ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/artinshortstorynOOphilrich THE AUTHORS' HAND-BOOK SERIES Art In Short Story Narration A Searching Analysis of the Qualifications of Fiction in General, and of the Shc»rt Su^ry in Particular, with Copious Examples, Making the Work A PRACTICAL TREATISE BY HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS Aatbor of "Tbe Plot of tbc Short Stoir," and formerly Ataociatc Editor of the Metropoliuo Magmiioe limiODUCTtON BY REX BEACH Aatbor of -The Bwrter," ••Tb« SiWcr Hordo." "Tho No'er Do Well," eU. THE STANHOPE-DODGE PUBLISHING Ca LARCHMONT, NEW YORK Copyright, 1913, by HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS >.E..TAPJ.EYCCN. TO MY SON ROBERT HENRY SHEPARD PHILLIPS A SOURCB OP CONSTANT INSPIRATION I OSDICATE THIS VOLUME 268777 OTHER VOLUMES IN THE AUTHORS' HAND-BOOK SERIES THE MECHANICS OF FICTION (Now in Preparation) by HENRY ALBERT PHILUPS Author of **A Complete Course in Short Story Writing," '•The Plot of the Short Story," "Art in Short Story Nar- ration," and formerly Associate Editor Metropolitan Maga- zine. Introduction by a Famous Literary Critic. Price, Postpaid, $1.20 THE STANHOPE-DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY Book Department, Larchmont, N. Y. BY THE SAME AUTHOR THE PLOT OF THE SHORT STORY An exhaustive study, both synthetical and analytical, with copious examples, making the work A PRACTICAL TREATISE Introduction by Matthew White, Jr. {Formerly Editor of the Argosy) "This hand-book may be regarded as the best thing of its kind extant." — North Carolina Education. "It is right that the analysis you have made should be made." — Sir Gilbert Parker. "One of the commendable books of recent times in short- story writing." — Hartford Post. "I read your book with the greatest interest." — Richard Harding Davis. "An excellent book for the student, whether critic or au- thor." — Book News Monthly. **It is the best haiid-book on the subject I have seen." — James Oppenheim. "The book is a master in its field." — Salt Lake Tribune. "It is an excellent thing excellently done." — Jack London. — Nearly a thousand others. Price, Postpaid, $1.20 THE STANHOPE-DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY Book Department, Larchmont, N. Y. CONTENTS Introduction vii Foreword xi CHAPTER PAGE I Art and Technique 15 Symbols; Six Mediums; Sphere of the Creator; Significance of Re- pression. II Literature and Life 24 The Fiction Deluge; Producer vs. Consumer; to Amuse or to Enter- tain. III The Artistry op Narration ... 30 Enter Art; What is Demanded; Essentials; Movement and Action; Vividness. IV The Short Story 36 Cooperation; Isolation; Selection. V Fact Versus Fiction 41 Taste vs. Truth; Romance and Realism ; the True Story ; the Im- probable and the Impossible. VI Impression and Expression .... 48 Personal Equation; Reality; Visu- alizing; the Writer's Ultimate Aim. VII The Potency of Suggestion ... 53 Re-Creation; Color Values; Asso- ciation and Relationships; Figurative Language. VIII Beauty and Embellishment ... 59 Esthetics; Figures; Taste; Reveal- ment; Imagery; the Artist's Vision. IX The Appeal That Creates Interest . 66 Entertainment; Sympathy and Tol- erance; Plausibility; Four Stages in Development of Interest CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE X The Psychology of Emotion . . , 72 Mood; Feeling; Passion; Elo- quence; Pathos. XI The Scope of Imagination .... 78 Glamor; Fantasy; the Artist's Right to Fame. XII The Power of Motive . . ^ . . 85 Theme; Morals; Unique Power of the Artist; Sermons; the Unconscious Motive. XIII The Influence of Atmosphere . . 93 Color of Medium; Metaphor; At- mosphere as an Abstract Quality; Two Aspects. XIV The Charm of Harmony .... 102 Unity; Organism vs. Organization; Color; Harmony of Plot and Theme; Tone Effects. XV The Human Element iii Life ; Characters ; Human Interest ; Heart Interest and Story Interest; Naturalness. XVI The Dramatic Spark 118 Contrasts ; Tragedy ; Melodrama ; Suspense; Drama and Literature. XVII The Temper of Love 124 Details ad Nauseam ; Romance and Love; Illicit Love; the Incomparable Theme. XVIII The Poignancy of Effect .... 130 Climax; Vividness; Plausibility; Art for Art's Sake; to Win Fame; When All is Said and Done. XIX A Study in Analysis 136 A Short Story, " Sacrifice," Dis- sected With a View to Art in its Narration. INTRODUCTION MANY books have been written bearing chiefly upon the technical side of fic- tion construction, but few — indeed, if any — have taken a step further and undertaken to analyze and reconstruct the artistic qualifica- tions essential to fiction literature. Some- times it is easier to tell how to do a thing, than it is to do it or to define intelligently the nature of the thing to be done. The literary craft has been informed so often how it should do its work, that it seems refreshing to be told in definite terms just what that work is. " Art in Short Story Narration," then, is a book of unusual timeliness. Never before have so many short stories been written — and published ; never before has there been such a vast army of tyros — and such a great com- pany of successful authors. In like propor- tion the field for technical lore and critical discussion has advanced and widened apace. vii INTRODUCTION For all writers find, sooner or later, that the more thorough their training and the more pro- found their learning concerning their craft the greater is likely to be their artistic success. However true it may be that writers are born rather than made, it certainly is a fact that literary workmen win success from their efforts in proportion to the amount of work and study they p.nt into them. Above all things, the beginner should hesitate to essay even the simplest kind of a short story before he acquires a definite knowledge of what the short story is and how it should be con- structed. There would be fewer failures if such a reasonable and normal policy were generally pursued. There is little question — from what we can learn of the average novice; and his lack of painstaking effort — but that the hundreds of daily rejections of manu- scripts are not well-deserved. There is al- ways keen competition among producers of slip-shoddy wares of all kinds, they tell us — and there is no reason why the fiction pro- ducer should be made an exception. On the other hand, never was there such a crying demand for meritorious fiction, viii INTRODUCTION "Art in Short Story Narration," tho an ex- cellent hand-book for beginners, will be found to contain an inexhaustible fund of searching information and definitive advice for the ad- vanced and successful writer of fiction. By delving into the philosophy of fiction, the au- thor has uncovered a wealth of material that is worthy of the serious and frequent contem- plation of all students and practitioners of the literary art. By students of fiction literature, one might be tempted to include serious- minded readers in search of new beauties and a new plane of appreciation. One excellent point, at least, that **Art in Short Story Narration " has made unmistak- ably clear, is that the production of fiction has but few points in common with the merely mechanical trades or the purely technical pro- fessions. Due stress is laid upon the inherent qualities of Art; and the acquired qualifica- tions of the artist. A great service may thus be accomplished toward elevating the craft of authorship. The beginner will realize after reading this little book, whether or not he is mentally, emotionally and spiritually en- dowed by nature, and equipped by education ix INTRODUCTION and fortitude, to depict the fiction-vision and undertake the laborious task necessary to per- fect effort ! No one should be hindered from trying to write, if he honestly feels that he must and can. But the moment any man realizes that he cannot write, he should stop — at least for a year or so. Maturity and reflec- tion may bring deeper inspiration. Hopeless efforts in literary production result in a deluge of meaningless manuscript that is unworthy of publication, an insult to editorial intelligence and an eternal injury to the producer of it. /^^. <(^ae4. The processes of acquinug a practical knowledge of any subject are always the same: Study, analysis, synthesis, comparison. FOREWORD THE little volume— "The Plot of the Short Story," — preceding the present work, has met with such a favorable reception that it has encouraged me to endeavor to pre- sent still other phases of Short Story construc- tion and analysis. There is still another reason, however, that has been even more tompelling. This has been the assumption on the part of some of the book reviewers, that I have been taking undue liberties with a cer- tain Divine Right. Writing of Fiction, they contend, is governed by Unwritten Laws, Technique in this profession, I am warned, is God-given. After most searching analysis and unremit- ting study I still find the technique of the Short Story art, not only the most difficult, but also the most leamable and the most nec- essary to artistic perfection, xi FOREWORD As I stated in the former book, " Plotting the Short Story is largely a process of science ; narrating it is altogether a matter of Art." Hence I have jumped the full swing of the pendulum; from a definite science to an elu- sive art. The chapters that follow represent an ear- nest effort to analyze and define the abstract virtues of Short Story fiction in concrete terms that will make them both familiar and recog- nizable to students of fiction. Once the great difficulties of this or any art become appar- ent to its aspirants, the more willing will they be to make the effort required to master them. All science is founded on a working knowl- edge of its material elements; all Art is based on an emotional appreciation of its esthetic standards. When we take into serious consideration that all fiction is Active, make-believe Art, a manufactured or artificial picture of life, something that never happened in particular, yet happens every day in general — why, it must stand to reason that the mechanics of such an art can be taught. xii FOREWORD It is doubtful indeed that full-blown power to create creditable fiction ever comes to any- one. It would be a difficult matter to decide since practicably every civilized person is blest with an opportunity to read the matured writ- ings of some other author. The pioneers used what gifts they had, to be sure, but had to pass slowly thru a state of crudity to one bordering on perfection. We of an en- lightened age listen to, read, and study the words of acknowledged masters, commenting upon their remarkable effects and marveling at their causes. These causes arc technical abil- ity linked with genius. Assuredly there can l>e teachers and guides in any calling that has a definite technique. True Art then depends fully as much upon knowledge and practice as it does upon special gifts and imagination. Art is the acme of order, and the secret of all order is arrangement. That arrangement which is not amenable to practical hints and subject to law and order is allied with chaos. To understand Art, we are told that one must study it. But if there is no technique, xiii FOREWORD no standards, no elementary dissection, how are we to study it? The logical steps in all study seem to be first analysis, next synthesis, and finally com- parison. I am afraid I have not followed the logical order, for in " The Plot of the Short Story " I have essayed synthesis in the main, in the present volume, analysis. The foremost consideration, after all, thruout the entire Authors' Handbook Se- ries shall be to make these books contain enough inspirational material to aid every class of writer and in the end to stimulate a wider popular appreciation of the Short Story Art. Henry Albert Phillips. May 20, 1913. XIV All science is founded on a working knowledge of its material elements; all Art is based on an emotional ap- preciation of its esthetic standards. CHAPTER I Art and Technique symbols; six mediums; sphere of the creator; significance of repression. ART consists in an endeavor to express thru an outward and visible symbol some great inward and invisible truth or spiritual struggle. Art therefore is funda- mentally pictorial and dramatic. The mes- sage of Art is conveyed thru two of the five senses — sight and hearing. Its appeal is not sensual, but esthetic. Primarily, its aim is to pierce the emotions and rouse the imagination and, secondarily, to elicit admira- tion. The six grand mediums of Art are : Sculp- ture, Painting, Music, Poetry, Drama and Literature. A certain inherent similitude pre- 15 , ,. ,.. ^ART.IN SHORT. STORY NARRATION vails thru them all. The devotee, student, and expert become, sooner or later, aware of a definite plan, a conscious technique, a sense of proportion, a standard of excellence and a tendency toward perfection. Atmosphere, arrangement, motif, climax and effect are subtilely made to play their parts in all. A work of Art should be judged, not by the size of the production, the pains, labor and time expended in producing it, or because of any innovations, but for its intrinsic appeal and its technical perfection. Its internal, un- seen power may be accorded the first place in our consideration; its external, technical beauty will fall into the second. And, what is important, lies in the fact that an artistic production may be technically beautiful, and yet inspire any one or more of the " clean " emotions, as, for instance: horror, pity, pathos, kindliness, joy, exultation, etc., but never disgust. Disgust is the spontaneous form of just condemnation. (EXAMPLE I,) Horror is well illustrated in Sculpture by " The Lao coon "; pity in drama by " King Lear "; pathos in Poetry by " We Are Seven " ; kindliness in {Hunt's') Painting, " The Light of the World"; joy in Literature by "The i6 ART AND TECHNIQUE Brushwood Boy "; and exultation in Music by Ha$^ defs "Largo." It is often stated that the function of the artist is to create, in its most literal sense ; to make something out of nothing. But is this prerogative vouchsafed to any save God alone, and not even to His earthly manifestation, Na- ture? Does not our artist rather re-create, his refined susceptibility ensnaring and etching, as it were, some eternal legend of transcendent human experience? Thus even horror is made sublime by laying bare for an instant man's soul as it totters between human futility and divine potentiality. Again, we speak of that which is produced by Art, rather than by Nature, as being arti- ficial. In Nature we see man realized in his manifold capacities; in Art we meet man ideal- ized in a moment of singular intensity. We have said, too, that Art is but the symbol of some internal truth or struggle. Now if Art is but the symbol of the invisible, how could its devotees know its virtues unless they rec- ognized it as something they already pos- sessed within themselves? Oh, sublime function of Art, with powers 17 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION to mirror for all posterity in marble and in melody, in language and in color, those grand emotions which thrill men once, then flit away to join the ghostly army that haunts the heart of every man! The artist is the millionth man, endowed with the rare power of portraying the pas- sions common to the other pulsing thousands who all have within them the full range of human sublimities. It is not