The action of the story commences in 1216, at a time when the forces

of the Albigenses are threatening the castle of Courtenaye. The sect

is alternately headed and abandoned by count Raymond of Toulouse,

who, though Catholic himself, occasionally wishes to save his vassals

from complete destruction. His present designs are unknown; he has

travelled to Rome to seek reconciliation with the Pope, and is expected

back at any hour. In the meantime the persecuted Albigenses live in

great misery among the mountains of Languedoc. Their leader is an old

and venerable pastor of the name of Pierre, whom the cruelty of the

crusaders has deprived of sight. He is tended by his granddaughter

Genevieve, as good and gentle a being as himself, and constantly

exhorts his followers to mildness and forgiveness; in this he is

fiercely opposed by a fraction of wild fanatics, represented, among

others, by the deacon Mephibosheth, a man of ‘intolerant zeal, and

intolerable pretentions,’ who subsequently turns renegade.--The

lord of Courtenaye, a savage and cowardly cripple, who fears the

vicinity of the Albigenses but is unable to defend himself, summons

the chief crusaders to his aid. The summons is very willingly obeyed,

and a great army of knights and crusaders is, at the opening of the

tale, marching towards the castle. The most eminent leaders of the

Catholic forces are count Simon de Montfort, the ‘champion of the

church,’ a rude and powerful soldier--and the bishop of Toulouse, a

vigorous-minded sceptic, who in everything pursues his own advantage

and aims at the increase of his own influence, ‘a man of power and

might, body and soul, whose strong mind clung to his strong frame

like the human part of the centaur of old to the animal part, making

but _one_ between them.’ There is a great deal of jealousy between

these two warriors, and their army is split with discord and mutual

suspicion. The majority are for attacking the heretics at once and

crushing them at a single blow, while others advise waiting till the

result of count Raymond’s negotiations with the Pope is known. From a

message brought to the bishop it appears that the court of Rome has

sent a monk of uncommon sanctity to mediate between the two hostile

armies; the mediator has already visited the Albigenses and is now on

his way to the castle. This simple and honest monk, who is chosen by

the Pope with a view to ‘diminish the power and mortify the ambition’

of the bishop of Toulouse, has been received with hostility by the

zealous fraction among the Albigenses, and only after great exertions

on the part of Pierre has the arrangement been brought about that

they consent to hear an exhortation from the bishop, on a promise

of safety. The day being fixed, the crusaders set out with pomp and

splendour to the meeting-place. The bishop delivers a magnificent

sermon, but without effect; the Albigeois preachers reply with spirit,

and reconciliation is found impossible. They are to resort to arms the

following day. The crusaders retire to the castle of Courtenaye; the

night is spent in carousals, during which De Montfort proposes that

he and the knights alone would ride the heretics down; the proposal

is eagerly accepted, in spite of the warnings of an old knight called

Sir Aymer de Chastelroi.--The Albigenses are prepared for the worst,

but the same night count Raymond returns with a great army. Besides

the political, he has a personal cause against the crusaders: the late

lord Courtenaye, the brother of the present one, has once surprised

his castle and slaughtered his wife and children, for which outrage he

has sworn eternal vengeance. He now takes command of the Albigenses;

it is decided to wait till the crusaders are enclosed in a valley,

and then beset them from all sides. The stratagem is easily carried

out, and the knights are completely defeated. De Montfort is wounded

almost to death, while the bishop succeeds in making his way out of

the ambuscade, and arrives at the castle with a few surviving knights.

De Montfort also is afterwards brought to the castle, where he slowly

recovers.--Count Raymond, understanding that his victory is entirely

due to the temerity of the vanquished, commands the whole band of the

Albigenses to set out for the kingdom of Arragon, whither, indeed, it

is the bishop’s intention immediately to pursue them. De Montfort being

disabled for a long time, the bishop assumes the title of the champion

of the church and places himself at the head of the crusading army. His

enterprise, however, meets various difficulties; the followers of the

knights who have perished in the recent battle begin to desert, when

no longer commanded by their individual leaders, besides which king

Philip refuses to recognize the bishop as the champion of the Church,

before the title is admitted by the Pope. Under these circumstances the

bishop proceeds to lead his forces to his own castle in the city of

Beaucaire. On the road he lights upon a veiled lady who travels with

one single attendant and turns out to be no less a person than queen

Ingelberg. King Philip, being violently in love with Agnes of Moravia,

has deserted the queen and even planned against her life, for which

reason she tries to escape to her brother the king of Denmark. The

bishop at once resolves to carry her as a prisoner to his castle; he is

anxious to preserve the life of the queen, in order to be able to annul

the king’s adulterous marriage, should he deny him future aid.--The

queen subsequently makes her escape and is reconciled to the king.--A

new crusade is soon determined upon, and the bishop, with a great

number of nobles and dignitaries whom he has won to his side, marches

to Nismes, which is this time fixed as meeting-place for the Catholic

leaders. Among these is prince Lewis, who is very desirous to take the

lead, and hates the bishop as cordially as he hates De Montfort. The

latter has not yet recovered his strength, but shows no inclination

to resign his title, and thus the old discord again prevails in the

crusading army:--The Albigenses have once more been abandoned by the

vacillating count Raymond, but some others of the most potent lords of

Languedoc have taken up arms in their cause, and entrenched themselves

in Tarascon. The crusaders now march against that city, outside whose

walls a long and furious battle is fought. De Montfort, weakened by

his illness, falls; still the issue of the battle would be uncertain,

should not count Raymond again arrive at the critical moment. The

crusaders, indeed, seize the castle of Tarascon, but their army is

defeated by count Raymond, who pitches his camp in the vicinity. The

next day he makes a new attack and easily occupies the town. The

Albigenses triumph once more.--

These two battles form the historical framework, around which is

woven the romantic plot of the story, intricate and duly based on

chivalry and love. The principal hero is a youthful knight called Sir

Paladour de la Croix Sanglante, who, at the very end, is discovered

to be the son of count Raymond of Toulouse. He has been saved at the

general slaughter of the count’s family, is brought up in obscurity,

but knighted by the king after a siege in which he has distinguished

himself. The only person who knows of his descent is an old, half-crazy

woman, who has seen better days. She was, in fact, once a rich and

beautiful lady of the name of Marie de Mortemar; being accused of

heresy, she was attacked by count Raymond, the late brother of the

lord of Courtenaye, and the bishop of Toulouse, who ‘despoiled her of

lands and power, and burnt her castles, and made of her people serfs,

and misused her in such sort that she wandered a maniac for a time,

and then was heard of no more.’ The ill-usage she has undergone has

so changed her that she is recognized by no one, yet she pursues,

with relentlessness and dexterity, a scheme of vengeance against her

former persecutors. The late lord of Courtenaye, who afterwards became

the enemy of count Raymond, is suspected to have been murdered at the

instigation of his brother the present lord; but Marie de Mortemar is

intent upon the destruction of the whole house of Courtenaye. This

destruction is to be executed by the hand of Sir Paladour, whose

fortunes she continually follows. When he is hastening, in the first

chapter of the book, to join the crusading army, she guides him over

a lake and directs him towards the castle of Courtenaye. She lives,

for the most part, in the vaults of this castle, where she is, in

association with a few other hags, occupied in all sorts of dark and

necromantic pursuits, ostensibly in the service of the superstitious

lord, but secretly meditating his ruin.--At the castle resides also

lady Isabelle, the daughter of the late lord of Courtenaye; she and

Paladour fall in love at first sight. He hardly dares to address

her, though energetically urged thereto by the merry Sir Aymer de

Chastelroi--but before long he has opportunity of rendering her an

essential service. On arriving at the castle, count Simon de Montfort

informs Isabelle that king Philip, whose ward she is, has promised her

hand to a man whom she is very unwilling to accept. Her despair at last

touches even De Montfort; he hints that there may be found a way of

extricating her from the matter--namely, if some champion of hers can

unhorse him, ‘or draw blood from between the joints of his harness.’

Paladour at once accepts the challenge, and really overthrows the

dreaded warrior. After this he is regarded as the avowed champion of

the lady Isabelle, and takes but little notice of his rivals, two very

foolish knights called de Verac and de Semonville.--The great battle

that ends so unfortunately for the crusaders is watched by Isabelle

from an adjacent hill. When the defeat becomes evident she starts, with

her maidens, at full speed for the castle. Suddenly she is accosted by

a knight in black armour, who says he has a message from Sir Paladour,

and offers to conduct the party by a secret path, the main road to

the castle being intercepted by the heretics. While still speaking,

the knight seizes her rein and gallops along. After a while they are

joined by men in vizards, and the ride finally terminates at the coast

of the Mediterranean. The frightened females are conveyed to a small

isle where there stands the impregnable castle of a bold outlaw, the

terror of all the neighbourhood.--Sir Paladour is among the knights

who survive the battle; when told of the disappearance of Isabelle,

he immediately sets out in quest of her. On a dark heath he meets his

mysterious guide, the maniac woman, who informs him where Isabelle is

taken and points out to him the distant tower of the outlaw’s castle.

He follows the direction, and at the very moment he is approaching, a

party of pilgrims passing along the coast is attacked by the robbers.

Paladour rushes to their aid, but is severely wounded, and dragged to

the castle as a prisoner.--Isabelle is, at first, treated with a kind

of rude courtesy; the outlaw has seized her in hopes of a large ransom,

but struck by her beauty he soon begins to make love to her, and, being

rejected, assumes a threatening tone. As for Paladour, but little heed

is taken of him, and he is left to recover from his wounds as best he

can. He is much worried by a raging lycanthrope living in the vaults;

once the latter assaults him while he is sleeping, and only by exerting

his utmost strength can Paladour knock him down. In his last moments,

however, the lycanthrope regains his reason and shows Paladour a secret

passage leading to the terrace at the sea, from where he can hold

converse with the lady. When it is discovered that he is the lover and

champion of Isabelle, their situation becomes extremely precarious; but

one night, when the terrace happens to be deserted, Isabelle and her

maidens manage to descend from their window to the terrace. Here they

are received by Paladour, and the whole party sets out in a boat. Their

flight is soon discovered; the outlaw, pursuing them in another boat,

reaches them as they touch the shore. At the moment when he is about

to stab Paladour, a dark figure rushes between and plunges a dagger in

the outlaw’s heart: it is again the maniac woman, Marie de Mortemar.

