the principal theme of chapter 10 through foreshortening and drama-
tization. Vincent’s reveries about the offer from Outram and other de-
tails relevant only to the novel are, of course, excised from the story,
and the sympathetic Miss Anderson is not the source of Vincent’s en-
lightenment about the women’s dissatisfaction. At two points in the
story, Trilling relies on discussion among the matrons both to individ-
ualize them and to establish the grounds of the antagonism toward
their young instructor. The first such discussion immediately follows
the opening paragraph of the story, which is quite similar to the open-
ing paragraph of chapter 10. The second paragraph of the manuscript
(“Of the nine women . . . supposed ideally to aspire.”) follows. The other
1 “The Lesson and the Secret” was first published in Harper’ s Bazaar in 1945; my source is Diana Trilling, ed., “Of This Time, Of That Place” and Other Stories (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1979), 58–71.
appendix: “the lesson and the secret”
“new” conversation among the students follows the descriptions of the
individual class members and Vincent’s assumption that in the East,
wealth would “make a better show.” The short story ends with the sen-
tence following Mrs. Stocker’s question about Garda Thorne’s com-
mercial success as a writer.
Passages from “The Lesson and the Secret” reprinted below illus-
trate the new material and new sequencing of the story. Minor differ-
ences between the manuscript and the story—deletions or additions of
a phrase or a sentence, transpositions, and changes in diction—are not
included, only those that alter the meaning or composition of Vincent’s
classroom experience.
“The Lesson and the Secret”
The nine women of the Techniques of Creative Writing Group sat await-
ing the arrival of their instructor, Vincent Hammell. He was not late but
they were early and some of them were impatient. The room they sat
in was beautiful and bright; its broad windows looked out on the little
lake around which the buildings of the city’s new cultural center were
grouped. The women were disposed about a table of plate glass and their
nine handbags lay in an archipelago upon its great lucid surface.
Mrs. Stocker said, “Mr. Hammell isn’t here, it seems.” There was
the intention of irony in her voice—she put a querulous emphasis on
the “seems.”
Miss Anderson said, “Oh, but it’s that we are early—because of our
being at the luncheon.” She glanced for confirmation at the watch on
her wrist.
“Perhaps so,” Mrs. Stocker said. “But you know, Constance—speak-
ing metaphorically, Hammell is not here, he—is—just—not—here.”
At this remark there were nods of considered agreement. Mrs. Territt
said, “I think so too. I agree,” and brought the palm of her hand down
upon her thigh in a sharp slap of decision.
Mrs. Stocker ignored this undesirable ally. She went on, “Not really
here at all. Oh, I grant you that he is brilliant in a theoretical sense. But
those of us who come here”—she spoke tenderly, as if referring to a sac-
rifice in a public cause—“those of us who come here, come for practice,
not for theory. You can test the matter very easily—you can test it by the
results. And you know as well as I do, Constance, that—there—are—
just—no—results—at—all.”
1
appendix: “the lesson and the secret”
Miss Anderson had gone through uprisings like this every spring and
she knew that there was no standing against Mrs. Stocker. Mrs. Stocker
would have her own way, especially since the group that opposed her was
so small and uncourageous, consisting, in addition to Miss Anderson
herself, only of Mrs. Knight and Miss Wilson. Young Mrs. Knight was
extremely faithful and quite successful in carrying out the class assign-
ments and this naturally put her under suspicion of being prejudiced
in favor of the instructor. Her opinion was bound to be discounted. As
for Miss Wilson, her presence in the group was generally supposed to
have merely the therapeutic purpose of occupying her unhappy mind.
It was not a frequent presence, for she shrank from society, and now
she looked miserably away from the insupportable spectacle of anyone’s
being blamed for anything whatsoever.
Miss Anderson said, “But surely we can’t blame that all on Mr.
Hammell.”
“No, not all,” Mrs. Stocker conceded handsomely because it was so
little to concede. “I grant you it isn’t all his fault. But I think we have the
right to expect—. It isn’t as if we weren’t paying. And generously, too, I
might add. And there’s nothing to show. Not one of us has sold herself.”
Mrs. Territt gave vent to an explosive snicker. At once Mrs. Stocker
traced the reason for the outburst to Mrs. Territt’s primitive sexual imagi-
nation and said sharply, “Not one of us has sold herself to a single maga-
zine. Not one of us has put herself across.”
