I speak of him (Moore) with real sorrow: he might have done much, he has done nothing, but what I hope he will yet wish undone. — — — for the attempt to communicate what he must have felt the injuries of himself, for the attempt to add seduction to pleasure, and teach impurity a new system of sentimental logic, to add an impulse to the lapse of vitious feeling, and modulate the death dance of vice with the harmony of a lyre strung by heaven; for this—there is, there can be no excuse, even at the bar of literature; and if he carries the cause to an higher court, I doubt still more tremblingly his acquittal there.—
But the story, involved as it is, remains to be told. The book opens with a letter to one Miss Elmaide St. Clair from an old maiden aunt, who, possessing some knowledge of her niece’s character and the pernicious tendencies of the age, warns her against false sensibility and fancies too romantic. Then follow the letters of Elmaide herself, who at once informs her correspondent (not the aunt) that the admonitory epistle was received too late: she is already, and irrevocably, in the fetters of a romantic attachment to the hero, a young man, almost a boy, whose wild and dissipated habits the whole of Dublin is talking of. She is fully persuaded of the hopelessness of her case, understanding that he suffers himself to be led into such a mode of life in order to forget an unfortunate love-story of his own, the subject of which is a woman living at present somewhere in Western Ireland. That woman is widely celebrated for
fashionable folly and vice, without an equal or rival, till her reign was extended over subjects of a second generation, whose beauty triumphed over nature, and whose wit is unimpaired by time, whose sons have entered into public life, whose daughters have married, whose grand children form a numerous family already, and whose beauty is still as distant from decline as from competition.
The retirement of Lady Montrevor—such is her name—has taken place under extraordinary circumstances. Her husband, a statesman of much influence, has illegally held the title and fortunes of the earldom of Westhampton for thirty years; at last the legitimate heir, long pursued and oppressed by the usurper, has made his appearance and laid claim to his own. To the usurper naught else remained but the title of Montrevor and his Irish estates, whither his lady, who was wholly ignorant of the story, has accompanied him. Here the hero of the tale has met her and subsequently become fatally infatuated; he has then been sent to Dublin in the company of a relation who introduces to him that class of pleasure which now forms the torture of Miss St. Clair. Her correspondence ends with the intelligence that he has unexpectedly set out for the West.
Now the hero, whose name is Ormsby Bethel, rises to speak. It appears that he has returned to the neighbourhood of Dublin and lives somewhere on the coast. Miss St. Clair, happening to move near the place, hits upon the expedient of leaving anonymous letters addressed to him, in a recess amongst the rocks where he is in the habit of strolling. In these she requests him to tell her all about his life. He complies and places letters for her in the same recess.
This is mentioned in letters from the parties concerned, but at this point the story itself commences: an autobiography of the hero, written to an un-named friend, which he begins by the narrative he has written to Miss St. Clair.
His birth and childhood are involved in a deep mystery. Born in France, he has faint reminiscences of having been hurried from place to place, until, at the age of seven, he is taken to London and committed to the care of an old and wealthy couple. Here he also visits a school, where he enters into friendship with a boy called Hammond, who subsequently plays a certain part in his story. One day he hears his father mentioned and after this knows no rest; his health declines, and he is sent to a parson in Cumberland, where he pursues his studies and improves both in mind and body. His stay here is interrupted by a message from his father, who announces his desire that Ormsby is to set out for Ireland and forthwith to graduate at the University of Dublin; from his father’s letter Ormsby learns that he is illegitimate. After having spent some time in the Irish capital, he is summoned to join the family in the West. He travels there with his father’s confidential servant, a Frenchman, from whose very impious conversation he gathers that his father is a worn-out libertine. Mr. Bethel is, indeed, a wretched invalid, who is constantly tormented by the memories of pleasures he has lost the power to enjoy, and who regards his son with feelings of envy because of his youth and strength. The rest of the family consists of his daughter Sybilla, a gentle and pure-minded girl, and her gouvernante, a Miss Perceval, an atheist and admirer of French writers; one episode occurring in the family life is that Miss Perceval tries to prevent Sybilla from reading the Bible, and would even be on a fair way to succeed but for the intervention of Ormsby. Among his neighbours he finds his school-fellow Hammond, whose father, an old drunkard, owns an estate in the vicinity. The most remarkable person there, however, is an elder brother of Mr. Bethel, called De Lacy. He leads a life in the style of an ancient Irish chieftain, but, unlike most ‘Milesians’ he is rich, and Ormsby at once becomes his favourite and heir-apparent.