokes with the -ferrule.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Shift to interest in the -Master.</div> - -<p>20. Poor old man! So it was in -honor of that last lesson in French -that he had donned his Sunday best—and -now I understood why those -old folks from the village were seated -at the back of the room. <span class="sidenote">Now to the villagers.</span> It seemed -to say they regretted that they had -not visited the school oftener. <span class="sidenote">Age indicated, thus adding -to the pathos.</span> Besides, -it was a sort of way of thanking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> -our teacher for his forty years -of devoted service, and of showing <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">These are the key words.</span></span> -their love for the fatherland which -was passing away.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note how Daudet arouses -our sympathies by avoiding -generalities and centering -our interest upon -persons.</div> - -<p>21. Just at this point in my reflections -I heard my name called—it -was my turn to recite. Oh, I would -have given anything to be able to -recite without a slip, in a strong, -clear voice, that celebrated rule about -participles; but at the very first -words I grew confused and I only -stood there at my bench swaying -back and forward, my heart swelling, -not daring to lift my head. At -length I heard Master Hamel saying -to me:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Ordinary rebuke is swallowed -up in the great -common sorrow.</div> - - -<p>22. “My little Frantz, I shall not -scold you; you are punished enough, -I think. It is so with all of us; every -day we reassure ourselves: ‘Bah! I -have plenty of time. To-morrow I -shall learn.’ Then you see what happens. -Alas! it has ever been the -great misfortune of our Alsace to defer -its lessons until the morrow.<span class="sidenote">Daudet here teaches all -France a lesson—and all -nations as well.</span> -And now these people are justified in -saying to us, ‘What, you pretend to -be French, and you are able neither -to speak nor to write your language!’ -But in all this you are not the most -guilty one, my poor Frantz—we are -all worthy of a full measure of self-reproach.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note M. Hamel’s simple -sincerity.</div> - - -<p>23. “Your parents have not taken -enough care to see that you got an -education. They preferred to save a -few more sous by putting you to -work in the fields or in the factories.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> -And I—have I nothing for which -to blame myself? Have I not frequently -sent you to water my garden -instead of keeping you at your books? -Or have I ever hesitated to dismiss -school when I wanted to go trout-fishing?”</p> - -<p>24. So Master Hamel, passing from -one theme to another, began to speak -to us about our French language. -He said that it was the most beautiful -language in the whole world—the -most clear, the most substantial; -that we must ever cherish it among -ourselves, and never forget it, for -when a nation falls into bondage, just -so long as it clings to its language, it -holds the key of its prison.<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a></p> - -<div class="sidenote">The attention follows the -lead of the emotions.</div> - -<p>25. Then he took a grammar and -read us our lesson. I was astonished -to see how readily I understood! -Everything he said seemed to me so -easy—so very easy. I believe that -never before had I listened so attentively, -and that he, in turn, had -never explained things with such <span class="sidenote">So does the teacher’s skill.</span> -infinite patience. It almost seemed as -though the poor fellow wished to -impart all his knowledge to us before -he left us—to drive it all into our -heads with one blow.</p> - - - - -<p>26. The lesson ended, we went on -to the exercises in penmanship. For -that day Master Hamel had gotten -ready some entirely new copies on -which he had written in a neat, round -hand: “France, Alsace, France, Alsace.”<span class="sidenote">A proof of unusual absorption.</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> -The slips of paper looked like -tiny flags, waving all about the room -and hanging from the rods of our -desks. You should have seen how -diligently everyone worked, and how -quiet it was! Only the scratching of -the pens over the paper could be -heard. Once some beetles flew in, but -nobody paid any attention to them—not -even the very smallest chaps, who -were struggling to draw their oblique -lines with a will and an application -as sincere as though even the lines -themselves were French....<span class="sidenote">Note the pathos of the appeal.</span> -Pigeons cooed in low tones on the -roof of the schoolhouse, and as I -listened to them I thought to myself:</p> - -<p>27. “I wonder if they are going to -make them coo in German too!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">A picture. All of these contributory -pictures stand -in lieu of contributory incidents. -The whole is -highly unified.</div> - - -<p>28. Now and then, as I lifted my -eyes from my task, I saw Master -Hamel seated motionless in his chair, -and staring at things about him as -though in that look he would carry -away with him the whole of his -little schoolhouse. Think of it! For -forty years he had occupied that same -place, his yard in front of him, and -his school always unchanged. Only -the benches and desks were rubbed by -use until they were polished; the -walnuts in the yard had grown large, -and the hop-vine he himself had -planted now hung in festoons from <span class="sidenote">The lad reasons as a lad—to -him the pathos is not -for himself but for the -old man.</span> -the windows clear to the roof. How -heartbreaking it must have been for -that poor man to leave all this—to -hear his sister moving to and fro<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> -in the room overhead as she packed -their trunks! Next day they were -going away—to leave the fatherland -forever.</p> - -<p>29. All the same, he had the courage -to keep the school to the very -closing minute. The writing over, -we had our lesson in history. Then -the little ones sang in unison their -<em>ba, be, bi, bo, bu</em>. Yonder, at the back -of the room, old Father Hauser was -holding his spelling-book with both -hands, and with the aid of his great -spectacles he spelled out the letters—one -could see that even he too was -applying himself. Emotion shook his -voice, and to hear him was so droll -that we all wanted to laugh—and to -cry. Ah! I shall always remember -that last class.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Preparation for Climax.</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Formal Crisis</span>—the end -approaches.<br /> -Note the force of this.<br /> -Moral qualities affect the physical.</div> - -<p>30. Suddenly the church clock -sounded twelve. Then the Angelus. -At the same instant were heard under -our very windows the trumpets of -the Prussians returning from drill. -Pale as death, Master Hamel rose -from his chair. Never had he seemed -so large.</p> - -<p>31. “My friends,” he began; “my -friends, I—I—”</p> - -<p>32. But something choked him. -He could not end the sentence.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the intensity.</div> - -<p>33. Then he turned to the blackboard, -seized a piece of chalk, and, -bearing with all his strength, he -wrote in the largest letters he could -make:</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Full Climax.</span></div> - -<p>34. “VIVE LA FRANCE!”</p> - -<p>35. Then he stood there, his head -leaning against the wall, and without -a word he signed to us with his -hand:</p> - -<p>36. “It is the end ... go!”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span></p> - -<h3>KIPLING AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> - -<p>Joseph Rudyard Kipling was born in Bombay, India, -December 30, 1865, of English parents, his father, J. -Lockwood Kipling, an artist of ability, having been in -the colonial Civil Service. He was educated at the -United Services College, Devon, but returned to India in -1882 and became an editorial writer and correspondent. -In 1889 he began extensive travels. For several years -he resided in Brattleboro, Vermont, but returned to England -and settled in Rottingdean, Sussex.</p> - -<p>Rudyard Kipling has attained celebrity as poet, novelist, -and short-story writer. His best-known poems are -found in the collections entitled <em>Departmental Ditties</em>, -<em>Barrack-Room Ballads</em>, <em>The Seven Seas</em>, and <em>The Five -Nations</em>. <em>Kim</em> is his ablest novel. The two “Jungle -Books” constitute a remarkable collection of connected -tales of the jungle folk. His best short-stories are found -in the following volumes: <em>Soldiers Three</em> (the “Mulvaney” -stories, “The Man Who Was,” etc.), <em>The Phantom -Rickshaw</em> (“The Man Who Would be King,” “The -Strange Ride of Morrowbie Jukes,” etc.), <em>Wee Willie -Winkie and Other Stories</em> (“The Drums of the Fore and Aft,” -“Under the Deodars,” etc.), <em>The Day’s Work</em> (“The -Bridge Builders,” “The Brushwood Boy,” etc.), and -<em>Traffic and Discoveries</em> (“They,” etc.). “Without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> -Benefit of Clergy” first appeared in <em>Macmillan’s Magazine</em> -(London) in June, 1890, and in the June 7th and -14th, 1890, numbers of <em>Harper’s Weekly</em> (New York). -In the same year it was published in the volume, <em>The -Courting of Dinah Shadd, and Other Stories</em>, but in 1891 -it was included in the volume <em>Life’s Handicap: being -Stories of Mine Own People.</em></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Rudyard Kipling is without doubt the greatest of living -short-story writers, though in interest his later fiction -does not equal his productions of the early nineties. His -journalistic work drilled him in compression; his precocious -intuitions and personal experience of life in -India opened up a fresh and fascinating field; his genius -taught him how to tell his stories with unfailing variety, -a robust humor, and an understanding of the human -heart quite uncanny in one so young. In style, he is a -master of the unexpected; in narration, he is by turns -deliberate and swift; in atmospheric painting, he transports -us to real places, wherein real folk do real things.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="p1">Tell them first of those things that thou hast seen and they -have seen together. Thus their knowledge will piece out thy imperfections. -Tell them of what thou alone hast seen, then what -thou hast heard, and since they be children tell them of battles -and kings, horses, devils, elephants, and angels, but omit not to -tell them of love and such like. All the earth is full of tales -to him who listens and does not drive away the poor from his -door. The poor are the best of tale-tellers; for they must lay -their ear to the ground every night.—<span class="smcap">Rudyard Kipling</span>, Preface -to <em>Life’s Handicap</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> - -<p>The tremulous passion of Ameera, her hopes, her fears, and -her agonies of disappointment, combine to form by far the most -tender page which Mr. Kipling has written.—<span class="smcap">Edmund Gosse</span>, -<em>Questions at Issue</em>.</p> - - -<p>... The truly appreciative reader should surely have no quarrel -with the primitive element in Mr. Kipling’s subject-matter, -or with what, for want of a better name, I may call his love of -low life. What is that but essentially a part of his freshness? -And for what part of his freshness are we exactly more thankful -than for just this smart jostle that he gives the old stupid superstition -that the amiability of a story-teller is the amiability of -the people he represents—that their vulgarity, or depravity, or -gentility, or fatuity are tantamount to the same qualities in the -painter himself?—<span class="smcap">Henry James</span>, Introduction to <em>Works</em>.</p> - -<p>It was not until “Without Benefit of Clergy” that he came -to his full strength in pathetic prose. The history of Ameera is -one of the triumphs of the short story. Its characterization is -vivid; its progress direct and poignant. I do not wish even for -an instant to seem to cheapen one of the most touching and -beautiful stories in the world when I call it journalism. But -the voice of the desolate mother breaking into the nursery rime -of the wicked crow,</p> - -<p class="indent10"><small>“And the wild plums grow in the jungle, only a penny a pound,<br /> -Only a penny a pound, baba—only—,”</small></p> - -<p>and every pathetic moment, is chosen by an inspired sense for -what would most feelingly grasp the interest of the reader. This -is high art, with intense feeling behind it—otherwise it would -not be so excellent. But it is also good journalism.—<span class="smcap">Henry -Seidel Canby</span>, <em>The Short-Story in English.</em></p> - -<p>For Mr. Kipling to write a story without some firm human -touch, however slight, would be impossible.... In his effects -Mr. Kipling is usually photographic (“cinematographic” is better), -but his methods are almost invariably, for want of a better -word, “artistic.” I mean that whereas the principle of selection, -which is a vital principle of art, can operate but little in photography,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> -it is seen to be remarkably active in all Mr. Kipling’s -best work. His stories, so to speak, represent the epigram of -action, the epigram of a given situation.... It is from the -lives of such Englishmen ... that Mr. Kipling has gathered so -many of his vivid anecdotes. A great number of them ... are -the lesser lights and darks contributing to such more serious -elements of the general picture as “At the End of the Passage,” -“Without Benefit of Clergy,” “In Flood Time,” “The Man Who -Was,” behind which looms vast in the background the image of -that old Sphinx of the Plains complete in mystery as no other -writer has ever been able to suggest her.... Also he had written -at least one love-story (“Without Benefit of Clergy”) that -broke one’s heart.... For all the humour and buoyancy of his -writings, Mr. Kipling is at heart a pessimist, and, perhaps, his -sincerest expression of opinion in regard to the government of -the universe is contained in the fierce Omarian exclamation of -Holden in “Without Benefit of Clergy,” addressed to no one in -particular, but evidently meant to reach far up into the skies: -“O you brute! You utter brute!” So Omar bade Allah “man’s -forgiveness give and take.”—<span class="smcap">Richard Le Gallienne</span>, <em>Rudyard -Kipling: A Criticism</em>.</p> -</div> - - -<p class="p2 big1 center">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON KIPLING</p> - -<p><em>Essays in Little</em>, Andrew Lang (1894); <em>Cervantes, -Zola, Kipling & Co.</em>, in <em>Aspects of Modern Fiction</em>, -Brander Matthews (1896); <em>My Contemporaries in Fiction</em>, -J. D. C. Murray (1897); <em>A Ken of Kipling</em>, Will -M. Clemens (1899); <em>Victorian Novelists</em>, James Oliphant -(1899); <em>A Kipling Primer</em>, F. L. Knowles (1899); <em>The -Religion of Mr. Kipling</em>, W. B. Parker (1899); <em>Rudyard -Kipling, A Biographical Sketch</em>, C. E. Norton (1899).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span></p> - -<div class="body1"> -<p class="center p2">FOR ANALYSIS</p> - - -<h3>WITHOUT BENEFIT OF CLERGY</h3> - -<p class="big05 center">BY RUDYARD KIPLING</p> - -<div class="poetry-container pw30"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="p1 small1">Before my Spring I garnered Autumn’s gain,<br /> -Out of her time my field was white with grain,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The year gave up her secrets to my woe.</span><br /> -Forced and deflowered each sick season lay,<br /> -In mystery of increase and decay;<br /> -I saw the sunset ere men saw the day,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who am too wise in that I should not know.</span></p> - -<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;"><em>Bitter Waters.</em></p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="center p2">I</p> - -<p>“But if it be a girl?”</p> - -<p>2. “Lord of my life, it cannot be. -I have prayed for so many nights, -and sent gifts to Sheikh Badl’s shrine -so often, that I know God will give -us a son—a man-child that shall -grow into a man. Think of this and -be glad. My mother shall be his -mother till I can take him again, and -the mullah of the Pattan mosque -shall cast his nativity—God send he -be born in an auspicious hour!—and -then, thou wilt never weary of -me, thy slave.”</p> - -<p>3. “Since when hast thou been a -slave, my queen?”</p> - -<p>4. “Since the beginning—till this -mercy came to me. How could I be -sure of thy love when I knew that -I had been bought with silver?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span></p> - -<p>5. “Nay, that was the dowry. I -paid it to thy mother.”</p> - -<p>6. “And she has buried it, and sits -upon it all day long like a hen. -What talk is yours of dower! I was -bought as though I had been a Lucknow -dancing-girl instead of a child.”</p> - -<p>7. “Art thou sorry for the sale?”</p> - -<p>8. “I have sorrowed; but to-day -I am glad. Thou wilt never cease to -love me now?—answer, my king.”</p> - -<p>9. “Never—never. No.”</p> - -<p>10. “Not even though the <em>mem-log</em>—the -white women of thy own -blood—love thee? And remember, -I have watched them driving in the -evening; they are very fair.”</p> - -<p>11. “I have seen fire-balloons by the -hundred. I have seen the moon, and—then -I saw no more fire-balloons.”</p> - -<p>12. Ameera clapped her hands and -laughed. “Very good talk,” she said. -Then with an assumption of great -stateliness: “It is enough. Thou -hast my permission to depart—if -thou wilt.”</p> - -<p>13. The man did not move. He -was sitting on a low red-lacquered -couch in a room furnished only with -a blue and white floor-cloth, some -rugs, and a very complete collection -of native cushions. At his feet sat -a woman of sixteen, and she was all -but all the world in his eyes. By -every rule and law she should have -been otherwise, for he was an Englishman, -and she a Mussulman’s -daughter bought two years before -from her mother, who, being left<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> -without money, would have sold -Ameera shrieking to the Prince of -Darkness if the price had been sufficient.</p> - -<p>14. It was a contract entered into -with a light heart; but even before -the girl had reached her bloom she -came to fill the greater portion of -John Holden’s life. For her, and -the withered hag, her mother, he had -taken a little house overlooking the -great red-walled city, and found—when -the marigolds had sprung up by -the well in the courtyard and Ameera -had established herself according -to her own ideas of comfort, and her -mother had ceased grumbling at the -inadequacy of the cooking-places, the -distance from the daily market, and -at matters of housekeeping in general—that -the house was to him his -home. Any one could enter his -bachelor’s bungalow by day or night, -and the life that he led there was an -unlovely one. In the house in the -city his feet only could pass beyond -the outer courtyard to the women’s -rooms; and when the big wooden -gate was bolted behind him he was -king in his own territory, with Ameera -for queen. And there was going -to be added to this kingdom a third -person whose arrival Holden felt inclined -to resent. It interfered with -his perfect happiness. It disarranged -the orderly peace of the -house that was his own. But Ameera -was wild with delight at the -thought of it, and her mother not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> -less so. The love of a man, and -particularly a white man, was at the -best an inconstant affair, but it -might, both women argued, be held -fast by a baby’s hands. “And then,” -Ameera would always say, “then he -will never care for the white <em>mem-log</em>. -I hate them all—I hate them -all.”</p> - -<p>15. “He will go back to his own -people in time,” said the mother; -“but by the blessing of God that -time is yet afar off.”</p> - -<p>16. Holden sat silent on the couch -thinking of the future, and his -thoughts were not pleasant. The -drawbacks of a double life are manifold. -The Government, with singular -care, had ordered him out of the -station for a fortnight on special -duty in the place of a man who was -watching by the bedside of a sick -wife. The verbal notification of the -transfer had been edged by a cheerful -remark that Holden ought to think -himself lucky in being a bachelor -and a free man. He came to break -the news to Ameera.</p> - -<p>17. “It is not good,” she said -slowly, “but it is not all bad. -There is my mother here, and no -harm will come to me—unless indeed -I die of pure joy. Go thou to -thy work and think no troublesome -thoughts. When the days are done -I believe ... nay, I am sure. And—and -then I shall lay <em>him</em> in thy -arms, and thou wilt love me forever. -The train goes to-night, at midnight<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> -is it not? Go now, and do not let -thy heart be heavy by cause of me. -But thou wilt not delay in returning? -Thou wilt not stay on the road to -talk to the bold white <em>mem-log</em>. -Come back to me swiftly, my life.”</p> - -<p>18. As he left the courtyard to -reach his horse that was tethered to -the gate-post, Holden spoke to the -white-haired old watchman who -guarded the house, and bade him -under certain contingencies despatch -the filled-up telegraph-form that Holden -gave him. It was all that could -be done, and with the sensations of -a man who has attended his own -funeral Holden went away by the -night mail to his exile. Every hour -of the day he dreaded the arrival of -the telegram, and every hour of the -night he pictured to himself the death -of Ameera. In consequence his work -for the state was not of first-rate -quality, nor was his temper towards -his colleagues of the most amiable. -The fortnight ended without a sign -from his home, and, torn to pieces -by his anxieties, Holden returned to -be swallowed up for two precious -hours by a dinner at the club, wherein -he heard, as a man hears in a -swoon, voices telling him how execrably -he had performed the other man’s -duties, and how he had endeared -himself to all his associates. Then -he fled on horseback through the -night with his heart in his mouth. -There was no answer at first to his -blows on the gate, and he had just<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> -wheeled his horse round to kick it in -when Pir Khan appeared with a lantern -and held his stirrup.</p> - -<p>19. “Has aught occurred?” said -Holden.</p> - -<p>20. “The news does not come from -my mouth, Protector of the Poor, -but—” He held out his shaking -hand as befitted the bearer of good -news who is entitled to a reward.</p> - -<p>21. Holden hurried through the -courtyard. A light burned in the upper -room. His horse neighed in the -gateway, and he heard a shrill little -wail that sent all the blood into the -apple of his throat. It was a new -voice, but it did not prove that -Ameera was alive.</p> - -<p>22. “Who is there?” he called up -the narrow brick staircase.</p> - -<p>23. There was a cry of delight from -Ameera, and then the voice of the -mother, tremulous with old age and -pride—“We be two women and—the -man—thy—son.”</p> - -<p>24. On the threshold of the room -Holden stepped on a naked dagger, -that was laid there to avert ill-luck, -and it broke at the hilt under his impatient -heel.</p> - -<p>25. “God is great!” cooed Ameera -in the half-light. “Thou hast taken -his misfortunes on thy head.”</p> - -<p>26. “Ay, but how is it with thee, -life of my life? Old woman, how is -it with her?”</p> - -<p>27. “She has forgotten her sufferings -for joy that the child is born.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> -There is no harm; but speak softly,” -said the mother.</p> - -<p>28. “It only needed thy presence to -make me all well,” said Ameera. -“My king, thou hast been very long -away. What gifts hast thou for me? -Ah, ah! It is I that bring gifts this -time. Look, my life, look! Was -there ever such a babe? Nay, I am -too weak even to clear my arm from -him.”</p> - -<p>29. “Rest then, and do not talk. -I am here, <em>bachari</em> [little woman].”</p> - -<p>30. “Well said, for there is a bond -and a heel-rope [<em>peecharee</em>] between -us now that nothing can break. Look—canst -thou see in this light? He -is without spot or blemish. Never -was such a man-child. <em>Ya illah!</em> he -shall be a pundit—no, a trooper of -the Queen. And, my life, dost thou -love me as well as ever, though I am -faint and sick and worn? Answer -truly.”</p> - -<p>31. “Yea. I love as I have loved, -with all my soul. Lie still, pearl, -and rest.”</p> - -<p>32. “Then do not go. Sit by my -side here—so. Mother, the lord of -this house needs a cushion. Bring -it.” There was an almost imperceptible -movement on the part of the -new life that lay in the hollow of -Ameera’s arm. “Aho!” she said, -her voice breaking with love. “The -babe is a champion from his birth. -He is kicking me in the side with -mighty kicks. Was there ever such -a babe! And he is ours to us—thine<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> -and mine. Put thy hand on his -head, but carefully, for he is very -young, and men are unskilled in such -matters.”</p> - -<p>33. Very cautiously Holden touched -with the tips of his fingers the downy -head.</p> - -<p>34. “He is of the faith,” said Ameera; -“for lying here in the night-watches -I whispered the Call to Prayer -and the Profession of Faith into -his ears. And it is most marvellous -that he was born upon a Friday, as -I was born. Be careful of him, my -life; but he can almost grip with his -hands.”</p> - -<p>35. Holden found one helpless little -hand that closed feebly on his finger. -And the clutch ran through his body -till it settled about his heart. Till -then his sole thought had been for -Ameera. He began to realise that -there was some one else in the world, -but he could not feel that it was a -veritable son with a soul. He sat -down to think, and Ameera dozed -lightly.</p> - -<p>36. “Get hence, <em>sahib</em>,” said her -mother under her breath. “It is not -good that she should find you here -on waking. She must be still.”</p> - -<p>37. “I go,” said Holden submissively. -“Here be rupees. See that -my <em>baba</em> gets fat and finds all that -he needs.”</p> - -<p>38. The chink of the silver roused -Ameera. “I am his mother, and no -hireling,” she said weakly. “Shall -I look to him more or less for the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> -sake of money? Mother, give it -back. I have borne my lord a son.”</p> - -<p>39. The deep sleep of weakness -came upon her before the sentence -was completed. Holden went down -to the courtyard very softly, with his -heart at ease. Pir Khan, the old -watchman, was chuckling with delight. -“This house is now complete,” -he said, and without further comment -thrust into Holden’s hands the hilt -of a sabre worn many years ago -when he, Pir Khan, served the Queen -in the police. The bleat of a tethered -goat came from the well-curb.</p> - -<p>40. “There be two,” said Pir -Khan, “two goats of the best. I -bought them, and they cost much -money; and since there is no birth-party -assembled their flesh will be all -mine. Strike craftily, <em>sahib</em>! ’Tis -an ill-balanced sabre at the best. -Wait till they raise their heads from -cropping the marigolds.”</p> - -<p>41. “And why?” said Holden, bewildered.</p> - -<p>42. “For the birth-sacrifice. What -else? Otherwise the child being unguarded -from fate may die. The -Protector of the Poor knows the -fitting words to be said.”</p> - -<p>43. Holden had learned them once -with little thought that he would ever -speak them in earnest. The touch -of the cold sabre-hilt in his palm turned -suddenly to the clinging grip of -the child up-stairs—the child that -was his own son—and a dread of -loss filled him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></p> - -<p>44. “Strike!” said Pir Khan. -“Never life came into the world but -life was paid for it. See, the goats -have raised their heads. Now! -With a drawing cut!”</p> - -<p>45. Hardly knowing what he did, -Holden cut twice as he muttered -the Mohammedan prayer that runs: -“Almighty! In place of this my son -I offer life for life, blood for blood, -head for head, bone for bone, hair -for hair, skin for skin.” The waiting -horse snorted and bounded in -his pickets at the smell of the raw -blood that spirted over Holden’s -riding-boots.</p> - -<p>46. “Well smitten!” said Pir -Khan, wiping the sabre. “A swordsman -was lost in thee. Go with a -light heart, heaven-born. I am thy -servant, and the servant of thy son. -May the Presence live a thousand -years and ... the flesh of the goats -is all mine?” Pir Khan drew back -richer by a month’s pay. Holden -swung himself into the saddle and -rode off through the low-hanging -wood-smoke of the evening. He was -full of riotous exultation, alternating -with a vast vague tenderness directed -towards no particular object, that -made him choke as he bent over the -neck of his uneasy horse. “I never -felt like this in my life,” he thought. -“I’ll go to the club and pull myself -together.”</p> - -<p>47. A game of pool was beginning, -and the room was full of men. -Holden entered, eager to get to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> -light and the company of his fellows, -singing at the top of his voice:</p> - -<p class="small1">“‘In Baltimore a-walking, a lady I did meet!’”</p> - -<p>48. “Did you?” said the club-secretary -from his corner. “Did she -happen to tell you that your boots -were wringing wet? Great goodness, -man, it’s blood!”</p> - -<p>49. “Bosh!” said Holden, picking -his cue from the rack. “May I cut -in? It’s dew. I’ve been riding -through high crops. My faith, my -boots are in a mess, though!”</p> - -<p>50.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container pw25"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1">“‘And if it be a girl she shall wear a wedding-ring,<br /> -And if it be a boy he shall fight for his king,<br /> -With his dirk, and his cap, and his little jacket blue,<br /> -He shall walk the quarter-deck—’”</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p>51. “Yellow on blue—green next -player,” said the marker monotonously.</p> - -<p>52. “<em>He shall walk the quarter-deck</em>'—Am -I green, marker?—<em>He -shall walk the quarter-deck</em>'—eh! -that's a bad shot—‘<em>As his daddy -used to do</em>!’”</p> - -<p>53. “I don’t see that you have anything -to crow about,” said a zealous -junior civilian acidly. “The Government -is not exactly pleased with your -work when you relieved Sanders.”</p> - -<p>54. “Does that mean a wigging -from headquarters?” said Holden -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> -with an abstracted smile. “I think -I can stand it.”</p> - -<p>55. The talk beat up round the -ever-fresh subject of each man’s -work, and steadied Holden till it was -time to go to his dark empty bungalow, -where his butler received him -as one who knew all his affairs. -Holden remained awake for the -greater part of the night, and his -dreams were pleasant ones.</p> - - -<p class="center p2">II</p> - -<p>56. “How old is he now?”</p> - -<p>57. “<em>Ya illah!</em> What a man’s -question! He is all but six weeks -old; and on this night I go up to -the housetop with thee, my life, to -count the stars. For that is auspicious. -And he was born on a Friday -under the sign of the Sun, and it has -been told to me that he will outlive -us both and get wealth. Can we -wish for aught better, beloved?”</p> - -<p>58. “There is nothing better. Let -us go up to the roof, and thou shalt -count the stars—but a few only, for -the sky is heavy with cloud.”</p> - -<p>59. “The winter rains are late, and -maybe they come out of season. -Come, before all the stars are hid. -I have put on my richest jewels.”</p> - -<p>60. “Thou hast forgotten the best -of all.”</p> - -<p>61. “<em>Ai!</em> Ours. He comes also. -He has never yet seen the skies.”</p> - -<p>62. Ameera climbed the narrow -staircase that led to the flat roof.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span> -The child, placid and unwinking, lay -in the hollow of her right arm, gorgeous -in silver-fringed muslin with a -small skull-cap on his head. Ameera -wore all that she valued most. The -diamond nose-stud that takes the -place of the Western patch in drawing -attention to the curve of the nostril, -the gold ornament in the centre -of the forehead studded with tallow-drop -emeralds and flawed rubies, the -heavy circlet of beaten gold that was -fastened round her neck by the softness -of the pure metal, and the -chinking curb-patterned silver anklets -hanging low over the rosy ankle-bone. -She was dressed in jade-green -muslin as befitted a daughter of the -Faith, and from shoulder to elbow -and elbow to wrist ran bracelets of -silver tied with floss silk, frail glass -bangles slipped over the wrist in -proof of the slenderness of the hand, -and certain heavy gold bracelets that -had no part in her country’s ornaments -but, since they were Holden’s -gift and fastened with a cunning -European snap, delighted her immensely.</p> - -<p>63. They sat down by the low -white parapet of the roof, overlooking -the city and its lights.</p> - -<p>64. “They are happy down there,” -said Ameera. “But I do not think -that they are as happy as we. Nor -do I think the white <em>mem-log</em> are as -happy. And thou?”</p> - -<p>65. “I know they are not.”</p> - -<p>66. “How dost thou know?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></p> - -<p>67. “They give their children over -to the nurses.”</p> - -<p>“I have never seen that,” said -Ameera with a sigh, “nor do I wish -to see. <em>Ahi!</em>”—she dropped her -head on Holden’s shoulder—“I have -counted forty stars, and I am tired. -Look at the child, love of my life, -he is counting too.”</p> - -<p>68. The baby was staring with -round eyes at the dark of the heavens. -Ameera placed him in Holden’s arms, -and he lay there without a cry.</p> - -<p>69. “What shall we call him among -ourselves?” she said. “Look! Art -thou ever tired of looking? He carries -thy very eyes. But the mouth—”</p> - -<p>70. “Is thine, most dear. Who -should know better than I?”</p> - -<p>71. “’Tis such a feeble mouth. Oh, -so small! And yet it holds my heart -between its lips. Give him to me -now. He has been too long away.”</p> - -<p>72. “Nay, let him lie; he has not -yet begun to cry.”</p> - -<p>73. “When he cries thou wilt give -him back—eh? What a man of -mankind thou art! If he cried he -were only the dearer to me. But, my -life, what little name shall we give -him?”</p> - -<p>74. The small body lay close to -Holden’s heart. It was utterly helpless -and very soft. He scarcely dared -to breathe for fear of crushing it. -The caged green parrot that is regarded -as a sort of guardian spirit in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> -most native households moved on its -perch and fluttered a drowsy wing.</p> - -<p>75. “There is the answer,” said -Holden. “Mian Mittu has spoken. -He shall be the parrot. When he is -ready he will talk mightily and run -about. Mian Mittu is the parrot in -thy—in the Mussulman tongue, is it -not?”</p> - -<p>76. “Why put me so far off?” said -Ameera fretfully. “Let it be like -unto some English name—but not -wholly. For he is mine.”</p> - -<p>77. “Then call him Tota, for that -is likest English.”</p> - -<p>78. “Ay, Tota, and that is still the -parrot. Forgive me, my lord, for a -minute ago, but in truth he is too -little to wear all the weight of Mian -Mittu for name. He shall be Tota—our -Tota to us. Hearest thou, O -small one? Littlest, thou art Tota.” -She touched the child’s cheek, and he -waking, wailed, and it was necessary -to return him to his mother, who -soothed him with the wonderful -rhyme of “<em>Aré koko, Jaré koko!</em>” -which says:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container pw30 p11"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1">“Oh, crow! Go crow! Baby’s sleeping sound,<br /> -And the wild plums grow in the jungle, only a penny a pound,<br /> -Only a penny a pound, <em>baba</em>, only a penny a pound.”</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p>79. Reassured many times as to -the price of those plums, Tota cuddled -himself down to sleep. The two -sleek, white well-bullocks in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> -courtyard were steadily chewing the -cud of their evening meal; old Pir -Khan squatted at the head of Holden’s -horse, his police sabre across -his knees, pulling drowsily at a big -water-pipe that croaked like a bull-frog -in a pond. Ameera’s mother sat -spinning in the lower veranda, and -the wooden gate was shut and barred. -The music of a marriage-procession -came to the roof above the gentle -hum of the city, and a string of flying-foxes -crossed the face of the low -moon.</p> - -<p>80. “I have prayed,” said Ameera, -after a long pause, “I have prayed -for two things. First that I may die -in thy stead if thy death is demanded, -and in the second that I may die -in the place of the child. I have -prayed to the Prophet and to Beebee -Miriam [the Virgin Mary]. Thinkest -thou either will hear?”</p> - -<p>81. “From thy lips who would not -hear the lightest word?”</p> - -<p>82. “I asked for straight talk, and -thou hast given me sweet talk. Will -my prayers be heard?”</p> - -<p>83. “How can I say? God is very -good.”</p> - -<p>84. “Of that I am not sure. Listen -now. When I die, or the child -dies, what is thy fate? Living, thou -wilt return to the bold white <em>mem-log</em>, -for kind calls to kind.”</p> - -<p>85. “Not always.”</p> - -<p>86. “With a woman, no; with a -man it is otherwise. Thou wilt in -this life, later on, go back to thine<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> -own folk. That I could almost endure -for I should be dead. But in -thy very death thou wilt be taken -away to a strange place and a paradise -that I do not know.”</p> - -<p>87. “Will it be paradise?”</p> - -<p>88. “Surely, for who would harm -thee? But we two—I and the child—shall -be elsewhere, and we cannot -come to thee, nor canst thou come -to us. In the old days, before the -child was born, I did not think of -these things; but now I think of -them always. It is very hard talk.”</p> - -<p>89. “It will fall as it will fall. To-morrow -we do not know, but to-day -and love we know well. Surely we -are happy now.”</p> - -<p>90. “So happy that it were well to -make our happiness assured. And -thy Beebee Miriam should listen to -me; for she is also a woman. But -then she would envy me! It is not -seemly for men to worship a woman.”</p> - -<p>91. Holden laughed aloud at Ameera’s -little spasm of jealousy.</p> - -<p>92. “Is it not seemly? Why didst -thou not turn me from worship of -thee, then?”</p> - -<p>93. “Thou a worshipper! And of -me? My king, for all thy sweet -words, well I know that I am thy -servant and thy slave, and the dust -under thy feet. And I would not -have it otherwise. See!”</p> - -<p>94. Before Holden could prevent -her she stooped and touched -his feet; recovering herself with a -little laugh she hugged Tota close to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> -her bosom. Then, almost savagely:</p> - -<p>95. “Is it true that the bold white -<em>mem-log</em> live for three times the -length of my life? Is it true that -they make their marriages not before -they are old women?”</p> - -<p>96. “They marry as do others—when -they are women.”</p> - -<p>97. “That I know, but they wed -when they are twenty-five. Is that -true?”</p> - -<p>98. “That is true.”</p> - -<p>99. “<em>Ya illah!</em> At twenty-five! -Who would of his own will take a -wife even of eighteen? She is a -woman—aging every hour. Twenty-five! -I shall be an old woman at -that age, and—those <em>mem-log</em> remain -young forever. How I hate -them!”</p> - -<p>100. “What have they to do with -us?”</p> - -<p>101. “I cannot tell. I know only -that there may now be alive on this -earth a woman ten years older than -I who may come to thee and take thy -love ten years after I am an old -woman, gray-headed, and the nurse -of Tota’s son. That is unjust and -evil. They should die too.”</p> - -<p>102. “Now, for all thy years thou -art a child, and shalt be picked up -and carried down the staircase.”</p> - -<p>103. “Tota! Have a care for -Tota, my lord! Thou at least art as -foolish as any babe!” Ameera tucked -Tota out of harm’s way in the hollow -of her neck, and was carried<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> -downstairs laughing in Holden’s -arms, while Tota opened his eyes and -smiled after the manner of the lesser -angels.</p> - -<p>104. He was a silent infant, and almost -before Holden could realise that -he was in the world, developed into -a small gold-coloured little god and -unquestioned despot of the house -overlooking the city. Those were -months of absolute happiness to -Holden and Ameera—happiness -withdrawn from the world, shut in -behind the wooden gate that Pir -Khan guarded. By day Holden did -his work with an immense pity for -such as were not so fortunate as -himself, and a sympathy for small -children that amazed and amused -many mothers at the little station -gatherings. At nightfall he returned -to Ameera—Ameera, full of the -wondrous doings of Tota; how he -had been seen to clap his hands together -and move his fingers with intention -and purpose—which was -manifestly a miracle; how, later, he -had of his own initiative crawled out -of his low bedstead on to the floor -and swayed on both feet for the -space of three breaths.</p> - -<p>105. “And they were long breaths, -for my heart stood still with delight,” -said Ameera.</p> - -<p>106. Then Tota took the beasts into -his councils—the well-bullocks, the -little gray squirrels, the mongoose -that lived in a hole near the well, -and especially Mian Mittu, the parrot,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span> -whose tail he grievously pulled, -and Mian Mittu screamed till Ameera -and Holden arrived.</p> - -<p>107. “O villain! Child of strength! -This to thy brother on the housetop! -<em>Tobah, tobah!</em> Fie! Fie! But I -know a charm to make him wise as -Suleiman and Aflatoun [Solomon and -Plato]. Now look,” said Ameera. -She drew from an embroidered bag a -handful of almonds. “See! we -count seven. In the name of God!”</p> - -<p>108. She placed Mian Mittu, very -angry and rumpled, on the top of his -cage, and seating herself between the -babe and the bird she cracked and -peeled an almond less white than her -teeth. “This is a true charm, my -life, and do not laugh. See! I give -the parrot one half and Tota the -other.” Mian Mittu with careful -beak took his share from between -Ameera’s lips, and she kissed the -other half into the mouth of the -child, who ate it slowly with wondering -eyes. “This I will do each day -of seven, and without doubt he who -is ours will be a bold speaker and -wise. Eh, Tota, what wilt thou be -when thou art a man and I am -gray-headed?” Tota tucked his fat -legs into adorable creases. He -could crawl, but he was not going -to waste the spring of his youth in -idle speech. He wanted Mian -Mittu’s tail to tweak.</p> - -<p>109. When he was advanced to the -dignity of a silver belt—which, with -a magic square engraved on silver<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> -and hung round his neck, made up -the greater part of his clothing—he -staggered on a perilous journey -down the garden to Pir Khan and -proffered him all his jewels in exchange -for one little ride on Holden’s -horse, having seen his mother’s -mother chaffering with peddlers in -the veranda. Pir Khan wept and set -the untried feet on his own gray -head in sign of fealty, and brought -the bold adventurer to his mother’s -arms, vowing that Tota would be a -leader of men ere his beard was -grown.</p> - -<p>110. One hot evening, while he sat -on the roof between his father and -mother watching the never-ending -warfare of the kites that the city boys -flew, he demanded a kite of his own -with Pir Khan to fly it, because he -had a fear of dealing with anything -larger than himself, and when Holden -called him a “spark” he rose to -his feet and answered slowly in defence -of his new-found individuality: -<em>“Hum 'park nahin hai. Hum admi -hai</em> [I am no spark, but a man].”</p> - -<p>111. The protest made Holden -choke and devote himself very seriously -to a consideration of Tota’s -future. He need hardly have taken -the trouble. The delight of that life -was too perfect to endure. Therefore -it was taken away as many -things are taken away in India—suddenly -and without warning. The -little lord of the house, as Pir Khan -called him, grew sorrowful and complained<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> -of pains who had never -known the meaning of pain. Ameera, -wild with terror, watched him -through the night, and in the dawning -of the second day the life was -shaken out of him by fever—the -seasonal autumn fever. It seemed -altogether impossible that he could -die, and neither Ameera nor Holden -at first believed the evidence of the -little body on the bedstead. Then -Ameera beat her head against the -wall and would have flung herself -down the well in the garden had -Holden not restrained her by main -force.</p> - -<p>112. One mercy only was granted -to Holden. He rode to his office in -broad daylight and found waiting -him an unusually heavy mail that -demanded concentrated attention and -hard work. He was not, however, -alive to this kindness of the gods.</p> - - -<p class="center p2">III</p> - -<p>113. The first shock of a bullet is -no more than a brisk pinch. The -wrecked body does not send in its -protest to the soul till ten or fifteen -seconds later. Holden realised his -pain slowly, exactly as he had realised -his happiness, and with the same -imperious necessity for hiding all -traces of it. In the beginning he only -felt that there had been a loss, and -that Ameera needed comforting -where she sat with her head on her -knees shivering as Mian Mittu from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> -the housetop called: <em>Tota! Tota! -Tota!</em> Later, all his world and the -daily life of it rose up to hurt him. -It was an outrage that any one of the -children at the band-stand in the -evening should be alive and clamorous, -when his own child lay dead. It -was more than mere pain when one of -them touched him, and stories told by -over-fond fathers of their children’s -latest performances cut him to the -quick. He could not declare his pain. -He had neither help, comfort, nor -sympathy; and Ameera at the end of -each weary day would lead him -through the hell of self-questioning -reproach which is reserved for those -who have lost a child, and believe -that with a little—just a little—more -care it might have been saved.</p> - -<p>114. “Perhaps,” Ameera would -say, “I did not take sufficient heed. -Did I, or did I not? The sun on the -roof that day when he played so long -alone and I was—ahi! braiding my -hair—it may be that the sun then -bred the fever. If I had warned him -from the sun he might have lived. -But oh, my life, say that I am guiltless! -Thou knowest that I loved him -as I love thee. Say that there is no -blame on me, or I shall die—I shall -die!”</p> - -<p>115. “There is no blame—before -God, none. It was written, and how -could we do aught to save? What -has been, has been. Let it go, beloved.”</p> - -<p>116. “He was all my heart to me.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span> -How can I let the thought go when -my arm tells me every night that he -is not here? <em>Ahi! Ahi!</em> O Tota, -come back to me—come back again, -and let us be all together as it was -before!”</p> - -<p>117. “Peace, peace! For thine own -sake, and for mine also, if thou lovest -me—rest.”</p> - -<p>118. “By this I know thou dost -not care; and how shouldst thou? -The white men have hearts of stone -and souls of iron. Oh, that I had -married a man of mine own people—though -he beat me—and had -never eaten the bread of an alien!”</p> - -<p>119. “Am I an alien—mother of -my son?”</p> - -<p>120. “What else—<em>sahib</em>?... Oh, -forgive me—forgive! The death -has driven me mad. Thou art the -life of my heart, and the light of -my eyes, and the breath of my life, -and—and I have put thee from me, -though it was but for a moment. If -thou goest away, to whom shall I -look for help? Do not be angry. Indeed, -it was the pain that spoke and -not thy slave.”</p> - -<p>121. “I know, I know. We be -two who were three. The greater -need therefore that we should be -one.”</p> - -<p>122. They were sitting on the roof -as of custom. The night was a warm -one in early spring, and sheet-lightning -was dancing on the horizon -to a broken tune played by far-off<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span> -thunder. Ameera settled herself in -Holden’s arms.</p> - -<p>123. “The dry earth is lowing like -a cow for the rain, and I—I am -afraid. It was not like this when we -counted the stars. But thou lovest -me as much as before, though a bond -is taken away? Answer!”</p> - -<p>124. “I love more because a new -bond has come out of the sorrow that -we have eaten together, and that -thou knowest.”</p> - -<p>125. “Yea, I knew,” said Ameera -in a very small whisper. “But it is -good to hear thee say so, my life, -who art so strong to help. I will -be a child no more but a woman and -an aid to thee. Listen! Give me -my <em>sitar</em> and I will sing bravely.”</p> - -<p>126. She took the light silver-studded -<em>sitar</em> and began a song of the -great hero Rajah Rasalu. The hand -failed on the strings, the tune halted, -checked, and at a low note turned off -to the poor little nursery-rhyme -about the wicked crow:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container pw30 p11"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1"> -“‘And the wild plums grow in the jungle, only a penny a pound,<br /> -Only a penny a pound, <em>baba</em>—only....’”</p> -</div> -</div> - - -<p>127. Then came the tears and the -piteous rebellion against fate till she -slept, moaning a little in her sleep, -with the right arm thrown clear of -the body as though it protected something -that was not there. It was -after this night that life became a -little easier for Holden. The ever-present<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> -pain of loss drove him into -his work, and the work repaid him -by filling up his mind for nine or ten -hours a day. Ameera sat alone in -the house and brooded, but grew -happier when she understood that -Holden was more at ease, according -to the custom of women. They -touched happiness again, but this -time with caution.</p> - -<p>128. “It was because we loved -Tota that he died. The jealousy of -God was upon us,” said Ameera. “I -have hung up a large black jar before -our window to turn the evil eye from -us, and we must make no protestations -of delight, but go softly underneath -the stars, lest God find us out. -Is that not good talk, worthless -one?”</p> - -<p>129. She had shifted the accent on -the word that means “beloved,” in -proof of the sincerity of her purpose. -But the kiss that followed the new -christening was a thing that any deity -might have envied. They went -about henceforward saying: “It is -naught, it is naught”; and hoping -that all the Powers heard.</p> - -<p>130. The Powers were busy on -other things. They had allowed -thirty million people four years of -plenty wherein men fed well and the -crops were certain, and the birth-rate -rose year by year; the districts -reported a purely agricultural population -varying from nine hundred to -two thousand to the square mile of -the overburdened earth; and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span> -Member for Lower Tooting, wandering -about India in pot-hat and frock-coat, -talked largely of the benefits -of British rule and suggested as the -one thing needful the establishment -of a duly qualified electoral system -and a general bestowal of the franchise. -His long-suffering hosts smiled -and made him welcome, and when -he paused to admire, with pretty -picked words, the blossom of the -blood-red dhak-tree that had flowered -untimely for a sign of what was -coming, they smiled more than ever.</p> - -<p>131. It was the Deputy Commissioner -of Kot-Kumharsen, staying at -the club for a day, who lightly told -a tale that made Holden’s blood run -cold as he overheard the end.</p> - -<p>132. “He won’t bother any one -any more. Never saw a man so -astonished in my life. By Jove, I -thought he meant to ask a question -in the House about it. Fellow passenger -in his ship—dined next him—bowled -over by cholera and died -in eighteen hours. You needn’t -laugh, you fellows. The Member for -Lower Tooting is awfully angry -about it; but he’s more scared. I -think he’s going to take his enlightened -self out of India.”</p> - -<p>133. “I’d give a good deal if he -were knocked over. It might keep -a few vestrymen of his kidney to -their own parish. But what’s this -about cholera? It’s full early for -anything of that kind,” said the warden -of an unprofitable salt-lick.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p> - -<p>134. “Don’t know,” said the Deputy -Commissioner reflectively. “We’ve -got locusts with us. There’s sporadic -cholera all along the north—at least -we’re calling it sporadic for decency’s -sake. The spring crops are -short in five districts, and nobody -seems to know where the rains are. -It’s nearly March now. I don’t want -to scare anybody, but it seems to me -that Nature’s going to audit her accounts -with a big red pencil this -summer.”</p> - -<p>135. “Just when I wanted to take -leave, too!” said a voice across the -room.</p> - -<p>136. “There won’t be much leave -this year, but there ought to be a -great deal of promotion. I’ve come -in to persuade the Government to -put my pet canal on the list of -famine-relief works. It’s an ill -wind that blows no good. I shall -get that canal finished at last.”</p> - -<p>137. “Is it the old programme -then,” said Holden; “famine, fever, -and cholera?”</p> - -<p>138. “Oh, no. Only local scarcity -and an unusual prevalence of seasonal -sickness. You’ll find it all in -the reports if you live till next year. -You’re a lucky chap. <em>You</em> haven’t got -a wife to send out of harm’s way. -The hill stations ought to be full of -women this year.”</p> - -<p>139. “I think you’re inclined to exaggerate -the talk in the <em>bazars</em>,” said -a young civilian in the secretariat. -“Now I have observed—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span></p> - -<p>140. “I daresay you have,” said -the Deputy Commissioner, “but -you’ve a great deal more to observe, -my son. In the meantime, I wish to -observe to you—” and he drew him -aside to discuss the construction of -the canal that was so dear to his -heart. Holden went to his bungalow -and began to understand that he was -not alone in the world, and also that -he was afraid for the sake of another—which -is the most soul-satisfying -fear known to man.</p> - -<p>141. Two months later, as the -Deputy had foretold, Nature began to -audit her accounts with a red pencil. -On the heels of the spring reapings -came a cry for bread, and the Government, -which had decreed that no -man should die of want, sent wheat. -Then came the cholera from all four -quarters of the compass. It struck -a pilgrim-gathering of half a million -at a sacred shrine. Many died at -the feet of their god; the others -broke and ran over the face of the -land carrying the pestilence with -them. It smote a walled city and -killed two hundred a day. The people -crowded the trains, hanging on -to the foot-boards and squatting on -the roofs of the carriages, and the -cholera followed them, for at each -station they dragged out the dead -and the dying. They died by the -roadside, and the horses of the Englishmen -shied at the corpses in the -grass. The rains did not come, and -the earth turned to iron lest man<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> -should escape death by hiding in her. -The English sent their wives away to -the hills and went about their work, -coming forward as they were bidden -to fill the gaps in the fighting-line. -Holden, sick with fear of losing his -chiefest treasure on earth, had done -his best to persuade Ameera to go -away with her mother to the Himalayas.</p> - -<p>142. “Why should I go?” said she -one evening on the roof.</p> - -<p>143. “There is sickness, and people -are dying, and all the white <em>mem-log</em> -have gone.”</p> - -<p>144. “All of them?”</p> - -<p>145. “All—unless perhaps there -remain some old scald-head who -vexes her husband’s heart by running -risk of death.”</p> - -<p>146. “Nay; who stays is my sister, -and thou must not abuse her, for I -will be a scald-head too. I am glad -all the bold <em>mem-log</em> are gone.”</p> - -<p>147. “Do I speak to a woman, or a -babe? Go to the hills and I will see -to it that thou goest like a queen’s -daughter. Think, child. In a red-lacquered -bullock-cart, veiled and curtained, -with brass peacocks upon the -pole and red cloth hangings. I will -send two orderlies for guard, and—”</p> - -<p>148. “Peace! Thou art the babe in -speaking thus. What use are those -toys to me? <em>He</em> would have patted -the bullocks and played with the -housings. For his sake, perhaps—thou -hast made me very English—I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> -might have gone. Now, I will not. -Let the <em>mem-log</em> run.”</p> - -<p>149. “Their husbands are sending -them, beloved.”</p> - -<p>150. “Very good talk. Since when -hast thou been my husband to tell me -what to do? I have but borne thee -a son. Thou art only all the desire of -my soul to me. How shall I depart -when I know that if evil befall thee -by the breadth of so much as my -littlest finger-nail—is that not -small?—I should be aware of it -though I were in paradise. And -here, this summer thou mayest die—<em>ai, -janee</em>, die! and in dying they -might call to tend thee a white -woman, and she would rob me in -the last of thy love!”</p> - -<p>151. “But love is not born in a moment -or on a death-bed!”</p> - -<p>152. “What dost thou know of -love, stone-heart? She would take -thy thanks at least and, by God and -the Prophet and Beebee Miriam -the mother of thy Prophet, that I -will never endure. My lord and my -love, let there be no more foolish -talk of going away. Where thou -art, I am. It is enough.” She put -an arm round his neck and a hand on -his mouth.</p> - -<p>153. There are not many happinesses -so complete as those that are -snatched under the shadow of the -sword. They sat together and -laughed, calling each other openly -by every pet name that could move -the wrath of the gods. The city below<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> -them was locked up in its own -torments. Sulphur fires blazed in the -streets; the conches in the Hindu -temples screamed and bellowed, for -the gods were inattentive in those -days. There was a service in the -great Mohammedan shrine, and the -call to prayer from the minarets was -almost unceasing. They heard the -wailing in the houses of the dead, -and once the shriek of a mother -who had lost a child and was calling -for its return. In the gray -dawn they saw the dead borne out -through the city gates, each litter -with its own little knot of mourners. -Wherefore they kissed each -other and shivered.