“‘Oh, my poor Mathilde. But mine were false. At most they were worth five hundred francs!’”
The periodic pattern of Guy de Maupassant was sedulously copied by O. Henry; but this popular contributor to the American magazines went even further than his master and developed a double surprise to be delivered suddenly at the conclusion of the narrative. A typical example of his work is “The Gift of the Magi,” wherein an unexpected outcome is immediately capped by a second outcome still more unexpected. The success of O. Henry with the reading public may be attributed mainly to his cleverness in taking full advantage of the powerful expedient of emphasis by terminal position. His technical adroitness may be studied best by reading rapidly the final paragraphs of any hundred of his stories. He had the happy faculty of saying last the best and brightest thing he had to say.
2. Emphasis by Initial Position.––Next to the last position, the most emphatic place in a brief narrative, or section of a narrative, is of course the first. The mind of the reader receives with an especial vividness whatever is presented to it at the outset. For this reason it is necessary in the short-story, and advisable in the chapters of a novel, to begin with material that not only is inherently essential, but also strikes the key-note of the narrative that is to follow. Edgar Allan Poe is especially artistic in applying this principle of emphasis by initial position. We have already quoted, in another connection, the solemn opening of “The Fall of the House of Usher,” with its suggestion of immitigable gloom of setting as the dominant note of the narrative. In “The Cask of Amontillado,” wherein the thing to be emphasized is the element of action, Poe begins with this sentence: “The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could; but when he ventured upon insult, 144 I vowed revenge”: and we know already that the story is to set forth a signal act of vengeance. In “The Tell-Tale Heart,” which is a study of murderous madness, and deals primarily with the element of character, the author opens thus:––
“True!––nervous––very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses––not destroyed––not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily––how calmly I can tell you the whole story.”
3. Emphasis by Pause.––In general it may be said that any pause in a narrative emphasizes by position whatever immediately precedes it, and also (though to a considerably less extent) whatever immediately follows it. For this reason many masters of the short-story, like Daudet and de Maupassant, construct their narratives in sections, in order to multiply the number of terminal and initial positions. Asterisks strung across the page not only make the reader aware of the completion of an integral portion of the story, but also focus his attention emphatically on the last thing that has been said before the interruption. The employment of points de suspension––a mark of punctuation consisting of a series of successive dots ...––which is so frequent with French authors, is a device which is used to interrupt a sentence solely for the sake of emphasis by pause.
Further Discussion of Emphasis by Position.––The instances which we have selected to illustrate the expedient of emphasizing by position have been chosen for convenience from short-stories; but the same principle may be applied with similar success in constructing the 145 chapters of a novel. Certain great but inartistic novelists, like Sir Walter Scott, show themselves to be singularly obtuse to the advantage of placing emphatic material in an emphatic position. Scott is almost always careless of his chapter endings: he allows the sections of his narrative to drift and straggle, instead of rounding them to an emphatic close. But more artistic novelists, like Victor Hugo for example, never fail to take advantage of the terminal position. Consider the close of Book XI, Chapter II, of “Notre Dame de Paris.” The gypsy-girl, Esmeralda, has been hanged in the Place de Grève. The hunchback, Quasimodo, has flung the archdeacon, Claude Frollo, from the tower-top of Notre Dame. This paragraph then brings the chapter to an end:––
“Quasimodo then raised his eye to the gypsy, whose body he saw, depending from the gibbet, shudder afar under her white robe with the last tremblings of death-agony; then he lowered it to the archdeacon, stretched out at the foot of the tower and no longer having human form; and he said with a sob that made his deep chest heave: ‘Oh! all that I have loved!’”
A chapter ending may be artistically planned either (as in the foregoing instance) to sum up with absolute finality the narrative accomplishment of the chapter, or else, by vaguely foreshadowing the subsequent progress of the story, to lure the reader to proceed. The elder Dumas possessed in a remarkable degree the faculty of so terminating one chapter as to allure the reader to an immediate commencement of the next. He did this most frequently by introducing a new thread of narrative in a phrase of the concluding sentence, and thereby exciting the reader’s curiosity to follow up the thread.
The expedient of emphasis by terminal and by initial position cannot, of course, be applied without reservation to an entire novel. The last chapter of a novel with a 146 complicated plot is often of necessity devoted to tying or untying minor knots in the straggling threads of the general network. Therefore, the most emphatic place in an extended narrative is not at the very end, but rather at the close of the chapter which sets forth the culmination. Also, although many great novels, like “The Scarlet Letter,” have begun at an emphatic moment in the plot, many others have opened slowly and have presented no important material until the narrative was well under way. “The Talisman” of Scott, “The Spy” of Fenimore Cooper, and many another early nineteenth-century romance, began with a solitary horseman whom the reader was forced to follow for several pages before anything whatever happened. Latterly, however, novelists have learned from writers of short-stories the art of opening emphatically with material important to the plot.