The Purcell Papers, vol 1 | Page 7

coat. . . .
'I know I can't convey in words an idea of?this apparition, drawn, as it seemed, in black?and white, venerable, bloodless, fiery-eyed, with?its singular look of power, and an expression so?bewildering--was it derision, or anguish, or?cruelty, or patience?
'The wild eyes of this strange old man were?fixed on me as he rose; an habitual contraction,?which in certain lights took the character of a?scowl, did not relax as he advanced towards me?with a thin-lipped smile.'
Old Dicken and his daughter Beauty, old?L'Amour and Dudley Ruthyn, now enter upon?the scene, each a fresh shadow to deepen its?already sombre hue, while the gloom gathers in?spite of the glimpse of sunshine shot through it?by the visit to Elverston. Dudley's brutal?encounter with Captain Oakley, and vile persecution?of poor Maude till his love marriage comes to?light, lead us on to the ghastly catastrophe, the?hideous conspiracy of Silas and his son against?the life of the innocent girl.
It is interesting to know that the germ of?Uncle Silas first appeared in the 'Dublin?University Magazine' of 1837 or 1838, as the?short tale, entitled, 'A Passage from the Secret?History of an Irish Countess,' which is printed?in this collection of Stories. It next was published?as 'The Murdered Cousin' in a collection of?Christmas stories, and finally developed into the?three-volume novel we have just noticed.
There are about Le Fanu's narratives touches?of nature which reconcile us to their always?remarkable and often supernatural incidents.?His characters are well conceived and distinctly?drawn, and strong soliloquy and easy dialogue?spring unaffectedly from their lips. He is a close?observer of Nature, and reproduces her wilder?effects of storm and gloom with singular?vividness; while he is equally at home in his?descriptions of still life, some of which remind?us of the faithfully minute detail of old Dutch?pictures.
Mr. Wilkie Collins, amongst our living?novelists, best compares with Le Fanu. Both of?these writers are remarkable for the ingenious?mystery with which they develop their plots, and?for the absorbing, if often over-sensational, nature?of their incidents; but whilst Mr. Collins excites?and fascinates our attention by an intense power?of realism which carries us with unreasoning?haste from cover to cover of his works, Le?Fanu is an idealist, full of high imagination,?and an artist who devotes deep attention to the?most delicate detail in his portraiture of men?and women, and his descriptions of the outdoor?and indoor worlds--a writer, therefore,?through whose pages it would be often an?indignity to hasten. And this more leisurely,?and certainly more classical, conduct of his?stories makes us remember them more fully and?faithfully than those of the author of the?'Woman in White.' Mr. Collins is generally?dramatic, and sometimes stagy, in his effects.?Le Fanu, while less careful to arrange his plots,?so as to admit of their being readily adapted?for the stage, often surprises us by scenes of so?much greater tragic intensity that we cannot?but lament that he did not, as Mr. Collins has?done, attempt the drama, and so furnish another?ground of comparison with his fellow-countryman,?Maturin (also, if we mistake not, of French?origin), whom, in his writings, Le Fanu far?more closely resembles than Mr. Collins, as a?master of the darker and stronger emotions of?human character. But, to institute a broader?ground of comparison between Le Fanu and?Mr. Collins, whilst the idiosyncrasies of the?former's characters, however immaterial those?characters may be, seem always to suggest the?minutest detail of his story, the latter would?appear to consider plot as the prime, character?as a subsidiary element in the art of novel?writing.
Those who possessed the rare privilege of Le?Fanu's friendship, and only they, can form any?idea of the true character of the man; for after?the death of his wife, to whom he was most?deeply devoted, he quite forsook general society,?in which his fine features, distinguished bearing,?and charm of conversation marked him out as?the beau-ideal of an Irish wit and scholar of?the old school.
From this society he vanished so entirely that?Dublin, always ready with a nickname, dubbed?him 'The Invisible Prince;' and indeed he was?for long almost invisible, except to his family?and most familiar friends, unless at odd hours?of the evening, when he might occasionally be?seen stealing, like the ghost of his former self,?between his newspaper office and his home in?Merrion Square; sometimes, too, he was to be?encountered in an old out-of-the-way bookshop?poring over some rare black letter Astrology or?Demonology.
To one of these old bookshops he was at one?time a pretty frequent visitor, and the bookseller?relates how he used to come in and ask with?his peculiarly pleasant voice and smile, 'Any?more ghost stories for me, Mr. -----?' and?how, on a fresh one being handed to him, he?would seldom leave the shop until he had looked?it through. This taste for the supernatural?seems to have grown upon him after his wife's?death, and influenced him so deeply that, had he?not been possessed of a deal of shrewd common?sense, there might have been danger of his?embracing some of the visionary doctrines in which?he was so learned. But no! even Spiritualism,?to which not a few of his brother