Yet, by these means,
the artist can give us almost as direct an intuition as we get from
life itself; he can make us seem to see and overhear. From the acts
which he describes we can infer the motives of the characters, and
from the reported conversations we can learn their opinions and dreams.
Or the novelist may insert a letter which we can read as if it were
real. The resulting image of life will be clearer than any we could
construct for ourselves; for the artist can report life more carefully
than we could observe it; and he can make his characters more articulate
in the expression of themselves than ordinary men, giving them a gift
of tongues like his own. This last is especially characteristic of the
drama, where sometimes, as in Shakespeare, men speak more like gods
than like men. And we can listen to the intimate conversation of friends
and lovers, upon which, in real life, we would not intrude.
This direct method of exposition through the description of acts and
events and the record of conversations is the basis of every vivid
story. It leaves the necessary inferences to the reader, just as life
leaves them to the observer. In the hands of a master like Fontane,
this method is incomparable; nothing can supplant it. It is the only
method available for the dramatist, who, however, can make it still
more effective through histrionic portrayal. Yet it does not suffice
to satisfy our craving for knowledge of life, for only the broader,
more obvious feelings can be inferred from the acts of men; the subtler
and more remote escape.
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