LOVE'S MARTYR* Love's Martyr is a tale of considerable power,
as well as of con- siderable weakness. We conclude that Miss Alma Tadema has but a superficial knowledge of men, and it was a mistake for her to tell the story under the disguise of a man's person. "Edward Field" is a woman in a man's shape, and no man who reads it, and who has also read John Halifax, Gentleman, can doubt for a moment that he is undergoing the same fate which he underwent a great many years ago when he read that in- teresting novel, and discovered to his cost that John Halifax had a woman's heart and mind under a man's exterior. And even the ideal hero of this tale, Sebastian Erle, is a woman's idol rather than a man. The idol, like the imaginary narrator, is absolutely unreal. We are quite unable to believe in either of them,—the idol, because he is only the masculine ideal of a girl ; the narrator, because he is the girl herself, suffering and feeling what she would suppose a man in that position likely to stiffer and feel, but most assuredly not what in such a posi- tion a man would suffer and feel. Still, with these faults, which are great, it cannot be denied that Miss Alma. Tadema has con- ceived her heroine very powerfully, and set forth her coneeption with much vigour, though the early part of the tale, previous to her heroine's marriage, is much better than the latter part of it, which is very melodramatic. The picture of the squire's family, of the old-world coarseness of the elders, of the paltry, mincing insincerities and spitefulness of the beauty, of the brutal disgust felt for the French-born niece and the cruelty with which almost all the family treat her (though that may be a little ex- aggerated), is very vivid and effective, and adds greatly to the strength of the early portion of the story. The greatest power, however, is shown in the picture of an ill-regulated, neglected, passionate character, full of impetuousness and fervour, in its first awakening to life and love. The false appearance of peaceful tranquillity into which Rosamund falls when her quieter affections are awakened, and the gleams of passion which show that her old stormy heart is beating there little changed after all, all culminating in the very power- ful scene in which she casts herself, as it were, at the feet of her idol, and entreats even for dishonour rather than neglect,—all this is painted with a freshness that gives us great hope of even greater evidence of literary power in future. Rosa- mund after her marriage does not strike us as at all equal to Rosamund in her girlhood. Probably Miss Alma Tadema has here been in want of a kind of experience of which the place is hardly to be supplied by mere imagination. But Rosa- mund, proud, down-trodden, and ardent, passionate at heart, and yet able to lead a sort of half-simulated life of peaceful and affec- tionate duty, while perfectly conscious that, if opportunity offers, she will sacrifice every other obligation without a scruple to the claims of passion, is a character sufficiently within the scope of an imaginative girl's grasp, to admit of very forcible delineation by our authoress. What men, perhaps unjustly, regard as the hypocrisy of women whose affections are deep and sincere without being the most potent part of their character, simply because men are unable to conceive that the external life can be so completely brought into conformity with one set of feelings, while another and more powerful set of feelings are steadily suppressed, is, in Rosamund's case, painted with great strength by Miss Alma Tadema. Bat the power of the story virtually ends with Rosamund's marriage. After that we have little bat-poor and ordinary melodrama. We must give some illustration of the force of the story, and are compelled to take it from the picture of the cruelty of the coarse squire and his wife and daughter to
• Love's Martyr. By Laurence Alma Tadema. London: Longman'. wee.
Rosamund, when they have been disappointed by Sebastian Erie's departure without engaging himself to her :—
" When Rosamund appeared among us, I stood up and leant against the chimney on the darkest side. She was in a wretched plight, bereft of all control, miserably trembling, her dear facet:till stained with tears ; and I looked away, for it was more than I could bear. The Squire laughed heartily. 'Eh, Miss Mop ! you'd be worth six- pence an hour in the fields, to scare the birds away.'—' Mr. Merry, I'm surprised that you should be laughing,' whined his wife. I call it a crying sight—and a new dress too ! I'll catch you in good clothes again, you heathen ! Off with it to-morrow, and rumple and crumple as you will in your old rags, you may scream before you get another. Once and for all, Mr. Merry, I've had enough of wild- cats about the house ; you must put the girl ont to work. She'll ruin us all before she's done. Lord Almighty ! I don't know what I've done to deserve this You talk of impossibilities, Matilda,' interrupted the Squire. I'm not over-fond of the French piece myself ; but I said I'd feed and house her, and stay here she shall till the day she's married.'—' Married P' screamed Mrs. Merry, married P Look at her, and show me the fool that 'ad buy such a bargain !' Miss Anne, who had been examining her nails for the last five minutes, suddenly leant forward, and after staring through me awhile, as she might have stared at a blank wall, devoted herself once again-to her-finger-tips. If you want her married, Mr. Merry,' meanwhile pursued his lady, take my advice. Send the girl to work at the farm, or make a kitchenmaid of her, and perhaps one of our men '11 take a fancy to her. If you think I'll ever try to make a gentleman's wife of her again, you're mistaken ; I tell you I won't, and that's gospel truth.' I looked at Rosamund, and I thought she did not hear ; she was leaning upon a side table, some way back, with her face in her hands; and she seemed so still that I hoped she was gradually recovering her self-command. Gad, Matilda,' chuckled the Squire, 'I can't see that you've done much that way.'