</p> - -<p>154. It was a red and heavy audit, -for the land was very sick and -needed a little breathing space ere -the torrent of cheap life should flood -it anew. The children of immature -fathers and undeveloped mothers -made no resistance. They were -cowed and sat still, waiting till the -sword should be sheathed in November -if it were so willed. There -were gaps among the English, but -the gaps were filled. The work of -superintending famine-relief, cholera-sheds, -medicine-distribution, and -what little sanitation was possible, -went forward because it was so ordered.</p> - -<p>155. Holden had been told to keep -himself in readiness to move to replace -the next man who should fall. -There were twelve hours in each day<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> -when he could not see Ameera, and -she might die in three. He was -considering what his pain would be -if he could not see her for three -months, or if she died out of his -sight. He was absolutely certain -that her death would be demanded—so -certain that when he looked up -from the telegram and saw Pir Khan -breathless in the doorway, he -laughed aloud. “And?” said he—</p> - -<p>156. “When there is a cry in the -night and the spirit flutters into the -throat, who has a charm that will restore? -Come swiftly, heaven-born! -It is the black cholera.”</p> - -<p>157. Holden galloped to his home. -The sky was heavy with clouds, for -the long-deferred rains were near -and the heat was stifling. Ameera’s -mother met him in the courtyard, -whimpering: “She is dying. She is -nursing herself into death. She is -all but dead. What shall I do, <em>sahib</em>?”</p> - -<p>158. Ameera was lying in the room -in which Tota had been born. She -made no sign when Holden entered, -because the human soul is a very -lonely thing and, when it is getting -ready to go away, hides itself in a -misty border-land where the living -may not follow. The black cholera -does its work quietly and without explanation. -Ameera was being thrust -out of life as though the Angel of -Death had himself put his hand -upon her. The quick breathing -seemed to show that she was either<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> -afraid or in pain, but neither eyes -nor mouth gave any answer to Holden’s -kisses. There was nothing to be -said or done. Holden could only -wait and suffer. The first drops of -the rain began to fall on the roof, -and he could hear shouts of joy in -the parched city.</p> - -<p>159. The soul came back a little -and the lips moved. Holden bent -down to listen. “Keep nothing of -mine,” said Ameera. “Take no hair -from my head. <em>She</em> would make -thee burn it later on. That flame I -should feel. Lower! Stoop lower! -Remember only that I was thine -and bore thee a son. Though thou -wed a white woman to-morrow, the -pleasure of receiving in thy arms -thy first son is taken from thee forever. -Remember me when thy son -is born—the one that shall carry -thy name before all men. His misfortunes -be on my head. I bear witness—I -bear witness”—the lips -were forming the words on his ear—“that -there is no God but—thee, -beloved!”</p> - -<p>160. Then she died. Holden sat -still, and all thought was taken from -him—till he heard Ameera’s mother -lift the curtain.</p> - -<p>161. “Is she dead, <em>sahib</em>?”</p> - -<p>162. “She is dead.”</p> - -<p>163. “Then I will mourn, and -afterwards take an inventory of the -furniture in this house. For that will -be mine. The <em>sahib</em> does not mean to -resume it? It is so little, so very little,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> -<em>sahib</em>, and I am an old woman. -I would like to lie softly.”</p> - -<p>164. “For the mercy of God be silent -a while. Go out and mourn -where I cannot hear.”</p> - -<p>165. “<em>Sahib</em>, she will be buried in -four hours.”</p> - -<p>166. “I know the custom. I shall -go ere she is taken away. That matter -is in thy hands. Look to it, that -the bed on which—on which she -lies—”</p> - -<p>167. “Aha! That beautiful red-lacquered -bed. I have long desired—”</p> - -<p>168. “That the bed is left here untouched -for my disposal. All else -in the house is thine. Hire a cart, -take everything, go hence, and before -sunrise let there be nothing in -this house but that which I have ordered -thee to respect.”</p> - -<p>169. “I am an old woman. I -would stay at least for the days of -mourning and the rains have just -broken. Whither shall I go?”</p> - -<p>170. “What is that to me? My order -is that there is a going. The -house-gear is worth a thousand rupees, -and my orderly shall bring thee -a hundred rupees to-night.”</p> - -<p>171. “That is very little. Think of -the cart-hire.”</p> - -<p>172. “It shall be nothing unless -thou goest, and with speed. O -woman, get hence and leave me with -my dead!”</p> - -<p>173. The mother shuffled down the -staircase, and in her anxiety to take<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span> -stock of the house-fittings forgot to -mourn. Holden stayed by Ameera’s -side and the rain roared on the roof. -He could not think connectedly by -reason of the noise, though he made -many attempts to do so. Then four -sheeted ghosts glided dripping into -the room and stared at him through -their veils. They were the washers -of the dead. Holden left the room -and went out to his horse. He had -come in a dead, stifling calm -through ankle-deep dust. He found -the courtyard a rain-lashed pond -alive with frogs; a torrent of yellow -water ran under the gate, and a roaring -wind drove the bolts of the rain -like buckshot against the mud walls. -Pir Khan was shivering in his little -hut by the gate, and the horse was -stamping uneasily in the water.</p> - -<p>174. “I have been told the <em>sahib’s</em> -order,” said Pir Khan. “It is well. -This house is now desolate. I go -also, or my monkey face would be a -reminder of that which has been. -Concerning the bed, I will bring -that to thy house yonder in the morning; -but remember, <em>sahib</em>, it will be -to thee a knife turning in a green -wound. I go upon a pilgrimage, and -I will take no money. I have grown -fat in the protection of the Presence -whose sorrow is my sorrow. For the -last time I hold his stirrup.”</p> - -<p>175. He touched Holden’s foot -with both hands, and the horse sprang -out into the road, where the creaking -bamboos were whipping the sky and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> -all the frogs were chuckling. Holden -could not see for the rain in his -face. He put his hands before his -eyes and muttered:</p> - -<p>176. “Oh, you brute! You utter -brute!”</p> - -<p>177. The news of his trouble was -already in his bungalow. He read -the knowledge in his butler’s eyes -when Ahmed Khan brought in food, -and for the first and last time in his -life laid a hand upon his master’s -shoulder, saying: “Eat, <em>sahib</em>, eat. -Meat is good against sorrow. I also -have known. Moreover the shadows -come and go, <em>sahib</em>; the shadows -come and go. These be curried -eggs.”</p> - -<p>178. Holden could neither eat nor -sleep. The heavens sent down -eight inches of rain in that night and -washed the earth clean. The waters -tore down walls, broke roads, and -scoured open the shallow graves on -the Mohammedan burying-ground. -All next day it rained, and Holden -sat still in his house considering his -sorrow. On the morning of the -third day he received a telegram -which said only: “Ricketts, Myndonie. -Dying. Holden relieve. Immediate.” -Then he thought that before -he had departed he would look -at the house wherein he had been -master and lord. There was a break -in the weather, and the rank earth -steamed with vapour.</p> - -<p>179. He found that the rains had -torn down the mud pillars of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> -gateway, and the heavy wooden gate -that had guarded his life hung lazily -from one hinge. There was grass -three inches high in the courtyard; -Pir Khan’s lodge was empty, and -the sodden thatch sagged between the -beams. A gray squirrel was in possession -of the veranda, as if the -house had been untenanted for thirty -years instead of three days. -Ameera’s mother had removed everything -except some mildewed matting. -The <em>tick-tick</em> of the little scorpions -as they hurried across the floor was -the only sound in the house. -Ameera’s room and the other one -where Tota had lived were heavy -with mildew; and the narrow staircase -leading to the roof was streaked -and stained with rain-borne mud. -Holden saw all these things, and -came out again to meet in the road -Durga Dass, his landlord—portly, -affable, clothed in white muslin, and -driving a C-spring buggy. He was -overlooking his property to see how -the roofs stood the stress of the first -rains.</p> - -<p>180. “I have heard,” said he, “you -will not take this place any more, -<em>sahib</em>?”</p> - -<p>181. “What are you going to do -with it?”</p> - -<p>182. “Perhaps I shall let it again.”</p> - -<p>183. “Then I will keep it on while -I am away.”</p> - -<p>184. Durga Dass was silent for -some time. “You shall not take it -on, <em>sahib</em>,” he said. “When I was a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> -young man I also—But to-day I -am a member of the Municipality. -Ho! Ho! No. When the birds -have gone, what need to keep the -nest? I will have it pulled down—the -timber will sell for something -always. It shall be pulled down, -and the Municipality shall make a -road across as they desire, from the -burning-ghaut to the city wall, so -that no man may say where this -house stood.”</p> -</div> - -<h3>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY</h3> - -<p>1. Using the term “Emotion”<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> broadly, make a list of all the -emotions you can.</p> - -<p>2. Which of these are displayed in “The Last Class”?</p> - -<p>3. Which in “Without Benefit of Clergy”?</p> - -<p>4. Cite different passages, by referring to the numbered paragraphs, -in which certain specific emotions are displayed.</p> - -<p>5. Do you notice any emotional expressions which seem to you -to be either extravagant, or weak, or in any way untrue to life?</p> - -<p>6. Point out how the author conveys the ideas of emotion, -such as by emotional words, gestures, attitudes, etc.</p> - -<p>7. Write five short original paragraphs expressing five different -emotions, using varied means of conveying the impressions of -strong feeling.</p> - -<p>8. Select from some magazine a story of the emotional type, -and point out in a few words why you consider it to be a typically -emotional story.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p> - -<h3>TEN REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF EMOTION -OR SENTIMENT</h3> - -<div class="small1"> - -<p>“A Doctor of The Old School,” Ian Maclaren, in <em>The -Days of Auld Lang Syne</em>.</p> - -<p>“A Descent into the Maelstrom,” Edgar Allan Poe, in -<em>Tales</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Duchess at Prayer,” Edith Wharton, in <em>Crucial -Instances</em>.</p> - -<p>“A Lear of the Steppes,” Ivan Turgeneff, translated in -<em>The Book of The Short-Story</em>. Jessup and Canby.</p> - -<p>“The Death of the Dauphin,” Alphonse Daudet, translated -in <em>Little French Masterpieces</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Birthmark,” Nathaniel Hawthorne, in <em>Mosses From -an Old Manse</em>.</p> - -<p>“Tennessee’s Partner,” Bret Harte, in <em>The Luck of -Roaring Camp and Other Stories</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Death of Olivier Becaille,” Émile Zola, translated -in <em>Masterpieces of Fiction</em>.</p> - -<p>“They,” Rudyard Kipling, in <em>Traffic and Discoveries</em>.</p> - -<p>“Juggler to ‘Our Lady,’” Anatole France, in <em>Short-Story -Masterpieces</em>.</p> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="footnotes"> -<p class="p2 center big1">FOOTNOTES: </p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">[20]</a> Emotion is a broad word loosely used to embrace all the tones of inner -feeling, from the palest sentiment depicted by a Jane Austen, to the darkest -passion of a Werther.—<em>Writing the Short-Story</em>, p. 181, which see for a -fuller discussion of emotion in the short-story.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="label">[21]</a> “S’il tient sa langue, il tient la clé qui de ses chaînes le délivre.”—<span class="smcap">Frederic -Mistral</span>, a poet friend of Daudet’s.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="label">[22]</a> <span class="smcap">Note.</span>—Any good psychology is likely to help you understand the nature -of emotion in general.</p> - -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" >IV<br /> -HUMOROUS STORIES</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center big1"><em>The Ransom of Red Chief.</em>—<span class="smcap">O. Henry</span></p> - -<p class="center big1 p6b"><em>The Courting of T’Nowhead’s Bell.</em>—<span class="smcap">J. M. Barrie</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span></p> - - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Sydney Smith uses this word [humor] to cover any thing that -is ridiculous and laughable. So the epithet <em>comic</em> is quite indiscriminately -applied. But we ought not to submit to this loose -application; for there are plenty of other words to make proper -distinctions for us amid our pleasurable moods, and permit us to -reserve humor for something which is neither punning, wit, -satire, nor comedy. Humor may avail itself of all these mental -exercises, but only as a manager casts his stock company to set -forth the prevailing spirit of a play. Comedy, for instance, represents -sorrows, passions, and annoyances, but shows them without -the sombre purpose of tragedy to enforce a supreme will at -any cost. All our weaknesses threaten in comedy to result in -serious embarrassments, but there is such inexhaustible material -for laughter in the whims and follies with which we baffle ourselves -and others, that the tragic threat is collared just in time -and shaken into pleasure. All kinds of details of our life are -represented, which tragedy could never tolerate in its main drift -towards the pathos of defeated human wills and broken hearts. -Tricks, vices, fatuities, crotchets, vanities, play their game for a -stake no higher than the mirth of outwitting each other; and -they all pay penalties of a light kind which God exacts smilingly -for the sake of keeping our disorders at a minimum. Comedy -also finds a great deal of its charm in the unconsciousness of -an infirmity. We exhibit ourselves unawares: each one is perfectly -understood by everybody but himself; so we plot and -vapor through an intrigue with placards on each back, where all -but the wearers can indulge their mirth at seeing us parading so -innocently with advertisements of our price and quality.—<span class="smcap">John -Weiss</span>, <em>Wit, Humor, and Shakespeare</em>.</p> -</div> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h3>HUMOROUS STORIES</h3> -</div> - - -<p>There are as many kinds of humorous stories as there -are kinds of humor, ranging from gentle mirth, comedy, -fun, and farce, to burlesque, ridicule, satire and irony. -Some stories are typically humorous in their central situation, -as Mark Twain’s “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County”; -others abound in a whole series of funny situations, -as “The King of Boyville,” by William Allen -White; others, again, are rich in the humorous sayings by -the writer, rather than revealed in humorous plot, as in -Artemus Ward’s sketch, “Horace Greeley’s Ride to -Placerville”; still others put the humor into the speech -of the characters, as in “The Phonograph and the Graft,” -by O. Henry; while yet others exhibit two or more of -the foregoing kinds, and are by turns gay, or whimsical, -or satirical, as the characters and happenings may permit, -mingling humor of plot with mirth of word and incident.</p> - -<p>The two chief ingredients of humor—though for the -most part it defies analysis—are surprise, and a feeling of -incongruity. But these must be accompanied by no higher -emotion. It would surprise us to meet the incongruous -sight of a half-clad child struggling in the snow, but the -vision would not be humorous—the higher emotion of -pity would preclude that. But to see an arrogant fop -stripped of his finery and floundering and spluttering in -a snow drift into which he had been tossed, <em>would</em> be -funny—to others.</p> - -<p>Merely for a story to possess humor would not warrant -our classing it as a humorous story, for humor is a -sunny ray gleaming often through literature and life, but -when the typical spirit and prevailing treatment of the -story are humorous, it may properly be so entitled.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span></p> - -<h3>HENRY AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> - -<p>William Sidney Porter, otherwise known as “O. -Henry,” was born in 1867, in Greensboro, N. C.—the -descendant of several governors of that state, it may be -remarked in passing. While still very young he went to -Texas and received his education at an academy there. -Because of poor health he was unable to attend college, -so he spent two and a half years of his early manhood -on a cattle ranch. Following that period came his journalistic -work on the Houston <em>Post</em>, and a little ten-page -weekly story-paper of his own, <em>The Iconoclast</em>—afterwards -renamed <em>The Rolling Stone</em>—most of the stories -for which he wrote himself. After several years in -Houston, he visited Central America with a friend—a -trip which, later, yielded rich material for his first book. -Then followed a short period as a drug clerk in Austin, -Texas. Next we see him in New Orleans, again embarked -upon literary work; and there it was that he first -showed real promise as a short-story writer, and there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span> -also that he adopted his unique pseudonym—the surname -of which was selected at random from a newspaper -account of a social function, and the initial letter because -it was the “easiest letter written.” About eight years -before his death he came to New York, in response to an -offer from one of the magazine editors there, and after -that his name became well-known and his success assured. -He died in New York City, June 5, 1910, at the age of -forty-two. His three earliest books are perhaps the ones -by which he is best known; <em>Cabbages and Kings</em>, <em>The -Four Million</em>, and <em>The Trimmed Lamp</em>. Eleven volumes -of short-stories comprise his literary output. The later -stories do not enhance his reputation, though some of -them are in his best vein—notably “The Ransom of Red -Chief,” contained in the volume <em>Whirligigs</em>, published the -year of his death. His last book, <em>Sixes and Sevens</em>, was -issued posthumously, in 1911.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Of all short-story writers O. Henry was easily first as -a master of surprise. The sudden and often astounding -reversals at the end of his stories became delightfully -characteristic, and the reader with the O. Henry habit -played a happy though always losing game with himself -in trying to forecast the denouement of each new story. -Sometimes the yarn-spinner would delight in leading us -to curl our lip, and say, “Pshaw, O. Henry is employing -a rather old device—in fact, this is quite trite—” and -then all in an instant the sly phrase would peep forth to -show that we had been caught from ambush; for O. -Henry had scant reverence for the reader’s dignity—he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> -poked fun at him as laughingly as could Shakespeare himself, -on occasion.</p> - -<p>No other writer ever made slang so really funny, yet -few knew better the richness of serious English diction -for really literary ends. Not that he embellished his -sentences, but that he appraised every word at its true -value before uttering it as literary coin. When he said -that one of his characters was “denounced by the name -of——” (I have forgotten what), he extracted the full -essence from those six words, and that is art.</p> - -<p>Other short-story writers have been as trenchant in -wit, others as keen in observation, but none has known -so wide a variety of common-folk as O. Henry. Four -great types he understood with rare completeness: the -Texan (<em>Heart of the West</em>), the Central American (<em>Cabbages -and Kings</em>), the middle-and lower-class New -Yorker (<em>The Four Million</em>),—and Everybody Else (<em>all -of his eleven books of short-stories</em>).</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>O. Henry’s advice to young writers as to the secret of short-story -writing is well known. “There are two rules,” he said. -“The first rule is to write stories that please yourself. There -is no second rule.” He was once facetiously asked if there were -a second rule, what that rule would be. “Sell the story,” he -answered.—<span class="smcap">G. J. Nathan</span>, <em>O. Henry in His Own Bagdad</em>. <em>The -Bookman</em>, vol. 31.</p> - -<p>O. Henry has often been called “the Yankee Maupassant,” and -up to a certain point the characterization is suggestive. His -stories have the swiftness and point of the anecdote, as Maupassant’s -have. He employs just enough art to keep alive the reader’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> -interest for the laugh or the gasp to which everything else -leads up.... As a humorist he was American to the finger tips. -That is to say, he secured his effects by over-statement, which is -the salient characteristic of American humor.... Mark Twain -was a world humorist; O. Henry was an American humorist.—<em>A -Typically American Short-Story Writer</em> (<em>Current Literature</em>, -vol. 49).</p> - -<p>The author seems to know almost every type of man—the -rich and portly financier, the “fly” newsboy or district messenger, -the denizens of the great hotels, the “salesladies,” the -chorus girls, the women in the shop, the raffish hangers-on of the -saloons, the gamblers, and the grafters.... Mr. Porter is a real -<em>flâneur</em> of the American type, only, he confines himself to no -boulevard, to no city, to no state, nor even to a single country. -The world, in fact, is his oyster, and he has learned almost unconsciously -to open it and to extract from it alike the meat and -the salty juices.... He gets down to the very heart of things. -He sees the humour and the pathos blended; yet, on the whole, -he is an optimist ... who believes that in every human being -there is to be found something good, however mixed it may be -with other qualities; and, like a true American, he can see and -chuckle at the humour of it all.—<span class="smcap">Harry Thurston Peck</span>, <em>Some -Representative American Story-Tellers</em>, <em>The Bookman</em>, vol. 31.</p> -</div> - - -<p class="p2 big1 center">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON O. HENRY</p> - -<p><em>Some American Story-Tellers</em>, Frederic Taber Cooper -(1911); <em>Life of O. Henry</em>, Peyton Steger (1911); <em>O. -Henry Biography</em>, C. Alphonso Smith (1916). Magazine -articles: <em>The Bookman: The Personal O. Henry</em>, 29, -345; 29, 579; <em>O. Henry’s Shorter Stories</em>, Justus Miles -Forman, 31, 131; <em>Sketch of O. Henry</em>, 31, 456; <em>Representative -American Story-Tellers</em>, Harry Thurston Peck, -31, 477; <em>O. Henry in His Own Bagdad</em>, G. J. Nathan, 31, -477. <em>North American Review</em>, 187, 781.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></p> - -<div class="body1"> -<h3>THE RANSOM OF RED CHIEF<a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></h3> - -<p class="big05 center">BY O. HENRY</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Introduction.</span><br /> -Setting and characters.<br /> -A favorite form of humor with O. Henry.</div> - -<p>It looked like a good thing; but -wait till I tell you. We were down -South, in Alabama—Bill Driscoll -and myself—when this kidnapping -idea struck us. It was, as Bill afterward -expressed it, “during a moment -of temporary mental apparition”; -but we didn’t find that out till later.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Setting more specific.<br /> -Satire of contrast—frequent -with author.</div> - -<p>2. There was a town down there, -as flat as a flannel-cake, and called -Summit, of course. It contained inhabitants -of as undeleterious and -self-satisfied a class of peasantry as -ever clustered around a Maypole.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">The narrator is not consistently -ungrammatical.</div> - -<p>3. Bill and me had a joint capital -of about six hundred dollars, and -we needed just two thousand dollars -more to pull off a fraudulent town-lot -scheme in Western Illinois with. -We talked it over on the front steps -of the hotel. Philoprogenitiveness, -says we, is strong in semi-rural communities; -therefore, and for other -reasons, a kidnapping project ought <span class="sidenote">The introduction develops -the foundation of the -<span class="smcap">Plot Situation</span> gradually.</span> -to do better there than in the radius -of newspapers that send reporters -out in plain clothes to stir up talk -about such things. We know that -Summit couldn’t get after us with -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span>anything stronger than constables -and, maybe, some lackadaisical blood-hounds -and a diatribe or two in the -Weekly Farmers’ Budget. So, it -looked good.</p> - - -<div class="sidenote">The humor takes the form -of situation, diction, satire, -and sly little surprises -throughout.</div> - -<p id="par4">4. We selected for our victim the -only child of a prominent citizen -named Ebenezer Dorset. The father -was respectable and tight, a mortgage -fancier and a stern, upright collection-plate -passer and forecloser. -The kid was a boy of ten, with bas-relief -freckles, and hair the color of -the cover of the magazine you buy -at the news-stand when you want to -catch a train. Bill and me figured -that Ebenezer would melt down for -a ransom of two thousand dollars to -a cent. But wait till I tell you.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Setting for main action.</div> - -<p>5. About two miles from Summit -was a little mountain, covered with -a dense cedar brake. On the rear -elevation of this mountain was a -cave. There we stored provisions.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Main Action Begins: -First Plot Incident.</span></div> - -<p>6. One evening after sundown, we -drove in a buggy past old Dorset’s -house. The kid was in the street, -throwing rocks at the kitten on the -opposite fence.</p> - -<p>7. “Hey, little boy!” says Bill, -“would you like to have a bag of -candy and a nice ride?”</p> - - -<p>8. The boy catches Bill neatly in -the eye with a piece of brick. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Contributory Incident.</span><br /> -As a matter of technique, -note that contributory incidents -might be varied or -omitted without altering -the plot <em>essentially</em>. These -are not all specifically -noted in this story.</span></p> - -<p>9. “That will cost the old man an -extra five hundred dollars,” says -Bill, climbing over the wheel.</p> - -<p>10. That boy put up a fight like a -welterweight cinnamon bear; but, at -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span> -last, we got him down in the bottom -of the buggy and drove away. We -took him up to the cave, and I hitched -the horse in the cedar brake. After -dark I drove the buggy to the little -village, three miles away, where we -had hired it, and walked back to the -mountain.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">“Bill” and “the Kid” -serve as the contesting -characters.</div> - -<p>11. Bill was pasting court-plaster -over the scratches and bruises on his -features. There was a fire burning -behind the big rock at the entrance -of the cave, and the boy was watching -a pot of boiling coffee, with two -buzzard tail-feathers stuck in his red -hair. He points a stick at me when -I come up, and says:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note title of the story.<br /> -“Bill” never smiles.</div> - -<p>12. “Ha! cursed paleface, do you -dare to enter the camp of Red Chief, -the terror of the plains?”</p> - - - -<p>13. “He’s all right now,” says Bill, -rolling up his trousers and examining -some bruises on his shins. -“We’re playing Indian. We’re making -Buffalo Bill’s show look like -magic-lantern views of Palestine in -the town hall. <span class="sidenote">Note how the author uses -swift changes to humorous -effect.</span> I’m Old Hank, the -Trapper, Red Chief’s captive, and I’m -to be scalped at daybreak. By Geronimo! -that kid can kick hard.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Essential, or Plot, Situation.</span></div> -<p>14. Yes, sir, that kid seemed to be -having the time of his life. The fun -of camping out in a cave had made -him forget that he was a captive -himself. He immediately christened -me Snake-eye, the Spy, and announced -that, when his braves returned -from the warpath, I was to be broiled -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span> -at the stake at the rising of the -sun.</p> - -<p>15. Then we had supper; and he -filled his mouth full of bacon and -bread and gravy, and began to talk. -He made a during-dinner speech -something like this:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Somewhat overdone, but we -must judge the story not -as comedy but as farce, -which blithely assumes the -improbable as true.</div> - -<p id="par16">16. “I like this fine. I never camped -out before; but I had a pet 'possum -once, and I was nine last birthday. -I hate to go to school. Rats -ate up sixteen of Jimmy Talbot’s -aunt’s speckled hen’s eggs. Are -there any real Indians in these -woods? I want some more gravy. -Does the trees moving make the wind -blow? We had five puppies. What -makes your nose so red, Hank? My -father has lots of money. Are the -stars hot? I whipped Ed Walker -twice, Saturday. I don’t like girls. -You dasent catch toads unless with -a string. Do oxen make any noise? -Why are oranges round? Have you -got beds to sleep on in this cave? -Amos Murray has got six toes. A -parrot can talk, but a monkey or a -fish can’t. How many does it take -to make twelve?”</p> - - - -<p>17. Every few minutes he would -remember that he was a pesky red-skin, -and pick up his stick rifle and -tip-toe to the mouth of the cave to -rubber for the scouts of the hated -paleface. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Essential Situation.</span></span>Now and then he would -let out a war-whoop that made Old -Hank the Trapper, shiver. That boy -had Bill terrorized from the start.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span></p> - -<p>18. “Red Chief,” says I to the kid, -“would you like to go home?”</p> - -<p>19. “Aw, what for?” says he. “I -don’t have any fun at home. I hate -to go to school. I like to camp out. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Key.</span><br /> -Use of the unexpected.</span> -You won’t take me back home again, -Snake-eye, will you?”</p> - -<p>20. “Not right away,” says I. -“We’ll stay here in the cave a -while.”</p> - -<p>21. “All right!” says he. “That’ll -be fine. I never had such fun in all -my life.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">A tribute throughout to the -dime dreadful.</div> - -<p>22. We went to bed about eleven -o’clock. We spread down some wide -blankets and quilts and put Red Chief -between us. We weren’t afraid he’d -run away. He kept us awake for -three hours, jumping up and reaching -for his rifle and screeching: -“Hist! pard,” in mine and Bill’s ears, -as the fancied crackle of a twig or -the rustle of a leaf revealed to his -young imagination the stealthy approach -of the outlaw band. <span class="sidenote">Narrator lapses now and -then into “better” language.</span> At last, -I fell into a troubled sleep, and -dreamed that I had been kidnapped -and chained to a tree by a ferocious -pirate with red hair.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Contrast.</div> - -<p>23. Just at daybreak, I was awakened -by a series of awful screams from -Bill. They weren’t yells, or howls, -or shouts, or whoops, or yawps, such -as you’d expect from a manly set -of vocal organs—they were simply -indecent, terrifying, humiliating -screams, such as women emit when -they see ghosts or caterpillars. It’s -an awful thing to hear a strong, desperate,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> -fat man scream incontinently -in a cave at daybreak.</p> - -<p>24. I jumped up to see what the -matter was. Red Chief was sitting -on Bill’s chest, with one hand twined -in Bill’s hair. In the other he had the -sharp case-knife we used for slicing -bacon; and he was industriously and -realistically trying to take Bill’s -scalp, according to the sentence that -had been pronounced upon him the -evening before.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Plot Situation.</span></div> - - - -<p>25. I got the knife away from the -kid and made him lie down again. -But, from that moment, Bill’s spirit -was broken. He laid down on his -side of the bed, but he never closed -an eye again in sleep as long as that -boy was with us. I dozed off for a <span class="sidenote">Note that the author develops -his story by the use -of progressive plot <em>situations</em> -and contributory -(non-essential) incidents.</span> -while, but along toward sun-up I remembered -that Red Chief had said -I was to be burned at the stake at -the rising of the sun. I wasn’t nervous -or afraid; but I sat up and lit -my pipe and leaned against a rock.</p> - -<p>26. “What you getting up so soon -for, Sam?” asked Bill.</p> - -<p>27. “Me?” says I. “Oh, I got a -kind of a pain in my shoulder. I -thought sitting up would rest it.”</p> - -<p>28. “You’re a liar!” says Bill. -“You’re afraid. You was to be -burned at sunrise, and you was afraid -he’d do it. And he would, too, if -he could find a match. Ain’t it -awful, Sam? Do you think anybody -will pay out money to get a little imp -like that back home?”</p> - -<p>29. “Sure,” said I. “A rowdy kid<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span> -like that is just the kind that parents -dote on. Now, you and the Chief -get up and cook breakfast, while I go -up on the top of this mountain and -reconnoitre.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the humorous use of -the language of “literature”—sparingly.</div> - -<p>30. I went up on the peak of the -little mountain and ran my eye over -the contiguous vicinity. Over toward -Summit I expected to see the sturdy -yeomanry of the village armed with -scythes and pitchforks beating the -country-side for the dastardly kidnappers. -But what I saw was a -peaceful landscape dotted with one -man ploughing with a dun mule. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Plot Situation.</span></span> -Nobody was dragging the creek; no -couriers dashed hither and yon, -bringing tidings of no news to the -distracted parents. There was a -sylvan attitude of somnolent sleepiness -pervading the section of the external -outward surface of Alabama -that lay exposed to my view. “Perhaps,” -says I to myself, “it has not -yet been discovered that the wolves -have borne away the tender lambkin -from the fold. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Key.</span></span> Heaven help the -wolves!” says I, and I went down -the mountain to breakfast.</p> - -<p>31. When I got to the cave I found -Bill backed up against the side of it, -breathing hard, and the boy threatening -to smash him with a rock half -as big as a cocoanut.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Contrast of unexpected.</div> - -<p>32. “He put a red-hot boiled potato -down my back,” explained Bill, -“and then mashed it with his foot; -and I boxed his ears. Have you got -a gun about you, Sam?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p> - -<p>33. I took the rock away from the -boy and kind of patched up the argument. -“I’ll fix you,” says the kid to -Bill. “No man ever yet struck the -Red Chief but what he got paid for -it. You better beware!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Return to first style of narration.</div> - -<p>34. After breakfast the kid takes a -piece of leather with strings wrapped -around it out of his pocket and goes -outside the cave unwinding it.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">A Frank R. Stockton expression.</div> - -<p>35. “What’s he up to now?” says -Bill, anxiously. “You don’t think -he’ll run away, do you, Sam?”</p> - -<p>36. “No fear of it,” says I. “He -don’t seem to be much of a home -body. But we’ve got to fix up some -plan about the ransom. There don’t -seem to be much excitement around -Summit on account of his disappearance; -but maybe they haven’t realized -yet that he’s gone. His folks may -think he’s spending the night with -Aunt Jane or one of the neighbors. -Anyhow, he’ll be missed to-day. To-night -we must get a message to his -father demanding the two thousand -dollars for his return.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Plot situation hidden, action -halts.</div> - -<p>37. Just then we heard a kind of -war-whoop, such as David might have -emitted when he knocked out the -champion Goliath. It was a sling -that Red Chief had pulled out of his -pocket, and he was whirling it around -his head.</p> - -<p>38. I dodged, and heard a heavy -thud and a kind of a sigh from Bill, -like a horse gives out when you take -his saddle off. A niggerhead rock -the size of an egg had caught Bill<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span> -just behind the left ear. He loosened -himself all over and fell in the fire -across the frying pan of hot water -for washing the dishes. I dragged -him out and poured cold water on -his head for half an hour.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">This expression is more -clever than natural to -“Bill.”</div> - -<p>39. By and by, Bill sits up and -feels behind his ear and says: “Sam, -do you know who my favorite Biblical -character is?”</p> - -<p>40. “Take it easy,” says I. -“You’ll come to your senses presently.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Slaughter of the Innocents.</div> - -<p>41. “King Herod,” says he. “You -won’t go away and leave me here -alone, will you, Sam?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">See <a href="#par4">¶4</a>.</div> - -<p>42. I went out and caught that boy -and shook him until his freckles rattled.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the use of the incongruous.</div> - -<p>43. “If you don’t behave,” says I, -“I’ll take you straight home. Now, -are you going to be good, or not?”</p> - -<p>44. “I was only funning,” says he -sullenly. “I didn’t mean to hurt Old -Hank. But what did he hit me for? -I’ll behave, Snake-eye, if you won’t -send me home, and if you’ll let me -play the Black Scout to-day.”</p> - -<p>45. “I don’t know the game,” says -I. “That’s for you and Mr. Bill to -decide. He’s your playmate for the -day. I’m going away for a while, on -business. Now, you come in and -make friends with him and say you -are sorry for hurting him, or home -you go, at once.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Plot Incident.</span></div> - -<p>46. I made him and Bill shake -hands, and then I took Bill aside and -told him I was going to Poplar Cove,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> -a little village three miles from the -cave, and find out what I could about -how the kidnapping had been regarded -in Summit. Also, I thought it -best to send a peremptory letter to -old man Dorset that day, demanding -the ransom and dictating how it -should be paid.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Do these men seem like -actual criminals? See comment -on <a href="#par16">¶16</a>.</div> - -<p>47. “You know, Sam,” says Bill, -“I’ve stood by you without batting -an eye in earthquakes, fire and flood—in -poker games, dynamite outrages, -police raids, train robberies and -cyclones. I never lost my nerve yet -till we kidnapped that two-legged -skyrocket of a kid. He’s got me going. -You won’t leave me long with -him, will you, Sam?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Irony.</div> - -<p>48. “I’ll be back some time this -afternoon,” says I. “You must keep -the boy amused and quiet till I return. -And now we’ll write the letter -to old Dorset.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Key.</span></div> - -<p>49. Bill and I got paper and pencil -and worked on the letter while Red -Chief, with a blanket wrapped around -him, strutted up and down, guarding -the mouth of the cave. Bill begged -me tearfully to make the ransom fifteen -hundred dollars instead of two -thousand. “I ain’t attempting,” says -he, “to decry the celebrated moral -aspect of parental affection, but we’re -dealing with humans, and it ain’t -human for anybody to give up two -thousand dollars for that forty-pound -chunk of freckled wildcat. -I’m willing to take a chance at fifteen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span> -hundred dollars. You can charge the -difference up to me.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Preparation for Crisis.</span></div> - -<p>50. So, to relieve Bill, I acceded, -and we collaborated a letter that -ran this way:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">In intelligence of expression, -does this letter correspond -to the general -style of the narrator?</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><em>Ebenezer Dorset, Esq.:</em></p> - -<p>We have your boy concealed in a -place far from Summit. It is useless -for you or the most skilful -detectives to attempt to find him. -Absolutely, the only terms on which -you can have him restored to you are -these: We demand fifteen hundred -dollars in large bills for his return; -the money to be left at midnight at -the same spot and in the same box -as your reply—as hereinafter described. -If you agree to these terms, -send your answer in writing by a -solitary messenger to-night at half-past -eight o’clock. After crossing -Owl Creek, on the road to Poplar -Cove, there are three large trees -about a hundred yards apart, close -to the fence of the wheat field on -the right-hand side. At the bottom -of the fence-post, opposite the third -tree, will be found a small paste-board -box.</p> - -<p>The messenger will place the answer -in this box and return immediately -to Summit.</p> - -<p>If you attempt any treachery or -fail to comply with our demand as -stated, you will never see your boy -again.</p> - -<p>If you pay the money as demanded, -he will be returned to you safe and -well within three hours. These -terms are final, and if you do not -accede to them no further communication -will be attempted.</p> - -<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em; "><span class="smcap">Two Desperate Men.</span></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p> - -<p>51. I addressed this letter to Dorset, -and put it in my pocket. As I -was about to start, the kid comes up -to me and says:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Character delineation and -by-play.</div> - -<p>52. “Aw, Snake-eye, you said I -could play the Black Scout while -you was gone.”</p> - -<p>53. “Play it, of course,” says I. -“Mr. Bill will play with you. What -kind of a game is it?”</p> - -<p>54. “I’m the Black Scout,” says -Red Chief, “and I have to ride to the -stockade to warn the settlers that the -Indians are coming. I’m so tired of -playing Indian myself. I want to be -the Black Scout.”</p> - -<p>55. “All right,” says I. “It sounds -harmless to me. I guess Mr. Bill -will help you foil the pesky savages.”</p> - -<p>56. “What am I to do?” says Bill, -looking at the kid suspiciously.</p> - -<p>57. “You are the hoss,” says Black -Scout. “Get down on your hands -and knees. How can I ride to the -stockade without a hoss?”</p> - -<p>58. “You’d better keep him interested,” -said I, “till we get the -scheme going. Loosen up.”</p> - -<p>59. Bill gets down on his all fours, -and a look comes in his eye like a -rabbit’s when you catch it in a trap.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">The two are typically in -character in these paragraphs.</div> - -<p>60. “How far is it to the stockade, -Kid?” he asks, in a husky manner of -voice.</p> - -<p>61. “Ninety miles,” says the Black -Scout. “And you have to hump -yourself to get there on time. Whoa, -now!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span></p> - -<p>62. The Black Scout jumps on Bill’s -back and digs his heels in his side.</p> - -<p>63. “For Heaven’s sake,” says Bill, -“hurry back, Sam, as soon as you -can. I wish we hadn’t made the ransom -more than a thousand. Say, -you quit kicking me or I’ll get up -and warm you good.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Plot Situation.</span></div> - -<p>64. I walked over to Poplar Cove -and sat around the post-office and -store, talking with the chawbacons -that came in to trade. One whiskerando -says that he hears Summit is all -upset on account of Elder Ebenezer -Dorset’s boy having been lost or stolen. -That was all I wanted to know. -I bought some smoking tobacco, referred -casually to the price of black-eyed -peas, posted my letter surreptitiously -and came away. The -postmaster said the mail-carrier -would come by in an hour to take the -mail on to Summit.</p> - -<p>65. When I got back to the cave -Bill and the boy were not to be -found. I explored the vicinity of the -cave, and risked a yodel or two, but -there was no response.</p> - -<p>66. So I lighted my pipe and sat -down on a mossy bank to await developments.</p> - -<p>67. In about half an hour I heard -the bushes rustle, and Bill wabbled -out into the little glade in front of -the cave. Behind him was the kid, -stepping softly like a scout, with a -broad grin on his face. Bill stopped, -took off his hat and wiped his face<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span> -with a red handkerchief. The kid -stopped about eight feet behind -him.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Typical O. Henry speech in -this paragraph.</div> - -<p>68. “Sam,” says Bill, “I suppose -you’ll think I’m a renegade, but I -couldn’t help it. I’m a grown person -with masculine proclivities and habits -of self-defence, but there is a time -when all systems of egotism and -predominance fail. The boy is gone. -I have sent him home. All is off. -There was martyrs in old times,” -goes on Bill, “that suffered death -rather than give up the particular -graft they enjoyed. None of ’em -ever was subjugated to such supernatural -tortures as I have been. I -tried to be faithful to our articles of -depredation; but there came a -limit.”</p> - -<p>69. “What’s the trouble, Bill?” I -asks him.</p> - -<p>70. “I was rode,” says Bill, “the -ninety miles to the stockade, not barring -an inch. Then, when the settlers -was rescued, I was given oats. -Sand ain’t a palatable substitute. -And then, for an hour I had to try to -explain to him why there was nothin’ -in holes, how a road can run -both ways and what makes the grass -green. I tell you, Sam, a human can -only stand so much. I takes him by -the neck of his clothes and drags him -down the mountain. On the way he -kicks my legs black-and-blue from -the knees down; and I’ve got to -have two or three bites on my thumb -and hand cauterized.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the stage trick of a -character in ignorance -while the audience enjoys -his delusion. The surprise -is his, not ours.</div> - -<p>71. “But he’s gone”—continues -Bill—“gone home. I showed him -the road to Summit and kicked him -about eight feet nearer there at one -kick. I’m sorry we lose the ransom; -but it was either that or Bill Driscoll -to the madhouse.”</p> - -<p>72. Bill is puffing and blowing but -there is a look of ineffable peace -and growing content on his rose-pink -features.</p> - -<p>73. “Bill,” says I, “there isn’t any -heart disease in your family, is -there?”</p> - -<p>74. “No,” says Bill, “nothing -chronic except malaria and accidents. -Why?”</p> - -<p>75. “Then you might turn around,” -says I, “and have a look behind you.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Suggestion.</div> - -<p>76. Bill turns and sees the boy, and -loses his complexion and sits down -plump on the ground and begins to -pluck aimlessly at grass and little -sticks. For an hour I was afraid for -his mind. <span class="sidenote">Straight delineation. The -former is the better art.</span> And then I told him that -my scheme was to put the whole job -through immediately and that we -would get the ransom and be off with -it by midnight if old Dorset fell in -with our proposition. So Bill braced <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Plot Situation.</span></span> -up enough to give the kid a weak -sort of a smile and a promise to play -the Russian in a Japanese war with -him as soon as he felt a little better.</p> - - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Plot Incident.</span></div> - -<p>77. I had a scheme for collecting -that ransom without danger of being -caught by counterplots that ought to -commend itself to professional kidnappers. -The tree under which the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span> -answer was to be left—and the -money later on—was close to the -road fence with big, bare fields on -all sides. If a gang of constables -should be watching for any one to -come for the note they could see -him a long way off crossing the fields -or in the road. But no sirree! At -half-past eight I was up in that tree -as well hidden as a tree toad, waiting -for the messenger to arrive.</p> - -<p>78. Exactly on time, a half-grown -boy rides up the road on a bicycle, -locates the paste-board box at the -foot of the fence-post, slips a folded -piece of paper into it and pedals -away again back toward Summit.</p> - -<p>79. I waited an hour and then concluded -the thing was square. I slid -down the tree, got the note, slipped -along the fence till I struck the -woods, and was back at the cave in -another half an hour. I opened the -note, got near the lantern and read -it to Bill. It was written with a pen -in a crabbed hand, and the sum and -substance of it was this:</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Main Plot Incident.</span></div> - -<p><em>Two Desperate Men.</em></p> - -<p>Gentlemen: I received your letter -to-day by post, in regard to the ransom -you ask for the return of my -son. I think you are a little high -in your demands, and I hereby make -you a counter-proposition, which I -am inclined to believe you will accept. -You bring Johnny home and -pay me two hundred and fifty dollars -in cash, and I agree to take him off -your hands. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Climax.</span></span>You had better come at -night for the neighbors believe he is -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span> -lost, and I couldn’t be responsible for -what they would do to anybody they -saw bringing him back.</p> - -<p>Very respectfully,</p> - -<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em; "><span class="smcap">Ebenezer Dorset.</span></p> - - -<p>80. “Great pirates of Penzance!” -says I, “of all the impudent—”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Suggestion.</div> - -<p>81. But I glanced at Bill, and hesitated. -He had the most appealing -look in his eyes I ever saw on the face -of a dumb or a talking brute.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Serio-comic.</div> - -<p>82. “Sam,” says he, “what’s two -hundred and fifty dollars, after all? -We’ve got the money. One more -night of this kid will send me to a -bed in Bedlam. Besides being a -thorough gentleman, I think Mr. -Dorset is a spendthrift for making -us a liberal offer. You ain’t going -to let the chance go, are you?”</p> - -<p>83. “Tell you the truth, Bill,” says -I, “this little he ewe lamb has somewhat -got on my nerves, too. We’ll -take him home, pay the ransom, and -make our get-away.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Extreme of contrast.</div> - -<p>84. We took him home that night. -We got him to go by telling him that -his father had bought a silver-mounted -rifle and a pair of moccasins for -him, and we were going to hunt -bears the next day.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Denouement.</span></div> - -<p>85. It was just twelve o’clock when -we knocked at Ebenezer’s front door. -Just at the moment when I should -have been abstracting the fifteen hundred -dollars from the box under the <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Contrasting Plot Situation</span>—Summary of the -plot-outcome.</span> -tree, according to the original proposition, -Bill was counting out two -hundred and fifty dollars into Dorset’s -hand.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note free use of simile.</div> - -<p>86. When the kid found out we -were going to leave him at home he -started up a howl like a calliope and -fastened himself as tight as a leech -to Bill’s leg. His father peeled him -away gradually, like a porous plaster.</p> - -<p>87. “How long can you hold -him?” asks Bill.</p> - -<p>88. “I’m not as strong as I used -to be,” says old Dorset. “But I -think I can promise you ten minutes.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Humor of hyperbole.</div> - -<p>89. “Enough,” says Bill. “In ten -minutes I shall cross the Central, -Southern and Middle Western States, -and be legging it trippingly for the -Canadian border.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Resultant Climax.</span></div> - -<p>90. And, as dark as it was, and as -fat as Bill was, and as good a runner -as I am, he was a good mile and -half out of Summit before I could -catch up with him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span></p> -</div> - -<h3>BARRIE AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> - -<p>James Matthew Barrie was born at Kirriemuir -(“Thrums”), Scotland, on the 9th of May, 1860. He -is the son of a physician, whom he has lovingly embodied -as “Dr. McQueen”; his mother and sister also will live -as “Jess” and “Leeby.” He was educated at Dumfries -Academy, entering the University of Edinburgh at eighteen, -from which he was graduated in 1882 with the -degree of M.A., taking honors in English literature. He -began writing literary criticisms for the <em>Edinburgh Courant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></em> -at this period. Several months after his graduation -Barrie took a position on a Nottingham newspaper, leaving -that city for London in 1885, where his literary career -commenced in earnest; but success did not come until -after the customary struggles and hindrances to which -young literary aspirants are ever subject. In 1893 -he married Miss Ansell, an actress, whom he divorced -in 1909. Some of his best-known books are <em>Auld -Licht Idylls</em>; <em>A Window in Thrums</em>; <em>Margaret Ogilvy</em>; -<em>My Lady Nicotine</em>; <em>The Little Minister</em> (afterwards -dramatized); <em>Sentimental Tommy</em>; <em>Tommy and Grizel</em> -(a sequel), and <em>The Little White Bird</em>. He also wrote -several plays, the most notable of which are <em>The Professor’s -Love Story</em>; <em>Peter Pan</em> (a partial dramatization -of <em>The Little White Bird</em>); <em>Quality Street</em>; and <em>What -Every Woman Knows</em>. It is interesting to note that Mr. -Barrie did not succeed in securing the magazine publication -of “The Courting of T’Nowhead’s Bell,” which is -given herewith; it was first issued between book covers, -in 1888.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Barrie is a versatile story-teller, though he deals mostly -with Scotch characters. His early work exhibits his -short-story ability at its best. The warm human interest -of <em>A Window in Thrums</em> and <em>Auld Licht Idylls</em>, is -matched only by Ian Maclaren’s <em>Beside the Bonnie Briar -Bush</em> and <em>The Days of Auld Lang Syne</em>. A quaint -character-humor, with swift flashes of pathos, pervades -all his work, which for local-color and insight into the -character of the Scotch rural dweller has won a place of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span> -distinction among the stories of present-day writers. -With Barrie, realism is rarely unpleasant; he sees all -things with a gentle eye. Even when in his keen ability -to penetrate to the heart of things he discovers the weaknesses -of humanity, he also finds redeeming virtues. -Thus his characters are continually disclosing their true -natures underneath the garb and custom of picturesque -life, and we feel ourselves to be kin to them, every one. -His dialect in itself is masterly and often deliciously humorous, -so that actions and dialogue in themselves common-place -take on an extraordinary interest. No modern -writer has a greater gift of character-drawing, and none -is more sympathetically human in his interpretations of -the Scotch commoner.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>It is my contemptible weakness that if I say a character smiled -vacuously, I must smile vacuously; if he frowns or leers, I frown -or leer; if he is a coward or given to contortions, I cringe, or -twist my legs until I have to stop writing to undo the knot. -I bow with him, eat with him, and gnaw my moustache with -him. If the character be a lady with an exquisite laugh, I suddenly -terrify you by laughing exquisitely. One reads of the -astounding versatility of an actor who is stout and lean on the -same evening, but what is he to the novelist who is a dozen -persons within the hour?—<span class="smcap">J. M. Barrie</span>, <em>Margaret Ogilvy</em>.</p> - - -<p>There are writers who can plan out their story beforehand as -clearly as though it were a railway journey, and adhere throughout -to their original design—they draw up what playwrights -call a scenario—but I was never one of those. I spend a great -deal of time indeed in looking for the best road in the map and -mark it with red ink, but at the first bypath off my characters -go. “Come back,” I cry, “you are off the road.” “We prefer -this way,” they reply. I try bullying. “You are only people in -a book,” I shout, “and it is my book, and I can do what I like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span> -with you, so come back!” But they seldom come, and it ends -with my plodding after them.—<span class="smcap">J. M. Barrie</span>, Introduction to -<em>When a Man’s Single</em>.</p> - -<p>The chief features of Barrie’s style are a quaintness of expression, -a simple directness of narrative, and an unfailing sense of -humor—often as though the author were chuckling to himself -as he wrote. His gift for descriptive writing—probably the -best test of “style”—is very marked, though he makes little of -it.—<span class="smcap">J. A. Hammerton</span>, <em>J. M. Barrie and His Books</em>.