tive young doctor came a little later in and the prospects of her daughter; in the evening he shook his head. a word, he asserted his authority as a brother, and Joyce was relieved and happy to obey him. "Yes," he said, "I see that she is asleep and quiet-too quiet. It is a foretaste of a longer sleep; some old people have it." For the first time Joyce's courage seemed to give way. When she had been alone she was brave enough, but now that her brother was there, woman-like, she seemed to turn to him with a sudden fear. They stood side by side, near the bed, and the young doctor involuntarily watched them. Stephen had taken her hand in his with that silent sympathy which was SO natural and so eloquent. He said nothing, this big, sun-tanned youth; he did not even glance down at his sister, who stood small, soft-eyed, and gentle at his side. The doctor knew something of the history of the small family thus momentarily united, and he had always feared that if Stephen Leach did return it would only kill his mother. This, indeed, seemed to be the result about to follow. Presently the doctor took his leave. He was a young man engaged in getting together a good practice, and in his own interest he had been forced to give up waiting for his patients to finish dying. "I am glad you are here," he said to Stephen, who accompanied him to the door. "It would not do for your sister to be alone; this may go on for a couple of days." It did not go on for a couple of days, but Mrs. Leach lived through that night in the same semi-comatose state. The two watchers sat in her room until supper-time, when they left their mother in charge of a hired nurse, whose services Joyce had been forced to seek. After supper Stephen Leach seemed at last to find his tongue, and he talked in his quiet, almost gentle voice, such as some big men possess, not about himself or the past, but about Joyce and the future. In a deliberate, businesslike way, he proceeded to investigate the affairs of the dying woman VOL. XII. 586 LIVING AGE. It is not in times of gaiety that friendships are formed, but in sorrow or suspense. During that long evening this brother and sister suddenly became intimate, more so than months of prosperous intercourse could have made them. At ten o'clock Stephen quietly insisted that Joyce should go to bed, while he lay down, all dressed, on the sofa in the dining-room. "I shall sleep perfectly; it is not the first time I have slept in my clothes," he said simply. They went up-stairs together and told the nurse of this arrangement. Joyce remained for some moments by the bedside watching her mother's peaceful sleep, and when she turned she found that Stephen had quietly slipped away. Wondering vaguely whether he had intentionally solved her difficulty as to the fraternal good-night, she went to her own room. The next morning Mrs. Leach was fully conscious, and appeared to be stronger; nevertheless, she knew that the end was near. She called her two children to her bedside, and, turning her blind eyes towards them, spoke in broken sentences: "I am ready now-I am ready," she said. "Dears, I am going to your father-and-thank God, I can tell him that I have left you together. I always knew Stephen would come back. I found it written everywhere in the Bible. Stephen-kiss me, dear!" The man leaned over the bed and kissed her. "Ah!" she sighed, "how I wish I could see you-just once before I die. Joyce!" she added, suddenly turning to her daughter, who stood at the other side of the bed, "tell me what he is like. But I know, I know-I feel it. Listen! He is tall and spare, like his father. His hair is black, like his father's-it was black before he went away. His eyes, I know, are darkalmost black. He is pale-like a Spaniard!" Joyce, looking across the bed with slow horror dawning in her face, looked into a pair of blue eyes beneath tawny hair, cut short as a soldier's hair should be. She looked upon a man big, broad, fair-English from crown to toe-and the quiet command of his lips made her say: "Yes, mother, yes." For some moments there was silence. Joyce stood pale and breathless, wondering what this might mean. Then the dying woman spoke again: "Kiss me," she said. "I am going. Stephen first-my firstborn! And now, Joyce and now kiss each other-across the bed! I want to hear it-I want-to tell-your-father." With a last effort she raised her hands, seeking their heads. At first Joyce hesitated, then she leaned forward, and the old woman's chilled fingers pressed their lips together. That was the end. Half an hour afterwards Joyce and this man stood facing each other in the little dining-room. He began his explanation at once. "Stephen," he said, "was shot-out there as a traitor. I could not tell her that! I did not mean to do this, but what else could I do?" He paused, moved towards the door with that same strange hesitation which she