University of Virginia Library

Notes on the Unrevised Galleys of Faulkner's Sanctuary
by
Linton Massey [*]

Almost twenty five years ago Jonathan Cape and Harrison Smith published on February 9, 1931,[1] in an edition of 2219 copies,[2] a sixth novel by William Faulkner, entitled, Sanctuary.

On its surface level the book appeared to be a narrative in Freudian terms of sex, sin, and depravity.[3] It was an immediate success and soon reached the best-seller list, as a grateful public, not then conditioned to the sadistic splendors yet to be unfolded by latter day Mickey Spillanes, manifested a shocked pleasure in the contemplation of young Southern womanhood in terms of corn cobs, rather than moonlight and honeysuckle. Until this moment few readers had indeed been aware of William Faulkner; now he dusted off the old stories and sold them at suitably higher prices to editors who had previously rejected them. Hollywood bought his book, and sought to place Faulkner himself under contract. He was from this moment a made man, with a secure though tempestuous reputation as a literary craftsman.

That Sanctuary was in fact a work of some complexity in both structure and content did not become apparent until the Yoknapatawpha cycle had grown in magnitude and velocity; then his early novel was recognized as a key book, springing directly from Sartoris, and stretching on through the series to The Hamlet and Requiem for a Nun and A Fable. Sanctuary, so viewed, restated the myth of Beauty and the Beast, modified to assure no miraculous transfigurations; and the book surely represented a study of evil,—not the duality of good and evil, but of evil as corruption. Faulkner's characters were symbols of a materialism[4] that revolted him as profoundly as their callous brutality affected the sensibilities of his impercipient readers. Here was vileness, and the more pictorial of the seven deadly sins.

Here, too, was irony: for each one who dies in Sanctuary, Tommy or Goodwin or Popeye or Red, each comes to his end for the wrong reason. Those who are abused, but do not perish, are not necessarily guilty of wrong-doing; however, this is not quite the same thing as saying they are innocent, because no one is wholly innocent in Sanctuary. Indeed, it could be said of the author, "—thou hast done much ill well," and he might not demur in this instance, if only because he has later shown that sin and suffering must be experienced if man is to be saved. This idea assuredly owed as much to Dostoevsky and Tolstoy and Hawthorne as ever it did to the simple, though perhaps not entirely orthodox, protestantism fashionable at the time in north Mississippi. Sanctuary was, however, a study in sin, not in salvation.

While it was his sixth novel to be published, it was the fifth in actual order of composition.[5] When his third, Sartoris, was published by Harcourt, Brace in January, 1929,[6] two years had elapsed since the publication of its predecessor, Mosquitos; and in the interval he had, as he later phrased it, written his guts into The Sound and the Fury, a manuscript that was taken by still another publisher who warned that the book would not sell, as indeed it did not, when it was issued in October, 1929,[6] hard upon the heels of Sartoris.

In the summer of that year, 1929, Faulkner, with three commercial failures on his hands and a prospective fourth in the presses, "began to think

of books in terms of possible money. I decided," he wrote later by way of explanation, "I decided I might just as well make some of it myself . . . I had been writing books for about 5 years, which got published and not bought . . . I took a little time out, and speculated what a person in Mississippi would believe to be current trends, chose what I thought was the right answer and invented the most horrific tale I could imagine and wrote it in about three weeks and sent it to Smith who had done The Sound and the Fury and who wrote me immediately, 'Good God, I can't publish this. We'd both be in jail. . . .'"[7]

Harrison Smith's editorial judgment may quite possibly have been unexceptionable. His dilemma was certainly acute, faced as he was on the one hand with a wish to publish an author who bore the plain touch of genius, and on the other, with a not altogether unnatural wish to escape the consequences of a professional visit by the Reverend John Sumner. Smith resolved the question by begging it: he postponed publication of Sanctuary and filed away the manuscript for the time being. Faulkner pitched into the labor of writing still another book, As I Lay Dying, in the short space of six weeks; Smith accepted it, and it was issued in October, 1930.[6]

