In March 1859 Elizabeth Gaskell wrote to Herbert Grey, an aspiring novelist, to answer his request for advice relating the art of fiction:
I think you must observe what is out of you, instead of examining what is in you. . . . Well! every day your life brings you into contact with live men & women, -- of whom {for instance I} yr reader, know nothing about. . . . Think if you can not imagine a complication of events in their life which would form a good plot. 1What emerges from a careful reading of this excerpt is the writer's consciousness of the techniques and artifices of the narrative process and her wish to experiment with a new method of fictional representation -- namely, one based on a realistic portrayal of outward experiences. The stress laid on observation, which is seen as the primary source of artistic creation, and the subsequent criticism of introspection and extreme subjectivity, testify to Gaskell's attempt to get free from Romantic aesthetic conventions and explore the potentialities of a more objective mode of narration. Such a research into verisimilitude obviously involved a transformation and adjustment of some narrative devices to the new aesthetic imperatives. Hence Gaskell's insistence on the development of a "good plot", which is considered as an essential organising principle of the text, and her further rejection of any intervention by the omniscient narrator: "Don't intrude yourself into your description." 2
The need for innovation, that is only implicitly avowed in the letter to Grey, works as an important catalyst in all Gaskell's fiction, where the thematic and structural experimentation is connected with the author's perception of a changing historical reality. If her novels and later works consciously deal with the profound tensions and the claims for reform that characterized mid-Victorian society, her early short stories are informed by an underlying sense of struggle between old and new conventions -- a sense that, albeit not easily perceivable in the texts, is nonetheless acute and full of unresolved contradictions. One of the most representative works in this regard is The Sexton's Hero, a short narrative published in the Howitt's Journal in 1847. Apparently modelled on Christian parables or exempla, the story reveals at a close scrutiny deeper layers of meaning and subtle ambiguities that defy any simplistic or reductive interpretations. This is particularly evident in its treatment of heroism, which evinces at once Gaskell's awareness of the on-going process of epistemic transformation and her inability to avoid the manifold contradictions involved in this very process.
The central issue of heroism is introduced in The Sexton's Hero by a question posed by the narrator who, while sitting in a churchyard in a magnificent summer day, asks his friend Jeremy: "How would you then define a hero?". The ensuing discussion on the topic, that posits a fundamental distinction between military bravery and Christian heroism, is suddenly interrupted by an old sexton, whose presence on the spot had been unnoticed by the two friends. After asking leave to speak, the old man tells them the story of a rival of his, Gilbert Dawson, who many years before had met heroic death while attempting to rescue him and his wife Letty. In open contrast with Jeremy's initial mention of "the heroes of old, whose sole . . . idea of duty consisted in personal prowess" (p.101) 3 , the sexton's dramatic tale illustrates a new model of unpretentious heroism, whose distinctive attributes are moulded upon Christ's example of endurance and self-sacrifice. The subversive implications of such a pattern, which entails a complete reversal of traditional stereotypes, are effectively conveyed by the semantic shift of the word "coward". Firstly attached to Dawson in a derogatory way for his stubborn refusal to fight his rival 4 , the term undergoes a change in meaning culminating in a total semantic reversal. After its occurrence in a sort of biblical scene ("The little children took to him, though; they'd be round him like a swarm of bees -- them was too young to know what a coward was", p.105, my italics), the adjective acquires unwonted positive connotations: far from suggesting lack of courage, Dawson's "cowardice" is gradually equated to innocence, forgiveness and pacifism, thus exemplifying Gaskell's belief in a Christian solution of human disagreements.
The author's exploration of heroism in the story can be better understood if placed in the context of a wider discourse on the topic, which flourished in England in the 1840s. The urgency to cope with a deeply changing reality and the sense of the inadequacy of Romantic cliches had posed for many Victorians the problem of adapting conventional notions of heroism to the social demands of the new age. This obviously led to disparate and often contrasting results, according to the artists' various perceptions of the shift between tradition and innovation. In the case of Gaskell, the choice of an unglamorous hero like Dawson, whose role is re-enacted in Mary Barton by the penitent John Barton 5 , reflects the author's consciousness of the dangerous rise of the working classes and her revolutionary attempt to provide them with an edifying model of behaviour. This is particularly evident in the description of the sexton's hero, whose unassuming attitude and low social position 6 challenge any ideas of heroism founded on the emotional excesses or the superior status of exceptional individuals. If compared with Emily Bronte's development of the Byronic hero 7 , Gaskell's protagonist appears as a quite innovative figure, since his modest and faithful observance of the Gospel is totally devoid of the moral ambiguities that characterize Heathcliffe's passionate behaviour. Similarly, his difference from the "Great man" described by Carlyle in Heroes, Hero Worship and the Heroic in History (1841) mainly lies in his ordinary and imitable conduct. Whereas Carlyle's portrait of a God-given superman, who has the important task of curing the world's maladies, involves a sense of uniqueness of individual experiences 8 , Gaskell's "domestic hero" is meant to set a reproducible example of endurance and non-violence for common people, and especially for the lower classes. In this respect, it is significant that the first convert to Dawson's Christian heroism is his former rival, John Knipe, whose inward metamorphosis is followed by a gradual shrinking from earthly pleasures and a descend down the social ladder. By leaving his job and his town to work as a sexton among his relatives' graves, Knipe symbolically reiterates Dawson's self-annihilating deed: his confinement into a churchyard, his resigned and sympathetic disposition, and his physical decadence ("I used to be six feet high, though now I'm so shrunk and doubled up", p.103), are all signs of a willing rejection of life and its lacerating passions. The same reference to his darkened sight, that is repeatedly stressed at the beginning of his tale, evokes images of death and voluntary isolation from people' society:
