THE TALE OF TERROR

A Study of the Gothic Romance

by

EDITH BIRKHEAD M. A. 

Assistant Lecturer in English Literature in the University of BristolFormerly Noble Fellow in the University of Liverpool

LondonConstable & Company Ltd. 

1921

PREFACE

The aim of this book is to give some account of the growth ofsupernatural fiction in English literature, beginning with thevogue of the Gothic Romance and Tale of Terror towards the closeof the eighteenth century. The origin and development of theGothic Romance are set forth in detail from the appearance ofWalpole's _Castle of Otranto_ in 1764 to the publication ofMaturin's _Melmoth the Wanderer_ in 1820; and the survey of thisphase of the novel is continued, in the later chapters, to moderntimes. One of these is devoted to the Tale of Terror in America, where in the hands of Hawthorne and Poe its treatment became afine art. In the chapters dealing with the more recent forms ofthe tale of terror and wonder, the scope of the subject becomesso wide that it is impossible to attempt an exhaustive survey. 

The present work is the outcome of studies begun during my tenureof the William Noble Fellowship in the University of Liverpool, 1916-18. It is a pleasure to express here my thanks to ProfessorR. H. Case and to Dr. John Sampson for valuable help and criticismat various stages of the work. Parts of the MS. Have also beenread by Professor C. H. Herford of the University of Manchesterand by Professor Oliver Elton of the University of Liverpool. ToMessrs. Constable's reader I am also indebted for several helpfulsuggestions. --E. B. 

THE UNIVERSITY OF BRISTOL, December, 1920. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I - INTRODUCTORY. 

The antiquity of the tale of terror; the element of fear inmyths, heroic legends, ballads and folk-tales; terror in theromances of the middle ages, in Elizabethan times and in theseventeenth century; the credulity of the age of reason; therenascence of terror and wonder in poetry; the "attempt to blendthe marvellous of old story with the natural of modern novels. "Pp. 1-15. 

CHAPTER II - THE BEGINNINGS OF GOTHIC ROMANCE. 

Walpole's admiration for Gothic art and his interest in themiddle ages; the mediaeval revival at the close of the eighteenthcentury; _The Castle of Otranto_; Walpole's bequest to laterromance-writers; Smollett's incidental anticipation of themethods of Gothic Romance; Clara Reeve's _Old English Baron_ andher effort to bring her story "within the utmost verge ofprobability"; Mrs. Barbauld's Gothic fragment; Blake's _FairElenor_; the critical theories and Gothic experiments of Dr. Nathan Drake. Pp. 16-37. 

CHAPTER III - "THE NOVEL OF SUSPENSE. " MRS. RADCLIFFE. 

The vogue of Mrs. Radcliffe; her tentative beginning in _TheCastles of Athlin and Dunbayne_, and her gradual advance in skilland power; _The Sicilian Romance_ and her early experiments inthe "explained" supernatural; _The Romance of the Forest_, andher use of suspense; heroines: _The Mysteries of Udolpho_;illustrations of Mrs. Radcliffe's methods; _The Italian_;villains; her historical accuracy and "unexplained" spectre in_Gaston de Blondeville_; her reading; style; descriptions ofscenery; position in the history of the novel. Pp. 38-62. 

CHAPTER IV - THE NOVEL OF TERROR. LEWIS AND MATURIN. 

Lewis's methods contrasted with those of Mrs. Radcliffe; his debtto German terror-mongers; _The Monk_; ballads; _The Bravo ofVenice_; minor works and translations; Scott's review ofMaturin's _Montorio_; the vogue of the tale of terror betweenLewis and Maturin; Miss Sarah Wilkinson; the personality ofCharles Robert Maturin; his literary career; the complicated plotof _The Family of Montorio_; Maturin's debt to others; hisdistinguishing gifts revealed in _Montorio_; the influence of_Melmoth the Wanderer_ on French literature; a survey of_Melmoth_; Maturin's achievement as a novelist. Pp. 63-93. 

CHAPTER V - THE ORIENTAL TALE OF TERROR. BECKFORD. 

The Oriental story in France and England in the eighteenthcentury; Beckford's _Vathek_; Beckford's life and character; hisliterary gifts; later Oriental tales. Pp. 94-99. 

CHAPTER VI - GODWIN AND THE ROSICRUCIAN NOVEL. 

Godwin's mind and temper; the plan of _Caleb Williams_ asdescribed by Godwin; his methods; the plot of _Caleb Williams_;its interest as a story; Godwin's limitations as a novelist; _St. Lean_; its origin and purpose; outline of the story; thecharacter of Bethlem Gabor; Godwin's treatment of the Rosicrucianlegend; a parody of _St. Lean_; the supernatural in _Cloudesley_and in _Lives of the Necromancers_; Moore's _Epicurean_; Croly's_Salathiel_; Shelley's youthful enthusiasm for the tale ofterror; _Zastrozzi_; its lack of originality; _St. Irvyne_;traces of Shelley's early reading in his poems. Pp. 100-127. 

CHAPTER VII - SATIRES ON THE NOVEL OF TERROR. 

Jane Austen's raillery in _Northanger Abbey_; Barrett's mockeryin _The Heroine_; Peacock's _Nightmare Abbey_; his praise of C. B. Brown in _Gryll Grange_; _The Mystery of the Abbey_, and itsmisleading title; Crabbe's satire in _Belinda Waters_ and _ThePreceptor Husband_; his ironical attack on the sentimentalheroine in _The Borough_; his appreciation of folktales; _SirEustace Grey_. Pp. 128-144. 

CHAPTER VIII - SCOTT AND THE NOVEL OF TERROR. 

Scott's review of fashionable fiction in the Preface to_Waverley_; his early attempts at Gothic story in _Thomas theRhymer_ and _The Lord of Ennerdale_; his enthusiasm for Bürger's_Lenore_ and for Lewis's ballads; his interest in demonology andwitchcraft; his attitude to the supernatural; his hints to thewriters of ghost-stories; his own experiments; Wandering Willie'sTale, a masterpiece of supernatural horror; the use of thesupernatural in the Waverley Novels; Scott, the supplanter of thenovel of terror. Pp. 145-156. 

CHAPTER IX - LATER DEVELOPMENTS OF THE TALE OF TERROR. 

The exaggeration of the later terror-mongers; innovations; thestories of Mary Shelley, Byron and Polidori; _Frankenstein_; itspurpose; critical estimate; _Valperga_; _The Last Man_; Mrs. Shelley's short tales; Polidori's _Ernestus Berchtold_, adomestic story with supernatural agency; _The_ FACES _Vampyre_;later vampires; De Quincey's contributions to the tale of terror;Harrison Ainsworth's attempt to revive romance; his early Gothicstories; _Rookwood_, an attempt to bring the Radcliffe romance upto date; terror in Ainsworth's other novels; Marryat's _PhantomShip_; Bulwer Lytton's interest in the occult; _Zanoni_, andLytton's theory of the Intelligences; _The Haunted and theHaunters_; _A Strange Story_ and Lytton's preoccupation withmesmerism. Pp. 157-184. 

CHAPTER X - SHORT TALES OF TERROR. 

The chapbook versions of the Gothic romance; the popularity ofsensational story illustrated in Leigh Hunt's _Indicator_;collections of short stories; various types of short story inperiodicals; stories based on oral tradition; the humourist'sturn for the terrible; natural terror in tales from _Blackwood_and in Conrad; use of terror in Stevenson and Kipling; futurepossibilities of fear as a motive in short stories. Pp. 185-196. 

CHAPTER XI - AMERICAN TALES OF TERROR. 

The vogue of Gothic story in America; the novels of CharlesBrockden Brown; his use of the "explained" supernatural; hisGodwinian theory; his construction and style; Washington Irving'sgenial tales of terror; Hawthorne's reticence and melancholy;suggestions for eery stories in his notebooks; _Twice-ToldTales_; _Mosses from an Old Manse; The Scarlet Letter_;Hawthorne's sympathetic insight into character; _The House of theSeven Gables_, and the ancestral curse; his half-creduloustreatment of the supernatural; unfinished stories; a contrast ofHawthorne's methods with those of Edgar Allan Poe; _A Manuscriptfound in a Bottle_, the first of Poe's tales of terror; the skillof Poe illustrated in _Ligeia, The Fall of the House of Usher, The Masque of the Red Death_, and _The Cash of Amontillado_;Poe's psychology; his technique in _The Pit and the Pendulum_ andin his detective stories; his influence; the art of Poe; hisideal in writing a short story. Pp. 197-220. 

CHAPTER XII - CONCLUSION. 

The persistence of the tale of terror; the position of the Gothicromance in the history of fiction; the terrors of actual life inthe Brontë's novels; sensational stories of Wilkie Collins, LeFanu and later authors; the element of terror in various types ofromance; experiments of living authors; the future of the tale ofterror. Pp221-228. 

INDEX. Pp. 229-241

CHAPTER I - INTRODUCTORY. 

The history of the tale of terror is as old as the history ofman. Myths were created in the early days of the race to accountfor sunrise and sunset, storm-winds and thunder, the origin ofthe earth and of mankind. The tales men told in the face of thesemysteries were naturally inspired by awe and fear. The universalmyth of a great flood is perhaps the earliest tale of terror. During the excavation of Nineveh in 1872, a Babylonian version ofthe story, which forms part of the Gilgamesh epic, was discoveredin the library of King Ashurbanipal (668-626 B. C. ); and there arerecords of a much earlier version, belonging to the year 1966B. C. The story of the Flood, as related on the eleventh tablet ofthe Gilgamesh epic, abounds in supernatural terror. To seek thegift of immortality from his ancestor, Ut-napishtim, the heroundertakes a weary and perilous journey. He passes the mountainguarded by a scorpion man and woman, where the sun goes down; hetraverses a dark and dreadful road, where never man trod, and atlast crosses the waters of death. During the deluge, which ispredicted by his ancestor, the gods themselves are stricken withfear:

 "No man beheld his fellow, no more could men know each other. In heaven the gods were afraid . .. They drew back, they climbed up into the heaven of Anu. The gods crouched like dogs, they cowered by the walls. "[1]

Another episode in the same epic, when Nergal, the god of thedead, brings before Gilgamesh an apparition of his friend, Eabani, recalls the impressive scene, when the witch of Endorsummons the spirit of Samuel before Saul. 

When legends began to grow up round the names of traditionalheroes, fierce encounters with giants and monsters were inventedto glorify their strength and prowess. David, with a stone fromhis sling, slew Goliath. The crafty Ulysses put out the eye ofPolyphemus. Grettir, according to the Icelandic saga, overcameGlam, the malevolent, death-dealing vampire who "went riding theroofs. " Beowulf fearlessly descended into the turbid mere tograpple with Grendel's mother. Folktales and ballads, in whichincidents similar to those in myths and heroic legends occur, areoften overshadowed by terror. Figures like the Demon Lover, whobears off his mistress in the fatal craft and sinks her in thesea, and the cannibal bridegroom, outwitted at last by theartfulness of one of his brides, appear in the folk-lore of manylands. Through every century there glide uneasy spirits, groaningfor vengeance. Andrew Lang[2] mentions the existence of a papyrusfragment, found attached to a wooden statuette, in which anancient Egyptian scribe addresses a letter to the Khou, orspirit, of his dead wife, beseeching her not to haunt him. One ofthe ancestors of the savage were-wolf, who figures in Marryat's_Phantom Ship_, may perhaps be discovered in Petronius' _Supperof Trimalchio_. The descent of Bram Stoker's infamous vampireDracula may be traced back through centuries of legend. Hobgoblins, demons, and witches mingle grotesquely with thethrong of beautiful princesses, queens in glittering raiment, fairies and elves. Without these ugly figures, folk-tales wouldsoon lose their power to charm. All tale tellers know that fearis a potent spell. The curiosity which drove Bluebeard's wife toexplore the hidden chamber lures us on to know the worst, and aswe listen to horrid stories, we snatch a fearful joy. Humannature desires not only to be amused and entertained, but movedto pity and fear. All can sympathise with the youth, who couldnot shudder and who would fain acquire the gift. 

From English literature we gain no more than brief, tantalisingglimpses of the vast treasury of folk-tales and ballads thatexisted before literature became an art and that lived on side byside with it, vitalising and enriching it continually. Yet hereand there we catch sudden gleams like the fragment in _KingLear_:

 "Childe Roland to the dark tower came. His word was still Fie, Foh and Fum, I smell the blood of a British man. "

or Benedick's quotation from the _Robber Bridegroom_:

 "It is not so, it was not so, but, indeed, God forbid that it should be so. "

which hint at the existence of a hoard as precious andinexhaustible as that of the Nibelungs. The chord of terror istouched in the eerie visit of the three dead sailor sons "inearthly flesh and blood" to the wife of Usher's well, SweetWilliam's Ghost, the rescue of Tarn Lin on Halloween, whenFairyland pays a tiend to Hell, the return of clerk Saunders tohis mistress, True Thomas's ride to Fairyland, when:

 "For forty days and forty nights, He wade through red blood to the knee, And he saw neither sun nor moon, But heard the roaring of the sea. "

The mediaeval romances of chivalry, which embody stories handeddown by oral tradition, are set in an atmosphere of supernaturalwonder and enchantment. In Malory's _Morte d'Arthur_, SirLancelot goes by night into the Chapel Perilous, wherein there isonly a dim light burning, and steals from the corpse a sword anda piece of silk to heal the wounds of a dying knight. Sir Galahadsees a fiend leap out of a tomb amid a cloud of smoke; Gawaine'sghost, with those of the knights and ladies for whom he has donebattle in life, appears to warn the king not to begin the fightagainst Modred on a certain day. In the romance of _Sir Amadas_, the ghost of a merchant, whose corpse the knight had duteouslyredeemed from the hands of creditors, succours him at need. Theshadow of terror lurks even amid the beauty of Spenser'sfairyland. In the windings of its forests we come upon darkcaves, mysterious castles and huts, from which there startfearsome creatures like Despair or the giant Orgoglio, hideoushags like Occasion, wicked witches and enchanters or frightfulbeings like the ghostly Maleger, who wore as his helmet a deadman's skull and rode upon a tiger swift as the wind. TheElizabethan dramatists were fascinated by the terrors of theinvisible world. Marlowe's Dr. Faustus, round whose name areclustered legends centuries old concerning bargains between manand the devil, the apparitions and witches in _Macbeth_, the deadhand, the corpse-like images, the masque of madmen, the tombmakerand the passing-bell in Webster's sombre tragedy, _The Duchess ofMalfi_, prove triumphantly the dramatic possibilities of terror. As a foil to his _Masque of Queens_ (1609) Ben Jonson introducedtwelve loathly witches with Até as their leader, and embellishedhis description of their profane rites, with details culled fromJames I. 's treatise on Demonology and from learned ancientauthorities. 

In _The Pilgrim's Progress_, Despair, who "had as many lives as acat, " his wife Diffidence at Doubting Castle, and Maul andSlaygood are the ogres of popular story, whose acquaintanceBunyan had made in chapbooks during his ungodly youth. Hobgoblins, devils and fiends, "sturdy rogues" like the threebrothers Faintheart, Mistrust and Guilt, who set upon Littlefaithin Dead Man's Lane, lend the excitement of terror to Christian'sjourney to the Celestial City. The widespread belief in witchesand spirits to which Browne and Burton and many others bearwitness in the seventeenth century, lived on in the eighteenthcentury, although the attitude of the "polite" in the age ofreason was ostensibly incredulous and superior. A scene in one ofthe _Spectator_ essays illustrates pleasantly the state ofpopular opinion. Addison, lodging with a good-natured widow inLondon, returns home one day to find a group of girls sitting bycandlelight, telling one another ghost-stories. At his entry theyare abashed, but, on the widow's assuring them that it is onlythe "gentleman, " they resume, while Addison, pretending to beabsorbed in his book at the far end of the table, covertlylistens to their tales of

 "ghosts that, pale as ashes, had stood at the feet of the bed or walked over a churchyard by moonlight; and others, who had been conjured into the Red Sea for disturbing people's rest. "[3]

In another essay Addison shows that he is strongly inclined tobelieve in the existence of spirits, though he repudiates theridiculous superstitions which prevailed in his day;[4] and SirRoger de Coverley frankly confesses his belief in witches. Defoe, in the preface to his _Essay on the History and Reality ofApparitions_ (1727) states uncompromisingly:

 "I must tell you, good people, he that is not able to see the devil, in whatever shape he is pleased to appear in, he is not really qualified to live in this world, no, not in the quality of a common inhabitant. "

Epworth Rectory, the home of John Wesley's father, was haunted in1716-17 by a persevering ghost called Old Jeffrey, whose exploitsare recorded with a gravity and circumstantial exactitude thatremind us of Defoe's narrative concerning the ghostly Mrs. Vealin her "scoured" silk. John Wesley declares stoutly that he isconvinced of the literal truth of the story of one ElizabethHobson, who professed to have been visited on several occasionsby supernatural beings. He upholds too the authenticity of thenotorious Drummer of Tedworth, whose escapades are described inchapbooks and in Glanvill's _Sadducismus Triumphatus_ (1666), abook in which he was keenly interested. In his journal (May 25th, 1768) he remarks:

 "It is true that the English in general, and indeed most of the men of learning in Europe, have given up all accounts of witches and apparitions, as mere old wives' fables. I am sorry for it; and I willingly take this opportunity of entering my solemn protest against this violent compliment which so many that believe the Bible pay to those who do not believe it. "

The Cock Lane ghost gained very general credit, and wasconsidered by Mrs. Nickleby a personage of some importance, whenshe boasted to Miss La Creevy that her great-grandfather went toschool with him--or her grandmother with the Thirsty Woman ofTutbury. The appearance of Lord Lyttleton's ghost in 1779 wasdescribed by Dr. Johnson, who was also disposed to believe in theCock Lane ghost, as the most extraordinary thing that hadhappened in his day. [5] There is abundant evidence that thepeople of the eighteenth century were extremely credulous, yet, in literature, there is a tendency to look askance at thesupernatural as at something wild and barbaric. Such ghosts aspresume to steal into poetry are amazingly tame, and evenelegant, in their speech and deportment. In Mallet's _William andMargaret_ (1759). Which was founded on a scrap of an old balladout of _The Knight of the Burning Pestle_, Margaret's wraithrebukes her false lover in a long and dignified oration. Butspirits were shy of appearing in an age when they were morelikely to be received with banter than with dread. Dr. Johnsonexpresses the attitude of his age when, in referring to Gray'spoem, _The Bard_, he remarks:

 "To select a singular event and swell it to a giant's bulk by fabulous appendages of spectres and predictions has little difficulty, for he that forsakes the probable may always find the marvellous. And it has little use; we are affected only as we believe; we are improved only as we find something to be imitated or declined. " (1780. )

The dictum that we are affected only as we believe is open tograve doubt. We are often thrown into a state of trepidationsimply through the power of the imagination. We are wise afterthe event, like Partridge at the play:

 "No, no, sir; ghosts don't appear in such dresses as that neither. .. And if it was really a ghost, it could do one no harm at such a distance, and in so much company; and yet, if I was frightened, I am not the only person. "[6]

The supernatural which persisted always in legends handed downfrom one generation to another on the lips of living people, hadnot lost its power to thrill and alarm, and gradually worked itsway back into literature. Although Gray and Collins do notventure far beyond the bounds of the natural, they were insympathy with the popular feelings of superstitious terror, andrealised how effective they would be in poetry. 

Collins, in his _Ode on the Superstitions of the ScottishHighlands_, adjures Home, the author of _Douglas_, to sing:

 "how, framing hideous spells, In Sky's lone isle, the gifted wizard-seer Lodged in the wintry cave with Fate's fell spear Or in the depths of Uist's dark forests dwells, How they whose sight such dreary dreams engross With their own vision oft astonished droop When o'er the wintry strath or quaggy moss They see the gliding ghosts unbodied troop. "

Burns, in the foreword to _Halloween_ (1785), writes in the"enlightened" spirit of the eighteenth century, but in the poemitself throws himself whole-heartedly into the hopes and fearsthat agitate the lovers. He owed much to an old woman who livedin his home in infancy:

 "She had . .. The largest collection in the country of tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons and other trumpery. This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry, but had so strong an effect on my imagination, that to this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out in suspicious places; it often takes an effort of philosophy to shake off these idle terrors. "[7]

_Tam o' Shanter_, written for Captain Grose, was perhaps based ona Scottish legend, learnt at the inglenook in childhood, fromthis old wife, or perhaps

 "By some auld houlet-haunted biggin Or kirk deserted by its riggin, "

from Captain Grose himself, who made to quake:

 "Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chamer, Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamor, And you, deep-read in hell's black grammar, Warlocks and witches. "

In it Burns reveals with lively reality the terrors that assailthe reveller on his homeward way through the storm:

 "Past the birks and meikle stane Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; And through the whins, and by the cairn Where hunters fand the murdered bairn And near the thorn, aboon the well Where Mungo's mither hanged hersell. "

For sheer terror the wild, fantastic witch-dance, seen through aGothic window in the ruins of Kirk-Alloway, with the light ofhumour strangely glinting through, has hardly been surpassed. TheBallad-collections, beginning with Percy's _Reliques of AncientEnglish Poetry_ (1705), brought poets back to the originalsources of terror in popular tradition, and helped to revive thelatent feelings of awe, wonder and fear. In Coleridge's _AncientManner_ the skeleton-ship with its ghastly crew--thespectre-woman and her deathmate--the sensations of the mariner, alone on a wide, wide sea, seize on our imagination withirresistible power. The very substance of the poem is woven ofthe supernatural. The dream imagery is thrown into relief byoccasional touches of reality--the lighthouse, the church on thecliff, the glimpses of the wedding, the quiet song of the hiddenbrook in the leafy month of June. We, like the mariner, afterloneliness so awful that

 "God himself Scarce seemèd there to be, "

welcome the firm earth beneath our feet, and the homely sound ofthe vesper bell. In _Christabel_ we float dreamily through scenesas unearthly and ephemeral as the misty moonlight, and the wordsin which Coleridge conjures up his vision fall into music ofmagic beauty. The opening of the poem creates a sense offoreboding, and the horror of the serpent-maiden is subtlysuggested through her effect on Christabel. Coleridge hints atthe terrible with artistic reticence. In _Kubla Khan_ the chasmis:

 "A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover. "

The poetry of Keats is often mysterious and suggestive of terror. The description of the Gothic hall in _The Eve of St. Agnes_:

 "In all the house was heard no human sound; A chain-drooped lamp was flickering by each door; The arras, rich with horseman, hawk and hound, Fluttered in the besieging wind's uproar; And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor;"

the serpent-maiden, Lamia, who

 "Seemed at once some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self;"

the grim story in _Isabella_ of Lorenzo's ghost, who

 "Moaned a ghostly undersong Like hoarse night-gusts sepulchral briers along. "

all lead us over the borderland. In a rejected stanza of the _Odeon Melancholy_, he abandons the horrible:

 "Though you should build a bark of dead men's bones And rear a phantom gibbet for a mast, Stitch shrouds together for a sail, with groans To fill it out, blood-stained and aghast; Although your rudder be a dragon's tail Long severed, yet still hard with agony, Your cordage, large uprootings from the skull Of bald Medusa, certes you would fail To find the Melancholy--"

Keats's melancholy is not to be found amid imagesof horror:

 "She dwells with Beauty--Beauty that must die, And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu. "

In _La Belle Dame sans Merci_ he conveys with delicate touch thememory of the vision which haunts the knight, alone and palelyloitering. We see it through his eyes:

 "I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all: They cried--'La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!'

 "I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill's side. "

From effects so exquisitely wrought as these it seems almostprofane to turn to the crude attempts of such poets as "Monk"Lewis or Southey to sound the note of terror. Yet they too, intheir fashion, played a part in the "Renascence of Wonder. "Coleridge, fascinated by the spirit of "gramarye" in Bürger's_Lenore_, etherealised and refined it. Scott and Lewis gloried inthe gruesome details and spirited rhythm of the ballad, and intheir supernatural poems wish to startle and terrify, not to awe, their readers. Those who revel in phosphorescent lights and inthe rattle of the skeleton are apt to o'erleap themselves; andScott's _Glenfinlas_, Lewis's _Alonzo the Brave and the FairImogene_ and Southey's _Old Woman of Berkeley_ fall into thecategory of the grotesque. Hogg intentionally mingles the comicand the terrible in his poem, _The Witch of Fife_, but hisprose-stories reveal his power of creating an atmosphere of_diablerie_, undisturbed by intrusive mockery. In the poem_Kilmeny_, he handles an uncanny theme with dreamy beauty. 

From the earliest times to the present day, writers of fictionhave realised the force of supernatural terror. In the_Babylonica_ of Iamblichus, the lovers evade their pursuers bypassing as spectres; the scene of the romance is laid in tombs, caverns, and robbers' dens, a setting remarkably like that ofGothic story. Into the English novel of the first half of theeighteenth century, however, the ghost dares not venture. Theinnate desire for the marvellous was met at this period not bythe novel, but by oral tradition and by such works as Galland'stranslation of _The Arabian Nights_, the Countess D'Aulnoy'scollection of fairy tales, Perrault's _Contes de ma Mère Oie_. Chapbooks setting forth mediaeval legends of "The Wandering Jew, "the "Demon Frigate, " or "Dr. Faustus, " and interspersed withanecdotes of freaks, monsters and murderers, satisfied thecraving for excitement among humbler readers. [8] Smollett, who, in his _Adventures of Ferdinand, Count Fathom_ (1753), seems tohave been experimenting with new devices for keeping alive theinterest of a _picaresque_ novel, anticipates the methods of Mrs. Radcliffe. Although he sedulously avoids introducing thesupernatural, he hovers perilously on the threshold. Thepublication of _The Castle of Otranto_ in 1764 was not so wild anadventure as Walpole would have his readers believe. The age wasripe for the reception of the marvellous. 

The supernatural had, as we have seen, begun to find its way backinto poetry, in the work of Gray and Collins. In Macpherson's_Ossian_, which was received with acclamation in 1760-3, themountains, heaths and lakes are haunted by shadowy, superstitiousfears. Dim-seen ghosts wail over the wastes. There is abundantevidence that "authentic" stories of ghostly appearances wereheard with respect. Those who eagerly explored Walpole's Gothiccastle and who took pleasure in Miss Reeve's well-trained ghost, had previously enjoyed the thrill of chimney corner legends. Theidea of the gigantic apparition was derived, no doubt, from theold legend of the figure seen by Wallace on the field of battle. The limbs, strewn carelessly about the staircase and the galleryof the castle, belong to a giant, very like those who are worstedby the heroes of popular story. Godwin, in an unusual flight offancy, amused himself by tracing a certain similitude between_Caleb Williams_ and _Bluebeard_, between _Cloudesley_ and _TheBabes in the Wood_, [9] and planned a story, on the analogy of theSleeping Beauty, in which the hero was to have the faculty ofunexpectedly falling asleep for twenty, thirty, or a hundredyears. [10]

Mrs. Radcliffe, who, so far as we may judge, did not draw hercharacters from the creatures of flesh and blood around her, seems to have adopted some of the familiar figures of old story. Emily's guardian, Montoni, in _The Mysteries of Udolpho_, likethe unscrupulous uncle in Godwin's _Cloudesley_, may well havebeen descended from the wicked uncle of the folk tale. The cruelstepmother is disguised as a haughty, scheming marchioness in_The Sicilian Romance_. The ogre drops his club, assumes a veneerof polite refinement and relies on the more gentlemanlike methodof the dagger and stiletto for gaining his ends. The banditti androbbers who infest the countryside in Gothic fiction are timehonoured figures. Travellers in Thessaly in Apuleius' _GoldenAss_, like the fugitives in Shelley's _Zastrozzi_ and _St. Irvyne_, find themselves in robbers' caves. The Gothic castle, suddenly encountered in a dark forest, is boldly transported fromfairyland and set down in Italy, Sicily or Spain. The chamber ofhorrors, with its alarming array of scalps or skeletons, iscivilised beyond recognition and becomes the deserted wing of anabbey, concealing nothing worse than one discarded wife, emaciated and dispirited, but still alive. The ghost-story, whichLudovico reads in the haunted chamber of Udolpho, is described byMrs. Radcliffe as a Provençal tale, but is in reality common tothe folklore of all countries. The restless ghost, who yearns forthe burial of his corpse, is as ubiquitous as the Wandering Jew. In the _Iliad_ he appears as the shade of Patroclus, pleadingwith Achilles for his funeral rites. According to a letter of theyounger Pliny, [11] he haunts a house in Athens, clanking hischains. He is found in every land, in every age. His femininecounterpart presented herself to Dickens' nurse requiring herbones, which were under a glass-case, to be "interred with everyundertaking solemnity up to twenty-four pound ten, in anotherparticular place. "[12] Melmoth the Wanderer, when he becomes thewooer of Immalee, seems almost like a reincarnation of the DemonLover. The wandering ball of fire that illuminates the duskyrecesses of so many Gothic abbeys is but another manifestation ofthe Fate-Moon, which shines, foreboding death, after Thorgunna'sfuneral, in the Icelandic saga. The witchcraft and demonologythat attracted Scott and "Monk" Lewis, may be traced far beyondSinclair's _Satan's Invisible World Discovered_ (1685), Bovet's_Pandemonium or the Devil's Cloyster Opened_ (1683), or ReginaldScot's _Discovery of Witchcraft_ (1584) to Ulysses' invocation ofthe spirits of the dead, [13] to the idylls of Theocritus and tothe Hebrew narrative of Saul's visit to the Cave of Endor. Thereare incidents in _The Golden Ass_ as "horrid" as any of thosedevised by the writers of Gothic romance. It would, indeed, be noeasy task to fashion scenes more terrifying than the mutilationof Socrates in _The Golden Ass_, by the witch, who tears out hisheart and stops the wound with a sponge which falls out when hestoops to drink at a river, or than the strange apparition of aragged, old woman who vanishes after leading the way to the room, where the baker's corpse hangs behind the door. Though the titleassumes a special literary significance at the close of theeighteenth century, the tale of terror appeals to deeply rootedinstincts, and belongs, therefore, to every age and clime. 

CHAPTER II - THE BEGINNINGS OF GOTHIC ROMANCE. 

To Horace Walpole, whose _Castle of Otranto_ was published onChristmas Eve, 1764, must be assigned the honour of havingintroduced the Gothic romance and of having made it fashionable. Diffident as to the success of so "wild" a story in an agedevoted to good sense and reason, he sent forth his mediaevaltale disguised as a translation from the Italian of "OnuphrioMuralto, " by William Marshall. It was only after it had beenreceived with enthusiasm that he confessed the authorship. As heexplained frankly in a letter to his friend Mason: "It is noteverybody that may in this country play the fool withimpunity. "[14] That Walpole regarded his story merely as afanciful, amusing trifle is clear from the letter he wrote toMiss Hannah More reproving her for putting so frantic a thinginto the hands of a Bristol milkwoman who wrote poetry in herleisure hours. [15] _The Castle of Otranto_ was but anothermanifestation of that admiration for the Gothic which had foundexpression fourteen years earlier in his miniature castle atStrawberry Hill, with its old armour and "lean windows fattenedwith rich saints. "[16] The word "Gothic" in the early eighteenthcentury was used as a term of reproach. To Addison, SienaCathedral was but a "barbarous" building, which might have been amiracle of architecture, had our forefathers "only beeninstructed in the right way. "[17] Pope in his _Preface toShakespeare_ admits the strength and majesty of the Gothic, butdeplores its irregularity. In _Letters on Chivalry and Romance_, published two years before _The Castle of Otranto_, Hurd pleadsthat Spenser's _Faerie Queene_ should be read and criticised as aGothic, not a classical, poem. He clearly recognises the right ofthe Gothic to be judged by laws of its own. When the nineteenthcentury is reached the epithet has lost all tinge of blame, andhas become entirely one of praise. From the time when he began tobuild his castle, in 1750, Walpole's letters abound in referencesto the Gothic, and he confesses once: "In the heretical corner ofmy heart I adore the Gothic building. "[18] At Strawberry Hill thehall and staircase were his special delight and they probablyformed the background of that dream in which he saw a gigantichand in armour on the staircase of an ancient castle. When Dr. Burney visited Walpole's home in 1786 he remarked on the strikingrecollections of _The Castle of Otranto_, brought to mind by "thedeep shade in which some of his antique portraits were placed andthe lone sort of look of the unusually shaped apartments in whichthey were hung. "[19] We know how in idle moments Walpole loved tobrood on the picturesque past, and we can imagine his fallingasleep, after the arrival of a piece of armour for hiscollection, with his head full of plans for the adornment of hischerished castle. His story is but an expansion of thisdilettante's nightmare. His interest in things mediaeval was notthat of an antiquary, but rather that of an artist who lovesthings old because of their age and beauty. In a delightfully gayletter to his friend, George Montagu, referring flippantly to hisappointment as Deputy Ranger of Rockingham Forest, he writes, after drawing a vivid picture of a "Robin Hood reformé":

 "Visions, you know, have always been my pasture; and so far from growing old enough to quarrel with their emptiness, I almost think there is no wisdom comparable to that of exchanging what is called the realities of life for dreams. Old castles, old pictures, old histories and the babble of old people make one live back into centuries that cannot disappoint one. One holds fast and surely what is past. The dead have exhausted their power of deceiving--one can trust Catherine of Medicis now. In short, you have opened a new landscape to my fancy; and my lady Beaulieu will oblige me as much as you, if she puts the long bow into your hands. I don't know, but the idea may produce some other _Castle of Otranto_. "[20]

So Walpole came near to anticipating the greenwood scenes of_Ivanhoe_. The decking and trappings of chivalry filled him withboyish delight, and he found in the glitter and colour of themiddle ages a refuge from the prosaic dullness of the eighteenthcentury. A visit from "a Luxembourg, a Lusignan and a Montfort"awoke in his whimsical fancy a mental image of himself in theguise of a mediaeval baron: "I never felt myself so much in _TheCastle of Otranto_. It sounded as if a company of noble crusaderswere come to sojourn with me before they embarked for the HolyLand";[21] and when he heard of the marvellous adventures of alarge wolf who had caused a panic in Lower Languedoc, he wasreminded of the enchanted monster of old romance and declaredthat, had he known of the creature earlier, it should haveappeared in _The Castle of Otranto_. [22] "I have taken toastronomy, " he declares on another occasion, "now that the scale is enlarged enough to satisfy my taste, who love gigantic ideas--do not be afraid; I am not going to write a second part to _The Castle of Otranto_, nor another account of the Patagonians who inhabit the new Brobdingnag planet. "[23]

These unstudied utterances reveal, perhaps more clearly thanWalpole's deliberate confessions about his book, the mood ofirresponsible, light-hearted gaiety in which he started on hisenterprise. If we may rely on Walpole's account of itscomposition, _The Castle of Otranto_ was fashioned rapidly in awhite heat of excitement, but the creation of the story probablycost him more effort than he would have us believe. The result, at least, lacks spontaneity. We never feel for a moment that weare living invisible amidst the characters, but we sit aloof likePuck, thinking: "Lord, what fools these mortals be!" Hissupernatural machinery is as undignified as the pantomimeproperties of Jack the Giant-killer. The huge body scatteredpiecemeal about the castle, the unwieldy sabre borne by a hundredmen, the helmet "tempestuously agitated, " and even the "skeletonin a hermit's cowl" are not only unalarming but mildlyridiculous. Yet to the readers of his day the story wascaptivating and entrancing. It satisfied a real craving for theromantic and marvellous. The first edition of five hundred copieswas sold out in two months, and others followed rapidly. Thestory was dramatised by Robert Jephson and produced at CoventGarden Theatre under the title of _The Count of Narbonne_, withan epilogue by Malone. It was staged again later in Dublin, Kemble playing the title rôle. It was translated into French, German and Italian. In England its success was immediate, thoughseveral years elapsed before it was imitated. Gray, to whom thestory was first attributed, wrote of it in March, 1765: "Itengages our attention here (at Cambridge), makes some of us cry alittle, and all in general afraid to go to bed o' nights. " Masonpraised it, and Walpole's letters refer repeatedly to the vogueit enjoyed. This widespread popularity is an indication of theeagerness with which readers of 1765 desired to escape from thepresent and to revel for a time in strange, bygone centuries. Although Walpole regarded the composition of his Gothic story asa whim, his love of the past was shared by others of hisgeneration. Of this Macpherson's _Ossian_ (1760-3), Kurd's_Letters on Chivalry and Romance_ (1762), and Percy's _Reliques_(1765), are, each in its fashion, a sufficient proof. Thehalf-century from 1760 to 1810 showed remarkably definite signsof a renewed interest in things written between 1100 and 1650, which had been neglected for a century or more. _The Castle ofOtranto_, which was "an attempt to blend the marvellous of oldstory with the natural of modern novels" is an early symptom ofthis revulsion to the past; and it exercised a charm on Scott aswell as on Mrs. Radcliffe and her school. _The Castle of Otranto_is significant, not because of its intrinsic merit, but becauseof its power in shaping the destiny of the novel. 

The outline of the plot is worth recording for the sake oftracing ancestral likenesses when we reach the later romances. The only son of Manfred--the villain of the piece--is discoveredon his wedding morning dashed to pieces beneath an enormoushelmet. Determined that his line shall not become extinct, Manfred decides to divorce Hippolyta and marry Isabella, hisson's bride. To escape from her pursuer, Isabella takes flightdown a "subterraneous passage, " where she is succoured by a"peasant" Theodore, who bears a curious resemblance to a portraitof the "good Alfonso" in the gallery of the castle. The servantsof the castle are alarmed at intervals by the sudden appearanceof massive pieces of armour in different parts of the building. Aclap of thunder, which shakes the castle to its foundations, heralds the culmination of the story. A hundred men bear in ahuge sabre; and an apparition of the illustrious Alfonso--whoseportrait in the gallery once walks straight out of itsframe[24]--appears, "dilated to an immense magnitude, "[25] anddemands that Manfred shall surrender Otranto to the rightfulheir, Theodore, who has been duly identified by the mark of a"bloody arrow. " Alfonso, thus pacified, ascends into heaven, where he is received into glory by St. Nicholas. As Matilda, whowas beloved of Theodore, has incidentally been slain by herfather, Theodore consoles himself with Isabella. Manfred and hiswife meekly retire to neighbouring convents. With thisanti-climax the story closes. To present the "dry bones" of aromantic story is often misleading, but the method is perhapsjustifiable in the case of _The Castle of Otranto_, becauseWalpole himself scorned embellishments and declared in hisgrandiloquent fashion:

 "If this air of the miraculous is excused, the reader will find nothing else unworthy of his perusal. There is no bombast, no similes, flowers, digressions or unnecessary descriptions. Everything tends directly to the catastrophe. "[26]

But with all its faults _The Castle of Otranto_ did not fallfruitless on the earth. The characters are mere puppets, yet wemeet the same types again and again in later Gothic romances. Though Clara Reeve renounced such "obvious improbabilities" as aghost in a hermit's cowl and a walking picture, she was anacknowledged disciple of Walpole, and, like him, made an"interesting peasant" the hero of her story, _The Old EnglishBaron_. Jerome is the prototype of many a count disguised asfather confessor, Bianca the pattern of many a chatteringservant. The imprisoned wife reappears in countless romances, including Mrs. Radcliffe's _Sicilian Romance_ (1790), and Mrs. Roche's _Children of the Abbey_ (1798). The tyrannical father--nonew creation, however--became so inevitable a figure in fictionthat Jane Austen had to assure her readers that Mr. Morland "wasnot in the least addicted to locking up his daughters, " and MissMartha Buskbody, the mantua-maker of Gandercleugh, whom JedediahCleishbotham ingeniously called to his aid in writing theconclusion of _Old Mortality_, assured him, as the fruit of herexperience in reading through the stock of three circulatinglibraries that, in a novel, young people may fall in love withoutthe countenance of their parents, "because it is essential to thenecessary intricacy of the story. " But apart from his characters, who are so colourless that they hardly hold our attention, Walpole bequeathed to his successors a remarkable collection ofuseful "properties. " The background of his story is a Gothiccastle, singularly unenchanted it is true, but capable of beinginvested by Mrs. Radcliffe with mysterious grandeur. Otrantocontains underground vaults, ill-fitting doors with rusty hinges, easily extinguished lamps and a trap-door--objects trivial andinsignificant in Walpole's hands, but fraught with terriblepossibilities. Otranto would have fulfilled admirably therequirements of Barrett's Cherubina, who, when looking forlodgings demanded--to the indignation of a maidservant, who cameto the door--old pictures, tapestry, a spectre and creakinghinges. Scott, writing in 1821, remarks:

 "The apparition of the skeleton-hermit to the prince of Vicenza was long accounted a masterpiece of the horrible; but of late the valley of Jehosaphat could hardly supply the dry bones necessary for the exhibition of similar spectres. "

But Cherubina, whose palate was jaded by a surfeit of the pungenthorrors of Walpole's successors, would probably have found _TheCastle of Otranto_ an insipid romance and would have lamentedthat he did not make more effective use of his supernaturalmachinery. His story offered hints and suggestions to those whosegreater gifts turned the materials he had marshalled to betteraccount, and he is to be honoured rather for what he instigatedothers to perform than for what he actually accomplished himself. _The Castle of Otranto_ was not intended as a seriouscontribution to literature, but will always survive in literaryhistory as the ancestor of a thriving race of romances. 

More than ten years before the publication of _The Castle ofOtranto_, Smollett, in his _Adventures of Ferdinand, CountFathom_, had chanced upon the devices employed later in the taleof terror. The tremors of fear to which his rascally hero issubjected lend the spice of alarm to what might have been but amonotonous record of villainy. Smollett depicts skilfully theimaginary terrors created by darkness and solitude. As the Counttravels through the forest:

 "The darkness of the night, the silence and solitude of the place, the indistinct images of the trees that appeared on every side, stretching their extravagant arms athwart the gloom, conspired, with the dejection of spirits occasioned by his loss, to disturb his fancy and raise strange phantoms in his imagination. Although he was not naturally superstitious, his mind began to be invaded with an awful horror that gradually prevailed over all the consolations of reason and philosophy; nor was his heart free from the terrors of assassination. In order to dissipate these agreeable reveries, he had recourse to the conversation of his guide, by whom he was entertained with the history of divers travellers who had been robbed and murdered by ruffians, whose retreat was in the recesses of that very wood. "[27]

The sighing of the trees, thunder and sudden flashes of lightningadd to the horror of a journey, which resembles Mrs. Radcliffe'sdescription of Emily's approach to Udolpho. When Count Fathomtakes refuge in a robber's hut, he discovers in his room, whichhas no bolt on the inside of the door, the body of a recentlymurdered man, concealed beneath some bundles of straw. Effectinghis escape by placing the corpse in his own bed to deceive therobbers, the count is mistaken for a phantom by the old woman whowaits upon him. In carrying out his designs upon Celinda, thecount aggravates her natural timidity by relating dismal storiesof omens and apparitions, and then groans piteously outside herdoor and causes the mysterious music of an Æolian harp to soundupon the midnight air. Celinda sleeps, too, like the ill-starredheroine of the novel of terror, "at the end of a long gallery, scarce within hearing of any other inhabited part of thehouse. "[28] The scene in _Count Fathom_, in which Renaldo, atmidnight, visits, as he thinks, the tomb of Monimia, issurrounded with circumstances of gloom and mystery:

 "The uncommon darkness of the night, the solemn silence and lonely situation of the place, conspired with the occasion of his coming and the dismal images of his fancy, to produce a real rapture of gloomy expectation. .. The clock struck twelve, the owl screeched from the ruined battlement, the door was opened by the sexton, who, by the light of a glimmering taper, conducted the despairing lover to a dreary aisle. "

As he watches again on a second night:

 "His ear was suddenly invaded with the sound of some few, solemn notes, issuing from the organ which seemed to feel the impulse of an invisible hand . .. Reason shrunk before the thronging ideas of his fancy, which represented this music as the prelude to something strange and supernatural. "[29]

The figure of a woman, arrayed in a flowing robe and veil, approaches--and proves to be Monimia in the flesh. AlthoughSmollett precedes Walpole, in point of time, he is, in thesescenes, nearer in spirit to Udolpho than Otranto. His use ofterror, however, is merely incidental; he strays inadvertentlyinto the history of Gothic romance. The suspicions andforebodings, with which Smollett plays occasionally upon thenerves of his readers, become part of the ordinary routine in thetale of terror. 

Clara Reeve's Gothic story, first issued under the title of _TheChampion of Virtue_, but later as _The Old English Baron_, waspublished in 1777--twelve years after Walpole's _Castle ofOtranto_, of which, as she herself asserted, it was the "literaryoffspring. " By eliminating all supernatural incidents save oneghost, she sought to bring her story "within the utmost verge ofprobability. " Walpole, perhaps displeased by the slightingreferences in the preface to some of the more extraordinaryincidents in his novel, received _The Old English Baron_ withdisdain, describing it as "totally void of imagination andinterest. "[30] His strictures are unjust. There are certainly nowild flights of fancy in Clara Reeve's story, but an even levelof interest is maintained throughout. Her style is simple andrefreshingly free from affectation. The plot is neither rapid norexhilarating, but it never actually stagnates. Like Walpole'sGothic story, _The Old English Baron_ is supposed to be atranscript from an ancient manuscript. The period, we areassured, is that of the minority of Henry VI. , but despite anelaborately described tournament, we never really leaveeighteenth century England. Edmund Twyford, the reputed son of acottager, is befriended by a benevolent baron Fitzowen, but, through his good fortune and estimable qualities, excites theenvy of Fitzowen's nephews and his eldest son. To prove thecourage of Edmund, who has been basely slandered by his enemies, the baron asks him to spend three nights in the haunted apartmentof the castle. Up to this point, there has been nothing todifferentiate the story from an uneventful domestic novel. Theghost is of the mechanical variety and does not inspire awe whenhe actually appears, but Miss Reeve tries to prepare our mindsfor the shock, before she introduces him. The rusty locks and thesudden extinction of the lamp are a heritage from Walpole, butthe "hollow, rustling noise" and the glimmering light, naturallyexplained later by the approach of a servant with a faggot, anticipate Mrs. Radcliffe. Like Adeline later, in _The Romance ofthe Forest_, Edmund is haunted by prophetic dreams. The secondnight the ghost violently clashes his armour, but still remainsconcealed. The third night dismal groans are heard. The ghostdoes not deign to appear in person until the baron's nephewswatch, and then:

 "All the doors flew open, a pale glimmering light appeared at the door from the staircase, and a man in complete armour entered the room: he stood with one hand extended pointing to the outward door. "

It is to vindicate the rights of this departed spirit that SirRalph Harclay challenges Sir Walter Lovel to a "mediaeval"tournament. Before the story closes, Edmund is identified as theowner of Castle Lovel, and is married to Lady Emma, Fitzowen'sdaughter. The narration of the unusual circumstances connectedwith his birth takes some time, as the foster parents suffer fromwhat is described by writers on psychology as "total recall, " andare unable to select the salient details. The characters arerather dim and indistinct, the shadowiest of all being Emma, whohas no personality at all, and is a mere complement to theimmaculate Edmund's happiness. The good and bad are sharplydistinguished. There are no "doubtful cases, " and consequentlythere is no difficulty in distributing appropriate rewards andpunishments at the close of the story--the whole "furnishing astriking lesson to posterity of the overruling hand of providenceand the certainty of retribution. " Clara Reeve was fifty-twoyears of age when she published her Gothic story, and she writesin the spirit of a maiden aunt striving to edify as well as toentertain the younger generation. When Edmund takes Fitzowen toview the fatal closet and the bones of his murdered father, heconsiders the scene "too solemn for a lady to be present at"; andhis love-making is as frigid as the supernatural scenes. The herois young in years, but has no youthful ardour. The very ghost ismanipulated in a half-hearted fashion and fails to produce theslightest thrill. The natural inclination of the authoress wasprobably towards domestic fiction with a didactic intention, andshe attempted a "mediaeval" setting as a _tour de force_, inemulation of Walpole's _Castle of Otranto_. The hero, whose birthis enshrouded in mystery, the restless ghost groaning for thevindication of rights, the historical background, the archaicspelling of the challenge, are all ineffective fumblings towardsthe romantic. _The Old English Baron_ is an unambitious work, butit has a certain hold upon our attention because of its limpidityof style. It can be read without discomfort and even with a milddegree of interest simply as a story, while _The Castle ofOtranto_ is only tolerable as a literary curiosity. A tragedy, _Edmond_, _Orphan of the Castle_ (1799), was founded upon thestory, which was translated into French in 1800. Miss Reeveinforms the public in a preface to a late edition of _The OldEnglish Baron_ that, in compliance with the suggestion of afriend, she had composed _Castle Connor, an Irish Story_, inwhich apparitions were introduced. The manuscript of this talewas unfortunately lost. Not even a mouldering fragment has beenrescued from an ebony cabinet in the deserted chamber of anancient abbey, and we are left wondering whether the ghosts spokewith a brogue. 

When Walpole wrote disparagingly of Clara Reeve's imitation ofhis Gothic story, he singled out for praise a fragment which heattributes to Mrs. Barbauld. The story to which he alludes isevidently the unfinished _Sir Bertrand_, which is contained inone of the volumes entitled _Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose_, published jointly by J. And A. L. Aikin in 1773, and preceded byan essay _On the Pleasure Derived from Objects of Terror_. LeighHunt, who reprinted _Sir Bertrand_, which had impressed him verystrongly in his boyhood, in his _Book for a Corner_ (1849)ascribes the authorship of the tale to Dr. Aikin, commenting onthe fact that he was "a writer from whom this effusion was hardlyto have been looked for. " It is probably safe to assume thatWalpole, who was a contemporary of the Aikins and who took alively interest in the literary gossip of the day, was right inassigning _Sir Bertrand_ to Miss Aikin, [31] afterwards Mrs. Barbauld, though the story is not included in _The Works of AnneLetitia Barbauld_, edited by Miss Lucy Aikin in 1825. That theminds of the Aikins were exercised about the sources of pleasurein romance, especially when connected with horror and distress, is clear not only from this essay and the illustrative fragmentbut also from other essays and stories in the samecollection--_On Romances, an Imitation_, and _An Enquiry intothose Kinds of Distress which Excite Agreeable Sensations_. Inthe preliminary essay to _Sir Bertrand_ an attempt is made toexplain why terrible scenes excite pleasurable emotions and todistinguish between two different types of horror, as illustratedby _The Castle of Otranto_, which unites the marvellous and theterrible, and by a scene of mere natural horror in Smollett's_Count Fathom_. The story _Sir Bertrand_ is an attempt to combinethe two kinds of horror in one composition. A knight, wanderingin darkness on a desolate and dreary moor, hears the tolling of abell, and, guided by a glimmering light, finds "an antiquemansion" with turrets at the corners. As he approaches the porch, the light glides away. All is dark and still. The light reappearsand the bell tolls. As Sir Bertrand enters the castle, the doorcloses behind him. A bluish flame leads him up a staircase tillhe comes to a wide gallery and a second staircase, where thelight vanishes. He grasps a dead-cold hand which he severs fromthe wrist with his sword. The blue flame now leads him to avault, where he sees the owner of the hand "completely armed, thrusting forwards the bloody stump of an arm, with a terriblefrown and menacing gesture and brandishing a sword in theremaining hand. " When attacked, the figure vanishes, leavingbehind a massive, iron key which unlocks a door leading to anapartment containing a coffin, and statues of black marble, attired in Moorish costume, holding enormous sabres in theirright hands. As the knight enters, each of them rears an arm andadvances a leg and at the same moment the lid of the coffin opensand the bell tolls. Sir Bertrand, guided by the flames, approaches the coffin from which a lady in a shroud and a blackveil arises. When he kisses her, the whole building falls asunderwith a crash. Sir Bertrand is thrown into a trance and awakes ina gorgeous room, where he sees a beautiful lady who thanks him asher deliverer. At a banquet, nymphs place a laurel wreath on hishead, but as the lady is about to address him the fragment breaksoff. 

