A CHAT ON BOOKS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2258, 10 June 1897, Page 43

A CHAT ON BOOKS.

" A Monk of Mar Saba," by Joseph Hocking, though already reviewed in the Witness, is a book which I am sure you will like to hear a more detailed account of than is given in the brief space allotted to the ordinary book notice. One of its striking characteristics is the entire novelty of the tnise en scene, that strange eerie convent standing in the desolate wilderness of Judea. Hewn from the solid rock, gloomy, isolated, the Convent of Mar Saba is surrounded by a landscape so silent, so dreary, that it seems as though all life and hope were blasted in tbat sterile region. The order of the monks of Mar Saba is a severely ascetic one ; the vows taken by the brethren embody a living death, and these gaunt men who, worn by fasting and mortification, glide through the rock-hewn passages are to all intents and purposes dead men. Dead to hope, dead to friendship and sympathy, dead, thrice dead, to love — only pale ghosts wandering in a living tomb. • All but one. A young Arab, instinct with the wild passions of his race, wealthy, has been cruelly deceived by the girl he loved. Reckless and despairing, he is skilfully worked upon by his priest, who sneceeds in persuading him that the only peace he can know must be bought at the price of giving all his wealth to the Convent of Mar Saba and himself taking the vows of a monk within its dreary walls. Thus it comes about that the young Arab chieftain becomes the pale, worn monk known in the Convent of Mar Saba as " Brother Michael." For three years he crucifies in bis own person the world, the flesh, and the devil, and then a strange thing happens. One evening, about sunset, while the young monk, paces the rock-hewn terraces of MarSaba, and lingers on the lowest, overhanging the valley beneath, watching with wistfal eyes the dying splendours of the sunset as it turns — like the wand of a magician — all the sterile rocks, the dreary desert, into a wondrous dream of light and colour, he finds himself unconsciously listening to voices in the rocky defile beneath him. In the clear silence of eveniDg Michael hears each word distinctly. Some Arab guides in the valley beneath are awaiting the return of their tourist party, who are even now wending their slow way upwards to explore the rockhewn fastnesses of Mar Saba. As they wait they discuss with eager animation a plot to carry off a beautiful English girl for whom their chief, Abou Gamska, has conceived an insane passion. This Abou Gamska is the wild chieftain of the wildest tribe of Bedouins in all the surrounding district — a man of magnificent physique, reckless, daiing, and with tremendous passions. Presently Michael meets this

