Visor de obras.

The first volume in which Galdós demonstrates ⁸⁴a clear and undeniable interest in the supernatural is, appropriately enough, his first novelistic attempt, La sombra (1870). Although it was published somewhat after his second novel, La Fontana de Oro (1870), the author himself testifies as to its date of composition and position in the chronology of his works: «La sombra data de una época que se pierde en la noche de los tiempos..., y tan antigua se me hace y tan infantil, que no acierto a precisar la fecha de su origen, aunque, relacionándola con otros hechos de la vida del autor, puedo referirla vagamente a los años 66 ó 67... Lo que principalmente deseo consignar acerca de esta obrita es que en ella hice los primeros pinitos, como decirse suele, en el pícaro arte de novelar».⁸⁵

The latter part of this comment sheds considerable light on the problem of interpretation of the novel. It is easy to read the work as Galdós' investigation of the principal character's dementia, and this aspect is certainly an important one; but it is equally an initiation in novelistic techniques, as Galdós himself acknowledges. And some of these techniques, reflected in his choice and use of narrators, are particularly suited to the question of the validity of the abnormal and the nature of true reality.

La sombra is, in essence, a flashback study of the progressive stages of the mania of Anselmo, recounted by the latter to an unnamed character whom one assumes to be a sort of locum tenens for Galdós, and who is on hand himself as a character in the present, although not in the flashbacks. Anselmo enters into a marriage of convenience with a young lady named Elena. He has been emotionally unstable for some time, and although he is in love with her, he becomes increasingly unsure of her own feelings towards him. This melancholia gives rise in his disordered mind to the emergence of Paris, a demonic character who is the embodiment of Anselmo's doubts and growing mental malaise. Anselmo's accusations and irrational behavior are the eventual cause of his wife's death, at which time, released from any further need to doubt, he is also released from the presence of Paris. The novel ends with a conversation between Anselmo and the Galdosian narrator, in which the latter analyzes Anselmo's psychological motivation and reconstructs the true sequence of events.

The supermundane element of the plot consists of this apparition of Paris and his gradually acquired status as an actual character in Anselmo's eyes. Paris is clearly a fabrication of Anselmo's disoriented imagination, and one may thus argue against a consideration of him as a genuinely supernatural entity within the novelistic confines. A view of him as actual, if only for   —40→   Anselmo, is defensible, however, on the grounds of artistic authority and poetic license. Now, since an author is obviously the one person most competent to judge the relative validity of his own characters, the establishment of the identity of the author in this work becomes quite pertinent.

There is, in the book, a sort of co-authorship. Essentially, Galdós invests Anselmo with the rights of an author in two very different ways. Most important in the technical handling of the narration: Galdós' use of an original first-person narrator forces the reader to view Anselmo as a character of more than fictional reality, for the tendency of the reader is to accept direct narration within the work as issuing straight from the author, and an identification is thus made between author and narrator which results in the unconscious investing in the latter of some of the authority and attributes of the former. This Galdós persona thus attains rather more of the stature of an entity existing within the reader's own world than merely that of a completely fictional being; and if this persona interacts to considerable extent with another character in the book, then this second figure shares perforce in the modified actuality of the first. At the same time, the task of relating the events of the past is left strictly to Anselmo, who does so by use of the first person. Galdós persona enters as narrator only on the plane of the present, whether it be to give descriptions of their surroundings, or to make comments on Anselmo and his mania.

The second support of Anselmo as author of the novel is of a more philosophical nature, and is also rather more explicit, consisting of several statements by Galdós in which he recognizes Anselmo's narrative talents and nature:

Anselmo's authorship is a dual one: on the one hand, he recounts, in properly artistic style, that which has happened to him; and, on the other, he is the author of these same events in that Paris is the product, the child, of his imagination:

Anselmo's creation and development of Paris as an authentic character may be divided into three major moments, reflecting the increasingly disturbed mental state of Anselmo, and corresponding to the three major chapter divisions. In the first of these three moments, Paris intrudes himself more and   —41→   more into Anselmo's mind, but in a nebulous manner which leaves Anselmo still in some doubt as to his reality. In the second period of development, Paris takes on all the appearances of a man of flesh and blood, real and visible only to Anselmo, and insinuates himself so thoroughly into Anselmo's life that he eventually takes over even his home. The third stage of Anselmo's evolution of Paris is the former's gradual return to normalcy, a type of convalescent period after the climax of his illness.

