[Sidenote: The historical novel]
I must confess to having experienced a certain feeling of astonishment,
not unmixed with alarm, when I was asked to write a paper on the
“Historical Novel,” for the series “On the Art of Writing Fiction.”
The phrase had an impressive sound. It reminded me of _Ivanhoe_ and
_Quentin Durward_, of _Hypatia_ and _Westward Ho!_ It seemed idle to
think of such humble ventures as I had launched upon the world, in
connection with the masterpieces of Scott and Kingsley. However, I
comforted myself by reflecting that the very humility and limitation
of my experiences might make them useful to beginners.
I will try to be practical, but I am afraid that I shall have to be, at
the same time, somewhat egotistic. If I can give any useful lessons,
these must be drawn from my own practice.
[Sidenote: Size]
[Sidenote: Some business considerations]
To begin at the beginning—what is the best size for the historical
novel?—or, as we had better perhaps call it, historical tale? All my
own have been of the one-volume kind, varying from fifty thousand to
eighty thousand words, to employ the prosaic but useful measurement now
in vogue among editors and publishers. And now, as my readers desire,
I suppose, to earn their bread, or at least their butter, by writing,
some business considerations may profitably come in. The demand for
books in this country comes either from the circulating libraries or
from private purchasers. It is the first of these only that, as a rule,
buy the three or two volumed novel. There are a few exceptions, as,
for example, Mrs. Humphry Ward’s _Robert Elsmere_. Hence novels are
commonly published at a fictitious price—a price, I mean, that bears
no practical relation to the cost of production, but is adapted to
the circumstances of a temporary and limited demand. Some two score of
writers, not of the first rank, have a public of readers sufficiently
large to make such a demand on the libraries, that, at the fictitious
price above described, a remunerative sale is obtained. A certain
number of novels just pay their way. Many cost their authors sums more
or less considerable. Now for the private purchaser. In the matter
of buying books, the average Englishman, and still more the average
Englishwoman, is parsimonious in the extreme. His or her purchases
in this direction are commonly limited to a Bible, a Prayer-book, a
book of devotion, possibly a volume of some popular author whom it is
fashionable to have on one’s drawing-room table. Still, the average
Englishman is not a stingy creature. He is generous in giving. Hence
the books which he would not think of buying for himself, he will
buy to give to others. Hence the institution of “Christmas Books.”
After all, there is no present so easy, so convenient, so harmless,
and so cheap as a book. Five shillings, and less, a sum for which one
could not buy the cheapest of cheap jewellery, will purchase a quite
respectable-looking volume. And as Christmas is the time for giving
presents, so Christmas is the time for selling books. It is a fact
which any publisher dealing in this kind of ware will confirm, that
books of precisely the same character and merit, published in May and
October (for the Christmas book has to be finished in July, or even
earlier, to be published in October), have a very different sale. And
a book, to be sold in any numbers, must be a single volume. Of course
publishers have overstocked the market. The supply of late years has
enormously increased, and now surpasses any possible demand. Still the
fact remains, that the most hopeful prospect for a young writer is to
produce a one-volumed tale that will take its chance among the crowd
of “Christmas books.” And here, I think, the “historical tale” has a
somewhat better chance of success than most of its competitors. The
father, the mother, the uncle, the aunt, who is choosing a present of
this kind, will often give a preference to a book that behind its first
and obvious purpose of amusing, has, or is supposed to have, another
more or less latent purpose of instructing. There is also a very
important demand for school prizes, and the “historical tale” has a
manifest fitness for supplying this.
[Sidenote: Choice of subject]
The dimensions of the book, then, being settled, the next question
is, what shall be the subject? Greek and Roman history supply a large
choice. And they have this advantage, that the authorities which have
to be consulted are limited in number and extent. If I am writing a
tale of the Athenian expedition against Syracuse, for instance, I
know that the contemporary writers are few, Thucydides, Xenophon,
Aristophanes, two or three early Orators, while Diodorus Siculus,
Plutarch, and Cornelius Nepos may also be consulted as secondary
authorities. Acquainted with these, one cannot be confronted with
any neglected authors. Similarly, for a tale of the days of Nero, we
have Seneca and the elder Pliny contemporary, and Tacitus nearly so,
Suetonius and Plutarch a generation further off, and Dio Cassius more
remote, but one who had access to good sources of information. Here
again the limits are narrow. Still I could not recommend any one not
well provided with classical scholarship to choose such a theme. There
are numberless pitfalls. Even authors of ability and repute are apt to
fall into some of them. I have seldom, for instance, read a story of
Roman life in which the names were not all confusion.
[Sidenote: Technical knowledge necessary]
Something of the same kind of technical knowledge would be wanted for
a tale of Egyptian or Assyrian life. In these cases the interest is
remote, and the preliminary knowledge required in the reader rare.
Where nine people know something about Miltiades, or Pericles, or
Alexander, Julius Cæsar, or Trajan, or Belisarius, scarcely one has
ever heard of Rameses II., or Amenophis III., or Queen Hatasu.
Jewish history has a fascination; but the risk of falling below the
standard of dignity required is vast.
