We have indicated what novels are to be given an important place in the field of the novel of Roman life; but before considering so fully developed a form as Bulwer’s Last Days of Pompeii, let us see what the soil was, from which such a form grew. Since the novel of Roman life is a definite variety of the historical novel, we must first consider the origin of the historical novel as such. The true historical novel, it has been said, portrays the past with realistic effect. Since the time of Scott, historical fiction has in the main followed the example which he set in his historical novels, and it is largely due to this fact that some authors have attained notable success in portraying the life of the past with realistic effect. Before Scott’s time historical romances existed, often taking such a form as to point directly toward Scott’s work, and even attaining much of his success in such a realistic portrayal of life. Yet in 1785, Clara Reeve had somewhat arbitrarily said: “The Romance, in lofty and elevated language, describes what never happened, nor is likely to happen.”[10] This definition does not seem to allow that the historical romance had achieved realistic effect at all, and so does not fairly represent the facts. But it must be remembered that the definition applied not only to the historical romance, but also to another form of the romance, which has been called the “Gothic” romance. While Scott’s work in the historical novel is, in a sense, a continuation of the historical romance, the “Gothic” romance better represents the school of fiction which Scott supplanted. For this reason it seems better to dispose of the “Gothic” romance before we discuss more fully the early development of the historical romance.
The “Gothic” romance begins with Horace Walpole’s Castle of Otranto (1764), which has no real historical background, though the events are supposed to have happened in the twelfth or thirteenth century. Walpole had built a supposed “Gothic” castle, which he called “Strawberry Hill,” and the castle became a part of the “Gothic” romance. Walpole supplied this form of the romance with its familiar supernatural machinery, its ghost, creaking doors, subterranean caverns, etc., which need not be described here. It is well to note, however, at this point, that Scott, who adopted some of the saner elements of the Gothic romance, used the supernatural as something inseparable from many of the real Scotch characters, whom he described. Clara Reeve’s Champion of Virtue (1777), later called The Old English Baron, is to be noted, since it contains both Gothic and historical incidents. The Gothic romance was further developed by Mrs. Radcliffe, “Monk” Lewis, and others. Mrs. Radcliffe especially influences Scott and the later novel. She develops the description of those aspects of nature which later impressed Byron, and is undoubtedly the creator of the “Byronic hero.” Her “Schedoni” is in all essentials Byron’s “Lara,” an individual apart from other men, with a certain nobility of his own and a “vital scorn of all.” Lord Byron and his school reproduced certain elements of the “Gothic” romance, and in turn had an influence on the novel. The “Byronic hero” and the Byronic passion for the terrible aspects of nature will appear in the novel of Roman life and assume a prominent position. The Gothic romance continued to exist after the time of Mrs. Radcliffe; it took various forms, such as the detective story and the fantasy, as well as the tale of terror, with its superstitious elements. Down to 1850 it remained the fashion for almost any novelist to arouse his readers from time to time by a narration of marvelous or terrible events. The Gothic romance served to show that literature is not merely utilitarian; even in its wildest forms, it retained certain marks of the realistic novel, and added testimony to the fact that realism and romance are, after all, inseparable. While not making a thorough study of mediæval times, it pointed the way for Scott, in dealing with this period of the past. It also had an important effect on the novel of Roman life in its formative stage, as will be seen.
The so-called “Oriental” romance is really a development of the Gothic. It originates with the work of William Beckford in Vathek, an Arabian Tale. This was a consummate piece of art of its kind, and had a tremendous influence on the writing of the time. Beckford built in Wiltshire, an enormous mansion with mysterious halls and galleries, in which he tried to realize his dreams of Oriental luxury. Vathek was written in French and published in France in 1787. It was translated from the French manuscript by Samuel Henley, an English scholar, and published in London in 1786, without Beckford’s consent. Among other things, Vathek is noteworthy for its descriptions of Oriental “magic,” and its employment of what may be called the “labyrinth motive.” This motive appears in the stories of all ages, its classic example being the story of the labyrinth at Crete (which was, perhaps, really a palace). It is used in some of Scott’s novels (notably Woodstock), and in many novels of Roman life, in which the characters have to pass through a series of dark and intricate passages in the catacombs at Rome, or cut in the rock near some city of Egypt. The use of Eastern magic is sometimes combined with this motive and so appears in more than one novel of Roman life. The influence of Vathek and the “Oriental” romance, considered apart from other varieties of the Gothic romance, on the novel of Roman life, is considerable.