In the subsequent dialogue between Anselmo and Galdós persona, the novelist, through the character of the persona, analyzes Anselmo's story in such a manner as to show rational and physiological origins of the illusions. Anselmo takes an active part in the proof of this rational medical explanation, and accepts Galdós persona's interpretation of the events. On the surface, then, Galdós seems to have resolved the matter clearly enough in definitive favor of a wholly scientific rationale.

But we are still faced with the problem of Anselmo's possible sanity. Now, Galdós' treatment of the theme of sanity depends to great extent on his technical handling of time in the novel. As has already been mentioned, there are two planes within the novel, and these operate on the basis of two differents times: a dramatic time (two days, during which Anselmo narrates his story) and an internal narrative time (that time which transpires within the included tale). If there is to be a clear distinction between the sane and the insane aspects of the novel as a whole, then the dramatic time, when the persona Galdós is in control of the narrative, will be associated with rationality, and the time described by Anselmo will be bound to his possible delirium. The distinction is complicated by the fact that the fictional Galdós narrates not only in the present, but also casts back to include more than his immediate confrontation with Anselmo by repeating opinions he has heard from unspecified individuals concerning Anselmo's sanity during his marriage.

Nonetheless, the basic distinction between sanity and insanity should be established in terms of the structure of the novel. The tale that Anselmo narrates seems, if one considers it from a strictly interior vantage point, strange, but sane. He talks of events, persons, relationships, and objects in a language which is both intelligent and lucid. His grammar is correct, and his points follow with seeming logic one upon the other. And yet, the content of the tale contradicts the normal expectations of the reader who looks for realism. The reader's shock at encountering irrational elements is partially softened by Anselmo's apparent objectivity. Indeed, Anselmo seems at times more rational -in the sense of objective and unprejudiced- than does the persona Galdós; thus, he several times voices the doubts he had had as to his own sanity: «Fluctuando en las más atroces dudas, porque su voz tenía el acento de profunda entereza, creí volverme loco, y a ello me conducía sin remedio aquella fatal y nunca vista situación» (p. 205), and again: «Antes había dudado si la figura de Paris era real o meramente una creación de mi entendimiento producida por fenómenos no comprendidos: esta duda me daba grande tormento» (p. 219). But when the first narrator protests the procedures of the duel as being unrealistic, he reveals that he -the supposedly sane persona present- has been taking the rest of the story seriously. Harriet S. Turner has offered a very good analysis of this particular scene:

One may state, then, that La sombra is a novel realistic in its subject matter, but related through some of its novelistic techniques to the fantastic school. But is it possible that the contrary holds true, and that, like Dracula, realistic techniques partially camouflage an essentially superreal matter, even if that matter in this instance be truth for only one character? Were Anselmo demonstrably and beyond any doubt insane, one could disregard this second possibility, but this again is questionable. One may believe a person who is sane; furthermore, within the traditional novelistic confines, one must believe the author, for he has the omniscient ability to see the truth, and it is his business to present this truth to the reader.⁸⁷ And while an internal author or narrator has not the ubiquitous powers of an external one, he is nonetheless sufficiently closely associated with the latter in the reader's mind that some of the latter's attributes accrue to him. The question of the validity of the supernatural element resides then in two subsequent questions: first, who is the author of the novel? and second, is that author convinced to his own satisfaction of the reality of the supernatural and fantastic episode?

We have already made brief mention of a co-authorship of the work, with the narration of Galdós persona on the plane of the present and that of Anselmo on the plane of the past; and of Anselmo's additional authorship in the sense that he creates a character of his own within the novel. It is important to note that Galdós could choose to be an omniscient author, if he so wished, but that he opts to become a secondary author instead, operating within and limited by the world of the novel and its characters. This Galdós persona, in his role as secondary author of limited power, cannot be the creator of Anselmo: he can judge Anselmo, but his opinion cannot carry the weight of absolute truth, for he knows him only from outside appearances and reports. Anselmo, as an artistic creation, thus achieves artistic independence, as does Manso at a later date. In all good truth, Galdós persona is more dependent on Anselmo than Anselmo is on the supposed author of the novel, for while Anselmo lived through the experience in the past and still exists on the plane of the present, Galdós' deputy in the work has no firsthand knowledge of the past which he is investigating. He might, indeed, rely on the testimony of yet other characters who had existed in the past, but he rejects this alternative rather summarily at the beginning of the narrative:

The surrogate Galdós' rejection of authorized persons' reports leaves only one avenue open to him in his search for the truth, and that is the recital of Anselmo himself, who thus becomes the only source for and interpreter of the plane of the past, both for Galdós persona and for the reader. Galdós has in essence placed himself on the same level as the reader, as Turner has again remarked: «We accept his declaration the way Galdós tacitly accepts it, for just as authorial commentary and description have established a coincidence between his passive stance in the novel as listener and spectator and our passive role as audience, so they have established a coincidence in point of view».⁸⁸ And, if this be so, then in the final analysis at the conclusion of the book, the reader will have as much information and right to decide the merits of the tale as will Galdós the character.

