Representations of the Devil in Nineteenth-Century Literature
Representations of the Devil in Nineteenth-Century Literature
Known by a variety of names—Satan, Lucifer, Mephistopheles—the Devil remains one of the most intriguing and ubiquitous figures in western literature, with such literary luminaries as Dante, Milton, and Goethe finding in him the perfect personification of the human impulse toward evil. Since the advent of the Bible, the Devil has existed as the quintessential adversary, and the ultimate antithesis to goodness and morality. In the Medieval era, the Devil evolved from a relatively minor role in Holy Scripture to a dominant figure in the didactic mystery and morality plays of the day. During the Reformation and Renaissance, Luciferian figures continued to be abstracted and allegorized in literature, that is until the publication of John Milton's Paradise Lost in 1667. In the poem Milton drew a dynamic and supremely defiant Satan, whom subsequent interpreters would sometimes view as the epic's subversive protagonist. Meanwhile, in the eighteenth-century, the rising tide of Enlightenment rationalism prompted a decline in literary representations of Satan, with many considering the Devil as an inappropriate subject even of mockery or satire. All of this began to change by the end of the century and the new vogue of the Gothic novel in England. Writers, typified by Matthew Gregory Lewis in his popular Ambrosio the Monk (1796), seized upon Satan as a principal source of supernatural horror, creating a mania for spine-tingling terror among readers.
Also in England during the last decade of the eighteenth century, the nascent Romantic movement, led by William Blake, was about to embark upon a philosophical and poetic reinterpretation of the Devil. Blake's Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1790-1793) provided the groundwork for a reevaluation of Satan by figuring the Devil once again in Miltonic terms as an intractable and energetic individual who stood in opposition to an autocratic God. Miltonic and Blakean interpretations of Satan were furthered by Percy Bysshe Shelly and Lord Byron, poets who by the early nineteenth century had made the Devil into a representative icon of the Romantic movement. Rather than simply a symbol of pure evil, the Romantic Satan appeared as an embodiment of vitality, strength, boldness, and political and cultural rebellion. Indeed, the Romantics sought to treat the Devil as a tragic or heroic figure worthy of pathos, thereby inaugurating the tradition of the Promethean Satan, an indefatigable rebel, long since abused by the oppression of Heaven. This literal denunciation of Biblical morality did not sit well with numerous conservative commentators, including the outspoken poet and critic Robert Southey. Southey's vehement public attacks in print on Byron's atheism culminated in his suggestion that the Romantic poets should more accurately be dubbed the ‘Satanic School’—a term of derision that only added to the popular myths surrounding the literary personas of both Byron and Shelley. Consequently, the process of extolling the Satanic in verse continued; later in the century, the Symbolists Charles Baudelaire and Arthur Rimbaud would choose to emphasize the dark, seductive power of the Devil indirectly in their poetry.
Another more traditional development in modern interpretations of the Devil had also begun by the early nineteenth-century with the appearance of the first part of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's drama Faust in 1808. The Faust-myth, a venerable legend drawn from Germanic folklore, treats an integral theme within diabolical literature, that of the devil-compact. In a prototypical deal with the Devil, the legendary Faust, often depicted as a sorcerer, offered up his soul in exchange for otherworldly pleasure and power. Goethe adjusted the story somewhat so that his Faust instead desired limitless knowledge, and, because his intentions were not purely selfish or evil, he was able to circumvent his contract with Mephistopheles and prevent his soul from being cast into hell. This subject of a mortal being who enters into a compact with the Devil became a common one in nineteenth-century American fiction. Washington Irving, in his story “The Devil and Tom Walker” (1824), employed the theme, and critics recognize Faustian elements in many of the tales of Nathaniel Hawthorne. Mark Twain, additionally, evoked folklore interpretations of the Devil in his satiric novel The Mysterious Stranger (1916), while numerous other examples of the formula appeared in popular fiction.
With the notable exception of Goethe, nineteenth-century European writers generally offered a more symbolic representation of Satan than their American counterparts. A tattered devil inhabits the dreams of Ivan Karamazov in Feodor Dostoevsky's novel Brat'ya Karamzovy (1880; The Brothers Karamazov). Ivan's devil exists as a slovenly, down-on-his-luck figure whom critics have viewed as both a manifestation of philosophical evil and a type of the late nineteenth-century Russian atheist. Nikolai Gogol presents an at once sardonic and metaphorical view of the Devil in human form as Chichikov, the unscrupulous gatherer of the dead in his Mertvye dushi (1842; Dead Souls). Such diabolical incarnations in literature as Gogol's additionally represent an important segment of fictional treatments of the Devil in human form, in a varied tradition that stretches from Medieval romance to the modern novel.