Taking Paladour aside she reminds him of a vow he has made, as a

child, to sacrifice the last survivor of his enemy’s race. Paladour

is still ignorant who his enemies are, but the woman promises to let

him know in due time. Without further adventure the party then arrives

at the castle. The lord of Courtenaye is not delighted; his state and

wealth depend on Isabelle’s continuing unmarried, and he has secretly

hoped, that both she and her bridegroom would perish. He cannot avoid

celebrating their nuptials with a grand feast, but contemplates all

the time means for their destruction; calling the maniac woman to

his presence he declares himself ready to enter an alliance with the

devil, whom he, in his superstition, believes her able to conjure. She

answers with mysterious threats, having decided in the bridal night to

wreak her vengeance on the house of Courtenaye. The night comes, and

as it grows late the lord retires into his secret chamber among the

vaults, where the other hags are awaiting their leader. Through their

imprudence the chamber catches fire, and the lord of Courtenaye who,

in a fit of impatient rage, has thrown the key in a cauldron, perishes

with his attendants. At the same time the news spreads in the castle

that the bride has been murdered and the bridegroom has disappeared.

The maniac has now informed Paladour that his destined victim is no

other than his bride. He conceives that the only way of escaping the

fulfilment of his vow is to stab himself; Isabelle, thinking him mad,

tries to prevent him, and during the grapple the dagger is plunged

into her breast. Paladour rushes away half-deranged and runs till

he falls down exhausted, being then taken care of by the maniac, who

at last relents towards him. She dresses up Isabelle--whose wound is

not mortal--as a page and gives her to Paladour; in this capacity she

follows him without daring to reveal herself so long as his reason

is not quite restored.--Being indifferent to everything and seeking

only death, he joins the count’s army as a mysterious ‘black knight,’

unknown to all. After the victory of Tarascon his relationship to count

Raymond is discovered with the help of a monk; on the same occasion

Isabelle reveals her identity, and they are happily re-united.--

The story, however, contains yet another love-intrigue. Paladour has

a younger brother of the name of Sir Amirald, who also appears to

have been saved from the massacre. He is brought up at the castle of

Courtenaye and very badly used by its lord. When Paladour and Amirald

meet in the crusading army, a close friendship springs up between

them, and they find, to their wonder, that they bear a similar mark

on the shoulder. Amirald has seen Genevieve, the granddaughter of

the old Albigeois pastor, and fallen in love with her. Once when he

is wandering in the vicinity of the castle, he is roused by cries

for help; they proceed from Genevieve, whom two robbers are carrying

away, deeming her ‘no unacceptable prize’ to the crusaders. Amirald

overcomes the ruffians and accompanies Genevieve to the Albigenses. In

the first great battle a stone from a sling smites him down; as the

Albigenses move on, Genevieve stumbles over his body. She recognises

her preserver and, perceiving there is life, removes him into a cave,

with the reluctant assistance of an unsuccessful lover of hers, a young

man called Amand. She then visits Amirald regularly and tends him till

he is restored to health. When count Raymond commands the Albigenses

to move still farther into the mountains, Amand demands her promise to

abandon Amirald; on her refusing, he in jealousy informs the chiefs

of the sect that Genevieve has saved the life of an enemy, with the

result that she is banished from the community. Two men are sent to

convey her to Toulouse, but, having lost their way, they both perish,

and Genevieve herself is, in a senseless state, carried into a convent

by some monks who chance to find her. Yet when she is discovered to be

a heretic, she is instantly expelled. Pursuing her way alone, she is

now seized by the same ruffians from whom Amirald had rescued her. They

drag her into the abbey of Normoutier where she falls into the hands

of the bishop of Toulouse and is taken with his party to Beaucaire.

Here she is sumptuously clad and treated with mildness, the bishop’s

intention being to make her his mistress; but she firmly resists his

temptations. Subsequently she succeeds not only in escaping but in

effecting the escape of the queen, whose life she saves at the risk of

her own, thus earning her gratitude and protection. They travel onward

with a party of knights who have been in quest of the queen in order

to bring her back to the king, he being now willing to receive her as

his spouse again. Among the knights is Amirald, who openly avows his

love to Genevieve. He is commissioned to conduct her to Toulouse, but

this time their journey is intercepted by the army of prince Lewis.

He also is enraptured by the beauty of Genevieve and compells her

to follow him to Nismes, where the new crusade is being prepared.

Being told by Genevieve that she has saved the life of his mother,

the prince promises to protect her from every injury, yet determines

to keep her for himself and refuses to surrender her to Amirald. The

bishop, however, who is filled with a deadly hatred against her, urges

that she be delivered into the hands of justice, to be condemned to

death as a heretic. When the prince tries to protect her a riot breaks

out--the house where she is kept is burnt down, but at the last moment

Amirald saves her and they escape to Tarascon where he, now turned an

Albigeois, joins the army of the lords of Languedoc. In the battle of

Tarascon, Amirald and Genevieve are among a party of Albigenses who

remain captives in the town. All prisoners are, at the command of the

bishop, to be burnt alive; they are already bound at the stake when

the army of count Raymond rushes into Tarascon. Paladour, remembering

the mark on their shoulders, immediately hastens to liberate his

brother.--At the same time the bishop falls a victim to the vengeance

of Marie de Mortemar. She has also been brought to the city as a

prisoner, and being kept in custody in a solitary chamber near the

chapel, she manages to poison the holy water a moment before the bishop

celebrates the mass. He rushes into his room where he applies strong

antidotes, all in vain. Suspecting the maniac he calls her to his

presence; she reveals herself as Marie de Mortemar, declaring the aim

of her life to be fulfilled: while the bishop is expiring, she throws

herself out of the casement and is dashed to pieces.--The heroes and

heroines live in happiness ever afterwards; ‘The difference of birth

and creed was never known to disturb the affection that subsisted

between the high-born Lady of Courtenaye and the humble bride of

Amirald.’

* * * * *

Considering the inordinate length of _The Albigenses_, it must be

admitted that the story is fairly well constructed, and the rich

materials--although of little originality--not unskilfully arranged.

In this respect there certainly can be detected a sort of improvement

on Maturin’s earlier romances; but it is a very poor compensation for

the loss of their peculiar charm in style and description. In _The

Albigenses_ there is hardly a page which could not have been written

by somebody else; the personal note in the diction, the keenness of

psychological insight, and the characteristic boldness of imagination

which distinguished _Women_ and _Melmoth_, and even _The Milesian

Chief_, have completely disappeared. And this change, it is painful

to observe, has been brought about by the attacks of injudicious

reviewers, as clearly stated in the preface:

How far I may have succeeded, is not for me to judge. I put forwards

my present work with diffidence. No one can think more moderately

of his powers than I do of mine; but I must demand of my reader’s

consideration, that the opinions and errors of my imaginary characters

shall not be transferred to my own. In what singularly severe and

injurious spirit this has been hitherto done, I need not say. No man

less disregards public opinion; no man is less disposed to offer

an insolent defiance to sincere criticism: but if an unoffending

life cannot protect a writer from those dangerous imputations, I

disdain defence, and leave them to their judgment by all generous and

unprejudiced minds.

Maturin’s journey to Canossa was graciously acknowledged by all critics

except one. In the newly established _Westminster Review_[170] there

appeared an uncommonly intelligent and well-written article, showing

an understanding of Maturin and a penetration into his talent, which

far surpasses that of all other contemporary critics. To the general

verdict of this unknown writer on _The Albigenses_ nothing could be

added, nor can its rightfulness be questioned by any one acquainted

with Maturin’s works:

We are a little disappointed in finding that Mr. Maturin’s new work

is not of a character that either entitles or entices us to make it

the occasion of a general examination of his literary pretensions.

For we could not do this effectually, without adducing various

examples of the faults and the good qualities that are peculiar to his

writings; and it so happens, that the work now before us is almost

entirely deficient in either of these. It is, perhaps, not very

difficult to account for this. Mr. Maturin, though now a tolerably

practised writer, is far from having acquired that command over the

efforts of his pen which the time that he has exercised it would,

under ordinary circumstances, have given him: for his mind is not

one that will submit to be “constrained by mastery,” either in its

strengths or its weaknesses. It may be _led_, we sincerely believe,

to perform very valuable services to the republic of letters; but

it may not be _driven_ to do either good or evil. And if it _be_

driven, the results will be a something between the two, and bearing

no distinctive character whatever. Now, we conceive the work before

us to have proceeded from an artificial and ill-considered impetus of

the above kind. Mr. Maturin has publicly stated, as an excuse (_that_

is the form under which he most unnecessarily puts it) for writing

Romances at all, that his necessities oblige him to do so; and yet

all the Romances he has hitherto written have subjected him to the

most virulent abuse from several of those critical tribunals, on whose

fiat the popularity of works of this class mainly depends--or, at all

events, by which that popularity can be greatly advanced, and still

more greatly retarded. And this abuse, too, when it has descended to

detail, has, in almost every instance, been levelled at precisely

those portions of the work in question in which the author must have

felt, and every one else must have admitted, that the beauties, if

beauties the work contained, were to be found. What could a writer,

but little acquainted with the nature of his own powers, and avowedly

employing them with a view to present distinction, be expected to do

under such circumstances, but resolutely set himself to avoid the

errors that seemed to lay in the way of his object? And in doing

so, what could be expected as the first result of this effort, but

what we, in fact, meet with in the work, the title of which stands

at the head of this paper?--namely, a production in which all the

most glaring faults that existed in his previous ones are in a great

degree absent; and in which all the beauties which more than redeemed

those faults, are absent too. The truth is, Mr. Maturin did not seek

instruction from the right source. Instead of feeling contempt for

those who expressed a contempt which they did _not_ feel towards him,

he flew to _them_ for that counsel which he should have taken of his

own good sense, and his own heart.

That Maturin did not take counsel of his own heart means that he wrote

without inspiration; and that is why the adventures and hair-breadth

escapes fail to excite, and the characters appear so hopelessly

conventional. The characterization is, in fact, the weakest side of

_The Albigenses_, and that of the principal personages the least

worthy of Maturin’s powers. Paladour and Amirald simply possess every

chivalrous virtue imaginable, neither being subject to any faults

whatsoever, nor is there one single individual trait to distinguish

them from others. The description of these two paragons is pervaded

by a deadly seriousness and an unbroken solemnity, all the more

causeless as both are destined to become perfectly happy in the end.

The influence of Scott, which otherwise is perceptible throughout the

story, in no instance extends itself to the treatment of the heroes.

