Amelia Beauclerc, Alinda; or, the Child
of Mystery
London: Crosby, 1812
New Review (2 August, 1813): 140-144
'Alinda, or the Child of Mystery. A Novel, In Four Volumes.' By the Author of "Ora and Juliet, Castle of Tariffa, & Co. London: Crosby, 12mo. 4 vols. Pr.1l.
For the sake of those who may open this book with any expectation of interest or amusement, (a class in which the patient, thorough-paced reviewer can seldom include himself,) we cannot avoid deploring the inaccuracy with which it is printed. In the second page we are told that 'Love is the frequent bame of our lives.' Readers little accustomed to be set at fault by typographical errors, might be alarmed by this nameless warning of difficulty and danger. A few lines lower, occurs the word cossack; which of course carried back our imaginations to the smoking ruins [141] of Moscow, the cool bravery of Kutosoff, the furious charge of the Don cavalry, and the retreat of the Emperor Napoleon: but from this splendid phantasy of military glory, we were however soon awakened by finding that nothing was further from the intention of the author, who simply meant to designate the pastoral gown of his clerical hero, commonly called a cassock. Since all the writing world must know, and all the reading world must conclude, that, to a determined author by profession, nothing can be so attractive as the title-page of his own works, we cannot help expressing our surprise that the 'delightful task' of retracing his ideas, line by line, and word by word as they issue from the press, should be ever delegated to another, and not be made his own peculiar care.
In the opening of the work, Mr. and Mrs. Graham are described as residing on the Borders of Yorkshire, and attempting to subsist on a curacy of seventy pounds a year. Times and manners are changed since the brother of the inimitable Dr. Goldsmith was 'passing rich with forty pounds a year'. But whatever progress dissipation and false refinement may have made in withering the affections and deteriorating the principles of the middle classes of life, we are unwilling to believe that human nature is, or can be, essentially changed. Truth, Sincerity, and disinterested Love, are still the objects of affection and esteem, nor has the value of beauty, tenderness, or talent, sunk in proportion to the value of funded property and ready cash. The errors of enthusiasm are still pitied by generous, and ridiculed by sordid, natures; and that wisdom which teaches us to grow wiser by the experience of others, since we so seldom find it in those who enjoy the full possession of their sober senses, cannot reasonably be expected of a lover.
Our first introduction to the acquaintance of Mrs. Graham is not much calculated to excite our admiration or esteem. We are told that after they had been married two years, 'Mr Graham began to regret that his wife had no talents for those industrious pursuits that yield help to a family, and yet bring no disgrace on a gentlewoman: she could not draw or paint, and as to fine needle works, she did not excel even in darning a stocking, as poor Graham's hose bore witness.
'Happily they had no children and when the hours grew languid, and the writing of a sermon kept her husband in the closet, she amused those periods by an attempt at poetry, too tame, and too fantastic, to excite any feeling but disgust. But still she was so pretty that Graham could not find fault; and he was more sorry than angry at her idle occupations.'
How wise is the precaution which obliges the confederacy of Reviewers to sit in the darkness, like the sages of the Areopagus, to judge the claims of their appellants! Which of us will dare to say to himself that, placed in circumstances nearly similar, he could be more rigidly impartial, less alive to the fascination of female charms, than the worthy Mr. Graham! How often, doubtless, would it occur to us, that the fair authoress would appear in our eyes so pretty, that we could not find fault! When we consider the aweful responsibility of our office, we cannot certainly be too grateful, that, shrouded in salutary [142] obscurity, we are in no danger of mistaking the brilliancy of a pair of fine eyes, for the coruscations of wit; or clearness of complexion, for purity of style.
The poverty of our domestic pair is soon relieved by means of the mysterious introduction of a female child, placed under the care of Mr. and Mrs. Graham by a stranger, who pays with her a stipend of one hundred a year. On her admission into the family, something very like an altercation occurs between the married parties. We are persuaded that no lady, who reads this passage attentively, will ever again contradict her husband, since we are assured, on the faith of the author, that on that occasion, Mr. Graham, the mild, the considerate, the affectionate Mr. Graham, regarded his wife with astonishment, and, (let our fair readers 'believe and tremble!') 'the expression of her countenance made him think her', (O ye Graces!) 'QUITE UGLY.'
In process of time this mysterious protégée, who is called Alinda, and who, in her childhood gives the promise of every virtue, grows up, is of course a beauty, of course admired, and of course falls in love. 'Fitzmaurice was very handsome, humorous, lively, and attentive'. We do not pretend to inquire into the causes of favourable predilections among young ladies, but we confess that we should never have considered humour as a quality at all likely to excite or denote the tender passion. But, on proceeding a little farther, we cannot be surprised that the refined, the delicate, heroine should be captivated by a gentleman, who declares at his first interview with her, that 'upon his soul he will not be denied', she must 'dance another dance with him'.
We will not forestal the curiosity of our female readers by entering into the detail of an alarm and affray at a playhouse, but cannot avoid mentioning a notable observation made on the occasion by a sagacious old gentleman - one Mr. Barlow - who says, that 'public meetings are good for nothing but to put Love and Nonsense into young people's heads'. We hope that Love and nonsense are not so inseparably united: indeed we may venture to affirm it, with all the sober decision of Experience. Our critical functions have annoyed us with a great deal of nonsense unmixed with Love; but we are not such confirmed and incorrigible Knights of the quill, such mere men of ink and paper, as to resign to all hopes of one day meeting with Love unspoiled by nonsense. Alinda is carried off by Fitzmaurice and married to him in Scotland. On their return to the neighbourhood of the Grahams, the conduct of the bridegroom is rather peculiar: 'he exhibited his wife at all assemblies, and yet everybody was given to understand that his marriage must be kept a secret'.
