Prince of Persia? - William Beckford's "Vathek"

"The History of Caliph Vathek" 

by William Beckford

Dracula’s Guest: A Connoisseur’s Collection of Victorian Vampire Stories

Dracula’s Guest: A Connoisseur’s Collection of Victorian Vampire Stories

Edited by Michael Sims

A Review

Venice by night: Friedrich Schiller's "The Ghost-Seer" (translated by Andrew Brown)

Venice by Night... "The Ghost-Seer" by Friedrich Schiller

(Alma Classics edition, translated with an introduction by Andrew Brown)

The rise of Gothic fiction in the second half of the 18th Century, also referred to as “first wave Gothic”, is generally portrayed as a peculiarly English phenomenon.  This is hardly surprising, considering that the novel widely (if not uncontroversially) considered to be the first Gothic novel is Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764).  It set the blueprint for a dark literary genre, obsessed with terror, death and the otherworldly, and was soon followed by works in the same vein by other English authors such Ann Radcliffe, William Beckford and Matthew “Monk” Lewis.  It would be a mistake, however, to consider this movement in ‘splendid isolation’ from what was happening in the rest of Europe.  Indeed, some of the defining elements of the Gothic are shared with Continental literature of the period, shaped by the ideals of Early Romanticism and the proto-Romantic Sturm und Drang movement.  German readers, in particular, had a particular appetite for horror novels, some of which were translated into English or adapted by English authors.  In writing “The Monk”, Lewis drew upon homegrown Gothic, but also upon German ‘horrid novels’.

One of the seminal works in the Continental canon is Der Geisterseher – Aus den Papieren des Grafen von O** (generally rendered in English as “The Ghost-Seer” or “The Apparitionist”), a strange novel by the poet, dramatist, novelist and philosopher Friedrich Schiller (1759-1805).  It first appeared in instalments in the journal Thalia between 1787 and 1789, only to be abandoned and left unfinished by Schiller who, apparently, developed a great antipathy to his own creation.   It has just been published on the Alma Classics imprint, in a translation by Andrew Brown who also provides an introduction, placing the novel in the philosophical and cultural context of its period.

The protagonist of the novel is the Prince of ------------------ who, we are given understand, is the third in line to the throne of Protestant state.  On a sojourn in Venice, the Prince becomes involved in a secret society known as the “Bucentauro”, a group of debauched members of high society, amongst whom count several influential prelates.  He also falls in love with a mysterious “Greek” woman.  All of this, however, could well be a front for an even shadowier Catholic group intent on converting the Prince to “the only Church outside of which there is no salvation”, fleecing him of his family’s riches in the process.  The Prince is, in fact, being stalked by an elusive figure he refers to as “the Armenian” who is, according to some accounts, a protean spy for the Inquisition and, according to others, a Faust or Melmoth-like figure who has achieved immortality through devilish means.

Arthur von Ramberg (1819-1875), Der Prinz
(illustration for Schiller's The Ghost-Seer)

It all sounds very convoluted, and it is.  On his part, Schiller purposely adds to the confusion through the narrative devices he opts for.  The first part of the story is recounted in the first person by the Count of O***, a friend and companion of the Prince.  After the Count leaves Venice to attend to personal business, the story continues in epistolary form, through letters sent by Baron von F_________ , a member of the Prince’s retinue, to the Count, updating him on the latest developments in connection with the Prince.  Both narrators are, by their own admission, unreliable narrators, who do not always understand the strange goings-on in which they find themselves.  The narrators cannot trust their senses – we, as readers, cannot take them at their word.  This is truly a novel where, to quote the Bard, “nothing is, but what is not”.  The work’s fragmentary nature is compounded by the fact that it was left unfinished.  Reaching the last page of  book feels like stepping out of a dream or hallucination, whose details and meaning lie tantalisingly out of reach.

The philosophy behind “The Ghost-Seer” is also curiously ambivalent.  It is often held up as an example of Schiller’s Enlightenment ideals – to me, this is not that obvious.  Take the author’s approach towards the supernatural.  On the one hand, much of the novel’s atmosphere (and its title) is drawn from the otherworldly aspects of the plot, with one of its key scenes a seance-like occult ceremony presided by a shady character based on the Count of Cagliostro.  Subsequently, Radcliffe-like, Schiller has his Prince unravel the supernatural elements, revealing them to be mere smoke and mirrors.  Yet, the explanation is so complicated, that like the Count, we are almost tempted to reject it in favour of a belief that something otherworldly must have been going on.  The same could be said of Schiller’s attitude towards religion.  Unsurprisingly for a Gothic novel, Catholics get quite a lot of bad press. But Schiller seems equally critical both of the drearier, stricter strains of Protestantism and, at the other extreme, of ‘freethinking’ unbelief. 