Critical acclaim had been the principal satisfaction gained from the publication of both The Sound and the Fury and As I Lay Dying, for neither of the small editions sold very well. Smith himself was obviously not disheartened. He had the courage at this point, in bad times and with two other novels by the same author neatly stacked on warehouse shelves, to proceed with Sanctuary. Some months previously, and despite his doubts, he had ordered the setting of type on Sanctuary beginning on May 16,[8] 1930; but upon the arrival of the manuscript of As I Lay Dying, that novel was rushed to press, and work was suspended on Sanctuary with four galleys, only, set in Linotype. Since As I Lay Dying thus took precedence, it was not until November 3rd[9] that typesetting was resumed on Sanctuary; but the job was then completed without interruption, and galleys were sent to the surprised author.

"I think I had forgotten about Sanctuary," Faulkner wrote several years later,[7] "just as you might forget about anything made for an immediate purpose, which did not come off. As I Lay Dying was published and I didn't remember the mss. of Sanctuary until Smith sent me the galleys. Then I saw that it was so terrible that there were but two things to do: tear it up or rewrite it. I thought again, 'It might sell; maybe 10,000 of them will buy it.' So I tore the galleys down and rewrote the book. It had already

been set up once, so I had to pay for the privilege of rewriting it, and trying to make out of it something which would not shame The Sound and the Fury and As I Lay Dying too much and I made a fair job. . . ."

Now this retrospective glance by Faulkner was made some two years after the revisions just mentioned had been completed. On this occasion he waved a deprecatory hand and told how he had debased his art by writing the book for money. His pettishness at the time ignored the cynicism of the Great Cham himself, who had remarked that nobody would write at all, except for money, just as it overlooked the fact that Faulkner's early, imitative novels had been composed out of motives not too circumspect, frankly to make money and to fashion a career resembling that of Sherwood Anderson. "I liked that money," he said when Liveright gave him an advance of $200. "It seemed to me a mighty easy way to earn money."[10]

It was not until Faulkner was well along into Sartoris that he realized "—writing was a mighty fine thing," that "—you could make people stand on their hind legs and cast a shadow."[11] In any event, his own dismissal of Sanctuary at that time is now rejected by responsible critics, who do nevertheless mourn the fact that Faulkner once ventured to impeach his own artistic integrity, when that attribute is in point of truth his distinguishing characteristic, his shield of honor, his white plume. Those who presume to sit cross-legged over the nativity of another man's intellectual offspring may be expected at very least to voice some opinion as to the legitimacy of the birth.

But to grant or not, as one may choose, Faulkner's quick hop from Beale Street to Grub Street and back again, he began in any case the not wholly agreeable task of tearing down the galleys of Sanctuary, in mid-November, 1930. There was presumably not much time to spare. Perhaps Harrison Smith already wanted the book for publication in the following February; still, the work was soon finished, and a revised text was dispatched to Smith. In the years that succeeded, many unanswered questions arose regarding the nature, extent, and effect of those revisions.

No set of the original galley proofs, from which comparisons could be drawn, was known to have survived the passage of time. Assuming that six sets had been pulled in accordance with usual practice, two sets would have been sent to the author, two would have gone to his agent, and two would have been retained by the publisher. Out of these six sets, one was torn down in the course of the rewriting and might be presumed lost in the process, or discarded by the printer; the other set might possibly remain

in Faulkner's files, of the two sets sent him. Of the agent's sets, the whereabouts of one is unknown; the other forms the basis of these notes. Both of the sets once in the possession of the publisher are in existence, and their present owners have been identified.[12] Until this time, however, no preliminary examination of any set has supplied for the record even tentative answers to the teasing questions: what were the changes? How acutely did they alter the novel as first written?

Presumptive evidence would indicate a drastic revision of the text. Those students of Faulkner's work who recognize the Byzantine intricacies often introduced into the action of his stories, could expect alterations centered on the structure of his book, even though they would at the same time be prepared to encounter those literary devices already his very own:— his handling of pure suspense, ironic suspense, and the dramatic emphasis to be obtained by a manipulation of the time element, along with his idiosyncrasies as to syntax, his abrupt transitions, and his deliberate procrastinations. Such students of his work would expect a meticulous revision and a thorough one. They would not be disappointed.