The architecture of the castle, with its gallery, staircase andsubterranean vaults, closely resembles that of Walpole's Gothicstructure. The "enormous sabres" too are familiar to readers of_The Castle of Otranto_. The gliding light, disquieting at theoutset of the story but before the close familiar grown, isdoomed to be the guide of many a distressed wanderer through theGothic labyrinths of later romances. Mrs. Barbauld chose herproperties with admirable discretion, but lacked the art to usethem cunningly. A tolling bell, heard in the silence and darknessof a lonely moor, will quicken the beatings of the heart, butemployed as a prompter's signal to herald the advance of a groupof black statues is only absurd. After the grimly suggestiveopening, the story gradually loses in power as it proceeds andthe happy ending, which wings our thoughts back to the SleepingBeauty of childhood, is wholly incongruous. If the fragment hadended abruptly at the moment when the lady arises in her shroudfrom the coffin, _Sir Bertrand_ would have been a more effectivetale of terror. From the historical point of view Mrs. Barbauld'scurious patchwork is full of interest. She seems to be reachingout wistfully towards the mysterious and the unknown. Genuinelyanxious to awaken a thrill of excitement in the breast of herreader, she is hesitating and uncertain as to the best way ofwinning her effect. She is but a pioneer in the art of freezingthe blood and it were idle to expect that she should rush boldlyinto a forest of horrors. Naturally she prefers to follow thetracks trodden by Walpole and Smollett; but with intuitiveforesight she seems to have realised the limitations of Walpole'smarvellous machinery, and to have attempted to explore theregions of the fearful unknown. Her opening scene works on thatinstinctive terror of the dark and the unseen, upon which Mrs. Radcliffe bases many of her most moving incidents. 

Among the _Poetical Sketches_ of Blake, written between 1768 and1777, and published in 1783, there appears an extraordinary poemwritten in blank verse, but divided into quatrains, and entitled_Fair Elenor_. This juvenile production seems to indicate thatBlake was familiar with Walpole's Gothic story. [32] The heroine, wandering disconsolately by night in the castle vaults--a placeof refuge first rendered fashionable by Isabella in _The Castleof Otranto_--faints with horror, thinking that she beholds herhusband's ghost, but soon:

 "Fancy returns, and now she thinks of bones And grinning skulls and corruptible death Wrapped in his shroud; and now fancies she hears Deep sighs and sees pale, sickly ghosts gliding. "

A reality more horrible than her imaginings awaits her. Ableeding head is abruptly thrust into her arms by an assassin inthe employ of a villainous and anonymous "duke. " Fair Elenorretires to her bed and gives utterance to an outburst of similesin praise of her dead lord. Thus encouraged, the bloody head ofher murdered husband describes its lurid past, and warns Elenorto beware of the duke's dark designs. Elenor wisely avoids themachinations of the villain, and brings an end to the poem, bybreathing her last. Blake's story is faintly reminiscent of thepopular legend of Anne Boleyn, who, with her bleeding head in herlap, is said to ride down the avenue of Blickling Park once ayear in a hearse drawn by horsemen and accompanied by attendants, all headless out of respect to their mistress. 

Blake's youthful excursion into the murky gloom of Gothic vaultsresulted in a poem so crude that even "Monk" Lewis, who was noconnoisseur, would have declined it regretfully as a contributionto his _Tales of Terror_, but _Fair Elenor_ is worthy ofremembrance as an early indication of Walpole's influence, whichwas to become so potent on the history of Gothic romance. 

The Gothic experiments of Dr. Nathan Drake, published in his_Literary Hours_ (1798), are extremely instructive as indicatingthe critical standpoint of the time. Drake, like Mrs. Barbauldand her brother, was deeply interested in the sources of thepleasure derived from tales of terror, and wrote his Gothicstories to confirm and illustrate the theories propounded in hisessays. He discusses gravely and learnedly the kinds offictitious horror that excite agreeable sensations, and thenproceeds to arrange carefully calculated effects, designed toalarm his readers, but not to outrage their sense of decorum. Hehas none of the reckless daring of "Monk" Lewis, who flungrestraint to the winds and raced in mad career through an orgy ofhorrors. In his enchanted castles we are disturbed by an uneasysuspicion that the inhabitants are merely allegorical characters, and that the spectre of a moral lurks in some dim recess ready tospring out upon us suddenly. Dr. Drake's mind was as a housedivided against itself: he was a moralist, emulating the "sageand serious Spenser" in his desire to exalt virtue and abasevice, he was a critic working out, with calm detachment, practical illustrations of the theories he had formulated, and hewas a romantic enthusiast, imbued with a vague but genuineadmiration for the wild superstitions of a bygone age. Hisstories exhibit painful evidence of the conflict which wagedbetween the three sides of his nature. In the essay prefixed to_Henry Fitzowen, a Gothic Tale_, he distinguishes between the twospecies of Gothic superstition, the gloomy and the sportive, andaddresses an ode to the two goddesses of Superstition--one theoffspring of Fear and Midnight, the other of Hesper and the Moon. In his story the spectres of darkness are put to flight by atroop of aerial spirits. Dr. Drake knew the Gothic stories ofWalpole, Mrs. Barbauld, Clara Reeve and Mrs. Radcliffe; andtraces of the influence of each may be found in his work. HenryFitzowen loves Adeline de Montfort, but has a powerful anddiabolical rival--Walleran--whose character combines the mostdangerous qualities of Mrs. Radcliffe's villains with the magicalgifts of a wizard. Fitzowen, not long before the day fixed forhis wedding, is led astray, while hunting, by an elusive stag, aspectral monk and a "wandering fire, " and arrives home in athunderstorm to find his castle enveloped in total darkness andtwo of his servants stretched dead at his feet. He learns fromhis mother and sister, who are shut in a distant room, thatAdeline has been carried off by armed ruffians. BelievingWalleran to be responsible for this outrage, Fitzowen sets outthe next day in search of him. After weary wanderings he isbeguiled into a Gothic castle by a foul witch, who resembles oneof Spenser's loathly hags, and on his entrance hears peals ofdiabolical laughter. He sees spectres, blue lights, and thecorpse of Horror herself. When he slays Walleran the enchantmentsdisappear. At the end of a winding passage he finds a cavernilluminated by a globe of light, and discovers Adeline asleep ona couch. He awakes her with a kiss. Thunder shakes the earth, araging whirlwind tears the castle from its foundations, and thelovers awake from their trance in a beautiful, moonlit vale wherethey hear enchanting music and see knights, nymphs and spirits. Abeauteous queen tells them that the spirits of the blest havefreed them from Horror's dread agents. The music dies away, thespirits flee and the lovers find themselves in a country road. Astory of the same type is told by De La Motte Fouqué in _TheField of Terror_. [33] Before the steadfast courage of thelabourer who strives to till the field, diabolical enchantmentsdisappear. It is an ancient legend turned into moral allegory. 

In the essay on _Objects of Terror_, which precedes _Montmorenci, a Fragment_, Drake discusses that type of terror, which is"excited by the interference of a simple, material causation, "and which "requires no small degree of skill and arrangement toprevent its operating more pain than pleasure. " He condemnsWalpole's _Mysterious Mother_ on the ground that the catastropheis only productive of horror and aversion, and regards the oldballad, _Edward_, as intolerable to any person of sensibility, but praises Dante and Shakespeare for keeping within the "boundsof salutary and grateful pleasure. " The scene in _The Italian_, where Schedoni, about to plunge a dagger into Ellena's bosom, recoils, in the belief that he has discovered her to be his owndaughter, is commended as "appalling yet delighting the reader. "In the productions of Mrs. Radcliffe, "the Shakespeare of RomanceWriters, who to the wild landscape of Salvator Rosa has added thesofter graces of a Claude, " he declares, "may be found many scenes truly terrific in their conception, yet so softened down, and the mind so much relieved, by the intermixture of beautiful description, or pathetic incident, that the impression of the whole never becomes too strong, never degenerates into horror, but pleasurable emotion is ever the predominating result. "

The famous scene in _Ferdinand, Count Fathom_, the description ofDanger in Collins' _Ode to Fear_, the Scottish ballad of_Hardyknute_ are mentioned as admirable examples of the fearexcited by natural causes. In the fragment called _Montmorenci_, Drake aims at combining "picturesque description with some ofthose objects of terror which are independent of supernaturalagency. " As the curfew tolls sullenly, Henry de Montmorenci andhis two attendants rush from a castle into the darkness of astormy night. They hurry through a savage glen, in which aswollen torrent falls over a precipice. After hearing the crashof falling armour, they suddenly come upon a dying knight onwhose pale features every mark of horror is depicted. Led byfrightful screams of distress, Montmorenci and his men find amaiden, who has been captured by banditti. Montmorenci slays theleader, but is seized by the rest of the banditti and bound to atree overlooking a stupendous chasm into which he is to behurled. By almost superhuman struggles he effects his escape, when suddenly--there at this terror-fraught moment, the fragmentwisely ends. 

In _The Abbey of Clunedale_ Drake experiments feebly andineffectively with the "explained supernatural" in which Mrs. Radcliffe was an adept. The ruined abbey, deemed to be haunted, is visited at night as an act of penance by a man named Cliffordwho, in a fit of unfounded jealousy, has slain his wife'sbrother. Clifford, accompanied by his sister, and bearing alight, kneels at his wife's tomb, and is mistaken for a spectralbeing. 

The Gothic tale entitled _Sir Egbert_ is based on an ancientlegend associated with one of the turrets of Rochester Castle. Sir Egbert, searching for his friend, Conrad, who had disappearedin suspicious circumstances, hears from the Knights Templars, that the wicked Constable is believed to hold two lovers in aprofound and deathlike sleep. He resolves to make an attempt todraw from its sheath the sword which separates them and sorestore them to life and liberty. Undismayed by the fate of thosewho have fallen in the quest, Sir Egbert enters the castle, wherehe is entertained at a gorgeous feast. When the festivities areat their height, and Sir Egbert has momentarily forgotten hisenterprise, a terrible shriek is heard. The revellers vanish, andSir Egbert is left alone to face a spectral corpse, which beckonshim onward to a vault, where in flaming characters are inscribedthe words: "Death to him who violates the mysteries of Gundulph'sTower. " Nothing daunted, Sir Egbert amid execrations of fiends, encounters delusive horrors and at last unsheathes the sword. Thelovers awake, and the whole apparatus of enchantment vanishes. Conrad tells how he and Bertha, six years before, had been luredby a wandering fire to a luxurious cavern, where they drank amagic potion. The story closes with the marriage of Conrad andBertha, and of Egbert and Matilda, a sister of one of the othervictims of the same enchanter. 

In Dr. Drake's stories are patiently collected all the heirloomsnecessary for the full equipment of a Gothic castle. Massivedoors, which sway ponderously on their hinges or are forciblyburst open and which invariably close with a resounding crash, dark, eerie galleries, broken staircases, decayed apartments, mouldering floors, tolling bells, skeletons, corpses, howlingspectres--all are there; but the possessor, overwhelmed by thevery profusion which surrounds him, is at a loss how to make useof them. He does not realise the true significance of ahalf-stifled groan or an unearthly yell heard in the darkness. Each new horror indeed seems but to put new life into the heartof the redoubtable Sir Egbert, who, like Spenser's gallantknights, advances from triumph to triumph vanquishing evil atevery step. It is impossible to become absorbed in hispersonages, who have less body than his spectres, and whoseadventures take the form of a walk through an exhibition ofhorrors, mechanically set in motion to prove their prowess. Dr. Drake seems happier when the hideous beings are put to rout, andthe transformation-scene, which places fairyland before us, suddenly descends on the stage. Yet the bungling attempts of Dr. Drake are interesting as showing that grave and critical mindswere prepared to consider the tale of terror as a legitimate formof literature, obeying certain definite rules of its own andaiming at the excitement of a pleasurable fear. The seed ofGothic story, sown at random by Horace Walpole, had by 1798 takenfirm root in the soil. Drake's enthusiasm for Gothic story wasassociated with his love for older English poetry and with hisinterest in Scandinavian mythology. He was a genuine admirer ofSpenser and attempted imitations, in modern diction, of oldballads. It is for his bent towards the romantic, rather than forhis actual accomplishments, that Drake is worthy of remembrance. 

CHAPTER III - "THE NOVEL OF SUSPENSE. " MRS. RADCLIFFE. 

The enthusiasm which greeted Walpole's enchanted castle and MissReeve's carefully manipulated ghost, indicated an eager desirefor a new type of fiction in which the known and familiar weresuperseded by the strange and supernatural. To meet this end Mrs. Radcliffe suddenly came forward with her attractive store ofmysteries, and it was probably her timely appearance that savedthe Gothic tale from an early death. The vogue of the novel ofterror, though undoubtedly stimulated by German influence, wasmainly due to her popularity and success. The writers of thefirst half of the nineteenth century abound in references to herworks, [34] and she thus still enjoys a shadowy, ghost-likecelebrity. Many who have never had the curiosity to explore thelabyrinths of the underground passages, with which her castlesare invariably honeycombed, or who have never shuddered withapprehension before the "black veil, " know of their existencethrough _Northanger Abbey_, and have probably also read howThackeray at school amused himself and his friends by drawingillustrations of Mrs. Radcliffe's novels. 

Of Mrs. Radcliffe's life few facts are known, and ChristinaRossetti, one of her many admirers, was obliged, in 1883, torelinquish the plan of writing her biography, because thematerials were so scanty. [35] From the memoir prefixed to theposthumous volumes, published in 1826, containing _Gaston deBlondeville_, and various poems, we learn that she was born in1764, the very year in which Walpole issued _The Castle ofOtranto_, and that her maiden name was Ann Ward. In 1787 shemarried William Radcliffe, an Oxford graduate and a student oflaw, who became editor of a weekly newspaper, _The EnglishChronicle_. Her life was so secluded that biographers did nothesitate to invent what they could not discover. The legend thatshe was driven frantic by the horrors that she had conjured upwas refuted after her death. 

It may have been the publication of _The Recess_ by Sophia Lee in1785 that inspired Mrs. Radcliffe to try her fortune with ahistorical novel. _The Recess_ is a story of languid interest, circling round the adventures of the twin daughters of Mary Queenof Scots and the Duke of Norfolk. Yet as we meander gentlythrough its mazes we come across an abbey "of Gothic elegance andmagnificence, " a swooning heroine who plays the lute, thunderstorms, banditti and even an escape in a coffin--itemswhich may well have attracted the notice of Mrs. Radcliffe, whosefirst novel, _The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne_, [36] appearedin 1789. Considered historically, this immature work is full ofinterest, for, with the notable exception of the supernatural, itcontains in embryo nearly all the elements of Mrs. Radcliffe'sfuture novels. 

The scene is laid in Scotland, and the period, we are assured, isthat of the "dark ages"; but almost at the outset we are startledrudely from our dreams of the mediaeval by the statement that

 "the wrongfully imprisoned earl, when the sweet tranquillity of evening threw an air of tender melancholy over his mind . .. Composed the following sonnet, which, having committed it to paper, he, the next evening dropped upon the terrace. "

The sonnet consists of four heroic quatrains somewhat curiouslyresembling the manner of Gray. From this episode it may begathered that Mrs. Radcliffe did not aim at, or certainly did notachieve, historical accuracy, but evolved most of herdescriptions, not from original sources in ancient documents, butfrom her own inner consciousness. It was only in her lastnovel--_Gaston de Blondeville_--that she made use of oldchronicles. Within the Scottish castle we meet a heroine with an"expression of pensive melancholy" and a "smile softly cloudedwith sorrow, " a noble lord deprived of his rights by a villain"whose life is marked with vice and whose death with thebitterness of remorse. " But these grey and ghostly shadows, whoflit faintly through our imagination, are less prophetic ofcoming events than the properties with which the castle isendowed, a secret but accidently discovered panel, a trap-door, subterranean vaults, an unburied corpse, a suddenly extinguishedlamp and a soft-toned lute--a goodly heritage from _The Castle ofOtranto_. The situations which a villain of Baron Malcolm's typewill inevitably create are dimly shadowed forth and involve, erethe close, the hairbreadth rescue of a distressed maiden, thereinstatement of the lord in his rights, and the identificationof the long-lost heir by the convenient and time-honoured"strawberry mark. " These promising materials are handled in achildish fashion. The faintly pencilled outlines, thecharacterless figures, the nerveless structure, give littlepresage of the boldly effective scenery, the strong delineationsand the dexterously managed plots of the later novels. Thegradual, steady advance in skill and power is one of the mostinteresting features of Mrs. Radcliffe's work. Few could haveguessed from the slight sketch of Baron Malcolm, a merely slavishcopy of the traditional villain, that he was to be the ancestorof such picturesque and romantic creatures as Montoni andSchedoni. 

This tentative beginning was quickly followed by the moreambitious _Sicilian Romance_ (1790), in which we are transportedto the palace of Ferdinand, fifth Marquis of Mazzini, on thenorth coast of Sicily. This time the date is fixed officially at1580. The Marquis has one son and two daughters, the children ofhis first wife, who has been supplanted by a beautiful butunscrupulous successor. The first wife is reputed dead, but is, in reality, artfully and maliciously concealed in an uninhabitedwing of the abbey. It is her presence which leads to disquietingrumours of the supernatural. Ferdinand, the son, vainly tries tosolve the enigma of certain lights, which wander elusively aboutthe deserted wing, and finds himself perilously suspended, likeDavid Balfour in _Kidnapped_, on a decayed staircase, of whichthe lower half has broken away. In this hazardous situation, Ferdinand accidentally drops his lamp and is left in totaldarkness. An hour later he is rescued by the ladies of thecastle, who, alarmed by his long absence, boldly come in searchof him with a light. During another tour of exploration he hearsa hollow groan, which, he is told, proceeds from a murderedspirit underground, but which is eventually traced to the unhappymarchioness. These two incidents plainly reveal that Mrs. Radcliffe has now discovered the peculiar vein of mystery towardswhich she was groping in _The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne_. From the very first she explained away her marvels by naturalmeans. If we scan her romances with a coldly critical eye--analmost criminal proceeding--obvious improbabilities start intoview. For instance, the oppressed marchioness, who has not seenher daughter Julia since the age of two, recognises her without amoment's hesitation at the age of seventeen, and faints in atransport of joy. It is no small tribute to Mrs. Radcliffe'sgifts that we often accept such incidents as these without demur. So unnerved are we by the lurking shadows, the flickering lights, the fluttering tapestry and the unaccountable groans with whichshe lowers our vitality, that we tremble and start at the waggingof a straw, and have not the spirit, once we are absorbed intothe atmosphere of her romance, to dispute anything she would haveus believe. The interest of the _Sicilian Romance_, which is fargreater than that of her first novel, arises entirely out of thesituations. There is no gradual unfolding of character andmotive. The high-handed marquis, the jealous marchioness, theimprisoned wife, the vapid hero, the two virtuous sisters, theleader of the banditti, the respectable, prosy governess, are aset of dolls fitted ingeniously into the framework of the plot. They have more substance than the tenuous shadows that glidethrough the pages of Mrs. Radcliffe's first story, but they moveonly as she deftly pulls the strings that set them in motion. 

In her third novel, _The Romance of the Forest_, published in1792, Mrs. Radcliffe makes more attempt to discuss motive and totrace the effect of circumstances on temperament. The openingchapter is so alluring that callous indeed would be the readerwho felt no yearning to pluck out the heart of the mystery. LaMotte, a needy adventurer fleeing from justice, takes refuge on astormy night in a lonely, sinister-looking house. With startlingsuddenness, a door bursts open, and a ruffian, putting a pistolto La Motte's breast with one hand, and, with the other, draggingalong a beautiful girl, exclaims ferociously, "You are wholly in our power, no assistance can reach you; if you wish to save your life, swear that you will convey this girl where I may never see her more. .. If you return within an hour you will die. "

The elucidation of this remarkable occurrence is long deferred, for Mrs. Radcliffe appreciates fully the value of suspense inluring on her readers, but our attention is distracted in themeantime by a series of new events. Treasuring the unfinishedadventure in the recesses of our memory, we follow the course ofthe story. When La Motte decides impulsively to reside in adeserted abbey, "not, " as he once remarks, "in all respectsstrictly Gothic, " but containing a trap-door and a human skeletonin a chest, we willingly take up our abode there and waitpatiently to see what will happen. Our interest is inclined toflag when life at the abbey seems uneventful, but we are ere longrewarded by a visit from a stranger, whose approach flings LaMotte into so violent a state of alarm that he vanishes withremarkable abruptness beneath a trapdoor. It proves, however, that the intruder is merely La Motte's son, and the timid marquisis able to emerge. Meanwhile, La Motte's wife, suspicious of herhusband's morose habits and his secret visits to a Gothicsepulchre, becomes jealous of Adeline, the girl they havebefriended. It later transpires that La Motte has turnedhighwayman and stores his booty in this secluded spot. The visitsare so closely shrouded in obscurity, and we have so exhaustedour imagination in picturing dark possibilities, that the simplesolution falls disappointingly short of our expectations. Thenext thrill is produced by the arrival of two strangers, thewicked marquis and the noble hero, without whom the tale ofcharacters in a novel of terror would scarcely be complete. Theemotion La Motte betrays at the sight of the marquis is due, weare told eventually, to the fact that Montalt was the victim ofhis first robbery. Adeline, meanwhile, in a dream sees abeckoning figure in a dark cloak, a dying man imprisoned in adarkened chamber, a coffin and a bleeding corpse, and hears avoice from the coffin. The disjointed episodes and bewilderingincoherence of a nightmare are suggested with admirable skill, and effectually prepare our minds for Adeline's discoveries a fewnights later. Passing through a door, concealed by the arras ofher bedroom, into a chamber like that she had seen in her sleep, she stumbles over a rusty dagger and finds a roll of moulderingmanuscripts. This incident is robbed of its effect for readers of_Northanger Abbey_ by insistent reminiscences of CatherineMorland's discovery of the washing bills. But Adeline, by theuncertain light of a candle, reads, with the utmost horror andconsternation, the harrowing life-story of her father, who hasbeen foully done to death by his brother, already known to us asthe unprincipled Marquis Montalt. La Motte weakly aids and abetsMontalt's designs against Adeline, and she is soon compelled totake refuge in flight. She is captured and borne away to anelegant villa, whence she escapes, only to be overtaken again. Finally, Theodore arrives, as heroes will, in the nick of time, and wounds his rival. Adeline finds a peaceful home in thechateau of M. La Luc, who proves to be Theodore's father. Herethe reader awaits impatiently the final solution of the plot. Once we have been inmates of a Gothic abbey, life in a Swisschateau, however idyllic, is apt to seem monotonous. In time Mrs. Radcliffe administers justice. The marquis takes poison; La Motteis banished but reforms; and Adeline, after dutifully burying herfather's skeleton in the family vault, becomes mistress of theabbey, but prefers to reside in a _châlet_ on the banks of LakeGeneva. 

Although the _Romance of the Forest_ is considerably shorter thanthe later novels, the plot, which is full of ingeniouscomplications, is unfolded in the most leisurely fashion. Mrs. Radcliffe's tantalising delays quicken our curiosity aseffectively as the deliberate calm of a _raconteur_, who, with aview to heightening his artistic effect, pauses to light a pipeat the very climax of his story. Suspense is the key-note of theromance. The characters are still subordinate to incident, but LaMotte and his wife claim our interest because they are exhibitedin varying moods. La Motte has his struggles and, like Macbeth, is haunted by compunctious visitings of nature. Unlike thethorough-paced villain, who glories in his misdeeds, he isworried and harassed, and takes no pleasure in his crimes. MadameLa Motte is not a jealous woman from beginning to end like themarchioness in the _Sicilian Romance_. Her character is mouldedto some extent by environment. She changes distinctly in herattitude to Adeline after she has reason to suspect her husband. Mrs. Radcliffe's psychology is neither subtle nor profound, butthe fact that psychology is there in the most rudimentary form isa sign of her progress in the art of fiction. Theodore is asinsipid as the rest of Mrs. Radcliffe's heroes, who aredistinguishable from one another only by their names, and Adelineis perhaps a shade more emotional and passionless than Emily andEllena in _The Mysteries of Udolpho_ and _The Italian_. Thelachrymose maiden in _The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne_, whocan assume at need "an air of offended dignity, " is a preliminarysketch of Julia, Emily and Ellena in the later novels. Mrs. Radcliffe's heroines resemble nothing more than a compositephotograph in which all distinctive traits are merged into anexpressionless "type. " They owe something no doubt toRichardson's _Clarissa Harlowe_, but their feelings are not sominutely analysed. Their lady-like accomplishments vary slightly. In reflective mood one may lightly throw off a sonnet to thesunset or to the nocturnal gale, while another may seek refuge inher water-colours or her lute. They are all dignified andresolute in the most distressing situations, yet they weep andfaint with wearisome frequency. Their health and spirits are asprecarious as their easily extinguished candles. Yet theseexquisitely sensitive, well-bred heroines alienate our sympathyby their impregnable self-esteem, a disconcerting trait whichwould certainly have exasperated heroes less perfect and morehuman than Mrs. Radcliffe's Theodores and Valancourts. Theirsorrows never rise to tragic heights, because they are onlypassive sufferers, and the sympathy they would win as patheticfigures is obliterated by their unfailing consciousness of theirown rectitude. In describing Adeline, Mrs. Radcliffe attempts anunusually acute analysis:

 "For many hours she busied herself upon a piece of work which she had undertaken for Madame La Motte, but this she did without the least intention of conciliating her favour, but because she felt there was something in thus repaying unkindness, which was suited to her own temper, her sentiments and her pride. Self-love may be the centre around which human affections move, for whatever motive conduces to self-gratification may be resolved into self-love, yet, some of these affections are in their nature so refined that, though we cannot deny their origin, they almost deserve the name of virtue: of this species was that of Adeline. "

It is characteristic of Mrs. Radcliffe's tendency to overlook theobvious in searching for the subtle, that the girl who feelsthese recondite emotions expresses slight embarrassment whenunceremoniously flung on the protection of strangers. Emily, in_The Mysteries of Udolpho_, possesses the same protective armouras Adeline. When she is abused by Montoni, "Her heart swelledwith the consciousness of having deserved praise instead ofcensure, and was proudly silent"; or again, in _The Italian_, "Ellena was the more satisfied with herself because she had never for an instant forgotten her dignity so far as to degenerate into the vehemence of passion or to falter with the weakness of fear. "

Her father, M. St. Aubert, on his deathbed, bids Emily beware of"priding herself on the gracefulness of sensibility. "

Fortunately the heroine is merely a figurehead in _The Mysteriesof Udolpho_ (1794). The change of title is significant. The twoprevious works have been romances, but it is now Mrs. Radcliffe'sintention to let herself go further in the direction of wonderand suspense than she had hitherto ventured. She is like Scythropin _Nightmare Abbey_, of whom it was said:

 "He had a strong tendency to love of mystery for its own sake; that is to say, he would employ mystery to serve a purpose, but would first choose his purpose by its capability of mystery. "

Yet Mrs. Radcliffe, at the opening of her story, is sparing inher use of supernatural elements. We live by faith, and are drawnforward by the hope of future mystifications. In the first volumewe saunter through idyllic scenes of domestic happiness in theChateau le Vert and wander with Emily and her dying fatherthrough the Apennines, with only faint suggestions of excitementto come. The second volume plunges us _in medias res_. The aunt, to whose care Emily is entrusted, has imprudently married atempestuous tyrant, Montoni, who, to further his own ends, hurries his wife and niece from the gaiety of Venice to the gloomof Udolpho. After a journey fraught with terror, amid rugged, lowering mountains and through dusky woods, we reach the castleof Udolpho at nightfall. The sombre exterior and the shadowhaunted hall are so ominous that we are prepared for the worstwhen we enter its portals. The anticipation is half pleasurable, half fearful, as we shudder at the thought of what may befall uswithin its walls. At every turn something uncanny shakes ouroverwrought nerves; the sighing of the wind, the echo of distantfootsteps, lurking shadows, gliding forms, inexplicable groans, mysterious music torture the sensitive imagination of Emily, whois mercilessly doomed to sleep in a deserted apartment with adoor, which, as so often in the novel of terror, bolts only onthe outside. More nerve wracking than the unburied corpse or eventhan the ineffable horror concealed behind the black veil are theimaginary, impalpable terrors that seize on Emily's tender fancyas she crosses the hall on her way to solve the riddle of heraunt's disappearance:

 "Emily, deceived by the long shadows of the pillars and by the catching lights between, often stopped, imagining that she saw some person moving in the distant obscurity. .. And as she passed these pillars she feared to turn her eyes towards them, almost expecting to see a figure start from behind their broad shaft. "

Torn from the context, this passage no longer congeals us withterror, but in its setting it conveys in a wonderfully vividmanner the tricks of a feverish imagination. So exhaustive--andexhausting--are the mysteries of Udolpho that it was a mistake tointroduce another haunted castle, le Blanc, as an appendix. 

Mrs. Radcliffe's long deferred explanations of what is apparentlysupernatural have often been adversely criticised. Her methodvaries considerably. Sometimes we are enlightened almostimmediately. When the garrulous servant, Annette, is relating toEmily what she knows of the story of Laurentina, who had oncelived in the castle, both mistress and servant are wrought up toa state of nervous tension:

 "Emily, whom now Annette had infected with her own terrors, listened attentively, but everything was still, and Annette proceeded. .. 'There again, ' cried Annette, suddenly, 'I heard it again. ' 'Hush!' said Emily, trembling. They listened and continued to sit quite still. Emily heard a slow knocking against the wall. It came repeatedly. Annette then screamed loudly, and the chamber door slowly opened--It was Caterina, come to tell Annette that her lady wanted her. "

It is seldom that the rude awakening comes thus swiftly. Moreoften we are left wondering uneasily and fearfully for aprolonged stretch of time. The extreme limit of human enduranceis reached in the episode of the Black Veil. Early in the secondvolume, Emily, for whom the concealed picture had a fatalfascination, determined to gaze upon it. 

 "Emily passed on with faltering steps and, having paused a moment at the door before she attempted to open it, she then hastily entered the chamber and went towards the picture, which appeared to be enclosed in a frame of uncommon size, that hung in a dark part of the room. She paused again and then, with a timid hand, lifted the veil, but instantly let it fall--perceiving that, what it had concealed was no picture and, before she could leave the chamber, she dropped senseless on the floor. "

In time Emily recovers, but the horror of the Black Veil preys onher mind until, near the close of the third volume, Mrs. Radcliffe mercifully consents to tell us not only what Emilythought that she beheld, but what was actually there. 

 "There appeared, instead of the picture she had expected, within the recess of the wall, a human figure of ghastly paleness, stretched at its length, and dressed in the habiliments of the grave. What added to the horror of the spectacle was that the face appeared partly decayed and disfigured by worms, which were visible on the features and hands. .. Had she dared to look again, her delusion and her fears would have vanished together, and she would have perceived that the figure before her was not human, but formed of wax. .. A member of the house of Udolpho, having committed some offence against the prerogative of the church, had been condemned to the penance of contemplating, during certain hours of the day, a waxen image made to resemble a human body in the state to which it is reduced after death . .. He had made it a condition in his will that his descendants should preserve the image. "

Mrs. Radcliffe, realising that the secret she had so jealouslyguarded is of rather an amazing character, asserts that it is"not without example in the records of the fierce severity whichmonkish superstition has sometimes inflicted on mankind. " But theexplanation falls so ludicrously short of our expectations and isso improbable a possibility, that Mrs. Radcliffe would have beenwise not to defraud Catherine Morland and other readers of thepleasure of guessing aright. Few enjoy being baffled and thwartedin so unexpected a fashion. The skeleton of Signora Laurentinawas the least that could be expected as a reward for suspense sopatiently endured. But long ere this disclosure, we have learntby bitter experience to distrust Mrs. Radcliffe's secrets and tolook for ultimate disillusionment. The uncanny voice thatominously echoes Montoni's words is not the cry of a bodilessvisitant striving to awaken "that blushing, shamefaced spiritthat mutinies in a man's bosom, " but belongs to an ordinary humanbeing, the prisoner Du Pont, who has discovered one of Mrs. Radcliffe's innumerable concealed passages. The bed with theblack velvet pall in the haunted chamber contains, not thefrightful apparition that flashed upon the inward eye of Emilyand of Annette, but a stalwart pirate who shrinks from discovery. The gliding forms which steal furtively along the ramparts anddisappear at the end of dark passages become eventually, like thenun in Charlotte Bronte's _Villette_, sensible to feeling as tosight. The unearthly music which is heard in the woods atmidnight proceeds, not from the inhabitants of another sphere, but from a conscience stricken nun with a lurid past. The corpse, which Emily believed to be that of her aunt, foully done to deathby a pitiless husband, is the body of a man killed in a bandit'saffray. Here Mrs. Radcliffe seems eager to show that she was notafraid of a corpse, but is careful that it shall not be thecorpse which the reader anticipates. She deliberately excitestrembling apprehensions in order that she may show how absurdthey are. We are befooled that she may enjoy a quietly malicioustriumph. The result is that we become wary and cautious. Thegenuine ghost story, read by Ludovico to revive his faintingspirits when he is keeping vigil in the "haunted" chamber, isrobbed of its effect because we half expect to be disillusionedere the close. It is far more impressive if read as a separatestory apart from its setting. The idea of explaining away what isapparently supernatural may have occurred to Mrs. Radcliffe afterreading Schiller's popular romance, _Der Geisterseher_ (1789), inwhich the elaborately contrived marvels of the Armenian, who wasmodelled on Cagliostro, are but the feats of a juggler and have aphysical cause. But more probably Mrs. Radcliffe's imaginationwas held in check by a sensitive conscience, which would notallow her to trade on the credulity of simple-minded readers. 

It is noteworthy that Mrs. Radcliffe's last work--_The Italian_, published in 1797--is more skilfully constructed, and possessesfar greater unity and concentration than _The Mysteries ofUdolpho_. The Inquisition scenes towards the end of the book areunduly prolonged, but the story is coherent and free fromdigressions. The theme is less fanciful and far fetched thanthose of _The Romance of the Forest_ and _Udolpho_. It seldomstrays far beyond the bounds of the probable, nor overstrains ourcapacity for belief. The motive of the story is the Marchesa diVivaldi's opposition to her son's marriage on account of Ellena'sobscure birth. The Marchesa's far reaching designs are forwardedby the ambitious monk, Schedoni, who, for his own ends, undertakes to murder Ellena. _The Italian_ abounds in dramatic, haunting scenes. The strangely effective overture, whichdescribes the Confessional of the Black Penitents, the midnightwatch of Vivaldi and his lively, impulsive servant, Paulo, amidthe ruins of Paluzzi, the melodramatic interruption of thewedding ceremony, the meeting of Ellena and Schedoni on thelonely shore, the trial in the halls of the Inquisition, are allremarkably vivid. The climax of the story when Schedoni, about toslay Ellena, is arrested in the very act by her beauty andinnocence, and then by the glimpse of the portrait which leadshim to believe she is his daughter, is finely conceived andfinely executed. Afterwards, Ellena proves only to be his niece, but we have had our thrill and nothing can rob us of it. _TheItalian_ depends for its effect on natural terror, rather than onsupernatural suggestions. The monk, who haunts the ruins ofPaluzzi, and who reappears in the prison of the Inquisition, speaks and acts like a being from the world of spectres, but inthe fulness of time Mrs. Radcliffe ruthlessly exposes his methodsand kills him by slow poison. She never completely explains hisbehaviour in the halls of the Inquisition nor accountssatisfactorily for the ferocity of his hatred of Schedoni. We areunintentionally led on false trails. 

The character of Schedoni is undeniably Mrs. Radcliffe'smasterpiece. No one would claim that his character is subtlestudy, but in his interviews with the Marchesa, Mrs. Radcliffereveals unexpected gifts tor probing into human motives. He is animposing figure, theatrical sometimes, but wrought of flesh andblood. In fiction, as in life, the villain has always existed, but it was Mrs. Radcliffe who first created the romantic villain, stained with the darkest crimes, yet dignified and impressivewithal. Zeluco in Dr. John Moore's novel of that name (1789) is apowerful conception, but he has no redeeming features to temperour repulsion with pity. The sinister figures of Mrs. Radcliffe, with passion-lined faces and gleaming eyes, stalk--or, ifoccasion demand it, glide--through all her romances, and as shegrows more familiar with the type, her delineations showincreased power and vigour. When the villain enters, or shortlyafterwards, a descriptive catalogue is displayed, setting forth, in a manner not unlike that of the popular _feuilleton_ ofto-day, the qualities to be expected, and with this he is letloose into the story to play his part and act up to hisreputation. In the _Sicilian Romance_ there is the tyrannicalmarquis who would force an unwelcome marriage on his daughter andwho immures his wife in a remote corner of the castle, visitingher once a week with a scanty pittance of coarse food. In _TheRomance of the Forest_ we find a conventional but thoroughvillain in Montalt and a half-hearted, poor-spirited villain inLa Motte, whose "virtue was such that it could not stand thepressure of occasion. " Montoni, the desperate leader of thecondottieri in _The Mysteries of Udolpho_, is endued with sovigorous a vitality that we always rejoice inwardly at his returnto the forefront of the story. His abundant energy is refreshingafter a long sojourn with his garrulous wife and tearful niece. 

 "He delighted in the energies of the passions, the difficulties and tempests of life which wreck the happiness of others roused and strengthened all the powers of his mind, and afforded him the highest enjoyment. .. The fire and keenness of his eye, its proud exaltation, its bold fierceness, its sudden watchfulness as occasion and even slight occasion had called forth the latent soul, she had often observed with emotion, while from the usual expression of his countenance she had always shrunk. "

Schedoni is undoubtedly allied to this desperado, but his methodsare quieter and more subtle:

 "There was something terrible in his air, something almost superhuman. The cowl, too, as it threw a shade over the livid paleness of his face increased its severe character and gave an effect to his large, melancholy eye which approached to horror . .. His physiognomy . .. Bore the traces of many passions which seemed to have fixed the features they no longer animated. An habitual gloom and severity prevailed over the deep lines of his countenance, and his eyes were so piercing that they seemed to penetrate at a single glance into the hearts of men, and to read their most secret thoughts--few persons could endure their scrutiny or even endure to meet them twice . .. He could adapt himself to the tempers and passions of persons, whom he wished to conciliate, with astonishing facility. "

The type undoubtedly owes something to Milton's Satan. LikeLucifer, he is proud and ambitious, and like him he retainstraces of his original grandeur. Hints from Shakespeare helped tofashion him. Like Cassius, seldom he smiles, and smiles in such asort

 "As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit That could be moved to smile at anything. "

Like King John, "The image of a wicked heinous fault Lives in his eye: that close aspect of his Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast. "

By the enormity of his crimes he inspires horror and repulsion, but by his loneliness he appeals, for a moment, like theconsummate villain Richard III. , to our pity:

 "There is no creature loves me And if I die, no soul will pity me. Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself?"

Karl von Moor, the famous hero of Schiller's _Die Räuber_ (1781), is allied to this desperado. He is thus described in theadvertisement of the 1795 edition:

 "The picture of a great, misguided soul, endowed with every gift of excellence, yet lost in spite of all its gifts. Unbridled passions and bad companionship corrupt his heart, urge him on from crime to crime, until at last he stands at the head of a band of murderers, heaps horror upon horror, and plunges from precipice to precipice in the lowest depths of despair. Great and majestic in misfortune, by misfortune reclaimed and led back to the paths of virtue. Such a man shall you pity and hate, abhor yet love in the robber Moor. "

Among the direct progeny of these grandiose villains are to beincluded those of Lewis and Maturin, and the heroes of Scott andByron. We know them by their world-weariness, as well as by theirpiercing eyes and passion-marked faces, their "verra wrinklesGothic. " In _The Giaour_ we are told:

 "Dark and unearthly is the scowl That glares beneath his dusky cowl:

 "The flash of that dilating eye Reveals too much of times gone by. Though varying, indistinct its hue Oft will his glance the gazer rue. "

Of the Corsair, it is said:

 "There breathe but few whose aspect might defy The full encounter of his searching eye. "

Lara is drawn from the same model:

 "That brow in furrowed lines had fixed at last And spoke of passions, but of passions past; The pride but not the fire of early days, Coldness of mien, and carelessness of praise; A high demeanour and a glance that took Their thoughts from others by a single look. "

The feminine counterpart of these bold impersonations of evil isthe tyrannical abbess who plays a part in _The Romance of theForest_ and in _The Italian_, and who was adopted and exaggeratedby Lewis, but her crimes are petty and malicious, not daring andambitious, like the schemes of Montoni and Schedoni. 

One of Mrs. Radcliffe's contemporaries is said to have suggestedthat if she wished to transcend the horror of the Inquisitionscenes in _The Italian_ she would have to visit hell itself. Likeher own heroines, Mrs. Radcliffe had too elegant and refined animagination and too fearful a heart to undertake so desperate ajourney. She would have recoiled with horror from the impioussuggestion. In _Gaston de Blondeville_, written in 1802, butpublished posthumously with a memoir by Noon Talfourd, sheventures to make one or two startling innovations. Her hero is nolonger a pale, romantic young man of gentle birth, but a stolid, worthy merchant. Here, at last, she indulges in a substantialspectre, who cannot be explained away as the figment of adisordered imagination, since he seriously alarms, not a solitaryheroine or a scared lady's-maid, but Henry III. Himself and hisassembled barons. Yet apart from this daring escapade, it istimidity rather than the spirit of valorous enterprise that isurging Mrs. Radcliffe into new and untried paths. Her happy, courageous disregard for historical accuracy in describingfar-off scenes and bygone ages has deserted her. She searchespainfully in ancient records, instead of in her imagination, formediaeval atmosphere. Her story is grievously overburdened withelaborate descriptions of customs and ceremonies, and she addslaborious notes, citing passages from learned authorities, suchas Leland's _Collectanea_, Pegge's dissertation on the obsoleteoffice of Esquire of the King's Body, Sir George Bulke's accountof the coronation of Richard III. , Mador's _History of theExchequer_, etc. We are transported from the eighteenth century, not actually to mediaeval England, but to a carefully arrangedpageant displaying mediaeval costumes, tournaments and banquets. The actors speak in antique language to accord with thepicturesque background against which they stand. _Gaston deBlondeville_, which is noteworthy as an early attempt to shadowforth the days of chivalry, has far more colour than Leland's_Longsword_ (1752), Miss Reeve's _Old English Baron_ (1777), orMiss Sophia Lee's _Recess_ (1785), from which rather than fromMrs. Radcliffe's earlier romances its descent may be traced. Theattempt to avoid glaring anachronisms and to reproduce anaccurate picture of a former age points forward to Scott. Strutt's _Queenhoo Hall_, which Scott completed, was a revoltagainst the unscrupulous inventions of romance-writers, and wascrammed full of archaeological lore. The story of _Gaston deBlondeville_ is tedious, the characters are shadowy and unreal, and we become, as the Ettric Shepherd remarked, in _NoctesAmbrosianae_, "somewhat too hand and glove with his ghostship";yet, regarded simply as a spectacular effect, it is not withoutindications of skill and power. Miss Mitford based a drama on it, but it never attained the popularity of Mrs. Radcliffe's othernovels. It was published when her reputation was on the wane. 

Of the materials on which Mrs. Radcliffe drew in fashioning herromances it is impossible to speak with any certainty. Doubtlessshe had studied certain old chronicles, and she was deeply readin Shakespeare, especially in the tragedies. Much of her leisure, we are told, was spent in reading the literary productions of theday, especially poetry and novels. At the head of her chaptersshe often quotes Milton as well as the poets of her owncentury--Mason, Gray, Collins, and once "Ossian"--choosing almostinevitably passages which deal with the terrible or the ghostly. She must have known _The Castle of Otranto_, and in _The Italian_she quotes several passages from Walpole's melodrama _TheMysterious Mother_. But often she may have been dependent on theoral legends clustering round ancient abbeys for the backgroundof her stories. Ghostly legends would always appeal to her, andshe probably amassed a hoard of traditions when she visitedEnglish castles during her tours with her husband. The backgroundof _Gaston de Blondeville_ is Kenilworth Castle. That ancientruins stirred her imagination profoundly is clear from passagesin her notes on the journeys. In Furness Abbey she sees in hermind's eye "a midnight procession of monks, " and at BroughamCastle:

 "One almost saw the surly keeper descending through this door-case and heard him rattle the keys of the chamber above, listening with indifference to the clank of chains and to the echo of that groan below which seemed to rend the heart it burst from, "

or again:

 "Slender saplings of ash waved over the deserted door cases, where at the transforming hour of twilight, the superstitious eye might mistake them for spectres of some early possessor of the castle, restless from guilt, or of some sufferer persevering for vengeance. "

Mrs. Radcliffe's style compares favourably with that of many ofher contemporaries, with that of Mrs. Roche, for instance, whowrote _The Children of the Abbey_ and an array of other forgottenromances, but she is too fond of long, imperfectly balancedsentences, with as many awkward twists and turns as the windingstairways of her ancient turrets. Nobody in the novels, exceptthe talkative, comic servant, who is meant to be vulgar andridiculous, ever condescends to use colloquial speech. Even inmoments of extreme peril the heroines are very choice in theirdiction. Dialogue in Mrs. Radcliffe's world is as stilted andunnatural as that of prim, old-fashioned school books. In herearliest novel she uses very little conversation, clearly findingthe indirect form of narrative easier. Sometimes, in the morehighly wrought passages of description, she slips unawares into amore daring phrase, _e. G. _ in _Udolpho_, the track of blood"glared" upon the stairs, where the word suggests not the actualappearance of the bloodstain, but rather its effect on Emily'sinflamed and disordered imagination. Dickens might have chosenthe word deliberately in this connection, but he would have usedit, not once, but several times to ensure his result and toemphasise the impression. This is not Mrs. Radcliffe's way. Herattention to style is mainly subconscious, her chief interestbeing in situation. Her descriptions of scenery have often beenpraised. Crabb Robinson declared in his diary that he preferredthem to those of _Waverley_. When Byron visited Venice he foundno better words to describe its beauty than those of Mrs. Radcliffe, who had never seen it:

 "I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of an enchanted wand. "

In 1794 Mrs. Radcliffe and her husband made a journey throughHolland and West Germany, of which she wrote an account, including with it observations made during a tour of the EnglishLakes. All her novels, except _The Italian_ and _Gaston deBlondeville_, had been written before she went abroad, and indescribing foreign scenery she relied on her imagination, aidedperhaps by pictures and descriptions as well as by herrecollections of English mountains and lakes. The attempt toblend into a single picture a landscape actually seen and alandscape only known at second-hand may perhaps account for thelack of distinctness in her pictures. Her descriptions of sceneryare elaborate, and often prolix, but it is often difficult toform a clear image of the scene. In her novels she cares forlandscape only as an effective background, and paints with thebroad, careless sweep of the theatrical scene-painter. In the_Journeys_, where she depicts scenery for its own sake, herdelineation is more definite and distinct. She reveals an unusualfeeling for colour and for the lights and tones of a changing seaor sky:

 "It is most interesting to watch the progress of evening and its effect on the waters; streaks of light scattered among the dark, western clouds after the sun had set, and gleaming in long reflection on the sea, while a grey obscurity was drawing over the east, as the vapours rose gradually from the ocean. The air was breathless, the tall sails of the vessel were without motion, and her course upon the deep scarcely perceptible; while above the planet burned with steady dignity and threw a tremulous line of light upon the sea, whose surface flowed in smooth, waveless expanse. Then other planets appeared and countless stars spangled the dark waters. Twilight now pervaded air and ocean, but the west was still luminous where one solemn gleam of dusky red edged the horizon from under heavy vapours. "[37]

Sometimes her scenes are disappointingly vague. She describesIngleborough as "rising from elegantly swelling ground, " andattempts to convey a stretch of country by enumerating a list ofits features in generalised terms:

 "Gentle swelling slopes, rich in verdure, thick enclosures, woods, bowery hop-grounds, sheltered mansions announcing the wealth, and substantial farms with neat villages, the comfort of the country. "

Yet she notices tiny mosses whose hues were "pea green andprimrose, " and sometimes reveals flashes of imaginative insightinto natural beauty like "the dark sides of mountains marked onlyby the blue smoke of weeds driven in circles near the ground. "These personal, intimate touches of detail are very differentfrom the highly coloured sunrises and sunsets that awaken theraptures of her heroines. 

With all her limitations, Mrs. Radcliffe is a figure whom it isimpossible to ignore in the history of the novel. Her influencewas potent on Lewis and on Maturin as well as on a host offorgotten writers. Scott admired her works and probably owedsomething in his craftsmanship to his early study of them. Sheappeals most strongly in youth. The Ettrick Shepherd, who was bynature and education "just excessive superstitious, " declares:

 "Had I read _Udolpho_ and her other romances in my boyish days my hair would have stood on end like that o' other folk . .. But afore her volumes fell into my hauns, my soul had been frichtened by a' kinds of traditionary terrors, and many hunder times hae I maist swarfed wi' fear in lonesome spots in muir and woods at midnight when no a leevin thing was movin but mysel' and the great moon. "[38]

There are dull stretches in all her works, but, as Hazlitt justlyclaims, "in harrowing up the soul with imaginary horrors, andmaking the flesh creep and the nerves thrill with fond hopes andfears, she is unrivalled among her countrymen. "[39]

CHAPTER IV - THE NOVEL OF TERROR. LEWIS AND MATURIN. 