</p> - -<p><em>Auld Licht Idylls</em> is a set of regular descriptions of the -life of “Thrums,” with special reference to the ways and character -of the “Old Lights,” the stubborn conservative Scotch -Puritans; it contains also a most amusing and characteristic -love story of the sect (“The Courting of T’Nowhead’s Bell”), -and a satiric political skit.—<span class="smcap">Charles Dudley Warner’s</span> <em>Library -of the World’s Best Literature</em>.</p> - - -<p>By the time “Auld Licht Idylls” appeared, he had achieved -a reputation,—at least a local one. This book had an immediate -success, and ran rapidly through several editions. His mother -had been an Auld Licht in her youth.... Mrs. Barrie, knowing -them from the inside, could tell all sorts of quaint and marvellous -tales about them, whose humor was sure to please. It was -from her stories that the Idylls were mainly drawn, so she was -in a sense a collaborator with her son in their production.—<span class="smcap">Hattie -T. Griswold</span>, <em>Personal Sketches of Recent Authors</em>.</p> - - -<p>As a literary artist he belongs in the foremost rank. He has -that sense of the typical in incident, of the universal in feeling, -and of the suggestive in language, which mark the chiefs of -letters. No one can express an idea with fewer strokes; he -never expands a sufficient hint into an essay. His management -of the Scotch dialect is masterly: he uses it sparingly, in the -nearest form to English compatible with retaining the flavor; -he never makes it so hard as to interfere with enjoyment; in -few dialect writers do we feel so little alienness.—<span class="smcap">Charles -Dudley Warner’s</span> <em>Library of the World’s Best Literature</em>. -</p> -</div> - - - - -<p class="p2 big1 center">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON BARRIE</p> - -<p><em>My Contemporaries in Fiction</em>, by J. D. C. Murray -(1897); <em>Theology of Modern Literature</em>, by S. Law Wilson -(1899); <em>Fame and Fiction</em>, by E. A. Bennett (1901); -<em>J. M. Barrie and His Books</em>, by J. A. Hammerton (1902).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span></p> - -<div class="body1"> -<p class="p2 center">FOR ANALYSIS</p> - -<h3>THE COURTING OF T’NOWHEAD’S BELL</h3> - -<p class="big05 center">BY JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE</p> - -<p class="p1">For two years it had been notorious -in the square that Sam’l Dickie -was thinking of courting T’Nowhead’s -Bell, and that if little Sanders Elshioner -(which is the Thrums pronunciation -of Alexander Alexander) -went in for her he might prove a -formidable rival. Sam’l was a weaver -in the Tenements, and Sanders a -coal-carter whose trade-mark was a -bell on his horse’s neck that told -when coals were coming. Being -something of a public man, Sanders -had not so high a social position as -Sam’l, but he had succeeded his father -on the coal-cart, while the weaver -had already tried several trades. It -had always been against Sam’l, too, -that once when the kirk was vacant -he had advised the selection of the -third minister who preached for it -on the ground that it came expensive -to pay a large number of candidates.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span> -The scandal of the thing was hushed -up, out of respect for his father, who -was a God-fearing man, but Sam’l -was known by it in Lang Tammas’ -circle. The coal-carter was called -Little Sanders to distinguish him -from his father, who was not much -more than half his size. He had -grown up with the name, and its -inapplicability now came home to nobody. -Sam’l’s mother had been more -far-seeing than Sanders’. Her man -had been called Sammy all his life -because it was the name he got as a -boy, so when their eldest son was -born she spoke of him as Sam’l while -still in his cradle. The neighbours -imitated her, and thus the young man -had a better start in life than had -been granted to Sammy, his father.</p> - -<p>2. It was Saturday evening—the -night in the week when Auld Licht -young men fell in love. Sam’l -Dickie, wearing a blue glengarry bonnet -with a red ball on the top, came -to the door of a one-story house in -the Tenements and stood there -wriggling, for he was in a suit of -tweeds for the first time that week, -and did not feel at one in them. -When his feeling of being a stranger -to himself wore off, he looked up -and down the road, which straggles -between houses and gardens, and -then, picking his way over the puddles, -crossed to his father’s henhouse -and sat down on it. He was now on -his way to the square.</p> - -<p>3. Eppie Fargus was sitting on an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span> -adjoining dike knitting stockings, -and Sam’l looked at her for a time.</p> - -<p>4. “Is’t yersel, Eppie?” he said at -last.</p> - -<p>5. “It’s a’ that,” said Eppie.</p> - -<p>6. “Hoo’s a’ wi’ ye?” asked Sam’l.</p> - -<p>7. “We’re juist aff an’ on,” replied -Eppie cautiously.</p> - -<p>8. There was not much more to -say, but as Sam’l sidled off the henhouse -he murmured politely, “Ay, -ay.” In another minute he would -have been fairly started, but Eppie -resumed the conversation.</p> - -<p>9. “Sam’l,” she said, with a twinkle -in her eye, “ye can tell Lisbeth Fargus -I’ll likely be drappin’ in on her -aboot Munday or Teisday.”</p> - -<p>10. Lisbeth was sister to Eppie, and -wife of Tammas McQuhatty, better -known as T’Nowhead, which was the -name of his farm. She was thus -Bell’s mistress.</p> - -<p>11. Sam’l leaned against the henhouse -as if all his desire to depart -had gone.</p> - -<p>12. “Hoo d’ye kin I’ll be at the -T’Nowhead the nicht?” he asked, -grinning in anticipation.</p> - -<p>13. “Ou, I’se warrant ye’ll be after -Bell,” said Eppie.</p> - -<p>14. “Am no sure o’ that,” said -Sam’l, trying to leer. He was enjoying -himself now.</p> - -<p>15. “Am no sure o’ that,” he repeated, -for Eppie seemed lost in -stitches.</p> - -<p>16. “Sam’l—”</p> - -<p>17. “Ay.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">Asking her.</div> - -<p>18. “Ye’ll be spierin’ her sune noo, -I dinna doot?”</p> - -<p>19. This took Sam’l, who had only -been courting Bell for a year or two, -a little aback.</p> - -<p>20. “Hoo d’ye mean, Eppie?” he -asked.</p> - -<p>21. “Maybe ye’ll do’t the nicht.”</p> - -<p>22. “Na, there’s nae hurry,” said -Sam’l.</p> - -<p>23. “Weel, we’re a’ coontin’ on’t, -Sam’l.”</p> - -<p>24. “Gae wa wi’ ye.”</p> - -<p>25. “What for no?”</p> - -<p>26. “Gae wa wi’ ye,” said Sam’l -again.</p> - -<p>27. “Bell’s gie an’ fond o’ ye, -Sam’l.”</p> - -<p>28. “Ay,” said Sam’l.</p> - -<p>29. “But am dootin’ ye’re a fell -billy wi’ the lasses.”</p> - -<p>30. “Ay, oh, I d’na kin, moderate, -moderate,” said Sam’l, in high delight.</p> - -<p>31. “I saw ye,” said Eppie, speaking -with a wire in her mouth, “gaein’ -on terr’ble wi’ Mysy Haggart at the -pump last Saturday.”</p> - -<p>32. “We was juist amoosin’ oorsels,” -said Sam’l.</p> - -<p>33. “It’ll be nae amoosement to -Mysy,” said Eppie, “gin ye brak her -heart.”</p> - -<p>34. “Losh, Eppie,” said Sam’l, “I -didna think o’ that.”</p> - -<p>35. “Ye maun kin weel, Sam’l, 'at -there’s mony a lass wid jump at ye.”</p> - -<p>36. “Ou, weel,” said Sam’l, implying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span> -that a man must take these things -as they come.</p> - -<p>37. “For ye’re a dainty chield to -look at, Sam’l.”</p> - -<p>38. “Do ye think so, Eppie? Ay, -ay; oh, I d’na kin am onything by -the ordinar.”</p> - -<p>39. “Ye mayna be,” said Eppie, -“but lasses doesna do to be ower -partikler.”</p> - -<p>40. Sam’l resented this, and prepared -to depart again.</p> - -<p>41. “Ye’ll no tell Bell that?” he -asked anxiously.</p> - -<p>42. “Tell her what?”</p> - -<p>43. “Aboot me an’ Mysy.”</p> - -<p>44. “We’ll see hoo ye behave -yersel, Sam’l.”</p> - -<p>45. “No 'at I care, Eppie; ye can -tell her gin ye like. I widna think -twice o’ tellin’ her mysel.”</p> - -<p>46. “The Lord forgie ye for leein’, -Sam’l,” said Eppie, as he disappeared -down Tammy Tosh’s close. <span class="sidenote">Alley, or court.</span> Here he -came upon Henders Webster.</p> - -<p>47. “Ye’re late, Sam’l,” said Henders.</p> - -<p>48. “What for?”</p> - -<p>49. “Ou, I was thinkin’ ye wid be -gaen the length o’ T’Nowhead the -nicht, an’ I saw Sanders Elshioner -makkin’s wy there an oor syne.”</p> - -<p>50. “Did ye?” cried Sam’l, adding -craftily, “but it’s naething to me.”</p> - -<p>51. “Tod, lad,” said Henders, “gin -ye dinna buckle to, Sanders’ll be -carryin’ her off.”</p> - -<p>52. Sam’l flung back his head and -passed on.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span></p> - -<p>53. “Sam’l!” cried Henders after -him.</p> - -<p>54. “Ay,” said Sam’l, wheeling -round.</p> - -<p>55. “Gie Bell a kiss frae me.”</p> - -<p>56. The full force of this joke -struck neither all at once. Sam’l began -to smile at it as he turned down -the school-wynd, and it came upon -Henders while he was in his garden -feeding his ferret. Then he slapped -his legs gleefully, and explained the -conceit to Will’um Byars, who went -into the house and thought it over.</p> - -<p>57. There were twelve or twenty -little groups of men in the square, -which was lit by a flare of oil suspended -over a cadger’s cart. Now -and again a staid young woman passed -through the square with a basket -on her arm, and if she had lingered -long enough to give them time, some -of the idlers would have addressed -her. As it was, they gazed after her, -and then grinned to each other.</p> - -<p>58. “Ay, Sam’l,” said two or three -young men as Sam’l joined them beneath -the town clock.</p> - -<p>59. “Ay, Davit,” replied Sam’l.</p> - -<p>60. This group was composed of -some of the sharpest wits in Thrums, -and it was not to be expected that -they would let this opportunity pass. -Perhaps when Sam’l joined them he -knew what was in store for him.</p> - -<p>61. “Was ye lookin’ for T’Nowhead’s -Bell, Sam’l?” asked one.</p> - -<p>62. “Or mebbe ye was wantin’ the -minister?” suggested another, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span> -same who had walked out twice with -Christy Duff and not married her -after all.</p> - -<p>63. Sam’l could not think of a good -reply at the moment, so he laughed -good-naturedly.</p> - -<p>64. “Ondoobtedly she’s a snod bit -crittur,” said Davit archly.</p> - -<p>65. “An’ michty clever wi’ her -fingers,” added Jamie Deuchars.</p> - -<p>66. “Man, I’ve thocht o’ makkin’ -up to Bell mysel,” said Peter Ogle. -“Wid there be ony chance, think ye, -Sam’l?”</p> - -<p>67. “I’m thinkin’ she widna hae -ye for her first, Pete,” replied Sam’l, -in one of those happy flashes that -come to some men, “but there’s nae -sayin’ but what she micht tak ye to -finish up wi’.”</p> - -<p>68. The unexpectedness of this sally -startled everyone. Though Sam’l -did not set up for a wit, however, -like Davit, it was notorious that he -could say a cutting thing once in a -way.</p> - -<p>69. “Did ye ever see Bell reddin’ -up?” asked Pete, recovering from his -overthrow. He was a man who bore -no malice.</p> - -<p>70. “It’s a sicht,” said Sam’l solemnly.</p> - -<p>71. “Hoo will that be?” asked -Jamie Deuchars.</p> - - -<p>72. “It’s well worth yer while,” -said Pete, “to ging atower to the -T’Nowhead an’ see. Ye’ll mind the -closed-in beds i’ the kitchen? Ay, -well, they’re a fell spoilt crew, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span> -T’Nowhead’s litlins, an’ no that aisy -to manage. <span class="sidenote">Little ones.</span> Th’ither lasses Lisbeth’s -hae’n had a michty trouble wi’ them. -When they war i’ the middle o’ their -reddin’ up the bairns wid come tumlin’ -about the floor, but, sal, I assure -ye, Bell didna fash lang wi’ them. -Did she, Sam’l?”</p> - -<p>73. “She did not,” said Sam’l, -dropping into a fine mode of speech -to add emphasis to his remark.</p> - -<p>74. “I’ll tell ye what she did,” -said Pete to the others. “She juist -lifted up the litlins, twa at a time, -an’ flung them into the coffin-beds. -Syne she snibbit the doors on them, -an’ keepit them there till the floor -was dry.”</p> - -<p>75. “Ay, man, did she so?” said -Davit admiringly.</p> - -<p>76. “I’ve seen her do’t mysel,” -said Sam’l.</p> - -<p>77. “There’s no a lassie makes better -bannocks this side o’ Fetter -Lums,” continued Pete.</p> - -<p>78. “Her mither tocht her that,” -said Sam’l; “she was a gran’ han’ at -the bakin’, Kitty Ogilvy.”</p> - -<p>79. “I’ve heard say,” remarked -Jamie, putting it this way, so as not -to tie himself down to anything, “'at -Bell’s scones is equal to Mag Lunan’s.”</p> - -<p>80. “So they are,” said Sam’l, almost -fiercely.</p> - -<p>81. “I kin she’s a neat han’ at -singein’ a hen,” said Pete.</p> - -<p>82. “An’ wi’t a’,” said Davit, “she’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span> -a snod, canty bit stocky in her Sabbath -claes.”</p> - -<p>83. “If onything, thick in the -waist,” suggested Jamie.</p> - -<p>84. “I dinna see that,” said Sam’l.</p> - -<p>85. “I d’na care for her hair -either,” continued Jamie, who was -very nice in his tastes; “something -mair yallowchy wid be an improvement.”</p> - -<p>86. “A’body kins,” growled Sam’l, -“'at black hair’s the bonniest.”</p> - -<p>87. The others chuckled.</p> - -<p>88. “Puir Sam’l!” Pete said.</p> - -<p>89. Sam’l not being certain whether -this should be received with a smile -or a frown, opened his mouth wide as -a kind of compromise. This was -position one with him for thinking -things over.</p> - -<p>90. Few Auld Lichts, as I have -said, went the length of choosing a -helpmate for themselves. One day a -young man’s friends would see him -mending the washing-tub of a maiden’s -mother. They kept the joke -until Saturday night, and then he -learned from them what he had been -after. It dazed him for a time, but -in a year or so he grew accustomed -to the idea, and they were then married. -With a little help he fell in -love just like other people.</p> - -<p>91. Sam’l was going the way of the -others, but he found it difficult to -come to the point. He only went -courting once a week, and he could -never take up the running at the -place where he left off the Saturday<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span> -before. Thus he had not, so far, -made great headway. His method of -making up to Bell had been to drop -in at T’Nowhead on Saturday nights -and talk with the farmer about the -rinderpest.</p> - -<p>92. The farm kitchen was Bell’s -testimonial. Its chairs, tables, and -stools were scoured by her to the -whiteness of Rob Angus’s sawmill -boards, and the muslin blind on the -window was starched like a child’s -pinafore. Bell was brave, too, as -well as energetic. Once Thrums had -been overrun with thieves. It is now -thought that there may have been -only one, but he had the wicked -cleverness of a gang. Such was his -repute that there were weavers who -spoke of locking their doors when -they went from home. He was not -very skilful, however, being generally -caught, and when they said they knew -he was a robber he gave them their -things back and went away. If they -had given him time there is no doubt -that he would have gone off with his -plunder. One night he went to -T’Nowhead, and Bell, who slept in the -kitchen, was wakened by the noise. -She knew who it would be, so she -rose and dressed herself and went to -look for him with a candle. The -thief had not known what to do -when he got in, and as it was very -lonely he was glad to see Bell. -She told him he ought to be ashamed -of himself, and would not let him -out by the door until he had taken<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span> -off his boots so as not to soil the -carpet.</p> - -<p>93. On this Saturday evening -Sam’l stood his ground in the -square, until by and by he found himself -alone. There were other groups -there still, but his circle had melted -away. They went separately, and no -one said good-night. Each took himself -off slowly, backing out of the -group until he was fairly started.</p> - -<p>94. Sam’l looked about him, and -then, seeing that the others had gone, -walked round the townhouse into the -darkness of the brae that leads down -and then up to the farm of T’Nowhead.</p> - -<p>95. To get into the good graces of -Lisbeth Fargus you had to know her -ways and humour them. Sam’l, who -was a student of women, knew this, -and so, instead of pushing the door -open and walking in, he went -through the rather ridiculous ceremony -of knocking. Sanders Elshioner -was also aware of this weakness -of Lisbeth’s, but, though he -often made up his mind to knock, -the absurdity of the thing prevented -his doing so when he reached -the door. T’Nowhead himself had -never got used to his wife’s refined -notions, and when any one knocked -he always started to his feet, thinking -there must be something wrong.</p> - -<p>96. Lisbeth came to the door, her -expansive figure blocking the way in.</p> - -<p>97. “Sam’l,” she said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span></p> - -<p>98. “Lisbeth,” said Sam’l.</p> - -<p>99. He shook hands with the farmer’s -wife, knowing that she liked it, -but only said, “Ay, Bell,” to his -sweetheart, “Ay, T’Nowhead,” to McQuhatty, -and “It’s yersel, Sanders,” -to his rival.</p> - -<p>100. They were sitting round the -fire, T’Nowhead, with his feet on the -ribs, wondering why he felt so warm, -and Bell darned a stocking, while -Lisbeth kept an eye on a goblet full -of potatoes.</p> - -<p>101. “Sit into the fire, Sam’l,” said -the farmer, not, however, making -way for him.</p> - -<p>102. “Na, na,” said Sam’l, “I’m -to bide nae time.” Then he sat into -the fire. His face was turned away -from Bell, and when she spoke he -answered her without looking round. -Sam’l felt a little anxious. Sanders -Elshioner, who had one leg shorter -than the other, but looked well when -sitting, seemed suspiciously at home. -He asked Bell questions out of his -own head, which was beyond Sam’l, -and once he said something to her -in such a low voice that the others -could not catch it. T’Nowhead -asked curiously what it was, and -Sanders explained that he had only -said, “Ay, Bell, the morn’s the Sabbath.” -There was nothing startling -in this, but Sam’l did not like it. He -began to wonder if he was too late, -and had he seen his opportunity -would have told Bell of a nasty -rumour that Sanders intended to go<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span> -over to the Free Church if they -would make him kirk-officer.</p> - -<p>103. Sam’l had the good-will of -T’Nowhead’s wife, who liked a polite -man. Sanders did his best, but from -want of practice he constantly made -mistakes. To-night, for instance, he -wore his hat in the house because he -did not like to put up his hand and -take it off. T’Nowhead had not taken -his off either but that was because he -meant to go out by and by and lock -the byre door. It was impossible to -say which of her lovers Bell preferred. -The proper course with an -Auld Licht lassie was to prefer the -man who proposed to her.</p> - -<p>104. “Ye’ll bide a wee, an’ hae -something to eat?” Lisbeth asked -Sam’l, with her eyes on the goblet.</p> - -<p>105. “No, I thank ye,” said Sam’l, -with true gentility.</p> - -<p>106. “Ye’ll better?”</p> - -<p>107. “I dinna think it.”</p> - -<p>108. “Hoots aye; what’s to hender -ye?”</p> - -<p>109. “Weel, since ye’re sae pressin’, -I’ll bide.”</p> - -<p>110. No one asked Sanders to stay. -Bell could not, for she was but the -servant, and T’Nowhead knew that -the kick his wife had given him -meant that he was not to do so either. -Sanders whistled to show that he was -not uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>111. “Ay then, I’ll be stappin’ ower -the brae,” he said at last.</p> - -<p>112. He did not go, however. -There was sufficient pride in him to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span> -get him off his chair, but only slowly, -for he had to get accustomed to the -notion of going. At intervals of -two or three minutes he remarked -that he must now be going. In the -same circumstances Sam’l would have -acted similarly. For a Thrums man -it is one of the hardest things in life -to get away from anywhere.</p> - -<p>113. At last Lisbeth saw that something -must be done. The potatoes -were burning, and T’Nowhead had an -invitation on his tongue.</p> - -<p>114. “Yes, I’ll hae to be movin’,” -said Sanders, hopelessly, for the fifth -time.</p> - -<p>115. “Guid nicht to ye, then, Sanders,” -said Lisbeth. “Gie the door -a fling-to, ahent ye.”</p> - -<p>116. Sanders, with a mighty effort, -pulled himself together. He looked -boldly at Bell, and then took off his -hat carefully. Sam’l saw with misgivings -that there was something in -it which was not a handkerchief. It -was a paper bag glittering with gold -braid, and contained such an assortment -of sweets as lads bought for -their lasses on the Muckle Friday.</p> - -<p>117. “Hae, Bell,” said Sanders, -handing the bag to Bell in an off-hand -way as if it were but a trifle. -Nevertheless he was a little excited, -for he went off without saying good-night.</p> - -<p>118. No one spoke. Bell’s face was -crimson. T’Nowhead fidgeted on his -chair, and Lisbeth looked at Sam’l. -The weaver was strangely calm and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span> -collected, though he would have liked -to know whether this was a proposal.</p> - -<p>119. “Sit in by to the table, Sam’l,” -said Lisbeth, trying to look as if -things were as they had been before.</p> - -<p>120. She put a saucerful of butter, -salt, and pepper near the fire to melt, -for melted butter is the shoeing-horn -that helps over a meal of potatoes. -Sam’l, however, saw what the hour -required, and jumping up, he seized -his bonnet.</p> - -<p>121. “Hing the tatties higher up -the joist, Lisbeth,” he said with -dignity; “I’se be back in ten -meenits.”</p> - -<p>122. He hurried out of the house, -leaving the others looking at each -other.</p> - -<p>123. “What do ye think?” asked -Lisbeth.</p> - -<p>124. “I d’na kin,” faltered Bell.</p> - -<p>125. “Thae tatties is lang o’ comin’ -to the boil,” said T’Nowhead.</p> - -<p>126. In some circles a lover who -behaved like Sam’l would have been -suspected of intent upon his rival’s -life, but neither Bell nor Lisbeth did -the weaver that injustice. In a case -of this kind it does not much matter -what T’Nowhead thought.</p> - -<p>127. The ten minutes had barely -passed when Sam’l was back in the -farm kitchen. He was too flurried to -knock this time, and, indeed, Lisbeth -did not expect it of him.</p> - -<p>128. “Bell, hae!” he cried, handing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span> -his sweetheart a tinsel bag twice the -size of Sander’s gift.</p> - -<p>129. “Losh preserve’s!” exclaimed -Lisbeth; “I’se warrant there’s a -shillin’s worth.”</p> - -<p>130. “There’s a’ that, Lisbeth—an’ -mair,” said Sam’l, firmly.</p> - -<p>131. “I thank ye, Sam’l,” said Bell, -feeling an unwonted elation as she -gazed at the two paper bags in her -lap.</p> - -<p>132. “Ye’re ower extravegint, -Sam’l,” Lisbeth said.</p> - -<p>133. “Not at all,” said Sam’l; “not -at all. But I widna advise ye to eat -thae ither anes, Bell—they’re second -quality.”</p> - -<p>134. Bell drew back a step from -Sam’l.</p> - -<p>135. “How do ye kin?” asked the -farmer shortly, for he liked Sanders.</p> - -<p>136. “I spiered i’ the shop,” said -Sam’l.</p> - -<p>137. The goblet was placed on a -broken plate on the table with the -saucer beside it, and Sam’l, like the -others, helped himself. What he did -was to take potatoes from the pot -with his fingers, peel off their coats, -and then dip them into the butter. -Lisbeth would have liked to provide -knives and forks, but she knew -that beyond a certain point T’Nowhead -was master in his own house. -As for Sam’l, he felt victory in his -hands, and began to think that he -had gone too far.</p> - -<p>138. In the meantime Sanders, -little witting that Sam’l had trumped<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span> -his trick, was sauntering along -the kirk-wynd with his hat on the -side of his head. Fortunately he -did not meet the minister.</p> - -<p>139. The courting of T’Nowhead’s -Bell reached its crisis one Sabbath -about a month after the events above -recorded. The minister was in great -force that day, but it is no part of -mine to tell how he bore himself. I -was there, and am not likely to forget -the scene. It was a fateful Sabbath -for T’Nowhead’s Bell and her -swains, and destined to be remembered -for the painful scandal which -they perpetrated in their passion.</p> - -<p>140. Bell was not in the kirk. -There being an infant of six months -in the house it was a question of -either Lisbeth or the lassie’s staying -at home with him, and though -Lisbeth was unselfish in a general -way, she could not resist the delight -of going to church. She had -nine children besides the baby, and -being but a woman, it was the pride -of her life to march them into the -T’Nowhead pew, so well watched -that they dared not misbehave, and -so tightly packed that they could not -fall. The congregation looked at -that pew, the mothers enviously, -when they sang the lines—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container p11 pw15"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p>“Jerusalem like a city is<br /> -Compactly built together.”</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p>141. The first half of the service -had been gone through on this particular<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span> -Sunday without anything remarkable -happening. It was at the -end of the psalm which preceded the -sermon that Sanders Elshioner, who -sat near the door, lowered his head -until it was no higher than the pews, -and in that attitude, looking almost -like a four-footed animal, slipped out -of the church. In their eagerness -to be at the sermon many of the -congregation did not notice him, and -those who did put the matter by in -their minds for future investigation. -Sam’l, however, could not take it -so coolly. From his seat in the gallery -he saw Sanders disappear, and -his mind misgave him. With the -true lover’s instinct he understood -it all. Sanders had been struck by -the fine turn-out in the T’Nowhead’s -pew. Bell was alone at the farm. -What an opportunity to work one’s -way up to a proposal. T’Nowhead -was so overrun with children that -such a chance seldom occurred, except -on a Sabbath. Sanders, doubtless, -was off to propose, and he, -Sam’l, was left behind.</p> - -<p>142. The suspense was terrible. -Sam’l and Sanders had both known -all along that Bell would take the -first of the two who asked her. -Even those who thought her proud -admitted that she was modest. Bitterly -the weaver repented having -waited so long. Now it was too late. -In ten minutes Sanders would be at -T’Nowhead; in an hour all would be -over. Sam’l rose to his feet in a daze.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span> -His mother pulled him down by the -coat-tail, and his father shook him, -thinking he was walking in his sleep. -He tottered past them, however, -hurried up the aisle, which was so -narrow that Dan’l Ross could only -reach his seat by walking sideways, -and was gone before the minister -could do more than stop in the middle -of a whirl and gape in horror -after him.</p> - -<p>143. A number of the congregation -felt that day the advantage of sitting -in the loft. What was a mystery -to those downstairs was revealed -to them. From the gallery windows -they had a fine open view to -the south; and as Sam’l took the -common, which was a short cut -though a steep ascent, to T’Nowhead, -he was never out of their line of -vision. Sanders was not to be seen, -but they guessed rightly the reason -why. Thinking he had ample time, -he had gone round by the main road -to save his boots—perhaps a little -scared by what was coming. Sam’l’s -design was to forestall him by taking -the shorter path over the burn and -up the common.</p> - -<p>144. It was a race for a wife, and -several onlookers in the gallery braved -the minister’s displeasure to see -who won. Those who favoured -Sam’l’s suit exultingly saw him leap -the stream, while the friends of -Sanders fixed their eyes on the top of -the common where it ran into the -road. Sanders must come into sight<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span> -there, and the one who reached this -point first would get Bell.</p> - -<p>145. As Auld Lichts do not walk -abroad on the Sabbath, Sanders -would probably not be delayed. The -chances were in his favour. Had it -been any other day in the week Sam’l -might have run. So some of the -congregation in the gallery were -thinking, when suddenly they saw -him bend low and then take to his -heels. He had caught sight of Sander’s -head bobbing over the hedge -that separated the road from the -common, and feared that Sanders -might see him. The congregation -who could crane their necks sufficiently -saw a black object, which they -guessed to be the carter’s hat, crawling -along the hedge-top. For a -moment it was motionless, and then -it shot ahead. The rivals had seen -each other. It was now a hot race. -Sam’l, dissembling no longer, clattered -up the common, becoming smaller -and smaller to the onlookers as he -neared the top. More than one person -in the gallery almost rose to their -feet in their excitement. Sam’l had -it. No, Sanders was in front. Then -the two figures disappeared from -view. They seemed to run into each -other at the top of the brae, and no -one could say who was first. The -congregation looked at one another. -Some of them perspired. But the -minister held on his course.</p> - -<p>146. Sam’l had just been in time to -cut Sanders out. It was the weaver’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span> -saving that Sanders saw this when -his rival turned the corner; for -Sam’l was sadly blown. Sanders -took in the situation and gave in at -once. The last hundred yards of -the distance he covered at his leisure, -and when he arrived at his destination -he did not go in. It was a fine -afternoon for the time of the year, -and he went round to have a look -at the pig, about which T’Nowhead -was a little sinfully puffed up.</p> - -<p>147. “Ay,” said Sanders, digging -his fingers critically into the grunting -animal; “quite so.”</p> - -<p>148. “Grumph,” said the pig, getting -reluctantly to his feet.</p> - -<p>149. “Ou ay; yes,” said Sanders, -thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>150. Then he sat down on the edge -of the sty, and looked long and -silently at an empty bucket. But -whether his thoughts were of T’Nowhead’s -Bell, whom he had lost for -ever, or of the food the farmer fed -his pig on, is not known.</p> - -<p>151. “Lord preserve’s! Are ye no -at the kirk?” cried Bell, nearly dropping -the baby as Sam’l broke into the -room.</p> - -<p>152. “Bell!” cried Sam’l.</p> - -<p>153. Then T’Nowhead’s Bell knew -that her hour had come.</p> - -<p>154. “Sam’l,” she faltered.</p> - -<p>155. “Will ye hae’s, Bell?” demanded -Sam’l, glaring at her sheepishly.</p> - -<p>156. “Ay,” answered Bell.</p> - -<p>157. Sam’l fell into a chair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span></p> - -<p>158. “Bring’s drink o’ water, Bell,” -he said. But Bell thought the occasion -required milk, and there was -none in the kitchen. She went out -to the byre, still with the baby in her -arms, and saw Sanders Elshioner -sitting gloomily on the pigsty.</p> - -<p>159. “Weel, Bell,” said Sanders.</p> - -<p>160. “I thocht ye’d been at the -kirk, Sanders,” said Bell.</p> - -<p>161. Then there was a silence between -them.</p> - -<p>162. “Has Sam’l spiered ye, Bell?” -asked Sanders, stolidly.</p> - -<p>163. “Ay,” said Bell again, and this -time there was a tear in her eye. -Sanders was little better than an -“orra man,” and Sam’l was a weaver, -and yet—But it was too -late now. Sanders gave the pig a -vicious poke with a stick, and when -it had ceased to grunt, Bell was back -in the kitchen. She had forgotten -about the milk, however, and Sam’l -only got water after all.</p> - -<p>164. In after days, when the story -of Bell’s wooing was told, there were -some who held that the circumstances -would have almost justified the lassie -in giving Sam’l the go-by. But these -perhaps forgot that her other lover -was in the same predicament as the -accepted one—that of the two, indeed, -he was the more to blame, for -he set off to T’Nowhead on the Sabbath -of his own accord, while Sam’l -only ran after him. And then there -is no one to say for certain whether -Bell heard of her suitors’ delinquencies<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span> -until Lisbeth’s return from -the kirk. Sam’l could never remember -whether he told her, and Bell -was not sure whether, if he did, she -took it in. Sanders was greatly in -demand for weeks after to tell what -he knew of the affair, but though he -was twice asked to tea to the manse -among the trees, and subjected thereafter -to ministerial cross-examinations, -this is all he told. He remained -at the pigsty until Sam’l left -the farm, when he joined him at the -top of the brae, and they went home -together.</p> - -<p>165. “It’s yersel, Sanders,” said -Sam’l.</p> - -<p>166. “It is so, Sam’l,” said Sanders.</p> - -<p>167. “Very cauld,” said Sam’l.</p> - -<p>168. “Blawy,” assented Sanders.</p> - -<p>169. After a pause—</p> - -<p>170. “Sam’l,” said Sanders.</p> - -<p>171. “Ay.”</p> - -<p>172. “I’m hearin’ yer to be mairit.”</p> - -<p>173. “Ay.”</p> - -<p>174. “Weel, Sam’l she’s a snod bit -lassie.”</p> - -<p>175. “Thank ye,” said Sam’l.</p> - -<p>176. “I had ance a kin’ o’ notion -o’ Bell mysel,” continued Sanders.</p> - -<p>177. “Ye had?”</p> - -<p>178. “Yes, Sam’l; but I thocht -better o’t.”</p> - -<p>179. “Hoo d’ye mean?” asked -Sam’l, a little anxiously.</p> - -<p>180. “Weel, Sam’l, mairitch is a -terrible responsibeelity.”</p> - -<p>181. “It is so,” said Sam’l, wincing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span></p> - -<p>182. “An’ no the thing to tak up -withoot conseederation.”</p> - -<p>183. “But it’s a blessed and honourable -state, Sanders; ye’ve heard -the minister on’t.”</p> - -<p>184. “They say,” continued the -relentless Sanders, “'at the minister -doesna get on sair wi’ the wife himsel.”</p> - -<p>185. “So they do,” cried Sam’l, -with a sinking at the heart.</p> - -<p>186. “I’ve been telt,” Sanders -went on, “'at gin ye can get the upper -han’ o’ the wife for a while at -first, there’s the mair chance o’ a -harmonious exeestence.”</p> - -<p>187. “Bell’s no the lassie,” said -Sam’l, appealingly, “to thwart her -man.”</p> - -<p>188. Sanders smiled.</p> - -<p>189. “D’ye ye think she is, Sanders?”</p> - -<p>190. “Weel, Sam’l, I d’na want to -fluster ye, but she’s been ower lang -wi’ Lisbeth Fargus no to hae learnt -her ways. An a’body kins what a -life T’Nowhead has wi’ her.”</p> - -<p>191. “Guid sake, Sanders, hoo did -ye no speak o’ this afore?”</p> - -<p>192. “I thocht ye kent o’t, Sam’l.”</p> - -<p>193. They had now reached the -square, and the U. P. kirk was coming -out. The Auld Licht kirk would -be half an hour yet.</p> - -<p>194. “But, Sanders,” said Sam’l, -brightening up, “ye was on yer wy to -spier her yersel.”</p> - -<p>195. “I was, Sam’l,” said Sanders,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span> -“and I canna but be thankfu’ ye was -ower quick for’s.”</p> - -<p>196. “Gin’t hadna been you,” said -Sam’l, “I wid never hae thocht o’t.”</p> - -<p>197. “I’m sayin’ naething agin -Bell,” pursued the other, “but, man -Sam’l, a body should be mair deleeberate -in a thing o’ the kind.”</p> - -<p>198. “It was michty hurried,” said -Sam’l, woefully.</p> - -<p>199. “It’s a serious thing to spier -a lassie,” said Sanders.</p> - -<p>200. “It’s an awfu’ thing,” said -Sam’l.</p> - -<p>201. “But we’ll hope for the best,” -added Sanders, in a hopeless voice.</p> - -<p>202. They were close to the Tenements -now, and Sam’l looked as if -he were on his way to be hanged.</p> - -<p>203. “Sam’l?”</p> - -<p>204. “Ay, Sanders.”</p> - -<p>205. “Did ye—did ye kiss her, -Sam’l?”</p> - -<p>206. “Na.”</p> - -<p>207. “Hoo?”</p> - -<p>208. “There was varra little time, -Sanders.”</p> - -<p>209. “Half an 'oor,” said Sanders.</p> - -<p>210. “Was there? Man Sanders, -to tell ye the truth, I never thoct -o’t.”</p> - -<p>211. Then the soul of Sanders -Elshioner was filled with contempt -for Sam’l Dickie.</p> - -<p>212. The scandal blew over. At -first it was expected that the minister -would interfere to prevent the -union, but beyond intimating from -the pulpit that the souls of Sabbath-breakers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span> -were beyond praying for, -and then praying for Sam’l and Sanders -at great length, with a word -thrown in for Bell, he let things take -their course. Some said it was because -he was always frightened lest -his young men should intermarry -with other denominations, but Sanders -explained it differently to Sam’l.</p> - -<p>213. “I hav’na a word to say agin -the minister,” he said, “they’re gran’ -prayers, but, Sam’l, he’s a mairit man -himsel.”</p> - -<p>214. “He’s a’ the better for that, -Sanders, isna he?”</p> - -<p>215. “Do ye no see,” asked Sanders, -compassionately, “'at he’s tryin’ -to mak the best o’t?”</p> - -<p>216. “Oh, Sanders, man!” said -Sam’l.</p> - -<p>217. “Cheer up, Sam’l,” said Sanders, -“it’ll sune be ower.”</p> - -<p>218. Their having been rival suitors -had not interfered with their -friendship. On the contrary, while -they had hitherto been mere acquaintances, -they became inseparables -as the wedding-day drew near. It -was noticed that they had much to -say to each other, and that when they -could not get a room to themselves -they wandered about together in the -churchyard. When Sam’l had anything -to tell Bell he sent Sanders to -tell it, and Sanders did as he was -bid. There was nothing that he -would not have done for Sam’l.</p> - -<p>219. The more obliging Sanders -was, however, the sadder Sam’l grew.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span> -He never laughed now on Saturdays, -and sometimes his loom was silent -half the day. Sam’l felt that Sanders’s -was the kindness of a friend -for a dying man.</p> - -<p>220. It was to be a penny wedding, -and Lisbeth Fargus said it was delicacy -that made Sam’l superintend the -fitting-up of the barn by deputy. -Once he came to see it in person, -but he looked so ill that Sanders had -to see him home. This was on the -Thursday afternoon, and the wedding -was fixed for Friday.</p> - -<p>221. “Sanders, Sanders,” said -Sam’l, in a voice strangely unlike his -own, “it’ll a’ be ower by this time -the morn.”</p> - -<p>222. “It will,” said Sanders.</p> - -<p>223. “If I had only kent her langer,” -continued Sam’l.</p> - -<p>224. “It wid hae been safer,” said -Sanders.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Flower.</div> - -<p>225. “Did ye see the yallow floor -in Bell’s bonnet?” asked the accepted -swain.</p> - -<p>226. “Ay,” said Sanders, reluctantly.</p> - -<p>227. “I’m dootin’—I’m sair dootin’ -she’s but a flichty, licht-hearted crittur -after a’.”</p> - -<p>228. “I had ay my suspeecions -o’t,” said Sanders.</p> - -<p>229. “Ye hae kent her langer than -me,” said Sam’l.</p> - -<p>230. “Yes,” said Sanders, “but -there’s nae gettin’ at the heart o’ -women. Man Sam’l they’re desperate -cunnin’.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span></p> - -<p>231. “I’m dootin’t; I’m sair dootin’t.”</p> - -<p>232. “It’ll be a warnin’ to ye, -Sam’l, no to be in sic a hurry i’ the -futur,” said Sanders.</p> - -<p>233. Sam’l groaned.</p> - -<p>234. “Ye’ll be gaein up to the -manse to arrange wi’ the minister -the morn’s mornin’,” continued Sanders, -in a subdued voice.</p> - -<p>235. Sam’l looked wistfully at his -friend.</p> - -<p>236. “I canna do’t, Sanders,” he -said, “I canna do’t.”</p> - -<p>237. “Ye maun,” said Sanders.</p> - -<p>238. “It’s aisy to speak,” retorted -Sam’l, bitterly.</p> - -<p>239. “We have a’ oor troubles, -Sam’l,” said Sanders, soothingly, -“an’ every man maun bear his ain -burdens. Johnny Davie’s wife’s -dead, an’ he’s no repinin’.”</p> - -<p>240. “Ay,” said Sam’l, “but a -death’s no a mairitch. We hae haen -deaths in our family too.”</p> - -<p>241. “It may a’ be for the best,” -added Sanders, “an’ there wid be a -michty talk i’ the hale country-side -gin ye didna ging to the minister -like a man.”</p> - -<p>242. “I maun hae langer to think -o’t,” said Sam’l.</p> - -<p>243. “Bell’s mairitch is the morn,” -said Sanders, decisively.</p> - -<p>244. Sam’l glanced up with a wild -look in his eyes.</p> - -<p>245. “Sanders,” he cried.</p> - -<p>246. “Sam’l?”</p> - -<p>247. “Ye hae been a guid friend to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span> -me, Sanders, in this sair affliction.”</p> - -<p>248. “Nothing ava,” said Sanders; -“dount mention’d.”</p> - -<p>249. “But, Sanders, ye canna deny -but what your rinnin oot o’ the kirk -that awfu’ day was at the bottom o’d -a’.”</p> - -<p>250. “It was so,” said Sanders, -bravely.</p> - -<p>251. “An’ ye used to be fond o’ -Bell, Sanders.”</p> - -<p>252. “I dinna deny’t.”</p> - -<p>253. “Sanders laddie,” said Sam’l, -bending forward and speaking in a -wheedling voice, “I aye thocht it was -you she likeit.”</p> - -<p>254. “I had some sic idea mysel,” -said Sanders.</p> - -<p>255. “Sanders, I canna think to -pairt twa fowk sae weel suited to -ane anither as you an’ Bell.”</p> - -<p>256. “Canna ye, Sam’l?”</p> - -<p>257. “She wid mak ye a guid wife, -Sanders. I hae studied her weel, and -she’s a thrifty, douce, clever lassie. -Sanders, there’s no the like o’ her. -Mony a time, Sanders, I hae said to -mysel, There’s a lass ony man micht -be prood to tak. A’body says the -same, Sanders. There’s nae risk -ava, man: nane to speak o’. Tak her, -laddie, tak her, Sanders; it’s a grand -chance, Sanders. She’s yours for the -spierin. I’ll gie her up, Sanders.”</p> - -<p>258. “Will ye, though?” said Sanders.</p> - -<p>259. “What d’ye think?” said -Sam’l.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span></p> - -<p>260. “If ye wid rayther,” said Sanders, -politely.</p> - -<p>261. “There’s my han’ on’t,” said -Sam’l. “Bless ye, Sanders; ye’ve -been a true frien’ to me.”</p> - -<p>262. Then they shook hands for -the first time in their lives; and soon -afterwards Sanders struck up the -brae to T’Nowhead.</p> - -<p>263. Next morning Sanders Elshioner, -who had been very busy the -night before, put on his Sabbath -clothes and strolled up to the manse.</p> - -<p>264. “But—but where is Sam’l?” -asked the minister; “I must see himself.”</p> - -<p>265. “It’s a new arrangement,” -said Sanders.</p> - -<p>266. “What do you mean, Sanders?”</p> - -<p>267. “Bell’s to marry me,” explained -Sanders.</p> - -<p>268. “But—but what does Sam’l -say?”</p> - -<p>269. “He’s willin’,” said Sanders.</p> - -<p>270. “And Bell?”</p> - -<p>271. “She’s willin’, too. She prefers’t.”</p> - -<p>272. “It is unusual,” said the -minister.</p> - -<p>273. “It’s a’ richt,” said Sanders.</p> - -<p>274. “Well, you know best,” said -the minister.</p> - -<p>275. “You see the hoose was taen, -at ony rate,” continued Sanders. -“An I’ll juist ging in til’t instead o’ -Sam’l.”</p> - -<p>276. “Quite so.”</p> - - - -<p>277. “An’ I cudna think to disappoint -the lassie.”</p> - -<p>278. “Your sentiments do you -credit, Sanders,” said the minister; -“but I hope you do not enter upon -the blessed state of matrimony without -full consideration of its responsibilities. -It is a serious business, -marriage.”</p> - -<p>279. “It’s a’ that,” said Sanders, -“but I’m willin’ to stan’ the risk.”</p> - -<p>280. So, as soon as it could be -done, Sanders Elshioner took to -wife T’Nowhead’s Bell, and I remember -seeing Sam’l Dickie trying to -dance at the penny wedding.</p> - -<p>281. Years afterwards it was said -in Thrums that Sam’l had treated -Bell badly, but he was never sure -about it himself.</p> - -<p>282. “It was a near thing—a -michty near thing,” he admitted in -the square.</p> - -<p>283. “They say,” some other weaver -would remark, “'at it was you -Bell liked best.”</p> - -<p>284. “I d’na kin,” Sam’l would reply, -“but there’s nae doot the lassie -was fell fond o’ me. Ou, a mere -passin’ fancy’s ye micht say.”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> - -<h3>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY</h3> - -<p>1. In a few sentences, state whether the humor of this story -centers in the central situation, the several incidents, the dialogue, -the character, or in the climax.</p> - -<p>2. If in more than one element, name them in the order of -their interest, or humor, to you.</p> - -<p>3. Does the humor go to the limit of silliness at any point?</p> - -<p>4. Point out any passages which are serio-comic.</p> - -<p>5. Define (a) Farce, (b) Burlesque, (c) Comedy, (d) Wit, -(e) Satire.</p> - -<p>6. Point out passages in this or any other stories which illustrate -the foregoing types.</p> - -<p>7. Name other humorous stories by O. Henry and J. M. -Barrie.</p> - -<p>8. Name the best humorous story you know.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span></p> - - -<h3>TEN REPRESENTATIVE HUMOROUS STORIES</h3> - -<div class="small1"> - -<p>“The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County,” Mark Twain, in -<em>Short Stories and Sketches</em>, Vol. I.</p> - -<p>“Mike Grady’s Safety,” Will Lewis, <em>Everybody’s Magazine</em>, -Aug., 1905.</p> - -<p>“Their First Formal Call,” Grace MacGowan Cooke, in -volume of same title.</p> - -<p>“The Day of the Dog,” George Barr McCutcheon, in -volume of same title.</p> - -<p>“Edgar, the Choir-Boy Uncelestial,” <em>McClure’s Magazine</em>, -Jan., 1902.</p> - -<p>“The Pope’s Mule,” Alphonse Daudet, translated in -<em>Short-Story Masterpieces</em>.</p> - -<p>“Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff,” Bret Harte, <em>Harper’s -Magazine</em>, Mar., 1901.</p> - -<p>“The Phonograph and the Graft,” O. Henry, in <em>Cabbages -and Kings</em>.</p> - -<p>“The King of Boyville,” William Allen White, in <em>Tales -from McClure’s</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Bob-tailed Car,” Brander Matthews, in <em>The Family -Tree</em>.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="footnotes"> -<p class="p2 center big1">FOOTNOTES: </p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="label">[23]</a> Copyright, 1910, by Doubleday, Page and Co., and used by permission.</p> - -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" >V<br /> -STORIES OF SETTING</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center big1"><em>The Outcasts of Poker Flat.</em>—<span class="smcap">Bret Harte</span></p> - -<p class="center big1 p6b"><em>Moonlight.</em>—<span class="smcap">Guy de Maupassant</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span></p> -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="p2">It is the habit of my imagination to strive after as full a vision -of the medium in which a character moves as of the character -itself. The psychological causes which prompted me to give -such details of Florentine life and history as I have given [in -<em>Romola</em>] are precisely the same as those which determined me -in giving the details of English village life in <em>Silas Marner</em> or -the “Dodson” life, out of which were developed the destinies -of poor Tom and Maggie.—<span class="smcap">George Eliot</span>, quoted in her <em>Life</em> by -<span class="smcap">J. W. Cross</span>.</p> -</div> -</div> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span></p> -<h3>STORIES OF SETTING</h3> -</div> - - -<p>“Setting consists of the circumstances, material and -immaterial, in which the characters are seen to move in -the story. Its elements are time, place, occupations, and -(I lack a more expressive word) conditions.”<a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a></p> - -<p>To be classified properly as a story of setting, a narrative -must be more than merely rich in local-color—as -the characteristic environment of a certain district, as set -forth in fiction, is often called. The true story of setting -is one in which the setting has a vital bearing on the -natures or the destinies of the characters. To be sure, -the setting of a story, like the staging of a play, has an -important part in the realistic presentation of the scene, -but setting assumes a predominating part when it actually -moves the characters to certain deciding actions, as do the -snow-storm in “The Outcasts of Poker Flat,” and the -soft light of the moon in “Moonlight.”</p> - -<p>The local-color story is one which could not have been -set elsewhere without vitally changing, that is to say -destroying, the story. For example, Balzac’s “The Unknown -Masterpiece” is set almost entirely in an artist’s -studio. The story would be slain by dragging it away -from that atmosphere. But it is also a story of setting, -because, whatever internal influences also affected the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span>characters, the setting influences their destinies—the -men and the women live lives as determined by their surroundings. -“Mateo Falcone,” too, is a story of setting, -but not primarily so; for while it could have happened -only in Corsica, and the local-color is singularly vivid, it -is primarily a story of human motive and action.</p> - - - -<p>Because of the powerful effect of environment upon -character—in fiction just as in real life—the reader -often judges of coming events by the feeling of the setting. -The stage manager knows this, too, and accompanies, -or even forecasts, a moral crisis by having lights, -music, sounds, and other stage accessories harmonize with -the mood of the actors. Or, contrariwise, the tone of the -piece may best be brought out by a setting in contrast.</p> - -<p>Observe how in the two stories illustrating this type -the authors never draw pictures of costumes and scenery -just for the sake of description, as beginners might do. -The setting, to Harte and Maupassant, is vitally a part -of the story, and any unnecessary detail would mar the -harmony of the whole. Too much were worse than too -little.</p> - -<p>“When the characters live, move, and have their being -in the setting, the result is ‘atmosphere.’ Atmosphere is -thus an effect. It is felt, not seen. <em>Through</em> its medium -the reader must see all the action, yes, all the details of -the story. Atmosphere gives value to the tones of fiction -as in real life it does to landscape. The hills are -actually the same in cloud and in sunshine, but the eye -sees them as different through the mediate atmosphere. -And so setting and characters, perfectly adjusted, make -the reader, that is to say the beholder, see the story in -the very tones the literary artist desires. A story of the -sea has an atmosphere of its own, but the atmosphere -does not consist merely of the accurately colored picture -of sea and strand and sailor and ship and sky. The -whole story is informed with the <em>spirit</em> of the sea—its -tang clings to the garments, its winds breathe through -every passage, its wonderful lights and glooms tone the -whole story. Without it the story would be a poor thing, -bloodless and inert.”<a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span></p> -<h3>HARTE AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> - -<p>Francis Bret Harte was born in Albany, New York, -August 25, 1839, of gentle parents. Abandoning his -common-school education at the age of fifteen, he followed -the lure of the gold craze to California, but neither -teaching nor mining enriched him, so in 1857 he became -a compositor on the <em>Golden Era</em>, San Francisco. He then -edited the <em>Californian</em>, and in 1864 was appointed secretary -of the branch Mint, remaining until 1870. Two -years before, however, he had become editor of the new -<em>Overland Monthly</em>, where some of his best work appeared. -This position did not prove permanent, and even -less so was that of the professorship of “recent literature” -in the University of California, for in 1871 he -removed to New York. In 1878 he became United States -Consul at Crefeld, Germany, and in 1880 was transferred -to Glasgow, Scotland, holding this post until 1885. His -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span>later life was spent chiefly in London, where his brilliant -talents brought him the full recognition of <em>littérateurs</em>. -He died in London, May 6, 1902.</p> - - -<p>Bret Harte was a poet, critic, novelist, and short-story -writer. His novels give him no such claim to fame as -do his other writings. His best-known dialect verses -are “The Society Upon the Stanislaus,” “Jim,” “Dickens -in Camp,” “Dow’s Flat,” and “Plain Language -From Truthful James” (often called “The Heathen -Chinee”). His best sketches and short-stories include -“The Luck of Roaring Camp,” “An Heiress of Red -Dog,” “Miggles,” “Tennessee’s Partner,” “M’liss,” -“The Idyl of Red Gulch,” “Brown of Calaveras,” and -“The Outcasts of Poker Flat”—which was first published -in <em>The Overland Monthly</em>, January, 1869.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>If artistic repression, dramatic feeling, mingled humor -and pathos, deft character drawing, a sure sense of a -“good story,” and the ability to win the reader in spite -of himself—if the certain possession of all these are -marks of fictional genius, surely Bret Harte deserves the -name. For themes, he chose—and doubtless over-colored -at times—the people and the happenings of '49 -during the gold craze, and not a few have charged him -with a fondness for heroes and heroines of undoubted -reputations—for evil. Social outcasts, they say, he -treated too tenderly. But Bret Harte himself effectively -answered this criticism when he said:</p> - -<p>“When it shall be proven to him that communities are -degraded and brought to guilt and crime, suffering or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span> -destitution, from a predominance of this quality [too -much mercy]; when he shall see pardoned ticket-of-leave -men elbowing men of austere lives out of situation and -position, and the repentant Magdalen supplanting the -blameless virgin in society, then he will lay aside his -pen and extend his hand to the new Draconian discipline -in fiction. But until then he will, without claiming to be -a religious man or a moralist, but simply as an artist, -reverently and humbly conform to the rules laid down by -a Great Poet, who created the parable of the ‘Prodigal -Son’ and the ‘Good Samaritan,’ whose works have lasted -eighteen hundred years, and will remain when the present -writer and his generation are forgotten.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>The secret of the American short story is the treatment of -characteristic American life, with absolute knowledge of its -peculiarities and sympathy with its methods; with no fastidious -ignoring of its habitual expression, or the inchoate poetry that -may be found even hidden in its slang; with no moral determination -except that which may be the legitimate outcome of -the story itself; with no more elimination than may be necessary -for the artistic conception, and never from the fear of the fetich -of conventionalism. Of such is the American short story of to-day—the -germ of American literature to come.—<span class="smcap">Bret Harte</span>, -<em>The Rise of the Short Story, Cornhill Magazine</em>, July, 1899.</p> - -<p>He expounds an important half-truth which has been too much -neglected: that as being is greater than seeming, appearances -are often deceitful; under the most repellent exterior a soul of -goodness may exist. But if we study him over much, we may -become victims of the delusion that any person whose dress and -manners are respectable, is, to say the least, a suspicious character, -while drunken and profane ruffians are the saints of the -earth.—<span class="smcap">Walter Lewin</span>, <em>The Abuse of Fiction</em>.</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span></p> - -<p>Mr. Kipling is a great man at sentiment (though we hear -more of his anti-sentimental side), but has he written a child-story -we can remember as long as “The Luck of Roaring Camp,” -or anything we shall remember as long as “The Outcasts of -Poker Flat,” or “Tennessee’s Partner”? These things are not -so exact in their “business” (to borrow a term from still another -art), but, perhaps on that very account, they remain symbols -of the human heart. They have the simplicity of classics, -a simplicity in which all unnecessary subtleties are dissolved.—<span class="smcap">Richard -Le Gallienne</span>, <em>Rudyard Kipling: A Criticism</em>.</p> - -<p>His own style, as finally formed, leaves little to be desired; -it is clear, flexible, virile, laconic and withal graceful. Its full -meaning is given to every word, and occasionally, like all original -masters of prose, he imparts into a familiar word a racier -significance than it had possessed before. His genius is nowhere -more unmistakable than in the handling of his stories, -which is terse to the point of severity, yet wholly adequate; -everything necessary to the matter in hand is told, but with an -economy of word and phrase that betokens a powerful and radical -conception.—<span class="smcap">Julian Hawthorne</span> and <span class="smcap">Leonard Lemmon</span>, -<em>American Literature</em>.</p> - -<p>Tennessee’s Partner, John Oakhurst, Yuba Bill, Kentucky, are -as long-lived, seemingly, as any characters in nineteenth century -fiction.... What gives these characters their lasting power? -Why does that highly melodramatic tragedy in the hills above -Poker Flat, with its stagy reformations, and contrasts of black -sinner and white innocent, hold you spellbound at the thirtieth -as at the first reading? Why does Tennessee’s Partner make -you wish to grasp him by the hand? Bret Harte believed, apparently, -that it was his realism which did it.... But we do -not wait to be told by Californians, who still remember the red-shirt -period, that Roaring Camp is not realism.... Not the -realism, but the idealization, of this life of the Argonauts was -the prize Bret Harte gained.—<span class="smcap">Henry S. Canby</span>, <em>The Short Story -in English</em>. -</p> -</div> - - - - -<p class="p2 big1 center">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON HARTE</p> - -<p><em>Early Recollections of Bret Harte</em>, C. W. Stoddard, -<em>Atlantic Monthly</em>, vol. 78; <em>Bret Harte in California</em>, -Noah Brooks, <em>Century Magazine</em>, vol. 58; <em>American Humor -and Bret Harte</em>, G. K. Chesterton, <em>Critic</em>, vol. 41; -<em>Life of Bret Harte</em>, T. E. Pemberton (1903); <em>Bret Harte</em>, -H. W. Boynton, in <em>Contemporary Men of Letters</em> series -(1905); <em>Life of Bret Harte</em>, H. C. Merwin (1911).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span></p> - -<div class="body1"> -<h3>THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT</h3> - -<p class="big05 center">BY BRET HARTE</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Central character.</div> - -<p>As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, -stepped into the main street of Poker -Flat on the morning of the -twenty-third of November, 1850, he -was conscious of a change in its <span class="sidenote">Crisis at once forecasted.</span> -moral atmosphere since the preceding -night. Two or three men, conversing -earnestly together, ceased as -he approached, and exchanged significant <span class="sidenote">Preliminary setting.</span> -glances. There was a Sabbath -lull in the air, which, in a -settlement unused to Sabbath influences, -looked ominous.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Physical delineation interwoven -with the progress -of the story.