A reference to Appendix A[13] illustrates the extent of the changes made. In terms of the galleys, this table shows how chapters were transposed, and how material was rewritten, condensed, or canceled; but it does not designate the points where new portions were inserted. Appendix B remedies this deficiency by turning matters about and viewing the published book in terms of the galleys. Both tables are, of course, complementary. Together they suggest, as well as such tables may, the lengths Faulkner was willing to go in the reconstruction of his book. They reflect the labors of a proud, sensitive, and, at this stage of his career, an almost desperate craftsman.

But no tabulation can possibly reveal the character of the alterations made, nor can it disclose how profoundly the changes affected the motivation of the novel. When Faulkner first wrote Sanctuary back in that summer of 1929, his mood, it will be recalled, was one of despair: his previous novels had not sold very well, and he needed money.[14] He had written Sanctuary in a few weeks and had shipped it off to Harrison Smith. Proof sheets did not reach him until mid-November of the following year; when they arrived, he found 103 galley sheets, and a narrative as loose in structure as it was infirm in purpose. An abstract of those galleys

will readily indicate both the confusion, and the necessity of an entirely new approach to the narrative.

In these proofs of the story as it was first written, then, the tale opens with Horace at the jail interviewing Goodwin after his arrest for the murder of Tommy. Chapter Two establishes the incestuous nature of Horace's attachment both for his sister and his stepdaughter; and episodes out of the earlier book, Sartoris, are recalled, those relating to Horace's affair with Belle, the woman he eventually married, and those concerning his behavior at the time Narcissa decided to marry. An inadequate transition, still within this Chapter Two, reveals that Horace has deserted Belle and is walking to Jefferson, though he is thirsty enough at the moment to be looking for a spring. Horace is then detained by Popeye; he drinks a good deal of whiskey at Goodwin's; and in due course, with no dramatization of the scenes at the Frenchman Place, he reaches Jefferson. Here Horace calls on Miss Jenny and finds Narcissa in the garden with Gowan.

After supper there is a long conversation between Horace, Miss Jenny, Narcissa's son, and a character out of Sartoris, Saddie, who will disappear in the printed book. There is here incorporated a long description of Miss Jenny's living room and an account of her ancestors' lives, all destined for removal in the revised version. Horace recounts his meeting with Popeye and goes on to explain why he has left his wife; thereafter, back in his hotel room he remembers Ruby and how he had watched her in the kitchen at Goodwin's, where events and scenes are now recalled in detail, even to the pocket watch Popeye had inherited from his grandfather, which contains a lock of his mother's hair in the back of the case.

Horace, staying at Miss Jenny's for two days, once again gazes at the photograph of his stepdaughter, Little Belle. Later, in the ensuing action, there is a considerable amount of shuttling back and forth between Miss Jenny's and his own old house, into which he finally moves, where yet again he broods over his unhappy marriage and where he thinks about Ruby, and, inevitably, of Little Belle. On one of his trips to town he sees the crowd at the undertaker's parlor where the murdered Tommy now lies.

Once more at Miss Jenny's, Horace tells her about his talk with Goodwin, who stubbornly refuses to accuse Popeye; then comes the message from Ruby and her subsequent admission that a young girl was present when the murder was committed.

Not until this point has been reached in the story, on what would have been about page 85 had the galleys been reduced to page proofs, does Temple Drake make her appearance. Heretofore she has not been so much as mentioned; now she is shown returning from that dance at the University, meeting Gowan the next day, wrecking the car at the Frenchman

Place, and so on, with the action stopping just as Ruby is about to serve supper.

