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Diderot and Schiller: Parallels in Literary PictorialismAuthor(s): I. G. DaemmrichReviewed work(s):Source: Comparative Literature, Vol. 19, No. 2 (Spring, 1967), pp. 114-132Published by: Duke University Presson behalf of the University of OregonStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1769429.

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I. G. DAEMMRICH

D i d e r o t n d S c h i l l e rP a r a l l e l s nL i t e r a r y ictorialism

-OLLOWING the established tradition of ut pictura poesis, bothDiderot and Schiller frequently employed pictorial descriptions intheir literary works. An analysis of their writings reveals that manyof their "verbal paintings" continued the long-acknowledged aim ofpictorialism, which was to lend great immediacy and visual qualitiesto abstractthoughts or to emotions.l In the present paper I shall show1 Thus Rene Wellek placed Diderot near the beginning and Schiller near theend of the first volume of his History of Modern Criticism: 1750-1950 (NewHaven, 1955). For general accounts of Diderot's and Schiller's precursors and con-temporaries in the tradition of ut pictura poesis, see Cicely Davies, "Ut PicturaPoesis," MLR, XXX (1935), 159-169; William Guild Howard, "Ut PicturaPoesis," PMLA, XXIV (1909), 40-123; Robert Nicklaus, "Diderot et la pein-ture," Europe, CDV-CDVI (1963), 231-247; and William K. Wirnsatt andCleanth Brooks, Literary Criticism: A Short History (New York, 1957), pp. 252-282. For the influence of literature on painting, see especially Louis Hautecoeur,Litterature et peinture en France du XVIIe au XXe siecle, 2nd. ed. (Paris, 1963).Jean Hagstrum, The Sister Arts (Chicago, 1958), pp. xxi-xxii, defines literarypictorialism as follows: "In order to be called 'pictorial' a description or an image

must be, in its essentials, capable of translation into painting or some other visualart. It need not resemble a particular painting or even a school of painting. Butits leading details and their manner and order of presentation must be imaginableas a painting or sculpture." Diderot's term "tableau," still used by French criticismtoday, is defined by Littre in his Dictionnaire de la langue francaise as "Ensembled'objets qui frappe la vue, et dont l'aspect fait impression." The "tableau" is thussharply distinguished from the "image" which is defined by Ezra Pound, forexample, as "that which presents an intellectual and emotional complex in aninstant of time." See Wellek and Warren, Theory of Literature (New York,1956), p. 176. Wolfgang Kayser, Das sprachliche Kunstwerk (Bern, 1959), p. 185,suggests the word "tableau" as an intermediary concept between "scene" and"image"; "Mit der Szene verbinden ihn [den Begriff] die Bewegtheit und der

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DIDEROT AND SCHILLER

that both authors clearly recognized that pictorialism could also fulfilltwo very important functions within the structure of their works.First, a "verbalpainting" could be introduced to retard too intense anaction. Second, such pictorial description could create aesthetic dis-tance which would enable the reader or beholder to rise above purelyemotional identification with a work. Diderot still vacillated betweenusing his tableaux to hurry up a given action or to create a pause. Byvarying his tempo, he strengthened his control over his reader's emo-tions. In contrast, Schiller clearly employed long pictorial descriptionsin order to interrupt an action. He thereby attempted to free his spec-tator from a too passionate involvement with the character's fate andultimately lead him into a state of serene contemplation.This growing awareness of new possibilities for pictorialism reflectsthe eighteenth century's gradual trend away from classical Frenchaesthetics, with its demand that art be subjected to morality, towardnew aesthetic theories. According to Edmond Eggli, this shift occurredprimarily during the latter half of the eighteenth century, and bothDiderot's and Schiller's works show evidence of the development.2But because Schiller wrote a quarter of a century later and profitedsignificantly from his knowledge of Kant's philosophy, his thoughtreached a far more sophisticated level of clarity and consistency thanthat of Diderot, in which conflicting views often stood side by side.While criticizing Eggli for frequent lack of evidence, Roland Mortierconcurs that both Diderot and Schiller strove to combine an objectiveconcept of Beauty and a demand for the artist's full freedom with therecognition that the artist must be motivated by a love for mankind.3It is within the framework of this synthesis of the artist's ethical andaesthetic ideals that Diderot and Schiller continued and extended thetradition of ut pictura poesis. In this study, specific works of Diderotand Schiller will be analyzed in order to demonstrate clearly the long-neglected shift of literary pictorialism's function from supportingeighteenth-century emotionalism to the German classical ideal of aes-thetic contemplation.Of the two writers, Diderot's interest in actual paintings was farstronger than Schiller's. His Salons gave him the opportunity of notmerely describing a great number of paintings but of formulating aes-thetic principles which he then delineated in his two theoretical writ-ings on painting: Essais sur la peinture (1766) and Pensees detacheszeitliche Verlauf in sich; mit dem Bild eine letztliche Statik und Unverbundenheit.Vielleicht darf man auch sagen: das Bild ist stiller, intimer, wihrend das Tableaueinen 'offentlicheren' Charakter hat, stofflich wie erzahlungsmiilig."2 Edmond Eggli, "Diderot et Schiller," RLC, I (1921), 94.3 Roland Mortier, Diderot en Allemagne (1750-1850) (Paris, 1954), p. 311.

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COMPARATIVE LITERATURE

sur la peinture, la sculpture et la poesie pour servir de suite aux Salons(1775).4 In these two works, as well as in other theoretical writings,Diderot establishes three main requirementsfor all paintings.First, a painting must be true to nature; that is, it must avoid falseeffect (Essais, pp. 665, 673; Pensees detachees, pp. 758, 803), andawaken the same intimate feelings that nature does in Diderot's soul:"Si je vois une verte prairie, de l'herbe tendre et molle, un ruisseauqui l'arrose, un coin de foret ecarte qui me promette du silence, de lafraicheur et du secret, mon ame s'attendrira; je me rappellerai celleque j'aime: 'Ou est-elle? m'ecrierai-je; pourquoi suis-je seul ici?'"(Essais, p. 685). Yet, a painter must avoid the imitation of nature'simmense diversity of ephemeral forms. He should strive for a forcefulexpression of the typical in nature (Pensees detachees, pp. 753, 805,838).