The true historical romance is even more important in its relation to our subject. In tracing its development before Scott, the first important example is found to be Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, an Historical Romance (1762), attributed to the Rev. Thomas Leland, of Dublin. This romance reproduces feudal scenes such as are found in Shakespeare’s historical plays, and anticipates many of the elements of Scott’s historical romances. While the story is told, however, with the detail of an authentic historical document, it lacks historical perspective. Longsword stood alone for a time, except for Clara Reeve’s Old English Baron (1777): this romance of Clara Reeve’s combined historical and “Gothic” incidents, as already mentioned, and had the effect of adding historical details to the customary castle and ghost in the Gothic romance. But in 1783 appeared The Recess, which is the first of a series of historical romances down to Scott, and marks a closer approach to the true historical novel. Its theme is the same as that of Kenilworth; and may owe something to Shakespeare’s Anthony and Cleopatra, as Kenilworth does. Many of this series of romances do, in fact, derive their history from Shakespeare’s historical dramas. They show an increasing attention to the facts of history, which culminates in the romances of Jane Porter. Jane Porter’s imaginative treatment of history far surpasses any previous attempts. Her Thaddeous of Warsaw is almost wholly historical, though deficient in characterization and plot; while in preparing to write The Scottish Chiefs she actually visited the places which she intended to describe.
Jane Porter may fairly be given the credit for developing the use of historical background to a point of perfection, and so preparing the way for Scott. Moreover, Scott, with all his romantic imagination, owes something to the “Gothic” romancers, who preceded him. What, then, did Scott himself add to the historical novel? Bearing in mind our definition of the historical novel, two points are to be considered essential in our answer: He added (1) the realistic sketch of the manners of the past; (2) characters who are real beings, who represent human nature. These two points are suggested by Scott in his General Preface to the Waverly Novels. It is clear that while he is speaking of two circumstances which led him to finish Waverly, his words are to be applied to the whole series of the Waverly novels. The circumstance which led Scott to undertake to reproduce faithfully the manners of the past was his completion, in 1808, of the unfinished romance of the antiquarian, Joseph Strutt. This romance was called Queen-hoo-Hall, and described the time of Henry the Sixth; it attempted to give a “pleasing representation of the manners and amusements of our forefathers.” (Strutt’s Preface.) Scott perceived that the reason for its failure was the author’s “rendering his language too ancient, and displaying his antiquarian knowledge too liberally”; and resolved to avoid the mistake “by rendering a similar work more light and obvious to general comprehension.”[11] Strutt showed that the historical novelist should attempt an exact reproduction of the past; but Scott further made it clear that the manners of the past cannot be reproduced with realistic effect, if the author relies solely on antiquarian knowledge, or if he fails to bring his description home to readers of the present, in terms intelligible to the majority of them.
Of even greater importance to the historical novel was Scott’s determination to do for the people of Scotland, what Miss Edgeworth had done for the people of Ireland,—to bring before his readers real Scotch people of all ranks and conditions of society, to portray human life in his pages. Scott is especially a realist when dealing with characters taken from lowly life; but his realism is not confined to lowly life alone, as some critics would have us believe. His great historical figures, it is true, are often given romantic and literary treatment; but even they do not lack human touches, and in any case, a proper balance is maintained by including characters who are human enough. What has made Scott’s novels deserve to endure is his faithful representation of human nature. The same thing could be said of any great historical novel, whether it deals with England or America a few years back or with the remote times of ancient Rome. Scott’s plan in writing the historical novel, was to create imaginary characters, with all the attributes of real human beings, and to place them in an historical background, containing a few historical characters. This plan, in the main, has been followed by successful historical novelists since his time,—including those who write of Roman life,—and seems best adapted to portraying the life of the past with realistic effect.