</div> - -<p>2. Mr. Oakhurst’s calm, handsome -face betrayed small concern of these -indications. Whether he was conscious -of any predisposing cause, -was another question. “I reckon <span class="sidenote">Summary of tone of the -fundamental situation. -<span class="smcap">Foundation Crisis</span>.</span> -they’re after somebody,” he reflected; -“likely it’s me.” He returned to his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span> -pocket the handkerchief with which -he had been whipping away the red -dust of Poker Flat from his neat -boots, and quietly discharged his -mind of any further conjecture.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Situation explained.</div> - -<p>3. In point of fact, Poker Flat was -“after somebody.” It had lately -suffered the loss of several thousand -dollars, two valuable horses, and a -prominent citizen. It was experiencing -a spasm of virtuous reaction, -quite as lawless and ungovernable as -any of the acts that had provoked it. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Foundation Plot Incident.</span></span> -A secret committee had determined -to rid the town of all improper persons. -This was done permanently in -regard to two men who were then -hanging from the boughs of a sycamore -in the gulch, and temporarily in -the banishment of certain other objectionable -characters. I regret to -say that some of these were ladies.<span class="sidenote">Euphemism.</span> -It is but due to the sex, however, to -state that their impropriety was professional, -and it was only in such -easily established standards of evil -that Poker Flat ventured to sit in -judgment.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the author’s slight -ironic tone, which later -gives way to simple -pathos.</div> - -<p>4. Mr. Oakhurst was right in supposing -that he was included in this -category. A few of the committee -had urged hanging him as a possible -example, and a sure method of -reimbursing themselves from his -pockets of the sums he had won -from them. “It’s agin justice,” said -Jim Wheeler, “to let this yer young -man from Roaring Camp—an entire -stranger—carry away our money.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span> -But a crude sentiment of equity residing -in the breasts of those who had -been fortunate enough to win from -Mr. Oakhurst overruled this narrower -local prejudice.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Character delineation.</div> - -<p>5. Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence -with philosophic calmness, none -the less coolly that he was aware of -the hesitation of his judges. He was -too much of a gambler not to accept -Fate. With him life was at best an -uncertain game, and he recognized -the usual percentage in favor of the -dealer.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">First group of characters.</div> - -<p>6. A body of armed men accompanied -the deported wickedness of -Poker Flat to the outskirts of the -settlement. Besides Mr. Oakhurst, -who was known to be a coolly desperate -man, and for whose intimidation -the armed escort was intended, -the expatriated party consisted of a -young woman familiarly known as -“The Duchess”; another, who had <span class="sidenote">First group of characters.</span> -gained the infelicitous title of “Mother -Shipton”; and “Uncle Billy,” a -suspected sluice-robber and confirmed -drunkard. <span class="sidenote">Climax of first crisis.</span>The cavalcade provoked -no comments from the spectators, -nor was any word uttered by the -escort. <span class="sidenote">End of Introduction and -groundwork.</span>Only, when the gulch which -marked the uttermost limit of Poker -Flat was reached, the leader spoke -briefly and to the point. The exiles -were forbidden to return at the peril -of their lives.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Third Stage of First Plot -Incident.</span><br /> -Is “their” well used?</div> - -<p>7. As the escort disappeared, their -pent-up feelings found vent in a few -hysterical tears from the Duchess,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span> -some bad language from Mother -Shipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives -from Uncle Billy. The philosophic -Oakhurst alone remained -silent. He listened calmly to Mother -Shipton’s desire to cut somebody’s -heart out, to the repeated statements -of the Duchess that she would die in the -road, and to the alarming oaths -that seemed to be bumped out of -Uncle Billy as he rode forward.<span class="sidenote">Paragraph of character delineation.</span> -With the easy good-humor characteristic -of his class, he insisted upon -exchanging his own riding-horse, -“Five Spot,” for the sorry mule -which the Duchess rode. But even -this act did not draw the party into -any closer sympathy. The young -woman readjusted her somewhat -draggled plumes with a feeble, faded -coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed -the possessor of “Five Spot” with -malevolence, and Uncle Billy included -the whole party in one sweeping -anathema.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Second preliminary setting.</div> - - -<p>8. The road to Sandy Bar—a -camp that, not having as yet experienced -the regenerating influences -of Poker Flat, consequently seemed -to offer some invitation to the emigrants—lay -over a steep mountain -range. It was distant a day’s severe -journey. In that advanced season, -the party soon passed out of the -moist, temperate regions of the foothills -into the dry, cold, bracing air -of the Sierras. The trail was narrow -and difficult. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Foundation for Main Crisis.</span></span> At noon the -Duchess, rolling out of her saddle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span> -upon the ground, declared her intention -of going no further, and the -party halted.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Main Setting.</span></div> - -<p>9. The spot was singularly wild -and impressive. A wooded amphitheatre, -surrounded on three sides -by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, -sloped gently toward the crest of -another precipice that overlooked the -valley. It was, undoubtedly, the -most suitable spot for a camp, had -camping been advisable. But Mr. -Oakhurst knew that scarcely half -the journey to Sandy Bar was accomplished, -and the party were not -equipped or provisioned for delay. -This fact he pointed out to his companions -curtly, with a philosophic -commentary on the folly of “throwing -up their hand before the game -was played out.” But they were -furnished with liquor, which in this -emergency stood them in place of -food, fuel, rest, and prescience. In -spite of his remonstrances, it was -not long before they were more or -less under its influence. <span class="sidenote">Character contrasts.</span>Uncle Billy -passed rapidly from a bellicose state -into one of stupor, the Duchess became -maudlin, and Mother Shipton -snored. Mr. Oakhurst alone remained -erect, leaning against a rock, -calmly surveying them.</p> - - -<div class="sidenote">Setting in harmony with -tone of story.</div> - -<p>10. Mr. Oakhurst did not drink. -It interfered with a profession which -required coolness, impassiveness and -presence of mind, and, in his own -language, he “couldn’t afford it.” -As he gazed at his recumbent fellow-exiles,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span> -the loneliness begotten of his -pariah-trade, his habits of life, his -very vices, for the first time seriously -oppressed him. He bestirred himself -in dusting his black clothes, -washing his hands and face, and -other acts characteristic of his -studiously neat habits, and for a -moment forgot his annoyance. The -thought of deserting his weaker and -more pitiable companions never perhaps -occurred to him. Yet he could -not help feeling the want of that excitement -which, singularly enough, -was most conducive to that calm -equanimity for which he was notorious. -He looked at the gloomy walls -that rose a thousand feet sheer above -the circling pines around him; at the -sky, ominously clouded; at the valley -below, already deepening into shadow. -And, doing so, suddenly he -heard his own name called.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Second group of characters.</div> - -<p>11. A horseman slowly ascended -the trail. In the fresh, open face of -the newcomer Mr. Oakhurst recognized -Tom Simson, otherwise known -as “The Innocent” of Sandy Bar. -He had met him some months before -over a “little game,” and had, with -perfect equanimity, won the entire -fortune—amounting to some forty -dollars—of that guileless youth. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Opening of Main Plot -Situation.</span></span> -After the game was finished, Mr. -Oakhurst drew the youthful speculator -behind the door and thus addressed -him: “Tommy, you’re a -good little man, but you can’t gamble -worth a cent. Don’t try it over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span> -again.” He then handed him his -money back, pushed him gently from -the room, and so made a devoted -slave of Tom Simson.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Character Contrasts.</div> - -<p>12. There was a remembrance of -this in his boyish and enthusiastic -greeting of Mr. Oakhurst. He had -started, he said, to go to Poker Flat -to seek his fortune. “Alone?” No, -not exactly alone; in fact (a giggle), -he had run away with Piney Woods. -Didn’t Mr. Oakhurst remember -Piney? She that used to wait on the -table at the Temperance House? -They had been engaged a long time, -but old Jake Woods had objected, -and so they ran away, and were going -to Poker Flat to be married, and -here they were. And they were -tired out, and how lucky it was they -had found a place to camp, and company. -All this the Innocent delivered -rapidly, while Piney, a stout, -comely damsel of fifteen, emerged -from behind the pine-tree, where she -had been blushing unseen, and rode -to the side of her lover.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">First effect of the newcomers -on the tone of the -first group of characters. -This furnishes the <em>motif</em> -for the story.</div> - -<p>13. Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled -himself with sentiment, still less with -propriety; but he had a vague idea -that the situation was not felicitous. -He retained, however, his presence of -mind sufficiently to kick Uncle Billy, -who was about to say something, and -Uncle Billy was sober enough to -recognize in Mr. Oakhurst’s kick a -superior power that would not bear -trifling. He then endeavored to dissuade -Tom Simson from delaying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span> -further, but in vain. He even pointed -out the fact that there was no -provision, nor means of making a -camp. But, unluckily, the Innocent -met this objection by assuring the -party that he was provided with an -extra mule loaded with provisions, -and by the discovery of a rude attempt -at a log-house near the trail. -“Piney can stay with Mrs. Oakhurst,” -said the Innocent, pointing -to the Duchess, “and I can shift for -myself.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Further effect.</div> - - -<p id="par14">14. Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst’s -admonishing foot saved Uncle Billy -from bursting into a roar of laughter. -As it was, he felt compelled to retire -up the cañon until he could recover -his gravity. There he confided the -joke to the tall pine-trees, with many -slaps of his leg, contortions of his -face, and the usual profanity. But -when he returned to the party, he -found them seated by a fire—for the -air had grown strangely chill and the -sky overcast—in apparently amicable -conversation. Piney was actually -talking in an impulsive, girlish -fashion to the Duchess, who was -listening with an interest and animation -she had not shown for many -days. The Innocent was holding -forth, apparently with equal effect, to -Mr. Oakhurst and Mother Shipton, -who was actually relaxing into -amiability. “Is this yer a d—d -picnic?” said Uncle Billy, with inward -scorn, as he surveyed the -sylvan group, the glancing firelight,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span> -and the tethered animals in the foreground.<span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Foundation for Main Crisis—not -yet apparent.</span></span> -Suddenly an idea mingled -with the alcoholic fumes that disturbed -his brain. It was apparently -of a jocular nature, for he felt impelled -to slap his leg again and cram -his fist into his mouth.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Local color.</div> - -<p>15. As the shadows crept slowly -up the mountain, a slight breeze -rocked the tops of the pine-trees, and -moaned through their long and -gloomy aisles. The ruined cabin, -patched and covered with pine-boughs, -was set apart for the ladies. -As the lovers parted, they unaffectedly -exchanged a parting kiss, so honest -and sincere that it might have been -heard above the swaying pines. The -frail Duchess and the malevolent -Mother Shipton were probably too -stunned to remark upon this last evidence -of simplicity, and so turned -without a word to the hut. The fire -was replenished, the men lay down -before the door, and in a few minutes -were asleep.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Change—approach of main -crisis.</div> - -<p>16. Mr. Oakhurst was a light sleeper. -Toward morning he awoke benumbed -and cold. As he stirred the -dying fire, the wind, which was now -blowing strongly, brought to his -cheek that which caused the blood to -leave it—snow!</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Forecasted in <a href="#par14">¶14</a>.</div> - -<p>17. He started to his feet with the -intention of awakening the sleepers, -for there was no time to lose. But -turning to where Uncle Billy had -been lying, he found him gone. A -suspicion leaped to his brain and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span> -curse to his lips. He ran to the spot -where the mules had been tethered; -they were no longer there. The -tracks were already rapidly disappearing -in the snow.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Tone of character.</div> - - -<p>18. The momentary excitement -brought Mr. Oakhurst back to the -fire with his usual calm. He did not -waken the sleepers. The Innocent -slumbered peacefully, with a smile on -his good-humored, freckled face; the -virgin Piney slept beside her frailer <span class="sidenote">Contrast with crisis. -Note casual physical description.</span> -sisters as sweetly as though attended -by celestial guardians, and Mr. Oakhurst, -drawing his blanket over his -shoulders, stroked his mustaches and -waited for the dawn. It came slowly <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Main Plot Incident</span>—What -follows is its outgrowth.</span> -in a whirling mist of snow-flakes, -that dazzled and confused the eye. -What could be seen of the landscape -appeared magically changed.<span class="sidenote">Crisis acute.</span> - He -looked over the valley, and summoned -up the present and future in two -words,—“snowed in!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">As the story progresses note -how the physical crises -and the moral crises keep -pace.</div> - -<p>19. A careful inventory of the -provisions, which, fortunately for the -party, had been stored within the -hut, and so escaped the felonious -fingers of Uncle Billy, disclosed the -fact that with care and prudence they -might last ten days longer. “That -is,” said Mr. Oakhurst, <em>sotto voce</em> to -the Innocent, “if you’re willing to -board us. If you ain’t—and perhaps -you’d better not—you can wait till -Uncle Billy gets back with provisions.” -For some occult reason, Mr. -Oakhurst could not bring himself to -disclose Uncle Billy’s rascality, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span> -so offered the hypothesis that he had -wandered from the camp and had accidentally -stampeded the animals. -He dropped a warning to the -Duchess and Mother Shipton, who of -course knew the facts of their associate’s -defection. “They’ll find out -the truth about us <em>all</em> when they find -out anything,” he added, significantly, -“and there’s no good frightening -them now.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Lull in crisis.</div> - -<p>20. Tom Simson not only put all -his worldly store at the disposal of -Mr. Oakhurst, but seemed to enjoy -the prospect of their enforced seclusion. -“We’ll have a good camp for -a week, and then the snow’ll melt, -and we’ll all go back together.” The <span class="sidenote">From this point the story -develops gradually and by -closely knit incidents in -direct succession, all -growing out of the setting, -which furnishes the -physical crisis.</span> -cheerful gayety of the young man, -and Mr. Oakhurst’s calm infected -the others. The Innocent, with the -aid of pine-boughs, extemporized a -thatch for the roofless cabin, and the -Duchess directed Piney in the rearrangement -of the interior with a -taste and tact that opened the blue -eyes of that provincial maiden to -their fullest extent. “I reckon now -you’re used to fine things at Poker -Flat,” said Piney. The Duchess -turned away sharply to conceal -something that reddened her cheek -through its professional tint, and -Mother Shipton requested Piney not -to “chatter.” <span class="sidenote">Pseudo crisis.</span>But when Mr. Oakhurst -returned from a weary search -for the trail, he heard the sound of -happy laughter echoed from the -rocks. He stopped in some alarm,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span> -and his thoughts first naturally -reverted to the whiskey, which he -had prudently <em>cachéd</em>. “And yet it -don’t somehow sound like whiskey,” -said the gambler. <span class="sidenote">Resolution of pseudo crisis.</span>It was not until -he caught sight of the blazing fire -through the still blinding storm and -the group around it that he settled to -the conviction that it was “square -fun.”</p> - - -<p>21. Whether Mr. Oakhurst had -<em>cachéd</em> his cards with the whiskey as -something debarred the free access -of the community, I cannot say. <span class="sidenote">Contrast with the actual -danger.</span> It -was certain that, in Mother Shipton’s -words, he “didn’t say cards -once” during the evening. Haply the -time was beguiled by an accordion, -produced somewhat ostentatiously by -Tom Simson from his pack. Notwithstanding -some difficulties attending -the manipulation of his instrument, <span class="sidenote">Contrast is the author’s -main reliance in this -story.</span> -Piney Woods managed to -pluck several reluctant melodies from -its keys, to an accompaniment by the -Innocent on a pair of bone castanets. -But the crowning festivity of the -evening was reached in a rude camp-meeting <span class="sidenote">Contrast with character-habits. -A hint of character -change.</span> -hymn, which the lovers, joining -hands, sang with great earnestness -and vociferation. I fear that a -certain defiant tone and Covenanter’s -swing to its chorus, <span class="sidenote">Is “Covenanter’s” well -used?</span> rather than any -devotional quality, caused it speedily -to infect the others, who at last joined -in the refrain:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container p11 pw20"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1">“I’m proud to live in the service of the Lord,<br /> -And I’m bound to die in His army.”</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span></p> - -<p>22. The pines rocked, the storm -eddied and whirled above the miserable -group, and the flames of their -altar leaped heavenward, as if in -token of the vow.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Hope.</div> - -<p>23. At midnight the storm abated, -the rolling clouds parted, and the -stars glittered keenly above the sleeping -camp. Mr. Oakhurst, whose professional -habits had enabled him to -live on the smallest possible amount -of sleep, in dividing the watch with -Tom Simson, somehow managed to -take upon himself the greater part of -that duty. <span class="sidenote">Character revelation.</span>He excused himself to -the Innocent, by saying that he had -“often been a week without sleep.” -“Doing what?” asked Tom. “Poker!” -replied Oakhurst, sententiously; -“when a man gets a streak of luck,—nigger-luck,—he -don’t get tired. -The luck gives in first. Luck,” continued -the gambler, reflectively, “is -a mighty queer thing. All you know -about it for certain is that it’s bound -to change. And it’s finding out when -it’s going to change that makes you. -We’ve had a streak of bad luck since -we left Poker Flat,—you come along, -and slap you get into it, too. If you -can hold your cards right along, -you’re all right. For,” added the -gambler, with cheerful irrelevance:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container p11 pw20"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1">“‘I’m proud to live in the service of the Lord,<br /> -And I’m bound to die in His army’.”</p> -</div> -</div> - - -<div class="sidenote">Note the union of setting -with the progress of the -story.</div> - - -<p>24. The third day came, and the -sun, looking through the white-curtained<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span> -valley, saw the outcasts -divide their slowly decreasing store -of provisions for the morning meal. -It was one of the peculiarities of that -mountain climate that its rays diffused -a kindly warmth over the wintry -landscape, as if in regretful commiseration -of the past. <span class="sidenote">Contrast.</span>But it revealed -drift on drift of snow piled high -around the hut,—a hopeless, uncharted, -trackless sea of white lying below -the rocky shores to which the cast-aways -still clung. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Key to Setting</span>.</span>Through the -marvellously clear air the smoke of -the pastoral village of Poker Flat -rose miles away. Mother Shipton -saw it, and from a remote pinnacle -of her rocky fastness, hurled in that -direction a final malediction. <span class="sidenote">Character change—a key -passage.</span>It was -her last vituperative attempt, and -perhaps for that reason was invested -with a certain degree of sublimity. -It did her good, she privately informed -the Duchess. “Just you go -out there and cuss, and see.” <span class="sidenote">Contributory incident.</span>She -then set herself to the task of amusing -“the child,” as she and the -Duchess were pleased to call Piney. -Piney was no chicken, but it was a -soothing and ingenious theory of the -pair thus to account for the fact that -she didn’t swear and wasn’t improper.</p> - - - -<p>25. When night crept up again -through the gorges, the reedy notes -of the accordion rose and fell in fitful -spasms and long-drawn gasps by -the flickering camp-fire. But music -failed to fill entirely the aching void<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span> -left by insufficient food, and a new -diversion was proposed by Piney,—story-telling. -Neither Mr. Oakhurst -nor his female companions caring to -relate their personal experiences, this -plan would have failed, too, but for -the Innocent. Some months before -he had chanced upon a stray copy of -Mr. Pope’s ingenious translation of -the Iliad. <span class="sidenote">Developing or contributory -incident.</span>He now proposed to narrate -the principal incidents of that -poem—having thoroughly mastered -the argument and fairly forgotten the -words—in the current vernacular of -Sandy Bar. And so for the rest of -that night the Homeric demigods -again walked the earth. Trojan -bully and wily Greek wrestled in the -winds, and the great pines in the -cañon seemed to bow to the wrath -of the son of Peleus. Mr. Oakhurst -listened with quiet satisfaction. -Most especially was he interested in -the fate of “Ash-heels,” as the Innocent -persisted in denominating the -“swift-footed Achilles.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note upward and downward -movement—alternations -of hope and despair, but a -gradual deepening of the -crisis.<br /> -Note the contrast between -the epithet “outcasts” -and the feeling with -which they are now invested.</div> - -<p>26. So with small food and much -of Homer and the accordion, a week -passed over the heads of the outcasts. -The sun again forsook them, and -again from leaden skies the snow-flakes -were sifted over the land. Day -by day closer around them drew the -snowy circle, until at last they looked -from their prison over drifted -walls of dazzling white, that towered -twenty feet above their heads. -It became more and more difficult to -replenish their fires, even from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span> -fallen trees beside them, now half -hidden in the drifts. And yet no one -complained. The lovers turned from -the dreary prospect and looked into -each other’s eyes, and were happy. <span class="sidenote">Character progress.</span> -Mr. Oakhurst settled himself coolly -to the losing game before him. The -Duchess, more cheerful than she had -been, assumed the care of Piney.<span class="sidenote">Hint of later character revelation.</span> -Only Mother Shipton—once the -strongest of the party—seemed to -sicken and fade. At midnight on the -tenth day she called Oakhurst to her -side. “I’m going,” she said, in a -voice of querulous weakness, “but -don’t say anything about it. Don’t -waken the kids. Take the bundle -from under my head and open it.” -Mr. Oakhurst did so. It contained -Mother Shipton’s rations for the last -week, untouched. “Give ’em to the -child,” she said, pointing to the sleeping -Piney. “You’ve starved yourself,” -said the gambler. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">First Character Climax.</span></span>“That’s -what they call it,” said the woman, -querulously, as she lay down again, -and, turning her face to the wall, -passed quietly away.</p> - - -<p>27. The accordion and the bones -were put aside that day, and Homer -was forgotten. When the body of -Mother Shipton had been committed -to the snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the -Innocent aside, and showed him a -pair of snow-shoes, which he had -fashioned from the old pack-saddle.<span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Plot Incident.</span></span> -“There’s one chance in a hundred to -save her yet,” he said, pointing to -Piney; “but it’s there,” he added,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span> -pointing toward Poker Flat. “If you -can reach there in two days she’s -safe.” “And you?” asked Tom -Simson. “I’ll stay here,” was the -curt reply.</p> - - -<p>28. The lovers parted with a long -embrace. “You are not going, too?” -said the Duchess, as she saw Mr. -Oakhurst apparently waiting to accompany -him. <span class="sidenote">Preparation for climax.</span>“As far as the cañon,” -he replied. He turned suddenly, -and kissed the Duchess, leaving her -pallid face aflame, and her trembling -limbs rigid with amazement.</p> - -<p>29. Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst. -It brought the storm again -and the whirling snow. Then the -Duchess, feeding the fire, found that -some one had quietly piled beside -the hut enough fuel to last a few days -longer. The tears rose to her eyes, -but she hid them from Piney.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Characters in full change.</div> - -<p>30. The women slept but little. In -the morning, looking into each other’s -faces, they read their fate. Neither -spoke; but Piney, accepting the position -of the stronger, drew near and -placed her arm around the Duchess’s - -<span class="sidenote">Note the repression of -this entire climax. Simple, -quiet sentences are -enough.</span> - -waist. They kept this attitude -for the rest of the day. That night -the storm reached its greatest fury, -and, rending asunder the protecting -pines, invaded the very hut.</p> - - - -<p>31. Toward morning they found -themselves unable to feed the fire, -which gradually died away. As the -embers slowly blackened, the Duchess -crept closer to Piney, and broke -the silence of many hours: “Piney,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span> -can you pray?”<span class="sidenote">No melodrama here.</span> “No, dear,” said -Piney, simply. The Duchess, without -knowing exactly why, felt relieved, -and putting her head upon -Piney’s shoulder, spoke no more.<span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Second Character Climax.</span></span> -And so reclining, the younger and -purer pillowing the head of her soiled -sister upon her virgin breast, they -fell asleep.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Local color in harmony with -spirit of story.</div> - -<p>32. The wind lulled as if it feared -to waken them. Feathery drifts of -snow, shaken from the long pine-boughs, -flew like white-winged birds, -and settled about them as they slept. -The moon through the rifted clouds -looked down upon what had been -the camp. <span class="sidenote">Symbolism of physical nature.</span>But all human stain, all -trace of earthly travail, was hidden -beneath the spotless mantle mercifully -flung from above.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Poetic euphemism.</div> - -<p>33. They slept all that day and the -next, nor did they waken when voices -and footsteps broke the silence of -the camp. And when pitying fingers -brushed the snow from their wan -faces, you could scarcely have told -from the equal peace that dwelt upon -them, which was she that had sinned. -Even the law of Poker Flat recognized -this, and turned away, leaving -them still locked in each other’s -arms.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Main Character Climax, -and Denouement.</span></div> - -<p>34. But at the head of the gulch, -on one of the largest pine-trees, they -found the deuce of clubs pinned to -the bark with a bowie-knife. It bore -the following, written in pencil, in -a firm hand:—</p> - - -<div class="box1"><p class="center p1"> -<small>BENEATH THIS TREE<br /> -LIES THE BODY<br /> -OF</small><br /> -JOHN OAKHURST,<br /> -<small>WHO STRUCK A STREAK OF BAD LUCK<br /> -ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER, 1850,<br /> -AND<br /> -HANDED IN HIS CHECKS<br /> -ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1850.</small></p> -</div> - - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Swift Conclusion.</span></div> - -<p class="p1">And pulseless and cold, with a derringer -by his side and a bullet in his -heart, though still calm as in life, beneath -the snow lay he who was at -once the strongest and yet the weakest -of the outcasts of Poker Flat.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span></p> -<h3>MAUPASSANT AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> - -<p>Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant was born in -Normandy, France, in 1850. In that picturesque region -he passed his youth, and returned thither for frequent -sojourns in later life. Having finished his studies, he -became an employé in the government service in Paris. -This experience, his love for athletics, and his recollections -of the Franco-Prussian war, he turned to good -account in his fictional work. His literary education was -conducted by Gustave Flaubert, his uncle and god-father, -under whom he served so rigid an apprenticeship that -when he produced his first short-story, “Tallow Ball” -(<em>Boule de Suif</em>), his preceptor pronounced it a masterpiece, -as indeed it is. He died in 1893, at the age of -43, by his own hand, his reason having failed after some -years of increasing depression and gloom.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span></p> - -<p>Though his productive period covered only ten years, -Guy de Maupassant has left several notable novels, some -fair poetry, and a large number of remarkable short-stories. -Most of his work deals more frankly with the -sordid side of life than American society approves, but -many of his short-stories are unexceptionable. Among -the best of these are “The Necklace,” “The Horla,” -“Happiness,” “Vain Beauty,” “A Coward,” “A Ghost,” -“Little Soldier,” “The Wolf,” “Moonlight,” and “The -Piece of String.”</p> - -<p>Technically, Maupassant was the most finished short-story -writer of all; but he lacked spiritual power, and so -he himself missed much of the world’s beauty, and disclosed -but little to others. Rarely can the reader feel the -least throb of sympathy of the author for his characters. -Technically flawless, his work is too often cold, and the -warm ideals of a tender heart are chiefly absent. An -inflexible realist, he pressed his method farther than did -Flaubert, a really strong novelist. From life’s raw materials -Maupassant wove incomparably brilliant fiction-fabrics, -equally distinguished for plot, characterization, -and style; but it cannot be said that he interpreted life -with a wholesome, uplifting spirit.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Happy are they whom life satisfies, who can amuse themselves, -and be content ... who have not discovered, with a vast disgust, -... that all things are a weariness.—<span class="smcap">Guy de Maupassant.</span></p> - -<p>He who destroys the ideal destroys himself. In art and in -life Maupassant lived in the lower order of facts, the brutal -world of events unrelated to a spiritual order. He drained his -senses of the last power of sensation and reaction; he plunged<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span> -headlong into the sensual life upon which they opened when -the luminous heaven above the material world was obliterated. -Madness always lies that way as a matter of physiology as well -as of morals, and Maupassant went the tragic way of the sensualist -since time began.—<span class="smcap">Hamilton W. Mabie</span>, in <em>The Outlook</em>.</p> - - -<p>Maupassant saw life with his senses, and he reflected on it in -a purely animal revolt, the recoil of the hurt animal. His observation -is not, as it has been hastily assumed to be, cold; it is -as superficially emotional as that of the average sensual man, -and its cynicism is only another, not less superficial, kind of feeling. -He saw life in all its details, and his soul was entangled -in the details. He saw it without order, without recompense, -without pity; he saw it too clearly to be duped by appearances, -and too narrowly to distinguish any light beyond what seemed -to him the enclosing bounds of darkness.—<span class="smcap">Arthur Symons</span>, -<em>Studies in Prose and Verse</em>.</p> - -<p>He has produced a hundred short tales and only four regular -novels; but if the tales deserve the first place in any candid -appreciation of his talent it is not simply because they are so -much the more numerous: they are also more characteristic; -they represent him best in his originality, and their brevity, extreme -in some cases, does not prevent them from being a collection -of masterpieces.... What they have most in common -is their being extremely strong, and after that their being extremely -brutal.... M. de Maupassant sees human life as a -terribly ugly business relieved by the comical, but even the -comedy is for the most part the comedy of misery, of avidity, -of ignorance, helplessness, and grossness.—<span class="smcap">Henry James</span>, <em>Partial -Portraits</em>.</p> - - -<p>His short-stories are masterpieces of the art of story-telling, -because he had a Greek sense of form, a Latin power of construction, -and a French felicity of style. They are simple, most -of them; direct, swift, inevitable, and inexorable in their straightforward -movement. If art consists in the suppression of non-essentials, -there have been few greater artists in fiction than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span> -Maupassant. In his Short-stories there is never a word wasted, -and there is never an excursus. Nor is there any feebleness or -fumbling. What he wanted to do he did, with the unerring -certainty of Leatherstocking, hitting the bull’s-eye again and -again. He had the abundance and the ease of the very great -artists; and the half-dozen or the half-score of his best stories -are among the very best Short-stories in any language.—<span class="smcap">Brander -Matthews</span>, <em>The Philosophy of the Short-Story</em>.</p> - -<p>His firm, alert prose is so profoundly French, free from neologisms, -strong in verbs, sober in adjectives, every sentence standing -out with no apparent effort, no excess, like a muscle in the -perfect body of a young athlete.... He has that sense of the -real which so many naturalists lack, and which the care for -exact detail does not replace.... His predilection for ordinary -scenes and ordinary types is everywhere evident; he uses all -kinds of settings,—a café, a furnished room, a farmyard, seen -in their actual character without poetic transfiguration, with all -their vulgarity, their poverty, their ugliness. And he uses, too, -all kinds of characters,—clerks, peasants of Normandy, petty -bourgeois of Paris and of the country. They live the empty, -tragic, or grotesque hours of their lives; are sometimes touching, -sometimes odious; and never achieve greatness either in heroism -or in wickedness.</p> - -<p>They are not gay, these stories; and the kind of amusement -they afford is strongly mixed with irony, pity, and contempt. -Gayety, whether brutal, frank, mocking, or delicate, never leaves -this bitter taste in the heart. How pitiful in its folly, in its -vanity, in its weakness, is the humanity which loves, weeps, or -agitates in the tales of Maupassant! There, virtue if awkward -is never recompensed, nor vice if skillful punished; mothers are -not always saints, nor sons always grateful and respectful; the -guilty are often ignorant of remorse. Then are these beings -immoral? To tell the truth, they are guided by their instincts, -by events, submissive to the laws of necessity, and apparently -released by the author from all responsibility.—<span class="smcap">Firmin Roz</span>, -<em>Guy de Maupassant</em>, in <span class="smcap">Warner’s</span> <em>Library of the World’s Best -Literature</em>.</p> -</div> - - - - -<p class="p2 big1 center">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON -MAUPASSANT</p> - -<p><em>French Fiction of To-day</em>, M. S. Van de Velde (1891); -<em>Some French Writers</em>, Edward Delille (1893); <em>Studies -in Two Literatures</em>, Arthur Symons (1897); <em>French -Literature of To-day</em>, Yetta Blaze de Bury (1898); <em>A -Century of French Fiction</em>, Benjamin W. Wells (1898); -<em>Contemporary French Novelists</em>, René Doumic (1899).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span></p> - -<div class="body1"> -<p class="p2 center">FOR ANALYSIS</p> - -<h3>MOONLIGHT</h3> - -<p class="p2 small1 center">(CLAIR DE LUNE)</p> - -<p class="big05 center">BY GUY DE MAUPASSANT</p> - -<p class="center"><em>Translation by The Editor</em><a id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a></p> - -<p>The Abbé Marignan bore well his -title of Soldier of the Church. He -was a tall priest, and spare; fanatical, -perpetually in a state of spiritual exaltation, -but upright of soul. His -every belief was settled, without even -a thought of wavering. He imagined -sincerely that he understood -his God thoroughly, that he penetrated -His designs, His will, His -purposes.</p> - -<p>2. As with long strides he promenaded -the garden walk of his little -country presbytery, sometimes a question -would arise in his mind: “Why -did God create that?” And, mentally -taking the place of God, he -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span>searched obstinately for the answer—and -nearly always found it. It -would not have been like him to murmur, -in an outburst of pious humility: -“O Lord, thy designs are impenetrable!” -Rather might he say to himself: -“I am the servant of God; I -ought to know the reasons for what -He does, or, if I know them not, I -ought to divine them.”</p> - -<p>3. To him all nature seemed created -with a logic as absolute as it was admirable. -The “wherefore” and the -“because” always corresponded perfectly. -Dawn was made to gladden -our waking, the day to ripen the -crops, the rain to water them, the -evening to prepare for slumber, and -the night was darkened for sleep.</p> - -<p>4. The four seasons met perfectly -all the needs of agriculture; and to -the priest it was quite inconceivable -that nature had no designs, and that, -on the contrary, all living things were -subjects of the same inexorable laws -of period, climate, and matter.</p> - -<p>5. But he did hate woman! He -hated her unconscionably, and by instinct -held her in contempt. Often -did he repeat the words of Christ, -“Woman, what have I to do with -thee?” And he would add, “One -might think that God Himself did -not feel quite content with this one -work of his hands!” To him, indeed, -woman was the child twelve -times unclean of whom the poet -speaks. She was the temptress who -had ensnared the first man, and who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span> -constantly kept up her work of damnation—she -was a feeble, dangerous, -and mysteriously troublous creature. -And even more than her accursed -body did he hate her loving spirit.</p> - -<p>6. He had often felt that women -were regarding him tenderly, and -even though he knew himself to be -invulnerable, it exasperated him to -recognize that need for loving which -fluttered ever-present in their hearts.</p> - -<p>7. In his opinion, God had created -woman only to tempt man and to test -him. She should never be even approached -without those defensive -measures which one would take, and -those fears which one would harbor, -when nearing a trap. In fact, she -was precisely like a trap, with her -lips open and arms extended towards -man.</p> - -<p>8. Only toward nuns did he exercise -any indulgence, for they were rendered -harmless by their vow. But -he treated them harshly just the same, -because, ever-living in the depths of -their pent-up and humble hearts, he -discerned that everlasting tenderness -which constantly surged up toward -him, priest though he was.</p> - -<p>9. Of all this he was conscious in -their upturned glances, more limpid -with pious feeling than the looks of -monks; in the spiritual exaltations in -which their sex indulged; in their -ecstasies of love toward Christ, -which made the priest indignant because -it was really woman’s love, -carnal love. Of this detestable tenderness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span> -he was conscious, too, in -their very docility, in the gentleness -of their voices when they addressed -him, in their downcast eyes, and in -their submissive tears when he rudely -rebuked them.</p> - -<p>10. So he would shake his cassock -when he left the convent door, and -stride off, stretching his legs as if -fleeing before some danger.</p> - -<p>11. Now the abbé had a niece who -lived with her mother in a little -house near by. He was determined -to make of her a sister of charity.</p> - -<p>12. She was pretty, giddy, and a -born tease. When he preached at her, -she laughed; and when he became -angry with her, she kissed him vehemently, -pressing him to her bosom, -while he would instinctively seek to -disengage himself from this embrace—which, -all the same, gave him a -thrill of exquisite joy, awaking deep -within his soul that feeling of fatherhood -which slumbers in every man.</p> - -<p>13. Often as they walked together -along the foot-paths through the -fields, he would talk with her of -God, of his God; but she scarcely -heard him, for she was looking at -the sky, the grass, the flowers, with -a joy of life which beamed from her -eyes. Sometimes she would dart -away to catch some flying creature, -crying as she brought it back: “See, -my uncle, how pretty it is; I should -like to kiss it.” And that passion to -kiss insects, or lilac flowers, disturbed, -irritated, and repelled the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span> -priest, who recognized even in that -longing the ineradicable love which -blooms perennial in the heart of -woman.</p> - -<p>14. And now one day the sacristan’s -wife, who was the Abbé Marignan’s -housekeeper, cautiously told him that -his niece had a lover!</p> - -<p>15. He was dreadfully shocked, and -stood gasping for breath, lather all -over his face, for he was shaving.</p> - -<p>16. When at length he was able to -think and speak, he cried: “It is not -true. You are lying, Mélanie!”</p> - -<p>17. But the peasant woman laid her -hand over her heart: “May our -Lord judge me if I am lying, <em>monsieur -le curé</em>. I tell you she goes out -to meet him every night as soon as -your sister is in bed. They meet each -other down by the river. You need -only go there between ten o’clock and -midnight to see for yourself.”</p> - -<p>18. He stopped rubbing his chin -and began pacing the room violently, -as was his custom in times of serious -thought. When at length he did try -to finish his shaving he cut himself -three times, from nose to ear.</p> - -<p>19. All day long he was silent, -though almost exploding with indignation -and wrath. To his priestly -rage against the power of love was -now added the indignation of a spiritual -father, of a teacher, of the guardian -of souls, who has been deceived, -robbed, and trifled with by a mere -child. He felt that egotistical suffocation -which parents experience<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span> -when their daughter tells them that -she has selected a husband without -their advice and in defiance of their -wishes.</p> - -<p>20. After dinner he tried to read a -little, but he could not—he grew -more and more exasperated. When -the clock struck ten, he grasped his -cane, a formidable oaken club which -he always carried when he went out -at night to visit the sick. With a -smile he examined this huge cudgel, -gripped it in his solid, countryman’s -fist, and flourished it menacingly in -the air. Then, suddenly, with grinding -teeth, he brought it down upon -a chair-back, which fell splintered to -the floor.</p> - -<p>21. He opened his door to go out; -but paused upon the threshold, surprised -by such a glory of moonlight -as one rarely sees.</p> - -<p>22. And as he was endowed with -an exalted soul of such a sort as the -Fathers of the Church, those poetic -seers, must have possessed, he became -suddenly entranced, moved by the -grand and tranquil beauty of the pale-faced -night.</p> - -<p>23. In his little garden, all suffused -with the tender radiance, his fruit-trees, -set in rows, outlined in shadows -upon the paths their slender limbs of -wood, scarce clothed with verdure. -The giant honeysuckle, clinging to the -house wall, exhaled its delicious, -honeyed breath—the soul of perfume -seemed to hover about in the warm, -clear night.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span></p> - -<p>24. He began to breathe deep, -drinking in the air as drunkards drink -their wine; and he walked slowly, -ravished, amazed, his niece almost -forgotten.</p> - -<p>25. When he reached the open -country he paused to gaze upon the -broad sweep of landscape, all deluged -by that caressing radiance, all -drowned in that soft and sensuous -charm of peaceful night. Momently -the frogs sounded out their quick -metallic notes, and distant nightingales -added to the seductive moonlight -their welling music, which -charms to dreams without thought—that -gossamer, vibrant melody -born only to mate with kisses.</p> - -<p>26. The Abbé moved again, his -courage unaccountably failing. He -felt as though he were enfeebled, -suddenly exhausted—he longed to -sit down, to linger there, to glorify -God for all His works.</p> - -<p>27. A little farther on, following -the winding of the little river, curved -a row of tall poplars. Suspended -about and above the banks, enwrapping -the whole sinuous course of the -stream with a sort of light, transparent -down, was a fine white mist, -shot through by the moon-rays, and -transmuted by them into gleaming -silver.</p> - -<p>28. The priest paused once again, -stirred to the deeps of his soul by a -growing, an irresistible feeling of -tenderness.</p> - -<p>29. And a doubt, an undefined disquietude,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span> -crept over him; he discerned -the birth of one of those questions -which now and again came to -him.</p> - -<p>30. Why had God made all this? -Since the night was ordained for -slumber, for unconsciousness, for repose, -for forgetfulness of everything, -why should He make it lovelier than -the day, sweeter than dawn and sunset? -And that star, slow-moving, -seductive, more poetic than the sun, -so like to destiny, and so delicate -that seemingly it was created to irradiate -things too subtle, too refined, -for the greater orb—why was -it come to illumine all the shades?</p> - -<p>31. Why did not the most accomplished -of all singing birds repose -now like the others, but sing in the -unquiet dark?</p> - -<p>32. Why was this semi-veil cast -over the world? Why this sighing -of the heart, this tumult of the soul, -this languor of the flesh?</p> - -<p>33. Why this show of charms, -never seen by men because they are -asleep? For whose eyes was all this -sublime spectacle designed, all this -wealth of poetic loveliness diffused -from heaven over the earth?</p> - -<p>34. And the Abbé did not understand -it at all.</p> - -<p>35. But there below, at the very -edge of the field, under the arching -trees wet with luminous mist, two -shadows appeared, walking side by -side.</p> - -<p>36. The man was the taller, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span> -had his arm about his sweetheart’s -neck; and from time to time he bent -to kiss her forehead. They animated -suddenly the lifeless landscape, -which enveloped their figures like a -divine frame fashioned expressly for -them. They seemed, those two, like -a single being, the being for whom -was created this tranquil, silent -night. Like a living answer, the answer -which his Master had sent to -his question, they moved toward the -priest.</p> - -<p>37. Overwhelmed, his heart throbbing, -he stood still, and it seemed -as though there spread before him -some Biblical scene, like the loves -of Ruth and Boaz, the working out -of the Lord’s will in one of those -majestic dramas set forth in the -lives of the saints. The verses of -the Song of Songs, the ardent cries, -the call of the body—all the glowing -romance of that poem so aflame -with tenderness and love, began to -sing itself into his mind.</p> - -<p>38. And he said to himself: -“Perhaps God made nights such as -this in order to cast the veil of the -ideal over the loves of men.”</p> - -<p>39. He withdrew before this pair, -who went on arm in arm. True, -it was his niece; but now he asked -himself if he had not been upon the -verge of disobeying God. And, indeed, -if God did not permit love, why -did he visibly encompass it with glory -such as this?</p> - -<p>40. And he fled, bewildered, almost -ashamed, as if he had penetrated -in a temple wherein he had -no right to enter.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span></p> - -<h3>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY</h3> - -<p>1. Precisely why do our surroundings affect our moods and -actions? Give examples from your own experience.</p> - -<p>2. Which seems to you to be the more frequent in fiction: harmony, -or contrast of character with setting?</p> - -<p>3. Which seems to you to be the more effective? Why?</p> - -<p>4. Outline the motives which actuated at least three of the -characters in “The Outcasts of Poker Flat.”</p> - -<p>5. Is the story overdrawn?</p> - -<p>6. Is the influence of the moonlight enough to account for -the change in the priest in “Moonlight,” or must we allow something -for romance?</p> - -<p>7. Trace the several physical crises of Harte’s story from the -very beginning.</p> - -<p>8. Do the same for the moral crises.</p> - -<p>9. Show their inter-relation.</p> - -<p>10. Select from a magazine a story in which setting influences -in some way the actions of the characters, and point out precisely -how.</p> - - -<h3>TEN REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF SETTING</h3> - -<div class="small1"> - -<p>“A Leaf in the Storm,” Ouida, in <em>Stories by English -Authors</em>.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Knollys,” F. J. Stimson, <em>Century Magazine</em>, Nov., -1883.</p> - -<p>“Up the Coulée,” Hamlin Garland, in <em>Main Travelled -Roads</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Girl at Duke’s,” James W. Linn, <em>McClure’s Magazine</em>, -Aug., 1903.</p> - -<p>“The Dancin’ Party at Harrison’s Cove,” Charles Egbert -Craddock, <em>Atlantic Monthly</em>, May, 1878.</p> - -<p>“Twenty-Six and One,” Maxim Gorky, translated in volume -of same title.</p> - -<p>“The Unknown Masterpiece,” Honoré de Balzac, translated -in <em>Little French Masterpieces, Balzac</em>.</p> - -<p>“Red Bird,” Elizabeth Maury Coombs, <em>Lippincott’s -Magazine</em>, Dec., 1911.</p> - -<p>“The Wall Opposite,” Pierre Loti, translated in <em>Short -Story Classics, Foreign</em>.</p> - -<p>“The End of the Tether,” Joseph Conrad, in <em>Youth</em>.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="footnotes"> -<p class="p2 center big1">FOOTNOTES: </p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="label">[24]</a> From the author’s <em>Writing the Short-Story</em>, p. 149, which see for a chapter -on “The Setting of the Story.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="label">[25]</a> <em>Writing the Short-Story</em>, pp. 151-152.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="label">[26]</a> Copyright, 1911, by J. B. Lippincott Co., and used by permission.</p> - -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" >VI<br /> -IMPRESSIONISTIC STORIES</h2> -</div> - - -<p class="center big1"><em>The White Old Maid.</em>—<span class="smcap">Nathaniel Hawthorne</span></p> - -<p class="center big1 p6b"><em>The Fall of the House of Usher.</em>—<span class="smcap">Edgar Allan Poe</span></p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="blockquot"> -</div> - -<p>I prefer commencing with the consideration of an <em>effect</em>. -Keeping originality <em>always</em> in view—for he is false to himself -who ventures to dispense with so obvious and so easily attainable -a source of interest—I say to myself, in the first place, “Of -the innumerable effects or impressions of which the heart, the -intellect, or (more generally) the soul is susceptible, what one -shall I, on the present occasion, select?” Having chosen a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span> -novel first, and secondly, a vivid effect, I consider whether it -can be best wrought by incident or tone, or the converse, or by -peculiarity both of incident and tone—afterwards looking about -me (or rather within) for such combinations of event or tone -as shall best aid me in the construction of the effect.—<span class="smcap">Edgar -Allan Poe</span>, <em>The Philosophy of Composition</em>.</p> -</div> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span></p> -<h3>IMPRESSIONISTIC STORIES</h3> -</div> - - -<p>The value of a literary term lies in the comprehensive -and precise picture which it calls up in the mind of him -who reads it. So we must seek to limit, as well as seize -upon, the meaning of this word “impressionistic.”</p> - -<p>The first purpose in telling a story would seem to be the -pleasure or the profit of the hearer—if we exclude the -bore who tells a yarn chiefly to please himself. But a -closer scrutiny of certain stories discloses other objects -of the narrator, and these may be either subordinate or -paramount to considerations of benefit or entertainment. -The most important of these artistic purposes is to reproduce -in the hearer the full effect which a certain mood, -theme, character, situation, incident, or chain of incidents, -originally made upon the story-teller himself. When he -succeeds in reproducing in others his own feeling, by -such means as we shall presently study, he does so by -impressionistic means.</p> - -<p>Poe, writing in <em>Graham’s Magazine</em>, May, 1842, says: -“A skilful literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, -he has not fashioned his thoughts to accommodate his -incidents; but having conceived, with deliberate care, a -certain unique or single <em>effect</em> to be wrought out, he then -invents such incidents—he then combines such events—as -may best aid him in establishing the preconceived effect.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span> -If his very initial sentence tend not to the outbringing -of this effect, then he has failed in his first step. -In the whole composition there should be no word written, -of which the tendency, direct or indirect, is not to -the one preëstablished design.”</p> - -<p>It does not seem probable that Poe meant to speak of -impressionism as constituting so much a distinct type of -story as to point out its importance as a method in all -story-telling; and we must not overlook its usefulness in -this respect. Indeed, nearly all good short-stories begin, -in the mind of the author, and end, in the spirit of the -reader, with a more or less clear and unified impression. -Still, certain little fictions are, alike in theme and treatment, -so decidedly conceived and told with the purpose -of leaving the reader under the spell of a mood, a feeling, -a character, or a situation, that they are <span class="allsmcap">IMPRESSIONISTIC</span> -stories, rather than impressionistic <span class="allsmcap">STORIES</span>.</p> - -<p>The natural tendency for the impressionistic writer is -to subordinate incident and plot to tone—in a word, to -emphasize a picture, whether internal or external, rather -than a set of happenings, which in dealing with fiction -we call the action. So an impressionistic narrative may -really tell a story of situation, crisis, and denouement, or, -as is more likely to be the case, it may tend decidedly -toward the sketch. All depends upon the nature of the -theme. Thus, the <em>beauty of sacrifice</em> demands an action -to illustrate that abnegation, and all the accessories must -serve as high-lights and shadows to bring out this motive -in strong relief; but the <em>tone of gloom</em> may be conveyed -without even the semblance of a plot.</p> - - -<p>Now a story may produce a gloomy effect without deliberately -picturing an atmosphere of gloom—it may -leave the reader with a vague, pessimistic distaste for joy, -and yet present no such picture. Or it may marvellously -delineate loneliness, without leaving that as the final impression -of the story. This is not impressionism, though -it may be very good story-telling. Impressionism is conscious -art, art prepense, and, as will be seen in the two -stories presented as examples in this section, subordinates -everything to tonal effect; in other words, the impressionistic -story symbolizes in human action some human mood -or condition. For this reason such stories are often -called stories of symbolism.