a matter of ca- pacity with them, but of civilization, environ- ment, education, culture, and a host of other " reasons '' not difficult to conceive. Art demands, first of all, appreciation. The observer, the reader, the listener, must be impelled to exclaim : " This is Nature ! This is life! This is I!" The uncultured refuses to take the original premise in all artistic appreciation that Art is but a symbol. The illusion will come, never fear, if the soul is thrown wide to the impression. But the uncultured one sees only with his eyes, he can perceive only the phys- ical facts and is deprived of the spiritual truths. In the greatest story he sees but the printed page; in the soul-caught painting he i8 ART AND TECHNIQUE sees but a daubed canvas; in the sublime poetry he sees words forced out of their nat- ural orbits; the throbbing drama is but a passing to and fro of actors mouthing a pre- tense; the symphony is but a group of fid- dlers making a din. Individuals are prone to favoritism in the choice and judgment of which form of artis- tic expression is to them either the most es- thetic or most realistic Some contend that one gives more pleasure, while the other lends greater conviction. In this connection it may be well to examine the handicaps that the six mediums chosen have to overcome. Music, Poetry and Literature have a yoke laid upon them that the true artist must lift at the out- set or fail to attain Art. Before the auditor or the reader can be made to feel he must be made to s^ — the picture must be visualised. Provided the vision itself is transcendent, then the message is complete the moment it is visu- alized. The soul-vision must construct the tangible picture. On the other hand. Painting, Sculpture and Drama, being visible first and always, operate in a reverse direction. The tangible picture 19 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION must lead instantly to the soul-vision, yet must not lay upon it a limit. By this is meant that great Art is capable of personal interpreta- tion, according to capacity and regardless of experience. (EXAMPLE 2.) As — The Sybarite compre- hends at once the message of Millefs " The Sower"; the Infidel sees thru to the heart of Angela's "Moses''; the childless man is in anguish for Shakespeare's "Lear," The moment that Art becomes static, or the wings of the imagination are clipped, that moment it loses its emotional appeal and ceases to be Art, and takes its place possibly even rightfully among things merely artistic. Artistic appreciation is simply emotional re- sponse. We see ourselves ; we feel the truth ; we are sure that not exactly a new emotion is called to bear witness, but one that hovered within, thirsting for revealment; we are made to enjoy a keener relationship with all men, and to realize a closer proximity to the in- finite. Art that does not admit of some individual and personal interpretation is narrow and cir- cumscribed. Furthermore Art must be ex- 20 ART AND TECHNIQUE pressed according to technical standards ap- proaching perfection and by means of readily recognized symbols of human emotion. It should never be necessary that the viewpoint of appreciation should be strained in order to catch effects. (EXAMPLE s.) This rule seems grossly vie- lated in Fainting and in Sculpture by the xvork of the Cubists and the Futurists. The artist must be- come lecturer, first explaining what ntanner of crea- ture he has portrayed, secondly giving his reasons defensively. In other words, wc have one man*s view obsessed by a mass of technicality. He dic- tates that — to him — color analyzed is so- and-so; form individualized is so-and-so. The result is a technical vision mentally warped to the point of distraction. He neither expresses nor stirs the elevated emo- tions. All the other branches of Art have suffered off and on from the same sort of neurotic invasion as Futurism. On the other hand, the viewpoint of the artist has much to do with making him greater than his fellows. It depends not so much on the purity of hi3 vision as on the unity of his Jl ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION impression and the singleness of expression that he gives it. Here he is called upon to exercise the greatest virtue of his craft — restraint. In restraint, or repression, lies the secret of any and all success in Art. And after all it means being unselfish, giving one's entire self up to the vision and not detracting from its due by adding one's likes, dislikes or opin- ions. Again, let us repeat. Art's expression and appeal are universal, not individualistic. Having once perceived his single grand unit or central idea and figure in his com- position that shall reveal to others his vision of truth, the artist must make every subse- quent touch subservient to it. This prime motif or idea, with its attendant emotion, dominates the color or key; the grouping or volume; the pitch or climax. Local color must take its hue from the central figure or dominating color of the composition. In the management of chiaroscuro lies the judgment of a work of Art. Every high light and shadow must accentuate the appeal of the central idea or motif, or it has no raison d'etre. The appeal may be most simple in its entirety, 22 ART AND TECHNIQUE yet be accomplished thru a teeming mass of suggestive elements, so unified as to conceal their multiplicity. And such artistic execu- tion as this demands both a knowledge and an exercise of technique. People say of true Art, " I feci that I could have done this myself! *' And there we have that eternal, deathless energy that the artist sets in motion, which once created is endless and is capable henceforth of exerting in all those who can comprehend it, some quota of its initial power. But the artist must make it appear easy of accomplishment by concealing, through his craftsmanship, the difficult tech- nique behind the glowing, motivating message. The machinery and engines of efficiency are lost to view in the work's glorious perfection and inspiration. Every artist must master technique; or he is but an artisan whom technique masters. Let us return to our original premise and keep it before us as our guiding principle thruout our discussion: Art consists in an endeavor to express, thru an outward and visible symbol, some great inward and invis- ible truth or spiritual struggle, 23 It is the fearless vision furnished by the farseeing Poet that suggests and illumines uncharted paths for the groping Scientist. CHAPTER II Literature and Life the fiction deluge; producer vs. con- sumer; to amuse or to entertain. LITERATURE represents Art's contribu- tion thru letters and language. It portrays the grand moments in grand lives — or in Nature — in a grand way. Only a small portion of the History, Biog- raphy, Essays, Poetry and Fiction written is acceptable as Literature. For, since these modes of literary expression do not come un- der the head of exact science, their eligibility must be based on individual effort and esthetic standards. We come once again to the por- tals of Art and meet its requirements for entry: intrinsic worth and merit of idea, coupled with external grace and beauty. 24 UTERATURE AND LIFE Never in history has such a mass of read- ing matter been turned out by the presses as in our present day and generation. Yet it is a matter for regret to pause and be forced to confess that never has there been less Lit- erature since the printing press began to dis- seminate it. For the only boast we can substantiate lies in the magnitude of our " production and consumption." The cry of the producer is that ihc con- sumer is at fault, that he demands a certain " popular " kind of reading matter, which, alas, he obtains. All the consumer actually de- mands, however, is literary provender, and what he really needs is to have his tastes cultivated. Our literary producers have be- come a host, and are for the most part mere dabblers in their espoused calling. They have not that elevated consideration and apprecia- tion for Literature and sublime patience in exploitation that are the requisites for artis- tic production. Too many have just "hap- pened " to fall upon a commercial enterprise. On the other hand, if the producer of Lit- erature would but set himself to the task of perfecting himself as an artist and then strive «5 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION honestly to produce work worthy of the name, he would soon cultivate appreciation and find a widening audience. Readers are after all the masses, writers the classes; it is mind versus matter. But the producer of Literature must be a profound student, not only of his medium of expression, but of contemporary conditions, the lives people lead, their morals, their be- liefs and their leisure. Only then can he hope to arrive at the true basis of what constitutes their legitimate entertainment. For true Art must never lose its first, foremost and esthetic function of entertaining. That which entertains the fiction lovers of one generation may be considered, in common parlance, cultured posing by another; what is a normal belief in one, is looked upon as sacrilege by another; what is viewed as an innocent diversion by one, is shunned as an immoral perversion by another. The move- ment of the daily life of a people will regulate, also, the duration and character of their pas- times. There was a time when the three- volumed novel served the leisurely purpose of the average reader ; we have lived to see the 26 UTERATURE AND LIFE day when the Short Story best suits the mood and the leisure of the fiction-reading public. The cultured reader, like the connoiseur of Art in any of its manifestations, can enjoy to the full the Literature of any clime and day, because he has an adaptable mentality and IS considerate and tolerant of contemporary conditions. The cultivated writer must know the heart of his people and be in sympathy with his times. Furthermore, the writer must be on the side of the good citizen and in all things show himself a cultured gentleman. He must observe the laws of his time, as much as he does the laws of rhetoric, neither allow- ing his work to condone evil nor permitting it to sneer at good. While this is but a rational exercise of good judgment, we might at the same time call it the practice of good taste. Literature in its true sense being a form of Art, should in a larger or smaller degree pos- sess enduring qualities. Thus fiction might be classified as light and heavy; the former presenting an ebullition of the emotions in a moment of frolicsome mood worthy of emula- tion; the latter conveying a serious message 27 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION capable of mental and moral stimulation. Masterpieces come under the latter heading. True literary fiction, which is the only kind that will endure, is not called forth by com- mercial recompense, but rather it cries out for expression. The raison d'etre of fiction lies in the assurance that therein is to be a contri- bution to Literature or, as we hear it expressed more commonly, there must be a story to tell. Otherwise it never can be Literature and has but a commercial excuse for its existence. A mistaken idea exists among not a few editors, many writers and most of the public, that the prime function of fiction is to amuse. They have confused the two words, amuse and , entertain. The former is of a much lower order of diversion than the latter. One may be greatly amused by being tickled with a straw. To be perfectly entertained one must enter into the spirit of the entertainment, lend one's whole mind and emotions and become the intelligent guest of the hour. To be en- tertained then does not mean passively to ac- cept the broad thrusts of a paid performer, but to participate with the best emotions that one possesses in an elevating experience or 28 LITERATURE AND UFE spectacle. Fiction must first be interesting, or have a personal appeal to the reader before he will permit it to become entertaining. The writer's chief concern should be always to strike a chord of universal interest, which as we have learned is but the normal function of the true artist. In fiction, technique is by no means every- thing, neither is plot ; foremost, there must be a vision, or a story, and then, an artist to portray it. He must have the power to make others see what he feels; to make others feel what he sees, all in terms of common under- standing. Thus literary power is that which re-creates life in the dormant emotions of the reader. It is of a piece with life's mysterious process, for wc cannot tell fundamentally how life is created. But we can show how it can l>e made more beautiful, more wholesome and more enduring than nature herself has en- dowed it. « In the silent sweep of the writer's pen the roar of the multitude is heard. CHAPTER III The Artistry of Narration enter art ,* what is demanded ; essentials ; movement and action; vividness. THE process of fiction narration is alto- gether one of applied Art. The writer becomes the interpreter of dreams, the soothsayer of past, present and future, the painter of souls, the magician of language, the entertainer of the multitude, the musician of the emotions, the maker of melo- dies — all in one, the artist. The story becomes a lure, and all who can give the countersign of faith are admitted to an inner circle of life apart from, yet a part of, their own. In narration the writer exhumes buried treasures, he treads holy ground; yet he becomes but a custodian of the relics of emotional genius, passing them along with 30 THE ARTISTRY OF NARRATION all the reverence and respect due divine gifts and privileges. In narration the reader is made, presumably to cease to read and come suddenly to live the experience depicted. Our story must make the heart beat faster ; it must pierce the source of tears and echo thru the portals of mirth; it must grasp the sympathies with a clasp so human (and artful) that the reader is lured away by something of the charm of spontane- ous impulse and the conviction of personal ex- perience. The opening paragraph becomes the lure of a vivid dream-in-print and the reader submits himself yieldingly to the art- ist's deft touch. The threshold once crossed, facts that merely exist fade away, and deeds that live flow irresistibly into the conscious- ness. In a short while the reader is made to re-live the vital moment in the life of another human soul that surpasses daily commonplaces / and henceforth is numbered among his great, personal moments of intimate experience; life, death, peril, grief, joy pass so close that their breath stirs his hair and their very nearness sets every chord of emotion vibrating. No land is too distant, no period of time too re- 31 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION mote, no star unexplorable, no emotion too profound for our fiction artist. (EXAMPLE 4.) Kipling has brought the depths of the Jungle mithin the circle of our reading lamp; in " The Pit and the Pendulum " we are made to feel the horrors of the Inquisition; in " The War of the Worlds" we hold our breaths at the super- terrestrial; in "The Outcasts of Poker Flat" rare emotions find easy expression, I In narration the writer magically touches the heart thru the imagination. His story in no sense tries to reproduce the illusion of the speaking voice, but the emotions of the appealing heart. To narrate is not meant merely to tell a