XII
"LORNA DOONE"
The air of Devon and Somerset is full of literary germs. The best advicea London hack could give to a Gigadibs would be _Go west, young man_.The essential thing is to establish a residence south of Bristol, growold along with Wessex, and inhale the atmosphere. Thousands of reverentpilgrims, on foot, on bicycle, and in automobile, are yearly followingthe tragic trails of Mr. Hardy's heroines; to a constantly increasingcircle of interested observers, Mr. Eden Phillpotts is making thetopography of Devon clearer than an ordnance map; if Mrs. Willcockswrites a few more novels like _The Wingless Victory_ and _A Man ofGenius_, we shall soon all be talking about her--just wait and see; andin the summer season, when soft is the sun, the tops of coaches in NorthDevon and Somerset are packed with excited Americans, carrying Lornasinstead of Baedekers. To the book-loving tourists, every inch of thisterritory is holy ground.
Yet the author of our favourite romance was not by birth a Wessex man.Mr. Richard D. Blackmore (for, like the creator of _Robinson Crusoe_,his name is not nearly so well known as his work) first "saw the light"in Berkshire, the year being 1825. But he was exposed to the Wessexgerms at the critical period of boyhood, actually going to Blundell'sSchool at Tiverton, a small town in the heart of Devonshire, fourteenmiles north of Exeter, at the union of Exe and Lowman rivers. To thissame school he sent John Ridd, as we learn in the second paragraph ofthe novel:--
"John Ridd, the elder, churchwarden, and overseer, being a great admirer of learning, and well able to write his name, sent me, his only son, to be schooled at Tiverton, in the County of Devon. For the chief boast of that ancient town (next to its woolen staple) is a worthy grammar-school, the largest in the west of England, founded and handsomely endowed in the year 1604 by Master Peter Blundell, of that same place, clothier."
From this institution young Blackmore proceeded to Exeter College,Oxford, where he laid the foundations of his English style by takinghigh rank in the classics. Like many potential poets and novelists, hestudied law, and was called to the bar in 1852. But he cared little forthe dusty purlieus of the Middle Temple, and not at all for city life:his father was a country parson, as it is the fashion for Englishfathers of men of letters to be, and the young man loved the peace andquiet of rural scenery. He finally made a home at Teddington, inMiddlesex, and devoted himself to the avocation of fruit-growing. Onthis subject he became an authority, and his articles on gardening werewidely read. Here he died in January, 1900.
His death was mourned by many thousand persons who never saw him, andwho knew nothing about his life. The public always loves the makers ofits favourite books; but in the case of Mr. Blackmore, every reader ofhis masterpiece felt a peculiarly intimate relation with the man whowrote it. The story is so full of the milk of human kindness, its heroand heroine are so irresistibly attractive, and it radiates so wholesomeand romantic a charm, that one cannot read it without feeling on thebest possible terms with the author--as if both were intimate friends oflong standing. For _Lorna Doone_ is a book we think we have always beenreading; we can hardly recall the time when it had not become a part ofour literary experience; just as it takes an effort to remember thatthere were days and years when we were not even aware of the existenceof persons who are now indissolubly close. They have since become sonecessary that we imagine life before we knew them must really have beenmore barren than it seemed.
Like many successful novelists, Mr. Blackmore began his literary careerby the publication of verse, several volumes of poems appearing fromhis pen during the years 1854-1860. Although he never entirely abandonedverse composition, which it was only too apparent that he wrote with hisleft hand, the coolness with which his Muse was received may have been acause of his attempting the quite different art of the novel. It ispleasant to remember, however, that in these early years he translatedVergil's _Georgics_; combining his threefold love of the classics, ofpoetry, and of gardening. Of how much practical agricultural value hefound the Mantuan bard, we shall never know.
Contrary to a common supposition, _Lorna Doone_ was not his first story.He launched two ventures before his masterpiece--_Clara Vaughan_ in1864, and _Cradock Nowell_ in 1866. These won no applause, and have notemerged from the congenial oblivion in which they speedily foundered.After these false starts, the great book came out in 1869, with no blareof publisher's trumpet, with scanty notice from the critics, and with nonotice of any kind from the public. In the preface to the twentiethedition, and his various prefaces are well worth reading, the authorremarked:--
"What a lucky maid you are, my Lorna! When first you came from the Western Moors nobody cared to look at you; the 'leaders of the public taste' led none of it to make test of you. Having struggled to the light of day, through obstruction and repulses, for a year and a half you shivered in a cold corner, without a sun-ray. Your native land disdained your voice, and America answered, 'No child of mine'; knowing how small your value was, you were glad to get your fare paid to any distant colony."
