Smith, Elder and Co. first edition - 1847
Of all the author's novels I have read so far - some ten of them - this has been the most 'political'. James goes into some depth to explain the incidents and personnel behind what became known as the Rye House Plot, in the last years of Charles II's reign. In 1678, the so-called Popish Plot - a fictitious Catholic conspiracy to murder the king, fire the City and enthrone the Roman Catholic duke of York, with the aid of French and Irish troops - whose authors were the scoundrels Titus Oates and Israel Tongue, led to some 35 victims being judicially murdered, including the Roman Catholic Primate of Ireland. A Test Act that same year led to the exclusion of Roman Catholics from Parliament and the Whigs made use of the occasion to introduce Exclusion Bills. The aim was to exclude the duke of York from the succession; however, Charles twice dissolved Parliament to forestall the bills being passed. After the failure of the Exclusion Bills, Whig extremists and old Cromwellians planned to murder the king and his brother, on their return from Newmarket, near Rye House, Hertfordshire. The royal brothers left early and spoiled the plan. The plot was betrayed and many of the conspirators executed. These included Algernon Sidney and Lord Russell, who were not actively involved.
Charles II's reign is given short shrift by the author: it is perfectly inconceivable the mass of corrupt scheming which was to be found in England during the reign of the second Charles. It was not alone in the court or the cabinet, or the courts of law, or the houses of Parliament, but in every mansion, and in almost every family in the land...everyone was plotting to gain some end - power, gold, station, love, honour, fame - and all by tortuous paths, by cunning, trick, artifice, knavery, violence; but rarely violence where corruption would do. There was no shame; for, from the king to the link-boy, every one knew his neighbour to be a rogue, and there was no such thing as morals in the back parlour to shame the vice in the state drawing-room.
The author's portrayal of Russell borders on the hagiographic: ...the popular orator, the firm unshrinking advocate of the people's rights, the stern and daring reprover of misused authority...
The honour and uprightness of Lord Russell was not to be suspected. Severe he might have shown himself - perhaps in the heat of party, unjust; but false, never. He was known to be generous too, kind and affectionate in private life...at all events, his honour might be trusted.
After he is arrested on 26th June 1683, and put in the Tower of London, James assesses him as so complete a character perhaps the most perfect in history.
As with all of James' novels, there are plenty of other characters to entertain the reader. Charles Maldon, Lord Alcester and his devoted, but wronged, Henrietta Compton; Lord Francis de Vipont and Gertrude Ellerton, both fiercely in love with each other; Sir William Ellerton, Gertrude's father and the Earl of Vipont, so different from his son Francis; Emmeline de Vipont and her once-thought-drowned suitor, Henry Maldon, the lawful Lord Alcester, who is disguised as a fantastic 'juggler' for much of the tale; Sir Algernon Sidney, the firebrand; Lady Howard, who steels herself for the tragedy to come. They all withstand inspection as believable people. True love ne-er ran smooth, or, at least, novels don't allow it to, but usually it wins in the end. Thus, Francis and Gertrude, Henry and Emmeline will unite after the problems faced in the past few years. The bad guys get their desserts, but the good ones also have to suffer this time.
Here are pen pictures of three of them:
Dick Myrtle - he was naturally inquisitive, and both naturally and habitually fond of enterprise; so that he was very careless of his own safety, and not very prudent in his own decisions; yet to do him but justice, he was keen, provident, and politic in the execution of his designs, however rashly they might be framed, and always more thoughtful in the service of others than in his own case.
the treacherous Lord Howard of Escrick - principle, without honour, corrupt in morals, nearly ruined in fortune, without attachments, gratitude, sincerity or affection (with) a repugnance to speaking the truth...
the scheming, amoral Sir Frederick Beltingham - he went boldly forward, with captivating and insinuating manners, subtle eloquence, and total want of principle, endeavouring, whenever he had the opportunity, to corrupt the mind...
James is nothing if he is not philosophising, however trite the matter might be.
Cares - Nor was it alone that sadness which comes from great and heavy misfortune, even long endured, but rather that of cares - knawing,[sic] small, diurnal, pitiful cares. The great misfortunes fall and crush, or are endured and cast off. It is the daily, anxious care that clings to the brain or heart, that sucks slowly like a vampire, till all be dry, the sources or mental and corporeal energy.
Idleness - I have nought on which to bestow my idleness. I cannot go to sleep, like a dog in its hutch; nor wash my face with my paws, like a cat in a window; nor lie snug in a hole, and look out without showing my nose, like a fox; nor sit with my legs bundled up under me, like a hare in her form. I have no way of amusing myself, I tell you, but to stay here and see you look grim and fierce, and eat the nails off your left hand, as if hay were not to be found in the market, and there were no thistles upon the common.
Tyranny - anarchy lasts but a season, tyranny is perennial. It is the Upas tree which lives for centuries, spreading death over all that comes beneath its branches. I would rather die a thousand deaths than live one year a slave.
On of the problems with keeping so many balls (or characters) in the air, is that chapters have to hive off in another direction and, only some pages later, return to the former narrative. James knew this and actually commented on it in Chapter II of Volume II: the reader has been annoyed at our digress: the critic has pronounced it a fault to interrupt the narrative at an interesting point, in order to introduce an episodical conversation totally apart from the subject which preoccupied the mind. But, reader and critic, it was unavoidable, and of all the thousand ways which you point out for arranging the matter differently, there is not one which would have answered its purpose. I had a journey to perform, and was forced to perform it; nor have I delayed by the way, but spurring on my pad with relentless rowels, here I am again at the gloomy little inn...
I still have Arabella Stuart to read; and then, surely, I will be on the look out for more of the author's tales. Prolix, yes; worth reading; also yes.
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