story, but to produce the illu- sive phenomena of actually living the deeds that make up the story. Every written word must possess some quality of contributive elo- quence and suggestive emotion. All of which gives some idea of the difficultness of the writer's task. Narration might be justly called the process of deluding the willing reader. The writer's touch and manner of expres- sion may be dim, vague and mysterious; but the impression in the reader's mind and the 32 THE ARTISTRY OF NARRATION motif line of the story must never be any- thing but clear, firm and apparent. (EXAMPLE 5-) This delicate, evanescent quality of expression is a tour de force with Eleanor Hal- lowell Abbott, "The Sick-a^bed Lady'' and "Molly Make-Believe" are a source of never-end- ing delight because of the x^ue, intangible style of narration that is throum like a gray gossamtr over the gleaming truths ttnthin. Art in narration consists in an appeal to the emotions thru esthetic mediums of lan- guage. The truth must never be in doubt ; the mediums of expressing it highly suggestive. To make an esthetic appeal, the writer must be endowed with the emotional sight. It is this faculty of seeing and portraying the in- ternal truth that leads us to call a narrator, creator, as well. He tells his story in terms of the heart. These are the vibrant threads that weave any tale into the woof and warp of humanity and make it a tapestry of literature. The demand for " action " stories on the part of some of our less literary magazines, has put the necessity of dynamic visuality and tangibility above that of appealing emotion and sympathy. Setting and character delinea- 33 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION tion, in part, must of course be made both visual and tangible, but that once accomplished thru the reader's imagination, the supreme appeal for approval, appreciation and partici- pation is made thru the reader's emotions. He who tries to delude the mind of the reader seldom succeeds ; but he who touches the heart never fails to carry illusion. So much for the distinction between delusion and illusion; one is deceit, the other revelation. How few that look have eyes to see, but, how many that read have hearts to feel! Therein lies the writer's sphere, his oppor- tunity. It is the privilege of the gifted narrator to hark back to the tender and poignant phases of all human hearts. A fiction narrative is something infinitely more than mere composition. In a composi- tion one strives to attain perfection of a cer- tain literary form. In fiction narrative one must translate man-alive in terms of under- standing, sympathy and conviction. The two tasks set in fiction are to make either a transcendental vision out of a com- monplace event, or to make a commonplace 34 THE ARTISTRY OF NARRATION experience out of a transcendental vision; to glorify the ordinary, and to universalize the extraordinary. It shall be the undertaking in the chapters of this volume to tell what those elements are that make the commonplace wonderful; that make the plain romantic. In a word, just what the glamor of fiction is. How they are obtained is a matter of synthesis and has been reserved for specific discussion in another volume. 35 V The Short Story is not correctly a condensed form, but a condensed idea. CHAPTER IV The Short Story cooperation; isolation; selection. A DEFINITION of the Short Story does not here seem out of place. The Modern Short Story is a fiction narra- tive, not merely because it is termed " short," or because it happens to be told in few words, but by reason of its single, essential, isolated idea treated with compressive technique and selective art. It should set out to tell, not the history of an entire life-career, but the story of the supreme moment in a given life or career. Every word, every phrase, every incident, should bear direct relationship to' the climax. Economy, unity and compression should govern every element. The story should take place — as nearly as possible — in one view- point ; within one period of time ; there should 36 THE SHORT STORY be one character to whom all others are sub- ordinated; the one progressive action should be confined, if possible, to one place ; above all, there should be one grand climax, or situation, toward which every element moves with rapid, clean strokes ; and, finally, there should be but one vivid impression left in the mind of the reader at the conclusion of the story. Like powder capable of tremendous com- pression, the force of its explosion will be in proportion to those powers of compression. How great will be the effect of the climax of a given story may be measured by the appeal of the story's motif-idea, plus the writer's art in narration. (EXAMPLE &) The reader of " The Tell-Tale Heart," is so affected by the sheer narrative of feel- ing that he is constrained to helietfe the man is not insane, even after an indisputable appeal to his rea- son is made. How grand and feasible seemed the ambitions of the traveler in " The Ambitious Guest," until we have passed "the slide" xvith its terrible Power to wipe man and his ambitions off the face of the earth! Writing the Short Story may be compared with intensive farming. The smallest space b utilized with such intelligent forethought 37 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION that it is made to yield an even more luxuriant growth than a space many times larger culti- vated in a less intensive way. The greatness of an idea is not reckoned by the space it occu- pies, but by the emotion it has the energy to move. This depends entirely upon its expres- sion as employed in narration. All fiction is a matter, more or less, of selection. The Short Story, however, is ultra-selective in its search for material. It begins with its very idea and never stops pick- ing and choosing until the tale is told. Its motif -idea must be transcendent, supreme, iso- lated from all things except the secondary ele- ments that contribute to its existence. No matter what else may ever have appeared in the artist's dreams, no matter what else may ever have happened in the life of the chief character, no matter what else may ever have happened in the world of the reader — unless these elements contributed directly to the mak- ing of this supreme moment, they have theo- retically ceased to exist. There must be isolation without there seem- ing to be. Give the reader the heart of the facts of the case and the soul of the truth of 38 THE SHORT STORY the matter in hand and he will be both content and convinced. Art will have made every- thing natural and in accord with his esthetic desire. (EXAMPLE 7,) Nature contains no such isola- tion as we find in the foUounng beginnings, yet the most sceptical literary critic will concede that the situation is made most natural: (From " Mark- hcim") " Yes!* said the dealer, " our windfalls are of various kinds." (From " The Ambitious Guest") One September night a family had gathered round their hearth. . . . (From " The Necklace.'*) She was one of those pretty and charming girls, bom by a blunder of destiny, in a family of employees, , . . All effects in the Short Story are enlarged by the substitution of suggestion for material. All the while the writer should be aiming at the vulnerable points in the reader's imagina- tion, using darts steeped in emotion or barbed with dynamic action. It is not that the reader forgets the trivial details that are not men- tioned, but that the writer's art completely dominates his heart and mind with esthetic satisfaction. Too bald detail is not compression. Bald- ness may sometimes make for force, but it seldom enhances beauty. Beauty alone can 39 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION contribute the all-necessary qualification of entertainment. To introduce to the reader " a bullet head " and " a blank face " is not suffi- cient. The reader desires most of all the ex- pression on the face and that expression is the reflection of the heart, the vision, the vital message contained in the story. If it is to be a story that hopes to lay any claim to literary honors, the heart of the tale as well as the felicity of its expression must be there. So much effective material must be contained in the brief limits of a Short Story that it may truly be called a narrative of emotion. This brings us back to our original premise of Art production — more true of the Short Story than of any other form of Literature : — It is the struggle within that we are ever seek- ing to interpret in terms of the things without. 40 Facts are mere static effects; it is the province of the fiction writer to re- veal truth, which is facts in the proc- ess of evolution. CHAPTER V Fact Versus Fiction taste vs. truth ; romance and realism ; the TRUE story; the improbable and the IMPOSSIBLE. FACTS arc a matter of mathematics ; they are computed according to circum- stances and with certainty; they are absolute. The material fabric of time itself is facts. In fiction we make no attempt to reproduce facts, but to induce reality. With infinite care we select the few facts suited to our pur- pose and then build a period of time all our own, with a series of contingent facts, like- wise of our own creation. Whether or not an actual occurrence of this sort ever hap- pened is not our concern; that it be natural and seem real are essential. 41 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION Our mere existence is made up of a multi- tude of commonnlace facts, too prosaic to mention outside of a scientific inquiry. But our real life is filled with events — eventful facts — that color existence with sorrow and happiness, pain and pleasure, ecstasy and re- morse. The facts employed in fiction are in a large measure artificial. That is, the writer selects those momentous events in the existence of men that represent the real life of man undergoing experience. These events are iso- lated and stripped of their countless con- tingent episodes. They stand out in bolder prominence than was ever apparent in actual existence, as they are focused in the magic light of narration. (EXAMPLE 8.) Who cares whether or not John Jones woke with a snort on the morning of his wedding day — as he may have done — got soap in his eyes in his tub, suffered from a slight irritation of the eyelid the .rest of the day, detected a Hy in the coffee, spoiled his relish for breakfast, etc., etc. But why did he, or did he not, marry Mary Green — that is all we care to know. The fiction writer leaves the daily minutise to the tomes of the historian, to the volumes of 42 FACT VERSUS FICTION the Statistician and to the reams of myriad newspapers. He selects a single fact, event or deed, sometimes in actuality too small for his- tory, too common for the statistician, too im- personal for the newspaper, but potentially dynamic. (EXAMPLE pj HaxtHhomt does not even caU "The AmlHtious Guest," by name, yet is he a stranger to any appreciative reader, or is he nun^ bered among men we have met and best knownt Those wonderful events in the heart of the little Indian wife, in Kipling's " IVithout Benefit of Clergy," xvould never have been known to history, statistics or journalism. Yet what meant all the deaths in India from cholera compared with the inner vision we caught of this husband, wife and child? Facts are material acts and conditions with the heart, soul and personality left out. If the historian throws his heart and soul into his work, c^|jtics say that he is prejudiced; if statistics are colored by fancy they are said to be inaccurate; if a newspaper voices its senti- ment it is said to be a yellow journal. The criticisms are not unjust, for the efficacy of these pursuits depends absolutely on scientific precision, because they are applied science. 43 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION But fiction, being Art, employs facts as it employs all other material media in that ex- quisite task of presenting an inward and in- visible truth or spiritual struggle by means of outward and visible symbols. Again the artist becomes in a large sense a creator. He selects a fragment of fact here and there and re-creates a tremendous fact of his own that plays a larger part in the ex- perience of thousands of people than any they have known in their own Hves! The hour they give to reading such and such a story becomes one of the greatest events in their emotional history. The artist does not merely imitate or mimic life, he lives the life and then, through his consummate skill, or Art, trans- lates it in such familiar terms that all who know what it means to live can understand. Fiction brings the farthest fact of history tugging at our emotions, it shelters within our breast an isolated statistic, it makes a local newspaper fact stir a nation. ^ , (EXAMPLE 10.) Countless tears have Hown at the dramatic spectacle of "Louis XI I* thanks to the dramatist; pity rises unrestrained at Kipling's recital of ''The Man That Was''; ''The Man With- out A Country" mignt have been suggested by a 44 FACT VERSUS FICTION passing newspaper item (or so it seems to intimote) that was wrought into a molten message for the whole reading world. Fiction has nothing to do with the true story as such, since it has recorded itself as a fact already Aid needs no further narration. The writer who writes a true story with any pur- pose except to supply history, statistics or the news of the day, should claim no credit for creating fiction. Fiction has its own technique that ignores all the traditions, conventions, logic, detail and sequence of facts. In all fiction, romance can be made the most realistic, for in romance we approach closer to the heart and recede further from the com- mon experience of the flesh. Pure romance is a dAving into the ideal, draining the cup of man's dearest desires, scaling the heights of his imperial fancy. Herein the writer is called upon to materialize man's ideals and idealize his material desires. The homely and the lowly may be made ultra-romantic without transposing them to an imagined paradise. Experience that may have a commonplace setting, yet may rise to trans- cendent heights. A man's heart and hope may 45 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION be in the clouds pursuing his ideal while his feet and daily life may be amidst murk and squalor. That a story be romantic does not abso- lutely require it to delineate a youthful passion of mutual love. There are two other great ages of romance, which seldom involve a love of the sexes — childhood and old age. (EXAMPLE II,) The aged revert to the dreams of their youth as they approach the grave; child- hood dreams itself toward manhood in a serious world of make-believe. Old men reminisce over their half-won conquests of days gone by and chil- dren play they are grown-ups. Romance deals with the improbable rather than the impossible. The laws of fact but not those of probability are violated. Rais*no doubts and there will be none to suppress, is a good motto for the romantic writer to follow. Let anyone pause to ponder over the unex- pected things tjiat have happened to alter the lives of those near and dear to him, and he will be amazed. Passing time is teeming with cosmic and chaotic facts which glorify, stagger and even slay us, the most poignant of them, coming to be looked upon in a short while, 46 FACT VERSUS FICTION merely as a matter of course. Those are the facts that the writer