Second, a painting must be structured according to the precepts ofbeauty. In his article for the Encyclopedie, "Sur le Beau" (1751), Di-derot had already delineated the features of "real beauty" as absoluteand independent of the observer, in contrast to Shaftesbury's "per-ceived beauty," which depends on the observer's sense of pleasureand intellectual appreciation of a given object.5 "Real beauty" isachieved only when the proper proportions, symmetry, and above all,harmony are observed (Pensees detachees, p. 760).Third, since a painting can only show one instant in time (Essais,pp. 711, 715), the action it portrays must be unified around one centraltheme (Essais, p. 671). In order to emphasize the unity, the composi-tion should be simple and unclutteredby superfluousfigures or obscuredetails (Essais, pp. 711, 712). The theme, a "great maxim," should beworthy of reflection; quite specifically, it should move men to lovevirtue and abhor vice (Essais, pp. 714, 718). Indeed, the painting'sprimary purpose is to affect the beholder's emotions: "Touche-moi,etonne-moi, dechire-moi; fais-moi tressaillir, pleurer, fremir, m'indi-gner d'abord;tu recreerasmes yeux apres, si tu peux" (Essais, p. 714).

4 Both works are quotedfrom Diderot, (Euvres esthetiques,ed. Paul Verniere(Paris, 1959) : Essais sur la peinture,pp. 659-742and Pensees detachees sur lapeinture,pp. 741-840.5 Diderot, "Recherchesphilosophiques ur l'origine et la nature du Beau," inCEuvresesthetiques,pp. 385-436; see especially pp. 420-422. For an analysis ofDiderot's complex distinctions and inconclusiveness,see Lester Crocker, TwoDiderot Studies: Ethics and Esthetics (Baltimore, 1952), pp. 53-67,and HerbertDieckmann,CinqLeconssur Diderot (Geneva,1959), pp. 112ff. Althoughin "Surle Beau" Diderot detacheshimself from his earlier admirationfor Shaftesbury'saesthetics,he emphasizes hat Pere Andre'snormativeconceptsof order,arrange-ment, symmetry,proportion,and unity are all basically ideas emanating rom thehumanmind,which in turnmustperceivethese characteristicsof beautyin a givenobject in order to call it beautiful.116


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It is noteworthy, however, that Diderot emphasizes the importance oftwo technical components for arousing feelings: color and expression.Color is the painter's life-giving force: "Voila le souffle divin qui lesanime" (Essais, p. 674). A portrait's expression reflects the portrayedperson's entire outlook on life, as Diderot's description of a typicalsavage demonstrates "un air de fierte mele de ferocite. Sa t&te estdroite et relevee; son regard fixe. II est le maitre dans sa foret. Plus jele considere, plus il me rappelle la solitude et la franchise de son do-micile" (Essais, p. 699).Still, the artist who strives to create significant works must himselfbe unaffected by the emotional appeal of his painting. He must remaincold and indifferent, not only in order to observe nature accurately, butto arouse the deepest feelings through his work (Essais, p. 740).6 Simi-larly, Diderot feels that a novelist's enthusiasm for his subject mattermust be compensated for by a deep awareness of the necessity for for-mal skills (Pensees detachees, p. 772). Consequently, the techniqueof writing becomes as important as the subject matter treated. Thusit is noteworthy to compare the difference in attitude between Dorval,

one of Diderot's fictional characters, and that of Diderot himself. Inthe Second Entretien sur le Fils naturel (1757) Dorval paints a glow-ing portrait of the inspired genius who creates in a passionate frenzy"... qui le consume, qui le tue, mais qui donne l'ame, la vie a tout cequ'il touche." But whereas Dorval appears as inspired, enthusiasticartist, Diderot sees himself as detached observer: "...j'ecris deslignes faibles, tristes et froides."7Diderot's preference for paintings which exhibit literary characteris-tics is not so objective. He admires the painter Greuze for "linkingevents so that from them it would be easy to create a novel," and extolsGreuze'spainting, La jeune fille qui pleure son oiseau mort, as inspira-tion for literary treatment: "La jolie elegie le joli poeme la belleidylle que Gessner en feroit "8 This arbitrary judgment, as well asthe statement that good paintings observe the three unities of drama

6Diderotdevelopsthese thoughts n great detailin his inquiry ntothe necessityfor coldness and indifferencein acting as well as writing, in Paradoxe sur lecomedien, n (Euvres esthetiques,pp. 306 ff.7 Diderot,Entretiensur le Fils naturel,in (Euvres esthetiques,pp.98, 79.8Diderot, Salon de 1765, ed. Jean Seznec et Jean Adhemar (Oxford, 1960),II, 145. For a recent continuationof the old controversy about the validity ofDiderot'sart criticismtoday, see Virgil Topazzio,"Diderot'sLimitationsas ArtCritic,"FR, XXXVII (1963), 3-11,and Gita May, "In Defense of Diderot'sArtCriticism,"FR, XXXVII (1963), 11-21. See also Herbert Dieckmann, CinqLecons sur Diderot, pp. 129 ff. For an analysisof Diderot's continuedadmirationfor Chardin,see Gita May, "Chardinvu par Diderot et par Proust," PMLA,LXXII (1957), 403-418.

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(Pensees detachees, p. 773), are related to Diderot's axiom that sinceone findspoets in painters and painters in poets, poets can benefit fromstudying great paintings and painters can profit by reading great books(Pensees detachees,p. 749). Extending the parallelismto their respec-tive trades, Diderot asserts that words are to the writer what colorsare to the painter ("Sur le Beau," p. 433).9 However, Diderot makesa significant two-fold distinction between words and colors. First,words are far vaguer and leave much more to the observer's imagina-tion than the "819 tones of the palette" (Pensees detachees, p. 838).Second, words alone can never communicate emotion as poignantly asa painting (Pensees detachees, p. 755, Entretiens, p. 104). For, if thefeeling is truly overwhelming, faithfulness to nature would require acorresponding break-down of communication to scattered exclama-tions, murmurs, and finally simply sobbing.10If words have become inadequate to convey the profoundest senti-ments, then even literature must depend on paintings in order to com-municate inexpressible feelings to the reader. Upon this conclusion isbased Dorval's demand in Entretiens that both the long-neglected artof pantomimeand "scenes muettes" be included in dramas (Entretiens,pp. 100, 115). He defines the "scene muette" as "a painting" whichthe Moi of the dialogue further explains: "Une disposition de ces per-sonnages sur la scene, si naturelle et si vraie, que, rendue fidelementpar un peintre, elle me plairait sur la toile, est un tableau" (Entretiens,p. 88). There are numerous examples for both pantomime and "scenesmuettes" in Diderot's works. Many of these "paintings" are drawnwith superb skill. Not only is Diderot able to structure his pictorialdescriptions so realistically that the reader can easily visualize the re-lationship between the various components, but through his carefulchoice of words he is able to awaken in his readerprecisely those senti-ments which declamation alone could, in his opinion, never communi-cate. Consider the description of a warm spring night's harmony andcalmness, which Diderot wanted to substitute for Vanloo's "cold"painting, Les Graces, in the Salon de 1765: "Il faisoit un beau clair delune. La verdure nouvelle couvroit les montagnes. Les ruisseaux mur-muroient. On entendoit, on voyait jaillir leurs eaux argentees. ... l

