I've just finished "The Dead Secret" by Wilkie Collins and I'm still thinking about it. And thinking and thinking. There are some things in it that just bug me, but more of that a little later. First, assuming I will read over this again in a few years and wonder what it is that I'm talking about, I'll start with where the book came from in the first place. "The Dead Secret" was first serialised in Household Words from January to June 1857 and published in volume form by Bradbury & Evans. Household Words was an English weekly magazine edited by Charles Dickens in the 1850s. Collins had been introduced to Charles Dickens by a mutual friend, the painter Augustus Egg and they became lifelong friends and collaborators. It is because of all this I heard of him in the first place, I'm a Dickens nut. Dickens' death caused tremendous sadness for Collins. Me too, he could have at least finished his last novel first. Collins said of his early days with Dickens, "We saw each other every day, and were as fond of each other as men could be." And since this book wasn't written by Dickens but by Collins I'll get back to him. I have been trying and trying to remember the name of my favorite Collins novel but I can't come up with it, it isn't one of his most popular books which are The Woman in White (1859), No Name (1862), Armadale (1866), and The Moonstone (1868), so not only is my favorite not listed - whatever it is - but neither is the book I'm supposed to be talking about, "The Dead Secret". And now before I get rambling down another road once again, I will begin talking about our current novel.
In the preface for the book Collins says that this was his first attempt at a sustained work of fiction intended for serial publication and that it had been a success both in England and in America. I had been wondering if this "secret" was really supposed to stay secret until the dramatic ending like secrets in books usually are and I am just so good at figuring things out I was right from almost the beginning, but then reading the preface (which I read after I read the book) I found this:
"It may not be out of place here, to notice a critical objection that was raised, in certain quarters, against the construction of the narrative. I was blamed for allowing the "Secret" to glimmer on the reader at an early period of the story instead of keeping it in total darkness to the end."
Oh well, I guess I'm not as smart as I thought I was for one brief moment. He goes on to say he thought it would be more interesting to his readers to watch the progress of the characters toward the secret than figuring it out for ourselves. I am also thinking of the end of his preface when he says that the title of the book when translated into French was shortened to "The Secret" there being no French equivilent to "The Dead Secret". I don't know any French but I think there should be a word that means death out there somewhere. On to the story.
The story begins with these words:
"Will she last out the night, I wonder?"
"Look at the clock, Mathew."
"Ten minutes past twelve! She has lasted the night out. She has lived, Robert, to see ten minutes of the new day."
We are told that the speakers are two servants of Captain Treverton an officer in the navy, at his country house on the west coast of Cornwall. I don't consider ten minutes past twelve as lasting the night out, but I guess these servants do, I'd say you would have to live until 6:00am for that. Anyway, the person about to die whatever time it is is Mrs. Treverton, the wife of the Captain. What she is dying of I'm not exactly sure,
"The disease of which Mrs. Treverton was dying was one of the most terrible of all the maladies that afflict humanity, one to which women are especially subject, and one which undermines life without, in most cases, showing any remarkable traces of its corroding progress in the face. No uninstructed person, looking at Mrs. Treverton when her attendant undrew the bed-curtain, could possibly have imagined that she was past all help that mortal skill could offer to her. The slight marks of illness in her face, the inevitable changes in the grace and roundness of its outline, were rendered hardly noticeable by the marvelous preservation of her complexion in all the light and delicacy of its first girlish beauty. There lay her face on the pillow—tenderly framed in by the rich lace of her cap, softly crowned by her shining brown hair—to all outward appearance, the face of a beautiful woman recovering from a slight illness, or reposing after unusual fatigue. Even Sarah Leeson, who had watched her all through her malady, could hardly believe, as she looked at her mistress, that the Gates of Life had closed behind her, and that the beckoning hand of Death was signing to her already from the Gates of the Grave."