For an unfinished, slim novel(la), The Ghost-Seer has proven surprisingly influential, possibly because of the questions it poses only to leave unanswered.  It gave rise to a particular sub-genre of the Gothic – the “secret society novel”, variously referred to in German as the Bundesroman or the Geheimbundroman.   It is also one of the first works to exploit Venice as a backdrop for dark and/or supernatural  fiction, a tradition which continued with E.T.A. Hoffmann, Heinrich Zschokke and in the 20th century, Thomas Mann and Daphne du Maurier.  La Serenissima it may be called, but its alleys and canals, decaying palaces and hidden campielli whisper strange secrets, if only one were to listen...

Friedrich Nerly, View of the Grand Canal

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Schiller’s An die Freude was famously set to music by Ludwig van Beethoven in the choral finale of his 9th Symphony.  Apart from that, however, there are few famous settings of his poetry, although one should mention Franz Schubert’s forty-four lieder based on Schiller’s poems.

On the other hand, the writer’s plays have proven particularly popular in opera adaptations.  Verdi was a particular fan:  I Masnadieri is based on The Robbers, Giovanna d’Arco on The Maid of Orleans, Luisa Miller on Intrigue and Love, Don Carlos on the eponymous play and La Forza del Destino, partly, on Wallenstein.

Here’s then, a Schiller musical “dessert”,

First on is a scene from the Third Act of I Masnadieri, the work which, together with The Robbers, is most often cited as an example of Schiller’s “Gothic” streak.

Gioacchino Rossini is best known for his comic operas. However, his last theatrical work, Guillaume Tell based on Schiller’s Wilhelm Tell, is a grand opera rich in Romantic ideals, including several “nature scenes” reflecting the concept of the Sublime.

To end, a contemporary work by composer and cellist Graham Waterhouse.  Composed in 2005, Der Handschuh is a melodrama for cello and speaking voice, composed to mark the 200th anniversary of Schiller’s death.

Feat Gothique : a review of "the first Gothic novel", The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole

The First Gothic Novel 

The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole

As Halloween draws nigh, my ghoulish posts continue with a review of Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto, widely considered as the “first Gothic novel”.  But in the matter-of-fact 21st century, should we read it for scares or for laughs?

***

Considered in isolation, this slight novel is, frankly, underwhelming, especially to modern readers. A faux-medieval tale of chivalric derring-do and supernatural goings-on in a dark Italian castle, its convoluted plot is at best unconvincing and at worst bordering on the unintelligible. The characters are disappointingly two-dimensional, the dialogue overly melodramatic. The otherworldly elements are so unsubtle as to come across as grotesque (the novel starts with Conrad, the heir of a noble family, crushed under a giant plumed helmet which has appeared out of thin air) and the novel’s intentionally humorous streak dashes any chance of us feeling any spine-tingling fear just as surely as the “fearful casque” mangles Conrad’s body.

Yet, this 1764 novel deserves respect as (probably) the first Gothic novel, the unlikely instigator of a genre which would give rise to such undoubted masterpieces as, amongst countless others, Frankenstein and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The Gothic is a genre that still lives on modern horror and weird fiction and its influences spread well beyond the confines of literature.

Seen in this light, The Castle of Otranto starts to reveal merits which might not be immediately obvious. The obsession with the supernatural, the OTT dramatic language, the neo-medievalisms were striking and innovative at the time when the novel was written. What might now seem “facile cliches” (crumbling castles, subterranean passages, chivalric ideals) would only become “Gothic tropes” after other authors jumped on the Walpole bandwagon. The uncomfortable mix of horror and humour was a peculiarly English trait with roots in Chaucer and Shakespeare. And, underneath the novel’s self-indulgent trappings, there was also an element of radical social critique – the heads of the family come across as abusive, scheming and manipulative; the female characters are not as submissive as (18th century) society might have wanted them to be (Isabella is promised in marriage to the weak Conrad but openly admires other more beautiful knights; Princess Matilda, also pressed into marriage, resists these suggestions and first entertains thoughts of taking the veil then falls in love with a travelling peasant). 

Walpole's novel might, in our day and age, be entertaining for all the wrong reasons, but one cannot deny its incredibly far-reaching cultural impact.

***

For further reading, I suggest this review by writer and critic Ted Gioa.  This was originally posted as part of his Year of Horrible Reading, which saw Gioa reading through an impressive list of Gothic and horror titles.  I also refer to The Castle of Otranto in a blog post of my own about the Gothic in classical music.   I had built a playlist of classical music to accompany the article.  I wish you hours of (un)easy listening.