The _Saturday Review_ for 5 November, 1870, uttered a few patronisingwords of praise. The book was called "a work of real excellence," butthe reviewer timidly added, "We do not pretend to rank it with theacknowledged masterpieces of fiction." On the whole, there is goodground for gratitude that the public was so slow to see the "realexcellence" of _Lorna_. A sudden blaze of popularity is sometimes sofierce as to consume its cause. Let us spend a few moments in devoutmeditation, while we recall the ashes of "the book of the year." Thegradual dawn of Lorna's fame has assured her of a long and fair day.
Possibly one of the reasons why this great romance made so small animpression was because it appeared at an unpropitious time. The sowersowed the seed; but the thorns of Reade and Trollope sprang up andchoked them. These two novelists were in full action; and they kept thepublic busy. Realism was strong in the market; people did not know then,as we do now, that The _Cloister and the Hearth_ was worth all the restof Charles Reade put together. Had _Lorna Doone_ appeared toward theend of the century, when the Romantic Revival was in full swing, itwould have received a royal welcome. But how many would have recognisedits superiority to the tinsel stuff of those recent days, full ofgalvanised knights and stuffed chatelaines? For _Lorna_ belongs to aclass of fiction with which we were flooded in the nineties, though,compared with the ordinary representative of its kind, it is as a starto a glow-worm. Readers then enjoyed impossible characters, whose talkwas mainly of "gramercy" and similar curiosities, for they had theopportunity to "revel in the glamour of a bogus antiquity." But anabundance of counterfeits does not lower the value of the real metal;and _Lorna_ is a genuine coin struck from the mint of historicalromance. In the original preface its author modestly said:--
"This work is called a 'romance,' because the incidents, characters, time, and scenery are alike romantic. And in shaping this old tale, the writer neither dares, nor desires, to claim for it the dignity or cumber it with the difficulty of an historic novel."
In warmth and colour, in correct visualisation, and in successfulimitation of the prose of a bygone day (which no one has ever perfectlyaccomplished), it ranks not very far below the greatest of all Englishhistorical romances, _Henry Esmond_.
_Lorna Doone_ is practically one more illustration of Single-SpeechHamilton. After its appearance, its author wrote and published steadilyfor thirty years; but the fact remains that not only is _Lorna_ hisbest-known work, but that his entire reputation hangs upon it. Many ofhis other stories are good, notably _Cripps the Carrier_ and_Perlycross_; the latter has a most ingenious plot; but these two nowpeacefully repose with their mates in undisturbed slumber at dustylibrary corners. They had an initial sale because they came from thehand that created _Lorna_; then they were lost in the welter ofephemeral literature. Mr. Blackmore offered his buyers all sorts ofwares, but, after a momentary examination, they declined what was "justas good," and returned to their favourite, which, by the way, was neverh
is; he ranked it third among his productions.
For this novel is not only one of the best-loved books in Englishfiction, and stands magnificently the severe test of rereading, it isbound to have even more admirers in the future than it has ever yetenjoyed; it is visibly growing in reputation every year. It may beinteresting to analyse some of its elements, in order to understand whathas given it so assured a place. The main plot is simplicity itself. Itis a history, however, that the world has always found entertaining, thehistory of the love of a strong man for a beautiful girl. They meet, hefalls in love, he rescues her from peril, she goes up to London, becomesa great lady, returns, is dangerously wounded on her wedding-day,recovers, and they live happily for ever after--_voila tout_. A verysimple plot, yet the telling fills two stout volumes, with the reader'sinterest maintained from first to last.