Quite unnecessarily, the scene reverts to Ruby, back in Jefferson, as she resumes her account of what went on thereafter, telling how the men came into Temple's darkened room one by one while she waited inside for them to leave so she could secrete Temple in the corn crib for the night. Again rather unnecessarily, the point of view shifts abruptly and the anonymous narrator interposes to continue the story and to relate the events leading up to the murder of Tommy and the entrance of Popeye into the corn crib. Still another quick transition allows Horace to resume his central position in the narrative, as Ruby continues and tells of her telephone call to the sheriff, of Gowan's running away, and of Temple's departure with Popeye. Horace, back at Miss Jenny's, studies Little Belle's photograph, goes to the University with his enquiries about Temple, and runs into Senator Snopes.

The account of Popeye's trip to Memphis with Temple follows, along with the subsequent episodes at Miss Reba's and the comic interlude with the apprentice barbers, all without material change from the printed version. Then again Horace returns to the reader's view as he buys the news of Temple's whereabouts from Senator Snopes, moons over that photograph of Little Belle, and finally talks with Temple at Miss Reba's, before catching the train for Jefferson.

Temple now makes her telephone call to Red; Popeye takes Temple to the speakeasy; Red is murdered; there is the wake and the funeral and the amusing party at Miss Reba's afterwards, when so much is learned about Red, Popeye, and Temple, all before the action reverts to Jefferson and Horace and the opening of the trial. In the courtroom Ruby and Temple each testify in turn, and Temple leaves with her father.

There now appears in the galleys a letter from Horace to Narcissa, followed by Narcissa's reply. Both letters are dramatically ineffective, allow the author to evade his responsibilities by failing to provide a climax, and virtually destroy the artistic validity of the narrative. These letters wholly disappear in the published version. The first, from Horace in Kinston, says he was obliged to run away from Jefferson after Temple had testified and the jury had announced its verdict, because he had found more reality than he could stomach. He had gone back to Belle and to Little Belle; as for the case itself, it would be referred to another lawyer. Narcissa's reply is brief enough, and is almost peremptory in tone. She reports that Goodwin was removed from Jefferson on the same day Horace left. They were getting ready to lynch Goodwin, she says, so his going spared them that, at least.

Then comes the concluding chapter, giving a truncated account of the

false murder charge against Popeye, his trial, and execution. No mention is made of Popeye's early life, or parentage.

Here, then, was the script as it lay before William Faulkner on that mid-November day of 1930, when he faced the necessity of rewriting a book that had been dashed off in an incredibly short space of time, well over a year ago. In examining those loose galley sheets today, an observer may in fancy imagine the author's dismay and concern as he turned idly through them: for here was not a wholly bad book, but one that surely revealed carelessness and disclosed a lamentable dichotomy in purpose. And in looking over the author's shoulder, such an observer might, with all the assured glow of omniscience and infallibility conferred by hindsight, presume to advance a few plausible, if entirely unauthenticated, guesses regarding the problems facing Faulkner on that notable day.

For one thing, to consider the lesser faults in turn before viewing the graver imperfections, an investigation should be undertaken regarding those multiple and often inexplicable shifts in time and locale. Even allowing for a virtual magic in the manipulation of these elements, the galleys appeared to be almost crude in this respect, with their abrupt and apparently capricious changes, to say nothing of a further contribution made to disorder and general untidiness by frequent alterations in the point of view, from that of the author himself to one or another of the characters, and back again. To be sure, these were all quite unimportant technical corrections that any competent author could effect.

Then, as another matter, there were the excrescences, those passages which delayed the action without serving it, such as, for instance, that episode transplanted in full bloom out of Sartoris depicting Horace's affair with Belle while she was still married to her first husband, Harry Mitchell. Conversely, there were other, new, as yet unwritten portions that should be inserted in the revised book, passages that would clarify or dramatize the action, a case in point here being the absolute necessity of portraying Horace after the trial, when he should run full tilt into a mob ready to lynch him as Goodwin's lawyer. But all such alterations, the parts to be omitted and the passages to be inserted, were mechanical, or nearly so, for any trained writer.

Two questions remained, however, and the answers to them were of primary importance, since on them the book would stand or fall. Whose story is this? What does the story mean? Because these questions are inseparable, let them be examined together in the search for a single answer.

In its original, unrevised form, the story is patently a Freudian study of Horace Benbow, a man who is so much the victim of his half-hidden incestuous fantasies that he has no will of his own, cannot act, and possesses no courage. He was a minor figure in Sartoris, here enlarged into the

shadow of a man and magnified as the protagonist. About him the story swirls, as he moves dreamily through it with all his tiresome obsessions and preoccupations, with his furtive and futile love for both sister and stepdaughter, with his ambivalence toward the mother-substitute whom he has married. So ineffectual a hero, acting in such brilliant counterpoint with so witless a heroine as Temple Drake, no doubt was designed to dazzle the eye, but the truth was that the spectacle merely fatigued the optic nerve.

Actually, there were two stories in these pages of galley proof, the Freudian study of Horace Benbow in the one; and in the other, the adventures of Temple Drake, an inquiry into the nature of sin as one facet in that trinity of the ritualism of re-birth: sin, suffering, and salvation. Evil was projected symbolically in this second story, with terror springing out of the corruption. There was no innocence and little goodness anywhere; there was no salvation and little suffering.

Only by suffering for his sins could a man be saved, but then he must be capable of suffering and he must be capable of redemption. The paradox was clear: to save his soul a man must possess one. Repent not, and you are not to be saved; be corrupt and recognize it not as evil, and you are already defiled and lost and condemned.[15] Knowing you are doomed and damned you find sanctuary, no matter how fleeting, in a corn crib or in a Memphis bordello if your name is Temple Drake; or in a jail if you are a Lee Goodwin; or in death if you are a Popeye. You acquiesce in your fate, not as a nebulous form of determinism, but as an inevitable consequence of your folly, your debasement, and your unfitness to win salvation. What happens to you is symbolic of what had already happened to your soul. Your choice was made before you undertook the act.

Thus, perhaps, did William Faulkner analyze those galley sheets and consider how best they might be revised, so as not to shame too much The Sound and the Fury and As I Lay Dying. Which should it be: Freud and Horace, or sin and Temple Drake? A decision could not have been very difficult. Horace and his aura of languid libidinousness had been conveyed once before in the earlier Sartoris, a fact that possibly accounted for the warmed-over flavor in the unrevised text of Sanctuary. On the other hand, Temple Drake as a current manifestation of profane love was new; and participation in vice, even vicariously, was always more interesting than a mere contemplation of its possibilities; and maybe 10,000 of them

would want to read about it; and that was the immediate objective, to write a book that would sell.

Once such a decision had been made, the rest was easy. Out must go the psychological overtones, the domesticity and warmth of Miss Jenny, and the ascription of any humanity whatever to most of the characters. Popeye must be denied any such sentimental affectation as the ownership of a watch that belonged to his grandfather and had a lock of his mother's hair in the case. Out, too, and speedily, must go the emphasis on Horace. This was largely a matter of transposition and exclusion. Viewed in the round, a complete reorientation was a prime requisite, with a smash finish to replace those really dreadful letters between Horace and Narcissa,—an immolation scene, perhaps, with the helpless and blameless victim as a sacrifice to appease the angry mob.

Place the opening of the book at the Frenchman Place, as Horace looks up from the spring to find the diabolic Popeye staring at him with those eyes like two knobs of rubber, but whisk him away before he can dominate the action. Bring Temple into view, then plunge her into a tragedy that will be all terror and no pity whatever, for with no pity there could be no purification and hence no katharsis. Keep enough of the bumbling Horace, that dispirited Daedalus who was never able to remember where he had dropped the skein of linen thread, that somnambulist neither quick nor dead who was beyond good and evil because he was incapable of the one and too spineless for the other, keep this tragic failure of a man to contrast with the more forthright and animated bootleggers and gangsters and madams who had the merit if not the virtue of honesty; but subdue the light falling upon him, and always thrust Temple back into the glare. Be heartless, therefore, in stamping this pattern of evil; be unrelenting; be direct. Cut here, rewrite there, transpose, elaborate, condense.

