Meanwhile, ready as I am to recognize the significance of this sharp
profile as the individual characteristic of the Heyse "novelle," and
its significance for the novel in general as a work of art, it is
equally hard for me to allow this to pass as the decisive norm for the
estimation of individual stories.
The novel is, indeed, as every work of art, an organism in which
beautiful proportions, relatively independent of one another and of
a totally dissimilar character, contribute to produce a combined
impression. We have been dwelling upon the characterizations, and the
action; style is the third element. According to my convictions, these
three elements are not subordinate one to the other, but co-ordinate;
and each one of them, when developed in a masterly way, affords the
reader an equally perfect enjoyment.
It is very certain, as Heyse makes evident, that a one-sided
development of diction leads to clever capriciousness without any
scheme; whoever places too great importance on "the plot" is in danger,
on the other hand, of retrograding into mere sensational literature.
"Spring Floods," by Turgenief, is a novel whose action moves on in
an unsatisfactory manner,--of the style, in the stricter sense of
the word, I cannot judge, as I have never read the story in the
original,--but is this lack of much importance in such a masterwork of
individual characterization? Does not the description of the Italian
family, in and by itself, outweigh every imperfection in the plan of
occurrences? What matters it if the reader would rather have had the
end somewhat different, and cannot read it a second time, even though
he may read three-quarters of the novel over and over again with
unchanged enjoyment?
Blicher's "Diary of a Village Sexton" is a novel in which the action
is of but little moment, and most of the characters are absolutely
repellant, on account of their coarseness; but it is, nevertheless,
a work of the highest artistic worth; its main strength lies in its
style, in the masterly execution of the honest sexton's language, which
belongs to a period of almost two hundred years past. This language is
a guarantee for the cutting truth of the narrative, a truth which is
not reached by the path of idealism, and which, therefore, is neither
sought nor found by Heyse; I mean that truth which by the French is
designated "la vérité vraie."
And cannot Heyse be attacked with his own weapons? I think he can. By
the stress he lays on what the novel within the novel is, he seems to
oppose alike the overestimation of style, and of ideal purport. But of
all his "novellen" in verse "Der Salamander" (The Salamander) appears
to me to stand the highest; of his prose works "Der letzte Centaur"
(The Last Centaur) is one of my favorites. The first of these seems to
me to bear off the palm on account of the diction; the last, on account
of the idea.
There is no need of taking pains to seek for a "falcon" in Salamander;
there is no plot in it, the characters have no development worth
mentioning, and yet every reader of any susceptibility will experience
such lively enjoyment under the influence of the magic of these
terzettos, that it will seem to him as if this poem, in addition to
its own merits, possessed also all those which it lacks. Of the epic
repose, of the objective style, which is Heyse's precise ideal in the
domain of the "novelle," not much will here be found. This epic repose
is perhaps less adapted on the whole to the restless spirit of our
time. The realization of this ideal of Heyse's has, properly speaking,
only perfectly succeeded in the few prose "novellen," which do not
touch upon the civilization of modern society, as in those genial
pasticcios of the olden time: "Die Stickerin von Treviso" and "Geoffroy
und Garcinde," where the noble, simple style of the old Italian or
Provençal form of narrative is idealized, or when the materials are
taken from the life of the people in Italy or Tyrol; for the people in
those lands are themselves a simple piece of the Middle Ages cast in
_a form_. Such a story as that little jewel "L' Arrabbiata," which was
the foundation of Heyse's fame, actually attains its rights through its
plain, rigid setting; adorned with the decorations of style, or with
psychologically polished facets, it would lose its entire beauty, if
not become impossible. In the same way "Die Stickerin von Treviso,"
which probably, next to the work just named, has reaped the greatest
harvest of applause, in its touching simplicity and grandeur, is so
thoroughly one with its chronicle form, that it cannot be conceived
of without this. But in instances where scenes from purely modern
civilization are described, the style cannot be too individual and
nervous. Heyse himself cannot avoid making his aim in this respect
proportionate to his materials; how feverish is the recital in the
pretty invalid story in letters "Unheilbar" (Incurable.) However,
it is apparently with the utmost reluctance, and without the free
exercise of his will, that he permits himself to be carried away into
such a passionately surging and trembling style as in "Salamander."