The different methods of the two novelists can be compared in the

openings of _The Albigenses_ and _Quentin Durward_ (1823). Both works

begin with a brief account of the state of France in the respective

periods--after which the heroes are introduced as solitary travellers

and knight-errants. Quentin Durward, a merry light-hearted youth,

appears on a bright summer morning, carelessly joining company with

the first people he encounters, committing various indiscretions,

being on the point of getting hanged, and going through it all with

imperturbable good-humour. Paladour travels through an autumnal night,

engaged in sombre thoughts, recollections and anticipations, meeting

beings unearthly and mysterious and preserving all the time the same

sepulchral gravity. The one way, of course, can in itself be as good

as the other, and the beginning of _The Albigenses_ is not without

merit; but as the story advances it would not be out of the place

to make a counterpoise to this lugubrious hero in the person of the

younger Sir Amirald. Yet he is but a repetition of his brother, as

grave and as blameless. There is nothing of the contrast so finely

brought forth in _Montorio_ between Hippolito and Annibal, and in _The

Milesian Chief_ between Connal and Desmond: Amirald, no more than

Paladour, does anything rash or thoughtless; they never laugh; they

are never even present in comical situations. Now one of the secrets

of the perennial freshness of the _Waverley_ novels is a manner the

author has of ‘dealing sly digs at his own stateliest heroes.’[171] He

never takes them too seriously; he exposes their human weaknesses with

obvious satisfaction, and finally allows them to be united with their

lady-loves much because he does not think them worth writing tragedies

about. This method being extremely foreign to Maturin, his surest way

of succeeding with his heroes is to make them really tragic and treat

them with the terrible pathos and passionate sympathy which breathes

from the pages of _The Milesian Chief_. In _The Albigenses_ neither

condition is fulfilled, and the personages, consequently, do not live.

The same is equally true of the heroines; there are no traces of the

psychological mastery which had created Eva and Immalee. Isabelle and

Genevieve are as superlative with regard to exalted qualities as are

their lovers: the former, being a high-born lady, is supplied with a

just amount of pride, while the latter, as suits her station, is all

humbleness and self-denial. How horribly fustian and melodramatic the

description occasionally becomes, can be seen from the scene where the

outlaw, whose prisoner Isabelle is, makes her a proposal of marriage:

Isabelle sprang on her feet--both hands were compressed on her left

bosom, as if _expecting_ her heart would burst, and her eyes inflamed

and dilated seemed starting from their sockets. She directed them

right onward for some moments, as if they could have pierced her

prison-walls; at length she turned them full on the outlaw and that

look said as audibly as language, “Begone this moment, or stay and see

me driven to frenzy!”

The comic figures in the story--most of whom are invariably comic--are

hardly less stereotyped and without charm. An exception must be

made for the well-drawn Sir Aymer, an old knight who continually

affects a tone of youthful gallantry but is, at bottom, a man of

honour and delicacy. The drunken abbot of Normoutier with his eternal

mal-a-prop Latin quotations, and the foppish Sir Ezzelin de Verac,

are, on the other hand, very heavy and tiresome. The best drawn

character in _The Albigenses_ is the bishop of Toulouse. There is

something truly imposing in his ambitious schemes, and his scepticism

and clear-headedness form a salutary contrast to the superstitious

fanaticism of his fellow-crusaders. The speech with which he tries

to dazzle and seduce the inexperienced Genevieve, while she is his

prisoner in Beaucaire, is one of the most eloquent passages in the

book, and shows once more what Maturin was capable of achieving on his

favourite topic, the unlimited power and the soul-destroying influence

of the Catholic church:

The vast system of which I am no feeble or inert engine, hastens to

the summation of its working--the conquest of the world. That old

and mighty Rome, of whom pedants prate, subdued but the meaner part

of man--his body; but our Rome enslaves the mind--that mind, which,

once enslaved, leaves nothing for opposition or for defeat. Look

round thee--a peevish dotard in the seven-throned palace tramples

with his palsied foot on the necks of the crowned kings of earth,

from the shores of the Orcades to the cliffs of Calpe. He stamps with

it, and their blood, their treasures, and their vassals are poured

on Asia, making the eastern world tremble to its centre: for ours

is the power that not only binds the spirit but makes it clasp its

chain; ours are the powers of the world to come; all that is potent

in life, all that is mysterious in futurity, the fears, the hopes,

the hearts of mankind, all are ours; and shall we not wield the

weapon their credulity has put into our hands for our own behoof? --

-- -- All knowledge is ours--to the laity the book is closed--the

key is lost--every avenue to science, every loophole through which

light might wander, is barred up or sternly sentinelled; the tomes

of ancient wisdom are buried in monkish libraries, unfolded, save by

daring hands like mine. Under the old tyrants of the earth the decree

of a senate might desolate a province, and the frolic of an emperor

consume a city; but when did it chain up the arm of man, or wither

his soul within him, like a papal interdict, at whose reported sound

the bridegroom drops the hand of the betrothed, the mourner quits the

unburied corse, and the priest flies from the altar? I tell thee,

maiden, the eagles of Ancient Rome would be blasted if they dared to

grasp the thunder that is now wielded by the hand of every busy legate.

The best things in _The Albigenses_ are to be found in certain vividly

narrated episodes and brilliant descriptions, which are quite other

than the hackneyed adventures of the actual _dramatis personæ_. Among

them is the story of the heretic deacon Mephibosheth. He is taken, by

some Catholic travellers, to the abbey of Normoutier, where the monks,

in the absence of the abbot, have elected an ‘abbot of misrule’ and

arranged a carousal on a large scale. The deacon is compelled to become

one of the company and take part in a wild dance; he first refuses, but

then, being sufficiently drunk, he for a while becomes the jolliest

of them all, until his feelings as suddenly reverse themselves and he

starts smashing costly windows and figures of saints. The monks decide

to hang him, but the cord breaks, and he is finally spared on condition

of procuring them a beautiful heretic damsel. The deacon, remembering

Genevieve, readily complies, but she is brought there by the two

robbers before he has time to fulfil his promise. The deacon, however,

remains at the abbey and, having turned Catholic, becomes a follower

of the bishop and is, at last, hanged in good earnest by the men of

count Raymond, after the battle of Tarascon. The feast of the abbot of

misrule, which presents a phase of monastic life seldom described,[172]

is depicted with superabundant vivacity and humour, and in a true

mediaeval spirit:

-- -- “Surely I will not dance,” quoth the deacon, whose courage rose

with opposition; “it is an abomination more befitting the daughter

of the harlot Herodias than a deacon of the holy congregation. All

dancing is evil, exceedingly evil, and not good--but to dance in

the tents of Kedar and the tabernacles of the idolaters, to be set

up on high among the ungodly, and dance in the high places, were an

utter abomination:--wherefore I say, Down with the filthy squeaking

of pipes, and the lewd jarring of crowds, and--” “So please you,

my lord abbot,” said one of the monks, “let us drown this peevish

fellow’s noise, and cause him to dance with us:--your true sour

heretic (and your lordship perceives he is no better, though I shame

to name such vermin before your lordship) needs no other martyrdom

than the sight of free honest mirth.”--“Thou sayest well,” said

the abbot; “he shall dance and die the death of the spleenful: for

the rest, let such of the nine worthies as be sober, lead forth

Deborah, Judith, and Queen Dido--the three children in the furnace

shall dance with Nebuchadnezzar to make up their old grudge--Susanna

shall pace with one of the elders, and the goddess of Chastity with

the other--ourself, the Abbot of Misrule, will lead the lady of

loose-delight, with her paintings and her pouncings, her mincings and

her mockings--and the heretic shall dance with the devil, and there

is a company meetly sorted. Strike up, my masters.”--Here the hapless

Mephibosheth was seized on by a hideous figure enveloped in a black

garment, with cloven feet of flame colour, a tail that swept the

ground, a mask equipped with “eyes that glow and fangs that grin,” and

a huge pair of horns starting from the forehead. All his struggles

availed nothing with his frightful partner: he was dragged into the

circle, compelled to perform numerous pirouettes, which were more

remarkable for velocity than grace, and if he relaxed for a moment in

his exertions, a swinge of his partner’s tail, a kick of his cloven

foot, or a blow with his horns, set him prancing again with pain and

terror till his strength was exhausted, and he fell to the ground.

At this moment the cook was seen entering the hall, attended by the

lay-brothers groaning under the heavy dishes they bore, and shouting

in unison the monastic chorus--

Caput apri defero,

Reddens laudes Domino;

Qui estis in convivio,

Plaudite cum cantico. -- -- --

A fine chapter is also one describing a night at the castle of

Courtenaye before the first battle. A frightful tempest is raging,

and most of the guests have retired; at last only a few of the chief

crusaders are sitting in the dimly illuminated hall, passing their time

in telling ghost-stories. Sir Aymer, in his humorous way, relates an

adventure which happened to his uncle, whereupon De Montfort tells a

very dismal one which happened to himself, as he once beheld the ghosts

of a large congregation of Albigenses whom he had slaughtered some ten

years before. The right note is here struck by simple means, and the

uncomfortable sensations of the superstitious company are skilfully

transferred to the reader.--Scenes like these are, no doubt, filled

with the real spirit of the time in question; but as a historical novel

in the usual sense of the word _The Albigenses_ has no great claims

to distinction. The historical facts which underlie the plot are but

meagre, and, moreover, treated with considerable freedom. Imagination

often makes up for accurate information. Even one of those critics[173]

who admired _The Albigenses_ as a romance, thinks the author deficient

in a ‘minute and extensive acquaintance with the antiquities of the

middle ages,’ declaring his descriptions to be of a cast that ‘may

be executed by any one moderately read in Froissart, and tolerably

conversant with the less recondite sources of information contained in

the common English and German romances.’

* * * * *

The picture of the merry life led in the abbey of Normoutier strikes

one by its perfect novelty in Maturin’s work, nor are there, in _The

Albigenses_, any instances of ecclesiastical cruelty or monastic

oppression; the monks are, upon the whole, no worse than other people.