9 Cf. Dryden, Preface to Fables, 1700 (Essays, ed. Ker, II, 252-253), wherevery similar thoughts are expressed.10For a vivid description of this sequence, see Entretiens, p. 117. Cf. alsoDiderot's letter to Voltaire, Correspondance (Paris, 1957), III, 272-273.11Salon de 1765, II, 63. Diderot was himself aware of his pictorial imagina-tion, as he states in Salon de 1767, III, 109-110: "Chardin, La Grenee, Greuze etd'autres m'ont assure (et les artistes ne flattent pas les litterateurs) que j'etoispresque le seul d'entre ceux-cy dont les images pouvoient passer sur la toile,

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On the other hand, the numerous pantomimes in Le Neveu deRameau convey their emotional content through the vivid visual qual-ity of the nephew's feverish activity, frequently indicated by a breath-taking accumulation of verbs.l2This procedurehas an inherent danger:in concentrating on the purely visual, the affective quality of such apictorial description may be lost. In order to communicate the mourn-ful quality of the melancholy Lamentations by Ioumelli, for instance,the nephew begins literally to enact his song while he sings it.13 Butsoon he turns to imitating the instruments of the entire imaginaryorchestra accompanying the song. With this shift of emphasis thetouching subject matter gradually recedes into the background. Thiswithdrawal has a double effect: as the nephew tries ever harder toimitate nonhuman instruments of music by means of his body andhis voice, his motions become ever more aimless and frenzied andfinally lead to an unsightly perspirationand collapse. At the same time,the observer'sattention is drawnaway from the song's deeply emotionalcontent to amusement at the nephew's ridiculous gestures. The affec-tive appeal of the song has been neutralized by observing the nephew'spassionate but hilarious pantomime (" ... mais une teinte ridiculeetait fondue dans ces sentiments et les denaturait"). When the nephewconcentrateson mimickingnonhumaninstruments, no human emotionsare possible and uncontrolled laughter forces the observer to forgetcompletelyhis tears of the previous moment. When the nephew mimicshuman deeds, such as the corruption of an innocent girl by means ofan effective conversation about a delivered billet-doux, his effect onthe observer is to confuse the latter's emotions to such an extent thathe no longer knows whether to laugh or to express indignation (p.413).The desire to distract the observer by introducing a verbal pictureat a crucial point is evidenced by Diderot's novels, Jacques le Fatalisteet son maitre and especiallyLa Religieuse. An example within the struc-ture of the former novel is the narrator's jarring interruption of thesuspense created by the hostess' tale about Mme de la Pommeraye topresque comme elles etoient ordonnees dans ma tete... Cela vient apparemmentde ce que mon imagination s'est assujetie de longue main aux veritables reglesde l'art, a force d'en regarder les productions; que j'ai pris l'habitude d'arrangermes figures dans ma tete, comme si elles etoient sur la toile; que peut-etre je les ytransporte, et que c'est sur un grand mur que je regarde, quand j'ecris..."12 Diderot uses the same literary device in order to create the affective pictureof the mourning widow in "Les deux amis de Bourbonne": "Elle se leve, elle sort,elle voit, elle crie, elle tombe a la renverse." (Euvres romanesques, ed. Henri Benac(Paris, 1962), p. 785.13 Diderot, Le Neveu de Rameau, in Euvres romanesques, p. 468.

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say: "Lecteur, j'avais oublie de vous peindre le site des trois person-nages dont il s'agit ici, Jacques, son maitre et l'hotesse; faute de cetteattention, vous les avez entendus parler, mais vous ne les avez pointvus; il vaut mieux tard que jamais."14His purposefully expansive por-trayal of Jacques', his master's, and the hostess' exact position in theroom may irritate the impatient reader, but it also serves to create adistance from his own passionate pursuit of the uproarious Mme dela Pommeraye episode. The rapid, inexorable development of Su-zanne's misery behind the convent walls in the latter novel is both in-terrupted and reinforced by a series of poignant pictorial descriptionswhich force the reader to tarry before resuming full speed. Thus, hertwo-year novice period, glossed over in a few paragraphs of generaldescription, suddenly comes to a temporary halt before the very spe-cific picture of an insane nun: "Je n'ai jamais rien vu de si hideux. Elleetait echevele et presque sans vetement; elle trainait des chaines defers; ses yeux etaient egares; elle s'arrachaitles cheveux; elle se frap-pait la poitrine avec les poings, elle courait, elle hurlait; elle se char-geait elle-meme, et les autres, des plus terribles imprecations; ellecherchait une fenetre pour se precipiter."15All the ensuing attempts bythe nuns to explain and excuse this frightful figure by words cannoterase Suzanne's deep conviction that this ghastly apparition is a darkforeboding of her own fate if she were to become a nun.The most striking use of pictures in order to retard Suzanne's re-lentlessly accelerating misery occurs in the descriptions of the LesbianMother Superior's eccentric rule in the convent of Sainte-Eutroped'Arpajou. After a detailed portrait of the Mother Superior's capri-ciousness, Suzanne and the reader are gradually introduced to her bya series of pictures which, at first glance, seem as innocent and domesticas any family scene depicting a loving mother preoccupied with herdaughters:Vous qui vous connaissezen peinture, je vous assure, monsieurle marquis, quec'etait un assez agreabletableaua voir. lmaginez un atelier de dix a douze per-sonnes,dont la plus jeune pouvaitavoir quinze ans, et la plus agee n'en avait pasvingt-trois; une superieurequi touchaita la quarantaine,blanche, fraiche, pleined'embonpoint... des yeux noirs, grands, vifs, et tendres, presque jamais entiere-ment ouverts, a demi fermes... des levres vermeilles comme la rose, des dentsblanchescommele lait, les plus belles joues, une tate fort agreable..." [p. 359].But to insure that the novel's action does not long retain the immo-bility of such a tranquil painting, the domestic scene is interrupted by

14 Diderot, Jacques le Fataliste et son maitre, in GEuvresromanesques, p. 622.15 Diderot, La Religieuse, in (Euvres romanesques, p. 241. For a detailed dis-cussion, see Georges May, Diderot et "La Religieuse" (Paris, 1954), pp. 197-237.

