T'

By Julius

HE controversy in progress for nearly a century regarding claim to the first place in literature is about to be reopened. The decision was all but made in favor of the drama, the poet being the ally of the playwright; the fight was an unequal one for the prose writer, and appearances indicated his complete rout. But, in the last ten years the novelist has come to the fore, and by furnishing more than one-half the suggestions and dialogue to the playwright has countermined an The apparently impregnable position. chief claim of the dramatic author has been that he was a creator, an original student of human life. Now, we detect

him "adapting,"-which is an euphonic expression for "filching,"-his most successful work from the popular novels of to-day or yesterday! How could the present season have opened had not such prose work as "Vanity Fair," "The Bath Comedy" or "Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch" been in existence? Last winter, we had so many "adaptations" that your valuable. space cannot be spared to enumerate them.

Therefore, I assert that the form of literature called "the novel" is rapidly approaching and will ultimately preempt the place originally and undisputedly held by the drama.

A "novel" must be much more than a "story." It does not deserve the name unless it contains a clearly defined study of character, and by that is meant an interesting member of the human family. I

Chambers

Number 27 I

Novel

do not say that a morbid or mentally and physically deformed specimen of creation may not possess interest. It may, for a class. The "novel" that will universally please never will be written. Look over the English field, and see how unattainable. the ideal! Bulwer more nearly achieves universal approbation than any writer in our language. And yet, I have heard critics say that he wore kid gloves when he wrote! Dickens falls short, we are told, because he is successful only as a student of low life. Mehercule! His transcendent mastership as a writer of pathos is overlooked by the masses who belong to the class he describes. Thackeray, again, wrote too well, it is said, and created only three children of his brain that will live,Newcome, Esmond and Becky Sharp. Charles Reade, forsooth, only understood woman, just as if one life-time were long enough to learn more! Hawthorne was a dreamer, declares Sir Critic, and can only be read in the atmosphere of the Salem witch-house! In all this cavilling is more or less truth. If our prose fiction could go back to Fielding and start anew I sincerely believe we would soonest attain the ideal "novel."

The modern "novel" is great in just so far as it furnishes a study of interesting human character. Writers of the so-called psychological school are often too learned to maintain interest. They give us a deal of information that does not command our attention or divert our minds while we peruse the page upon which it is spread.

I doubt very much if a mere narrative can be classed under the head of the "novel." The latter comprehends much more. Its essence is the study of a living creature. We have recently been shown by a newspaper man, and in his first book, that an Alaskan dog can be made the hero of a fascinating story. I mention this because of my unqualified belief in the newspaper as a sprouting bed for novelists.

To reply to your suggestion directly, I beg to express the opinion that the modern novel belongs to the highest type of literature; that its advancement is very largely due to the so-called "historical novel;" and, therefore, it follows that the employment of that form of fiction been beneficial to literature.

has

to

Theoretically, in my opinion, the highest type of "novel" should not attempt teach, perhaps, "instruct" is a better word. Intense human interest should be the prime requirement! Whether this can be attained without entering fields of art, science or travel, with which the general reader is unacquainted, is doubtful. Trollope would appear to have failed in dealing with the conventionalities of life. He made a supreme effort to interest us in the people we meet every day; for a time, he had a certain vogue, but he is as dead today as the Greek who carried Xenophon's silver tablet, on which he scratched his notes of the Kuropatkin-like retreat of the "Ten Thousand."

But, why discuss the apparently unattainable? Let us try to see what we have and why it is as good as it is.

The modern "novel" probably dates from the Roger de Coverly papers in the "Spectator." Steele claimed the idea; Addison took the credit. The evolution of an idea is often curious. In journalism "the idea" is more than half the "story." But in literature, so called, an idea will not create a book any more than one swallow will make a Summer. I remember to have heard a man of average intelligence set up a claim for Washington Irving as joint author of "Ivanhoe," because Irving had suggested the character of Rebecca to Scott. Recurring to Sir Roger, it is probable that Joseph Addison and Sir Richard

Steele consumed many mugs of punch during their symposiums, and that the genial old man was the product of mutual profundity and potations. Sir Roger's place in literature is much more firmly fixed than those of his creators! The affection we feel for him in our hearts is akin to that cherished for Colonel Newcome. And yet, in the interval between the advent of Sir Roger and the appearance of Newcome, all kinds of incidents

had happened to the "novel."-Sir Walter He is responsi

Scott, to name only one.

ble for the "historical novel," as we try to comprehend it. His claim can only be conceded by effacing all recognition of Josephus, Rabelais and Froissart. Of course, those gentlemen were not "novelists," although they were writers of fiction. Say what we may, Scott dominated the English reading world for half a century.