selects. His course lies in imitating the forces of nature, and also in imitating her skill in reconciling the minds of men almost immediately to his story, no mat- ter how new, wonderful or prodigious the re- lated experience may seein« 47 The deepest impressions are created by the more intangible media, for which it is most difficult to find ade- quate expression. CHAPTER VI Impression and Expression personal equation ; reality ; visualiza- TION ; THE writer's ultimate AIM. THE true artist does not try to create an impression, but to give expression to an impression that has been already created within him. Thruout his narrative he must never once assert that this is a story, or waive the premise that it is anything but reahty. To him the impression of his inner vision is more real than the actual things of the outer life, and his single task lies in conveying that impression in its original state to the mental and emotional life of the receptive reader. Success in literature is not only measured 48 IMPRESSION AND EXPRESSION by the depth of the writer's impression, but also by the depth of the impression he makes upon his readers. The true artist cannot be selfish, and yet give full play to his powers. In the spontaneous and sincere exercise of his talent lies the revelation of his inner vision as though one gazed into his soul through a trans- parent glass. The writer's impressions, thru his skill of expression, must become the reader's. By far the less difficult part of the writer's task lies in the presentation of the tangible setting of his story. But when the writer endeavors to translate his impressions of the emotional values of the tangible world, it becomes a dif- ferent matter. (EXAMPLE 12.) That a tree, or a river, or even a woman and a man, merely exist, is of little tWr tcrest to the reader. But when we learn that the man and woman are lovers, and that they tat 6#- neath the tree beside the river, we imbibe a new impression. Each tangible object is made to have a halo, as it were, of the writer's impressionism con- cerning it. We see things in a new light — his light — and it is the mission of the artist to 49 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRAtlON make us see the world differently. Readers are made to feel something of the poetic value of even commonplace objects. The Short Story, therefore, that stirs not a single emo- tion, can be said to possess no artistic value. The writer's effort is not so much to visual- ize as to vitalize his impression. Even the scenes described in literature, which we know most and love best, are charming, not because of what we are made to see, but because of what we are induced to feel. An impression that is not deeper than the skin, cannot be expected to pierce the heart by means of expression; for sincere expres- sion can never become superior to the impres- sion, tho it is very often inferior. This simulated emotion of a tempest-in-a-teapot order is best known by the name of sentimen- tality. Artists are not merely born, they are made as well. They can only expect to give ade- quate expression to their talents when they have acquired a technical as well as a general education. Their impressions are merely vague ecstasies until they have learned the history, habits and language of their fellow SO IMPRESSION AND EXPRESSION man and come to share in his experience. Thus sympathy arises from a perfect, mutual understanding. The gift of speech is neither more nor less natural than the gift of writing, yet we know that we must study and practice the technique of good speech — or rhetoric — for years in order to facilitate even every-day expression. In the face of these facts there are many potentially artistic writers who ignore the technique of perfect writing and give us blurred impressions that might have become literary gems with the aid of artistic expression. We all know the dreamer, or the man with artistic predisposition, who has never become the doer by learning and practicing the technique of artistic production. Long before artistic expression is attempted, the writer should attain to that facility which germinates thought into its logical word, as seed bears its natural fruit. Thus the results and never the processes of technique are made to become forcefully apparent. Thus too the reader, thru the perfect ease and readiness with which he feels and follows the tale, is filled with an involuntary idea that he has contrib- uted to and shares in the success of the story. 51 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION The ultimate aim of the writer is not to see how much he can cram into his mind, but how much the reader can get out of his own soul and imagination. Impressions worthy of ex- pression concern themselves with esthetic truths, not trite facts. All the trained writer needs is a dictionary, a library and impressions to stir his imagination. Enthusiasm is as troublesome as it is neces- sary to the artistic worker; it demands a con- stant exercise of repression. The wheat must be separated from the chaff. Words, details and facts spring up like weeds and brushwood, choking the growth of the single resplendent flower of his impression from attaining luxuri- ant expression. He needs poignant details only. The characteristics he selects to deline- ate are those that many see, few remember, but all can feel. He seeks to express, not so much the objects that stand out before the eyes, as the elements that penetrate the heart and stir the emotions; the essentials; the in- ternal truths. 52 The Short Story in its very brevity must suggest the unplutnbed depth of human emotion a»id the boundless breadth of human experience. CHAPTER VII The Potency of Suggestion re-creation ; color values ; assoclation and relationships; figurative language. IN the discussion of suggestion we probe the very heart of all literary endeavor. No matter how prolific may be the idea that leads to the vision of the writer, or how grand the vision itself, or how letter-perfect the tech- nique employed in expression, unless the liter- ary product contains well-defined elements of suggestive matter which form a bond of sym- pathetic understanding with the reader, it can lay no claim to Art In a word, the writer must bring his story- message " home " to the reader. This does not necessarily mean that there must be some allusion to an actual incident of 53 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION the reader's every-day experience, but rather to an episode within his ken, a f amiHar groove in his emotions, an assembly call to the sen- tinels of his imagination, an appeal to reminis- cence, or to dreams of the future. The story is but a magic mirror into which the reader either peers and sees the very image of his most dear or most dreaded self, or steps inside as within a door and bears company to one of his choice moods in a delicious super-expe- rience. An illuminating synonym for suggestion is the word, re-creation. It is the artist again at his delightful task of rousing the dormant potentialities within us to mental and emo- tional participation. As all knowledge is more or less dependent on a recognition of relation- ships, so the powers within us bear fruit only when relative suggestion is brought to sun upon them. The substance then of all suggestion is the effective employment of familiar associations and well-known relationships. Suggestion in the Short Story must be emi- nently potential; every word, every phrase, every paragraph must be developed to the n-th 54 THE POTENCY OF SUGGESTION power in the imagination and emotions of the reader. The bond of sympathetic association brings each incident within the circle of the reader's personal concern. The burden of proof, thruout, however, lies with the writer; the reader can promise nothing but acquiescence and a modicum of patience. There are various ways in which suggestion should operate and various means employed in producing it. (EXAMPLE JS) Richard Harding Davis had arrived at a sinister portion of his story when he described Tangier as " lying below him like a great cemetery of white marble"; and Hawthorne fore- casts the tragedy of his hero when he introduces him: "His face wore the melancholy expression, almost despondency, of one who travels a wild and bleak road, at nightfall and alone, . • ." Convincing suggestion is never isolated and brazen, for then it would neither contain Art nor preserve illusion. Its entrance into the narrative is subtle, unassuming and unostenta- tious. It is a piece of the Short Story itself, and not a glaring patch in the fabric. Here and there we find a word artfully employed that suggests a world of color and feeling; 55 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION now it IS a phrase that reveals an unguessed trait of character; or again we find a strong character who suggests a poignant strain of reminiscence ; or a bewitching atmosphere that awakens a delightful mood; or a description that re-creates a picture we have seen in our dreams. And the glory of this induced re- ality lies in its quality of a supernal experience. The world owes much happiness indeed to the literary craft. Suggestion, then, as we have just shown, is not necessarily implied thru figures of speech. The writer may concentrate his en- tire artfulness in making the story, as a whole, suggestive of a particular phase in life. (EXAMPLE 14.) The suggestion to try to per- form some Christian service during Christmastide is so strongly impressed on one, after reading '' The Christmas Carol!' that it becomes nothing short of an impulse; the suggestion of human brotherhood is so powerful, upon reading " The Outcasts of Poker Flat'' that an aristocrat, or a Levite, might be im- pelled to clasp the hand of a pariah. The function of figurative language is to make us see the object we know slightly thru its artful juxtaposition with the ob- ject we know well. This arrangement alone 56 THE POTENCY OF SUGGESTION can make the picture live. And it must not include merely all we can see thru an ex- citement of the optic nerve, for then the longer we look the less we see. Even the visual pic- tures suggested, must in turn suggest the grander vision beyond, which has its seat in the emotions and in the imagination. Verbal photographs occupy much the same place in literary art as camera photographs do in pictoria] art. If it is merely a transcription of an actual scene, without being in any way enhanced or changed by the operator or writer, then the scene must contain intrinsic artistic merits to which the portrayer can lay no par- ticular claim. But, if a catalogue or inventory is all that is needed, there are those who can do this work better than artists. Photographs are noted for their harsh tones, sharp lines and cold details ; works of art are famous for their vivid reality and warm and flaming poignancy. Verisimilitude and not verity is the aim of the fiction writer. The former is but another name for fiction ; the latter an interchangeable word for fact. There is a marked similarity between short- story narration and poetical composition, in 57 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION that they both compress and suggest a universe within their limits. The differentiation is that short-story suggestion is extensive, while that of poetry is intensive and melodic. (EXAMPLE 15,) Only the poet in his narrative dares make his statement as intensive as Poe de- scribes the love of Annabel Lee: " With a love that the zvinged seraphs of heaven Coveted her me" Almost the same sentiment is described in prose by the same author, in " Ligeia" : ''That she loved me I should not have doubted; and I might have been easily aware that, in a bosom such as hers, love would have reigned no ordinary passion." In the Short Story, therefore, both selection and suggestion play the vital parts. Selection seeks out the natural fitness of material, while suggestion employs its task of visualizing the spiritual and forming a definite impression in the reader's mind. In order, however, to per- fect, thru suggestion, those outward and visible signs of the inward and spiritual strug- gle, the writer must himself, thru sym- pathy, come to share the instincts and universal heart secrets of mankind. S8 Every beautiful passage in the Short Story fntist be useful as well. CHAPTER VIII Beauty and Embellishment esthetics; figures; taste; revealment; imagery; the artist's vision. BEAUTY in fiction is dependent on an in- nate sensitiveness of conception and a masterful yet delicate execution. The esthetic quality of fiction must be in- tegral; — intrinsic, structural and effectual. While the beauty may be capable of analysis, yet no one i)ortion may be said to constitute it wholly. The standard of beauty is perfection itself, and a work of artistic fiction is meas- ured by its approximation of this requisite. The writer's vision, motif and technique, and the effect upon the reader must each contribute its esthetic quota. There are those who may presume to quar- rel with this inclusive definition of fiction's re- quirements of beauty. They will probably re- 59 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION fer to many of the greatest stories written by acknowledged masters of fiction and point out that the phases of life chosen by them for de- piction were not essentially beautiful. Where- upon we must, arrive at the conclusion that the artist and the writer are privileged to choose from whatsoever they please in all the range of human frailty and experience. We find that the most powerful stories filling our vol- umes of every age are colored by crime and battle, sorrow and suffering, derangement and death. (EXAMPLE 1 6.) The following representative group of acknomledged artistic stories illustrate the matter of choice in the story material: " The Sub- stitute" by Coppee; " The Necklace'/ by de Mau- passant; " Markheim'' by Stevenson; " The Man Who Was" by Kipling. The test comes in the artist's presentment. We have but to examine his vision, his motif, his technique and the effect left in our hearts and minds. In other words, we look upon his chosen subject as he sees and treats it, and not as it stands by itself, or as we choose to con- sider it. Whosoever our writer be, if he re- vels in licentiousness, condones crime, sneers 60 BEAUTY AND EMBELLISHMENT at sorrow or desecrates death, he is far from being an artist. Again we find the world owing the artist a great debt He takes the ugliest fatalities of life and reveals the shining beauties that lie concealed within their somber depths. With the ancient poet, he exclaims, " Oh, Death, where is thy sting? Oh, Grave, where is thy victory?" Thru the glory of his vision a hero is made to shine above the carnage of battle; virtue is made to purify the stain of crime; sympathy is roused to soften sorrow; a healing calm grows out of derangement and suffering; an angel of promise rises beside the figure of grim death. Furthermore, an antithesis is strangely in- duced thru the artist's realistic rcvealmcnt of the more unpleasant sides of life. The mo- ment the reader is released from the immedi- ate thrall of the artist and his portrayal of pain, grief, bereavement, misadventure, peril, or what not, he is filled with a pleasing sense of his own security and a divorcement and iso- lation from the imagined conditions. Yet in that very moment he may be wiping away tears over the tragedy, shuddering