It is told in the first person--the approved method of the historicalromance. Professor Raleigh has admirably pointed out the virtues anddefects of the three ways of composing a novel,--direct discourse by thechief actor, the exclusive employment of letters, and the "invisible andomniscient" impersonal author.[17] It is interesting to note, inpassing, that our first English novelist, Defoe, adopted the firstmethod; Richardson, our second novelist, took the second; and Fielding,our third novelist, took the third. Now, the great advantage of havingJohn Ridd speak throughout is the gain in reality and vividness; it isas though we sat with him in the ingle, and obtained all our informationat first hand. What is lost by narrowness of experience is made up inintensity; we follow him breathlessly, as Desdemona followed Othello,and he has every moment our burning sympathy. We participate more fullyin his joys and sorrows, in the agony of his suspense; we share hisfinal triumph. He is talking directly to us, and John Ridd is a goodtalker. He is the kind of man who appeals to all classes of listeners.He has the gentleness and modesty that are so becoming to great physicalstrength; the love of children, animals, and all helpless creatures;reverence for God, purity of heart, and a noble slowness to wrath. Sucha man is simply irresistible, and we are sorry when he finishes histale. The defect in this method of narration, which Mr. Blackmore hasemployed with such success, is the inevitable defect in all storieswritten in this manner, as Professor Raleigh has observed: "It takesfrom the novelist the privilege of killing his hero." When John Ridd issecurely bound, and the guns of hostile soldiers are levelled at hishuge bulk, with their fingers actually on the triggers, we laugh atourselves for our high-beating hearts; for of course he is unkillable,else how could he be talking at this very moment?
[17] _The English Novel_, Chapter VI.
The plot of _Lorna Doone_, which, as we have observed, is very simple,is, nevertheless, skilfully complicated. It is not a surprise plot, likethat of _A Pair of Blue Eyes_; we are not stunned by the last page. Itis a suspense plot; we have a well-founded hope that all will come rightin the end, and yet the author has introduced enough disturbing elementsto put us occasionally in a maze. This artistic suspense is attainedpartly by the method of direct discourse; which, at the same time,develops the character of the hero. Big John repeats incidents, dwellslengthily on minute particulars, stops to enjoy the scenery, and makesmountains of stories out of molehills of fact. The second complicationof the plot arises from the introduction of characters that apparentlydivert the course of the story without really doing so. There arenineteen important characters, all held well in hand; and a conspicuousexample of a complicating personage is little Ruth Huckaback. Sheinterferes in the main plot in an exceedingly clever way. The absorbingquestion in every reader's mind is, of course, Will John marry Lorna?Now Ruth's interviews with the hero are so skilfully managed, and withsuch intervals of time between, that on some pages she seems destined tobe his bride. And, admirably drawn as her character is, when herartistic purpose in the plot is fully accomplished, she quietly fadesout, with the significant tribute, "Ruth Huckaback is not married yet."
There is also a subsidiary plot, dovetailed neatly into the mainbuilding. This is the story of the attractive highwayman, Tom Faggus,and his love for John's sister, Annie. Many pages are taken up with theadventures of this gentleman, who enters the novel on horseback (what ahorse!) at the moment when the old drake is fighting for his life.Besides our interest in Tom himself, in his wild adventures, and in hisreformation, we are interested in the conflict of his two passions, onefor the bottle, and one for Annie, and we wonder which will win. Thissubsidiary love story is still further complicated by the introductionof young De Whichehalse; and in the struggle between John Ridd and theDoones, both Tom Faggus and the De Whichehalse family play importantparts. It is interesting, too, to observe how events that seem at thetime to be of no particular importance, turn out later to be highlysignificant; when, at the very beginning of the long story, the littleboy, on his way home from school, meets the lady's maid, and shortlyafter sees the child borne away on the robber's saddle, we imagine allthis is put in to enliven the journey, that it is just "detail"; longafterwards we find the artistic motive. In fact, one of the most notablevirtues of this admirable plot is the constant introduction of mattersapparently irrelevant and due to mere garrulity, such as the uncannysound, for example, which prove after all to be essential to the courseof the narrative.
As for the characters, they impress us differently in different moods.For all John Ridd's prodigious strength, marvellous escapes, andastounding feats, his personality is so intensely human that he seemsreal. His _soul_, at any rate, is genuine, and wholly natural; hisbodily activity--the extraction of Carver's biceps, the wrenching ofthe branch from the tree, the hurling of the cannon through thedoor--makes him a dim giant in a fairy story. When we think of thequalities of his mind and heart, he comes quite close; when we think ofhis physical prowess, he almost vanishes in the land of Fable. Iremember the comment of an undergraduate--"John Ridd is as remote asAchilles; he is like a Greek myth."
