THE BLACK ARROW.* THE " critic on the hearth "
to whom Mr. Stevenson dedicates this very charming romance is certainly very hard to please. We should ourselves prefer The Black Arrow to any story which Mr. Stevenson has published except Treasure Island. It has not, perhaps, quite the overflowing life and imaginative resource in it which gave the magic to that buoyant book. The "blind beggar" of Treasure Island was, perhaps, one of the most happy strokes of fancy in English fiction, and the piratical cook, too, was a villain of villain. whose like we never hope to see again. But we prefer The Black Arrow both to Kidnapped and to Mr. Stevenson's stories concerning the dynamiters,—indeed, to anything else that he has written. It is fresh, eager, and skilful. It contains two charming sketches of women, better than any which Mr. Stevenson has yet produced. And it has also a brilliant portrait of the Richard Crookback of tradition, whether it be true to the genuine Richard who was killed on Bosworth field or not, a portrait reminding us of Sir Walter Scott's vivid studies in the characters of Kings. And that bright and rapid flow of the narrative so essential to the reader's fascination, so impossible to imitate, so difficult even to genius except of one rather rare kind, is hardly to be sur- passed in English literature. Nor is there any obtrusion of the historical element. There is enough, and only enough, of it to give a certain richness and impressiveness to the back- ground of the tale, but not enough to encumber the story, or to inlay it with that antiquarian study which the reader who is no antiquarian resents. It is as easy to read as a story of to-day, and that is more than one can say of some of the best historical romances in existence.
The " Black Arrow" is the name given to an association of yoemen who combine against the exactions and tyranny of their feudal lords. It is an association not unlike that of which Sir Walter Scott has given us so brilliant a sketch in Ivanhoe, in the picture of Locksley and his followers, though Mr. Steven- son's story is supposed, of course, to be a couple of centuries or more later. The opening scene of the story introduces us to the flight of one of these Black Arrows, and its latest scene concludes with the flight of another of them, and during the course of the narrative the Black Arrows fly, of course, when- ever and wherever they are most wanted. But the art of making outlaws impressive, and of so interweaving their feats with the feats of feudal oppressors as to excite sympathy for the outlaw without entirely destroying the charm of the feudal order to which he was opposed, seems to have been reserved for Scotchmen, and Mr. Stevenson wields it with all the ease and freedom, though not, of course, with the same massive effect of power, of Sir Walter Scott himself. If Ivanhoe be the most brilliant tale for boys which genius ever penned, The Black Arrow certainly deserves to be mentioned next to it as one which, without even sug- gesting an imitator, displays a master-hand in the same field. What is somewhat new to us in Mr. Stevenson's books, is his skill in the management of the love-story. Nothing can be more charming than the boy-and-girl love- making of Richard Shelton and Joanna Sedley, who meet first when the girl is disguised as a boy, though she so acts her part as to raise the feeling of tenderness in the real boy's heart without betraying her sex or eliciting more than curiously perplexed emotions which prepare the way for love, though they do not kindle it. There is real subtlety in this part of the tale, as well as the most perfect simplicity and healthiness of drawing. The adventures of the two boys together in Tunstall Forest during the escape of the heroine from her grasping and masterful guardian, is an exquisite bit of literary art ; and then, when the riddle is explained, and Dick Shelton recognises his old comrade in-Joanna Sedley, the frank tenderness of the love between them is as freshly and poetically rendered as the previously half-understood attrac- tion of Shelton to the disguised girl was subtly painted. Nor could the episode of the alarm they receive from the supposed leper be better imagined or more admirably told. The two companions, after losing their way in the forest, have passed the night in a sandy pit, when they are awakened by the sound of a bell:— "They awoke in the grey of the morning ; the birds were not yet in full song, but twittered here and there among the woods ; the sun was not yet up, but the eastern sky was barred with • The Black. Arrow: a Tale of the Two Roses. By Robert Louis Stevenson. London : Cassell and Co. solemn colours. Half-starved and over-weary as they were, they lay without moving, sunk in a delightful lassitude. And as they thus lay, the clang of a bell fell suddenly upon their ears.—' A bell !' said Dick, sitting up. Can we be, then, so near to Holy- wood P—A little after, the bell clanged again, but this time some- what nearer hand; and from that time forth, and still drawing nearer and nearer, it continued to sound brokenly abroad in the silence of the morning.= Nay, what should this betoken ?' said Dick, who was now broad awake.—' It is some one walking,' re- turned Matcham, and the bell tolleth ever as he moves.'—' I see that well,' said Dick. But wherefore ? What maketh he in Tunstall Woods ? Jack,' he added, laugh at me an ye will, but I like not the hollow sound of Nay,' said Matcham, with a shiver, it bath a doleful note. An the day were not come—' But just then the bell, quickening its pace, began to ring thick and hurried, and then it gave a single hammering jangle, and was silent for a space.—' It is as though the bearer had run for a paternoster-while, and then leaped the river,' Dick observed.— ' And now beginneth he again to pace soberly forward,' added Matcham.—' Nay,' returned Dick, nay, not so soberly, Jack. 'Tis a man that walketh you right speedily. 'Tis a man in some fear of his life, or about some hurried business. See ye not how swift the beating draweth near ?'