Of the nine women, all were very wealthy.
[The manuscript and story are quite similar for the next few para-
graphs up to “a more firmly bottomed assurance, a truer arrogance.”
A new sentence—“Then, too, he could suppose”—concludes that para-
graph, followed by another new conversation among the women in which
Mrs. Stocker, rather than Miss Anderson, raises the subject of contacts
and “the straight dope.”]
Then, too, he could suppose that these women were the failures and
misfits of their class, else they would not have to meet weekly to devote
themselves to literature.
“I have nothing against Hammell personally, nothing whatsoever,”
Mrs. Stocker said. “What I think is that we need a different kind of person.
Hammell is very modern, but we need somebody more practical. It seems
to me that if we could have a literary agent, who could give us the straight
dope, tell us about contracts and the right approach …” [ellipsis in original]
Mrs. Stocker had no need to complete her conditional clause. The
straight dope, the contracts and right approach, went directly to the hearts
15
appendix: “the lesson and the secret”
of Mrs. Territt, Mrs. Broughton, and Mrs. Forrester. They murmured a
surprised approval of the firm originality of the suggestion. Even old Mrs.
Pomeroy raised her eyebrows to indicate that although human nature did
not change, it sometimes appeared in interesting new aspects. To all the
ladies, indeed, it came as a relief that Mrs. Stocker should suggest that
there was another secret than that of creation. There was a power possibly
more efficacious, the secret of selling, of contacts and the right approach.
Miss Anderson said, “But aren’t all the literary agents in New York?”
She said it tentatively, for she was without worldly knowledge, but what
she said was so sensibly true that the general enthusiasm was dampened.
“But surely,” Mrs. Stocker said, and her voice was almost desperate,
“but surely there must be so
mebody?”
Mrs. Broughton, who was staring out of the window, said, “Here he
comes,” whispering it like a guilty conspiratorial schoolgirl. Mrs. For-
rester closed her dark expressive eyes to the group to signal “mum” and
the ladies composed their faces.
Could Vincent Hammell have heard the conversation of which he
was the subject, he would have been surprised by only one element in
it—the lack of any response to him personally. He knew he was not suc-
ceeding with the group, but he knew, too, that none of the instructors
who had come before him had succeeded any better.
[two paragraphs roughly the same, up to] held in bondage by a great
conspiracy of editors.
Vincent Hammell was carrying his brief-case . . . hope of better days.
Vincent was glad of the brief-case, for it helped to arm his youth and
poverty against the wealth and years of his pupils. He laid it on the plate-
glass table, beneath which his own legs and the legs of the women were
visible. He opened it and took out a thin folder of manuscript. Miss An-
derson cleared her throat, caught the eye of member after member and
brought the meeting to order. Hammell looked up and took over the
class. It was only his entrance into the room that gave him trouble and
now he spoke briskly and with authority.
“Two weeks ago,” he said, “I asked you to write an account of some
simple outdoor experience.”
[At this point the story and the manuscript converge again; the dis-
cussion of Mrs. Knight’s story about her lodge follows, ending with Mrs.
Stocker’s question about its “marketable value.” The short new succeed-
ing paragraph in “The Lesson and the Secret” shows Mrs. Knight’s inter-
est in the commercial potential of her story.]
1
appendix: “the lesson and the secret”
There were little nods around the table as the spirit of the junta as-
serted itself once more, but there was a constraining sense of guilt now
that Vincent Hammell was here. Mrs. Knight looked very conscious. She
was humble about her writing and near enough to her college days to
submit to the discipline of an assigned exercise, but she was naturally
not averse to knowing whether or not she had produced a commodity.
“Now you take Constance’s stories—Miss Anderson’s stories, Mr.
Hammell.”
[The manuscript and story similarly recount Mrs. Territt’s hostile
question about writing “at all,” Vincent’s reading of the Garda Thorne
story, the class’s benign elevation, and Mrs. Stocker’s deflating question
as to whether Thorne’s stories “sell well.” The story concludes with the
following one-sentence paragraph.]
At the question there was a noisy little murmur of agreement to its
relevance as the eyes turned to Vincent Hammell to demand his answer.
1
Document Outline
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
A Note on the Manuscript and Related Materials
Trilling's Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Trillings Commentary
Appendix: "The Lesson and the Secret"
The Journey Abandoned_The Unfinished Novel Page 31
