BLAMABLE, DE BIALGUET
IS a rarity in these days of flashy rapidity ; for it is a close, painstaking, solidly-written novel, in whieh truthful delineation of characters, man- ners, and all the accessories that appertain to them, is made to impart as nmch attraction as the variety of fortune and "stirring" events of the Mass of romances.. The scene is for the most part laid in a small French country town, soon after the Bourbon Restoration ; and the persons and incidents connected with "P/assy " are painted, if not with perfect accu- racy and consistency, yet with accuracy sufficient for the purpose. In the houses, the furniture, the habits of the people, and the little incidents of daily life, the reader is introduced as it were to another state of exist- ence. Madame de Illauet, in this point of view, resembles some of these national paintings, whether Flemish or Spanish, which look less like compositions than a direct transcript from life itself, bringing a totally crtfferent system of society before us, even in its habit as it lived. Of course, such a work is "slow" for the mere novel-reader; and in fact nearly one half of the hook is leas a tale than a delineation of cha- racter, manners, and provincial life in France, with an English sea cap- tain thrown in amongst them to bring them out. In all formal points the writer before us is as far apart from Washington Irving as it is pos- sible to be : he has less of evident elaboration and obvious art, without any of the American's striving after elegance : but in minute delineation of daily life, and in a portraiture of character full rather for itself than for anything that is to result from it in action, the pictures in .Madante de Malguet bear a strong generic resemblance to many of the sketches of Washington Irving. However, it is only to about half of the work that this criticism ap- plies. When the reader is well advanced in the second volume, he is plunged among a series of incidents strange and startling enough to satisfy the most ardent lover of the Wild and wonderful. We must con- fess, however, that the romance is less attractive than the common inci- dents and rather minute descriptions which prepare for it. Some objec- tions may he urged at the very idea of a. secret marriage of a Marquis with one of his tenants under the old n*ime, even though he designed the marriage to be fraudulent : but all that follows, with the violent-paseioned, scorned, repudiated widow, during the volcano of the Revolution and the Empire, may be probable enough, according to the
laws of probability in fiction. Our objection is, that we do not like it. Colonel Lambert, the sabreur of the Empire, is capital as an old soldier pining under surveillance, inaction, and the presence of his mother, but not so well when he suddenly starts up the heir to a marquisate and an estate ; not only thrusting Madame de Malguet, his newly discovered aunt, from her stool, but giving rise to other unattractive incidents. All this strikes us as extreme, and not pleasing ; nor is the termination well managed. In life, no doubt, there are lame and impotent conclu- sions to families and careers ; but fiction requires the " teres atque ro- ttmdus." Everything should be fitted together and properly shaped. One of the essentials of art is to satisfy ; and this is not done either by the story or the denouement of Madame de Malguet.
The manner of exhibiting the romance is as good as that of the more descriptive parts—quiet, solid, and effective; though the composition ex- cites less attention, because the delineation is lost sight of in the story. As an example of the more stirring parts of Madame de Malguet, we will fall back upon an incident of the first Revolution, that takes place long before the opening of the book, and is told to Captain Merrick. It should be observed that the leading persons in the affair are all con- nected with the story. The cure is the priest who was a party to the deceptive marriage ; Toinette Grosbois its victim.
"Somewhat sobered by the presence he stood before, the keeper leaned on the back of a chair, and respectfully asked his lady's orders. " Pierrefeu,' said she, in a low voice, tell Monsieur where you were on the 16th October 'W.'
"The keeper started and shuddered. "'At what time?'
"' When the Bands Noire baited on the hill-brow.
"Moat Must I?—well—I waabehind the cart on which was Margot, the notary-clerk's wife, of Fonrebois, playing the goddess [of Reason]; complaining of the cold all the while, I remember, for she was half-stripped, and asking for brandy. You see,' he added apologetically to Merrick, I bad stretched away reconnoitering so far that I got entangled among their stragglers, and to save myself had to cry Vive Republique!' So they put a pike into any hand, and then I was a Sans-oalette, or as good.'