had noticed on his arrival. At the door he turned to justify himself: "He asked me to come and tell you," he added. "I shall go back now." They stood thus: he watching her face with his honest soft blue eyes, she failing to meet his glance. "May I come back again?" he asked suddenly. She gave a little gasp, but made no answer. "I will come back in six months," he announced quietly, and then he closed the door behind him. HENRY SETON MERRIMAN. From The Gentleman's Magazine. ENGLISH AND AMERICANS IN FRENCH FICTION. Novelists can expect lasting celebrity only in proportion to the importance and permanency of their subjects; for principles and topics have their vicissitudes in common with all human things. It is the province of the novelist to throw light on characters, and since the rapid development of the means of travelling, fiction is becoming more and more international every year. M. Jules Verne has taken us "Round the World in Eighty Days," and now the foreigner is frequently introduced into the fiction of the three great book-producing countries of the world-France, England, and the United States of America. It may be "I still think," he said gravely, "that true that the Mistress Jones and Sir it was the best thing to do." Joyce made no answer. The tears stood in her eyes. There was something very pathetic in the distress of this strong man, facing, as it were, an emergency of which he felt the delicacy to be beyond his cleverness to handle. "Last night," he went on, "I made all the necessary arrangements for your future just as Stephen would have made them-as a brother might have done. I he and I were brother-officers in a very wild army. Your brotherwas not a good man. None of us were." His hand was on the door. Williams in French novels are rather poor translations of Mrs. Jones and Sir John Williams seen in London drawingrooms, and the Transatlantic Britons as seen through Parisian authors' glasses are not "such real flesh-andblood men and women of the States" as those, for instance, whom Mr. Henry James so well limns; but the French people introduced into English and American novels are also frequently exaggerated specimens of humanity. The wonderful series of cosmopolitan novels written by M. Jules Verne, and the skilfully drawn descriptions of the adventures of the English and American tourists among the Greek brigands in Edmond About's "Le roi des montagnes" may be said to be the forerunners of a marked improvement in French works of fiction dealing with Anglo-Saxon characters. Before Jules Verne and Edmond About, the British and Yankee creations of French authors were quite as ridiculous as the caricatures still seen on the stage of the minor Parisian music-halls. The study of the English language is now regarded as an important subject in all French public schools, and translations of the best works of contemporary British and American novelists are an important feature in the principal Parisian publishers' catalogues. He has often The most cosmopolitan of all contemporary French novelists is M. Paul Bourget, who is not only one of the leaders of the psychological school, but is also a great traveller. expressed the greatest sympathy and admiration for England and the English, and his "Etudes anglaises, fantaisies, pastels, dix portraits de femme" (published in 1889), is a good sample of his sincerity. His most characteristic novel is that entitled "Cosmopolis," and in it we are introduced to a combination of those lights and shadows of cosmopolitan life which none but a citizen of the world is qualified to give us. The various personages, with the single exception of the Legitimist Marquis de Montfanon, frequent the same shady society in Cosmopolis (which, according to the author's interpretation, means Rome), and there is an entire absence of that effeminate softness which pervades the ordinary French novel. A Venetian noble middle-aged lady, the Countess Steno, a licentious and degraded character, has two lovers, a Polish Count Gorka and an American artist named Maitland. The count is married to an English lady, who is not in the least suspicious of her husband; and the wife of the American artist is a French girl with negro blood in her veins, who delights in mischief-making. include a rich Jewish baron, his daughter Fanny; a ruined Italian Prince Ardea, who is desirous of marrying the Jew's daughter; and a French author named Dorsenne. This description of the characters almost explains the action of the novel. In what is called the world of fashion, capricious and changeable as it is, there will always be new follies and new vices to engage the attention and provoke the ahimadversion of the moral observer. M. Bourget presents an animated and perhaps a too correct picture of modern manners in a certain class of society, and the novel-reader of either sex may draw many useful and important