Criminal Inspiration - Gaboriau's The Slaves of Paris (1868)

Émile Gaboriau (1832-1873) has a well-recognized position in the history of detective fiction even if he is read little today (his novels are becoming available as e-books, but there are no recent printed editions). He provided inspiration for mystery writers on both sides of the Atlantic; Anna Katharine Green mentions him in an interview in 1929 (in Bookman, Vol 70, p168) and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle found in Gaboriau's detective stories a source for Sherlock Holmes. In 1924, Conan Doyle is quoted as writing in his memoir: “Gaboriau had rather attracted me by the neat dovetailing of his plots,” (http://sherlockholmesexhibition.com/path-to-baker-street/) and in an interview in 1900, Conan Doyle explained how he got the  idea for A Study in Scarlet (1887): "it was about 1886 - I had been reading some detective stories, and it struck me what nonsense they were ..." According to Pierre Nordon, Conan Doyle's notebooks for 1885 and 1886 show that among Conan Doyle's reading "almost the only detective stories were by Gaboriau." (Pierre Nordon. Conan Doyle, 1966, p. 225). In the early pages of A Study in Scarlet, Holmes dismisses Gaboriau's detective Lecoq as "a miserable bungler. ... That book made me positively ill." (A Study in Scarlet, Chapter 2). For a more detailed look at traces of Gaboriau in Sherlock Holmes stories, see for example, http://www.worlds-best-detective-crime-and-murder-mystery-books.com/gaboriauinfluenceondoyle01-article.html.)

In France, even before than in England, the idea of detective police had captured people's imagination. This fascination with the detective as an authority moving across class boundaries and ferreting out the hidden secrets of both respectable and criminal classes, was quickly harnessed commercially. Eugène François Vidocq (1775-1857) was  a criminal who became the head of the French detective force Sûreté Nationale and founded what is generally thought to be the first ever private detective agency. In 1828 he published his memoirs in four volumes (they were probably ghost-written). They were a roaring success and gave Vidocq life-long fame. These memoirs and Vidocq's character, it has been suggested, gave Edgar Allan Poe inspiration to create Auguste Dupin, who in turn, together with Vidocq, inspired Émile Gaboriau to come up with M. Lecoq.

(from http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eug%C3%A8ne-Fran%C3%A7ois_Vidocq)

 

Vidocq was a thief, a fraud and a womanizer; he was constantly on the run after breaking out from prison and once dressed as a nun to escape his pursuers. In 1809, after having been caught again, he turned his coat and became an informant for the police. First he worked as a prison spy, but after his release in 1811 he became a plainclothes detective. In 1813  Napoleon Bonaparte created Sûreté Nationale with Vidocq at its head. The early 1800s were a turbulent time in France and Vidocq's career had its ups and downs. He is, however, credited with developing many modern policing techniques (record keeping, ballistics, chemical analysis, crime scene investigation). In 1832 Sûreté Nationale overhauled and Vidocq left. In 1833, he founded his own private detective agency Le bureau des renseignements. Vidocq and his organization were in constant loggerheads with the official police and he was plagued by court cases brought against him. Vidocq died in 1857 at the age of 82. He was a well-known public figure and his influence has been spied in the works of writers like Victor Hugo, Honoré de Balzac and Alexander Dumas. For a good summary on Vidocq see Graham Robb's review of the 2003 edition of Vidocq's memoirs in the London Review of Books (http://www.lrb.co.uk/v26/n06/graham-robb/walking-through-walls). (A full text version of Vidocq's memoirs is available at https://archive.org/details/memoirsvidocqpr00cruigoog).

 

Gaboriau's books, at the time of publication, were patchily translated into English; a browse of the catalogue of the National Library of Scotland shows that a number were published in English in the 1880s, but there are very few later editions, once those disappeared from print. Gaboriau's novels would have belonged to that army of yellow-backed, French cheap novels read for thrills and titillation. It is reasonable to assume that merely the multitude of mistresses established in luxurious quarters featured in these tales would have created a pleasurable sense of naughtiness for their English readers.

Emile Gaboriau (from http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:%C3%89mile_Gaboriau.jpg)

Gaboriau was born in the village of Saujon, Charente-Martime. In 1855 he moved to Paris, where he worked as a journalist and a writer for magazines. According to Encyclopedia Britannica, "Gaboriau’s prolific imagination and acute observation generated 21 novels (originally published in serial form) in 13 years. He made his reputation with the publication in 1866 of L’Affaire Lerouge (The Widow Lerouge) after having published several other books and miscellaneous writings." (http://www.britannica.com)

In this novel (also translated as The Lerouge Affair) Gaboriau created police detective M. Lecoq and amateur detective Père Tabaret. Other detective stories, featuring the same serial detectives, followed in quick succession: Le Crime d'Orcival and Le Dossier n° 113 both in 1867 and two-volume adventure of Monsieur Lecoq (L'Enquête and L'Honneur du nom) in 1869. Altogether, Lecoq appears in ten novels in one short story (http://www.pjfarmer.com/woldnewton/Lecoq.htm, this site offers a detailed look at the character).

It is generally appreciated how Gaboriau's detectives are masters of both disguise and sharp, analytical thinking. Commentators tend to emphasize those features of Gaboriau's stories (plot twists and clues) and his characters (minute observations and the deductive method) which lead in a straight line to Sherlock Holmes and the classic detective story (see, for example, http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/gaboria.htm, for more on Gaboriau and detective fiction). Less attention has been paid to Gaboriau as a writer of sensation fiction.

In the middle of his well-known detective novels, in 1868, Gaboriau published another two-volume novel Les Esclaves de Paris, translated as The Slaves of Paris. The two volumes were entitled Caught in the Net and The Champdoce Mystery. The Slaves of Paris does not follow the pattern of earlier Lecoq-novels with a detective character investigating a crime or solving a mystery. It is, however, a sensation novel.

The Slaves of Paris is a story of a cunning plot of manipulation and deception created and orchestrated by criminal mastermind Baptiste Mascarin. It is a tale told as much from the point of view of the scheming villain as from that of his innocent victims. It is a thrilling drama of love and money and, perhaps most of all, love of money. M. Lecoq appears in the story, but only in chapter 32 (of 35 chapters) of The Mystery of Champdoce.