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span></p> - -<h3>HAWTHORNE AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> - -<p>Nathaniel Hawthorne was born in Salem, Massachusetts, -July 4, 1804. His New England ancestors bore the -name Hathorne, as did the author’s sea-captain father—also -a Nathaniel—who died at Surinam, Dutch Guiana, -when his son was four years old. In 1818 the family -moved to Raymond, Maine, but most of the youth’s education -was gotten at Salem, and there his family returned -in 1820. The following year he entered Bowdoin College, -from which he was graduated in 1825. At this time—when -he was twenty-one—he had already begun -<em>Twice-Told Tales</em>; it was then, too, that he inserted the -<em>w</em> into his name. He was now writing industriously, -often under a pseudonym; he also did considerable hack -and editorial work. During 1839 and a part of 1840 he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span> -served in the Boston Custom House; then he joined the -Brook Farm Community in 1841, but remained there only -a short time. He married Sophia Peabody in 1842. In -1846 he returned to the Customs service, in Salem, remaining -this time about three years. In 1853 he was -appointed by his classmate, President Pierce, as United -States Consul at Liverpool. During the more than three -years of his consulship he traveled widely in Great Britain, -and later spent much time in Italy, where some of -his best work was accomplished. During the last years -of his life he wrote but intermittently, being a prey to -depression and ill health. He died at Plymouth, New -Hampshire, May 19, 1864, and is buried in the Sleepy -Hollow Cemetery, Concord, Mass.</p> - -<p>Nathaniel Hawthorne was a remarkable novelist, essayist, -and short-story writer. <em>The Scarlet Letter</em> and <em>The -Marble Faun</em>, are his greatest novels. <em>The House of -the Seven Gables</em> is a series of related sketches rather -than a romance. Probably his best short-stories are -“The Birthmark,” “Rappaccini’s Daughter,” and -“Drowne’s Wooden Image,” in <em>Mosses From An Old -Manse</em>; “The Gray Champion,” “The Minister’s Black -Veil,” “The Gentle Boy,” “The Great Carbuncle,” “Dr. -Heidegger’s Experiment,” “The Ambitious Guest,” -“Wakefield,” and “The White Old Maid,” from <em>Twice-Told -Tales</em>; and “The Great Stone Face,” “Ethan -Brand” and “The Snow-Image,” in <em>The Snow-Image -and other Twice-Told Tales</em>. These three collections -contain also many charming sketches, while <em>The Wonder<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span> -Book</em>, and <em>Tanglewood Tales</em> are rich in interest for -younger readers.</p> - -<p>“The White Old Maid,” given herewith in full, was -first published in the <em>New England Magazine</em> for July, -1835, and was entitled “The Old Maid in the Winding -Sheet, by the Author of The Gray Champion.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Hawthorne enjoyed the distinction of winning in his -day the almost unanimous approval of critics both at -home and abroad, and this in a period when criticism was -not a gentle art. Time, moreover, has only added to his -praises. As a fiction writer he had depth, breadth, and -height. Hawthorne alone among the fictionists of his era -may justly be said to have a philosophy of his own; his -themes cover a wide range; and the loftiness of his ideals -is well recognized. As Longfellow discerned, and generously -announced as early as 1837, Hawthorne was a -poet who wrote prose. He knew a mood in nature to -match every human emotion, and in her multiform life -he saw images to enforce a thousand striking comparisons. -He was a student of the soul, too, albeit a gloomy -one, for the most part. But while the sombreness of -lives beset by stern problems oppressed him, and but -little humor brightens his pages, one searches in vain for -a pessimistic spirit—Hawthorne’s knowledge of the human -heart saddened him, but it did not make him misanthropic. -One feels the reality, the vital bearing, of -the things he writes about. It is impossible to read him -appreciatively and not realize the sincerity of the man,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span> -and the fine earnestness, the upright though severe justness, -with which he viewed life. Sweetness, beauty—haunting -beauty, indeed—and a certain airy lightness, -were not wanting in his work; but the big tones—resonant, -solemn at times, and inspiring always—were poetic -insight, fervid intensity, and lofty purpose. Hawthorne -was a seer. The inside of things was disclosed to him. -That which he could not see, he felt. And with a classic -purity of style he worded the fantastic, gloomy, lightsome, -or tragic pageantry of his creations in sentences -that live and live.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>I wish God had given me the faculty of writing a sunshiny -book.—<span class="smcap">Nathaniel Hawthorne</span>, <em>Letter to James T. Fields</em>.</p> - - -<p>Soon to be all spirit, I have already a spiritual sense of human -nature, and see deeply into the hearts of mankind, discovering -what is hidden from the wisest.... My glance comprehends -the crowd, and penetrates the breast of the solitary man.—<span class="smcap">Nathaniel -Hawthorne</span>, <em>My Home Return</em>, in <em>Tales and Sketches</em>.</p> - - -<p>He uses his characters, like algebraic symbols, to work out -certain problems with; they are rather more, yet rather less, -than flesh and blood.—<span class="smcap">H. A. Beers</span>, quoted in Tappan’s <em>Topical -Notes on American Authors</em>.</p> - -<p>Hawthorne’s style, at its best, is one of the most perfect media -employed by any writer using the English language. Dealing, -as it usually does, with an immaterial subject-matter, with dream-like -impressions, and fantastic products of the imagination, it is -concrete without being opaque,—luminously concrete, one might -say. No other writer that I know of has the power of making -his fancies visible and tangible without impairing their delicate -immateriality. If any writer can put the rainbow into words, -and yet leave it a rainbow, surely that writer is Hawthorne.—<span class="smcap">Richard -Le Gallienne</span>, <em>Attitudes and Avowals</em>.</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span></p> - - -<p>In all his most daring fantasies Hawthorne is natural; and -though he may project his vision far beyond the boundaries of -fact, nowhere does he violate the laws of nature.... A brutal -misuse of the supernatural is perhaps the very lowest degradation -of the art of fiction. But “to mingle the marvellous rather -as a slight, delicate, and evanescent flavour than as any actual -portion of the substance,” to quote from the preface to the -<em>House of the Seven Gables</em>, this is, or should be, the aim of the -writer of Short-stories whenever his feet leave the firm ground -of fact as he strays in the unsubstantial realms of fantasy.—<span class="smcap">Brander -Matthews</span>, <em>The Philosophy of the Short-story</em>.</p> - - -<p>Hawthorne has been called a mystic, which he was not,—and -a psychological dreamer, which he was in very slight degree. -He was really the ghost of New England. I do not mean the -“spirit,” nor the “phantom,” but the ghost in the older sense -in which that term is used, the thin, rarefied essence which is -to be found somewhere behind the physical organization: embodied, -indeed, and not by any means in a shadowy or diminutive -earthly tabernacle, but yet only half embodied in it, endowed -with a certain painful sense of the gulf between his nature and -its organization, always recognizing the gulf, always trying to -bridge it over, and always more or less unsuccessful in the -attempt. His writings are not exactly spiritual writings, for -there is no dominating spirit in them. They are ghostly writings.... -I may, perhaps, accept a phrase of which Hawthorne -himself was fond,—“the moonlight of romance,”—and compel it -to explain something of the secret of his characteristic genius.—<span class="smcap">R. -H. Hutton</span>, <em>Essays in Literary Criticism</em>.</p> - -<p>This, too [“The White Old Maid”], is a story, in the sense -that something happens; and yet the real story, by which I mean -the narrative which would logically connect and develop these -events, is just hinted at, and is not very important. It is subordinated, -indeed, to a new aim. “The White Old Maid” is -narrative for a purpose, and this purpose is to suggest an impression, -and to leave us with a vivid sensation rather than a -number of remembered facts. In short, it is contrived, not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span> -to leave a record of such and such an old woman who did this -or that, but rather to stamp upon our minds the impression of -a mystery-haunted house, mysterious figures entering, strange -words, and a terrible sorrow behind all. Towards such a result -the structure of the plot, every bit of description, every carefully -chosen word, directly tends.—<span class="smcap">Henry Seidel Canby</span>, <em>The Book -of the Short Story</em>.</p> -</div> - - -<p class="p2 big1 center">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON -HAWTHORNE</p> - -<p><em>Hours in a Library</em>, Leslie Stephen (1874); <em>Study of -Hawthorne</em>, George Parsons Lathrop (1876); <em>Life</em>, in -the <em>English Men of Letters</em> series, Henry James (1880); -<em>Nathaniel Hawthorne and His Wife</em>, Julian Hawthorne -(1885); <em>Life</em>, in the <em>Great Writers</em> series, Moncure D. -Conway (1890); <em>Personal Recollections of Nathaniel -Hawthorne</em>, Horatio Bridge (1893); <em>Memories of Hawthorne</em>, -Rose Hawthorne Lathrop (1897); <em>Nathaniel -Hawthorne</em>, Anne Fields (1899); <em>Life</em>, in the <em>American -Men of Letters</em> series, George Edward Woodberry -(1902).</p> - -<div class="body1"> -<h3>THE WHITE OLD MAID</h3> - -<p class="big05 center">BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Introduction of setting, giving -atmosphere of story.</div> - - -<p id="para1">The moonbeams came through -two deep and narrow windows, and -showed a spacious chamber richly -furnished in an antique fashion. -From one lattice the shadow of the -diamond panes was thrown upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span> -the floor; the ghostly light, through -the other, slept upon a bed, falling between -the heavy silken curtains, and -illuminating the face of a young man.<span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">First Plot Situation.</span></span> -But, how quietly the slumberer lay! -how pale his features! and how like a -shroud the sheet was wound about -his frame! Yes; it was a corpse, in -its burial clothes.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">This uncertainty strikes the -tone of the story, which -trembles constantly between -the real and the -fancied, the physical and -the spirit world, keeping -the reader in doubt as to -whether he is witnessing -a manifestation of the -supernatural or is deceived -by the mysterious atmosphere -of the unusual.</div> - -<p>2. Suddenly, the fixed features -seemed to move with dark emotion. -Strange fantasy! It was but the -shadow of the fringed curtain waving -betwixt the dead face and the -moonlight, as the door of the chamber -opened and a girl stole softly -to the bedside. Was there delusion -in the moonbeams, or did her gesture -and her eye betray a gleam of -triumph, as she bent over the pale -corpse—pale as itself—and pressed -her living lips to the cold ones of -the dead? As she drew back from -that long kiss, her features writhed -as if a proud heart were fighting -with its anguish. Again it seemed -that the features of the corpse had -moved responsive to her own. Still -an illusion! The silken curtain had -waved, a second time, betwixt the -dead face and the moonlight, as another -fair young girl unclosed the -door, and glided, ghostlike, to the -bedside. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Two main characters introduced.</span></span>There the two maidens -stood, both beautiful, with the pale -beauty of the dead between them. -But she who had first entered was -proud and stately, and the other a -soft and fragile thing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the archaic, formal -language, which sets the -period in the long ago.</div> - -<p>3. “Away!” cried the lofty one. -“Thou hadst him living! The dead -is mine!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><em>Motif</em> of story.</div> - -<p>4. “Thine!” returned the other, -shuddering. “Well hast thou spoken! -The dead is thine!”</p> - -<p>5. The proud girl started, and -stared into her face with a ghastly -look. But a wild and mournful expression -passed across the features -of the gentle one; and weak and -helpless, she sank down on the bed, -her head pillowed beside that of the -corpse, and her hair mingling with -his dark locks. A creature of hope -and joy, the first draught of sorrow -had bewildered her.</p> - -<p>6. “Edith!” cried her rival.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note “of the heart.”</div> - -<p>7. Edith groaned, as with a sudden -compassion of the heart; and removing -her cheek from the dead youth’s -pillow, she stood upright, fearfully -encountering the eyes of the lofty -girl.</p> - -<p>8. “Wilt thou betray me?” said -the latter calmly.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Full statement of the <em>motif</em>, -ending with <a href="#para12">¶12</a>. <span class="smcap">Foundation -of Main Crisis.</span></div> - -<p>9. “Till the dead bid me speak, I -will be silent,” answered Edith. -“Leave us alone together! Go, and -live many years, and then return, and -tell me of thy life. He, too, will -be here! Then, if thou tellest of -sufferings more than death, we will -both forgive thee.”</p> - -<p>10. “And what shall be the -token?” asked the proud girl, as if -her heart acknowledged a meaning in -these wild words.</p> - -<p>11. “This lock of hair,” said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span> -Edith, lifting one of the dark, clustering -curls that lay heavily on the -dead man’s brow.</p> - - -<p id="para12">12. The two maidens joined their -hands over the bosom of the corpse, -and appointed a day and hour, far, -far in time to come, for their next -meeting in that chamber. The -statelier girl gave one deep look at -the motionless countenance, and departed—yet -turned again and -trembled ere she closed the door, almost -believing that her dead lover -frowned upon her. And Edith, too! -Was not her white form fading into -the moonlight? Scorning her own -weakness she went forth, and perceived -that a negro slave was waiting -in the passage with a wax-light, -which he held between her face and -his own, and regarded her, as she -thought, with an ugly expression of -merriment. Lifting his torch on -high, the slave lighted her down the -staircase, and undid the portal of -the mansion. <span class="sidenote">End of first part of story.</span>The young clergyman -of the town had just ascended the -steps, and bowing to the lady, passed -in without a word.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Second stage.</div> - -<p>13. Years, many years, rolled on; -the world seemed new again, so -much older was it grown since the -night when those pale girls had -clasped their hands across the -bosom of the corpse. In the interval, -a lonely woman had passed from -youth to extreme age, and was -known by all the town as the “Old -Maid in the Winding Sheet.”<span class="sidenote">Hawthorne’s first title for -this story.</span> A -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span> -taint of insanity had affected her -whole life, but so quiet, sad, and -gentle, so utterly free from violence, -that she was suffered to pursue her -harmless fantasies, unmolested by -the world, with whose business or -pleasure she had nought to do. <span class="sidenote">Character delineation, largely -mental and moral.</span>She -dwelt alone, and never came into the -daylight, except to follow funerals. -Whenever a corpse was borne along -the street in sunshine, rain, or -snow; whether a pompous train of -the rich and proud thronged after it, -or few and humble were the mourners, -behind them came the lonely -woman in a long white garment -which the people called her shroud. -She took no place among the kindred -or the friends, but stood at the -door to hear the funeral prayer, and -walked in the rear of the procession, -as one whose earthly charge it was -to haunt the house of mourning, and -be the shadow of affliction, and see -that the dead were duly buried. <span class="sidenote">Key.</span>So -long had this been her custom that -the inhabitants of the town deemed -her a part of every funeral, as much -as the coffin pall, or the very corpse -itself, and augured ill of the sinner’s -destiny unless the “Old Maid in the -Winding Sheet” came gliding, like -a ghost, behind. <span class="sidenote">Contributory incident.</span>Once, it is said, she -affrighted a bridal party with her -pale presence, appearing suddenly in -the illuminated hall, just as the priest -was uniting a false maid to a wealthy -man, before her lover had been dead -a year. Evil was the omen to that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span> -marriage! Sometimes she stole -forth by moonlight and visited the -graves of venerable Integrity, and -wedded Love, and virgin Innocence,<span class="sidenote">Note language of symbolism.</span> -and every spot where the ashes of a -kind and faithful heart were mouldering. -Over the hillocks of those -favored dead would she stretch out -her arms, with a gesture, as if she -were scattering seeds; and many believed -that she brought them from -the garden of Paradise; for the -graves which she had visited were -green beneath the snow, and covered -with sweet flowers from April to -November. Her blessing was better -than a holy verse upon the tombstone.<span class="sidenote">Key.</span> -Thus wore away her long, -sad, peaceful, and fantastic life, till -few were so old as she, and the people -of later generations wondered -how the dead had ever been buried, -or mourners had endured their -grief, without the “Old Maid in the -Winding Sheet.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Third stage.</div> - - -<p id="para14">14. Still years went on, and still -she followed funerals, and was not -yet summoned to her own festival -of death. One afternoon the great -street of the town was all alive with -business and bustle, though the sun -now gilded only the upper half of the -church spire, having left the housetops -and loftiest trees in shadow. <span class="sidenote">Preparation for main crisis.<br /> - Opening of <span class="smcap"> Main Plot Incident</span>.</span> -The scene was cheerful and animated, -in spite of the sombre shade -between the high brick buildings. -Here were pompous merchants, in -white wigs and laced velvet; the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span> -bronzed faces of sea-captains; the -foreign garb and air of Spanish creoles;<span class="sidenote">Local-color.</span> -and the disdainful port of natives -of Old England; all contrasted -with the rough aspect of one or two -back settlers, negotiating sales of -timber from forests where axe had -never sounded. Sometimes a lady -passed, swelling roundly forth in an -embroidered petticoat, balancing her -steps in high-heeled shoes, and -courtesying with lofty grace to the -punctilious obeisances of the gentlemen.<span class="sidenote">Central setting; return to -original setting.</span> -The life of the town seemed -to have its very centre not far from -an old mansion, that stood somewhat -back from the pavement, surrounded -by neglected grass, with a strange air -of loneliness, rather deepened than -dispelled by the throng so near. Its -site would have been suitably occupied -by a magnificent Exchange or -a brick block, lettered all over with -various signs; or the large house -itself might have made a noble tavern, -with the “King’s Arms” swinging -before it, and guests in every -chamber, instead of the present solitude.<span class="sidenote">Development of setting, and -<span class="allsmcap">TONE OF AN EMPTY HOUSE</span>.</span> -But owing to some dispute -about the right of inheritance, the -mansion had been long without a -tenant, decaying from year to year, -and throwing the stately gloom of its -shadow over the busiest part of the -town. Such was the scene, and -such the time, when a figure unlike -any that have been described was -observed at a distance down the -street.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">First main character.</div> - -<p>15. “I espy a strange sail, yonder,” -remarked a Liverpool captain; -“that woman in the long white garment!”</p> - -<p>16. The sailor seemed much struck -by the object, as were several others -who, at the same moment, caught -a glimpse of the figure that had attracted -his notice. Almost immediately -the various topics of conversation -gave place to speculations, in -an undertone, on this unwonted occurrence.</p> - -<p>17. “Can there be a funeral so late -this afternoon?” inquired some.</p> - -<p>18. They looked for the signs of -death at every door—the sexton, -the hearse, the assemblage of black-clad -relatives—all that makes up the -woful pomp of funerals. They -raised their eyes, also, to the -sun-gilt spire of the church, and -wondered that no clang proceeded -from its bell, which had always -tolled till now when this figure appeared -in the light of day. But none -had heard that a corpse was to be -borne to its home that afternoon, -nor was there any token of funeral, -except the apparition of the “Old -Maid in the Winding Sheet.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Key.</div> - -<p>19. “What may this portend?” -asked each man of his neighbor.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Contrast.</div> - -<p>20. All smiled as they put the -question, yet with a certain trouble -in their eyes, as if pestilence or some -other wide calamity were prognosticated -by the untimely intrusion -among the living of one whose presence -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span> -had always been associated with -death and woe. What a comet is to -the earth was that sad woman to the -town. Still she moved on, while the -hum of surprise was hushed at her -approach, and the proud and the <span class="sidenote">Impressionism vivid.</span> -humble stood aside, that her white -garment might not wave against -them. It was a long, loose robe, of -spotless purity. Its wearer appeared -very old, pale, emaciated, and feeble, <span class="sidenote">Direct character description.</span> -yet glided onward without the unsteady -pace of extreme age. At one -point of her course a little rosy boy -burst forth from a door, and ran, -with open arms, towards the ghostly -woman, seeming to expect a kiss from -her bloodless lips. She made a slight <span class="sidenote">Contrast.</span> -pause, fixing her eye upon him with -an expression of no earthly sweetness, -so the child shivered and stood -awe-struck, rather than affrighted, -while the Old Maid passed on. <span class="sidenote">Character delineation by -suggestion.</span>Perhaps -her garment might have been -polluted even by an infant’s touch; -perhaps her kiss would have been -death to the sweet boy within a year.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Tone of story summarized.</div> - -<p>21. “She is but a shadow,” whispered -the superstitious. “The child -put forth his arms and could not -grasp her robe!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Crisis approaches.</div> - - -<p>22. The wonder was increased when -the Old Maid passed beneath the -porch of the deserted mansion, ascended -the moss-covered steps, lifted -the iron knocker, and gave three raps. -The people could only conjecture that -some old remembrance, troubling her -bewildered brain, had impelled the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span> -poor woman hither to visit the -friends of her youth; <span class="sidenote">The house mentioned in -paragraphs <a href="#para1">1</a>, <a href="#para12">12</a> and <a href="#para14">14</a>.</span>all gone from -their home long since and forever, -unless their ghosts still haunted it—fit -company for the “Old Maid in the -Winding Sheet.” An elderly man approached -the steps, and, reverently -uncovering his gray locks, essayed to -explain the matter.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note “None—have.”<br /> -Contributory incident.</div> - -<p>23. “None, Madam,” said he, -“have dwelt in this house these fifteen -years agone—no, not since the -death of old Colonel Fenwicke,<span class="sidenote">First mention of name.</span> whose -funeral you may remember to have -followed. His heirs, being ill agreed -among themselves, have let the mansion-house -go to ruin.”</p> - -<p>24. The Old Maid looked slowly -round with a slight gesture of one -hand, and a finger of the other upon -her lip, appearing more shadow-like -than ever in the obscurity of the -porch. But again she lifted the hammer, -and gave, this time, a single -rap. <span class="sidenote">Note atmosphere of vagueness.</span>Could it be that a footstep was -now heard coming down the staircase -of the old mansion, which all -conceived to have been so long untenanted? -Slowly, feebly, yet heavily, -like the pace of an aged and -infirm person, the step approached, -more distinct on every downward -stair, till it reached the portal. The -bar fell on the inside; the door opened. -One upward glance towards the -church spire, whence the sunshine -had just faded, was the last that the -people saw of the “Old Maid in the -Winding Sheet.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">Tone of mystery.</div> - -<p>25. “Who undid the door?” asked -many.</p> - -<p>26. This question, owing to the -depth of shadow beneath the porch, -no one could satisfactorily answer. -Two or three aged men, while protesting -against an inference which -might be drawn,<span class="sidenote">See <a href="#para12">¶12</a>.</span> affirmed that the -person within was a negro, and bore -a singular resemblance to old Cæsar, -formerly a slave in the house, but -freed by death some thirty years before.</p> - -<p>27. “Her summons has waked up -a servant of the old family,” said -one, half seriously.</p> - -<p>28. “Let us wait here,” replied -another. “More guests will knock -at the door, anon. But the gate of -the graveyard should be thrown -open!”</p> - - -<p>29. Twilight had overspread the -town before the crowd began to -separate, or the comments on this -incident were exhausted. <span class="sidenote">Preparation for climax.</span>One after -another was wending his way homeward, -when a coach—no common -spectacle in those days—drove slowly -into the street. It was an old-fashioned -equipage, hanging close to -the ground, with arms on the panels, -a footman behind, and a grave, corpulent <span class="sidenote">No indication whence it - came.</span> -coachman seated high in front—the -whole giving an idea of solemn -state and dignity. There was something -awful in the heavy rumbling of -the wheels. The coach rolled down -the street, till, coming to the gateway <span class="sidenote">Setting.</span> -of the deserted mansion, it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span> -drew up, and the footman sprang to -the ground.</p> - -<p>30. “Whose grand coach is this?” -asked a very inquisitive body.</p> - -<p>31. The footman made no reply, -but ascended the steps of the old -house, gave three raps with the iron -hammer, and returned to open the -coach door. <span class="sidenote">Three raps signify a formal -demand for entrance.</span>An old man, possessed -of the heraldic lore so common in -that day, examined the shield of arms -on the panel.</p> - -<p>32. “Azure, a lion’s head erased, -between three flower-de-luces,” said -he; then whispered the name of the -family to whom these bearings belonged.<span class="sidenote">Setting.</span> -The last inheritor of his -honors was recently dead, after a -long residence amid the splendor of -the British court, where his birth -and wealth had given him no mean -station. “He left no child,” continued -the herald, “and these arms, -being in a lozenge, betoken that the -coach appertains to his widow.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Second Main Character.</span></div> - -<p>33. Further disclosures, perhaps, -might have been made had not the -speaker suddenly been struck dumb -by the stern eye of an ancient lady -who thrust forth her head from the -coach, preparing to descend. As she -emerged, the people saw that her -dress was magnificent, and her figure -dignified, in spite of age and infirmity—a -stately ruin but with a look, -at once, of pride and wretchedness. -Her strong and rigid features had an -awe about them, unlike that of the -white Old Maid, but as of something -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span> -evil. <span class="sidenote">Contributory incident.</span>She passed up the steps, -leaning on a gold-headed cane; the -door swung open as she ascended—and -the light of a torch glittered -on the embroidery of her dress, and -gleamed on the pillars of the porch. -After a momentary pause—a glance -backwards—and then a desperate -effort—she went in. The decipherer -of the coat of arms had ventured up -the lowest step, and shrinking back -immediately, pale and tremulous, affirmed -that the torch was held by -the very image of old Cæsar.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Subordinate character of -central action.<br /> -Compare <a href="#para12">¶12</a>.</div> - -<p>34. “But such a hideous grin,” added -he, “was never seen on the face -of mortal man, black or white! It -will haunt me till my dying day.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the use of shadows -and twilights as accessories.</div> - -<p>35. Meanwhile, the coach had -wheeled round, with a prodigious clatter -on the pavement, and rumbled up -the street, disappearing in the twilight, -while the ear still tracked its -course. Scarcely was it gone, when -the people began to question whether -the coach and attendants, the ancient -lady, the spectre of old Cæsar, -and the Old Maid herself, <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Key.</span></span>were not -all a strangely combined delusion, -with some dark purport in its mystery.<span class="sidenote">Atmosphere—a sense of -something about to occur.</span> -The whole town was astir, so -that, instead of dispersing, the crowd -continually increased, and stood gazing -up at the windows of the mansion, -now silvered by the brightening -moon. The elders, glad to indulge -the narrative propensity of age, told -of the long-faded splendor of the -family, the entertainments they had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span> -given, and the guests, the greatest of -the land, and even titled and noble -ones from abroad, who had passed -beneath that portal. These graphic -reminiscences seemed to call up the -ghosts of those to whom they referred. -So strong was the impression -on some of the more imaginative -hearers, that two or three were seized -with trembling fits, at one and the -same moment, protesting that they -had distinctly heard three other raps -of the iron knocker.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Contributory material.</div> - -<p>36. “Impossible!” exclaimed others. -“See! The moon shines beneath -the porch, and shows every part -of it, except in the narrow shade of -that pillar. There is no one there!”</p> - -<p>37. “Did not the door open?” -whispered one of these fanciful persons.</p> - -<p>38. “Didst thou see it, too?” said -his companion, in a startled tone.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Vagueness.</div> - -<p>39. But the general sentiment was -opposed to the idea that a third -visitant had made application at the -door of the deserted house. A few, -however, adhered to this new marvel, -and even declared that a red gleam -like that of a torch had shone through -the great front window, as if the -negro were lighting a guest up the -staircase. <span class="sidenote">Tone.</span>This, too, was pronounced -a mere fantasy. But at once the -whole multitude started, and each -man beheld his own terror painted -in the faces of all the rest.</p> - -<p>40. “What an awful thing is this!” -cried they.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">Minor climax—preparation -for main climax.</div> - - -<p>41. A shriek too fearfully distinct -for doubt had been heard within the -mansion, breaking forth suddenly, -and succeeded by a deep stillness, as -if a heart had burst in giving it utterance. -The people knew not whether -to fly from the very sight of the -house, or to rush trembling in, and -search out the strange mystery. -Amid their confusion and affright,<span class="sidenote">Note shifting of tenses.</span> -they are somewhat reassured by the -appearance of their clergyman, a -venerable patriarch, and equally a -saint, who had taught them and their -fathers the way to heaven for more -than the space of an ordinary life-time.<span class="sidenote">Contributory incident.</span> -He was a reverend figure, with -long, white hair upon his shoulders, -a white beard upon his breast, and a -back so bent over his staff that he -seemed to be looking downward continually, -as if to choose a proper -grave for his weary frame. It was -some time before the good old man, -being deaf and of impaired intellect, -could be made to comprehend such -portions of the affair as were comprehensible -at all. But, when possessed -of the facts, his energies -assumed unexpected vigor.</p> - -<p>42. “Verily,” said the old gentleman, -“it will be fitting that I enter -the mansion-house of the worthy -Colonel Fenwicke, lest any harm -should have befallen that true Christian -woman whom ye call the ‘Old -Maid in the Winding Sheet.’”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Again a shift in the manner -of narration.</div> - -<p>43. Behold, then, the venerable -clergyman ascending the steps of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span> -mansion, with a torch-bearer behind -him. It was the elderly man who -had spoken to the Old Maid, and the -same who had afterwards explained -the shield of arms and recognized the -features of the negro. Like their -predecessors, they gave three raps -with the iron hammer.</p> - -<p>44. “Old Cæsar cometh not,” observed -the priest. “Well I wot he -no longer doth service in this mansion.”</p> - -<p>45. “Assuredly, then, it was something -worse, in old Cæsar’s likeness!” -said the other adventurer.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">One who ventures.</div> - -<p>46. “Be it as God wills,” answered -the clergyman. “See! my -strength, though it be much decayed, -hath sufficed to open this heavy door. -Let us enter and pass up the staircase.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Key to tone further developed.</div> - -<p>47. Here occurred a singular exemplification -of the dreamy state of -a very old man’s mind. As they -ascended the wide flight of stairs, -the aged clergyman appeared to move -with caution, occasionally standing -aside, and oftener bending his head, -as it were in salutation, thus practising -all the gestures of one who -makes his way through a throng. -Reaching the head of the staircase, -he looked around with sad and -solemn benignity, laid aside his staff, -bared his hoary locks, and was evidently -on the point of commencing a -prayer.</p> - -<p>48. “Reverend Sir,” said his attendant, -who conceived this a very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span> -suitable prelude to their further -search, “would it not be well that -the people join with us in prayer?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Confusion between real and -unreal further illustrated -by contributory material.</div> - -<p>49. “Welladay!” cried the old -clergyman, staring strangely around -him. “Art thou here with me, and -none other? Verily, past times were -present to me, and I deemed that I -was to make a funeral prayer, as -many a time heretofore, from the -head of this staircase. Of a truth, -I saw the shades of many that are -gone. <span class="sidenote">Deft introduction of central -character.</span>Yea, I have prayed at their -burials, one after another, and the -‘Old Maid in the Winding Sheet’ -hath seen them to their graves!”</p> - -<p>50. Being now more thoroughly -awake to their present purpose, he -took his staff and struck forcibly on -the floor, till there came an echo -from each deserted chamber, but no -menial to answer their summons.<span class="sidenote">Tone.</span> -They therefore walked along the -passage, and again paused, opposite -to the great front window through -which was seen the crowd, in the -shadow and partial moonlight of the -street beneath.<span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Key.</span></span> On their right hand -was the open door of a chamber, and -a closed one on their left. The clergyman -pointed his cane to the carved -oak panel of the latter.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Foundation situation.</div> - -<p>51. “Within that chamber,” observed -he, “a whole life-time since, -did I sit by the death-bed of a goodly -young man, who, being now at -the last gasp”—</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Atmosphere.</div> - -<p>52. Apparently there was some -powerful excitement in the ideas -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span> -which had now flashed across his -mind. He snatched the torch from -his companion’s hand, and threw -open the door with such sudden -violence that the flame was extinguished, -leaving them no other light -than the moonbeams, which fell -through two windows into the spacious -chamber. <span class="sidenote">Note author’s device.</span>It was sufficient to -discover all that could be known. -In a high-backed oaken armchair, -upright, with her hands clasped -across her heart, and her head -thrown back, sat the “Old Maid in -the Winding Sheet.” The stately -dame had fallen on her knees, with -her forehead on the holy knees of the -Old Maid, one hand upon the floor -and the other pressed convulsively -against her heart. <span class="sidenote">The decision must be inferred.</span>It clutched a lock -of hair, once sable, now discolored -with a greenish mould. As the -priest and layman advanced into the -chamber, the Old Maid’s features -assumed such a semblance of shifting -expression that they trusted to -hear the whole mystery explained by -a single word. <span class="sidenote">Tone of vagueness to the -end.</span>But it was only the -shadow of a tattered curtain waving -betwixt the dead face and the moonlight.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Climax.</span><br /> -Vague denouement.</div> - -<p>53. “Both dead!” said the venerable -man. “Then who shall divulge -the secret? Methinks it glimmers to -and fro in my mind, like the light -and shadow across the Old Maid’s -face. And now ’tis gone!”</p> - - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span></p> -<p class="p2 center">FOR ANALYSIS</p> - - -<h3>THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER</h3> - -<p class="big05 center">BY EDGAR ALLAN POE</p> - -<div class="poetry-container pw20 p11"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1"> -Son cœur est un luth suspendu;<br /> -Sitôt qu’on le touche il résonne.</p> - -<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em; "><span class="smcap">Beranger.</span></p> -</div> -</div> - -<p>During the whole of a dull, -dark, and soundless day in the -autumn of the year, when the clouds -hung oppressively low in the heavens, -I had been passing alone, on horseback, -through a singularly dreary -tract of country; and at length found -myself, as the shades of the evening -drew on, within view of the melancholy -House of Usher. I know not -how it was, but, with the first glimpse -of the building, a sense of insufferable -gloom pervaded my spirit. I -say insufferable; for the feeling was -unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, -because poetic, sentiment -with which the mind usually receives -even the sternest natural images of -the desolate or terrible. I looked upon -the scene before me—upon the -mere house, and the simple landscape -features of the domain, upon -the bleak walls, upon the vacant eye-like -windows, upon a few rank sedges, -and upon a few white trunks of -decayed trees—with an utter depression -of soul which I can compare -to no earthly sensation more properly -than to the after-dream of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span> -reveler upon opium: the bitter lapse -into everyday life, the hideous dropping -off of the veil. There was an -iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the -heart, an unredeemed dreariness of -thought, which no goading of the -imagination could torture into aught -of the sublime. What was it—I -paused to think—what was it that -so unnerved me in the contemplation -of the House of Usher? It was a -mystery all insoluble; nor could I -grapple with the shadow fancies that -crowded upon me as I pondered. I -was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory -conclusion that while, beyond -doubt, there <em>are</em> combinations -of very simple natural objects which -have the power of thus affecting us, -still the analysis of this power lies -among considerations beyond our -depth. It was possible, I reflected, -that a mere different arrangement of -the particulars of the scene, of the -details of the picture, would be sufficient -to modify, or perhaps to annihilate, -its capacity for sorrowful -impression, and, acting upon this idea, -I reined my horse to the precipitous -brink of a black and lurid tarn that -lay in unruffled lustre by the dwelling, -and gazed down—but with a -shudder even more thrilling than before—upon -the remodeled and inverted -images of the gray sedge, and -the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant -and eye-like windows.</p> - -<p>2. Nevertheless, in this mansion of -gloom I now proposed to myself a sojourn<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span> -of some weeks. Its proprietor, -Roderick Usher, had been one of my -boon companions in boyhood; but -many years had elapsed since our last -meeting. A letter, however, had -lately reached me in a distant part -of the country—a letter from him—which -in its wildly importunate -nature had admitted of no other than -a personal reply. The MS. gave -evidence of nervous agitation. The -writer spoke of acute bodily illness, -of a mental disorder which oppressed -him, and of an earnest desire to see -me, as his best and indeed his only -personal friend, with a view of attempting, -by the cheerfulness of my -society, some alleviation of his malady. -It was the manner in which all -this, and much more, was said—it -was the apparent <em>heart</em> that went -with his request—which allowed me -no room for hesitation; and I accordingly -obeyed forthwith what I still -considered a very singular summons.</p> - -<p>3. Although as boys we had been -even intimate associates, yet I really -knew little of my friend. His reserve -had been always excessive and -habitual. I was aware, however, that -his very ancient family had been noted, -time out of mind, for a peculiar -sensibility of temperament, displaying -itself, through long ages, in many -works of exalted art, and manifested -of late in repeated deeds of -munificent yet unobtrusive charity, -as well as in a passionate devotion to -the intricacies, perhaps even more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span> -than to the orthodox and easily -recognizable beauties, of musical -science. I had learned, too, the very -remarkable fact that the stem of the -Usher race, all time-honored as it -was, had put forth at no period any -enduring branch; in other words, -that the entire family lay in the direct -line of descent, and had always, with -a very trifling and very temporary -variation, so lain. It was this deficiency, -I considered, while running -over in thought the perfect keeping -of the character of the premises with -the accredited character of the people, -and while speculating upon the possible -influence which the one, in the -long lapse of centuries, might have -exercised upon the other,—it was -this deficiency, perhaps, of collateral -issue, and the consequent undeviating -transmission from sire to son of -the patrimony with the name, which -had at length so identified the two -as to merge the original title of the -estate in the quaint and equivocal -appellation of the “House of Usher,”—an -appellation which seemed to -include, in the minds of the peasantry -who used it, both the family -and the family mansion.</p> - -<p>4. I have said that the sole effect -of my somewhat childish experiment, -that of looking down within the tarn, -had been to deepen the first singular -impression. There can be no doubt -that the consciousness of the rapid -increase of my superstition—for why -should I not so term it?—served<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span> -mainly to accelerate the increase itself. -Such, I have long known, is -the paradoxical law of all sentiments -having terror as a basis. And it -might have been for this reason -only, that, when I again uplifted my -eyes to the house itself from its -image in the pool, there grew in my -mind a strange fancy,—a fancy so -ridiculous, indeed, that I but mention -it to show the vivid force of the -sensations which oppressed me. I -had so worked upon my imagination -as really to believe that about the -whole mansion and domain there -hung an atmosphere peculiar to -themselves and their immediate -vicinity: an atmosphere which had no -affinity with the air of heaven, but -which had reeked up from the decayed -trees, and the gray wall, and -the silent tarn; a pestilent and mystic -vapor, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, -and leaden-hued.</p> - -<p>5. Shaking off from my spirit what -<em>must</em> have been a dream, I scanned -more narrowly the real aspect of the -building. Its principal feature seemed -to be that of an excessive antiquity. -The discoloration of ages had -been great. Minute fungi overspread -the whole exterior, hanging in a fine -tangled web-work from the eaves. -Yet all this was apart from any extraordinary -dilapidation. No portion -of the masonry had fallen; and there -appeared to be a wild inconsistency -between its still perfect adaptation -of parts and the crumbling condition<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span> -of the individual stones. In this -there was much that reminded me of -the specious totality of old wood-work -which has rotted for long years -in some neglected vault, with no disturbance -from the breath of the external -air. Beyond this indication of -extensive decay, however, the fabric -gave little token of instability. Perhaps -the eye of a scrutinizing observer -might have discovered a -barely perceptible fissure, which, extending -from the roof of the building -in front, made its way down the wall -in a zigzag direction, until it became -lost in the sullen waters of the tarn.</p> - -<p>6. Noticing these things, I rode -over a short causeway to the house. -A servant in waiting took my horse, -and I entered the Gothic archway of -the hall. A valet, of stealthy step, -thence conducted me in silence -through many dark and intricate -passages in my progress to the -studio of his master. Much that I -encountered on the way contributed, -I know not how, to heighten the -vague sentiments of which I have -already spoken. While the objects -around me—while the carvings of -the ceiling, the sombre tapestries of -the walls, the ebon blackness of the -floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial -trophies which rattled as I -strode, were but matters of which, -or to such as which, I had been accustomed -from my infancy,—while -I hesitated not to acknowledge how -familiar was all this, I still wondered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span> -to find how unfamiliar were the -fancies which ordinary images were -stirring up. On one of the staircases -I met the physician of the -family. His countenance, I thought, -wore a mingled expression of low -cunning and perplexity. He accosted -me with trepidation and passed -on. The valet now threw open a -door and ushered me into the presence -of his master.</p> - -<p>7. The room in which I found myself -was very large and lofty. The -windows were long, narrow, and -pointed, and at so vast a distance -from the black oaken floor as to be -altogether inaccessible from within. -Feeble gleams of encrimsoned light -made their way through the trellised -panes, and served to render sufficiently -distinct the more prominent -objects around; the eye, however, -struggled in vain to reach the remoter -angles of the chamber, or the -recesses of the vaulted and fretted -ceiling. Dark draperies hung upon -the walls. The general furniture was -profuse, comfortless, antique, and -tattered. Many books and musical -instruments lay scattered about, but -failed to give any vitality to the -scene. I felt that I breathed an -atmosphere of sorrow. An air of -stern, deep, and irredeemable gloom -hung over and pervaded all.</p> - -<p>8. Upon my entrance, Usher arose -from a sofa on which he had been lying -at full length, and greeted me -with a vivacious warmth which had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span> -much in it, I at first thought, of an -overdone cordiality,—of the constrained -effort of the <em>ennuyé</em> man of -the world. A glance, however, at his -countenance, convinced me of his -perfect sincerity. We sat down; and -for some moments, while he spoke -not, I gazed upon him with a feeling -half of pity, half of awe. Surely -man had never before so terribly -altered, in so brief a period, as had -Roderick Usher! It was with difficulty -that I could bring myself to -admit the identity of the wan being -before me with the companion of my -early boyhood. Yet the character -of his face had been at all times remarkable. -A cadaverousness of complexion; -an eye large, liquid, and -luminous beyond comparison; lips -somewhat thin and very pallid, but of -a surpassingly beautiful curve; a nose -of a delicate Hebrew model, but with -a breadth of nostril unusual in similar -formations; a finely-moulded -chin, speaking, in its want of prominence, -of a want of moral energy; -hair of a more than web-like softness -and tenuity,—these features, -with an inordinate expansion above -the regions of the temple, made up -altogether a countenance not easily -to be forgotten. And now in the -mere exaggeration of the prevailing -character of these features, and of -the expression they were wont to -convey, lay so much of change that -I doubted to whom I spoke. The -now ghastly pallor of the skin, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span> -the now miraculous lustre of the eye, -above all things startled and even -awed me. The silken hair, too, had -been suffered to grow all unheeded, -and as, in its wild gossamer texture, -it floated rather than fell about the -face, I could not, even with effort, -connect its arabesque expression -with any idea of simple humanity.</p> - -<p>9. In the manner of my friend I -was at once struck with an incoherence, -an inconsistency; and I soon -found this to arise from a series of -feeble and futile struggles to overcome -an habitual trepidancy, an excessive -nervous agitation. For something -of this nature I had indeed -been prepared, no less by his letter -than by reminiscences of certain -boyish traits, and by conclusions deduced -from his peculiar physical -conformation and temperament. His -action was alternately vivacious and -sullen. His voice varied rapidly -from a tremulous indecision (when -the animal spirits seemed utterly in -abeyance) to that species of energetic -concision—that abrupt, weighty, -unhurried, and hollow-sounding -enunciation, that leaden, self-balanced, -and perfectly modulated guttural -utterance—which may be -observed in the lost drunkard, or -the irreclaimable eater of opium, -during the periods of his most intense -excitement.</p> - -<p>10. It was thus that he spoke of -the object of my visit, of his earnest -desire to see me, and of the solace<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span> -he expected me to afford him. He -entered at some length into what he -conceived to be the nature of his -malady. It was, he said, a constitutional -and a family evil, and one for -which he despaired to find a remedy,—a -mere nervous affection, he immediately -added, which would undoubtedly -soon pass off. It displayed -itself in a host of unnatural -sensations. Some of these, as he detailed -them, interested and bewildered -me; although, perhaps, the terms -and the general manner of the narration -had their weight. He suffered -much from a morbid acuteness of the -senses; the most insipid food was -alone endurable; he could wear only -garments of certain texture; the -odors of all flowers were oppressive; -his eyes were tortured by even a faint -light; and there were but peculiar -sounds, and these from stringed instruments, -which did not inspire him -with horror.</p> - -<p>11. To an anomalous species of terror -I found him a bounden slave. -“I shall perish,” said he, “I <em>must</em> -perish in this deplorable folly. Thus, -thus, and not otherwise, shall I be -lost. I dread the events of the future, -not in themselves, but in their -results. I shudder at the thought of -any, even the most trivial, incident, -which may operate upon this intolerable -agitation of soul. I have, indeed, -no abhorrence of danger, except -in its absolute effect,—in terror. -In this unnerved, in this pitiable condition,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span> -I feel that the period will -sooner or later arrive when I must -abandon life and reason together in -some struggle with the grim phantasm, -<span class="smcap">Fear</span>.”</p> - -<p>12. I learned moreover at intervals, -and through broken and equivocal -hints, another singular feature of his -mental condition. He was enchained -by certain superstitious impressions -in regard to the dwelling which -he tenanted, and whence for many -years he had never ventured forth, in -regard to an influence whose supposititious -force was conveyed in -terms too shadowy here to be restated,—an -influence which some peculiarities -in the mere form and -substance of his family mansion had, -by dint of long sufferance, he said, -obtained over his spirit; an effect -which the physique of the gray walls -and turrets, and of the dim tarn into -which they all looked down, had -at length brought about upon the -morale of his existence.</p> - -<p>13. He admitted, however, although -with hesitation, that much of the -peculiar gloom which thus afflicted -him could be traced to a more natural -and far more palpable origin,—to -the severe and long-continued illness, -indeed to the evidently approaching -dissolution, of a tenderly -beloved sister, his sole companion -for long years, his last and only relative -on earth. “Her decease,” he -said, with a bitterness which I can -never forget, “would leave him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span> -(him, the hopeless and the frail) the -last of the ancient race of the Ushers.” -While he spoke, the lady -Madeline (for so was she called) -passed slowly through a remote portion -of the apartment, and, without -having noticed my presence, disappeared. -I regarded her with an utter -astonishment not unmingled with -dread, and yet I found it impossible -to account for such feelings. A -sensation of stupor oppressed me, as -my eyes followed her retreating -steps. When a door, at length, closed -upon her, my glance sought instinctively -and eagerly the countenance -of the brother; but he had buried -his face in his hands, and I could -only perceive that a far more than -ordinary wanness had overspread the -emaciated fingers through which -trickled many passionate tears.</p> - -<p>14. The disease of the lady Madeline -had long baffled the skill of her -physicians. A settled apathy, a gradual -wasting away of the person, and -frequent although transient affections -of a partially cataleptical character, -were the unusual diagnosis. Hitherto -she had steadily borne up against -the pressure of her malady, and had -not betaken herself finally to bed: -but, on the closing-in of the evening -of my arrival at the house, she succumbed -(as her brother told me at -night with inexpressible agitation) -to the prostrating power of the destroyer; -and I learned that the -glimpse I had obtained of her person<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span> -would thus probably be the last -I should obtain,—that the lady, at -least while living, would be seen by -me no more.</p> - -<p>15. For several days ensuing, her -name was unmentioned by either -Usher or myself; and during this -period I was busied in earnest endeavors -to alleviate the melancholy of -my friend. We painted and read together; -or I listened, as if in a dream, -to the wild improvisation of his -speaking guitar. And thus, as a -closer and still closer intimacy admitted -me more unreservedly into -the recesses of his spirit, the more -bitterly did I perceive the futility of -all attempt at cheering a mind from -which darkness, as if an inherent -positive quality, poured forth upon -all objects of the moral and physical -universe, in one unceasing radiation -of gloom.</p> - -<p>16. I shall ever bear about me a -memory of the many solemn hours -I thus spent alone with the master of -the House of Usher. Yet I should -fail in any attempt to convey an idea -of the exact character of the studies, -or of the occupations, in which he -involved me, or led me the way. An -excited and highly distempered ideality -threw a sulphureous lustre over -all. His long, improvised dirges will -ring forever in my ears. Among -other things, I hold painfully in mind -a certain singular perversion and amplification -of the wild air of the last -waltz of Von Weber. From the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span> -paintings over which his elaborate -fancy brooded, and which grew, touch -by touch, into vaguenesses at which -I shuddered the more thrillingly because -I shuddered knowing not why,—from -these paintings (vivid as -their images now are before me) I -would in vain endeavor to educe more -than a small portion which should -lie within the compass of merely -written words. By the utter simplicity, -by the nakedness of his designs, -he arrested and overawed attention. -If ever mortal painted an -idea, that mortal was Roderick Usher. -For me at least, in the circumstances -then surrounding me, there arose, -out of the pure abstractions which -the hypochondriac contrived to throw -upon his canvas, an intensity of intolerable -awe, no shadow of which -felt I ever yet in the contemplation -of the certainly glowing yet too concrete -reveries of Fuseli.</p> - -<p>17. One of the phantasmagoric conceptions -of my friend, partaking not -so rigidly of the spirit of abstraction, -may be shadowed forth, although -feebly, in words. A small -picture presented the interior of an -immensely long and rectangular vault -or tunnel, with low walls, smooth, -white, and without interruption or -device. Certain accessory points of -the design served well to convey the -idea that this excavation lay at an -exceeding depth below the surface of -the earth. No outlet was observed in -any portion of its vast extent, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</span> -no torch, or other artificial source of -light, was discernible; yet a flood -of intense rays rolled throughout, and -bathed the whole in a ghastly and -inappropriate splendor.