THE WOMAN OF BUSINESS.*
THE last work (for such, we learn from Mr. Savage's dedication, the 1Voman of Business is to be) of the author of the Bachelor of the Albany and the Falcon Family, deserves, on more than one account, more than a passing notice. Over and above its intrinsic merits—and it is enough to say that it is not unworthy of its author—it has a peculiar literary interest which will be appreciated by all who are acquainted with the history of the "novel." It belongs essentially to an older school, though it presents many of the characteristics of the new. A popular and sufficiently correct division of the novels of the present distinguishes two classes, novels of incident and novels of character. Mr. Wilkie Collins may be taken to represent one school of writers, George Eliot the other. Of course the division must not be understood without its qualifications. George Eliot can construct a plot, witness the ingenuity of the device in Silas _Varner by which the robbery of Silas's gold is explained, a device never surpassed for unexpected- ness; and Mr. Wilkie Collins can draw a character, witness that one which alone should give him immortality, the inimitable Count Fosco ; but the classification does not apply to the novels which were the especial favourites of a previous generation of novel- readers. We do not find in these the incidents subordinated to some great central interest, none being introduced for its own sake, but every one leading on to the end ; on the contrary, it is for their own sake that the incidents are introduced ; they are the hero's adventures, possibly connected by some slight thread of a love story, but fit, or at least meant to be fit, for some comiz or tragic power they possess, to stand and to interest by themselves. Take, for instance one of Captain Marryat's novels, such as Midshipman Easy. There is no plot beyond what can be put in a line, the hero knocks about the world, falls in love, and is happily married. Leave out the second volume and you lose so many humorous stories, but the book is not otherwise injured. But leave out the second volume of the TVoman in White, and the whole is absolutely spoilt. The same may be said of the character- painting. It does not give us some central figure in which we see the working of some great passion, some fatal vice, or conspicuous virtue, and which all others are intended to set off or to relieve. The figures, again, have each an interest and merit of its own, though this or that may be more conspicuously placed or more carefully executed. In fact, to borrow an illustration from another cut, the whole resembles Mr. Ward's " Derby Day," or "Ramsgate Sands," rather than his " Marie Antoinette."
It is easy to see that Mr. Savage belongs to this school of novel- writers. We take as an instance chapter xiviii., "In which a suitor from Australia throws himself at the widow's feet" (the headings of the chapters have a specially antique or, we should rather say, middle-aged look about them). It is very amusing, describing how a certain Sir Peter Cheesy is fascinated by what he hears of the " Woman of Business," bow a certain Mr. Pickford, who is her cousin, makes fun of him and amuses him with hopes, and how he is finally sent about his business. Now Sir Peter is decidedly amusing, and we should have lost something if we had not been permitted to make his acquaintance ; but his in- troduction is perfectly gratuitous. The episode is not, it is true, very long ; but a novelist of the new school, as much a master of his art as is Mr. Savage, would not have • The Woman of Business; or, the Lally and the Lawyer. A Novel. By Marmion Savage, Author of "The Bachelor of the Albany," &c. 3 vols. London: Chapman and Hall. 1870.
thought of writing twenty pages which do not advance the plot by the smallest fraction. We would not be understood as making this complaint against Mr. Savage ; we like him when he writes in what we may call his own manner very much ; we like him far less when he seems to follow newer methods. We might mention chapter after chapter which are admirable for terseness and humour ; but the plot, Mrs. Upjohn's revenge and the fortunes of Arnaud, strikes us as being awkwardly constructed. Another difficulty which we do not see satisfactorily explained is how such a shrewd and sensible a person as the heroine—and shrewd and sensible she was in her youth, as we learn from the charming sketch in the prologue, " The Girl of Business "—came to marry such a jealous madman as Mr. Rowley ; —but then if she had not married him, where would have been the story'? But few readers of the book will care for these blemishes. It stands, as it is meant to stand, by its intrinsic literary merits. Not merely put together for the purpose of sketching a character or telling a story, but carefully and artistically composed, it shows a strong contrast to the slipshod writing which comes upon us in such overpowering quantity. Mr. Savage is not content with general effects, but studies details, attends to the balance and construction of his sentences, and enlivens his chapters with epigram and humorous reflection. How good is this of a house- hold such as all of us know !-
"If there was a fault in Mrs. Cosio's household, it was that there was rather too much eating, so much that it seemed hardly worth while to remove the cloth at all ; but perhaps it was done fur the sake of die robins and finches."
And Mr. Savage's quaint congratulation to mankind, that there is no such thing as a moral scent, "or there would be an enormous rise in the rents of habitable houses." And the little touch which de- scribes Miss Blackadder as a woman "who, without being actually bitter, made a raw cold atmosphere round about her, like one of the mists of her native land." Mr. Blackadder, by the way, anti- cipates in a wonderful way (the novel appeared originally in the Fortnightly Review) the ingenious defepce which we lately heard from a contemporary, that slanderous statements are made " not to propagate them, but to afford her friends an opportunity for contradicting or disproving them." There is no little tragical power, again, in the scene where Mrs. Upjohn moves through the gay party which she would not consent to put off, while the neglected niece is lying dead upstairs, and inspires in her guests as site moves a horror which they feel, but for which they cannot account.
We take farewell of Mr. Savage,—with thanks for many pleasant hours in the past, hours brought back by the Woman, of Business so far as might be permitted by a res et alas, alas! very different from what we rejoiced in when we read the Bachelor of the Albany.
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