" ' What then?'
" Citizen Ronsin, the actor, called out for some one who knew the country; at least they told ins it was him.'
"And they brought you forward? asked the sailor.
"No, I was saved that: a woman whom I had known well in former years, ToinettaGrosbois-1 knew her in spite of her red nightcap and her striped tri- colour petticoat—carne forward, and said, Citizen Commandant, down yonder is one of the black animals called cure, and, as you may see before you, one of the buildings sacred to superstition: will you not erase these, for the honour of the Republic, before the den of the aristocrats is attacked?' There was a dark hard- featured Garde National steed by her as she spoke: I remembered him, too, for 'twas him she left the country with—he was a recruiting sergeant of the Royal Allemand then. Citoyenne Toinette- is right,' says-he: let us make the bell toll one for the knell of the cure.' So they' laughed, and trained one of the gnus on the little belfry—bang !—and down came the belfry and thesbellstegethea- -Then they set up their song of ira, ea irat and deified down the hill with Tole arette.Grosbott leading them; about two hundred went, and among them I, for / thought somehow I might warn the cure. On they went with yells and shouts, and their horrible song, pell-mell down into the little quiet chapel-ground. I shall never forget the sight: there stood the cure, poor Pere Bernard, and old Mon- sieur Jesse, on either side a grave that was nearly finished; two diggers were just completing the work. The mob stopped their shouting, and I could-hear in the momentary silence Toinette say to her soldier, The papers, Pierre; mind the papers in the plunder I want.' The rtext moment they crowded round the gravel and I could hear old klerisieurJosse, in hie clear firm voice, telling them bow the grave. was for my old lady, and how all he wanted was to lay her head in the ground, begging them for ten minutes to lay his mistress's bones in their last place of rest. Rest l' cried they; the bones of an aristocrat shall know no rest—the bones of an aristocrat shall whiten the fields, and their blood fatten the furrows!' 'But, gentlemen, good gentlemen, there's the chateau—pillage, take all, only let me bury—' 'Bury is it?' said they—and—and-
"'Well?' asked Merrick, eagerly. " ' They buried him !'
"No one spoke for some time. Madame de Malguet sat with her hands between her knees motionless, gazing at the fire; Merrick leaned back in his chair, horror- struck at the tale; Pierrefeu grasped on the chair-back waiting the order to pro- ceed with his story; Brigitte alone continued her work without any show of emotion. At last the lady said Go on'; and Pierrefeu continued his narrative. When that was done, they called for the cure to say a mass for his soul; they- made bins say high mass while they pillaged his house, took an ass they found in the stable, dressed him in priest's vestments, and drove him into the church with the mass-book tied to his tail; they drank brandy and wine in the chalices, and ate the salt mackerel they found in the poor cure's house off the patinas; they danced the carmagnole in the aisle, men and women together. Stupitied in the tumult, I found myself again near Toinette and her soldier. The fools she
said, we shall never get through them to the sacristy. They'll burn the 's
barrack, papers and all—stop 'em in their foolery.' How can I?' said he. Look—the priest,' said Toinette. Pere Bernard had the host in: both hands, raised, trembling like as aspen, but his anus both up, and his bosom well exposed: a shot from behind me struck him full in the heart !—he leaped aloft, and fell dead; a yell arose in the little church, and these behind me tried to force their way, forward to the sacristy-door, when it was hastily thrown open, and Some sans-culottes rushed in crying, ' Burning ! burning! :Vim la nation! Bibles burning, and the room full of hand-grenades Toinette at that moment-rushed forward, and they had to hold her by force to keep her from dashing in, to save the papers, she said: she was like a mad woman; she raved I knew not what about the papers: but 'twas too late to get them. There were those present too anxious to destroy the register of the lord's rights, that in country places often were kept in the church, to do their work negligently: 'twas a common practice first to burn the registers. Well, the grenades exploded, and splinters flew into the church; so we carried her screaming out through the window, just in time, for they had mined the tower meanwhile, fired the. train, and St. Ursula des Fonds was a ruin!'"
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