There exists, then, a multiplicity of authors in La sombra: there is Galdós, the nineteenth-century individual who prepares the manuscript of the work and submits it for publication; there is Galdós persona, appointed by the first Galdós to represent him in the work, but whose physical presence within the work limits his own view and consequently that of the man he represents; there is Anselmo, who possesses the only first-hand information as to the events under discussion, even though this information may be fallacious; and there is, possibly, a fourth author of sorts, Paris, deriving from Anselmo. One is presented with a series of microcosms, each deriving validity from the next higher level and each moving between levels. The reader, like the Galdosian narrator, must accept at least part of Anselmo's account, if only in order to be able to contest other parts of that same account; and, as we have just noted, the persona Galdós is occasionally in doubt himself as to the rights of the matter.

Anselmo is again an author, this time in the purest sense of the word, in that he creates his own story by creating Paris. Carlos Rovettá denies this aspect of his authorship, stating that «su imaginación no es potencia creadora sino potencia frenética en continuo ejercicio, fuente de obsesiones».⁸⁹ To a certain extent this is true, for once he has created Paris, he has no control over him. But then, neither does Galdós, having voluntarily placed himself on Anselmo's level, retain control over his own creation. As was the case with Anselmo, we are faced with the situation of an imaginary creation achieving artistic independence from its immediate author; and within this line of aesthetic reasoning, Paris does gain freedom and independence of action, for the loss of honor with which he threatens Anselmo does in fact come to pass, against the latter's will, and as the direct result of the actions of Paris: it is in this very circumscribed sense that Paris may be considered a kind of author, in that he deliberately causes an event to transpire.

Anselmo, then, on the grounds of authorship, knows the truth of the situation, or can at least come the closest to it. Galdós persona, as spectator, can draw conclusions on the material with which Anselmo provides him, but, as is clearly demonstrated in the later paired novels of La Incógnita and Realidad, this exterior viewpoint may prove quite faulty. The author -in this instance Anselmo- alone has the right to decide on the final truth of the situation; it thus becomes very important to determine, first, what Anselmo himself believes concerning the matter, and, second, whether or not he convinces Galdós persona, and so the reader. Does Anselmo really admit that he was mistaken in his delusion, and concede that the character Galdós' scientific explanation is the correct one? This would at first appear to be the case for Anselmo agrees to every point that Galdós persona makes; but then, at the very end, he comes forth with a curious statement in summarizing the situation: «Así es -contestó el doctor-, sólo que yo, para dar a mi aventura más verdad, la cuento como me pasó, es decir, al revés» (p. 227) Galdós persona's rational order, then, does not in Anselmo's mind adequately convey the deepest and most essential truth of the situation. One sees that Anselmo is not the still deluded character one had presumed him to be when he first met the original narrator: he was perfectly aware of the real order of the story before he told it, and his co-author has shown him nothing of which he was not already cognizant. That he should still have adopted the other order -the extraordinary one- as the more truthful in the telling of his tale, clearly shows that that is the truth for him; superficially he accepts the other's doubts and interpretation, but at best he is acknowledging a double reality, of which the persona Galdós' is the less real.

If Anselmo is assured of a restricted right to the truth through the aesthetic basis of authorship, there are also certain elements and events within his own story which substantiate and argue for his version as opposed to that of Galdós' locum tenens. The essence of the latter's argument is that Paris is none other than one Alejandro, a friend of Anselmo's and his family who has apparently been visiting the house regularly since the beginning of Anselmo's derangement, and whose reputation as a rake has given rise to gossip concerning his relationship with Elena and has been the immediate cause of Anselmo's aberrant jealousy. Galdós persona deduces from this that Anselmo merely sees Alejandro as Paris. But within Anselmo's story, which is the one on which he bases this statement, Paris and Alejandro are not always the same character. There are several examples of this divergence. At one point, Anselmo's father-in-law cannot see Paris, who is in the same room with Anselmo (p. 217). In the conversation immediately following with his son-in-law, however, he mentions having seen Alejandro enter the house on the day before as well as on several other occasions (p. 219). Obviously, then, Paris does not appear to Anselmo only when Alejandro is actually present. Similarly, Anselmo's mother-in-law tells him that she has just seen Alejandro leaving the house (p. 221), but at this point Paris is apparently still inside: again, there is a lack of coincidence between the two. Alejandro went to the house as soon as he heard the news of Elena's death; but Paris had been in the house before and during Elena's death, and had left immediately afterwards (p. 121). One can only suggest that the two had become completely divorced   —45→   in Anselmo's mind. This fits in with the surrogate Galdós' hypothesis of an idée fixe, but it fits in equally well with the postulation of Paris as a complete and independent character within the aesthetic and moral context, for Anselmo continues to treat Paris as separate after he has recovered from his psychosis.

