Wilkie Collins, página 9 de 32

"Im sick to death of novels with an earnest purpose. Im sick to death of outbursts of eloquence, and large-minded philanthropy, and graphic descriptions, and unsparing anatomy of the human heart, and all that sort of thing. Good gracious me ! Isnt it the original intention or purpose, or whatever you call it, of a work of fiction, to set out distinctly by telling a story? And how many of these books, I should like to know, do that? Why, so far as telling a story is concerned, the greater part of them might as well be sermons as novels. Oh, dear me! what I want is something that seizes hold of my interest, and makes me forget when it is time to dress for dinnersomething that keeps me reading, reading, reading, in a breathless state, to find out the end." Wilkie Collins confession of faith as a novelist is comprised in the above speech of his sprightly heroine, Miss Jessie Yelverton, in The Queen of Hearts. He is emphatically a story-writer. He is unrivaled in the construction of an elaborate and intricate plot, and he certainly succeeds in making his readers "go on reading, reading, reading, in a breathless state, to find out the end." Wilkie Collins career has been a progressive one. There are some ardent novel readers who will doubtless remember the publication of Antonina, and a few years later of Basil two books of singular power. Soon after Mr. Dickens commenced the publication of Household Words, there appeared in that periodical a number of short stories which were remarkable for the perfection of their style, the elaboration and originality of their plots and their general artistic finish. Then came a novel, The Dead Secret, also published in Household Words, in which the wonderful skill of the author in con structing and unfolding a plot was for the first time fully displayed. The Woman in White followed, and the claims of Wilkie Collins to be considered a great novelist were at once firmly established. He is, however, no mere weaver of intricate plotsno teller of elaborately constructed stories only. Few characters in modern fiction are as well drawn and sustained as that of Count Fosco, the cool, sensible, intellectual villain in The Woman in White. Collins also possesses, in common with Anthony Trollope, the power of delineating a heroine who shall be neither a dressed-up doll nor an impossible angel. Rachel Verinder in The Moonstone bears witness to the truth of this assertion. This novel is the best that Mr. Collins has given to the world and possibly the best he has ever written. The story is singularly original; and when we remember the force and extent of Hindoo superstition, we can scarcely venture to pronounce it improbable. And how admirably is the story told! Clear, lucid and forcible in style, never straying into the alluring but pernicious paths of description or dissertation, the narrative moves onward in its unbroken and entrancing course. Let the impatient reader, hurrying to reach the denouement, skip half a dozen pages. Instantly the thread of the story is broken, the tale becomes incomprehensible, the incidents lose their coherence. The Moonstone is a perfect work of art, and to remove any portion of the cunningly constructed fabric destroys the completeness and beauty of the whole.

The Law and the Lady is one of the most ingenious and most repulsive of Wilkie Collinss novels, and we doubt, if having begun, that anyone would leave it unfinished. The heroine marries a man and soon discovers that she is his second wife, and that he has been tried in Scotland for the murder of his first, the jury returning a verdict of" Not proven," which, not establishing his innocence, simply declared that the evidence was not sufficient to convict him. She resolves to devote her life to the task of proving her husbands guiltlessness, and sets to work, without his knowledge. When he becomes aware that she has learned his secret, he leaves the country, convinced that she must despise him. The narrative of the wifes labors is intensely interesting, and marked by the ingenuity in handling and adapting evidence in which Mr. Collins is pre-eminent. In time the two are reunited, and later the wifes task is accomplished. Two characters, so original as horrible, figure in the story, Miserrinius Dexter and his niece, Ariel. Though Dexter could not possibly belong to real life, he is the most striking and absorbing personage in the book. Whether the author violates physiological probabilities by endowing this mere atomy with the furious passions which controlled him, we shall not undertake to decide ; but it is certain that the rules of Scottish courts must differ widely from ours if they permit a witness under examination to argue and declaim as did Mr. Dexter at the trial of Macallan. Like all the authors novels, this one is wholly devoid of warmth and tenderness and the light of human affections : even in the love of Macallan and Valeria there is a somber reserve. But his admirers will find in the story no reason to abate their admiration for his power of construction and development.

A curious story of two brothers who are tried for a murder and found guilty under strongly convicting circumstances. After pleading innocence of the crime, they strangely make a confession to the effect that they murdered the man, who at the last moment turns up alive. The author, in a note, says whatever seems improbable in the story is a fact, and whatever reads like truth is pure invention. Truth or fiction, however, the little book will while away an hour very pleasantly.