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the troubled appearanceof Sceur Sainte-Therese, a constant reminderthat the Mother Superior's ugly sin lies hidden beneath the deceptivelyserene surface. After Father Lemoine has warned Suzanne of herMother Superior's evil intent, however, the function and the contentsof the ensuing pictorial descriptions shift abruptly. Since pictorialdescription is now employed to show the Mother Superior's rapidlyadvancing insanity, the verbal pictures themselves no longer createpauses but rather hasten on the ever more repugnant action of thenovel. The climax is finally reached in the Mother Superior's horrify-ing death with its double meaning of "vision": " . . . je l'ai vue, je l'aivue la terrible image du desespoir et du crime a sa derniere heure; ellese croyait entouree d'esprits infernaux..." (p. 387).16This use of verbal paintings to accelerate as well as retardthe novel'saction dramatically demonstrates that Diderot's intent in includingsuch pictorial description was to arouse the reader's tears and pity.Especially in describing Suzanne's torments under the fanaticallycruelMere Sainte-Christine, even the most pathetic words seem inadequatein comparison with the visual appearanceof misery. Thus the climaxof a long and successful interview with the archdeacon is Suzanne'sreturn to prostrate herself before him: "Je lui dis, en lui montrant matete meurtrie en plusieurs endroits, mes pieds ensanglantes, mes braslivides et sans chair, mon vetement sale et dechire: 'Vous voyez ' " (p.307). In her effort not only to arouse the sympathy of the Archdeaconbut to overcome any indifference or coolness in her reader, Suzanneconsiders no detail too intimate to be left unsaid. Like the Marquis deCroismare in the original correspondence, so every reader must bemoved to reach out his arms to the poor forsaken girl in heart-felt com-miseration, an aim which Diderot himself stated in a letter to Meisteron September 27, 1780:C'est la contre-partie de Jacques le Fataliste. I1 est rempli de tableaux pathetiques.I1 est tres interessant et tout l'interet est rassemble sur le personnage qui parle.Je suis bien sfr qu'il affligera plus vos lecteurs que Jacques les a fait rire, d'ou ilpourrait arriver qu'ils en desireront plus t6t la fin. II est intitule La Religieuse,et je ne crois pas qu'on ait jamait ecrit une plus effroyable satire des couvents.C'est un ouvrage a feuilleter sans cesse par les peintres; et si la vanite ne s'yopposait, sa veritable epigraphe serait: son pittor anch'io.17

16 Georges May aptly points out the dramatic use of black and white, light andshadow, in order to create the eerie atmosphere of the Mother Superior's secretpassion, indeed, the entire lugubrious atmosphere of the convent; op. cit., pp.227-228.17Reproduced in Maurice Tourneux, L'Amateur d'autographes, XXXVI, serienouvelle (1903), 171; Andre Billy, (Euvres de Diderot (Paris, 1935), p. 979;Herbert Dieckmann, Inventaire du Fonds Vandeul et inedits de Diderot (Geneva,1951), p. 39. The same Italian motto is repeated in Pensees detachees, p. 768:121


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The significant motto, "I too am a painter," summarizes concretelyDiderot's conviction that since painting can convey a feeling for humansuffering far better than any other means of communication, the lit-erary artist who wishes to arouse his reader's deepest sentiments mustresort to the artistic technique of the painter.It was specifically Diderot's stress on the importance of paintingfor literature which attracted Schiller's attention when he first readEssais sur la peinture in December 1796. In his joy of discovery hewrote to Goethe on December 12, 1796: "Fast jedes Dictum ist einLichtfunken, der die Geheimnisse der Kunst beleuchtet, und seineBemerkungen sind so sehr aus dem Hochsten und aus dem Innerstender Kunst, da3 sie auch alles was nur damit verwandt ist beherrschenund eben wohl Fingerzeige fur den Dichter als fur den Maler sind."'8On January 2, 1797 Schiller ordered from Cotta both Diderot's Essaissur la peinture and La Religieuse.19 By the summer of 1797 he hadbecome more critical of the Essais, as he reported in a letter to Goetheon August 7, 1797: "Er sieht mir bei asthetischen Werken noch vielzu sehr auf fremde und moralische Zwecke, er sucht diese nicht genugin dem Gegenstande und in seiner Darstellung."20 It is noteworthythat Schiller read and reflected upon two of Diderot's works directlyconcerned with either the relationship of literature to painting or pic-torialism as a literary device at a very significant time in his produc-tive life. He had just completedhis treatise Uber naive und sentimenta-lische Dichtung (1795) and was then in the midst of his struggle withthe great trilogy, Wallenstein (1796-1799). Undoubtedly both his en-thusiastic reception and his critical re-evaluation of Essais sur la pein-ture were influenced in part by reflections stated in Uber naive undsentimentalische Dichtung and had at least an indirect influence onWallenstein. Schiller's criticism of too great a stress on concerns ex-ternal to pure aesthetics in Diderot's treatise furthermore demon-"Heureux celui qui parcourant la vie des grands hommes, les approuve, et ne lesadmire point, et dit: son pittore anch'io " This celebrated exclamation is attributedto Correggio on first seeing Raphael's "Saint Cecilia." For the genesis of LaReligieuse, see Georges May, Diderot et "La Religieuse," pp. 35-46, and HenriBenac's presentation in (Euvres romanesques, pp. 848-868.18 Friedrich Schiller, Schillers Briefe, Kritische Gesamtausgabe, ed. FritzJonas, 7 vols. (Stuttgart, 1892-1896), V, 131. See also Schiller's letter to Korner,December 27, 1796; Jonas, V, 137.19 Schiller had previously wanted Herder to translate La Religieuse; see hisletters to Goethe, Nov. 29, 1795; Jonas, IV, 331, and December 17, 1795; Jonas,IV, 353.20 Jonas, V, 238.