The master criminal and his creator are clearly aware of the sensational genre within which they both operate. When Mascarin explains the course of his dastardly plot to his henchmen, he ends by commenting that it "...  would really make a good sensational novel." (Caught in the Net, Chapter 18).

We may agree with the general view of Vidocq's influence on the analytical, methodical detective work carried out by Lecoq (Dupin and Holmes), but I will also suggest that we can see traces of Vidocq's life of crime (frauds, false identities, cunning plots) in the characters of Mascarin and his gang in Gaboriau's The Slaves of Paris. This time, Vidocq is not a source of ratiocination and the scientific method of detection but a source of excitement, menace and sensation.

Happy Ending Does Not a Happy Reader Make

While Arthur is in Oxford, Evelyn and Miriam descend into penury as dress-makers; their rich customers stretch their credit and refuse to pay their bills. Arthur rescues them by lodging them with a kindly Mrs Bertram, a family friend. After Arthur is ordained, Miriam listens to his sermons, teaches at Sunday school and helps him to do good works among the poor (Miriam May, Chapter 15). Despite this, Arthur does not think of Miriam as a potential spouse: "it was never to me that love which sees in such a loveliness a wife."  (Ibid.) It is only when Miriam pleads with him after Arthur threatens to move away, that he decides to marry her instead of taking her along as a servant. As Arthur puts it: "And why not?" (Miriam May, Chapter 17). It is fortunate, that in every way Miriam demonstrates that she will make a worthy wife:

"Miriam, now that she had entered on what was to her so new a life, soon showed that she could well fulfil the position to which she would be called. Miriam was in the full bloom of her rich womanly beauty, nor did her little white hand show dairy work or needlework. Had Miriam been called at any time to swell the loveliness of any court, that call would not have been to her too much." (Miriam May, Chapter 18).

Arthur and Miriam are married by Arthur's older brother (who is also a priest and remains nameless throughout the novel). "It is a humble, small wedding" (Miriam May, Chapter 18), with only the Bertrams, Evelyn May and Dr Montaigne present. Out of the blue a stranger appears and steps up to give Miriam away. "Evelyn, my wife, my own!" He exclaims. This is Geoffrey May, Evelyn's husband, returned at this critical moment after an absence of twenty-four years. "Evelyn, is this our child?" He asks about Miriam. "Geoffrey, you have come; Miriam it is your father; ... Geoffrey, this is our child." After this reunion, the wedding ceremony continues, only: "it was seen by all, Evelyn May now wore a ring." (Ibid.).

At the end of the scene the narrator comments: "Geoffrey May had a good deal to explain, and I cannot know but that he should have at last a chapter to himself." (Ibid.) I should think so!

At the theatre, seeing Evelyn for the first time, Geoffrey "laid at her feet the promise of his rich inheritance of much gold." (Miriam May, Chapter 19). "She did not hate, nor did she love the man" (Ibid.). After a short courtship via letter-writing, they were "married privately in Italy." But, Sir Melville May wanted his son to marry "a blonde woman of no mean means." Sir Melville threatens to cut Geoffrey out of his will. In Geoffrey's own words: "So he will cut me off, so he will rob me, if he but hears that I have married this girl; be it so - to get his gold, I must cast her off - ... A beggar he'd make me. He would like to see me come to want, to rot, to starve. I am a devil, I know that - but so is he." (Ibid.) Geoffrey takes the wedding ring from sleeping Evelyn's finger, leaves behind a letter to explain it all (and proving that Evelyn is his lawful wife) and walks out. Again, conveniently, the very day after Sir Melville dies and Geoffrey has safely inherited his fortune of £2,000, he receives a letter from Mrs Bertram, who just happens to be a family friend to the Mays as well, telling him about Evelyn and Miriam May.

Evelyn is now Lady May, she takes her place in Glastonbury society, and Sir Geoffrey arranges for both Evelyn and Miriam, the girl born on the workhouse steps, to be presented at court (Miriam May, Chapter 20). There is a happy end, because, although Geoffrey may have been a 'devil' who abandoned his wife for fortune and stayed away for twenty-four years leaving her and their daughter to live in poverty and depend on others' charity, there was no birth out of wedlock.

Why is Miriam May such a badly-written novel?  I have already suggested several reasons, but let's finish by summing up.

First, there are issues with the plot. There are wonderfully melodramatic events, but they contribute little to the overall plot and seem to have no consequences. For example, the three incidents where Miriam 'saves' Arthur (the eye of the tutor, the burning of the will and the burning house) have much potential for providing sensational moments and plot twists, and demonstrating depth in the characters. But they do not lead anywhere. There are events that have absolutely no bearing on the plot or the development of the characters, for example the fight over Mrs Trevor's plate after her death (Miriam May, Chapter 11). On the other hand, there are sensational, dramatic events with a significant bearing on the plot which are narrated only in the form of a belated explanation. Geoffrey May's twenty-four-year absence due to his problematic relationship with his "Godless" father is both implausible and potential source of sensational tension. This plot line is more or less wasted in the end of the narrative (Miriam May, Chapter 19).  

There are also issues with the characters. They are flat and one-dimensional in the tradition of melodrama. Miriam is a stereotypical, thoroughly good heroine, despite eaves-dropping on her benefactors and burning a will. Evelyn, the fiery young woman who runs off to the stage at the beginning of the novel, loses much of her character in later chapters and fades into the background. Mr Slie, the opportunistic evangelical could be a much stronger villain. Arthur Trevor does not have much internal life, and there is no sense of his character developing, even if the novel describes his life from childhood to marriage. Melodramatic stereotypes are fine, but they should appear in a tightly woven melodramatic plot, where the plot provides sufficient interest for us, so that we do not seek to engage with the characters to any great extent. This is not the case in Miriam May.

Finally, there are issues with the style of writing. There is nothing wrong with the religious theme of the book, but it is not really embedded in the narrative. It appears as a floating commentary rather then being visible in the thoughts and actions of the characters. There is a strange mix in the tone and style in the novel. Extremely violent scenes are mixed with almost macabre comedy (the eye of the tutor and the death of the member of parliament are examples). Robins was clearly having fun writing Miriam May, you can almost hear him chuckle on some pages. The novel displays a specific kind of sense of humour, specific preoccupations. One might argue that the author has his hobby-horse(s) too much on display. If you cannot trust your readers to share your preoccupations, if you cannot be sure that you are preaching to the converted, you should be very careful about trotting out your hobby-horses when writing fiction.

