Ernest Maltravers.-Paul Clifford.-Leila.-The Pilgrims of the Rhine.-Falkland

Preface

TO THE EDITION OF 1840. However numerous the works of fiction with which, my dear reader, I have trespassed on your attention, I have published but three, of any account, in which the plot has been cast amidst the events, and coloured by the manner, of our own times. The first of these, "Pelham," composed when I was little more than a boy, has the faults, and perhaps the merits, natural to a very early age — when the novelty itself of life quickens the observation — when we see distinctly, and represent vividly, what lies upon the surface of the world — and when, half sympathising with the follies we satirise, there is a gusto in our paintings which atones for their exaggeration. As we grow older we observe less, we reflect more ; and, like Franken stein, we dissect in order to create. duced, and the general agencies of the narrative, into the lights and shadows of life as it is.

I do not mean by " lis-e as it is," the vulgar and the out ward life alone, but life in its spiritual and mystic as well as its more visible and fleshly characteristics. The idea of not only describing, but developing character under the ripening influences of time and circumstance, is not confined to the apprenticeship of Maltravers alone, but pervades the progress of Cesarini, Ferrers, and Alice Darvil. The original conception of Alice is taken from real life — from a person I never saw but twice, and then she was no longer young — but whose history made on me a deep impression. Her early ignor ance and home — her first love — the strange and affecting fidelity that she maintained, in spite of new ties — her final re-meeting, almost in middle age, with one lost and adored almost in childhood — all this, as shown in the novel, is but the imperfect transcript of the true adventures of a living woman.

The second novel of the present day,* which, after an interval of some years, I submitted to the w-orld, was one I now, for the first time, acknowledge, and which (revised and corrected) will be included in this series, viz. "Godolphin;" — a work devoted to a particular portion of society, and the development of a peculiar class of character. The third, which I now reprint, is "Ernest Maltravers, "f the most mature, and, on the whole, the most comprehensive of all that I have hitherto written. In regard to Maltravers himself, I must own that I have but inadequately struggled against the great and obvious difficulty of representing an author living in our own times, with whose supposed works or alleged genius, and those of anyone actually existing, the reader can establish no identification, and he is therefore either compelled constantly to humour the delusion by keeping his imagination on the stretch, or lazily driven to confound the Author in the Book with the Author of the Book.* But I own, also, I fancied, while aware of this objection, and in spite of it, that so much not hitherto said might be conveyed with advantage through the lips or in the life of an imaginary writer of our own time, that I was contented, on the whole, either to task the imagination, or submit to the suspicions of the reader.

All that my own egotism appropriates in the book are some occasional remarks, the natural result of practical experience. With the life or the character, the adventures or the humours, the errors or the good qualities, of Maltravers him self, I have nothing to do, except as the narrator For thc original idea, which, with humility, I will venture to call the philosophical design of a moral education or apprenticeship, I have left it easy to be seen that I am indebted to Goethe's "Wilhelm Meister." But, in "Wilhelm Meister," the apprenticeship is rather that of theoretical art. In the more homely plan that I set before myself, the apprenticeship is rather that of practical life. And, with this view, it1 has been especially my study to avoid all those attractions lawful in romance, or tales of pure humour or unbridled fancy, attractions that, in the language of reviewers, are styled under the head of "most striking descriptions," "scenes of extraordinary power," etc. ; and are derived from violent contrasts and exaggerations pushed into caricature.

It has been my aim to subdue and tone down the persons introand inventor. E. B. L. * In some foreign journal I have been much amused by a credulity of this latter description, and seen the various adventures of Mr. Maltravers gravely appropriated lo the embellishment of my own life, including the attachment to the original of poor Alice Darvil ; who now, by the way, must be at least seventy years of age, with a grandchild * For "The Disowned" is cast in the time of our grandfathers, and "The Pilgrims of the Rhine" has nothing to do with actual life, and is not, therefore, to be called a novel. + At the date of this preface " Night and Morning " nearly as old as myself, h^d not appeared A WORD TO THE READER PREFIXED TO THE FIRST EDITION OF 1837. Thou muss not, my old and partial friend, look into this work for that species of interest which is drawn from stirring adventures and a perpetual variety of incident.

To a novel of the present day are necessarily forbidd.n the animation, the excite ment, the bustle, the pomp, and the stage-effect which history affords to romance. Whatever merits, in thy gentle eyes, " Rienzi " or " The Last Days of Pompeii " may have possessed, this tale, if it please thee at all, must owe that happy fortune to qualities widely different from those which won thy favour to pictures of the past. Thou must sober down thine imagination, and prepare thyself for a story not dedicated to the narrative of extra ordinary events — nor the elucidation of the cha racters of great men. Though there is scarcely a page in this work episodical to the main design, there may be much that may seem to thee weari some and prolix, if thou wilt not lend thyself, in a kindly spirit, and with a generous trust, to the guidance of the Author.