Gerard Roylake, returning from the continent to England to receive his in heritance, nds that one of his tenants a miller in the old mill on the banks of that dark, gloomy, repellant river, the Loke, has a lodger and a fair daughter. The lodger is a strange man, remarkably handsome, deaf, and an odd combination of knave and tool, the former characteristic predominating. It is from these picturesque elements, that Mr. Collins evolves his tragedy. The details of mystery are worked up in the author s skillful way. The denouement is a surprise. The question of heredity is finely handled.

Though perhaps this story does not equal, from a literary point of view, some of Collinss previous effortsit being less sensational and less complicated in its plotit is, nevertheless, one of the best he has ever written. It is an able and eloquent protest against the false state of society and that cruel sentiment which prevents an erring woman ever returning to the path of virtue. Aside from its moral purpose, the story is exceedingly interesting. It should be read thoughtfully by everyone.

The novel revolves around two totally different ladies, both of which happen to be widows. In England, we have Mrs. Wagner, who wants to run the business of her deceased husband and hire more women; she has a philanthropic vein and takes Jack Straw from the Bedlam asylum right into her own house. Then we have Madame Fontaine, whose husband was a scientist and an expert on toxins. She has had monetary problems since the death of Mr. Fontaine, and gets very excited, when her daughter Minna starts to date Fritz Keller, the son of Mrs. Wagners business partner

It is on the true story of Baron Carl Ludwig von Scheurer, in which so many insurance companies were interested, that Wilkie Collins based the plot of his novel Blind Love, a work which he did not live to complete by his own hand. In August 1889, when its publication in serial form had been under way for a couple of months, Mr. Collins realized that he would not be able to finish the story. So he sent for Mr. Walter Besant, and that versatile and rapid worker undertook the completion of the book. He has done it, as he says in the preface, to the best of his ability, but he is so conscious of the difference between the style of his own work and that of Wilkie Collins that he invites the critic to lay his finger on the spot where Wilkie Collins writing ends and his own begins. Every scene and situation in the novel from beginning to end had been, however, outlined by Mr. Collins before the hand of death was laid upon his pen, and the story, as a story, must therefore be credited to him. In Blind Love we find Baron von Scheurer transformed into Lord Harry Norland, the wild and reckless younger son of an Irish peer, while Dr. Castelnau furnishes the prototype of Dr. Vimpany, an impecunious and unscrupulous medical man practising in the English provinces. After some preliminaries in Ireland and England which serve to present the wild Irish Lord in a vivid way, and to lead the heroine, Iris Henley, into his clutches through the blind love which drives her to her ruin, the scene shifts to a suburb of Paris, where the conspiracy to swindle the insurance company is hatched and successfully consummated. In dealing with a plot of this character Wilkie Collins is on familiar ground, and it is needless to say that the whole business is managed in a masterly way. Blind Love possesses, as the last work of the author of The Moonstone and The Woman in White, a peculiar and melancholy interest.

In Fallen Leaves, Mr. Wilkie Collins has touched on some very difficult problems, and has done it with delicacy. Though the main interest of the story does not lie in the plot, but rather in the characters and in the novel situations he has found, yet there is a sense of consistency and completeness, which draws from the reader as he proceeds the keenest interest, in spite of an occasional touch of melodrama, which Mr. Wilkie Collins finds it very difficult to leave behind him. Amelius Goldenheart, the representative of an old English family, has been educated at a socialist institution in America ; and having fallen under a misconstruction, is glad to make his way to England, a tour for which his independent income of 500 a year is a happy sine qua non. On the voyage he makes acquaintance with a certain Rufus Dingwell, an admirable type of the better class Yankee ; and these two gentlemen are speedily on intimate terms with the family of a Mr. Farnaby, a rich City man, of some incidents in whose earlier life we have had a very significant glimpse in the opening. Mr. Farnaby had, in fact, for purposes of his own, to steal and to convey away his own illegitimate child, that he might compel Mr. Ronald, his rich master, to acquiesce in his wishes for marriage with his daughter. In this he completely succeeds ; and the story turns on the interest of the search for this lost daughter, on the success of which the poor mother finds her one hope. The sketches of Regina, Mr. Farnabys niece, of Phoebe, the maid, and her lover Jervy, are admirably done, and we should not forget the inevitable Mrs. Lowler, who, though her counterparts have been well done by Dickens and others, still, in Mr. Collinss hands, has traits wholly her own. The scene in the low public-house, where Phoebe fell under the anger of Mrs. Lowler, and was cleverly saved from the results of it by Jervy, is very cleverly executed. Mrs. Farnaby soon takes Amelius into her confidence, and charges him to aid her in the search for her lost child, to which he agrees ; and whilst she is allowing herself to pass into the hands of swindlers, Amelius has all unconsciously found the lost child in Simple Sally, whom he has rescued from the cruel treatment of a foul wretch who held her as his property. The style of life to which these incidents conduct us is what gives the title to the book ; but Mr. Wilkie Collins has taken care to treat everything with such caution and reserve that he would be either a very sensitive or a very coarse person indeed who would feel any other than touched and elevated by the picture here presented.