It may now be asked when Roman life was first drawn upon in what may be termed “historical fiction”; whether any evidence of this is to be found before the period when Scott set alike the standard and the fashion in that form of writing. It must be remembered that classic subject-matter has taken a large place in many forms of English literature, though it would be out of place to give examples here taken from other forms of literature than fiction. Not to mention the very early translations and reworkings of mediæval legends on classic subjects, it is well to recall that Chaucer uses classic subject-matter abundantly, and that his Troilus and Cressida approaches the modern historical novel in nearly every way, though it is written in verse. If we are looking for an early presentation of Roman life in a form leading toward modern prose fiction, we must turn to the allegorical quasi-historical romances of the seventeenth century. One of them which may be claimed for England is the Argenis (1621), of John Barclay. Barclay, who was born in France, of Scotch father and French mother, lived for a time in England and finally went to Italy, where he wrote the Argenis in Latin. It describes important historical characters of his own time, but under classic names. Its scenes are placed in classic countries and the story is told in terms of Roman life and custom. A marriage is performed in a temple dedicated to Juno and Lucina, high priests perform the ceremony, and the bridal party honor Hymen and Apollo. Barclay opened the way for a series of French romances which were much in vogue in England. This led to the formation of literary societies, to one of which Roger Boyle belonged. His Parthenissa (1654), is another historical allegory, like Barclay’s; it confuses several great Roman wars, bringing Hannibal and Spartacus into the same scene.[12] Such romances show something of Roman life in the form of fiction, but are far removed in some ways from the modern historical novel; and it will be best for us to return to the time of Scott, and search for a portrayal of Roman life in the fully developed form of the historical novel.
The first significant attempt in English to portray life in that period of the past during which ancient Rome flourished, in the form of the modern novel, appears in Valerius, a Roman Story. It is not to be regarded as a mere coincidence that its author was John G. Lockhart, a son-in-law of Sir Walter Scott. The year 1821, in which it was first published, was also marked by the appearance of Kenilworth and The Pirate. In Kenilworth, Scott owed much to Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra, a play with a classic subject. And while Scott was showing how the past could be presented in the novel, it was altogether natural that Lockhart, a classical scholar, should decide to make use of classic material in this form. Classic times had furnished abundant material and true inspiration in other forms of writing. Though Valerius is not a great novel, it has certain elements of permanent value. It is a very thorough and scholarly piece of work, well-balanced and accurate in detail. Its characters, Christian and pagan, are fairly well-done, and its scenes represent, with some degree of realism, the amphitheatre, the crowded streets of Rome, the law-court, and the suburban villa. While Christianity is not overemphasized, the martyrdom of Thraso, an old soldier, who has become a Christian, is described with real pathos. The story is laid in the time of Trajan, who is justly represented as a popular ruler, and not a cruel tyrant. The customary use is made of Pliny’s correspondence with Trajan, regarding treatment of the Christians. The book is not without humor, though its general tone is serious and it contains a little too much philosophy. It was republished in 1835, the year after Bulwer’s Last Days of Pompeii. Valerius may fairly be considered the first novel of Roman life. This seems to be implied by Cardinal Newman, who mentioned it many years later in his preface to Callista.