In some such fashion, and with a minimum of effort, Faulkner altered the entire focus and meaning of the book; he simplified a too-complex structure; he excluded the irrelevant; he clarified the obscure passages where ambiguity was not an asset; he amplified those portions requiring emendation; he gave the novel a climax; and he freed it from its bonds of previous servitude to an earlier book.

For the magnitude of his accomplishment there can be only admiration; for the skill he revealed there can be only respect; and for his minor miracle of revision there can be only gratitude. Had he failed, had he served up in error that mishmash of Freudianism out of day-before-yesterday's scraps, then it is possible to believe he might at the same time have committed the artistic suicide he once mentioned when, long ago, out of sheer desperation, he took refuge in the writing of a book with the magnificently ironic title of Sanctuary.

APPENDIX A
Galley Proofs: Published Book

Chapter I:

• 1-6: canceled
• 7-43: XVI, 3-38
• 44-51: rewritten as XVI, 39-56
• 52-59: XVI, 58-64
• 60-68: XVI, 66-74
• 69: canceled
• 70-75: XVI, 75-80
• 76-87: canceled
• 88-109: XVI, 92-114
• 110-112: XVI, 85-86
• 113-121: canceled
• 122-169: XVI, 115-162
• 170-179: canceled
• 180-182: rewritten as XVI, 163-166
• 183-406: XVI, 167-291

Chapter II:

• 1-242: rewritten as II, 71-181
• 243-295: canceled
• 296-487: condensed as I, 9-158
• 488-495: canceled
• 496-638: rewritten as II, 276-392
• 639-675: canceled

Chapter III:

• 1-26: XV, 127-143
• 27-70: canceled
• 71-73: III, 8-10
• 74-107: III, 16-24
• 108-140: canceled
• 141-146: paraphrased as III, 12-13
• 147-155: canceled
• 156-167: condensed as III, 25-34
• 168-169: III, 14-15
• 170-303: condensed as III, 35-110
• 304-321: canceled
• 322-334: rewritten as XV, 12-25
• 335-347: canceled
• 348-377: III, 124-136
• 378-589: canceled
• 590-617: XV, 39-71
• 618-625: canceled
• 626-633: XV, 72-80
• 634-642: expanded as XV, 81-126

Chapter IV:

• 1-157: canceled
• 158-220: condensed as I, 159-186
• 221-256: canceled
• 257-269: II, 297-309
• 270-273: canceled
• 274-298: II, 21-51
• 299-351: canceled
• 352-436: II, 195-275

Chapter V:

• 1: XV, 32
• 2-146: canceled
• 147-151: XV, 1-11
• 152-161: canceled
• 162-191: paraphrased as XV, 127-145
• 192-235: canceled
• 236-245: also paraphrased in XV, 127-145
• 246: XV, 146
• 247-292: canceled
• 293-297: XV, 147-152
• 298-355: canceled
• 356-372: XV, 153-168
• 373-406: canceled
• 407-475: XV, 169-237

Chapter VI:

• 1-23: XVII, 1-23
• 24-28: canceled
• 29-32: XVII, 29-32
• 33-51: paraphrased as XVII, 33-39
• 52-67: expanded as XVII, 40-63
• 68-164: XVII, 64-160
• 165-179: XVII, 164-178
• 180-198: canceled
• 199-298: XVII, 192-292
• 299-314: canceled
• 315-317: VI, 300-301
• 318-321: canceled
• 322-328: VI, 302-312
• 329-372: rewritten as VI, 313-339

Chapter VII:

• 1-397: IV, 1-397

Chapter VIII:

• 1-126: V, 1-126
• 127-404: VI, 1-279

Chapter IX:

• 1-370: VII, 1-370

Chapter X:

• 1-3: canceled
• 4-62: XIX, 8-66
• 63-67: canceled

---

206




• 68-138: XIX, 71-142
• 139-187: IX, 60-118
• 188-447: XI, 1-260
• 448-573: XII, 1-126

Chapter XI:

