SPARE HALF HOURS. By Henry Lapham.

Otago Witness, Issue 1819, 1 October 1886, Page 33

SPARE HALF HOURS. By Henry Lapham.

NOVEL BEADING AS AN AID TO EDUCATION. Second Paper. A very good point to start from in a notice of historical novels is the reign of the Conqueror, but I wish to say a few words about a book the scene of which is laid at a period after the Norman invasion, but telle the story of a gallant Englishman who bravely held out with a small band of followers against all the skill of the Frenchmen for months together : I refer to the late Charles Kingsley's novel of " Hereward the Wake." Whatever period of history Mr Kingsley treats of — and his stories range from the four hundred and thirteenth year of the Christian era to the sixteenth century— he has the art, invaluable to a painter of history, of throwing himself fully into the spirit of the time. In " Hereward the Wake "we learn to feel the same hopes that animated the last despairing band of patriots, and we are crushed with the same despair that breaks those gallant hearts when the last great Englishman is laid low. Nor does Mr Kingsley ever pretend to paint his hero a perfect man. All his faults are laid open to our view — his passionate, stormy temper, his superstition, his want of fidelity to one lie loved ; yet, so true a man is he, so noble, that we both pity and forgive, and admire more than both. * If I may judge by my own recollections, I think that to most young readers of history the persons who figure in the Norman Con•quest are very vague and shadowy conceptions. I know that* for many years I cherished a delusion that Edward was altogether a saint and a martyr — this principally, I suppose, because of his title of " Confessor " ; that William was a mere Norman robber, who without the shadow of a title usurped the English crown : that the Godwin family were robbers, murderers, out-