[Sidenote: Modern history]
I suppose the general impulse will be to take some subject from modern,
preferably from English history; nor do I doubt that on the whole this
will be the best course for most of those for whom I am writing. The
authorities are accessible, and with proper industry can be mastered.
Besides industry, however, there must be facility of access. Private
libraries do not contain the necessary books. And I must warn my
readers that to make sure of adequate acquaintance with any period of
English history a very large amount of reading is needed. And if the
acquaintance is not adequate, there are plenty of experts—and experts
are commonly impatient of such frivolities as tales—ready to point out
the fact.
Epochs of special interest, as, _e.g._, the War of the Roses, the
struggle between Charles I. and his Parliament, the Revolution of 1688,
the Jacobite rebellion, the Napoleonic wars, offer special attractions.
As a rule, the more recent the time the easier it is to give an air of
reality to the story.
[Sidenote: Locality]
It will often be found a good plan to take some locality with which
the writer may happen to be well acquainted, to make this the scene
of the story, and to group the characters and incidents about some
distinguished person connected with the place. The story of Wyclif, for
instance, in his latter days, might have the scene laid at Lutterworth.
[Sidenote: Characters]
Here comes in the question, How far is the distinguished person to take
a part in the story? The answer will depend a good deal upon who he
is. A great soldier can be clearly introduced much more freely than a
great poet. The speech of the man of action need not have anything very
remarkable about it. It will suffice if it be concise and vigorous. A
poet, on the contrary, must not be allowed to talk commonplaces. As
a matter of fact, poets often do so talk—_non semper arcum_—but they
must not do so in a tale-writer’s pages. If I were to write a story of
Stratford-on-Avon, I should not venture to do more than let Shakespeare
be seen in his garden.
[Sidenote: Method of telling]
This suggests the question, Should the story be told in the first
person or the third? The first person is the more difficult to manage.
Heroines, for instance, who tell their own stories are often, I have
observed, sadly self-conscious and affected. They commonly begin
by depreciating their own good looks, and then go on to tell us of
the conquests which their plain faces make. Young heroes find it
equally difficult to speak of themselves without either bragging or
“’umbleness.” On the other hand, the first person, if tolerably well
managed, allows greater freedom. I may be permitted to illustrate this
by an experience of my own. I once wrote a tale of which the hero
is a young Royalist gentleman who fought for Charles I. This book
being sent for review to one of the critical journals, came by some
ill chance into the hands of an historical expert, who has a strong
leaning to the Parliamentary side. The expert was pleased to say that
I did not understand the nature of the struggle between Charles and
his Parliament. He may have been right, but there was nothing in the
book to show that I did not understand, for I had purposely made the
young Cavalier tell his own story. A serene omniscient person writing
in his study at Oxford doubtless knows all about it, about the _belli
causas et vitia et modos_; but a hot-headed young man, who is supposed
to give the impressions of the moment, fresh from exchanging blows
with some equally hot-headed young Roundhead, being neither serene nor
omniscient, is likely to know very little. The real mistake would have
been to make him far-seeing and philosophical. The author will not
escape the critics, at least if these are of the purblind expert sort,
but he will have a good answer to them. And he will be able also to
give a peculiar liveliness and a spirit to his narrative. I remember
a story, by the author of the _Schönberg Cotta Family_, unless my
memory deceives me, in which the tale is told in letters by two persons
alternately, these belonging to the factions opposing. But letters are
not a happy vehicle for fiction, though they have been employed by more
than one great master.
[Sidenote: Style]
From the matter it is an easy transition to the question of style. In
style it is impossible to be consistent or logical. If I write a tale
of the first Jacobite Rebellion, I naturally make my characters talk as
people talked in the early years of the eighteenth century. For this
there are models in abundance, a few of the best kind. The _Spectator_
papers, for instance, give a writer exactly what he wants in this
respect. And if he wishes to see how admirably they can be imitated,
let him study Thackeray’s _Esmond_, one of the very finest masterpieces
of style that is to be found in English literature. Go a century back,
and the task, if not quite so easy, is not difficult. The Authorised
Version of the Bible is at hand for serious writing, and there are
pamphlets and plays for what is lighter. A century more alters the
case. Sir Thomas More’s _Utopia_ is available, but to model your style
strictly on the _Utopia_ would be to make it too archaic. This is, of
course, even more true of time still earlier. The characters in a tale
of Wat Tyler’s rebellion would be half unintelligible if they talked in
the English of their day, supposing that English could be reproduced,
in itself no easy matter. One has to take a standard that is really
arbitrary, but still practically keeps the mean between the modern and
the archaic. For pure dignified English it is impossible to have a
better model than the Authorised Version, and it may be used even for
times earlier than the seventeenth century.
The notion of a “whitewashing” some well-known historical character is
attractive to a writer, but it commonly makes a book somewhat tiresome.
Writing up this or that theological or ecclesiastical view is still
more to be avoided. This, however, will not prevent the employment of
dramatic presentation of partisan views.
[Sidenote: Accessories]
You cannot be too careful about accessories, even of the most trifling
character. I remember making the deplorable blunder of introducing
forks among the belongings of an Oxford student of the fifteenth
century. They were not used till long after that time. With this
eminently practical caution I will conclude my advice.