The Sun.
London, England, 1861-11-22 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

The Cloister and the Hearth ; a Tale of the 41iddle
Ages. By Charles Reade, author of " It's Never
Too Late to Mend," " Christie Johnstone," etc.,
etc. 4 vols. Trubner and Co. Paternoster-
row.

This is a remarkable work that is sure to attract
a large share of public notice, alike from the wide
spread reputation of its author, and also from its
own superiority in many respects. It is likewise
original in many of its characteristics, and notwith-
standing the extreme length to which the story
runs, the interest is sustained throughout in a
surprising degree. The reason is that the greater
part of the narrative is so true to life, and the chief
persons are real in their affliction, their excitement,
their passions, and their pride. Margaret is just
what one could suppose a girl of her style would
become after long years that in sorrow and suffering
of no common kind had formed her into a woman
strong to endure, and a Christian faithful to triumph
over temptation. Catherine is as exact a counter-
part of a busybody as ever was portrayed in a
book. She seems to stand before us, so perfect
is the sketch, one of these well-meaning
folks who create an immense deal of mischief by
their meddlesome ways and inveterate love of gossip
and proneness to interfere in all things relative to
everybody. Elias is well drawn in his way as one
of those stern mediaeval men whose lives were as
stiff and unbending as their figures appear on can-
vass. With all his strictness he did not succeed
very well with his children, as no father could have
had more despicable sons than Sybrands and Cor-
nelis. Gerard is the hero, and a striking one in all
respects. His short life was full of perils and dis-
asters. He had to encounter from one cause and
another as many trials as fall to the lot of three
separate men in an ordinary state of affairs. He was
full of the faults of youth, hasty, passionate, and
precipitate, but time rolling on brought with the
lesson of life increase of wisdom, and his career at
last, according to the faith in which he was brought
up, was a near approach to perfection. He resigned
his dearest hopes because he thought the fulfilment
wrong, and he was the more tried as the deceit and
treachery of his brothers, whom he had never in-
jured, wrought out for him this deadly ill. It is
hard to bear irremidiable troubles, but to have the
sharpest sting inflicted by a relation, and when too
late discover the fatal mistake is indeed bitter. The
chief point on which the story turns that gives it
its name is the fact of Gerard being informed
that Margaret was dead. This was done
by his brothers transposing letters in order
to prevent the return of him they were jealous
of. On receiving this fatal news, Gerard ful-
filled the intention of his early years, and be-
came a monk. Meanwhile, Margaret awaited
his return, burning to see him, and show him
their first born, not knowing of the barrier for ever
raised between them. " You who know what lies
in that word, maternity, enlarge my little sketch
and see the young mother nursing and washing
and dressing, and undressing, and crowing and
gambolling with her first-born ; then, swifter than
lightning, dart your eye into Italy, and see the
cold cloister, and the monks, like ghosts, eyes
down, hands meekly crossed over bosoms dead to
earthly feelings. One of these cowled ghosts is he
whose return, full of love, and youth, and joy, that
radiant young mother awaits," The extraordinary
events that followed on this mysterious fact are
skilfully told, and some of the scenes aro dramatis
in their exciting interest and their thrilling pathos.
When Gerard saw Margaret in the church before
him—a living woman come to hear the strange
preacher, of whose celebrity her neighbours had so
loudly proclaimed, instead of the corpse whose
grave he expected to see noted in the churchyard, the
reader has before him as startling a picture of the
strange occurrences of mortal life as could be imagined
or devised. When he recovered his surprise he found
a living death interposed between those who stood
before the altar in the hey-day of their youth, and
believed themselves united for the rest of their
lives. The succeeding scenes are some of them
rather peculiar, but it must be borne in mind that
the days here recorded belong to the past, and the
general tone of society was, in every respect, differ-
ent from the present. Margaret rightly used her
influence to drive Gerard from the hermit's cave to
the world of his fellow-men, where he could employ
the great talents with which he was endowed to
the benefit and blessing of humanity. Their
son Gerard was Leilink of connecting interest be-
tween the woman whose heart was with her treasure
in the world below, and the man who had crushed
down human happiness, and
" Turning away his pale brow
From earth and the light of the present,
Looked to a heavenly spouse."
The consistency of the sketch is maintained by not
prolonging the description too long. Human nature
could not have endured such a constant strain on
its energies without at last giving way, and
the plague that sweeps away Margaret, and
the languor that overpowered Gerard were
messengers of mercy and of grace to bear them
afa_• from their cares and disappointments. They
lived to illustrate a purpose, and that effected their
mission was over. " The battle fought, the victory
won," they were summoned to their reward, leaving
an example behind them for their fellow-creatures
to follow, and a memory to dwell upon of high and
holy deeds. This book has its drawbacks in some
respects. Parts of the narrative are too discursive,
and the plan adopted of putting the most effective
words in tremendous letters is not suitable in a
work that treats of superior things and does not
need to resort to clap-trap to make evident its
merit, possessing more than the usual amount of
interest and excitement in its chequered course.
These and other defects are more than counter-
balanced by the success that throughout marks it.
It is adapted to suit many tastes, and all competent
judges will agree to its great discrimination of
character and eloquent description of scenes. It is
the pen of a ready-writer that has given us this
stirring record of life in the medieval ages. Human
nature was the same then as now in its main fea,-
tureg and leading attributes—pride reigned supreme
and passion revelled in undisciplined minds, love
inspired the most daring deeds or produced melan-
choly and misery. Also we are shown that the
light of a true faith, then, as now, though it dif-
fered in form, and was diverse in rules, was mighty
to support and puissant to save those who trusted
its its efficacy, and looked to its final triumph over
the things of time and sense. It is not a useless
task nor an idle lesson to teach, that simple folks
who, centuries since, s',ept with the dead show us
in these fragmentary relics of their lives. Their
careers are chronicled in passages of great power,
here adorned with eloquence of no common order,
and there made interesting by many an incident of
human kindness ; but the chief merit is in the fact
that they point a moral in their simple lives, and
yield a testimony in their holy deaths. They fol-
lowed what they thought the right road, though its
course turned away from the paths of pleasantness.
It was but fitting that at last they should find
peace abide with them as a constant guest, and a
promise that could not fail as their beacon light, from
darkness unto day, from the world which is to that
which is to come. There are some scenes that, in
their several styles, are very effectively rendered.
Gerard, when he was in Rome, was leading a very
diflerent life to that which he afterwards adopted.
His adventures with the Princess Clelia are very
strange, and the wild rage that possessed her could
only be found in a daughter of a southern clime,
and then but under peculiar circumstances. Gerard's
conduct was irreproachable, and it was a relief
to him whem he met her, after having
entered on his sacred vocation, to be able to
impart words of counsel. His intercourse with the
painter is also worthy of notice. The child,
whose very existence seemed an anomaly, was des-
tined to be great hereafter, and far-distant genera-
tions were to sound the fame of him whose birth
seemed a curse and his surviving an infliction at
one time. Over the house where Margaret spent
such lonely hours, and over whose threshold the
expectant father never trod, was inscribed these
words—" Haec eat parva domus natus magmas
Erasmus." The following passages illustrate some
of the most striking scenes of this remarkable work,
which in incident and interest may vie with any
of its renowned predecessors. It can lay claim to
admiration from its retrospective glance at a notable
period of history, and its apt rendering of fictitious
events of no small amount of attraction. It is,
therefore, probable that a verdict of approval will
be pronounced in its favour at present, and the
dwellers in distant lands, and those who at a future
period peruse its pages, may ratify that judgment
and pronounce valid that testimony.