laws—in faot, •• a bad lot." It is just possible there are readers nowadays who share these mistaken ideas, and to such I recommend strongly a close perusal of Lyttoft'jij " Harold," notes and all. The very faults of Lord Lytton's style, his fondness for grandiose sentences, his habit of classical quotation, his inflated language, do not detract from his merit as a writer of historical fiction. The book gives, at any rate, a fair and unvarnished picture of the weak, vacillatmg, pusillanimous Edward, now praying I now whispering to William half promises of making him his heir, now trembling before , the fierce old Godwin, and turning to pray j again ; of that turbulent chieftain, who had I succeeded m placing his daughter on a \ throne, and all but succeeded in gaining the crown for his own- family ; of his uucontrollable, unbroken, wild brood of lion cubs • of Harold, as wild, as dauntless, as rashly bold as any of them, but ennobled and lifted beyond by his passionate loVe for his native land ; of William, eager, grasping, selfish utterly unscrupulous, yet clever withal' and, by Way of relief, those of the queen and the beautiful, tender woman whoae love brightened and cheered Harold's stormy life — " Edith of the Swan's Neck." There are one or two scenes, at least, in the novel of great power— for instance, that in which the crafty Norman inveigles Harold into .a promise to' support his claims, and still more craftily and shamelessly causes the unhappy, Englishman unwittingly to swear an oath to the same purpose upon the most sacred relics of the Church. Very vividly and picturesquely is described the Battle of Senlac and very pathetically is told the sad scene where the broken-hearted Edith comes to seek her lover, and finds him lying beneath a heap of slain. Another of this author's works that has obtained very high praise from competent critics is " The Last of the Barons," of which the scene is, of course, laid in the time of Henry IV., and the Earl of Warwick, " the King-maker," is the chief character. Perhaps my readers may be more fortunate than myself, but I confess that this book pleased me least of all of the author's works. However, there can be no two opinions as to its value as an illustration of that stormy age and the excellence of the picture it draws of both king and baron. ' * It is remarkable that the king who did least for England, who regarded the country merely as a treasury whence he might draw supplies for his foreign wars, whpse veryresidence in his dominions was limited to some nine or ten months — that this king is one whose identity is best recognised, whose character is most familiar, and whose memory is most cherished by Englishmen. But the paradox may to a certain extent be explained by the' fact that nearly every decently educated youth in the British dominions has read the stories of " Ivanhoe " and " The Talisman," and so vivid, clear, and striking is the portrait therein drawn of Bichard Coeur-de-Lion that the impression is never forgotten. Of course it is altogether a heroic picture. It is Richard the bold, Richard the accomplished, Richard the fear loss, Richard the magnanimous ; but the faults of the great Plantaganet, his ungo* vernable temper, his greediness, his pride, his want of faith — all these are concealed or merely hinted at: However, Richard lived and died long enough ago to be allowed an apotheosis without any too minute question* ing as to his fitness for the rite. And we could forgive him much for the sake of Berengaria, his lovely queen. In " Ivanhoe* the sufferings of the unfortunate Jews, the way in which they were robbed and peree* cuted, are told with great truth and vigour. But if one were to mention each of Scott's novels .according to its date, there,, would scarcely be one period of English history unnoticed, and a treatise would hardly contain a detailed account of the books and the chief characters. Two others, however, 1 ' will briefly notice before saying a few words as to other authors. To my mind " Kenilworth " is by far the best of Scott's novels. The picture it gives of English life during Elizabeth's reign is perfect. Its very faults —its anachronisms and free " manipulations of history" — are such as add life, colour, and finish to the picture. The wealth, splendour, and refined life of the city ; the ignorance, stagnation, and squalor of the country towns ; the enormous wealth hoarded by a few, the poverty experienced by Ihe many, are brought out in strong and startling con» trast. Of course the interest gathers round the Queen, and never was picture more hap. pily conceived or more vividly pourtrayed. The woman herself lives, speaks, moves* before us. The tall, stately figure, magnificent in apparel and blazing with jewellery; the strongly- featured, intellectual fdee ; the hair of somewhat more than golden hue ; the strong, harsh voice ; the masculine gait — all become as familiar to us as those of a friend we parted from yesterday. We see this haughty daughter of the Tudors listening with a blush and a tremble to Leicester's words of love one minute, and the next, fierce and implacable as an angry lioness, denouncing him as a traitor when his pride causes him to forget that if she is a woman she also is a queen. Anon she is amusing herself with handsome flatterers, then taking deep connsel with grave, sober-minded states* men. To-day she is in the garden bower completing the couplet that her yonngepfc favourite has scratched upon the window pane; to-morrow in the council chamber deliberating the affairs of her unhappy sister of Scotland. Her. vanity, her pride, her petulance, her love of flattery, her man-like courage, her knowledge of her people, her high "accomplishments, her deep sagacity, her child-like frivnlty— there is nof a trait of her character but has been clearly depicted by this master hand. Just as life-like are the portraits of the great man of her court. j Raleigh, young, handsome, audacious, acj complished, now spreading his cloak for her Majesty to tread upon, now capping verses with the Queen, now kneeling to receive the accolade that dubs him " Sir Knight "; Sussex, plain in figure as in speech, yet so wise and discriminating as to be the most trusted counsellor of the wisest monarch of her time; Leicester, ambitious, magnificent, favoured as a lover byKiie royal mistress, possessing the wealth and almost the power