To pass from the work of Mrs. Radcliffe to that of MatthewGregory Lewis is to leave "the novel of suspense, " which dependsfor part of its effect on the human instinct of curiosity, for"the novel of terror, " which works almost entirely on the evenstronger and more primitive instinct of fear. Those who find Mrs. Radcliffe's unruffled pace leisurely beyond endurance, or whodislike her coldly reasonable methods of accounting for what isonly apparently supernatural, or who sometimes feel stifled bythe oppressive air of gentility that broods over her romanticworld, will find ample reparation in the melodramatic pages of"Monk" Lewis. Here, indeed, may those who will and dare sup fullwith horrors. Lewis, in reckless abandonment, throws to the windsall restraint, both moral and artistic, that had bound hispredecessor. The incidents, which follow one another inkaleidoscopic variety, are like the disjointed phases of adelirium or nightmare, from which there is no escape. We areconscious that his story is unreal or even ludicrous, yet Lewishas a certain dogged power of driving us unrelentingly throughit, regardless of our own will. Literary historians have tendedto over-emphasise the connection between Mrs. Radcliffe andLewis. Their purposes and achievement are so different that it ishardly accurate to speak of them as belonging to the same school. It is true that in one of his letters Lewis asserts that he wasinduced to go on with his romance, _The Monk_, by reading _TheMysteries of Udolpho_, "one of the most interesting books thathas (sic) ever been written, " and that he was struck by theresemblance of his own character to that of Montoni;[40] but hisliterary debt to Mrs. Radcliffe is comparatively insignificant. His depredations on German literature are much more serious andextensive. Lewis, indeed, is one of the Dick Turpins of fictionand seizes his booty where he will in a high-handed and somewhatunscrupulous fashion, but for many of Mrs. Radcliffe's treasureshe could find no use. Her picturesque backgrounds, her ingeniousexplanations of the uncanny, her uneventful interludes and longdeferred but happy endings were outside his province. The momentsin her novels which Lewis admired and strove to emulate werethose during which the reader with quickened pulse breathlesslyawaits some startling development. Of these moments, there are, it must be frankly owned, few in Mrs. Radcliffe's novels. Lewis'smistake lay in trying to induce a more rapid palpitation, and toprolong it almost uninterruptedly throughout his novel. Byattempting a physical and mental impossibility he courtsdisaster. Mrs. Radcliffe's skeletons are decently concealed inthe family cupboard, Lewis's stalk abroad in shameless publicity. In Mrs. Radcliffe's stories, the shadow fades and disappears justwhen we think we are close upon the substance; for, after we havelong been groping in the twilight of fearful imaginings, shesuddenly jerks back the shutter to admit the clear light ofreason. In Lewis's wonder-world there are no elusive shadows; hehurls us without preparation or initiation into a daylight orgyof horrors. 

Lewis was educated at Westminster and Christ Church, but a yearspent in Weimar (1792-3), where he zealously studied German, andincidentally, met Goethe, seems to have left more obvious markson his literary career. To Lewis, Goethe is pre-eminently theauthor of _The Sorrows of Werther_; and Schiller, he remarkscasually, "has, written several other plays besides _TheRobbers. "_[41] He probably read Heinse's _Ardinghello_(1787), Tieck's _Abdallah_ (1792-3), and _William Lovell_ (1794-6), manyof the innumerable dramas of Kotzebue, the romances of WeitWeber, and other specimens of what Carlyle describes as "the bowland dagger department, " where

 "Black Forests and Lubberland, sensuality and horror, the spectre nun and the charmed moonshine, shall not be wanting. Boisterous outlaws also, with huge whiskers, and the most cat o' mountain aspect; tear-stained sentimentalists, the grimmest man-eaters, ghosts and the like suspicious characters will be found in abundance. "[42]

Throughout his life he seems to have made a hobby of theliterature that arouses violent emotion and mental excitement, orlacerates the nerves, or shocks and startles. The lifelike andthe natural are not powerful enough for his taste, though some ofhis _Romantic Tales_(1808), such as _My Uncle's Garret Window_, are uncommonly tame. Like the painter of a hoarding who must atall costs arrest attention, he magnifies, exaggerates anddistorts. Once when rebuked for introducing black guards into acountry where they did not exist, he is said to have declaredthat he would have made them sky-blue if he thought they wouldproduce any more effect. [43] Referring to _The Monk_, heconfesses: "Unluckily, in working it up, I thought that thestronger my colours, the more effect would my pictureproduce. "[44]

One of his early attempts at fiction was a romance which he laterconverted into his popular drama, _The Castle Spectre_. This playwas staged in 1798, and was reconverted by Miss Sarah Wilkinsonin 1820 into a romance. Lewis spreads his banquet with a lavishhand, and crudities and absurdities abound, but he has a knack ofchoosing situations well adapted for stage effect. The play, aptly described by Coleridge as a "peccant thing of Noise, Frothand Impermanence, "[45] would offer a happy hunting ground tothose who delight in the pursuit of "parallel passages. " At theage of twenty, during his residence at the Hague as _attaché_ tothe British embassy, in the summer of 1794, he composed in tenweeks, his notorious romance, _The Monk_. On its publication in1795 it was attacked on the grounds of profanity and indecency. 

_The Monk_, despite its cleverness, is essentially immature, yetit is not a childish work. It is much less youthful, forinstance, than Shelley's _Zastrozzi_ and _St. Irvyne_. Theinflamed imagination, the violent exaggeration of emotion and ofcharacter, the jeering cynicism and lack of tolerance, theincoherent formlessness, are all indications of adolescence. In_The Monk_ there are two distinct stories, loosely related. Thestory of Raymond and Agnes, into which the legends of thebleeding nun and Wandering Jew are woven with considerable skill, was published more than once as a detached and separate work. Itis concerned with the fate of two unhappy lovers, who are partedby the tyranny of their parents and of the church, and who enduremanifold agonies. The physical torture of Agnes is described inrevolting detail, for Lewis has no scruple in carrying the uglyfar beyond the limits within which it is artistic. The happyending of their harrowing story is incredible. By makingAmbrosio, on the verge of his hideous crimes, harshly condemnAgnes for a sin of the same nature as that which he is about tocommit, Lewis forges a link between the two stories. But theconnection is superficial, and the novel suffers through thedistraction of our interest. In the story of Ambrosio, Antoniaplays no part in her own downfall. She is as helpless as aplaster statue demolished by an earthquake. The figure of Matildahas more vitality, though Lewis changes his mind about hercharacter during the course of the book, and fails to make herearly history consistent with the ending of his story. She iscertainly not in league with the devil, when, in a passionatesoliloquy, she cries to Ambrosio, whom she believes to be asleep:"The time will come when you will be convinced that my passion ispure and disinterested. Then you will pity me and feel the wholeweight of my sorrows. " But when the devil appears, he declares toAmbrosio:

 "I saw that you were virtuous from vanity, not principle, and I seized the fit moment for your seduction. I observed your blind idolatry of the Madonna's picture. I bade a subordinate but crafty spirit assume a similar form, and you eagerly yielded to the blandishments of Matilda. "

The discrepancy is obvious, but this blemish is immaterial, forthe whole story is unnatural. The deterioration in Ambrosio'scharacter--though Lewis uses all his energy in striving to makeit appear probable by discussing the effect of environment--istoo swift. 

Lewis is at his best when he lets his youthful, high spirits havefull play. His boyish exaggeration makes Leonella, Antonia'saunt, seem like a pantomime character, who has inadvertentlystepped into a melodrama, but the caricature is amusing by itsvery crudity. She writes in red ink to express "the blushes ofher cheek, " when she sends a message of encouragement to theConde d'Ossori. This and other puerile jests are more tolerablethan Lewis's attempts to depict passion or describe character. Bold, flaunting splashes of colour, strongly marked, passionatefaces, exaggerated gestures start from every page, and his styleis as extravagant as his imagery. Sometimes he uses a short, staccato sentence to enforce his point, but more often we areengulfed in a swirling welter of words. He delights in thedeclamatory language of the stage, and all his characters speakas if they were behind the footlights, shouting to the gallery. 

A cold-blooded reviewer, in whom the detective instinct wasstrong, indicated the sources of _The Monk_ so mercilessly, thatLewis appears in his critique[46] rather as the perpetrator of aseries of ingenious thefts than as the creator of a novel:

 "The outline of the Monk Ambrosio's story was suggested by that of the Santon Barissa [Barsisa] in the _Guardian_:[47] the form of temptation is borrowed from _The Devil in Love_ of Canzotte [Cazotte], and the catastrophe is taken from _The Sorcerer_. The adventures of Raymond and Agnes are less obviously imitations, yet the forest scene near Strasburg brings to mind an incident in Smollett's _Count Fathom_; the bleeding nun is described by the author as a popular tale of the Germans, [48] and the convent prison resembles the inflictions of Mrs. Radcliffe. "

The industrious reviewer overlooks the legend of the WanderingJew, which might have been added to the list of Lewis's"borrowings. " It must be admitted that Lewis transforms, or atleast remodels, what he borrows. Addison's story relates how asage of reputed sanctity seduces and slays a maiden brought tohim for cure, and later sells his soul. Lewis abandons theOriental setting, converts the santon into a monk and embroidersthe story according to his fancy. Scott alludes to a Scottishversion of what is evidently a widespread legend. [49] Theresemblance of the catastrophe--presumably the appearance ofSatan in the form of Lucifer--to the scene in Mickle's_Sorcerer_, which was published among Lewis's _Tales of Wonder_(1801), is vague enough to be accidental. There are blue flamesand sorcery, and an apparition in both, but that is all the twoscenes have in common. The tyrannical abbess may be a heritagefrom _The Romance of the Forest_, but, if so she is exaggeratedalmost beyond recognition. 

In fashioning as the villain of her latest novel, _The Italian_, a monk, whose birth is wrapt in obscurity, Mrs. Radcliffe mayhave been influenced by Lewis's _Monk_ which had appeared twoyears before. Both Schedoni and Ambrosio are reputed saints, bothare plunged into the blackest guilt, and both are victims of theInquisition. Mrs. Radcliffe, it is true, recoils from introducingthe enemy of mankind, but, before the secrets are finallyrevealed, we almost suspect Schedoni of having dabbled in theBlack Arts, and his actual crime falls short of our expectations. The "explained supernatural" plays a less prominent part in _TheItalian_ than in the previous novels, and Mrs. Radcliffe reliesfor her effect rather on sheer terror. The dramatic scene whereSchedoni stealthily approaches the sleeping Ellena at midnightrecalls the more highly coloured, but less impressive scene inAntonia's bedchamber. The fate of Bianchi, Ellena's aunt, isstrangely reminiscent of that of Elvira, Antonia's mother. Theconvent scenes and the overbearing abbess had been introducedinto Mrs. Radcliffe's earlier novels; but in _The Italian_, theanti-Roman feeling is more strongly emphasised than usual. Thismay or may not have been due to the influence of Lewis. There isno direct evidence that Mrs. Radcliffe had read _The Monk_, butthe book was so notorious that a fellow novelist would be almostcertain to explore its pages. Hoffmann's romance, _Elixir desTeufels_ (1816), is manifestly written under its inspiration. Coincidence could not account for the remarkable resemblances toincidents in the story of Ambrosio. 

The far-famed collection of _Tales of Terror_ appeared in 1799, _The Tales of Wonder_ in 1801. The rest of Lewis's work consistsmainly of translations and adaptations from the German. Herevelled in the horrific school of melodrama. He delighted in thekind of German romance parodied by Meredith in _Farina_, whereAunt Lisbeth tells Margarita of spectres, smelling of murder andthe charnel-breath of midnight, who "uttered noises that winteredthe blood and revealed sights that stiffened hair three feetlong; ay, and kept it stiff. " _The Bravo of Venice_ (1805) is atranslation of Zschokke's _Abellino, der Grosse Bandit_, butLewis invented a superfluous character, Monaldeschi, Rosabella'sdestined bridegroom, apparently with the object that Abellinomight slay him early in the story--and added a concludingchapter. At the outset of the story, Rosalvo, a man after Lewis'sown heart, declares:

"To astonish is my destiny: Rosalvo knows no medium: Rosalvo cannever act like common men, " and thereupon proceeds to prove byhis extraordinary actions that this is no idle vaunt. He lives adouble life: in the guise of Abellino, he joins the banditti, andby inexplicable methods rids Venice of her enemies; in the guiseof a noble Florentine, Flodoardo, he woos the Doge's daughter, Rosabella. The climax of the story is reached when Flodoardo, under oath to deliver up the bandit Abellino, appears before theDoge at the appointed hour and reveals his double identity. He ishailed as the saviour of Hungary, and wins Rosabella as hisbride. In the second edition of _The Bravo of Venice_, a romancein four volumes by M. G. Lewis, _Legends of the Nunnery_, isannounced as in the press. There seems to be no record of itelsewhere. _Feudal Tyrants_ (1806), a long romance from theGerman, connected with the story of William Tell, consists of aseries of memoirs loosely strung together, in which the mostalarming episode is the apparition of the pale spectre of an agedmonk. In _Blanche and Osbright, or Mistrust_ (1808), [50] which isnot avowedly a translation, Lewis depicts an even more revoltingportrait than that of Abellino in his bravo's disguise. He addsdetail after detail without considering the final effect on theeye:

 "Every muscle in his gigantic form seemed convulsed by some horrible sensation; the deepest gloom darkened every feature; the wind from the unclosed window agitated his raven locks, and every hair appeared to writhe itself. His eyeballs glared, his teeth chattered, his lips trembled; and yet a smile of satisfied vengeance played horribly around them. His complexion seemed suddenly to be changed to the dark tincture of an African; the expression of his countenance was dreadful, was diabolical. Magdalena, as she gazed upon his face, thought that she gazed upon a demon. "

Here, to quote the Lady Hysterica Belamour, we have surely the"horrid, horrible, horridest horror. " But in _Königsmark theRobber, or The Terror of Bohemia_ (1818), Lewis's caste includesan enormous yellow-eyed spider, a wolf who changes into a peasantand disappears amid a cloud of sulphur, and a ghost who shedsthree ominous drops of boiling blood. It was probably suchstories as this that Peacock had in mind when he declared, through Mr. Flosky, that the devil had become "too base andpopular" for the surfeited appetite of readers of fiction. Yet, as Carlyle once exclaimed of the German terror-drama, asexemplified in Kotzebue, Grillparzer and Klingemann, whosestock-in-trade is similar to that of Lewis: "If any man wish toamuse himself irrationally, here is the ware for his money. "[51]Byron, who had himself attempted in _Oscar and Alva_ (_Hours ofIdleness_, 1807) a ballad in the manner of Lewis, describes withirony the triumphs of terror:

 "Oh! wonderworking Lewis! Monk or Bard, Who fain would make Parnassus a churchyard! Lo! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow, Thy muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou; Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st thy stand, By gibbering spectres hailed, thy kindred band; Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page To please the females of our modest age; All hail, M. P. , from whose infernal brain Thin-sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train; At whose command 'grim women' throng in crowds And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds With small grey men--wild yagers and what not, To crown with honour thee and Walter Scott; Again, all hail! if tales like thine may please, St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease. Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell, And in thy skull discern a deeper hell!"[52]

Scott's delightfully discursive review of _The Fatal Revenge orThe Family of Montorio_ (1810), not only forms a fittingintroduction to the romances of Maturin, but presents a livelysketch of the fashionable reading of the day. It has beeninsinuated that the _Quarterly Review_ was too heavy and serious, that it contained, to quote Scott's own words, "none of thoselight and airy articles which a young lady might read while herhair was papering. " To redeem the reputation of the journal, Scott gallantly undertook to review some of the "flitting andevanescent productions of the times. " After a laboriousinspection of the contents of a hamper full of novels, he arrivedat the painful conclusion that "spirits and patience may be ascompletely exhausted in perusing trifles as in followingalgebraical calculations. " He condemns the authors of the Gothicromance, not for their extravagance, a venial offence, but fortheir monotony, a deadly sin. 

 "We strolled through a variety of castles, each of which was regularly called Il Castello; met with as many captains of condottieri, heard various ejaculations of Santa Maria and Diabolo; read by a decaying lamp and in a tapestried chamber dozens of legends as stupid as the main history; examined such suites of deserted apartments as might set up a reasonable barrack, and saw as many glimmering lights as would make a respectable illumination. " It was no easy task to bore Sir Walter Scott, and an excursion into the byeways of early nineteenth century fiction proves abundantly the justice of his satire. Such novelists as Miss Sarah Wilkinson or Mrs. Eliza Parsons, whose works were greedily devoured by circulating library readers a hundred years ago, deliberately concocted an unappetising gallimaufry of earlier stories and practised the harmless deception of serving their insipid dishes under new and imposing names. A writer in the _Annual Review_, so early as 1802, complains in criticising _Tales of Superstition and Chivalry_:

 "It is not one of the least objections against these fashionable fictions that the imagery of them is essentially monstrous. Hollow winds, clay-cold hands, clanking chains and clicking clocks, with a few similar etcetera are continually tormenting us. "

Tales of terror were often issued in the form of sixpennychapbooks, enlivened by woodcuts daubed in yellow, blue, red andgreen. Embellished with these aids to the imagination, they weresold in thousands. To the readers of a century ago, a "blue book"meant, as Medwin explains in his life of Shelley, not a pamphletfilled with statistics, but "a sixpenny shocker. "[53] Thenotorious Minerva Press catered for wealthier patrons, and, it issaid, sold two thousand copies of Mrs. Bennett's _Beggar Girl andher Benefactors_ on the day of publication, at thirty-sixshillings for the seven volumes. Samuel Rogers recalled Lane, thehead of the firm, riding in a carriage and pair with two footmen, wearing gold cockades. [54] Scott was careful not to disclose thenames of the novelists he derided, but his hamper probablycontained a selection of Mrs. Parsons' sixty works, and perhapstwo of Miss Wilkinson's, with their alluring titles, _The Prioryof St. Clair, or The Spectre of the Murdered Nun_; _The Conventof the Grey Penitents, or The Apostate Nun_. Perchance, he foundthere Mrs. Henrietta Rouvière's romance, (published in the sameyear as _Montorio_, ) _A Peep at our Ancestors_ (1807), describingthe reign of King Stephen. Mrs. Rouvière, in her preface, "flatters herself that, aided by records and documents, she may have succeeded in a correct though faint sketch of the times she treats, and in affording, if through a dim yet not distorted nor discoloured glass, A Peep at our Ancestors";

but her story is entirely devoid of the colour with which Mrs. Radcliffe, her model, contrived to decorate the past. It is, moreover, written in a style so opaque that it obscures herimages from view as effectually as a piece of ground glass. Todescribe the approach of twilight--an hour beloved by writers ofromance--she attempts a turgid paraphrase of Gray's Elegy:

 "The grey shades of an autumnal evening gradually stole over the horizon, progressively throwing a duskier hue on the surrounding objects till glimmering confusion encompassing the earth shut from the accustomed eye the well-known view, leaving conjecture to mark its boundaries. "

The adventures of Adelaide and her lover, Walter of Gloucester, are so insufferably tedious that Scott doubtless decided to"leave to conjecture" their interminable vicissitudes. The namesof other novels, whose pages he may impatiently have scanned, maybe garnered by those who will, from such works as _LivingAuthors_ (1817), or from the four volumes of Watts' elaboratecompilation, the _Bibliotheca Britannica_ (1824). The titles are, indeed, lighter and more entertaining reading than the booksthemselves. Anyone might reasonably expect to read _MidnightHorrors, or The Bandit's Daughter_, as Henry Tilney vows he read_The Mysteries of Udolpho_, with "hair on end all the time"; butthe actual story, notwithstanding a wandering ball of fire, thatacts as guide through the labyrinths of a Gothic castle, isconducive of sleep rather than shudders. The notoriety of Lewis'smonk may be estimated by the procession of monks who followed inhis train. There were, to select a few names at random, _The NewMonk_, by one R. S. , Esq. ; _The Monk of Madrid_, by George Moore(1802); _The Bloody Monk of Udolpho_, by T. J. Horsley Curties;_Manfroni, the One-handed Monk_, whose history was borrowed, together with those of Abellino, the terrific bravo, and RinaldoRinaldini, [55] by "J. J. " from Miss Flinders' library;[56] andlastly, as a counter-picture, a monk without a scowl, _TheBenevolent Monk_, by Theodore Melville (1807). The nuns, including "Rosa Matilda's" _Nun of St. Omer's_, Miss SophiaFrancis's _Nun of Misericordia_ (1807) and Miss Wilkinson's_Apostate Nun_, would have sufficed to people a convent. Perhaps_The Convent of the Grey Penitents_ would have been a suitableabode for them; but most of them were, to quote Crabbe, "girls nonunnery can tame. " Lewis's Venetian bravo was boldly transportedto other climes. We find him in Scotland in _The MysteriousBravo_, or _The Shrine of St. Alstice, A Caledonian Legend_, andin Austria in _The Bravo of Bohemia or The Black Forest_. Nocountry is safe from the raids of banditti. _The CaledonianBanditti_ or _The Banditti of the Forest_, or _The Bandit ofFlorence_--all very much alike in their manners and morals--makethe heroine's journey a perilous enterprise. The romances of Mrs. Radcliffe were rifled unscrupulously by the snappers-up ofunconsidered trifles, and many of the titles are variations onhers. In emulation of _The Romance of the Forest_ we find GeorgeWalker's _Romance of the Cavern_ (1792) and Miss Eleanor Sleath's_Mysteries of the Forest_. Novelists appreciated the magneticcharm of the word "mystery" on a title-page, and after _TheMysteries of Udolpho_ we find such seductive names as _MysteriousWarnings_ and _Mysterious Visits_, by Mrs. Parsons; _HorridMysteries_, translated from the German of the Marquis von Grosse, by R. Will (1796); _The Mystery of the Black Tower_ and _TheMystic Sepulchre_, by John Palmer, a schoolmaster of Bath; _TheMysterious Wanderer_ (1807), by Miss Sophia Reeve; _TheMysterious Hand or Subterranean Horrors_ (1811), by A. J. Randolph; and _The Mysterious Freebooter_ (1805), by FrancisLathom. Castles and abbeys were so persistently haunted that Mrs. Rachel Hunter, a severely moral writer, advertises one of herstories as _Letitia: A Castle Without a Spectre_. Mystery slips, almost unawares, into the domestic story. There are, forinstance, vague hints of it in Charlotte Smith's _Old ManorHouse_ (1793). The author of _The Ghost_ and of _More Ghosts_adopts the pleasing pseudonym of Felix Phantom. The gloom ofnight broods over many of the stories, for we know:

 "affairs that walk, As they say spirits do, at midnight, have In them a wilder nature than the business That seeks despatch by day, "

and we are confronted with titles like _Midnight Weddings_, byMrs. Meeke, one of Macaulay's favourite "bad-novel writers, " _TheMidnight Bell_, awakening memories of Duncan's murder, by GeorgeWalker, or _The Nocturnal Minstrel_ (1809), by Miss Sleath. These"dismal treatises" abound in reminiscences of Mrs. Radcliffe andof "Monk" Lewis, and many of them hark back as far as _The Castleof Otranto_ for some of their situations. The novels of MissWilkinson may perhaps serve as well as those of any of hercontemporaries to show that Scott was not unduly harsh in hiscondemnation of the romances fashionable in the first decade ofthe nineteenth century, when "tales of terror jostle on theroad. "[57] The sleeping potion, a boon to those who weave theintricate pattern of a Gothic romance, is one of Miss Wilkinson'sfavourite devices, and is employed in at least three of herstories. In _The Chateau de Montville_ (1803) it is administeredto the amiable Louisa to aid Augustine in his sinister designs, but she ultimately escapes, and is wedded by Octavius, who haspreviously been borne off by a party of pirates. He "finds thepast unfortunate vicissitudes of his life amply recompensed byher love. " In _The Convent of the Grey Penitents_, Rosalthehappily avoids the opiate, as she overhears the plans of herunscrupulous husband, who, it seems, has "an unquenchable thirstof avarice, " and desires to win a wealthier bride. She flees to a"cottage ornée" on Finchley Common, the home, it may beremembered, of Thackeray's Washerwoman; and the thrills we expectfrom a novel of terror are reserved for the second volume, andarise out of the adventures of the next generation. AfterRosalthe's death, spectres, blue flames, corpses, thunderstormsand hairbreadth escapes are set forth in generous profusion. 

In _The Priory of St. Clair_ (1811), Julietta, who has beenforced into a convent against her will, like so many otherheroines, is drugged and conveyed as a corpse to the Count deValvé's Gothic castle. She comes to life only to be slain beforethe high altar, and revenges herself after death by haunting thecount regularly every night. _The Fugitive Countess or Convent ofSt. Ursula_ (1807) contains three spicy ingredients--a mockburial, a concealed wife and a mouldering manuscript. The socialstatus of Miss Wilkinson's characters is invariably lofty, for noself-respecting ghost ever troubles the middle classes; and hermanner is as ambitious as her matter. Her personages, in _Lopezand Aranthe_, behave and talk thus:

"Heavenly powers!" exclaimed Aranthe, "it is Dorimont, or else myeyes deceive me!" Overpowered with surprise and almostbreathless, she sunk on the carpet. Lopez stood aghast, hiscountenance was of a deadly pale, a glass of wine he had in hishand he let fall to the floor, while he articulated: "What analteration in that once beauteous countenance!"

Miss Wilkinson's sentences stagger and lurch uncertainly, but shedelights in similes and other ornaments of style:

 "Adeline Barnett was fair as a lily, tall as the pine, her fine dark eyes sparkling as diamonds, and she moved with the majestic air of a goddess, but pride and ambition appeared on the brow of this famed maiden, and destroying the effect of her charms. "

She is, in fact, more addicted to "gramarye" than to"grammar"--the fault with which Byron, in a note to _EnglishBards and Scotch Reviewers_, charged the hero and heroine ofScott's _Lay of the Last Minstrel_. Her heroes do not merelylove, they are "enamoured to a romantic degree. " Her arbours are"composed of jasmine, white rose, and other odoriferous sweets ofFlora. " She sprinkles French phrases with an airy nonchalanceworthy of the Lady Hysterica Belamour, whose memoirs are includedin Barrett's _Heroine_. Her duchesses "figure away with_éclat_"--"a party _quarrie_ assemble at their _dejeune_. " It isnoteworthy that by 1820 even Miss Wilkinson had learnt to despisethe spectres in whom she had gloried during her amazing career. In _The Spectre of Lanmere Abbey_ (1820) the ghost isignominiously exposed, and proved to be "a tall figure dressed inwhite, and a long, transparent veil flowing over her wholefigure, " while the heroine Amelia speaks almost in the accents ofCatherine Morland:

 "My governess has been affirming that there are Gothic buildings without spectres or legends of a ghostly nature attached to them; now, what is a castle or abbey worth without such appendage?; do tell me candidly, are none of the turrets of your old family mansion in Monmouth rendered thus terrific by some unquiet, wandering spirit?, dare the peasantry pass it after twilight, or if they are forced into that temerity, do not their teeth chatter, their hair stand erect and their poor knees knock together?"

That Miss Wilkinson, who, for twenty years, had conscientiouslystriven to chill her readers' blood, should be compelled at lastto turn round and gibe at her own spectres, reveals into what apiteous plight the novel of terror had fallen. When even theenchantress disavowed her belief in them, the ghosts must surelyhave fled shrieking and affrighted and thought never more toraise their diminished heads. 

From a medley of novels, similar to those of Miss Wilkinson, Scott singled out for commendation _The Fatal Revenge or TheFamily of Montorio_, by "Jasper Denis Murphy, " or the Rev. Charles Robert Maturin. Amid the chaos of horror into whichMaturin hurls his readers, Scott shrewdly discerned the spiritand animation which, though often misdirected, pervade his wholework. The story is but a grotesque distortion of life, yet Scottfound himself "insensibly involved in the perusal and at timesimpressed with no common degree of respect for the powers of theauthor. " His generous estimate of Maturin's gifts and hisprediction of future success is the more impressive, because _TheFatal Revenge_ undeniably belongs to the very class of novels hewas ridiculing. 

Maturin was an eccentric Irish clergyman, who diverted himself byweaving romances and constructing tragedies. He loved to minglewith the gay and frivolous; he affected foppish attire, andprided himself on his exceptional skill in dancing. Hisindulgence in literary work was probably but another expressionof his longing to escape from the strait and narrow wayprescribed for a Protestant clergyman. Wild anecdotes are told ofhis idiosyncrasies. [58] He preferred to compose his stories in aroom full of people, and he found a noisy argument especiallyinvigorating. To prevent himself from taking part in theconversation, he used to cover his mouth with paste composed offlour and water. Sometimes, we are told, he would wear a redwafer upon his brow, as a signal that he was enduring the throesof literary composition and expected forbearance andconsideration. It is said that he once missed preferment in thechurch because he absentmindedly interviewed his prospectivevicar with his head bristling with quills like a porcupine. He issaid to have insisted on his wife's using rouge though she hadnaturally a high colour, and to have gone fishing in aresplendent blue coat and silk stockings. Such was the flamboyantpersonality of the man whose first novel attracted the kindlyattention of Scott. His oddities, which would have rejoiced theheart of Dickens, are not without significance in a study of hisliterary work, for his love of emphasis and exaggeration arereflected in both the substance and style of his novels. 

Maturin's writings fall into three periods. Of his three earlynovels, _The Fatal Revenge or The Family of Montorio_ (1807), _The Wild Irish Boy_ (1808) and _The Milesian Chief_ (1812), thefirst only is a tale of horror. _The Wild Irish Boy_ is adomestic story, and forms a suitable companion for Lady Morgan's_Wild Irish Girl_. _The Milesian Chief_ is a historical novel, and is now chiefly remembered on account of the likeness of theopening chapters to Scott's _Bride of Lammermoor_ (1819). Afterthe publication of these novels, Maturin turned his attention tothe stage. His first tragedy, _Bertram_ (1816), received theencouragement of Scott and Byron. The character of Bertram ismodelled on that of Schiller's robber-chief, Karl von Moor, whocaptivated the imagination of Coleridge himself, and who isreflected in _Osorio_ and perhaps in Mrs. Radcliffe's villains. The action of the melodrama moves swiftly, and abounds in the"moving situations" Maturin loved to handle. _Bertram_ wassucceeded in 1817 by _Manuel_, and in 1819 by _Fredolfo_. Meanwhile Maturin had returned to novel-writing. _Women, or Pouret Contre_, with its lifelike sketches of Puritanical society andclever characterisation, appeared in 1818, and was favourablyreviewed by Scott. [59] _Melmoth the Wanderer_, Maturin'smasterpiece, was published in 1820, and was succeeded in 1824 byhis last work, _The Albigenses_, a historical romance, followingScott's design rather than that of Mrs. Radcliffe. 

In reviewing _The Family of Montorio_, Scott prudently attemptedonly a brief survey of the plot, and forsook Maturin's sequenceof events. In his sketch the outline of the story iscomparatively clear. In the novel itself we wander, bewildered, baffled and distracted through labyrinthine mazes. No Ariadneawaits on the threshold with the magic ball of twine to guide usthrough the complicated windings. We stumble along blind alleysdesperately retracing our weary steps, and, after stumbling aloneand unaided to the very end, reach the darkly concealed clue whenit has ceased to be either of use or of interest to us. Many anadventurer must have lain down, dispirited and exhausted, withoutever reaching his distant and elusive goal. Disentangled andsimplified almost beyond recognition, the story runs thus: In1670, Count Orazio and his younger brother are the solerepresentatives of the family of Montorio. Orazio has marriedErminia di Vivaldi, whom he loves devotedly. She does not returnhis love. The younger brother determines to take advantage ofthis circumstance to gain the title and estates for himself, andsucceeds in arousing Orazio's jealousy against a young officer, Verdoni, to whom Erminia had formerly been deeply attached. In aviolent passion Orazio slays Verdoni before the eyes of Erminia, who falls dead at his feet. This part of his design accomplished, the younger brother plots to murder Orazio himself, who, however, discovers the innocence of his wife and the hideous perfidy ofhis brother. Temporarily bereft of reason, Orazio sojourns aloneon a desert island. When his senses are restored, he resolves todevote the rest of his life to vengeance. For fifteen years heburies himself in occult studies, and when his diabolical schemeshave matured, returns, disguised as the monk Schemoli, to thescene of the murder. He becomes confessor to his brother, who hasassumed the title and estates. It is his intention to compel theCount's sons, Annibal and Ippolito, to murder their father. Deathat the hands of parricides seems to him the only appropriatecatastrophe for the Count's career of infamy. To reconcile thetwo victims--Annibal and Ippolito--to their task, he "reliesmainly on the doctrine of fatalism. " The most complex andingenious "machinery" is used to work upon their superstitiousfeelings. No device is too tortuous if it aid his purpose. Eventhe pressure of the Inquisition is brought to bear on one of thebrothers. Each, after protracted agony, submits to his destiny, and the swords of the two brothers meet in the Count's body. Whenthe murder is safely accomplished, it is proved that Annibal andIppolito are the sons, not of the Count, but of Schemoli andErminia. By the irony of fate the knowledge comes too late forSchemoli to save his children from the crime. At the close of alengthy trial the two brothers are released, but deprived oftheir lands. Ultimately they die fighting in the siege ofBarcelona. Schemoli perishes, in the approved Gothic manner, byself-administered poison. Intertwined with the main theme ofSchemoli's fatal revenge are the love-stories of the twobrothers. Rosolia, a nun, who seems to have been acquainted withShakespeare's comedies, disguises herself as a page, and devotesher life to the service of Ippolito and to the composition ofsentimental verses. She only reveals her sex just before herdeath, though we have guessed it from her first appearance. Ildefonsa, who is beloved of Annibal, has been forced into aconvent against her will--a fate almost inevitable in the realmof Gothic romance. When letters are received authorising herrelease from the vows, a pitiless mother-superior reports thatshe is dead. She is immured, but an earthquake sets her free, forMaturin will move heaven and earth to effect his purposes. Theill-fated maiden dies shortly afterwards. Ere the close it provesthat Ildefonsa was the daughter of Erminia, who had been secretlymarried to Verdoni before her union with Orazio. Such is theskeleton of Maturin's story, when its scattered members have beenpatiently collected and fitted together. The impressive figure ofSchemoli, with his unholy power of fascinating his reluctantaccomplices, lends to the book the only sort of unity itpossesses. But even he fails to arouse a sense of fear strongenough to fix our attention to so wandering a story. Like thedoomed brothers, we drift dejectedly through inexplicableterrors, and we re-echo with fervour Annibal's dolorous cry:

 "Why should I be shut up in this house of horrors to deal with spirits and damned things and the secrets of the infernal world while there are so many paths open to pleasure, the varieties of human intercourse and the enjoyment of life?"

Maturin, a disciple of Mrs. Radcliffe, feels it his duty toexplain away the apparently miraculous incidents in his story, but he lacks the persevering ingenuity that partly compensatesfor her frauds. On a single page he calmly discloses secretswhich have harassed us for four volumes, and his long-deferredexplanations are paltry and incredible. The bleeding figures thatwrought so painfully on the sensitive nerves of Ippolito aremerely waxen images that spout blood automatically. Disappearances and reappearances, which seemed supernatural, aresimply effected by private exits and entrances. Other startlingphenomena are accounted for in the same trivial fashion. 

Maturin seems to have crowded into his story nearly everycharacter and incident that had been employed in earlier Gothicromances. Schemoli is a remarkably faithful portrait of Mrs. Radcliffe's Schedoni. From beneath his cowl flash the piercingeyes, whose very glance will daunt the bravest heart; his sallowvisage is furrowed with the traces of bygone passions; he shunssociety, and is dreaded by his associates. The oppressed maiden, driven into a nunnery, drugged and immured, the ambitiouscountess, the devoted, loquacious servant, the inhumanabbess--all play their accustomed parts. The background shiftsfrom the robber's den to the ruined chapel, from the castle vaultto the dungeon of the Inquisition, each scene being admirablysuited to the situation contrived, or the emotion displayed. Maturin had accurately inspected the passages and trap-doors ofOtranto. No item, not a rusty lock, not a creaking hinge, hadescaped his vigilant eye. He knew intimately every nook andcranny of Mrs. Radcliffe's Gothic abbeys. He had viewed withtrepidation their blood-stained floors, their skeletons andcorpses, and had carefully calculated the psychological effect ofthese properties. He had gazed with starting eye on the luridhorrors of "Monk" Lewis, and had carried away impressions sodistinct that he, perhaps unwittingly, transferred them to thepages of his own story. But Maturin's reading was not strictlyconfined to the school of terror. He had studied Shakespeare'stragedies, and these may have suggested to him the idea ofenhancing the interest of his story by dissecting human motiveand describing passionate feeling. In depicting the remorse ofthe count and his wife Zenobia, who had committed a murder togratify their ambition, and who are tormented by ugly dreams, Maturin inevitably draws from _Macbeth_. Zenobia, the strongercharacter, reviles her husband for indulging in sickly fanciesand strives to embolden him:

 "Like a child you run from a mask you have yourself painted. "

He replies in a free paraphrase of _Hamlet_:

 "It is this cursed domestic sensibility of guilt that makescowards of us all. "

Maturin is distinguished from the incompetent horde ofromance-writers, whom Scott condemned, by the powerful eloquenceof his style and by his ability to analyse emotion, to write asif he himself were swayed by the feeling he describes. His insaneextravagances have at least the virtue that they come flaming hotfrom an excited imagination. The passage quoted byScott--Orazio's attempt to depict his state of mind after he hadheard of his brother's perfidy--may serve to illustrate the forceand vigour of his language:

 "Oh! that midnight darkness of the soul in which it seeks for something whose loss has carried away every sense but one of utter and desolate deprivation; in which it traverses leagues in motion and worlds in thought without consciousness of relief, yet with a dread of pausing. I had nothing to seek, nothing to recover; the whole world could not restore me an atom, could not show me again a glimpse of what I had been or lost, yet I rushed on as if the next step would reach shelter and peace. "

_Melmoth the Wanderer_ has found many admirers. It fascinatedRossetti, [60] Thackeray[61] and Miss Mitford. [62] It was praisedby Balzac, who wrote a satirical sequel--_Melmoth Reconcilié àL'Eglise_ (1835), and by Baudelaire, and exercised a considerableinfluence on French literature. [63] It consists of a series oftales, strung together in a complicated fashion. In each tale theWanderer, who has bartered his soul in return for prolonged life, may, if he can, persuade someone to take the bargain off hishands. [64] He visits those who are plunged in despair. Hisapproach is heralded by strange music, and his eyes have apreternatural lustre that terrifies his victims. No one willagree to his "incommunicable condition. "

The bird's-eye view of an Edinburgh Reviewer who described_Melmoth_ as "the sacrifice of Genius in the Temple of FalseTaste, " will give some idea of the bewildering variety of itscontents:

 "His hero is a modern Faustus, who has bartered his soul with the powers of darkness for protracted life and unlimited worldly enjoyment; his heroine, a species of insular goddess, a virgin Calypso of the Indian Ocean, who, amid flowers and foliage, lives upon figs and tamarinds, associates with peacocks and monkeys, is worshipped by the occasional visitants of her island, finds her way into Spain where she is married to the aforesaid hero by the hand of a dead hermit, the ghost of a murdered domestic being the witness of her nuptials; and finally dies in a dungeon of the Inquisition at Madrid. To complete this phantasmagoric exhibition, we are presented with sybils and misers, parricides, maniacs in abundance, monks with scourges pursuing a naked youth streaming with blood; subterranean Jews surrounded by the skeletons of their wives and children; lovers blasted by lightning, Irish hags, Spanish grandees, shipwrecks, caverns, Donna Claras and Donna Isidoras--all exposed to each other in violent and glaring contrast and all their adventures narrated with the same undeviating display of turgid, vehement, and painfully elaborated language. "[65]

This breathless sentence gives some conception of the deliriousimagery of Maturin's romance, but the book is worthy of a morerespectful, unhurried survey. _Melmoth_ shows a distinct advanceon _Montorio_ in constructive power. Each separate story isperfectly clear and easy to follow, in spite of the elaborateinterlacing. The romance opens with the death of a miser in adesolate Irish farmstead, with harpies clustering at his bedside. His nephew and heir, John Melmoth, is adjured to destroy acertain manuscript and a portrait of an ancestor with eyes "suchas one feels they wish they had never seen and feels they cannever forget. " Alone at midnight, John Melmoth reads themanuscript, which is reputed to have been written by Stanton, anEnglish traveller in Spain, about 1676. The document relates astartling story of a mysterious Englishman who appears at aSpanish wedding with disastrous consequences, and reappearsbefore Stanton in a madhouse offering release on dreadfulconditions. After reading it, John Melmoth decides to burn thefamily portrait. He is visited by a sinister form, who provesthat he is no figment of the imagination by leaving black andblue marks on his relative's wrist. The next night a ship iswrecked in a storm. The Wanderer appears, and mocks the victimswith fiendish mirth. The sole survivor, Don Alonzo Monçada, unfolds his story to John Melmoth. The son of a great duke, hehas been forced to become a monk to save his mother's honour. Hedwells with the excruciating detail in which Maturin is inclinedto revel, on the horrors of Spanish monasteries. Escaping througha subterranean passage, he is guided by a parricide, whoincidentally tells him a loathsome story of two immured lovers. His plan of flight is foiled, and he is borne off to the dungeonsof the Inquisition. Here the Wanderer, who has a miraculous powerto enter where he will, offers, on the ineffable condition, toprocure his freedom. Monçada repudiates the temptation, effectshis own escape during a great fire, and catches sight of thestranger on the summit of a burning building. He takes refugewith a Jew, but, to evade the vigilance of the Inquisitors, disappears suddenly down an underground passage, where he findsAdonijah, another Jew, who obligingly employs him as anamanuensis, and sets him to copy a manuscript. This gives Maturinthe opportunity, for which he has been waiting, to introduce his"Tale of the Indian. " The story of Immalee, who is visited on herdesert island by the Wanderer in the guise of a lover as well asa tempter, forms the most memorable part of _Melmoth_. In theother stories the stranger has been a taciturn creature, relyingon the lustre of his eyes rather than on his powers of eloquenceto win over his victims. To Immalee he pours forth floods ofrhetoric on the sins and follies of mankind. Had she not been oneof Rousseau's children of nature, and so innocent alike of aknowledge of Shakespeare and of the fault of impatience, shewould surely have exclaimed: "If thou hast news, I pritheedeliver them like a man of this world. " When Immalee istransported to Spain and reassumes her baptismal name of Isidora, Melmoth follows her and their conversations are continued at deadof night through the lattice. Here they discourse on the realnature of love. At length the gloomy lover persuades Isidora tomarry him. Their midnight nuptials take place against a weirdbackground. By a narrow, precipitous path they approach theruined chapel, and are united by a hand "as cold as that ofdeath. " Meanwhile, Don Francisco, Isidora's father, on his wayhome, spends the night at an inn, where a stranger insists ontelling him "The Tale of Guzman. " In this tale the tempter visitsa father whose family is starving, but who resists the lure ofwealth. Maturin portrays with extraordinary power thedeterioration in the character of an old man Walberg, through theeffects of poverty. At the close of the narration Don Franciscofalls into a deep slumber, but is sternly awakened by a strangerwith an awful eye, who insists on becoming his fellow traveller, and on telling, in defiance of protests, yet another story. Theprologue to the Lover's Tale is almost Chaucerian in its humour:

 "It was with the utmost effort of his mixed politeness and fear that he prepared himself to listen to the tale, which the stranger had frequently amid their miscellaneous conversation, alluded to, and showed an evident anxiety to relate. These allusions were attended with unpleasant reminiscences to the hearer--but he saw that it was to be, and armed himself as best he might with courage to hear. 'I would not intrude on you, Senhor, ' says the stranger, 'with a narrative in which you can feel but little interest, were I not conscious that its narration may operate as a warning, the most awful, salutary and efficacious to yourself. '"

At this veiled hint Don Francisco discharges a volley of oaths, but he is silenced completely by the smile of the stranger--"thatspoke bitterer and darker things than the fiercest frown thatever wrinkled the features of man. " After this he cannot choosebut hear, and the stranger seizes his opportunity to begin anuncommonly dull story, connected with a Shropshire family andintermingled with historical events. In this tale the Wandererappears to a girl whose lover has lost his reason, and offers torestore him if she will accept his conditions. Once more thetempter is foiled. The story meanders so sluggishly that oursympathies are with Don Francisco, and we cannot help wishingthat he had adopted more drastic measures to quieten theinsistent stranger. At the conclusion Francisco muttersindignantly:

 "It is inconceivable to me how this person forces himself on my company, harasses me with tales that have no more application to me than the legend of the Cid, and may be as apocryphal as the ballad of Roncesvalles--"

but yet the stranger has not finished. He proceeds to tell him atale in which he will feel a peculiar interest, that of Isidora, his own daughter, and finally urges him to hasten to her rescue. Don Francisco wanders by easy stages to Madrid, and, on hisarrival, marries Isidora against her will to Montilla. Melmoth, according to promise, appears at the wedding. The bridegroom isslain. Isidora, with Melmoth's child, ends her days in thedungeons of the Inquisition, murmuring: "Paradise! will he bethere?" So far as one may judge from the close of the story, itseems not. 

Monçada and John Melmoth, whom we left, at the beginning of theromance, in Ireland, are revisited by the Wanderer, whose time onearth has at last run out. He confesses his failure: "I havetraversed the world in the search, and no one to gain that world, would lose his own soul. " His words remind us of the text of thesermon which suggested to Maturin the idea of the romance. Likethe companions of Dr. Faustus, Melmoth and Monçada hear terriblesounds from the room of the Wanderer in the last throes of agony. The next morning the room is empty; but, following a track to thesea-cliffs, they see, on a crag beneath, the kerchief theWanderer had worn about his neck. "Melmoth and Monçada exchangedlooks of silent and unutterable horror, and returned slowlyhome. "

This extraordinary romance, like _Montorio_, clearly owes much tothe novels of Mrs. Radcliffe, and "Monk" Lewis. Immalee, as hername implies, is but a glorified Emily with a loxia on hershoulder instead of a lute in her hand. The monastic horrors areobviously a heritage from _The Monk_. The Rosicrucian legend, ashandled in _St. Leon_, may have offered hints to Maturin, whosetreatment is, however, far more imaginative and impressive thanthat of Godwin. The resemblance to the legend of the WanderingJew need not be laboured. Marlowe's _Dr. Faustus_ and the firstpart of Goethe's _Faust_ left their impression on the story. Theclosing scenes inevitably remind us of the last act of Marlowe'stragedy. But, when all these debts are acknowledged they do butserve to enhance the success of Maturin, who out of these variedstrands could weave so original a romance. _Melmoth_ is not aningenious patchwork of previous stories. It is the outpouring ofa morbid imagination that has long brooded on the fearful and theterrific. Imbued with the grandeur and solemnity of his theme, Maturin endeavours to write in dignified, stately language. Thereare frequent lapses into bombast, but occasionally his rhetoricis splendidly effective:

 "It was now the latter end of autumn; heavy clouds had all day been passing laggingly and gloomily along the atmosphere, as the hours pass over the human mind and life. Not a drop of rain fell; the clouds went portentously off, like ships of war reconnoitring a strong fort, to return with added strength and fury. "

He takes pleasure in coining unusual, striking phrases, such as:"All colours disappear in the night, and despair has no diary, "or "Minutes are hours in the _noctuary_ of terror, " or "Thesecret of silence is the only secret. Words are a blasphemyagainst that taciturn and invisible God whose presence enshroudsus in our last extremity. "

Maturin chooses his similes with discrimination, to heighten theeffect he aims at producing:

"The locks were so bad and the keys so rusty that it was like thecry of the dead in the house when the keys were turned, " or:

 "With all my care, however, the lamp declined, quivered, flashed a pale light, like the smile of despair, on me, and was extinguished . .. I had watched it like the last beatings of an expiring heart, like the shiverings of a spirit about to depart for eternity. "

There are no quiet scenes or motionless figures in _Melmoth_. Everything is intensified, exaggerated, distorted. The veryclouds fly rapidly across the sky, and the moon bursts forth withthe "sudden and appalling effulgence of lightning. " A shower ofrain is perhaps "the most violent that was ever precipitated onthe earth. " When Melmoth stamps his foot "the reverberation ofhis steps on the hollow and loosened stones almost contended withthe thunder. " Maturin's use of words like "callosity, ""induration, " "defecated, " "evanition, " and his fondness foritalics are other indications of his desire to force animpression by fair means or foul. 

The gift of psychological insight that distinguishes _Montorio_reappears in a more highly developed form in _Melmoth theWanderer_. "Emotions, " Maturin declares, "are my events, " and heexcels in depicting mental as well as physical torture. Themonotony of a "timeless day" is suggested with dreary reality inthe scene where Monçada and his guide await the approach of nightto effect their escape from the monastery. The gradual surrenderof resolution before slight, reiterated assaults is cunninglydescribed in the analysis of Isidora's state of mind, when ahateful marriage is forced upon her. Occasionally Maturinastonishes us by the subtlety of his thought:

"While people think it worth while to torment us we are neverwithout some dignity, though painful and imaginary. "

It is his faculty for describing intense, passionate feeling, hispower of painting wild pictures of horror, his gifts forconveying his thoughts in rolling, rhythmical periods ofeloquence, that make _Melmoth_ a memory-haunting book. With allhis faults Maturin was the greatest as well as the last of theGoths. 

CHAPTER V - THE ORIENTAL TALE OF TERROR. BECKFORD. 

Beckford's _History of the Caliph Vathek_, which was written inFrench, was translated by the Rev. Samuel Henley, who had thetemerity to publish the English version--described as atranslation from the Arabic--in 1786, before the original hadappeared. The French version was published in Lausanne and inParis in 1787. An interest in Oriental literature had beenawakened early in the eighteenth century by Galland'sepoch-making versions of _The Arabian Nights_ (1704-1717), _TheTurkish Tales_ (1708) and _The Persian Tales_ (1714), which wereall translated into English during the reign of Queen Anne. Manyof the pseudo-translations of French authors, such as Gueulette, who compiled _The Chinese Tales_, _Mogul Tales_, _TartarianTales_, and _Peruvian Tales_, and Jean-Paul Bignon, who presented_The Adventures of Abdallah_, were quickly turned into English;and the Oriental story became so fashionable a form that didacticwriters eagerly seized upon it as a disguise for moral orphilosophical reflection. The Eastern background soon lost itsglittering splendour and colour, and became a faded, tarnishedtapestry, across which shadowy figures with outlandish names andEnglish manners and morals flit to and fro. Addison's _Vision ofMirza_ (1711), Johnson's _Rasselas_ (1759), and various essays in_The Rambler_, Dr. Hawkesworth's _Almoran and Hamet_ (1761), Langhorne's _Solyman and Almena_ (1762), Ridley's _Tales of theGenii_ (1764), and Mrs. Sheridan's _History of Nourjahad_ (1767)were among the best and most popular of the Anglo-Orientalstories that strove to inculcate moral truths. In theiroppressive air of gravity, Beckford, with his implacable hatredof bores, could hardly have breathed. One of the most amazingfacts about his wild fantasy is that it was the creation of anEnglish brain. The idea of _Vathek_ was probably suggested toBeckford by the witty Oriental tales of Count Antony Hamilton andof Voltaire. The character of the caliph, who desired to knoweverything, even the sciences which did not exist, is sketched inthe spirit of the French satirists, who turned Orientalextravagance into delightful mockery. Awed into reverence ere theclose by the sombre grandeur of his own conception of the hallsof Eblis, Beckford cast off the flippant mood in which he had setout and rose to an exalted solemnity. 