THE MONK AND THE PRINCESS.
lc So part we—thou to the place that becomes thee best,
thy father's house ; I to my holy mother's work I"
t, Adieu," faltered the princess, " adieu, thou that I have
loved too well, hated too ili, known and revered too late,
forgiving angel, adieu—for over." The monk caught her
words, though they faltered in a sigh. "For over I" he
mica aloud with sudden ardour, " Christians live for ever,
and love for ever, but they never part for ever. '1 hey part
as part the earth and sun, to meet more brightly in a little
while. You and I part here for life ; and what is our life ?
One line in the great story of the Church, whose son and
daughter wo aro ; one hanlful in the sand of time, one drop
in iho ocean of ' for ever.' Adieu, for the little moment
called ' life I' We part in trouble, we shall meet in peace ;
we part creatures of clay, we shall meet immortal spirits;
we part in a world of sin and sorrow, we shall meet where
all is purity and love divine, where no ill passions are, but
Christ is, and his saints around him, clad in white. There
in the turning of an hour-glass, in the breaking of a bubble,
in the passing of a cloud, she, and thou, and I, shall
meet again, and sit at the feet of angels and archangels,
apostles and saints, and beam like them with joy unspeak-
able, in the light of the shadow of God upon his throne,
for over, and ever, and ever."

THE SON OF GERALD AND MARGARET.

First sch,QlAr and divine of his epoch, ho was also t 1

heaven-born dramatist of his century. Some of the best
scenes in this new book are from his mediaeval pen, and
illumine the pages where they come, for the words of a
genius so high as his are not born to die ; their immediate
work upon mankind fulfilled, they may seem to lie torpid,
but at each fresh shower of intelligence time pours upon
their students, they revive, they spring from the dust of
great libraries, they bud, they flower, they fruit, they seed
from generation to generation, and from age to age.