Whatever malady it is that mostly affects women with this definition isn't coming to me and I haven't looked for it yet. Whatever it is, she is about to die and calls for her maid for one last conversation. And here we go with the secret:
"Sarah bolted the door, returned irresolutely to the bedside, fixed her large, eager, startled eyes inquiringly on her mistress's face, and, suddenly bending over her, said in a whisper:
"Have you told my master?"
"No," was the answer. "I sent for him, to tell him—I tried hard to speak the words—it shook me to my very soul, only to think how I should best break it to him—I am so fond of him! I love him so dearly! But I should have spoken in spite of that, if he had not talked of the child. Sarah! he did nothing but talk of the child—and that silenced me."
Sarah, with a forgetfulness of her station which might have appeared extraordinary even in the eyes of the most lenient of mistresses, flung herself back in a chair when the first word of
Mrs. Treverton's reply was uttered, clasped her trembling hands over her face, and groaned to herself, "Oh, what will happen! what will happen now!"
Ok, now having a pretty good idea what the secret is, or at least having it narrowed down to only one or two things it could be, although how she managed to keep this secret I didn't know until later. I failed to see why she would want to tell her husband her secret in the first place. I'm not sure what good it would do and I see quite some bad it could do. However, she seems set on telling her husband the secret and has come up with the idea of writing it in a letter. Since she is too weak to write the letter herself and since Sarah seems to know the secret already, she gets Sarah to write it all down. Now comes another problem I have, Mrs. Treverton now makes Sarah promise to; 1. not to take the letter with her if she ever leaves, and 2. not to destroy the letter, she is just getting to the third which will be to give the letter to Captain Treverton when she dies. She has already warned Sarah that if she doesn't fulfill her promises she will come back to haunt her, but since she died before the third promise had been made does Sarah have to still go through with it? Apparently not, because instead of giving the letter to the captain she hides it in the old, old part of the mansion, the Porthgenna Tower which hasn't been entered in 50 years or some such time. She hides it in the Myrtle room, why it is called the Myrtle room I can't remember. And with that she writes the captain a letter before leaving forever, this is another one of the problems I have with the book. I don't blame her for leaving, what is she going to do there now anyway, and I don't blame her for leaving a letter, it would be better than just vanishing, but this is the letter:
"As rapidly as her pen could form the letters, she wrote a few lines addressed to Captain Treverton, in which she confessed to having kept a secret from his knowledge which had been left in her charge to divulge; adding, that she honestly believed no harm could come to him, or to any one in whom he was interested, by her failing to perform the duty intrusted to her; and ended by asking his pardon for leaving the house secretly, and by begging, as a last favor, that no search might ever be made for her."
This is what she wrote? Why would she mention the secret at all, just say goodbye and leave. This is almost as bad as the secret would have been. And why in the world didn't Mrs. Treverton skip the first two promises and just make her promise to hand over the letter to her husband in the first place? Of course the captain searches for her but never finds her.
"Rewards were offered; the magistrates of the district were interested in the case; all that wealth and power could do to discover her was done—and done in vain. No clew was found to suggest a suspicion of her whereabouts, or to help in the slightest degree toward explaining the nature of the secret at which she had hinted in her letter. Her master never saw her again, never heard of her again, after the morning of the twenty-third of August, eighteen hundred and twenty-nine."