In 1827 Thomas Moore published The Epicurean. This is to be classed as a romance, and is akin to and inspired by the work of William Beckford in Vathek, an Arabian Tale. Moore’s The Epicurean takes from Vathek its descriptions of Egyptian magic, and its use of the “labyrinth motive”;[13] these are things which appear in a modified form in Bulwer’s Last Days of Pompeii (1834). The Epicurean, however, in spite of its fantastic nature, contains realistic descriptions of the persecution of the Christians in Africa, under Diocletian, and a contrast of Christianity with a pagan system of philosophy (Epicureanism). While its story does not take the reader to Rome, The Epicurean represents life in Greece and Egypt under Roman rule, and must be considered a step in the genesis of the novel of Roman life. It represents new elements which are not found in Valerius, but appear frequently in later novels of Roman life. Vathek, which Moore says was his model, has been mentioned as an “Oriental” romance, this kind of romance being a variety of the “Gothic”; and when certain elements of the “Oriental” romance appear in novels of Roman life of this early period, it is more logical to ascribe their existence to the influence of Vathek than to say that they merely come from The Epicurean. But we have to consider at this point not only the influence of Vathek as a thing entirely separate from other literature of the period; for the hero of The Epicurean is the “Byronic hero,” already mentioned in connection with Mrs. Radcliffe and Byron. The terrible side of nature, which had appealed to these authors, appears in The Epicurean, combined with Egyptian “magic”; the hero in passing through the mysteries of initiation is surrounded by roaring winds and rushing waters. Thus it appears that The Epicurean, while it falls far below the first rank,[14] is important, because it shows the effect which the Gothic romance, with its various developments, was having on the early novel of Roman life.
In 1829[15] was first published a romance by George Croly, called Salathiel, a Story of the Past, the Present and the Future. It enjoyed wide popularity and was favorably reviewed both in England and America; and was issued at different times with variations of the title, such as Salathiel, the Immortal, or the Wandering Jew. Finally it has been revised and republished posthumously, in 1901, under the title of Tarry Thou, Till I Come, or Salathiel, the Wandering Jew. This last edition was published in somewhat elaborate style with copious introduction and appendix, and beautifully accurate illustrations, by Mr. T. de Thulstrup. Especially noteworthy is the introductory letter of General Lewis Wallace, who, in making his remarkable choice of the six greatest English novels, includes “Hypatia, and this romance of Croly’s.” While his choice of the “six greatest” is unusual, he gives very sound reasons for his support of Tarry Thou, Till I Come. General Wallace, who is best known for his Ben Hur, also wrote The Prince of India, in which he handles the theme of the Wandering Jew, describing the wanderings of the Jew in Moslem times.
Croly was born in 1780 in Dublin and died in 1860. In Salathiel he follows the school of Byron and Moore, which was dominant in his youth. The style of the book is marked by a warmth of coloring, and Croly excels in his handling of powerful situations. The character of Salathiel, surrounded by perpetual gloom, and displaying a proud aloofness from other men, has much in it of the “Byronic hero.” The terrible aspects of nature are also presented with telling effect, and much in the Byronic manner throughout the story; Croly is at his best in this sort of work in a chapter, which has been given the title The Wanderings of a Mind Diseased, and which represents the reality of Salathiel’s imaginary trials. In this chapter the description of a volcanic eruption suggests a similar description made by Bulwer in The Last Days of Pompeii, a few years later. The scene of Salathiel does not open in Rome, but from the very start, the reader feels the intensity of the Jewish hatred for Roman power. The degenerate Roman governor of Judea, Gessius Florus, is well portrayed in his capacity of extortioner and tyrant. He sends Salathiel to Rome, and at this point in the story we are given in a brief space many of the important elements in any novel of Roman life which deals with the time of Nero. There is the prisoner, calmly condemned to a death of torture, while the Emperor feigns practice on the lyre; then the fire at Rome is powerfully described, and when it is over, the blame for it is attached to the Christians; the Christians are put to death by torture in the amphitheatre, or torn by wild beasts; they are made to serve as living torches in Nero’s gardens; and finally the persecution ceases. Though his name is not mentioned, the martyrdom of St. Paul is told in such a way as to portray his indomitable spirit and courage in the face of death.
The scene of the remainder of the story is again laid in Judea, and the story of events culminating in the capture of Jerusalem by a Roman army, is taken from Josephus.[16] In this part of the book things Roman are best represented by the figure of the Prince and commander, Titus, and by the soldiers and officers of the Roman army. The divisions of the Roman army are described with great realism, recruited as they are from almost every tribe and nation under the sun. The fierce struggles between Roman and Jew outside of the walls, give opportunity for some of the finest pictures of desperate fighting to be found in any novel. The “labyrinth motive,” one of the oldest motives in story telling, is used a number of times in the latter part of Salathiel; it is used with much ingenuity in the description of his entrance into the fortress of Masada by a secret underground passage; and again, when, escaping from prison, he finds he has blundered upon the secret rear entrance of the pirates’ cave.