I think the critical problem is that Robins (and here, I mean Robins the author reflected in Miriam May, not the chaplain I know very little about) is too self-conscious in his writing; instead of telling a story from the inside, imagining his characters and events as a logical universe; he is inventing a chain of incidents from a distant and slightly ironic stand-point. He does not believe in the reality of his story and characters; he is telling an amusing anecdote. This is further evident in the lack of descriptions in the novel. We do not even know what Arthur Trevor looks like. There is very little dialogue, too. The narrative is made up of Arthur Trevor's monologue, which often (and appropriately, as he is a clergyman) sounds very much like a sermon. It is therefore very difficult for the reader to engage with the characters in Miriam May, be convinced by the world they inhabit and be carried away by the events in the narrative.

Low Church versus High Church - Does Anyone in Miriam May Really Care?

Miriam May grabs an opportunity to criticize the state of the church when the bishop of St. Ambrose dies (he does not feature in the novel otherwise). Here the ecclesiastical theme of the novel is at its most explicit, and the narrative highlights the division between the Low Church and the High Church factions in the Church of England. The appointment of a bishop is a political matter:

"It is rumoured," said Mr. Harcourt, as he passed on, "that Slie will get it; he has great interest; his brother has not supported the administration for nothing. Lord Foxmore, too, is said to be anxious that Slie should have it; and Kantwell, who is notoriously the bishop-maker of the Cabinet, has written, I hear, to Mr. Slie." (Miriam May, Chapter 15)

Lord Kantwell's letter to Slie makes clear his hostility towards the High Church:

"I am determined to put down Puseyism; and any one whom I on behalf of Lord Fripon can recommend to the Queen, must very satisfactorily convince me that if, I may so say, he believes the Thirty-nine Articles might well be less in scope and number." (Ibid.)

As a 'job interview' for Mr Slie, Lord Kantwell list several questions that reflecting the division in the church:

"Do you believe, and to what extent in Apostolic succession? Do you believe in Baptismal Regeneration and in Absolution; and do you sanction in any way Confession? I do not desire to influence you in this matter, of course, but are you favourably disposed towards a moderate measure of liturgical revision? Would you sanction amongst your clergy the surplice in the pulpit? Are you friendly to daily services and weekly communions? What is the least and the most number of times in the year that you would urge your clergy to preach against the Virgin Mary? ... Should you be indisposed to look favourably on preaching in Exeter Hall? and I should take it kindly if you would let me know whether your sympathies are with the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, or the Church Missionary Society." (Ibid.)

Mr. Slie replies with his own lengthy letter, giving all these questions the correct, Low Church answers. For example, he considers "the exposition of the Gospel in Exeter Hall to be, of all things, a means for hurrying on the Kingdom of God." (Ibid.)  Exeter Hall on The Strand in London was a meeting place for several protestant organizations. And, writes Mr Slie, the strongly evangelical "Church Missionary Society has, of the two societies your lordship mentions, alone any place in my affections." (Ibid.)  More importantly, from a doctrinal point of view, Slie is in earnest "to put down Puseyism in its every form." (Ibid.) This was another name for the Oxford movement, after Edward Bouverie Pusey (1800-1882) who remained its leader after Newman converted to Catholicism. Pusey had a "long and almost unbroken career of controversy" (Catholic Encyclopedia  at http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/12582a.htm); in 1843 his sermon on The Holy Eucharist got him banned from preaching for two years. (http://www.puseyhouse.org.uk ) He was also an excellent Arabic scholar.

All clergymen of the Church of England were obliged to subscribe to the Thirty-Nine Articles that are the foundation of faith in the Church of England. (See them all at http://www.churchofengland.org/prayer-worship/worship/book-of-common-prayer/articles-of-religion.aspx). Their significance was much debated in the church in the 1840s particularly, and the Oxford movement argued that they complied with the tenets of the Catholic Church. The narrative signals Slie's hypocrisy as a Church of England clergyman:  "his argument against the Articles — to which he thought it faithful to subscribe whilst he held certain of them to be a menace to the faith he professed." (Ibid.).  For more information on this whole matter, see Evangelicals in the Church of England 1734-1984 (1992) by Kenneth Hylson-Smith.

When Arthur's mother dies, he has to consider his own future. He is not sufficiently wealthy to lead the life of an independent gentleman. Mr Stoolman offers him a career in law. But Arthur does not want to be a "man of business," contributing only to himself, he wants to contribute to his country. He replies to Mr Stoolman: "I thought of going to Oxford for three years and then preparing myself for Parliament; as I feared the Church was out of the question." (Miriam May, Chapter 11)

Chapter 11 is entitled "Shying at the Collar." This could be a reference to Arthur's assumed general reluctance to get a job (the collar being the collar of a working harness), but it can equally be taken to refer to a priest's collar. This has High Church relevance: the Oxford movement popularized the dog-collar or the clerical collar. It is generally thought that this collar, which is little more than a normal 19th-century, detachable collar starched and turned back-to-front, was first 'invented' by Rev Dr Donald McLeod, as reported in the Glasgow Herald on December 6, 1894. It seems to me that Rev McLeod had his tongue firmly in cheek when he claimed the credit for it. The article in the Glasgow Herald reports a meeting of the Glasgow Presbytery where the matter of priests' vestments was discussed. It is in this context that Rev McLeod declared:

"Personally he had only one claim to immortality, and he was afraid it rested upon a fact known to no one but himself, and that was, he was the first to introduce what was known as the "dog collar." [Laughter.] In his youth, 39 years ago, he had introduced it." This is followed, according to the report, by more laughter.