Nevertheless the Radcliffe school reappears in some of the adventures

of the heroines, especially in the escape of Isabelle from the clutches

of the outlaw, and that of Genevieve from the palace of the bishop of

Toulouse. The secret passages, happily detected at the right moment,

the inevitable subterranean vaults and concealed doors have their

origin in that style of fiction which Maturin now had disavowed. The

design of Marie de Mortemar to have her vengeance on the last survivor

of the house of Courtenaye executed by the hand of Sir Paladour,

leads back to the idea upon which _Montorio_ is founded. Otherwise

_The Albigenses_ is but too clearly modelled on Scott; most of the

characters have their prototypes in the _Waverley_ novels, and a

great many of the situations likewise bear a resemblance to the same

distinguished patterns. _Quentin Durward_, _Old Mortality_ (1817),

_Ivanhoe_ (1820), _The Monastery_ (1820) and others are constantly

called to mind, all the comparisons being to the disadvantage of _The

Albigenses_. To mention some of the most conspicuous likenesses, count

Simon de Montfort has a counterpart in duke Charles of Burgundy in

_Quentin Durward_; both are men of a fierce and uncontrollable temper

and unrefined habits, accustomed only to consult their own will and

pleasure. Duke Charles has the same message to Isabelle of Croye as De

Montfort to Isabelle of Courtenaye, namely, of a marriage which appears

to be against the inclinations of the heroines, and the language of

these powerful lords, when contradicted, is very offensive to a young

lady of rank. Duke Charles threatens to drag the lady to the altar

with his own hands, contemptuously speaking of her ‘baby face,’ while

De Montfort, in the corresponding scene, flies out against Isabelle,

calling her a ‘gaudy, delicate, disdainful toy.’ At last the matter is,

in both cases, referred to the skill and valour of the champions of

the fair ones.--The capture of Isabelle by the outlaw resembles much

the seizure of Rowena, in _Ivanhoe_, by Reginald Front-de-Boef. Both

prisoners are, as a token of respect, shown into the best rooms; ‘the

apartment to which the Lady Rowena had been introduced was fitted up

with some rude attempts at ornament and magnificence, and her being

placed there might be considered as a peculiar mark of respect not

offered to the other prisoners. -- -- -- The tapestry hung down from

the walls in many places, and in others was tarnished and faded under

the effects of the sun, or tattered and decayed by age.’ Maturin’s

description of the chamber of Isabelle is exactly similar: ‘It was to

this apartment the lady Isabelle ascended, and it was evident that it

had been furnished with a kind of rude and hasty splendour. Tapestry

was hung on the walls by wooden pegs stuck between the interstices of

the stones, but in many places those walls of ragged stone were totally

bare.’ Then the ladies are the object of love-making by persons odious

to them, while their real lovers lie prisoners in the same castles.

Rebecca, in _Ivanhoe_, obviously served as a model to Genevieve. Their

goodness and mildness is the same, and the one, being the daughter

of a Jew, as well as the other being a heretic, is in a defenceless

and dangerous position. The speech of the templar to Rebecca, when he

persuades her to fly with him to the Orient and become a partner in his

bold plans has, no doubt, influenced the speech which the bishop makes

to Genevieve, quoted above:

The Templar loses, as thou hast said, his social rights, his power

of free agency, but he becomes a member and a limb of a mighty body,

before which thrones already tremble,--even as the single drop of

rain which mixes with the sea becomes an individual part of that

resistless ocean, which undermines rocks and engulfs royal armadas.

Such a swelling flood is that powerful league. Of this mighty Order

I am no mean member, but already one of the Chief Commanders, and

may well aspire one day to hold the batoon of Grand Master. The poor

soldiers of the Temple will not alone place their foot upon the necks

of kings--a hempsandall’d monk can do that. Our mailed step shall

ascend their throne--our gauntlet shall wrench the sceptre from their

gripe. -- -- --

The likeness of the bishop to the templar is, however, but slight;

the latter is a fantast, with nothing of the cold deliberateness

of the former.--In the abbot of Normoutier critics believed they

recognized the prior of Jorvault. Neither is, indeed, over-eager in

discharging his sacerdotal duties, yet the prior is a man of the world,

while the abbot is a coarse boar and never would have wit enough to

compose a letter like that sent by the prior to the templar--however

heartily he would approve of the contents.--Sir Ezzelin de Verac

would scarcely have been born but for the existence of Sir Piercie

Shafton in _The Monastery_; but of all imitations in _The Albigenses_

he is the least successful. His only interest is the state of his

wardrobe, and his only accomplishment to dress fashionably, while

Sir Piercie--one of the most delightful creations of Scott--is a

master also of other arts, knowing how to recite poetry and play lute

and viol-de-gamba. The ‘euphuistic’ conversation of Sir Piercie is

feebly copied by Sir Ezzelin; the epithets which the former bestows

on Halbert Glendinning--‘Good goatbearded apostle! Good fellow! Good

selvaggio!’--are echoed in the terms of address of the latter to an

Albigeois whose prisoner he once happens to be: ‘Good villagio! kind

rustic!’ and so on.--

A very characteristic figure in the romantic literature of the time is,

finally, Marie de Mortemar. A personage of this kind had once before,

through the influence of Scott, occupied Maturin’s imagination; the

old Irishwoman in _Women_, as we have seen, was pronounced to be drawn

after Meg Merrilies, and the same observation was made by critics[174]

about Marie de Mortemar: ‘--an old woman, who is a sorceress, a

conspirator, a preserver, and a perpetual meddler; such are the sins

for which the maker of Meg Merrilies has to answer.’ The type certainly

was, if not actually invented, at least made fashionable by Scott.

His old women appear as champions of some great cause which they with

might and main try to advance, or else endeavour to revenge personal

injuries to which they have been subjected and which have reduced them

to their pitiable state. Marie de Mortemar belongs to the latter class,

possessing, however, all the strength and energy of the former. With

Meg Merrilies she has but little in common, except the miraculous skill

with which she pursues her aim; she guides the ways of Paladour much

as Meg guides young Bertram, never resting till punishment has reached

the guilty. Magdalena Greame, in _The Abbot_ (1820) has devoted her

life to Queen Mary and the Catholic faith, and as mysteriously and

unflinchingly conducts the adventures of her kinsman Roland, whom she

has chosen to be a promoter of her schemes. Yet another meddler is

Norna in _The Pirate_ (1822). She, like Marie de Mortemar, has been

ill-used in her youth and partially lost her reason; and although

she is not revengeful and her meddling is only for the good, she has

the same gift of omnipresence and omniscience which appeals to the

superstition of her neighbours and which has been acquired in a way

suggested, perhaps, by the Radcliffe heroes: ‘It was one branch of

various arts by which Norna endeavoured to maintain her pretensions to

supernatural powers, that she made herself familiarly and practically

acquainted with all the secret passes and recesses, whether natural

or artificial, which she could hear of, whether by tradition or

otherwise, and was, by such knowledge, often enabled to perform feats

which were otherwise unaccountable.’ Marie de Mortemar, it is needless

to say, is perfectly acquainted with the caves and the rocks, the

high-ways and by-ways of all Languedoc.--The other variation of this

character is personified by Ulrica in _Ivanhoe_: a deeply-wronged

woman, a prisoner, who once ‘was free, was happy, was honoured, loved,

and was beloved’ while yet being ‘the daughter of the noble Thane of

Torquilstone, before whose frown a thousand vassals trembled’--just

as her counterpart in _The Albigenses_ was ‘a noble, beautiful lady,

heiress of Mortemar.’ As the prototype of Ulrica we may perhaps regard

Queen Margaret in Shakespeare’s _Richard III_, who walks about, a ghost

of her former self, cursing the murderer of her son and her husband:

Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?--

Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!

-- -- -- -- --

If heaven have any grievous plague in store,

Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,

O, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe,

And then hurl down their indignation

On thee, the troubler of the poor world’s peace!

The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!

Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest,

And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!

No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,

Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream

Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!

Like Queen Margaret, Ulrica is unable actively to work for the

destruction of her malefactor, having to content herself with

ineffective wailings and execrations; while Marie de Mortemar--who also

most terribly curses her oppressors--finds opportunity of ‘meddling’ as

much as she pleases. Yet Ulrica, by accident, succeeds in setting fire

to the magazine of fuel beneath the castle of Reginald Front-de-Boef

and thus has, like Marie de Mortemar, the satisfaction of witnessing

the dying agonies of her enemy. Their gloomy triumph is the same;

Ulrica cries to the perishing Reginald: ‘Summon thy vassals around

thee, doom them that loiter to the scourge and the dungeon--But know,

mighty chief -- -- -- thou shalt have neither answer, nor aid, nor

obedience at their hands.’ Marie de Mortemar exults at the death-scene

of the bishop of Toulouse: ‘Hark -- -- -- hark to thy knell. Thine

enemies are around thee--thine allies in blood and crime are perishing.

Chain me to the stake: burn me an’ ye will; but, ere I am in ashes,

thou wilt be in flames.’ The unhappy women willingly perish themselves

at the moment their vengeance is fulfilled.

The picture drawn of the life and manners of the Albigenses is, in some

essentials, inspired by the descriptions of the Covenanters in _Old

Mortality_--a circumstance which, besides being pointed out by critics

both contemporary and modern,[175] was admitted by Maturin himself; he

observes, when introducing the sect for the first time: ‘It is -- -- --

a curious, but indisputable matter of fact, that the majority of them

were as tenacious of certain texts and terms of the Old Testament, as

their legitimate descendants, the English Puritans, were some centuries

later; and that, like them, they assumed Jewish names, fought with

Jewish obduracy, and felt with Jewish hostility, even towards those of

their community who differed from them in a penumbra of their creed.’

Hence the speeches and opinions of Boanerges--the leader of the sterner

Albigenses--are the same, only less poignantly expressed, as Balfour’s;

they quote the Old Testament as their chief authority, evince a mind

equally relentless and unforgiving, and Boanerges rejects the appeals

of Pierre to common humanity on the same arguments which Balfour uses

in his dispute with Morton. The passages treating of the Albigenses

are, however, vividly written and not wholly lacking in originality.

The deacon Mephibosheth has no counterpart in Scott, and the little

love-story of Amand is both natural and skilfully introduced, while the

character of Pierre is entirely conventional.--

This last romance of Maturin was soon forgotten, nor was it ever

reprinted, notwithstanding the benevolent critiques.[176] What the

renumeration amounted to is not known, but Maturin’s last months

were, by all accounts, about the gloomiest in his existence. Cares

and anxieties had already begun to prey upon his health--never

very robust--and the unfavourable circumstances under which _The

Albigenses_ was composed, at the expense of the night’s rest during

a long time, completely broke it down, his pecuniary difficulties

remaining as threatening as ever. There are, in Mangan’s article, a few

recollections relative to the closing period of Maturin’s life; and

although the writer, no doubt, shares the old tendency of his subject

‘of darkening the gloomy, and of deepening the sad,’ it is clear enough

that there was, at this time, very little left of the well-dressed

dandy who had once so greatly excelled in quadrille-parties and private

theatricals:

The second time I saw Maturin he had been just officiating, as on

the former occasion, at a funeral. He stalked along York Street

with an abstracted, or rather distracted air, the white scarf and

hat-band which he had received remaining still wreathed round his

beautifully-shaped person, and exhibiting to the gaze of the amused

and amazed pedestrians whom he almost literally _encountered_ in his

path, a boot upon one foot and a shoe on the other. His long pale,

melancholy, Don Quixote, out-of-the-world face would have inclined

you to believe that Dante, Bajazet, and the Cid had risen together

from their sepulchres, and clubbed their features for the production

of an effect. But Maturin’s mind was only fractionally pourtrayed, so

to speak, in his countenance. The great Irishman, like Hamlet, had

that within him which passed show, and escaped far and away beyond

the possibility of expression by the clay lineament. He bore the

‘thunder-scars’ about him, but they were graven, not on his brow, but

on his heart.