golden-haired English girl as she, with her father and friends, is shown over that part of the convent which ia open to visitors. Michael hastens to his oell, disturbed and troubled. By no act or desire of his own he has suddenly been swept once more into the river of life, its whirl of passions, feara, hopes, and dreams. His greatest strength of will seems powerless to dispel from his mind the fair, pure faoe of the English girl. It is no sudden passion, no sentimental fancy, which compels his thoughts; it is simply the revolt of a true and chivalrous nature against the dreadful fate which he has just heard discussed for this helpless girl. Yet think of his mental distress ! Every deliberate thought concerning a woman is a violation of his vows — those terrible vows which bind him to a life as cold and naked, as narrow and barren, as his own cell. With desperate determination and bitter courage Michael resists the temptation to try and save the girl whose gentle voice had sounded like some fabled saint's, but at last, thank God ! the man triumphs over the priest, and Michael escapes from his living prison on as high and pure a quest as any knight of old. The conversation he had overheard gave him the ncceaeary clue to guide him to the camping ground of the English party and their Arab guides, but he arrives, alaß ! too late — the young girl has already been hurried off. Where ? The wide desert stretches around him in dread unfathomable mystery. Surely it is a hopeless quest t Shall he surrender it ? Bufc the sots pure eyes of the English girl seem to shine on him from the darkness, and with a mighty wave of remembrance he realises all he knows or has ever heard ot the magnificent Abou Gamska. Hia very soul rises in revolt at the thought of her fate. He braces his wearied muscles — so flaccid and out of training with his monastic life — afresh, and determines -to do all that mortal man can do to rescue her. At last Michael overtakes the party, and posing as an anchorite monk of the desert, learned in occult scienoe, and master of many tonguea, is commanded by Abou Gamska to declare his passion to the Eng- j lish girl They are hideoue conditions which the splendid, lustful Arab king in hia own desert kingdom offers : to become his wife, with all the dignity pertaining thereto, oi' her own free will ; or to be his mis trees, ! with all the degradation thereof, by force. ! Michael, however, contrives, while acting as i interpreter, to let the EDglisb girt know that he is her friend, and is endeavouring to rescue her. The rescue is in due course effected, the action being very prompt. One j of Abou Gamska's Arab followers, touched i by the beauty, the gentleness, atwl utter j misery of the young English girl, assists | Michael, and pays for his iashnes3 with hia j life, while still more poLant aid is rendered < by a certain hermit monk who dwells ia i these rocky solitudes. j These night scenes in the dessert are very j finely portrayed, and give a vivid mdlvi- j duality to the book. It ia while Michael is j in the first enthusiasm of his knightly quest, j 1 and while he is prompted only by a. true j man's loyalty to the cause of the helpless, j that he experiences his mo^fc terrible mental conflict. The great bell of ihe convent — rung only on such occasions — clangs out ita note of warning and dishonour, telling the dreary desert world ground that a brother has foresworn his vows and pmjured hia soul. Clang ! clang I — the strokes beat upon \ the young monk's brain and soul ; his very spirit faints within him as the phyaicnl body may faint bleeding under the knonfc. Has | he indeed perjured himself — given over his j soul to eternal torment I—for1 — for what ? I Ah ! the truth breaks e-lowly upon him. 1 He who thought love for ever dead lovea once more — aye, heart an i ioui he worships and loves the girl he has perjured hioiaalf to save. When the rescue 5s complete, and fhe fair English girl restored to her father, Michael tells his love — only to be met with the inevitable truth. How could he, an Arab youth, j aspire to the love of act English girl ? I Crushed, desolate, he who has bartered his soul's salvation for a mess of pottage returns lo the Convent of Mar Saba. In oilence he accepts the torment* of expiation which awaits him, but under tba last punishment the oveitaied, wearied body and the desolate heart give way. The mists of. death are closicg fast round Brother Michael, j when they part to 3how him <i beautiful | dream : his head lisa afc last on the breast ; of the English girl, -while her sweet voice, shaken with fear and love, bids him live — 3ive to love her and he beloved, iiva to call her wife. It may not be 1 The valley of the shadoff claims him, the mists cftse round again, but the beautiful draam is a truth, and Michael I is content to die encircled in those tender j arms, with the touch of those sweet lips on | his. | " A Secret Service ; or, Strange Tales of a ! Nihilist," by William La Qaeux.— We nearly ! all of us confess to a certain inexplicable charm which breathes more or less from all stories of Russian life. It is a country so isolated in its self-concantration, so vast in extent, so extraordinarily backward in social and moral reforms, so teeming with bitter misery and notorious for unparalleled luxury, that all revelationß of Its inner life are sure to be read with interest. In the series of tales comprised in "A Secret Service" we have such tragedy, such complications, crimes, intrigues, and mysteries, that the reader is compelled sometimes to draw the breath of incredulity. One is too often inclined to " skip " the preface. In this case, however, pray read it conscientiously, and you will find that the author vouches for the truthfulness of the episodes narrated, though he points out, very naturally, " that I have been compelled to bestow fictitious names upon the actors in these dramas, and suppress certain incidents and change the scene in more than one instance." Mr Le Qaenx is too well known a writer to peril his reputation by careless writing on such a subject, and a proof of his power in ! depicting that inner, blackest side of Ras- j sian life — namely, the rotten corruption of | the whole official department — is given in the following fact : — " By a special order, issued from the Press Bureau at St. Petersburg, copies of this book are prohibited from entering the Russian empire ; while, not content with the formal interdiction of tny

novel • Guilty Bonds,' which deals with ft politioal conspiracy, the Russian Govern* ment has also sent one of its emissaries to! my house in London to inform me of tb.9 fact." "A Secret Service" embodies some 13 episodes, eaoh one complete in itself. The; incidents themselves are varied enough ; the only monotony lies In the atmosphere of ceaseless suspicion, oppression, asd cruelty en the oaa hand, and intrigue, deception, and crime on the other. The power of the episodes is increased by the almost Biblioal simplicity of narration. Indeed, those of you who are interested in the subject of Nihilism will do well to read " A Secret Sarvice."