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strates the great shift of emphasis to intrinsic qualities in works ofart which occurred specifically in German classicism.21This change is already evident in Schiller's highly synthesized de-scription, in "An den Herausgeber der Propylaen" (1800), of theeffect that a great work of art has upon him: "Das Auge wird gereiztund erquickt, die Phantasie belebt, der Geist aufgeregt, das Herzerwarmt und entziindet, der Verstand beschaftigt und befriedigt"(SA, XVI, 292). Each human faculty is aroused and responds in itsown way to a true work of art, yet no single capacity predominatesoverthe others. In order to achieve such a perfect harmony between theresponses of these faculties, all paintings, whether in colors or in words,must be well structured and must emphasize form rather than con-tent. It is precisely the lack of this form-consciousness which Schillerdeplores in "tber Burgers Gedichte" (1791) : "Es kann nicht fehlen,da3 dieser fippige Farbenwechsel [Burgers Beschreibung der vielenG6ttinnen im Gedicht 'Die beiden Liebenden'] auf den ersten AnblickhinreiBt und blendet, Leser besonders, die nur fur das Sinnlicheempfanglichsind und, den Kindern gleich, nur das Bunte bewundern.Aber wie wenig sagen Gemalde dieser Art dem verfeinerten Kunst-sinn, den nie der Reichtum, sondern die weise Okonomie, nie dieMaterie, nur die Sch6nheit der Form, nie die Ingredienzien, nur dieFeinheit der Mischung befriedigt " (SA, XVI, 237). Only by stress-ing structure and de-emphasizingcontent can visual art avoid a dangerinherent in its very nature. Because it is the most imitative and there-fore closest of all the arts to nature, visual art easily entrances its spec-tator into a purely sensuous pleasure which would immediatelydestroythe delicatelybalancedresponseof all of man's capacities by overempha-sizing one. Thus in Uber naive und sentimentalischeDichtung Schillercensors Heinse's novel Ardinghello as "... . nur eine sinnliche Karika-tur ohne Wahrheit und ohne asthetische Wiirde," for, by using pictor-ial descriptions, it fails to combine "intellect with the heart" (SA, XII,219). In order to free man from his baser instincts, all good art mustimitate "true" rather than "real" nature (SA, XII, 234).22 Yet, pic-torialism seems to have one distinct advantage: the artist tends to re-

21 See Rene Wellek's concludingparagraph n A History of ModernCriticism,I, 255.Already in his "Vorredezur ersten Auflage"of Die RiduberSchiller men-tions Diderot's precursor, Batteux, along with Aristotle as an authority on theart of drama. See Friedrich Schiller, Siimtliche Werke. Siikularausgabe,ed.Eduardvon der Hellen, 16vols. (Stuttgart, 1904), XVI, 15. This edition is hence-forth cited in the text as SA.22 In contrasting "true" and "real" nature, Schiller specifically rejects anaturalisticportraitof man's real nature,which, accordingto his definition,in-cludesall of man'sbaseraspects; see SA, XII, 234.

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frain from intrusion into his narration as well as from direct appealsto his audience. Consequently, a tableau conveys the impression ofgreat objectivity on the part of the author, as Schiller indirectly sug-gests in his comparison of Ariosto with Homer (SA, XII, 185).As can be seen from the examples cited above, Schiller accepts asself-evident Diderot's axiom that "one finds poets in painters and paint-ers in poets," for he consistently uses the word "Gemalde"to refer topurely literary descriptions. At the same time, Schiller is acutely awareof two significant differences between poetry and painting. First, inrepresenting specific objects and concentratingon their external forms,painting is far more self-contained than poetry, which has unlimitedpossibilities in discussing an infinity of ideas (SA, XII, 191). Second,painting can represent a complex action or scene at once, whereaspoetry must depict action or scenery by successive descriptions intime (SA, XVI, 261). The good poet, can, however, overcome hisart's disadvantage by eliminating the arbitrary and individual char-acteristics of a given object and concentrating on its universally validform. Then he must choose his images so carefully that when fittedtogether, they will form a comprehensivepicture for the reader's innereye (see SA, XVI, 262).Because such a verbal painting assumes a supreme form-conscious-ness by the poet and an active participationof his reader's imagination,it fulfills with one further addition Schiller's precepts for a true workof art (schiine Kunst as distinguished from angenehme Kunst). Everywork of art, no matter what it represents, must convey a humanexperi-ence or emotion to its spectator. The ancient Greek artists and poetssatisfied this requirement by concentrating on the portrayal of manhimself as the highest possible subject matter for their work (SA, XVI,255; also SA, XII, 184). Yet, even the landscape artist or poet canand must introduce a human element into his paintings. He may ac-complish this difficult feat by choosing his structure, colors, and chia-roscuro in order to suggest a subjective mood:

Jene liebliche Harmonie der Gestalten, der T6ne und des Lichts, die denasthetischen Sinn entziicket, befriedigt jetzt zugleich den moralischen; jene Stetig-keit, mit der sich die Linien im Raum oder die T6ne in der Zeit einander fugen,ist ein natiirliches Symbol der innern Ubereinstimmung des Gemiits mit sichselbst und des sittlichen Zusammenhangs der Handlung und Gefiihle, und in derschonen Haltung eines pittoresken oder musikalischen Stiicks malt sich die nochsch6nere einer sittlich gestimmten Seele" [SA, XVI, 259].The artist who can express a specific human disposition in a tableaubecomes a "painter of the soul" (Seelenmaler) and his product, a"painting of the soul" (Seelengemilde).124


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A good example for these complex components of a verbal paintingis Schiller's pictorial descriptionof the grandeurand misery of present-day Italy in his "Brief eines reisenden Danen" (1785) : "Eine hohlau-gige Hungerfigur, die mich in den blumigten Promenaden eines fiirst-lichen Lustgartens anbettelt-eine sturzdrohende Schindelhiitte, dieeinem prahlerischen Palast gegeniibersteht-wie schnell schlagt siemeinen auffliegenden Stolz zu Boden Meine Einbildung vollendetdas Gemalde. Ich sehe jetzt die Flfiche von Tausenden gleich einergefral3igenWiirmerwelt in dieser grol3sprechendenVerwesung wim-meln-Das GroBe und Reizende wird mir abscheulich" (SA, XI, 101).The painting begins with four images from which the "inner eye"creates two parallel pictures: the hungry-eyed beggar in the flourish-ing princely gardens and the broken-down hut next to the sumptuouspalace. Like many of Diderot's pictorial descriptions, Schiller's, too,lacks definite color, chiaroscuro,all ornaments, or details. Unlike Dide-rot, however, Schiller does not intend to convey a purely emotionalmood, but rather a very precise idea: faced with the ugliness of poverty,the beauty that wealth often lavishly displays becomes abhorrent. Inorder to affect not only the spectator's intellect but his whole person,this idea is presented through the mediation of the spectator's imagina-tion, which completes the picture with a vision of hideous, "wormy"decadence. Consequently, the ultimate goal of the verbal picture isthat the spectator becomes educated by this pictorial experience.Since the stage should also provide an educative experience,23dramas, too, must rely on literary devices such as pictorialism, ratherthan on the "frosty tone of declamations,"if they are to engage all ofthe spectator's faculties and move him to a meaningful contemplation.24In order to satisfy this demand in his own dramas, Schiller at severalcrucial moments incorporates literary pictorialism, and at least twice,actual pictures into the dramatic structure of his plays. His reason fordoing so is the assumption that a spectator following a passionatedramaticdevelopment is as much entrancedby his senses as in viewinga sensuous picture. But by taking time at such an engrossing momentin the play to draw a careful picture, the dramatist interrupts the actionand indirectly invites his spectator to reflect, thereby allowing all hisfaculties to give a balancedresponse.25The effect of such a painting on