The third and last time that I beheld this marvellous man I remember

well. It was some time before his death, on a balmy autumn evening, in

1824. He slowly descended the steps of his own house -- -- -- and took

his way in the direction of Whitefriars Street, into Castle Street,

and passed the Royal Exchange into Dame Street, every second person

staring at him and the extraordinary double-belted and treble-caped

rug of an old garment--neither coat nor cloak--which enveloped his

person. But here it was that I, who had tracked the footsteps of

the man as his shadow, discovered that the feeling to which some

individuals, rather over sharp and shrewd, had been pleased to ascribe

this ‘affectation of singularity,’ had no existence in Maturin. For,

instead of passing along Dame Street, where he would have been ‘the

observed of all observers,’ he wended his way along the dark and

forlorn locality of Dame Lane, and having reached the end of this not

very classical thoroughfare, crossed over to Anglesea Street, where

I lost sight of him. Perhaps he went into one of those bibliopolitan

establishments wherewith that Paternoster Row of Dublin then abounded.

I never saw him afterwards.

In the beginning of October 1824 Maturin was seized by an acute malady

which the physicians, considering his impaired health in general,

apprehended to be mortal. On the 5:th Sir Charles Morgan wrote to Cyrus

Redding:[177]

My dear R.--Poor Maturin is ill, severely ill; we (the Drs.) have

sent him into the country, I fear, to die. Not contented with drawing

the ‘saints’ down upon him, he has attacked the ‘papishes’ and is

now in the condition somewhat of a nut between the two blades of a

nutcracker. If the poor fellow should live, and the two parties abuse

him into a good living, there might be some good for it, for he has a

family of fine children. I fear, however, there is little chance of

either.

These forebodings were, indeed, soon fulfilled: Maturin died on October

30:th in his home in Dublin whither he, for some reason or other, had

returned from the country. There was a story afloat of his having

caused, or at least precipitated, his death by some mistake about his

medicine;[178] however this may have been, it is evident from the

letter of Sir Charles that the case was sufficiently alarming already

some four weeks before.--The death was briefly announced by the local

papers; in _The Morning Star_ of Nov. 3 there was this necrology:

In him the poor have lost a kind friend; our religion a firm

supporter; and literature one of its brightest ornaments.--

In the summer of 1825 Walter Scott made his journey to Ireland, which

he had long been planning. He had looked forward, with pleasure, to

the prospect of becoming personally acquainted with Maturin, and had

intended to invite the latter to accompany him during the tour. Now he

could only pay a visit to the family,[179] for whose profit he is said

to have contemplated a new edition of Maturin’s works, as well as the

publication of some manuscripts found among his literary remains,[180]

to which he would have prefixed a biography of his deceased friend;

but his own pecuniary embarrassments, commencing just at this time,

prevented him from realizing the project--and Maturin’s works soon

began to fall into oblivion. _Montorio_ was, in 1841, republished by

William Hazlitt as vol. I in the _Ballantyne’s Romancists and Novelists

Library_ which he edited; _Bertram_ appeared in _The British Drama_ in

1865 and in Dick’s _Standard Plays_ in 1884; and, lastly, _Melmoth the

Wanderer_ was reprinted in 1892, with no very distinct success.

* * * * *

To Charles Robert Maturin’s life and to his works, as such, the present

study must be confined; his influence on later literature, above all

on French romanticism, can here only be pointed out as a subject not

yet exhaustively inquired into.[181] The work through which this

influence was exercised is _Melmoth the Wanderer_, chiefly, yet not

exclusively, inasmuch as _Bertram_ also was immoderately admired in

France and hailed as one of the foremost productions of contemporary

literature. _Melmoth_, the great and concluding outburst of the English

school of terror, stands there as at once its lasting monument and

an outlet through which some of its peculiarities were, directly

or indirectly, revived by the movements succeeding the downfall of

19:th century naturalism. The place in literary history of _Women_,

Maturin’s other masterpiece, is more isolated. So far from belonging

to any definite movement of the time it foreshadows, in a striking

manner, the school of Dickens in its descriptions of middle class life,

manners and characters, while its minute researches in the abysses

of the human heart anticipate the analytic fiction of the very latest

periods. In Maturin’s production _Women_ is of an importance equal to

that of _Melmoth_, nor is his literary physiognomy complete if _The

Milesian Chief_ is not remembered for its purely romantic qualities

and its patriotic enthusiasm. These three works, which are Maturin’s

best, afford ample illustration of the versatility of his genius,

which versatility itself is an exponent of the spirit of freedom and

experiment prevailing during the romantic revival. What they all have

in common is the style of writing, the art of dealing with language

as the sculptor deals with clay. Maturin’s part in the renewal

of the imaginative English prose has been asserted by the latest

authorities,[182] and the excellence of his style doubtless did much

to obtain for him the appreciation of his brothers in the trade. It

was the custom of contemporary reviewers to speak of Maturin’s novels

as something particularly suited to the frequenters of circulating

libraries, and it is true that with the large bulk of respectable,

educated readers Maturin never was very popular; but then there was

a small fraction of the public whose taste, in this respect, closely

coincided with that of the former: most of those writers, great or

small, whom Maturin admired, eagerly repaid the compliment. Lewis used

to revel in the gloomy pages of _Montorio_[183] and was, as has been

seen, pleased even with _Manuel_. Godwin, to whom so many of Maturin’s

writings are indebted, is recorded[184] to have uttered: ‘if there be

any writer of the present day, to whose burial-place I should wish

to make a pilgrimage, that writer is Maturin.’ _The Confessions of a

Justified Sinner_ (1824) of James Hogg--one of the favourite poets of

Maturin--seems to be not uninfluenced by _Melmoth the Wanderer_. The

high opinion which Scott and Byron entertained of Maturin has more than

once appeared in the foregoing pages--and among later romancists who

are known to have delighted in the adventures of the Wanderer, or upon

whose work he has even left an unmistakable print, we find names such

as Balzac, Hugo, De Vigny, Baudelaire, Villiers de l’Isle-Adam, Poe,

Thackeray, Rossetti, Stevenson, Oscar Wilde. Thus, if Maturin is not

always--as he would deserve to be--remembered on his own account, he

is at least mentioned in connection with, as he was acknowledged by, a

great many of those writers who unquestionably form the ‘upper ten’ in

the world of 19:th century letters.

Notes.

The references to pages after names of reviews and magazines indicate

the page on which the respective article begins.

I.

[1] Henry A. Beers, _A History of English Romanticism in the Eighteenth

Century_, London 1899, p. 222.

[2] William Monck Mason, _The History and Antiquities of the Collegiate

and Cathedral Church of St. Patrick_, Dublin 1820, note p. 445.

[3] _Registers of the French Conformed Churches of St. Patrick and

St. Mary, Dublin_, edited by J. J. Digges La Touche, Dublin 1893

(_Publications of the Huguenot Society of London_, vol. VII).

[4] Mason, p. 445; Henry Cotton, _Fasti Ecclesiae Hibernicae_, Dublin

1848, vol. II p. 105.

[5] _Two Centuries of Irish History 1691-1870_, edited by R. Barry

O’Brien, London 1907, p. 98.

[6] In all notes and biographies the year of Maturin’s birth is given

as 1782, which is probably founded upon an indirect statement made by

himself in the preface to his first romance _Montorio_, dated December

15, 1806, where he says that he is twenty-four years of age. Yet in

the Matriculation Book of Trinity College, as may still be seen, his

entrance is marked in 1795 and his age given as fifteen, whence it

would appear that he was born in 1780. It has also been communicated

to me that in a pedigree of the family, issued by Sir William Betham,

Ulster King-at-Arms, in 1845, it is stated that C. R. M. was born in

1780.

[7] _New Monthly Magazine and Literary Journal_ 1827, vol. XIX pp. 401,

570; vol. XX pp. 146, 370.

[8] According to a family pedigree, particulars of which have kindly

been communicated to me by Miss Sybil Maturin, he had two brothers:

William and Henry, and three sisters: Fidelia, Emma, and Alicia.--It is

said in an article in _Douglas Jerrold’s Shilling Magazine_ (1846, vol.

III p. 125), with reference to Maturin’s early love of the stage, that

‘no similar abilities, however, were shown by his brothers, whose lots

in life were very different;’ whereas the writer in the _New Monthly

Magazine_ 1827, who also claims to have been an intimate friend of

Charles Robert Maturin, maintains that the latter was the ‘only child

of many who lived beyond the term of boyhood’--which goes to show that

the information furnished by the Magazines is, in general, to be taken

with some reserve.

[9] _New Monthly Magazine_ 1827.

[10] _British Review_ 1818, vol. XI p. 37; an article written by

Maturin.

[11] ibid.

[12] _New Monthly Magazine, or Universal Register_ 1819, vol. XI p.

165; an article, on Maturin, by Alaric Watts.

[13] ‘W,’ _Ireland Sixty Years ago_, Dublin 1851, p. 86 (3:rd ed.).

[14] _The Life of William Carleton:_ being his autobiography and

letters; and an account of his life and writings, from the point at

which the autobiography breaks off, by D. J. O’Donoghue, Dublin 1896,

p. 194.

[15] _Irish Quarterly Review_, March 1852, p. 140; _New Monthly

Magazine_ 1827.

[16] ‘License was granted -- -- -- to solemnize marriage between the

Rev^d Charles Robert Maturin of Camden Street -- -- -- & Henrietta

Kingsberry -- -- -- dated October the 7:th 1803.’

[17] _Cumberland’s British Theatre_, with remarks, biographical and

critical, by D.-G., London 18(?), vol. XLIII; cf. also Charles A. Read,

_The Cabinet of Irish Literature_ (new edition by Katharine Tynan

Hinkson), London 1909, vol. II p. 44.

