ATMOSPHERE 3

ATMOSPHERE

ATMOSPHERE

What it is. Its twofold meaning. Its value for single impression. It may be produced: By description —examples from They ; By emotional incidents and

effects—examples. As auxiliary aids there may be found:

Contrast; Foreshadowing; Local color, with dialect. 158 ATMOSPHERE

Much that has been said of characterization may be applied with equal aptness to the making of atmosphere. Every story has a setting of some sort, — an environment of time or place or circumstance. Every story has, also, an atmosphere which is the vitalizing influence of this environment and varies as does the peculiar aspect of the setting. This atmosphere is an effect, pervasive as in nature, intangible, vague, and elusive. It is always present, though not always in equal intensity. Among the mountains, atmosphere is rarified; at sea level, it is dense. In some stories it is scarcely realizable; in others it is an influence strongly felt. It never makes itself felt as a distinct sensation, but rather as a pervading sense of depression, or of stimulation, or of apprehension, or of any of a man's many moods. Frequently it is derived from association. For many people, the sight of falling leaves causes depression. Yet to the eye the sight is undoubtedly beautiful, and it becomes depressing only because of its associational meaning. A century may have an atmosphere, a dominating influence, — so may a town; so, too, may a person or a group of persons. When the interest of a group of people centers on thought and knowledge, there results an intellectual atmosphere. Where all their thought is of business success, they create a commercial atmosphere. Thus, also, an atmosphere of gaiety or of solemnity may be produced. It is impossible to show atmosphere in a story except by indicating the distinctive and associational elements of setting.

Atmosphere may have another aspect. While it may be expressed by setting, it may also affect setting. The sun looks red or yellow, the moon yellow or white, according to the medium through which one sees them. Hills may look distant or near at hand as the condition of the intervening atmosphere varies. Sometimes, one can see individual trees along the horizon and the windows of houses several miles away; sometimes, the trees and houses near one are scarcely distinguishable through a fog. At times, too, one may see things in clear and sharp definition in one direction, while they are veiled in mist or haze in another. Atmosphere may even show things strange and unreal. It may subdue sharp outlines, it may distort, it may magnify, or it may define. In a story, similar effects of atmosphere are utilized to modify or intensify impressions of persons and things.

Atmosphere is all-pervasive. It affects all parts of the story alike. It is the medium through which we see all the characters, all the events. It colors everything as does a red glass through which we look out upon a landscape. Even things in natural contrast are brought under one influence. Thus, all elements subdued and harmonized by one atmosphere yield finally a single impression. It is in strengthening single impression that the chief value of atmosphere consists. "The consciousness of the presence of the spirits of little children" is the single impression of They. The atmosphere is such that this impression is possible. It is of unreality and mystery, full of shadows where spirits may hide at will, just out of reach. In Mrs. Knollys, an atmosphere of low but persistent emotional tension brings out the beauty of a triumphant hope. The scientist offers a hope. Yet its realization depends upon the certain but almost imperceptible motion of a glacier, dispassionate, unrelenting. Through forty-five years this inevitable tension lasts. Only as one waits for the time to pass and for the glacier to let go its hold can hope be actually triumphant.

The force of atmosphere in After Twenty Years is less immediately evident than it is in the two stories just noticed. As nearly as one can express it, the single impression seems to be the grip of duty. It is fidelity to duty which Jimmy. Wells shows when we first see him; it is official obligation which leads him to turn over his friend to justice. It is, also, faithfulness to obligation which brings back the criminal Bob to meet an appointment made with his friend twenty years before. This single impression appears to the best advantage against the background atmosphere of the power of the social order. This atmosphere is felt by both characters alike. Even Bob, so used to ignoring duty, who, professionally, has been butting for many years against

the social order, recognizes one of its natural bases in fulfilling the promise made to his friend. Here the atmosphere actively promotes the growth of single impression. The dominant tone of security, felt, too, at the beginning, finds echo throughout the story in this power of the social order.