• 1-17: canceled
• 18-525: VIII, 9-517
• 526-645: XIII, 1-121

Chapter XII:

• 1-4: XIX, 1-7
• 5-7: XIX, 67-70
• 8-25: dramatized as XIV, 1-55
• 26-94: canceled
• 95-144: dramatized as X, 1-88
• 145-181: canceled
• 182-213: XIX, 161-210
• 214-237: canceled
• 238-287: XIX, 161-210, also
• 288-303: canceled
• 304-314: condensed as XIX, 246-249
• 315-331: condensed as XIX, 250-261
• 332-460: XIX, 262-391
• 461-470: canceled
• 471-620: XIX, 394-541
• 621-635: canceled
• 636-733: XIX, 542-637
• 734-744: canceled
• 745-809: XX, 22-84

Chapter XIII:

• 1-501: XVIII, 1-501

Chapter XIV:

• 1-278: XVIII, 502-779

Chapter XV:

• 1-69: XVIII, 780-848

Chapter XVI:

• 1-371: XXI, 1-372

Chapter XVII:

• 1-48: XX, 229-276
• 49-58: condensed as XX, 85-88
• 59-86: XX, 89-115
• 87-122: condensed as XX, 133-137
• 123-189: XX, 138-201
• 190-206: canceled
• 207-222; rewritten as XX, 203-228
• 223-448: XXII, 1-321
• 449-465: canceled

Chapter XVIII:

• 1-556: XXIII, 1-556
• 557-564: canceled
• 565-602: XXIII, 557-595

Chapter XIX:

• 1-619: XXIV, 1-619

Chapter XX:

• 1-240: XXV, 1-240

Chapter XXI:

• 1-373: XXV, 241-614

Chapter XXII:

• 1-74: rewritten as XXVI, 1-43
• 75-92: canceled
• 93-235: condensed as XXVI, 44-217

Chapter XXIII:

• 1: rewritten as XXVII, 1
• 2-5: XXVII, 52-55
• 6-24: canceled
• 25-36: paraphrased as XXVII, 56-64
• 37-62: XXVII, 65-90
• 63-113: XXVII, 92-142
• 114-115: canceled
• 116-261: XXVII, 143-281
• 262-263: canceled
• 264-279: XXVII, 282-296
• 280-285: canceled
• 286-488: XXVII, 297-500
• 489-516: rewritten as XXVII, 501-526

Chapter XXIV:

• 1-239: XXVIII, 1-240

Chapter XXV:

• 1-83: canceled

Chapter XXVI:

• 1-21: canceled

Chapter XXVII:

• 1-6: rewritten as XXXI, 1-8
• 7-224: XXXI, 277-498
• 225-266: XXXI, 501-542
• 267-268: XXXI, 499-500

APPENDIX B
Published Book: Galley Proofs

Chapter I:

• 1-8: new, paraphrasing II, 279-295
• 9-158: condensing II, 296-487
• 159-186: rewriting IV, 158-220
• 187-266: new

Chapter II:

• 1-20: new
• 21-51: rewriting IV, 274-298
• 52-70: new
• 71-181: condensing II, 1-242
• 182-194: new
• 195-275: rewriting IV, 352-436
• 276-289: condensing II, 496-528
• 290-296: new
• 297-309: adapting IV, 257-269
• 310-392: condensing II, 530-638
• 393-396: new

Chapter III:

• 1-7: new
• 8-10: III, 71-73
• 11: new
• 12-13: paraphrasing III, 141-146
• 14-15: III, 168-169
• 16-24: condensing III, 74-107
• 25-34: III, 156-167
• 35-110: III, 170-303
• 111-123: adapting III, 74-107
• 124-136: III, 348-377

Chapter IV:

• 1-397: VII, 1-397

Chapter V:

• 1-126: VIII, 1-126

Chapter VI:

• 1-279: VIII, 127-404

Chapter VII:

• 1-370: IX, 1-370

Chapter VIII:

• 1-8: paraphrasing XI, 1-17
• 9-517: XI, 18-525

Chapter IX:

• 1-59: new
• 60-118: X, 139-187

Chapter X:

• 1-88: dramatizing XII, 95-144

Chapter XI:

• 1-260: X, 188-447

Chapter XII:

• 1-126: X, 448-573

Chapter XIII:

• 1-121: XI, 526-645

Chapter XIV:

• 1-55: dramatizing XII, 8-25

Chapter XV:

• 1-11: V, 147-151
• 12-25: rewriting III, 322-334
• 26-31: adapting III, 34-36
• 32: V, 1
• 33-38: III, 34-36
• 39-80: III, 590-633
• 81-126: expanding III, 634-642
• 127-145: paraphrasing III, 1-26; also V, 162-174; also V, 175-191; and also V, 236-245
• 146: V, 246
• 147-152: V, 293-297
• 153-237: V, 356-372; also 407-475

Chapter XVI:

• 1-2: new
• 3-38: I, 7-43
• 39-56: rewriting I, 44-51
• 57: new
• 58-64: I, 52-59
• 65: new
• 66-74: I, 60-68
• 75-80: I, 70-75
• 81-84: new
• 85-86: paraphrasing I, 110-112
• 87-91: new
• 92-114: I, 88-109
• 115-162: I, 122-169
• 163-166: paraphrasing I, 180-182
• 167-291: I, 183-406

Chapter XVII:

• 1-23: VI, 1-23
• 24-28: new
• 29-32: VI, 29-32

---

208




• 33-39: paraphrasing VI, 33-51
• 40-63: expanding VI, 52-67
• 64-160: VI, 68-164
• 161-163: new
• 164-178: VI, 165-179
• 179-191: new
• 192-292: VI, 199-298
• 293-299: new
• 300-301: VI, 315-317
• 302-339: rewriting VI, 329-372

Chapter XVIII:

• 1-848: XIII, 1-501; also XIV, 1-278; also XV, 1-69

Chapter XIX:

• 1-7: XII, 1-4
• 8-66: X, 4-62
• 67-70: XII, 5-7
• 71-142: X, 68-138
• 143-160: new
• 161-210: XII, 238-287
• 211-245: rewriting XII, 182-213
• 246-249: condensing XII, 304-314
• 250-261: condensing XII, 315-331
• 262-391: XII, 332-460
• 392-541: XII, 471-620
• 542-637: XII, 636-733

Chapter XX:

• 1-21: new
• 22-84: XII, 745-809
• 85-88: condensing XVII, 85-88
• 89-115: XVII, 59-86
• 116-132: new
• 133-137: condensing XVII, 87-122
• 138-201: XVII, 123-189
• 202: new
• 203-228: dramatizing XVII, 207-222
• 229-276: XVII, 1-48

Chapter XXI:

• 1-372: XVI, 1-371

Chapter XXII:

• 1-321: XVII, 223-448

Chapter XXIII:

• 1-556: XVIII, 1-556
• 557-595: XVIII, 565-602

Chapter XXIV:

• 1-619: XIX, 1-619

Chapter XXV:

• 1-614: XX, 1-240; also XXI, 1-373

Chapter XXVI:

• 1-43: condensing XXII, 1-74
• 44-217: condensing XXII, 93-235

Chapter XXVII:

• 1: rewriting XXIII, 1
• 2-51: expanding XXIII, 6-24
• 52-55: XXIII, 2-5
• 56-64: paraphrasing XXIII, 25-36
• 65-90: XXIII, 37-62
• 91: new
• 92-142: XXIII, 63-113
• 143-281: XXIII, 116-261
• 282-296: XXIII, 264-279
• 297-500: XXIII, 286-488
• 501-526: XXIII, 489-516

Chapter XXVIII:

• 1-240: XXIV, 1-239

Chapter XXIX:

• 1-191: new

Chapter XXX:

• 1-134: new

Chapter XXXI:

• 1-8: expanding XXVII, 1-6
• 9-276: new
• 277-498: XXVII, 277-498
• 499-500: XXVII, 261-262
• 501-542: XXVII, 225-266

Notes