In the hero of this tale thou wilt sind neither a majestic demigod, nor a fascinating demon. He is a man with the weak nesses derived from humanity, with the strength that we inherit from the soul ; not often obstinate in error, more often irresolute in virtue ; sometimes too aspiring, sometimes too despondent ; influenced by the circumstances to which he yet struggles to be superior, and changing in character with the changes of lime and fate ; but never wantonly rejecting those great principles by which alone we can work out the Science of Life — a desire for tbe good, a passion for the honest, a yearning after the true. From such principles, experience, that severe mentor, teaches us at length the safe and practical philosophy which consists of fortitude to bear, serenity to enjoy, and faith to look beyond !

It would have led, perhaps, to more striking in cidents, and have furnished an interest more intense, if I had cast Maltravers, the man of genius, amidst those fierce but ennobling struggles with poverty and want to which genius is so often condemned. But wealth and lassitude have their temptations as well as penury and toil. And for the rest— I have taken much of my tale and many of my characters from real life, and would not unnecessarily seek other fountains when the well of truth was in my reach. The Author has said his say, he retreats once more into silence and into shade ; he leaves you alone with the creations he has called to life— the representatives of his emotions and his thoughts —the intermediators between the individual and the crowd— children not of the clay, but of the spirit, may they be faithful to their origin !— so should they be monitors, not loud but deep, of the world into which they are cast, struggling against the obstacles that will beset them, for tlie heritage of their parent— the right to survive the grave ! London', Angzst i2.',4 1837.

Book I. Chapter

I. twisted jauntily round a muscular but meagre throat ; his tattered breeches were also decorated by buckles, one of pinchbeck, and one of steel. His frame was lean, but broad and sinewy, indicative of considerable strength. His countenance was prematurely marked by deep furrows, and his grizzled hair waved over a low, rugged, and forbidding brow, on which there hung an everlasting frown that no smile from the lips (and the man smiled often) could chase away. It was a face that spoke of long-continued and hardened vice — it was one in which the past had written indelible characters. The brand of the hangman could not have stamped it more plainly, nor have more unequivocally warned the suspicion of honest or timid men. He was employed in counting some few and paltry coins, which, though an easy matter to ascertain their value, he told and retold, as if the act could increase the amount.

"There must be some mistake here, Alice," he said in a low and muttered tone ; " we can't be so low — you know 1 had two pounds in the drawer hut Monday, and now — Alice, you must have stolen some of the money — curse you." The person thus addressed sat at the opposite side of the smouldering and sullen fire ; she now looked quietly up, and her face singularly con trasted that of the man. My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid .... yet, who would have suspected an ambush where 1 was taken? All's Well that Ends Well, Act iv. Sc 3. Some four miles distant from one of our northern manufacturing towns, in the year 18 — , was a wide and desolate common ; a more dreary spot it is impossible to conceive— the herbage grew up in sickly patches from the midst of a black and stony soil.

Not a tree was to be seen in the whole of the comfortless expanse. Nature herself had seemed to desert the solitude, as if scared by the ceaseless din of the neighbouring forges ; and even Art, which presses all things into service, had disdained to cull use or beauty from these unpromising demesnes. There was some thing weird and primeval in the aspect of the place ; especially when in the long nights of winter you beheld the distant fires and lights, which give to the vicinity of certain manufactories so preternatural an appearance, streaming red and wild over the waste. So abandoned by •nan appeared the spot, that you found it difficult to imagine that it was only from human fires that its bleak and barren desolation was illu mined. For miles along the moor you detected no vestige of any habitation ; but as you ap proached the verge nearest to the town, you could just perceive at a little distance from the main road, by which the common was intersected, a small, solitary, and miserable hovel.

Within this lonely abode, at the time in which my story opens, were seated two persons. The one was a man of about fifty years of age, and in a squalid and wretched garb, which was yet relieved by an affectation of ill-assorted finery. A silk handkerchief, which boasted the orna ment of a large brooch of false stones, was She seemed about fifteen years of age, and her complexion was remarkably pure and deli cate, even despite the sunburnt tinge which her habits of toil had brought it. Her auburn hair hung in loose and natural curls over her forehead, and its luxuriance was remarkable even in one so young. Her countenance was beautiful, nay, even faultless, in its small and childlike features, but the expression pained you — it was so vacant. In repose it was almost the ex pression of an idiot — but when she spoke, or smiled, or even moved a muscle, the eyes, colour, man, who surveyed him with a scrutinising eye ; "and trust, my good fellow, that you will increase the obligation by accompanying me to ."