(The article is available to view at http://news.google.com, it is in the middle of the second page of the Glasgow Herald edition, under the headline 'Ecclesiastical')

A career in the church, then, is not Arthur's first choice. Instead, quite conveniently, on the third day after gaining his degree from Oxford, Arthur sees a piece in the Morning Post announcing that the member for Great Glastonbury "had been thrown many feet out of a tandem, and cast on to his head leaving whatever brains he had - for the first time brought to light - about the road." (Miriam May, Chapter 12) The paper has "an affectingly exact description of what amount of brains had been got together by some intelligent constable; any amount being on the side of the account that was new to Great Glastonbury." (Ibid.) The narrative combines gore and comedy in a disturbing way, but moves on quickly to describe how parliamentary elections are fought and won. Arthur stands at the elections against Lord Diskount and Mr Le Poer Bubb. Lord Diskount, with his wealth and the help of a "parliamentary agent" wins the seat. Arthur, in turn, loses a lot of money in fighting the campaign and he has to reconsider his options: "I had not the capital which would permit me to be honest, and yet enable me to be successful." (Miriam May, Chapter 13). Instead, he now "turned my thoughts towards the Church." (Ibid.) Arthur enters priesthood, it seems, not as a result of a religious calling, but because of convenience. There is no depiction of his spiritual life or his religious convictions in the narrative, beyond his fond memory of his dead mother teaching him his first prayer when he was a little boy. (Miriam May, Chapter 6).

 

As a priest, Arthur Trevor is High Church - his narrative should have made that clear by now. He soon establishes "daily services to the utter unstringing of Mrs. Dubbelfaise's Protestant nerves." (Miriam May, Chapter 15), he is friends with a High Church clergyman Mr Harcourt. Both of them are not happy about Slie's appointment as bishop:  "the Church may have too many of these men, why don't they keep to their chapels?" (Ibid.)  Although Arthur maintains that "Both Mr Harcourt and I had good cause to know that Mr Slie was no man to be a bishop" (Miriam May, Chapter 15), he accepts Slie as his superior - this respect for church hierarchy is another trait of High Church thinking (Miriam May, Chapter 18).

Miriam May gives its author scope to express views on the Church of England and its divisions. The portrayal of the Low Church preachers Slie and Wray and Slie's loyal congregation of the Glastonbury ladies, the lengthy sections on the idea of "faith without works" and Mr Slie's appointment as a bishop, the references to Puseyism and the Thirty-Nine articles all make up a commentary which disparages the Low Church and supports the High Church faction in the Church of England.

Matters of the church in Miriam May appear as both a source of comedy and (mildly) critical commentary. Crucially, they do not provide any significant contribution to the plot of the novel. The role of the church or religion in the individual characters' lives is not explored in any meaningful way. Arthur's choice to become a priest, and his religious convictions (or lack of them), are not analyzed. Mr Slie's apparently strongly held ecclesiastical views have no impact on the events of the story. His progression up in the church hierarchy is not of interest in the narrative.

H. L. Mansel identified the matter of High Church vs Low Church as the key theme of Miriam May. It is a theme that clearly runs through the novel, but what it adds to the novel is some degree of entertainment value rather than drama, depth or serious social commentary. The reason for this lack of impact is the fact that no one in Miriam May really seems to care about religious matters, despite the fact that both the narrator/hero Arthur and the character that comes closest to being the villain of the piece Mr Slie are priests in the Church of England. The place where the narrative should most explicitly pass judgment on this matter is the treatment of Evelyn May, the (possibly) un-wed mother and her (possibly) bastard daughter. In most simple terms, the Low Church congregation of Mr Slie refuses the two women charity, whereas the High Church Arthur Trevor support the women throughout. But this distinction is not attributable to the ecclesiastical leanings of the two sides, there are other motivations than religious ones. The ladies of Glastonbury are driven as much by ideas of middle-class respectability as evangelical principles. On the other side, as a gentleman, Arthur is obliged to help Evelyn and Miriam, after Miriam has 'saved' him and spent years as an 'adopted' sister in his household

Robins has sought to use the sensational, melodramatic plot of Evelyn and Miriam May's tribulations as a vehicle in which to insert comments on the theme of the church. This is why, first, you can read Miriam May and ignore the sections about the church, you will not miss anything in understanding the plot or the characters; and secondly, Miriam May is not a very good novel (there are other reasons, too, more about them later). The controversy between the Low Church and the High Church, which was a passionately fought issue that affected deeply those involved in it, is a powerful theme for a sensation novel. Religious convictions, fundamentalism and sectarianism are strong motives with sensational potential. Miriam May almost completely fails to take advantage of this.

High Church vs Low Church - Do We Need to Care?

Can we appreciate Miriam May fully without understanding the religious views embedded in the novel? How do these views affect or interact with the sensational narrative? As much as I would like to leave religion aside and lack interest in the internal politics of the Church of England, I feel that it is necessary to have at least a quick look at what exactly Miriam May says about the church. Is it simply the case, as H. L. Mansel suggests, that the novel preaches for the High Church by presenting Low Church men as villainous? Or is there more to it?

The terms High Church and Low Church have a long and varied history. By the time of Miriam May (1860), the factions of the Church of England were well established. Starting in the 1830s, the Oxford Movement associated with High Church, had voiced their views that the Church of England needed to be saved from encroaching laxity and freedom in religious matters and that it, really, was the third branch of the only true Christian church (together with the Orthodox and Roman Catholic branches). High Church leaned towards Rome and was also referred to as 'Anglo-Catholic,' the Low Church was also known as "evangelical protestants." Unlike in the High Church, Low Church services did not follow a prescribed order of complex rituals, and there was more room for spontaneity. Low Church aimed to return to the simplicity of worship assumed to be closer to the Biblical times. Outside of this division were the Dissenters, those who felt that no faction of the established church was right for them (groups like Puritans and Quakers). For the sake of completeness, we should also mention Broad Church - a nineteenth-century label for those members of the Church of England who agreed that a bit of variety and tolerance did not hurt. Today this view within the church would be called liberalism.

(For a more detailed, historical explanation of the differences between Low and High Church see, for example, an article by Dennis Bratcher at http://www.crivoice.org/lowhighchurch.html.)

From the start, "the Hon and Rev Calvin Slie" in Miriam May is presented as the villain of the piece. His fondness of Evelyn's golden hair and "elaborate blessings" (Miriam May, Chapter 2) introduce him. He is called away from Evelyn "to move a resolution against " Tractarian Innovations" and " Ritualistic Revivals" at the Town Hall." (Ibid.) If his Christian name is not strong enough a hint, his opposition to these High Church ideas establish Mr Slie firmly as a Low Church man.Later he is described in the newspaper as "a member of the Evangelical party in the Church ; and is favourably known as the author of many recondite controversial treatises in opposition to the more insidious of the " Tracts for the Times." (Miriam May, Chapter 15)

Mr Slie arranges for a sweatshop owner to exploit Evelyn (Miriam May, Chapter 3), he keeps the best wine to himself and serves lower quality to his guests (Chapter 18), he is fond of his own voice and values his own company: " Mr. Slie, by reason of his many opportunities, had long attained to that state of things when he could with difficulty persuade himself that he was not welcome everywhere." (Miriam May, Chapter 5). In short, Mr Slie is self-important, greedy and a hypocrite. He is also the spiritual leader for the righteous and comical ladies of Glastonbury (Mrs Dubbelfaise, Mrs Slim and Miss Todhunter): "They had not heard the Gospel for those many years from the lips of Mr. Slie for nothing. They had his assurance that in the matter of their salvation, their prospects were assuring and comfortable" (Miriam May, Chapter 4).