Beckford's mind was so richly stored with the jewels of Easternlegend that it was inevitable he should shower from his treasurythings new and old, but everything which passes through thealembic of his imagination is transmuted almost beyondrecognition. The episode of the sinners with the flaming heartshas been traced[66] to a scene in the _Mogul Tales_, where AboulAssam saw three men standing mute in postures of sorrow before abook on which were inscribed the words: "Let no man touch thisdivine treatise who is not perfectly pure. " When Aboul Assamenquired of their fate they unbuttoned their waistcoats, andthrough their skin, which appeared like crystal, he saw theirhearts encompassed with fire. In Beckford's story this grotesquescene assumes an awful and moving dignity. From _The Adventure ofAbdallah, Son of Hanif_, Beckford derived the conception of avisit to the regions of Eblis, whom, however, by a wave of hiswand, he transforms from a revolting ogre to a statelyprince. [67]

To read _Vathek_ is like falling asleep in a huge Oriental palaceafter wandering alone through great, echoing halls resplendentwith a gorgeous arras, on which are displayed the adventures ofthe caliph who built the palaces of the five senses. In our dreamthe caliph and his courtiers come to life, and we awake dazzledwith the memory of a myriad wonders. There throng into our mind acrowd of unearthly forms--aged astrologers, hideous Giaours, gibbering negresses, graceful boys and maidens, restless, pacingfigures with their hands on their hearts, and a formidableprince--whose adventures are woven into a fantastic but distinctand definite pattern around the three central personages, thecaliph Vathek, his exquisitely wicked mother Carathis, and thebewitching Nouronihar. The fatal palace of Eblis, with its loftycolumns and gloomy towers of an architecture unknown in theannals of the earth, looms darkly in our imagination. Beckfordalludes, with satisfaction, to _Vathek_ as a "story so horridthat I tremble while relating it, and have not a nerve in myframe but vibrates like an aspen, "[68] and in the _Episodes_leads us with an unhallowed pleasure into other abodes ofhorror--a temple adorned with pyramids of skulls festooned withhuman hair, a cave inhabited by reptiles with human faces, and anapartment whose walls were hung with carpets of a thousand kindsand a thousand hues, which moved slowly to and fro as if stirredby human creatures stifling beneath their weight. But Beckfordpasses swiftly from one mood to another, and was only momentarilyfascinated by terror. So infinite is the variety of _Vathek_ inscenery and in temper that it seems like its wealthy, eccentric, author secluded in Fonthill Abbey, to dwell apart in defiant, splendid isolation. 

It is impossible to understand or appreciate _Vathek_ apart fromBeckford's life and character, which contain elements almost asgrotesque and fantastic as those of his romance. He was novisionary dreamer, content to build his pleasure-domes in air. Herevelled in the golden glories of good Haroun-Alraschid, [69] buthe craved too for solid treasures he could touch and handle, forprecious jewels, for rare, beautiful volumes, for curious, costlyfurniture. The scenes of splendour portrayed in _Vathek_ werebased on tangible reality. [70] Beckford's schemes in laterlife--his purchase of Gibbon's entire library, his twice-builttower on Lansdown Hill, were as grandiose and ambitious as thoseof an Eastern caliph. The whimsical, Puckish humour, which helpedto counteract the strain of gloomy bitterness in his nature, wasearly revealed in his _Biographical Memoirs of ExtraordinaryPainters_ and in his burlesques of the sentimental novels of theday, which were accepted by the compiler of _Living Authors_(1817) as a serious contribution to fiction by one Miss JacquettaAgneta Mariana Jenks. Moore, [71] in his _Journal_, October 1818, remarks:

 "The two mock novels, _Azemia_ and _The Elegant Enthusiast_, were written to ridicule the novels written by his sister, Mrs. Harvey (I think), who read these parodies on herself quite innocently. "

Even in the gloomy regions of Eblis, Beckford will not whollyrepress his sense of the ridiculous. Carathis, unawed by theeffulgence of his infernal majesty, behaves like a buffoon, shouting at the Dives and actually attempting to thrust a Solimanfrom his throne, before she is finally whirled away with herheart aflame. The calm politeness with which the dastardlyBarkiaroukh consents to a blood-curdling murder, the sardonicdialogue between Vathek on the edge of the precipice and theGiaour concealed in the abyss, the buoyantly high-spiriteddescription of the plump Indian kicked and pursued like "aninvulnerable football, " the oppressive horror of the subterraneanrecesses, the mischievous pleasantry of the Gulchenrouz idyllreveal different facets of Beckford's ever-varying temper. In_Vathek_, Beckford found expression not only for his devotion tothe Eastern outlook on life, but also for his own strangelycoloured, vehement personality. The interpreter walks ever at ourelbow whispering into our ear his human commentary on Vathek'sastounding adventures. 

Beckford's pictures are remarkable for definite precision ofoutline. There are no vague hints and suggestions, no lurkingshadows concealing untold horrors. The quaint dwarfs perched onVathek's shoulders, the children chasing blue butterflies, Nouronihar and her maidens on tiptoe, with their hair floating inthe breeze, stand out in clear relief, as if painted on a fresco. The imagery is so lucid that we are able to follow witheffortless pleasure the intricate windings of a plot which atBeckford's whim twists and turns through scenes of wonderfulvariety. Amid his wild, erratic excursions he never loses sightof the end in view; the story, with all its vagaries, isperfectly coherent. This we should expect from one who "loved tobark a tough understanding. "[72] It is the intellectual strengthand exuberant vitality behind Beckford's Oriental scenes thatlend them distinction and power. 

_The History of the Caliph Vathek_ did not set a fashion. It istrue that the Orient sometimes formed the setting of nineteenthcentury novels, as in Disraeli's _Alvoy_ (1833), where for abrief moment, when the hero's torch is extinguished by bats onhis entry into subterranean portals, we find ourselves in theabode of wonder and terror; but not till Meredith's _Shaving ofShagpal_ (1856) do we meet again Beckford's kinship with theEast, and his gift for fantastic burlesque. 

CHAPTER VI - GODWIN AND THE ROSICRUCIAN NOVEL. 

When Miss Austen was asked to write a historical romance"illustrative of the house of Coburg, " she airily dismissed thesuggestion, pleading mirthfully:

 "I could not sit down seriously to write a serious romance under any other motive than to save my life, and if it were indispensable for me to keep it up and never relax into laughing at myself or at other people I am sure I should be hung before I had finished the first chapter. "[73]

If Godwin had been confronted with the same offer, he would havesettled himself promptly to plot out a scheme, and within a fewmonths a historical romance on the house of Coburg, accompaniedperchance by a preface setting forth the evils of monarchy, wouldhave been in the hands of the publisher. Unlike Miss Austen, Godwin had neither a sense of humour nor a fastidious artisticconscience to save him from undertaking incongruous tasks. Heseems never even to have suspected the humour of life, and wouldhave perceived nothing ludicrous in the spectacle of the authorof _Political Justice_ embarking on such a piece of work. Thosedisquieting flashes of self-revelation that more imaginative mencatch in the mirror of their own minds and that awaken sometimeslaughter and sometimes tears, never disturbed Godwin's serenity. He brooded earnestly over his speculations, quietly ignoringinconvenient facts and never shrinking from absurd conclusions. In theory he aimed at disorganising the whole of human society, yet in actual life he was content to live unobtrusively, publishing harmless books for children; and though he abhorredthe principle of aristocracy, he did not scruple to accept asinecure from government through Lord Grey. Notwithstanding hisstolid inconsistency and his deficiency in humour, Godwin is afigure whom it is impossible to ignore or to despise. He was nota frothy orator who made his appeal to the masses, but the leaderof the trained thinkers of the revolutionary party, a politicalrebel who, instead of fulminating wildly and impotently after themanner of his kind, expressed his theories in clear, reasonableand logical form. It is easy, but unprofitable, to sneer at thefutility of some of Godwin's conclusions or to complain of thearidity of his style. His _Political Justice_ remains, nevertheless, a lucidly written, well-ordered piece ofintellectual reasoning. Shelley spoke of Godwin's _Mandeville_ inthe same breath with Plato's _Symposium_[74] and the ideasexpressed in _Political Justice_ inspired him to write not merely_Queen Mab_ but the _Revolt of Islam_ and _Prometheus Unbound_. Godwin's plea for the freedom of the individual and his belief inthe perfectibility of man through reason had a far-reachingeffect that cannot be readily estimated, but, as his theoriesonly concern us here in so far as they affect two of his novels, it is unnecessary to pursue the trail of his influence further. 

That the readers of fiction in the last decade of the eighteenthcentury eagerly desired the mysterious and the terrible, Mrs. Radcliffe's widespread popularity proved unmistakably. To satisfythis craving, Godwin, who was ever on the alert to discover asubject which promised swift and adequate financial return, turned to novel-writing, and supplied a tale of mystery, _TheAdventures of Caleb Williams_ (1794), and a supernatural, historical romance, _St. Leon_ (1799). As he was a politicalphilosopher by nature and a novelist only by profession, heartfully inveigled into his romances the theories he wished topromote. The second title of _Caleb Williams_ is significant. _Things As They Are_ to Godwin's mind was synonymous with "thingsas they ought not to be. " He frankly asserts: "_Caleb Williams_was the offspring of that temper of mind in which the compositionof my _Political Justice_ left me"[75]--a guileless confessionthat may well have deterred many readers who recoil shudderingfrom political treatises decked out in the guise of fiction. Butalarm is needless; for, although _Caleb Williams_ attempts toreveal the oppressions that a poor man may endure under existingconditions, and the perversion of the character of an aristocratthrough the "poison of chivalry, " the story may be enjoyed forits own sake. We can read it, if we so desire, purely for theexcitement of the plot, and quietly ignore the underlyingtheories, just as it is possible to enjoy Spenser's sensuousimagery without troubling about his allegorical meaning. Thesecret of Godwin's power seems to be that he himself was socompletely fascinated by the intricate structure of his storythat he succeeds in absorbing the attention of his readers. Hebestowed infinite pains on the composition of _Caleb Williams_, and conceived the lofty hope that it "would constitute an epochin the mind of every reader. "[76] A friend to whom he submittedtwo-thirds of his manuscript advised him to throw it into thefire and so safeguard his reputation. The result of thiscriticism on a character less determined or less phlegmatic thanGodwin's would have been a violent reaction from hope to despair. But Godwin, who seems to have been independent of externalstimulus, was not easily startled from his projects, and ploddedsteadily forward until his story was complete. He would havescorned not to execute what his mind had conceived. Godwin'sbusinesslike method of planning the story backwards has beenadopted by Conan Doyle and other writers of the detective story. The deliberate, careful analysis of his mode of procedure, socharacteristic of his mind and temper, is full of interest:

 "I bent myself to the conception of a series of adventures of flight and pursuit: the fugitive in perpetual apprehension of being overwhelmed with the worst calamities and the pursuer by his ingenuity and resources keeping the victim in a state of the most fearful alarm. This was the project of my third volume. I was next called upon to conceive a dramatic and impressive situation adequate to account for the impulse that the pursuer should feel incessantly to alarm and harass his victim, with an inextinguishable resolution never to allow him the least interval of peace and security. This I apprehended could best be effected by a secret murder, to the investigation of which the innocent victim should be impelled by an unconquerable spirit of curiosity. The murderer would thus have a sufficient motive to persecute the unhappy discoverer that he might deprive him of peace, character and credit, and have him for ever in his power. This constituted the outline of my second volume. .. To account for the fearful events of the third it was necessary that the pursuer should be invested with every advantage of fortune, with a resolution that nothing could defeat or baffle and with extraordinary resources of intellect. Nor could my purpose of giving an overpowering interest to my tale be answered without his appearing to have been originally endowed with a mighty store of amiable dispositions and virtues, so that his being driven to the first act of murder should be judged worthy of the deepest regret, and should be seen in some measure to have arisen out of his virtues themselves. It was necessary to make him . .. The tenant of an atmosphere of romance, so that every reader should feel prompted almost to worship him for his high qualities. Here were ample materials for a first volume. "[77]

Godwin hoped that an "entire unity of plot" would be theinfallible result of this ingenious method of constructing hisstory, and only wrote in a high state of excitement when the"afflatus" was upon him. So far as we may judge from hisdescription, he seems to have realised his story first as acomplex psychological situation, not as a series of disconnectedpictures. He thought in abstractions not in visual images, and hehad next to make his abstractions concrete by inventing figureswhose actions should be the result of the mental and moralconflict he had conceived. Godwin's attitude to his art forms astriking contrast to that of Mrs. Radcliffe. She has her set ofmarionettes, appropriately adorned, ready to move hither andthither across her picturesque background as soon as she hasdeftly manipulated the machinery which is to set them in motion. Godwin, on the other hand, first constructs his machinery, andafterwards, with laborious effort, carves the figures who are tobe attached to the wires. He cares little for costume or setting, but much for the complicated mechanism that controls the destinyof his characters. The effect of this difference in method isthat we soon forget the details of Mrs. Radcliffe's plots, butremember isolated pictures. After reading _Caleb Williams_ werecollect the outline of the story in so far as it relates to thepsychology of Falkland and his secretary; but of the actualscenes and people only vague images drift through our memory. Godwin's point of view was not that of an artist but of ascientist, who, after patiently investigating and analysingmental and emotional phenomena, chose to embody his results inthe form of a novel. He spared no pains to make his narrativearresting and convincing. The story is told by Caleb Williamshimself, who, in describing his adventures, revives the passionsand emotions that had stirred him in the past. By this deviceGodwin trusted to lend energy and vitality to his story. 

Caleb Williams, a raw country youth, becomes secretary toFalkland, a benevolent country gentleman, who has come to settlein England after spending some years in Italy. Collins, thesteward, tells Williams his patron's history. Falkland has alwaysbeen renowned for the nobility of his character. In Italy, wherehe inspired the love and devotion of an Italian lady, he avoided, by "magnanimity, " a duel with her lover. On Falkland's return toEngland, Tyrrel, a brutal squire who was jealous of hispopularity, conceived a violent hatred against him. When MissMelville, Tyrrel's ill-used ward, fell in love with Falkland, whohad rescued her from a fire, her guardian sought to marry her toa boorish, brutal farm-labourer. Though Falkland's timelyintervention saved her in this crisis, the girl eventually diedas the result of Tyrrel's cruelty. As she was the victim oftyranny, Falkland felt it his duty at a public assembly todenounce Tyrrel as her murderer. The squire retaliated by makinga personal assault on his antagonist. As Falkland "had perceivedthe nullity of all expostulation with Mr. Tyrrel, " and asduelling according to the Godwinian principles was "the vilest ofall egotism, " he was deprived of the natural satisfaction ofmeeting his assailant in physical or even mental combat. Yet "hewas too deeply pervaded with the idle and groundless romances ofchivalry ever to forget the situation"--as Godwin seems to thinka "man of reason" might have done in these circumstances. Tyrrelwas stabbed in the dark, and Falkland, on whom suspicionnaturally fell, was tried, but eventually acquitted without astain on his character. Two men--a father and son calledHawkins--whom Falkland had befriended against the overbearingTyrrel, were condemned and executed for the crime. This is thestate of affairs when Caleb Williams enters Falkland's serviceand takes up the thread of the narrative. On hearing the story ofthe murder, Williams, who has been perplexed by the gloomy moodsof his master, allows his suspicions to rest on Falkland, and togratify his overmastering passion of curiosity determines to spyincessantly until he has solved the problem. One day, afterhaving heard a groan of anguish, Williams peers through thehalf-open door of a closet, and catches sight of Falkland in theact of opening the lid of a chest. This incident fans hissmouldering curiosity into flame, and he is soon after detectedby his master in an attempt to break open the chest in the"Bluebeard's chamber. " Not without cause, Falkland is furiouslyangry, but for some inexplicable reason confesses to the murder, at the same time expressing his passionate determination at allcosts to preserve his reputation. He is tortured, not by remorsefor his crime, but by the fear of being found out, and seeks toterrorise Williams into silence by declaring:

 "To gratify a foolishly inquisitive humour you have sold yourself. You shall continue in my service, but can never share my affection. If ever an unguarded word escape from your lips, if ever you excite my jealousy or suspicion, expect to pay for it by your death or worse. "

From this moment Williams is helpless. Turn where he will, thetoils of Falkland encompass him. Forester, Falkland'shalf-brother, tries to persuade Williams to enter his service. Williams endeavours to flee from his master, who prevents hisescape by accusing him, in the presence of Forester, of stealingsome jewellery and bank-notes which have disappeared in theconfusion arising from an alarm of fire. The plunder has beenplaced in Williams' boxes, and the evidence against him isoverwhelming. He is imprisoned, and the sordid horror of his lifein the cells gives Godwin an opportunity of showing "how manbecomes the destroyer of man. " He escapes, and is sheltered by agang of thieves, whose leader, Raymond, a Godwinian theorist, listens with eager sympathy to his tale, which he regards as"only one fresh instance of the tyranny and perfidiousnessexercised by the powerful members of the community against thosewho are less privileged than themselves. " When a reward isoffered for the capture of Williams, the thieves are persuadedthat they must not deliver the lamb to the wolf. After an oldhag, whose animosity he has aroused, has made a bloodthirstyattack on him with a hatchet, Williams feels obliged to leavetheir habitation "abruptly without leave-taking. " He then assumesbeggar's attire and an Irish brogue, but is soon compelled toseek a fresh disguise. In Wales as in London, he comes acrosssomeone who has known Falkland, and is reviled for his treacheryto so noble a master, and cast forth with ignominy. He discoversthat Falkland has hired an unscrupulous villain, Gines, to followhim from place to place, blackening his reputation. Finallydesperation drives him to accuse Falkland openly, though, afterdoing so, he praises the murderer, and loathes himself for hisbetrayal:

"Mr. Falkland is of a noble nature . .. A man worthy of affectionand kindness . .. I am myself the basest and most odious ofmankind. "

The inexorable persecutor in return cries at last:

 "Williams, you have conquered! I see too late the greatness and elevation of your mind. I confess that it is to my fault and not yours that I owe my ruin . .. I am the most execrable of all villains. .. As reputation was the blood that warmed my heart, so I feel that death and infamy must seize me together. "

Three days later Falkland dies, but instead of experiencingrelief at the death of his persecutor, Williams becomes thevictim of remorse, regarding himself as the murderer of a noblespirit, who had been inevitably ruined by the corruption of humansociety:

"Thou imbibedst the poison of chivalry with thy earliest youth, and the base and low-minded envy that met thee on thy return tothy native seats, operated with this poison to hurry thee intomadness. "

At the conclusion of the story, Godwin has not succeeded inmaking his moral very clear. The "wicked aristocrat" who figuresin the preface as "carrying into private life the execrableprinciples of kings and ministers" emerges at last almost as asaintly figure, who through a false notion of honour hasunfortunately become the victim of a brutal squire. But, if thestory does not "rouse men to a sense of the evils of slavery, " or"constitute an epoch in the mind of every reader, " it hascompensating merits and may be read with unfailing interesteither as a study of morbid psychology or as a spirited detectivestory. Godwin's originality in his dissection of human motive hashardly yet been sufficiently emphasised, perhaps because he is soscrupulous in acknowledging literary debts. [78] From Mrs. Radcliffe, whose _Romance of the Forest_ was published the yearbefore _Caleb Williams_, he borrowed the mysterious chest, thenature of whose contents is hinted at but never actuallydisclosed; but Godwin was no wizard, and had neither the gift northe inclination to conjure with Gothic properties. In leavingimperfectly explained the incident of the discovery of the heartin _The Monastery_, Scott shielded himself behind Godwin's IronChest, which gave its name to Colman's drama. [79] Godwin'speculiar interest was in criminal psychology, and he concentrateson the dramatic conflict between the murderer and the detective. An unusual turn is given to the story by the fact that thecriminal is the pursuer instead of the pursued. Godwin intendedlater in life to write a romance based on the story of EugeneAram, the philosophical murderer; and his careful notes on thescheme are said to have been utilised by his friend, BulwerLytton, in his novel of that name. [80] _Caleb Williams_ helped topopularise the criminal in fiction, and _Paul Clifford_, thestory of the chivalrous highwayman, is one of its literarydescendants. 

Godwin was a pioneer breaking new ground in fiction; and, as hewas a man of talent rather than of genius, it is idle to expectperfection of workmanship. The story is full of improbabilities, but they are described in so matter-of-fact a style that we"soberly acquiesce. " After an hour of Godwin's grave society aneffervescent sense of humour subsides. A mind open to suggestionis soon infected by his imperturbable seriousness, whicheffectually stills "obstinate questionings. " Even the brigandswho live with their philanthropic leader are accepted withoutdemur. After all, Raymond is only Robin Hood turned politicalphilosopher. The ingenious resources of _Caleb Williams_ when hestrives to elude his pursuer are part of the legitimatestock-in-trade of the hero of a novel of adventure. He is not asother men are, and comes through perilous escapades withmiraculous success. It is at first difficult to see why Falklanddoes not realise that his plan of ceaselessly harassing hisvictim is likely to force Williams to accuse him publicly, butgradually we begin to regard his mental obliquity as one of thedecrees of fate. Falkland's obtuseness is of the same nature asthat of the sleeper who undertakes a voyage to Australia todeliver a letter which anywhere but in a dream would have beendropped in the nearest pillar-box. The obvious solution thatwould occur to a waking mind is persistently evasive. The plot of_Caleb Williams_ hinges on an improbability, but so does that of_King Lear_; and if it had not been for Falkland's stupidity, thestory would have ended with the first volume. Godwin excels inthe analysis of mental conditions, but fails when he attempts totransmute passionate feeling into words. We are conscious that heis a cold-blooded spectator _ab extra_ striving to describe whathe has never felt for himself. It is not even "emotionrecollected in tranquillity. " Men of this world, who are carriedaway by scorn and anger, utter their feelings simply anddirectly. Godwin's characters pause to cull their words fromdictionaries. Forester's invective, when he believes thatWilliams has basely robbed his master is astonishingly elegant:"Vile calumniator! You are the abhorrence of nature, theopprobrium of the human species and the earth can only be freedfrom an insupportable burthen by your being exterminated. "[81]The diction is so elaborately dignified that the contempt whichwas meant almost to annihilate Caleb Williams, lies effectuallyconcealed behind a blinding veil of rhetoric. When he has leisureto adorn, he translates the simplest, most obvious reflectionsinto the "jargon" of political philosophy, but, drivenimpetuously forward by the excitement of his theme, he throws offjerky, spasmodic sentences containing but a single clause. Hisstyle is a curious mixture of these two manners. 

The aim of _St. Leon: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century_, is toshow that "boundless wealth, freedom from disease, weakness anddeath are as nothing in the scale against domestic affection andthe charities of private life. "[82] For four years Godwin haddesired to modify what he had said on the subject of privateaffections in _Political Justice_, while he asserted hisconviction of the general truth of his system. Godwin had arguedthat private affections resulted in partiality, and thereforeinjustice. [83] If a house were on fire, reason would urge a manto save Fénelon in preference to his valet; but if the rescuerchanced to be the brother or father of the valet, private feelingwould intervene, unreasonably urging him to save his relative andabandon Fénelon. Lest he should be regarded as a wrecker ofhomes, Godwin wished to show that domestic happiness should notbe despised by the man of reason. Instead of expressing his viewson this subject in a succinct pamphlet, Godwin, elated by thesuccess of _Caleb Williams_, decided to embody them in the formof a novel. He at first despaired of finding a theme so rich ininterest as that of his first novel, but ultimately decided that"by mixing human feelings and passions with incredible situationshe might conciliate the patience even of the severestjudges. "[84] The phrase, "mixing human feelings, " betrays in aflash Godwin's mechanical method of constructing a story. Hemakes no pretence that _St. Leon_ grew naturally as a work ofart. He imposed upon himself an unsuitable task, and, though hedoggedly accomplished it, the result is dull and laboured. 

The plot of _St. Leon_ was suggested by Dr. John Campbell's_Hermippus Redivivus_, [85] and centres round the theories of theRosicrucians. The first volume describes the early life of theknight St. Leon, his soldiering, his dissipations, and his happymarriage to Marguerite, whose character is said to have beenmodelled on that of Mary Wollstonecraft. In Paris he is temptedinto extravagance and into playing for high stakes, with theresult that he retires to Switzerland the "prey of poverty andremorse. " Misfortunes pursue him for some time, but he at lastenjoys six peaceful years, at the end of which he is visited by amysterious old man, whom he conceals in a summer-house, and whomhe refuses to betray to the Inquisitors in search of him. Inreturn the old man reveals to him the secret of the elixir vitæ, and of the philosopher's stone. Marguerite becomes suspicious ofthe source of her husband's wealth: "For a soldier you present mewith a projector and a chemist, a cold-blooded mortal raking inthe ashes of a crucible for a selfish and solitary advantage. "His son, Charles, unable to endure the aspersions cast upon hisfather's honour during their travels together in Germany, desertshim. St. Leon is imprisoned because he cannot account for thedeath of the stranger and for his own sudden acquisition ofwealth, but contrives his escape by bribing the jailor. Hetravels to Italy, but is unable to escape from misfortune. Suspected of black magic, he becomes an object of hatred to theinhabitants of the town where he lives. His house is burnt down, his servant and his favourite dog are killed, and he soon hearsof the death of his unhappy wife. He is imprisoned in thedungeons of the Inquisition, but escapes, and takes refuge with aJew, whom he compels to shelter him, until another dose of theelixir restores his youthful appearance, and he sets forth again, this time disguised as a wealthy Spanish cavalier. He visits hisown daughters, representing himself as the executor under theirfather's will. He decides to devote himself to the service ofothers, and is revered as the saviour of Hungary, untildisaffection, caused by a shortage of food, renders himunpopular. He makes a friend of Bethlem Gabor, whose wife andchildren have been savagely murdered by a band of marauders. St. Leon, we are told, "found an inexhaustible and indescribablepleasure in examining the sublime desolation of a mighty soul. "But Gabor soon conceives a bitter hatred against him, and entrapshim in a subterranean vault, where he languishes for many months, refusing to yield up his secret. At length the castle isbesieged, and Gabor before his death gives St. Leon his liberty. The leader of the expedition proves to be St. Leon's long-lostson, Charles, who has assumed the name of De Damville. St. Leon, without at first revealing his identity, cultivates thefriendship of his son, but Charles, on learning of his dealingswith the supernatural, repudiates his father. Finally themarriage of his son to Pandora proves to St. Leon that despitehis misfortunes "there is something in this world worth livingfor. "

The Inquisition scenes of _St. Leon_ were undoubtedly colouredfaintly by those of Lewis's _Monk_ (1794) and Mrs. Radcliffe's_Italian_ (1798); but it is characteristic of Godwin that insteadof trying to portray the terror of the shadowy hall, he choosesrather to present the argumentative speeches of St. Leon and theInquisitor. The aged stranger, who bestows on St. Leon thephilosopher's stone and the elixir of life, has the piercing eyeso familiar to readers of the novel of terror: "You wished toescape from its penetrating power, but you had not the strengthto move. I began to feel as if it were some mysterious andsuperior being in human form;"[86] but apart from this trait heis not an impressive figure. The only character who would havefelt perfectly at home in the realm of Mrs. Radcliffe and "Monk"Lewis is Bethlem Gabor, who appears for the first time in thefourth volume of _St. Leon_. He is akin to Schedoni and hiscompeers in his love of solitude, his independence ofcompanionship, and his superhuman aspect, but he is a figure whoinspires awe and pity as well as terror. Beside this personagethe other characters pale into insignificance:

 "He was more than six feet in stature . .. And he was built as if it had been a colossus, destined to sustain the weight of the starry heavens. His voice was like thunder . .. His head and chin were clothed with a thick and shaggy hair, in colour a dead-black. He had suffered considerable mutilation in the services through which he had passed . .. Bethlem Gabor, though universally respected for the honour and magnanimity of a soldier, was not less remarkable for habits of reserve and taciturnity. .. Seldom did he allow himself to open his thoughts but when he did, Great God! what supernatural eloquence seemed to inspire and enshroud him. .. Bethlem Gabor's was a soul that soared to a sightless distance above the sphere of pity. "[87]

The superstitions of bygone ages, which had fired the imaginationof so many writers of romance, left Godwin cold. He was mildlyinterested in the supernatural as affording insight into the"credulity of the human mind, " and even compiled a treatise on_The Lives of the Necromancers_ (1834). [88] But the hints andsuggestions, the gloom, the weird lights and shades which help tocreate that romantic atmosphere amid which the alchemist's dreamseems possible of realisation are entirely lacking in Godwin'sstory. He displays everything in a high light. The transferenceof the gifts takes place not in the darkness of a subterraneanvault, but in the calm light of a summer evening. No unearthlygroans, no phosphorescent lights enhance the horror and mysteryof the scene. Godwin is coolly indifferent to historicalaccuracy, and fails to transport us back far beyond the end ofthe eighteenth century. Rousseau's theories were apparentlydisseminated widely in 1525. _St. Leon_ is remembered now ratherfor its position in the history of the novel than for anyintrinsic charm. Godwin was the first to embody in a romance theideas of the Rosicrucians which inspired Bulwer Lytton's _Zicci_, _Zanoni_ and _A Strange Story_. 

_St. Leon_ was travestied, the year after it appeared, in a workcalled _St. Godwin: A Tale of the 16th, 17th and 18th Century_, by "Count Reginald de St. Leon, " which gives a scathing survey ofthe plot, with all its improbabilities exposed. The bombasticstyle of _St. Leon_ is imitated and only slightly exaggerated, and the author finally satirises Godwin bitterly:

 "Thinking from my political writings that I was a good hand at fiction, I turned my thoughts to novel-writing. These I wrote in the same pompous, inflated style as I had used in my other publications, hoping that my fine high-sounding periods would assist to make the unsuspecting reader swallow all the insidious reasoning, absurdity and nonsense I could invent. "[89]

The parodist takes Godwin almost as seriously as he took himself, and his attack is needlessly savage. Godwin's political opinionsmay account for the brutality of his assailant who doubtlessbelonged to the other camp. When Godwin attempts the supernaturalin his other novels, he always fails to create an atmosphere ofmystery. The apparition in _Cloudesley_ appears, fades, andreappears in a manner so undignified as to remind us of theCheshire Cat in _Alice in Wonderland_:

 "I suddenly saw my brother's face looking out from among the trees as I passed. I saw the features as distinctly as if the meridian sun had beamed upon them. .. It was by degrees that the features showed themselves thus out of what had been a formless shadow. I gazed upon it intently. Presently it faded away by as insensible degrees as those by which it had become agonisingly clear. After a short time it returned. "

Godwin describes a ghost as deliberately and exactly as he woulddescribe a house, and his delineation causes not the faintesttremor. Having little imagination himself, he leaves nothing tothe imagination of the reader. In his _Lives of theNecromancers_, he shows that he is interested in discovering theorigin of a belief in natural magic; but the life stories of themagicians suggest no romantic pictures to his imagination. Indealing with the mysterious and the uncanny, Godwin wasattempting something alien to his mind and temper. 

In Godwin's _St. Leon_ the elixir of life is quietly bestowed onthe hero in a summer-house in his own garden. The poet, ThomasMoore, in his romance, _The Epicurean_ (1827), sends forth aGreek adventurer to seek it in the secret depths of the catacombsbeneath the pyramids of Egypt. He originally intended to tell hisstory in verse, but after writing a fragment, _Alciphron_, abandoned this design and decided to begin again in prose. Hisstory purports to be a translation of a recently discoveredmanuscript buried in the time of Diocletian. Inspired by a dream, in which an ancient and venerable man bids him seek the Nile ifhe wishes to discover the secret of eternal life, Alciphron, ayoung Epicurean philosopher of the second century, journeys toEgypt. At Memphis he falls in love with a beautiful priestess, Alethe, whom he follows into the catacombs. Bearing a glimmeringlamp, he passes through a gallery, where the eyes of a row ofcorpses, buried upright, glare upon him, into a chasm peopled bypale, phantom-like forms. He braves the terrors of a blazinggrove and of a dark stream haunted by shrieking spectres, andfinds himself whirled round in chaos like a stone shot in asling. Having at length passed safely through the initiation ofFire, Water and Air, he is welcomed into a valley of "unearthlysadness, " with a bleak, dreary lake lit by a "ghostly glimmer ofsunshine. " He gazes with awe on the image of the god Osiris, whopresides over the silent kingdom of the dead. Watching within thetemple of Isis, he suddenly sees before him the priestess, Alethe, who guides him back to the realms of day. At the close ofthe story, after Alethe has been martyred for the Christianfaith, Alciphron himself becomes a Christian. 

In _The Epicurean_, Moore shows a remarkable power of describingscenes of gloomy terror, which he throws into relief byoccasionalglimpses of light and splendour. The journey of Alciphroninevitably challenges comparison with that of _Vathek_, but thespirit of mockery that animates Beckford's story is whollyabsent. Moore paints a theatrical panorama of effective scenes, but his figures are mere shadows. 

The miseries of an existence, prolonged far beyond the allottedspan, are depicted not only in stories of the elixir of life, butin the legends centring round the Wandering Jew. Croly's_Salathiel_ (1829), like Eugene Sue's lengthy romance, _Le JuifErrant_, won fame in its own day, but is now forgotten. Some ofCroly's descriptions, such as that of the burning trireme, have acertain dazzling magnificence, but the colouring is often crudeand startling. The figure of the deathless Jew is apt to be lostamid the mazes of the author's rhetoric. The conception of a mandoomed to wander eternally in expiation of a curse is in itselfan arresting theme likely to attract a romantic writer, but therecord of his adventures may easily become monotonous. 

The "novel of terror" has found few more ardent admirers than theyouthful Shelley, who saw in it a way of escape from the harshrealities and dull routine of ordinary existence. From hischildhood the world of ideas seems to have been at least as realand familiar to him as the material world. The fabulous beings ofwhom he talked to his young sisters--the Great Tortoise inWarnham Pond, the snake three hundred years old in the garden atField Place, the grey-bearded alchemist in his garret[90]--hadprobably for him as much meaning and interest as the livingpeople around him. Urged by a restless desire to evade thenatural and encounter the supernatural, he wandered by nightunder the "perilous moonshine, " haunted graveyards in the hope of"high talk with the departed dead, " dabbled in chemicalexperiments and pored over ancient books of magic. It was to beexpected that an imagination reaching out so eagerly towards theunknown should find refuge from the uncongenial life of SionHouse School in the soul-stirring region of romance. Transportedby sixpenny "blue books" and the many volumed novels in theBrentford circulating library, Shelley's imagination fledjoyously to that land of unlikelihood, where the earth yawns withbandits' caverns inhabited by desperadoes with bloody daggers, where the air continually resounds with the shrieks and groans ofmelancholy spectres, and where the pale moon ever gleams on darkand dreadful deeds. He had reached that stage of humandevelopment when fairies, elves, witches and dragons begin tolose their charm, when the gentle quiver of fear excited by anogre, who is inevitably doomed to be slain at the last, no longersuffices. At the approach of adolescence with its surgingemotions and quickening intellectual life, there awakens a demandfor more thrilling incidents, for wilder passions and moredesperate crimes, and it is at this period that the "novel ofterror" is likely to make its strongest appeal. Youth, with itsinexperience, is seldom tempted to bring fiction to the test ofreality, or to scorn it on the ground of its improbability, andwe may be sure that Shelley and his cousin, Medwin, as they hungspellbound over such treasures as _The Midnight Groan, TheMysterious Freebooter_, or _Subterranean Horrors_ did not pauseto consider whether the characters and adventures were true tolife. They desired, indeed, not to criticise but to create, andin the winter of 1809-1810 united to produce a terrific romance, with the title _Nightmare_, in which a gigantic and hideous witchplayed a prominent part. After reading Schubert's _Der EwigeJude_, they began a narrative poem dealing with the legend of theWandering Jew, [91] who lingered in Shelley's imagination in afteryears, and whom he introduced into _Queen Mab, PrometheusUnbound_, and _Hellas_. The grim and ghastly legends included in"Monk" Lewis's _Tales of Terror_ (1799) and _Tales of Wonder_(1801) fascinated Shelley;[92] and the suggestive titles_Revenge_;[93] _Ghasta, or the Avenging Demon_;[94] _St. Edmund'sEve_;[95] _The Triumph of Conscience_ from the _Poems by Victorand Cazire_ (1810), and _The Spectral Horseman_ from _ThePosthumous Poems of Margaret Nicholson_ (1810), all prove hispreoccupation with the supernatural. That Shelley's enthusiasmfor the gruesome and uncanny was not merely morbid andhysterical, the mad, schoolboyish letter, written while he was inthe throes of composing _St. Irvyne_, is sufficient indication. In a mood of grotesque fantasy and wild exhilaration, Shelleyinvites his friend Graham to Field Place. The postscript is inhis handwriting, but is signed by his sister Elizabeth:

 "The avenue is composed of vegetable substances moulded in the form of trees called by the multitude Elm trees. Stalk along the road towards them and mind and keep yourself concealed as my mother brings a blood-stained stiletto which she purposes to make you bathe in the lifeblood of your enemy. Never mind the Death-demons and skeletons dripping with the putrefaction of the grave, that occasionally may blast your straining eyeballs. Persevere even though Hell and destruction should yawn beneath your feet. 

 "Think of all this at the frightful hour of midnight, when the Hell-demon leans over your sleeping form, and inspires those thoughts which eventually will lead you to the gates of destruction. .. The fiend of the Sussex solitudes shrieked in the wilderness at midnight--he thirsts for thy detestable gore, impious Fergus. But the day of retribution will arrive. H + D=Hell Devil. "[96]

That Shelley could jest thus lightly in the mock-terrific veinshows that his mind was fundamentally sane and well-balanced, andthat he only regarded "fiendmongering" as a pleasantly thrillingdiversion. His _Zastrozzi_ (1810) and _St. Irvyne_ (1811) wereprobably written with the same zest and spirit as his harrowingletter to "impious Fergus. " They are the outcome of a boyishambition to practise the art of freezing the blood, and theircomposition was a source of pride and delight to their author. Aletter to Peacock (Nov. 9, 1818) from Italy re-echoes the note ofchild-like enjoyment in weaving romances:

"We went to see heaven knows how many more palaces--Ranuzzi, Marriscalchi, Aldobrandi. If you want Italian names for anypurpose, here they are; I should be glad of them if I was writinga novel. "

_Zastrozzi_ was published in April, 1810, while Shelley was stillat Eton, and with the £40 paid for the romance, he is said tohave given a banquet to eight of his friends. Though the story islittle more than a _réchauffé_ of previous tales of terror, itevidently attained some measure of popularity. It was reprintedin _The Romancist and Novelist's Library_ in 1839. Like Godwin, Shelley contrived to smuggle a little contraband theory into hisnovels, but his stock-in-trade is mainly that of theterrormongers. The book to which Shelley was chiefly indebted was_Zofloya or the Moor_ (1806), by the notorious Charlotte Dacre or"Rosa Matilda, " but there are many reminiscences of Mrs. Radcliffe and of "Monk" Lewis. The sources of _Zastrozzi_ and_St. Irvyne_ have been investigated in the _Modern LanguageReview_ (Jan. 1912), by Mr. A. M. D. Hughes, who gives a completeanalysis of the plot of _Zofloya_, and indicates many parallelswith Shelley's novels. The heroine of _Zofloya_ is clearly alineal descendant of Lewis's Matilda, though Victoria diLoredani, with all her vices, never actually degenerates into afiend. Victoria, it need hardly be stated, is nobly born, but shehas been brought up amid frivolous society by a worthless mother, and: "The wildest passions predominated in her bosom; to gratifythem she possessed an unshrinking, relentless soul that would notstartle at the darkest crime. "

Zofloya, who spurs her on, is the Devil himself. The plot ishighly melodramatic, and contains a headlong flight, anearthquake and several violent deaths. In _Zastrozzi_, Shelleydraws upon the characters and incidents of this story veryfreely. His lack of originality is so obvious as to need nocomment. The very names he chooses are borrowed. Julia is thename of the pensive heroine in Mrs. Radcliffe's _SicilianRomance_. Matilda carries with it ugly memories of the lady inLewis's _Monk_; Verezzi occurs in _The Mysteries of Udolpho_;Zastrozzi is formed by prefixing an extra syllable to the nameStrozzi from _Zofloya_. The incidents are those which happenevery day in the realm of terror. The villain, the hero, themelancholy heroine, and her artful rival, develop no new traits, but act strictly in accordance with tradition. They neverinfringe the rigid code of manners and morals laid down for themby previous generations. The scenery is invariably appropriate asa setting to the incidents, and even the weather may be relied onto act in a thoroughly conventional manner. The characters areremarkable for their violent emotions and their marvellouslyexpressive eyes. When Verezzi's senses are "chilled with thefrigorific torpidity of despair, " his eyes "roll horribly intheir sockets. " When "direst revenge swallows up every otherfeeling" in the soul of Matilda, her eyes "scintillate with afiend-like expression. " Incidents follow one another with a wildand stupefying rapidity. Every moment is a crisis. The style isstartlingly abrupt, and the short, disconnected paragraphs arefired off like so many pistol shots. The sequence of events ismystifying--Zastrozzi's motive for persecuting Verezzi is darklyconcealed until the end of the story, for reasons known only towriters of the novel of terror. Shelley's romance, in short, isno better and perhaps even worse than that of the other disciplesof Mrs. Radcliffe and "Monk" Lewis. 

_St. Irvyne: or the Rosicrucian_ (1811), though it was written bya "Gentleman of the University of Oxford" and not by a schoolboy, shows slight advance on _Zastrozzi_ either in matter or manner. The plot indeed is more bewildering and baffling than that of_Zastrozzi_. The action of the story is double and alternate, thescene shifts from place to place, and the characters appear anddisappear in an unaccountable and disconcerting fashion. Thistime Godwin's _St. Leon_ has to be added to the list of Shelley'ssources. Ginotti, whose name is stolen from a brigand in_Zofloya_, is not the devil but one of his sworn henchmen, whohas discovered and tasted the elixir vitae. Like Zofloya, he issurrounded by an atmosphere of mystery. So that he may himselfdie, Ginotti, like the old stranger in _St. Leon_, is anxious toimpart his secret to another. He chooses as his victim, Wolfstein, a young noble who, like Leonardo in _Zofloya_, hasallied himself with a band of brigands. The bandit, Ginotti, aidsWolfstein to escape with a beautiful captive maiden, for whomShelley adopts the name Megalena from _Zofloya_. While the loversare in Genoa, Megalena, discovering Wolfstein with a lady namedOlympia, whose "character has been ruined by a false system ofeducation, " makes him promise to murder her rival. In Olympia'sbedchamber Wolfstein's hand is stayed for a moment by the sightof her beauty--a picture which recalls the powerful scene in Mrs. Radcliffe's _Italian_, when Schedoni bends over the sleepingEllena. After Olympia's suicide, Megalena and Wolfstein fleetogether from Genoa. In the tale of terror, as in the modernfilm-play, a flight of some kind is almost indispensable. Ginotti, whose habit of disappearing and reappearing reminds usof the ghostly monk in the ruins of Paluzzi, tells his history toWolfstein, and, at the destined hour, bestows the prescriptionfor the elixir, and appoints a meeting in St. Irvyne's abbey, where Wolfstein stumbles over the corpse of Megalena. Wolfsteinrefuses to deny God. Both Ginotti and his victim are blasted bylightning, amid which the "frightful prince of terror, borne onthe pinions of hell's sulphurous whirlwind, " stands before them. 

 "On a sudden Ginotti's frame, mouldered to a gigantic skeleton, yet two pale and ghastly flames glared in his eyeless sockets. Blackened in terrible convulsions, Wolfstein expired; over him had the power of hell no influence. Yes, endless existence is thine, Ginotti--a dateless and hopeless eternity of horror. "

Interspersed with this somewhat inconsequent story are theadventures of Eloise, who is first introduced on her return home, disconsolate, to a ruined abbey. We are given to understand thatthe story is to unfold the misfortunes which have led to herdownfall, but she is happily married ere the close. Sheaccompanies her dying mother on a journey, as Emily in _TheMysteries of Udolpho_ accompanied her father, and meets amysterious stranger, Nempère, at a lonely house, where they takerefuge. Nempère proves to be a less estimable character thanValancourt, who fell to Emily's lot in similar circumstances. Hesells her to an English noble, Mountfort, at whose house shemeets Fitzeustace, who, like Vivaldi in _The Italian_, overhearsher confession of love for himself. Nempère is killed in a duelby Mountfort. At the close, Shelley states abruptly that Nempèreis Ginotti, and Eloise is Wolfstein's sister. In springing asecret upon us suddenly on the last page, Shelley was probablyemulating Lewis's _Bravo of Venice_; but the conclusion, which isintended to forge a connecting link between the tales, isunsatisfying. It is not surprising that the publisher, Stockdale, demanded some further elucidation of the mystery. Ginotti, apparently, dies twice, and Shelley's letters fail to solve theproblem. He wrote to Stockdale: "Ginotti, as you will see, did_not_ die by Wolfstein's hand, but by the influence of thatnatural magic, which, when the secret was imparted to the latter, destroyed him. "[97] A few days later he wrote again, evidently inreply to further questions: "On a re-examination you willperceive that Mountfort physically did kill Ginotti, which mustappear from the latter's paleness. " The truth seems to be thatShelley was weary of his puppets, and had no desire to extricatethem from the tangle in which they were involved, though he wasimpatient to see _St. Irvyne_ in print, and spoke hopefully ofits "selling mechanically to the circulating libraries. "

Shelley took advantage of the privilege of writers of romance topalm off on the public some of his earliest efforts atversification. These poems, distributed impartially among thevarious characters, are introduced with the same laboriousartlessness as the songs in a musical comedy. Megalena, thoughsuffering from excruciating mental agony, finds leisure toscratch several verses on the walls of her cell. It would indeedbe a poor-spirited heroine who could not deftly turn a sonnet tonight or to the moon, however profound her woes. Superhumanstrength and courage is an endowment necessary to all who woulddwell in the realms of terror and survive the fierce struggle forexistence. Peacock, in _Nightmare Abbey_, paints the Shelley of1812 in Scythrop, who devours tragedies and German romances, andis troubled with a "passion for reforming the world. " "He sleptwith _Horrid Mysteries_ under his pillow, and dreamed ofvenerable eleutherarchs and ghastly confederates holding midnightconventions in subterranean caves. .. He had a certain portion ofmechanical genius which his romantic projects tended to develop. He constructed models of cells and recesses, sliding panels andsecret passages, that would have baffled the skill of theParisian police. " His bearing was that of a romantic villain: "Hestalked about like the grand Inquisitor, and the servants flittedpast him like familiars. "

Although Shelley outgrew his youthful taste for horrors, hisearly reading left traces on the imagery and diction of hispoetry. There is an unusual profusion in his vocabulary of suchwords as ghosts, shades, charnel, tomb, torture, agony, etc. , andsupernatural similes occur readily to his mind. In _Alastor_ hecompares himself to

 "an inspired and desperate alchymist Staking his very life on some dark hope, "

and cries:

 "O that the dream Of dark magician in his visioned cave Raking the cinders of a crucible For life and power, even when his feeble hand Shakes in its last decay, were the true law Of this so lonely world. "

In the _Ode to the West Wind_ his memories of an older and finerkind of romance suggested the fantastic comparison of the deadleaves to

 "ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, "

and in _Prometheus Unbound_ Panthea sees

 "unimaginable shapes Such as ghosts dream dwell in the lampless deeps. "

The poem _Ginevra_, which describes an enforced wedding and thedeath of the bride at the sight of her real lover, may well havebeen inspired by reading the romances of terror, where suchevents are an everyday occurrence. The gruesome descriptions in_The Revolt of Islam_, the decay of the garden in _The SensitivePlant_, the tortures of Prometheus, all show how Shelley stroveto work on the instinctive emotion of fear. In _The Cenci_ hetouches the profoundest depths of human passion, and shows hispower of finding words, terrible in their simple grandeur, for asoul in agony. In the tragedies of Shakespeare and of hisfollowers--Ford, Webster and Tourneur--Shelley had heard the truelanguage of anguish and despair. The futile, frenzied shriekingof Matilda and her kind is forgotten in the passionate nobilityor fearful calm of the speeches of Beatrice Cenci. 

CHAPTER VII - SATIRES ON THE NOVEL OF TERROR. 

A conflict between "sense and sensibility" was naturally to beexpected; and, the year after Mrs. Radcliffe published _TheItalian_, Jane Austen had completed her _Northanger Abbey_, ridiculing the "horrid" school of fiction. It is noteworthy thatfor the _Mysteries of Udolpho_ Mrs. Radcliffe received £500, andfor _The Italian_ £800; while for the manuscript of _NorthangerAbbey_, the bookseller paid Jane Austen the ungenerous sum of£10, selling it again later to Henry Austen for the same amount. The contrast in market value is significant. The publisher, who, it may be added, was not necessarily a literary critic, probablyrealised that if the mock romance were successful, its tendencywould be to endanger the popularity of the prevailing mode infiction. Hence for many years it was concealed as effectively asif it had lain in the haunted apartment of one of Mrs. Radcliffe's Gothic abbeys. Among Jane Austen's early unpublishedwritings were "burlesques ridiculing the improbable events andexaggerated sentiments which she had met with in sundry sillyromances"; but her spirited defence of the novelist's art in_Northanger Abbey_ is clear evidence that her raillery isdirected not against fiction in general, but rather against such"horrid" stories as those included in the list supplied toIsabella Thorpe by "a Miss Andrews, one of the sweetest creaturesin the world. "

It has sometimes been supposed that the more fantastic titles inthis catalogue were figments of Jane Austen's imagination, butthe identity of each of the seven stories may be establishedbeyond question. Two of the stories--_The Necromancer of theBlack Forest_, a translation from the German, and _The Castle ofWolfenbach_, by Mrs. Eliza Parsons (who was also responsible for_Mysterious Warnings_)--may still be read in _The Romancist andNovelist's Library_ (1839-1841), a treasure-hoard of forgottenfiction. _Clermont_ (1798) was published by Mrs. Regina MariaRoche, the authoress of _The Children of the Abbey_ (1798), astory almost as famous in its day as _Udolpho_. The author of_The Midnight Bell_ was one George Walker of Bath, whose record, like that of Miss Eleanor Sleath, who wrote the moving history of_The Orphan of the Rhine_ (1798) in four volumes, may be found inWatts' _Bibliotheca Britannica_. _Horrid Mysteries_, perhaps theleast credible of the titles, was a translation from the Germanof the Marquis von Grosse by R. Will. Jane Austen's attack has notinge of bitterness or malice. John Thorpe, who declared allnovels, except _Tom Jones_ and _The Monk_, "the stupidest thingsin creation, " admitted, when pressed by Catherine, that Mrs. Radcliffe's were "amusing enough" and "had some fun and nature inthem"; and Henry Tilney, a better judge, owned frankly that hehad "read all her works, and most of them with great pleasure. "From this we may assume that Miss Austen herself was perhapsconscious of their charm as well as their absurdity. 

Sheridan's Lydia Languish (1775) and Colman's Polly Honeycombe(1777) were both demoralised by the follies of sentimentalfiction, as Biddy Tipkin, in Steele's _Tender Husband_ (1705), had been by romances. It was Miss Austen's purpose in creatingCatherine Morland to present a maiden bemused by Gothic romance:

"No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy wouldhave supposed her born to be a heroine. " In almost every detailshe is a refreshing contrast to the traditional type. Twolong-lived conventions--the fragile mother, who dies at theheroine's birth, and the tyrannical father--are repudiated at thevery outset; and Catherine is one of a family of seven. We cannotconceive that Mrs. Radcliffe's heroines even at the age of tenwould "love nothing so well in the world as rolling down thegreen slope at the back of the house. " Her accomplishments lackthe brilliance and distinction of those of Adela and Julia, but, "Though she could not write sonnets she brought herself to read them; and though there seemed no chance of her throwing a whole party into raptures by a prelude on the pianoforte, she could listen to other people's performances with very little fatigue. Her greatest deficiency was in the pencil--she had no notion of drawing, not enough even to attempt a sketch of her lover's profile, that she might be detected in the design. There she fell miserably short of the true heroic height. .. Not one started with rapturous wonder on beholding her. .. Nor was she once called a divinity by anybody. "

She had no lover at the age of seventeen, "because there was not a lord in the neighbourhood--not even a baronet. There was not one family among their acquaintance who had reared and supported a boy accidentally found at their door--not one whose origin was unknown. "

Nor is Catherine aided in her career by those "improbableevents, " so dear to romance, that serve to introduce a hero--arobber's attack, a tempest, or a carriage accident. With a slyglance at such dangerous characters as Lady Greystock in _TheChildren of the Abbey_ (1798), Miss Austen creates the inert, butgood-natured Mrs. Alien as Catherine's chaperone in Bath:

 "It is now expedient to give some description of Mrs. Alien that the reader may be able to judge in what manner her actions will hereafter tend to promote the general distress of the work and how she will probably contribute to reduce poor Catherine to all the desperate wretchedness of which a last volume is capable, whether by her imprudence, vulgarity or jealousy--whether by intercepting her letters, ruining her character or turning her out of doors. "

Amid all the diversions of the gay and beautiful city of Bath, Miss Austen does not lose sight entirely of her satirical aim, though she turns aside for a time. Catherine's confusion of mindis suggested with exquisite art in a single sentence. As shedrives with John Thorpe she "meditates by turns on brokenpromises and broken arches, phaetons and false hangings, Tilneysand trapdoors. " This prepares us for the delightful scene inwhich Tilney, on the way to the abbey, foretells what Catherinemay expect on her arrival. The hall dimly lighted by the expiringembers of a wood fire, the deserted bedchamber "never used sincesome cousin or kin had died in it about twenty years before, " thesingle lamp, the tapestry, the funereal bed, the broken lute, theponderous chest, the secret door, the vaulted room, the rustydagger, the cabinet of ebony and gold with its roll ofmanuscripts, prove his intimacy with _The Romance of the Forest_, as well as with _The Mysteries of Udolpho_. The black chest andthe cabinet are there in startling fulfilment of his prophecies, and when, just as with beating heart Catherine is about todecipher the roll of paper she has discovered in the cabinetdrawer, she accidentally extinguishes her candle:

 "A lamp could not have expired with more awful effect. .. Darkness impenetrable and immovable filled the room. A violent gust of wind, rising with sudden fury, added fresh horror to the moment. .. Human nature could support no more . .. Groping her way to the bed she jumped hastily in, and sought some suspension of agony by creeping far beneath the clothes. .. The storm still raged. .. Hour after hour passed away, and the wearied Catherine had heard three proclaimed by all the clocks in the house before the tempest subsided, and she, unknowingly, fell fast asleep. She was awakened the next morning at eight o'clock by the housemaid's opening her window-shutter. She flew to the mysterious manuscript, If the evidence of sight might be trusted she held a washing bill in her hands . .. She felt humbled to the dust. "

Even this bitter humiliation does not sweep away the cobwebs ofromance from Catherine's imaginative mind, but the darksuspicions she harbours about General Tilney are not altogetherinexplicable. He is so much less natural and so much more stageythan the other characters that he might reasonably be expected todabble in the sinister. This time Catherine is misled by memoriesof the _Sicilian Romance_ into weaving a mystery around the fateof Mrs. Tilney, whom she pictures receiving from the hands of herhusband a nightly supply of coarse food. She watches in vain for"glimmering lights, " like those in the palace of Mazzini, anddetermines to search for "a fragmented journal continued to thelast gasp, " like that of Adeline's father in _The Romance of theForest_. In this search she encounters Tilney, who has returnedunexpectedly from Woodston. He dissipates once and for all hernervous fancies, and Catherine decides: "Among the Alps andPyrenees, perhaps, there were no mixed characters. There, such aswere not spotless as an angel, might have the dispositions of afiend. But in England it was not so. "

Miss Austen's novel is something more than a mock-romance, andCatherine is not a mere negative of the traditional heroine, buta human and attractive girl, whose fortunes we follow with thedeepest interest. At the close, after Catherine's ignominiousjourney home, we are back again in the cool world of reality. Theabbey is abandoned, after it has served its purpose indisciplining the heroine, in favour of the unromantic countryparsonage. 

In _Northanger Abbey_, Jane Austen had deftly turned the novelsof Mrs. Radcliffe to comedy; but, even if her parody had beenpublished in 1798, when we are assured that it was completed, hersatirical treatment was too quiet and subtle, too delicatelymischievous, to have disturbed seriously the popularity of thenovel of terror. We can imagine the Isabella Thorpes and LydiaBennets of the day dismissing _Northanger Abbey_ with a yawn as"an amazing dull book, " and returning with renewed zest to morestimulating and "horrid" stories. Maria Edgeworth too had aimedher shaft at the sentimental heroine in one of her _MoralTales--Angelina or L'Amie Inconnue_ (1801). Miss Sarah Green, in_Romance Readers and Romance Writers_ (1810) had displayed theextravagant folly of a clergyman's daughter whose head was turnedby romances. Ridicule of a more blatant and boisterous kind wasneeded, and this was supplied by Eaton Stannard Barrett, who, in1813--five years before _Northanger Abbey_ appeared--published_The Heroine or The Adventures of Cherubina_. In this farcicalromance it is clearly Barrett's intention to make so vigorous anonslaught that "the Selinas, Evelinas, and Malvinas who faint andblush and weep through four half-bound octavos" shall be, likeCatherine Morland, "humbled to the dust. " Sometimes, indeed, hisfarce verges on brutality. To expose the follies of Cherubina itwas hardly necessary to thrust her good-humoured father into amadhouse, and this grim incident sounds an incongruous, jarringnote in a rollicking high-spirited farce. The plights into whichCherubina is plunged are so needlessly cruel, that, while onlyintending to make her ridiculous, Barrett succeeds rather inmaking her pitiable. But many of her adventures are only a shademore absurd than those in the romances at which he tilts. ReginaMaria Roche's _Children of the Abbey_ (1798) would take the windfrom the sails of any parodist. In protracting _The Heroine_almost to wearisome length, Barrett probably acted deliberatelyin mimicry of this and a horde of other tedious romances. Certainly the unfortunate Stuart waits no longer for thefulfilment of his hopes than Lord Mortimer, the long-sufferinghero of _The Children of the Abbey_, who early in the firstvolume demands of Amanda Fitzalan, what he calls an"éclaircissement, " but does not win it until the close of thefourth. Barrett does not scruple to mention the titles of thebooks he derides. The following catalogue will show how widely hecasts his net: _Mysteries of Udolpho, Romance of the Forest, Children of the Abbey, Sir Charles Grandison, Pamela, ClarissaHarlowe, Evelina, Camilla, Cecilia, La Nouvelle Heloïse, Rasselas, The Delicate Distress, Caroline of Lichfield_, [98] _TheKnights of the Swan_, [99] _The Beggar Girl, The Romance of theHighlands_. [100] Besides these novels, which he actually names, Barrett alludes indirectly to several others, among them_Tristram Shandy_ and _Amelia_. From this enumeration it isevident that Barrett was satirising the heroine, not merely ofthe "novel of terror, " but of the "sentimental novel" from whichshe traced her descent. He organises a masquerade, mindful thatit is always the scene of the heroine's "best adventure, " withFielding's _Amelia_ and Miss Burney's _Cecilia_ and probablyother novels in view. The precipitate flight of Cherubina, "dressed in a long-skirted red coat stiff with tarnished lace, asatin petticoat, satin shoes and no stockings, " and with hairstreaming like a meteor, described in Letter XX, is clearly acruel mockery of Cecilia's distressful plight in Miss Burney'snovel. Even Scott is not immune from Barrett's barbed arrows, andByron is glanced at in the bogus antique language of "Eftsoones. "Barrett, indeed, jeers at the mediaeval revival in its variousmanifestations and even at "Romanticism" generally, not merely atthe new school of fiction represented by Mrs. Radcliffe, herfollowers and rivals. Not content with reaching his aim, as hedoes again and again in _The Heroine_, Barrett, like many anotherparodist, sometimes over-reaches it, and sneers at what is not initself ridiculous. 

Nominally Cherubina is the butt of Barrett's satire, but thepermanent interest of the book lies in the skilful stage-managingof her lively adventures. There is hardly an attempt atcharacterisation. The people are mere masqueraders, who amuse usby their costume and mannerisms, but reveal no individuality. Theplot is a wild extravaganza, crammed with high-flown, mock-romantic episodes. Cherry Wilkinson, as the result of asurfeit of romances, perhaps including _The Misanthropic Parentor The Guarded Secret_ (1807), by Miss Smith, deserts her realfather--a worthy farmer--to look for more aristocratic parents. As he is not picturesque enough for a villain, she repudiates himwith scorn: "Have you the gaunt ferocity of famine in yourcountenance? Can you darken the midnight with a scowl? Have youthe quivering lip and the Schedoniac contour? In a word, are youa picturesque villain full of plot and horror and magnificentwickedness? Ah! no, sir, you are only a sleek, good-humoured, chuckle-headed, old gentleman. " In the course of her search shemeets with amazing adventures, which she describes in a series ofletters to her governess. She changes her name to Cherubina deWilloughby, and journeys to London, where, mistaking CoventGarden Theatre for an ancient castle, she throws herself on theprotection of a third-rate actor, Grundy. He readily falls inwith her humour, assuming the name of Montmorenci, and a suit oftin armour and a plumed helmet for her delight. Later, Cherubinais entertained by Lady Gwyn, who, for the amusement of herguests, heartlessly indulges her propensity for the romantic, andposes as her aunt. She is introduced in a gruesome scene, whichrecalls the fate of Agnes in Lewis's _Monk_, to her supposedmother, Lady Hysterica Belamour, whose memoirs, under the title_Il Castello di Grimgothico_, are inserted, after the manner ofMrs. Radcliffe and M. G. Lewis, who love an inset tale, into themidst of the heroine's adventures. Cherubina determines to livein an abandoned castle, and gathers a band of vassals. Theseinclude Jerry, the lively retainer, inherited from a long line ofcomic servants, of whom Sancho Panza is a famous example, andHigginson, a struggling poet, who in virtue of his office ofminstrel, addresses the mob, beginning his harangue with thetime-honoured apology: "Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking. "The story ends with the return of Cherubina to real life, whereshe is eventually restored to her father and to Stuart. Theincidents, which follow one another in rapid succession, arefoolish and extravagant, but the reminiscences they awaken lendthem piquancy. The trappings and furniture of a dozen Gothiccastles are here accumulated in generous profusion. Moulderingmanuscripts, antique beds of decayed damask, a four-horsedbarouche, and fluttering tapestry rejoice the heart of Cherubina, for each item in this curious medley revives moving associationsin a mind nourished on the Radcliffe school. When Cherubinavisits a shop she buys a diamond cross, which at once turns ourthoughts to _The Sicilian Romance_. In Westminster Abbey she isdisappointed to find "no cowled monks with scapulars"--a phrasewhich flashes across our memory the sinister figure of Schedoniin _The Italian_. At the masquerade she plans to wear a Tuscandress from _The Mysteries of Udolpho_, and, when furnishingMonkton Castle she bids Jerry, the Irish comic servant, bring"flags stained with the best old blood--feudal, if possible, anold lute, lyre or harp, black hangings, curtains, and a velvetpall. " Even the banditti and condottieri, who enliven so manynovels of terror, cannot be ignored, and are represented by atroop of Irish ruffians. Barrett lets nothing escape him. Rousseau's theories are irreverently travestied. The thunderrolls "in an awful and Ossianly manner"; the sun, "thatwell-known gilder of eastern turrets, " rises in empurpledsplendour; the hero utters tremendous imprecations, ejaculatessuperlatives or frames elaborately poised, Johnsonian periods;the heroine excels in cheap but glittering repartee, wears"spangled muslin, " and has "practised tripping, gliding, flitting, and tottering, with great success. " Shreds and patchestorn with a ruthless, masculine hand from the flimsy tapestry ofromance, fitted together in a new and amusing pattern, areexhibited for our derision. The caricature is entertaining initself, and would probably be enjoyed by those who are unfamiliarwith the romances ridiculed; but the interest of identifying thebooty, which Barrett rifles unceremoniously from his victims, isa fascinating pastime. 

Miss Austen, with her swift stiletto, and Barrett, with hisbrutal bludgeon--to use a metaphor of "terror"--had eachdelivered an attack; and in 1818, if we may judge by Peacock's_Nightmare Abbey_, there is a change of fashion in fiction. Howfar this change is due to the satirists it is impossible todetermine. Mr. Flosky, "who has seen too many ghosts himself tobelieve in their external appearance, " through whose lips Peacockreviles "that part of the reading public which shuns the solidfood of reason, " probably gives the true cause for the waningpopularity of the novel of terror:

 "It lived upon ghosts, goblins and skeletons till even the devil himself . .. Became too base, common and popular for its surfeited appetite. The ghosts have therefore been laid, and the devil has been cast into outer darkness. "

The novel of terror has been destroyed not by its enemies but byits too ardent devotees. The horrid banquet, devoured withavidity for so many years, has become so highly seasoned that thejaded palate at last cries out for something different, and, according to Peacock, finds what it desires in "the vices andblackest passions of our nature tricked out in a masquerade dressof heroism and disappointed benevolence"--an uncomplimentarydescription of the Byronic hero. Yet sensational fiction haslingered on side by side with other forms of fiction all throughthe nineteenth century, because it supplies a human and naturalcraving for excitement. It may not be the dominant type, but itwill always exist, and will produce its thrill by ever-varyingdevices. Those who scoff may be taken unawares, like the companyin _Nightmare Abbey_. The conversation turned on the subject ofghosts, and Mr. Larynx related his delightfully compact ghoststory:

 "I once saw a ghost myself in my study, which is the last place any one but a ghost would look for me. I had not been in it for three months and was going to consult Tillotson, when, on opening the door, I saw a venerable figure in a flannel dressing-gown, sitting in my armchair, reading my Jeremy Taylor. It vanished in a moment, and so did I, and what it was and what it wanted, I have never been able to ascertain"

--a quieter, more inoffensive ghost than that described by Defoein his _Essay on the History and Reality of Apparitions_: "Agrave, ancient man, with a full-bottomed wig and a rich brocadedgown, who changed into the most horrible monster that ever wasseen, with eyes like two fiery daggers red-hot. " Mr. Flosky andMr. Hilary have hardly declared their disbelief in ghosts when:

 "The door silently opened, and a ghastly figure, shrouded in white drapery with the semblance of a bloody turban on its head, entered and stalked slowly up the apartment. Mr. Flosky was not prepared for this apparition, and made the best of his way out at the opposite door. Mr. Hilary and Marionetta followed screaming. The honourable Mr. Listless, by two turns of his body, first rolled off the sofa and then under it. Rev. Mr. Larynx leaped up and fled with so much precipitation that he overturned the table on the foot of Mr. Glowry. Mr. Glowry roared with pain in the ears of Mr. Toobad. Mr. Toobad's alarm so bewildered his senses that missing the door he threw up one of the windows, jumped out in his panic, and plunged over head and ears in the moat. Mr. Asterias and his son, who were on the watch for their mermaid, were attracted by the splashing, threw a net over him, and dragged him to land. "

In Melincourt Castle a very spacious wing was left free to thesettlement of a colony of ghosts, and the Rev. Mr. Portpipe oftenpassed the night in one of the dreaded apartments over a blazingfire, with the same invariable exorcising apparatus of a largevenison pasty, a little prayer-book, and three bottles ofMadeira. Yet despite this excellent mockery, Peacock in _GryllGrange_ devotes a chapter to tales of terror and wonder, singlingout the works of Charles Brockden Brown for praise, especiallyhis _Wieland_, "one of the few tales in which the finalexplanation of the apparently supernatural does not destroy ordiminish the original effect. "

The title _Nightmare Abbey_ in a catalogue would undoubtedly havecaught the eye of Isabella Thorp or her friend Miss Andrews, searching eagerly for "horrid mysteries, " but they would perhapshave detected the note of mockery in the name. They would, however, have been completely deceived by the title, _The Mysteryof the Abbey_, published in Liverpool in 1819 by T. B. Johnson, and we can imagine their consternation and disgust on the arrivalof the book from the circulating library. The abbey is "haunted"by the proprietors of a distillery; and the spectre, described inhorrible detail, proves to be a harmless idiot, with a redhandkerchief round her neck. Apart from these gibes, there is nota hint of the supernatural in the whole book. It is a_picaresque_ novel, written by a sportsman. The title is merely ahoax. 

Belinda Waters, the heroine of one of Crabbe's tales, who was "bynature negatively good, " is a portrait after Miss Austen's ownheart. Languidly reclining on her sofa with "half a shelf ofcirculating books" on a table at her elbow, Belinda tosseswearily aside a half-read volume of _Clarissa_, commended by hermaid, "who had _Clarissa_ for her heart's dear friend. "

 "Give me, " she said, "for I would laugh or cry, 'Scenes from the Life, ' and 'Sensibility, ' 'Winters at Bath': I would that I had one! 'The Constant Lover, ' 'The Discarded Son, '[101]

 "'The Rose of Raby, '[102] 'Delmore, ' or 'The Nun'[103]-- These promise something, and may please, perhaps, Like 'Ethelinda'[104] and the dear 'Relapse. '[105] To these her heart the gentle maid resigned And such the food that fed the gentle mind. "

But even the "delicate distress" of heroines, like Niobe, alltears, palls at last, and Belinda, having wept her fill, cravesnow for "sterner stuff. "

 "Yet tales of terror are her dear delight, All in the wintry storm to read at night. "

In _The Preceptor Husband_, [106] the pretty wife, whose notionsof botany are delightfully vague, and who, in English history, light-heartedly confuses the Reformation and the Revolution, hastastes similar to those of Belinda. Pursued by an instructivehusband, she turns at bay, and tells her priggish preceptor whatkind of books she really enjoys:

 "Well, if I must, I will my studies name, Blame if you please--I know you love to blame-- When all our childish books were set apart, The first I read was 'Wanderings of the Heart. '[107] It was a story where was done a deed So dreadful that alone I feared to read. The next was 'The Confessions of a Nun'-- 'Twas quite a shame such evils should be done. Nun of--no matter for the creature's name, For there are girls no nunnery can tame. Then was the story of the Haunted Hall, When the huge picture nodded from the wall, "When the old lord looked up with trembling dread, And I grew pale and shuddered as I read. Then came the tales of Winters, Summers, Springs At Bath and Brighton--they were pretty things! No ghosts or spectres there were heard or seen, But all was love and flight to Gretna-green. Perhaps your greater learning may despise What others like--and there your wisdom lies. "

To this attractive catalogue the preceptor husband, no doubt, listened with the expression of Crabbe's _Old Bachelor_:

 "that kind of cool, contemptuous smile Of witty persons overcharged with bile, "

but she at least succeeds in interrupting his flow of informationfor the time being. He retires routed. Crabbe's closeacquaintance with "the flowery pages of sublime distress, " with"vengeful monks who play unpriestly tricks, " with banditti

 "who, in forest wide Or cavern vast, indignant virgins hide, "

was, as he confesses, a relic of those unregenerate days, when

 "To the heroine's soul-distracting fears I early gave my sixpences and tears. "[108]

He could have groped his way through a Gothic castle without theaid of a talkative housekeeper:

 "I've watched a wintry night on castle-walls, I've stalked by moonlight through deserted halls, And when the weary world was sunk to rest I've had such sights--as may not be expressed. Lo! that chateau, the western tower decayed, The peasants shun it--they are all afraid; For there was done a deed--could walls reveal Or timbers tell it, how the heart would feel!

 "Most horrid was it--for, behold, the floor Has stain of blood--and will be clean no more. Hark to the winds! which through the wide saloon And the long passage send a dismal tune, Music that ghosts delight in--and now heed Yon beauteous nymph, who must unmask the deed. See! with majestic sweep she swims alone Through rooms, all dreary, guided by a groan, Though windows rattle and though tap'stries shake And the feet falter every step they take. Mid groans and gibing sprites she silent goes To find a something which will soon expose The villainies and wiles of her determined foes, And having thus adventured, thus endured, Fame, wealth, and lover, are for life secured. "[109]

Crabbe's Ellen Orford in _The Borough_ (1810) is drawn from life, and in grim and bitter irony is intended as a contrast to thesetimorous and triumphant creatures

 "borrowed and again conveyed, From book to book, the shadows of a shade. "

Ellen's adventures are sordid and gloomy, without a hint of thepicturesque, her distresses horrible actualities, not the"air-drawn" fancies that torture the sensitive Angelinas ofGothic fiction:

 "But not like them has she been laid In ruined castle sore dismayed, Where naughty man and ghostly sprite Fill'd her pure mind with awe and dread, Stalked round the room, put out the light And shook the curtains round the bed. No cruel uncle kept her land, No tyrant father forced her hand; She had no vixen virgin aunt Without whose aid she could not eat And yet who poisoned all her meat With gibe and sneer and taunt. "

Though Crabbe showed scant sympathy with the delicatesensibilities of girls who hung enraptured over the high-pitchedheroics and miraculous escapes of Clementina and her kindred, hefound pleasure in a robuster school of romance--the adventures ofmighty Hickathrift, Jack the Giant-killer, and Robin Hood, as setforth and embellished in the chapbooks which cottagers treasured"on the deal shelf beside the cuckoo-clock. "[110] And in hispoem, _Sir Eustace Grey_, he presents with subtle art a mindtormented by terror. 

CHAPTER VIII - SCOTT AND THE NOVEL OF TERROR. 

In 1775 we find Miss Lydia Languish's maid ransacking thecirculating libraries of Bath, and concealing under her cloaknovels of sensibility and of fashionable scandal. Some twentyyears later, in the self-same city, Catherine Morland is "lostfrom all worldly concerns of dressing or dinner over the pages of_Udolpho_, " and Isabella Thorpe is collecting in her pocket-bookthe "horrid" titles of romances from the German. In 1814, apparently, the vogue of the sentimental, the scandalous, themysterious, and the horrid still persisted. Scott, in theintroductory chapter to _Waverley_, disrespectfully passes inreview the modish novels, which, as it proved, were doomed to besupplanted by the series of romances he was then beginning:

 "Had I announced in my frontispiece, 'Waverley, A Tale of Other Days, ' must not every novel reader have anticipated a castle scarce less than that of Udolpho, of which the eastern wing has been long uninhabited, and the keys either lost or consigned to the care of some aged butler or housekeeper, whose trembling steps about the middle of the second volume were doomed to guide the hero or heroine to the ruinous precincts? Would not the owl have shrieked and the cricket cried in my very title page? and could it have been possible to me with a moderate attention to decorum to introduce any scene more lively than might be produced by the jocularity of a clownish but faithful valet or the garrulous narrative of the heroine's _fille-de-chambre_, when rehearsing the stories of blood and horror which she had heard in the servant's hall? Again, had my title borne 'Waverley, a Romance from the German, ' what head so obtuse as not to image forth a profligate abbot, an oppressive duke, a secret and mysterious association of Rosycrucians and Illuminati, with all their properties of black cowls, caverns, daggers, electrical machines, trap-doors and dark lanterns? Or, if I had rather chosen to call my work, 'A Sentimental Tale, ' would it not have been a sufficient presage of a heroine with a profusion of auburn hair, and a harp, the soft solace of her solitary hours, which she fortunately always finds means of transporting from castle to cottage, though she herself be sometimes obliged to jump out of a two-pair-of-stairs window and is more than once bewildered on her journey, alone and on foot, without any guide but a blowsy peasant girl, whose jargon she can scarcely understand? Or again, if my _Waverley_ had been entitled 'A Tale of the Times, ' wouldst thou not, gentle reader, have demanded from me a dashing sketch of the fashionable world, a few anecdotes of private scandal . .. A heroine from Grosvenor Square, and a hero from the Barouche Club or the Four in Hand, with a set of subordinate characters from the elegantes of Queen Anne Street, East, or the dashing heroes of the Bow Street Office?"

Yet Scott himself had once trodden in these well-worn paths ofromance. In the general preface to the collected edition of 1829, wherein he seeks to "ravel out his weaved-up follies, " he refersto "a tale of chivalry planned thirty years earlier in the styleof _The Castle of Otranto_, with plenty of Border characters andsupernatural incident. " His outline of the plot and a fragment ofthe story, which was to be entitled _Thomas the Rhymer_, areprinted as an appendix to the preface. Scott intended to base hisstory on an ancient legend, found in Reginald Scot's _Discoveryof Witchcraft_, concerning the horn and sword of Thomas ofHercildoune. Cannobie Dick, a jolly horse-cowper, was led by amysterious stranger through an opening in a hillside into a longrange of stables. In every stall stood a coal-black horse, and byevery horse lay a knight in coal-black armour, with a drawn swordin his hand. All were as still and silent as if hewn out ofmarble. At the far end of a gloomy hall, illuminated, like thehalls of Eblis, only by torches, there lay, upon an ancienttable, a horn and a sword. A voice bade Dick try his courage, warning him that much depended upon his first choosing either thehorn or the sword. Dick, whose stout heart quailed before thesupernatural terrors of the hall, attempted to blow the hornbefore unsheathing the sword. At the first feeble blast thewarriors and their steeds started to life, the knights fiercelybrandishing their weapons and clashing their armour. Dick made afruitless attempt to snatch the sword. After a mysterious voicehad pronounced his doom he was hurled out of the hall by awhirlwind of irresistible fury. He told his story to theshepherds, who found him dying on the cold hill side. 

Regarding this legend as "an unhappy foundation for a prosestory, " Scott did not complete his fragment, which in style andtreatment is not unlike the Gothic experiments of Mrs. Barbauldand Dr. Nathan Drake. Such a story as that of the magic horn andsword might have been told in the simple words that occurnaturally to a shepherd, "warmed to courage over his thirdtumbler, " like the old peasant to whom Stevenson entrusts theterrible tale of _Thrawn Janet_, or to Wandering Willie, whodeclared:

 "I whiles mak a tale serve the turn among the country bodies, and I have some fearsome anes, that mak the auld carlines shake on the settle, and bits o' bairns skirl on their minnies out frae their beds. "

The personality of the narrator, swayed by the terror of histale, would have cast the spell that Scott's carefully framedsentences fail to create. Another of Scott's _disjecta membra_, composed at the end of the eighteenth century, is the opening ofa story called _The Lord of Ennerdale_, in which the family ofRatcliffe settle down before the fire to listen to a story"savouring not a little of the marvellous. " As Lady Ratcliffe andher daughters

 "had heard every groan and lifted every trapdoor in company with the noted heroine of Udolpho, had valorously mounted _en croupe_ behind the horseman of Prague through all his seven translators, had followed the footsteps of Moor through the forests of Bohemia, "

and were even suspected of an acquaintance with Lewis's _Monk_, Scott was setting himself no easy task when he undertook tothrill these seasoned adventurers. After this prologue, whichleads one to expect a banquet of horrors, only a very brieffragment of the story is forthcoming. Though he gently deridesLady Ratcliffe's literary tastes, Scott, too, was an admirer ofMrs. Radcliffe's novels, and had been so entranced by Burger's_Lenore_ that he attempted an English version. [111] It was afterhearing Taylor's translation of this ballad read aloud that heuttered his dismal ejaculation: "I wish to heaven I could get askull and two crossbones"--a whim that was speedily gratified. He, too, like Lady Ratcliffe, had read _Die Räuber_; and hetranslated Goethe's _Gëtz von Berlichingen_. He delighted inLewis's _Tales of Wonder_ (1801) where the verse gallops throughhorrors so fearful that the "lights in the chamber burn blue, "and himself contributed to the collection. He wrote "goblindramas"[112] as terrific in intention, but not in performance, asLewis's _Castle Spectre_ and Maturin's _Bertram_. His Latincall-thesis dealt with the kind of subject "Monk" Lewis orHarrison Ainsworth or Poe might have chosen--the disposal of thedead bodies of persons legally executed. Scott continually addedto his store of quaint and grisly learning both from populartradition and from a library of such works as Bovet's_Pandemonium, or the Devil's Cloyster Opened_, Sinclair's_Satan's Invisible World Discovered_, whence he borrowed the nameof the jackanapes in _Wandering Willie's Tale_, and thehorse-shoe frown for the brow of the Redgauntlets, Heywood's_Hierarchy of the Blessed Angels_, Joseph Taylor's _History ofApparitions_, from which he quotes in _Woodstock_. He wasfamiliar with all the niceties of ghostly etiquette; he coulddistinguish at a glance the various ranks and orders of demonsand spirits; he was versed in charms and spells; he knew exactlyhow a wizard ought to be dressed. This lore not only stood him ingood stead when he compiled his _Letters on Demonology andWitchcraft_ (1830), but served to adorn his poems and novels. There was nothing unhealthy in his attitude towards the spectralworld. At an inn he slept soundly in one bed of a double room, while a dead man occupied the other. Twice in his life heconfessed to having felt "eerie"--once at Glamis Castle, whichwas said to be haunted by a Presence in a Secret Chamber, andonce when he believed that he saw an apparition on his way homein the twilight; but he usually jests cheerfully when he speaksof the supernatural. He was interested in tracing the sources ofterror and in studying the mechanism of ghost stories. 

The axioms which he lays down are sound and suggestive:

 "Ghosts should not appear too often or become too chatty. The magician shall evoke no spirits, whom he is not capable of endowing with manners and language corresponding to their supernatural character. Perhaps, to be circumstantial and abundant in minute detail and in one word . .. To be somewhat prosy, is the secret mode of securing a certain necessary degree of credulity from the hearers of a ghost story. .. The chord which vibrates and sounds at a touch remains in silent tension under continued pressure. "[113]

Scott's ghost story, _The Tapestried Chamber, or the Lady in theSacque_[114] which he heard from Miss Anna Seward, who had anunexpected gift for recounting such things at country houseparties, gives the impression of being carefully plannedaccording to rule. As a human being the Lady in the Sacque had ablack record, but, considered dispassionately as a ghost, hermanners and deportment are irreproachable. The ghost-seer'sindependence of character are so firmly insisted upon that itseems impertinent to doubt the veracity of his story. _My AuntMargaret's Mirror_ was told to Scott in childhood by an ancientspinster, whose pleasing fancy it was to read alone in herchamber by the light of a taper fixed in a candlestick which shehad formed out of a human skull, and who was learned insuperstitious lore. She describes accurately the mood, when "thefemale imagination is in due temperature to enjoy a ghost story":

 "All that is indispensable for the enjoyment of the milder feeling of supernatural awe is that you should be susceptible of the slight shuddering which creeps over you when you hear a tale of terror--that well-vouched tale which the narrator, having first expressed his general disbelief of all such legendary lore, selects and produces, as having something in it which he has been always obliged to give up as inexplicable. Another symptom is a momentary hesitation to look round you, when the interest of the narrative is at the highest; and the third, a desire to avoid looking into a mirror, when you are alone, in your chamber, for the evening. "[115]

In her story "Aunt Margaret" describes how, in a magic mirrorbelonging to Dr. Baptista Damiotti, Lady Bothwell and her sisterLady Forester see the wedding ceremony of Sir Philip Forester anda young girl in a foreign city interrupted by Lady Forester'sbrother, who is slain in the duel that ensues. Scott regardedthese two stories as trifles designed to while away a leisurehour. On _Wandering Willie's Tale_--a masterpiece of supernaturalterror--he bestowed unusual care. The ill fa'urd, fearsomecouple--Sir Robert with his face "gash and ghastly as Satan's, "and "Major Weir, " the jackanape, in his red-laced coat andwig--Steenie's eerie encounter with the "stranger" on horseback, the ribald crew of feasters in the hall are described sofaithfully and in such vivid phrases that it is no wonder Willieshould remark at one point of the story: "I almost think I wasthere mysell, though I couldna be born at the same time. " Thepower of the tale, which fascinates us from beginning to end andwhich can be read again and again with renewed pleasure, dependspartly on Wandering Willie's gifts as a narrator, partly on theemotions that stir him as he talks. With unconscious art, healways uses the right word in his descriptions, and chooses thosedetails that help us to fix the rapidly changing imagery of hisscenes; and he reproduces exactly the natural dialogue of thespeakers. He begins in a tone of calm, unhurried narration, withonly a hint of fear in his voice, but, at the death of SirRobert, grows breathless with horror and excitement. The uncannyincident of the silver whistle that sounds from the dead man'schamber is skilfully followed by a matter-of-fact account ofSteenie's dealings with the new laird. The emotion culminates inthe terror of the hall of ghastly revellers, whose wild shrieks"made Willie's gudesire's very nails grow blue and chilled themarrow in his banes. " So lifelike is the scene, so full of colourand movement, that Steenie's descendants might well believe thattheir gudesire, like Dante, had seen Hell. 

The notes, introductions and appendices to Scott's works arestored with material for novels of terror. The notes to_Marmion_, for instance, contain references to a necromanticpriest whose story "much resembles that of Ambrosio in the_Monk_, " to an "Elfin" warrior and to a chest of treasurejealously guarded for a century by the Devil in the likeness of ahuntsman. In _The Lady of the Lake_ there is a note on theancient legend of the Phantom Sire, in _Rokeby_ there is anallusion to the Demon Frigate wandering under a curse fromharbour to harbour. To Scott "bogle-wark" was merely a diversion. He did not choose to make it the mainspring either of his poemsor his romances. In _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_ he had, indeed, intended to make the Goblin Page play a leading part, butthe imp, as Scott remarked to Miss Seward, "by the naturalbaseness of his propensities contrived to slink downstairs intothe kitchen. " The White Lady of Avenel, who appears in _TheMonastery_ (1830)--a boisterous creature who rides on horseback, splashes through streams and digs a grave--was wisely withdrawnin the sequel, _The Abbot_. In the Introduction Scott states:

 "The White Lady is scarcely supposed to have possessed either the power or the inclination to do more than inflict terror or create embarrassment, and is always subjected by those mortals who . .. Could assert superiority over her. "

The only apology Scott could offer to the critics who derided hiswraith was that the readers "ought to allow for the capriccios ofwhat is after all but a better sort of goblin. " She was suggestedby the Undine of De La Motte Fouqué. In his next novel, _TheFortunes of Nigel_, Scott formally renounced the mystic and themagical: "Not a Cock Lane scratch--not one bounce on the drum ofTedworth--not so much as the poor tick of a solitary death-watchin the wainscot. " But Scott cannot banish spectres so lightlyfrom his imagination. Apparitions--such as the Bodach Glas whowarns Fergus M'Ivor of his approaching death in _Waverley_, orthe wraith of a Highlander in a white cockade who is seen on thebattlefield in _The Legend of Montrose_--had appeared in hisearlier novels, and others appear again and again later. In _TheBride of Lammermoor_--the only one of Scott's novels which mightfitly be called a "tale of terror"--the atmosphere of horror andthe sense of overhanging calamity effectually prepare our mindsfor the supernatural, and the wraith of old Alice who appears tothe master of Ravenswood is strangely solemn and impressive. Buteven more terrible is the description of the three hags layingout her corpse. The appearance of Vanda with the Bloody Finger inthe haunted chamber of the Saxon manor in _The Betrothed_ isskilfully arranged, and Eveline's terror is described withconvincing reality. In _Woodstock_, Scott adopted the method ofexplaining away the apparently supernatural, although in his_Lives of the Novelists_ he expressly disapproves of what hecalls the "precaution of Snug the joiner. " Charged by Ballantynewith imitating Mrs. Radcliffe, Scott defended himself byasserting:

 "My object is not to excite fear of supernatural things in my reader, but to show the effect of such fear upon the agents of the story--one a man in sense and firmness, one a man unhinged by remorse, one a stupid, unenquiring clown, one a learned and worthy but superstitious divine. "[116]

As Scott in his introduction quotes the passage from a treatiseentitled _The Secret History of the Good Devil of Woodstock_, which reveals that the mysteries were performed by one JosephCollins with the aid of two friends, a concealed trap-door and apound of gunpowder, he cannot justly be accused of deceiving hisreaders. There are suggestions of Mrs. Radcliffe's method inothers of his novels. In _The Antiquary_, before Lovel retires tothe Green Room at Monkbar, he is warned by Miss Griselda Oldbuckof a "well-fa'urd auld gentleman in a queer old-fashioned dresswith whiskers turned upward on his upper lip as long asbaudrons, " who is wont to appear at one's bedside. He falls intoan uneasy slumber, and in the middle of the night is startled tosee a green huntsman leave the tapestry and turn into the"well-fa'urd auld gentleman" before his very eyes. In _OldMortality_, Edith Bellenden mistakes her lover for hisapparition, just as one of Mrs. Radcliffe's heroines might havedone. In _Peveril of the Peak_, Fenella's communications with thehero in his prison, when he mistakes her voice for that of aspirit, have an air of Gothic mystery. The awe-inspiring villain, who appears in _Marmion_ and _Rokeby_, may be distinguished byhis scowl, his passion-lined face and gleaming eye. Rashleigh, in_Rob Roy_, who, understanding Greek, Latin and Hebrew, "need notcare for ghaist or barghaist, devil or dobbie, " and whosesequestered apartment the servants durst not approach atnightfall for "fear of bogles and brownies and lang-nebbit thingsfrae the neist world, " is of the same lineage. Sir RobertRedgauntlet, too, might have stepped out of one of Mrs. Radcliffe's romances. His niece is not unlike one of herheroines. She speaks in the very accents of Emily when she says:

 "Now I have still so much of our family spirit as enables me to be as composed in danger as most of my sex, and upon two occasions in the course of our journey--a threatened attack by banditti, and the overturn of our carriage--I had the fortune so to conduct myself as to convey to my uncle a very favourable idea of my intrepidity. "

Jeanie Deans, the most admirable and the most skilfully drawn ofScott's women, is a daring contrast to the traditional heroine ofromance. The "delicate distresses" of persecuted Emilies shrinkinto insignificance amid the tragedy and comedy of actual lifeportrayed in The Waverley Novels. The tyrannical marquises, vindictive stepmothers, dark-browed villains, scheming monks, chattering domestics and fierce banditti are thrust aside by amotley crowd of living beings--soldiers, lawyers, smugglers, gypsies, shepherds, outlaws and beggars. The wax-work figures, guaranteed to thrill with nervous suspense or overflow withsensibility at the appropriate moments, are replaced by real folklike "Old Mortality, " Andrew Fairservice, Dugald Dalgetty andPeter Peebles, whose humour and pathos are those of our ownworld. The historical background, faint, misty and unreal in Mrs. Radcliffe's novels, becomes, in those of Scott, arresting andsubstantial. The grave, artificial dialogue in which Mrs. Radcliffe's characters habitually discourse descends to some ofScott's personages, but is often exchanged for the natural idiomof simple people. The Gothic abbey, dropped down in an uncertain, haphazard fashion, in some foreign land, is deserted for huts, barns inns, cottages and castles, solidly built on Scottish soil. We leave the mouldy air of the subterranean vault for the keenwinds of the moorland. The terrors of the invisible world onlyfill the stray corners of his huge scene. He creates romance outof the stuff of real life. 

CHAPTER IX - LATER DEVELOPMENTS OF THE TALE OF TERROR. 

As the novel of terror passes from the hands of Mrs. Radcliffe tothose of "Monk" Lewis, Maturin and their imitators, there is acrashing crescendo of emotion. The villain's sardonic smile isreplaced by wild outbursts of diabolical laughter, his scowlgrows darker and darker, and as his designs become more bloodyand more dangerous, his victims no longer sigh plaintively, butgive utterance to piercing shrieks and despairing yells; tearfulAmandas are unceremoniously thrust into the background byvindictive Matildas, whose passions rage in all their primitivesavagery; the fearful ghost "fresh courage takes, " and standsforth audaciously in the light of day; the very devil stalksshamelessly abroad in manifold disguises. We are caught up fromfirst to last in the very tempest, torrent and whirlwind ofpassion. When the novel of terror thus throws restraint to thewinds, outrageously o'ersteps the modesty of nature and indulgesin a farrago of frightfulness, it begins to defeat its ownpurposes and to fail in its object of freezing the blood. Thelimit of human endurance has been reached--and passed. Emphasisand exaggeration have done their worst. Battle, murder, andsudden death--even spectres and fiends--can appal no more. If theold thrill is to be evoked again, the application of moreingenious methods is needed. 

Such novels as Maturin's _Family of Montorio_, though "full ofsound and fury, " fail piteously to vibrate the chords of terror, which had trembled beneath Mrs. Radcliffe's gentle fingers. Theinstrument, smitten forcibly, repeatedly, desperately, resoundsnot with the answering note expected, but with an ugly, metallicjangle. _Melmoth the Wanderer_, Maturin's extraordinarymasterpiece, was to prove--as late as 1820--that there werechords in the orchestra of horror as yet unsounded; but in 1816, when Mary Shelley and her companions set themselves to composesupernatural stories, it was wise to dispense with the shriekingchorus of malevolent abbesses, diabolical monks, intriguingmarquises, Wandering Jews or bleeding spectres, who had been sogrievously overworked in previous performances. Dr. Polidori'sskull-headed lady, Byron's vampire-gentleman, Mrs. Shelley'sman-created monster--a grotesque and gruesome trio--had at leastthe attraction of novelty. It is indeed remarkable that so youngand inexperienced a writer as Mary Shelley, who was only nineteenwhen she wrote _Frankenstein_, should betray so slight adependence on her predecessors. It is evident from the records ofher reading that the novel of terror in all its guises wasfamiliar to her. She had beheld the majestic horror of the hallsof Eblis; she had threaded her way through Mrs. Radcliffe'sartfully constructed Gothic castles; she had braved the terrorsof the German Ritter-, Räuber- und Schauer-Romane; she hadassisted, fearful, at Lewis's midnight diablerie; she hadpatiently unravelled the "mystery" novels of Godwin and ofCharles Brockden Brown. [117] Yet, despite this intimate knowledgeof the terrible and supernatural in fiction, Mrs. Shelley's themeand her way of handling it are completely her own. In an "acutemental vision, " as real as the visions of Blake and of Shelley, she beheld her monster and the "pale student of unhallowed arts"who had created him, and then set herself to reproduce the thrillof horror inspired by her waking dream. _Frankenstein_ has, indeed, been compared to Godwin's _St. Leon_, but the resemblanceis so vague and superficial, and _Frankenstein_ so immeasurablysuperior, that Mrs. Shelley's debt to her father is negligible. St. Leon accepts the gift of immortality, Frankenstein creates anew life, and in both novels the main interest lies in tracingthe effect of the experiment on the soul of the man, who haspursued scientific inquiry beyond legitimate limits. But apartfrom this, there is little resemblance. Godwin chose thesupernatural, because it chanced to be popular, and laboriouslybuilt up a cumbrous edifice, completing it by a sheer effort ofwill-power. His daughter, with an imagination naturally moreattuned to the gruesome and fantastic, writes, when once she haswound her way into the heart of the story, in a mood ofbreathless excitement that drives the reader forward withfeverish apprehension. 

The name of Mrs. Shelley's _Frankenstein_ is far-famed; but thebook itself, overshadowed perhaps by its literary associations, seems to have withdrawn into the vast library of famous worksthat are more often mentioned than read. The very fact that thename is often bestowed on the monster instead of his creatorseems to suggest that many are content to accept Mrs. Shelley's"hideous phantom" on hearsay evidence rather than encounter forthemselves the terrors of his presence. The story deserves ahappier fate, for, if it be read in the spirit of willingsurrender that a theme so impossible demands, it has still powermomentarily "to make the reader dread to look round, to curdlethe blood and to quicken the beatings of the heart. " The recordof the composition of _Frankenstein_ has been so often reiteratedthat it is probably better known than the tale itself. In thesummer of 1816--when the Shelleys were the neighbours of Byronnear Lake Geneva--Byron, Shelley, Mary Shelley and Dr. Polidori, after reading some volumes of ghost stories[118] and discussingthe supernatural and its manifestations, each agreed to write aghost story. It has been asserted that an interest in spectreswas stimulated by a visit from "Monk" Lewis, but we have evidencethat Mrs. Shelley was already writing her story in June, [119] andthat Lewis did not arrive at the Villa Diodati till August14th. [120] The conversation with him about ghosts took place fourdays later. Shelley's story, based on the experiences of hisearly youth, was never completed. Byron's fragment formed thebasis of Dr. Polidori's _Vampyre_. Dr. Polidori states that hissupernatural novel, _Ernestus Berchtold_, was begun at this time;but the skull-headed lady, alluded to by Mary Shelley as figuringin Polidori's story, is disappointingly absent. It was anargument between Byron and Shelley about Erasmus Darwin'stheories that brought before Mary Shelley's sleepless eyes thevision of the monster miraculously infused by its creator withthe spark of life. _Frankenstein_ was begun immediately, completed in May, 1817, and published in 1818. 

Mrs. Shelley has been censured for setting her tale in a clumsyframework, but she tells us in her preface that she began withthe words: "It was on a dreary night of November. " This sentencenow stands at the opening of Chapter IV. , where the plot beginsto grip our imagination; and it seems not unfair to assume thatthe introductory letters and the first four chapters, whichcontain a tedious and largely unnecessary account ofFrankenstein's early life, were written in deference to Shelley'splea that the idea should be developed at greater length, and didnot form part of her original plan. The uninteresting student, Robert Walton, to whom Frankenstein, discovered dying amongicebergs, tells his story, is obviously an afterthought. If Mrs. Shelley had abandoned the awkward contrivance of putting thenarrative into the form of a dying man's confession, reportedverbatim in a series of letters, and had opened her story, as sheapparently intended, at the point where Frankenstein, after wearyyears of research, succeeds in creating a living being, her novelwould have gained in force and intensity. From that moment itholds us fascinated. It is true that the tension relaxes fromtime to time, that the monster's strange education and theGodwinian precepts that fall so incongruously from his lips tendto excite our mirth, but, though we are mildly amused, we are nolonger merely bored. Even the protracted descriptions of domesticlife assume a new and deeper meaning, for the shadow of themonster broods over them. One by one those whom Frankensteinloves fall victims to the malice of the being he has endowed withlife. Unceasingly and unrelentingly the loathsome creature dogsour imagination, more awful when he lurks unseen than when hestands actually before us. With hideous malignity he slaysFrankenstein's young brother, and by a fiendish device causesJustine, an innocent girl, to be executed for the crime. Yet erelong our sympathy, which has hitherto been entirely withFrankenstein, is unexpectedly diverted to the monster who, itwould seem, is wicked only because he is eternally divorced fromhuman society. Amid the magnificent scenery of the Valley ofChamounix he appears before his creator, and tells the story ofhis wretched life, pleading: "Everywhere I see bliss from which Ialone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; miserymade me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous. "

He describes how his physical ugliness repels human beings, whofail to realise his benevolent intentions. A father snatches fromhis arms the child he has rescued from death; the virtuousfamily, whom he admires and would fain serve, flee affrightedfrom his presence. To educate the monster, so that his thoughtsand emotions may become articulate, and, incidentally, toaccentuate his isolation from society, Mrs. Shelley inserts acomplicated story about an Arabian girl, Sofie, whose loverteaches her to read from Plutarch's _Lives_, Volney's _Ruins ofEmpire, The Sorrows of Werther_, and _Paradise Lost_. The monsteroverhears the lessons, and ponders on this unique library, but, as he pleads his own cause the more eloquently because he knowsSatan's passionate outbursts of defiance and self-pity, who wouldcavil at the method by which he is made to acquire his knowledge?"The cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved theirbranches above me; now and then the sweet voice of a bird burstforth amidst the universal stillness. All save I were at rest orin enjoyment. I, like the arch fiend, bore a hell within me. " Andlater, near the close of the book: "The fallen angel becomes amalignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friendsand associates in his desolation; I am alone, " His fate remindsus of that of _Alastor, the Spirit of Solitude_, who:

 "Over the world wanders for ever Lone as incarnate death. "

After the long and moving recital of his woes, even the obdurateFrankenstein cannot resist the justice of his demand for apartner like himself. Yet when the student recoils with horrorfrom his half-accomplished task and sees the creature maliciouslypeering through the window, our hatred leaps to life once moreand burns fiercely as the monster adds to his crimes the murderof Clerval, Frankenstein's dearest friend, and of Elizabeth onher wedding night. We follow with shuddering anticipation thelong pursuit of the monster, expectant of a last, fearfulencounter which shall decide the fate of the demon and his maker. Amid the region of eternal ice, Frankenstein catches sight ofhim; but fails to reach him. At last, beside the body of his lastvictim--Frankenstein himself--the creature is filled with remorseat the "frightful catalogue" of his sins, and makes a final bidfor our sympathy in the farewell speech to Walton, beforeclimbing on an ice-raft to be "borne away by the waves and lostin darkness and distance. "

Like _Alastor_, _Frankenstein_ was a plea for human sympathy, andwas, according to Shelley's preface, intended "to exhibit theamiableness of domestic affection and the excellence of universalvirtue. " The monster has the perception and desire of goodness, but, by the circumstances of his abnormal existence, is deliveredover to evil. It is this dual nature that prevents him from beinga mere automaton. The monster indeed is far more real than theshadowy beings whom he pursues. Frankenstein is less anindividual than a type, and only interests us through theemotions which his conflict with the monster arouses. Clerval, Elizabeth and Frankenstein's relatives are passive suffererswhose psychology does not concern us. Mrs. Shelley rightlylavishes her skill on the central figure of the book, andsucceeds, as effectually as Frankenstein himself, in infusinginto him the spark of life. Mrs. Shelley's aim is to "awakenthrilling horror, " and, incidentally, to "exhibit the excellenceof domestic virtue, " and for her purpose the demon is ofparamount importance. The involved, complex plot of a novelseemed to pass beyond Mrs. Shelley's control. A short tale shecould handle successfully, and Shelley was unwise in inciting herto expand _Frankenstein_ into a long narrative. So long as she iscompletely carried away by her subject Mrs. Shelley writesclearly, but when she pauses to regard the progress of her storydispassionately, she seems to be overwhelmed by the wealth of herresources and to have no power of selecting the relevant details. The laborious introductory letters, the meticulous record ofFrankenstein's education, the story of Felix and Sofie, thedescription of the tour through England before the creation ofthe second monster is attempted, are all connected with the maintheme by very frail links and serve to distract our attention inan irritating fashion from what really interests us. In the novelof mystery a tantalising delay may be singularly effective. In anovel which depends chiefly for its effect on sheer horror, delays are merely dangerous. By resting her terrors on apseudo-scientific basis and by placing her story in a definitelocality, Mrs. Shelley waives her right to an entire suspensionof disbelief. If it be reduced to its lowest terms, the plot ofFrankenstein, with its bewildering confusion of the prosaic andthe fantastic, sounds as crude, disjointed and inconsequent asthat of a nightmare. Mrs. Shelley's timid hesitation betweenimagination and reality, her attempt to reconcile incompatiblethings and to place a creature who belongs to no earthly land infamiliar surroundings, prevents _Frankenstein_ from being awholly satisfactory and alarming novel of terror. She loves thefantastic, but she also fears it. She is weighted down bycommonsense, and so flutters instead of soaring, unwilling totrust herself far from the material world. But the fact that shewas able to vivify her grotesque skeleton of a plot with somedegree of success is no mean tribute to her gifts. The energy andvigour of her style, her complete and serious absorption in hersubject, carry us safely over many an absurdity. It is only inthe duller stretches of the narrative, when her heart is not inher work, that her language becomes vague, indeterminate andblurred, and that she muffles her thoughts in words like"ascertain, " "commencement, " "peruse, " "diffuse, " instead ofusing their simpler Saxon equivalents. Stirred by the excitementof the events she describes, she can write forcibly in simple, direct language. She often frames short, hurried sentences suchas a man would naturally utter when breathless with terror orwith recollections of terror. The final impression that_Frankenstein_ leaves with us is not easy to define, because thebook is so uneven in quality. It is obviously the shapeless workof an immature writer who has had no experience in evolving aplot. Sometimes it is genuinely moving and impressive, but itcontinually falls abruptly and ludicrously short of its aim. Yetwhen all its faults have been laid bare, the fact remains thatfew readers would abandon the story half-way through. Mrs. Shelley is so thoroughly engrossed in her theme that she impelsher readers onward, even though they may think but meanly of herstory as a work of art. 