"You can't miss well your way," said the man surlily ; " the lights will direct you." " They have rather misled me, for they seem to surround the whole common, and there is no path across it that I can see ; however, if you will put me in the right road I will not trouble you further." " It is very late," replied the churlish landlord equivocally. "The better reason why I should be at . Come, my good friend, put on your hat, and I will give you half-a-guinea for your trouble." The man advanced, then halted ; again sur veyed his guest, and said : "Are you quite alone, sir?" lips, kindled into a life, which proved that the intellect was still there, though but imperfectly awakened. "I did not steal any, father," she said in a quiet voice; "but I should like to have taken some, only I knew you would beat me if I did."

" And what do you want money for ?" " To get feod when I'm hungered." "Nothing else?" "I don't know." The girl paused. — "Why don't you let me," she said, after a while, "why don't you let me go and work with the other girls at the factory ? 1 should make money there for you and me both. " The man smiled — such a smile — it seemed to bring into sudden play all the revolting character istics of his countenance. "Child," he said, " you are just fifteen, and a sad fool you are ; perhaps if you went to the factory you would get away from me ; and what should I do with out you ? No, I think, as you are so pretty, you might get more money another way." The girl did not seem to understand this allusion; but repeated, vacantly: "I should like to go to the factory." "Stuff!" said the man angrily, "I have three minds to " "Quite."

" Probably you are known at ?" "Not I. Bat what matters that to you? I am a stranger in these parts." " It is full four miles. " " So far. and I am fearfully tired already ! " exclaimed the young man with impatience. As he spoke he drew out his watch. " Past eleven, too 1" Here he was interrupted by a loud knock at the door of the hovel. The watch caught the eye of the cottager ; that evil eye sparkled. He passed his hand over his brow. "I am thinking, sir," he said, in a more civil tone than he had yet assumed, " that as you are so tired, and the hour is so late, you might almost as well " "What?" exclaimed the stranger, stamping somewhat petulantly. "I don't like to mention it; but my poor roof is at your service, and I would go with you to at daybreak to-morrow." The stranger stared at the cottager, and then at the dingy walls of the hut.

He was about, very abruptly, to reject the hospitable proposal, when his eye rested suddenly on the form of Alice, who stood, eager-eyed and open-mouthed, gazing on the handsome intruder. "As she caught his eye she blushed deeply, and turned aside. The view seemed to change the inten tions of the stranger. He hesitated a moment, then muttered between his teeth, and then sinking his knapsack on the ground, he cast himself into a chair beside the fire, stretched his limbs, and cried gaily: "So be it, my host : shut up your house again. Bring me a cup of beer, and a crust of bread, and so much for supper ! As for bed, this chair will do vastly well." "Perhaps we can manage better for you than that chair," answered the host. "But our best accommodation must seem bad enough to a gentleman : we are very poor people — hard working, but very poor."

" Never mind me," answered the stranger, busying himself in stirring the fire ; "I am tolerably well accustomed to greater hardships than sleeping on a chair in an honest man's house ; and though you ave poor I will take it for granted you are honest." The man grewr pale. "What can that be?" he muttered. "The hour is late — near eleven. Again — again ! Ask who knocks, Alice." The girl stood for a moment or so at the door ; and as she stood, her form, rounded yet slight, her earnest look, her varying colour, her tender youth, and a singular grace of. attitude and gesture, would have inspired an artist with the very ideal of rustic beauty. After a pause she placed her lips to a chink in the door, and repeated her father's question. " Pray pardon me," said a clear, loud, yet courteous voice, "but, seeing a light at your window, I have ventured to ask if anyone within will conduct me to ; I will pay the service handsomely."

"Open the door, Alley," said the owner of the hut. The girl drew a large wooden bolt from the door ; and a tall figure crossed the threshold. The new-comer was in the first bloom of youth, perhaps about eighteen years of age, and his air and appearance surprised both sire and daughter. Alone, on foot, at such an hour, it was impossible for anyone to mistake him for other than a gentleman ; yet his dress was some what plain and somewhat soiled by dust, and he carried a small knapsack on his shoulder. As he entered he lifted his hat with somewhat of foreign urbanity, and a profusion of fair brown hair fell partially over a high and commanding sorehead. His features were handsome, without being eminently so, and his aspect was at once bold and prepossessing. " I am much obliged by your civility," he said, advancing carelessly, and addressing the The man grinned : and turning to Alice bade her spread what their larder could afford.