23 See "Die Schaubiihne als eine moralische Anstalt betrachtet," SA, XI, 89-90.24 "Uber das Pathetische," SA, XI, 247; Schiller repeats the same idea in hispoem "An Goethe," SA, I, 191.25 This function of the picture is identical with that envisioned by Schiller forthe chorus in "Uber den Gebrauch des Chors in der Tragodie," SA, XVI, 126: "Sowie der Chor in die Sprache Leben bringt, so bringt er Ruhe in die Handlung-aber die sch6ne und hohe Ruhe, die den Charakter eines edeln Kunstwerkes sein125


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both the dramatic action and the spectator becomes most obvious inthe two instances where actual paintings are introduced on stage. Sincethe spectators here are the characters in the play, the dramatist candirectly control their response.The first painting to appear in a play by Schiller is Romano's paint-ing entitled "Virginia and Appius Claudius" in Fiesco, II, xvii. Evenits introduction constitutes a distinct pause from the incessant secretplotting, first by Fiesco alone, then with his fellow conspirators,to over-throw Doria's regime in Genoa. After a "long expressive silence" thefirst spectator, Verrina, reacts by identifying emotionally with the sub-ject matter portrayed by the painting. The response of the secondbeholder, Fiesco, is not to the painting's action but to its form, in par-ticular to the features, expression, and shape of the expiring Virginia.The exploration of the painting's form leads Fiesco into a state ofnonaction, of deep inner contemplation: "Ich k6nnte hier stehen undhingaffen und ein Erdbeben iiberh6ren." What more astoundingchange than this sudden quiescencein a man who, but a moment before,was plotting a violent act But this contemplative state is short-lived.Fiesco: "Deine Arbeit ist Gaukelwerk-der Schein weiche der Tat-(Mit GroBe,indem er das Tableau umwirft) Ich habe getan, was du-nur maltest." Through his words and the symbolic gesture of over-throwing the canvas, Fiesco indicates his rejection of aesthetic con-templation in favor of a world of action.

Considerably more effective in the play's dramatic structure is theMarquis von Posa's contemplationof a painting in Don Carlos, III, ix,just before his climactic interview with the King. Excitedly the Mar-quis walks up and down in the King's chamber, plotting how he cantake the greatest advantage of the unexpected chance provided by thismoment. Having reacheda satisfactory conclusion, he pauses to reflectbefore an unnamed and undescribed painting. This state of reflectiveanticipation continues in the interview, for not only has the Kingsilently observed the Marquis contemplating the painting, but theMarquis kneels and stands before the King "without any sign of be-wilderment" (Don Carlos, III, x). This calmness gains the King'sconfidence to such a degree that even when the Marquis has becomeenrapturedby his own enthusiasm for freedom, the King neverthelessengages him for a highly confidential service. Thus the Marquis' re-muf. Denn das Gemiit des Zuschauers soil auch in der heftigsten Passion seineFreiheitbehalten,s soilkein Raubder Eindriickeein,sondernichimmerklarund heiter von den Riihrungenscheiden, die es erleidet." See also Ilse Appel-baum-Graham,"Reflectionas a Function of Form in Schiller's Tragic Poetry,"PEGS, XXIV (1955), 29-30.

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flective state, associated with his contemplation of a painting, has in-fluenced the further development of the drama.Just as the stage appearanceof two actual pictures has caused signi-ficant pauses in these dramas, so the use of literary pictorialism canalso retard a play's action and hence may influence its dramatic struc-ture. Two important differences must be pointed out, however. First,since dramatic presentation by its nature does not permit a durationof contemplativesilence, a verbal painting may lose some of its intendedaesthetic effect. Second, even if the spectator actually attains the stateof aesthetic contemplation, he is frequently and abruptly awakenedfrom it by the continuing and often violent action on the stage. In aletter to Goethe, discussing the difference between epic and dramaticpoetry, Schiller clearly recognizes that the dramatic work completelycaptures the spectator'sattention and leaves him no room for simultan-eous reflection: "Bewegt sich die Begebenheit vor mir, so bin ichstreng an die sinnliche Gegenwart gefesselt, meine Phantasie verliertalle Freiheit, es entsteht und erhiilt sich eine fortwahrende Unruhe inmir, ich muB immer beim Objekte bleiben, alles Zuriicksehen, allesNachdenken ist mir versagt, weil ich einer fremden Gewalt folge."26If the dramatist then wishes to raise his spectator above the immediatesensuous appeal of impassioned action, he must rely on such formaltechniques as pictorialism in order to achieve this aim. The effect ofpictorialism in a play is cumulative. Addressing his audience, Schillerstates this aim concisely in his Prologue to Wallensteins Lager (lines119-123): Darum verzeiht dem Dichter, wenn er euchNicht raschen Schritts mit einemnMal ans Ziel

Der Handlung reiBt,den groBenGegenstandIn einer Reihe von GemaldennurVor eurenAugen abzurollenwagt.From the ensuing colorful scenes and images in Wallensteins Lager,the spectatoris invited to construct a series of pictures which anticipatethe complex person of Wallenstein before his first actual appearanceon stage.Yet, even within the dramaticstructure of Die Piccolomini and Wal-lensteins Tod literary pictorialismserves several functions.27Frequent-

26JohannWolfgang Goethe,Gedenkausgabe er Werke, Briefe und Gespriche.Ed. Ernst Beutler,24 vols. (Zurich, 1948-1950),XX, 475-476.27This aspecthas been neglectedby critics analyzingthe structureof Wallen-stein. See O. J. Matthijs Jolles, "Das Bild des Weges und die Sprache des Her-zens,"Deutsche Beitrdge, V (1965), 109-142;Max Kommerell,Geist und Buch-stabederDichtung (Frankfurt,1942), pp.137-178;H. A. Korff, Geistder Goethe-zeit (Leipzig, 1930), II, 239-262; R. Marleyn,"Wallensteinand the Structureof