The Black Robe combines some aim at psychological analysis with great inventiveness. Mr. Wilkie Collins never writes carelessly; and in this instance he has been especially careful. The great point of the piece is the peculiar mental haunting by a voice of one Romagne, who has killed a man in a duel; and a secondary interest, which is admirably worked out, is the contest between the Church of Rome, as embodied in the person of Father Benwell and Mr. Penrose, and love, as embodied in the person of a Miss Eyrecourt. It is necessary to say that Romagne, in the course of time, has become a man of considerable property, else he could not have the close attention of either party. The Jesuitical scheming of the Romanists and the astute forecast of Miss Eyrecourt are equally well done; and it goes without saying that there are some admirable underplots, with groups of characters, who are all sketched with that kind of decisive completeness which almost makes us doubt of their reality. Mr. Wilkie Collinss stories, however, do not depend on such tests as these: they are unreal in relation to any other world save that which lies in the mind of the artist; and it is sufficient testimony to his power when we say that if you once begin to read, you must read on; for not only does one incident develop itself out of another, but there is a glamour cast over your saner mind which sometimes makes you question how you could have been so deeply interested as you really are. For around a most conventional ideal world Mr. Wilkie Collins groups so many associations and forms of everyday lifereinforces his improbabilities by the most actual-looking letters and so onthat we are completely taken possession of, and the highest tribute of praise to him is to say that he lays hold of universal springs of interest, though he really ought hardly to do so.

Wilkie Collins has given us in this novel one more instance of his strange capacity for weaving extra plots. Armadale, from beginning to end, is a lurid labyrinth of improbabilities. It produces upon the reader the effect of a literary nightmare. Miss Gwilt, Mrs. Oldershaw, and Doctor Le Doux of the Sanatorium are enough to make any story in which they figure disagreeably sensational; and Mr. Collins seizes every possible opportunity of working up the horror they inspire to the highest point. If it were the object of art to make ones audience uncomfortable without letting them know why, Mr. Wilkie Collins would be beyond all doubt a consummate artist. To the accomplishment of this object he devotes great ingenuity, a curious genius for arranging and contriving mysteries, and a good deal of what may be called galvanic power. There is a sort of unearthly and deadly look about the heroes and heroines of his narrative, and though it is necessary for the purpose of the plot that they should keep moving, we feel, that every, one of their motions is due, not to a natural process, but to the sheer force and energy of the authors will. They dodge each other up and down the stage after the manner of puppets at a puppet-show, and after watching their twistings and turnings from first to last we come away full of admiration of the strings and the unseen fingers that are directing everything from behind the curtain. An ordinary novelist would let the villains murder their intended victim at once, and have done with it. Not so Mr. Wilkie Collins. A hundred agencies are brought into play to suspend our interest through this long volume. Spies, detective officers, lawyers, and two or three virtuous and watchful amateurs counterplot day and night against the villains. Each dogs the other till he is tired, and when he is tired the other dogs him. They overhear each others secrets from behind trees, or lurk unsuspected under windows, keeping diaries sometimes of their proceedings. To heighten the absorbing interest of this contest of intelligences, railways, telegraphy, post-offices, presentiments, and dreams are freely used ; and the wonders of science do duty side by side with the marvels of the supernatural world. As a whole the effect is clever, powerful, and striking, though grotesque, monotonous, and, to use a French word, bizarre. There can be no mistake about the talent displayed. What strikes one as wanting is that humor which is the salt of all great genius, and that sense of proportion and beauty which is the soul of all real art.

The joint-effort of Mr. Dickens and Mr. Wilkie Collins, apart from its merits or demerits, must excite curiosity and interest. It is clear that in " No Thoroughfare " the latter gentleman has had the lions share of the labour, whatever of lions share may fall to him besides. Mr. Dickenss portion is merely incidental, though some of his touches are surpassing fine and unmistakably marked. Mr. Collinss superb inventive faculty shows itself throughout, though under a little restriction here unfolding, doubling up, coiling, and uncoiling in its brilliant, baffling, serpentine fashion. And the result is exactly such as might be expected. Mr. Wilding is a little over-done, but full of humor ; and Joey Ladle, the cellar-man who insists on being a good pecking-machine is admirable. This is one of Joeys happiest deliverances : " Gentlemen, it is all wery well for you that has been accustomed to take your wine into your systems by the conwivial channel of your throttles, to put a lively face upon it ; but I says, I have been accustomed to take my wine in at the pores of the skin, and took that way, it acts different." But we mustnt say more on the matter, at once for our own sake and that of both writers and readers.

