Paul Heyse’s Nobel Prize in Literature in 1910 was one last achievement for an author that had dominated his country’s literary output for decades. As one of the few writers winning the prize to have specialised in short stories, any new reader would be encouraged to start with his most famous short work, “L’Arrabbiata”, written in 1853 on his return from a trip to Italy.
The story has been translated into English as “The Fury”, though a literal translation from the Italian invites a more passionate reaction, namely “The Angry Woman”. Laurella is the eighteen years old protagonist that gained her nickname for her sullen behaviour. She is young, but refuses any man in her life, including Christ, for she does not intend to join a monastery. Her stance dumbfounds her community, but her argument is clearly heard in the 21st century, even if not by her contemporaries. Her mother was a victim of domestic abuse by her husband. Laurella rejects vehemently that violence can be justified by the act of love, though not even the kind priest listening to the confession can sympathise with her. The duty for love of marriage is paramount in a society built on the celebration of a union between a man and woman, and even acts of harm can be tolerated in maintaining the status quo.
Antonio is a young man that rejects the label Laurella gained in her community. His sensitive soul appears to want to protect her from men, only if she would notice his love towards her. In the absence of a reaction, his threats are answered with violence by the girl. This image of a strong independent woman feels strikingly modern, as Heyse’s narrative refuses to conform to the stereotypes of his time. For a German audience, this southern Italian passion can be attributed to otherness, but by the end of the story, it is clear that the author was keen to use the localised and the temporal to construct a universal thesis that posits love as a catalyst for violence. True love can only be explained by the possibility of harm, even if unacted. In “L’Arrabbiata”, Heyse took the Petrarchan masochism and turned it onto the loved one, thus clearly exposing the paradox of the romantic movement, always concerned with the tragedy of death to justify the purity of love.
With its raw simplicity and calm restraint, this short story is capable of genuine passion. Heyse’s skill as a writer is to allow the narrative to construct ideas, without daring to moralise with a writer’s authority. Even if we disagree with his thesis, we cannot deny that the story continues to linger in our subconscious, constantly threatening us to accept its conclusion as truth.