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ly, the characters attempt to communicate their deepest feelings andconvictions to each other by means of verbal paintings. The underlyingpremise here is the thought previously expressed by Diderot, thatwords alone can never convey emotions as poignantly as pictures.Schiller has deepenedand broadened this basic need for communicationto include the entire complex personality of each character. Thus, inDie Piccolomini, I, iv, the four verbal pictures drawn with considerabledetail are first Octavio's, then Max's sincerest endeavors to communi-cate their entire outlook on life to each other. Octavio tries to persuadehis son that the established imperial order is a valuable protectionagainst a ruler's arbitraryforce. Realizing that didactic argumentationwill never convince Max, he suddenly pauses and begins an entirelydifferent approach. By means of a number of images carefully com-bined into a pictorial description, Octavio paints two versions of thepath, clearly symbolizing two possibilities of human conduct: thedangerously straight path, comparedto that of the destructive cannon-ball, and the naturally meandering path (the play's symbolic crookedpath ) which, like a river, winds around its obstacles instead of smash-ing them (lines 468-478). As the final line ("So fiihrt sie [die StraBe]spater, sicher doch zum Ziel") demonstrates, the didactic elementis still present beneath the pleasant veil of images which construct thepainting. And Octavio's purpose remains to persuade his son to accepthis view, a goal which he never achieves. Yet, Octavio's painting ofthe path serves two important functions. First, its two componentimages, the straight path which Octavio has associated with Max'sconduct and the crookedpath which he equateswith his own, repeatedlyrecur throughout the drama. Thus, in the last scene of Die PiccolominiMax declares: "Mein Weg muB grad sein" (Pic., V, iii, 2603) and inhis farewell scene with his father he inverts the significance of the twopaths while keeping their images intact:

Dein Weg ist krumm, es ist der meine nicht.0 warst du wahr gewesen und gerade,Nie kam es dahin, alles stiinde anders(W. T., II, vii, 1192-1194)The straight path is now equated with truthfulness and frankness,whereas the crooked path denotes cunning and deceit.The second function of Octavio's verbal painting is to halt at leastSchiller's Tragedies," GR, XXXII (1957), 186-199; E. L. Stahl, FriedrichSchiller's Drama: Theory and Practice (Oxford, 1954), pp. 89-104; GerhardStorz, "Bauform der Wallenstein-Trilogie," Z.f.dt. Bildung, XVI (1940), 17-25;Benno von Wiese, "Schiller-Wallenstein" in Dramen (Diisseldorf, 1958), I, 269-304.128


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momentarily the Piccolomini father-son conflict. Octavio reinforceshis desire to achieve a harmonywith his son through a second extensivepainting depicting the temporary, and therefore highly fragile, homebuilt by the soldier (lines 490-500). Here the ugliness and destructive-ness of war are stressed. Presented in this manner, the themes becomeacceptable to Max, who replies with a passionate longing for peace.He, too, chooses two pictorial descriptions to communicate the deso-lateness of war and the joy of peace. Both are imaginary scenes: thepirate ship forever at sea (lines 511-519), symbolizing the purposeless-ness of Wallenstein's army, and the released soldier's glorious returnhome (lines 534-558). In subject matter it is the latter verbal paintingwhich continues Octavio's theme, establishes the desired harmony be-tween father and son, and even touches the third conversational part-ner, Questenberg. The former verbal painting, though directly Max'semotionalresponse to his father'spictorial descriptionof war's destruc-tion, has implications beyond the scene because of its components: theship filled with desperate men hopelessly cut off from land on a stormysea. Their fate is never to reach a port. Separately or together, theseindividual images persistently reappear throughout the drama: inIllo's description of the "true moment" as "Die hohe Flut ists, die dasschwere Schiff / Vom Strande hebt" (Pic., II, vi, 945); in Wallen-stein's contrast between human deeds and the "sea's blindly rollingwaves" (W.T., II, iii, 953-954); in Wallenstein's drastic picture ofOctavio's materialistic motives in deserting his friend (W.T., III,vii, 1626-1630), and finally in the interchange between Gordon andWallenstein minutes before the latter's murder:

G. Mein Fiirst Mit leichtem Mute kniipft der arme FischerDen kleinen Nachen an im sichern Port,Sieht er im Sturm das groBe Meeresschiff stranden.W. So bist du schon im Hafen, alter Mann?Ich nicht. Es treibt der ungeschwachte MutNoch frisch und herrlich auf der Lebenswoge...Zwar jetzo schein ich tief herabgestiirzt,Doch werd ich wieder steigen, hohe FlutWird bald auf diese Ebbe schwellend folgen.(W. Tod., V, iv, 3555-3560;3573-3575)As part of a scene filled with reminiscences of the past, this poeticalpicture, leisurely drawn by the two men, retards the suspenseful actionjust beforeWallenstein's final downfall. Its purpose is to urge the spec-tator to reflect once more on Wallenstein's personality before the im-pending violence. What more effective way is there than to contrasthis outlook with that of the humble and moral Gordon on a singlesubject: a ship in a stormy sea. Gordon describes the floundering ship

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from the vantage point of the fisherman safely ashore. In contrast,Wallenstein's perspective is that of the ship itself riding the roughwaves in the ever-present hope of a turning tide. The symbolism of thepainting's components has remained singularly intact: the stormy searepresents the relentless war, the ship is Wallenstein, and the land, anunattainablepeace.Reorganized into Max's picture of a burning ship at sea with itscrew trapped (Pic., V, iii, 2641-2646), the components of this verbalpainting may even assume prophetic meaning. Here the painting gainsan independencefrom its immediate dramatic surroundings to commu-nicate a deep sense of forebodingto the spectator. The frightful picturedrawn by Max in conversation with his father becomes an effectivetransition from the end of Die Piccolomini to Wallensteins Tod. In con-trast, the two other prophetic visions of the play are lonely utterancesby the perceptive Thekla. Her mournful song, "Des Madchens Klage"(Pic., III, vii) and her terrifying nightmareof the burninghouse (Pic.,III, ix, 1899-1912) achieve an additional freedom from the play's im-mediate concerns by being self-contained poems. The former is a folk-song, with guitar, whereas the latter forms a complete Shakespeareansonnet with a magnificent Renaissance background of trumpets.28Yet, the spectator gains his deepest sense of tragedy by scrutinizingcarefully the lengthy poetical picture of the stars drawn by Wallen-stein in Die Piccolomini, II, vi, 978 ff., then following its transforma-tion through the drama. For Wallenstein, the stars represent order,which he hopes to impose not only on his life and the lives of his menbut on Germany as well. At the height of his success Wallenstein em-phasizes the stars' spiritual significance by painting them accordingto the Neoplatonic concept of the harmony of the spheres (Pic., II,vi, 978-986). As one of Jove's children, Wallenstein believes his entirelife to be governed by the celestial powers incorporatedin the timelessstars. After a stride through the room, however, he begins to introducesubtly the earth, an element conspicuously absent until now, through