6j6 j royalty itself, yet; through his own folly, tne unhappiest man in England : ills honour, rooted in dishonour, stood, And faU.h unfaithful made him falsely true. Tliiee portraits are these such as the " great magician" might well be proud of. But doubly valuable is the book from the fact that the faults and follies incident Lo the age are not attempted to be concealed ; for, beneath the show and glitter, the poetry and romance, the chivalry and outward respect for women, the appreciation for all that was graceful and fair, beneath all that claimed for the reign of the " Virgin Queen " the title of the "golden days," beneath all this we recognise the dark stain of a latent barbarism. The Queen herself, despite her liberal education, could and did use language that might shame an angry fishwife. The tenderly nurtured, gently reared ladies liked nothing better than a bull-fight or a bearbaiting. The nobles, despite their undeniable bravery and thousand graceful accomplishments/were so fierce and unruly that they would quarrel almost in the presence of royalty itself. Brave soldiers and sapient counsellors were so superstitious that they believed in foolish prophecies of astrologer and wizard. The secret poisoner, the dastardly assassin were employed and shielded ky men high in power and public esteem. Men of science still hopefully piirsued the search for the Philosopher's Stone and the Elixir of Life. Religion was" still so servile that preachers did not hesitate to pay compliments to queen or patron even during the most solemn part of the Liturgy. But just as in painting the skilful management of the chiaroscuro gives expression to the pictrue, so the dark shades only serve to heighten and bring out the brighter tints of Scott's noble drawing of " the spacious times of Great Elizabeth." Next in order of time, and perhaps of merit, comes " The Fortunes of Nigel," though for my own part I cannot ' say that I at all admire the hero Nigel Grahame. However, what is much more to our present purpose, the portraits of James I. and Buckingham (" Steenie ") are well worthy to hang beside those of Elizabeth and Leicester. Lord Macaulay has been censured for having in his History drawn a caricature - rather than a portrait of James, but that of Scott is not much more flattering. The prominent and unfavourable traits may not be drawn with quite so heavy a touch, but there is no' attempt to conceal them. If the reader will compare the two pictures, and remember that Macaulay was a Whig and an Englishman, while Scott was a Tory and a, Scotchman, and make allowances for these distinctions, he will, I think, admit that the two portraits are not so unlike each other after all. Even Scott laughs kindly at the elder D'lsraeli's attempt to whitewash the statue of. the "'gentle Jamie." Buckingham's pride, his falseness, his enprmous power over the weak and foolish king, his unscrupulousness in the use of that power, are well brought out. ; " Baby Charles "is a mere sketch. In leaving this part of my subject I may say that any reader who possesses the " Waverley Novels " has a mine of historical treasare not easily exhausted. First and chief of all modern historical novels stands Thackeray's "Esmond." The picture it gives of the times of Queen Anne la as vivid and real as that of Elizabeth already spoken of. Never was a man better fitted than Thackeray to draw a picture of the (lays when Dick Steele, Addison, Pope, and Swift were still alive. Thoroughly well read in all literature of the period, both poetry and prose, intensely appreciative of everything that made up the quaintness of -those times, with a power of projecting himself from the present and seemingly to breathe- the atmosphere of centuries gone by, no wonder his men and women are real oreatures of flesh and blood, with whom we laugh and weep.* The charming pictures of the dignified, stately, precise, yet most tenderly good-natured Mr Addison, and ofrollicking, careless, sinning, repenting, yet always lovable Dick Steele, will charm readers for ages to come. And as lifelike is the pioture of that terrible virago Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough. Sequels to excellent books are rarely as successful as the books themselves, and ", The Virginians," as a sequel to " Esmond," is scarcely an exception to this rule. At the same time, it contains some remarkable descriptions of the scenes in the earlier American war ; and the portrait of George Washington, if not quite a flattering one, is, on the whole, fairly .honest and impartial. In the story of " Esmond," though professedly written to depict the life and times of Queen Anne, we do not, if my memory serves me, get any glance of the queen herself ; and in another novel, of which the plot is laid in Elizibetli's time, there is the same disappointment, if I may in any sense apply the term to Charles Kingsley's charming story of " Westward Ho I " but the very air that Shakespeare breathed, the atmosphere, of poetry, and old romance, and wild adventures in the dim rich' Spanish main are about us, and our companions are Drake, and. Raleigh*and bir Richard Grenville, and all the gallant spirits of that gallant time. As one reads one geems to live in that adventurous, golden, picturesque age, and wake with a start to the realities of this forlorn, prosaic, mechanical nineteenth century, . Mr Whyte-Melville, in his pleasant story of " Holmby House," introduces some capital ' delineations of Charles I. (idealised a little, of course), of the fiery Rupert and his brother Maurice, and a very striking portrait of Queen Henrietta. Mr Melville is always excellent and most reliable in all that relates to old-fashioned field sports, and his pictures of country life and scenery are always charming, particularly in contrast to the battle scenes and the heat, glare, and bustle of court life. Harrison Ainsworth, though it is the fashion to decry his books, chiefly by persons who have never read them, is yet deserving of much gratitude from novel-readers. He unites great industry to a wonderful power of bright, picturesque description, and if he be not a man ol' genius, is at least one of very high talent, j ean only give the names of three of his most, notable works—" The Tower of London," time o£ Lady Jane Grey ; » Boscobel," Charles II. ; and "Guy Fawkes," James I.

I have not, of course, attempted to make this list exhaustive, but the works of such authors as I have named are likely to be found on the shelves of every country library. If by chance the few remarks I have made shall serve at first to guide any inexperienced reader, he will sdon learn to expatiate with delight oVer the wide and attractive field presented by the historical novel.