_Initial Impulses_, giving rise to the struggle and the
complication.--
Gavrilo Prinzip, a subject of Austro-Hungary, living in Sarajevo,
Bosnia, is a Serb by descent and nature. The revolutionary spirit
he displays at an early age gives evidence of his passionate racial
feeling. In 1913, at the age of eighteen, he is betrothed to Mara.
The two are devoted to each other, but Mara resents Gavrilo’s
constant ideal of a free Serb race. She is, perhaps, “jealous of a
people.”
_Steps toward the Dramatic Climax_: Sarajevo plans to have on June
28, Kossovo Day, a celebration greater than usual because of Serbian
independence gained in the two preceding years of the Balkan War. A
few days before, Mara’s relative, a former supposed rival of Gavrilo,
gives her a black song bird--a _kos_. Gavrilo begs her to release
the bird. She feels that she will be giving up her own character to
free it, and persists in keeping it caged. She is confirmed in her
stubbornness through the advice of her relative. The Serbian festival
is forbidden; attempts to commemorate the anniversary will result in
arrest. Austrian manoeuvres will take place, instead. The Archduke
will appear, in spite of advice to the contrary. It is clear that a
plot is brewing. Gavrilo has promised, however, not to participate in
anything violent so long as Mara loves him. She assures him of her
love, whereupon he asks her again, to set the _kos_ free.
_Minor Climax_: She refuses. The _kos_ has become a symbol for
both. Mara in releasing it would surrender her will power; Gavrilo
releasing it would see an emblem of freedom for all Serbs.
Gavrilo engages in the plot, but remembering his promise he refuses
to “participate in certain matters.” He and Mara are happy so long
as the bird is not mentioned. When he puts leaves into the cage,
however, Mara begs him not to do so; she fears they are poisonous, as
the bird is growing weaker. Gavrilo insists that captivity is killing
it.
_Dramatic Climax_: On the evening of June 27, the bird dies. “It was
not a dead bird that I saw, but a climax in a parable.”
_Steps toward the Climax of Action_: Gavrilo and Mara, filled with
emotion, dispute over the cause of death. Mara insists that the bird
man must determine the cause, and affects to believe that Gavrilo has
poisoned it. He runs from the garden, frantic. The bird man comes; he
points out the lice. Mara sends for Gavrilo. He cannot be found. The
Archduke, his wife, and their suite arrive.
_Climax of Action_: On the morning of June 28, Gavrilo shoots the
Archduke and the Archduchess as they ride through the streets of
Sarajevo.
_Dénouement_: Gavrilo dies, four years later, in prison.
The struggle, then, is one of wills--Gavrilo’s against Mara’s. The two
lines of interest forming the complication are 1st, the love story of
Gavrilo and Mara; 2nd, the relations between Serbians and Austria. This
complication begins with the initial impulse of the story and finds its
solution only with the climax of action.
Examples of good craftsmanship in details are 1st, making Gavrilo a
good shot, and at the same time introducing the bird _motif_; 2nd,
strengthening Mara’s will and antagonizing Gavrilo by the cousin, who
is introduced with the first mention of Gavrilo’s love affair. Point
out other instances of plot finish.
PRESENTATION. The story, as told by a man in a smoking-car, is
immediately and logically motivated by the newspaper account of Gavrilo
Prinzip’s death. The dénouement, therefore, is presented first, though
it appears from the conclusion that the narrator’s fellow-travelers do
not recognize this fact until the series of events comes full circle.
In connection with the plot, notice how the narrator is bound up with
it. What advantages do you find in the author’s presenting the story in
the rehearsed, rather than in the dramatic way? “In order to show what
I was driving at,” says Mr. Street, “it was necessary for me to use the
form of the inner, related story--a form which is always awkward, but
which sometimes succeeds in spite of its awkwardness, for the reason
that the reader becomes so absorbed in the inner story that he forgets
that an individual is supposed to be speaking, and that, too often,
that individual is talking like a book, rather than a human being, let
alone an easy raconteur.
“My story, ‘The Bird of Serbia,’ is not without this fault. The man who
sits in the smoking-room of a Pullman car and relates the inner tale,
would not, in actual life, have spoken altogether as I made him speak.
To that extent, then, the story is imperfect; but this imperfection
is not likely to be noticed by the average reader, because it is not
sufficiently glaring to remind him that the man in the smoking-room is
supposed to be talking all the while.”
CHARACTERIZATION. What traits in the chief actors are most conspicuous?
Are they “played up” convincingly and economically? What value have
the background characters--the mother of Gavrilo, for example? What
points of the Austrian character are noted, because of which sympathy
is diverted from the Archduke?
Is the narrator of Gavrilo’s story, the man in the smoking-car, a minor
character or a disinterested chronicler of the events he followed so
minutely and accurately?
SETTING. Notice that Mr. Street restrains his narrator from _stating_
the name of the place, Sarajevo, until near the conclusion. Does its
reserve increase the final effect? What details indicate the author’s
familiarity with local conditions, customs, dress, and language? To
what end do these local color data contribute?
DETAILS. What clue do you find in the narrator’s statement about the
“microscopic unclean forces of which historians will never know”?
Do you regard the ending as one of “surprise”? If so, is it calculated
as such, or rather a chance offshoot of what was intended, rather, as a
strong closing sentence?
On the subject of story writing in general, Mr. Street makes a valuable
observation:
“It seems to me that there is a tendency, in discussing the art of
short story writing, to confuse manner and matter, and to conclude that
the story with a big, sombre theme must necessarily be superior, as a
work of art, to the story which is lighter in subject and treatment.
When I say ‘light’ I do not mean frivolous or false. De Maupassant,
Leonard Merrick, and O. Henry have taught us better than that. A
story can have the quality of truth, and can be rich in character
and observation, yet be done with splendid deftness of touch--and
oftentimes this very deftness, which we so seldom see in a story, is
regarded too lightly by critics. It is much as though we were to insist
that the wood-chopper has greater skill than the tight-rope walker,
valuing the heavy strokes of the one more highly than the poise and
adeptness of the other. A light touch in a story often suggests that
it has been produced with ease; and a light step on the tight-rope
suggests the same thing; but when we see a man swinging a heavy axe at
a huge tree trunk, breathing hard and sweating, we readily perceive
that he is doing real work. Hard work. I do not dispute that there may
be certain lumber-jacks who handle the two-edged axe with a practiced
skill rivaling or, perhaps, even surpassing the skill of a fair
tight-rope walker; but neither do I hold with those who see art only
where there is sweat and smell and swearing.”