"In relation to the purely literary side of the question," as Mr. Wilkie Collins says, there can be no doubt that his studies of character in My Ladys Money do seem to be drawn from nature. The story is constructed with his accustomed skill, the details fit together as usual with the precision of the facts in a criminal trial.

Miss or Mrs.? is a story in outline, and maybe the only instance in which Mr. Wilkie Collins has wasted his material; an entire novel might be constructed in his architectural style from its Incidents. There are several specimens of Mr. Wilkie Collinss neat, precise humor in this story, and the rudiments of at least one capital character. We hope to meet Lady Winwood on a wider field of action, and should be very glad to hear details of her household policy, and the final pulverization of her ladyships step- daughters.

The popularity of Wilkie Collins is as unquestionable as his mannerism, and when this story bears the title I Say No, it is characteristic of him that the meaning of this title is not made clear until three fourths of the novel has been read. The plot is, as usual, very carefully and strongly conceived, and the reader is allowed to think that he has the clue to the secret at an early period, whereas the secret is really quite different from what seems most probable. The general effect of I Say No is much less sensational than many of the authors former stories. The situations are not void of theatrical tone, but they are distinctly quieter and more subdued. It is in fact more the society play than the melodrama, but it is dramatic. The women of, Mr. Collinss novels are usually weaker than his men, and his old and eccentric women are better than his young girls. Perhaps this is because all his women are really men worked over, so to speak, and his old women are the most natural because age has a tendency to assimilate the characteristics of the sexes. Miss La Sor, in the new story, is decidedly disagreeable, but her vices are rather those of human nature than of a woman, and she is drawn with a certain vague indeterminateness, as though the author originally meant her to fill a much more important place, but had thought better of his purpose. The story indeed is considerably shorter than most of Mr. Collinss novels, and the plot is far less intricate. This the reader will be apt to resent, for it is plot, and plenty of it, he wants when he goes to this author. Wilkie Collins has always had a large audience, however, and unless his powers fail, as this latest of his works certainly does not appear to indicate, he always will be read widely. And this is right, for he is a thoroughly wholesome and sweet writer, whoever punishes Vice and rewards Virtue, and gives us the most fascinating and complicated of plots, and thrills us with cunning detective enterprises, and surprises us with novel modes of committing crimes, and getting married, and perpetrating, bigamy, and all kinds of exciting affairs. And the world will prob ably always prefer novelists of this school to those who delight in analyzing thoughts and sentiments, and who eschew action and plot as vulgar and coarse.

Whether society should recognize a couple who, after being divorced, become reconciled, agree to forget their past difficulties and re-marry, is the question Mr. Collins tries to solve. The "evil genius "who makes all the mischief is the mother-in-law, who feels it is her duty to open her daughters eyes to her husbands admiration for the governess. The governess history takes up a good space in the opening chapters, and is full of interest. Her father is tried and found guilty of deliberately causing the loss of his ship in order to gain possession of a large package of diamonds. The trial, the unsuccessful attempt to find the stolen diamonds, the girls helpless condition, and so on are all told with the detail Mr. Collins has made specially his own. There is much dramatic power shown in the narrative.

The Haunted Hotel is a story which, like others of Mr. Wilkie Collinss stories, fascinates the reader, and compels him to finish it at a sitting. It has, too, this merit, that as the story progresses one is forced to recall the facts of the earlier part, and see the object for which they were related and the bearing they have upon subsequent events. It is often possible to put together a mass of intricate details none of which is irrelevant, but it is a rare skill which can make it plain to a reader reading at full speed that they all had their necessity and proper effect. Few writers can do this so well as Mr. Wilkie Collins. The mystery in The Haunted Hotel is grim enough to please a keen appetite for grisly horrors, without glutting it by matter of fact description. A good deal is left for imagination to fill up. Whether or not the reader is meant to guess the explanation of the couriers disappearance, as he probably will if he is at all practiced in mysteries, is not of much importance. Having guessed it, he will still read with undiminished interest to see how it is worked out. There is, it seems, one defect in the story. It is a mystery with an explanation; but one particular fact which is not a mystery has no explanation.