This creation is pure style, its beauty depends wholly and entirely
on the captivating charm of its metric diction, and yet throughout
not a word will be found that is not to the purpose. The entire work
teems with active life, every change in style is deeply felt and
transparent; the struggling soul of the writer lies like an open book
before the reader. The situations are insignificant and commonplace; no
Bengal illumination, not even a final tableau. But these remarkable,
incredibly beautiful, unnaturally easy, nervously passionate
terzettos, which question and answer, jest, sing and lament, invest
the theatrical, the enamored yet thoroughly composed blasé coquette,
the heroine, and the passion she inspires, with such a charm that
no exciting story, with crisis and pole, could be more captivating.
Toward the close of the poem the glorious terzettos, which throughout
have been transformed into quite a new species of metre, ring out in
a manner as surprising as it is genial and bold, in the chords of a
triple ritornelle, invested with all the freshness of nature. Such a
poem as this will maintain its place in spite of all theories.
Upon the whole, however, it seems to me that Heyse has formed
an incorrect conception of the significance of poetic style.
Theoretically, he fears its independent development, and cannot
tolerate any works which are "mere diction and style." Nevertheless,
in such poems as "Das Feenkind" (The Fairy Child), and still more
in such poems as "Frauenemancipation" (Female Emancipation), he has
himself furnished productions of this kind. The first of these poems is
refined and graceful, but the raillery in it is of too ample length--we
do not care to eat an undue amount of whipped cream; the other, whose
tendency, however, is the best, suffers from a loquacity without any
salt. But a distinctly marked style is by no means the same thing
as the formal virtuosoship of diction. That an artist of language
like Heyse, the translator of Giusti, of the troubadours, of Italian
and Spanish folk-songs, must possess this in the fullest degree, is
understood as a matter of course. And yet the truly artistic style is
not that formal grace which spreads uniformly over everything. Style,
in the highest sense of the word, is fulfilment, a form completed from
every point of view. Where the coloring of language, the phraseology,
diction, and personal accent, still possess a certain abstract
homogeneousness, where the author has failed to mirror the character at
every essential point in all the outer forms, the drapery of language,
of however light a texture it may consist, will hang stiff and dead
about the personality of the speaker. The perfect modern style, on the
contrary, envelops it as the flowing robe envelops the form of the
Grecian orator, serving to relieve the attitude of the body and every
movement. The diction of the mere virtuoso, even when "brilliant," may
be traditional and trivial; genuine style is never so. With the mode
of narration of Heyse's "novellen," I have not much fault to find; his
dramatic diction, on the contrary, does not please me so well.
There are no doubt many who think that if Heyse's historic dramas have
not gained the recognition accorded his "novellen," it is because
they are invested with too little action, and too much style. If the
word style, however, be understood as I have here defined it, it
should certainly rather be asserted that the iambic form used was worn
threadbare, and that these works have not style enough. The diction
in "Elizabeth Charlotte," for example, neither sufficiently bears
the coloring of the period in which the scenes are laid, nor of the
persons who speak. Only compare it with the dry posthumous memoirs of
the princess. The poet who, with his fabulous facility for orienting
himself in every poetic form, can produce a drama as easily as he
can tell a story, has taken his task almost too easily. The little
tragedy "Maria Moroni," a drama which may be ranked next to his
"novellen," through its plan as well as through its characterization,
might worthily stand side by side with the Italian dramas of Alfred
de Musset, of which it reminds us, were not its language-coloring by
far too dull and cold. The dialogues of Musset not only sparkle with
wit, but glow with ardor and with life. In his dramas Heyse is not
personally present with his whole soul at every point. And yet this "at
every point" is the style.
Inasmuch, therefore, as I have placed the highest estimate on
"Salamander," of all the versified "novellen," on account of its
excellence of diction, so for the sake of its idea I would give a high
place to the prose narrative, "Der letzte Centaur" (The Last Centaur),
although the latter is, at the same time, farthest removed from the
requirements of the definition. It does not treat of an occurrence or a
conflict in a defined sphere of life, nor of any especial psychologic
instance, but of life itself; it permits the entire modern life to
be mirrored at once within a narrow frame. A shot at the central
point is so refreshing; why deny it? The peripheric character of some
others of Heyse's works is to blame for their not being of greater
interest. After reading through a long series of "novellen" one cannot
help longing for an art form which is capable of embracing the more
significant, universally current ideas and problems in poetic form.