Honoré de Balzac
Le centenaire; ou, les deux Beringheld (novel) 1822
Melmoth réconcilié (novel) 1835
Les Fleurs du mal [Flowers of Evil] (poetry) 1857
Marriage of Heaven and Hell (poetry) 1790-1793
Milton (poetry) 1800-1804
“Address to the Deil” (poetry) 1785
Lord George Gordon Byron
Manfred (verse drama) 1817
Cain: A Mystery (verse drama) 1821
The Deformed Transformed (unfinished verse drama) 1822
Inno a Satana (poetry) 1865
The Sorrows of Satan (novel) 1895
Brat'ya Karamzovy [The Brothers Karamazov] (novel) 1880
Albertus (poetry) 1832
La larme du diable (poetry) 1839
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Faust. 2 vols. (drama) 1808-1832
Mertvye dushi [Dead Souls] (novel) 1842
“Young Goodman Brown” (short story) 1837
Le fin de Satan (poetry) 1886
“The Devil and Tom Walker” (short story) 1824
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Criticism: Overviews And General Studies
SOURCE: “The Salvation of Satan in Modern Poetry,” in The Devil in Legend and Literature, AMS Press, 1970, pp. 280-308.
[In the following essay, originally published in 1931, Rudwin considers the sympathetic portrayal of Satan in nineteenth-century poetry.]
The reversal of poetic judgment with regard to the Devil is among the most striking characteristics of the modern period. The popular medieval conception degraded Diabolus from the former high potentate of paradise to a powerless and ludicrous personage, who served our ancestors as the butt of such laughter as still rings across the ages. The modern period, on the other hand, has clothed the Devil with the pathos of a defeated hero. The Devil of today forms a complete contrast to his confrère of former times. The modern devil is as fascinating as the medieval devil was frightful; he is as bright and beautiful as his predecessor was dismal and dreadful. The new devil enlists as much of our sympathy and admiration as the old devil inspired horror and terror in medieval man.
This change of attitude toward the Devil during the past century has been well expressed by Renan, who, in an anonymous article, writes as follows:1
Of all the formerly accursed beings that the tolerance of our century has raised from their anathema, Satan is, without contradiction, the one who has chiefly...
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SOURCE: “Romantic Satanism: Blake, the Gothic Novel, Shelley and Byron,” in The Devil in English Literature, Francke Verlag, 1978, pp. 148-78.
[In the following essay, Vatter surveys figures bearing qualities of the Miltonic Satan in the writings of English Romantic poets and Gothic novelists.]
The first step towards a freer development of the devil figure had been made, as we have seen, with the abandonment of Biblical subject matter in the first Moralities. A next, and more decisive step could be taken when the dogmatical tenets of theology were no longer accepted as binding and unquestionable realities. The Age of Reason, itself hostile to Satanism—who would imagine Dr. Johnson dealing with the devil?—prepared the ground for a revaluation of the image of Satan not only by smothering old superstitions, but by questioning the authority of the Church as such. The wave of witchcraft had died away. Addison gave voice to the new scepticism when he wrote: “I believe, in general, that there is, and has been, such a thing as Witchcraft; but, at the same time, can give no Credit to any Particular Instance of it.”1 Even in Scotland, the last stronghold of witch belief in Great Britain, no one was executed for witchcraft after 1722; and in 1736 an Act of Parliament under George II (9 Geo II cap. 5) made the death penalty for witchcraft no longer possible.2 The removal of legal...
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Criticism: The Devil In American Fiction
SOURCE: “Paddy McGann, William Gilmore Simm's Devil Story,” in Bulletin of the New York Public Library, Vol. 69, No. 3, March, 1965, pp. 197-204.
[In the following essay, Bush explicates Paddy McGann, a picaresque dialect novel that features a comical and symbolic representation of the Devil.]
William Gilmore Simms's most notable wartime publication, Paddy McGann; or, The Demon of the Stump, was published in 1863 in a Richmond weekly, The Southern Illustrated News. The novel has never been published in book form, probably because of the element of Southern patriotism that Simms included in it. There is elation over the Confederate victory at Fredericksburg and contempt for the character of Northern people and institutions. Simms's biographer, William Peterfield Trent, believed the work would never be resurrected, but Trent's slight references to the novel suggest that he may have known only the beginning of it. At any rate it is forgotten, a fate which it scarcely deserves.