Some crusts of bread, some cold potatoes, and some tolerably strong beer, composed all the fare set before the traveller. "just put a few more coals on the fire, and leave me to make myself comfortable." The man rose, and did not press his offer, but left the room for a supply of fuel. Alice remained in her corner. "Sweetheart," said the traveller, looking round and satisfying himself that they were alone, " I should sleep well if I could get one kiss from those coral lips." Alice hid her face with her hands. "Do I vex you?" ' ' Oh no, sir. " At this assurance the traveller rose, and ap proached Alice softly. He drew away her hands from her face, when she said gently, " Have you much money about you ? " "Oh, the mercenary baggage ! " said the tra veller to himself; and then replied aloud, " Why, pretty one?— Do you sell your kisses so high then ?

" Despite his previous boasts, the young man made a wry face at these socratic preparations, while he drew tis chair to the board. But his look grew more gay as he caught Alice's eye ; and as she lingered by tlie table, and faltered out some hesitating words of apology, he seized her hand, and pressing it tenderly : "Prettiest of lasses," said he — and while he spoke he gazed on her with undisguised ad miration — "a man who has travelled on foot all day, through the ugliest country within the three seas, is sufficiently refreshed at night by the sight of so fair a face." Alice hastily withdrew her hand, and went and seated herself in a corner of the room, whence sire continued to look at the stranger with her usual vacant gaze, but with a half-smile upon her rosy lips. Alice's father looked hard first at one, then at the other.

Alice frowned, and tossed the hair from her brow. "If you have money," she said, in a whisper, ' ' don't say so to father. Don't sleep if you can help it. I'm afraid — hush — he comes ! " The young man returned to his seat with an altered manner. And as his host entered, he for the first time surveyed him closely. The im perfect glimmer of the half-dying and single candle threw into strong lights and shades the marked, rugged, and ferocious features of the cottager ; and the eye of the traveller, glancing from the face to the limbs and frame, saw that whatever of violence the mind might design, the body might well execute. The traveller sank into a gloomy reverie. The wind howled — the rain beat — through the casement shone no solitary star — all was dark and sombre ; should he proceed alone — might he not suffer a greater danger upon that wide and desert moor — might not the host follow — assault him in the dark ?

He had no weapon, save a stick. But within, he had at least a rude resource in the large kitchen poker that was beside him. At all events, it would be better to wait for the present. He might at any time, when alone, withdraw tlie bolt from the door, and slip out unobserved. "Eat, sir," said he, with a sort of chuckle, "and no sine words; poor Alice is honest, as you said just now. " "To be sure," answered the traveller, em ploying with great zeal a set of strong, even, and dazzling teeth at the tough crusts ; "to be sure she is. I did not mean to offend you ; but the fact is that I am half a foreigner ; and abroad, you know, one may say a civil thing to a pretty girl without hurting her feelings or her father's either. " " Half a foreigner ! why you talk English as Well as I do," said' the host, whose intonation and words were, on the whole, a little above his station.

The stranger smiled. " Thank you for the compliment," said he. " What I meant was that I have been a great deal abroad ; in fact I have just returned from Germany. But I am English-bom." " And going home ? " "Yes." ' ' Far from hence ? " Such was the fruit of his meditations while his host plied the fire. " About thirty miles, I believe." " You are young, sir, to be alone." The traveller made no answer, but finished his uninviting repast, and drew his chair again to the fire. He then thought he had sufficiently ministered to his host's curiosity to be entitled to the gratification of his own. "You work at the factories, I suppose?" said he. "You will sleep sound to-night," said his en tertainer, smiling. " Humph ! Why I am oi'-r-fatigued ; I dare say it will be an hour or two before I fall asleep ; but when I once am asleep, I sleep like a rock !

" "Come, Alice," said her father, "let us leave the gentleman. Good-night, sir." " Good-night — good-night," returned the tra veller, yawning. The father and daughter disappeared through a door in the corner of the room. The guest heard them ascend the creaking stairs — all was still. "I do, sir. Bad times." " And your pretty daughter ? " " Minds the house." " Have you no other children ? " " No ; one mouth besides my own is as much as I can feed, and that scarcely. But you would like to rest now ; you can have my bed, sir ; I can sleep here." "By no means," said the stranger quickly; "Fool that I am," said the traveller to him self, " will nothing teach me that I am no longer a student at Gottingen, or cure me of these pedes trian adventures? Had it not been for that girl's ERNEST MAL TRA VERS. big blue eyes, I should be safe at by this time ; if, indeed, the grim father had not mur dered me by the road.