28 Parts of both visions reappear in Wilhelm Tell, where literary pictorialismperforms the same functions as in Wallenstein: the storm symbolizing violencefirst in nature in I, i and IV, i, then in human society, as Tell states twice in I, iii;and the house, burning only at the conclusion of I, i, but ever in danger from thearbitrary violence of man ; see I, ii, 231 ; I, ii, 318 ; I, iv, 504. The development ofthe drama can be followed by a close scrutiny of the recurring picture of the hunt,gaily portrayed in Tell's song at the beginning of III, i, frightfully drawn by Hed-wig in the same scene, and finally with sinister forebodings by Tell himself in nar-rating his encounter with the Landvogt on the narrow mountain trail. Single im-ages from Tell's picture of the hunt reappear in Gessler's dreadful challenge to Tellin III, iii, such as Kunst, Ziel, Preis, and Schiitze, and are finally reunited in Tell'sclimactic monologue in IV, iii, where the picture of the hunt aids Tell in justifyinghis deed of violence against Gessler.

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the image of the sower who plans his work according to the stars (lines987-992). It is but a small step from here to calling on the stars to de-termine every important human decision. Thus Wallenstein abandonshis highly spiritual interpretation of the stars for a search after a signin order to accomplisha goal-directed action. This betrayal of timelessspiritual values for materialistic ends reappears in the conversationshared by Thekla, Max, and the Grafin about the stars in Pic., III, iv,1594 ff. Whereas Thekla's pictorial description concretely describesSeni's laboratory, its equipment,and his explanations, Max extols thestars' symbolic significance, which he compares to that of myths (lines1635-1640). The Grafin's brief picture of the warring planets Venusand Mars (lines 1652-1653) represents even more drastically thanWallenstein's Sternenstunde the corrupted interpretation of the starsas mere signs. As Wallenstein's fate falls, the importance of the starsgrows dimmer until finally they disappear altogether, leaving Wallen-stein in physical and spiritual darkness.29Thus, while factually report-ing the absence of the stars on the night of his murder, Wallensteinsymbolically predicts his own end.

The functions of tightening dramatic structure as well as prophe-sying the fate of the drama'scharacters,as exploited by Schiller in theWallenstein trilogy, extend the use of literary pictorialism far beyondDiderot's original intent. Yet, the pictures drawn verbally by the char-acters in Wallenstein still fulfill all of Diderot's requirementsfor clarityand unity in structure as well as ability to arouse the spectator's emo-tions, as the two pathetic and terrifying visions of Thekla demonstrate.Their subject matter is easily recognizable; indeed, they often seemto realize Diderot's wish for a literary theme. Furthermore, just as inthe Seco,ndEntretien sur le Fils naturel the picture of Dorval enthusi-astically contemplating nature's "spectacle" gives the cue for the en-suing dialogue on the nature of genius, so in Wallenstein Octavio'spainting of the path and Thekla's objective description of Seni's labora-tory start an interchange of a number of pictures during which thecharacters' most profound differences of personality and convictionare revealed. Finally, the use of extensive pictorial description to re-tard at least temporarilya passionate or even violent action was tacitlyrecognized by Diderot in La Religieuse, if only explicitly expressedby Schiller.Nevertheless Schiller reaches a precision and clarity of thought con-cerning pictorialism in literary works completely absent in Diderot's

29 See W. T., II, iii, 893; W. T., V, v, 3612-3613, and the fully developedpicture Wallenstein paints of the windy, cloudy, night sky in W. T., V, iii, 3406-3413.

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writings. Whereas Diderot had simply stated that words are vaguerthan colors, Schiller recognizes that visual art is by its very nature farmore objective than abstract thought (SA, XII, 209 footnote). Whilepaintings should, accordingto Diderot, move the observer to love virtueand abhorvice, Schiller envisions a far more complex role for the trulygreat work of art. It must free the observer's intellect from enslave-ment to his senses, so that through aesthetic contemplation he maybecome a nobler man. The old bond between art and morality, stillvisible in Diderot's theoretical writings, is loosened by Schiller's newemphasis on reflection, during which the individual is to depend moreupon his faculties' response to a work of art than on traditional stand-ards of morality. Yet, even Diderot practiced this new independencefrom morality in his brilliantportrayalof the amoral Neveu de Rameau.Indeed, the sometimes bewilderedbut always admiring attitude of Moitoward Rameau is an antecedent of Schiller's expectation that thespectator of Die Rduber is to "detest and love, admire and pity" therobber, Karl Moor.30The most significant dimension added by Schiller to Diderot's stresson paintings is a marked development in the technique of literary pic-torialism. In drawing his pictures by words, Diderot depended on awell-ordered description of a scene or action, easily imaginable withina picture frame. Indeed, if one excludes their specifically structuralfunctions within his novels or essays, Diderot's pictorial descriptionsdo not differ significantly from descriptions of actual paintings in hisSalons.31Schiller's insistence that verbal paintings are the summationof a number of images so related that the reader may construct a well-organizedpicturefrom them signifies a radicaldeparturefrom Diderot'smore traditional technique. For, in basing his pictorial descriptionson a purely literary device, the image, Schiller extends their purposefrom mere description to the far more sophisticated possibilities ofsymbolism, as the picture of the stars in Wallenstein demonstrates. Atthe same time, he expands the verbal painting's function within thestructure of a work from effectively conveying profound sentiments,either by hastening or by retarding the dramatic action, to freeing hisspectator from all involvement with the passions represented in orderto raise him to a plane of reflection.

Wayne State University30 "Vorrede zur ersten Auflage der Riiuber," SA, XVI, 16.31 See Georges May's presentation of the importance of the Salons for Diderot'ssubsequent writings in Quatre Visages de Denis Diderot (Paris, 1951), pp. 156 ff.

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