There are a number of reasons why Paddy McGann makes interesting reading today. As a picaresque dialect novel about a raftsman on a Southern river, it anticipates Huckleberry Finn. Like the later novel it grew out of the accumulated knowledge its author had of the folklore, the dialects, the social traditions, and the popular superstitions of his region. But unlike...
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SOURCE: “The Construction of ‘The Devil and Tom Walker’: A Study of Irving's Later Use of Folklore,” in New York Folklore, Vol. 24, No. 4, December, 1968, pp. 243-60.
[In the following essay, Zug traces folklore elements in Washington Irving's “The Devil and Tom Walker,” viewing the story as a masterful blending of German and American folk motifs.]
Although it is unquestionably one of Washington Irving's finest tales, “The Devil and Tom Walker” has never attracted much critical attention. First published in 1824 in Part IV of Tales of a Traveller, the tale recounts the fate of an avaricious New Englander, who sells his soul to the Devil in return for Captain Kidd's treasure, and is finally carted off to Hell after a long and profitable career as a usurer in colonial Boston. For the most part, critics have been content to note that the tale is “a sort of comic New England Faust,”1 or that it “is redolent of the American soil.”2 In other words, the consensus is that the tale has certain Germanic overtones but is indigenous to the young American republic in which Irving grew up. No one, however, has really attempted to examine the possible sources for this work or note the complex manner in which Irving has interwoven numerous motifs from American and German folklore.
There are a number of reasons for the lack of interest in...
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SOURCE: “The Devils of Hawthorne's Faust Myth,” in Hawthorne's Faust: A Study of the Devil Archetype, Archon Books, 1968, pp. 67-86.
[In the following essay, Stein investigates Nathaniel Hawthorne's use of the Faustian myth in his short stories to examine man's ability to profit morally from an encounter with evil.]
With renewed sincerity Hawthorne declares in Twice-Told Tales that the achetypal covenant with the devil most persuasively symbolizes the enigma of human destiny.1 This statement occurs in “The Haunted Mind,” a narrative that defines the creative patterns of Hawthorne's imagination. In a few words he unbosoms the secret inspiration to which he rarely alludes directly: “there is no name for him unless it be Fatality, an emblem of the evil influence that rules your fortunes; a demon to whom you subjected yourself by some error at the outset of life, and were bound his slave forever, by once obeying him. See! those fiendish lineaments graven on the darkness, the writhed lip of scorn, the mockery of the living eye, the pointed finger, touching the sore place in your heart!” As Hawthorne speculates on the different literary forms that the idea might wear, he stumbles upon an experiential equivalent in the spiritual state of the mind represented by remorse, where riotously cavort “the devils of a guilty heart, that holds its hell within itself.”2 And...
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SOURCE: “‘Young Goodman Brown’: Hawthorne's ‘Devil in Manuscript,’” in Studies in Short Fiction, Vol. 18, No. 2, Spring, 1981, pp. 155-62.
[In the following essay, Williamson studies multiple devil figures in Nathaniel Hawthorne's satirical tale “Young Goodman Brown.”]
When Hawthorne commented on the vocation of authorship, he was often drawn to analogies between writing and damnation. “… authors,” he wrote with tongue-in-cheek in 1821, “are always poor devils, and therefore Satan may take them.”1 The pun is on “devil,” which can mean a literary hack; and the meaning is clear: to write conventionally and without integrity is to damn oneself as a writer, even at the cost of popularity and recognition. “… America is now wholly given over to a d[amne]d mob of scribbling women,” Hawthorne wrote in 1855, “and I should have no chance of success while the public taste is occupied with their trash—and should be ashamed of myself if I did succeed.”2 Yet, going to the devil, in another context, was the highest form of praise Hawthorne could bestow on a fellow author. “The woman writes as if the Devil was in her,” he commented upon reading Sara P. Willis's Ruth Hall, “and that is the only condition under which a woman ever writes anything worth reading. Generally women write like emasculated men … ; but when they throw off the restraints...
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SOURCE: “The Devil and Philip Traum: Twain's Satiric Purposes in The Mysterious Stranger,” in Markham Review, Vol. 12, Fall, 1982, pp. 5-11.
[In the following essay, Matheson concentrates on Mark Twain's ironic treatment of Satan in The Mysterious Stranger.]