The story now jumps ahead 15 years to the wedding of Rosamund, the daughter of Captain Treverton now all grown up, to the young man she has loved since she was a child, Leonard Franklin. Doctor Chennery, who performed the service is telling some visitors he has at his house and us how it came about that Rosamund and Leonard came to know each other. According to the doctor after Mrs. Treverton died the captain couldn't stand living at the mansion without his wife and sold it to Leonard's father, that is when Rosamund and Leonard came to know each other. Oh, I should mention that Leonard is blind, it has happened only recently in the last few months and the doctor tells us this aout it:
"Scarcely an accident," said Doctor Chennery. "Leonard Frankland was a difficult child to bring up: great constitutional weakness, you know, at first. He seemed to get over that with time, and grew into a quiet, sedate, orderly sort of boy—as unlike my son there as possible—very amiable, and what you call easy to deal with. Well, he had a turn for mechanics (I am telling you all this to make you understand about his blindness), and, after veering from one occupation of that sort to another, he took at last to watch-making. Curious amusement for a boy; but any thing that required delicacy of touch, and plenty of patience and perseverance, was just the thing to amuse and occupy Leonard. I always said to his father and mother, 'Get him off that stool, break his magnifying-glasses, send him to me, and I'll give him a back at leap-frog, and teach him the use of a bat.' But it was no use. His parents knew best, I suppose, and they said he must be humored. Well, things went on smoothly enough for some time, till he got another long illness—as I believe, from not taking exercise enough. As soon as he began to get round, back he went to his old watch-making occupations again. But the bad end of it all was coming. About the last work he did, poor fellow, was the repairing of my watch—here it is; goes as regular as a steam-engine. I hadn't got it back into my fob very long before I heard that he was getting a bad pain at the back of his head, and that he saw all sorts of moving spots before his eyes. 'String him up with lots of port wine, and give him three hours a day on the back of a quiet pony'—that was my advice. Instead of taking it, they sent for doctors from London, and blistered him behind the ears and between the shoulders, and drenched the lad with mercury, and moped him up in a dark room. No use."
So, is he blind because of illness, or is he blind because of watch repairing? That got me thinking of this little clock and watch repair shop that used to be open in a nearby town when I was young but closed years ago. I assume it closed because almost all those little businesses in our little towns closed, but perhaps it was because of blindness. I somehow doubt it. Leonard offers Rosamund her freedom but of course she loves him and still wants to marry him. And so now they are married and after a long honeymoon and some other visiting, are on their way back to Porthgenna, tower and all to live happily ever after. However, we now have another one of my problems with the book come up, because on the way to Porthgenna Rosamund and Leonard's baby decides to be born, yes, she is pregnant, and they have to make an emergency baby stop at a little inn in a little town that nobody, nobody with them that is, has ever heard of. And because of the emergency baby stop they have to find an emergency baby nurse, and since there aren't any nurses in the village they settle for the housekeeper of the local country squire's wife, or some such person. This housekeeper, Mrs. Jazeph agrees to be the nurse rather excitedly when she hears who her patient will be. Then, when she gets to the inn she spends quite a bit of time acting like a crazy lady, not coming out of the corner of the room, refusing to light the candles, hiding her face from Rosamund, and finally, when she thinks Rosamund is asleep whispers to her something like "don't go in the Myrtle room". Ok, one problem I have with this is that the baby just happens to be born in a village where the only nurse just happens to know anything at all about the Myrtle room? Seems unlikely. The other little problem I have is, if she thinks Rosamund is sleeping than what would a warning do anyway, the girl would be asleep and wouldn't hear her anyway.
I'm done talking about this book even though there is alot more I could say. I'm beginning to feel like this review is longer that the book though, so I'm quitting.
Oh, I nearly forgot, and I can't imagine how, the thing that drove me the craziest was the numbers. Just numbers thrown into sentences here and there the entire book took some getting used to, here are a few samples:
"She recoiled from it at first, and took a few 31 steps back toward the staircase.
"But would you mind waiting a little before we ring at the door, and walking up and down for a few minutes by the side of this wall, where nobody is likely 170 to see us?
She found him packing up the musical box again in its 168 leather case.
By return of post an answer was received, 226 which amply justified Rosamond's reliance on her old friend."
I'm pretty sure they are page numbers, or were page numbers even though my book only has 135 pages in it all numbered nice and neat at the bottom of each page.
And once again I'll say I'm quitting. To find out who, if anyone, gets into the Myrtle room, and who, if anyone, ever gets to read the letter, read the book. The secret is more what will people think when they know the secret than what the secret is, but that's all you're getting from me. I'm going to see if I can find out what happened to that watch shop that used to be there when I was a kid.