</p> - -<p>18. I have just spoken of that -morbid condition of the auditory -nerve which rendered all music intolerable -to the sufferer, with the -exception of certain effects of -stringed instruments. It was, perhaps, -the narrow limits to which -he thus confined himself upon the -guitar, which gave birth, in great -measure, to the fantastic character -of his performances. But the fervid -<em>facility</em> of his impromptus could -not be so accounted for. They -must have been, and were, in the -notes as well as in the words of -his wild fantasias (for he not unfrequently -accompanied himself -with rhymed verbal improvisations), -the result of that intense -mental collectedness and concentration -to which I have previously -alluded as observable only in particular -moments of the highest artificial -excitement. The words of -one of these rhapsodies I have -easily remembered. I was, perhaps, -the more forcibly impressed with -it as he gave it, because, in the -under or mystic current of its -meaning, I fancied that I perceived, -and for the first time, a full consciousness, -on the part of Usher, of -the tottering of his lofty reason -upon her throne. The verses, which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</span> -were entitled “The Haunted Palace,” -ran very nearly, if not accurately, -thus:—</p> - - -<p class="p2 center">I.</p> - - -<div class="poetry-container pw16"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1">In the greenest of our valleys<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By good angels tenanted,</span><br /> -Once a fair and stately palace—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Radiant palace—reared its head.</span><br /> -In the monarch Thought’s dominion,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It stood there;</span><br /> -Never seraph spread a pinion<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over fabric half so fair.</span> -</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="p2 center">II.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container pw16"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1">Banners yellow, glorious, golden,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On its roof did float and flow</span><br /> -(This—all this—was in the olden<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Time long ago),</span><br /> -And every gentle air that dallied,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that sweet day,</span><br /> -Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A winged odor went away.</span><br /> -</p> -</div> -</div> - - -<p class="center p2">III.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container pw16"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1">Wanderers in that happy valley<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through two luminous windows saw</span><br /> -Spirits moving musically<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To a lute’s well-tunèd law,</span><br /> -Round about a throne, where sitting,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Porphyrogene,</span><br /> -In state his glory well befitting,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ruler of the realm was seen.</span></p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="p2 center">IV.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container pw21"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1">And all with pearl and ruby glowing<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was the fair palace door,</span><br /> -Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sparkling evermore,</span><br /> -A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was but to sing,</span><br /> -In voices of surpassing beauty,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wit and wisdom of their king.</span></p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="p2 center">V.</p> - - -<div class="poetry-container pw16"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1">But evil things, in robes of sorrow,<br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</span> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Assailed the monarch’s high estate;</span><br /> -(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)</span><br /> -And, round about his home, the glory<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That blushed and bloomed</span><br /> -Is but a dim-remembered story<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the old time entombed.</span></p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="p2 center">VI.</p> - - -<div class="poetry-container pw16"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1">And travellers now within that valley<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the red-litten windows see</span><br /> -Vast forms that move fantastically<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To a discordant melody;</span><br /> -While, like a ghastly rapid river,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the pale door,</span><br /> -A hideous throng rush out forever,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And laugh—but smile no more.</span></p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="p1">19. I well remember that suggestions -arising from this ballad led us -into a train of thought, wherein -there became manifest an opinion -of Usher’s which I mention, not so -much on account of its novelty (for -other men have thought thus) as -on account of the pertinacity with -which he maintained it. This opinion, -in its general form, was that -of the sentience of all vegetable -things. But in his disordered fancy, -the idea had assumed a more daring -character, and trespassed, under certain -conditions, upon the kingdom -of inorganization. I lack words to -express the full extent or the earnest -<em>abandon</em> of his persuasion. -The belief, however, was connected -(as I have previously hinted) with -the gray stones of the home of his -forefathers. The conditions of the -sentience had been here, he imagined, -fulfilled in the method of collocation -of these stones,—in the order<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</span> -of their arrangement, as well -as in that of the many fungi which -overspread them, and of the decayed -trees which stood around; above -all, in the long undisturbed endurance -of this arrangement, and in its -reduplication in the still waters of -the tarn. Its evidence—the evidence -of the sentience—was to be -seen, he said (and I here started -as he spoke), in the gradual yet certain -condensation of an atmosphere -of their own about the waters and -the walls. The result was discoverable, -he added, in that silent yet -importunate and terrible influence -which for centuries had moulded the -destinies of his family, and which -made <em>him</em> what I now saw him,—what -he was. Such opinions need -no comment, and I will make none.</p> - -<p>20. Our books—the books which -for years had formed no small portion -of the mental existence of the -invalid—were, as might be supposed, -in strict keeping with this -character of phantasm. We pored -together over such works as the Ververt -and Chartreuse of Gresset; the -Belphegor of Machiavelli; the -Heaven and Hell of Swedenborg; -the Subterranean Voyage of Nicholas -Klimm by Holberg; the Chiromancy -of Robert Flud, of Jean D’Indaginé, -and of De la Chambre; the Journey -into the Blue Distance of Tieck; and -the City of the Sun of Campanella. -One favorite volume was a small octavo -edition of the <em>Directorium Inquisitorum<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</span></em>, -by the Dominican Eymeric -de Gironne; and there were -passages in Pomponius Mela, about -the old African Satyrs and Ægipans, -over which Usher would sit dreaming -for hours. His chief delight, however, -was found in the perusal of -an exceedingly rare and curious book -in quarto Gothic,—the manual of a -forgotten church,—the <em>Vigilæ Mortuorum -secundum Chorum Ecclesiæ -Maguntinæ</em>.</p> - -<p>21. I could not help thinking of the -wild ritual of this work, and of its -probable influence on the hypochondriac, -when one evening, having informed -me abruptly that the lady -Madeline was no more, he stated his -intention of preserving her corpse for -a fortnight (previously to its final interment), -in one of the numerous -vaults within the main walls of the -building. The worldly reason, however, -assigned for this singular proceeding -was one which I did not feel -at liberty to dispute. The brother had -been led to his resolution (so he told -me) by consideration of the unusual -character of the malady of the deceased, -of certain obtrusive and eager -inquiries on the part of her medical -men, and of the remote and exposed -situation of the burial-ground of the -family. I will not deny that when -I called to mind the sinister countenance -of the person whom I met upon -the staircase, on the day of my arrival -at the house, I had no desire to oppose -what I regarded as at best but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</span> -a harmless, and by no means an unnatural, -precaution.</p> - -<p>22. At the request of Usher, I personally -aided him in the arrangements -for the temporary entombment. -The body having been encoffined, -we two alone bore it to -its rest. The vault in which we -placed it (and which had been so -long unopened that our torches, half -smothered in its oppressive atmosphere, -gave us little opportunity for -investigation) was small, damp, and -entirely without means of admission -for light; lying, at great depth, immediately -beneath that portion of the -building in which was my own sleeping -apartment. It had been used -apparently, in remote feudal times, -for the worst purposes of a donjon-keep, -and in later days as a place -of deposit for powder, or some other -highly combustible substance, as a -portion of its floor, and the whole -interior of a long archway through -which we reached it, were carefully -sheathed with copper. The door, -of massive iron, had been also -similarly protected. Its immense -weight caused an unusually sharp -grating sound as it moved upon its -hinges.</p> - -<p>23. Having deposited our mournful -burden upon tressels within this -region of horror, we partially turned -aside the yet unscrewed lid of the -coffin, and looked upon the face of -the tenant. A striking similitude -between the brother and sister now<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</span> -first arrested my attention; and -Usher, divining, perhaps, my -thoughts, murmured out some few -words from which I learned that the -deceased and himself had been -twins, and that sympathies of a -scarcely intelligible nature had always -existed between them. Our -glances, however, rested not long -upon the dead, for we could not regard -her unawed. The disease which -had thus entombed the lady in the -maturity of youth, had left, as usual -in all maladies of a strictly cataleptical -character, the mockery of a -faint blush upon the bosom and the -face, and that suspiciously lingering -smile upon the lip which is so terrible -in death. We replaced and -screwed down the lid, and having -secured the door of iron, made our -way, with toil, into the scarcely less -gloomy apartments of the upper portion -of the house.</p> - -<p>24. And now, some days of bitter -grief having elapsed, an observable -change came over the features of -the mental disorder of my friend. -His ordinary manner had vanished. -His ordinary occupations were neglected -or forgotten. He roamed -from chamber to chamber with hurried, -unequal, and objectless step. -The pallor of his countenance had -assumed, if possible, a more ghastly -hue, but the luminousness of his eye -had utterly gone out. The once occasional -huskiness of his tone was -heard no more; and a tremulous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</span> -quaver, as if of extreme terror, habitually -characterized his utterance. -There were times, indeed, when I -thought his unceasingly agitated -mind was laboring with some oppressive -secret, to divulge which he -struggled for the necessary courage. -At times, again, I was obliged to -resolve all into the mere inexplicable -vagaries of madness, for I beheld -him gazing upon vacancy for -long hours, in an attitude of the -profoundest attention, as if listening -to some imaginary sound. It was -no wonder that his condition terrified—that -it infected me. I felt -creeping upon me, by slow yet certain -degrees, the wild influences of -his own fantastic yet impressive superstitions.</p> - -<p>25. It was, especially, upon retiring -to bed late in the night of the -seventh or eighth day after the placing -of the lady Madeline within the -donjon, that I experienced the full -power of such feelings. Sleep came -not near my couch, while the hours -waned and waned away. I struggled -to reason off the nervousness -which had dominion over me. I endeavored -to believe that much if not -all of what I felt was due to the -bewildering influence of the gloomy -furniture of the room,—of the dark -and tattered draperies which, tortured -into motion by the breath of a -rising tempest, swayed fitfully to -and fro upon the walls, and rustled -uneasily about the decorations of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</span> -the bed. But my efforts were fruitless. -An irrepressible tremor gradually -pervaded my frame; and at -length there sat upon my very heart -an incubus of utterly causeless -alarm. Shaking this off with a gasp -and a struggle, I uplifted myself -upon the pillows, and, peering earnestly -within the intense darkness -of the chamber, hearkened—I know -not why, except that an instinctive -spirit prompted me—to certain low -and indefinite sounds which came, -through the pauses of the storm, -at long intervals, I knew not whence. -Overpowered by an intense sentiment -of horror, unaccountable yet -unendurable, I threw on my clothes -with haste (for I felt that I should -sleep no more during the night), -and endeavored to arouse myself -from the pitiable condition into -which I had fallen, by pacing rapidly -to and fro through the apartment.</p> - -<p>26. I had taken but a few turns -in this manner, when a light step -on an adjoining staircase arrested -my attention. I presently recognized -it as that of Usher. In an -instant afterward he rapped with a -gentle touch at my door, and entered, -bearing a lamp. His countenance -was, as usual, cadaverously -wan—but, moreover, there was a -species of mad hilarity in his eyes,—an -evidently restrained hysteria -in his whole demeanor. His air appalled -me—but anything was preferable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</span> -to the solitude which I had -so long endured, and I even welcomed -his presence as a relief.</p> - -<p>27. “And you have not seen it?” -he said abruptly, after having stared -about him for some moments in silence,—“you -have not then seen it?—but, -stay! you shall.” Thus -speaking, and having carefully -shaded his lamp, he hurried to one -of the casements, and threw it freely -open to the storm.</p> - -<p>28. The impetuous fury of the entering -gust nearly lifted us from our -feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous -yet sternly beautiful night, and one -wildly singular in its terror and its -beauty. A whirlwind had apparently -collected its force in our vicinity, for -there were frequent and violent alterations -in the direction of the wind; -and the exceeding density of the clouds -(which hung so low as to press upon -the turrets of the house) did not prevent -our perceiving the life-like velocity -with which they flew careering -from all points against each -other, without passing away into the -distance. I say that even their exceeding -density did not prevent our -perceiving this; yet we had no -glimpse of the moon or stars, nor -was there any flashing forth of the -lightning. But the under surfaces -of the huge masses of agitated vapor, -as well as all terrestrial objects -immediately around us, were glowing -in the unnatural light of a faintly -luminous and distinctly visible gaseous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</span> -exhalation which hung about -and enshrouded the mansion.</p> - -<p>29. “You must not—you shall -not behold this!” said I shudderingly, -to Usher, as I led him with a -gentle violence from the window to -a seat. “These appearances, which -bewilder you, are merely electrical -phenomena not uncommon—or it -may be that they have their ghastly -origin in the rank miasma of the -tarn. Let us close this casement; -the air is chilling and dangerous to -your frame. Here is one of your -favorite romances. I will read, and -you shall listen;—and so we will -pass away this terrible night together.”</p> - -<p>30. The antique volume which I -had taken up was the “Mad Trist” -of Sir Launcelot Canning; but I -had called it a favorite of Usher’s -more in sad jest than in earnest; -for, in truth, there is little in its -uncouth and unimaginative prolixity -which could have had interest -for the lofty and spiritual ideality -of my friend. It was, however, the -only book immediately at hand; and -I indulged a vague hope that the -excitement which now agitated the -hypochondriac might find relief (for -the history of mental disorder is -full of similar anomalies) even in -the extremeness of the folly which -I should read. Could I have -judged, indeed, by the wild, overstrained -air of vivacity with which -he hearkened, or apparently hearkened,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</span> -to the words of the tale, I -might well have congratulated myself -upon the success of my design.</p> - -<p>31. I had arrived at that well-known -portion of the story where -Ethelred, the hero of the Trist, having -sought in vain for peaceable admission -into the dwelling of the hermit, -proceeds to make good an entrance -by force. Here, it will be -remembered, the words of the narrative -run thus:—</p> - -<p>32. “And Ethelred, who was by -nature of a doughty heart, and who -was now mighty withal on account -of the powerfulness of the wine -which he had drunken, waited no -longer to hold parley with the hermit, -who, in sooth, was of an obstinate -and maliceful turn, but, feeling the -rain upon his shoulders, and fearing -the rising of the tempest, uplifted -his mace outright and with blows -made quickly room in the plankings -of the door for his gauntleted hand; -and now, pulling therewith sturdily, -he so cracked, and ripped, and tore -all asunder, that the noise of the -dry and hollow-sounding wood -alarumed and reverberated throughout -the forest.”</p> - -<p>33. At the termination of this sentence -I started, and for a moment -paused; for it appeared to me (although -I at once concluded that -my excited fancy had deceived me)—it -appeared to me that from some -very remote portion of the mansion -there came, indistinctly, to my ears,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</span> -what might have been in its exact -similarity of character the echo (but -a stifled and dull one certainly) of -the very cracking and ripping -sound which Sir Launcelot had so -particularly described. It was, beyond -doubt, the coincidence alone -which had arrested my attention; -for, amid the rattling of the sashes -of the casements, and the ordinary -commingled noises of the still increasing -storm, the sound, in itself, -had nothing, surely, which should -have interested or disturbed me. I -continued the story:—</p> - -<p>34. “But the good champion Ethelred, -now entering within the door, -was so enraged and amazed to perceive -no signal of the maliceful hermit; -but, in the stead thereof, a -dragon of a scaly and prodigious -demeanor, and of a fiery tongue, -which sate in guard before a palace -with a floor of silver; and upon the -wall there hung a shield of shining -brass with this legend enwritten:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container pw20 p11"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="small1"> -Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin;<br /> -Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And Ethelred uplifted his mace, -struck upon the head of the dragon, -which fell before him, and gave up -his pesty breath, with a shriek so -horrid and harsh, and withal so -piercing, that Ethelred had fain to -close his ears with his hands against -the dreadful noise of it, the like -whereof was never before heard.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</span></p> - -<p>35. Here again I paused abruptly, -and now with a feeling of wild -amazement, for there could be no -doubt whatever that, in this instance, -I did actually hear (although from -what direction it proceeded I found -it impossible to say) a low and apparently -distant, but harsh, protracted, -and most unusual screaming -or grating sound,—the exact counterpart -of what my fancy had already -conjured up for the dragon’s unnatural -shriek as described by the -romancer.</p> - -<p>36. Oppressed as I certainly was, -upon the occurrence of this second -and most extraordinary coincidence, -by a thousand conflicting sensations, -in which wonder and extreme terror -were predominant, I still retained -sufficient presence of mind to avoid -exciting, by any observation, the sensitive -nervousness of my companion. -I was by no means certain -that he had noticed the sounds in -question; although, assuredly, a -strange alteration had during the -last few minutes taken place in his -demeanor. From a position fronting -my own, he had gradually brought -round his chair, so as to sit with -his face to the door of the chamber; -and thus I could but partially perceive -his features, although I saw -that his lips trembled as if he were -murmuring inaudibly. His head -had dropped upon his breast; yet I -knew that he was not asleep, from -the wide and rigid opening of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</span> -eye as I caught a glance of it in -profile. The motion of his body, -too, was at variance with this idea, -for he rocked from side to side -with a gentle yet constant and uniform -sway. Having rapidly taken -notice of all this, I resumed the narrative -of Sir Launcelot, which thus -proceeded:—</p> - -<p>37. “And now the champion, having -escaped from the terrible fury -of the dragon, bethinking himself -of the brazen shield, and of the -breaking up of the enchantment -which was upon it, removed the carcass -from out of the way before him, -and approached valorously over the -silver pavement of the castle to -where the shield was upon the wall; -which in sooth tarried not for his -full coming, but fell down at his feet -upon the silver floor, with a mighty -great and terrible ringing sound.”</p> - -<p>38. No sooner had these syllables -passed my lips than—as if a shield -of brass had indeed, at the moment, -fallen heavily upon a floor of -silver—I became aware of a distinct, -hollow, metallic, and clangorous -yet apparently muffled reverberation. -Completely unnerved, I -leaped to my feet; but the measured -rocking movement of Usher was undisturbed. -I rushed to the chair in -which he sat. His eyes were bent -fixedly before him, and throughout -his whole countenance there reigned -a stony rigidity. But, as I placed -my hand upon his shoulder, there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</span> -came a strong shudder over his -whole person; a sickly smile quivered -about his lips; and I saw that -he spoke in a low, hurried, and gibbering -murmur, as if unconscious -of my presence. Bending closely -over him, I at length drank in the -hideous import of his words.</p> - -<p>39. “Not hear it?—yes, I hear -it, and <em>have</em> heard it. Long—long—long—many -minutes, many -hours, many days, have I heard it, -yet I dared not—oh, pity me, miserable -wretch that I am!—I dared -not—I <em>dared</em> not speak! <em>We have -put her living in the tomb!</em> Said -I not that my senses were acute? -I <em>now</em> tell you that I heard her first -feeble movements in the hollow coffin. -I heard them—many, many -days ago—yet I dared not—<em>I -dared not speak!</em> And now—to-night—Ethelred—ha! -ha!—the -breaking of the hermit’s door, and -the death-cry of the dragon, and -the clangor of the shield!—say -rather, the rending of her coffin, and -the grating of the iron hinges of her -prison, and her struggles within the -coppered archway of the vault! -Oh, whither shall I fly? Will she -not be here anon? Is she not hurrying -to upbraid me for my haste? -Have I not heard her footsteps on -the stair? Do I not distinguish that -heavy and horrible beating of her -heart? Madman!”—here he sprang -furiously to his feet, and shrieked -out his syllables, as if in the effort<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</span> -he were giving up his soul—“<em>Madman! -I tell you that she now stands -without the door!</em>”</p> - -<p>40. As if in the superhuman energy -of his utterance there had been -found the potency of a spell, the -huge antique panels to which the -speaker pointed threw slowly back, -upon the instant, their ponderous -and ebony jaws. It was the work -of the rushing gust—but then -without those doors there <em>did</em> stand -the lofty and enshrouded figure of -the lady Madeline of Usher! There -was blood upon her white robes, -and the evidence of some bitter -struggle upon every portion of her -emaciated frame. For a moment -she remained trembling and reeling -to and fro upon the threshold—then, -with a low moaning cry, fell -heavily inward upon the person of -her brother, and, in her violent and -now final death agonies, bore him -to the floor a corpse, and a victim -to the terrors he had anticipated.</p> - -<p>41. From that chamber and from -that mansion I fled aghast. The -storm was still abroad in all its wrath -as I found myself crossing the old -causeway. Suddenly there shot -along the path a wild light, and I -turned to see whence a gleam so -unusual could have issued; for the -vast house and its shadows were -alone behind me. The radiance was -that of the full, setting, and blood-red -moon, which now shone vividly -through that once barely discernible -fissure, of which I have before -spoken as extending from the roof -of the building, in a zigzag direction, -to the base. While I gazed, -this fissure rapidly widened—there -came a fierce breath of the whirlwind—the -entire orb of the satellite -burst at once upon my sight—my -brain reeled as I saw the mighty -walls rushing asunder—there was -a long, tumultuous shouting sound -like the voice of a thousand waters—and -the deep and dank tarn at my -feet closed sullenly and silently over -the fragments of the “<em>House of -Usher</em>.”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</span></p> - -<h3>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY</h3> - -<p>1. State as briefly as possible the impression made upon you -by the story under consideration.</p> - -<p>2. Cite passages which are most effective in making this impression.</p> - -<p>3. Do you find any jarring elements which tend to mar the -single impression?</p> - -<p>4. Does the story approach any types besides that of the impressionistic?</p> - -<p>5. Mention any weak points you discover.</p> - -<p>6. Write about three hundred words on the merits of the story.</p> - -<p>7. Try to find an impressionistic story in some present-day -magazine.</p> - -<p>8. Criticise Poe’s language, in general and in particular.</p> - -<p>9. Would either of these stories be popular if written to-day -by an unknown author?</p> - -<p>10. Would cutting improve either of these stories? If so, say -where.</p> - -<p>11. Compare Hawthorne’s style with that of Poe.</p> - -<p>12. Which story do you prefer, and why?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</span></p> - - -<h3>TEN REPRESENTATIVE IMPRESSIONISTIC STORIES</h3> - -<div class="small1"> - -<p>“The Luck of Roaring Camp,” Bret Harte, in <em>The Luck -of Roaring Camp and Other Stories</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Father,” Björnstjerne Björnson, translated in -<em>Stories by Foreign Authors, Scandinavian</em>.</p> - -<p>“A Journey,” Edith Wharton, in <em>The Greater Inclination</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Brushwood Boy,” Rudyard Kipling, in <em>The Day’s -Work</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Great Stone Face,” Nathaniel Hawthorne, in <em>The -Snow-Image and Other Twice-Told Tales</em>.</p> - -<p>“A Passion in the Desert,” Honoré de Balzac, translated -in <em>Little French Masterpieces, Balzac</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Pit and the Pendulum,” Edgar Allan Poe, in <em>Tales</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Silent Woman,” Leopold Kompert, translated in -<em>Modern Ghosts</em>.</p> - -<p>“Jesus Christ in Flanders,” Honoré de Balzac, translated -in <em>Little French Masterpieces, Balzac</em>.</p> - -<p>“Silence,” Leonid Andreyev, translated in <em>Short-Story -Masterpieces</em>.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</span></p> -</div> - -<h2> -VII<br /> -CHARACTER STUDIES</h2> - -<p class="center big1"><em>The Piece of String.</em>—<span class="smcap">Guy de Maupassant</span></p> - -<p class="center big1 p6b"><em>The Substitute.</em>—<span class="smcap">François Coppée</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</span></p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Most of us, in actual life, are accustomed to distinguish people -who are worth our while from people who are not; and those of -us who live advisedly are accustomed to shield ourselves from -people who cannot, by the mere fact of what they are, repay us -for the expenditure of time and energy we should have to make -to know them. And whenever a friend of ours asks us deliberately -to meet another friend of his, we take it for granted that -our friend has reasons for believing that the acquaintanceship -will be of benefit or of interest to both. Now the novelist stands -in the position of a friend who asks us to meet certain people -whom he knows; and he runs the risk of our losing faith in his -judgment unless we find his people worth our while.... He -... owes us an assurance that they shall be even more worth -while than the average actual person.—<span class="smcap">Clayton Hamilton</span>, <em>Materials -and Methods of Fiction</em>.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</span></p> - - -<h3>CHARACTER STUDIES</h3> - -<p>A character-study, whether in the form of a sketch, a -tale, or a short-story, attempts to reveal individual human -nature by the unfolding of the story.</p> - -<p>In the sketch it will be a photograph of character in a -striking mood, under stress of emotion, or just before, -or during, or after a crisis that is peculiarly suited to -showing either the full character or one of its interesting -phases. Some photographs consist of bold masses of -light and shade, others are so handled as to bring out a -multitude of details. The sketch allows in a literary way -the same methods of treatment, but the typical sketch -avoids unnecessary minutiæ.</p> - -<p>The tale is also a photograph, but instead of being a -single stationary picture, it is a moving-picture, delineating -character by a chain of incidents which allow us to -see what the characters are by what they do. True to -the type of the tale, it does not deal with character crisis, -but merely reveals character in a series of illuminating -deeds.</p> - -<p>In the character short-story the author’s method is -more complicated, for the whole mechanism of the story—introduction, -plot, dialogue, and conclusion—are designed -to show us the characters under stress of emotion -and the results of that emotional arousement. We learn -the characters of the characters—for there is a distinction -here—by seeing how they act upon each other, how -they solve problems, how they meet the crises of life—what -effect trouble or joy has upon them—and the final -outcome of it all. It is like studying a human being -while he is being subjected to a test, and observing the -development of his character, or its failure to stand the -test, in that critical moment.</p> - -<p>By this it will be seen that a character-study is a story -with a purpose—a purpose deeper than that of affording -entertainment from the plot. The finest stories are those -which so interest us in the action, or plot, of the story -proper that the profound character disclosures and -changes are borne in upon us while we are watching the -progress of the story. It is this subtle balance of narrative -and character-study which presents the story-teller’s -art at its best.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</span></p> - -<div class="body1"> -<h3>THE PIECE OF STRING</h3> - -<p class="center small1">(LA FICELLE)</p> - -<p class="big05 center p1">BY GUY DE MAUPASSANT</p> - -<p class="center"><em>Translation by The Editor</em></p> - -<div class="sidenote">Introduction.<br /> -Establishes the general setting, -and station in life -of the characters.</div> - -<p class="p1">On all the roads around Goderville -the peasants and their wives -were coming towards the town, for -it was market-day. The men swung -along at an easy gait, their whole -bodies swaying forward with every -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</span> -movement of their long, twisted legs—legs -misshapen by hard work: by -holding down the plough, which <span class="sidenote">Minute observation.</span> -throws up the left shoulder while -it deforms the figure; by mowing -grain, the effort of which spreads -the knees too wide apart to permit -them to stand quite steady; by all -the tedious and laborious tasks of -the fields. Their blue blouses, -starched and glossy as though varnished, -and decorated at collar and -cuffs with neat designs in white -stitching, puffed out about their -bony forms just like balloons all -ready to rise, from which protruded -a head, two arms, and two legs.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Characterization.</div> - -<p>2. Some of the men were leading -a cow or a calf at the end of a rope. -Following close behind, the wives -switched the animals over the back -with branches still covered with -leaves, in order to quicken their -pace. The women carried on their -arms great baskets from which the -heads of chickens and ducks protruded,<span class="sidenote">Local-color by character description.</span> -and they walked with a -shorter, quicker step than the men—each -withered figure erect and -wrapped in a scanty little shawl -pinned across her flat bosom, each -head done up in a white cloth, -bound close about the hair and surmounted -by a cap.</p> - -<p>3. Now a wagonette passed, drawn -by a nag at a fitful trot, grotesquely -shaking up the two men seated side -by side, and the woman in the back<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</span> -of the vehicle, who clutched its sides -to lessen the rough jolting.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Local-color.</div> - -<p>4. In the Goderville market-place -there was a great crowd—a medley -of man and beast. The horns -of the cattle, the high, long-napped -hats of the prosperous peasants, and -the head-dresses of the women, rose -above the level of the throng. And -the voices—sharp, shrill, squawking—rose -in a wild, incessant -clamor, which was dominated now -and then by a great guffaw of laughter -emitted from the robust chest -of some sturdy bumpkin, or by the -long-drawn-out lowing of a cow -tethered to the wall of a house.</p> - -<p>5. Everything there smelled of -the stable—the milk, the manure, the -hay, the sweat, gave forth that acrid, -offensive odor of man and animal -so peculiar to dwellers of the fields.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Chief Character.</span></div> - -<p id="para6">6. Master Hauchecorne, of -Bréauté, had just arrived at Goderville, -and was moving toward the -square, when he observed a little -piece of string on the ground. -Economical, like a true Norman, <span class="sidenote">The Normans are said to be -typically “ambitious, positive, -bold, tricky, economical.”</span> -Master Hauchecorne thought that -everything which could be used was -worth saving; so he stooped down -painfully, for he suffered from rheumatism, -picked up from the dirt -the insignificant scrap of twine, -and was just about to roll it <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Foundation Plot Incident.</span></span> -up with care when he noticed Master -Malandin, the harness-maker, -standing on his doorstep looking at -him. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Chief Complication.</span></span>Once the two men had had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</span> -a difference over the matter of a halter, -and ever since they had remained -angry with each other, cherishing -their spite. Master Hauchecorne -was seized with a sort of -shame at having his enemy thus see -him searching in the mud for a mere -scrap of string. He therefore hastily <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Resultant Complication.</span></span> -hid away his find in his blouse, -and then in his breeches-pocket. -At the same time he pretended to -be still searching in the dirt for -something which he had not been -able to find. Finally he moved on -toward the market-place, his head -thrust forward, his body bent double -by his pains.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Local-color.</div> - -<p>7. In a moment he was lost in -the slowly shifting, noisy throng, -agitated by its own constant chafferings. -The peasants felt of the cows, -turned away, came back again, -much puzzled—always fearful of -being over-reached in the bargain, -never reaching a decision, watching -the eye of the vendor, <span class="sidenote">See note on <a href="#para6">¶6</a>.</span> seeking ever -to unmask the ruse of the man and -the defect in his animal.</p> - -<p>8. The women, having set their -huge baskets at their feet, took out -their poultry, which they laid on -the ground with legs tied together, -terror-stricken eyes, and scarlet -combs.</p> - -<p>9. They listened to offers, maintaining -their price with a keen air -but impassive face, or else suddenly -deciding to take the counter offer,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</span> -crying out to the slowly retreating -customer:</p> - -<p>10. “It’s settled, Master Anthime, -I’ll give them to you!”</p> - -<p>11. At length, little by little, the -square became empty, and when the -Angelus sounded noon, those who -lived too far away to go home repaired -to the inns.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Setting for main crisis.</div> - -<p>12. At Jourdain’s, the large hall -was crowded with diners, while the -great courtyard was full of vehicles -of every sort—carts, gigs, wagonettes, -tilburies, traps, nameless carriages, -yellow with mud, shapeless, -patched, shafts pointing to heaven -like two arms, or with noses in the -ground and backs in the air.</p> - -<p>13. Right opposite the diners at -table, the immense fireplace, all -brightly aflame, cast a lively warmth -on the backs of those ranged along -the right. Three spits were turning, -laden with chickens, pigeons, and -legs of mutton; and a delectable odor -of roasting meat, and of juices -streaming over the browned skin, -rose from the hearth, kindled good -humor and made everyone’s mouth -water.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note how the author gathers -the people to witness -the crisis.</div> - -<p>14. All the aristocracy of the -plough were eating there, at <em>Maît’ -Jourdain’s</em>,<span class="sidenote"><em>Maît’</em>—colloquial abbreviation -for <em>Maître</em>, equal -here to “Mine Host.”</span> inn-keeper and horse-trader—a -sly fellow who had made -money.</p> - -<p>15. The dishes went round, and, -like the jugs of yellow cider, were -emptied. Everyone told of his affairs: -his sales and his purchases.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</span> -They exchanged news of the crops—the -weather was good for vegetables, -but a trifle wet for wheat.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Approach of crisis.</div> - -<p>16. Suddenly the roll of a drum -sounded in the courtyard before -the house. Instantly everyone was -on his feet,<span class="sidenote">Typical of their class.</span> save a few indifferent -ones, and ran to the door or to -the windows, with mouth still full -and napkin in hand.</p> - -<p>17. After the public crier had -ended his tattoo, he shouted out in a -jerky voice, making his pauses at -the wrong time:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Preparation for crisis.</div> - -<p>18. “Be it known to the people -of Goderville, and in general to all—persons -present at the market, that -there was lost this morning, upon -the Beuzeville road between—nine -and ten o’clock, a black leather -pocketbook, containing five hundred -francs and some business papers. -You are requested to return it—to -the mayor’s office, without delay, or -to Master Fortuné Houlbrèque of -Manneville. There will be twenty -francs reward.”</p> - -<p>19. Then the man went away. -Once again was heard afar the muffled -roll of the drum and the faint -voice of the crier.</p> - -<p>20. Then they began to talk over -the incident, estimating the chances -Master Houlbrèque had of recovering -or of not recovering his pocketbook. -Meanwhile the meal went on.</p> - -<p>21. They were finishing coffee -when the corporal of gendarmes appeared -in the doorway.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</span></p> - -<p>22. He asked:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Closer approach of crisis.</div> - -<p>23. “Master Hauchecorne of -Bréauté—is he here?”</p> - -<p>24. Master Hauchecorne, who was -seated at the other end of the table, -replied:</p> - -<p>25. “That’s me.”</p> - -<p>26. And the corporal replied:</p> - -<p>27. “Master Hauchecorne, will you -have the goodness to go with me to -the mayor’s office. <em>Monsieur le -maire</em> would like to speak with -you.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note how throughout the -author emphasizes physical -characteristics as indicating -character.<br /> -Minute observation.</div> - -<p>28. The peasant—surprised, disturbed—drained -his glass at a -gulp, got up, and, more doubled up -than in the morning, because the -first steps after a rest were always -particularly difficult, he started off, -repeating:</p> - -<p>29. “That’s me, that’s me,” and -he followed the corporal.</p> - -<p>30. The mayor was awaiting him, -seated in an armchair. He was the -notary of the place, a large man, -grave, and pompous in speech.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Full Crisis.</span></div> - -<p>31. “Master Hauchecorne,” said -he, “you were seen to pick up this -morning, on the Beuzeville road, -the pocketbook lost by Master -Houlbrèque, of Manneville.”</p> - -<p>32. The countryman, speechless, -stared at the mayor, already terrified -by this suspicion which rested -upon him without his understanding -why.</p> - -<p>33. “Me, me, I picked up that -pocketbook?”</p> - -<p>34. “Yes, exactly you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</span></p> - -<p>35. “Word of honor, I ain’t even -so much as seen it.”</p> - -<p>36. “You were seen.”</p> - -<p>37. “They saw me, me? Who’s it -'as seen me?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note how the complication -is involved by personal -prejudice.</div> - -<p>38. “Monsieur Malandin, the harness-maker.”</p> - -<p>39. Then the old man remembered, -and understood. Reddening with -rage, he cried:</p> - -<p>40. “Ah! he saw me, that cad! -He saw me pick up this here string—look, -<em>m’sieu le maire</em>.”</p> - -<p>41. And, fumbling at the bottom -of his pocket, he pulled out the -little bit of cord.</p> - -<p>42. But the mayor, incredulous, -shook his head.</p> - -<p>43. “You will not make me believe, -Master Hauchecorne, that -Monsieur Malandin, who is a man -worthy of belief, has mistaken that -bit of string for a pocketbook.”</p> - -<p>44. The peasant, furious, raised -his hand and spat to one side, thus -to attest his honor, repeating:</p> - -<p>45. “All the same it’s the truth of -the good God, the holy truth, <em>m’sieu -le maire</em>. There! Upon my soul and -my salvation, I say it again.”</p> - -<p>46. The mayor replied:</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Circumstantial evidence. The -miser’s character helps -condemn him unjustly.</div> - -<p>47. “After having picked the thing -up, you even hunted a long time in -the mud to see if some piece of -money had not fallen out.”</p> - -<p>48. The good man choked with indignation -and fear.</p> - -<p>49. “How can anyone tell—how -can anyone tell—lies like that to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</span> -misrepresent an honest man! How -can anyone tell—”</p> - -<p>50. However he might protest, no -one believed him.</p> - -<p>51. He was confronted with Monsieur -Malandin, who repeated and -sustained his affirmation. They railed -at each other for a whole hour. -At his own request, Master Hauchecorne -was searched. They found -nothing upon him.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Suspense.</div> - -<p>52. At last, the mayor, greatly -perplexed, sent him away, with the -warning that he would advise the -public prosecutor, and ask for orders.</p> - -<p>53. The news had spread. When -he came out of the mayor’s office the -old man was surrounded and questioned -with a curiosity either serious -or bantering, but into which not the -least indignation entered. And he -began to recount the history of the -piece of string. No one believed -him. They laughed.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Tone of story.</div> - -<p>54. He went on, halted by everyone, -stopping his acquaintances, renewing -endlessly his recital and his -protestations, showing his pockets -turned inside out to prove that he -had nothing.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note Maupassant’s use of -the short paragraph.</div> - -<p>55. They said to him:</p> - -<p>56. “G’long, you old rascal!”</p> - -<p>57. And he grew angry, working -himself into exasperation, into a -fever, desperate at not being believed, -not knowing what to do, and always -repeating his story.</p> - -<p>58. Night came on. He must go -home. He started out with three<span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</span> -neighbors to whom he showed the -place where he had picked up -the piece of string; and all along the -road he kept talking of his adventure.</p> - -<p>59. That evening, he made a round -of the village of Bréauté, in order to -tell everyone of the matter. He encountered -none but unbelievers.</p> - -<p>60. He was ill of it all night.</p> - -<p>61. The next day, about one o’clock -in the afternoon, Marius Paumelle, -a farm-hand of Master Breton’s, the -market-gardener at Ymauville, returned -the pocketbook and its contents -to Master Houlbrèque, of -Manneville.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Apparent resolution of the -complication.</div> - -<p>62. This man asserted, in substance, -that he had found the article on the -road; but, not being able to read, -he had carried it home and given it -to his employer.</p> - -<p>63. The news spread to the suburbs. -Master Hauchecorne was informed -of it. He set himself at once to -journeying about and commenced to -narrate his story as completed by -the denouement. He was triumphant.</p> - -<p>64. “Wha’ made me feel bad,” he -said, “wasn’t the thing itself, you -understand, but it was the lies. -There’s nothing hurts you like being -blamed for a lie.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Tone of story.</div> - - - -<p>65. All day long he talked of his -adventure, he recounted it on the -roadways to the people who passed, -at the tavern to the folks who drank, -at the dismissal of church on the following -Sunday. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Foundation for Climax.</span></span> He even button-holed -strangers to tell it to them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Resultant Complication.</span></div> - -<p>Now, he was tranquil, and yet something -else bothered him without his -being able to tell precisely what. -People did not seem to be convinced. -He felt as if they gossiped behind -his back.</p> - -<p>66. On Tuesday of the following -week, he went to the Goderville -market, solely impelled by the desire -to relate his story. Malandin, standing -in his doorway, began to laugh -when he saw him pass. Why?</p> - -<p>67. He accosted a farmer of Criquetot -who would not let him finish, -but giving him a dig in the pit of -the stomach, cried out in his face, -“G’long, you great rogue!” Then -he turned on his heel.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Peasant simplicity.</div> - -<p>68. Master Hauchecorne stood -speechless, growing more and more -disturbed. Why had he called him -“great rogue”?</p> - -<p>69. When seated at table at Jourdain’s -tavern, he again began to explain -the affair.</p> - -<p>70. A Montivilliers horse-dealer -called out to him:</p> - -<p>71. “Go on, go on, you old trickster, -I know you, and your piece of -string!”</p> - -<p>72. Hauchecorne stammered, “But—they—found -it, the pocketbook!”</p> - -<p>73. But the other retorted:</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Denouement as to the -resultant complication.</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Final Complication.</span></div> - -<p>74. “Be quiet, daddy! There’s -one who finds it, and one who takes -it back. No one sees it, no one recognizes -it, no one is the wiser for it.”</p> - -<p>75. The peasant sat dumbfounded. -He understood at last. They accused<span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</span> -him of having returned the pocketbook -by a confederate, an accomplice.</p> - -<p>76. He tried to protest. Everyone -at the table began to laugh.</p> - -<p>77. He could not finish his dinner, -and left amidst their mockeries.</p> - -<p>78. He returned home, ashamed -and indignant, strangled by his -anger, by his confusion, and all the -more thunderstruck because, with his -Norman cunning, he was quite capable -of having done the thing of -which they had accused him, and -even of boasting of it as a good trick.<span class="sidenote">Key.</span> -It appeared to him confusedly as impossible -to prove his innocence, for -his trickery was well known. And -he felt struck to the heart with the -injustice of the suspicion.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Tone.</div> - -<p>79. Again he began to tell of his -adventure, every day lengthening his -recital, advancing each time new -proofs, more energetic protestations, -and more solemn oaths which he -conjured up in his hours of solitude—his -mind was occupied solely by -the story of the piece of string.<span class="sidenote">Key.</span> -They believed him all the less as -his defense became more complicated -and his reasoning more fine-spun.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Complication summarized.</div> - -<p>80. “Ha, they are liar’s reasons!” -they said behind his back.</p> - -<p>81. He realized it; he fretted over -it; he exhausted himself in futile -efforts.</p> - -<p>82. He visibly wasted away.</p> - -<p>83. The wags now made him recite -“The Piece of String” for their -amusement, as one persuades a soldier -who has been through a campaign, -to tell the story of his battles. His -mind, attacked at its foundations, -began to totter.</p> - -<p>84. Towards the end of December -he took to his bed.</p> - -<p>85. During the first days of January -he died, and, in the delirium of -his mortal agony he protested his innocence, -repeating:</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Climax.</span></div> - -<p>86. “—a li’l’ piece of string ... -a li’l’ piece of string ... see, here -it is, <em>m’sieu le maire</em>.”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</span></p> - - -<h3>COPPÉE AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> - -<p>François Edouard Joachim Coppée was born in Paris, -January 12, 1842. He was educated at the <em>Lycée St. -Louis</em>, and early attracted attention by his poetic gifts. -He held office as Librarian of the Senate, and also -Guardian of the Archives at the <em>Comédie Française</em>. -The honors of membership in the French Academy and -that of being decorated with the Cross of the Legion of -Honor were given him in 1883 and 1888 respectively. -He died May 23, 1908.</p> - -<p>François Coppée was a poet, dramatist, and short-story -writer. The collection <em>Poèmes Modernes</em>, published at -the age of twenty-seven, contains some remarkable work -which well represents his talent. The plays <em>Madame de -Maintenon</em> and <em>Le Luthier de Crémone</em> rank with his -best dramatic work. Among his short-story gems are -“The Sabots of Little Wolff,” “At Table,” “Two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</span> -Clowns,” “The Captain’s Vices,” “My Friend Meurtrier,” -“An Accident,” and “The Substitute.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As a novelist, Coppée left no permanent mark upon -his times, for in this field he was far surpassed by his -contemporaries; but as a writer of little prose fictions, he -stands well forward among that brilliant group which -includes those immortals of the short-story—Maupassant, -Daudet, and Mérimée. From the work of these -masters, Coppée’s is well distinguished. The Norman -Maupassant drew his lines with a sharper pencil, and, by -the same token, an infinitely harder one; Daudet, child -of Provence though he was, dipped his stylus more often -in the acid of satire; and the Parisian Mérimée, though -nearer than any other to Coppée in his manner of work, -was less in sympathy with his own characters than the -warmer-hearted author of “The Sabots of Little Wolff” -and “The Substitute”—which follows in a translation -by the author of this volume. Coppée was almost an -idealist—certainly he was quick to respond to the call -of the ideal in his themes. Amidst so much that is -sordid and gross in French fiction, how refreshing it is -to read a master who could be truthful without wallowing, -moral without sermonizing, compassionate without -sniveling, humorous without buffooning, and always disclose -in his stories the spirit of a sympathetic lover of -mankind. Like Dickens, he chose the lowly for his characters, -and like Dickens, he found poetry in their simple -lives.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>In common with other modern French writers, with Daudet, -Maupassant, and others, Coppée excels in the writing of tales. -His prose is remarkable for the same qualities that appear in -his poetical works: sympathy, tenderness, marked predilection -for the weak, the humble, and especially a masterly treatment of -subjects essentially Parisian and modern.—<span class="smcap">Robert Sanderson</span>, -<em>François Coppée</em>, in <span class="smcap">Warner’s</span> <em>Library of the World’s Best -Literature</em>.</p> - -<p>Compassion is the chief quality of this little masterpiece,—compassion -and understanding of a primitive type of character. -The author shows us the good in a character not altogether bad; -and he almost makes us feel that the final sacrifice was justifiable. -He succeeds in doing this chiefly because he shows us the -other characters only as they appeared to Jean François, thus -focusing the interest of the reader on this single character.—<span class="smcap">Brander -Matthews</span>, <em>The Short-story</em>.</p> - -<p>More than Daudet, Coppée deserves the title of the French -Dickens. A fellow member of the French Academy, José de -Heredia, calls him “the poet of the humble, painting with sincere -emotion his profound sympathy for the sorrows, the miseries, -and the sacrifices of the meek.” As an artist in fiction, -says Heredia, “Coppée possesses preëminently the gift of presenting -concrete fact rather than abstraction,” and a “great -grasp of character,” enabling him “to show us the human heart -and intellect in full play and activity”—both of which endowments -were the supreme characteristics of the author of <em>Nicholas -Nickleby</em> and <em>David Copperfield</em>.—<span class="smcap">Merion M. Miller</span>, Introduction -to <em>The Guilty Man</em>.</p> - -<p>Contrast the touching pathos of the “Substitute,” poignant in -his magnificent self-sacrifice, by which the man who has conquered -his shameful past goes back willingly to the horrible life -he has fled from, that he may save from a like degradation and -from an inevitable moral decay the one friend he has in the -world, all unworthy as this friend is—contrast this with the -story of the gigantic deeds “My Friend Meurtrier” boasts about -unceasingly, not knowing that he has been discovered in his -little round of daily domestic duties—making the coffee of his -good old mother, and taking her poodle out for a walk.... -No doubt M. Coppée’s <em>contes</em> [stories] have not the sharpness -of Maupassant’s nor the brilliancy of M. Daudet’s. But what of -it? They have qualities of their own. They have sympathy, -poetry, and a power of suggesting pictures not exceeded, I think, -by those of either Maupassant or M. Daudet. M. Coppée’s street -views in Paris, his interiors, his impressionist sketches of life -under the shadow of Notre Dame, are convincingly successful.—<span class="smcap">Brander -Matthews</span>, <em>Aspects of Fiction</em>.</p> -</div> - - -<p class="p2 big1 center">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON COPPÉE</p> - -<p>Introduction to <em>Ten Tales by Coppée</em>, Brander Matthews -(1890); <em>Books and Play-Books</em>, Brander Matthews -(1895); <em>Literary Movement in France during the Nineteenth -Century</em>, Georges Pellissier (1897); <em>Hours with -Famous Parisians</em>, Stuart Henry (1897).</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</span></p> - -<p class="p2 center">FOR ANALYSIS</p> - -<div class="body1"> -<h3>THE SUBSTITUTE</h3> - -<p class="center small1">(LE REMPLAÇANT)</p> - -<p class="big05 center">BY FRANÇOIS COPPÉE</p> - -<p class="center"><em>Translation by The Editor</em><a id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a></p> - - -<p class="p1">He was scarcely ten years old -when he was first arrested as a vagabond.</p> - -<p>2. Thus he spoke to the judges:</p> - -<p>3. I am called Jean François Leturc, -and for six months now I’ve -been with the man who sings between -two lanterns on the Place de la Bastille,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</span> -while he scrapes on a string of -catgut. I repeat the chorus with him, -and then I cry out, ‘Get the collection -of new songs, ten centimes, two -sous!’ He was always drunk and -beat me; that’s why the police found -me the other night, in the tumble-down -buildings. Before that, I used -to be with the man who sells brushes. -My mother was a laundress; she called -herself Adèle. At one time a -gentleman had given her an establishment, -on the ground-floor, at Montmartre. -She was a good worker and -loved me well. She made money because -she had the clientele of the -café waiters, and those people use -lots of linen. Sundays, she would -put me to bed early to go to the ball; -but week days, she sent me to the -Brothers’ school, where I learned to -read. Well, at last the <em>sergent-de-ville</em> -whose beat was up our street, -began always stopping before her -window to talk to her—a fine fellow, -with the Crimean medal. They -got married, and all went wrong. -He didn’t take to me, and set mamma -against me. Every one boxed -my ears; and it was then that, to get -away from home, I spent whole days -on the Place Clichy, where I got to -know the mountebanks. My stepfather -lost his place, mamma her -customers; she went to the wash-house -to support her man. It was -there she got consumption—from -the steam of the lye. She died at -Lariboisière. She was a good woman. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</span> -Since that time I’ve lived with -the brush-seller and the catgut-scraper. -Are you going to put me in -prison?”</p> - -<p>4. He talked this way openly, cynically, -like a man. He was a ragged -little rascal, as tall as a boot, with his -forehead hidden under a strange mop -of yellow hair.</p> - -<p>5. Nobody claimed him, so they -sent him to the Reform School.</p> - -<p>6. Not very intelligent, lazy, above -all maladroit with his hands, he was -able to learn there only a poor trade—the -reseating of chairs. Yet he -was obedient, of a nature passive and -taciturn, and he did not seem to have -been too profoundly corrupted in that -school of vice. But when, having -come to his seventeenth year, he was -set free again on the streets of Paris, -he found there, for his misfortune, -his prison comrades, all dreadful -rascals, exercising their low callings. -Some were trainers of dogs -for catching rats in the sewers; -some shined shoes on ball nights -in the Passage de l’Opéra; some -were amateur wrestlers, who let -themselves be thrown by the Hercules -of the side-shows; some fished from -rafts out in the river, in the full -sunlight. He tried all these things -a little, and a few months after he -had left the house of correction he -was arrested anew for a petty theft: -a pair of old shoes lifted from out an -open shop-window. Result: a year -of prison at Sainte-Pélagie, where he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</span> -served as valet to the political prisoners.</p> - - -<p>7. He lived, astonished, among this -group of prisoners, all very young -and negligently clad, who talked in -loud voices and carried their heads -in such a solemn way. They used to -meet in the cell of the eldest of them, -a fellow of some thirty years, already -locked up for a long time and apparently -settled at Sainte-Pélagie: a -large cell it was, papered with colored -caricatures, and from whose windows -one could see all Paris—its -roofs, its clock-towers, and its domes, -and far off, the distant line of the -hills, blue and vague against the sky. -There were upon the walls several -shelves filled with books, and all the -old apparatus of a <em>salle d’armes</em>—broken -masks, rusty foils, leather -jackets, and gloves that were losing -their stuffing. It was there that the -“politicians” dined together, adding -to the inevitable “soup and beef” -some fruit, cheese, and half-pints of -wine that Jean François went out to -buy in a can—tumultuous repasts, -interrupted by violent disputes, <span class="sidenote">Revolutionary songs of 1793.</span> -where they sang in chorus at the -dessert the <em>Carmagnole</em> and <em>Ça ira</em>. -They took on, however, an air of -dignity on days when they made place -for a newcomer, who was at first -gravely treated as “<em>citizen</em>,” but who -was the next day <span class="sidenote"><em>Tu</em>—thou—used only in -familiar address.</span><em>tutoyed</em>, and called -by his nickname. They used big -words there—Corporation, Solidarity, -and phrases all quite unintelligible -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</span> -to Jean François, such as this, -for example, which he once heard -uttered imperiously by a frightful little -hunchback who scribbled on paper -all night long:</p> - -<p>8. “It is settled. The cabinet is to -be thus composed: Raymond in the -Department of Education, Martial in -the Interior, and I in Foreign Affairs.”</p> - -<p>9. Having served his time, he wandered -again about Paris, under the -surveillance of the police, in the fashion -of beetles that cruel children keep -flying at the end of a string. He had -become one of those fugitive and -timid beings whom the law, with a -sort of coquetry, arrests and releases, -turn and turn about, a little like those -platonic fishermen who, so as not -to empty the pond, throw back into -the water the fish just out of the net. -Without his suspecting that so much -honor was done to his wretched -personality, he had a special docket -in the mysterious archives of <span class="sidenote">Police headquarters.</span><em>la rue -de Jérusalem</em>, his name and surnames -were written in a large back-hand -on the gray paper of the cover, -and the notes and reports, carefully -classified, gave him these graded appellations: -“the man named Leturc,” -“the prisoner Leturc,” and at last -“the convicted Leturc.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">The California, a cheap eating-house -in Paris.</div> - -<p>10. He stayed two years out of -prison, dining <em>à la Californie</em>, sleeping -in lodging-houses, and sometimes in -lime-kilns, and taking part with his -fellows in endless games of pitch-penny<span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</span> -on the boulevards near the -city gates. He wore a greasy cap -on the back of his head, carpet slippers, -and a short white blouse. -When he had five sous, he had his -hair curled. He danced at Constant’s -at Montparnasse; bought for two -sous the jack-of-hearts or the ace-of-spades, -which were used as return -checks, to resell them for four sous -at the door of Bobino; opened carriage-doors -as occasion offered; led -about sorry nags at the horse-market.<span class="sidenote">In drawing lots for military -service the higher numbers -give exemption, and -this he secured by drawing -“a good number.”</span> -Of all the bad luck—in the conscription -he drew a good number. Who -knows whether the atmosphere of -honor which is breathed in a regiment, -whether military discipline, -might not have saved him? Caught -in a haul of the police-net with the -younger vagabonds who used to rob -the drunkards asleep in the streets, -he denied very energetically having -taken part in their expeditions. It -was perhaps true. But his antecedents -were accepted in lieu of proof, -and he was sent up for three years -to Poissy. There he had to make -rough toys, had himself tattooed on -the chest, and learned thieves’ slang -and the penal code. A new liberation, -a new plunge into the Parisian -sewer, but very short this time, for -at the end of hardly six weeks he -was again compromised in a theft -by night, aggravated by violent entry, -a doubtful case in which he -played an <span class="sidenote">A receiver of stolen goods.</span> obscure rôle, half dupe -and half fence. On the whole, his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</span> -complicity seemed evident, and he -was condemned to five years’ hard -labor. His sorrow in this adventure -was, chiefly, to be separated from an -old dog which he had picked up on -a heap of rubbish and cured of the -mange. This beast loved him.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Straw was stuffed into the -sabots to cushion the feet.</div> - -<p>11. Toulon, the ball on his ankle, -the work in the harbor, the blows -from the staves, the wooden shoes -without straw, the soup of black -beans dating from Trafalgar, no -money for tobacco, and the horrible -sleep on the filthy camp-bed of the -galley slave, that is what he knew -for five torrid summers and five winters -blown upon by the <span class="sidenote">The northwest storm-wind -from the Mediterranean.</span><em>Mistral</em>. He -came out from there stunned, and -was sent under surveillance to Vernon, -where he worked for some time -on the river; then, an incorrigible -vagabond, he broke exile and returned -again to Paris.</p> - -<p>12. He had his savings, fifty-six -francs—that is to say, time enough -to reflect. During his long absence, -his old and horrible comrades had -been dispersed. He was well hidden, -and slept in a loft at an old woman’s, -to whom he had represented himself -as a sailor weary of the sea, having -lost his papers in a recent shipwreck, -and who wished to essay another -trade. His tanned face, his calloused -hands, and a few nautical terms he -let fall one time or another, made -this story sufficiently probable.</p> - -<p>13. One day when he had risked a -saunter along the streets, and when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</span> -the chance of his walk had brought -him to Montmartre, where he had -been born, an unexpected memory -arrested him before the door of the -Brothers’ school in which he had -learned to read. Since it was very -warm, the door was open, and with -a single glance the passing incorrigible -could recognize the peaceful -schoolroom. Nothing was changed: -neither the bright light shining in -through the large windows, nor the -crucifix over the desk, nor the rows -of seats furnished with leaden ink-stands, -nor the table of weights and -measures, nor the map on which -pins stuck in still pointed out the -operations of some ancient war. -Heedlessly and without reflecting, -Jean François read on the blackboard -these words of the Gospel, -which a well-trained hand had traced -as an example of penmanship:</p> - - -<p class="small1">Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner -that repenteth, more than over ninety and -nine just persons which need no repentance.</p> - - -<p>14. It was doubtless the hour for -recreation, for the Brother professor -had left his chair, and, sitting on the -edge of a table, he seemed to be -telling a story to all the <em>gamins</em> who -surrounded him, attentive and raising -their eyes. What an innocent -and gay countenance was that of the -beardless young man, in long black -robe, with white necktie, with coarse, -ugly shoes, and with badly cut brown -hair pushed up at the back. All -those pallid faces of children of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</span> -populace which were looking at him -seemed less childlike than his, above -all when, charmed with a candid, -priestly pleasantry he had made, he -broke out with a good and frank peal -of laughter, which showed his teeth -sound and regular—laughter so contagious -that all the scholars broke -out noisily in their turn. And it was -simple and sweet, this group in the -joyous sunlight that made their clear -eyes and their blonde hair shine.</p> - -<p>15. Jean François looked at the -scene some time in silence, and, for -the first time, in that savage nature -all instinct and appetite, there awoke -a mysterious and tender emotion. -His heart, that rude, hardened heart, -which neither the cudgel of the galley-master -nor the weight of the -watchman’s heavy whip falling on his -shoulders was able to stir, beat almost -to bursting. Before this spectacle, in -which he saw again his childhood, -his eyes closed sadly, and, restraining -a violent gesture, a prey to the torture -of regret, he walked away with -great strides.</p> - -<p>16. The words written on the -blackboard came back to him.</p> - -<p>17. “If it were not too late, after -all!” he murmured. “If I could -once more, like the others, eat my -toasted bread honestly, sleep out my -sleep without nightmare? The police -spy would be very clever to recognize -me now. My beard, that I shaved off -down there, has grown out now thick -and strong. One can borrow somewhere<span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</span> -in this big ant-heap, and work -is not lacking. Whoever does not go -to pieces soon in the hell of the galleys -comes out agile and robust; and -I have learned how to climb the rope-ladders -with loads on my back. -Building is going on all around here, -and the masons need helpers. Three -francs a day,—I have never earned -so much. That they should forget -me, that is all I ask.”</p> - -<p>18. He followed his courageous -resolution, he was faithful to it, and -three months afterward he was another -man. The master for whom -he labored cited him as his best workman. -After a long day passed on the -scaffolding, in the full sun, in the -dust, constantly bending and straightening -his back to take the stones -from the hands of the man below him -and to pass them to the man above -him, he went to get his soup, at the -cheap eating house, tired out, his legs -numb, his hands burning, and his eyelashes -stuck together by the plaster, -but content with himself, and carrying -his well-earned money in the knot -of his handkerchief. He went out -without fear, for his white mask -made him unrecognizable, and, then, -he had observed that the suspicious -glance of the policeman seldom falls -on the real worker. He was silent -and sober. He slept the sound sleep -of honest fatigue. He was free.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>19. At last—supreme recompense!—he -had a friend.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</span></p> - -<p>20. It was a mason’s helper like -himself, named Savinien, a little peasant -from Limoges, red-cheeked, who -had come to Paris with his stick over -his shoulder and his bundle on the -end of it, who fled from the liquor-dealers -and went to mass on Sundays. -Jean François loved him for his -piety, for his candor, for his honesty, -for all that he himself had lost, and -so long ago. It was a passion profound, -reserved, disclosing itself in -the care and forethought of a father. -Savinien, himself easily moved and -self-loving, let things take their -course, satisfied only in that he had -found a comrade who shared his horror -of the wine-shop. The two -friends lived together in a furnished -room, fairly clean, but their resources -were very limited; they had to take -into their room a third companion, an -old man from Auvergne, sombre and -rapacious, who found a way of -economizing out of his meagre wages -enough to buy some land in his own -province.</p> - -<p>21. Jean François and Savinien -scarcely left each other. On days of -rest they took long walks in the environs -of Paris and dined in the open -air in one of those little country inns -where there are plenty of mushrooms -in the sauces and innocent enigmas -on the bottoms of the plates. There -Jean François made his friend tell -him all those things of which those -born in the cities are ignorant. He -learned the names of the trees, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</span> -flowers, the plants; the seasons for -the different harvests; he listened -avidly to the thousand details of a -farmer’s labors: the autumn’s sowing, -the winter’s work, the splendid <em>fêtes</em> -of harvest-home and vintage, and the -flails beating the ground, and the -noise of the mills by the borders of -the streams, and the tired horses led -to the trough, and the morning hunting -in the mists, and, above all, the -long evenings around the fire of vine-branches, -shortened by tales of wonder. -He discovered in himself a -spring of imagination hitherto unsuspected, -finding a singular delight -in the mere recital of these things, -so gentle, calm, and monotonous.</p> - -<p>22. One anxiety troubled him, however, -that Savinien should not come -to know his past. Sometimes there -escaped him a shady word of thieves’ -slang, an ignoble gesture, vestiges of -his horrible former existence; and -then he felt the pain of a man whose -old wounds reopen, more especially as -he thought he saw then in Savinien -the awakening of an unhealthy -curiosity. When the young man, already -tempted by the pleasures which -Paris offers even to the poorest, -questioned him about the mysteries of -the great city, Jean François feigned -ignorance and turned the conversation; -but he had now conceived a -vague inquietude for the future of -his friend.</p> - -<p>23. This was not without foundation, -and Savinien could not long remain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</span> -the naïve rustic he had been on -his arrival in Paris. If the gross and -noisy pleasures of the wine-shop always -were repugnant to him, he was -profoundly troubled by other desires -full of danger for the inexperience -of his twenty years. When the -spring came, he began to seek -solitude, and at first he wandered before -the gayly lighted entrances to -the dancing-halls, through which he -saw the girls going in couples, without -bonnets—and with their arms -around each other’s waists, whispering -low. Then, one evening, when -the lilacs shed their perfume, and the -appeal of the quadrilles was more entrancing, -he crossed the threshold, -and after that Jean François saw him -change little by little in manners and -in visage. Savinien became more -frivolous, more extravagant; often he -borrowed from his friend his miserable -savings, which he forgot to repay. -Jean François, feeling himself -abandoned, was both indulgent and -jealous; he suffered and kept silent. -He did not think he had the right to -reproach; but his penetrating friendship -had cruel and insurmountable -presentiments.</p> - -<p>24. One evening when he was -climbing the stairs of his lodging, absorbed -in his preoccupations, he -heard in the room he was about to -enter a dialogue of irritated voices, -and he recognized one as that of the -old man from Auvergne, who lodged -with him and Savinien. An old<span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</span> -habit of suspicion made him pause -on the landing, and he listened to -learn the cause of the trouble.</p> - -<p>25. “Yes,” said the man from Auvergne -angrily, “I am sure that some -one has broken open my trunk and -stolen the three louis which I had hidden -in a little box; and the man who -has done this thing can only be one of -the two companions who sleep here, -unless it is Maria, the servant. This -concerns you as much as me, since -you are the master of the house, and -I will drag you before the judge if -you do not let me at once open up -the valises of the two masons. My -poor hoard! It was in its place only -yesterday; and I will tell you what it -was, so that, if we find it, no one can -accuse me of lying. Oh, I know -them, my three beautiful gold pieces, -and I can see them as plainly as I see -you. One was a little more worn -than the others, of a slightly greenish -gold, and that had the portrait of the -great Emperor; another had that of -a fat old fellow with a queue and -epaulets; and the third had a Philippe -with side-whiskers. I had marked -it with my teeth. No one can trick -me, not me. Do you know that I -needed only two others like those to -pay for my vineyard? Come on, let -us look through the things of these -comrades, or I will call the police. -Make haste!”</p> - -<p>26. “All right,” said the voice of -the householder; “we’ll search with -Maria. So much the worse if you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</span> -find nothing, and if the masons get -angry. It is you who have forced me -to it.”</p> - -<p>27. Jean François felt his heart fill -with fear. He recalled the poverty -and the petty borrowings of Savinien, -the sombre manner he had borne the -last few days. Yet he could not believe -in any theft. He heard the -panting of the man from Auvergne -in the ardor of his search, and he -clenched his fists against his breast as -if to repress the beatings of his heart.</p> - -<p>28. “There they are!” suddenly -screamed the victorious miser. -“There they are, my louis, my dear -treasure! And in the Sunday waistcoat -of the little hypocrite from -Limoges. Look, landlord! they are -just as I told you. There’s the Napoleon, -and the man with the queue, -and the Philippe I had dented with -my teeth. Look at the mark. Ah, -the little rascal with his saintly look! -I should more likely have suspected -the other. Ah, the villain! He will -have to go to the galleys!”</p> - -<p>29. At this moment Jean François -heard the well-known step of Savinien, -who was slowly mounting the -stairs.</p> - -<p>30. “He is going to his betrayal,” -thought he. “Three flights. I have -time!”</p> - -<p>31. And, pushing open the door, he -entered, pale as death, into the room -where he saw the landlord and the -stupefied servant in a corner, and -the man from Auvergne on his knees<span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</span> -amid the disordered clothes, lovingly -kissing his gold pieces.</p> - -<p>32. “Enough of this,” he said in a -thick voice. “It is I who have taken -the money and who have put it in -my comrade’s trunk. But that is too -disgusting. I am a thief and not a -Judas. Go hunt for the police. I’ll -not try to save myself. Only, I must -say a word in private to Savinien, -who is here.”</p> - -<p>33. The little man from Limoges -had, in fact, just arrived, and, seeing -his crime discovered, and believing -himself lost, he stood still, his eyes -fixed, his arms drooping.</p> - -<p>34. Jean François seized him violently -about the neck as though to -embrace him; he pressed his mouth -to Savinien’s ear and said to him in -a voice low and supplicating:</p> - -<p>35. “Be quiet!”</p> - -<p>36. Then, turning to the others:</p> - -<p>37. “Leave me alone with him. I -shall not go away, I tell you. Shut -us up, if you wish, but leave us -alone.”</p> - -<p>38. And, with a gesture of command, -he showed them the door. -They went out.</p> - -<p>39. Savinien, broken with anguish, -had seated himself on a bed, and -dropped his eyes without comprehending.</p> - -<p>40. “Listen,” said Jean François, -who approached to take his hands. -“I understand you have stolen three -gold pieces to buy some trifle for a -girl. That would have cost six<span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</span> -months of prison for you. But one -does not get out of that except to go -back again, and you would have become -a pillar of the police tribunals -and the courts of assizes. I know -all about them. I have done seven -years in the Reform School, one year -at Sainte-Pélagie, three years at -Poissy, and five years at Toulon. -Now, have no fear. All is arranged. -I have taken this affair on my shoulders.”</p> - -<p>41. “Unhappy fellow!” cried Savinien; -but hope was already coming -back to his cowardly heart.</p> - -<p>42. “When the elder brother is -serving under the colors, the younger -does not go,” Jean François went on. -“I’m your substitute, that’s all. You -love me a little, do you not? I am -paid. Do not be a baby. Do not refuse. -They would have caught me -one of these days, for I have broken -my exile. And then, you see, that life -out there will be less hard for me -than for you; I know it, and shall not -complain if I do not render you -this service in vain and if you swear -to me that you will not do it again. -Savinien, I have loved you well, and -your friendship has made me very -happy, for it is thanks to my knowing -you that I have kept honest and -straight, as I might have been, perhaps, -if I had had, like you, a father -to put a tool in my hands, a mother -to teach me my prayers. My only -regret was that I was useless to you -and that I was deceiving you about -my past. To-day I lay aside the -mask in saving you. It is all right. -Come, good-bye! Do not weep; and -embrace me, for already I hear the -big boots on the stairs. They are -returning with the police; and we -must not seem to know each other -so well before these fellows.”</p> - -<p>43. He pressed Savinien hurriedly -to his breast, and then he pushed -him away as the door opened wide.</p> - -<p>44. It was the landlord and the -man from Auvergne, who were -bringing the police. Jean François -started forward to the landing and -held out his hands for the handcuffs -and said, laughing:</p> - -<p>45. “Forward, bad lot!”</p> - -<p>46. To-day he is at Cayenne, condemned -for life, as an incorrigible.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</span></p> -</div> - -<h3>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY</h3> - -<p>1. Write a paragraph showing how character is affected (a) -unfavorably and (b) favorably by the two tests, as shown by -these two stories.</p> - -<p>2. In your opinion, was each character changed or merely -revealed by the crisis which occurred in each instance?</p> - -<p>3. Which of these stories seems the more real to you?</p> - -<p>4. Have you ever heard of a similar instance in real life? If -so, cite it.</p> - -<p>5. Write a paragraph contrasting the trivial and the important -crisis in each story, though both led to important results.</p> - -<p>6. Set down all the traits of character exhibited by the two -leading actors in each story.</p> - -<p>7. Select a character-study from some book or magazine and -write a brief discussion of it.</p> - -<p>8. Do the same for another character-study by (a) Maupassant, -and (b) Coppée.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</span></p> - - -<h3>TEN REPRESENTATIVE CHARACTER STUDIES</h3> - -<div class="small1"> - -<p>“The Captain’s Vices,” François Coppée, translated in -<em>Ten Tales by Coppée</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Incarnation of Krishna Mulvaney,” Rudyard Kipling, -in <em>Soldiers Three</em>.</p> - -<p>“A New England Nun,” Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, in -volume of same title.</p> - -<p>“The Old Gentleman of the Black Stock,” Thomas Nelson -Page, <em>Harper’s Magazine</em>, Oct., 1894.</p> - -<p>“The Sick-a-Bed Lady,” Eleanor Hallowell Abbott, in -volume of same title.</p> - -<p>“The Insurgent,” Ludovic Halévy, translated in <em>Short-Story -Masterpieces</em>.</p> - -<p>“Caybigan,” James Hopper, in volume of same title.</p> - -<p>“The Liar,” Henry James, in <em>Short-Story Classics, -American</em>.</p> - -<p>“Editha,” W. D. Howells, in <em>Harper’s Novelettes</em>.</p> - -<p>“Our Sermon Taster,” Ian Maclaren, in <em>Beside the -Bonnie Briar Bush</em>.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="footnotes"> -<p class="p2 center big1">FOOTNOTES:</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27" class="label">[27]</a> Copyright, 1911, by J. B. Lippincott Co., and used by permission.</p> - -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</span></p> - - - -<h2> -VIII<br /> - PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDIES</h2> - -<p class="big1 center"><em>Markheim.</em>—<span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson</span></p> - -<p class="big1 center p6b"><em>On the Stairs.</em>—<span class="smcap">Arthur Morrison</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</span></p> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>He [the author] can sometimes rouse our intense curiosity -and eagerness by the mere depiction of a psychological state, as -Walter Pater has done in the case of Sebastian Storck and other -personages of his <em>Imaginary Portraits</em>. The fact that “nothing -happens” in stories of this kind may be precisely what most -interests us, because we are made to understand what it is that -inhibits action.—<span class="smcap">Bliss Perry</span>, <em>A Study of Prose Fiction</em>.</p> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</span></p> -<h3>PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDIES</h3> -</div> - - -<p>A subtle distinction is to be observed between the character-study -and the psychological study, but it will not -be supposed that writers of short-stories plainly label the -distinction, or that the two types are frequently, if ever, -found entirely separate. In the character-study more -attention is paid to the true natures of the actors, and -the demonstration of their natures is shown in the action -of the story; in the psychological study more stress is -laid upon the actual operation of thought, feeling and -purpose—it is a laboratory study of what goes on in the -human heart, to use a somewhat vague but necessary -term, under stress of crisis.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</span></p> - -<p>The psychological study is the most difficult because -the most penetrating of all short-story forms, and in consequence -the most rare in its perfect presentation. To -show the processes of reasoning, the interplay of motive, -the power of feeling acting upon feeling, and the intricate -combinations of these, calls for the most clear-sighted -understanding of man, and the utmost skill in -literary art, lest the story be lost in a fog of tiresome -analysis and discussion. In “Markheim” and “On the -Stairs,” two master story-tellers are easily at their best, -for they never obtrude their own opinions, but swiftly and -with a firm onward movement the stories disclose the -true inward workings of the unique characters, while -from mood, speech, and action we infallibly infer all the -soul-processes by which their conclusions are reached.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</span></p> - -<div class="body1"> -<h3>MARKHEIM</h3> - -<p class="big05 center">BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Introduction.</span> -Remarkable because it at -once touches upon the external -crisis of the story.</div> - -<p class="p1">“Yes,” said the dealer, “our wind-falls -are of various kinds. Some -customers are ignorant, and then I -touch a dividend on my superior -knowledge. Some are dishonest,” -and here he held up the candle, so -that the light fell strongly on his -visitor, “and in that case,” he continued, -“I profit by my virtue.”</p> - - - -<p>2. Markheim had but just entered -from the daylight streets, and his -eyes had not yet grown familiar with -the mingled shine and darkness in the -shop.<span class="sidenote">Note double reason.</span> At these pointed words, and -before the near presence of the flame, -he blinked painfully and looked aside.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">See how daringly the author -plays with the reader without -arousing suspicion. -Compare Stevenson’s reasoning -as to the reader’s -suspicions with Dupin’s -reasoning in “The Purloined -Letter,” pp. <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, -<a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</div> - -<p>3. The dealer chuckled. “You -come to me on Christmas-day,” he -resumed, “when you know that I am -alone in my house, put up my shutters, -and make a point of refusing -business. Well, you will have to pay -for that; you will have to pay for my -loss of time, when I should be balancing -my books; you will have to pay, -besides, for a kind of manner that I -remark in you to-day very strongly. -I am the essence of discretion, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</span> -ask no awkward questions; but when -a customer can not look me in the -eye, he has to pay for it.” The -dealer once more chuckled; and then, -changing to his usual business voice, -though still with a note of irony,<span class="sidenote">Markheim has been there -before.</span> -“You can give, as usual, a clean account -of how you came into possession -of the object?” he continued. -“Still your uncle’s cabinet? A remarkable -collector, sir!”</p> - -<p>4. And the little, pale, round-shouldered -dealer stood almost on tip-toe, -looking over the top of his gold -spectacles, and nodding his head with -every mark of disbelief. Markheim -returned his gaze with one of infinite -pity, and a touch of horror.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Forecast.</div> - -<p>5. “This time,” he said, “you are -in error. I have not come to sell, but -to buy. I have no curios to dispose -of; my uncle’s cabinet is bare to the -wainscot; even were it still intact, I -have done well on the Stock Exchange, -and should more likely add -to it than otherwise, and my errand -to-day is simplicity itself. I seek a -Christmas-present for a lady,” he -continued, waxing more fluent as he -struck <span class="sidenote">Insincerity evident.</span>into the speech he had prepared; -“and certainly I owe you -every excuse for thus disturbing you -upon so small a matter. But the -thing was neglected yesterday; I must -produce my little compliment at dinner; -and, as you very well know, -a rich marriage is not a thing to be -neglected.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</span></p> - -<p>6. There followed a pause, during -which the dealer seemed to weigh -this statement incredulously. The -ticking of many clocks among the -curious lumber of the shop, and the -faint rushing of the cabs in a near -thoroughfare, filled up the interval of -silence.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Compare this setting, as it -is gradually unfolded, -with that of Gautier’s -“The Mummy’s Foot.”</div> - -<p>7. “Well, sir,” said the dealer, “be -it so. You are an old customer after -all; and if, as you say, you have the -chance of a good marriage, far be -it from me to be an obstacle. Here -is a nice thing for a lady now,” he -went on, “this hand-glass—fifteenth -century, warranted; comes from a -good collection, too; but I reserve -the name, in the interests of my customer, -who was just like yourself, -my dear sir, the nephew and sole heir -of a remarkable collector.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Analyse its nature.</div> - -<p>8. The dealer, while he thus ran on -in his dry and biting voice, had -stooped to take the object from its -place; and, as he had done so, a -shock had passed through Markheim, -a start both of hand and foot, a sudden -leap of many tumultuous passions -to the face. It passed as -swiftly as it came, and left no trace -beyond a certain trembling of the -hand that now received the glass.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Contributory incident.</div> - -<p>9. “A glass,” he said, hoarsely, and -then paused, and repeated it more -clearly. “A glass? For Christmas? -Surely not?”</p> - -<p>10. “And why not?” cried the -dealer. “Why not a glass?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Forecast.</div> -<p>11. Markheim was looking upon -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</span> -him with an indefinable expression. -“You ask me why not?” he said. -“Why, look here—look in it—look -at yourself! Do you like to see it? -No! nor I—nor any man.”</p> - -<p>12. The little man had jumped back -when Markheim had so suddenly -confronted him with the mirror; but -now, perceiving there was nothing -worse on hand, he chuckled. “Your -future lady, sir, must be pretty hard -favoured,” said he.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the working of Markheim’s -morbid conscience, -not yet understood by -himself.</div> - -<p>13. “I ask you,” said Markheim, -“for a Christmas-present, and you -give me this—this damned reminder -of years, and sins and follies—this -hand-conscience! Did you mean it? -Had you a thought in your mind? -Tell me. It will be better for you -if you do. Come, tell me about yourself. -I hazard a guess now, that -you are in secret a very charitable -man?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">First Moral Crisis.</span></div> - -<p>14. The dealer looked closely at -his companion. It was very odd, -Markheim did not appear to be laughing; -there was something in his face -like an eager sparkle of hope, but -nothing of mirth.</p> - -<p>15. “What are you driving at?” -the dealer asked.</p> - -<p>16. “Not charitable?” returned the -other, gloomily. “Not charitable; -not pious; not scrupulous; unloving, -unbeloved; a hand to get money, a -safe to keep it. Is that all? Dear -God, man, is that all?”</p> - -<p>17. “I will tell you what it is,” began -the dealer, with some sharpness,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</span> -and then broke off again into a -chuckle. “But I see this is a love -match of yours, and you have been -drinking the lady’s health.”</p> - -<p>18. “Ah!” cried Markheim, with a -strange curiosity. “Ah, have you -been in love? Tell me about that.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note change of attitude.</div> - -<p>19. “I,” cried the dealer. “I in -love! I never had the time, nor -have I the time to-day for all this -nonsense. Will you take the glass?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Analyse the forces back of -Markheim’s parleying.</div> - -<p>20. “Where is the hurry?” returned -Markheim. “It is very pleasant -to stand here talking; and life is -so short and insecure that I would not -hurry away from any pleasure—no, -not even from so mild a one as this. -We should rather cling, cling to -what little we can get, like a man -at a cliff’s edge. Every second is -a cliff, if you think upon it—a cliff -a mile high—high enough, if we -fall, to dash us out of every feature -of humanity. Hence it is best to talk -pleasantly. Let us talk of each -other; why should we wear this -mask? Let us be confidential. Who -knows, we might become friends?”</p> - -<p>21. “I have just one word to say to -you,” said the dealer. “Either make -your purchase, or walk out of my -shop.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note how quickly Markheim -follows the unconscious -lead.</div> - -<p>22. “True, true,” said Markheim. -“Enough fooling. To business. -Show me something else.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">First External Crisis.</span></div> - -<p>23. The dealer stooped once more, -this time to replace the glass upon -the shelf, his thin blonde hair -falling over his eyes as he did so. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</span> -Markheim moved a little nearer, with -one hand in the pocket of his great-coat; -he drew himself up and filled -his lungs; at the same time many <span class="sidenote"> -Note all these.</span> -different emotions were depicted together -on his face—terror, horror -and resolve, fascination and a physical -repulsion; and through a haggard -lift of his upper lip, his teeth looked -out.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">He was prepared for the -crime.</div> - -<p>24. “This, perhaps, may suit,” observed -the dealer; and then, as he -began to re-arise, Markheim bounded -from behind upon his victim. The -long, skewerlike dagger flashed and -fell. The dealer struggled like a hen, -striking his temple on the shelf, and -then tumbled on the floor in a heap.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">First Minor Climax.</span></div> - -<p>25. Time had some score of small -voices in that shop, some stately and -slow as was becoming to their great -age; others garrulous and hurried. -All these told out the seconds in an -intricate chorus of tickings. Then -the passage of a lad’s feet, heavily -running on the pavement, broke in -upon these smaller voices and startled -Markheim into the consciousness -of his surroundings. He looked -about him awfully. <span class="sidenote">Beginning of the internal -action. Note how all external -things now begin to -play upon the internal -man.</span> The candle stood -on the counter, its flame solemnly -wagging in a draught; and by that -inconsiderable movement, the whole -room was filled with noiseless bustle -and kept heaving like a sea: the <span class="sidenote">Throughout, note Stevenson’s -rich imagery, and -also his unusual vocabulary.</span> -tall shadows nodding, the gross blots -of darkness swelling and dwindling -as with respiration, the faces of the -portraits and the china gods changing -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</span> -and wavering like images in water. -The inner door stood ajar, and -peered into that leaguer <span class="sidenote">An unusual word.</span> of shadows -with a long slit of daylight like a -pointing finger.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Picture.</div> - - -<p>26. From these fear-stricken rovings, -Markheim’s eyes returned to -the body of his victim, where it lay -both humped and sprawling, incredibly -small and strangely meaner than -in life. In these poor, miserly -clothes, in that ungainly attitude, the -dealer lay like so much sawdust.<span class="sidenote">Evidence of premeditation.</span> -Markheim had feared to see it, and, -lo! it was nothing. And yet, as he -gazed, this bundle of old clothes and -pool of blood began to find eloquent -voices.<span class="sidenote">Note the interplay of the -outward picture and Markheim’s -mind. Keep before -you always the double -movement of this study as -both progress side by side, -finally resulting in the -predominance of the spiritual.</span> There it must lie; there was -none to work the cunning hinges -or direct the miracle of locomotion—there -it must lie till it was found. -Found! ay, and then? Then would -this dead flesh lift up a cry that -would ring over England, and fill -the world with the echoes of pursuit. -Ay, dead, or not, this was still -the enemy. “Time was that when -the brains were out,” he thought; -and the first word struck into his -mind. Time, now that the deed was -accomplished—time, which had -closed for the victim, had become -instant and momentous for the slayer.</p> - -<p>27. The thought was yet in his -mind, when, first one and then another, -with every variety of pace -and voice—one deep as the bell -from a cathedral turret, another<span class="pagenum" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</span> -ringing on its treble notes the -prelude of a waltz—the clocks began -to strike the hour of three in -the afternoon.</p> - -<p>28. The sudden outbreak of so -many tongues in that dumb chamber -staggered him. He began to bestir -himself, going to and fro with the -candle, beleaguered by moving -shadows, and startled to the soul -by chance reflections. In many rich -mirrors, some of home designs, some -from Venice or Amsterdam, he saw <span class="sidenote">The old motive reasserts itself.</span> -his face repeated and repeated, as -it were an army of spies; his own -eyes met and detected him; and the -sound of his own steps, lightly as -they fell, vexed the surrounding -quiet. <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Plot Incident.</span></span>And still as he continued to -fill his pockets, his mind accused -him, with a sickening iteration, of -the thousand faults of his design.<span class="sidenote">As fear subsides craft returns.</span> -He should have chosen a more quiet -hour; he should have prepared an -alibi; he should not have used a -knife; he should have been more -cautious, and only bound and gagged -the dealer, and not killed him; he -should have been more bold, and -killed the servant also; he should -have done all things otherwise; -poignant regrets, weary, incessant -toiling of the mind to change what -was unchangeable, to plan what was -now useless, to be the architect of <span class="sidenote">A significant expression.</span> -the irrevocable past. Meanwhile, -and behind all this activity, brute -terrors, like scurrying of rats in a -deserted attic, filled the more remote<span class="sidenote">Contrast physical and moral -fear. Consider how the -two are related.</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</span> -chambers of his brain with -riot; the hand of the constable would -fall heavy on his shoulder, and his -nerves would jerk like a hooked -fish; or he beheld, in galloping defile, -the dock, the prison, the gallows, -and the black coffin.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the primary use of the -word “rumor.”</div> - - - - - -<p>29. Terror of the people in the -street sat down before his mind like -a besieging army. It was impossible, -he thought, but that some rumor of -the struggle must have reached their -ears and set on edge their curiosity; -and now, in all the neighboring -houses, he divined them sitting motionless -and with uplifted ear—solitary -people, condemned to spend <span class="sidenote">Contrast.</span> -Christmas dwelling alone on memories -of the past, and now startlingly -recalled from that tender exercise; -happy family parties, struck into -silence round the table, the mother -still with raised finger: every degree -and age and humor, but all, by their -own hearths, prying and hearkening -and weaving the rope that was to -hang him. Sometimes it seemed to -him he could not move too softly; -the clink of the tall Bohemian goblets -rang out loudly like a bell; and -alarmed by the bigness of the ticking, -he was tempted to stop the -clocks. <span class="sidenote">Study of fear.<br /> -Impressionism.</span>And then, again, with a -swift transition of his terrors, the -very silence of the place appeared a -source of peril, and a thing to strike -and freeze the passerby; and he -would step more boldly, and bustle -aloud among the contents of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</span> -shop, and imitate, with elaborate -bravado, the movements of a busy -man at ease in his own house.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">An important observation.</div> - -<p>30. But he was now so pulled -about by different alarms that, while -one portion of his mind was still -alert and cunning, another trembled -on the brink of lunacy. One hallucination -in particular took a strong -hold on his credulity. The neighbor -hearkening with white face beside -his window, the passerby arrested -by a horrible surmise on the pavement—these -could at worst suspect, -they could not know; through the -brick walls and shuttered windows -only sounds could penetrate.<span class="sidenote">Note how his reasoning -becomes hyper-acute</span> But -here, within the house, was he alone? -He knew he was; he had watched -the servant set forth sweethearting, -in her poor best, “out for the day” -written in every ribbon and smile. -Yes, he was alone, of course; and -yet, in the bulk of empty house -above him, he could surely hear a -stir of delicate footing—he was -surely conscious, inexplicably conscious -of some presence. <span class="sidenote">Forecast.</span>Ay, surely; -to every room and corner of the -house his imagination followed it; -and now it was a faceless thing, and -yet had eyes to see with; and again -it was a shadow of himself; and yet -again behold the image of the dead -dealer, reinspired with cunning and -hatred.</p> - - -<p>31. At times, with a strong effort, -he would glance at the open door -which still seemed to repel his eyes. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</span> -The house was tall, the skylight -small and dirty, the day <span class="sidenote">Note force of “blind.”</span>blind with -fog; and the light that filtered down -to the ground story was exceedingly -faint, and showed dimly on the -threshold of the shop. And yet, in -that strip of doubtful brightness, did -there not hang wavering a shadow?</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Pseudo crisis.</div> - -<p>32. Suddenly, from the street outside, -a very jovial gentleman began -to beat with a staff on the shop-door, -accompanying his blows with -shouts and railleries in which the -dealer was continually called upon -by name. <span class="sidenote">Contributory incident.</span> Markheim, smitten into -ice, glanced at the dead man. But -no! he lay quite still; he was fled -away far beyond earshot of these -blows and shoutings; he was sunk -beneath seas of silence; and his -name, which would once have caught -his notice above the howling of a -storm, had become an empty sound. -And presently the jovial gentleman -desisted from his knocking and departed.</p> - -<p>33. Here was a broad hint to hurry -what remained to be done, to get -forth from this accusing neighborhood, -to plunge into a bath of London -multitudes, and to reach, on <span class="sidenote">Note “apparent.”</span> -the other side of day, that haven of -safety and apparent innocence—his -bed. One visitor had come: at any -moment another might follow and -be more obstinate. <span class="sidenote">Key.</span>To have done -the deed, and yet not to reap the -profit, would be too abhorrent a -failure. The money, that was now<span class="pagenum" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</span> -Markheim’s concern; and as a means -to that, the keys.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note subsidence of acute -fears and rise of his true -mood.</div> - -<p>34. He glanced over his shoulder -at the open door, where the shadow -was still lingering and shivering; -and with no conscious repugnance -of the mind, yet with a tremor of the -belly, he drew near the body of his -victim. The human character had -quite departed. Like a suit half-stuffed -with bran, the limbs lay scattered, -the trunk doubled, on the -floor; and yet the thing repelled him. -Although so dingy and inconsiderable -to the eye, he feared it might -have more significance to the touch. -He took the body by the shoulders, -and turned it on its back. It was -strangely light and supple, and the -limbs, as if they had been broken, -fell into the oddest postures. <span class="sidenote">Carefully consider the question -of Markheim’s sanity, -judging only from the -story as thus far told.</span>The -face was robbed of all expression; -but it was as pale as wax, and shockingly -smeared with blood about one -temple. That was, for Markheim, -the one displeasing circumstance. It -carried him back, upon the instant, to -a certain fair day in a fisher’s village: -a gray day, a piping wind, a -crowd upon the street, the blare of -brasses, the booming of drums, the -nasal voice of a ballad singer; and -a boy going to and fro, buried over -head in the crowd and divided between -interest and fear, until, coming -out upon the chief place of concourse, -he beheld a booth and a -great screen with pictures, dismally -designed, garishly colored: Brownrigg<span class="pagenum" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</span> -with her apprentice; the Mannings -with their murdered guest; -Weare in the death-grip of Thurtell; -and a score besides of famous crimes. -The thing was as clear as an illusion; -he was once again that little -boy; he was looking once again, and -with the same sense of physical revolt, -at these vile pictures; he was -still stunned by the thumping of the -drums.<span class="sidenote">Reaction.</span> A bar of that day’s music -returned upon his memory; and at -that, for the first time, a qualm came -over him, a breath of nausea, a sudden -weakness of the joints, which -he must instantly resist and conquer.</p> - -<p>35. He judged it more prudent to -confront than to flee from these -considerations; looking the more -hardily in the dead face, bending his -mind to realize the nature and greatness -of his crime. So little a while -ago that face had moved with every -change of sentiment, that pale mouth -had spoken, that body had been all -on fire with governable energies; and -now, and by his act, that piece of -life had been arrested, as the horologist, -with interjected finger,<span class="sidenote">Key. What caused this benumbed -conscience?</span> arrests -the beating of the clock. So -he reasoned in vain; he could rise -to no more remorseful consciousness; -the same heart which had -shuddered before the painted effigies -of crime, looked on its reality unmoved. -At best, he felt a gleam of -pity for one who had been endowed -in vain with all those faculties that -can make the world a garden of enchantment,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</span> -one who had never lived -and who was now dead. But of -penitence, no, not a tremor.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Plot Incident.</span></div> - -<p>36. With that, shaking himself -clear of these considerations, he -found the keys and advanced toward -the open door of the shop. Outside, -it had begun to rain smartly; -and the sound of the shower upon -the roof had banished silence. Like -some dripping cavern, the chambers -of the house were haunted by an incessant -echoing, which filled the ear -and mingled with the ticking of the -clocks. <span class="sidenote">Forecast of moral crisis.</span>And, as Markheim approached -the door, he seemed to hear, in -answer to his own cautious tread, -the steps of another foot withdrawing -up the stair. The shadow still -palpitated loosely on the threshold. -He threw a ton’s weight of resolve -upon his muscles, and drew back the -door.</p> - - -<p>37. The faint, foggy daylight glimmered -dimly on the bare floor and -stairs; on the bright suit of armor -posted, halbert in hand, upon the -landing; and on the dark wood-carvings, -and framed pictures that -hung against the yellow panels of -the wainscot. So loud was the beating <span class="sidenote">Note harmony of setting -with tone of approaching -crisis.</span> -of the rain through all the house -that, in Markheim’s ears, it began to -be distinguished into many different -sounds. Footsteps and sighs, the -tread of regiments marching in the -distance, the chink of money in the<span class="sidenote">Compare Stevenson’s combination -of fact and fantasy -with Hawthorne’s in -“The White Old Maid.”</span> -counting, and the creaking of doors -held stealthily ajar, appeared to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</span> -mingle with the patter of the drops -upon the cupola and the gushing of -the water in the pipes. The sense -that he was not alone grew upon -him to the verge of madness.<span class="sidenote">Rise toward crisis.</span> On -every side he was haunted and begirt -by presences. He heard them -moving in the upper chambers; from -the shop, he heard the dead man -getting to his legs; and as he began -with a great effort to mount the -stairs, feet fled quietly before him -and followed stealthily behind.<span class="sidenote">Body and spirit.</span> If -he were but deaf, he thought, how -tranquilly he would possess his soul. -And then again, and hearkening with -every fresh attention, he blessed -himself for that unresisting sense -which held the outposts and stood -a trusty sentinel upon his life. His -head turned continually on his neck; -his eyes, which seemed starting from -their orbits, scouted on every side,<span class="sidenote">A notable passage.</span> -and on every side were half-rewarded -as with the tail of something -nameless, vanishing. The four-and-twenty -steps to the first floor were -four-and-twenty agonies.</p> - -<p>38. On that first story, the doors -stood ajar, three of them like three -ambushes, shaking his nerves like -the throats of cannon. He could -never again, he felt, be sufficiently -immured and fortified from men’s -observing eyes; he longed to be -home, girt in by walls, buried among <span class="sidenote">Note the exception.</span> -bed-clothes, and invisible to all but -God. And at that thought he wondered -a little, recollecting tales of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</span> -other murderers and the fear they -were said to entertain of heavenly -avengers. It was not so, at least, -with him. He feared the laws of -nature, lest, in their callous and immutable -procedure, they should preserve -some damning evidence of his -crime. He feared tenfold more, with -a slavish, superstitious terror, some -scission in the continuity of man’s -experience, some willful illegality of -nature. He played a game of skill, -depending on the rules, calculating -consequence from cause; and what -if nature, as the defeated tyrant -overthrew the chess-board, should -break the mold of their succession? -The like had befallen Napoleon (so -writers said) when the winter changed <span class="sidenote">Note how suspense in the -reader is maintained by -disclosing Markheim’s suspense.</span> -the time of its appearance. The -like might befall Markheim: the -solid walls might become transparent -and reveal his doings like those of -bees in a glass hive; the stout planks -might yield under his foot like quicksands -and detain him in their clutch; -ay, and there were soberer accidents -that might destroy him; if, for instance, -the house should fall and -imprison him beside the body of his -victim; or the house next door -should fly on fire, and the firemen -invade him from all sides. These -things he feared; and, in a sense, -these things might be called the -hands of God reached forth against <span class="sidenote">Key.</span> -sin. But about God himself he was -at ease; his act was doubtless exceptional, -but so were his excuses,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</span> -<span class="sidenote">Is this normal?</span> -which God knew; it was there, and -not among men, that he felt sure of -justice.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note action of auto-suggestion.</div> - -<p>39. When he had got safe into the -drawing-room, and shut the door -behind him, he was aware of a respite -from alarms. The room was -quite dismantled, uncarpeted besides, -and strewn with packing cases and -incongruous furniture; several great -pier-glasses, in which he beheld -himself at various angles, like an -actor on the stage; many pictures, -framed and unframed, standing with -their faces to the wall; a fine Sheraton -sideboard, a cabinet of marquetry, -and a great old bed, with tapestry -hangings. The windows opened to -the floor; but by great good fortune -the lower part of the shutters had -been closed, and this concealed him -from the neighbors. Here, then, -Markheim drew in a packing case before -the cabinet, and began to search -among the keys. It was a long business, -for there were many; and it -was irksome, besides; for, after all, -there might be nothing in the cabinet, -and time was on the wing. But the -closeness of the occupation sobered -him. With the tail of his eye he -saw the door—even glanced at it -from time to time directly, like a -besieged commander pleased to verify -the good estate of his defenses. <span class="sidenote">Remarkable relief in suspense -period.</span> But -in truth he was at peace. The rain -falling in the street sounded natural -and pleasant. Presently, on the -other side, the notes of a piano were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</span> -wakened to the music of a hymn, -and voices of many children took up -the air and words. How stately, -how comfortable was the melody! -How fresh the youthful voices! -Markheim gave ear to it smilingly, -as he sorted out the keys; and his -mind was thronged with answerable -ideas and images; church-going -children and the pealing of the high -organ; children afield, bathers by -the brookside, ramblers on the -brambly common, kite-flyers in the -windy and cloud-navigated sky; and -then, at another cadence of the hymn, -back again to church, and the somnolence -of summer Sundays, and the -high genteel voice of the parson -(which he smiled a little to recall) -and the painted Jacobean tombs, and -the dim lettering of the Ten Commandments -in the chancel.</p> - -<p>40. And as he sat thus, at once -busy and absent, he was startled to -his feet. A flash of ice, a flash of -fire, a bursting gush of blood, went <span class="sidenote">Powerful contrast.</span> -over him, and then he stood transfixed -and thrilling. A step mounted -the stair slowly and steadily, and <span class="sidenote">Approach of moral crisis.</span> -presently a hand was laid upon the -knob, and the lock clicked, and the -door opened.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Markheim perceives only a -physical danger. Note -how long he remains dead -to any moral judgment of -himself.</div> - -<p>41. Fear held Markheim in a vice. -What to expect he knew not, whether -the dead man walking, or the -official ministers of human justice, -or some chance witness blindly -stumbling in to consign him to the -gallows. But when a face was thrust -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</span> -into the aperture, glanced round the -room, looked at him, nodded and -smiled as if in friendly recognition, <span class="sidenote">Here is a real though unrecognized -moral crisis. -Fear eventually leads to -his moral triumph.