Mr Wray, Arthur's unhappy tutor recommended by Mr Slie, is a fellow Low Church man, who according to Slie "might see excellence in institutions other than the Church of England. He was a member of that great church that called all Christians brothers." (Miriam May, Chapter 7). He is also a liar, in debt and cowardly. "He was one of those measureless hypocrites whose successes in those households he infested, were in the main brought about by an appeal to that religion which he only professed that he might profane it." (Ibid.)

Every sensation novel needs a good villain, unfortunately Mr Slie and Mr Wray are not in the same league with Count Fosco. Mr Slie goes as far as to stroke Evelyn's golden hair, but no further. He may pray that "a great and withering curse might come upon the ministry of a clergyman of alleged " High Church" opinions" (Miriam May, Chapter 16), but that is as far as he goes. Miriam May portrays these Low Church men as cowardly and selfish, but not as evil. The narrative does not quite have the courage or the desire to make its villains truly villainous. Instead, the villains seem to subscribe to the principle of "faith without works" (more of that below). Mr Slie becomes the bishop of St Ambrose. Mr Wray disappears to pursue other business ventures. Neither man comes to an even slightly sticky end.

As H. L. Mansel observed in his review, Miriam May certainly portrays Low Church preachers in a negative light. But this is not the only way the narrative reflects religious views. There are two rather clumsy digressions into religious matters; the one concerning the tenet of "faith without works" has already been mentioned, there is also a long section on the appointments of bishops. Finally, there is Arthur Trevor's own career in the church to consider.

"Faith without works" is a quotation from the Bible (James 2:20): "Faith without works is dead," and "For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also." (James 2:26). Faith alone is not enough; it must be reflected in deeds and actions. This was a key message preached by the Oxford Movement. One of its founding fathers was John Henry Newman (1801-1890). In 1834, after a formative trip to Italy, he began writing Tracts for the Times Against Popery and Dissent. In these writings and in his Parochial and Plain Sermons (collected in 8 volumes, 1834-1843) he advocated "deeds, not words and wishes" (Sermon 13 entitled "Promising without Doing"). He called people to take action to protect the church from the increasing influence of the state and restore the church to its discipline, respect and position of power: "With the doctrinal and sacramental faith unfolding in him from his conversion, Newman desired to revive Christianity for a culture descending into unbelief." (http://www.thepapalvisit.org.uk/Cardinal-Newman/About-Newman/John-Henry-Cardinal-Newman ).

Newman wrote 90 tracts, until the last one, Tract 90 in 1841, alarmed even the rest of the Oxford movement. It argued that the Thirty-Nine articles, which form the foundation of the faith in the Church of England, were in fact compatible with the Catholic faith (and thus undid Henry VIII's Reformation). Newman had gone as 'high church' as it was possible to go. In 1845 Newman joined the Catholic church. He was ordained as a Catholic priest in 1847 and became a cardinal in 1879. In 2010 he progressed to the state of Beatification (further miracles are required before he earns Canonization) (http://www.thepapalvisit.org.uk).

John Henry Newman

 In Miriam May, "faith without works" "in Glastonbury, was the one thing proclaimed. ...  To such a strength had it attained during the ministry of Mr. Slie, that amongst the more seriously disposed of the ladies, there came up, after a one night's deliberation, a very excellent movement, which soon had a name from its enemies as the " Faith without works faction;" and those who were in any way moved to become its members, were inhibited, under severe penalties, from believing anything that was not strictly a matter of unsupported faith." (Miriam May, Chapter 5)

Ms Dubbelfaise, the founding member and leader of "Faith without Works Faction" (and thereby a curious mirror-image of Newman), is in "ecclesiastical difficulties" (Ibid.):

"In her heart she was powerfully disaffected towards Evelyn; still she believed in her heart of hearts, that the persecuted girl might well stand side by side with any matron in all moral Glastonbury. So it will be seen that the difficulties of that lady's position were not by any means small. Did she enter on a great struggle with a painful thing, and speak not well of a girl whom she did not conceal from herself that she hated, the whole strength of the committee of the "charity club," and the " faith without works" faction, would find the very principles to which they appealed for existence disavowed by their founder." (Ibid.).

Evelyn Mervyn cannot be offered charity, for the very reason that Mrs Dubbelfaise has faith in her innocence, because works must not follow faith. When Mrs Dubbelfaise asks for Mr Slie's advice, he reassures her: "whatever we may believe — and in charity we are bound to believe the best — our exceeding faith must not be permitted in its fulness to carry us into that excessive clemency which would indeed be criminal." (Ibid.)

Miriam May turns a key tenet of High Church thinking on its head by leaving out its crucial conclusion: "faith without works is dead." It depicts silly Low Church characters who in their ignorance or misguided religious sensibility completely misunderstand this Biblical notion and apply it to a question of charity with perversely un-Christian results.

The Eye of the Tutor

In Miriam May, Miriam saves Arthur three times in sensational incidents. First Miriam saves Arthur from a jail sentence. Then she saves his inheritance after his mother dies. Finally, Miriam rescues Arthur from a burning building. All these incidents sound thrilling and suitably conventional for plot twists in sensation fiction. But Miriam May fails in each instance to send the right kind of a shiver down the reader's spine. Instead these incidents will serve as good illustrations of bad writing.