[18] Letter in the British Museum MS collections.

[19] That Maturin’s stay in Loughrea was but of short duration

is proved by the absence of all references to him in the parish

register--a fact of which I have kindly been informed by the Rev. Canon

Eccles.

[20] _Douglas Jerrold’s Shilling Magazine_ 1846; the writer adds that

Maturin ‘was an enthusiastic lover of antiquity, and had a strange

passion for exploring old and desolate houses; in so much so, that when

I have been walking with him through some decayed parts of the city,

if any house particularly attracted him, about which he imagined some

history to attach, or fancied it had an air of mystery, he would knock

at the door, and find some excuse for examining the interior.’

[21] ibid.

[22] In the _Irish Quarterly Review_ 1852, and elsewhere, Maturin’s

residence is given as 41 York Street; but in all letters of Maturin

which I have seen and where he mentions the number at all, he writes 37

York Street.

II.

[23] _Irish Quarterly Review_ 1852.

[24] _Dublin and London Magazine_ 1826, p. 248.

[25] The Gothic Romance has been a subject for thorough investigation

on the part of German scholars. There is an extensive study of it in

Helene Richter, _Geschichte der Englischen Romantik_, Halle 1911,

vol. I pp. 160-300 (_Die Schauerromantik_), as well as in Wilhelm

Dibelius, _Englische Romankunst_, Berlin und Leipzig 1922, pp. 285-346

(_Der Sensationsroman_). Maturin’s connection with the movement is

treated of in Willy Müller, _Charles Robert Maturin’s Romane “The fatal

Revenge” und “Melmoth the Wanderer.” Ein Beitrag zur Gothic Romance_,

Weida 1908--and the work of Walpole, Clara Reeve and Mrs Radcliffe in

Hans Möbius, _The Gothic Romance_, Leipzig 1902. Of recent English

publications three must be particularly mentioned: Oliver Elton, _A

Survey of English Literature 1780-1830_, London 1912, vol. I pp.

202-226 (_The Novel of Suspense_); the _Cambridge History of English

Literature_ 1914, vol. XI pp. 285-310 (by G. Saintsbury); and Dorothy

Scarborough, _The Supernatural in Modern English Fiction_, New York and

London 1917 (chapter I: _The Gothic Romance_).

[26] Richter, p. 164.

[27] ibid. p. 161.

[28] Scott, Introduction to the _Castle of Otranto_, prefixed to the

edition in the _Kings Classics_, edited by Professor I. Gollancz,

London 1907.

[29] ibid.

[30] _British Review_ 1818.

[31] _The Cabinet of Irish Literature_, vol. II p. 44.

[32] James Wills, _Lives of illustrious and distinguished Irishmen_,

Dublin, Edinburgh and London 1847, vol. VI p. 453.

[33] _Quarterly Review_ 1810, vol. III p. 339; a critique, by Scott, of

_Montorio_; cf. also introduction to the _Castle of Otranto_.

[34] _Melmoth the Wanderer_, London 1892, vol. I p. LVIII (a note on

Charles Robert Maturin, by the editors).

[35] Müller, p. 40.

[36] _British Review_ 1818.

[37] Richter, p. 167.

[38] Müller, p. 29.

[39] _The Irishman_ March 24, 1849; an article, on Maturin, by James

Clarence Mangan.

[40] Richard Sinclair Brooke, _Recollections of the Irish Church_,

London 1877, p. 6.

[41] _Irish Quarterly Review_ 1852.

[42] Francis Rawdon, Earl of Moira, afterwards Marquis of Hastings

(1754-1826) had, in 1797-98, appeared as a defender of Irish rights

before the House of Lords, and become a subject for the gratitude of

Irish patriots; Moore had, in 1806, dedicated to him his volume of

_Epistles, Odes, and other Poems_.

[43] _British Review_ 1818.

[44] _Melmoth the Wanderer_ 1892, p. LVI.

[45] Richter, p. 288.

[46] _Don Juan_, canto XV.

[47] _Melmoth the Wanderer_ 1892, p. XXXIII.

[48] According to a popular tradition, Ireland was, in the dawn of

history, invaded by a colony of _Milesians_, coming from Spain, but

being originally of Phoenician descent. Hence the lineal descendants of

the great and old, purely Irish families, were all called Milesians,

though the island was, from earliest times, inhabited by different

races, of which the invaders came to form but one; cf. George Sigerson,

_Bards of the Gael and Gall_, London 1907, p. 377.

[49] _Irish Quarterly Review_ 1852.

[50] _New Monthly Magazine_ 1827.

[51] The writer in _Douglas Jerrold’s Shilling Magazine_ 1846 says

that ‘Maturin from the first knew him (Scott) to be the author of “The

Waverley Novels,” from a letter which he received shortly after the

publication of one of them, containing a peculiar Scotch proverb which

Sir Walter had put into the mouth of one of his characters--“We keep

our own fish-guts for our own sea-maws.”’--I regret not to have had the

opportunity of seeing Maturin’s letters to Scott, which are still said

to be in the Abbotsford archives.

[52] _New Monthly Magazine_ 1827.

[53] D. J. O’Donoghue, _Life of James Clarence Mangan_, Dublin 1897.

[54] Richter, p. 291.

[55] Müller, p. 93.

[56] T. N. Talfourd, _Critical and Miscellaneous Writings_,

Philadelphia 1848, vol. VII p. 18.

[57] _Melmoth the Wanderer_ 1892, p. XXXIV.

[58] Edmund Downey, _Charles Lever, His Life in his Letters_, London

1906, vol. II p. 370.

[59] O’Donoghue, _Life of Mangan_, p. 145.

[60] In 1814 appeared a second edition of _The Wild Irish Boy_, but

Maturin evidently received nothing for it, as he appears to have been

ignorant of its publication: in the preface to _Women_ (1818) he states

that none of his former novels have been reprinted.

[61] J. Lockhart, _Life of Sir Walter Scott_, Edinburgh 1837, vol. III

p. 312.

[62] Thomas Moore, _Life of Lord Byron_, London 1851, p. 287.

[63] ibid.

[64] Samuel Smiles, _A Publisher and his Friends_. Memoirs and

correspondence of the Late John Murray, with an account of the origin

and progress of the house, 1768-1843, London 1891, vol. I p. 288.

[65] Moore, p. 347.

[66] Barry Cornwall, _Life of Edmund Kean_, London 1835, vol. I p. 152.

[67] The name is spelled _Shee_ on the title-page of the little volume

in which the poem was published.

III.

[68] _Cambridge History of English Literature_, vol. XI p. 257.

[69] _Quarterly Review_ 1817, vol. XVII p. 248; a critique, by Maturin,

of Sheil’s _Apostate_.

[70] Elton II, p. 310.

[71] _New Monthly Magazine and Universal Register_ 1816, vol. V p. 451.

[72] _Edinburgh Review_ 1818, vol. XXX p. 234; a critique, by Scott, of

Maturin’s _Women_.

[73] In his letter to Terry, alluded to above, Scott says that Maturin

‘had our old friend Satan (none of your sneaking St. John Street

devils, but the archfiend himself) brought on the stage bodily. I

believe I have exorcised the foul fiend, for, though in reading he

was a most terrible fellow, I feared for his reception in public.’

In the passage however which he quotes, the demon is only described

by Bertram, and it is just this description whose beauty Scott, in

his article in the _Quarterly Review_, is commending. The letter was

apparently composed in a moment of absent-mindedness.

[74] _Melmoth the Wanderer_ 1892, p. LIII.

[75] Elton I, p. 218.

[76] _British Review_ 1816, vol. VIII p. 64.

[77] _Monthly Review_ 1816, vol. 80 p. 179.

[78] _Eclectic Review_ 1816, vol. VI p. 379.

[79] _New Monthly Magazine_ 1827.

[80] _Bertram, ou le Château de St. Aldobrand_, tragédie en cinque

actes traduite librement de l’Anglais, par M. M. Taylor et Charles

Nodier, Paris 1821. The quoted sentence is from the preface by the

translators.

[81] Gustave Planche, _Portraits Littéraires_, Paris 1836, p. 33 foll.

[82] _Cambridge History of English Literature_, vol. XI p. 273.

[83] _Irish Quarterly Review_ 1852; cf. also _Melmoth the Wanderer_

1892, pp. XVI-XVII.

[84] In _Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine_; the article is reprinted in

_Biographia Literaria_, Oxford 1907, vol. II p. 193 foll.

[85] Moore, p. 367.

[86] Coleridge’s irritation at the play may have been partly due to

the above-mentioned article in the _British Review_, which presents

a critique at once upon _Christabel_ and _Bertram_ and comes to the

conclusion that ‘the poem which has been denominated (by Lord Byron)

“wild and singularly original and beautiful” is, in our judgment, a

weak and singularly nonsensical and affected performance; but the play

of Bertram is a production of undoubted genius.’

[87] _Goethe-Jahrbuch_ 1891, vol. XII p. 23; quoted by Richter, p. 299.

[88] John Genest, _Some account of the English Stage from the

Restoration in 1660 to 1830_, Bath 1832, vol. VIII p. 534.

[89] _Douglas Jerrold’s Shilling Magazine_ 1846.

[90] _New Monthly Magazine_ 1827.

[91] _The Irishman_ 1849.

[92] _Gentleman’s Magazine_ 1825, vol. I p. 84.

[93] _Dublin and London Magazine_ 1826.

[94] _Life of Carleton_, vol. I p. 226.

[95] _Douglas Jerrold’s Shilling Magazine_ 1846.

[96] _New Monthly Magazine_ 1827.

[97] Smiles, p. 295.

[98] Moore, p. 358.

[99] ibid., p. 362.

[100] _New Monthly Magazine or Universal Register_ 1819.

[101] _Monthly Review_ 1817, vol. 83 p. 391.

[102] Smiles, p. 293.

[103] W. Torrens McCullagh, _Memoirs of the Rt. Hon. Richard Lalor

Sheil_, London 1855, p. 95.

IV.

[104] Lockhart, _Life of Scott_, vol. V; the letter is reprinted in the

_Irish Quarterly Review_ 1852 and in _Melmoth the Wanderer_ 1892, pp.

XVIII-XXI.

[105] _London Magazine_ 1821, vol. III p. 96.

[106] It may be mentioned that the writer in _Douglas Jerrold’s

Shilling Magazine_ 1846 recollects Maturin ‘once arguing that suicide

was not positively and expressly condemned in any passage of Scripture,

and declaring that he conceived to pass away from the sorrows of earth

to the peace of eternity by reposing on a bed of eastern poppy flowers,

where sleep is death, would be the most enviable mode of earthly exit.’