at the spectacle, 6i ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION or shrinking from its brutality. It shows the difference between reality and realism; the former affects the senses first, passing thence to the imaginations and emotions; the latter directly attacks the emotions thru the imag- ination and then assaults the senses. All of which dispels the fallacy of " the tired busi- ness man '' who shuns all forms of artistic en- tertainment and seeks amusement that does not demand mental or emotional participation. Artistic entertainment alone contains the ele- ments of recreation, and it is re-creation only that he needs to dispel physical fatigue and mental worry. The lower form of amusement is oftentimes below the par of his intelligence and acts merely as a stimulant and, like all stimulants, exacts a penalty in reaction. Thus we never should be in doubt of the beauty of the true artist's vision, no matter what the theme of the story. He must be en- dowed, however, with a natural taste for the esthetic and equipped with a talent for em- bellishment. There are isolated exceptions, consistent with the flaw in all human fabric, which prove the rule. 62 BEAUTY AND EMBELLISHMENT (EXAMPLE 17.) Thus we Und de Maupassant frequently offending good taste with his licentious- ness; Poe sacrificing beauty to an over-indulgence in horror; O. Henry marring rhetorical and tech- nical perfection by his indifferent and colloquial English, Embellishment is the normal exercise of the imagination in giving fitting expression to pictorial thought. It is but a tool and talent to be used cunningly, economically and hon- estly by the creative hand. It must savor the plainest commodity of thought to the gusto of the most refined imagination and emotions. In embellishing the unvarnished truth, we cater not only to the esthetic appetite, but also strengthen the limited reserve force of one's average powers of attention. For instance, we can watch soldiers in uniform, and equipped with the suggestive trappings of war, march past by the hour; whereas, parading civilians in a short while become tedious to the mind. One is entertainment; the other is mental effort without emotional recom- pense. In the practice of embellishment repression again becomes the writer's only safeguard* 63 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION It is seldom that prose can bear the full lux- uriance of poetic treatment. For in every word and syllable and accent of poetry we expect rhythmic beauty; the fabric of verse is saturated with it; that alone can sustain its exalted utterance. {EXAMPLE i8.) ''Apollo's upward fire Made every eastern cloud a silvery pyre Of brightness so unsullied, that therein A melancholy spirit well might win Oblivion, . , , " shows the lush imagery of Keats, In fiction, however, such imagery would cloy some of the other vital requisites with which beauty must share in its expression. The movement of poetry is too conducive to deliberateness ; its maze of imagery forbids rapid perusal ; its very lavishness is suggestive of unmeasured leisure. But in fiction we find more of the Spartan than the Sybarite quali- ties. We have seen that practically no sub- ject-matter is tabooed in fiction and that always beauty is perfected thru deeds. There must be dispatch, dramatic force, action. Words must be dynamic as well as esthetic; treatment must be dramatic as well as imaginative; the effect should be awaken- 64 BEAUTY AND EMBELXJSHMENT ing and exciting rather than somnolent and soothing. When all is said and done the vision is the thing. That vision which the artist sees must be passed on to his reader by means of not unlovely symbols and must be acclaimed by him beautiful. The essential point is that good fiction re-creates within the reader's breast beautiful emotions, noble desires, ele- vating thoughts, enthralling aspirations that not infrequently lead to better living and ideal deeds. 6s The instant the writer finds the point of contact between himself and his reader he creates the element known as interest. CHAPTER IX The Appeal That Creates Interest entertainment; sympathy and toler- ance; plausibility; four stages in de- velopment OF interest. THE fact that a prospective reader scans the title or the opening lines of a story is a guarantee of attention. Atten- tion is not sufficient, however; there must be participation. At the very outset, the reader must be something more than merely recep- tive; he must contribute a modicum of emo- tion, and in so doing he becomes interested. Fiction, however, in its bid for interest, is subject to the same laws that govern all inter- communication. It must contain a laudable appeal that attracts the personal concern of 66 THE APPEAL THAT CREATES INTEREST the reader. His interest is inseparable from his interests. (EXAMPLE 19.) People xvill stop in the street by the hundreds, alxvays willing to lend their atten- tion to what appears to be unusual and promises to interest them. The moment they are convinced that the incident holds no interest for them, they pass on and forget it. Thus the writer of fiction finds himself con- fronted with rather an extraordinary problem. He must write about something that will in- terest a multitude of people ; strangers to him, young and old, men and women, rich and poor, cultured and uncultured, happy and discontented. He must tell them something that will awaken a quick emotional response. In other words, he must entertain the multi- tude. Only the artist can accomplish such a feat as this. What chance has the writer to address en- tertainingly and successfully the collective mental range of the polyglot multitude ? Even in educational work there must be a progres- sive grading, with individual limitations all along the line. But the artist is a dealer in emotions and employs mentality only as a 67 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION means to an end. There is a certain univer- sality of heart interest, wherein lies the se- cret of all Fine Art appeal. Once the writer makes his story interesting and plausible, the reader will not ask scientific questions. The element of plausibility is one of the most potent devices of appeal. (EXAMPLE 20.) Halevy in opening the story of " The Insurgent!' makes the tale seem so much a fact that its very plausibility lures the reader into following the opening incident to its culmination: "Prisoner/^ said the president of the military tri- bunal, "have you anything to add in your own de- fense?" In fiction the mere interest of the reader from beginning to end is scarcely enough to warrant its production. There must be a stronger outpouring of emotion elicited. There must rise, at the will of the artist be- hind the pen, unrestrained sympathy or hearty indignation, and ultimate satisfaction. A man cannot pass by a brother in distress ; he is impatient to give a helping hand to bring a criminal either to retribution or to justice; he is curious to know how a cultured beggar lost his social equilibrium; he will travel 68 THE APPEAL THAT CREATES INTEREST thru a story to see an act of mercy; he will unconsciously lean a little closer to hear a tale of the man who was. These are a few of the infinitesimal sympathy-lures of the human heart. The writer who can not only make these emotional experiences live, but also make the reader live them shall never cease to be in demand. It is not necessary, then, for the reader to have had actual experiences such as those de- picted in fiction, but rather, to know that he could have such an one, and to feel that a given experience is his own. Effective fiction puts the reader in a potential mood. (EXAMPLE II.) There are frequent examples among children, where this mood clings to them long after the printed Page is withdrawn, in effect that they become veritable robbers, desperadoes, In- dian fighters and adventurers. In the reader's unselfish appreciation of the poignant experiences of others, he comes grad- ually to recognize the best elements within himself. There is no human pleasure akin to following and applauding in others that gracious magnanimity which we are sure we would bestow under like conditions. Thus 69 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION part of man's interest in artistic fiction lies in an association with his better self and an opportunity to become better acquainted with his unrevealed ideals. There are four stages, as a rule, in the de- velopment of the reader's interest: The more or less commonplace human interest first ar- rests his attention. Compelling personal in- terest next wakens his curiosity. Then uni- versal heart interest grips his emotions. And, finally, plausible story interest holds him — mind, heart and soul — until the tale is told. (EXAMPLE 22.) In " The Fall of the House of Usher," we find these four phases of interest, fol- lowing one upon the other, in close succession: "During the whole dull, dark and soundless day," arrests the attention; " With the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit," wakens the curiosity; " The writer spoke of acute bodily illness, of a mental disorder which oppressed him,'' grips the emotions; and "About the whole mansion and domain there hung an at- mosphere which had no affinity with the air of heaven," holds mind, heart and soul till the tale is told. Technique is largely responsible for holding 70 THE APPEAL THAT CREATES INTEREST the story interest of the reader after he has once pierced the heart of the story. It passes then into the classification of entertainment of an extraordinary kind. In the Short Story we find an ever-ascending scale of interest, and a compelling suspense to be maintained, that require both skillful and finished treat- ment, yet with never the slightest indication that there is any such thing being resorted to at all as treatment or technique. There is always something that must be developed to a state of maturity or perfection, and ever a sense of leading up to something higher and ultimate, that keeps the reader ab- sorbed. At length, when every promise has been fulfilled, attention has been justified, curiosity satisfied, emotions gratified, then we may say that an interesting, entertaining talc has been translated into an emotional expe- rience. 71 Emotion need not always be the di- rect reaction from a personal experi- ence; it may rise with equal force as the result of a profound sympathy with humanity and its joys and sor- rows, CHAPTER X The Psychology of Emotion mood; feeling; passion; eloquence; pa- thos. TO learn the psychology of a series of acts that make a Short Story, is equivalent to tracing its emotional develop- ment back to its source. There would be a hundred-fold more sympathy and tolerance in this erring world if we but knew the intimate history of every crime. Many a man con- demns another on the instant knowledge of his fault, and himself commits the same error later under the same provocative conditions. The purpose of fiction should never be to make us sympathize with the criminal and 72 THE PSYCHOLOGY OF EMOTION condone his crime. But through a more per- fect knowledge of emotions and motives the reader learns that tolerant truth which tem- pers all judgment with mercy. A Short Story is the emotional history, or psychology, of the dramatic situation culmi- nating in the climax of the story itself. Only such data as contributes to the given emotional history is needful or acceptable for the writ- er's purpose. There is no single action thruout the narration that is independent of the grand climax. In fact, so intensive is the Short Story, that there should seldom be an action that is not the result of emotion, or that does not arouse emotional response. The writer is naturally desirous of pro- ducing an effect upon the reader that is a counterpart in strength and truth of his own vision and impression. In no phase of narra- tion is he called upon to restrain himself more than under the pressure of his own emo- tions. The moment he becomes ultra-emo- tional the taint of sentimentality will begin to creep into his expression. The fact that disgust, fear, horror and ter- ror are the easiest elements with which to pro- 73 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION duce emotional effects, makes them technically the less artistic media. The young artist is often over-zealous and over-colors his pic- tures with lurid contrasts and degenerates fine emotion into melodramatic passion. Maturity teaches that simplicity is always most effective. Great deeds seldom happen amidst the blare of a trumpet; heroism flourishes most beauti- fully far from the applauding crowds. Na- ture stages her dramas and tragedies in a silent, majestic movement that overwhelms the multitude. In the moulten flow of Vesu- vius and the devastating tide of the flood there is a relentless softness of approach that heightens the emotional pitch of their victims to fear, terror and horror. It is the emo- tional effect that the writer must make tre- mendous, reverberating, startling, even appall- ing, thru the dynamic deed that forms his climax. There is a three-fold status of emotion to be considered in analyzing the work of a writer. We must consider the stress of emo- tion under which the story was written; we must weigh the psychology of the chief char- acter and the emotional potentiality accumu- 74 THE PSYCHOLCWY OF EMOTION lated thru the dexterous planning and the agency of technique; and, finally, we must judge from the emotional effect upon the reader. The writer who docs not feel each emo- tional stage of his story with all the poignancy of the actual experience can scarcely expect his readers to feel more deeply than himself. The artist does not merely see the pain, the joy, the love and the bereavement that gives his story life and realism — he feels them. He is writing a story of life — not the life that we see, for that is only action, but the story of life that we feel, and which develops into deeds. What are characters in a story but puppets, if they have no emotional significance? The smile, the tear, the gesture, the look, mean no more than features, fingers and toes if we do not know their genesis. In fact, they mean less than fingers and toes to the puppet-man, for they are needed to make a perfect puppet, whereas symbols of emotion would seem out of place. As to the emotion of the reader, we expect that to be a counterpart of the original im- 75 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION pression of the writer. Is the picture as mov- ing and as beautiful as the vision, we ask, or is it only an echo of the writer's magnificent impression? Of one thing we may rest as- sured, the effect on the reader will never be more beautiful than the vision that enthralled the artist. A story which is said to be filled with, or to contain, emotion, lacks artistic potentiality completely if it fails to induce emotion. Emo- tional power, expression or effect cannot be judged at all by laws and standards of men- tality. It is measured alone by its power of appeal to an individual heart and by the depth of an individual soul. An illiterate imbecile can be made to weep over the same simple tale of a child's tragedy that makes a childless, crusty old professor gulp — if the writer is sufificieritly an artist to induce the glamor of illusion. Emotion is personal, yet universal; Art must find the touchstone of its univer- sality. Feeling is the