—Upon this the Montrevors put in their appearance, and turn all the country upside down with their splendid fêtes and assemblies. Ormsby has been interested in the brilliant and unhappy Lady Montrevor even before he has seen her, and when he actually meets her he is perfectly overwhelmed by her attractions. Her husband, for his part, only expects to be called back to England as soon as his recent scandal has been forgotten and his talents and influence are required again. Meanwhile he employs his time in canvassing votes for his son, and pretends, to that end, to be intent upon proposing all sorts of reforms and improvements for Ireland. There is no love lost between him and his lady, who, in opposition to his suavity and courteousness, treats her neighbours with capricious ridicule. Among their younger children there is Miss Athanasia Montolieu, whose French gouvernante is doing her utmost to corrupt the soul of her charge with the literature of her country.—The whirl of pleasures comes soon to a tragical end as far as the Bethel family is concerned. One night Miss Perceval insists on following Ormsby and his sister to a grand entertainment given by Lord Montrevor in some public place. Ormsby is sitting with Lady Montrevor and her daughter, when a gentleman approaches and requests the ladies to allow him to escort them away from the place, the house being unfit for them, as there is a woman present who is the mistress of Mr. Bethel; she is recognized by the speaker himself and another gentleman, with whom she has formerly been on intimate terms. A violent scene ensues, and the fête is broken up. The following morning Ormsby receives a visit from a relative who confirms his worst doubts, namely, that Miss Perceval is not only the mistress of his father, but is also Ormsby’s and Sybilla’s mother. He declares that a duel seems inevitable, but that Ormsby is disgraced for ever if he takes part in it; the consequences must fall upon his father, whose age and feeble health may, perhaps, excuse him from sending a challenge. Ormsby is convinced of the justness of his argument and keeps away the whole day, but on returning he sees the thoughtlessness of his conduct. His father, greatly astonished at his absence, has been engaged in a duel, burst a blood-vessel, and now lies dying. His uncle, the old Milesian, who is also convinced that Ormsby has refused to fight a duel, has disowned him and forbidden him his presence. Miss Perceval has taken refuge in the house of the adversary in the recent duel, her former acquaintance. Upon Ormsby falls the painful duty of taking her off by main force, but, incorrigible as she is, she flees and takes with her the greater part of Sybilla’s money. Fortunately, Sybilla has been secretly married to Hammond, but as his father, too, leads a life which the son must blush for, he cannot take her to his home; he succeeds, however, in procuring her a refuge elsewhere. Ormsby, standing now alone in the world, resolves to leave the country, yet an unexpected event changes his plans.—In a solitary tower in the neighbourhood lives a mysterious person who never speaks to or visits any one except the poor, whose misery he endeavours to relieve. The night Ormsby prepares to depart he is stopped by the stranger and exhorted to save his uncle. His striking manner induces Ormsby to yield to his exhortations; he hastens to the castle of the Milesian and arrives just in time to save the old man from the hands of a murderer. Upon this a reconciliation takes place. Ormsby is again acknowledged as the heir of his uncle, and the castle becomes his home. His hopeless attachment to Lady Montrevor, however, makes him profoundly unhappy, and at length his uncle sends him to Dublin in company with the relative who gave him the ill-fated advice about the duel. In Dublin his life is what the letters of Miss St. Clair, in the beginning of the story, indicate with so much pain. His disappearance, the mention of which puts an end to her correspondence, is caused by the news that his uncle has been arrested for Ormsby’s debts. Ill as he is, he sets off on his journey in a delirious condition, is once more forgiven by the old man and sent back near the capital where, as has been told, he begins to write down his recollections to his unknown correspondent, Miss St. Clair.