JEREMIAS
GOTTHELFfS DIE SCHWARZE SPINNE
This
tale should be regarded as a story within a story. Of course, the inner story is easily the
more important, but this does not mean that the outer story should be thought
of as a mere framework, a window through which the events of the past are
glimpsed. There are similarities
between interior and exterior, and the fact that these similarities exist in
spite of the difference between the immediate (if fictionalised) present and a
remote, semi-mythical past means that they support the moral tone of the novel:
in brief, what happened then could happen now if we do not pay due care and
attention. Die Schwarze Spinne could profitably be compared to and contrasted
with Defoefs A Journal of the Plague Year;
here let it suffice to say that whereas both are concerned with a possible
recrudescence of the Plague/Black Death, the latter is a historical,
journalistic work dealing with an event of immediate relevance and concern to
its reading public (the plague having broken out in Marseilles some little time
before) and containing a scientific investigation of practical methods with
which to combat the disease; and the former is an allegorical work treating of
a terror which, although a remote probability, is nevertheless an eternal
possibility, and one only to be avoided by constant, unswerving faith. That is not to say, however, that
Defoefs work does not have a moral tone, or that it is scientific as opposed to
religious – there is no real reason why the two should be opposites; knowing
how things work does not remove the wonder of the working process or the marvel
of creation, and the more one learns, the more amazing the world, the universe,
become.
But
to return to one of the most entertaining, wonderfully written tales I have
ever had the pleasure to read. The
opening scene is idyllic; a baptism takes place while a sabbatical sunshine
illuminates Godfs earth and manfs house living together in perfect harmony. There are humorous touches, for instance
when the Patin is fed with an overbearing generosity on the part of her hosts;
and it is a time for tradition, for gWeinwarm,h for acting gnach alter Übungh –
for example, the new brand of coffee, which could be drunk on any day, is
scorned. So we see that, despite
the traditional Swiss conservatism, time has not stood still; but the past is
still present and live on certain days – such as this particular one.
Inevitably,
the present is compared unfavourably with the past – and inevitably, these
comparisons are drawn by old people: gEhemals ist es doch nicht so gewesen,h
and gdie heutigen Menschen vergessen baldh warns the grandfather. But it is interesting to return to the
above-mentioned similarities between past and present, and so between the inner
and outer shells of the novel; certain themes recur, such as female curiosity –
once again, curiosity is something to fear and shun, hence the Godmotherfs not
being allowed to ask the babyfs name at the christening – gHoffarth and male
inactivity. However, whereas these
failings are merely mentioned as light-hearted banter by the rejoicing family,
we are given a graphic illustration of the devastating effect they can have in
the grandfatherfs stories: male hesitancy and the curiosity of women –
especially of Christine – appear at the crucial moment of the first tale; and
those women who look through their keyholes on the night of the battle for the
babyfs soul are temporarily blinded; and gHoffarth seems to be the major sin in
the continuation. Although the
horror is but a distant memory, the Grandmother can hear a purring sound from
the post whenever her thoughts stray into impiety; and the reaction of the
young Godmother, who has been sitting with her back to this post, as the first
tale comes to an end, amply demonstrates that the desired effect has been
achieved.
I
have called the second tale a continuation of the first, for the same themes
appear: the gBauteufelh is once more in evidence (and it is worth bearing in
mind that this edevilf is the root, if not the major, cause of the first
outbreak of plague); the inhabitants of the valley treat their servants in the
same way as the earlier generation of knights had, and receive the same
punishment; and there is Swiss conservatism – Christine was a Lindauerin,
gHoffarth was introduced into the valley by foreigners, the strange, fierce
youth was an outsider, the two women led impious, lazy lives, and Christinefs
husband died an even more gruesome death than the other victims, presumably
because of his failure to control his wife.
The
moral intent of these tales can not be too greatly stressed; it must be
remembered that they are told by an old man. In the stories, the aged warn of the
consequences of impious behaviour – in particular, the galt, ehrwürdig Weibh at
that vital moment when the peasants agree to the devilfs request – and they are
ignored. For the peasants are
acting in a ggottvergessenh manner.