</span> -and then withdrew again, and the -door closed behind it, his fear broke -loose from his control in a hoarse -cry. At the sound of this the visitant -returned.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the symbolism of the -closed door.</div> - -<p>42. “Did you call me?” he asked, -pleasantly, and with that he entered -the room and closed the door behind -him.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Key.</span></div> - - -<p>43. Markheim stood and gazed at -him with all his eyes. Perhaps there -was a film upon his sight, but the -outlines of the newcomer seemed to -change and waver like those of the -idols in the wavering candle-light of -the shop; and at times he thought -he knew him; and at times he -thought he bore a likeness to himself;<span class="sidenote">This states the problem.</span> -and always, like a lump of living -terror, there lay in his bosom the -conviction that this thing was not -of the earth and not of God.</p> - -<p>44. And yet the creature had a -strange air of the common-place, as -he stood looking on Markheim with -a smile; and when he added: “You -are looking for the money, I believe?” -it was in the tones of everyday -politeness.</p> - -<p>45. Markheim made no answer.</p> - -<p>46. “I should warn you,” resumed -the other, “that the maid has left -her sweetheart earlier than usual and -will soon be here. If Mr. Markheim -be found in this house, I need not -describe to him the consequences.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</span></p> - -<p>47. “You know me?” cried the -murderer.</p> - -<p>48. The visitor smiled. “You have -long been a favorite of mine,” he -said; “and I have long observed and -often sought to help you.”</p> - -<p>49. “What are you?” cried Markheim: -“the devil?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">This is an important passage.</div> - -<p>50. “What I may be,” returned -the other, “cannot affect the service -I propose to render you.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Forecast of Markheim’s -struggle with his better -self.</div> - -<p>51. “It can,” cried Markheim; “it -does! Be helped by you? No, -never; not by you! You do not -know me yet, thank God, you do -not know me!”</p> - -<p>52. “I know you,” replied the -visitant, with a sort of kind severity -or rather firmness. “I know you to -the soul.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Does Markheim really know -himself?</div> - -<p>53. “Know me!” cried Markheim. -“Who can do so? My life is but a -travesty and slander on myself. I -have lived to belie my nature. All -men do; all men are better than this -disguise that grows about and stifles -them. You see each dragged away -by life, like one whom bravos have -seized and muffled in a cloak. If -they had their own control—if you -could see their faces, they would be -altogether different, they would shine -out for heroes and saints! I am -worse than most; myself is more -overlaid; my excuse is known to me -and God. But, had I the time, I -could disclose myself.”</p> - -<p>54. “To me?” inquired the visitant.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the author’s name for -Markheim.</div> - -<p>55. “To you before all,” returned -the murderer. “I supposed you -were intelligent. I thought—since -you exist—you would prove a reader -of the heart. And yet you would -propose to judge me by my acts!<span class="sidenote">Seek a cause for such reasoning.</span> -Think of it; my acts! I was born -and I have lived in a land of giants; -giants have dragged me by the -wrists since I was born out of my -mother—the giants of circumstance. -And you would judge me by my -acts! But can you not look within? -Can you not understand that evil is -hateful to me? Can you not see -within me the clear writing of conscience, -never blurred by any willful -sophistry, although too often disregarded? -Can you not read me for -a thing that surely must be common -as humanity—the unwilling -sinner?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Note the distinction between -the final importance of -cause and effect.</div> - -<p>56. “All this is very feelingly expressed,” -was the reply. “But it regards -me not. These points of consistency -are beyond my province, and -I care not in the least by what compulsion -you may have been dragged -away, so as you are but carried in -the right direction. But time flies;<span class="sidenote">Contrast.</span> -the servant delays, looking in the -faces of the crowd and at the pictures -on the hoardings, but still she keeps -moving nearer; and remember, it is -as if the gallows itself was striding -toward you through the Christmas -streets! <span class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Minor Moral Crisis.</span></span>Shall I help you; I, who -know all? Shall I tell you where to -find the money?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">A test of Markheim’s consistency.</div> - -<p>57. “For what price?” asked -Markheim.</p> - -<p>58. “I offer you the service for a -Christmas gift,” returned the other.</p> - -<p>59. Markheim could not refrain -from smiling with a kind of bitter -triumph. “No,” said he, “I will -take nothing at your hands; if I -were dying of thirst, and it was your -hand that put the pitcher to my lips, -I should find the courage to refuse. -It may be credulous, but I will do -nothing to commit myself to evil.”</p> - -<p>60. “I have no objection to a -death-bed repentance,” observed the -visitant.</p> - -<p>61. “Because you disbelieve their -efficacy!” Markheim cried.</p> - -<p>62. “I do not say so,” returned -the other; “but I look on these -things from a different side, and -when the life is done my interest -falls. <span class="sidenote">Key.</span>The man has lived to serve -me, to spread black looks under -color of religion, or to sow tares in -the wheat-field, as you do, in a -course of weak compliance with desire.<span class="sidenote">Is this irony?</span> -Now that he draws so near to -his deliverance, he can add but one -act of service—to repent, to die -smiling, and thus to build up in confidence -and hope the more timorous -of my surviving followers. I am not -so hard a master. Try me. Accept -my help. Please yourself in life as -you have done hitherto; please yourself -more amply, spread your elbows -at the board; and when the night -begins to fall and the curtains to be -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</span> -drawn, I tell you, for your greater -comfort, that you will find it even -easy to compound your quarrel with -your conscience, and to make a -truckling peace with God. I came -but now from such a death bed, and -the room was full of sincere mourners, -listening to the man’s last words: -and when I looked into that face, -which had been set as a flint against -mercy, I found it smiling with hope.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Markheim has judged the -example.</div> - -<p>63. “And do you, then, suppose me -such a creature?” asked Markheim. -“Do you think I have no more generous -aspirations than to sin, and -sin, and sin, and, at last, sneak into -heaven? My heart rises at the -thought. Is this, then, your experience -of mankind? or is it because -you find me with red hands that -you presume such baseness? and is -this crime of murder indeed so -impious as to dry up the very springs -of good?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Is this true reasoning?</div> - -<p>64. “Murder is to me no special -category,” replied the other. “All -sins are murder, even as all life is -war. I behold your race, like starving -mariners on a raft, plucking -crusts out of the hands of famine -and feeding on each other’s lives.<span class="sidenote">Note the detached attitude.</span> -I follow sins beyond the moment of -their acting; I find in all that the -last consequence is death; and to my -eyes, the pretty maid who thwarts -her mother with such taking graces -on a question of a ball, drips no less -visibly with human gore than such -a murderer as yourself.<span class="sidenote">Note paradox.</span> Do I say -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</span> -that I follow sins? I follow virtues -also; they differ not by the thickness -of a nail, they are both scythes for -the reaping angel of Death. Evil, -for which I live, consists not in -action but in character. The bad -man is dear to me; not the bad act, -whose fruits, if we could follow them -far enough down the hurtling cataract -of the ages, might yet be found -more blessed than those of the rarest -virtues. And it is not because you -have killed a dealer, but because you -are Markheim, that I offered to forward -your escape.”</p> - -<p>65. “I will lay my heart open to -you,” answered Markheim. “This -crime on which you find me is my -last. On my way to it I have learned -many lessons; itself is a lesson, -a momentous lesson. <span class="sidenote">An unusual expression.</span>Hitherto I -have been driven with revolt to what -I would not; I was a bond-slave to -poverty, driven and scourged. There -are robust virtues that can stand in -these temptations; mine was not so:<span class="sidenote">Note use of “of.”</span> -I had a thirst of pleasure. But to-day, -and out of this deed, I pluck -both warning and riches—both the -power and a fresh resolve to be myself. -I become in all things a free -actor in the world; <span class="sidenote">Could that have been?</span>I begin to see -myself all changed, these hands the -agents of good, this heart at peace. -Something comes over me out of the -past; something of what I have -dreamed on Sabbath evenings to the -sound of the church organ, of what -I forecast when I shed tears over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</span> -noble books, or talked, an innocent -child, with my mother. There lies -my life; I have wandered a few -years, but now I see once more my -city of destination.”</p> - -<p>66. “You are to use this money -on the Stock Exchange, I think?” -remarked the visitor; “and there, if -I mistake not, you have already lost -some thousands?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Self-deception uncovered.</div> - -<p>67. “Ah,” said Markheim, “but -this time I have a sure thing.”</p> - -<p>68. “This time, again, you will -lose,” replied the visitor, quietly.</p> - -<p>69. “Ah, but I keep back the -half!” cried Markheim.</p> - -<p>70. “That also you will lose,” said -the other.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Moral crisis begins to appear -to Markheim.</div> - -<p>71. The sweat started upon Markheim’s -brow. “Well, then, what -matter?” he exclaimed. “Say it be -lost, say I am plunged again in -poverty, shall one part of me, and -that the worse, continue until the -end to override the better? Evil and -good run strong in me, haling me -both ways. I do not love the one -thing, <span class="sidenote">Self-deception still struggling.</span>I love all. I can conceive -great deeds, renunciations, martyrdoms; -and though I be fallen to such -a crime as murder, pity is no stranger -to my thoughts. I pity the poor; -who knows their trials better than -myself? I pity and help them; I -prize love, I love honest laughter; -there is no good thing nor true thing -on earth but I love it from my heart. -And are my vices only to direct my -life, and my virtues to lie without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</span> -effect, like some passive lumber of -the mind? Not so; good, also, is -a spring of acts.”</p> - -<p>72. But the visitant raised his finger. -“For six-and-thirty years that -you have been in this world,” said -he, “through many changes of fortune -and varieties of humor, I have -watched you steadily fall. <span class="sidenote">Here the story is plainly -didactic.</span>Fifteen -years ago you would have started at -a theft. Three years back you would -have blenched at the name of murder. -Is there any crime, is there any -cruelty or meanness, from which you -still recoil?—five years from now I -shall detect you in the fact! Downward, -downward, lies your way; nor -can anything but death avail to stop -you.”</p> - -<p>73. “It is true,” Markheim said, -huskily, “I have in some degree complied -with evil. But it is so with -all: the very saints, in the mere exercise -of living, grow less dainty, -and take on the tone of their surroundings.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Key.</div> - -<p>74. “I will propound to you one -simple question,” said the other; -“and as you answer, I shall read to -you your moral horoscope. You -have grown in many things more lax; -possibly you do right to be so; and -at any account, it is the same with -all men. But granting that, are -you in any one particular, however -trifling, more difficult to please with -your own conduct, or do you go in -all things with a looser rein?”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Minor Moral Climax.</span><br /> -Markheim at last sees himself.</div> - -<p>75. “In any one?” repeated Markheim,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</span> -with an anguish of consideration. -“No,” he added, with despair, -“in none! I have gone down in all.”</p> - -<p>76. “Then,” said the visitor, “content -yourself with what you are, for -you will never change; and the words -of your part on this stage are irrevocably -written down.”</p> - -<p>77. Markheim stood for a long -while silent, and indeed it was the -visitor who first broke the silence. -“That being so,” he said, “shall I -show you the money?”</p> - -<p>78. “And grace?” cried Markheim.</p> - -<p>79. “Have you not tried it?” returned -the other. “Two or three -years ago, did I not see you on the -platform of revival meetings, and -was not your voice the loudest in -the hymn?”</p> - -<p>80. “It is true,” said Markheim; -“and I see clearly what remains for -me by way of duty. I thank you for -these lessons from my soul: my eyes -are opened, and I behold myself at -last for what I am.”</p> - -<p>81. At this moment, the sharp note -of the door-bell rang through the -house; and the visitant, as though -this were some concerted signal for -which he had been waiting, changed -at once in his demeanor.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><p><span class="smcap">Full Moral Crisis.</span></p> -<p>Physical Resultant Crisis.</p></div> - - - -<p>82. “The maid!” he cried. “She -has returned, as I forewarned you, -and there is now before you one -more difficult passage. Her master, -you must say, is ill; you must let -her in, with an assured but rather -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</span> -serious countenance—no smiles, no -overacting, and I promise you success!<span class="sidenote">Final test.</span> -Once the girl within, and the -door closed, the same dexterity that -has already rid you of the dealer will -relieve you of this last danger in -your path. Thenceforward you have -the whole evening—the whole night, -if needful—to ransack the treasures -of the house and to make good your -safety. This is help that comes to -you with the mask of danger. Up!” -he cried: “up, friend; your life -hangs trembling in the scales; up, -and act!”</p> - -<p>83. Markheim steadily regarded his -counsellor. “If I be condemned to -evil acts,” he said, “there is still -one door of freedom open—I can -cease from action. If my life be an -ill thing, I can lay it down. Though -I be, as you say truly, at the beck -of every small temptation, I can yet, -by one decisive gesture, place myself -beyond the reach of all. My love -of good is damned to barrenness; it -may, and let it, be! But I have still -my hatred of evil; and from that, to -your galling disappointment, you -shall see that I can draw both energy -and courage.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote">Who was the visitant?</div> - -<p>84. The features of the visitor began -to undergo a wonderful and -lovely change; they brightened and -softened with a tender triumph; and, -even as they brightened, faded and -dislimned. But Markheim did not -pause to watch or understand the -transformation. He opened the door -and went downstairs very slowly, -thinking to himself. His past went -soberly before him; he beheld it as -it was, ugly and strenuous like a -dream, random as chance-medley—a -scene of defeat. Life, as he thus -reviewed it, tempted him no longer; -but on the further side he perceived -a quiet haven for his bark. He -paused in the passage, and looked into -the shop, where the candle still burned -by the dead body. It was strangely -silent. Thoughts of the dealer -swarmed into his mind, as he stood -gazing. And then the bell once more -broke out into impatient clamor.</p> - -<p>85. He confronted the maid upon -the threshold with something like a -smile.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><span class="smcap">Moral Climax. Denouement.</span></div> - -<p>86. “You had better go for the -police,” said he: “I have killed your -master.”</p> -</div> -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</span></p> -</div> - -<h3>MORRISON AND HIS WRITINGS</h3> - -<p>Arthur Morrison was born in Kent, England, in 1863. -After some experience as a clerk in the civil service, as -the secretary of a charity trust in the East End of London, -and as a journalist on the editorial staff of an evening -paper, he settled down definitely to his career as -novelist and writer on oriental art. He is best known as -a journalist, however, and his familiarity with the East -End has largely contributed to his success in depicting -the sordid life of London’s “mean streets,” as the “remorseless -realism” of his pictures testify. Mr. Morrison’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</span> -literary work was in the nature of prose and -verse panegyrizing bicycles and bicycling. His principal -works, apart from several plays and magazine contributions, -are <em>Tales of Mean Streets</em>; the several <em>Martin -Hewitt</em> (detective) books; <em>A Child of the Jago</em>; <em>To -London Town</em>; <em>The Hole in the Wall</em>; <em>The Red Triangle</em>; -<em>The Green Eye of Goona</em> (published in America as <em>The -Green Diamond</em>); and <em>The Painters of Japan</em>.</p> - -<p>Mr. Morrison’s best fiction is not large in bulk, for his -detective stories are surpassed both in merit and in popular -appeal by more than one writer on similar themes; -but in his <em>Tales of Mean Streets</em>, which contains the appended -study, “On the Stairs,” he has attained a compressed -power equalled only by the French realists and -scarcely surpassed even by them. He has brought the -art of suggestion to a high pass, his swiftness and firmness -of delineation are equally effective, and though his -subjects are sordid and often depressing they live before -us as real folk.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>The introduction to <em>Tales of Mean Streets</em> appeared in <em>Macmillan’s -Magazine</em> in October, 1891, where it was called simply, -“A Street.” This sketch attracted the attention of Mr. W. E. -Henley, who gave the young writer the benefit of his own -knowledge and criticism; and it is to Henley and to Walter -Besant that Mr. Morrison makes special acknowledgment for -help in the technicalities and mechanism of his tales. Most of -these <em>Tales of Mean Streets</em> appeared in the <em>National Observer</em> -(while Henley was the editor), and a few in the <em>Pall Mall -Budget</em>.—<em>Book Buyer</em> (London), vol. 12.</p> - -<p>If the modern novel about the slums, such as novels of Mr. -Arthur Morrison, or the exceedingly able novels of Mr. Somerset<span class="pagenum" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</span> -Maugham, are intended to be sensational, I can only say that that -is a noble and reasonable object, and that they attain it.... It -may be ... it is necessary to have in our fiction the image of the -horrible and hairy East-ender, merely to keep alive in us a fearful -and childlike wonder at external peculiarities.... To summarize, -our slum fiction is quite defensible as æsthetic fiction; it -is not defensible as spiritual fact.—<span class="smcap">Gilbert K. Chesterton</span>, -<em>Heretics</em>.</p> - -<p>Ever seeking the clean-cut, picturesque phrase and the vivid -word, he produced a very striking picture of the East End. But, -nevertheless, it was not quite satisfactory and convincing. Human -nature does not alter so much with conditions as he seems -to think. A little less or a little more morality does not affect -its elements.... Mr. Morrison’s strongest gift in writing is a -cynicism that is almost brutal. With it he elaborates the features -of all his characters till the impression is produced that one -savage, hideous, ugly coster and one gaudy-feathered, bedizened -“Jonah” have acted as models for all his studies of Jagodom. -Moreover, his success has been achieved in pictures of the brutal.—<em>Academy</em> -(London), vol. 52.</p> - -<p>The “mean streets” are streets in London.... [They] have -found in Arthur Morrison an interpreter who lifts them out of -their meanness upon the plane of a just claim to human sympathy. -He lets us see the relief. Bill Napper, the drunken -kerb-whacker, come into property and defending it against the -rascally labor agitator, Scuddy Lond, mixing religious fervor and -till-tapping with entire sincerity, Simmons and Ford, victims of -their joint wife’s “jore” and mania for trouser-making, even -the Anarchists of the Red Cow group, appeal to us with a sense -almost of kinship because we feel that the figures are real. -They are capital character-studies besides. Dickens never made -a finer than the thief Scuddy Lond, or than Billy Chope.... -The art of these stories seems flawless. Mr. Morrison’s gift -amounts to genius.—<span class="smcap">Jacob Riis</span>, <em>Romances of “The Other Half,” -The Book Buyer</em>, vol. 12.</p> -</div> - - -<p class="p2 big1 center">FURTHER REFERENCES FOR READING ON -MORRISON</p> - -<p><em>Methods of Arthur Morrison</em>, <em>Academy</em>, vol. 50, 531; -<em>His Work, Academy</em>, vol. 52, 493; <em>Blackwood’s Magazine</em>, -vol. 163, 734; <em>How to Write a Short Story, Bookman</em>, -vol. 5, 45; <em>Morrison as a Realist</em>, H. D. Traill, <em>Fortnightly</em>, -vol. 67, 65; <em>Reply</em>, A. Morrison, <em>New Review</em>, -vol. 16, 326; <em>Child of the Jago: True to Facts</em>, A. O. Jay, -<em>Fortnightly</em>, vol. 67, 324.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</span></p> - -<div class="body1"> -<p class="p2 center">FOR ANALYSIS</p> - -<h3>ON THE STAIRS</h3> - -<p class="big05 center">BY ARTHUR MORRISON</p> - -<p class="p1">The house had been “genteel.” -When trade was prospering in the -East End, and the ship-fitter or -block-maker thought it no shame to -live in the parish where his workshop -lay, such a master had lived -here. Now, it was a tall, solid, -well-bricked, ugly house, grimy and -paintless in the joinery, cracked and -patched in the windows: where the -front door stood open all day long; -and the womankind sat on the steps, -talking of sickness and deaths and -the cost of things; and treacherous -holes lurked in the carpet of road-soil -on the stairs and in the passage. -For when eight families live in a -house, nobody buys a door-mat, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</span> -the street was one of those streets -that are always muddy. It smelt, -too, of many things, none of them -pleasant (one was fried fish); but -for all that it was not a slum.</p> - -<p>2. Three flights up, a gaunt woman -with bare forearms stayed on her -way to listen at a door which, opening, -let out a warm, fetid waft from -a close sick-room. A bent and tottering -old woman stood on the threshold, -holding the door behind her.</p> - -<p>3. “An’ is 'e no better now, Mrs. -Curtis?” the gaunt woman asked, -with a nod at the opening.</p> - -<p>4. The old woman shook her head, -and pulled the door closer. Her jaw -waggled loosely in her withered -chaps: “Nor won’t be; till 'e’s -gone.” Then after a certain pause, -“'E’s goin’,” she said.</p> - -<p>5. “Don’t doctor give no 'ope?”</p> - -<p>6. “Lor’ bless ye, I don’t want to -ast no doctors,” Mrs. Curtis replied, -with something not unlike a chuckle. -“I’ve seed too many on ’em. The -boy’s a-goin’, fast; I can see that. -An’ then”—she gave the handle another -tug, and whispered—“he’s -been called.” She nodded amain; -“Three seprit knocks at the bed-head -las’ night; an’ I know what <em>that</em> -means!”</p> - -<p>7. The gaunt woman raised her -brows, and nodded. “Ah, well,” -she said, “we all on us comes to it -some day, sooner or later. An’ it’s -often a 'appy release.”</p> - -<p>8. The two looked into space beyond<span class="pagenum" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</span> -each other, the elder with a -nod and a croak. Presently the other -pursued, “'E’s been a very good -son, ain’t 'e?”</p> - -<p>9. “Ay, ay, well enough son to -me,” responded the old woman, a little -peevishly; “an’ I’ll 'ave ’im put -away decent, though there’s on’y the -Union for me after. I can do that, -thank Gawd!” she added, meditatively, -as chin on fist she stared into -the thickening dark over the stairs.</p> - -<p>10. “When I lost my pore 'usband,” -said the gaunt woman with a -certain brightening, “I give ’im a -'ansome funeral. 'E was a Oddfeller, -an’ I got twelve pound. I 'ad -a oak caufin an’ a open 'earse. There -was a kerridge for the fam’ly an’ one -for 'is mates—two 'orses each, an’ -feathers, an’ mutes; an’ it went the -furthest way round to the cimitry. -'Wotever 'appens, Mrs. Manders,’ -says the undertaker, ‘you’ll feel as -you’ve treated 'im proper; nobody -can’t reproach you over that.’ An’ -they couldn’t. 'E was a good 'usband -to me, an’ I buried ’im respectable.”</p> - -<p>11. The gaunt woman exulted. -The old, old story of Manders’s -funeral fell upon the other one’s ears -with a freshened interest, and she -mumbled her gums ruminantly. -“Bob’ll 'ave a 'ansome buryin', too,” -she said. “I can make it up, with -the insurance money, an’ this, an’ -that. On’y I dunno about mutes. -It’s a expense.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</span></p> - -<p>12. In the East End, when a woman -has not enough money to buy a -thing much desired, she does not say -so in plain words; she says the thing -is an “expense,” or a “great expense.” -It means the same thing, -but it sounds better. Mrs. Curtis -had reckoned her resources, and -found that mutes would be an “expense.” -At a cheap funeral mutes -cost half-a-sovereign and their liquor. -Mrs. Manders said as much.</p> - -<p>13. “Yus, yus, 'arf-a-sovereign,” the -old woman assented. Within, the -sick feebly beat the floor with a stick. -“I’m a-comin’,” she cried shrilly; -“yus, 'arf-a-sovereign, but it’s a lot, -an’ I don’t see 'ow I’m to do it—not -at present.” She reached for -the door-handle again, but stopped -and added, by after-thought, “Unless -I don’t 'ave no plooms.”</p> - -<p>14. “It 'ud be a pity not to 'ave -plooms. I 'ad—”</p> - -<p>15. There were footsteps on the -stairs: then a stumble and a testy -word. Mrs. Curtis peered over into -the gathering dark. “Is it the -doctor, sir?” she asked. It was the -doctor’s assistant; and Mrs. Manders -tramped up to the next landing -as the door of the sick-room took -him in.</p> - -<p>16. For five minutes the stairs -were darker than ever. Then the -assistant, a very young man, came -out again, followed by the old woman -with a candle. Mrs. Manders -listened in the upper dark. “He’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</span> -sinking fast,” said the assistant. “He -<em>must</em> have a stimulant. Dr. Mansell -ordered port wine. Where is it?” -Mrs. Curtis mumbled dolorously. “I -tell you he <em>must</em> have it,” he -averred with unprofessional emphasis -(his qualification was only a month -old). “The man can’t take solid -food, and his strength must be kept -up somehow. Another day may -make all the difference. Is it because -you can’t afford it?” “It’s a -expense—sich a expense, doctor,” -the old woman pleaded. “An’ wot -with 'arf-pints o’ milk an’—” She -grew inarticulate, and mumbled dismally.</p> - -<p>17. “But he must have it, Mrs. -Curtis, if it’s your last shilling: it’s -the only way. If you mean you absolutely -haven’t the money—” and -he paused a little awkwardly. He -was not a wealthy young man—wealthy -young men do not devil for -East End doctors—but he was conscious -of a certain haul of sixpences -at nap the night before; and, being -inexperienced, he did not foresee the -career of persecution whereon he -was entering at his own expense and -of his own motion. He produced -five shillings: “If you absolutely -haven’t the money, why—take this -and get a bottle—good: not at a -public-house. But mind, <em>at once</em>. -He should have had it before.”</p> - -<p>18. It would have interested him, -as a matter of coincidence, to know -that his principal had been guilty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</span> -of the selfsame indiscretion—even -the amount was identical—on that -landing the day before. But, as Mrs. -Curtis said nothing of this, he -floundered down the stair and out -into the wetter mud, pondering -whether or not the beloved son of -a Congregational minister might take -full credit for a deed of charity on -the proceeds of sixpenny nap. But -Mrs. Curtis puffed her wrinkles, and -shook her head sagaciously as she -carried in her candle. From the -room came a clink as of money falling -into a teapot. And Mrs. Manders -went about her business.</p> - -<p>19. The door was shut, and the -stair a pit of blackness. Twice a -lodger passed down, and up and -down, and still it did not open. Men -and women walked on the lower -flights, and out at the door, and in -again. From the street a shout or -a snatch of laughter floated up the -pit. On the pavement footsteps rang -crisper and fewer, and from the bottom -passage there were sounds of -stagger and sprawl. A demented old -clock buzzed divers hours at random, -and was rebuked every twenty minutes -by the regular tread of a policeman -on his beat. Finally, somebody -shut the street-door with a great -bang, and the street was muffled. A -key turned inside the door on the -landing, but that was all. A feeble -light shone for hours along the -crack below, and then went out. The -crazy old clock went buzzing on, but -nothing left that room all night. -Nothing that opened the door....</p> - -<p>20. When next the key turned, it -was to Mrs. Manders’s knock, in the -full morning; and soon the two -women came out on the landing together, -Mrs. Curtis with a shapeless -clump of bonnet. “Ah, 'e’s a lovely -corpse,” said Mrs. Manders. “Like -wax. So was my 'usband.”</p> - -<p>21. “I must be stirrin’,” croaked -the old woman, “an’ go about the -insurance an’ the measurin’ an’ that. -There’s lots to do.”</p> - -<p>22. “Ah, there is. 'Oo are you -goin’ to 'ave,—Wilkins? I 'ad Wilkins. -Better than Kedge, <em>I</em> think: -Kedge’s mutes dresses rusty, an’ -their trousis is frayed. If you was -thinkin’ of 'avin’ mutes—”</p> - -<p>23. “Yus, yus,”—with a palsied -nodding,—“I’m a-goin’ to 'ave -mutes: I can do it respectable, thank -Gawd!”</p> - -<p>24. “And the plooms?”</p> - -<p>25. “Ay, yus, and the plooms too. -They ain’t sich a great expense, after -all.”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</span></p> - -<h3>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR STUDY</h3> - -<p>1. What are the points of similarity between the Character-Study -and the Psychological Study?</p> - -<p>2. Define (a) Psychology, (b) Realism.</p> - -<p>3. Does Markheim’s change of heart seem to you to be genuine? -Give your reasons.</p> - -<p>4. Analyze his motives fully.</p> - -<p>5. Is the supernatural element convincing?</p> - - -<p>6. Could conscience produce the same effect as the Visitant?</p> - -<p>7. What impression did Stevenson seek to convey by “Markheim”?</p> - -<p>8. Fully analyze the thoughts, feelings, and motives of the -mother.</p> - -<p>9. Can you detect Morrison’s motive in writing “On the -Stairs”?</p> - -<p>10. Fully analyze one other psychological study, from any -source.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</span></p> - -<h3>TEN REPRESENTATIVE PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDIES</h3> - -<div class="small1"> - -<p>“A Coward,” Guy de Maupassant, translated in <em>The -Odd Number</em>.</p> - -<p>“Another Gambler,” Paul Bourget, translated in <em>Stories -by Foreign Authors</em>.</p> - -<p>“La Bretonne,” André Theuriet, translated in <em>Short-Story -Masterpieces</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Song of Death,” Hermann Sudermann, translated -in <em>The Indian Lily</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Recovery,” Edith Wharton, in <em>Crucial Instances</em>.</p> - -<p>“Billy-Boy,” John Luther Long, in volume of same title.</p> - -<p>“The Executioner,” Honoré de Balzac, translated in -<em>Masterpieces of Fiction</em>.</p> - -<p>“The Revolt of ‘Mother,’” Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, -<em>Harper’s Magazine</em>, vol. 81, 553.</p> - -<p>“The Lady or the Tiger,” Frank R. Stockton, in volume -of same title.</p> - -<p>“The Man Without a Country,” Edward Everett Hale, -in <em>Short Story Classics, American</em>.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</span></p> -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE</h2> - -<div class="small1"> - -<p>An extended list of books and magazine articles on the short-story -will be found on pages 375-378, 426-431 of the present -author’s <em>Writing the Short-Story</em>, New York, Hinds, Hayden and -Eldredge (1909), xiv+441 pp. Most of the bibliographical references -here appended also appear in the revised edition of <em>Writing -the Short-Story</em> (1918). Magazine articles have not been -included, as they may be found listed in the cumulative periodical -indexes. For several years, <em>The Writer’s Monthly</em>, Springfield, -Mass., a periodical for literary workers, has printed monthly a -list of magazine articles of interest to writers.</p> - -<p><em>Notes on the Influence of E. T. A. Hoffman on Edgar Allan -Poe</em>, G. Gruener, Modern Language Association of America -(1904).</p> - -<p><em>How to Write</em>, Charles Sears Baldwin. Macmillan (1906). -Chapters on “How to Tell a Story,” and “How to Describe.” -Based upon Bible narratives.</p> - -<p><em>The Art of the Short-Story</em>, George W. Gerwig. Werner -(1909). A brief general study. Out of print.</p> - -<p><em>The Short Story in English</em>, Henry Seidel Canby. Holt -(1909). An exhaustive examination into the origin and development -of the form.</p> - -<p><em>A History of Story Telling</em>, Arthur Ransome. Stokes (1909).</p> - -<p><em>Studies in Several Literatures</em>, Harry Thurston Peck. Dodd, -Mead (1909). Chapters on “Poe,” and “The Detective Story.”</p> - -<p><em>The Art of Writing</em> (also issued under the title, <em>The Art of -Short Story Writing</em>), George Randolph Chester. The Publishers -Syndicate (1910). A collection of brief notes on all -phases of the title-subject.</p> - -<p><em>The Fiction Factory</em>, John Milton Edwards (pseudonym). -Editor Co. (1911). “The author tells how he conceived, planned, -wrote and sold $100,000 worth of manuscripts.”</p> - -<p><em>The Craftsmanship of Writing</em>, Frederic Taber Cooper. Dodd, -Mead (1912). These papers appeared serially in <em>The Bookman</em>, -New York.</p> - -<p><em>The Plot of the Short Story</em>, Henry Albert Phillips. Stanhope-Dodge -(1912). The technique and mechanics of plot.</p> - -<p><em>The American Short Story</em>, C. Alphonso Smith. Ginn (1912). -An American reprint of one of the author’s lectures delivered as -Roosevelt Professor at the University of Berlin.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</span></p> - -<p><em>The Art and Business of Story Writing</em>, W. B. Pitkin. Macmillan -(1912).</p> - -<p><em>The American Short Story</em>, Elias Lieberman. Editor Co. -(1912).</p> - -<p><em>The Art of Story Writing</em>, J. Berg Esenwein and Mary -Davoren Chambers. Home Correspondence School (1913). A -study of the shorter fictional forms—the anecdote, fable, parable, -tale, sketch, and short-story—with outlines for study and -instruction.</p> - -<p><em>The Technique of the Mystery Story</em>, Carolyn Wells. Home -Correspondence School (1913).</p> - -<p><em>Art in Short Story Narration</em>, Henry Albert Phillips. Stanhope-Dodge -(1913).</p> - -<p><em>The Art of Writing</em>, Preface to “The Nigger of the Narcissus,” -Joseph Conrad. Doubleday (1914).</p> - -<p><em>Short Stories in the Making</em>, Robert Wilson Neal. Oxford -University Press (1914).</p> - -<p><em>The Author’s Craft</em>, Arnold Bennett. Doran (1914)</p> - -<p><em>The Art of the Short Story</em>, Carol Grabo. Scribner (1914).</p> - -<p><em>The Modern Short-Story</em>, Lilian Notestein and Waldo H. -Dunn. Barnes (1914).</p> - -<p><em>On the Art of Writing</em>, A. Quiller-Couch. Putnam (1916).</p> - -<p><em>The Contemporary Short Story</em>, Harry T. Baker. Heath -(1916).</p> - -<p><em>The Short-Story</em>, Barry Pain. Doran (1916). Reprint of an -earlier English edition.</p> - -<p><em>The Thirty Six Dramatic Situations</em>, Georges Polti. Editor -Co. (1916).</p> - -<p><em>A Handbook of Story Writing</em>, Blanche Colton Williams. -Dodd, Mead (1917).</p> - -<p><em>Children’s Stories and How to Tell Them</em>, J. Berg Esenwein -and Marietta Stockard. Home Correspondence School (1917).</p> - -<p><em>Helps for Student-Writers</em>, Willard E. Hawkins. The Student-Writer -Press (1917).</p> - -<p><em>The Technique of Fiction Writing</em>, Robert Saunders Dowst. -Editor Co. (1917).</p> - -<p>Besides the edited collections of miscellaneous short-stories -included in the first edition of <em>Writing the Short-Story</em>, which -need not be reproduced here, are the following. In most instances -the collections are prefaced by introductory notes by the editors -named.</p> - -<p><em>The Best American Tales</em>, W. P. Trent and John Bell Henneman. -Crowell (1907).</p> - -<p><em>International Library of Fiction</em> (3 vols.), William Patten. -Collier (1910).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</span></p> - -<p><em>The Great English Short-Story Writers</em> (2 vols.), William J. -and Coningsby W. Dawson. Harper (1910).</p> - -<p><em>The Lock and Key Library</em> (10 vols.), Julian Hawthorne. This -is an expansion of the six-volume edition of <em>Mystery and Detective -Stories</em> (6 vols.). Review of Reviews Co. (1912).</p> - -<p><em>Short-Story Masterpieces, French</em> (2 vols.), J. Berg Esenwein. -Home Correspondence School (1912).</p> - -<p><em>Short-Story Masterpieces, Russian</em> (2 vols.), J. Berg Esenwein. -Home Correspondence School (1913).</p> - -<p><em>A Collection of Short Stories</em>, L. A. Pittenger. Macmillan -(1913).</p> - -<p><em>A Study of the Short Story</em>, Henry S. Canby. Holt (1913).</p> - -<p><em>A Book of Short Stories</em>, Stuart P. Sherman. Holt (1914).</p> - -<p><em>Types of the Short-Story</em>, Benjamin A. Heydrick. Scott, Foresman -(1914).</p> - -<p><em>The Short-Story</em>, E. A. Cross. McClurg (1914).</p> - -<p><em>Modern Short Stories</em>, Margaret Ashmun. Macmillan (1914).</p> - -<p><em>Short Stories</em>, Leonard Moulton. Houghton, Mifflin (1915).</p> - -<p><em>Short Stories for High Schools</em>, Rosa M. R. Mikels. Scribner -(1915).</p> - -<p><em>Elements of the Short Story</em>, E. E. Hale, Jr., and F. T. Dawson. -Holt (1915).</p> - -<p><em>Short Stories from “Life,”</em> T. L. Masson. Doubleday (1916).</p> - -<p><em>Short Stories and Selections, for Use in Secondary Schools</em>, -Emilie K. Baker. Macmillan (1916).</p> - -<p><em>Representative Short Stories</em>, Nina Hart and Edna M. Perry. -Macmillan (1917).</p> - -<p><em>The Best Short Stories of 1915, and The Yearbook of the -American Short Story</em>, E. J. O’Brien. Small, Maynard (1916).</p> - -<p>Similar collections by the same editor have been issued for -1916 and 1917, and others for later years are to follow.</p> - -<p><em>Atlantic Narratives</em>, Charles Swain Thomas. Atlantic Monthly -Press (1918).</p> - -<p><em>Index to Short Stories.</em> Ina TenEyck Firkins. Wilson.</p> -</div> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" >INDEX</h2> -</div> - - -<p>In this index, names of authors are printed in small capitals and -titles of books in italics; titles of short-stories are enclosed in -quotations, and general persons and subjects are in Roman type. -It has not seemed necessary to index titles and authors which are -merely included in biographical and bibliographical notes.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">A</p> - -<p>Action, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Addison, Joseph</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix.</a><br /> - -Adventure (see Action), <a href="#Page_xvi">xvi</a>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.<br /> - -Anecdote, <a href="#Page_xvi">xvi</a>, <a href="#Page_xvii">xvii</a>, <a href="#Page_xx">xx</a>.<br /> - -<em>Arabian Nights</em>, <a href="#Page_xvii">xviii</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">B</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Baldwin, Charles S.</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiv">xxiv</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Balzac, Honoré de</span>, <a href="#Page_xx">xx</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Barrie, James M.</span>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>-<a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Barrett, Charles Raymond</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Beers, H. A.</span>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Beranger</span>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.<br /> - -Bibliography of Short-Story, <a href="#Page_xxi">xxi</a>, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Bierce, Ambrose</span>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Boccaccio</span>, <a href="#Page_xviii">xviii</a>;<br /> - -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><em>Decameron</em>, <a href="#Page_xvii">xvii</a>;</span><br /> - -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><em>Rinaldo</em>, <a href="#Page_xvii">xvii</a>.</span><br /> - -<span class="smcap">Burke, Edmund</span>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Burton, Richard</span>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Butler, Ellis Parker</span>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">C</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Canby, H. S.</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiv">xxiv</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br /> - -Characters, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>.<br /> - -Character Studies, <a href="#Page_353">353</a>-<a href="#Page_389">389</a>.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</span><br /> - -<span class="smcap">Chaucer, Geoffrey</span>, <a href="#Page_xviii">xviii</a>,<br /> - -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><em>Canterbury Tales</em>, <a href="#Page_xvii">xvii</a>,</span><br /> - -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><em>Pardoner’s Tale</em>, <a href="#Page_xvii">xvii</a>.</span><br /> - -<span class="smcap">Chesterton, Gilbert K.</span>, <a href="#Page_424">424</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Cody, Sherwin</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>.<br /> - -Comedy, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br /> - -<em>Conte dévot</em>, <a href="#Page_xvi">xvi</a>, <a href="#Page_xvii">xvii</a>.<br /> - -Contributory incident, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Coppée, François</span>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_368">368</a>-<a href="#Page_388">388</a>.<br /> - -“Courting of T’Nowhead’s Bell, The,” <a href="#Page_219">219</a>-<a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Crawford, F. Marion</span>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Crawford, V. M.</span>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.<br /> - -Crisis, <a href="#Page_xxvi">xxvi</a>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Cross, J. W.</span>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Curtis, George William</span>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">D</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Daudet, Alphonse</span>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>-<a href="#Page_147">147</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Defoe, Daniel</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix.</a><br /> - -Denouement, <a href="#Page_xxvi">xxvi</a>.<br /> - -Detective Story, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.<br /> - -Developing incident (see contributory incident).<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Dye, Charity</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii.</a></p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">E</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Edgeworth, Maria</span>, <em>Moral Tales</em>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.<br /> - -Egyptian tales, <a href="#Page_xv">xv</a>, <a href="#Page_xvi">xvi</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Eliot, George</span>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br /> - -Emotion, Stories of, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>-<a href="#Page_190">190</a>.<br /> - -Episode, <a href="#Page_xvii">xvii</a>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.<br /> - -Essay-Stories, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.<br /> - -<em>Esther, Book of</em>, <a href="#Page_xvi">xvi</a>.<br /> - -Exercises, <a href="#Page_xxxi">xxxi</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>, <a href="#Page_388">388</a>, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">F</p> - -<p><em>Fabliau</em>, <a href="#Page_xviii">xviii</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Faguet, Émile</span>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.<br /> - -“Fall of the House of Usher, The,” <a href="#Page_320">320</a>-<a href="#Page_351">351</a>.<br /> - -Fiction, Art of, <a href="#Page_xiii">xiii</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Flaubert, Gustave</span>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">G</p> - -<p>Ghosts, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> - -<em>Golden Ass, The</em>, Apuleius, <a href="#Page_xvi">xvi</a>.<br /> - -<em>Graham’s Magazine</em>, <a href="#Page_xxii">xxii</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Grenier, Edouard</span>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Griswold, Hattie T.</span>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.<br /> - -<em>Guardian</em>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.</p> - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">H</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hamilton, Clayton</span>, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Hammerton, J. A.</span>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.<br /> - -<em>Handbook of Literary Criticism</em>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Harte, Bret</span>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Hawthorne, Julian</span>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Hawthorne, Nathaniel</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>, <a href="#Page_xxi">xxii</a>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>-<a href="#Page_319">319</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Henry, O.</span>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>-<a href="#Page_215">215</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Higginson, Thomas Wentworth</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Hoffman, E. A.</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br /> - -Homeric stories, <a href="#Page_xv">xv</a>.<br /> - -Humorous Stories, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>-<a href="#Page_250">250</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Hutton, R. H.</span>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">I</p> - -<p><em>Idler</em>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.<br /> - -Impressionistic Stories, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>-<a href="#Page_352">352</a>.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</span><br /> - -<span class="smcap">Independent</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Irving, Washington</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>;<br /> - -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><em>Rip Van Winkle</em>, <a href="#Page_xviii">xviii</a>.</span></p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">J</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Jacobs, W. W.</span>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>-<a href="#Page_129">129</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">James, Henry</span>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Jessup, Alexander</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiv">xxiv</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Johnson, Samuel</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">K</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">King, Grace</span>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Kipling, Rudyard</span>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>-<a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">L</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lang, Andrew</span>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br /> - -“Last Class, The,” <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>-<a href="#Page_147">147</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Le Gallienne, Richard</span>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Lemmon, Leonard</span>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Lewin, Walter</span>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Lewis, E. H.</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>.<br /> - -<em>Lippincott’s Magazine</em>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>.<br /> - -Local color, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a> (see setting).<br /> - -“Lodging for the Night, A,” <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>-<a href="#Page_67">67</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Longfellow, H. W.</span>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">M</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mabie, Hamilton Wright</span>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">McIntyre, Marion</span>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Maclaren, Ian</span>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.<br /> - -“Mateo Falcone,” <a href="#Page_8">8</a>-<a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Matthews, Brander</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_370">370</a>, <a href="#Page_371">371</a>.<br /> - -“Markheim,” <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_393">393</a>-<a href="#Page_422">422</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Maupassant, Guy de</span>, <a href="#Page_vii">vii</a>, <a href="#Page_xxix">xxix</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>-<a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a>-<a href="#Page_368">368</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Mérimée, Prosper</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>, <a href="#Page_xx">xx</a>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>-<a href="#Page_29">29</a>.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</span><br /> - -Milesian Tales, <a href="#Page_xvi">xvi</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Miller, Merion M.</span>, <a href="#Page_370">370</a>.<br /> - -“Moonlight,” <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>-<a href="#Page_290">290</a>.<br /> - -“Monkey’s Paw, The,” <a href="#Page_110">110</a>-<a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Morrison, Arthur</span>, <a href="#Page_422">422</a>-<a href="#Page_431">431</a>.<br /> - -Mystery and Fantasy Stories, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>-<a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">N</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nathan, G. J.</span>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Nodier, Charles</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.<br /> - -Novel, <a href="#Page_xiii">xiii</a>.<br /> - -Novelette, <a href="#Page_xx">xx</a>, <a href="#Page_xxvii">xxvii</a>.<br /> - -<em>Novella</em>, <a href="#Page_xvii">xvii</a>, <a href="#Page_xviii">xviii</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">O</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">O’Brien, Fitz-James</span>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.<br /> - -“On the Stairs,” <a href="#Page_393">393</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>-<a href="#Page_431">431</a>.<br /> - -“Outcasts of Poker Flat, The,” <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>-<a href="#Page_277">277</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">P</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pater, Walter</span>, <a href="#Page_392">392</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Peck, Harry Thurston</span>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Pellissier, Georges</span>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Perry, Bliss</span>, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_392">392</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Phelps, William Lyon</span>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.<br /> - -“Piece of String, The,” <a href="#Page_356">356</a>-<a href="#Page_368">368</a>.<br /> - -Plot, <a href="#Page_xxv">xxv</a>.<br /> - -Plot incident, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Poe, Edgar Allan</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>, <a href="#Page_xx">xx</a>, <a href="#Page_xix">xxi</a>, <a href="#Page_xxii">xxii</a>, <a href="#Page_xxv">xxv</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>-<a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>-<a href="#Page_351">351</a>.<br /> - -Psychological Studies, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>-<a href="#Page_432">432</a>.<br /> - -“Purloined Letter, The,” <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>-<a href="#Page_107">107</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Pushkin</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">Q</p> - -<p>Questions, see Exercises.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</span></p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">R</p> - -<p><em>Rambler</em>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.<br /> - -“Ransom of Red Chief, The,” <a href="#Page_198">198</a>-<a href="#Page_215">215</a>.<br /> - -Representative Stories, Lists of, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>, <a href="#Page_389">389</a>, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Riis, Jacob</span>, <a href="#Page_424">424</a>.<br /> - -Romanticism, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Roz, Firmin</span>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br /> - -<em>Ruth, Book of</em>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">S</p> - -<p>Sadness in Stories, <a href="#Page_viii">viii</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Saintsbury, George</span>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Sanderson, Robert</span>, <a href="#Page_370">370</a>.<br /> - -<em>Saturday Review</em>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>.<br /> - -Scenario, <a href="#Page_xvi">xvi</a>, <a href="#Page_xxvii">xxvii</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Scott, Sir Walter</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.<br /> - -Setting, Stories of, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>-<a href="#Page_290">290</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Sheran, William H.</span>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.<br /> - -<em>Short History of French Literature</em>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.<br /> - -Short-Story, origin of, <a href="#Page_xx">xx</a>;<br /> - -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">defined, <a href="#Page_xxv">xxv</a>, <a href="#Page_xxvi">xxvi</a>;</span><br /> - -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Study of, <a href="#Page_xiii">xiii</a>, <a href="#Page_xiv">xiv</a>.</span><br /> - -Sketch, <a href="#Page_xxviii">xxviii</a>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Smith, C. Alfonso</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Smith, Lewis W.</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>.<br /> - -<em>Spectator</em>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Spielhagen, Friedrich</span>, <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Steele, Richard</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Stevenson, Robert Louis</span>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>-<a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_393">393</a>-<a href="#Page_422">422</a>.<br /> - -Story-tellers, <a href="#Page_xv">xv</a>, <a href="#Page_xvi">xvi</a>.<br /> - -“Substitute, The,” <a href="#Page_371">371</a>-<a href="#Page_388">388</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Symons, Arthur</span>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">T</p> - -<p>Tale, <a href="#Page_xv">xv</a>, <a href="#Page_xvii">xvii</a>, <a href="#Page_xx">xx</a>, <a href="#Page_xxvii">xxvii</a>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>.<br /> - -<em>Taller</em>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Tieck, J. L.</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br /> - -To Teachers, <a href="#Page_vii">vii</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Trent, W. P.</span>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Twain, Mark</span>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</span></p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">V</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Voltaire</span>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">W</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ward, Artemus</span>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> - -<em>Warner Library</em>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_370">370</a>.<br /> - -<span class="smcap">Weiss, John</span>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br /> - -“White Old Maid, The,” <a href="#Page_302">302</a>-<a href="#Page_319">319</a>.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</span><br /> - -<span class="smcap">White, William Allen</span>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> - -“Without Benefit of Clergy,” <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>-<a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> - -<em>Writing the Short-Story</em>, <a href="#Page_vii">vii</a>, <a href="#Page_ix">ix</a>, <a href="#Page_xi">xi</a>, <a href="#Page_xxv">xxvi</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.</p> - - -<p style="padding-left: 5em; margin-top: 2em; ">Z</p> - -<p><em>Zadig</em>, <a href="#Page_xix">xix</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.</p> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STUDYING THE SHORT-STORY ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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