It is now generally known that the version of Mark Twain's The Mysterious Stranger familiar to most readers is the product of considerable editorial liberties taken by the author's literary executor, Albert Bigelow Paine, and his publisher Frederick A. Duneka, who worked extensively on Twain's unfinished manuscripts in order to create a marketable product. Paine and Duneka, it has been proved,1 were responsible for deleting large sections from the original, adding material of their own, and in general changing the text to produce a work wherein the author's original purposes have been somewhat obscured. Given this, it is not surprising that many critics have turned to events from Twain's later life to provide them with possible clues as to the work's meaning, to say nothing of Twain's purpose in writing it. Unfortunately, what has emerged from this approach is a generally-held but untenable assumption that, since Twain's final years were full of suffering and personal misfortune, his views and those of the totally pessimistic, bitter and cynical Philip Traum must be virtually identical, and that given this, neither Traum...
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Criticism: English Romanticism: The Satanic School
SOURCE: “The Devil as Doppelgänger in The Deformed Transformed: The Sources and Meaning of Byron's Unfinished Drama,” in Bulletin of the New York Public Library, Vol. 74, No. 3, March, 1970, pp. 177-202.
[In the following essay, Robinson probes the Faustian and other sources and thematic implications of the diabolical double in Lord Byron's The Deformed Transformed.]
Byron's The Deformed Transformed is a complex, fragmentary, and uneven drama which has received little critical attention and less praise since its publication in 1824; yet the potential effect of this drama prompted Montague Summers in an unguarded moment to express “infinite regret” that Byron “did not finish the piece, which has a eerie and perhaps unhallowed fascination all its own.”1 Summers undoubtedly praised this drama because of its unorthodox plot containing a pact with the devil, its perplexing incompleteness, its autobiographical revelations, and its indebtedness to Byron's acknowledged sources: Joshua Pickersgill's unbridled Gothic novel, The Three Brothers (1803); and Goethe's Faust, Part I (1808). But the “fascination” attending The Deformed Transformed is manifestly increased when one realizes that Byron's drama was conceived and written and would have been completed under the indirect influence of Percy Bysshe Shelley, that it is a central document for a literary...
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SOURCE: “Milton's Satan in Wordsworth's ‘Vale of Soul-making,’” in Studies in Romanticism, Vol. 23, No. 1, Spring, 1984, pp. 3-30.
[In the following essay, Woodman discusses subtle echoes of the Miltonic Satan in William Wordsworth's poetry.]
By our own spirits are we deified: We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
(“Resolution and Independence.” ll. 47-49)
In several of Wordsworth's lyrics, “We Are Seven” and “Anecdote For Fathers” among them, an adult narrator confronts a small child and, like the “homely Nurse”1 of the “Immortality” ode, “even with something of a Mother's mind, / And no unworthy aim” does all he can to make the child “forget the glories he hath known, / And that imperial palace whence he came” (ll. 79-84). Because the narrator presumably has “yearnings … in [his] own natural kind,” the encounter is an attempted seduction the purpose of which is to bind the child and man together as inmates of the earth. Particularly is this true in the attempted binding of the son to his father in “Anecdote For Fathers.” At the same time, however, the narrator in each case acts somewhat in the manner of Milton's Satan confronting the still innocent Eve. In his “Immortality” ode, which (as Wordsworth points out in the Fenwick...
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SOURCE: “The Diabolical Discourse of Byron and Shelley,” in Philological Quarterly, Vol. 70, No. 1, Winter, 1991, pp. 47-65.
[In the following essay, Brewer asserts that a complimentary interest in Satan as a literary presence inspired a number of the great poetic works of Lord Byron and Percy Shelley.]
Shelley's praise of Byron's Cain was immediate and enthusiastic. In a 12 January 1822 letter to John Gisborne, he asked: “What think you of Lord Byron now? Space wondered less at the swift and fair creations of God, when he grew weary of vacancy, than I at the late works of this spirit of an angel in the mortal paradise of a decaying body.”1 Elsewhere, Shelley used such terms as “apocalyptic” and “revelation” to describe Byron's mystery play.2 Part of Shelley's enthusiasm for Cain could be explained by the fact that Cain treated themes he himself had explored in Queen Mab, Prometheus Unbound, and On the Devil, and Devils. And Byron's use of Lucifer in Cain would also have intrigued Shelley, who, like Byron, enjoyed speculating about the nature and character of the arch-fiend. It seems likely, moreover, that Cain was at least partly inspired by the poets' discussions of metaphysical and religious questions during their meetings in Switzerland and Italy. What might be called Byron's and...