Much of his work is the best in our tongue: some of it would be vastly improved had it gone through the copy-desk of a morning newspaper. This will sound flippant to readers who consider the product of an immortal pen something sacred. They ought to remember what Coley Ciber did to make Shakespeare's plays coherent; what John Forster did for some of the best of Charles Dickens's manuscripts. After Scott came a drove of imitators. Name to me a story writer who hasn't had a try at the "historical novel!"

Objection is now heard from several quarters to this manner of exploiting historical fact. If real incidents be utilized the writer's work is lifted out the realm of fiction; naturally, therefore, the better the history the more inferior the imagination. Undeniably, instruction exists in many modern "novels." A full course in Dumas is a liberal education in French history; but under the supreme tests advanced by Saintsbury and Howells, not more than three of our beloved Dumas's screeds are "novels!" Aside from the D'Artagnan quartette and Edmund Dantes, the reader never gets well acquainted with the personality of the characters that so intensely interest him. They are wonderfully popu lar in every language, a hall-mark of greatness that criticism cannot efface!

One great claim put forward in behalf of the "historical novel" is that it neces

sarily gives "progression,”—as the playwrights say, to the story; and this is not a trifling claim. "Progression" is a requisite, but it belongs to the first principles of the art. The story that hasn't "progression" is a failure,-unless it be a tale of youth, the only stage in life that reckons not of time. The supreme difficulty of awakening interest in a warmed-over incident of history is not always recognized by the writers of "novels." Those who contend for the sacrifice of truth claim a poet's license to commit anachronisms and to take liberties. with geography and topography. "Local color" and "atmosphere" are two qualities that those writers swear by; their "prythee, fair maid" and "Harke ye!" remind one of the Londoper who makes a three days' excursion to the French capital and forever after designates it as "Paree." In books of this class, travellers in strange lands conform to the language, customs and religion of the natives after a few hours' residence. And, often, such books supply charming entertainment.

After reading Froude's "sketch" of Cæsar, we are almost inclined to doubt the necessity for the "novel" form of imparting historical information. That is a book not garnished with imaginary conversations or controversies about questions of morals or statecraft, contemporary with the chief character of the "sketch."

In the literature of the present, "analyses of character" are generally overdone. Mr. Howells is an offender in this respect. Nothing can be less natural than the introduction of a figure in a story, followed by a dissection of his nerves and brain fiber. Incidents like that do not occur in life. That isn't the way we grow acquainted with people. When a stranger is thrown into the society of the average man woman he or she is satisfied if a favorable

or

or unfavorable classification be made. First impressions are powerful, but not final, influences in determining the future progress of an acquaintance. Dickens understood the development of friendly relations between the reader and the people who live in Book-land! This art is best seen in some of his least successful stories.

Finally, I believe the modern "novel" to be an admirable medium through which to inculcate morality, to teach science to the unschooled, to awaken a liking for history and to increase the reverence all human animals aspire to feel for their Creator. This only accords to the "historical novel" a place in the kindergarten of literature! When you ask me if the "novel" may be effectively used "to spread the Gospel," I am not prepared to admit that its mission extends into that field. To me religion is quite sacred. The essence of religious belief, no matter what its form, is that God is all-powerful and man has access to Him. Anybody who can prove that this nearness to the Almighty can be assisted by writers of fiction may change my humble opinion. The theme of bringing man to his Maker appears rather an ambitious one, to say nothing more. Ingraham, Wallace, Sinkeovitz have had. courage to attempt the task of thus dealing with ing with Christianity.-an important branch of the Eternal Faith that numbers one-fifth of all the peoples on earth. Whatever success they have achieved has been attained by contrasting the brutality of the "Pagan" non-believer with the gentleness and lovable amiability of the Christian. believer. That may be, and probably is, excellent "religion," but it is not literary

art.

Meanwhile, greater power to the "novel," say I. Let us have more of them, not fewer.