MR. SHORTHOUSE'S NEW TALE.* Mn. SHORTHOUSE has written nothing since
John Inglesant so good as this little tale, though, of course, it cannot fairly be compared with the high effort of imagination by which he gained his literary fame. The Countess Eve is a slight story, without any of the historical substance which, thoroughly penetrated as it was with a great power of imaginative vision, gave ita chief interest to the longer tale. Nevertheless, it is a remarkable little story, dealing with the mystical aspects of temptation in a manner which, though perfectly pure and free from any kind of dangerous fascination, pro- duces a profound impression on the reader's mind. Mr Shorthouse has always a singular skill in conveying the effect of moral atmosphere. Not one of his tales, how- ever brief and slight, misses a certain charm of that kind But then one wants something more than atmosphere to make a tale, delightful as that is as an adjunct to other and more striking literary effects ; and here we have that:something more in the vividness with which the tempter is presented to us, a tempter not, indeed, in the flesh, and yet not merely subjective, for he is perceptible to others besides the person tempted, though perceptible in very different forms,—in a relatively pleasing form to him who is his victim, but in a form of ghastly repulsiveness to the friend who is so desirous to ward off temptation from the weak and wayward nature of his companion. But it is not merely the preternatural, or, as some would now call it, the spiritualistic element in The Countess Eve which strikes the reader. That is admirably done, both because it is vividly and temperately conceived, conceived so as to be in perfect harmony with the nature of the person tempted, and at the same time so as to present to the reader an agency quite distinct from the passions of the person tempted, and with a dramatic life and character of its own. But the preter- natural or spiritualistic element, if taken alone, would not be half so impressive as it is in its combination with the story of the moral deterioration which takes place in the mind of the man who is the object of this diabolic assault on his light and inconstant nature. The working of the evil purposes of the tempter on the fastidious but uncontrolled and delicately flexible nature of the exquisite French actor who is the subject of temptation, makes a really powerful picture, what is, in a sense, preternatural in it only adding meaning and force to what is strictly natural to all moral degeneracy. Let us 'first introduce the evil being who is, in a sense, the chief character of the piece, a Mephistopheles
who is in general visible only to one of his victims, though on one occasion at least he is half-perceived by the other, and is discerned in all his hideousness by the fine violinist to whom, characteristically enough, Mr. Shorthouse entrusts the duty of a kind of earthly guardian angel. The two friends, the
actor and the violinist, are supping with the Comte du Pic-
Adam,—a middle-aged man who appears almost insensible to the charm of his beautiful young wife, the Countess Eve,—
and as the violinist plays over a fine air which had delighted his audience during the play, this is what the actor,—already half in love with the Countess Eve,—sees :— "The plaintive note changed into the clear, holy joy of a pure love that meets its fellow and is glad, and in Valliere's eyes gleamed with a sudden terror indescribable in words, for from behind the gay, flowering screen, out of the weird darkness beyond, there glided a faint, shadowy figure and stood beside the Countess's couch, leaning towards her as if to speak. Faint and almost in- definite at first, the figure became momentarily more distinct. A strange, absorbing feeling took possession of la Valliere's mind— in answer, as it seemed, to a corresponding effort on the part of the appearance itself—an intense desire for a clearer vision; for though the figure apparently concentrated its attention entirely upon the Countess, yet there emanated from it, so to speak, an indescribable effluence of temptation and attraction, luring in Valliere's fancy to endeavour to see more clearly, to be better acquainted with what he saw. As the bewitching strains of the violin continued, and this mysterious intruder became more clear and distinct to his excited sense, it seemed to In Valliere that a figure, habited as a French abb4, was leaning on the arm of the Countess's seat and whispering in her ear. It seemed that its presence was unper- ceived by the Countess herself, or by any of the other persons in the room ; but after a few seconds of this strange intercourse—if such it could be called—the attitude and manner of the Countess changed inexplicably. She raised her eyes from the fire, and her look had undergone a surprising change. The hopeless weariness was gone, and in its place was an expression of startled, expectant interest and excitement, subdued and chastened, but real and strong. Did la Valliere deceive himself, or, in the soft, dreamy light across the tremulous motion of the fan, was this
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The Countess Bee. By J K Shorthouse. London !Lae nillaa sal co.