However, we'll balk him yet : another half-hour, and I am on the moor : we must give him time. And in the meanwhile here is the poker. At the worst it is but one to one ; but the churl is strongly built." Although the traveller thus endeavoured to cheer his courage, his heart beat more loudly than its wont. He kept his eyes stationed on the door by which the cottagers had vanished, and his hand on the massive poker. While the stranger wTas thus employed below, Alice, instead of turning to her own narrow cell, went into her father's room. done at once. And there's the pond behind, as deep as a well ; and I might say at daybreak that the boy had bolted. He seems quite a stranger here — nobody '11 miss him. He must have plenty of blunt to give half a-guinea to a guide across a common ! I want money, and I won't work — if I can help it, at least."

While he thus soliloquised, the air seemed to oppress him ; he opened the window, he leant out — the rain beat upon him. He closed the window with an oath ; took off his shoes, stole to the threshold, and, by the candle, which he shaded with his hand, survej'ed the opposite door. It was closed. He then bent anxiously forward and listened. The cottager was seated at the foot of his bed, muttering to himself and wdth eyes fixed on the ground. The girl stood before him, gazing on his face, and with her arms lightly crossed above her bosom. "All's quiet," thought he ; "perhaps he sleeps already. I will steal down. If Jack Walters would but come to-night, the job would be done charmingly." With that he crept gently down the stairs. In a corner, at the foot of the staircase, lay sundry matters, a few faggots, and a cleaver.

He caught up the last. " Aha," he muttered ; ' ' and there's the sledge-hammer somewhere for Walters." Leaning himself against the door, he then applied his eye to a chink which admitted a dim view of the room within, lighted fitfully by the fire. "It must be worth twenty guineas," said the host abruptly to himself, "What is it to you, father, what the gentle man's watch is worth ?" The man started. " You mean," continued Alice quietly, "you mean to do some injury to that young man ; but you shall not." The cottager's face grew black as night. "How," he began in a loud voice, but suddenly dropped the tone into a deep growl — " how dare you talk to me so? — go to bed — go to bed." "No, father."

Chapter II

"No?" " I will not stir from this room until daybreak. " "We will soon see that," said the man, with an oath. What have we here ? A carrion death ! Merchant oj Venice, Act ii. Sc. 7. " Touch me, and I will alarm the gentleman, and tell him that " It was about this time that the stranger deemed it advisable to commence his retreat. The slight and suppressed sound of voices, which at first he had heard above in the conversation of the father and child, had died away. The stillness at once encouraged and warned him. lie stole to the front door, softly undid the bolt, and found the door locked, and the key missing. He had not observed that during his repast, and ere his sus picions had been aroused, his host, in replacing the bar, and re-locking the entrance, had ab stracted the key. His fears were now confirmed.

His next thought was the window — the shutter only protected it halfway, and was easily re moved ; but the aperture of the lattice, which only opened in part like most cottage casements, was far too small to admit his person. His only means cf escape was in breaking the whole win dow ; a matter not to be effected without noise and consequent risk. He paused in despair. He was naturally of a strong-nerved and gallant temperament, nor un accustomed to those perils of life and limb which German students delight to brave ; but his heart well-nigh sailed him at that moment. The silence became distinct and burdensome to him, and a chill moisture gathered to his brow. While he "What?" The girl approached her father, placed her lips to his ear, and whispered, " That you intend to murder him." The cottager's frame trembled from head to foot ; he shut his eyes, and gasped painfully for breath.

"Alice," said he gently, after a pause, "Alice, we are often nearly starving." " /am — vou never !" " Wretch, yes, if I do drink too much one day, I pinch for it the next. But go to bed, I say — I mean no harm to the young man. Think you I would twist myself a rope ? — no, no ; go along, go along." Alice's face, which had before been earnest and almost intelligent, now relapsed into its wonted vacant stare. " To be sure, father, they would hang you if you cut his throat. Don't forget that ; good night ; " and so saying, she walked to her own opposite chamber. Left alone, the host pressed his hand tightly to his forehead, and remained motionless for nearly half an hour. " If that cursed girl would but sleep," he muttered at last, turning round, "it might be stood irresolute and in suspense, striving to collect his thoughts, his ear, preternaturally sharpened by fear, caught the faint muffled sound of creeping footsteps— he heard the stairs creak.