[107] Francis Hovey Stoddard, _The Evolution of the English Novel_, New

York 1913, p. 11.

[108] Allan Cunningham, _Biographical and Critical History of the

British Literature of the last fifty years_, Paris 1834, p. 403 foll.

[109] _Monthly Review 1818_, vol. 86 p. 403.

[110] _Quarterly Review_ 1818, vol. XIX p. 321.

[111] Alaric Alfred Watts, _Life of_ (his father) _Alaric Watts_,

London 1884, vol. I p. 62 foll.

[112] Talfourd, op. cit.

[113] _Melmoth the Wanderer_ 1892, p. XXXIX.

[114] A. A. Watts, op. cit.

[115] ibid.

[116] _New Monthly Magazine or Universal Register_ 1819, vol. XI p. 236

foll.

[117] _New Monthly Magazine_ 1827.

[118] _Scots Magazine_ 1820, vol. VII p. 21.

[119] _Cambridge History of English Literature_, vol. XI p. 305.

[120] _Douglas Jerrold’s Shilling Magazine_ 1846.

[121] This preface is, strangely enough, not reprinted in the 1892

edition.

[122] Elton I, p. 219.

[123] Müller, p. 70.

[124] _Die Rosenkreutzer_ formed a secret society founded in Germany

in the 17:th century. Confessedly they aimed at bringing about certain

reforms in Church and State, but the mystery in which they were

shrouded gave rise, later, to the popular belief that they were chiefly

occupied in alchemical pursuits. Among English writers interested in

the ‘Rosecrucian idea’ were Godwin (_St. Leon_), Shelley (_St. Irvyne;

or, The Rosicrucian_, 1811), and Mary Shelley (_Frankenstein; or, The

Modern Prometheus_, 1818).

[125] This story was published under the name of Lord Byron, who is

said to have invented the idea.

[126] There existing a comparatively new and available edition of

_Melmoth the Wanderer_, the contents of each tale is here given with

the utmost brevity.

[127] Richter, p. 294; Scarborough p. 32.

[128] _Edinburgh Magazine and Literary Miscellany_ 1821, vol. VIII p.

412.

[129] _Edinburgh Review_ 1820, vol. XXXV p. 353.

[130] _London Magazine_ 1821, vol. III p. 514.

[131] Planche, p. 54.

[132] Gunnar Bjurman, _Edgar Allan Poe_. En litteraturhistorisk studie,

Lund 1916, pp. 207-208.

[133] _Monthly Review_ 1821, vol. 94 p. 81.

[134] E. A. Baker, Introduction to _The Monk_ of M. G. Lewis, London

1907, p. VIII.

[135] _Melmoth the Wanderer_ 1892, p. LIX.

[136] Cardonneau is the name of the atheistic philosopher in _Women_.

[137] Müller, p. 91.

[138] The bitter irony with which the state of Europe is described in

Melmoth’s discourse rather recalls also certain passages in _Gulliver’s

Travels_ (part II ch. VI; part IV ch. V-VII).

[139] Walter Raleigh, _The English Novel_, London 1907 (fifth ed.), p.

237.

[140] Dr John Anster’s excellent translations of the first part

of _Faust_ appeared in _Blackwood’s Magazine_ in 1820, about the

time when Maturin was finishing _Melmoth the Wanderer_. There is no

evidence of Maturin’s having been able to read German, nor are there

many allusions, in his writings, to German literature.--The points of

contact with _Faust_ are pointed out by Müller, pp. 98-99.

[141] In _The Fortunes of Nigel_ (1822) the tale of Lady Hermione

begins with this statement: ‘In Spain you may have heard how the

Catholic priests, and particularly the monks, besiege the beds of the

dying, to obtain bequests for the good of the Church’--which possibly

is a hint from the Tale of _Guzman’s Family_.

[142] _Blackwood’s Magazine_ 1820, vol. VIII p. 161.

[143] Both in the preface and in a marginal note Maturin states that

_The Lovers’ Tale_ is a record of actual experience, although he

mentions no sources.

[144] Müller, p. 103.

[145] This resemblance has been pointed out already by the critic in

the _London Magazine_ 1821.

[146] Müller, p. 107.

[147] Introduction to _Tales of Mystery_ (Mrs

Radcliffe--Lewis--Maturin), edited by George Saintsbury, London 1891.

[148] _Quarterly Review_ 1821, vol. XXIV p. 303.

[149] Poe, Introduction to _Poems_ 1831 (Letter to Mr B----).

[150] Richter, p. 292.

[151] Charles Baudelaire, _Oeuvres Complètes_, Paris 1869, vol. II p.

366 foll.

[152] _Lady Morgan’s Memoirs_: Autobiography, Diaries and

Correspondence, edited by W. H. Dixon, London 1862, vol. II p. 154.

[153] A. A. Watts, p. 297.

V.

[154] _Notes and Queries_ 1874, vol. II p. 428; 1875 vol. III pp. 20,

172, 240, 280, 340.

[155] Lord John Russell, _Memoir, Journal, and Correspondence of Thomas

Moore_, London 1860, p. 303.--In the first edition (1853) there is the

following extract from the diary of Moore: Oct. 12:th, 1821,--‘Called

on Mrs Smith; told me that the poem of _The Universe_ is not Maturin’s,

but a Mr. Wills’, who induced Maturin to lend his name to it by giving

him the profit of the sale.’ The additional note in the second edition,

which was included at the special request of Wills, is to the effect

that it was Maturin who entreated Wills to allow him to publish the

poem, as a production of his own.

[156] _Dublin University Magazine_, October 1875, p. 409.

[157] Whenever the skeleton of the work was composed, the transaction

now in question must, if the record is at all to be relied upon, have

taken place in the summer of 1821. Until September 1820 Maturin was

closely occupied with _Melmoth_ and could not have undertaken any other

engagement, besides which it is evident from Moore’s diary that _The

Universe_ was published and brought under discussion in autumn 1821.

[158] _Scots Magazine_ 1821, vol. IX p. 38.

[159] A fair specimen of the poetry of Wills is e. g. _The Idolatress:

and other Poems_ (1868). On the cover of this volume was advertised a

new edition of _The Universe_, ‘with its true history,’ which however

does not seem to have appeared.

[160] _Dublin and London Magazine_ 1826.

[161] William John Fitzpatrick, _Lady Morgan_: her career, literary and

personal, with a glimpse of her friends and a word to her calumniators,

London 1860, p. 238.

[162] _Lady Morgan’s Memoirs_, vol. II p. 154. The anecdote is told by

the editor, not by Lady Morgan.

[163] A. A. Watts, op. cit.

[164] A copy of this letter has kindly been communicated to me by Mr

Daniel Edwards Kennedy, M. A., Chestnut Hill, Mass. U. S. A.

[165] _New Monthly Magazine_ 1827.

[166] ibid.

[167] _Cabinet of Irish Literature_, vol. II p. 45.

[168] _Gentleman’s Magazine_ 1825.

[169] Mangan, in _The Irishman_ 1849.

[170] _Westminster Review 1824_, vol. I p. 550.

[171] William Everett, _The Italian Poets since Dante_, London 1905, p.

78. The writer is comparing the humour of Ariosto with that of Scott.

[172] Chapter XIV in _The Abbot_ contains a description of a feast led

by an ‘Abbot of Unreason,’ which description, however, is in quite a

different style from that in _The Albigenses_.

[173] _Scotch Magazine, and Edinburgh Literary Miscellany_ 1824, vol.

XIV p. 209.

[174] _Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine_ 1824, vol. XV p. 192.

[175] Elton I. p. 219.

[176] In France, also, _The Albigenses_ did not enjoy the same

popularity as Maturin’s other works. It was translated in 1825, but

Planche testifies that is ‘à peu près ignoré de ceux qui ne croient

pas, avec Gray, que le paradis consiste dans un bon fauteuil et un

roman pendant l’éternité.’ It ought to be mentioned, however, that

one scene, in which lady Isabelle is lulled to sleep by the chant of

her maidens, was paraphrased into French verse by Amable Tastu, under

the name of _La Chambre de la Chatelaine_ (Mme A. Tastu, _Poésies

complètes_, Paris 1858, p. 78).

[177] Cyrus Redding, _Yesterday and To-Day_, London 1863, vol. III p.

53.

[178] _Melmoth the Wanderer_ 1892, p. XXVII; Mangan also alludes to the

circumstance.

[179] D. J. O’Donoghue, _Sir Walter Scott’s Tour in Ireland_, Dublin

1905, pp. 39, 57.

[180] It is generally maintained that Maturin’s unpublished manuscripts

and his correspondence were destroyed by his son, the Rev. William

Maturin, who disapproved of his father’s connection with the stage.

This story has, as far as I know, never been definitely proved; it

will be remembered that the writer in the _Irish Quarterly Review_

was, in 1852, in a position to communicate several extracts from

_The Siege of Salerno_, which he states to have been found among the

manuscripts in question. That Maturin’s correspondence contained, as

has sometimes been alleged, letters from Goethe and Balzac, I think

very unlikely.--Another son, Edward Maturin, emigrated to America and

subsequently published several romances both in prose and verse, which,

however, do not evince any traces of his father’s genius.

[181] Maturin’s influence in France has been treated of in Charles

Bonnier, _Milieux d’Art_, Liverpool 1910. This privately printed book

I know only from a reference in Elton I p. 438. The points of contact

between Balzac and Maturin are briefly mentioned in J. H. Retinger, _Le

conte fantastique dans le romantisme français_, Paris 1909.

[182] Elton I p. 209.

[183] _Life of Matthew Gregory Lewis_ (anonymous), London 1839, vol. II

p. 140.

[184] _The Irishman_ 1849.

Index.