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SOURCE: “The ‘Satanism’ of Cain in Context: Byron's Lucifer and the War Against Blasphemy,” in Keats-Shelley Journal, Vol. 44, 1995, pp. 182-215.
[In the following essay, Schock views Lucifer in Lord Byron's Cain as an ambiguous figure—at once both “the traditional tempter” and “the Promethean metaphysical rebel”—and discusses Byron's purposes in manipulating the Satanic myth.]
In Cain: A Mystery (1821), Byron offers the reader the enigma of his Lucifer, a demonic figure who oscillates between traditional diabolism and all that is implied by “Romantic Satanism.” On the one hand, Byron seems to introduce a conventional if unusually haughty, aloof, and sadistic tempter into his revision of Genesis 4. Because Cain yearns to recover his “just inheritance,” the Eden his parents briefly knew, or at least to learn what he calls “the mystery of my being,” Lucifer breaks him down, first promising metaphysical knowledge, then revealing and ridiculing the hopelessness of Cain's mortal existence.1 Yet from the outset Lucifer is presented as a defamiliarized Devil: the startling preface to the play implies that Lucifer is not to be identified with the serpent who tempted Eve. Lucifer does much more than merely seduce Cain; he instructs him in the values of autonomy, defiance, and metaphysical rebellion. At the end of act ii, Lucifer leaves Cain with the...
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Criticism: Luciferian Discourse In European Literature
SOURCE: “Hugo's La fin de Satan: The Identity Shift,” in Symposium, Vol. 35, No. 2, Summer, 1981, pp. 91-101.
[In the following essay, Babuts analyzes Victor Hugo's imaginative identification with the demonic protagonist of his La fin de Satan.]
Many critics approach La Fin de Satan with the growing realization that there are striking similarities between Satan and the poet, and that the original aspects of the myth can be seen as a sublimation of Hugo's predicament in exile. Baudouin points out the kinship between “sa fille bien-aimée Léopoldine” and the angel Liberté.1 Reinforcing this point of view, Zumthor calls Léopoldine “médiatrice.”2 Grant and Denommé propose similar perspectives, though the former moderates the scope of the biographical approach by urging that the resanctification of Hugo's Satan “be viewed in the sequence of imagery that the poet had developed.”3 Comparing images Milner finds that Satan's solitude resembles Hugo's own in the poem “Ô Gouffre!”4 I propose to show that Hugo's capacity to form bonds of identity with the fallen archangel has its beginnings in the act of meditation, and that it is part of a prevailing creative behavior in which the poet assumes the identity of the protagonist.
The identity shift ranges far. It is present in “Saison des Semailles” (1865), for...
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SOURCE: “Dickens, Defoe, the Devil and the Dedlocks: The ‘Faust Motif’ in Bleak House,” in Dickens Studies Annual, Vol. 10, 1982, pp. 23-44.
[In the following essay, Georgas claims that Mr. Tulkinghorn in Charles Dickens's novel Bleak House is a devil figure and the symbolic embodiment of absolute evil.]
While Dickens' Bleak House is greatly admired, the character of Mr. Tulkinghorn has posed a serious problem for most readers. Studies of Bleak House have focused rather exclusively on Chancery and the law as the novel's symbolic center, and on the story of Jarndyce and Jarndyce as its significant plot. Such studies may regard Mr. Tulkinghorn as one of the more notably characterized lawyers in the novel, but since he is not related to Jarndyce and Jarndyce, he and his pursuit of Lady Dedlock are regarded as irrelevant to the main business of the novel. Moreover, his persecution of Lady Dedlock is seen as insufficiently motivated for the Tulkinghorn-Dedlock plot to be credible as an entity. Tulkinghorn's so-called “purposeless malignance”1 becomes a major weakness of the novel. There are, of course, successful characters in literature who may be described as figures of motiveless evil, most notably Iago; but as Grahame Smith sees it, Iago is a “poetic presentation of absolute evil, and as such is imbued with a more than personal force,” while...
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SOURCE: “Where the Devil Leads: Peasant Superstitions in George Sand's Petite Fadette and Droste-Hülshoff's Judenbuche,” in Neohelicon, Vol. 10, No. 1, 1983, pp. 221-38.
[In the following essay, Godwin-Jones details peasant superstitions related to the Devil in representative works by George Sand and Annette von Droste-Hülshoff.]
Both George Sand and Annette von Droste-Hülshoff belonged to aristocratic families who owned landed estates. Each spent the majority of her youth in the country and remained firmly attached to the particular region in which she was brought up, Sand in Berry, Droste in Westphalia. Both women ultimately rejected the lure of the cities, the centers of literary culture, preferring to reside at their country estates. This love of their native regions is reflected in the best-known works of each woman. Yet the reflection in each case is radically different. This is a result of diametrically opposed intellectual backgrounds and socio-political beliefs.
Sand, an ardent admirer of Rousseau, was essentially a child of the Enlightenment. She believed in the natural goodness of man and placed great faith in the efficacy of human reason. Sand was very much influenced by the utopian socialism popular in France in the first half of the century.1 Like her mentor, Pierre Leroux, Sand believed in the coming of a future golden age in which all...
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SOURCE: “Ivan's Devil in The Brothers Karamazov in the Light of a Traditional Platonic View of Evil,” in Forum for Modern Language Studies, Vol. XXII, No. 1, January, 1986, pp. 1-9.
[In the following essay, Corrigan highlights parallels between the devil of Ivan's dream in Feodor Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov and Plato's philosophical conception of evil.]
In striking contrast to the dramatic power of the Mephistopheles of Goethe or Marlowe and the Satan of Milton or Dante is the devil who appears to Ivan Karamazov. On the threshold of the twentieth century, the devil is depicted as a down-at-heel gentleman, a sponger, a shirker, agreeable enough, but really a bore and a rascal. He would appear, therefore, to be the very antithesis of our conceptions of demonic power. Furthermore, a central dilemma of both the introductory portrayal and the conversation, a dilemma which is never resolved, is the status of the devil's existence: is he the creation of Ivan's sickness, a mere figment of the imagination? Is he ultimately Ivan himself? It might seem to the inattentive reader that not only is Dostoevsky's devil a very undramatic, pedantic bore who adds little or nothing to the novel or to our understanding of Ivan, but also from the logic of the passage he has no real existence, since he is simply a part of Ivan's hallucination.1 Such a reading would be terribly mistaken. But...
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SOURCE: “The Evils of Dead Souls,” in By Authors Possessed: The Demonic Novel in Russia, Northwestern University Press, 1998, pp. 57-92.
[In the following excerpt, Weiner describes the demonological elements of Nikolai Gogol's novel Dead Souls and their relationship to the novelist's authorial persona.]
SOBAKEVICH, PLIUSHKIN, AND DEMONIC ISOLATION
The Devil acquired national characteristics in this first great Russian demonic novel [Dead Souls] through Gogol's creative use of two religious demonologies that antedate the christianization of Rus, but endured in legend and literature until Gogol's day and beyond. These are the Slavonic myth involving the pagan devil Koshchei the Deathless (Koshchei Bessmertnyi) and Bogomilism's heretical dualist cosmogony. By invoking the Koshchei myth Gogol's narrator invites us to piece together the elements of a pagan-folk demonology that are scattered throughout the novel and that mainly implicate Sobakevich, Pliushkin, and the narrator. The narrator's comment that “there are yet many remnants of paganism in the Slavonic nature” (6:229), like many of his seemingly frivolous, casual, or ironic evaluations, in fact indicates a central theme of Dead Souls: the demonism of a pagan outlook in the Christian age. Sobakevich, Pliushkin, and the narrator are the figures that best convey Gogol's anxiety of remaining...
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Butler, Marilyn. “Romantic Manichaeism: Shelley's ‘On the Devil, and Devils’ and Byron's Mythological Dramas.” In The Sun Is God: Painting, Literature and Mythology in the Nineteenth Century, edited by J. B. Bullen, pp. 13-37. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989.
Analyzes the religious and mythological claims of the two nineteenth-century poets, Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe Shelley, most frequently associated with Satanism in the popular mind.
de Montluzin, Emily Lorraine. “Southey's ‘Satanic School’ Remarks: An Old Charge for a New Offender.” In Keats-Shelley Journal 21-22 (1972-73): 29-33.
Observes that many of Robert Southey's attacks on Byron as head of the socalled “Satanic School” of poetry were actually redactions of claims Southey made against another poet, Thomas Moore.
Dudek, Andrzej. “The Devil in 19th Century Russian Poetry.” In Slavia Orientalis XLI, No. 1 (1992): 19-26.
Maintains that Russian poetry of the nineteenth century, unlike fiction of the period, generally equates demonism with Romantic self-expression rather than some moral or social evil.
Gottlieb, Elaine. “Singer and Hawthorne: A Prevalence of Satan.” In Southern Review 8 (Spring 1972): 359-70.
Contrasts representations of Satan in the...
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