lessons from the scenes he exhibits to their view. There are also some clever portraits of English and Americans in M. Edouard Rod's "Scènes de la vie cosmopolite." In M. Henri Rabusson's "Sans entraves," one of the characters, Yvonne, a worthless woman, has an English drunken husbaud, who turns up at awkward moments. There is also a beautiful and wealthy American girl, who is by no means happily married to a French nobleman. There are several other well-drawn characters in this novel, and the author has been no less successful in painting the fastidious extravagances of thoroughbred women of fashion. The late "Claude Vignon" has presented some marvellous pic 1 "Claude Vignon 39 was the nom de plume of the first wife of M. Rouvier, the French politician and ex-president of the Council. As "Claude Vignon," Madame Rouvier was well known in journalism, literature, and art. Her real name was Noëmie Cadiot, and she was married in early life to M. Constant, an ex-priest. After his death she marríed M. Rouvier, who was much attached to her, Owing to her political, literary, and artistic connections, Madame Rouvier had many foes who were jealous of her reputation, and were in the habit of saying malicious things about her. Only a few days before her death one of her husband's bitterest opponents taunted her with having been on the Secret Service List of Napoleon III. She sent works of sculpture to the Salon on many occasions, and, besides, contributed to the pages of various French and Belgian newspapers. The daughter of the Countess Steno is a virtuous girl, and the brother of Mrs. Maitland is a man of honor. The other characters She wrote several novels, which, if they revealed no touches of genius, were at least very readable, from the fact that their characters, according to some, were taken from real life. tures of English and Americans in the novel "Une etrangère," There is an American adventuress, who foists a supposititious child on an English peer, and, after a series of experiences, finally takes refuge in injections of morphia. The plot is interesting and highly dramatic. With boldness characteristic of the author, the American woman and the English peer are taken into strange quarters and meet with strange companions. Around the central motive is woven a most ingenious fabric of love, adventure, crime, and retribution, constructed in a bold and most picturesque manner. M. Jean Malic's "Flirtage" is a volume of amusing short stories. The heroine of the first is an American young lady called Miss Millie Lobster. The freeborn Yankee girl is naturally a flirt, and her first victim is a Frenchman, M. Jean de Ville d'Avray. Miss Lobster soon transfers her affections to a young Englishman, and the Frenchman departs a wiser and sadder man. Lively stories of Anglo-Saxon girls will also be found in the collection entitled "Flirts," by M. Lionel Radiguet. M. Pierre Monfalcone's novel, "Monte Carlo intime," seems to have been written for the purpose of exposing the gambling saloons. Cosmopolitan characters abound and the events tread each other's heels with an almost over unless it be distinguished by some quality which no other class of the community possesses. Distinction is the basis of aristocracy. If you permit only one class of the population, for example, to bear arms, they are an aristocracy; not one much to my taste, but still a great fact. That, however, is not the characteristic of the English peerage. I have yet to learn they are richer than we are, better informed, wiser, or more distinguished for public or private virtue. Is it not monstrous, then, that a small number of men, several of whom take the titles of duke and earl from towns in this very neighborhood, towns which they never saw, which never heard of them, which they did not form, or build, or establish-I say, is it not monstrous that individuals so circumstanced should be invested with the highest of conceivable privileges-the privilege of making laws?" This passage from Lord Beaconsfield's political novel has been paraphrased by more than one contemporary French novelist, and some of their characters are not unlike those to men. be found in "Coningsby." Some of the authors have also taken the liberty of using the titles of living British nobleFor instance, one of the characters of M. Pierre Cour's novel, "Les derniers de leur race," is a governess "chez le duc d'Argyll." on In M. Charles d'Osson's "Brelan de docteurs," a lunatic English heroine has the title of Lady Clarendon. The living repre whelming rapidity. The author sharply admonishes the reigning Prince of Monaco for allowing his beautiful territory to be transformed into a "gambling hell." There are also several French novels wherein millionaire Yankees and travelling heiresses from New York are conspicuous by their absence, and English lords and ladies shine in all their