—In a letter to his uncle Ormsby confesses that the cause of his dejection may be traced to Montrevor-House, in answer to which the old man summons him back, informing him that he has ‘worked wonders’ in his favour. Though unable to understand the meaning hidden in his uncle’s message, Ormsby sets out for the castle of Montrevor and, on arriving there is, first of all, greeted by the Milesian who draws forward Miss Athanasia Montolieu and places her hand in Ormsby’s. It occurs to Ormsby that this, in fact, was the only rational way of interpreting his letter, but now it is too late for any explanation. He is married that very night; Lord Montrevor, whose star has re-risen in England, entertains the intention of immediately returning there with all his family. Shortly afterwards the old Milesian dies, leaving Ormsby in possession of a large fortune.—The rest of the story is mainly a fulfilment of what was promised in the preface. The company is divided between Bond-street and fashionable entertainments, most of which are held within the family-circle. Lord and Lady Montrevor have several daughters, one of whom has, strangely enough, married the present Earl of Westhampton—an uneducated man of blunt manners—whom her father has treated so infamously. The principal amusement at these entertainments, aside from questionable gallantries, are cards, at which they attempt to rob and even cheat each other. Ormsby before long gambles away every shilling of his property as well as of that of his wife, and once more he comes face to face with ruin. A depraved woman of fashion, Lady Delphina Orberry, the greatest enemy of Lady Montrevor, falls violently in love with him. Ormsby, who fortunately has become amorous of his own wife, is insensible to attentions of this character, yet Lady Orberry contrives to become his sole creditor, thus to get him, economically at least, at her mercy. Lady Montrevor, at this time, contemplates a retirement from the world altogether. She has met a man who has loved her in her youth, before she was a woman of fashion, and whom she wantonly rejected; now they discover their feelings to be unchanged. The situation, however, becomes acute in the extreme, when Lord Montrevor, who hates his wife, determines to prosecute Ormsby for adultery with her, and appearances are against them. Lady Montrevor attempts to commit suicide; Ormsby bursts into her room, and tears the laudanum from her, upon which, it is said, ‘all recollection forsakes him.’ When he regains his self-possession, all complications are quickly and wonderfully unravelled. Lady Delphina Orberry takes poison and dies, confessing to Ormsby that she had a daughter who was educated in Ireland in separation from her mother; she gives him some letters whence it appears that her name was Elmaide St. Clair. Lord Montrevor falls in a duel, his wife becoming thus free to unite herself with the lover of her youth. The dramatis personæ once more retire to Ireland, for Lady Montrevor’s lover turns out to be the identical inhabitant of the solitary tower, and, still more strange, the father of Ormsby, a third brother of De Lacy and Mr. Bethel. Miss Perceval had been his mistress shortly before she became Mr. Bethel’s, and Ormsby was believed to be the son of the latter. Ormsby’s affairs are forthwith cleared up. It appears that the often-mentioned relative, who has been his agent, has secretly hated him because of the frustration of his hopes of becoming De Lacy’s heir himself, and thus he has been trying to rob Ormsby of his property and, moreover, to seduce his wife; but so far from succeeding in his designs, he has, at last, shot himself. Athanasia now presents Ormsby with a child, and the book ends with this paradoxical sentence: ‘Let those who cannot feel my felicity, attempt to describe it.’—
From the short précis above it ought to be evident that the story is diffuse and clumsily constructed; that it contains certain good suggestions that are not made the most of, and cleverly built-up situations which lead to platitudes or are forcibly and implausibly dissolved. The cause of this, no doubt, may be traced to the manifold and contradictory considerations Maturin imagined himself to be bound to observe while writing his second book. The autobiography does not attach itself quite naturally to the correspondence that precedes it, and the intrigue, when it once commences, is continually interrupted by discussions and episodes. From the latter, however, is to be sought what interest the book is capable of arousing. The correspondence of Miss St. Clair is, in itself, an instance worthy of note. It has been admired by a critic[44] for ‘its method of pure suggestion of character without incident;’ and the character revealed is that of a heroine typically romantic.[45] Her love is soft and dreaming, made to live on sighs and tears, too platonic and ethereal even for the vicinity of its object:
But he has seen me, and has felt, as if he looked on vacancy; and it is better, much better so. I can hardly bear his sight, I could not bear his voice speaking to me; his rich and angel tones would madden me; no, I cannot woo him. I will hide myself in the solitude of pride and despair. Perhaps when he treads on my grave, he may pause, he may ask—Oh! let him not, let him not; shall I not rest in a grave?