You can see Lindal, sir, at evenings and mornings across the bay; a little to the right of Grange; at least, I used to see it, many a time and oft, afore my sight grew so dark: and I have spent many a quarter of an hour a-gazing at it far away, and thinking of the days I lived there, till the tears came so thick to my eyes, I could gaze no longer. I shall never look upon it again, either far-off or near. . . . (p.102, my italics)In imitation of his hero, who renounces all his prospects of happiness to pursuit an ideal of unwordly existence, the sexton partly loses his sensory perceptions to gain an insight into the spiritual dimension of life. It is no coincidence, then, that his weakened eyes are conterpoised by clear visions of the past stored in his powerful memory: "He spoke as if the hatred were a thing of yesterday, so clear within his memory were shown the actions and feelings of his youth" (p.103). The emphasis laid on remembrance confirms, here, the substantial novelty of Gaskell's idea of heroism: instead of limiting himself to telling a story of ideal bravery, the sexton is concretely influenced by the memories of his previous life, which function as a linking ring between experience and moral improvement. His change in manners and physical appearance, which gradually assimilates him to Dawson, is a vivid illustration of how to learn from the past and transmit to other people models of conduct deriving from an actual observation of reality. Unlike Romantic heroes, whose visionary attitude and vitality are connected with the unrestrained powers of youth, the heroic figure portrayed by the sexton appears, thus, as a product of reflection and maturity. Needless to say, such a hero can be regarded as a convincing and exemplary model only because his story is narrated by an old man, whose recollection is inspired by a profound sense of human fallibility.
The complex role of the sexton, who is both trasmitter of the exemplum and living emblem of the possibility of change, is directly related to the peculiar structure of the text, which consists of two distinct, but deeply intertwined narrative sequences. The first story, or "frame", is introduced by an anonymous intradiegetic voice, whose unwonted narrative posture is soon revealed at the beginning of the second paragraph: "Of the view that lay beneath our gaze I cannot speak adequately" (p.101). By recognizing his inability to provide an adequate description of the setting, the first narrator implicitly rejects his traditional omniscience and acts as a simple witness of the events, thus anticipating the coming on the scene of a more stable, self-assured second speaker. His narration, that is interrupted by the sexton's long tale, is resumed only in the epilogue, where, after one concerned question, he and his friend Jeremy leave the churchyard without a word of comment: "He turned to his work, and we, having rested sufficiently, rose up and came away." (p.110). Though seemingly irrelevant at a first glance, their mute departure from the spot performs two important narrative functions. Firstly, it attests to a radical change in both literary and social patterns, since it establishes the triumph of the sexton's realistic and humble story over the two friends' abstract discussion on heroism. The reference to these latters' laziness ("having rested sufficiently"), that is in contrast with the old man's return to work, draws a distinction between idle leisured-class intellectualism and a new kind of working-class testimonial literature. In this perspective, the pivotal role played by the second narrator, who silences an intellectually superior speaker, conveys a revolutionary meaning, as it implies a breaking up of class boundaries and a reconsideration of the artist's social tasks. Secondly, the absence of a final moral lesson highlights the new importance assumed by the reader, who, far from being a passive receiver of messages, is put in the same position as the first narrator and encouraged to extract his own meaning from the "framed" story. His active participation is also fostered by some effective strategies employed by the author, which are meant to reduce the distance between the various narrative levels. The presence of two "engaging narrators" 9 , for instance, leads the actual reader to identify with the "you" in the text and try to close the gaps left in the narrative discourse. Similarly, the particular use of metalepsis, by which a character of the first sequence is enabled to replace the narrator in his leading function 10 , suggests the possibility of a further substitution of roles that might involve the reader himself in the process of transmission of the story. The dialogic structure of the "frame" sequence, which focusses on the moment of the actual narration of the Christian heroic tale, gives full emphasis to the persuasive valency of the Word that, in the light of Gaskell's teaching, can be the most convincing instrument to convey a religious significance. Encouraged to identify with the two narratees by the mimetic quality of the scene, the reader is turned into a listener and a possible transmitter of the sexton's story, whose didactic function is primarily founded on the communication of a model to imitate. In this connection, the "framed" story assumes a crucial relevance, since it guarantees the continuity and the reproduction of the hero's exemplary conduct. By converting Dawson's living illustration of the Gospel into a new fictional text, the sexton does not only act as a mediator, but also performs an original narrative role: his adoption of the evangelical model -- that is symbolically represented by the Bible inherited from his rival 11 -- effectively combines with his direct experience of the events, thus providing an innovative version of the Scriptures which is able to reach and affect a wider, more composite audience.