Salathiel is a truly great romance, in which the exalted language is suited to the grandeur of the theme. While “romance” is the proper word to describe the book as a whole, individual passages exhibit a realistic effect which far surpasses anything in the pages of Valerius or of The Epicurean. Moreover, it is sound in its historical basis, for Croly was a man of genuine learning, classic[17] and otherwise. On the other hand, it must not be supposed, because he was a curate, that he wrote Salathiel with any intention of spreading religious propaganda. The scene in which the Christians, imprisoned and awaiting crucifixion, exhibit their supreme faith, is one of tremendous significance; but this could be said of many other scenes in the book. Even if it were not a story of absorbing interest, Salathiel would deserve a high position in fiction, for its illustration of great principles in life, and its powerful revelation of eternal truths.
In 1834 was published Bulwer’s[18] Last Days of Pompeii, which probably has been as widely read, and for as long a period as any other historical novel. Men still live who consider Bulwer among the greatest of English novelists; and if one were to select only one book for which he is especially remembered, I believe The Last Days of Pompeii would have equal claims with such a novel as The Last of the Barons, to which critics usually assign a higher place. The Last Days of Pompeii was a new thing of its kind; it represents a new departure in the historical novel, and in the novel of Roman life. It is true that there remain in it certain elements of the Byronism, which was still so prevalent in the novel of the day, but these elements cannot merely be dismissed as defects. There is the Byronic passion for the terrible in nature, which reaches its height in the unsurpassed description of the eruption of Vesuvius, and its terrible effects. The “Byronic hero,” moreover, can easily be seen in the disguise of Arbaces, the Egyptian, who is surrounded by an air of mystery, and has a lofty scorn of the common herd of mankind. Moreover, Arbaces, to secure his ends, has recourse to Egyptian “magic,” the intricacy and subtlety of which had been well represented in The Epicurean. Such motives as these, however, have already been discussed, together with their relation to the novel of Roman life. Let us see what Bulwer added to this particular variety of the historical novel.
It will be recalled that Scott (who must be considered Bulwer’s most important predecessor in the field), in writing his historical novels, always made use of historical characters and events, as well as of purely imaginary characters and events. Bulwer departed from this program, in the first instance, by reducing the number of historical events,—the eruption being the only important one. Moreover, he succeeded, with no loss of effect, in replacing the “historical” characters, which are usually necessary to the historical novel, by imaginary characters such as he perceived would be in harmony with the time he described. This omission of “historical” characters is to be accounted for by Bulwer’s choice of scene. Having chosen Pompeii (and not Rome) for his scene, and finding there were no “historical” characters suitable for a novel portraying the life of this brilliant Campanian city, he decided to make up for their absence by lending an almost “historical” reality to his imaginary characters. Scott had made his imaginary characters appear to be real men and women by reproducing real men and women whom he had observed; Bulwer, in writing The Last Days of Pompeii, undertook the more difficult task of representing men and women who might well have lived in the times of ancient Rome,—and succeeds rather well. Around these characters he decided to weave a narrative which would reproduce exactly the life of the time,—and in this he succeeds admirably. Scott had been warned by the mistake made by the antiquary, Joseph Strutt, in a misuse of antiquarian details. Bulwer was an antiquarian of an entirely different sort; he revelled in the use of details, but in putting them into his story, made the whole conduce toward realistic effect. He had read widely in Latin and Greek literature; he climbed Mt. Vesuvius and learned all he could by actual observation, filing every detail in huge commonplace books; he studied Roman antiquities, and compared the results of his study with the manners of modern Italians. In short, he realized in his imagination the decadent life of Pompeii as it had actually been just before the eruption of Vesuvius, and reproduced it in the pages of The Last Days of Pompeii. While Bulwer, therefore, did not reproduce historical characters and events in quite the same way that Scott did, he makes an even more concrete use, than Scott did, of that life of the past which is not recorded in formal history. He views the past from the standpoint of the philosopher as well as from that of the student of human nature. Moreover, he seeks for permanent truths in human nature, rather than for merely picturesque elements.