—' Can't see, can't you, Mr. Merry !' whined his spouse, can't you P' (After the manner of many couples, this worthy pair made it a point of honour never to be one in temper ; it was ever up and down, like a pair of scales.) And what more would you have me do ? Didn't I get her to look decent P didn't I deck her, and put her best side out P and tell lies about her P and leave her alone • with him—which I couldn't do more, seeing they were together from the moment they got up till they went to bed at night ? Did ever woman do more to make a man marry a girl ? I was a mighty fool to try and sell such a cracked kettle. And for all that I thought at one time he was hooked, I Bee now plain enough that he was just having a nice little game, as young men are apt to do with girls that aren't worth their food. I'd catch him treating a daughter of mine so ; it's as good as saying, She's not fit to be a gentleman's wife, so I'll even have my fling, and let who will take her after !' I stood up and made a step forward, for I saw what was coming. Rosamund had been listening to every word with a deathly stillness, her hands strained against her heart, her white face stretched forward, horribly intent. At the last words, she sprang suddenly upon Mrs. Merry and held her down with passionate strength, glaring upon her with eyes distended by rage, and clenched teeth gleaming between her thin-drawn lips. The poor lady raised a piercing shriek, which Anne faintly echoed, clutching, sick with fright, at the back of her chair. Say those words again,' groaned Rosamund, in a hoarse, vibrating voice. Say those words again, you wicked woman ; all again, that I may understand.'—' George !' gasped the lady for all answer, ' George ! save me ! she will kill me, save me !' and the Squire, roused from his amazement, seized Rosamund by the waist, wrenched her off his wife with a cruel jerk, and Jiang her like a dog upon the floor. For an instant all was still. My heart gave an agonising leap, then I thought it ceased beating ; my face was wet and cold, and I leant for support against the obimneypiece. My eyes saw nothing but the still body of my dear love, and all around was grey emptiness. Suddenly a little stream of blood began to trickle slowly from under her cheek ; she had fallen with her head against a carved stool. I took her in my arms, and lifted her to the sofa ; Janet, too, was there, and we rubbed her hands and wiped the wound. 'Rosamund !' I cried, forgetting all but her, Rosamund, my dear girl, look up !' She stretched out both hands, her eyelids quivered, and her lips smiled faintly. ' Sebastian,' she said. I looked at Janet. 'Call her—you.' Janet kissed her forehead, milling her gently. Suddenly she sat up and pressed her eyes. Ah, Mr. Field,' she murmured, is it you P' and she gave me her hand. ' Tell me, you are kind, is it true what she said ?—that I am not fit P that he scorns me P'—' No,' I replied, it is not true ; he bolds you in high esteem." Tell me,' she said again, 'tell me what they meant. I hardly heard ; I could not understand. But was he only good to me because she made him P and did she try to make him marry me F Oh, shame ! Tell me what she meant!'—' Let it be, Miss Rosamund !' I promptly answered; think no more of it. She's a mad old woman, and she doesn't mean a word she says.' I say again, I had forgotten all save Rosamund ; but suddenly I was startled by a little cry of anger and a well-known titter. I jumped to my feet, and faced my forgotten audience.—' Mr. Edward Field,' quaked forth Mrs. Merry, you'll oblige me by never looking at me again !'—' Hey, my smart fellow !' swore the Squire ; there's Mrs. Merry and there's the door.
Ask pardon, or I throw you oat Sir,' I answered coldly, I'm sorry I was such a fool as to forget where I was, and I certainly ask Mrs. Merry to excuse the carelessness which allowed her to overhear me. If you want more, I'm sorry I can't oblige you. Good evening.' I bowed with extra ceremony, and was half way towards the door, when Anne exclaimed : Papa ! you're not going to waste this chance P Let him take his " dear girl " away with him, ands blessing with her.'—' By G—,' cried the Squire ; there's truth in that ! Young man, you've chosen to defend my niece at the risk of so much already, that you deserve some reward. Take her as a free gift. From this day forth, I tell you, the scullery and the yard shall break her fine spirit ; take her now, or wait and make the drudge your wife ; it's all one to me. I only remember that you call yourself a gentleman.' "
That is a fair specimen of the force with which the coarse old squire and his family are drawn. It is im- possible to give any extract adequately portraying the char- acter of Rosamund, which is the most powerful conception of the story, without a great deal more explanation and revela- tion than would be fair to the author. But we must add that the title, Love's Martyr, does not seem to us well chosen. Rosa- mund is, we suppose, indicated by the title. But she certainly was not love's martyr, or she would have died rather than be false to the dominant passion of her life. If she was a martyr at all, she was a martyr to her determination to marry a man whom she could not love, though she felt a strong regard for him, rather than disappoint his wishes and endure her own loneliness. To the passion which she cherished so wildly, and which she continued to cherish even after her marriage, that marriage was a treachery. And certainly the language of martyrdom, as applied to her, is a complete misnomer.
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