One of the most frequent means of producing atmosphere is description. It may, however, be easily abused. In the Short-story, description is simply a means, not an end in itself. If prolonged beyond what is needful, it may defeat its own purpose and dissipate the atmosphere. It may, too, interfere with narrative progress. Yet it cannot be denied that description has large suggestive power for atmosphere. One's feelings are altogether different in a stretch of virgin forest from what they are on a city street. They are likely to be entirely different on a bracing day in January from what they are on the first wilting day of summer. A change in scenic background may quite alter one's impression of the course of events. Description, however, even as characterization, should be kept within bounds of definite purpose. Details may be jumbled together. A rubbish heap, rather than a picture, results. One should pick out that which is uniquely significant, that which will make the reader feel about the thing described exactly what the writer felt. The writer must have a sense of the fitness of things that will enable him to lay his finger on just that which will yield the full suggestion. The swift stroke which calls up a host of

suggestions is, in the Short-story, vastly more effective than a long, much detailed description. An effective narrative description should be presented not to the intellect, but to the imagination. To describe, therefore, one needs to be sensitive to the appeal of things and to their common associations.

It would be difficult to find descriptions more perfectly adapted to the needs of a story than are those in They. It has already been noted that an atmosphere of unreality and mystery is needed in this story for the full expression of the single effect. The description at the beginning — much the longest in the story —impresses one with its beauty and its compact suggestiveness. The first paragraph is especially full of association:

"One view called me to another — one hill-top to its fellow — half across the county; and since I could answer at no more trouble than the snapping forward of a lever, I let the county flow under my wheels. The orchid-studded flats of the East gave way to the thyme, ilex, and grey grass of the Downs; these, again, to the rich comland and fig trees of the lower coast, where you carry the beat of the tide on your left hand for fifteen level miles: and when at last, I turned inland, through a huddle of rounded hills and woods, I had run myself clean out of my known marks. Beyond that precise hamlet which stands Godmother to the capital of the United States, I found hidden villages where bees, the only things awake, boomed in eighty-foot lindens

that overhung grey Norman churches, miraculous brooks diving under stone bridges built for heavier traffic than would ever vex them again; tithe-barns larger than their churches, and an old smithy that cried out aloud how it had once been a hall of the Knights of the Temple. Gypsies I found on a common where the gorse, bracken, and heath fought it out together up a mile of Roman road; and a little further on I disturbed a red fox rolling dog fashion in the naked sunlight. "

It is worthwhile to examine this description somewhat more closely. Its elements crowd one upon another. Hints, yet only hints, are thrown out to the imagination. One catches but passing glimpses of the country as the automobile speeds along. There is no stopping here to analyze botanical specimens. The manifest hurry adds to the general lack of certainty. Yet every sentence is full of associations. Orchids and fig trees, one associates with the luxuriance of a warm climate. They are suggestive here because they are outside the pale of everyday experience. Ilexes are bound up with the lore of antiquity. The sea is always full of silent mystery to the beholder. "Hidden villages where bees, the only things awake, boomed in eighty-foot lindens over grey Norman churches, " suggest almost a land of enchantment, where silence and memory of the past may reign supreme. Even the smithy turns one's thoughts backward. There appear gypsies, always mysterious, for they are

like the wind of which it is said that "no man knoweth whence it cometh or whither it goeth. " When, after following a mile of Roman road, one disturbs a red fox rolling in the naked sunlight, one feels fully away from the hard and fast lines of routine and free to let the imagination roam at will. The wooded hills may close about us, and the hazel stuff meet over our heads and we are content, not knowing what strange experiences may be just beyond. The atmosphere of mystery and unreality is here produced by reference to things beyond one's ordinary experience, to things belonging to a time long past, and to the beauty and serenity of nature through which one is rapidly whirled.

There are other descriptions in They, shorter but just as effective. Throughout the story there is much indirectness and indistinctness. The woods are full of summer noises, the children's voices rise in murmurs, the sunlight is chequered. One sees "the wayside grasses rising and bowing in sallow waves, " "the long shade possessing the insolent horsemen one by one, " and the mirror in the dusky hall "distorting afresh the distorted shadows. " The description which marks the third visit of "the man from the other side of the county" shows "summer England" turned to "blank grey. " Yet, while it seems to hold more life, more stir of people, and perhaps less of unreality and mystery, than does the description at the beginning, it holds, also, more gloom. It has a cruel charm — an atmospheric background well fitted for a climax

where, with understanding, comes, also, anguish of spirit. They is a story of atmosphere, and every description gives added strength.

One might, too, notice the descriptions of The Masque of the Red Death in their effect on atmosphere. The greater part of the story is given over to a description of the prince's apartments and to the reveling of the masquers. There is little of action, little of character, but much of atmosphere. Every detail contributes something of the weird and the grotesque to the scene. There is luxuriance so hyper natural that it affects one with intense gloom and an almost ominous disgust. The colors as they follow one another, vivid blue, purple, green, orange, white, violet, black, seem those of morbidity rather than of light and life and health. No natural light reaches these rooms, for the windows are all of stained glass corresponding in colors to those of the rooms. In the black room alone, the panes are different — and here they are of red. The actual atmosphere of the rooms is thus made to seem unnatural. Even the dancers in their fantastic costume seem to take hue from their surroundings. Moreover, what light there is in these rooms must waver and flicker, answering to the rising and falling of flames in the braziers without. The atmosphere is uncanny. Almost anything unnatural and terrifying might happen amid such surroundings.