Mr Slie recommends Mr George Alexis Wray as a tutor for Arthur and his elder brother (Miriam May, Chapter 7). "He was one of those measureless hypocrites whose success in those households he infested, were in the main brought about by an appeal to that religion which he only professed that he might profane it." We can assume that Wray, like Slie, is a religious man of the Low Church variety, unpalatable to our narrator. Wray stays as tutor in Glastonbury Grange for seven years until one day in the school room, to discipline Arthur, Wray ends up "dealing me two blows with a huge dictionary, which brought me stunned to the ground at his feet." (Miriam May, Chapter 7). Arthur is enraged by this treatment. He seizes Wray by the throat: "for the first time in my short life I knew what it was to have revenge, and I liked it well enough to wish for more." (Ibid.) Arthur is in a murderous rage: "I closed my fingers all the tighter ... I was not frightened but very glad when I saw how black his face had turned and how his eyes stated and stared. Devilish thoughts had so come over me that I laughed at his agony." Wray pulls out a knife, Arthur "stayed his hand" and in the fight Wray stabs himself in the eye. Arthur recoils from this gruesome sight: "I felt a sickness creeping on me, such as I had never felt before; whilst my head turned giddy, and for a while I was as one that was dead." (Ibid.)

This extremely violent, horrific scene of the school boy and the teacher is followed immediately by a comic scene where Wray's legal representative Mr Latimer Latitude tries to extract compensation for Wray from Arthur's father. The dialogue is courteous legalese in the best weaselly tradition. Mr Trevor refuses to pay Wray, even if his own solicitor tells him that "Mr Wray has a case." (Miriam May, Chapter 9). Arthur is accused of an assault. He is jailed, because he refused bail. "I had resolved to go to prison." Even though, "I might within an hour have been at large on bail." (Ibid.)  At his trial: "I looked around the court and saw many a hard face fixed in its callous ridicule on me that had come to sneer from Glastonbury, to see my shame, and listen to the judgment on the rich man's son." (Ibid.) After this gloom start to the proceedings, Robins goes on to have fun with comically convoluted speeches by the lawyers about this "piece of savagery ... unequalled in our criminal annals." In the end, it is the word of a boy against the word of a preacher and the verdict is about to go against Arthur, when on the court room aisle "trembling and beautiful, kneeled Miriam May." "I can save you - save you!" She calls and insists on speaking. "She seemed like an angel ... [with] her heaving bosom ... he exceeding loveliness." Miriam claims she was an eye-witness to the incident between Arthur and Mr Wray, and as a result Arthur is declared "Not Guilty." (Ibid.)

Arthur's father Mr Trevor loses much of his money and then dies.His executor is Mr Stoolman. After Mr Trevor's death, Mrs Stoolman, a grasping woman, persuades Mrs Trevor to write a second will and more or less dictates it to her. The purpose of this will is to benefit Mrs Stoolman and "many years ought to be put between me and my inheritance," according to Arthur. At the time, Miriam May saw Mr Banco the solicitor arrive to "make the will." Miriam ""had gone up before them, and hidden herself, and heard all." (Miriam May, Chapter 10). In addition to this eaves-dropping, Miriam then burns the new will and keeps the old one.

Eighteen months later Mrs Trevor follows her husband to the grave (Miriam May, Chapter 10).  Again, the Stoolmans arrive at Glastonbury Grange. They bring along their daughter, called Sophonisba, who "was known to scream at wasps, black beetles, and naked little boys in their baths." (Miriam May, Chapter 11). There is much comic debate about Mrs Trevor's legacy with the Stoolmans and the McGrabs (also related to the family) trying to appropriate items in the house. Eventually the house is searched for Mrs Trevor's will. Arthur has told Miriam to keep the will hidden to see "what a turn things might take." Well, they take no turn whatsoever, so in the very next paragraph Miriam pretends to find the will. Miriam has saved Arthur's inheritance.

 Later in the novel, Miriam and Arthur attend a reception for Mr Slie at Mrs Dubbelfaise's house. "There was coffee and conversation, and then a little severe sacred music." (Miriam May, Chapter 16). The place catches fire. Miriam May notices the flames and calls to Arthur: "Come! See I can save you yet." Together they save others and get them out of the burning building: "Whenever I turned to look for her, I saw that her great, soft loving eyes were fixed on me." The house burns down, but never mind; Mrs Dubbelfaise "had been an insuring woman for many years." (Miriam May, Chapter 17).

So what is wrong with these plot twists of crime, inheritance and destruction by fire? Why do these stock devices of sensational plotting not work in Miriam May? 

First, they are contrived. Mr Wray is only introduced into the narrative in order to be stabbed in the eye. Arthur gives no reason for his determination to refuse bail. The Stoolmans are only introduced into the narrative for the inheritance sub-plot to be run through in a single chapter  (Chapter 10). There is no explanation of Miriam's motives for burning the second will - or rather there is no consideration of the moral implications of her actions. She appears entirely single-minded in her devotion to Arthur. The fire at Mrs Dubbelfaise's house flares up by accident and no harm is done. The three incidents are not embedded in the course of the narrative, they are bolts out of the blue, constructed quickly and vanish without a trace.

Secondly, they do not contribute to the overall plot. The only purpose of all three incidents seems to be to allow Miriam to save Arthur so that he will notice her devotion sufficiently to marry her. Arthur's violent temper, his inheritance, and the loss of Mrs Dubbelfaise's house do not advance the narrative. They are anecdotal events.

Thirdly, the three incidents do not add anything to the characterization in the novel. Quite the opposite, they are red herrings. Arthur's uncontrollable temper revealed in the incident with Mrs Wray could be potentially significant. He could be a man who has to struggle to master his passions. No such luck, there is no indication in the rest of the narrative that Arhur has any fire in his belly. Miriam's eavesdropping and her decision to burn Mrs Trevor's second will are clearly signs that she is not a complete goody-two-shoes. This is also potentially excellent for a sensation novel, the genre revels in contradictory heroines. But no, the rest of the time Miriam May is an angel. There are no repercussions from the fire. This dramatic incident does not appear to affect the relationship of the main characters.

Finally, each of these sensational incidents are stylistically mixed with comedy that takes the thrill away from them. Mr Latimer Latitude and the Stoolmans are comic characters whose only purpose is to provide light entertainment. The fire begins after a scene with social comedy when Mrs Dubbelfaise's son's attempts to dance with Miriam are interruped by Mr Slie's call for prayer. In short, the writing is too uneven to be carry the reader smoothly with it. The narrative does not know which note to strike: melodramatic or comic. This is a good mix with a long tradition in popular entertainment, but in Miriam May, the mix is not sufficiently controlled and managed. Instead the comic eats into the ability of the melodramatic to thrill, and the melodrama takes away the joy of the comedy. This is particularly stark in the case of Mr Wray. It is very awkward to associate the horrifically violent, powerful scene of Arthur's attack on Mr Wray with the comic parody of courtroom descriptions of the same event.

I would ask all novelists to avoid these pitfalls demonstrated so well by the eye of the tutor.

Faith Without Works, or; the Nature of Charity

Harvey Montaigne visits Evelyn Mervyn and her baby in the workhouse. The scene is gloriously melodramatic. He "saw the beautiful mother with the sleeping child strained closely to her breast." Evelyn is the very picture of gentle and gracious motherhood. And she pleads for her innocence: "Tell me, oh, do tell me, dear, dear sir! do you think me guilty of this shame? ... Can you look me here - here, in the face - and see the wife without looking at that mocking finger - this finger, which hurls my witness back with scorn?" Of course, Doctor Montaigne cannot resist such an emotional appeal. "Smoothing her golden hair, with none of the attractively religious action of Mr Slie, but with a real fondness" Montaigne declares: "I do believe you pure - pure as you ever were."  He believes that "she was the lawful wife of Geoffrey May." (Miriam May, Chapter 4)

The whole moral universe, as well as the plot of the novel, pivots on "that mocking finger." No matter what misfortunes - or crimes or immoralities - have brought Evelyn Mervyn to the workhouse, as long as she is married, she is "pure," if she has borne a child out of wedlock, she is a soiled dove and damned.

"As there was no ring, and there was no believing that it had been pawned" (Ibid.), Evelyn is deemed not deserving of charity. A storm of condemnation begins to brew amongst the "virgins of Glastonbury." Mrs Dubbelfaise (no points for guessing that lady's character), Mrs Slim and Miss Todhunter are introduced as the voice of Glastonbury society. The task of these ladies in the narrative is to represent the surrounding small-town morality with their prejudices, as well as to provide the main source of comic relief in the novel with the misguided nature of these prejudices and with their general silliness.

When the three ladies learn that Evelyn is to move to Glastonbury Grange to be a wet nurse for Mrs Trevor's new-born baby (that is our narrator Arthur), they hold an "indignation meeting" with Mrs Dubbelfaise in the lead: "What can Mrs Trevor hope will be the future of her child, when she fills its great ugly mouth with the milk of this impudent hussey?" And there is a further threat, as she points out: "... but recollect Mrs Slim, that the girl may insinuate herself into your home, and tempt your husband, your husband - she is just the wicked thing to do it."  Evelyn is condemned as morally corrupting and dangerous. Miss Todhunter suggests to Mrs Dubbelfaise: "Do cast the first stone, Tilda, you will do it so well." (Miriam May, Chapter 4).

The juxtaposition of the two views of Evelyn Mervyn as a deserving and "pure" abandoned wife and an "impudent hussey" out to take advantage of the respectable people, gives the narrator free rein to air his views on charity. He writes at length and with some obtuseness about "faith without works," (Miriam May, Chapter 5).

"Faith without works" comes from the Bible (James 2: 14-17, 26), which states

What does it profit, my brethren, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can faith save him?  If a brother or sister is naked and destitute of daily food, and one of you says to them, “Depart in peace, be warmed and filled,” but you do not give them the things which are needed for the body, what does it profit? Thus also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead. ... For as the body apart from the spirit is dead, so also faith apart from works is dead."  

The narrator makes a general pronouncement of his view of charity at the opening of Chapter 4: "If there be one moral prominence of an age that talks of nothing but its belief in self-denial, and does nothing but make money, more remarkable than any other, it is emphatically to be found in its airy forms of varied charity." (Miriam May, Chapter 4). This is a general criticism of "faith without works;" charity must be in actual deeds and works, charitable sentiments are not sufficient

The idea of "faith without works" is partly demonstrated later in Mrs Dubbelfaise's conclusion that "I cannot disbelieve that that girl is a wife, but I have very excellent grounds ... for acknowledging in public no such belief." (Miriam May, Chapter 4). Evelyn is probably deserving of charity and innocent of sin, but as long as there is no ring, no public evidence of her innocence, she should not be granted the protection and aid of charity. "Mrs Slim also believed ... that this charity in that town often did cover and conceal an amazing multitude of sins."  (Miriam May, Chapter 4).

How do these sentiments of the characters relate to the general principle of "faith without works"? Mrs Dubbelfaise has some charitable sentiments for Evelyn, but she refuses to take action as long as there is not actual proof that Evelyn is deserving of charity. This is slightly different from the accusation that charitable sentiments are worthless without charitable deeds. Mrs Dubbelfaise seems to just require proof of Evelyn's moral nature, before she is willing to engage in acts of charity. Mrs Slim's opinion seems to suggest that because of "faith without works" many sins are allowed to fester because no charitable action is taken.

Mrs Dubbelfaise's and her friends' decision to "cast the first stone" and deny Evelyn charity because of her lack of wedding ring is condemned as misguided and morally wrong because their scene is presented as comical. Doctor Montaigne's trust in Evelyn's own words is morally right because the relevant scene is beautifully romantic and melodramatic. In this way, the style of writing appears to make a moral comment about the content of writing.

It is Dr Montaigne's belief in Evelyn's innocence which carries the day and the plot of the novel. He demonstrates his faith with works, as opposed to the three ladies Glastonbury. Dr Montaigne arranges for Evelyn and her baby to move to Glastonbury Grange. Evelyn takes over the running of the dairy (Miriam May, Chapter 6). Her daughter Miriam and the narrator "were soon inseparable." The love-interest is revived when Arthur says to Miriam: "When I am a grown-up man Miriam, I will marry you, and then you shall come up stairs." (Miriam May, Chapter 6)

Two Births in Glastonbury

"It certainly was the night-bell that rang.

"Little things not infrequently contribute to significant conclusions, and although the music of a doctor's bell can hardly call for any very special chronicles, in this instance it may well evidence a resisting power on the part of a member of the college of Surgeons, who was not the less at all points a man, because he was an accoucheur at all seasons."