FICTION ILLUSTRATING FACTS.
" Not a day passes over the earth," says the writer,
" but men and women of no note do great deeds, speak
great words, and suffer noble sorrows. Of these obscure
heroes, philosophers, and martyrs, the greater part will
never be anown till the hour when many that are great
shall be small, and the small great. But of others the
world's knowledge may be said to sleep, their lives and
characters lie hidden from nations in the annals that record
them. The general reader cannot feel them, they are pre-
sented so curtly and coldly ; they are not like breathing
stories appealing to his heart, but little historic hailstones
striking him but to glance off his bosom ; nor can he under-
stand them, for epitomes are not narratives, as skeletons are
not human figures. Thus records of prime truths remain a
dead letter to plain folk, the writers have left so much to
the imagination, and imagination is so rare a gift. Here,
then, the writer of fiction may be of use to the public as an
interpreter."

THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH.
In the valley of Grindelwald the traveller has on one side
the perpendicular Alps, all rock, ice, and everlasting snow,
towering above the clouds, and piercing to the sky; on his
other hand little everyday slopes, but green as emeralds,
and studded with cows, and pretty cots, and life ; whereas
those lofty neighbours stand leafless, lifeless, inhuman, and
sublime. Elsewhere sweet common places of nature are
apt to pass unnoticed, but fronting the grim Alps they
soothe and even gently strike the mind by contrast with
their tremendous opposite. Such in their way are the two
halves of this story, rightly looked at; or the Italian side
rugged adventure, strong passion, blasphemy, vice, peni-
tence, pure ice, holy men soaring direct at heaven ; on the
Dutch side all on a humble scale, but womanish, and ever
green, and as a pathway parts the ice towers of Grindelwald,
aspiring to the sky, from its little sunny braes, so here is
but a page between the Cloister and the Hearth.

GERARD AND THE PAINTER.
Gerard pursued criticism under difficulties. First, signor,
I would have you know, that in the mixing of certain co-
lours and in the preparation of your oils, you Italians are
far behind us Flemings. Meantime, I see in this picture
the great qualities of your nation. Verily, ye are soils
If we have colour, ye have imagination. Mother of
Heaven, an he hath not flung his immortal soul upon the
panel. One thing Igoby is this, it makes other pictures
I once admired drossy, earth-born things. The drapery
here is somewhat short and stiff. Why not let it float
freely, the figures being in air and motion ? I will, I will,
cried Pietro, eagerly, I will do anything for those who
will but see what 1 have done. Humph ! This landscape
it enlightens me. Henceforth I scorn those little muddled
landscapes that did erst content me. Here is Nature's
very face, a spacious plain, each distance marked, and every
tree, house, figure, field, and river smaller and less plain,
by exquisite gradation, till vision itself melts into distance.
Oh beautiful, and the cunning rogue hath hung his celes-
tial figure in air, out of the way of his little world below.
Here, floating saints beneath heaven's purple canopy ;
there, far down earth and her busy lives, and they let you
take this painted poetry, this blooming hymn, through the
streets of Rome, and bring it home unsold. But I tell thee
in Ghent, or Bruges, or even Rotterdam, they would tear
it out of thy hands. But 'tis a common saying that a
stranger's eye sees clearest. Courage, Pietro Vanucci, I
reverence thee, and though myself a scurvy painter, do for-
give thee for being a great one. Forgive thee, I thank
God for thee, and such rare men as thou art; and bow the
knee to thee in just homage. Thy picture is immortal, and
thou that haat but a chest to sit on, art a king in thy most
royal art. Viva it maestro, viva.
At this unexpected burst the painter, with all the aban-
don of his nation, flung himself on Gerard's neck. They.
said it was a maniac's dream, he sobbed• Maniacs them-
selves, no, idiots, shouted Gerard. Generous stranger, I
will hate men no more since the world bath such as thee.
I was a viper to fling away thy poor dinner, a wretch, a
monster. Well, monster will be gentle now, and sit with
me. Ah, that I will. Whence goest thou.
To (Tier supper on the instant. We will have the pic-
ture for the third man. " I will invite it whilst then
art gone, my poor picture-child of my heart. Ah,
master I it will look on many a supper after the worms
have eaten you and me." I hope so,' said Pietro."

THIS DAY'S MARKETS.

CORN EXCHANGE.

Fresh up to this morning's market the arrivals of Eng-
lish wheat were very moderate, and the trade ruled firm,
both for red and white qualities, at fully Monday's currency.
The show of foreign wheat was tolerably extensive. The
demand was by no means active ; nevertheless, a fair busi-
ness was transacted at full prices.

Floating cargoes of grain were in steady request at full
quotations.

In barley sales progressed slowly, yet no change took
place in its value.

Malt, with the exception of the finest qualities, was a
slow sale on former terms.

Good and fine oats sold steadily at quite previous rates,
but inferior parcels were a slow inquiry, though not cheaper.
The supply of both beans and peas continues small, and
the trade ruled firm at full currencies.
Most kinds of flour changed hands to a fair extent on for-
mer terms.