Wilkie Collins last-but-one novel was originally published in 1889. The Reverend Abel Gracedieu raises two daughters. One of them was adopted seventeen years before the story starts because her mother was executed for murdering her husband. The main question of the plot is whether this adoption will not end in a very bad away because the daughter is allegedly as evil and wicked as her mother .

The story of two people who begin to love each other as boy and girl. Some mysterious agency seems to be at work, all through the story, in their behalf; for though apparently separated as children forever, they are brought together again by a most singular chain of circumstances. Apparitions and other strange hallucinations abound in the work. Altogether a pleasantly weird and odd story, and very much different from Wilkie Collins other novels.

If the only test of fiction is that it shall secure interest, then Mr. Wilkie Collins has succeeded to the full with this novel. The construction is almost perfect, and the interest is so graduated, and the plot so skillfully developed, that no portion can be skipped without loss. Mr. Collins is facile princeps in invention, and introduces no detail that is not of importance in reference to the whole. His novels, indeed, are too complete and self-contained to wholly satisfy any taste that is still simple enough to look at life as it is with anything of the pause and wonder that must often overtake the disinterested observer. There are so many loose threads always to be seen even upon the right side of the tapestry of life, that such an one is persecuted with the wish to get a look at the other side, which remains inscrutably hidden. No real story can ever be so completely told that everything at the end can be satisfactorily wound-up and disposed of. Mr. Wilkie Collinss characters seldom go their own way. They are kept rigidly moving on the puppet-strings of his plot. He is versatile in his knack of pulling a very large number about so cleverly that, while they cross and recross each others paths in every imaginable way, they never really knock against each other. Take an instance: was it at all likely that Mr. Arnold Brinkworth, who was wholly unsuspicious of the risk he was running in visiting, as his wife, at Craig Fernie "Hottle," the woman Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn had promised to marry, should have been so oblivious as not to have looked after the letter which he had carried to Anne Silvester, and with whose contents he was fully acquainted? Had he been alive to the risks he ran, his want of attention to her and her interests might have had some excuse. But the letter needed to be lost, to make the leading complication of the novel; and accordingly Bishopriggs, the smug waiter at the "hottle," is called in to do his part. All the complications arise out of most glaring improbabilities; it is only Mr. Wilkie Collinss consummate invention which, by decoy circlings, diverts the mind from dwelling on them in a way which would prove fatal to the story.

Monkton el loco, una obra del escritor inglés Wilkie Collins con ilustraciones del dibujante sevilllano Fidel Martínez, abre ?junto con El mundo perdido, de Arthur Conan Doyle, revisitado por Sagar Fornies? la coleccion Clasicos Ilustrados de Astiberri, donde una novela completa o una recopilacion de relatos de un autor de referencia de la literatura es interpretada graficamente a lo largo del libro con una serie de ilustraciones principalmente a toda pagina por un dibujante de comics.Encabezada por Monkton el loco, los cuentos reunidos en esta antologia de Wilkie Collins, autor coetaneo y amigo personal de Charles Dickens ?no en vano, fue al autor de Oliver Twist a quien le debe haberse dado a conocer popularmente?, tienen en comun un tono socarron, que en ocasiones tiende incluso a lo parodico, y un marcado acento cotidiano.En sus paginas se puede apreciar el instinto de Collins para el suspense y su habilidad para alargar, retorcer, hilvanar y reinventar sus enrevesadas tramas, que le hicieron merecedor de elogio y admiracion por parte de autores tan dispares como T. S. Eliot o Jorge Luis Borges, quien le tenia por el ?maestro de la intriga?.Unos relatos a los que Fidel Martinez se ha acercado con respeto y pasion a partes iguales para regalarnos unas ilustraciones con evocadores trazos negros y grises sobre blanco que, aunque remiten a maestros del dibujo como Alberto Breccia o Jose Muñoz, demuestran una manifiesta personalidad propia.Con esta propuesta, Astiberri pretende dar un paso para estrechar vinculos entre clasicos literarios y autores de comic, aportando una vision iconografica inedita hasta la fecha, en la que el ilustrador es tambien un narrador de oficio que busca ser respetuoso con la tradicion y a la vez contemporaneo.La coleccion de Clasicos Ilustrados de Astiberri tendra continuidad los proximos meses con titulos como Solomon Kane, de Robert E. Howard, con ilustraciones de David Rubin, o El Golem, de Gustav Meyrink, que contara con el trabajo grafico de Santiago Valenzuela.