This
leads us on to the theme of selfishness.
When the peasants flee on discovering the green manfs identity, every one
of them thinks only gan seine Rettungh; Christinefs sufferings do not move them
in the slightest; and they are willing to sacrifice another. Humility, respect, love of neighbours,
and faith in Godfs omnipotence are all lacking – hence their thoughts of the
devil after a mass has been read, hence their irreverence in genuflecting
before Christine. Above all, they
forget the worth of a soul, which they are not willing to save by the
disbursement of money; and there are few sins greater than this.
Another
aspect of selfishness is the reluctance to accept responsibility, which springs
from the fear of punishment – generally by a higher secular authority or, if
this cannot be the case, by onefs equals; for the acts under discussion here
are incommensurable with true faith, and any protestations of concern about
conscience or anxiety for the soul are likely to be hypocritical. In this particular situation, however,
divine punishment is genuinely feared.
Hence the theme of flight, which turns out to be useless; there is no
escape. No one is willing to accept
responsibility; even Christine wishes for a gSündenbockh – and her wish is
granted, although the God of Granting Wishes, a common character throughout the
history of literature, once again shows the decidedly legal bent to his
character; if a wish is not scrupulously worded, if there is the slightest
possible ambiguity, thenc
So
the struggle to avoid individual guilt leads to collective guilt. There is a problem with society; instead
of uniting in suffering, they quarrel with each other. In the second tale, society is also at
fault; the strange youth, who is compared to a lamb when alone, becomes a wolf
when in company – although this may be the fault of the individual who is
unable to act in a becoming manner when with others. The people are united only in their fear
and folly, this latter being exhibited when they mock the devil after
completion of the work and, more especially, during the feasting and celebrations
which occur following the saving of the first child. Christine also suffers from the delusion
that she can enjoy the best of both worlds – that the devil will do the work,
then God will protect the community from his revenge.
The warnings that the peasants receive – and ignore – have already been mentioned. But it must be remarked that these admonitions do not come only from a scorned individual; the weather also performs this role. On the night of the pact, there is a storm; when Christine carries a baby to the devil, there is an storm of unusual violence; when the spider is released in the second tale, there is a gfürchterliches Unwetterh which is unusual for this season; and when the second child is saved, lightning strikes. However, a storm is interpreted in different ways; a priest may view it as Godfs displeasure at tardiness, whereas Hans will claim that there is no need for haste on such a night. From this it is plain that omens are warnings to be used with wisdom, to be objectively judged, and not to be interpreted in what one feels to be the most favourable manner.
But who controls the storms? Who is responsible? There is no doubt that God is mightier than the devil. The good priest drives the devil away; in his haste he stumbles over no stones, and the lightning serves to illuminate his path; the innocent little boy is not harmed by the spider, nor are those servants at the castle who did not mock the peasants; Christine, who made the pact, endures the greatest torments; the devil disappears, screaming, when Christen appeals to God; and Christen imprisons the spider with Godfs help. From all of this we can comfortably claim that God controls the weather and the spiders. Furthermore there is definite symbolism in the spider being released at Christmas.
And yet: there is something unmistakably infernal about the appearance of Stoffeln, who drives the peasants to despair; the devil obstructs the building of the beech avenue; the peasants are protected after the pact has been made; and there is the question of fear.
The moral is simple: fear God. Christine and the servants in the second story fear neither God nor man; those who do not at first fear the spider lose their cattle; and so on. But this is no healthy fear, engendering respect and order, this is no mere gFurchth; this is gSchreckh and gAngsth – terror, sweating panic. This fear is even worse than death; the dying realise, too late, that the immortal is of far greater moment than the temporal. But it is made difficult for the people to share the faith of the young pregnant woman, Christen, and his children, by the sheer sadism of the spider.
However,
it must be borne in mind that this is a moral, admonitory tale, and in such
instances conditions and circumstances can be accepted which could not be
accepted in real life. The innocent
have nothing to fear; yet, lest they should ever become complacent or lax,
there is the memorable image of the solid, unyielding black post in the heart
of the Arcadian landscape to remind them.