common gift; sympathy is more rare, and is the chief requisite of the writer of fiction. He must possess that power, which is not inaptly expressed in the phrase, 76 THE PSYCHOLCXTVr OF EMOTION "getting under the skin." This implies the emotional sight, to which all flesh phenomena becomes a psychological record of what is go- ing on underneath it. Earth has not the power to build a wall or a barrier that can shut out human emotion; even the death of the most obscure raises an emotion of pity, awe or grief in the heart of every man who gazes upon it, that will bear fruit in his life and tincture his own death vision. As a man feels, so he is; and as he is, is how he should appear in fiction. n Fiction should suggest the farther- most boundaries of the reader's im- agination, rather than depict the lim- ited confines of the writer's immediate view. CHAPTER XI The Scope of Imagination glamor; fantasy; the artist's right to FAME. THE imagination is the herald and mes- senger of the emotions. It is the far- thest out-post between the mind and the soul. It is the eyes of the heart and the painter of the vision. Imagination bears the groping impression from the innermost depths of man's feeling into the clear light of his under- standing. Thus we see that imagination is indispensa- ble to the story writer. As his pictorial sense it records emotional impressions and creates to fit them symbolic expression. There is in- stantaneous and continuous inter-communica- 78 THE SCOPE OF IMAGINATION tion between the emotions and the imagina- tion. Every undue throb of the heart flashes an impression on the sensitive surface of the imagination; every phantasm causes a glow of emotional response. It is doubtful if the imagination grows in proportion to, or gains profitable stimulation from, the logical and mechanical processes of thought. Altho the increased knowledge naturally widens the scope of the imagination and multiplies the number of further relation- ships and objects capable of suggestive asso- ciation, the imagination cannot be forced by anything except inspiration. While to imagine anything means to picture it mentally, it does not necessarily imply a physical picture. It means something far deeper than to visualize an object ; it signifies to realize a condition. The phrase, " a pic- ture no artist can paint," contains an element of truth that, sooner or later, vexes every art- ist There are emotional images of the soul that are too profound, too vast, too subtle for pigment, or tissue, or language. There is a quality in the salt of every tear that is not substantive ; there is plaint in every sigh that 79 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION is not sound; there is a soul revealment in facial expression that has no synonym in any dictionary ; there is a certain awe in the pres- ence of birth or death that cannot be photo- graphed. Hence the huge task that lies before the writer — which the artist-writer alone can accomplish. In the first place, the writer has perceived his vision, he knows it " by heart." His alert imagination responds instantaneously with more or less complete symbolistic data. An artist cannot possibly restrain an exquisite im- pression, or subject-matter for a chef d'oeuvre. It becomes an obsession that cloys his emotions and imagination and blocks progress until it has been unburdened. Beyond this the re- splendence of his expressed vision will depend on the suggestive fertility of his imagination, the reproductive power of his imagery. As the Apostle says, with a sweep of imagination that makes the artistic soul glow, " There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars. ..." * That measure of glory with which the artist *(I Cor. XV, 41.) 80 THE SCOPE OF IMAGINATION images his impressions will determine his right to Fame. All power, then, lies in the selection of sym- bol. Nothing within the farthest reaches of the deepest soul need languish for expression. If the precise symbol is chosen there need be never a fear of misinterpretation. We ar- rive at the analysis of the perfect artist, his requisite gifts, talents and education. He must have infinite powers of perceptivity, see- ing thru the canopy of heaven itself and almost to the Throne of the Creator of All; he must be gifted with an imagination so fer- tile that upon sowing a mother's tears, an army of future-bom men will rise to carve the way thru the world's heart to the temple of Fame; he must have a heart that is bruised and troubled over Mother Earth's cares as he listens to a sighing zephyr; he must be master of a technique Uiat will cause words to bleed and weep and will people the printed pages with images that never fade. Imagination is the key that unlocks the treasures of the heart and soul. Yet it can claim a more material function in its being the custodian of all individual knowledge. We 8i ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION do not know a thing until we have imaged it, or given it a relative position alongside some- thing we already know. Thus we see that the very manner and means of acquiring and perceiving mathematical and historical knowl- edge are applied to our appreciation of enter- tainment and literature. The reader will neither laugh nor cry until the depicted inci- dent is associated with some personal experi- ence, or common symbol of laughter or tears. The imagination is quicker than con- scious thought. In proportion to his own powers of imagination and the imaginative suggestion of the writer, all relative knowl- edge and emotion on the subject are brought to bear witness, instantaneously and delight- fully. Exaggeration is not a property of imagina- tion; for exaggeration means to enlarge an object beyond its actual proportions and to ig- nore truth. Imagination makes some things seem greater than they really are because of the host of relative images that are raised to enhance and show the glory of the truth within. The volatile spirits of the imagination are 82 THE SCOPE OF IMAGINATION fantasy. In fantasy we take the intelligent mind on an excursion in search of wonder, delight, and strange experiences. Yet thru a sincerity of narration, and an assumption of truth that all fiction premises, realism is estab- lished that makes the tale rank with original experience. Fantasy is the delightful region of If and Almost, made facts of easy attain- ment. Thru its delightful agency, dreams, visions and ghosts are made to become tangi- ble, real and commonplace. (EXAMPLE 2$,) What a rare delight are th€ prophetical dreanu of "Peter Ibbetson"! although the reader does pause now and then to see if he can fathom where the dream experience ends and the waking life begins, yet he never questions the reality of it all. Crawford has made his "Cecelia" a thousand times more real thru the u^b of dreams. "Brushwood Boy" is as much a rome made natural and real which images life's largest and tenderest moments in normal and consistent human behavior and action. There seems to be an almost universal mis- use of the word Romance as a synonym for 125 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION Love. That youth may be affected with the feelings of Romance and Love at the same period, or that the romance peoples are apt to indulge more in the tender passion of love, or that love and romance dwell in the same king- dom of beautiful imaginings, does not make them interchangeable terms. Romance is an idealistic mood that may journey alone and abhors physical being ; Love is an ecstatic emo- tion that cannot live alone, and craves material existence and contact. Love has nearly as many phases of expres- sion as fiction has. Excessive desire for any object, cause or person may be called love. Its range of activity may be anywhere from bes- tial desire to spiritual affection. The same conventions of decency and sexual relations that we recognize and observe in society must be practiced by the creatures of fiction. Again, we are permitted to mirror all phases of life and existence that will bear the familiar gaze and promiscuous discussion of all clean- minded people. The question of morals in fiction is regu- lated by contemporaneous conventions. Boc- caccio's most licentious story is but a reflection 126 THE TEMPER OF LOVE of the conversational topic of the day in smart circles; de Maupassant's risque love affairs mirror the broad parlance of the volatile French people. Now, in the beginning of the Twentieth Century, fiction and drama seem to be swinging to the broadest gauge once again. Plays like ** Mrs. Warren's Profes- sion " and " Damaged Goods *' are attended by throngs, and the intimate illicit experience de- picted in the book, " Three Weeks," outsells the best sellers. Under the more or less Puri- tanical guise of social house-cleaning, we find writers — some astute, others sincere — turn- ing to that diversion of sexual passion known as White Slavery as a potential and profitable source of fiction. Sexual desire and love should remain a proscribed theme in fiction just as long as it continues to be a proscribed practice in society. Seldom do we find the subject treated with a sanctity that warrants its use at all. Using it as a motive in fiction practically compels the inartistic writer to em- ploy it either salaciously or suggestively in order to attain his emotional and dramatic effects. Now and again, we find the sexual- love stories written ostensibly as propaganda. 127 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION Having discussed sexual love, we enter upon a limitless field of noble affection that extends all the way from love of children (parent- hood) to love of country (patriotism), with a myriad of stations between. Above terrestrial love is the spiritual love, or faith (religion), which is an inexhaustible realm in itself, be- cause of the dramatic fervor of man's belief and the ecstatic beauty of his spiritual emo- tions. Because of the religious laxity of the age, we find this field almost neglected. Again we turn to life for guidance and find man's love for woman the most popular love in the world, hence the most prevalent in fic- tion. A curious feature of the successful de- piction of love is that the story practically ceases at the moment of love's realization. The tolerable conditions of love for the reader's participation, are either in anticipat- ing or reminiscing in the hero's love affair. What lovers say and do after their mutual love is avowed, again takes life for its prece- dent — the writer leaves them alone as much as possible. The tender avowal itself usually forms the climax of a story. How much of it should be transcribed is a matter of delicate, 128 THE TEMPER OF LOVE refined and skillful selection. It is a matter not too deep, but too personally sacred for ut- terance. Oftentimes the writer fails to re- member that tho his head may be full of ready dialogue, yet the hero — to be humanly consistent — feels too deeply for voluble utter- ance. It is a well-earned aspersion that de- rides inartistic fiction by saying that " That is the way people make love in books ! " Love may be said to be an incomparable theme, not merely because of its pleasurable esthetic strain, and because it is the font of all human desire, but also for its great plot power in being so flexibly potential as to change at will any character to whom it is applied. 129 Fiction should be no less real than life itself; it is not a mental excur- sion, but a soul experience that en- riches the mind, mellows the heart and gives life a deeper significance. CHAPTER XVIII The Poignancy of Effect climax; vividness; plausibility; art for art's sake; to win fame; when all is said and done. WE return to one of our original prem- ises: the vision is all-in-all. Vision shall be the writer's chief inspiration; Art shall be his infallible guide. The object of the story shall be to give an outward and visi- ble expression to an inward and spiritual im- pression or struggle. That a reader shall be entertained, edified and deeply moved shall not be the leading motive and object, but fol- low as a normal and natural consequence. To please the reader, the editor or the advertising manager is incidental. 130 THE POIGNANCY OF EFFECT To make the reader see, feel and appreciate the vision, just as he sees, feels and appreci- ates it himself, is not only the writer's duty to Art, but the logical fulfillment of his calling. Thus it may be seen that the writer — by mak- ing the spiritual struggle worthy of his steel, the vision a fit tenant for the soul, and his mode of expression consistent with the propor- tions of his impression — builds a structure that commands attention and makes a worthy bid for the hearty appreciation of the intelli- gent and art-loving reader. By respecting the laws of Art and practicing the rules of tech- nique, the writer ennobles his craft and oflfcrs the reader good Literature. More than this, no writer can do ; no reader can ask. Art for Art*s sake should mean nothing less than Art for the understanding, appreciation and participation of all who have eyes to see and hearts to feel. Fiction is but a section of man's life turned soul-side out, that grafts Itself upon the raw emotions of every sym- pathetic reader. The writer owes a duty to Art only and nothing to his reader who, rather, becomes his debtor for the service ren- dered. 