Mrs. Shelley's second novel, _Valperga, or the Life andAdventures of Castruccio, Prince of Lucca_, published in 1823, was a work on which she bestowed much care and labour, but theresult proves that she writes best when the urgency of herimagination leaves her no leisure either to display her learningor adorn her style. She herself calls _Valperga_ a "child ofmighty slow growth, " and Shelley adds that it was "raked out offifty old books. " Mrs. Shelley, always an industrious student, made a conscientious survey of original sources before fashioningher story of mediaeval Italy, and she is hampered by theexuberance of her knowledge. The novel is not a romance ofterror; but Castruccio, though his character is sketched fromauthentic documents, seems towards the end of the story toresemble the picturesque villain who numbered among his ancestryMilton's Satan. He has "a majestic figure and a countenancebeautiful but sad, and tarnished by the expression of pride thatanimated it. " Beatrice, the gifted prophetess who falls deep inlove with Castruccio, ends her days in the dungeons of theInquisition. Mrs. Shelley's aim, however, is not to arouse fear, but to trace the gradual deterioration of Castruccio's characterfrom an open-hearted youth to a crafty tyrant. The blunt remarksof Godwin, who revised the manuscript, are not unjust, but fallwith an ill grace from the pen of the author of _St. Leon_: "Itappears in reading, that the first rule you prescribed was: 'Iwill let it be long. ' It contains the quantity of four volumes of_Waverley_. No hard blow was ever hit with a woodsaw. "[121]

In _The Last Man_, which appeared in 1825, Mrs. Shelley attempteda stupendous theme, no less then a picture of the devastation ofthe human race by plague and pestilence. She casts herimagination forward into the twenty-first century, when the lastking of England has abdicated the throne and a republic isestablished. Very wisely, she narrows the interest byconcentrating on the pathetic fate of a group of friends who areamong the last survivors, and the story becomes an idealisedrecord of her own sufferings. The description of the lonelinessof the bereft has a personal note, and reminds us of her journal, where she expresses the sorrow of being herself the lastsurvivor, and of feeling like a "cloud from which the light ofsunset has passed. "[122] Raymond, who dies in an attempt to placethe standard of Greece in Stamboul, is a portrait of Byron; andAdrian, the late king's son, who finally becomes Protector, isclearly modelled on Shelley. Yet in spite of these personalreminiscences, their characters lack distinctness. Idris, Claraand Perdita are faintly etched, but Evadne, the Greek artist, whocherishes a passion for Raymond, and dies fighting against theTurks, has more colour and body than the other women, though sheis somewhat theatrical. Mrs. Shelley conveys emotion morefaithfully than character, and the overwrought sensibilities anddark forebodings of the diminished party of survivors who leaveEngland to distract their minds by foreign travel are artfullysuggested. The leaping, gesticulating figure, whom their jadednerves and morbid fancy transform into a phantom, is a deliriousballet-dancer; and the Black Spectre, mistaken for DeathIncarnate, proves only to be a plague-stricken noble, who lurksnear the party for the sake of human society. These "reasonable"solutions of the apparently supernatural remind us of Mrs. Radcliffe's method, and Mrs. Shelley shows keen psychologicalinsight in her delineation of the state of mind which readilyconjures up imaginary terrors. When Lionel Verney is left alonein the universe, her power seems to flag, and instead of thefinal crescendo of horror, which we expect at the end of thebook, we are left with an ineffective picture of the last man inRome in 2005 deciding to explore the countries he has not yetviewed. As he wanders amid the ruins he recalls not only "theburied Cæsars, " but also the monk in _The Italian_, of whom hehad read in childhood--a striking proof of Mrs. Shelley's faithin the permanence of Mrs. Radcliffe's fame. 

Though the style of _The Last Man_ is often tediously prolix andis disfigured by patches of florid rhetoric and by inappropriatesimiles scattered broadcast, occasional passages of wonderfulbeauty recall Shelley's imagery; and, in conveying the pathos ofloneliness, personal feeling lends nobility and eloquence to herstyle. With so ambitious a subject, it was natural that sheshould only partially succeed in carrying her readers with her. Though there are oases, the story is a somewhat tedious anddreary stretch of narrative that can only be traversed withconsiderable effort. 

Mrs. Shelley's later works--_Perkin Warbeck_ (1830), a historicalnovel; _Lodore_ (1835), which describes the early life of Shelleyand Harriet; _Falkner_ (1837), which was influenced by _CalebWilliams_--do not belong to the history of the novel of terror;but some of her short tales, contributed to periodicals andcollected in 1891, have gruesome and supernatural themes. _A Taleof the Passions, or the Death of Despina_[123] a story based onthe struggles of the Guelphs and the Ghibellines, contains aperfect specimen of the traditional villain of the novel ofterror:

 "Every feature of his countenance spoke of the struggle of passions and the terrible egotism of one who would sacrifice himself to the establishment of his will: his black eyebrows were scattered, his grey eyes deep-set and scowling, his look at once stern and haggard. A smile seemed never to have disturbed the settled scorn which his lips expressed; his high forehead was marked by a thousand contradictory lines. "

This terrific personage spends the last years of his life inorthodox fashion as an austere saint in a monastery. 

_The Mortal Immortal_, a variation on the theme of _St. Leon_, isthe record of a pupil of Cornelius Agrippa, who drank half of theelixir his master had compounded in the belief that it was apotion to destroy love. It is written on his three hundred andtwenty-third birthday. _Transformation_, like _Frankenstein_, dwells on the pathos of ugliness and deformity, but the subjectis treated rather in the spirit of an eastern fairy tale than inthat of a novel of terror. The dwarf, in return for a chest oftreasure, borrows a beautiful body, and, thus disguised, wins thelove of Juliet, and all ends happily. Mrs. Shelley's shortstories[124] reveal a stronger sense of proportion than hernovels, and are written in a more graceful, fluent style than thebooks on which she expended great labour. 

The literary history of Byron's fragmentary novel and ofPolidori's short story, _The Vampyre_, is somewhat tangled, butthe solution is to be found in the diary of Dr. John WilliamPolidori, edited and elucidated by William Michael Rossetti. Theday after that on which Polidori states that all the competitors, except himself, had begun their stories, he records the simplefact: "Began my ghost-story after tea. " He gives no hint as tothe subject of his tale, but Mrs. Shelley tells us that Polidorihad some idea of a "skull-headed lady, who was so punished forlooking through a key-hole, and who was finally buried in thetomb of the Capulets. " In the introduction to _ErnestusBerchtold, or the Modern OEdipus_, he states definitely:

 "The tale here presented to the public is one I began at Coligny, when _Frankenstein_ was planned, and when a noble author, having determined to descend from his lofty range, gave up a few hours to a tale of terror, and wrote the fragment published at the end of Mazeppa. "

As no skull-headed lady appears in _Ernestus Berchtold_, it isprobable that her career was only suggested to the rest of theparty as an entrancing possibility, and never actually tookshape. This theme would certainly have proved more frightful andpossibly more interesting than the one which Polidori eventuallyadopted in _Ernestus Berchtold_, a rambling, leisurely account ofthe adventures of a Swiss soldier, whose wife afterwards provesto be his own sister. Their father has accepted from a malignantspirit the gift of wealth, but each time that the gift isbestowed some great affliction follows. This secret is notdivulged until we are quite near the close of the story, and havewaited so long that our interest has begun to wane. _ErnestusBerchtold_ is, as a matter of fact, not a novel of terror at all. The supernatural agency, which should have been interlaced withthe domestic story from beginning to end, is only dragged inbecause it was one of the conditions of the competition, asindeed Polidori frankly confesses in his introduction:

 "Many readers will think that the same moral and the same colouring might have been given to characters acting under the ordinary agencies of life. I believe it, but I agreed to write a supernatural tale, and that does not allow of a completely everyday narrative. "

The candour of this admission forestalls criticism. Strangelyenough, Polidori adds that he has thrown the "superior agency"into the background, because "a tale that rests uponimprobabilities must generally disgust a rational mind. " With sodecided a preference for the reasonable and probable, it isremarkable that Polidori should treat the vampire legendsuccessfully. It has frequently been stated that Byron's storywas completed by Polidori; but this assertion is not preciselyaccurate. Polidori made no use of the actual fragment, but basedhis story upon the groundwork on which the fragment was to havebeen continued. Byron's story describes the arrival of twofriends amid the ruins of Ephesus. One of them, Darvell, who, like most of Byron's heroes, is enshrouded in mystery, and is aprey to some cureless disquiet, falls ill and dies. Before hisdeath he demands that his companion shall on a certain day throwa ring into the salt springs that run into the bay of Eleusis. Ifwe may trust Polidori's account, Byron intended that thesurvivor, on his return to England, should be startled to beholdhis companion moving in society, and making love to his sister. On this foundation Polidori constructed _The Vampyre_. The storyopens with the description of a nobleman, Lord Ruthven, whoseappearance and character excite great interest in London society. His face is remarkable for its deadly pallor, and he has a "dead, grey eye, which, fixing upon the object's face, did not seem topenetrate and at one glance to pierce through to the inwardworkings of the heart, but fell upon the cheek with a leaden raythat laid (_sic_) upon the skin it could not pass. " A young mannamed Aubrey, who arrives in London about the same time, becomesdeeply interested in the study of Ruthven's character. When hejoins him on a tour abroad he discovers that his companion takesa fiendish delight in ruining the innocent at the gaming-table;and, after receiving a warning of Ruthven's reputation, decidesto leave him, but to continue to watch him closely. He succeedsin foiling his designs against a young Italian girl in Rome. Aubrey next travels to Greece, where he falls in love withIanthe. One day, in spite of warnings that the place he purposesto visit is frequented by vampires, Aubrey sets off on anexcursion. Benighted in a lonely forest, he hears theterror-stricken cries of a woman in a hovel, and, on attemptingto rescue her, finds himself in the grasp of a being ofsuperhuman strength, who cries: "Again baffled!" When lightdawns, Aubrey makes the terrible discovery that Ianthe has becomethe prey of a vampire. He carries away from the spot ablood-stained dagger. In the delirious fever, which ensues on hisdiscovery of Ianthe's fate, Aubrey is nursed by Lord Ruthven. While they are travelling in Greece, Ruthven is shot in theshoulder by a robber, and, before dying, exacts from Aubrey asolemn oath that he will not reveal for a year and a day what heknows of his crimes or death. In accordance with a promise madeto Ruthven, his body is conveyed to a mountain to be exposed tothe rays of the moon. The corpse disappears. Among Ruthven'spossessions Aubrey finds a sheath, into which the dagger he hasfound in the hovel fits exactly. On passing through Rome helearns that the girl he had once saved from Ruthven has vanished. When he returns to London, Aubrey is horrified to behold thefigure of Lord Ruthven almost on the very spot where he had firstseen him. He dare not break his oath, and soon becomes almostdemented. The news of his sister's marriage seems to rouse himmomentarily from his lethargy, and when he discovers that Ruthvenis to be the bridegroom he urges her to delay the marriage. Hiswarnings are disregarded, and the ceremony takes place. Aubreyrelates to his sister's guardians all that he knows of Ruthven, but it is too late. Ruthven has disappeared, and she has "gluttedthe thirst of a vampyre. "

Polidori's manner of telling the story is curiously matter offact and restrained. He relates the incidents as they occur, andleaves the reader to form his own conclusions. If Lewis had beenhandling the theme he would have wallowed in gory details, andwould have expatiated on the agonies of his victims. Polidoriwisely keeps his story in a quiet key, depending for his effecton the terror of the bare facts. He realises that he is on theverge of the unspeakable. 

Polidori's story set a fashion in vampires, who appear ascharacters in fiction all through the nineteenth century. Awriter in the _Dublin University Magazine_ tells of a vampire whoplays an admirable game of whist! There is an "explained" vampirein one of George Macdonald's stories, _Adela Cathcart_. Theprince of vampires is, however, Bram Stoker's _Dracula_, roundwhom centres a story of absorbing interest. 

De Quincey, who might have selected from the novel of terror manyadmirable illustrations for his essay on _Murder, Considered asone of the Fine Arts_, and who seems to have been attracted bythe German type of horrific story, shows some facility insensational fiction. In _Klosterheim_, a one-volumed novelpublished in 1832, the interest circles round the machinations ofan elusive, ubiquitous "Masque, " eventually revealed to be noneother than the son of the late Landgrave, who, like many a manbefore him in the tale of terror, has been done to death by ausurper. Disappearances through trap-doors, and escapes downsubterranean passages are effected with a dexterity suggestive ofMrs. Radcliffe's methods; and the inexplicable murders, with theexception of that of an aged seneschal accidentally betrayed, arenot real. In certain of his moods and habits, the Masque bears alikeness to Lewis's "Bravo, " but the setting of De Quincey'sstory is very different. The adventures of the Masque and of theLady Pauline are cast in Germany amid the confusion of the ThirtyYears' War. In _The Household Wreck_, published in _Blackwood'sMagazine_, January 1838, De Quincey shows his power of conveyinga sense of foreboding, that anticipation of horror which is oftenmore harrowing than the reality. Another tale of terror, _TheAvenger_, published in the same year, describes a series ofbloodcurdling murders which baffle the skill of the police, butwhich eventually prove to have been committed by a son to avengedishonour done to his Jewish mother. For a collection of _PopularTales and Romances of the Northern Nations_, published in 1823, De Quincey translated _Der Freischütz_ from the German of J. A. Apel, under the title of _The Fatal Marksman_. By means ofill-gotten magic bullets the marksman wins his bride, but by oneof those little ironies in which the devil delights to indulge, she is slain on the wedding-day by a bullet, which is aimedstraight, but goes askew. In _The Dice_, another short story fromthe German, De Quincey once again exploits the old theme of abargain with the devil. 

De Quincey's contributions to the tale of terror shrink intounimportance beside the rest of his work, and are not inthemselves remarkable. They are of interest as showing thewidespread and long-enduring vogue of the species. It isnoteworthy how many writers, whose main business lay elsewhere, have found time to make erratic excursions into the realms of thesupernatural. 

So late as 1834--more than a decade after the appearance of_Melmoth_--Harrison Ainsworth, whose imagination was steeped interror, sought once more to revive the "feeble and flutteringpulses of old Romance. " Among his earliest experiments were talesobviously fashioned in the Gothic manner. His Imperishable One, the hero of a tale first published in the _European Magazine_ for1822, bemoans the burden of immortality in the listless tones ofGodwin's St. Leon, and is tempted by the fallen angel in theself-same guise in which he appeared to Lewis's notorious monk. In _The Test of Affection_ (_European Magazine_, 1822) a wealthyman avails himself of Mrs. Radcliffe's supernatural trickery totest the loyalty of his friends, whom he succeeds in alarming bynoises and a skeleton apparition. In _Arliss's Pocket Magazine_(1822) there appeared _The Spectre Bride_; and in the _EuropeanMagazine_ (1823) Ainsworth attempted a theme that would haveattracted Poe in _The Half Hangit_. _The Boeotian_ for 1824contained _A Tale of Mystery_, and the _Literary Souvenir_ for1825 _The Fortress of Saguntum_, a story in the style of Lewis. Ainsworth's first novel, _Rookwood_ (1834), was inspired by avisit to Cuckfield Place, an old manor house which had remindedShelley of "bits of Mrs. Radcliffe":

 "Wishing to describe somewhat minutely the trim gardens, the picturesque domains, the rook-haunted groves, the gloomy chambers and gloomier galleries of an ancient hall with which I was acquainted, I resolved to attempt a story in the bygone style of Mrs. Radcliffe, substituting an old English squire, an old manorial residence and an old English highwayman for the Italian marchise, the castle and the brigand of that great mistress of romance. .. The attempt has succeeded beyond my most sanguine expectation. Romance, if I am not mistaken, is destined shortly to undergo an important change. Modified by the German and French writers--Hoffmann, Tieck, Victor Hugo, Alexander Dumas, Balzac and Paul Lacroix--the structure commenced in our land by Horace Walpole, 'Monk' Lewis, Mrs. Radcliffe and Maturin, but, left imperfect and inharmonious, requires, now that the rubbish which choked up its approach is removed, only the hand of the skilful architect to its entire renovation and perfection. "

In _Rookwood_, Ainsworth disdains Mrs. Radcliffe's reasonableelucidations of the supernatural, and introduces spectres whoseexistence it would be impossible to deny. Once, however, asupposed ghost becomes substantial, and proves to be none otherthan a human being called Jack Palmer. The sexton, Luke Bradley, _alias_ Alan Rookwood, has inherited two of the Wanderer'straits--the fear-impelling eyes of intolerable lustre, and thehabit of indulging in wild, screaming laughter on the mostinauspicious occasions. 

Gothic properties are scattered with indiscriminateextravagance--skeleton hands, suddenly extinguished candles, sliding panels, sepulchral vaults. The plot of _Rookwood_ is toocomplicated and too overcrowded with incident to keep ourattention. The terrors are so unremitting that they fail tostrike home. The only part of the book which holds us enthralledis the famous description of Dick Turpin's ride to York. Here weforget Ainsworth's slip-shod style in the excitement of thechase. In his later novels Ainsworth abandoned the manner of Mrs. Radcliffe, but did not fail to make use of the motive of terrorand mystery. The scenes of horror which he strove to convey inwords were often more admirably depicted in the illustrations ofCruikshank. The sorcerer's sabbath in _Crichton_, the historicalscenes of horror in _The Tower of London_, the masque of theDance of Death in _Old St. Paul's_, the appearance of Herne theHunter, heralded by phosphoric lights, in _Windsor Castle_, theterrible orgies of _The Lancashire Witches_, are described withmore striking effect because of Ainsworth's early reading in theschool of terror. In _Auriol_, which was first published in_Ainsworth's Magazine_ (1844-5) under the title _Revelations ofLondon_, was issued in 1845 as a gratuitous supplement to the_New Monthly_, and greeted with derision, [125] Ainsworth handledonce again the theme that fascinated Lytton. The Prologue (1599)describes the death of Dr. Lamb, whose elixir is seized by hisgreat-grandson. In 1830 London is haunted by a stranger, whoinvolves Auriol in wildly fantastic and frightful adventures. Thebook closes in Dr. Lamb's laboratory; the intervening scenes arebut dream imagery. Phiz's sketch of the Ruined House is the mostlasting memory left by the book. 

Captain Marryat, whose mind was well stored with sailors' yarns, retells in _The Phantom Ship_ (1839) the old legend of the FlyingDutchman. At one time the doomed vessel is an unsubstantialvision, which can pass clean through the Utrecht; at another sheis a real craft, whose deck can be boarded by mortal men. Theone-eyed pilot, Schriften, with his malignant hatred of the hero, Philip, is a terrifying figure. The story is embroidered by theinvention of a wife of Arab extraction, who is constantlyattempting to recall the half-forgotten magical arts which hermother had practised. Marryat makes an opportunity in the historyof Krantz, the second mate of the _Vrou Katerina_, to introducethe Scandinavian legend of the werewolf, which is related withgrisly detail. 

The novel of terror, with all its faults, had seldom been guiltyof demanding intellectual strain or of overburdening itself witherudition. It was the dignified task of Lord Lytton torationalise and elevate the novel of terror, to evolve the "manof reason" from the "child of nature. " Although time hastarnished the brilliance of his reputation, George Edward Bulwerwas an imposing figure in the history of nineteenth centuryfiction. Throughout his life, in spite of political and socialdistractions and of matrimonial disaster, he continued to engagewith unwearying industry in literary work. He was not a man ofgenius in whom the creative impulse found its own expression, buta versatile and accomplished gentleman who could direct histalents into any channel he pleased. Essays, translations, verses, plays, novels flowed from his pen in rapid succession, and he won his meed of applause and fame, as well as his share ofexecration and derision, in his own lifetime. Quick to discernthe popular taste of the hour, and eager to gratify it, Lytton, with the resourceful agility of a lightning impersonator, turnsin his novels from Wertherism to dandyism, from criminalpsychology to fairy folk-lore, from historical romance todomestic romance, from pseudo-philosophic occultism topseudo-scientific fantasy. He ranges at will in the past, thepresent or the future, consorting indifferently with impalpablewraiths, Vrilya or mysterious Sages. It is to his credit thatthis unusual gift of adaptability does not result inincompetency. Though he attempts a variety of manners, it must injustice be acknowledged that he does most of them well. Heconstructs his plots with laborious art, and pays a deliberate, if sometimes misguided, attention to style. When he fails, it isless from lack of effort than from over-elaboration and excess ofzeal. 

Bulwer Lytton's predilection for the supernatural was neither atheatrical pose nor a passing folly excited by the fashionablecraze for psychical research, but a genuine and enduringinterest, inherited, it may be, from his ancestor, the learned, eccentric savant, Dr. Bulwer, who studied the Black Art anddabbled in astrology and palmistry. He was a member of thesociety of Rosicrucians, and, to quote the words of his grandson, "he certainly did not study magic for the sake of writing aboutit, still less did he write about it, without having studied it, merely for the sake of making his readers' flesh creep. " From hisearly years Lytton seems to have been keenly interested insupernatural manifestations. He was inspired by the desertedrooms at the end of a long gallery in Knebworth House to set downthe story of the ghost, Jenny Spinner, who was said to hauntthem; and the concealed chamber in _The Haunted and the Haunters_may have been a revived memory of the trap-door down which Lyttonas a boy had "peeped with bristling hair into the shadowy abyssesof hellhole. " In _Glenallan_, [126] an early fragment, we findpromising material for a tale of mystery--a villain with a"strange and sinister expression, " a boy who, like the youthfulShelley, steals forth by night to graveyards, hoping to attain tofearful secrets, and an aged servant, a living chronicle ofhorrors, who relates the doings of an Irish wizard, MorshedTyrone, of such awful power that the spirits of the earth, airand ocean ministered to him. In _Godolphin_ (1833) there is anastrologer with the furrowed brow and awful eye, so common amongthe people of terror, and a strangely gifted girl, Lucilla, whoturns soothsayer. But when Bulwer Lytton attempts a supernaturalromance he leaves far behind him the sphere of Gothic terrors andsoars into rarefied, exalted regions that inspire awe rather thanhorror. The Dweller of the Threshold in _Zanoni_ is nored-cloaked, demoniacal figure springing from a trap-door with adeafening clap of thunder, but a "Colossal Shadow" brooding overthe crater of Vesuvius. 

The romance, _Zanoni_ (1842), which Lytton considered thegreatest of his works and which Carlyle praised with what nowseems extravagant fervour, was based on an earlier sketch, _Zicci_ (1838), and embodies a complicated theory which he hadconceived several years earlier after reading some mediaevaltreatises on astrology and the occult sciences. While his mindwas occupied with these studies, the character of Mejnour and themain outlines of the story were inspired by a dream, which herelated to his son. According to Lytton's theory, the air ispeopled with Intelligences, of whom some are favourable, othershostile to man. The earth contains certain plants, which, rightlyused, have power to arrest the decay of the human body, and toenable man, by quickening his physical senses and mental gifts, to perceive the aerial beings and to discover the secrets ofnature. This supernatural knowledge is in possession of abrotherhood of whom two only, Mejnour and his pupil Zanoni, arein existence. The initiation involves the surrender of allviolent passions and emotions, and the neophyte must be broughtinto contact with the powerful and malignant being called theDweller of the Threshold:

 "Whose form of giant mould No mortal eye can fixed behold, "

Mejnour and Zanoni are supposed to have been initiated--theformer in old age, the latter in youth--more than five thousandyears before the story opens. Thus Mejnour remains for ever avigorous old man; while Zanoni, his pupil, enjoys perpetualyouth. Mejnour is purely intellectual, and spends his life incontemplation; while Zanoni, though he must avoid love andfriendship which are unknown to the passionless Intelligences, feels sympathy with human beings. 

Zanoni, who spends his life in the pursuit of pleasure, afterfifty centuries at last falls in love with Viola, an Italianopera-singer. Like Melmoth the Wanderer, Zanoni is reluctant tobind the woman he loves to his own fate. He tries to renounceViola to an Englishman, Glyndon, who eventually chooses torelinquish love for the sake of achieving the unearthly knowledgeof Mejnour. Glyndon, however, fails in the trial, and isconsequently haunted by the horror of the Dweller of theThreshold. Meanwhile Zanoni is united to Viola; and because hehas succumbed to the force of love, his peculiar powers begin tofail. He can no longer see the beautiful, aerial intelligence, Adon-Ai. To save from death Viola and the child who is born tothem, Zanoni ere long yields to the Dweller of the Threshold hisgift of communion with the inhabitants of heaven. Later Viola, who incidentally typifies Superstition deserting Faith, leavesZanoni at the call of Glyndon, and in Paris, during the Reign ofTerror, is doomed to die. Zanoni invokes the aid of themysterious Intelligences, and his courage at length bringsAdon-Ai again to his side. He wins a day's reprieve for Viola, and is executed in her stead. The death of Robespierre releasesthe prisoners, but Viola dies the next day. 

The compact between Zanoni and the Dweller of the Threshold is arenovation of the time-worn legend of the bargain with an evilspirit, but Lytton transforms it almost beyond recognition. Zanoni is no criminal. He has attained his secrets throughwill-power, self-conquest, and the subordination of the flesh tothe spirit, and he surrenders his gifts willingly for the sake ofanother. Both Mejnour and Zanoni disclaim miraculous powers, yetZanoni is ready to stake his mistress on a cast of the dice, andcan cause the death of three sanguinary marauders withoutstirring from the apartment in which he ordinarily pursues hischemical studies. From such incidents as these it would seem asif Lytton, for the actual craftsmanship of _Zanoni_, may havegleaned stray hints from the novel of terror; but the spirit andintention of the book are entirely different. Though Lyttonexpressly declares that his _Zanoni_ is not an allegory, heconfesses that it has symbolical meanings. Zanoni is apt toassume the superior pose of a lecturer elucidating an abstrusesubject to an unenlightened audience. The impression of artificethat the book makes upon us is probably due to the fact thatLytton first conceived his theories and then created personagesto illustrate them. His characters have no power to act of theirown volition or to do unexpected things, but must move along thelines laid down for them. 

In _The Haunted and the Haunters, or The House and the Brain_, which appeared in _Blackwood's Magazine_ in 1859, Bulwer Lyttonlays aside the sin of over-elaboration and ornamentation that soeasily besets him, and relies for his effect on the impalpablehorror of his story. The calm, business-like overture, theaccurate description of the position of the house in a street offthe north side of Oxford Street, the insistence on thematter-of-fact attitude of the watcher, and on the cool courageof his servant, the abject fear of the dog, who dies in agony, all tend to create an atmosphere of grave conviction. The eeriechild's footfall, the moving of the furniture by unseen hands, the wrinkled fingers that clutch the old letters, the faintlyoutlined wraiths of the man and woman in old-world garb withruffles, lace, and buckles, the hideous phantom of the drownedman, the dark figure with malignant serpent eyes, shadow forththe story hinted at in the letters found in an old drawer. Haunted by loathly presences, the watcher experiences a sensationof almost intolerable horror, but saves himself at the worst byopposing his will to that of the haunters. He rightly surmisesthat the evil influences, which seem in some way to emanate froma small empty room, really proceed from a living being. Hisinterpretation is skilful and subtle enough not to detract fromthe simple horror of the tale. A miniature, certain volatileessences, a compass, a lodestone and other properties are foundin a room below that which appeared to be the source of thehorrors. It proves that the man, whose face is portrayed on theminiature has been able through the exertion of will-power toprolong his life for two centuries, and to preserve a curse in amagical vessel. He is actually interviewed by the watcher, towhom he unfolds his remarkable history, and whom he mesmerisesinto silence on the subject of his experiences in the hauntedhouse for a space of three months. 

Lytton realises that it is not only what is told but what is leftunsaid that requires consideration in a ghost story. Hisreticence and the entire absence of any note of mockery or doubtsecure the "willing suspension of disbelief" necessary to theappreciation of the apparently supernatural. 

In _A Strange Story_, which, at Dickens's invitation, appeared in_All the Year Round_ (1861-2), Bulwer Lytton further elaborateshis theories of mesmerism and willpower. He explains his purposein the Preface:

 "When the reader lays down this strange story, perhaps he will detect, through all the haze of Romance, the outlines of these images suggested to his reason: Firstly, the image of sensuous, soulless Nature, such as the Materialist had conceived it. Secondly, the image of Intellect, obstinately separating all its inquiries from the belief in the spiritual essence and destiny of man, and incurring all kinds of perplexity and resorting to all kinds of visionary speculation before it settles at last into the simple faith which unites the philosopher and the infant. And thirdly, the image of the erring but pure-thoughted Visionary, seeking overmuch on this earth to separate soul from mind, till innocence itself is led astray by a phantom and reason is lost in the space between earth and the stars. "

These three conceptions are embodied in Margrave, who has renewedhis life far beyond the limits allotted to man; a young doctor, Fenwick, who represents the intellectual divorced from thespiritual; and Lilian Ashleigh, a clairvoyante girl, who typifiesthe spiritual divorced from the intellectual. The interest of thestory turns on the struggle of Fenwick to gain his bride, and towrest her from the influence of Margrave. The plot, intricatelytangled, is unravelled with patient skill. In spite of thewearisome explanations of Dr. Faber, who is lucid but verbose, there is a fascination about the book which compels us to goforward. 

In Lytton's hands the barbarity of the novel of terror has beengracefully smoothed away. It has, indeed, become almostunrecognisably refined and elevated, and something of its nativevigour is lost in the process. Amid all the amenities of Vrilyaand Intelligences, we miss the vulgar blatancy of an honest, old-fashioned spectre. 

CHAPTER X - SHORT TALES OF TERROR. 

For the readers of their own day the Gothic romances of Walpole, Miss Reeve and Mrs. Radcliffe possessed the charm of novelty. Before the close of the century we may trace, in theconversations of Isabella Thorpe and Catherine Morland in_Northanger Abbey_, symptoms of a longing for more poignantexcitement. It was at this time that Mrs. Radcliffe, after thepublication of _The Italian_ in 1797, retired quietly from thefield. From her obscurity she viewed no doubt with some disdainthe vulgar achievements of "Monk" Lewis and a tribe of imitators, who compounded a farrago of horrors as thick and slab as thecontents of a witch's cauldron. Until the appearance in 1820 ofMaturin's _Melmoth_, which was redeemed by its psychologicalinsight and its vigorous style, the Gothic romance maintained adisreputable existence in the hands of those who looked uponfiction as a lucrative trade, not as an art. In the meantime, however, an easy device had been discovered for pandering to thepopular craving for excitement. Ingenious authors realised thatit was possible to compress into the five pages of a short storyas much sensation as was contained in the five volumes of aGothic romance. For the brevity of the tales, which were issuedin chapbooks, readers were compensated by gaudily colouredillustrations and by double-barrelled titles. An anthology called"Wild Roses" (published by Anne Lemoine, Coleman Street, n. D. )included: _Twelve O'Clock or the Three Robbers, The Monks ofCluny, or Castle Acre Monastery, The Tomb of Aurora, or TheMysterious Summons, The Mysterious Spaniard, or The Ruins of St. Luke's Abbey_, and lastly, as a _bonne bouche_, _Barbastal, orThe Magician of the Forest of the Bloody Ash_. [127] There aremany collections of this kind, some of them dating back to 1806, among the chapbooks in the British Museum. It is in these brief, blood-curdling romances that we may find the origin of the shorttale of terror, which became so popular a form of literature inthe nineteenth century. The taste for these delicious morsels haslingered long. Dante Gabriel Rossetti delighted in _BrigandTales, Tales of Chivalry, Tales of Wonder, Legends of Terror_;and it was in search of such booty, "a penny plain and twopencecoloured" that, more than fifty years later, Robert LouisStevenson and his companions ransacked the stores of a certainsecluded stationer's shop in Edinburgh. 

It was probably the success of the chapbook that encouraged theeditors of periodicals early in the nineteenth century to enliventheir pages with sensational fiction. The literary hack, who, ifhe had lived a century earlier, would have been glad to turn aTurkish tale for half-a-crown, now cheerfully furnished a"fireside horror" for the Christmas number. In his search afternovelty he was often driven to wild and desperate expedients. Leigh Hunt, who showed scant sympathy with Lewis's bleeding nunand scoffed mercilessly at his "little grey men who sit munchinghearts, " was bound to admit: "A man who does not contribute hisquota of grim story, now-a-days, seems hardly to be free of therepublic of letters. " Accordingly, so that he too might wear adeath's head as part of his _insignia_, he included in _TheIndicator_ (1819-21) a supernatural story, entitled _A Tale for aChimney Corner_. Scorning to "measure talents with a leg of vealor a German sausage, " he unfortunately dismissed from hisimagination the nightmarish hordes of

 "Haunting Old Women and Knocking Ghosts, and Solitary Lean Hands, and Empusas on one leg, and Ladies growing Longer and Longer, and Horrid Eyes meeting us through Keyholes; and Plaintive Heads and Shrieking Statues and Shocking Anomalies of Shape and Things, which, when seen, drove people mad, "

and in their place he conjured up a placid, ladylike ghost from alegend quoted in Sandys' commentary on Ovid. Leigh Hunt's storyhas the air of having been written by one who cared for none ofthese things; but there were others who wrote with more gusto. 

Many of the tales in such collections as _The Story-Teller_(1833) or _The Romancist and Novelist's Library_ (1839-42) showthe persistence of Gothic story. In these periodicals the graveand the gay are intermingled, and when we are weary of darkintrigues and impenetrable secrets we may turn to lighterreading. Yet it is significant of the taste of our ancestors thatwe cannot venture far without encountering a spectre of somesort, or a villain with the baleful eye, disguised, it may be, asa Spanish gipsy, a German necromancer or a Russian count. Many ofthe stories are Gothic novels, reduced in size, but with room forall the old machinery:

 "A novel now is nothing more Than an old castle, and a creaking door, A distant hovel, Clanking of chains--a galley--a light-- Old armour, and a phantom all in white, And there's a novel. "

In _The Story-Teller_, a magazine which reprinted many populartales, we find German legends like _The Three Students ofGöttingen_, a "True Story Very Strange and Very Pitiful"; _TheWood Demon; The Wehr-Wolf; The Sexton of Cologne, or Lucifer_, astriking story of an Italian artist who was haunted by a terriblefigure he had painted in the church at Arezzo. Yet the first talein the collection, _The Story-Haunted_, which describes the sadfate of a youth brought up in a solitary library reading romancesto his mother, was intended, like _The Spectre-Smitten_, in_Passages from the Diary of a Late Physician_, [128] as a solemnwarning against over-indulgence in fictitious terrors. The motherdies in an agony of horror, as her son reads aloud the account ofthe Gentleman of Florence, who was pursued by a spectre ofhimself, which vanished with him finally into the earth, as thepriest endeavoured to bless him. The son, left alone, enters theworld, and judges the people around him by the standard of books. The story-haunted youth falls in love with the phantom of his ownimagination, whom he endows with all the graces of the heroinesof romance. He finds her embodied at last, but she dies beforethey are united. _The Romancist and Novelist's Library_, in tenvolumes, contains a comprehensive selection of tales of terror bythe "best authors. " Walpole, Miss Reeve, Mrs. Radcliffe, "Monk"Lewis, Maturin, Mrs. Shelley, and Charles Brockden Brown are allrepresented; and there are many translations of tales by Frenchand German authors. We may take our choice of _The SpectreBarber_ or _The Spectre Bride_, or, if we are inclined toincredulity, see _The Spectre Unmasked_. The entertainmentoffered is of bewildering variety. Some of the stories, such asD. F. Hayne's _Romance of the Castle_, seem like familiar, well-tried friends, and conceal no surprises for the readers ofGothic romance. Others, like _The Sleepless Woman_, by W. Jerdan, are more piquant. The hero is warned by his dying uncle to bewareof women's bright eyes. In spite of this he marries a lady, whoseeyes unite the qualities of the robin and the falcon. After thewedding he makes the awful discovery that she is of too noble alineage ever to sleep. Turn where he may, her eyes are alwaysupon him. At last, we find him pallid, haggard, and emaciated, wandering alone in an avenue of cedar trees beside a silent lake:

 "At this moment a breath of wind blew a branch aside--a sunbeam fell upon the baron's face; he took it for the eyes of his wife. Alas! his remedy lay temptingly before him, the still, the profound, the shadowy lake. De Launaye took one plunge--it was into eternity. "

The writer foolishly ruins the effect of this climax bysuper-imposing an allegorical interpretation. 

Like the _Story-Teller, The Romancist and Novelist's Library_should be read

 "At night when doors are shut, And the wood-worm pricks, And the death-watch ticks, And the bar has a flag of smut, -- And the cat's in the water-butt-- And the socket floats and flares, And the housebeams groan, And a foot unknown Is surmised on the garret stairs, And the locks slip unawares. "

But "tales of terror" lose some of their power when read oneafter another; they are most effective read singly inperiodicals. _Blackwood's Magazine_ was especially famous for itstales, the best of which have been collected and publishedseparately. The editor of the _Dublin University Magazine_ showsa marked preference for tales of a supernatural or sensationalcast. Le Fanu, who claimed that his stories, like those of SirWalter Scott, belonged to the "legitimate school of Englishtragic romance, " was one of the best-known contributors. _All theYear Round_ and _Household Words_, under the editorship ofDickens, often found room for the occult and the uncanny. WilkieCollins' fascinating serial, _The Moonstone_, was published in_All the Year Round_ in 1868; _The Woman in White_ had appearedsix years earlier in _Blackwood_. The stories included in thesemagazines are of various types. The old-fashioned spook graduallydeclines in popularity. He is ousted in a scientific age by morerecondite forms of terror. Before 1875, with a few belatedexceptions:

 "Ghosts, wandering here and there Troop home to churchyards, damned spirits all, That in crossways and floods have burial, Already to their wormy beds are gone. "

The "explained supernatural" is skilfully improved and developed. Le Fanu's _Green Tea_ is a story from the diary of a Germandoctor, concerning a patient who was dogged by a black monkey. The creature, "whose green eyes glow with an expression ofunfathomable malignity, " is medically explained to be anillusion; but it is so vividly presented that it fastens on ourimagination with remarkable tenacity. Wilkie Collins' shortstory, _The Yellow Mask_, included in the series called _AfterDark_, is another experiment in the same kind. A jealous womanappears among the dancers at a ball, wearing a waxen cast of theface of the man's dead wife. The short story, in which the authordeliberately shakes our nerves and then soothes away our fears byaccounting naturally for startling phenomena, is an amazinglypopular type. It reappears continually in different guises. Occasionally it merges into pleasant buffoonery. _DieGeistertodtenglocke_, for instance, a story in the _DublinUniversity Magazine_ (1862), is a burlesque, in which themysterious tolling of a bell is explained by the discovery that acow strolled into the ruin to eat the hay with which the rope wasmended. But, judiciously handled, this type of story makes astrong appeal to human beings who like to know how much of theterrible and painful they can endure, and who yet must ultimatelybe reassured. 

Another group of short tales of terror consists of those whichpurport to be faithful renderings of the beliefs of simplepeople. To this category belong Allan Cunningham's _TraditionalTales of the English and Scottish Peasantry_, which firstappeared, with one exception, in the _London Magazine_ (1821-23). Cunningham has the tact to preserve the legends of elves, fairies, ghosts and bogles, as they were passed down from onegeneration to another on the lips of living beings. Later heattempted, in a novel, _Sir Michael Scott_ (1828), a kind ofGothic romance; but there is no trace in the _Traditional Tales_of the influence of the terrormongers with whose works he wasfamiliar. Perhaps the finest story of the collection is _TheHaunted Ships_, in which are embodied the traditions associatedwith two black and decayed hulls, half immersed in the quicksandsof the Solway. Lewis would have dragged us on board ship, andwould have shown us the devil in his own person. Cunninghamwisely keeps ashore, and repeats the tales that are toldconcerning the fiendish mirth and revelry to be heard, when, atcertain seasons of the year, they arise in their former beauty, with forecastle and deck, with sail and pennon and shroud. JamesHogg, the Ettrick shepherd, who was a friend of Cunningham, wassteeped in the same folk-lore. _The Mysterious Bride_, printedamong his _Tales and Sketches_, tells of a beautiful spirit-lady, dressed in white and green, who appears three times on St. Lawrence's Eve to the Laird of Birkendelly. On the morning, afterthe night on which she had promised to wed him, he is found, ablackened corpse, on Birky Brow. _Mary Burnet_ is the story of amaiden who is drowned when keeping tryst with her lover. Shereturns to earth, like Kilmeny, and assures her parents of herwelfare. A demon woman, whose form resembles that of Mary, hauntsher lover, and entices him to evil. Since Hogg can give to hislegends a "local habitation and a name, " pointing to the verystretch of road on which the elfin lady first appeared, it seemsungracious to doubt his veracity. The Ettrick Shepherd's mostmemorable achievement, however, is his _Confessions of a Fanatic_(1824), a terribly impressive account of a man afflicted withreligious mania, who believes himself urged into crime by amysterious being. The story abounds in frightful situations andweird scenes, one of the most striking being the reflection, seenat daybreak on Arthur's Seat, of a human head and shoulders, dilated to twenty times its natural size. Professor Saintsburyhas suggested that Lockhart probably had the principal hand inthis story. "Christopher North" was another member of the_Noctes_ confraternity who came sometimes under the spell of theunearthly. 

The supernatural tales of Mrs. Gaskell, whose gift forstory-telling made Dickens call her his Scheherazade, were, likethose of Cunningham, based directly on tradition. She was alwaysattracted by the subject of witchcraft; and she had collected astore of "creepy" legends of the kind which made the nervousladies of Cranford bid their sedan-chairmen hasten rapidly downDarkness Lane at nights. The best of Mrs. Gaskell's short talesis perhaps _The Nurse's Story_, which appeared in the Christmasnumber of _Household Words_ in 1852. Mrs. Gaskell has a happygift for preserving the natural aroma of a tale of bygone days. _The Nurse's Story_ has a hint of the old-world grace of Lamb's_Dream Children_. The carefully disposed tableau of ghosts--theunforgiving old man, and the vindictive sister, spurning the ladyand her child from the hall--is too definite and distinct, butthe conception of the wraith of the dead child outside the manor, pleading piteously to be let in, and luring away the livingchild, is delicately wrought. The tale is told in the rambling, circumstantial style, suitable to the fireside and the longleisure of a winter's evening. Dickens tells a very differentnurse's story in one of the chapters of _An UncommercialTraveller_. The tone of Mrs. Gaskell's nurse is kindly andprotective; that of Dickens' nurse severe, admonitory andemphatic. She, who told the grim legend of Captain Murderer, meant, clearly, to scare as well as to entertain her hearer. Sheleads up to the climax of her story, the deadly revenge of thedark twin's poisoned pie, with admirable art. The nurse's namewas Mercy, but, as Dickens remarks, she showed none to him. Though Dickens shrank timorously in childhood from her frightfulstories, he himself, like the fat boy in _Pickwick_, sometimes"wants to make our flesh creep. " It seems, indeed, an odd traitof the humorist that he can at will wholly discard his gaiety, and, like the Pied Piper, pipe to another measure. W. W. Jacobs, besides his humorous sailor yarns, has given us _The Monkey'sPaw_; and Barry Pain's gruesome stories, _Told in the Dark_, areas forcible as any of his humours to be read in the daylight. Dickens, in his excursions into the supernatural, does not, however, always cast off his mood of jocularity. His treatment ofMarley's ghost lacks dignity and decorum. Clanking its chains ina remote cellar of the silent, empty house, it has the power todisturb us, but we lose our respect for the shade when we gazeupon it eye to eye. Applied to the spirit world, there is muchtruth in the old adage that familiarity breeds contempt. Theaccount of the thirteenth juryman, in _Dr. Marigold'sPrescriptions_, is much more alarming. The story of thesignalman, No. 1 Branch line, in _Mugby Junction_, is indefinablyhorrible. The signalman's anguish of mind, his exact descriptionof the Appearance, his sense of overhanging calamity, are allstrangely disquieting. The coincidence of the manner of hisdeath, with which the story closes, is wisely left to make itsown inevitable impression. 

Some of the stories in _Blackwood_ are the more striking becausethey depend for their effect on natural, not supernatural, horror. We may feel we are immune from the visits of ghosts, butthe accident in _The Man in the Bell_ (1821) is one which mighthappen to anyone. The maddening clangour of sound, the frightfulimages that crowd into the reeling brain of the man suspended inthe belfry, are described with an unflinching realism thatreminds us of _The Pit and the Pendulum_. To the same classbelongs the skilfully constructed _Iron Shroud_ (1830), byWilliam Mudford, an author who, as Scott remarks in his journal, "loves to play at cherry-pit with Satan. " The suspense isingeniously maintained as, one by one, the windows of the irondungeon disappear, until, at last, the massive walls andponderous roof contract into the victim's iron shroud. WilkieCollins' story, _A Terribly Strange Bed_, which describes thestratagem of a gang of cardsharpers for getting rid of those whohappen to win money from them, is in the same vein. The canopyslowly descends during the night, and smothers its victim. Asimilar motive is used, with immeasurably finer effect, by JosephConrad in his story of the disappearance of the sailor at thelonely inn in the mountains of Spain. The experience of Byrne in_The Inn of the Two Witches_[129] is a masterpiece in thepsychology of terror. The dense darkness, in which the youngnaval officer "steers his course only by the feel of the wind, "the scene when the door of the inn bursts open and reveals in thecandlelight the savage beauty of the gipsy girl with evil, slanting eyes, and the inhuman ugliness of the old hags, are afitting prelude to the horrors of the chamber, where the corpseof the missing sailor is found in the wardrobe. We pass withByrne through the different stages of suspicion and dread until, completely baffled in his attempt to account for the manner inwhich Tom Corbin was done to death, we feel "the hot terror thatplays upon the heart like a tongue of flame that touches andwithdraws before it turns a thing to ashes. "

In the short stories of the latter half of the nineteenthcentury, it is hard to escape from the terrible. We light upon itsuddenly, here, there and everywhere. We find it in Stevenson's_New Arabian Nights_, in his _Merry Men_, and his stories of theSouth Seas, as indeed we should expect, when we recall thetapping of the blind man's stick in _Treasure Island_, the scenewith the candles in the snow after the duel between the twobrothers in _The Master of Ballantrae_, or David Balfour'sperilous adventure on the broken staircase in _Kidnapped_. Kipling is another expert in the art of eeriness, and has a widerange. His Indian backgrounds are peculiarly adapted for tales ofterror. The loathsome horror of _The Mark of the Beast_, with itsintangible suggestion of mystery, the quiet restraint of _TheReturn of Imray_, in which so much is left unsaid, are twoadmirable illustrations of his gift. 

The tale of terror wins its effect by ever-varying means. Scientific discoveries open up new vistas, and the twentiethcentury will evolve many fresh devices for torturing the nerves. The telephone set ringing by a ghostly hand, the aeroplane with aphantom pilot, will replace the Gothic machinery of ruined abbeysand wandering lights. The possibilities of terror are manifold, and it is impracticable here to do more than pick up a fewthreads in the tangled skein. Terror becomes inextricablyinterwoven with other motives according to the bent of theauthor. It is allied with psychology in James' sinister _Turn ofthe Screw_, with scientific phantasy in Wells' _Invisible Man_. It may enhance the excitement of a spy story, add zest to thestudy of crime, or act as a foil to a romantic love interest. 

CHAPTER XI - AMERICAN TALES OF TERROR. 

In 1797 we are told that in America "the dairymaid and hired manno longer weep over the ballad of the cruel stepmother, but amusethemselves into an agreeable terror with the haunted houses andhobgoblins of Mrs. Radcliffe. "[130] In _The Asylum, or Alonzo andMelissa_, published in Ploughkeepsie in 1811, the Gothic castle, with its full equipment of "explained ghosts, " has been safelyconveyed across the Atlantic and set up in South Carolina; and_The Sicilian Pirate or the Pillar of Mystery: a TerrificRomance_, is, if we may trust its title, a hair-raising story, inthe style of "Monk" Lewis. Charles Brockden Brown, one of theearliest American novelists, prides himself on "calling forth thepassions and engaging the sympathy of the reader by means nothitherto employed by preceding authors, " and speaks slightinglyof "puerile superstitions and exploded manners, Gothic castlesand chimeras. "[131] Brown, who, like Shelley, was an enthusiasticadmirer of Godwin, sought to embody the theories of _PoliticalJustice_ in romances describing American life. The works, whichare said by Peacock to have taken deepest root in Shelley's mindand to have had the strongest influence in the formation of hischaracter, are Schiller's _Robbers_, Goethe's _Faust_, and fournovels--_Wieland, Ormond, Edgar Huntly_, and _Mervyn_--by C. B. Brown. [132]

Notwithstanding his lofty scorn for "Gothic castles andchimeras, " even Brown himself condescended to take over from thedespised Mrs. Radcliffe the device of introducing apparentlysupernatural occurrences which are ultimately traced to naturalcauses. Like Mrs. Radcliffe he is at the mercy of a consciencewhich forbids him to thrust upon his readers spectres in which hehimself does not believe. He lacks Lewis's reckless mendacity. In_Wieland_ mysterious voices are heard at intervals by variousmembers of the family. To the hero, who has inherited a tendencyto religious fanaticism, they seem to be of divine origin, andwhen a voice bids him sacrifice those who are dearest to him, heobeys implicitly. He slays his wife and children, and his sisteronly escapes death by accident. After this catastrophe it provesthat the voices are produced by a skilled ventriloquist, Carwin, who has been admitted as an intimate friend of the family. Realising that this explanation may seem somewhat incredible, Brown seeks to make it appear more plausible by dwelling onWieland's abnormal state of mind, which would render himpeculiarly open to suggestion. Carwin's motive for thuspersecuting the Wieland family with his accursed gift is neversatisfactorily explained. His attitude is apparently that of anobtuse psychologist, who does not realise how serious theconsequence of his experiments may be. 

