(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)
Some people have all the luck! Fancy preparing for publication this
summer a novel whose scene is laid in Belgium. The picture of Bruges
Tower on the cover of _The Belfry_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) should alone
be enough to sell it like the hottest of hot cakes. Of course it would
be rather too much to expect the story to treat of the Belgium we all
love and admire to-day. Indeed, MARGARET BAILLIE SAUNDERS, writing in
the old times of six weeks ago, permits herself some good-natured humour
at the expense of the little red-trousered army. To-day it sounds oddly
archaic. But, this apart, there is enough topical and local colour in
the setting to secure success, even without an interesting story such as
is told here. One may perhaps fairly easily detect its inspiration in
certain actual happenings. It is the story of a woman, _Lucy Briarwell_,
clever and gifted with personality, the grass-widow of an apparently
incurable lunatic who, living in Bruges, falls under the influence of a
Belgian poet-dramatist. Together--for _Lucy_ is shown as his
collaborator and source of inspiration--they evolve a wonderful new form
of miracle play in which she presently captivates London and Paris as
the reincarnate _Notre Dame de Bruges_. So much of the tale I indicate;
the rest is your affair. It is told in a pleasant haphazard fashion,
enriched with flashes of caustic wit and disfigured with a good deal of
ungrammatical and slovenly writing. I think I never met a novelist who
did more execution among the infinitives. Also I suspect that Mrs.
SAUNDERS' zeal for theatrical setting outran her knowledge of it,
otherwise she would hardly have permitted a dramatist to speak of his
"caste," or the leading lady to leave the theatre (even under
circumstances of faintness) in her stage costume. But for all that my
congratulations to her on a good story.
* * * * *
Illustration: A PATRIOT.
_The Visitor._ "BUT YOU DON'T IMAGINE FOR A MOMENT THAT YOU COULD SINK A
BATTLESHIP WITH THAT, DO YOU?"
_Patriotic Seaside Villa Resident._ "NO, I DON'T THINK IT WOULD CARRY
FAR ENOUGH; BUT AT ANY RATE IT MIGHT DRAW THE ENEMY'S FIRE!"
* * * * *
My impression of _Behind the Picture_ (WARD, LOCK) is that it would be
better worth reading if it contained less of the tale--which, to speak
quite candidly, is parlous nonsense--and more of the trimmings. The
trimmings are mostly concerned with art bargain-hunting, and are
excellent fun. Most of us have the treasure-trove instinct sufficiently
developed to like reading about a young man who picks up Gainsboroughs
for a tenner, or unearths lost masterpieces of TURNER on a clue supplied
by an old letter. The young man in question was _Hugh Limner_, and in
his off moments he fulfilled perfunctorily the duties of hero of the
story. But I can't help thinking that Mr. M. MCD. BODKIN, his creator,
liked him best as an expert. Certainly I myself did. _Hugh_, as I say,
found his buried Turner on the authority of an autograph letter from the
artist, which in its turn he had found in a volume entitled "Turner's
Poems," that proved to have belonged to RUSKIN, the whole purchased off
a stall for ten shillings. That was the kind of expert _Hugh_ was. When
he had dug up the picture he exhibited it in a private gallery, where
"each day an eager crowd freely paid an entrance-fee of half-a-guinea."
How, when he could achieve that kind of luck, could he be expected to
take more than a languid interest in a tale where the most impossible
people behave most impossibly; where, for example, a missing peer posts
a letter to his wife at the back of a picture-frame for no earthly
reason; where the villain, younger brother of the long-lost, comes into
the heroine's drawing-room and says, "You must allow me to introduce
myself. I am Frederick Ackland, Earl of Sternholt"? We were only
beginning the second chapter, but my wonder is that a fellow like
_Hugh_, who was within hearing, didn't throw up his part at once. He
would have had my sympathy.
* * * * *
The public is quite content to have any amount of trite philosophy
passed off upon it as new goods by the author who has a gift for dialect
and uses an American negro as mouthpiece. Miss DOROTHY DIX employs a
black laundress of the name of _Mirandy_ (SAMPSON LOW) for philosopher;
and cheerfully persisting with the "yessum's," the "wid's," the "dat's"
and the "becaze's," tells us with incessant humour many things we all
knew before about husbands, their little idiosyncracies and weaknesses
and the methods by which they may be best caught and trained for their
purpose in life. Now and then _Mirandy_ gets away from matters
matrimonial, and it is upon these too rare occasions that she is at her
best. I was particularly moved by her views on the just rights of the
invalid, summed up in the urgent demand that those on the sick-bed
should (omitting the lingo) "be allowed to enjoy being ill in their own
way, without being persecuted by their friends and their friends'
doctors, pet remedies and religions." On the whole, I may quite safely
recommend these two hundred and fifty pleasantly written and
delightfully printed pages to readers who like to muse quietly on the
elementary principles of love and life without risking the surprise of
startling or revolutionary lines of thought. There is nothing peculiarly
good or bad in the many comic illustrations by Mr. E. W. KEMBLE.
* * * * *
_Mr. Punch_ regrets that in his last week's notice of MARIE VAN VORST'S
delightful romance, _His Love Story_, he spoiled her good Dutch name by
calling her Marie Von Vorst. He offers his best apologies.
* * * * *
The Touch of Nature.
["Turkey is our natural Ally."--_General von Bernhardi._]
"Hoch! Die Kultur! High Heaven speed the work!"
Thus cries the aspiring Teuton to the Turk.
Creation echoes with the glad refrain,
Deep calls to deep, Armenia to Louvain.
* * * * *