The title and subject of The Last Days of Pompeii, was first concretely suggested to Bulwer’s mind by a picture of the same title. This picture, he says in his journal, was one of a collection in the Brera Gallery at Milan, and was “full of genius, imagination and nature. The faces are fine, the conception grand.” And as the author says in his Preface to the 1834 Edition, having chosen for his subject the “catastrophe, the Destruction of Pompeii, it required but little insight into the higher principles of art to perceive that to Pompeii the story should rigidly be confined. Placed in contrast with the mighty pomp of Rome, the luxuries and gaud of the vivid Campanian city would have sunk into insignificance. Her awful fate would have seemed but a petty and isolated wreck in the vast seas of the imperial sway.” Bulwer therefore decided to avoid the temptation “to conduct the characters of his tale ... from Pompeii to Rome,” leaving “to others the honor of delineating the hollow but majestic civilization of Rome.” The last part of this quotation is especially important to us. Bulwer in his preparatory studies spent much time in Rome, as well as in the vicinity of Pompeii. While the story of The Last Days of Pompeii does not actually go to Rome, all of its important elements, save the description of the eruption, could be transferred to a story of the Imperial City. Thus Bulwer’s novel not only shows that the novel of Roman life had become firmly established as a definite type, but it also points forward and shows the way for all important novels of Roman life since its time. The mingling of Romans and Italians, with Greeks and other foreigners in Pompeii, suggests the hybrid population of Rome; the worship of Isis, and her priest, the Egyptian Arbaces, suggest not only the varied forms of pagan religion at Rome, but also the important connections of Rome with Alexandria and the Nile civilization; the early struggles of Christianity (represented by Olinthus, and his converts) with these pagan superstitions recall the even greater trials of the Christians at Rome; the witch of the crater, with her spells and incantations, reminds one of the Sibyl of Cumæ and the soothsayers who appear at Rome in later novels of Roman life. The minor incidents of Bulwer’s novel and his descriptions of the manners of society also are used in novels whose scene is Rome; the banquets and revels, the life of loungers at the bath and spectators at the amphitheatre, the habits and haunts of the gladiators, the busy hum of the forum, are all things which Bulwer showed later novelists how to portray. He realized that he must not make his characters talk in the periods of Cicero, and takes without question the opinion of Scott (voiced in the preface to Ivanhoe), that the historical novelist should “explain ancient manners in modern language.” Bulwer’s method was somewhat different from that of Scott; but his purpose was essentially the same. His ideal is fairly stated at the end of the Preface to the 1834 edition, viz., to present a portrait faithful “to the features and costume of the age which I have attempted to paint. May it be (what is far more important) a just representation of the human passions and the human heart, whose elements in all ages are the same.” How well he achieved his purpose and realized his ideal is amply shown in The Last Days of Pompeii. Writers of the novel of Roman life who have followed Bulwer have surpassed him in few respects. Their purpose must be essentially the same as his; their ideal could not be higher.
Before the close of the year 1834, Valerius and The Last Days of Pompeii are the only two important novels whose scene is laid almost entirely in or near ancient Rome.[19] This fact is attested by historians of the novel; but if one is not satisfied without hearing an opinion of an author’s work expressed by one of his contemporaries, we have the tribute of Sir Archibald Alison (History of Europe, 1815-52, ch. V). He says in speaking of Valerius, “The most successful attempt which has yet been made to engraft the interest of modern life on ancient story: its extreme difficulty may be judged by the brilliant genius of Bulwer having alone rivalled him in the undertaking.” If there is any other book written before 1834, which deserves in every respect the title of “novel of Roman life,” I have been unable to trace it, nor do I know of any one else who claims to have done so. In considering the genesis of the novel of Roman life, one may be confident that Valerius first marks out its general outlines, and The Last Days of Pompeii establishes for it a complete and artistic form.