Er, what? This is the opening of Miriam May. The first sentence is short and to the point. The added emphasis of the italics seems to suggest that we might doubt our hearing. The second sentence runs wildly away with verbiosity from philosophical pronouncements to French. All this sentence seems to mean, is that the ringing of the bell starts our story, and the doctor is reluctant to answer its call. This opening sounds a warning bell: Miriam May will attempt to be witty but may well end up being obtuse unless we can accustom ourselves to the narrator's somewhat over-elaborate style.

Harvey Montaigne, "the doctor of Glastonbury," has been called by the bell to attend to Mrs Trevor. "In the face of a snow-storm, and a frost that has no counterpart in these days," Doctor Montaigne travels into the night to assist in the birth of our narrator. As a nod to Sterne, the story has begun before its narrator has entered the world: "I was as yet unborn when the night-bell rang on that twenty-third of January, but it was my coming that took Harvey Montaigne from his bed that night." (Miriam May, Chapter 1)

On his way back from the Trevor residence, Harvey Montaigne encounters a dying girl at the workhouse door. She is beautiful, her eyes "rich in their beauty." She is "that lovely girl." Our good doctor carries her into the workhouse, but there is more: "she whom he carries was a mother." And even worse: she looks at the doctor with "her soft lustrous eyes, and gave him her thin, white hand, whereon there certainly was no wedding ring." (Miriam May, Chapter 1). As a clue to her miserable state, the girl mumbles about Geoffrey.

This is a dramatic beginning for the novel: on this same snow-bound, frosty night in January, are born both our narrator Arthur, the second son of the respectable Trevors, and the daughter of the (apparently) un-wed mother at the workhouse door. This is a good starting point for a sensational story.

The mystery of the girl at the workhouse door is partly dispelled in the next two chapters. They give the back-story of Evelyn Mervyn. Evelyn's father, Farmer Stephen Mervyn" is a "desirable" widower "in every way" (Miriam May, Chapter 2). Evelyn grew up without the guiding hand of a mother and without any schooling: "she should at least escape the pollution of a school." The narrator's views on the schooling of girls are not very positive: he seems to think that girls only encounter temptations at school and are trained to dissemble. Evelyn, on the other hand, "was so much blessed above those who were her neighbours, that she hardly ever knew temptation, for she had never known school." Therefore, when at the age of fourteen, Evelyn loses her father, she becomes "the orphan who by the educational temptations that had been wisely kept from her, had grown up into womanhood without guile ..." This is one way of saying that she was an innocent. (Miriam May, Chapter 2).

After her father's death, Evelyn seeks advice from Honourable and Reverend Calvin Slie. (The name reveals something of his character.) The Reverend seems spellbound by Evelyn's golden hair and blue eyes, to the extent that he finds it difficult to keep his hands off her: "indeed, Evelyn was inclined to think his hands had already remained on her head much longer than was necessary for the realisation even of all the abundance of grace that he wished." (Miriam May, Chapter 2). The Rev Slie arranges for Evelyn to become a seamstress making shirts in a small sweatshop - "eight pence a shirt" (Miriam May, Chapter 3). Evelyn loses her health and eventually quits the job. Instead she joins a theatre. The theatre manager treats her "with none of the offensive familiarity of Mr Slie." Here is a point of interest: a low church clergyman the Rev Slie is depicted as a somewhat dubious character with his wandering hands and deals with sweatshops. A theatre manager is depicted as a generous and kindly figure.

Evelyn is a great success at the theatre with "her golden hair, and the lovely face, and the figure that had none of the advantages of a 'course of deportment'" (Miriam May, Chapter 3). The narrator really does not like contemporary women's education. She performs to full houses, and when appearing as Lucy in The Rivals, she even adds a dance to the bill.

As an aside, The Rivals is by Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816) and was first performed at Covent Garden in 1775, where this comedy of manners was severely criticized as a long play badly acted and containing much bawdiness. It was withdrawn after the first night, Sheridan rewrote it in ten days, and it has remained popular ever since. It is no surprise that it should be staged in Glastonbury for Evelyn to take a small supporting role in it. Lucy is the scheming maid of Lydia, a rich heiress who juggles various admirers. Lucy deceives one of these admirers, delivering his love-notes for Lydia instead to Lydia's aunt Mrs Malaprop - whose peculiarity with words gave us 'malapropism'.

Evelyn's career on stage ends, "as the local prints the next day had it," with "a very great sensation." A stranger in the stage box throws a bouquet onto the stage for Evelyn. The accompanying note is signed G. M. but we are not told its contents. It upsets Evelyn: "With the burning blood crimsoning her lovely face, and her eyes flashing great flashes of indignant fire, she flung the flowers aside, and running to the footlights, threw herself sobbing on her knees and prayed of the audience to save her from such cruel insult." (Miriam May Chapter 3). The stranger declares he would call Evelyn "my lawful wife."

"... from that night Evelyn Mervyn was never seen again in the little theatre of Glastonbury." But, "She had borne a baby at the workhouse door ..." (Miriam May, Chapter 3).

The story of Evelyn Mervyn, establishes her as a woman with a secret. Her journey from the stage to the workhouse door is still unknown. Most importantly, it is unclear whether she is married and a poor abandoned creature, or unmarried and a doomed, fallen woman. The fate of her child depends upon this.

The style of writing in Miriam May is thick, convoluted and obtuse. But it is also distinct. There is a discernible narrative voice that is not at all unpleasant to follow. We see glimpses of opinions about women's education and low church clergymen that perhaps sound more like the views of the Reverend Arthur Robins than the views of a young man like our narrator Arthur Trevor. Maybe the clue is in the name and the author and the narrator are not that far apart.

There are scenes that are satisfyingly melodramatic. But some scenes remain a little unclear. At the opening chapter it is not immediately clear that Evelyn has given birth at the workhouse door; it is simply stated that she was a mother. At the theatre scene it is not clear whether the stranger with initials G. M. is claiming that Evelyn is his wife, is proposing to her, or simply is trying to assure her that his intentions are honourable. It may be that Robins's language gets in the way of the story or he is being too around-about in the way he writes about details he considers too intimate to spell out. The problem may also lie in a common difficulty of every novelist: you forget to show the reader all the important detail simply because the vision is so clear in your own head. The author's mind is filled with the dramatic scene and it plays through (in this case) his imagination like a film. The author forgets that the reader is not watching the same film, but depends entirely on the words that he manages to get on the page. There is a merry, chuckling quality to Robins's writing and you get a distinct impression that he was having fun writing Miriam May.