glory. To many French readers of fiction an English lord is of higher rank than a foreign duke or marquis. "But, sir, is not the aristocracy of England," said Coningsby, "a real one? You do not confound our peerage, for example, with the degraded patricians of the Continent?" "Hum" said Millbank. "I do not understand how an aristocracy can exist. sentatives of the House of Lords, however, can scarcely find fault with the late M. Albert Delpit for selecting the title of "Lord Willie Pérégode" for the English hero in "La vengeresse," nor with Madame Hortense Roland for having chosen that of "Lord Lovely" for the kind-hearted English nobleman in her novel "Moines et comédiennes." Lord Lovely does much to alleviate the sufferings of the heroine, Diana de Vaux Bois, who is persecuted by a terrible set of Jesuits, "les pères Gaforites," bent on securing the inheritance which belongs to her. Madame Roland's novel is to a great extent a pale imitation of Bugène Sue's, but the adventures of the impossible English nobleman are quite as amusing as "Max O'Rell's" works. The Comtesse de Castellana-Acquaviva's novel, "Le mariage de Lady Constance," is more satisfactory from an English point of view. In fact, it could pass very well for a French translation of a modern English novel. The comtesse has evidently mixed freely in English society, and studied the best authors and authorities. M. Georges Ohnet has also invented British titles for his novels. In "Noir et rose," the proud representative of the House of Lords is the Marquis of Mellivan Grey. He has a daughter named Daisy, and the plot deals with her romantic love story. M. Georges Duval in "Master Punch" describes the history of Lord Madigan, his son William, and that son's beloved, Margaret Stent. M. Alfred Sirven introduces into his new novel, "La Femme du Fou," an English duke, who leaves the following will: It Romano from a mountain grave in the Pyrenees. The French lover, Etienne Pelletier, is a thorough scoundrel, and the Englishman manly and noble. is not often that we find a French novelist bold enough to show a countryman to disadvantage and a son of "Perfidious Albion" to advantage. In M. A. de Bernard's novel, "Les épreuves d'une héritière," the wicked suitor is an Englishman, and the good one is an Italian. The heiress is an English young lady, who has sixty thousand a year. The young lady is naturally a "prize-packet," and the jealous rivals are not afraid of spilling blood to win her. Some interesting English characters will also be found in M. Gusta ve Genevoix's "Duel féminin," Madame Jeanne Leroy's "Roman d'Arlette," Th. Bentzon's (Madame Blanc) "Miss Jane," and M. Hector Malot's "Sans famille." The experiences of French people in England, especially London, as depicted by French novelists, have not been so satisfactory as their description of British subjects sojourning in "la belle France." This is partly owing to the fact that Parisian authors I bequeath to the Blue Lady my total income for one year-namely, three millions on my capital deposited in the Bank of England, which have received orders in consequence. Duke Harris-Harrison. The author also informs his readers have frequent opportunities of studythat ing British tourists in the gay capital, while their own visits to the metropolis Colney Hatch is an establishment which have been of short duration, and often greatly resembles our Bicêtre. It is situated three miles from London, in the middle of a vast and verdant meadow; the air is healthy and strengthening. This contributes not a little to the recovery of the patients, who for the most part have had their brains deranged by the disgusting and putrid fogs of the great city. We may now pass from lords and dukes to knights and baronets, who are fairly well represented in contemporary French fiction. It would be impossible to mention all of them in this paper, but here are two. The hero of M. Armand Ocampo's novel, "Une passion," is Sir W. Albert Stone, and that of M. A. Rassetti's "Rosa Romano" is Sir Richard Ashley. The hero of the last named novel is a sympathetic personage, and he rescues Rosa do not extend beyond a mile of Leicester Square. Even a brilliant critic and journalist like the late M. Auguste Vitu, who was not inclined to romancing, has written equally absurd descriptions of London manners. In one of the volumes of the "Mille et une nuits de théâtre" he informs his read ers: Since the year 1850, thirty thousand Frenchmen at least annually visit England; the Strand and Regent Street are quite as familiar to us as the Boulevard des Italiens and the Rue de la Paix; one can speak and eat French in Charing Cross, in Pall Mall, at the Royal Coffee,' at Dieudonné's, at Morley's Hotel, and everywhere. The Figaro is sold in Leicester Square like here in the Rue de Croissant, and musical criticism, which 1 M. Vitu means the Café Royal. |