131 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION Look at it as you will, then, the average in- telligent and tolerant reader must be taken into consideration because the response made by the artist-writer's appeal is but the universal tribute to Fine Art wherever it may be found. Just what are the elements that constitute the basis for the writer's appeal and the work- ing out of applied Art, have been discussed in detail. In what measure the individual reader will be affected will depend largely on his powers of sympathy. The message should be so simple as to demand only a knowledge of reading and a familiarity with the terms of its interpretation, to understand it. True elo- quence needs neither explanation nor elucida- tion to any man with a heart. The reader may finish his story and stop reading, but the story cannot stop living, consciously or sub- consciously, as long as his emotions survive. (EXAMPLE 44.) There are appealing points of contact running all thru a story that set the human heart tingling in one way or another for a lifetime. A couple of sentences in " The Exiles " have that effect: "Last week he had old Mulley Wazzam buy him a slave girl in Fez, and bring her out to his house in the suburbs. It seems that the girl was in love with a soldier, and tried to run 132 THE POIGNANCY OF EFFECT away to join him, and this man met her quite by accident as she was making her way across the sand-hills." And again in " The Man Who Would Be King" — "I am telling you as straight as I can, but my head isn't as good as it might be. They drove nails through it to make me hear better how Dravot died." To win Fame, the writer must move the heart of the multitude and affect the emotions of a generation. Astute advertising may boost the sales of a piece of fiction into the millions, but it has not the power to furnish a single drop of oil for the eternal lamp of Fame. Best sellers, like best men, scarcely ever out- live their allotted three-score-and-ten years. Too much fiction is born to blush inane. (EXAMPLE 43,) Boccaccio, Chaucer, Irving, Hawthorne, Poe, Bret Harte and Stevenson have all stood the sterling test of time, Poe, for instance, having increased the number of his readers annually since his death. The whole Twentieth Century will be hghted by the towering genius of at least one great fiction writer — Rudyard Kipling, There are hundreds who hold a candle for a day on the threshold of Fame, but seldom more than a single torch-bearer is vouchsafed a generation. Fame is a favored gift of the propitious gods, but genius is without doubt 133 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION nine-tenths intelligent effort, plus a hungry heart, a luxuriant imagination and a sympa- thetic soul. If the technique of any artistic pursuit or endeavor is studied until it is mas- tered, the perfect effect will come without thought or effort in the normal practice and exercise of that particular art. There is many a genius who prefers rather to lounge and pose and dream among the pygmies of the Valley of Mediocrity, than to serve an honest appren- ticeship by climbing the steep path of Knowl- edge to the heights of the Master. The poignancy of effect is not measured by the mental capacity of the reader, but by the emotional depth and appeal of the writer. The great essential to any effect at all is the continued presence of plausibility. This de- mands that a story appear to be neither fact nor fiction, but a slice of life. It is not a case of Actionizing any co-existent facts, but rather of creating a new fact of life thru fiction. If the reader can but be made to under- stand the characters' heart movements, their actions will go unquestioned. Effect depends entirely upon the manner of ending the story. The ending must appear 134 THE POIGNANCY OF EFFECT inevitable to the story. The end of the story is not the end of the life of the chief character, but the end of that particular episode that the story set out to Actionize. If the power of the writer's expression has not been strong enough to suggest to the reader the complete conclusion, then the writer has failed. The impression must be given that the particular incident with which the story has to do, has been successfully culminated and is closed for- ever with the ending of the story. The writer must have so prepared for the climax-denoue- ment, that all but the chief cliaracter will have been taken care of, so that explanations will be unnecessary. What follows is left to the length and breadth of the individual imagina- tion. When all is said and done, artists are but torch-bearers of flaming truth, messengers of the eternal verities, and heralds of the millen- nium. The artist's life must be consecrated to a labor of love. His feet must be firmly planted on the earth that gave him flesh; his heart must be strained in sympathetic fellow- ship toward his fellow man ; his eyes and his soul must be fixed on God, the Eternal. 135 The beginning of the story must con- tain some of the climax's vitality; the end of the story closes the inci- dent that called it into being. CHAPTER XIX A Study In Analysis (NOTE: While the following story may have many glaring defects, yet there are points in its narration that readily lend themselves to illu- minative illustration. It is a story to which the author lays no claim to originality in plot con- ception. The shorter portions of the story, that are referred to in the parenthesized notes, are in italics. Furthermore, this story was writ- ten and published more than a year before this book was conceived. It is suggested that the story be read thru once, ignoring the itali- cized notes, if full analytical value is to be gleaned from it, SACRIFICE By HENRY ALBERT PHILLIPS. PRINCE ACHILGAR had tasted all the delights of the Orient — the Orient; the lap, the bosom, the mother of luxury. The 136 A STUDY IN ANALYSIS sweetest spices and the costliest perfumes had begun to grow stale in his nostrils, the most luscious fruits sour in his mouth; the rarest ointments chafed his skin; and women — had he not the most envied harem in all India? Had he not the far-famed Ourvasi to beguile the ennui of domestic existence? There was a time when the splendor of Ourvasi the Glori- ous could make the dullness of a hundred other wives a tolerable necessity. But, alas ! Even Ourvasi had b^;un to fade in his sated eyes. The core of life had indeed become hollow 1 . (This storyi was written xvith perhaps delib- erate negligence, the writer having endeavored to attain true human interest and universal heart interest and to induce atmosphere by means of symbolic suggestion, unthout verify- ing geographical, historical or ethnological data,) Prince Achilgar, the Hindu sybarite, had taken account only of the fleeting delights of the flesh. The infinite joys of the soul lay, an unopened book, before him. He was Prince Achilgar, the rich and the mighty. His word was law ; all men bowed and stepped aside at his approach ; no sacrifice for the sake of his pleasures was unknown to him. 137 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION But the supreme joy vouchsafed to man the Prince knew not — sacrifice, (The hero's soul has been turned inside out; the keynote of the cliinax has already been sounded; the title has been firmly welded to- gether with the beginning and the ending.) This was not to be wondered at, when it is known that Prince Achilgar was yet a stranger to love, the goddess of sacrifice. (Here the motivating theme is suggested. It may be noted that the voluptuous atmosphere of the East has been simulated even in the semi-archaic style and the constant employment of rich symbolism.) Ourvasi gave him pleasure. His eyes burned and his flesh quivered at the sight of her; her kisses half-intoxicated him. Such was his love for the courtesan, Ourvasi. But Ourvasi had had her day. The light of her power had gone out. To the blase Prince, Ourvasi, the once-beloved, was dead ! (The obstacle appears that furnishes the first dramatic spark.) Thru the veins of Ourvasi ran the fiery blood of a proud race. Her heart, once heated to the temperature of love, grew not cold; and when spurned, became a white-hot 138 A STUDY IN ANALYSIS core of jealousy that swayed her ardor toward cruel revenge, Ourvasi knew her day had come — and gone. She waited, ready either to love and sacrifice — even her life — for her lord ; or to hate and kill because of this same love. (The reader is no longer in doubt, yet he knows nothing. Fiction facts have been made of eternal truths.) Months passed, the Prince moving about like one in a torpor. Everything wearied him. His wonted pastimes were waved aside. Our- vasi, alone, for all she had once been was toler- ated. At length Ourvasi determined to make an al- most superhuman effort to rouse her Prince and win again his affection. Tlierc was to be a gala day set thruout the Prince's domain. A miniature Durbar was to take place in the cool of the afternoon; twenty rajahs, with their households, decked in luxurious trap- pings, were to make up part of the pageant. All this did Ourvasi plan for the awakening of her Prince's love. XThe emotional interest ie roused by an appeal that needs no explanation.) ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION Even the Indian heat, that sometimes swept in stifling gusts through the palace courts, that day abated. The Prince was awakened by sweet-sounding cymbals and bathed in per- fumed waters by his favorite eunuchs, his body anointed with the oil of rare flowers ; his morning repast was of morsels that melted in his mouth, leaving sweet memories with his palate. The food was served on the richly carved and jewelled gold service that had been given his father by a potentate of Persia. But this was only the prelude ! Behind the silken curtains surrounding the throne-room court were the sweetest singers of the realm, who sang love songs of the Orient, selected by Ourvasi. Strains of music, thrummed on silver strings, sifted thru from unsuspected places, until the very air was vibrant with haunting melodies. Slaves passed thru now and again swinging smoking censers that left sweet odors in their wake, (Here we have an entire paragraph breathing forth atmosphere. Care must he observed that the reader is not satiated, and to obviate this and still heighten the effect, a certain melodic movement must he maintained. Both the reader 140 A STUDY IN ANALYSIS and the Prince must be molded to meet the ef* fects that follow.) Then came Ourvasi, robed in filmy silks that veiled her form, yet left all the glozving flesh tints shining thru. Like a diaphanous cloud of ravishing loveliness, she swept toward her Prince. Just in front of him — her bosom heaving with emotion, her eyes alight with love and promise, her lips a-tremble with ex- pectation — she paused. Prince Achilgar looked intently for many seconds, and then smiled. With a glad cry she sprang toward him, showering him with kisses, smothering him with caresses. But the smile had left him cold, and her kisses and caresses fell like blossoms on frozen ground, (The universal heart should feel a poignant response to the appeal here. A little embellish^ ment has smoothed off the rough edges of grating tragedy.) At length, with a futile cry, Ourvasi stepped aside and clapped her hands sharply. " Bring in the dancer — the music — the sound of laughter — or I die! " she sobbed, as two slaves appeared. 141 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION (Antithesis has broken the strain before it reached that tautness that should only be pro- duced by the climax itself, Ourvasi's sobs have sweetened her misery with pathos,) " Oh, my lord," she whispered to the Prince, who sat looking languidly at her, " has thy heart grown fat from overfeeding, while mine lies starving at thy feet?" ** Thou art my wife. Is it not enough?'' asked the Prince. " So are many women, housed within thy palace to feed on each other's hearts and grow fat and ugly. I shall never become one of them,. Never ! " " I care not," said the Prince, calling for a cigaret, (The employment of figurative phraseology that is characteristically consistent has heightened the effect of a statement that would have been commonplace as a mere fact. The Prince has not once been described, but delineated.) But Viamallah, the dancing girl of the God- dess of Siva, had entered and stood salaaming before the indifferent Prince. She was Our- vasi's last resort. For a moment her graceful, slight form stood swaying to the opening swing of the 142 A STUDY IN ANALYSIS sensuous music of the Temple players. The music quickened, and her sinuous form re- sponded in such harmony that she was moving about the room before one seemed aware that she had moved at all. The dance had been designed to suit the occasion and was aptly called ** The Awaken- ing." The opening movement depicted Drowsiness throwing her filmy mantle over the head of the sleeper. The dancer's move- ments began to weave the air with such a som- nolent motion that the onlooker grew strangely sleepy. Then the music ceased and the dancer, with closed eyes, swept silently about in an undulating manner, suggestive of a sleeper's heavy breathing. Suddenly a bell clanged with startling distinctness, and the wakening dance followed. The sleeping form expanded gracefully, like an opening flower, into all the beauties of life filled with the joy of living. As the dance proceeded, passion and fire crept into the movement, the eflfect of which was heightened by occasional recourse to the muscle dance. (This entire paragraph has doubly painted the picture of Achilgar's soul. No tiresome intro^ 143 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION Spec Hon has been resorted to. The reader's imagination has opened the gatezvay to his heart. The dance may have affected us in some meas- ure as it has the Prince.) The music had risen from a lullaby, been hushed to silence, then had burst forth again into a wild laughing lilt. Prince Achilgar had unconsciously followed the spirit of the dance. Color had come to his cheek, fire into his eye, and a quick beating into his heart. The Prince had awakened! The performance had gradually risen to a climax. The dancer's movements grew so rapid and spirited that the eye could scarcely follow them. Without warning, she gave a sudden cry and flung herself into the arms of the Prince! Before he could clasp her, as it seemed he would, she was away again. Pausing for an instant before him and lifting her veil, she ran timidly into a "curtained alcove. (A new element has insinuated itself in the story, bringing with if new life, strong hope and the intimation of a struggle. The players are the emotions of the reader as well as the characters and the prize is a human heart.) 144 A STUDY IN ANALYSIS Prince Achilgar rose and called, and slaves brought her again before him. " Come, thou spirit of the air ; the Prince himself will give thee a drink that he alone has tasted. Fill the golden cup, slaves, and depart 1 " Prince Achilgar had truly awakenedl " Wouldst thou make a wife of the Goddess of Siva's dancing girl ? " cried a harsh voice. The Prince about to take the shrinking girl in his arms and press the cup to her lips, turned to find Ourvasi's gaze fastened on him, full of hate, her eyes strangely green, like those of the jungle stiake. " What is thy name, child ? " asked the Prince, ignoring Ourvasi. An unctuous sweetness had crept into his voice, a winning softness into his eyes and a gentleness into his manner that was strange to him. Languor had departed. ' (We feel that the Prince is ^tiling hard to win our sympathy. The simile acscribing the light in Ourvasi' s eyes warns us to beware of her. A feeling comes over us that the poor little dancing girl is going to be crushed between those two mill-stones of the world.} " Viamallah," replied the girl simply, and 145 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION there was in her eyes a wonder of new vision, as though she, too, had just awakened. " Go ! '' shrieked the infuriated Ourvasi. The girl departed with the slow steps of one having a full heart. The Prince said no word, but his eyes had been the heart's tongue, and to these two the hot words of Ourvasi were only as a north wind that must soon abate. The censure of the zvhole world would have been as nothing. (That the two are in love the reader does not doubt for an instant, yet the word love has not been mentioned. No excuse has been offered for any illicit phase of love, because it is under- stood that the customs of the East are not vio- lated.) To remain longer in the Prince's presence meant only that she must kill, so Ourvasi hur- ried away, her heart scorching from the pent- up fire within. When she had gone, the Prince clapped his hands. " Tell the danseuse of the Goddess of Siva to tarry in the garden. It is the will of the Prince. And you, Gunga Da, guard her well. Go!" In the Garden of the Golden Goddess he 146 A STUDY IN ANALYSIS found her, trilling out some of the gladness in her heart to a pair of mating paroquets, that billed and cooed all the while, as though they well understood. She heard him approach, but did not turn until he placed a snow-white flower among the shining tresses of her hair, pressing it down with his lips. (If this were essentially a love story before everything eUe the climax would be dangerously near at this moment. But being a tale of the psychology of a great sacrifice, the love motive becomes incidental.) The gay-plumagcd birds flew away and left them. "Viamallah," he said softly, " Viamallah, my pretty flower ! " " My lord," she whispered, her poor little voice trembling with the throb of her heart. " Nay, Viamallah, thy husband, from this day forth. I have said it ! " But Viamallah had begun to weep bitterly, and the Prince with a distress, the like of which he had never known, sheltered her tiny flower-crowned head on his breast, (An action of this sort has an appeal that is likely to xvin the first portion of sympathy and compassion for the Prince from the reader. ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION The reader submits himself yieldingly to the plea of the Prince.) " No — no ! I may not become thy — wife—" " Viamallah ! " In the word was a world of gentle reproach. " The woman — thy wife — has said as much — " " The woman — no longer my wife — Hes ! Viamallah, come now before the Golden God- dess. I shall betroth thee. Then a few mat- ters, more or less, arranged, and thou becom- est, Viamallah, my princess, my wife!" There before the Golden Goddess, did they become betrothed. Thiis Prince Achilgar found the greater happiness. (Thus have we arrived at the Hctton-made fact. Telling it in terms of informative matter it would have occupied a few words. Narra- ting it in terms of the heart, that should make a soul-experience of it, it has traveled a longer road paved with variegated thought and fancy,) But an evil spirit lingered in the garden, that was destined to add hitter dregs to their cup of happiness before it should be full to the brim. Ourvasi, suspicious of just such a proced- 148 A STUDY IN ANALYSIS ure on the part of the Prince, had followed him. From a sheltered spot she had witnessed the compact that, according to Eastern customs, made Viamallah, the simple dancing girl, her successor. Before the two engrossed lovers departed, Ourvasi had stolen away to her private quar- ters, on the canopied roof of the palace. She quickly summoned Gooluk, her devoted slave. " Goolok, thy mistress is about to be thrust among the sour-sweets, where thou wilt no longer be permitted to serve her and grozv rich. Thou canst save her, mayhap. This dancing toy — thou sawest her to-day — will soon leave the palace for the Temple of the Goddess of Siva. Gather together some of the worst knaves thou knowest, and bring this upstart to the cave of Rhannakikh, the old sorcerer. Quick! Thou hast but little time. Fly!" (IVe arrive at a decided point in the rising sus- pense, preparatory to the approach of the great moment of the climax. The reader is prepared now for anything.) All the festivities at the Prince Achilgar's palace had been forgotten. The Prince, in M9 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION his new-found love, had no more need of them or their memory. Ourvasi saw this and became doubly bent on her quest of hate and his downfall. Less than an hour after Viamallah had en- tered the palace, a simple child seeking only the moment's pleasure of her ailing sovereign lord, she was carried,, a helpless princess-to-be, into the cave of the vilest sorcerer in all India. (Pathos vies with dramatic suspense in affec- ting the emotions. Contrast has made the dramatic effect gentle. Every statement con- cerning Viamallah has become tinged with emo- tional concern that must hear resemblance to the interest of any sympathetic reader.) Ourvasi met the terror-stricken child with bitter taunts. " So, little cat, with such pretty movements, they bring thee with thy claws bound so they cannot scratch the heart of the woman who would have helped thee! But I have a way that will remove thy claws out of my heart and make thee ugly, so ugly that thy lover — oh, I know his ways! — will scorn thy pres- ence and throw thee from the palace to the dogs that scavenge the city, for the loathsome 150 A STUDY IN ANALYSIS creature thou shalt be. Pretty, pretty, pretty — ugh ! I hate thee — heart-stabber ! " (While the language used by Ourvasi is sug- gestive, it does not tend to lessen our opinion of Viamallah, but rather to intensify it. The bond of sympathy associates each incident with the reader's personal concern.) Having delivered this terrible threat, Our- vasi turned her attention with glowering eager- ness, to the operations of the old sorcerer. Viamallah cowered like a rabbit under the surveillance of the three ugly creatures who had dragged her to this evil den. Having mixed the powders and potions of his concoction in an earthen basin, the old priest built a fire of fagots before a battered idol of the God of the Underworld, and there he and Ourvasi stooped low over the brewing pot, altho the vile odor it emitted sickened even the callous villains in charge of Viamal- lah, while she shrank farther and farther back, as tho she would lose her senses from fright. (The insignificance of the girVs efforts and tiny Person in the face of the enforced environ- ment introduces the tragic note. Suggestion is rife in almost every line. Thus thru indi- ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION red allusion the reader has the greater privilege of drawing his own conclusions,) At length a green vapor rose from the pot, and the sorcerer sprang up with a few mut- tered words. Ourvasi rose too, a malignant glee in her eyes. Viamallah gave a little moan of horror as the three ruffians, at a signal from the priest, took a firm grip on her body and raised her in the air. The priest, with wonderfully rapid movements, was making a sort of poultice of the steaming green mass, taking particular care that none of it touched his iiesh. ''Now!" he muttered to the waiting men. (No direct reference is made to the exact ob^ ject and possible effect of the poultice, or to the nature of the punishment in store for Via- mallah, yet thru continued suggestion the reader's imagination speculates until his emo- tions are wrought with suspense.) The child gave a tiny shriek and then sub- sided into a convulsion of hysterics, laughing horribly. The priest approached, carefully holding the bandage in front of him, the others all drawing back. In her agony the girl threw back her head, exposing her pretty features, 152 A STUDY IN ANALYSIS her large, pain-stricken eyes and her soft, pretty neck. With a dexterous movement, the sorcerer pressed the bandage tight against the pretty vision! The child shuddered, uttered a little moan and then became mercifully unconscious. The men had dropped their burden with a cry of revulsion, as the smell of corroding flesh reached their nostrils. (Not once, even now are the specific details of the mutilation given. There is the greatest danger in a scene of this kind of producing disgust instead of inducing horror. The more artistic way is to describe the physical deed thru emotional reaction. The idea is not to make the reader see the deed, but to feel its effect.) They brought their fragile burden of dis- figured flesh and laid it pn ot\€ corner of the silken draperies of the throne, before which, as the sylph-like dans^use with beautiful face and eyes like living pools of lapis lazuli, she had won the heart of a prince. Over her face still lay the same gauzy veil that had so tanta- lizingly hid it from the Prince's enchanted gaze. But over the veil, now and forever, lay an impalpable blanket of darkness. She who 153 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION had never known an unhappy moment, now held, wretchedly imprisoned in her young heart, the woes of a life's experience. She lay there, numbed with the physical pain and mental torture of it all, when thru her dim perceptions came the realization that someone had entered the room. She repressed the soft moanings that passed her lips with every res- piration, and waited. (This entire paragraph is replete with symbols of the wretched little dancer's spiritual strug- gle. The pathos it will be noted is attained thru contrasting the remnants of one's broken hope with the unfeeling objects of one's unfulfilled desire. The essence of all pathos lies in the irrevocable fact, that despite our shattered heart and dreams the world goes blithely on, amid sunshine, laughter and eter- nal hope. The world will never die of a broken heart — thank heaven! — though men do,) It was the Prince, his swathy countenance wreathed in smiles as he communed with him- self. His eyes were lighted with lanterns of love as he gazed out on the city toward the Temple of Siva, His sweet reveries were dis- turbed by the sudden appearance of one of Ourvasi's slaves bearing a letter. 154 A STUDY IN ANALYSIS Without a word the Prince took it, smiling at the sight of his wife's handwriting. He read it thru aloud once, its significance be- ing too remote from his imminent thoughts to realize at a glance. " You despise my love and you love instead the dancing girl — whom I have returned to you with all my esteem. Ourvasx.'' A tiny moan reached his ear. He turned and saw the crumpled bundle, draped with tarnished silk. A sob broke from his twitch- ing lips. (The Prince is depicted enjoying, in anticipa* tion, all the sweet glories of a pure love before the cruel blow of reality gently bursts upon him. The reader appreciates this momentary respite and lull in the culminating situation. There would have been something almost iin- holy in the Prince's walking straight to the girl and throwing the veil aside, that the con* siderate reader could not easily forgive,) " Viamallah — Viamallah ! " he cried, hoarsely. In this horror he stood spellbound. " My — lord — come not near me I " plead- ingly whispered a little voice, grown more sweet in its depth of pathos. 155 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION " Viamallah — Viamallah ! " The Prince was moving nearer, groping, tottering. " Stay ! Oh, my lord — listen — I implore thee! Thou must not see! I am but a thing — now ! They have disfigured me ! " A rift of anguish had broken thru the childlike tones now. " They have — blotted out my eyes ! " The rest was shattered by sobs: " Thou lovedst — a beautiful danseuse — me thou couldst not — love — disfigured as I am—" (There now comes that moment of uncertainty near the great moment itself that marks the highest point in the suspense. The reader has an inkling of the outcome, which the writer alone knows precisely,) " Poor little flower — my poor little flower ! Fear not, for I shall never look on thy face again, my Viamallah, never again, for — " " My lord ! " she cried, her tone suddenly tautened with apprehension. " Nay, thou shalt be well taken care of — my Viamallah." He clapped his hands. " Carry the Princess — gently, as thou wonldst a new-born babe — to my lady Our- vasi's former chamber. Then, quick! The best doctors in the city — in all India ! " 156 A STUDY IN ANALYSIS (In the psychology of emotion in these two, all pathos has disappeared in the evident joy that shines thru misfortunes. The danger lies in over-doing the re-action that followed. It has taken restraint to produce effective sim- plicity. This is the greatest moment thus far in the lives of these two characters, and in order to make it shine forth with its true bril- liancy, tranquillity is induced so that nothing will detract from it,) " My lord," — the voice tvas bcUhed in tears — "wilt let me touch thy hand but once — just once?" And when they had brought her near and the fingers lay tenderly on his palm, he seized the hand, a sob bursting uncontrol- lably from his tightly-pressed lips, that drowned the tiny murmur beneath the veil. (No word has been said directly telling the feelings of the lovers. It has all been con- veyed thru terms of the reader's sympathetic understanding. Thru the medium of the emotions it is brought within the range of ex- perimental experience. We interpret the depth of their feeling by a recognition of our oxvn emotional capacities,) "I love thee, my lord Achilgar — I love thee ! I go — happy — my lord ! " The bearers heard the sweetened words and 157 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION left the room with trembling lips and eyes be- dewed. The Prince was left alone — a broken man. (Though we here have the last words uttered in the story by Viamallah, they fill us with a complete sense of gratiUcation, Any reader with a heart and an imagination readily fath- oms the tenure of her happiness for the rest of her days. Yet the true sublimity of her sen- timent is enforced thru their reaction on the bearers who carried her out.) When the heavy curtains had closed and all was silence, he took the golden-hilted dagger from its sheath. Absently fingering the sharp edge, he paused a moment on the brink of eternity. Then raising the blade aloft, he poised it above his neck, where the artery stood out like a whipcord, as tho bidding de- strurCtion, (There is perfect harmony of tragic suggestion, tho not a word as to his mental resolution. Occasional brief delays here, if not too frequent, and seemingly natural, are bound to heighten the inevitable climax,) " Farewell, Viamallah, my little crushed flower — farewell ! " Then an overwhelming fear seized the 158 A STUDY IN ANALYSIS Prince, loosed his joints, brought his hand quivering to his side, and brought his body half -sinking to the floor. Cursing his cowardice, he rose to his knees, seized the dagger firmly and set his teeth. He raised the weapon slowly, gathering energy on the way. He paused. Suddenly his whole frame had become animated by a wonderful thought that sprang into his face, illuminating it with the wild gaze of a zealot. (The climax has been retarded, thru thg offer of a new promise that must of necessity be of even greater moment than what had be- fore seemed imminent,) "Viamallah, / shall not leave theet We shall be one in aU things, for mine eyes shall see nothing but the remembrance of thy beauty, and our sympathy shall be mutual and eternal!" (The climax is at hand. We know that the Prince is about to wipe away every stain that has remained against him. The eyes ^ of his soul have seen more clearly than his eyes which he now looks thru for the last time. There is nothing to distract our fixed gaze from the final spectacle.) Two quick and decisive Strokes did it. 159 ART IN SHORT STORY NARRATION The sharp dagger-point pierced each eye- ball, and he sank to the floor for a moment in groveling agony. Then he began to creep, creep, creep, — it seemed for eternity — grop- ing his way toward the curtain, his blood- stained, sightless eyes- a memento of love's terrible sacrifice. (While this is tragic, we can scarcely call it a true tragedy, for our hero has overcome every obstacle laid in his way. He encompassed his chief desire in life thru winning the woman he loves in the way she would most desire.) But into the face of Prince Achilgar had come peace. Behind the physical pain was the vision of the supreme joy vouchsafed to man — which he at last knew better than most men — sacrifice! (Here is the great moment and climax. We find our title, beginning and end woven to- gether in a full note of harmony. The incident that called the story into being is closed for- ever. We were interested in the vital details that surrounded Prince Achilgar' s sacrifice.) As he disappeared behind the heavy curtain, his cry rang ghostlike thru the great hall: " Viamallah, I come — wait, Viamallah ! " 1 60 o o (/> > -< n > > o o > en on 11 Q I- 5> m K> > o GO "0 > U C.BERKELEY LIBRARIES C0M715S110 268777 ITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY