would unquestionably be subtracted from,
if another paragraph should be appended and should steal away its
importance of position.

In order to derive the utmost emphasis from the terminal position,
the great artist Guy de Maupassant, in his short-stories, developed a
periodicity of structure by means of which he reserved the solution
of the narrative, whenever possible, until the final sentences. This
periodic structure is employed, for example, in his well-known story
of "The Necklace" ("_La Parure_"). It deals with a poor woman who
loses a diamond necklace that she has borrowed from a rich friend in
order to wear at a ball. She buys another exactly like it and returns
this in its place. For ten years she and her husband labor day
and night to pay off the debts they have incurred to purchase the
substituted jewels. After the debts are all paid, the woman tells her
friend of what had happened. Then follows this last sentence of the
story:--

"'Oh, my poor Mathilde. But mine were false. At most they were worth
five hundred francs!'"

Next to the last position, the most emphatic place in a brief
narrative, or section of a narrative, is of course the first. The
mind of the reader receives with an especial vividness whatever is
presented to it at the outset. For this reason it is necessary in the
short-story, and advisable in the chapters of a novel, to begin with
material that not only is inherently essential but also strikes
the key-note of the narrative that is to follow. Edgar Allan Poe is
especially artistic in applying this principle of emphasis by initial
position. We have already quoted, in another connection, the solemn
opening of "The Fall of the House of Usher," with its suggestion of
immitigable gloom of setting as the dominant note of the narrative. In
"The Cask of Amontillado," wherein the thing to be emphasized is
the element of action, Poe begins with this sentence: "The thousand
injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could; but when he
ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge": and we know already that the
story is to set forth a signal act of vengeance. In "The Tell-Tale
Heart," which is a study of murderous madness, and deals primarily
with the element of character, the author opens thus:--

"True!--nervous--very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am;
but why _will_ you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my
senses--not destroyed--not dulled them. Above all was the sense of
hearing