The women are all well drawn and individualised--except the heroine. Iventure to say that no one has ever seen Lorna in his mind's eye. She islike a plate that will not develop. A very pretty girl with anaffectionate disposition,--what more can be said? But so long as a Queenhas beauty and dignity, she does not need to be interesting; and Lornais the queen of this romance. John's mother and his two sisters are aslike and unlike as members of the same family ought to be; they are realwomen. Ruth Huckaback and Gwenny Carfax are great additions to ourliterary acquaintances; each would make an excellent heroine for arealistic novel. They have the indescribable puzzling characteristicsthat we call feminine; sudden caprices, flashes of unexpected jealousy,deep loyal tenderness, unlimited capacity for self-sacrifice, and in thelast analysis, Mystery.
The humour of the story is spontaneous, and of great variety, runningfrom broad mirth to whimsical subtlety. The first concerted attack onthe Doones is comic opera burlesque; but the scenes of humour thatdelight us most are those describing friendly relations with beast andbird. The eye of the old drake, as he stared wildly from his precariousposition, and the delight of the ducks as they welcomed his rescue;above all, Annie's care of the wild birds in the bitter cold.
"There was not a bird but knew her well, after one day of comforting; and some would come to her hand, and sit, and shut one eye, and look at her. Then she used to stroke their heads, and feel their breasts, and talk to them; and not a bird of them all was there but liked to have it done to him. And I do believe they would eat from her hand things unnatural to them, lest she should be grieved and hurt by not knowing what to do for them. One of them was a noble bird, such as I had never seen before, of very fine bright plumage, and larger than a missel-thrush. He was the hardest of all to please; and yet he tried to do his best."
Whatever may be the merits of Mr. Blackmore's published verse, there ismore poetry in _Lorna Doone_ than in many volumes of formal rime. Thewonderful descriptions of the country in shade and shine, in fog anddrought, the pictures of the sunrise and the falling water, the"tumultuous privacy" of the
snow-storms,--these are all descriptivepoems. Every reader has noticed the peculiar rhythm of the style, andwondered if it were intentional. Hundreds of sentences here and thereare perfect English hexameters; one can find them by opening the book atrandom, and reading aloud. But this peculiar element in the style goesmuch farther than isolated phrases. There are solid passages of steadyrhythm, which might correctly be printed in verse form.[18]
[18] A writer in the _Atlantic Monthly_ notes especially the closingparagraph of Chapter XXVIII, and parts of Chapter XXIX.
Mr. Blackmore's personal character was so modest, unassuming, andlovable, that it is not difficult to guess the source of the purity,sweetness, and sincerity of his great book. If he were somewhatsurprised at the utter coldness of its first reception, he never gotover his amazement at the size and extent of its ultimate triumph. Inthe preface to the sixth edition, he said:--
"Few things have surprised me more, and nothing has more pleased me, than the great success of this simple tale.... Therefore any son of Devon may imagine, and will not grudge, the writer's delight at hearing from a recent visitor to the west, that '_Lorna Doone_, to a Devonshire man, is as good as clotted cream, almost!'
"Although not half so good as that, it has entered many a tranquil, happy, pure, and hospitable home; and the author, while deeply grateful for this genial reception, ascribes it partly to the fact that his story contains no word or thought disloyal to its birthright in the fairest county of England."
Mr. Blackmore lived long enough to see an entirely different kind of"local colour" become conventional, where many a novelist, portrayinghis native town or the community in which he dwelt, emphasised with whatskill he could command all its poverty, squalor, and meanness; thedisgusting vices and malignant selfishness of its inhabitants; and afterhe had thus fouled his nest by representing it as a mass of filth,degradation, and sin, he imagined he had created a work of art. Theauthor of _Lorna Doone_ had the satisfaction of knowing that he hadinspired hundreds of thousands of readers with the love of his favouritewest country, and with an intense desire to visit it. And being, likeJohn Ridd, of a forgiving nature, he forgave America for its earlyneglect of his story; for being informed of the supremacy of _LornaDoone_ in the hearts of American undergraduates, he remarked, in aletter to the present writer, "The good word of the young, who are atonce the most intelligent and the most highly educated of a vastintellectual nation, augurs well for the continuance--at least for ageneration--of my fortunate production."