altered look directed towards himself? Did, it say ?—certainly he interpreted it so to say—' In place of stony indifference, of cold abstraction and repugnance almost, shall I not find, can I not find, the love for which I yearn—the sympathy and tender- ness—elsewhere? And if elsewhere, surely here.' The glamour of a dream seemed to pervade the whole scene—the softened light, the leaping flame of the wood fire, the strains of the violin—and over all a sense of mystic atmosphere, within which all things seemed transfigured, a thin golden haze of soft light, in which In Valliere's face and slight figure became more attractive and the loveliness of the Countess more lovely still ; and always, in la
Valliere's eyes, the figure by the couch became clearer and more clear, till at last it turned its face directly towards the young man, and the eyes met his with a quite friendly, confidential gaze. It Was certainly the figure of a French abbe, but the expression of the face was such as no French abbe—no, nor any other man—had ever displayed. For the moment it was that of an almost amiable suavity—almost, because the peculiarity of the face consisted in the conviction that the sight of it produced, that any expression it might wear was only for a moment ; that any amiable or pleasing expression especially was but the result of effort, the mere masque of an actor, not the result of amiability itself. It was an expression instinct with a sense of change, infinitely fugitive, protean, indicating nothing, it seemed, so much as an indefinite capacity; which, in whatever direction it might tend, was certaanly not suggestive of good. This sense of change ex- tended even to the features, so that no man could have positively defined them even to himself, much less have conveyed any idea of them to others. The most that could be said of them was, that they conveyed a general impression of power and of a certain distinction; not exactly, however, in the sense in which men generally understand the word, for it seemed to arise from the fact that the origin was indefinite and immaterial rather than as springing from matter or as born of ra,ca. The friendly gaze, if it were friendly, penetrated into la Valliere's nature as no human gaze had ever done before. Every thought of his heart, to the very depths of his being, seemed familiar to this strange influence and responsive to its call. Every tendency and facility which human frailty uses or suggests, every leaning of human life to the side of enjoyment, seemed to awake and to respond. Be bold,' it seemed to say. Carry out your own theory of life. Enjoy, prove all things. Test the powers that have been given you, doubtless for use, by a beneficent Providence. Above all things be bold.' La Valliere was not frightened. There was not even any feeling of wonder or of surprise connected with the appear- ance of this figure. What was produced was merely a sense of added power and a fresh life in every faculty and desire, of supreme luxury in the quickened perception of the shadowy room, of the glowing fire, of the dulcet music, above all of that lovely face and figure leaning forward from the large settee, with its background of fantastic screen, and the wonderful, entrancing look of the violet eyes. The strange, intruding figure with its intense individuality, seemed to shrink into the background and to wish to be forgotten. Perhaps its work was done."
That picture of a tempter who pours all his direct inspira- tions of evil into the purer of the two natures which he desires to bring to destruction, while he only encourages the less pure nature to follow its own impulses, and gives it a new sort of con- fidence in its own powers, is very originally conceived, and possesses a kind of subtlety which is wanting entirely even in Goethe's Mephistopheles. But still more powerful, perhaps, is the picture of the effect which daily yielding to temptation of this sort has upon the naturally refined and fastidious but also selfish nature of La Valliere. As is usual with him, Mr. Shorthouse insists on the elevating influence of stateliness and historic associations. La Valliere finds the splendour, the cere- mony, the stately associations of the Count's chateau exerting over him a subduing influence which prevents him from being "bold" in the sense in which the tempter wishes to make him bold. And at length he becomes impatient of this subduing influence :— "La Valliere was stifled and constrained within the solemn, stately walks and shaded alleys of this decorous, princely garden —a type, as it might well be thought, of what reserved and virtuous life might seem to him to be. The very beauty of such a life oppressed him. It was to him as though the very dust and stain of daily, reckless life, with all the sorrow and the soil which such a life may bring—will surely bring—was to be chosen before such a decorous, decent life as this, surrounded and protected as it was by this stateliness, this beauty and refinement ; the loveliness of the Countess even seemed to lose something of its charm. She was still above him and out of his sphere. A wild, degraded, selfish desire took possession of him, a passionate longing to see her elsewhere, in common, vulgar life, amid sordid and tawdry surroundings, and people far beneath her, of whose existence she had hitherto perhaps scarcely dreamed ; to bring her down to his level, nay, beneath it ; to possess her with the friendly familiarity which such a life allows. The adventures and scenes in which, night after 'night, he took his part upon the stage, suggested to him incidents and embarrassing situations without number. He fancied this lovely, stately creature involved in such situations and scenes. His imagination revelled in them with an ever- increasing zest. Li every such scene his own lower nature played a principal part, found a sensual and an unclean gratification. Satan stood at his right hand."
That passage shows a very deep insight into the degeneracy which temptation habitually yielded to brings even upon natures of fine grain. La .Valliere would not have been drawn into this passion for the Countess Eve, had he not felt her beauty, and purity, and her perfect impersonation of the most refined and stately life most profoundly ; and yet, though that is what has drawn him to her, that is just what he wants to deprive her of, before he can give expression to his unhallowed passion. Mr. Shorthouse has touched there the very core of evil in the man's heart.
We do not think that the tale of the Count of Pie- Adam's early tragedy is at all equal to the main sub- ject of this book,. The description of -the love of the Count and the Abbess is vaguely romantic and quite ineffective. But there is one more touch of great originality in the story to which we will only briefly refer. We mean the admirable account of the way in which the miserable little Marquis who is the scandal-monger of the story rises in tone, when, at the Marquis's own table, and conscious of his duties both as a host and as a member of the caste to which the Countess belongs, La Valliere confides to him his desire to carry out his purpose of bringing the Countess down to a level in which he will feel himself her equal. La Valliere'a dinner with the Marquis is conceived and described as only a man of genius`could have conceived and described it.
In spite, therefore, of a thread of rather commonplace romance in this little tale, the story is quite worthy of the author of John Inglesant, in the same sense in which we may say that Janet's Repentance is worthy of the author of .11fiddlemarch.
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