The hilarious yet dark conclusion to Charterhouse of Parma

The concluding chapters in Stendahl's Charterhouse of Parma (1839) are so ludicrous as to be intentionally hilarious; Stendahl seems to be figuratively, maybe literally, shrugging his shoulders (he dictated the novel, amazingly, over a course of 52 days!) and saying that's how things go in those crazy Italian states - though of course that's just a screen or cover, as noted in yesterday's post - he was truly criticizing the machinations, payoffs, corruption, toadying, and injustice in his own society and in ours today for that matter. So what happens?: Fabrizio, deeply saddened that Clelia, whom he had worshiped from afar while imprisoned in the Tower, must go ahead and marrying the wealthy, somewhat idiotic, Marchese; F - who throughout has improbably been in line for a career in the church (w/out showing the slightest interest in religion or divinity), begins a series of highly impassioned sermons and becomes in effect a rock star. While delivering the sermons, he falls in love again (of course!) with a beautiful young woman in the audience. Skipping some details, eventually F works out an arrangement with the now-married Clelia under which they can "see" each other but only in the dark (so that she can maintain her ridiculous vow to never look upon F again); the nightly trysts - can the husband not know or suspect? - lead to the birth of a son. Not content w/ this kind of relationship, F insists that C leave her marriage and live w/ him; they come up w/ a plan to pretend that the boy is ill and needs outside medical car. Lo and behold - he really is ill (perhaps their medical "treatments" made him so) and he dies. In despair, C. dies, too. Meanwhile, F's other beloved, his aunt the Duchess, has made "me too" pledge to the Prince, and she keeps her end of the deal, though entirely repulsed. She goes into exile and dies a year later. F ensconces himself in the eponymous Charterhouse (a monastery) where he, too, dies w/in a year. At the end, the prisons in Parma are empty, Count Mosca (The Duchesses' much older husband) is wealthy, and the Prince (a feckless fool, think about the English royal line for a second) is considered a great statesman. It's hard not to laugh out loud reading these chapters - but we're totally laughing with, not at, Stendahl; his is kind of like Kafka's humor: the plot is ghastly if taken literally, but from a distance, once removed - imagine either S or K reading the story aloud to an audience - the dark, satiric humor rises to the fore. Stendahl's narrative rushes headlong like no other, and encompasses in spare, unembellished prose, entire worlds, including, sadly, ours. 



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