Finally, there remains the matter of the character Galdós' own views concerning the episode. Once more, the question seems at first pointless, for it is he himself who has put forward and defended the rational and scientific explanation. But then, after a twice stated interest as to whether or not Paris ever returned to the canvas of the painting from which he had first emerged -a point which he considers to be of some importance- he ends the novel in a totally ambiguous manner:

This is a most unsatisfactory ending for a story seemingly meant as a defense of concrete and scientific reality, as Turner has again been quick to note:

Anselmo has tacitly subscribed to the other narrator's rational version of the story, while privately clinging to his own; now it appears that not even Galdós persona can be totally convinced of his own expressed views, for he still has doubts which are confided to the reader in nearly direct address.

París -the demonic or supernatural manifestation within the work- therefore has a limited reality provable on two grounds: the strictly aesthetic one of Anselmo's authorship, through parallel with Anselmo's own reality and independence from his author; and the textual one of belief in him by the principal character and author, Anselmo, and the lack of positive disbelief in him by the second author, Galdós persona, who may be said to be playing the role of devil's advocate with a new twist. Certainly the reader is left with sufficient authority to lend credence on a certain level to the supernatural element in the work, if he chooses to do so, and there is no definitive prohibition against such a belief, although ample ambiguity remains for an argument in either direction. It is precisely this atmosphere of ambiguity and doubt which permits its classification with such later novels as Ángel Guerra, Realidad, and Misericordia, where extratemporal intrusions exceed the merely hallucinatory, and which makes it of undeniable importance in the study of these later novels.

Briefly stated, we have a character -Paris- who exists and is shown to us only in reference to one other character -Anselmo. Paris is able to appear and disappear at will; can assume other forms, such as his portrait identity; has a self-ascribed historical personality which far surpasses the normal life span, etc., all of which confirm his supernatural nature. Moreover, Anselmo clearly considers him to be a demonic entity (pp. 213, 216, 217, 222, 223, etcetera) and holds to his original view even after Galdós persona has presented a rational and scientific alternative. Whether or not we can accept Paris as a genuine and supernormal being must depend, rather obviously, on whether or not we can believe Anselmo, and on whether we can believe that Anselmo accepts him as such for his own purposes.

The case for accepting Anselmo's account of the matter rests on the question of authorship and its rights and prerogatives. The person who is most nearly omniscient in a narrative is the author, who knows the truth and who can present it as he deems best. Anselmo is the author of the actual story of La sombra for two reasons. First, Galdós has foregone absolute control of the novel by entering the work as a character himself. Second, Anselmo has total charge of the narration of past events, and is the only character who has participated in them. If he maintains, even against the persona Galdós' exposition, that his account is the truer, then we must perforce believe him. It is a telling point, additionally, that Galdós the character seems finally none too sure of the validity of his own arguments.

Galdós is working here towards an interpenetration and conmingling of worlds. There is the bleak, and even to Galdós somehow unsatisfactory, reality represented by Anselmo's dementia, with all its attendant psychological rationale, symptoms, and terminology. And there is Anselmo's recital of his supernatural adventure, a recital which lends dignity and dimension to an otherwise merely pathetic episode: the unbridled, frenetic, and censurable imaginative faculty which led him into such an experience is replaced and redeemed by the disciplined and artistic application of that same faculty. Galdós recognizes here the dehumanizing limitations of diurnal reality, much as Paris does when he lectures Anselmo on the bestial nature of man divorced from his imagination, and through the handling of the authorship of the work, he has found a means of avoiding these limitations. The extrareal and imaginational world, in La sombra and elsewhere, does not present man with the means of escaping the middle world of reality. Rather, by joining with it, it expands that middle world in such a manner as to permit man to continue within it while maintaining the fundamentally divine nature of his dignity.

University of Southern Mississippi