I admit it - I enjoy reading G.P.R. James' novels. That probably puts me in a minority, although in the middle decades of the 19th century he was a best-seller, however much the snooty critics might sneer. Why do I like him? It is partly his narrative drive, partly his description of nature and scenery (although he does have a tendency to 'go over the top' and the occasional purple passage makes the reader wince); and partly because he does create genuinely interesting characters. And, in this novel, being a Royalist at heart, I am sympathetic to the hero and his beliefs.
The story is set in the period just after Charles I has been betrayed by the Scots and is imprisoned by the English Parliamentary forces. The hero, Henry Masterton, is the second son of a Royalist who is keeping his head down in deepest Devonshire. The King, typically, had offended both Lord Masterton and his great friend the Earl of Langleigh, the one light, gay, quick, vehement; the other calm, stern, cold, determined. Both oppose the king's increasing use of his prerogative. Langleigh, the 'gay' one, ends up in the Tower but escapes and is presumed lost in a storm in the Channel. Lord Masterton's character is determined thereafter - the disappointment of his ambition, the humiliation of his pride, the death of his wife, and the loss of his friend, had all more or less contributed to add both gloom and sternness to my father's character...He does, however, stick to a promise to marry his eldest son to Langleigh's daughter Emily. She is now 17 and Frank 19.
The first two volumes are told in the first person by Henry. Although Lord Masterton will not get engaged in any attempt to rescue the king himself, he does give permission for Henry and the elder son, Frank, to take a small force to aid Lord Goring (now Lord Norwich) against the Parliamentarians in Kent. On their way they come across a certain General St Maur and a companion (more of both later) and, then, Walter Dixon, who proves throughout the three volumes to be a rotten apple. Linked to Dixon, appears to be Gabriel Jones, Frank's valet, a nasty, canting Presbyterian type of rascal - in fact, a knave!. The story is too convoluted (although James manages with some skill to keep his hands firmly on the reins throughout the plotting) to detail in a short Blog such as this and one doesn't want to give too much away either.
Suffice it to say, Frank and Henry halt on the way to join Goring at Penford-bourne, where the lady of the manor, the Lady Eleanor Fleming, offers them lodgings. Big mistake for Frank, as he goes downhill thereafter. Henry is also spell-bound - never, certainly, did I behold a more beautiful creature than she who stood before us... She and Frank fall head over heels in love (or lust). He fails to go with Henry to meet up with Goring; Henry, in fact, makes a name for himself helping to ward off the Parliamentarians attacking the Royalists. From then on, Henry is the hero, Frank the miscreant. Although, the latter should be marrying Emily Langleigh, he now does not want to; Emily actually loves Henry anyway!
The story moves to France and Henry and the reader meet Monsieur le Marquis de Vitray, one of those characters who Scott and James seem to love dragging into their tales. His whole life is spent extolling France and it does wear the reader down having to listen to yet another paean. Only his undoubted kindness saves him from being a total prat! The bad, and the not so good, characters - such as Frank and Eleanor, Dixon and Sir Andrew Fleming - meet deservedly sticky ends; whilst St Maur proves to be the Earl of Langleigh, Emily's father and Henry and Emily end up happily married. Strangely, the first two volumes are written in the first (Henry's) person but, at the end of Volume II, it has a Note Bene. Here endeth the private history of that honourable gentleman, Henry Masterton, as written by his own hand; what followeth being compiled by me, John Woolsanger, A.M., in the year of grace 1675-6, from authentic sources, as shall be shown hereafter, Woolsanger is the rector of Masterton parish. What this allows the author to do, of course, is to relate events which Henry could not possibly have witnessed or known about. What the narrative loses in its immediacy and singularity, it gains in width.
One or two extracts to give the flavour of the book:
I eagerly embarked in the strife; of course, amongst the advocates of change, each of whom was following his own particular purpose exactly as I was following mine: each of whom - covered under what pretence he would - strove for some private and selfish object; either wealth, power, fame, ambition, or, worst of all, fanaticism...We were all selfish alike - we are all selfish alike - we shall be all selfish alike to the end of the world.
Each man who served, or pretended to serve the Monarch, in fact and truth served his own passions, his own interests, and his own prejudices first; and then gave the dregs of his obedience to his master.
A purple passage: There was a sound of wakening through the air too: the matutinal birds, one by one, were bursting into song; and a distant hum told that the busy world of insects had begun their daily labour and delight. The voice of thanksgiving for the bright gift of day, seemed to rise from creation to the gates of Heaven; and every thing, from the diamond dew-drops clustered on the leaves of grass, to the effulgent sky under which they shone, appeared robed in splendour for the morning sacrifice.
Frank Masterton loved Lady Eleanor with undiminished fire: he fancied passion an excuse for vice...
...in the conduct of The Monk he saw nothing but the tortuous and cunning method which the children of the Romish Church pursued to obtain the information of which they were so covetous...
Parliamentarians: a junto of upstarts, amongst whom are some honest and sincere men, some wise and talented ones, some fools, some hypocrites, and many knaves.
On the penultimate page of Volume III, the author wrote: I have mentioned all the persons connected with this history, except him whom we have distinguished by the name of little Ball-o'-fire; but, as his after-fate is treated of in another book, it is not for me to speak of it here. One can only assume James must have written, or be engaged in writing, John Marston Hall, which was published in three volumes by Longman in 1834. I have the first edition and will, of course, look forward to reading it before the month of June is out.
No comments:
Post a Comment