_Abbot_, Scott’s, 304, 321 _note_ 172

_Adelaide, or the Emigrants_, Sheil’s, 100

_Albigenses_, Maturin’s, 84, 283-307

_Alexander_, Lee’s, 6

_Anacreon_, Moore’s, 49

_Ancient Mariner_, Coleridge’s, 3

_Apostate_, Sheil’s, 140, 179

_Arabian Nights_, 17

Austen, Jane, 268

Baillie, Joanna, 108

Balzac, Honoré de, 264, 311, _note_ 180

Banim, John, 70

Baudelaire, Charles, 266, 311

Beckford, William, 13, 17

_Belinda_, Edgeworth’s, 49

_Bertram_, Maturin’s, 60, 101-103, 104, 107-124, 132, 133, 134, 139,

140, 142, 143, 173, 177, 211, 276, 277, 281, 309

_Black Dwarf_, Scott’s, 266

_Bottle Imp_, Stevenson’s, 264

_Bride of Lammermoor_, Scott’s, 91, 97-98

Brocas, 130

Brown, Charles Brockden, 21

Burns, Robert, 1

Byron, George Noel Gordon, Lord, 59, 101 foll., 109, 114 foll., 123,

132, 134, 135, 181, 280, 310

_Caleb Williams_, Godwin’s, 39, 40, 120, 184

Campbell, Thomas, 273

Carleton, William, 9, 63, 131

_Cask of Amontillado_, Poe’s, 224

_Castle of Otranto_, Walpole’s, 6, 17, 18

_Castle Rackrent_, Edgeworth’s, 9

Catalani, 10

_Cenci_, Shelley’s, 109

_Champion of Virtue_, Reeve’s, 18

_Childe Harold_, Byron’s, 3

Colburn, Henry, 66, 195, 272 foll.

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 122-123, 143, 276

_Collegians_, Griffin’s, 69

Collins, William, 1

_Confessions of a Justified Sinner_, Hogg’s, 310

Constable, Archibald, 142

_Corinne_, Staël’s, 174

_Corsair_, Byron’s, 132

Cowper, William, 1

Crabbe, George, 132

Croker, John Wilson, 178, 267

_Cymbeline_, Shakespeare’s, 84

Dickens, Charles, 309

_Don Quixote_, Cervantes’s, 84

Edgeworth, Maria, 9, 49, 179, 180, 268

Emmet, Robert, 8

_Essay de l’essence du rire_, Baudelaire’s, 266

_Fall of Robespierre_, Coleridge’s, 123

_Faust_, Goethe’s, 249, 263, 265

_Faustus_, Marlowe’s, 262

Fielding, Henry, 7

_Five Sermons on the Errors of the Roman Catholic Church_, Maturin’s,

282-283

_Fortunes of Nigel_, Scott’s, _note_ 38

_France_, Morgan’s, 277

_Frankenstein_, Mrs. Shelley’s, 229, 266

_Fredolfo_, Maturin’s, 180-195, 267, 276, 281

_Geisterseher_, Schiller’s, 37

Gifford, William, 140

Godwin, William, 6, 21, 33, 39, 40, 49, 120, 184, 199, 228, 230, 231,

251, 252, 310

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang, 49, 59, 84, 124, 249, _note_ 180

Goldsmith, Oliver, 108

Grattan, Henry, 8

Gray, Thomas, 1

Griffin, Gerald, 69

_Gulliver’s Travels_, Swift’s, _note_ 128

_Guy Mannering_, Scott’s, 175, 304

_Hamlet_, Shakespeare’s, 124

_Harrington_, Edgeworth’s, 179

_Haunted and the Haunters_, Lytton’s, 212

Hazlitt, William, 309

_Heart of Midlothian_, Scott’s, 169

_Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards_, Walker’s, 8

Hogg, James, 132, 310

Horace, 163

Hugo, Victor, 311

_I promessi sposi_, Manzoni’s, 213

_Italian_, Radcliffe’s, 37 foll., 230

_Ivanhoe_, Scott’s, 301, 302, 305

Juvenal, 163

Kean, Edmund, 102-103, 109, 118, 133, 134, 137, 279, 280

Kemble, Charles, 193

----, John, 101

Kerr, 7

_King Lear_, Shakespeare’s, 134

Kingsbury, Henrietta, _see_ Maturin

Kotzebue, August von, 108

_Lalla Rookh_, Moore’s, 135

_Lara_, Byron’s, 132

Lawless, Emily, 91

Lee, Nathaniel, 6

_Lenore_, Bürger’s, 246

Lever, Charles, 63, 98-99

Lewis, Matthew Gregory, 6, 13, 18, 19, 21, 38, 96, 135, 228 foll.,

284, 310

Lover, Samuel, 63

Lytton, Edward Bulwer, 212

_Macbeth_, Shakespeare’s, 124

Macready, 193

_Maelcho_, Lawless’s, 91

Mangan, James Clarence, 43, 100, 128, 307

_Manuel_, Maturin’s, 134, 135-140, 195, 267, 310

Manzoni, Alessandro, 213, 214

Marlowe, Christopher, 262

Maturin, Alicia, _note_ 8

----, Edward, _note_ 180

----, Emma, _note_ 8

----, Fidelia, 5

----, Fidelia, _note_ 8

----, Gabriel, 3-5

----, Gabriel James, 5

----, Henrietta, 9, 10, 278

----, Henry, 313, _note_ 8

----, Pierre, 5

----, William, 5, 11, 12, 65, 66

----, William, 313, _note_ 8

----, William Basil, 46, _note_ 180

_Melmoth Reconcilié_, Balzac’s, 264

_Melmoth the Wanderer_, Maturin’s, 12, 16, 21, 57, 70, 119, 152, 179,

195, 196-270, 276, 279, 293, 309, 310

_Milesian Chief_, Maturin’s, 66-100, 158, 174, 293, 296, 310

Milton, John, 199, 273

Moira, Lord, 46

_Monastery_, Scott’s, 84, 301, 303

_Monk_, Lewis’s, 6, 18, 38, 40 foll., 228 foll., 262

_Montorio_, Maturin’s, 13, 14-45, 46, 65, 66, 94, 95, 106, 114, 132,

184, 200, 207, 213, 228, 229, 263, 265, 269, 296, 301, 309, 310

Moore, John, 17

----, Thomas, 49, 102, 132, 272, 274

More, Hannah, 121, 122

Morgan, Charles, 274, 277 foll., 308

----, Lady (Sydney Owenson), 8, 46, 63, 95, 97, 178, 180, 274, 277

foll.

Murphy, Dennis Jasper (C. R. Maturin), 14, 45

Murray, John, 102, 104, 123, 125, 126, 134, 135, 142, 179, 181

_Night Thoughts_, Young’s, 3

Nodier, Charles, 119

_O’Donnel_, Morgan’s, 277

_O’Donoghue_, Lever’s, 98-99

_Old English Baron_, Reeve’s, 18

_Old Mortality_, Scott’s, 301, 306

O’Neill, Miss, 100, 140, 193

_Ormond_, Edgeworth’s, 179, 180

_Osmyn_, see _Siege of Salerno_

Ossian, 1, 242

_Othello_, Shakespeare’s, 43

Otway, Thomas, 6

Owenson, Sydney, _see_ Morgan

_Paul et Virginie_, Saint-Pierre’s, 242

_Percy_, More’s, 121

_Picture of Dorian Gray_, Wilde’s, 212

_Pirate_, Scott’s, 304

Poe, Edgar Allan, 21, 224, 264, 311

Polidori, John William, 199

Pope, Alexander, 132, 164

_Quentin Durward_, Scott’s, 296, 301

Radcliffe, Ann, 6, 19, 21, 33, 37 foll., 42, 91, 94, 96, 164, 228,

230, 283, 301

_Räuber_, Schiller’s, 120-121

Reeve, Clara, 18

_Revenge_, Young’s, 43

_Richard III_, Shakespeare’s, 192-193, 305

Richardson, Samuel, 7, 91

_Rob Roy_, Scott’s, 193

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 311

Rousseau, Jean Jaques, 48, 49, 59, 237, 242

Russell, John, Lord, 272

_St. Leon_, Godwin’s, 6, 21, 199, 230, 231, 251, 266

Saint-Pierre, Bernardin de, 237

Schiller, Friedrich, 37, 120-121

Scott, Walter, 18, 19, 33, 45, 66, 90, 91, 96 foll., 101 foll., 113

foll., 121, 132, 133, 135, 143, 151, 156, 164, 165, 177, 193,

214, 268, 273, 283, 295, 301 foll., 308, 310

_Sermons_, Maturin’s, 195-196

Shakespeare, William, 6, 83, 103, 108, 121, 230, 305

Shea, John, 104-105

Sheil, Richard Lalor, 100, 101, 140, 179, 180

Shelley, Mary, 229

----, Percy Bysshe, 16

Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 108

Siddons, Mrs., 103

_Siege of Corinth_, Byron’s, 280

_Siege of Salerno_, Maturin’s, 280-281

Smith, Mrs., 274

Smollett, Tobias, 7

Somerville, Miss, 103

Southerne, Thomas, 6

Southey, Robert, 49

Staël, Madame de, 173 foll.

Sterne, Laurence, 11

Stevenson, Robert Louis, 264, 311

Swift, Jonathan, 5, 10, 11

Tastu, Amable, 321 _note_ 23

_Tempest_, Shakespeare’s, 121

Terry, Daniel, 101

Thackeray, William Makepeace, 311

Thomson, James, 1

_Tintern Abbey_, Wordsworth’s, 3

_Universe_, Maturin’s, 271-276, 279

_Vampyre_, Polidori’s, 199

_Vathek_, Beckford’s, 17

_Venice Preserved_, Otway’s, 6

Vigny, Alfred de, 311

Villiers de l’Isle-Adam, 311

Voltaire, 48

Walker, Joseph Cooper, 8, 64

Walpole, Horace, 6, 17 foll.

Ware, James, 64

_Waterloo_, Maturin’s, 104-106, 271

Watson, Fidelia, _see_ Maturin

Watts, Alaric, 13, 65, 139, 170, 174, 181, 192 foll., 267, 280

_Werther_, Goethe’s, 49

West, B., 267

_Wild Irish Boy_, Maturin’s, 46-64, 65, 67, 73, 91, 95, 158, 173, 263

_Wild Irish Girl_, Morgan’s, 46, 63, 64, 95, 96, 277

Wilde, Oscar, 212, 311

Wills, James, 271-276

Wollstonecraft, Mary, 49, 59

_Women_, Maturin’s, 9, 15, 57, 61, 142-179, 181, 203, 236, 240, 248,

259, 267, 279, 293, 303, 309, 310

Yates, 193, 194

Young, 193

----, Arthur, 64

----, Edward, 43

_Zastrozzi_, Shelley’s, 16

_Zeluco_, John Moore’s, 17

Transcriber’s Note

In this file, text in _italics_ is indicated by underscores.

While original copyright information has been retained, this book is in

the public domain in the country of publication.

Obvious printer’s errors have been silently corrected; otherwise, as far

as possible, original spelling and punctuation has been retained.

Notes have been renumbered sequentially, and references from the index

edited to match.