In _Ormond_ and _Arthur Mervyn_, Brown describes the ravages ofthe yellow fever, of which he had personal experience in New Yorkand Philadelphia. The hero of _Ormond_ is a member of a societysimilar to that of the Illuminati, whose ceremonies and beliefsare set forth in _Horrid Mysteries_ (1796). The heroine, Constantia Dudley, who was Shelley's ideal feminine character, isthe embodiment of a theory, not a human being. She "walks alwaysin the light of reason, " and decides that "to marry in extremeyouth would be a proof of pernicious and opprobrious temerity. "The most memorable of Brown's novels is _Edgar Huntly_, whichbears an obvious resemblance to _Caleb Williams_. Like Godwin, Brown is deeply interested in morbid psychology. He findspleasure in tracing the workings of the brain in times ofemotional stress. The description of a sleepwalker digging agrave--a picture which captivated Shelley's imagination--is thestarting-point of the book. Edgar Huntly is impelled by curiosityto track him down. The somnambulist, Clithero, has, inself-defence, killed the twin-brother of his patron, Mrs, Lorimer, to whom he is deeply attached. Obsessed by the idea ofthe misery his deed will arouse in her mind, he attempts, in amoment of frenzy, to slay her. Believing that Mrs. Lorimer hasdied after hearing of the murder, Clithero flees to America. Whenhe disappears from his home, Huntly resolves to follow him, andin his search loses himself amid wild and desolate country. He isattacked by Indians, and after frightful adventures at lengthreaches his home. Clithero, whom he believed dead, has beenrescued. Mrs. Lorimer is still alive, and is married to a formerlover. This news, however, fails to restore Clithero, who, in afit of insanity, flings himself overboard when he is in a ship incharge of Huntly. 

Brown's plots, which often open well, are spoilt by hasty, careless conclusions. It was his habit to write two or threenovels simultaneously. He was beset by the problem that exercisedeven Scott's brain: "The devil of a difficulty is that onepuzzles the skein in order to excite curiosity, and then cannotdisentangle it for the satisfaction of the prying fiend they haveraised. "

Brown takes very little trouble over his dénouements, but hischaracters leave so faint an impression on our minds that we arenot deeply concerned in their fates. He is interested rather inconveying states of mind than in portraying character. We searchthe windings of Clithero's tormented conscience without realisinghim as an individual. The background of rugged scenery, though itis described in vague, turgid language, is more definite anddistinct than the human figures. We feel that Brown is strugglingthrough the obscurity of his Latinised diction to depictsomething he has actually seen. An air of dreadful solemnityhangs heavily over each story. Every being is in deadly earnest. Brown has Godwin's power of hypnotising us by his seriouspersistence, and of reducing us to a mood of awestruck gravity bythe sonority of his pompous periods. 

From the oppressive gloom of Brown's "novels with a purpose, " itis a relief to turn to the irresponsible gaiety of "GeoffreyCrayon, " whose tales of terror, published some twenty yearslater, are usually fashioned in a jovial spirit, only faintlytinged with awe and dread. In _The Spectre Bridegroom_, includedin _The Sketch Book_ (1820), the ghostly rider of Bürger'sfar-famed ballad is set amid new surroundings and pleasantlyturned to ridicule. The "supernatural" wooer, who now and againarouses a genuine thrill of fear, is merely playing a practicaljoke on the princess by impersonating the dead bridegroom, andall ends happily. The story of the Headless Horseman of SleepyHollow is set against so picturesque a background that we arealmost inclined to quarrel with those who laughed and said thatIchabod Crane was still alive, and that Bram Jones, the lovelyKatrina's bridegroom, knew more of the spectre than he chose totell. The drowsy atmosphere of Sleepy Hollow makes us see visionsand dream dreams. The group of "Strange Stories by a NervousGentleman" in _Tales of a Traveller_ (1824) prove that WashingtonIrving was well versed in ghostly lore. He, as well as any, cancall spirits from the vasty deep, but, when they appear in answerto his summons, he can seldom refrain from receiving them in ajocose, irreverent mood, ill befitting the solemn, dignifiedspectre of a German legend. Even the highly qualified, irrepressibly loquacious ghost of Lewis Carroll's_Phantasmagoria_ would have resented his genial familiarity. Thestrange stories are told at a hunting-party in a country-house, acheerful, comfortable background for ghost stories. A hoary, one-eyed gentleman, "the whole side of whose head was dilapidatedand seemed like the wing of a house shut up and haunted, " setsthe ball rolling with the old story of a spectre who glides intothe room, wringing her hands, and is later identified, likeScott's Lady in the Sacque, by her resemblance to an ancestralportrait in the gallery. The "knowing" gentleman tells of apicture that winked in a startling and alarming fashion, andimmediately explains away this phenomenon by the presence of athief who has cut a spy-hole in the canvas. _The Bold Dragoon_ isa spirited, riotous nightmare in which the furniture dances tothe music of the bellows played by an uncanny musician in a longflannel gown and a nightcap. The _Story of the German Student_ isin a different key. Here Irving strikes a note of real horror. The student falls in love with an imaginary lady, woven out ofhis dreams. He finds her in distress one night in the streets ofParis, takes her home, only to find her a corpse in the morning. A police-officer informs him that the lady was guillotined theday before, and the student discovers the truth of this statementwhen he unrolls a bandage and her head falls to the floor. Theyoung man loses his reason, and is tormented by the belief thatan evil spirit has reanimated a dead body to ensnare him. Themorning after the recital of this gruesome story, the host readsaloud to his guests a manuscript entrusted to him, together witha portrait, by a young Italian. This youth, it chances, learntpainting with a monk, who, as a penance, drew pictures, ormodelled waxen images, representing death and corruption, adetail which reminds us of what was concealed by the Black Veilin _Udolpho_. He later falls in love with his model, Bianca, who, during his absence abroad, marries his friend Filippo. In ajealous rage the young Italian slays his rival, and isunceasingly haunted by his phantom. Washington Irving has nodesire to endure for long the atmosphere of mystery and horrorhis story has created, and quickly relieves the tension by areturn to ordinary life. The host promises to show the picture, which is said to affect all beholders in an extraordinaryfashion, to each of his guests in turn. They all professthemselves remarkably affected by it, until the host confessesthat he has too sincere a regard for the feelings of the youngItalian to reveal the actual picture to any of them; With thismoment of disillusionment the strange stories come to an end. Thetitle, _Tales of a Traveller_, under which Irving placed histales of terror, indicates the mood in which he fashioned them. He regarded them much as he would regard the wonderful adventuresof Baron Munchausen. They were to be taken, like one of Dr. Marigold's prescriptions, with a grain of salt. The idea ofblending levity with horror, suggested perhaps by Germaninfluence, was very popular in England and France at this period. Balzac's _L'Auberge Rouge_ and _L'Elixir de la Longue Vie_ arewritten in a similar mood. 

It is not always the boldest and most adventurous beings whoelect to dwell amid "calling shapes and beckoning shadows dire. "The "virtuous mind, " whom supernatural horrors may "startle wellbut not astound, " sometimes finds a melancholy pleasure inbeguiling weaker mortals into haunted ruins to watch their firmnerves tremble. Sometimes too, though a man be wholly innocent ofthe desire to alarm, he is led astray, whether he will or not, among the terrors of the invisible world. Grey ghosts steal intohis imagination unawares. It was so that they came to NathanielHawthorne, who speaks sorrowfully of "gaily dressed fantasiesturning to ghostly and black-clad images of themselves. " He wouldgladly have written a "sunshiny" book, but was capriciously fatedto live ever in the twilight, haunted by spectres and by "darkideas. " He fashions his tales of terror delicately andreluctantly, not riotously and shamelessly like Lewis andMaturin. 

An innate reticence and shyness of temper held Hawthorne, as ifby a spell, somewhat aloof from life, and no one realised moreclearly than he the limitations that his detachment from humanityimposed upon his art. 

Of _Twice-Told Tales_ he writes regretfully:

 "They have the pale tint of flowers that blossomed in too retired a shade. .. Instead of passion there is sentiment and even in what purport to be pictures of actual life we have allegory, not always so warmly dressed in its habiliments of flesh and blood as to be taken into the reader's mind without a shiver. Whether from lack of power or an inconquerable reserve, the author's touches have often an effect of tameness. The book, if you would see anything in it, requires to be read in the clear, brown twilight atmosphere in which it was written; if opened in the sunshine, it is apt to look exceedingly like a volume of blank pages";

and in his _Notebook_ (1840) he confesses:

 "I used to think I could imagine all the passions, all feelings and states of the heart and mind, but how little did I know! Indeed we are but shadows, we are not endowed with real life, and all that seems most real about us is but the thinnest shadow of a dream--till the heart be touched. "

Whether he is threading the labyrinths of his imagination orwatching the human shadows come and go, Hawthorne lingers longerin the shadow than in the sunshine. He was not a man of moroseand gloomy temper, disenchanted with life and driven by distressor thwarted passion to brood in solitude. An irresistible, inexplicable impulse drives him towards the sombre and thegloomy. The delicacy and wistful charm of the words in whichHawthorne criticises his own work and character reveal howimpossible it would have been for him to force his waywardgenius. His imagination hovers with curious persistence roundeerie, fantastic themes:

"An old looking-glass. Somebody finds out the secret of makingall the images reflected in it pass again across its surface"--ahint skilfully introduced into the history of old Esther Dudleyin _The Legends of the Province House_, or:

 "A dreadful secret to be communicated to several persons of various character--grave or gay--and they all to become insane, according to their characters, by the influence of the secret"

--an idea modified and adapted in _The Marble Faun_. "An ice-coldhand--which people ever afterwards remember when once they havegrasped it"--is bestowed on the Wandering Jew, the owner of themarvellous _Virtuoso's Collection_, whose treasures include theblood-encrusted pen with which Dr. Faustus signed away hissalvation, Peter Schlemihl's shadow, the elixir of life, and thephilosopher's stone. The form of a vampire, who apparently nevertook shape on paper, flitted through the twilight of Hawthorne'simagination:

 "Stories to be told of a certain person's appearance in public, of his having been seen in various situations, and his making visits in private circles; but finally on looking for this person, to come upon his old grave and mossy tombstone. "

With so many alluring suggestions floating shadowwise across hismind, it is not wonderful that Hawthorne should have beenfascinated by the dream of a human life prolonged far beyond theusual span--a dream, which, if realised, would have enabled himto capture in words more of those "shapes that haunt thought'swildernesses. "

Although among the sketches collected in _Twice-Told Tales_ (vol. I. 1837, vol. Ii. 1842) some are painted in gay and lively hues, the prevailing tone of the book is sad and mournful. Thelight-hearted philosophy of the wanderers in _The SevenVagabonds_, the pretty, brightly coloured vignettes in _LittleAnnie's Rambles_, the quiet cheerfulness of _Sunday at Home_ or_The Rill from the Town Pump_, only serve to throw into darkerrelief gloomy legends like that of _Ethan Brand_, the man whowent in search of the Unpardonable Sin, or dreary stories likethat of _Edward Fane's Rosebud_, or the ghostly _White Old Maid_. One of the most carefully wrought sketches in _Twice-Told Tales_is the weird story of _The Hollow of the Three Hills_. By meansof a witch's spell, a lady hears the far-away voices of her agedparents--her mother querulous and tearful, her father calmlydespondent--and amid the fearful mirth of a madhousedistinguishes the accents and footstep of the husband she haswronged. At last she listens to the death-knell tolled for thechild she has left to die. The solemn rhythm of Hawthorne'sskilfully ordered sentences is singularly haunting andimpressive:

 "The golden skirts of day were yet lingering upon the hills, but deep shades obscured the hollow and the pool, as if sombre night were rising thence to overspread the world. Again that evil woman began to weave her spell. Long did it proceed unanswered, till the knolling of a bell stole in among the intervals of her words, like a clang that had travelled far over valley and rising ground and was just ready to die in the air. .. Stronger it grew, and sadder, and deepened into the tone of a death-bell, knolling dolefully from some ivy-mantled tower, and bearing tidings of mortality and woe to the cottage, to the hall and to the solitary wayfarer that all might weep for the doom appointed in turn to them. Then came a measured tread, passing slowly, slowly on as of mourners with a coffin, their garments trailing the ground so that the ear could measure the length of their melancholy array. Before them went the priest reading the burial-service, while the leaves of his book were rustling in the breeze. And though no voice but his was heard to speak aloud, still here were revilings and anathemas whispered, but distinct, from women and from men. .. The sweeping sound of the funeral train faded away like a thin vapour and the wind that just before had seemed to shake the coffin-pall moaned sadly round the verge of the hollow between three hills. "

In a later collection of Hawthorne's short stories, _Mosses froman Old Manse_, the grave and the gay, the terrific and thesportive, are once more intermingled. Side by side with a forlornattempt at humorous allegory, Mrs. _Bullfrog_, we find theserious moral allegories of _The Birthmark_ and _TheBosom-Serpent_, the wild, mysterious forest-revels in _GoodmanBrown_, and the evil, sinister beauty of _Dr. Rappacini'sDaughter_, a modern rehandling of the ancient legend of thepoison-maiden, who was perhaps the prototype of Oliver WendellHolmes' heroine in _Elsie Venner_ (1861). The quiet grace andnatural ease of Hawthorne's style lend even to his leastambitious tales a distinctive charm. If he chooses a slight andsimple theme, his touch is deft and sure. _Dr. Heidegger'sExperiment_, in which Hawthorne's delicate, whimsical fancy playsround the idea of the elixir of life, is almost like a series ofminiature pictures, distinct and lifelike in form and colour, seen through the medium of an old-fashioned magic-lantern. Yeteven in this fantastic trifle we can discern the feeling forwords and the sense of proportion that characterise Hawthorne'slonger works. 

_The Scarlet Letter_ (1850) was originally intended to be one ofseveral short stories, but Hawthorne was persuaded to expand itinto a novel. He felt some misgivings as to the success of thework:

 "Keeping so close to the point as the tale does, and diversified in no otherwise than by turning different sides of the same dark idea to the reader's eye, it will weary very many people and disgust some. "

The plot bears a remarkable resemblance to that of Lockhart'sstriking novel, _Adam Blair_. The "dark idea" that fascinatesHawthorne is the psychological state of Hester Prynne and herlover, Arthur Dimmesdale, in the long years that follow theirlawless passion. Their love story hardly concerns him at all. Theinterest of the novel does not depend on the development of theplot. No attempt is made to complicate the story by concealingthe identity of Hester's lover or of her husband. The actiontakes place within the souls and minds of the characters, not intheir outward circumstances. The central chapter of the book isnamed significantly: "The Interior of a Heart. " The moralsituation described in _The Scarlet Letter_ did not presentitself to Hawthorne abstractly, but as a series of pictures. Hehabitually thought in images, and he brooded so long over hisconceptions that his descriptions are almost as definite inoutline and as vivid in colour as things actually seen. Hispictures do not waver or fade elusively as the mind seeks torealise them. The prison door, studded with pikes, before whichHester Prynne first stands with the letter on her breast, thepillory where Dimmesdale keeps vigil at midnight, theforest-trees with pale, fitful gleams of sunshine glintingthrough their leaves, are so distinct that we almost put out ourhands to touch them. Hawthorne's dream-imagery has the sameconvincing reality. The phantasmagoric visions which floatthrough Hester's consciousness--the mirrored reflection of herown face in girlhood, her husband's thin, scholar-like visage, the grey houses of the cathedral city where she had spent herearly years--are more real to her and to us than the blurredfaces of the Puritans who throng the marketplace to gaze on herignominy. Although the moral tone of the book is one of almostunrelieved gloom, the actual scenes are full of colour and light. Pearl's scarlet frock with its fantastic embroideries, themagnificent velvet gown and white ruff of the old dame who ridesoff by night to the witch-revels in the forest, the group of RedIndians in their deer-skin robes and wampum belts of red andyellow ochre, the bronzed faces and gaudy attire of the Spanishpirates, all stand out in bold relief among the sober greys andbrowns of the Puritans. The tense, emotional atmosphere isheightened by the festive brightness of the outer world. 

The light of Hawthorne's imagination is directed mainly on threecharacters--Hester, Arthur, and the elf-like child Pearl, theliving symbol of their union. Further in the background lurks themalignant figure of Roger Chillingworth, contriving his fiendishscheme of vengeance, "violating in cold blood the sanctity of ahuman heart. " The blaze of the Scarlet Letter compels us by astrange magnetic power to follow Hester Prynne wherever she goes, but her suffering is less acute and her character less intricatethan her lover's. She bears the outward badge of shame, but after"wandering without a clue in the dark labyrinth of mind, " wins adull respite from anguish as she glides "like a grey and sobershadow" over the threshold of those who are visited by sorrow. Atthe last, when Dimmesdale's spirit is "so shattered and subduedthat it could hardly hold itself erect, " Hester has still energyto plan and to act. His character is more twisted and tortuousthan hers, and to understand him we must visit him apart. Thesensitive nature that can endure physical pain but shrinkspiteously from moral torture, the capacity for deep andpassionate feeling, the strange blending of pride and abjectself-loathing, of cowardice and resolve, are portrayed withextraordinary skill. The different strands of his character are"intertwined in an inextricable knot. " His is a living soul, complicated and varying in its moods, but ever pursued by a senseof sin. By one of Hawthorne's swift, uncanny flashes of insight, as Dimmesdale goes home after the forest-meeting, we hear nothingof the wild beatings of hope and dreary revulsions to despair, but only of foul, grotesque temptations that assail him, just asearlier--on the pillory--it is the grim humour and not thefrightful shame of the situation that strikes him, when by an oddtrick of his imagination he suddenly pictures a "whole tribe ofdecorous personages starting into view with the disorder of anightmare in their aspects, " to look upon their minister. 

Hawthorne's delineation of character and motive is asscrupulously accurate and scientific as Godwin's, but there isnone of Godwin's inhumanity in his attitude. His completeunderstanding of human weakness makes pity superfluous andundignified. He pronounces no judgment and offers no plea formercy. His instinct is to present the story as it appearedthrough the eyes of those who enacted the drama or who witnessedit. Stern and inexorable as one of his own witch-judgingancestors, Hawthorne foils the lovers' plan of escape across thesea, lets the minister die as soon as he has made the revelationthat gives him his one moment of victory, and in the conclusionbrings Hester back to take up her long-forsaken symbol of shame. Pearl alone Hawthorne sets free, the spell which bound her humansympathies broken by the kiss she bestows on her guilty father. There are few passionate outbursts of feeling, save when Hestermomentarily unlocks her heart in the forest--and even hereHawthorne's language is extraordinarily restrained:

 "'What we did had a consecration of its own. We felt it so! We said so to each other. Hast thou forgotten it?' 'Hush, Hester!' said Arthur Dimmesdale, rising from the ground. 'No; I have not forgotten. '"

Or again, after Dimmesdale has confessed that he has neitherstrength nor courage left him to venture into the world: "'Thoushalt not go alone!' answered she, in a deep whisper. Then allwas spoken. "

In _The House of the Seven Gables_ (1851), as in _The ScarletLetter_, Hawthorne again presents his scenes in the light of asingle, pervading idea, this time an ancestral curse, symbolisedby the portrait of Colonel Pyncheon, who condemned an innocentman for witchcraft. 

 "To the thoughtful man there will be no tinge of superstition in what we figuratively express, by affirming that the ghost of a dead progenitor--perhaps as a portion of his own punishment--is often doomed to become the Evil Genius of his family. "

Hawthorne wins his effect by presenting the idea to our mindsfrom different points of view, until we are obsessed by the cursethat broods heavily over the old house. Even the aristocraticbreed of fowls, of "queer, rusty, withered aspect, " are an emblemof the decay of the Pyncheon family. The people are apt to bemerged into the dense shadows that lurk in the gloomy passages, but when the sun shines on them they stand out with arrestingdistinctness. The heroic figure of Hepzibah Pyncheon, a littleridiculous and a little forbidding of aspect, but cherishingthrough weary years a passionate devotion to her brother, isdescribed with a gentle blending of humour and pathos. CliffordPyncheon--the sybarite made for happiness and hideously cheatedof his destiny--is delineated with curious insight and sympathy. It is Judge Jaffery Pyncheon, with his "sultry" smile of"elaborate benevolence"--unrelenting and crafty as his infamousancestor--who lends to _The House of Seven Gables_ the element ofterror. Hour after hour, Hawthorne, with grim and bitter irony, mocks and taunts the dead body of the hypocritical judge untilthe ghostly pageantry of dead Pyncheons--including at last JudgeJaffery himself with the fatal crimson stain on hisneckcloth--fades away with the oncoming of daylight. 

Hawthorne's mind was richly stored with "wild chimney-cornerlegends, " many of them no doubt gleaned from an old womanmentioned in one of his _Tales and Sketches_. He takes over thefantastic superstitions in which his ancestors had believed, anduses them as the playthings of his fancy, picturing withmalicious mirth the grey shadows of his stern, dark-browedforefathers sadly lamenting his lapse from grace and saying oneto the other:

 "A writer of story-books! What kind of a business in life, what manner of glorifying God, or being serviceable to mankind in his day and generation may that be? Why, the degenerate fellow might as well have been a fiddler. "

The story of Alice Pyncheon, the maiden under the dreadful powerof a wizard, who, to wreak his revenge, compelled her tosurrender her will to his and to do whatsoever he list, thelegends of ghosts and spectres in the _Twice-Told Tales_, theallusions to the elixir of life in his _Notebooks_, theintroduction of witches into _The Scarlet Letter_, of mesmerisminto _The Blithedale Romance_, show how often Hawthorne waspre-occupied with the terrors of magic and of the invisibleworld. He handles the supernatural in a half-credulous, half-sportive spirit, neither affirming nor denying his belief. One of his artful devices is wilfully to cast doubt upon hisfancies, and so to pique us into the desire to be momentarily atleast one of the foolish and imaginative. 

After writing _The Blithedale Romance_, in which he embodied hisexperiences at Brook Farm, and his Italian romance, _Transformation, or The Marble Faun_, Hawthorne, when his healthwas failing, strove to find expression for the theme ofimmortality, which had always exercised a strange fascinationupon him. In August, 1855, during his consulate in Liverpool, hevisited Smithell's Hall, near Bolton, and heard the legend of theBloody Footstep. He thought of uniting this story with that ofthe elixir of life, but ultimately decided to treat the story ofthe footstep in _Dr. Grimshawe's Secret_, of which only afragment was written, and to embody the elixir idea in a separatework, _Septimius Felton_, of which two unfinished versions exist. Septimius Felton, a young man living in Concord at the time ofthe war of the Revolution, tries to brew the potion of eternityby adding to a recipe, which his aunt has derived from theIndians, the flowers which spring from the grave of a man whom hehas slain. In _Dr. Dolliver's Romance_, Hawthorne, so far as wemay judge from the fragment which remains, seems to be workingout an idea jotted down in his notebook several years earlier:

 "A man arriving at the extreme point of old age grows young again at the same pace at which he had grown old, returning upon his path throughout the whole of life, and thus taking the reverse view of matters. Methinks it would give rise to some odd concatenations. "

The story, which opens with a charming description of Dr. Dolliver and his great-grandchild, Pansie, breaks off so abruptlythat it is impossible to forecast the "odd concatenations" thathad flashed through Hawthorne's mind. 

Although Hawthorne is preoccupied continually with the thought ofdeath, his outlook is melancholy, not morbid. He recoilsfastidiously from the fleshly and loses himself in the spiritual. He is concerned with mournful reflections, not frightful events. It is the mystery of death, not its terror, that fascinates him. Sensitive and susceptible himself, he never startles us withphysical horrors. He does not search with curious ingenuity forrecondite terrors. He was compelled as if by some wizard'sstrange power, to linger in earth's shadowed places; but thescenes that throng his memory are reflected in quiet, subduedtones. His pictures are never marred by harsh lines or crudecolours. 

While Hawthorne in his _Twice-Told Tales_ was toying pensivelywith spectral forms and "dark ideas, " Edgar Allan Poe waspenetrating intrepidly into trackless regions of terror. WhereHawthorne would have shrunk back, repelled and disgusted, Poe, wildly exhilarated by the anticipation of a new and excruciatingthrill, forced his way onwards. He sought untiringly for unusualsituations, inordinately gloomy or terrible, and made them thestarting point for excursions into abnormal psychology. Just asHawthorne harps with plaintive insistence on the word "sombre, "Poe again and again uses the epithet "novel. " His tales arenever, as Hawthorne's often are, pathetic. His instinct is alwaystowards the dramatic. Sometimes he rises to tragic heights, sometimes he is merely melodramatic. He rejoices in theatricaleffects, like the death-throes of William Wilson, the return ofthe lady Ligeia, or the entry, awaited with torturing suspense, of the "lofty" and enshrouded figure of the Lady Madeline ofUsher. Like Hawthorne, Poe was fascinated by the thought ofdeath, "the hemlock and the cypress overshadowed him night andday, " but he describes death accompanied by its direst physicaland mental agonies. Hawthorne broods over the idea of sin, butPoe probes curiously into the psychology of crime. The one isdetached and remote, the other inhuman and passionless. Thecontrast in style between Hawthorne and Poe reflects clearlytheir difference in temper. Hawthorne writes always with easy, finished perfection, choosing the right word unerringly, Poeexperiments with language, painfully acquiring a conscious, studied form of expression which is often remarkably effective, but which almost invariably suggests a sense of artifice. Inreading _The Scarlet Letter_ we do not think of the style; inreading _The Masque of the Red Death_ we are forcibly impressedby the skilful arrangement of words, the alternation of long andshort sentences, the device of repetition and the deliberatechoice of epithets. Hawthorne uses his own natural form ofexpression. Poe, with laborious art, fashions an instrumentadmirably adapted to his purposes. 

Poe's earliest published story, _A Manuscript Found in aBottle_--the prize tale for the _Baltimore Saturday Visitor_, 1833--proves that he soon recognised his peculiar vein of talent. He straightway takes the tale of terror for his own. Theexperiences of a sailor, shipwrecked in the Simoom and hurled onthe crest of a towering billow into a gigantic ship manned by ahoary crew who glide uneasily to and fro "like the ghosts ofburied centuries, " forecast the more frightful horrors of _ADescent into the Maelstrom_ (1841). Poe's method in both storiesis to induce belief by beginning with a circumstantial narrativeof every-day events, and by proceeding to relate the moststartling phenomena in the same calm, matter-of-fact manner. Thewhirling abyss of the Maelstrom in which the tiny boat isengulfed, and the sensations of the fishermen--awe, wonder, horror, curiosity, hope, alternating or intermingled--aredescribed with the same quiet precision as the trivialpreliminary adventures. The man's dreary expectation ofincredulity seals our conviction of the truth of his story. In_The Manuscript Found in a Bottle_, too, we may trace the firstsuggestion of that idea which finds its most complete andmemorable expression in _Ligeia_ (1837). The antique ship, withits preternaturally aged crew "doomed to hover continually uponthe brink of eternity, without taking a final plunge into theabyss, " is an early foreshadowing of the fulfilment of JosephGlanvill's declaration so strikingly illustrated in the return ofLigeia: "Man doth not yield himself to the angels, nor unto deathutterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will. " In_Ligeia_, Poe concentrates on this idea with singleness ofpurpose. He had striven to embody it in his earlier sketches, in_Morella_, where the beloved is reincarnated in the form of herown child, in the musical, artificial _Eleonora_ and in thegruesome _Berenice_. In _Ligeia_, at last, it finds itsappropriate setting in the ebony bridal-chamber, hung with goldtapestries grotesquely embroidered with fearful shapes andconstantly wafted to and fro, like those in one of the _Episodesof Vathek_. In _The Fall of the House of Usher_ he adapts thetheme which he had approached in the sketch entitled _PrematureBurial_, and unites with it a subtler conception, the sentienceof the vegetable world. Like the guest of Roderick Usher, as weenter the house we fall immediately beneath the overmasteringsway of its irredeemable, insufferable gloom. The melancholybuilding, Usher's wild musical improvisations, his vague butawful paintings, his mystical reading and his eerie verses withthe last haunting stanza:

 "And travellers now within that valley Through the red-litten windows, see Vast forms that move fantastically To a discordant melody; While, like a rapid, ghastly river, Through the pale door, A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh--but smile no more, "

are all in harmony with the fate that broods over the family ofUsher. Poe's gift for avoiding all impressions alien to hiseffect lends to his tales extraordinary unity of tone and colour. He leads up to his crisis with a gradual crescendo of emotion. The climax, hideous and terrifying, relieves the intensity of ourfeelings, and once it is past Poe rapidly hastens to the onlypossible conclusion. The dreary house with its vacant, eye-likewindows reflected at the outset in the dark, unruffled tarn, disappears for ever beneath its surface. 

In _The Masque of the Red Death_ the imagery changes from momentto moment, each scene standing out clear in colour and sharp inoutline; but from first to last the perspective of the whole iskept steadily in view. No part is disproportionate orinappropriate. The arresting overture describing the swift andsudden approach of the Red Death, the gay, thoughtless securityof Prince Prospero and his guests within the barricaded abbey, the voluptuous masquerade held in a suite of seven rooms of sevenhues, the disconcerting chime of the ebony clock that momentarilystills the grotesque figures of the dancers, prepare us for thedramatic climax, the entry of the audacious guest, the Red Death, and his struggle with Prince Prospero. The story closes as itbegan with the triumph of the Red Death. Poe achieves hispowerful effect with rigid economy of effort. He does not add anunnecessary touch. 

In _The Cask of Amontillado_--perhaps the most terrible and themost perfectly executed of all Poe's tales--the note of grimirony is sustained throughout. The jingling of the bells and thedevilish profanity of the last three words--_Requiescat inpace_--add a final touch of horror to a revenge, devised andcarried out with consummate artistry. 

Poe, like Hawthorne, loved to peer curiously into the dimrecesses of conscience. Hawthorne was concerned with the effectof remorse on character. Poe often exhibits a consciencepossessed by the imp of the perverse, and displays no interest inthe character of his victim. He chooses no ordinary crimes. Heconsiders, without De Quincey's humour, murder as a fine art. In_The Black Cat_ the terrors are calculated with cold-bloodednicety. Every device is used to deepen the impression and tointensify the agony. In _The Tell-Tale Heart_, so unremitting isthe suspense, as the murderer slowly inch by inch projects hishead round the door in the darkness, that it is well-nighintolerable. The close of the story, which errs on the side ofthe melodramatic, is less cunningly contrived than Poe's endingsusually are. In _William Wilson_, Poe handles the subject ofconscience in an allegorical form, a theme essayed by BulwerLytton in one of his sketches in _The Student, Monos andDaimonos_. He probably influenced Stevenson's _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_. 

In _The Pit and the Pendulum_, Poe seems to start from the veryborder-line of the most hideous nightmare that the human mind canconceive, yet there is nothing hazy or indefinite in his analysisof the feelings of his victim. He speaks as one who hasexperienced the sensations himself, not as one who is making awild surmise. To read is, indeed, to endure in some measure thetorture of the prisoner; but our pain is alleviated not only bythe realisation that we at least may win respite when we will, but by our appreciation of Poe's subtle technique. He notices thereadiness of the mind, when racked unendurably, to concentrate onfrivolous trifles--the exact shape and size of the dungeon; orthe sound of the scythe cutting through cloth. Mental andphysical agonies are interchanged with careful art. 

Poe's constructive power fitted him admirably to write thedetective story. In _The Mystery of M. Roget_ he adopts a dullplot without sufficient vigour and originality to rivet ourattention, but _The Murders of the Rue Morgue_ secures ourinterest from beginning to end. As in the case of Godwin's _CalebWilliams_, the end was conceived first and the plot was carefullywoven backwards. No single thread is left loose. Dupin's methodsof ratiocination are similar to those of Conan Doyle's SherlockHolmes. Poe never shirks a gory detail, but the train ofreasoning not the imagery absorbs us in his detective stories. Inhis treasure story--_The Gold Bug_, which may have suggestedStevenson's _Treasure Island_--he compels our interest by theintricacy and elaboration of his problem. 

The works of Mrs. Radcliffe, Lewis, and Maturin were not unknownto Poe, and he refers more than once to the halls of Vathek. FromGothic romance he may perhaps vivid that they make the sensesache. Like Maturin, he even resorts to italics to enforce hiseffect. He crashes down heavily on a chord which would resound ata touch. He is liable too to descend into vulgarity in his choiceof phrases. His tales consequently gain in style in thetranslations of Baudelaire. But these aberrations occur mainly inhis inferior work. In his most highly wrought stories, such as_Amontillado_, _The House of Usher_, or _The Masque of the RedDeath_, the execution is flawless. In these, Poe never lost sightof the ideal, which, in his admirable review of Hawthorne's_Twice-Told Tales_ and _Mosses from an Old Manse_, he set beforethe writer of short stories:

 "A skilful literary artist has constructed a tale . .. Having conceived, with deliberate care, a certain unique or single effect to be wrought out, he then invents such incidents--he then combines such events--as may best aid him in establishing this preconceived effect. If his very initial sentence tend not to the outbringing of this effect, he has failed in the first step. In the whole composition there should be no word written of which the tendency direct or indirect is not to the one pre-established design. "

While he was writing, Poe did not for a moment let hisimagination run riot. The outline of the story was so distinctlyconceived, its atmosphere so familiar to him, that he had leisureto choose his words accurately, and to dispose his sentencesharmoniously, with the final effect ever steadily in view. Theimpression that he swiftly flashes across our minds is deep andenduring. 

CHAPTER XII - CONCLUSION. 

This book is an attempt to trace in outline the origin anddevelopment of the Gothic romance and the tale of terror. Such asurvey is necessarily incomplete. For more than fifty years afterthe publication of _The Castle of Otranto_ the Gothic Romanceremained a definitely recognised kind of fiction; but, as thescope of the novel gradually came to include the whole range ofhuman expression, it lost its individuality, and was merged intoother forms. To follow every trail of its influence would lead usfar afield. The Tale of Terror, if we use the term in its widersense, may be said to include the magnificent story of theWriting on the Wall at Belshazzar's Feast, the Book of Job, thelegends of the Deluge and of the Tower of Babel, and Saul's Visitto the Witch of Endor, which Byron regarded as the best ghoststory in the world. In the Hebrew writings fear is used to endowa hero with superhuman powers or to instil a moral truth. The sunstands still in the heavens that Joshua may prevail over hisenemies. In modern days the tale of terror is told for its ownsake. It has become an end in itself, and is probably appreciatedmost fully by those who are secure from peril. It satisfies thehuman desire to experience new emotions and sensations, withoutactual danger. 

There is little doubt that the Gothic Romance primarily made itsappeal to women readers, though we know that Mrs. Radcliffe hadmany men among her admirers, and that Cherubina of _The Heroine_had a companion in folly, The Story-Haunted Youth. It is remotelyallied, as its name implies, to the mediaeval romances, at whichCervantes tilts in _Don Quixote_. It was more closely akin, however, to the heroic romances satirised in Mrs. CharlotteLennox's _Female Quixote_ (1752). When the voluminous works of LeCalprenède and of Mademoiselle de Scudéry were translated intoEnglish, they found many imitators and admirers, and their vogueoutlasted the seventeenth century. _Artamène ou le Grand Cyrus_, out of which Mrs. Pepys told her husband long stories, "thoughnothing to the purpose, nor in any good manner, " is to be found, with a pin stuck through one of the middle leaves, in the lady'slibrary described by Addison in the _Spectator_, Mrs. Aphra Behn, in _Oroonoko_ and _The Fair Jilt_, had made some attempt to bringromance nearer to real life; but it was not until the middle ofthe eighteenth century, when the novel, with the rise ofRichardson, Fielding, Smollett and Sterne, took firm root onEnglish soil, that the popularity of Cassandra, Parthenissa andAretina was superseded. Then, if we may trust the evidence ofColman's farce, _Polly Honeycombe_, first acted in 1760, Pamela, Clarissa Harlowe and Sophia Western reigned in their stead. Forthe reader who had patiently followed the eddying, circlingcourse of the heroic romance, with its high-flown language andmarvellous adventures, Richardson's novel of sentiment probablyheld more attraction than Fielding's novel of manners. Fielding, on his broad canvas, paints the life of his day on the highway, in coaches, taverns, sponging-houses or at Vauxhall masquerades. Every class of society is represented, from the vagabond to thenoble lord. Richardson, in describing the shifts and subterfugesof Mr. B--and the elaborate intrigue of Lovelace, moves within anarrow circle, devoting himself, not to the portrayal ofcharacter, but to the minute analysis of a woman's heart. Thesentiment of Richardson descends to Mrs. Radcliffe. Her heroinesare fashioned in the likeness of Clarissa Harlowe; her heroesinherit many of the traits of the immaculate Grandison. She addszest to her plots by wafting her heroines to distant climes andbygone centuries, and by playing on their nerves withsuperstitious fears. Since human nature often looks to fictionfor a refuge from the world, there is always room for theillusion of romance side by side with the picture of actual life. Fanny Burney's spirited record of Evelina's visit to her vulgar, but human, relatives, the Branghtons, in London, is not enough. We need too the sojourn of Emily, with her thick-coming fancies, in the castle of Udolpho. 

The Gothic Romance did not reflect real life, or revealcharacter, or display humour. Its aim was different. It was fullof sentimentality, and it stirred the emotions of pity and fear. The ethereal, sensitive heroine, suffering through no fault ofher own, could not fail to win sympathy. The hero was pale, melancholy, and unfortunate enough to be attractive. The villain, bold and desperate in his crimes, was secretly admired as well asfeared. Hairbreadth escapes and wicked intrigues in castles builtover beetling precipices were sufficiently outside the reader'sown experience to produce a thrill. Ghosts, and rumours ofghosts, touched nearly the eighteenth century reader, who hadoften listened, with bated breath, to winter's tales of spiritsseen on Halloween in the churchyard, or white-robed spectresencountered in dark lanes and lonely ruins. In country houseslike those described in Miss Austen's novels, where life wasdiversified only by paying calls, dining out, taking gentleexercise or playing round games like "commerce" or "word-makingand work-taking, " the Gothic Romances must have proved a welcomesource of pleasurable excitement. Mr. Woodhouse, with hismelancholy views on the effects of wedding cake and muffin, wouldhave condemned them, no doubt, as unwholesome; Lady Catherine deBourgh would have been too impatient to read them; but LydiaBennet, Elinor Dashwood and Isabella Thorpe must have found inthem an inestimable solace. Their fame was soon overshadowed bythat of the Waverley Novels, but they had served their turn inproviding an entertaining interlude before the arrival of SirWalter Scott. Even at the very height of his vogue, they probablyenjoyed a surreptitious popularity, not merely in the servants'hall, but in the drawing room. Nineteenth century literatureabounds in references to the vogue of this school of fiction. There were spasmodic attempts at a revival in an anonymous workcalled _Forman_ (1819), dedicated to Scott, and in Ainsworth's_Rookwood_ (1834); and terror has never ceased to be used as amotive in fiction. 

In _Villette_, Lucy Snowe, whose nerves Ginevra describes as"real iron and bend leather, " gazes steadily for the space offive minutes at the spectral "nun. " This episode indicates achange of fashion; for the lady of Gothic romance could not havesubmitted to the ordeal for five seconds without fainting. A morerobust heroine, who thinks clearly and yet feels strongly, hascome into her own. In _Jane Eyre_ many of the situations arefraught with terror, but it is the power of human passion, transcending the hideous scenes, that grips our imagination. Terror is used as a means to an end, not as an end in itself. In_Wuthering Heights_ the windswept Yorkshire moors are thebackground for elemental feelings. We no longer "tremble withdelicious dread" or "snatch a fearful joy. " The gloom neverlightens. We live ourselves beneath the shadow of Heathcliff'sawe-inspiring personality, and there is no escape from a terror, which passes almost beyond the bounds of speech. The Brontës donot trifle with emotion or use supernatural elements to increasethe tension. Theirs are the terrors of actual life. 

Other novelists, contemporary with the Brontës, revel in terrorfor its own sake. Wilkie Collins weaves elaborate plots ofhair-raising events. The charm of _The Moonstone_ and the _Womanin White_ is independent of character or literary finish. Itconsists in the unravelling of a skilfully woven fabric. Le Fanu, who resented the term "sensational" which was justly applied tohis works, plays pitilessly on our nerves with both real andfictitious horrors. He, like Wilkie Collins, made a cult ofterror. Their literary descendants may perhaps be found in suchauthors as Richard Marsh or Bram Stoker, or Sax Rohmer. In BramStoker's _Dracula_ the old vampire legend is brought up to date, and we are held from beginning to end in a state of frightfulsuspense. No one who has read the book will fail to remember thepicture of Dracula climbing up the front of the castle inTransylvania, or the scene in the tomb when a stake is driventhrough the heart of the vampire who has taken possession ofLucy's form. The ineffable horror of the "Un-Dead" would repel usby its painfulness, if it were not made endurable by the love, hope and faith of the living characters, particularly of the oldDutch doctor, Van Helsing. The matter-of-fact style of thenarrative, which is compiled of letters, diaries and journals, and the mention of such familiar places as Whitby and Hampstead, help to enhance the illusion. 

The motive of terror has often been mingled with other motives inthe novel as well as in the short tale. In unwinding thecomplicated thread of the modern detective story, which followsthe design originated by Godwin and perfected by Poe, we arefrequently kept to our task by the force of terror as well as ofcuriosity. In _The Sign of Four_ and in _The Hound of theBaskervilles_, to choose two entirely different stories, ConanDoyle realises that darkness and loneliness place us at the mercyof terror, and he works artfully on our fears of the unknown. Phillips Oppenheim and William Le Queux, in romances which havesometimes a background of international politics, maintain ourinterest by means of mystifications, which screw up ourimagination to the utmost pitch, and then let us down gently witha natural but not too obvious explanation. A certain amount ofterror is almost essential to heighten the interest of a novel ofcostume and adventure, like _The Prisoner of Zenda_ or _Rupert ofHentzau_, or of the fantastic, exciting romances of Jules Verne. Rider Haggard's African romances, _She_ and _King Solomon'sMines_, belong to a large group of supernatural tales with aforeign setting. They combine strangeness, wonder, mystery andhorror. The ancient theme of bartering souls is given a new twistin Robert Hichens' novel, _The Flames_. E. F. Benson, in _TheImage in the Sand_, experiments with Oriental magic. Theinvestigations of the Society for Psychical Research gave a newimpulse to stories of the occult and the uncanny. AlgernonBlackwood is one of the most ingenious exponents of this type ofstory. By means of psychical explanations, he succeeds inrevivifying many ancient superstitions. In _Dr. John Silence_, even the werewolf, whom we believed extinct, manifests himself inmodern days among a party of cheerful campers on a lonely island, and brings unspeakable terror in his trail. Sometimes terror isused nowadays, as Bulwer Lytton used it, to serve a moralpurpose. Oscar Wilde's _Picture of Dorian Gray_ is intended toshow that sin must ultimately affect the soul; and the Sorrows ofSatan, in Miss Corelli's novel, are caused by the wickedness ofthe world. But apart from any ulterior motive there is still adesire for the unusual, there is still pleasure to be found in athrill, and so long as this human instinct endures devices willbe found for satisfying it. Of the making of tales of terrorthere is no end; and almost every novelist of note has, at onetime or another, tried his hand at the art. Early in his careerArnold Bennett fashioned a novelette, _Hugo_, which may be readas a modernised version of the Gothic romance. Instead ofsubterranean vaults in a deserted abbey, we have the strong roomsof an enterprising Sloane Street emporium. The coffin, containingan image of the heroine, is buried not in a mouldering chapel, but in a suburban cemetery. The lovely but harassed heroine hasfallen, indeed, from her high estate, for Camilla earns herliving as a milliner. There are, it is true, no sonnets and nosunsets, but the excitement of the plot, which is partiallyunfolded by means of a phonographic record, renders themsuperfluous. H. G. Wells makes excursions into quasi-scientific, fantastic realms of grotesque horror in his _First Men in theMoon_, and in some of his sketches and short stories. JosephConrad has the power of fear ever at the command of his romanticimagination. In _The Nigger of the Narcissus_, in _Typhoon_, and, above all, in _The Shadow-Line_, he shows his supreme masteryover inexpressible mystery and nameless terror. The voyage of theschooner, doomed by the evil influence of her dead captain, iscomparable only in awe and horror to that of _The AncientMariner_. Conrad touches unfathomable depths of human feelings, and in his hands the tale of terror becomes a finished work ofart. The future of the tale of terror it is impossible to predict;but the experiments of living authors, who continually find newoutlets with the advance of science and of psychological enquiry, suffice to prove that its powers are not yet exhausted. Those whomake the 'moving accident' their trade will no doubt continue toassail us with the shock of startling and sensational events. Others with more insidious art, will set themselves to devisestories which evoke subtler refinements of fear. The interest hasalready been transferred from 'bogle-wark' to the effect of theinexplicable, the mysterious and the uncanny on human thought andemotion. It may well be that this track will lead us intounexplored labyrinths of terror. 