Experiential association invests most facts of common life with the power of affecting atmosphere. Singly they may do it; a combination, as has just

been shown, may make a description electric with atmospheric force. These objects, facts, or events may appear simply as momentary effects, or as incident. The rapid strokes of a fire alarm make one apprehensive. The tolling of a bell depresses, the jangling of a gong stimulates, the ringing of chimes soothes. These are but single effects. They might, however, be expanded into complete emotional incidents. The striking of the ebony clock in The Masque of the Red Death is an incident described in detail. The muffled peal which comes only to one within the black room is a mere effect. All of a person's moods, whether of seriousness or exhilaration; may be expressed by incident. Once expressed, they contribute to atmosphere, — for moods pass easily from one person to another. . A whole group may be set to laughing simply by watching another person laugh. All emotional incidents contribute, however indirectly, to atmosphere. They should be designed with care, therefore, that they may strengthen the prevailing atmosphere. By telling stories of Homeric heroes to while away the time, the outcasts of Poker Flat encourage one another to a like heroism in an atmosphere of impending disaster.

For examples of the creation of atmosphere by emotional incidents and mood effects, one cannot do better than to turn again to They. The shyness of the children is insisted upon until they, too, seem of a part with the atmosphere. One catches the "glint of a blue blouse" among the horsemen and

again in the shrubbery. One hears the "tread of small cautious feet stealing across the dead leaves, " and then their rapid retreat. A child clinging to the skirt of Miss Florence suddenly runs "into the leafage like a rabbit. " One sees them "frolicking like shadows among the swaying shadows, " and at the end of a passage one glimpses "the silhouette of a child's frock against some darkening window. " One sees them clearly only when they are out of reach, — looking down from some window high above. All the while, they seem unreal and mysterious. Yet not until one has neared the end of the story does one guess that they are more than merely very shy. These are all but effects. Listen to this incident:

"The children had gathered themselves in a roundel behind a bramble bush. One sleek head bent over something smaller, and the set of the shoulders told me that fingers were on lips. They, too, possessed some wonderful child's secret. I alone was astray there in the broad summer light. "

It is a minor incident, but it is all atmosphere. In this story, even the incidents of movement have much emotional value.

In making a natural, thoroughly true atmosphere, one will often find use for contrast. Every atmosphere has its blending tones, it’s almost infinite shades of light and darkness, its ever-changing odors. At one moment it may seem fairly to sparkle, and the next it may relapse to dull though clear transparency. One breath may fairly suffocate with its load of dust,

while the next may carry the fragrance of lightning splintered pine. The atmosphere of stories, too, is often made more effective by the presence of varying tones. Every strain must have its times of momentary relaxation. Without hope, despair cannot be fully appreciated. Gloom must be enlivened by gaiety. Shade but makes the brightness brighter. 1Suspense is heightened by relief. After the brief period of sunshine, the storm clouds seem to gather more closely around the outcasts of Poker Flat and the snow falls more thickly. The atmosphere of impending disaster, temporarily lightened, settles again and envelops them. In the midst of music and attempted revelry, the awfulness of the Red Death strikes more deeply than it otherwise could.

The value of contrast for atmosphere is well illustrated in The Cask of Amontillado. The revenge occurs during the carnival season. Montresor finds Fortunato dressed in motley and wearing the appropriate conical cap and bells. In this man who has

1 "If the artist introduces every tone into the story he thereby gets hold of every tone in the spectator's emotional nature; the world of the play is presented from every point of view as it works upon the various passions, and the difference this makes is the difference between simply looking down upon a surface and viewing a solid from all round: the mixture of tones, so to speak, makes passion of three dimensions. Moreover, it brings the world of fiction nearer to the world of nature, which has never yet evolved an experience in which brightness was dissevered from gloom; half the pleasure of the world is wrung out of other's pain; the two jostle in the street, house together under every roof, share every stage of life, and refuse to be sundered even in the mysteries of death. " R. G.

