Grapes and Thorns. By M. A. T., Author of The House of Yorke. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1874.
Another story from the pen of the author of The House of Yorke. Turning as the interest of the tale does on the discovery of a criminal in whose stead an innocent man is imprisoned and actually condemned, it is yet so skilfully conducted that none of the disgusting realistic details of what is known as the sensational school are brought in to mar the work. It really is a case of touching pitch, and yet not being, in a literary sense, defiled. The circumstantial evidence on which the supposed murderer is condemned is very well managed, and, until the facts are thrust upon the reader, there is no chance of his discovering the real criminal. This is a very great attainment in novel-writing, and, in this day of hackneyed “situations,” one very seldom reached. It is difficult nowadays [pg 857] to take up any book, especially one referring to such events as are treated in Grapes and Thorns, without at once seeing through the conventional skeleton of the story, and picking out the main points in it beforehand. As to style, we can only say of this book what all the literary world said of The House of Yorke—that it alone would recommend even the flimsiest web of story. The author has, in addition to this rare charm of style, a faculty, so far as we know peculiar to herself among current novelists, of investing with poetical grace the most commonplace things of every-day life, even such hopelessly prosaic subjects as the engine and engine-driver of a night-train, and, worse still, a grocer's shop and a palette full of syrups! The descriptions of Rome are a feature of the book, but so are the delineations of New England scenery, in snow-storm and autumn glories as well as in its summer dress of fresh greenery and moistness, which is so delicately sketched in the picture of the Pond farm, the water-lilies, and the strong, beautiful young boat-woman.
But to come to the chief point, the characters; for of the story itself we say nothing, hoping that every reader of this notice has either read the book or will immediately do so. Annette is unquestionably the only heroine of the tale, although in the beginning one may be induced to consider the beautiful, conscientious, high-principled Honora Pembroke as entitled to that place of honor.
Mrs. Gerald is another well-drawn female character in the story. The most touching thought in the whole story is contained in her gentle words after she has found her son's footsteps on the fresh mould of the violet-bed under her window: “I mean to sow little pink quill daisies in those two foot-prints.... When they come back, the tracks will be green.” Anita, the little convent-flower, is a very beautiful conception; she is like one of the ethereal angels of Fra Angelico, not a common mortal. Mrs. Ferrier is the very reverse, but her generous championship of Max Schöninger goes far to redeem the vulgarity that shocks one in the early part of the book, where she constitutes herself spy over Lawrence's actions, and lectures him to the verge of insanity.
We have now mentioned the name of the hero of the story, Schöninger, the Jewish musician, on whom falls the false accusation of murder. His character is all but faultless, the only exceptions, perhaps, being his rather uncontrolled and fierce burst of joy when released from his seven months' imprisonment, and his general attitude towards F. Chevreuse. The latter is more excusable than the former; but if the hero of a book were faultless, he would be unnatural as a man. Schöninger is a wonderful conception; so self-reliant, self-contained, and yet not harsh, not repulsive even, in his defiance. The opinion of the world is nothing to him; he has his own standard of right and wrong, and he lives up to it; he would think martyrdom a trifle, if endured for the truth; he sees straight to the core of things, and will be as uncompromising a Christian after his conversion as he was an earnest Jew before it. We think, however, that the author has made a mistake in making him a Reformed Jew. Doubtless it was meant to enable him to parade the superior spirituality which was the only form of religion possible for such a man; but the Reformed Jews are no nearer to a high spiritual standard, as contrasted with the orthodox Jews, than the Lutheran or Calvinist sects are as contrasted with the true Church. They are mere secessionists from the old faith, and, like all branches divided from the parent trunk, are more or less withering into atheism and infidelity. An orthodox Jew is much more likely to be converted to Catholicity than a Reformed Jew.
