THE JEWEL IN THE LOTOS.*
THERE is really good work in this book, better even than the writer's clever tale, Signor MOnaldini's Niece, had led us to expect from her. The figures of the two girls in whom the interest of the story centres are brilliantly drawn, and represent with singular distinctness two very diverse types of womanhood. Aurelia is born to be the maiden wooed of many lovers, and when her time is come, the happy wife and mother. Aurora is of that rarer kind in whom the love of country and the inspira- tion of song absorb the interests of life. Yet to her also there comes, as there sometimes does come to such women, the occasion when she, too, might love and be loved. She stands once in imminent danger of her life. She has climbed into the upper part of a half-ruined Italian palace, the floor has given way beneath her, and she is " clinging to the parapet, with an un- stable brick or or two under her feet, a gulf of dusty ruins at one side, and the street, four stories below, at the other." From this perilous positioh a certain Piedmontese colonel rescues her— the narrative of the rescue is vivid and effective—and we think for the moment that her fate has come. But Colonel d'Rubiera is pledged to another. He did not love that other. He had given his promise, in that pity which is so dangerously akin to love, when the woman had thrown herself at his feet. And now that which might have been the true love of a life must pass away, both for him and for the woman whom he has saved from death. As for her, henceforward her soul will dwell apart, livingior Italy and for her gift of song. Of this gift she had been dimly con- scious before. Her mother had had it, and she felt it in herself. And it is just at this moment that it reveals itself fully. Under the excitement of her deliverance, and of gratitude and admira- tion for the courage that had wrought it, she improvises for the first time. She was not to have love, but her vocation is sure.
Strongly contrasted with Aurelia. and Aurora, with the latter more especially, is the American heiress, Miss Melville. This
• The Jewel in the Laos. By Mary Agnes Tincker. London: W. R. Allen and Co. 1884.
.brilliant, self-possessed young woman, whose beauty and
riches have made her the object of so much love-making that she finds it difficult to believe in love, is drawn with a few firm and happy strokes. We do not see into her heart, though we are led to believe that she has a heart, but she makes a striking figure among the minor per- sonages of the drama. She is the fiancee of Don Leopoldo, son of the Duke of Cagliostro, when she is introduced into the story, and the description of the relations between these two is. one of the best parts of the book. She holds her own with a firmness and self-control which we admire, but which we feel to
be just a little hard in a woman. " She might be painted, and the picture called America," says some one who is asked what. he thinks of her, and the words are true of more than her looks. Then there is the Duchess of Cagliostro, Leopoldo's mother, a great lady of the world, fully possessed with the belief that the glory and well-being of the House of Cagliostro is the one thing which is worth striving for ; ready to stoop to any kind of mean- ness so that she may secure it, yet not without a heart, for she loves husband and son, and is admirably gracious where the aummunt bonum of her life is not concerned. There is a capital scene where she listens with dismay to the forebodings of Donald Glenlyon, Aurelia's guardian, about the future of America. " I am sometimes almost afraid that they are doomed," he says. She hears it with inexpressible terror. She thinks of financial troubles. Her son's American bride must have her money down, before they marry, she resolves. He goes on to explain himself, —" They are open at every pore to subtle attacks, and at this moment their whole national life is eaten through and through by inimical foreign influences with a mingling of
generosity, short-sighted self-interest, and vanity, they open their doors to all the world, and share everything with the first comer, and think that naturalisation papers make patriots." The Duchess does not understand in the least, and wants to know whether there is any help. Glenlyon doubtfully suggests that• the effort to introduce women into politics might be providential.
The " female eagles may have a keener sense of coming danger, and less foolhardy generosity." More surprised than ever, she puts the concise question, " Do you think that this year, or within a year or two, the crash will come P" and hears with inexpressible relief that " there may not be a crash for a.
hundred years, if ever." Miss Melville's fortune, then, is safe, and this American trouble " is one of the things which we will leave to God, Signor Glenlyon." Another striking figure in the story is Maria, the Italian serving-maid, from barbarous Monte Fortino, among the hills. There is a fine passage describing the religion of these poor mountain folk, of which we shall transcribe a part :—
" Between the knife-blade and the fist they pray to the Madonna. They lift up their poor lacerated hearts, torn by the wild cats of their passions, to a shining, compassionate Woman crowned with stars and loved of God, who for her sake will one day deliver them from the torments of poverty and strife, and cool the fever in their blood, and smooth away the angry furrows from their brows, and loosen into smiles the acrid lines about their mouths, and make love possible. Of Christ they have no conception, though they name him, hail the Babe at Christmas, and lament the Crucified on Good Friday. His purity,. his patience, his divine forbearance, his dazzling holiness, they have nothing to do with. To them religion means a loving, indulgent mother, who screens her children even when they do evil. They love her, her name is ever on their lips, they hide their faces in her lap and in her breast and all about her feet, and think God will not touch them there. They bring her stolen property : 'Do not be angry with me, Maria Santissima. I will give thee half.' They are pagans who. see but the twinkling day-star of Christianity, and know not its sun. Their Madonna is the radiant heiress of the gods. She is Juno with- out the pride and jealousy, Venus without the caprice or the folly, Minerva without the severity. She is the rose of motherly love with- out a thorn. She is not far away in some visionary, inaccessible heaven : she is the mother up-stairs, or down-stairs, or in the next room, or gone to visit a neighbour ; and if they call, she hears them."
Among the men, Don Leopoldo, showing the worst type of Italian character, as Aurelia shows its noblest, is the most vigorously drawn. The shallow soul, which has yet dangerous.
volcanic fires somewhere in it, with its false, fascinating beauty, a sort of human rattlesnake, reminds one of figures. which have played their part more than once in Italian history. Quite apart from the story, and perhaps, therefore, of doubtful relevance, is the episode of Father Segneri, the Liberal priest.
Relevant or no, it is a pathetic picture of a great and loyal soul,.
tried with unworthy persecutions. The description of Father Antonio (pp. 254-6) is another fine effort, which must not be passed over without praise. We have nothing to say to Miss Thicker, by way of criticism, except to advise her somewhat to prune the exuberance of her style.
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