FICTION.
THE KING OF ALSANDER.*
Hrrff Imo we have only known Mr. Flecker as a writer of verse of a finely romantic quality. That is in itself no guarantee that he would be equally successful as a writer of prose romance, though it justified an experiment which he has carried through with exhilarating results in The King of Alsander. Of all the romances which trace their immediate parentage to Stevenson's Prince Otto and The New Arabian Nights, this is, one of the very best. We are careful to say "immediate," because the authors whom he enumerates as having influenced his hero, from Homer and Apuleius down to "Monk" Lewis and Baudelaire, have clearly influenced Mr. Flecker himself. Inasmuch as the plot of his story, concerns the succession to the throne of an imaginary kingdom, comparisons with the Ituritanic excur- sions of Mr. Anthony Hope are inevitable. But the resem- blances are superficial. In neatness and homogeneity of structure and in continuity of narrative, Mr. Flecker does not attempt to compete with the author of The Prisoner of Zenda. He is more poetical and picaresque; more prone to digressions and indulgence in literary bravura ; in short, he has given us a witty and freakish fantasia rather than a brilliant conventional melodrama. In the abrupt alternations of the farcical and lyrical moods, he shows himself a disciple of Aristophanes. There are moments when the situation recalls the Stevenson of The Wrong Box. Again, we find points of contact with the Mary Coleridge who wrote that most wildly romantic of modern short stories, "The Friendly Foe." But this is not to say that Mr. Flecker is imitative; we use these parallels to illustrate the fact that his talent has many facets, all of them attractive. The King of Alsander is not everybody's book, but those who like it will not be content with a single reading.
As for the matter of the adventure, we can find no better- summary than that given in the preface, which is dated from
Bey rout : —
" Here is a tale all romance—a tale such as only a Poet can write for you, 0 appreciative and generous Public—a- tale of madmen, kings, scholars, grocers, consuls, and Sews : a tale with two heroines, both of an extreme and indescribable beauty: a tale of the South and of sunshine, wherein will he found disguises, mysteries, conspiracies, fights, at least one good whipping, and plenty of blood and love and absurdity : a very old sort of tale: a tale as joyously improbable as life itself. But if I know you aright, appreciative and generous Public, you look for more than this in these tragic days of social unrest, and you will be most dissatisfied with my efforts to please you. For you a king is a shadow, a madman a person to be shut up, a scholar a fool, a grocer a tradesman, a consul an inferior grade of diplomatic officer, and a Jew a Jew. You will demand to know what panacea is preached in this novel as a sovran remedy for the dismal state of affairs in England. With what hope do I delude the groaning poor : with what sarcasm insult the insulting vigil? What is the meaning of my apparent joyousness? What has grim iron-bang- ing England to do with sunshine, dancing, adventure and, above all, with Poets ? In support of my reputation let me hasten to observe that in my efforts to please a generous and appreciative Public I have not failed to insert several passages of a high moral tone. Grave matters of ethics are frequently discussed in the course of my story, and the earnest inquirer may learn much from this book concerning the aim, purpose and origin of his existence. To Government and its problems I have given particular attention, and the observant reader may draw from these subtle pages a complete theory of the Fallacy of the Picturesque. Only I implore the public to forgive the Poet his proverbial licence, to remember that truth is still truth, though clad in harlequin raiment, and thought still thought, though hinted and not explained. Fare- well, then, my King of Alsander. Ride out into the world and conquer. Behind you—a merry and a mocking phantom—my youth rides out for ever l"
As for Norman Price, the grocer-hero, we can best describe him as a sort of super-" Card." The impulse that drives him
• The King qf Almada. By James Elroy rocker. London :Xax Goschti., teal
forth on the quest of adventure from his village shop is com- municated by a semi-supernatural person, an old poet, omniscient and ubiquitous, who is consumed with a passionate
devotion to the Kingdom of Alsander, and has been despatched by a junta of conspirators to find a suitable Pretender whom they can substitute for their mad King. Norman, young, handsome, and ambitious, falls an easy prey to the old poet's persuasions, and sets off for Alsander without in the least suspecting the high rile prepared for him—a rile into which he gradually slides as the result of a variety of appeals to his vanity, his sense of humour, and his chivalry. The narrative folly bears out the promise of the preface, and the manner is as good as the matter. We have spoken of the freakishness of the book. Let us take leave of it with a specimen of the intermittent seriousness which only enhances the prevailing
irresponsibility of the romance. Mr. Flecker has been digressing on the hypocritical prudery of English novelists and then, with a sudden and characteristic twist, shows the other side of the medal :—
"And yet the accusation, if levelled against our race and not only against our writers, is not a true one, however plausible. We are more restrained than other races, and that neither because we are less passionate nor because we are more timorous. Our athletic youths are purer—do not merely say they are purer, than the diminutive young men abroad. It is really true there is a special kind of nobility and generosity in the way our gentlemen treat women. There is something in our race that makes us different from other nations. Call our severe principles a fear of convention, an outworn chivalry, if you like ; you have not accounted for all cases ; perhaps it is true that an Englishman is more likely than any other European to love a woman deeply enough to be content with her for ever. At all events, it should be remarked how those Englishmen who through education or travel have most tolerance for the sins of others and most opportunity for sinning themselves seldom lose their own traditional scruples. And that is why (to come back to our hero) Norman, who would never have dreamed of blaming Tom Jones for his jolly conduct, and who had read with zeal and appreciation novelists of France who held the most scandalous theories concerning the unimportance of it all, was nevertheless unable to make love to a girl whom he intended to desert."
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