The Press.
London, England, 1858-09-18 00:00:00

THE PRESS, SEPTEMBIR 18, 185 R.

meeting with his mother that she fancies his
attachment a mere caprice. Ile persists in his
intended voyage, but determines to discharge his
obligations immediately and return to claim the
hand of his betrothed. On his arrival in Australia
his merchandize proves to be completely spoiled,
and he goes to the diggings to collect money
enough to return home. When on the point of
sailing he is shot in the bush by a robber, loses
his arm, and is only enabled to return to Europe
through the generosity of an acquaintance. Ills
journey has had not the slightest effect on his
mother, who now fancies (as most people would
do) that he would not have left Mathilde had he
really loved her ; and Mathilde herself, wearied
by the delay, seems inclined to adopt the same
opinion—for which we find it difficult to blame
her. 'Thoroughly morbid in feeling, with a con-
sciousness of impaired strength, and fancying
Madill& alienated from him, he releases her from
her engagement, and goes to Ilyi!res and Nice in
search of health. At the latter place his health
improves, and he falls in love with a married
lady, who makes a catspaw of him to cover her
intrigue with a French nobleman. He threatens
to challenge him ; is cajoled out of this resolution ;
then threatens to shoot himself. The coquette
" fears the scandal of a duel and my suicide "
(feared also, probably, for her new lover); and
the following scene takes place :
I was long obstinate, I had so much reason to think my
jealousy well founded ; but Mme. de S— saw that I
loved her even to madness, and profited by it. As though
overcome by her agitation, she let fall tender expressions ;
and, perceiving the effect they produced, vowed that if I
disliked d'E—, she would never see him again, and
offered every proof of love and attachment I could desire.
Intoxicated by her words, by the sight of this adored woman
supplicating at my feet, imploring me to live for her, I let
myself be conquered. I gave her my word of honour
not to shoot myself. Radiant with her victory, but
wearied by the struggle, she sunk on my arm, thanked me
impetuously, hut, at the same time, entreated me to leave
her alone, to recover from so much emotion. I clasped
her to my heart, and left her.
The Priest (whose experience of the confessional
ought, one would think, to have led him to dis-
trust such demonstrations) is thoroughly taken
in, and has the satisfaction of next day seeing the
lady, after denying herself to him on pretence of
illness, walk out with his rival, " with whom she
" conversed in that indescribable manner that
" marks complete intimacy." This is of course
an overwhelming blow, and produces the follow-
ing specimen of morbid logic. The Priest argues
that his promise not to molest his rival was un-
conditional, but his promise not to destroy him-
self was conditional on the lady's performance of
her part of the contract. As she has broken it,
he is free to suffer in his own person, and lest he
should " become ridiculous," he takes poison,
which he has long carried concealed about him,
and, to use his own expression, seeks repose in
the bosom of the Universal Cause.
Few who read this painful story will be in-
clined
to disagree with the manner in which it is
characterized by the preface, as "a tale of exile,
"of woe, and of weakness." Weakness, indeed,
is apparent in every line the author writes—in
every action he either does or &its to do. Who
but a man of intense moral weakness would
think of expressing himself in the following
gushing style ? The passage is the very first in
the book :
An exile ! why did I become an exile ? When my
country was bound, stretched at the feet of the execu-
tioner, why did I fly the vengeance that overpowered my
people? Alone, far from my country, on the distant shores
of the southern sea, away from all that. I love, I bow my
head like a flower that perishes for want of light—bent under
the load of a chain that every day weighs more heavily upon
me, becoming more entangled by the efforts I have made
to east it from me, I shall never again behold the plains
and the streams of my native land. An exile! why did I
become an exile?
" An exile ! why did I become an exile ?" is, in
fact, the burden of the story, and is repeated at
the close of almost every chapter. " Why did I
become a priest ?" would have been a much
more pertinent question. If the narrative teaches
anything, it is the not very novel truth that a
man had better not commit himself to a profes-
sion which requires the abandonment of all
earthly ties until he knows that he is strong
enough to do without earthly ties altogether.
It also teaches us that there are men with so
false an estimate of comparative duties that,
though they may be willing to place themselves
in a free position by the violation of the most
sacred oaths, they may, on the other hand, refuse
to make that freedom available by using the