This is certainly a striking and ingenious trait of Hibernianism. The gentlemen of that nation, whom we have met with in our personal review of polite society since the Union, appeared to differ very little from English gentlemen in their tempers, characters, and conduct; but the author of 'Alinda, or the Child of Mystery', may have united more extensive means of observation to greater accuracy of remark.
Mr Fitzmaurice goes to Ireland and leaves his wife under the protection of the Grahams, whom she [143] is, however, soon obliged to leave, to follow her husband across the channel. Here we have the description of a voyage. Nothing can exceed the amiable condescension of Mrs. Fitzmaurice towards all her fellow passengers. She behaves like an angel in the midst of harrassments and inconveniences, and talks, with the charity of a female Dogberry, for 'half an hour', to a poor widow lady who lies in her cot, without the power to answer her, but groaning so piteously, that with some of the ship's company she passes for 'a ghost.'
On her arrival at Cork, Alinda finds that she has made a sad mistake in not preserving the evidence of her marriage to Mr. Fitzmaurice, since she learns that he has disclaimed their legitimate union. this is a fearful discovery, though we can hardly imagine any condition much worse than that of the wife to Mr. Fitzmaurice; unless indeed it were to be found in the luckless fate of her who should be doomed to become his mistress. Alinda proceeds to the Castle of Clonachmorochy, the place appointed for her residence, and here the reader is introduced to Irish scenery, and the Irish peasantry, by a series of descriptions that we believe to be accurate, and few will not consider as lively. The character of Judy is very interesting, and lays claim to originality. We are, however, a little startled, to find a protestant young lady, brought up in England in the house of a clergyman of the established church, "dip her hand into holy water, and sprinkle her whole face with it." In this old castle, Alinda gives birth to a son, and the father’s behaviour on the occasion would certainly be ludicrous, if it were not shocking.
Alinda loses her kind friend Mr. Graham, and is apprised of his death by a characteristic letter from the widow. Fitzmaurice at length, declares to Alinda his intention to comply with his father's injunctions, and marry 'the beautiful Miss Montgommerie with a large fortune'. Alinda feels all that may be supposed on the occasion; but however, commands herself sufficiently to write to her husband 'an excellent letter' with which it is not in our power to indulge our readers, since we have ourselves only a hearsay acquaintance with it. Alinda sails from Cork to Ilfracombe, with her child and her faithful Judy. On the passage she falls in with a disguised figure, apparently a young lad, who proves to be Miss Montgommerie flying from her home and her country to avoid her intended marriage with Mr. Fitzmaurice. An acquaintance begun under such interesting auspices, naturally leads to an intimacy, and so ends the first volume.
The second begins with the history of Miss Montgommerie related by herself, and soon brings the reader acquainted with an agreeable party of neighbours, and the narrative is diversified by a Shipwreck. Alinda and Isabella (the name of Miss M.) improve upon acquaintance, and this division of the work really contains considerable incident. Towards the close of the volume, we are informed that Mr. F. is killed by an accident while of the verge of a duel with Mr. Connor, the friend of his injured wife. Nothing can exceed the attachment of the two friends, Mrs Fitzmaurice and Isabella; [144] they each have their admirer, and, though deeply attached, conduct themselves with perfect propriety. Sir Herbert Molyneux is however with-held from making a direct proposal of marriage to the fair widow, by the cloud which hangs over her birth and parentage: this romantic objection causes many perplexing scenes between the lovers , who both fret themselves ill. Old Mr. F, agrees to recognise and adopt his daughter and grandson, who, accompanied by Isabella and Judy, repair to Dublin: and the third volume leaves the reader on the eve of an interesting discovery.
Throughout the whole of the fourth volume, the scene of action is laid in Ireland. Cotters, squireens, gossoons, lord lieutenants, and castle aid-de-camps, all pass in review before us, and the English reader will doubtless be diverted by the domestic economy, and good humored expedients, of the Dalton Family.
The mystery of Alinda's birth is at length cleared up, and if her story be not very probable, the dénouement is at least striking and unexpected. Some very tragic scenes at the close of the volume are succeeded by a general éclaircissment. The villain of the piece, Alinda’s father in law, very opportunely dies: the amiable widow rewards the constancy of her lover, and being at once young, beautiful, beloved, rich, and virtuous, presents that rare combination of the gifts of Nature and Fortune, we always expect to find at the close of a novel, and at the beginning of real life.
While we are thankful, as it behoves us, to the ingenuity which has, throughout four volumes, sustained our interest for the heroine of this work, we must, at the same time, express our acknowlegement [sic] for having, in the course of our progress through it, formed an acquaintance with many modes of speech and varieties of grammar wholly new to us, as well as a number of words to which we are not yet familiarised.
In one part of the fourth volume, we are told of a lady whose mind was 'chaffed by disappointment'. That some parts of a lady’s mind may possibly be so light as to be compared to chaff, we can just bring ourselves to believe; but never before heard of the mental application of the threshing machine. Ciceroni for cicerone, may be excusable, though we cannot help thinking, that if it be requisite to introduce Italian words, it is at least expedient to learn to write them.
Provided by Donna Wharam, May 1998.