From a structural point of view, the sexton's assimilation to Gilbert Dawson is represented by Gaskell as a three-phase process, consisting of a first attempt of identification, a crisis produced by the introduction of an object of desire, and a final re-establishment of a positive "linear" relationship between the hero and his imitator. The shift from the first to the second stage is described in the opening paragraph, where Letty's appearance on the scene suddenly disrupts the bonds of friendship and admiration between the two male characters:
I put my best leg foremost to be equal with Gilbert, for I'd had some schooling, though since I'd been at Lindal I'd lost a good part of what I'd learnt; and I kept my rough ways out of sight for a time. I felt so ashamed of his getting to know them. But that did not last long. I began to think he fancied a girl I dearly loved... I began to think she liked him again; and then my blood was all afire. I got to hate him for everything he did. (p.103)The emergence of a love triangle, which turns the sexton's wish "to be equal with Gilbert" into a deep antagonistic feeling, is functional to the development of the main issue of heroism, since it marks the beginning of Dawson's transformation into a new kind of exemplary figure. Driven by his hatred, the sexton challenges his "alter ego" to fight and triggers off a chain of events culminating in the dramatic episode of the rescue. The reconciliation between the two friends, which is guaranteed by Dawson's death, does not, however, lead to a restoration of the system of values defied by the hero's subversive behaviour: no longer admired for his physical strength and abilities ("He were about as strapping a chap as I was", p.103), Dawson becomes in the end a model of abnegation for his imitator, whose conversion to Christian heroism entails a replacement of the traditional code of honour. The employment of a peculiar triadic structure, in which the final "linearizing" of the conflicts does not coincide with a return to the previous axiological order, shows Gaskell's reliance on a neatly worked-out plot as a privileged vehicle for significance. More than on the characters, who generally present an undivided self, the focus of the story rests on personal relations and events, whose organization in a well-knitted pattern is meant to reproduce the tensions of a changing world. In this perspective, the "flatness" of Dawson's portrait, with its strange lack of psychological complexity, and the weak characterization of Letty, who meets sudden death as soon as her polarizing function is performed, cannot be regarded as mere narrative faults, but have to be interpreted in connection with an aesthetic programme based on the primacy of plot and the rejection of introspective modes of narration.
The turning-point of the "framed" diegetic sequence is Dawson's rescue of John Knipe and his wife, which marks the passage to the third stage of reconciliation. Quite significantly, the episode is set in a threatening marine landscape, where the fury of the elements momentarily cancels time distinctions and the same dividing line between reality and fantasy:
. . . the water was stealing sullenly up to the very axle tree, let alone the white waves that knew no mercy in their steady advance. That quarter of an hour, sir, seemed as long as all my life since. Thoughts, and fancies, and dreams, and memory, ran into each other. (p.107)As the sexton himself points out in his recollection of the event, the image of the advancing tide is associated with a sense of abolition of chronology, whose implicit consequences are the disruption of causality and the underrating of petty human hostilities. Irremediably separated by social conventions, the two rivals can only meet and be re-united in the "mythic" dimension of the sea, whose boundless liquid mass is a perfect emblem of the coexistence and the fusion of opposites. The choice of the sea as the place where the various narrative threads are tied shows Gaskell's wish to defy the rigid boundaries that keep people apart and proceed to a re-mouldering of social relations on the basis of Christ's unselfish teaching. At the same time, however, it is in the very episode of the tide that the contradictions ensuing from the writer's aesthetic innovations are most clearly and dramatically perceivable. The first unresolved antithesis emerges in regards to the hero's death by water. Functional though it is to the extolling of Christian heroism, Dawson's self-sacrifice is nonetheless connoted in horrific and negative terms, since it evokes the same idea of decay suggested by the frightful description of the mist 12 and the recurrent images of graves and physical shrinking. Besides, the insistence on gruesome details, which adds to the strong emotionalism of the scene, is in sheer contrast with the narrative techniques employed in the "frame", where the author's experimentation with the two diegetic voices is directly related to her search for verisimilitude. Apart from its Gothic imagery, which conveys a sense of supernatural displacement of the events, the episode of "the Sands" is characterized by other melodramatic devices, like the suspense created by the rising tide, the numerous rhetorical expressions 13 , and the clear-cut polarization between Good and Evil, that turns the characters' fight against the forces of nature into a metaphysical contest between salvation and damnation. Gaskell's indulgence in melodrama -- a highly stylized, unrealistic mode of narration that opposes naturalism 14 -- shows her difficulties in carrying out a project of aesthetic reform based on the fictional representation of "live men & women". Though intended to reflect the transformations of outward reality and offer new models of conduct, her endeavour to re-shape narrative devices and behavioural norms has to cope, quite paradoxically, with the emotional excesses of melodrama that, in Peter's Brooks's words, "comes into being in a world where the traditional imperatives of truth and ethics have been violently thrown into question". 15
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