Moulton, Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist, pp. 292-3.

entered into the reckless jollity of the carnival season, ready to give or to receive a joke with equal good grace, Montresor finds an easy victim. Until the last, Fortunato remains unsuspecting in the presence of that which at another time might have aroused his suspicion and occasioned his withdrawal from the vaults. In the carnival season, however, he is prepared to follow mirth to the end, expecting even a semblance of seriousness to turn out a merry jest. Thus he is led unaware into the spider's trap. Cruel, premeditated revenge and unsuspecting good fellowship stand facing each other, and the one seems more fiendish because it is in the presence of the other. Turning now to the last paragraph, one finds these words:

"No answer. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. "

The reader's interest has been bent on the details of the revenge. Just as it is completed, one catches once more a view of the carnival jollity. Then follows the silence of death. The atmosphere of utter vindictiveness stands out in its intensity.

One finds foreshadowing, too, a device sometimes of use for atmosphere. By its suggestion it may serve to make an atmosphere more appreciable; it may be actually contributory. It requires, however, no little skill, for the writer must so arrange his details that they will constitute a real though veiled intimation of the outcome. It may influence one's

mood and prepare one for a future event without actually revealing its intent. It may appear either in description or in incident. In The Outcasts of Poker Flat, the storm is foreshadowed by description. The air grows strangely chill, the wind moans, the sky is ominously clouded. Near the beginning of the story, the Duchess in her petulance declared "that she would die in the road. " As one reads, one passes this remark over lightly. In the light of later developments, however, it seems a bit of carefully designed foreshadowing. The strongest foreshadowing in the story, however, appears when the outcasts join with Piney and The Innocent in singing the two-line refrain:

"I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord, And I'm bound to die in His army. "

This incident forms almost an unwitting recognition of an atmosphere of impending disaster. As if to clinch this impression, the next sentence adds:

"The pines rocked, the storm eddied and whirled above the miserable group, and the flames of their altar leaped heavenward as if in token of the vow. "

One frequently finds stories in which the atmosphere is influenced, in part, at least, by local color, — which is the setting forth of the distinctive peculiarities of a definite locality or period. There are many possible settings for a story which would be as fitting for one section of a country as for another. They are not distinctive. Rainy days or sunny skies are much alike wherever they are found.

A distant range of hills does not settle the locality of a landscape. Only when setting is uniquely peculiar to one locality can one speak correctly of local color. Such setting can be expressed either in incident or in description. It is natural, as a result, that some stories should be written with the sole purpose of exhibiting local color, while others should use it simply as a fitting and picturesque background. In either case, it may have a contributory influence on atmosphere, to which it is akin much as the fragrance of apple blossoms is akin to the air we breathe. Local color may so pervade an atmosphere that it is felt as a distinct flavor and affects one's emotional outlook. In The Madonna of the Future, Florence is so displayed in her character of mistress of art and of the artistic spirit that one is made fairly to breathe an atmosphere of idealism. It is this atmosphere which makes Mr. Theobald's failure so possible yet so pathetic. Throughout The Man Who Would Be King the influence of local color is felt strongly, for it is the searching after something new, — something that will be in contrast to one's everyday experiences, — that is at the basis of the adventurous spirit. It is the contrasts that are emphasized by the local color in this story. One example will suffice. The description is of the Native States:

"They are the dark places of the earth, full of unimaginable . cruelty, touching the Railway and the Telegraph on one side, and on the other, the -al

days of Harun-al-Raschid. When I left the train I did business with divers Kings, and in eight days passed through many changes of life. Sometimes I wore dress clothes and consorted with Princes and Politicals, drinking from crystal and eating from silver. Sometimes I lay out upon the ground and devoured what I could get, from a plate made of a flapjack, and drank the running water, and slept under the same rug as my servant. It was all in the day's work. "

Local color is expressed also in the speech of characters, and here it is called dialect. Dialect is interesting because of its novelty. In some stories, it is made the main point. It is, however, difficult to reproduce on paper accurately and suggestively. To write it successfully, one needs to have lived long enough in a community to have acquired the exact accent and manner of speech of the people. Aside from its novelty, dialect is of little value in a Short story. It has little meaning for atmosphere. Words, to one who is unfamiliar with them, possess little connotation. Their quaintness or suggestiveness may fail to arouse the sympathy of a stranger. Sometimes, naturalness demands that a character. use a dialect. Yet, usually, the same things expressed by the same people in plain English will suggest vastly more to the ordinary person, and will be of more real value for atmosphere. How style is a factor in producing atmosphere will be considered in the next chapter.