[Illustration: Accompanying Trilby.]
Our GEORGE DU MAURIER is in analogous case to that of a dramatic
character of whom he may possibly have heard. _M. Jourdain_ one day
happed upon the discovery that he had been talking prose all his life
without knowing it. Mr. DU MAURIER has lived through half a century
master of an exquisite style, and only now makes the discovery known to
the world. Plain indications of the fact were given in _Peter Ibbetson_.
But in respect of style and in other matters, _Trilby_, just published
by OSGOOD, MCILVAINE & CO., is a prodigious improvement. That a man who
has made his mark in pencil should, on taking up his pen, disclose
possession of the rare gift of style, strikes the literary person with
more marvel even than is evoked by discovery of a new novelist who can
construct a plot and delineate character. Mr. DU MAURIER has rich
endowment of all these gifts, which shine on every page of _Trilby_. He
has, moreover, given us a new thing quite apart from the run of English
novels. HENRI MURGER was before him with a deathless book in which life
in the Quartier Latin is powerfully and tenderly portrayed. Mr. DU
MAURIER'S chapters on student life in Paris need not fear comparison
with _La Vie de Bohème_, which is praise of the kind Sir HUBERT STANLEY
hoarded. Beyond that, growing out of it, is the boldly conceived,
firmly-drawn, and charmingly coloured character of _Trilby_, with her
curious _entourage_, her varied life, and her tragic end. _Little
Billee_, in whom some will find revived lost memories of a dear friend,
is a charming personality, whilst _Taffy_ and the _Laird_ are live men.
With such wealth of material and such felicity of touch, Mr. DU MAURIER
might well have foregone the temptation of allowing _Little Billee_ to
hold forth on theological subjects to his dog, at a length inevitable in
the pulpit, but a little out of place as an interlude in a novel. This
passage supplies a jarring note in an otherwise almost perfect symphony.
One turns with eagerness to the _Life of Frances Power Cobbe_, more
especially when it bears the honoured _imprimatur_ of BENTLEY. Miss
COBBE has lived long, enjoying full opportunity of seeing things and
people. She ought to have written a good book. "Instead of which," as
the judge once said, she presents a slovenly-written, ill-digested mass
of miscellaneous matter, including whole chapters devoted to digests of
her published works. Pleased with herself from most aspects, she
particularly admires her literary style. There is a passage in the book
where she plaintively apprehends that, lost in admiration of her style,
readers may miss the true purpose and importance of her writing;--this
in volumes that bristle with such monstrosities as "compared to,"
"disapproved of," and "from thence," the latter a favourite foible of
Miss COBBE'S style. In the second volume there are some attempts at what
was naturally looked for, to wit, reminiscences of people the present
generation would like to meet. But the burly, complacent figure of the
diarist intervenes just as they come into view. She tells us what she
said to them, not, what we are burning to hear, what they said to her.
On the whole, looked at through Miss COBBE'S spectacles, they were a
poor lot. Of RENAN she writes, "The impression he has left on me is one
of disappointment and short-falling." Short-falling is "style" of the
athletic order, and, my Baronite vaguely surmises, is the opposite of
high jumping. As to poor CARLYLE, Miss COBBE "never shared the
admiration felt for him by so many able men." GEORGE BORROW, who wrote
_The Bible in Spain_, she "never liked, thinking him more or less a
hypocrite." Professor TYNDAL is more in favour, since, in reply to the
gift of one of Miss COBBE'S instructive books, the Professor wrote an
acknowledgment, the exquisite irony of which his correspondent evidently
does not see. One other partial concession is made in a passage sublime
in its fatuousness. Speaking of one of her books, of which the fortunate
reader will find a full summary in the first volume, Miss COBBE says,
"It was very favourably reviewed, but some of my fellow Theists _rather
disapproved of the tribute I had paid to Christ_." The volumes bear on
the front the COBBE coat of arms and motto. The family may, we are
assured, be traced back through four centuries, and, even in the present
degenerate days, is highly connected.
Whilst the great heart of the people is considering whether it shall
throb against the House of Lords or whether it shall forbear, Mr. SWIFT
MACNEILL, Q.C., M.P., has delivered at that ancient institution what the
_Marchioness_ was accustomed to describe as "a wonner." _Titled
Corruption_ is the alluring style of the neatly-bound volume issued by
FISHER UNWIN. There is, my Baronite says, a touch of artistic genius in
the contrast between the plain, unassuming calico binding of the book
and the blood and thunder that rolls through its pages. It is "the
sordid origin of some Irish peerages" that Mr. SWIFT MACNEILL undertakes
to set forth. Perhaps if he were solely responsible for the work, its
startling statements might be dismissed as coloured by fervid fancy. He,
however, supports himself with the dictum of Mr. LECKY, "the majority of
Irish titles are historically connected with memories not of honour but
of shame," and illustrates it by extracts from confidential letters of
Lords Lieutenants of Ireland, recommending gentlemen for the peerage.
Altogether an interesting withdrawal of the curtain dropped before
passages in the history of Ireland on the eve of the Union.