F. Chevreuse is a very beautiful character, especially after the scene in Lawrence's room, where the priest and his penitent are alone with their solemn secret, and face to face with God. Some one once said of The House of Yorke that there was an undefinable “something” wanting in the character of the priest of that story, and that doubtless it was not given to any one to be able to delineate truly a perfect priest. Perhaps it is so, for it is most difficult to portray a life in which the supernatural mingles with and effaces the natural to such an extent as it does in the life of a true priest; but in F. Chevreuse the author has gone as near to the ideal as any one could well go. Lawrence Gerald is a very difficult character to analyze—a peculiar product of American civilization (this assertion would be very hard to prove categorically, but every one who has read the book will understand what [pg 858] we mean); a man for whom our feelings change, during the progress of the tale, to a degree that almost gives him at the last the moral pre-eminence which at the beginning would have been difficult to award even to saintly F. Chevreuse. Truly, in his case, as he himself says, “Nothing but utter ruin could have brought him to his senses.” There are souls whose salvation God works in this way, and Lawrence's penance certainly reads like some biography of a mediæval sinner gradually turning into the life of a grand saint. The human element is not absent, either, in this picture, of a most unusual expiation, and no scene in the book will be read with more emotion than that of the artist sketching the sleeping Lawrence, and adding, at the eager suggestion of the “woman under the arch,” the “cluster of yellow flowers which touched his head in the form of a crown.” We venture to say that nothing short of the influence of a sojourn at Rome and the personal contact with a life of exuberant, all-pervading Catholicity, such as that of the Italians, could have suggested such a remarkable ending to Lawrence's career. Of the subordinate characters of Grapes and Thorns—John, the shrewd, hard, honest footman; Jane, the faithful but exasperating housekeeper of F. Chevreuse; Dr. Porson, the Crichton cynic and man of the world; F. O'Donovan, the fast friend at need of his brother-priest; Mother Chevreuse, the bright, tender, brave woman, of whom we get but a glimpse; Sister Cecilia, a counterpart of Honora—we can only say that they show the varied acquaintance of the author with many and widely different types of mankind. The pettiness and prejudice of “liberal” Crichton are well defined in the hue-and-cry which soon follows Schöninger's arrest, and the equally intemperate revulsion in his favor when he is proved innocent. It is remarkable that no one but F. Chevreuse and Mrs. Ferrier believed firmly in his innocence while circumstances all pointed so suspiciously to him as the murderer, except, of course, those who already knew the miserable secret.
In spite of the great merits of this story, it has, nevertheless, like The House of Yorke, one great defect which mars its excellence, not perhaps as a work of art, but as a specimen of the Catholic ideal in art. Annette, the heroine, acts foolishly, unreasonably, and against the sense of personal dignity and worth which the perfect Christian maiden must cherish, as next to her faith and honor, in marrying the unhappy Lawrence Gerald. This shows that the author's ideal woman is not the highest type of her sex, and that she fails to appreciate the lofty, Christian idea of conjugal love and of marriage. Honora Pembroke ought to have been the heroine, and although she has not been fortunate enough to win the sympathy of critics and readers generally, especially of the fair sex, we are glad to see that the author has given us at least one specimen of a woman who is governed by conscience and reason, and not by sentiment.
Another fault, against which we beg leave here to caution all our writers of light articles and stories for the magazine, is the introduction of the writer's private and personal opinions on matters connected with religion and the church. We request, once for all, that such matters may be left to the editor of the magazine and those whom he judges competent to treat of them expressly.
An Essay Contributing to a Philosophy of Literature. By B. A. Philadelphia: Claxton, Remsen & Haffelfinger. 1874.
The aim of this essay is to give such principles as are calculated to counteract the false and baneful ideas proposed in our text-books on English literature. The author, one of the Brothers of the Christian Schools, who modestly conceals his name, is a worthy confrère of Gerald Griffin. Evidently, his reading is extensive, his taste fine and accurate, and his mind truly philosophical. The unassuming book he has put forth is one which teachers in the department of English literature and intelligent students of the same will find to be of great service.