—' It is now close by,' said Matcham. —They were now on the edge of the pit ; and as the pit itself was on a certain eminence, they commanded a view over the greater proportion of the clearing, up to the thick woods that closed it in. The daylight, which was very clear and grey, showed them a riband of white footpath wandering among the gorse. It passed some hundred yards from the pit, and ran the whole length of the clearing, east and west. By the line of its course, Dick judged it should lead more or less directly to the Moat House. Upon this path, stepping forth from the margin of the wood, a white figure now appeared. It paused a little, and seemed to look about ; and then, at a slow pace, and bent almost double, it began to draw near across the heath. At every step the bell clanked. Face, it had none ; a white hood, not even pierced with eyeholes, veiled the head ; and as the creature moved, it seemed to feel its way with the tapping of a stick. Fear fell upon the lads, as cold as death.—' A leper !' said Dick, hoarsely. His touch is death,' said Matcham. Let us run.'—' Not so,' returned Dick. See ye not ?—he is stone-blind. He guideth him with a staff. Let us lie still ; the wind bloweth towards the path, and he will go by and hurt us not. Alas, poor soul, and we should rather pity him !'—` I will pity him when he is by,' replied Matcham.—The blind leper was now about half-way towards them, and just then the sun rose and shone full on his veiled face. He had been a tall man before he was bowed by his disgusting sickness, and even now he walked with a vigorous step. The dismal beating of his bell, the pattering of the stick, the eyeless screen before his countenance, and the knowledge that he was not only doomed to death and suffering, but shut out for ever from the touch of his fellow-men, filled the lads' bosoms with dismay ; and at every step that brought him nearer, their courage and strength seem to desert them. As he came about level with the pit, he paused and turned his face full upon the lads.—` Mary be my shield ! He sees us !' said Matcham, faintly.—` Hush r whispered Dick. He doth but hearken. He is blind, fool!'—The leper looked or listened, whichever he was really doing, for some seconds. Then he began to move on again, but presently paused once more, and again turned and seemed to gaze upon the lads. Even Dick became dead-white and closed his eyes, as if by the mere sight he might become infected. But soon the bell sounded, and this time, without any farther hesitation, the leper crossed the remainder of the little heath and disappeared into the covert of the woods.= He saw us,' said Matcham. I could swear it !'—' Tut r returned Dick, recovering some sparks of courage. He but heard us. He was in fear, poor soul ! An ye were blind, and walked in a perpetual night, ye would start yourself, if ever a twig rustled or a bird cried " Peep." Dick, good Dick, he saw us,' repeated Matcham. When a man hearkeneth, he doth not as this man; he doth otherwise, Dick. This was seeing ; it was not hearing. He means foully. Hark, else, if his bell be not stopped !'—Such was the case. The bell rang no longer.= Nay,'
said Dick, I like not that. Nay,' he cried again, like that little. What may this betoken ? Let us go, by the mass He
bath gone east,' added Matcham. Good Dick, let us go west- ward straight. I shall not breathe till I have my back turned upon that leper.'—' Jack, y' are too cowardly, replied Dick. We shall go fair for Holywood, or as fair, at least, as I can guide you, and that will be due north.'—They were afoot at once, passed the stream upon some stepping-stones, and began to mount on the other side, which was steeper, towards the margin of the wood. The ground became very uneven, full of knolls and hollows ; trees grew scattered or in clumps ; it became difficult to choose a path, and the lads somewhat wandered. They were weary, besides, with yesterday's exertions and the lack of food, and they moved but heavily and dragged their feet among the sand. Presently, coming to the top of a knoll, they were aware of the leper, some hundred feet in front of them, crossing the line of their march by a hollow. His bell was silent, his staff no longer tapped the ground, and he went before him with the swift and assured footsteps of a man who sees. Next moment he had disappeared into a little thicket."
We must not extract the conclusion of the episode, but this much will be sufficient to give our readers an impression of the eager movement of Mr. Stevenson's delightful story, which runs on without even-a momentary break in the interest from beginning to end.
We hardly know whether the book from which we have
just quoted, and which gives the adventures of the two lads, 2,3 they appear at least to Shelton, or the book which tells the perils of Shelton in the Moat House, or the final fifth book, which gives us Mr. Stevenson's portrait of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, is the most brilliant; but we certainly incline to prefer those three to the third and fourth books, fascinating as these are. There is more of freshness in the first, more of excitement in the second, and more of art in the last ; while the third and fourth have perhaps a little too much in them of the mere complexity of perilous adventure without ade- quate individual effects. On the whole, the three sketches which charm us most, and to which we return at the end of the story to renew the pleasure which they have given, are the sketches of Joanna Sedley, in disguise and in her own person ; of Alicia Risingham, Joanna's tenderly impertinent and irre- pressible friend ; and of the traditionary Duke of Gloucester, who, though painted in the usual colours, is still so painted as to live more vividly than ever before the mind. Mr. Stevenson has written a new work of genius in which the historical back- ground adds greatly to the effect of his tale, instead of in any way detracting from it.
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