NOTES:

[1: Frazer, _Folklore of the Old Testament_, I. Iv. § 2. ]

[2: _Cock Lane and Common Sense_, 1894. ]

[3: _Spectator_, No. 12. ]

[4: _Spectator_, No. 110. ]

[5: Boswell, _Life of Johnson_, June 12th, 1784. ]

[6: _Tom Jones_, Bk. Xvi. Ch. V. ]

[7: Letter to Dr. Moore, Aug. 2, 1787. ]

[8: Ashton, _Chapbooks of the Eighteenth Century_, 1882. ]

[9: Advertisement to _Cloudesley_, 1830. ]

[10: Preface to _Mandeville_, Oct. 25, 1817. ]

[11: Letters, vii. 27. ]

[12: _The Uncommercial Traveller_. ]

[13: _Odyssey_, xi. ]

[14: April 17, 1765. ]

[15: Nov. 13, 1784. ]

[16: June 12, 1753. ]

[17: _Remarks on Italy_. ]

[18: Aug. 4, 1753. ]

[19: _Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay_, vol. Ii. Appendixii. : _A Visit to Strawberry Hill in 1786_. ]

[20: Jan. 5, 1766. ]

[21: July 15, 1783. ]

[22: March 26, 1765. ]

[23: Nov. 5, 1782. ]

[24: It has been pointed out (Scott, _Lives of the Novelists_, note) that in Lope de Vega's _Jerusalem_ the picture of Noradinestalks from its panel and addresses Saladine. ]

[25: Cf. Wallace, _Blind Harry_. ]

[26: _Preface_, 1764. ]

[27: Ch. XX. ]

[28: Ch. XXXIV. ]

[29: Ch. Lxii. ]

[30: Jan. 27, 1780. ]

[31: _Letters_, April 8, 1778, and Jan. 27, 1780. ]

[32: _Poetical Works_, ed. Sampson, p. 8. ]

[33: Translated _Blackwood's Magazine_, 1820 (Nov. ). Cf. Scott, _Bridal of Triermain_. ]

[34: _E. G. Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay_, June 18, 1795; Mathias, _Pursuits of Literature_, 14th ed. 1808, p. 56;Scott, _Lives of the Novelists_; Extracts from the _Diary of aLover of Literature_ (1810); Byron, _Childe Harold_, iv. Xviii. ; Thackeray, _Newcomes_, chs. Xi. , xxviii. ; Brontë, _Shirley_, ch. Xxvii; Trollope, _Barchester Towers_, ch. Xv. , etc. ]

[35: Family Letters, 1908. ]

[36: Reprinted, Romancist and Novelist's Library. ]

[37: _Journeys of Mrs. Radcliffe_, 2nd ed. , 1795, vol. Ii. P. 171. ]

[38: _Noctes Ambrosianae_, ed. 1855, vol. I. P. 201. ]

[39: Lecture on _The English Novelists_. ]

[40: _Life and Correspondence of M. G. Lewis_, 1839, i. 122. ]

[41: _Life and Correspondence_, July 22nd, 1794. ]

[42: Essay on _The State of German Literature_. ]

[43: Southey, Preface to _Madoc_. ]

[44: _Life and Correspondence_, Feb. 23, 1798. ]

[45: Letter to John Murray, Aug. 23rd, 1814. ]

[46: _Monthly Review_, June, 1797. ]

[47: No. 148. ]

[48: Cf. Musaeus: _Die Entführung_. ]

[49: _Marmion_, Canto ii. Intro. ]

[50: Reprinted, Romancist and Novelist's Library, vol. I. 1839. ]

[51: _Essay on German Playwrights_. ]

[52: _English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_ (1809). ]

[53: Many of these were issued by B. Crosby, Stationers' Court. ]

[54: _Recollections of the Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers_, 1856, p. 138. ]

[55: Trans. From the German of Christian August Vulpius. ]

[56: Cf. Thackeray, "Tunbridge Toys" (Roundabout Papers). ]

[57: _English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_. ]

[58: _Gentleman's Magazine_, 1825; and memoir prefixed to theedition of _Melmoth the Wanderer_, published in 1892. ]

[59: Prose Works, 1851, vol. Xviii. ]

[60: _Letters and Memoir_, 1895, vol. I. P. 101. ]

[61: _Life_ (Melville), 1909, vol. I. P. 79. ]

[62: _Letters_, 2nd Series, 1872, vol. I. P. 101. ]

[63: Gustave Planche, _Portraits Littéraires_. ]

[64: Cf. Stevenson's _Bottle-Imp. _]

[65: _Edinburgh Review_, July 1821. ]

[66: Conant, _The Oriental Tale in England_, pp. 36-38. ]

[67: Conant, _The Oriental Tale in England_, pp. 36-38. ]

[68: Letter to Henley, Jan. 29, 1782. ]

[69: _Life and Letters_, Melville, 1910, p. 20. ]

[70: _Life and Letters_, 1910, p. 20. ]

[71: _Memoirs, Journal and Correspondence of Thomas Moore_, 1853, vol. Ii. P. 197. ]

[72: Nov. 24, 1777, _Life and Letters_, p. 40. ]

[73: Austen Leigh, _Memoir of Jane Austen_. ]

[74: Letter to William Godwin, Dec. 7, 1817. ]

[75: _William Godwin: His Friends and Contemporaries_. KeganPaul, 1876, vol. I. P. 78. ]

[76: Preface to _Fleetwood_, 1832. ]

[77: Preface to _Fleetwood_, 1832. ]

[78: Preface to _Fleetwood_, 1832, p. Xi: "I read over a littleold book entitled _The Adventures of Mme. De St. Phale_, Iturned over the pages of a tremendous compilation entitled _God's Revenge against Murder_, where the beam of the eye of omniscience was represented as perpetually pursuing the guilty. .. I was extremely conversant with _The Newgate Calendar_ and _The Lives of the Pirates_. I rather amusedmyself with tracing a certain similitude between the story of_Caleb Williams_ and the tale of _Bluebeard_;" and Preface to _Cloudesley_: "The present publication may in the samesense be denominated a paraphrase of the old ballad of the Childrenin the Wood. "]

[79: Scott, Introduction to _The Abbot_, 1831. ]

[80: _William Godwin: His Friends and Contemporaries_, 1876, vol. Ii. P. 304. ]

[81: _Caleb Williams_, ch. X. ]

[82: _William Godwin: His Friends and Contemporaries_, vol. I. Pp. 330-1. ]

[83: _Political Justice_, bk. Ii, ch. Ii. ]

[84: _William Godwin: His Friends and Contemporaries_, vol. I. Pp. 330-1; Preface to 1st edition, 1799. ]

[85: _Hermippus Redivivus_; or _The Sage's Triumph over Old Ageand the Grave_ (translated from the Latin of Cohausen, with annotations), 1743. Dr. Johnson pronounced the volume "very entertaining as an account of the hermetic philosophy and as furnishing a curious history of the extravagancies of thehuman mind, " adding "if it were merely imaginary it would benothing at all. "]

[86: _St. Leon_, vol. Iv. Ch, xiii. ]

[87: _St. Leon_, Bk. Iv, ch. V. ]

[88: _Lives of the Necromancers_, 1834, Preface. "The main purposeof this book is to exhibit a fair delineation of the credulityof the human mind. Such an exhibition cannot fail to beproductive of the most salutary lessons. "]

[89: _St. Godwin: A Tale of the 16th, 17th and 18th Century_, byCount Reginald de St. Leon, 1800, p. 234. ]

[90: Dowden, _Life of Shelley_, vol. I. P. 10. ]

[91: Dowden, _Life of Shelley_, vol. I. P. 44. ]

[92: Hogg, _Life of Shelley_, vol. I. P. 15. ]

[93: Cf. Castle of Lindenberg story in _The Monk_, and ballad ofAlonzo the Brave. ]

[94: A versification of the story of the Wandering Jew, BleedingNun and Don Raymond in _The Monk_. ]

[95: This poem was borrowed from Lewis's _Tales of Terror_(without Shelley's knowledge), where it is entitled _The Black Canonof Elmham, or St. Edmond's Eve_. ]

[96: Letter to Edward Fergus Graham, Ap. 23, 1810 (_Letters_, ed. Ingpen, 1909, vol. I, pp. 4-6). ]

[97: Letter to John Joseph Stockdale, Nov. 14, 1810. ]

[98: Mme. De Montolieu, _Caroline de Lichfield_, translated byThos. Holcroft, 1786. ]

[99: Mme. De Genlis, translated by Rev. Beresford, 1796. ]

[100: Peter Middleton Darling, _Romance of the Highlands_, 1810. ]

[101: Regina Maria Roche, _The Discarded Son, or The Haunt of the Banditti_, 1806. ]

[102: Agnes Musgrave, _Cicely, or The Rose of Raby_. ]

[103: Aphra Behn, _The Nun_. ]

[104: Charlotte Smith, _Ethelinde, or The Recluse of the Lake_, 1790. ]

[105: _The Relapse: a novel_, 1780. ]

[106: _Tales of the Hall_. ]

[107: Crébillon, _Les Égarements du Coeur et de l'Esprit_. ]

[108: _The Borough_, Ellen Orford, Letter xx. ]

[109: _The Borough_, xx, ll. 56 _seqq. _]

[110: _Parish Register_. ]

[111: _William and Helen_, 1796. ]

[112: _House of Aspen_, 1799 (Keepsake, 1830). _Doom ofDevorgoil_, 1817 (Keepsake, 1830). ]

[113: Scott, _Lives of the Novelists_ (on Clara Reeve and Mrs. Radcliffe and Maturin). ]

[114: Keepsake, 1828. ]

[115: Keepsake, 1828. ]

[116: _Journal_, Feb. 23, 1826. ]

[117: List of books read 1814-1816. ]

[118: _Fantasmagoriana: ou Recueil d'Histoires d'Apparitions, de Spectres, de Revenans, trad. D'Allemand par un Amateur_. Paris, 1812. ]

[119: _Diary of John William Polidori_, June 17, 1816. ]

[120: Byron, _Letters and Journals_, 1899, iii. 446. MaryShelley, _Life and Letters_, 1889, i. 586. Extract from MaryShelley's _Diary_, Aug. 14, 1816. ]

[121: Nov. 15, 1823, _Life and Letters of Mary WollstonecraftShelley_ (Marshall), ii. 52. ]

[122: _Life and Letters_, ii. 88. ]

[123: _Romancist and Novelist's Library_. ]

[124: Reprinted in _Treasure House of Tales by Great Authors_, ed. Garnett, 1891. ]

[125: _Punch_, vol. X. P. 31:

 "Says Ainsworth to Colburn A plan in my pate is To give my romance, as A supplement gratis. Says Colburn to Ainsworth 'Twill do very nicely, For that will be charging Its value precisely. "]

[126: _Life, Letters and Literary Remains_, 1883, vol. Ii. Pp. 70 _seqq_. ]

[127: _Dublin University Magazine_, 1862. "Forgotten Novels. "]

[128: _Blackwood's Magazine_, 1830-1837. ]

[129: _Within the Tides_, 1915. ]

[130: Preface to _The Algerine Captive_ (Walpole, Vermont, 1797) quoted Loshe, _Early American Novel_, N. Y. 1907. ]

[131: Preface to _Edgar Huntly_. ]

[132: Peacock, _Memoirs of Shelley_. ]

INDEX

_Abbey of Clunedale_, Drake's, 35. 

_Abbot_, Scott's, 109 note, 153. 

_Abdallah_, Tieck's, 65. 

_Abellino_, Zschokke's, 70. 

_Adam Blair_, Lockhart's, 207. 

Addison, Joseph, 5, 17, 69, 95, 222. 

_Adela Cathcart_, Macdonald's, 173. 

_Adventures of Abdallah_, Bignon's, 94, 96. 

_Adventures of Mme. De St. Phale_, 109 note. 

_After Dark_, Wilkie Collins', 190. 

Aikin, A. L. (see Barbauld, Mrs. A. L. ). 

Aikin, Dr. J. , 28. 

Aikin, Lucy, 28. 

Ainsworth, Harrison, 149, 174-177. 

_Alastor_, Shelley's, 127, 163. 

_Albigenses_, Maturin's, 82. 

_Alciphron_, Moore's, 117. 

_Algerine Captive_, 197 note. 

_Alice in Wonderland_, Lewis Carroll's, 116. 

_All the Year Round_, 183, 190. 

_Almoran and Hamet_, Hawkesworth's, 95. 

_Alonzo and Melissa_, 197. 

_Alonzo the Brave_, Lewis's, n, 120 note. 

_Amadas, Sir_, 4. 

_Amelia_, Fielding's, 134, 135. 

_Ancient Mariner_, Coleridge's, 9, 227. 

_Angelina_, Maria Edgeworth's, 133. 

_Annual Review_, 73. 

_Antiquary_, Scott's, 154. 

Apel, J. A. , 174. 

_Apostate Nun_ (see _Convent of Grey Penitents)_. 

_Apparitions, History and Reality of_, Defoe's, 5, 139. 

_Apparitions, History of_, Taylor's, 149. 

Apuleius, 13. 

_Arabian Nights_, 12, 94. 

_Ardinghello_, Heinse's, 65. 

_Arliss's Pocket Magazine_, 175. 

_Arlamène ou le Grand Cyrus_, Mme. De Scudéry's, 222. 

_Arthur Mervyn_, C. B. Brown's, 198. 

_Asylum or Alonzo and Melissa_, 197. 

_Auberge Rouge_, Balzac's, 203. 

_Auriol_, Ainsworth's, 176-177. 

Austen, Jane, 100, 125-133, 138, 140, 223. 

_Avenger_, De Quincey's, 174. 

_Avenging Demon_, Shelley's, 120. 

_Azemia_, Beckford's, 97. 

Babel, Tower of, 221. 

_Babes in the Wood_, 13, 109 note. 

_Babylonica_, Iamblichus', 12. 

Ballad collections, 9. 

_Baltimore Saturday Visitor_, 214. 

Balzac, Honoré de, 86, 203. 

_Bandit of Florence_, 76. 

_Banditti of the Forest_, 76. 

_Barbastal, or the Magician of the Forest of the Bloody Ash_, 186. 

Barbauld, Mrs. A. L. , 28-31, 32, 33, 147. 

_Barchester Towers_, Trollope's, 38 note. 

_Bard_, Gray's, 7. 

Barrett, E. S. , 22, 79, 133-137, 138. 

Baudelaire, Charles, 86, 220. 

Beckford, William, 94-99, 118. 

Beggar Girl and her Benefactors, Mrs. Bennett's, 74, 134. 

Behn, Mrs. Aphra, 141 note, 222. 

_Benevolent Monk_, Melville's, 75. 

Bennett, Mrs. A. M. , 74. 

Bennett, Arnold, 227. 

Benson, E. F. , 226. 

_Beowulf_, 2. 

_Berenice_, Poe's, 215. 

_Bertram_, Maturin's, 81, 149. 

_Betrothed_, Scott's, 153. 

_Bibliotheca Britannica_, Watt's, 75, 129. 

Bignon, Jean-Paul, 94. 

_Biographical Memoirs of Extraordinary Painters_, Beckford's, 97. 

_Black Canon of Elmham (Tales of Terror_), 120 note. 

_Black Cat_, Poe's, 217. 

_Black Forest_, 76. 

Blackwood, Algernon, 226. 

_Blackwood's Magazine_, 34 note, 174, 182, 189, 190, 194. 

Blake, William, 31-32. 

_Blanche and Osbright_, Lewis's, 71. 

"Blind Harry, " 21 note. 

_Blithedale Romance_, Hawthorne's, 212. 

_Bloody Monk of Udolpho_, Horsley Curteis', 75. 

_Bluebeard_, 3, 13, 109 note. 

_Boeotian_, 175. 

_Bold Dragoon_, Irving's, 201. 

Boleyn, Anne, 31. 

_Book for a Corner_, Leigh Hunt's, 28. 

_Borough_, Crabbe's, 142, 143. 

_Bosom-Serpent_, Hawthorne's, 206. 

_Bottle-Imp_, Stevenson's, 87 note. 

Bovet, 14, 149. 

_Bravo of Bohemia_ or _Black Forest_, 76. 

_Bravo of Venice_, Lewis's, 70, 71, 125. 

_Bridal of Triermain_, Scott's, 34 note. 

_Bride of Lammermoor_, Scott's, 81, 153. 

_Brigand Tales_, 186. 

Brontë, Charlotte, 38 note, 51, 224. 

Bronté, Emily, 224-225. 

Brown, Charles Brockden, 140, 188, 197-200. 

Browne, Sir Thomas, 5. 

Bulke, Sir George, 57. 

_Bullfrog, Mrs_. , Hawthorne's, 206. 

Bunyan, John, 5. 

Bürger, Gottfried, II, 148, 200. 

Burney, Dr. Charles, 17. 

Burney, Fanny, 38 note, 135, 223. 

Burns, Robert, 8, 9. 

Burton, Robert, 5. 

Byron, Lord, 38 note, 55, 59, 72, 79, 81, 135, 158, 160, 167, 169, 171, 221. 

_Caleb Williams_, Godwin's, 13, 102-111, 168, 199, 218. 

_Caledonian Banditti_, 76. 

_Camilla_, Fanny Burney's, 134. 

Campbell, Dr. John, 112. 

Carlyle, Thomas, 65, 72. 

_Caroline of Lichfield_, Mme. De Montolieu's, 134. 

Carroll, Lewis, 201. 

_Cask of Amontillado_, Poe's, 217, 220. 

_Castle Connor_, Clara Reeve's, 28. 

_Castle of Otranto_, Walpole's, 12, 16-23, 25, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 39, 40, 58, 77, 146, 221. 

_Castle of Wolfenbach_, Mrs. Parson's, 129. 

_Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne_, Mrs. Radcliffe's, 39-41, 45. 

_Castle Spectre_, Lewis's, 66, 149. 

_Castle without a Spectre_, Mrs. Hunter's, 76. 

Cazotte, Jacques, 68. 

_Cecilia_, Fanny Burney's, 134, 135. 

_Cenci_, Shelley's, 127. 

Cervantes, 222. 

_Chateau de Montville_, Sarah Wilkinson's, 77. 

_Cherubina, Adventures of_ (see _Heroine_). 

_Childe Harold_, Byron's, 38 note. 

_Children of the Abbey_, Mrs. Roche's, 22, 59, 129, 130, 134. 

_Chinese Tales_, Gueulette's, 94. 

_Christabel_, Coleridge's, 9, 10. 

"Christopher North" (Wilson, John), 192. 

_Cicely or The Rose of Raby_, Miss Agnes Musgrave's, 141 note. 

_Clarissa Harlowe_, Richardson's, 46, 134, 140. 

_Clerk Saunders_, 3. 

_Clermont_, Mrs. Roche's, 129. 

_Cock Lane and Commonsense_, Andrew Lang's, 2 note. 

"Cock Lane Ghost, " 6. 

Coleridge, S. T. , 9, 10, 66, 81. 

_Collectanea_, Leland's, 57. 

Collins, Wilkie, 190, 194, 225. 

Collins, William, 7, 8, 12, 35, 58. 

Colman, George, the younger, 109. 

Colman, George, the elder, 129, 222. 

Conant, Martha, 95 note. 

_Confessions of a Fanatic_, Hogg's, 192. 

Conrad, Joseph, 194, 195, 227. 

_Contes de ma Mère Oie_, Perrault's, 12. 

_Convent of St. Ursula_, Miss Wilkinson's, 78. 

_Convent of the Grey Penitents_, Miss Wilkinson's, 74, 76, 77-78. 

Corelli, Marie, 226. 

_Corsair_, Byron's, 56. 

_Count of Narbonne_, Jephson's, 19. 

"Count Reginald de St. Leon, " 116. 

Coverley, Sir Roger de, 5. 

Crabbe, George, 76, 140-144. 

Crébillon, C. P. J. , 141 note. 

_Crichton_, Ainsworth's, 176. 

Croly, George, 118. 

Cruikshank, 176. 

Cunningham, Allan, 191-192. 

Curteis, T. J. Horsley, 75. 

Dacre, Charlotte ("Rosa Matilda"), 75, 122. 

D'Arblay, Mme. (see Burney, Fanny). 

Darwin, Erasmus, 160. 

D'Aulnoy, Countess, 12. 

David, 2. 

_Death of Despina_, Mrs. Shelley's, 168. 

Defoe, Daniel, 5, 6, 139. 

_Delicate Distress_, 134. 

"Demon Frigate, " 12. 

"Demon Lover, " 2, 14. 

_Demonology and Witchcraft, Letters on_, Scott's, 149. 

_Demonology, Treatise on_, James I. 's, 4. 

De Quincey, 173-174. 

De Scudéry, Mme. , 222. 

_Descent into the Maelstrom_, Poe's, 215. 

_Devil in Love_, Cazotte's, 68. 

_Diary of a Lover of Literature_, Green's, 38 note. 

_Dice_, De Quincey's, 174. 

Dickens, Charles, 14, 59, 81, 190, 192, 193. 

_Discarded Son_, Mrs. Roche's, 140 note. 

_Discovery of Witchcraft_, Scot's, 14, 147. 

Disraeli, Benjamin, 99. 

_Distress, Kinds of, which Excite Agreeable Sensations_, Barbauld's, 29. 

_Dr. Dolliver's Romance_, Hawthorne's, 212-213. 

_Dr. Grimshawe's Secret_, Hawthorne's, 212. 

_Dr. Heidegger's Experiment_, Hawthorne's, 207. 

_Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_, Stevenson's, 218. 

_Dr. Marigold's Prescriptions_, Dickens', 194. 

_Don Quixote_, Cervantes', 222. 

_Doom of Devorgoil_, Scott's, 149 note. 

_Douglas_, Home's, 8. 

Doyle, Sir A. Conan, 103, 218, 226. 

_Dracula_, Bram Stoker's, 2, 173, 225. 

Drake, Dr. Nathan, 32-37, 147. 

_Dream Children_, Lamb's, 193. 

_Dublin University Magazine_, 173, 186 note, 190, 191. 

Dumas, Alexandre, 175. 

_Edgar Huntly_, C. B. Brown's, 197, 198, 199-200. 

Edgeworth, Maria, 133. 

_Edinburgh Review_, 87 note. 

_Edmond, Orphan of the Castle_, 28. 

_Edward_, 34. 

_Edward Fane's Rosebud_, Hawthorne's, 205. 

_Egarements du Coeur et de l'Esprit_, Crébillon's, 141 note. 

_Elegant Enthusiast_, Beckford's, 97. 

_Eleanora_, Poe's, 215. 

_Elixir de la Longue Vie_, Balzac's, 203. 

_Elixir des Teufels_, Hoffmann's, 70. 

_Elsie Venner_, Holmes', 207. 

Endor, Witch of, 2, 221. 

_English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_, Byron's, 72 note, 79. 

_English Chronicle_, 39. 

_English Novelists, Lectures on_, Hazlitt's, 62. 

_Entführung_, Musaeus', 68 note. 

_Epicurean_, Moore's, 117, 118. 

_Ernestus Berchtold_, Polidori's, 160, 170-171. 

_Ethan Brand_, Hawthorne's, 205. 

_Ethelinde_, Charlotte Smith's, 141. 

"Ettrick Shepherd" (see Hogg, James). 

_European Magazine_, 175. 

_Evelina_, Fanny Burney's, 134. 

_Eve of St. Agnes_, Keats', 10. 

_Ewige Jude_, Schubart's, 120. 

_Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar_, Poe's, 219. 

_Faerie Queene_, Spenser's, 17. 

_Fair Elenor_, Blake's, 31-32. 

_Fair Jilt_, Mrs. Aphra Behn's, 222. 

_Falkner_, Godwin's, 168. 

_Fall of the House of Usher_, Poe's, 216, 220. 

_Family of Montorio_, 72, 74, 80, 81, 82-86, 88, 91, 93, 158. 

_Fantasmagoriana_, 160 note. 

_Farina_, Meredith's, 70. 

_Fatal Marksman_, De Quincey's, 174. 

_Fatal Revenge_ (see _Family of Montorio_). 

_Faust_, Goethe's, 92, 198. 

_Faustus, Dr. _, Marlowe's, 4, 12, 91, 92. 

_Fear, Ode to_, Collins', 35. 

"Felix Phantom, " 77. 

_Female Quixote_, Mrs. Lennox's, 222. 

_Ferdinand, Count Fathom, Adventures of_, Smollett's, 12, 23-25, 29, 35, 68. 

_Feudal Tyrants_, Lewis's, 71. 

Fielding, Henry, 222. 

_Field of Terror_, De La Motte Fouqué's, 34. 

_First Men in the Moon_, Wells', 227. 

_Flames_, Hichens', 226. 

_Fleetwood_, Godwin's, 102 note, 104 note, 109 note. 

Flood, Story of, 1, 221. 

Ford, John, 127. 

_Forman_, 224. 

_Fortress of Saguntum_, Ainsworth's, 175. 

_Fortunes of Nigel_, Scott's, 153. 

Fouqué, De la Motte, 34, 153. 

Francis, Sophia, 76. 

_Frankenstein_, Mrs. Shelley's, 158-165, 169. 

Frazer, 2 note. 

_Fredolfo_, Maturin's, 81. 

_Freischütz_, Apel's, 174. 

_Fugitive Countess_, Miss Wilkinson's, 78. 

Galland, Antoine, 12, 94. 

Gaskell, Mrs. , 192-193. 

_Gaston de Blondeville_, Mrs. Radcliffe's, 39, 40, 56-58, 60. 

_Geisterseher_, Schiller's, 51. 

_Geistertodtenglocke_, 191. 

"Geoffrey Crayon" (see Irving, Washington). 

_German Literature, Essay on_, Carlyle's, 65. 

_German Playwrights, Essay on_, Carlyle's, 72 note. 

_German Student, Story of a_, 201. 

_Ghasta_, Shelley's, 120. 

_Ghost_, "Felix Phantom's, " 77. 

_Giaour_, Byron's, 55. 

Gilgamesh epic, 1-2. 

_Ginevra_, Shelley's, 127. 

Glanvill, Joseph, 6, 215. 

_Glenallan_, Lytton's, 179. 

_Glenfinlas_, Scott's, 11. 

_Godolphin_, Lytton's, 179. 

_God's Revenge Against Murder_, 109 note. 

Godwin, William, 13, 92, 100-117, 124, 158, 166, 175, 197, 199, 200, 209, 218, 226. 

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang, 65, 92, 148, 198. 

_Golden Ass_, Apuleius', 13, 14, 15. 

_Goodman Brown_, Hawthorne's, 206. 

_Götz van Berlichingen_, Goethe's, 148. 

_Grand Cyrus_, Mme. De Scudéry's, 222. 

_Grandison, Sir Charles_, Richardson's, 134. 

Green, Sarah, 133. 

_Green Tea_, Le Fanu's, 190. 

Gray, Thomas, 7, 12, 20, 40, 58, 75. 

Grillparzer, Franz, 72. 

Grosse, Marquis von, 76, 129. 

_Guardian_, 68. 

Gueulette, 94. 

Haggard, Rider, 226. 

_Half Hangit_, Ainsworth's, 175. 

_Halloween_, Burns', 8. 

Hamilton, Count Antony, 95. 

_Hamlet_, Shakespeare's, 86. 

_Hardyknute_, 35. 

_Haunted and the Haunters_, Lytton's, 179, 182-183. 

_Haunted Ships_, Cunningham's, 191. 

Hawkesworth, Dr. John, 95. 

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 203-213, 214, 217, 220. 

Hayne, D. F. , 188. 

Hazlitt, William, 62. 

Heinse, Wilhelm, 65. 

_Hellas_, Shelley's, 120. 

Henley, Rev. S. , 94. 

_Henry Fitzowen_, Drake's, 33. 

_Hermippus Redivivus_, Campbell's, 112. 

_Heroine_, Barrett's, 79, 133-137. 

Heywood, Thomas, 149. 

_Hierarchy of the Blessed Angels_, Heywood's, 149. 

_History of Nourjahad_, Mrs. Sheridan's, 95. 

_History of the Exchequer_, Mador's, 57. 

Hobson, Elizabeth, 6. 

Hoffmann, E. T. A. , 70, 175. 

Hogg, James, 11, 58, 61, 191, 192. 

_Hollow of the Three Hills_, Hawthorne's, 205. 

Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 207, Home, John, 8. 

_Horrid Mysteries_, Marquis von Grosse's, 76, 126, 129, 199. 

_Hound of the Baskervilles_, 226. 

_Hours of Idleness_, Byron's, 72. 

_Household Words_, 190, 193. 

_Household Wreck_, De Quincey's, 174. 

_House of Aspen_, Scott, 149 note. 

_House of the Seven Gables_, Hawthorne's, 210-211. 

Hughes, A. M. D. , 122. 

_Hugo_, Bennett's, 227. 

Hugo, Victor, 175. 

Hunt, Leigh, 28, 186. 

Hunter, Mrs. Rachel, 76. 

Hurd, Bishop, 17, 20. 

Iamblichus, 12. 

Icelandic saga, 2, 14. 

_Iliad_, 14. 

_Image in the Sand_, Benson's, 226. 

_Indicator_, Leigh Hunt's, 187. 

_Inn of the Two Witches_, Conrad's, 195. 

_Invisible Man_, Wells', 196. 

_Iron Shroud_, Mudford's, 194. 

Irving, Washington, 200-203. 

_Isabella_, Keats', 10. 

_Italian_, Mrs. Radcliffe's, 34, 45, 47, 52-56, 58, 60, 69, 70, 114, 124, 125, 128, 137, 168, 185. 

_Ivanhoe_, Scott's, 18. 

_Jack the Giant-Killer_, 19. 

Jacobs, W. W. , 193. 

James I. , 4. 

James, Henry, 196. 

_Jane Eyre_, Charlotte Brontë's, 224. 

_Jekyll and Hyde_, Stevenson's, 218. 

"Jenny Spinner, " 179. 

Jephson, Robert, 19. 

Jerdan, W. , 189. 

_Jerusalem_, Lope de Vega's, 21 note. 

_Job, Book of_, 221. 

_John Silence_, Blackwood's, 226. 

Johnson, Samuel, 6, 7, 95. 

Johnson, T. B. , 140. 

Jonson, Ben, 4. 

_Journal_, Moore's, 97. 

_Journeys of Mrs. Radcliffe_, 60-61. 

_Juif Errant_, Sue's, 118. 

Keats, John, 10. 

_Keepsake_, 149 note, 150 note, 151 note. 

Kemble, John, 19. 

_Kidnapped_, Stevenson, 41, 195. 

_Kilmeny_, Hogg's, 11. 

_King John_, Shakespeare's, 55. 

_King Lear_, Shakespeare's, 3, 110. 

_King Solomon's Mines_, Haggard's, 226. 

Kipling, Rudyard, 195. 

Klingemann, 72. 

_Klosterheim_, De Quincey's, 173. 

_Knight of the Burning Pestle_, Beaumont and Fletcher's, 7. 

_Knights of the Swan_, Mme. De Genlis', 134. 

_Königsmark the Robber_, Lewis's, 71. 

Kotzebue, August von, 65, 72. 

_Kubla Khan_, 10. 

_La Belle Dame sans Merci_, Keats', 11. 

Lacroix, Paul, 175. 

_Lady in the Sacque_, Scott's, 150, 201. 

_Lady of the Lake_, Scott's, 152. 

Lamb, Charles, 193. 

_Lamia_, Keats', 10. 

_Lancashire Witches_, Ainsworth's, 176. 

Lang, Andrew, 2. 

Langhorne, John, 95. 

_Lara_, Byron's, 56. 

_Last Man_, Mrs. Shelley's, 166-168. 

Lathom, Francis, 76. 

_Lay of the Last Minstrel_, Scott's, 79, 152. 

Le Calprenède, 222. 

Lee, Sophia, 39, 57. 

Le Fanu, Sheridan, 190, 225. 

_Legend of Montrose_, Scott's, 153. 

_Legends of a Nunnery_, Lewis's, 71. 

_Legends of Terror_, 186. 

_Legends of the Province House_, Hawthorne's, 204. 

Leland, John, 57. 

Lemoine, Anne, 186. 

Lennox, Mrs. Charlotte, 222. 

_Lenore_, Bürger's, 11, 148. 

Le Queux, William, 226. 

_Letitia_, Mrs. Rachel Hunter's, 76. 

_Letters on Chivalry and Romance_, Hurd's, 17, 20. 

Lewis, M. G. ("Monk"), 11, 14, 32, 55, 56, 61, 63-72, 76, 77, 85, 91, 114, 120, 122, 123, 125, 136, 148, 157, 158, 174, 175, 185, 186, 188, 197, 203, 218. 

_Ligeia_, Poe's, 215. 

_Literary Hours_, Drake's, 32. 

_Literary Souvenir_, 175. 

_Little Annie's Rambles_, Hawthorne's, 205. 

_Lives of the Necromancers_, Godwin's, 115, 117. 

_Lives of the Novelists_, Scott's, 21 note, 38 note, 150 note, 153. 

_Lives of the Pirates_, 109 note. 

_Lives_, Plutarch's, 162. 

Lockhart, John, 192, 207. 

_Lodore_, Mrs. Shelley's, 168. 

_London Magazine_, 191. 

_Longsword_, Leland's, 57. 

Lope de Vega, 21 note. 

_Lopez and Aranthe_, Miss Sarah Wilkinson's, 78. 

_Lord of Ennerdale_, Scott's, 148. 

Loshe, 197. 

_Lucifer_, 188. 

Lyttleton, Lord, 6. 

Lytton, Bulwer, 109, 116, 178-184, 226. 

Macaulay, Lord, 77. 

_Macbeth_, Shakespeare's, 4, 85. 

Macpherson, James, 12, 20. 

_Madoc_, Southey's, 65 note. 

Mador, 57. 

_Magician of the Forest of the Bloody Ash_, 186. 

_Malfi, Duchess of_, Webster's, 4. 

Mallet, David, 7. 

Malone, Edmund, 19. 

Malory, Sir Thomas, 4. 

_Manuscript Found in a Bottle_, Poe's, 214, 215. 

_Mandeville_, Godwin's, 101. 

_Manfroni_, 75. 

_Manuel_, Maturin's, 81. 

_Man in the Bell_, 194. 

_Marble Faun_, Hawthorne's, 204, 212. 

_Margaret Nicholson, Posthumous Poems of_, 120. 

_Mark of the Beast_, Kipling's, 195. 

Marlowe, Christopher, 4, 92. 

_Marmion_, Scott's, 69 note. 

Marryat, Captain, 2, 177. 

Marsh, Richard, 225. 

_Mary Burnet_, Hogg's, 192. 

Mason, 16, 20, 58. 

_Masque of Queens_, Ben Jonson's, 4. 

_Masque of the Red Death_, Poe's, 214, 216, 217, 220. 

_Master of Ballantrae_, Stevenson's, 195. 

Mathias, T. J. , 38 note. 

Maturin, C. R. , 55, 61, 72, 80-93, 150 note, 157, 158, 175, 185, 188, 203, 218, 220. 

Medwin, Thomas, 74, 120. 

Meeke, Mrs. , 77. 

_Melancholy, Ode on_, Keats', 10. 

_Melmoth Reconcilié à l'Église_, Balzac's, 86. 

_Melmoth the Wanderer_, Maturin's, 14, 80 note, 82, 86-93, 158, 174, 185. 

Melville, Theodore, 75. 

Meredith, George, 70, 99. 

_Merry Men_, Stevenson's, 195. 

Mickle, William Julius, 69. 

_Midnight Bell_, George Walker's, 77, 129. 

_Midnight Groan_, 120. 

_Midnight Horrors_, 75. 

_Midnight Weddings_, Mrs. Meeke's, 77. 

_Milesian Chief_, Maturin's, 81. 

Milton, John, 54, 58. 

Minerva Press, 74. 

_Misanthropic Parent_, Miss Smith's, 135. 

Mitford, Miss Mary Russell, 58, 86. 

_Modern Language Review_, 122. 

_Modern Oedipus_, Polidori's, 160, 170-171. 

_Mogul Tales_, Gueulette's, 94, 95. 

_Monastery_, Scott's, 109, 152. 

_Monk_, Lewis's, 64, 65, 66-70, 91, 114, 120 note, 123, 129, 136, 148, 152. 

_Monk of Madrid_, George Moore's, 75. 

_Monkey's Paw_, Jacobs', 193. 

_Monks of Cluny or Castle Acre Monastery_, 186. 

_Monos and Daimonos_, Lytton's, 217. 

Montagu, George, 18. 

_Monthly Review_, 68 note. 

_Montmorenci_, Drake's, 34, 35. 

_Moonstone_, Wilkie Collins', 190, 225. 

Moore, George, 75. 

Moore, Dr. John, 53. 

Moore, Thomas, 97, 117, 118. 

_Moral Tales_, Maria Edgeworth's, 133. 

_More Ghosts_, "Felix Phantom's, " 77. 

More, Hannah, 16. 

_Morella_, Poe's, 215. 

Morgan, Lady, 81. 

_Mortal Immortal_, Mrs. Shelley's, 169. 

_Morte D'Arthur_, Malory's, 4. 

_Mosses from an old Manse_, Hawthorne's, 206, 220. 

Mudford, William, 194. 

_Mugby Junction_, Dickens', 194. 

_Murder, Considered as one of the Fine Arts_, De Quincey's, 173. 

_Murders of the Rue Morgue_, Poe's, 218. 

Musaeus, Johann, 68 note. 

Musgrave, Agnes, 141 note. 

_My Aunt Margaret's Mirror_, Scott's, 150. 

_Mysteries of the Forest_, Miss Eleanor Sleath's, 76. 

_Mysteries of Udolpho_ (see _Udolpho, Mysteries of_). 

_Mysterious Bravo_, 76. 

_Mysterious Bride_, James Hogg's, 191. 

_Mysterious Freebooter_, Lathom's, 76, 120. 

_Mysterious Hand_, Randolph's, 76, 120. 

_Mysterious Mother_, Walpole's, 34, 58. 

_Mysterious Spaniard_, 186. 

_Mysterious Summons_, 186. 

_Mysterious Visits_, Mrs. Parson's, 76. 

_Mysterious Wanderer_, Miss Sophia Reeve's, 76. 

_Mysterious Warnings_, Mrs. Parson's, 76, 129. 

_Mystery of M. Roget_, Poe's, 218. 

_Mystery of the Abbey_, T. B. Johnson's, 140. 

_Mystery of the Black Tower_, Palmer's, 76. 

_Mystic Sepulchre_, Palmer's, 76. 

_My Uncle's Garret Window_, Lewis's, 65. 

_Necromancer of the Black Forest_, 129. 

_New Arabian Nights_, Stevenson's, 195. 

_Newcomes_, Thackeray's, 38 note. 

_Newgate Calendar_, 109 note. 

_New Monk_, "R. S. 's" 75. 

_New Monthly_, 177. 

_Nigger of the Narcissus_, Conrad's, 227. 

_Nightmare_, Shelley's, 120. 

_Nightmare Abbey_, Peacock's, 47, 126, 138, 140. 

_Noctes Ambrosianae_, 58, 62 note, 192. 

_Nocturnal Minstrel_, Miss Sleath's, 77. 

_Northanger Abbey_, Jane Austen's, 44, 128, 129-133, 185. 

_Notebooks_, Hawthorne's, 204, 212, 213. 

_Nouvelle Heloïse_, Rousseau's, 134. 

_Nun_, Mrs. Aphra Behn's, 141. 

_Nun of Misericordia_, Miss Sophia Francis's, 76. 

_Nun of St. Omer's_, "Rosa Matilda's, " 75. 

_Nurse's Story_, Mrs. Gaskell's, 192, 193. 

_Objects of Terror_, Drake's essay on, 34. 

_Oblong Box_, Poe's, 219. 

_Old Bachelor_, Crabbe's, 142. 

_Old English Baron_, Clara Reeve's, 22, 25-28, 57. 

"Old Jeffrey, " 6. 

_Old Manor House_, Charlotte Smith's, 77. 

_Old Mortality_, Scott's, 22, 154. 

_Old St. Paul's_, Ainsworth's, 176. 

_Old Woman of Berkeley_, Southey's, 11. 

Oppenheim, Phillips, 226. 

_Oriental Tale in England_, Conant's, 95 note, 96 note. 

_Ormond_, T. B. Brown's, 198. 

_Oroonoko_, Mrs. Aphra Behn's, 222. 

_Orphan of the Rhine_, Miss Sleath's, 129. 

_Oscar and Alva_, Byron's, 72. 

_Osorio_, Coleridge's, 81. 

_Ossian_, Macpherson's, 12, 20, 58. 

_Oval Portrait_, Poe's, 219. 

Pain, Barry, 193. 

Palmer, John, 76. 

_Pamela_, Richardson's, 134. 

_Pandemonium or the Devil's Cloyster Opened_, Bovet's, 14, 149. 

_Paradise Lost_, Milton's, 162. 

_Parish Register_, Crabbe's, 144 note. 

Parsons, Mrs. Eliza, 73, 74, 76, 129. 

_Passages from the Diary of a Late Physician_, Warren's, 188. 

_Paul Clifford_, Lytton's, 109. 

Peacock, T. L. , 72, 126, 138-140, 197. 

_Peep at our Ancestors_, Mrs. Rouvière's, 74, 75. 

Pegge, Samuel, 57. 

Pepys, Mrs. , 222. 

Percy, Bishop, 9, 20. 

_Perkin Warbeck_, Mrs. Shelley's, 168. 

Perrault, Charles, 12. 

_Persian Tales_, Galland's, 94. 

_Peruvian Tales_, Gueulette's, 94. 

Petronius, 2. 

_Peveril of the Peak_, Scott's, 154. 

_Phantasmagoria_, Lewis Carroll's, 201. 

_Phantom Ship_, Marryat's, 2, 177. 

_Pickwick_, Dickens', 193. 

_Picture of Dorian Gray_, Oscar Wilde's, 226. 

_Pilgrim's Progress_, Bunyan's, 5. 

_Pillar of Mystery_, 197. 

_Pit and the Pendulum_, Poe's, 194, 218. 

Planche, Gustave, 86 note. 

Plato, 101. 

_Pleasure derived from Objects of Terror_, Mrs. Barbauld's essayon, 28. 

Pliny, 14. 

Plutarch, 162. 

Poe, Edgar Allan, 149, 175, 213-220, 226. 

_Poetical Sketches_, Blake's, 31. 

Polidori, Dr. , 158, 160, 169-173. 

_Political Justice_, Godwin's, 100, 101, 102, 111, 197. 

_Polly Honeycombe_, Colman's, 222. 

Polyphemus, 2. 

Pope, Alexander, 17. 

_Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations_, 174. 

_Portraits Littèraires_, Planche's, 86 note. 

_Pour et Contre_, Maturin's, 81. 

_Preceptor Husband_, Crabbe's, 141. 

_Preface to Shakespeare_, Pope's, 17. 

_Premature Burial_, Poe's, 216. 

_Priory of St. Clair_, Miss Wilkinson's, 74, 78. 

_Prisoner of Zenda_, Hope's, 226. 

_Prometheus Unbound_, Shelley's, 101, 120, 127. 

_Pursuits of Literature_, Mathias', 38 note. 

_Quarterly Review_, 72. 

_Queenhoo Hall_, Strutt's, 57. 

_Queen Mab_, 101, 120. 

Radcliffe, Mrs. Anne, 12, 13, 14, 20, 22, 24, 26, 31, 33, 34, 35, 38-62, 63, 64, 68, 69, 70, 76, 77, 81, 82, 84, 85, 91, 101, 104, 105, 109, 114, 122, 123, 124, 128, 129, 130, 133, 135, 136, 137, 148, 150 note, 154, 155, 157, 158, 167, 168, 173, 175, 176, 185, 188, 197, 198, 218, 219, 222, 223. 

_Rambler_, Johnson's, 94. 

Randolph, A. J. , 76. 

_Rappacini's Daughter, Dr. _, Hawthorne's, 206. 

_Rasselas_, Johnson's, 94, 134. 

_Räuber_, Schiller's, 55, 65, 148, 198. 

_Raven_, Poe's, 219. 

_Recess_, Sophia Lee's, 39, 57. 

Reeve, Clara, 13, 21, 25-28, 33, 38, 57, 150 note. 

Reeve, Sophia, 76. 

_Relapse_, 141. 

_Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_, Percy's, 9, 20. 

_Return of Imray_, Kipling's, 195. 

_Revelations of London_ (see _Auriol_). 

_Revenge_ (Poems of Victor and Cazire), 120. 

_Revolt of Islam_, Shelley's, 101, 127. 

_Richard III. _, Shakespeare's, 55. 

Richardson, Samuel, 46, 222, 223. 

Ridley, James, 95. 

_Rill from the Town Pump_, Hawthorne's, 205. 

_Robber Bridegroom_, 3. 

_Robbers_ (see _Räuber_). 

Robinson, Crabb, 59. 

_Rob Roy_, Scott's, 154. 

Roche, Mrs. Regina Maria, 22, 59, 129, 134, 140 note. 

Rogers, Samuel, 74. 

Rohmer, Sax, 225. 

_Rokeby_, Scott's, 152, 154. 

_Romance of the Castle_, D. F. Hayne's, 188. 

_Romance of the Cavern_, George Walker's, 76. 

_Romance of the Forest_, Mrs. Radcliffe's, 26, 42-46, 52, 53, 56, 69, 76, 109, 131, 132, 134. 

_Romance of the Highlands_, Peter Darling's, 134. 

_Romance Readers and Romance Writers_, Sarah Green's, 133. 

_Romances_, an Imitation, 29. 

_Romancist and Novelist's Library_, 39 note, 122, 129, 168 note, 187, 188, 189. 

_Rookwood_, Ainsworth's, 175-176, 224. 

"Rosa Matilda" (see Dacre). 

_Rose of Raby_, Miss Agnes Musgrave's, 141. 

Rossetti, Christina, 39. 

Rossetti, D. G. , 86, 186. 

Rossetti, W. M. , 169. 

_Roundabout Papers_, Thackeray's, 75 note. 

Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 89, 115, 137. 

Rouvière, Mrs. Henrietta, 74, 75. 

_Ruins of Empire_, Volney's, 162. 

_Ruins of St. Luke's Abbey_, 186. 

_Sadducismus Triumphatus_, Glanvill's, 6. 

_St. Edmond's Eve_ (Tales of Terror), 120 note. 

_St. Edmund's Eve_ (Poems by Victor and Cazire), 120. 

_St. Godwin_, 116. 

_St. Irvyne_, Shelley's, 13, 66, 120, 121, 122, 123-126. 

_St. Leon_, Godwin's, 91, 102, 111-116, 117, 124, 166, 169. 

Saintsbury, George, 192. 

_Salathiel_, Croly's, 118. 

_Satan's Invisible World Discovered_, Sinclair's, 14, 149. 

_Scarlet Letter_, Hawthorne's, 207-210, 212. 

Schiller, Friedrich, 51, 65. 

Schubart, 120. 

Scot, Reginald, 14, 147. 

Scott, Sir Walter, 11, 14, 20, 21 note, 22, 38 note, 55, 57, 69, 72, 73, 74, 75, 77, 80, 81, 82, 86, 109, 135, 145-156, 190, 194, 200, 201, 224. 

_Secret History of the Good Devil of Woodstock_, 154. 

_Sensitive Plant_, Shelley's, 127. 

_Septimius Felton_, Hawthorne's, 212. 

_Seven Vagabonds_, Hawthorne's, 205. 

Seward, Anna, 150. 

_Sexton of Cologne_, 188. 

_Shadow Line_, Conrad's, 227. 

Shakespeare, 54, 55, 58, 85, 89, 127. 

_Shaving of Shagpat_, Meredith's, 99. 

_She_, Rider Haggard's, 226. 

Shelley, Mary, 158-169, 188. 

Shelley, P. B. , 13, 66, 74, 101, 118-127, 160, 167, 168, 175, 197, 198, 199. 

Sheridan, Mrs. Frances, 95. 

Sheridan, R. B. , 129. 

_Shirley_, Charlotte Brontë's, 38 note. 

_Shrine of St. Alstice_, 76. 

_Sicilian Pirate_, 197. 

_Sicilian Romance_, Mrs. Radcliffe's, 13, 22, 41-42, 45, 53, 123, 132, 137. 

_Sign of Four_, Conan Doyle's, 226. 

Sinclair, George, 14, 149. 

_Sir Bertrand_, Mrs. Barbauld's, 28-31. 

_Sir Egbert_, Drake's, 35. 

_Sir Eustace Grey_, Crabbe's, 144. 

_Sir Michael Scott_, Cunningham's, 191. 

_Sketch Book_, Irving's, 200. 

Sleath, Eleanor, 76, 77, 129. 

_Sleepless Woman_, Jerdan's, 189. 

Smith, Mrs. Charlotte, 77, 141 note. 

Smollett, Tobias, 12, 23-25, 29, 31, 68, 222. 

_Solyman and Almena_, Langhorne's, 95. 

_Sorcerer_, Mickle's, 68, 69. 

Southey, Robert, 11, 65. 

_Spectator_, 5, 222. 

_Spectral Horseman_, 120. 

_Spectre Barber_, 188. 

_Spectre Bride_, 175, 188. 

_Spectre Bridegroom_, 200. 

_Spectre of Lanmere Abbey_, Miss Wilkinson's, 79. 

_Spectre of the Murdered Nun_, Miss Wilkinson's, 74, 78. 

_Spectre-Smitten_, 188. 

_Spectre Unmasked_, 188. 

Spenser, Edmund, 4, 17, 32, 33, 36, 37, 102. 

Steele, Richard, 129. 

Sterne, Laurence, 222. 

Stevenson, R. L. , 87 note, 147, 186, 195, 218. 

Stoker, Bram, 2, 225. 

_Story-Haunted_, 188, 222. 

_Story Teller_, 187, 188, 189. 

_Strange Story_, Lytton's, 116, 183-184. 

Strutt, Joseph, 57. 

_Student_, 217. 

_Subterranean Horrors_, Randolph's, 76, 120. 

Sue, Eugène, 118. 

_Sunday at Home_, Hawthorne's, 205. 

_Superstitions of the Scottish Highlands, Ode on the_, Collins', 8. 

_Sweet William's Ghost_, 3. 

_Symposium_, Plato's, 101. 

_Tales for a Chimney Corner_, Leigh Hunt's, 187. 

_Tale of Mystery_, 175. 

_Tale of the Passions_, Mrs. Shelley's, 168. 

_Tales and Sketches_, Hogg's, 192. 

_Tales and Sketches_, Hawthorne's, 211. 

_Tales of a Traveller_, Irving's, 201-202. 

_Tales of Chivalry_, 186. 

_Tales of Superstition and Chivalry_, 73. 

_Tales of Terror_, Lewis's, 32, 70, 120. 

_Tales of the Genii_, Ridley's, 95. 

_Tales of the Hall_, Crabbe's, 141. 

_Tales of Wonder_, Lewis's, 69, 70, 120, 148, 186. 

_Tam Lin_, 3. 

_Tam o' Shanter_, Burns', 8. 

_Tapestried Chamber_, Scott's, 150, 201. 

_Tartarian Tales_, Gueulette's, 94. 

Taylor, Joseph, 149. 

Taylor, William (of Norwich), 148. 

Tedworth, Drummer of, 6, 153. 

_Tell-Tale Heart_, Poe's, 217. 

_Tender Husband_, Steele's, 129. 

_Terribly Strange Bed_, Wilkie Collins', 194. 

_Test of Affection_, Ainsworth's, 175. 

Thackeray, W. M. , 38 note, 39, 75 note, 78, 86. 

Theocritus, 14. 

_Thomas the Rhymer_, 147. 

Thorgunna, 14. 

_Thrawn Janet_, Stevenson's, 147. 

_Three Students of Göttingen_, 188. 

Tieck, Ludwig, 65, 175. 

_Told in the Dark_, Barry Pain's, 193. 

_Tomb of Aurora_, 186. 

_Tom Jones_, Fielding's, 7 note, 126 note. 

Tourneur, Cyril, 127. 

_Tower of London_, Ainsworth's, 176. 

_Traditional Tales of the English and Scottish Peasantry_, Cunningham's, 191. 

_Transformation_, Hawthorne's (see _Marble Faun_). 

_Transformation_, Mrs. Shelley's, 169. 

_Treasure House of Tales by Great Authors_, Garnett's, 169 note. 

_Treasure Island_, Stevenson's, 195, 218. 

_Trimalchio, Supper of_, Petronius', 2. 

_Tristram Shandy_, Sterne's, 134. 

_Triumph of Conscience_, Shelley's, 120. 

Trollope, Anthony, 38 note. 

_True Thomas_, 3. 

_Tunbridge Toys_, Thackeray's, 75 note. 

_Turkish Tales_, Galland's, 94. 

_Turn of the Screw_, James', 196. 

_Twelve o'clock, or The Three Robbers_, 186. 

_Twice-Told Tales_, Hawthorne's, 203, 205-206, 212, 213, 220. 

_Typhoon_, Conrad's, 227. 

_Udolpho, Mysteries of_, Mrs. Radcliffe's, 13, 14, 25, 45, 47-51, 52, 53. 59, 61, 64, 75, 76, 123, 125, 128, 129, 131, 134, 137, 145, 202. 

Ulysses, 2, 14. 

_Uncommercial Traveller_, Dickens', 193. 

_Usher's Well, Wife of_, 3. 

_Valperga_, Mrs. Shelley's, 165-166. 

_Vampyre_, Polidori's, 169, 171-173. 

_Vathek, Episodes of_, Beckford's, 96, 216. 

_Vathek, History of the Caliph_, Beckford's, 94-99, 118. 

_Veal, Mrs. _, Defoe's, 6. 

Verne, Jules, 226. 

_Victor and Cazire, Poems by_, Shelley's, 120. 

_Villette_, Charlotte Brontë's, 51, 224. 

_Virtuoso's Collection_, Hawthorne's, 204. 

_Vision of Mirza_, Addison's, 94. 

Volney, Count de, 162. 

Voltaire, 95. 

Walker, George, 76, 77, 129. 

Wallace, Sir William, 13, 21 note. 

Walpole, Horace, 12, 13, 16-23, 25, 27, 28, 30, 31, 32, 33, 37, 39, 175, 185, 188. 

Wandering Jew, 12, 14, 68, 92, 118, 120, 158. 

_Wandering Willie's Tale_, Scott's, 147, 148, 149, 151-152. 

Watt, Robert, 75, 129. 

_Waverley_, Scott's, 59, 145, 146, 153, 166. 

Webster, John, 4, 127. 

_Wehr-Wolf_, 188. 

Weit Weber, 65. 

Wells, H. G. , 196, 227. 

_Werther, Sorrows of_, Goethe's, 65, 162. 

Wesley, John, 6. 

_West Wind, Ode to the_, Shelley's, 127. 

_White Old Maid_, Hawthorne's, _Wieland_, C. B. Brown's, 140, 198. 

Wilde, Oscar, 226. 

_Wild Irish Boy_, Maturin's, 81. 

_Wild Irish Girl_, Lady Morgan's, 81. 

"Wild Roses, " 186. 

Wilkinson, Miss Sarah, 66, 73, 74, 76, 77-80. 

Will, R. , 76, 129. 

_William and Margaret_, Mallet's, 7. 

_William Lovell_, Tieck's, 65. 

_William Wilson_, Poe's, 217. 

_Windsor Castle_, Ainsworth's, 176. 

_Witch of Fife_, Hogg's, 11. 

_Woman in White_, Wilkie Collins', 190, 225. 

_Women_, Maturin's, 81. 

_Wood-Demon_, 188. 

_Woodstock_, Scott's, 149, 153, 154. 

"Writing on the Wall, " 221. 

_Wuthering Heights_, Emily Brontë's, 224. 

_Yellow Mask_, Wilkie Collins', 190. 

_Zanoni_, Lytton's, 116, 179, 180-182. 

_Zastrozzi_, Shelley's, 13, 66, 121, 122-123. 

_Zeluco_, Dr. John Moore's, 53. 

_Zicci_, Lytton's, 116, 180. 

_Zofloya_, Miss Charlotte Dacre's, 122-123, 124. 

Zschokke, Heinrich, 70. 

Glasgow: Printed at the University Press by Robert MacLehose andCo. Ltd.