Michael and His Lost Angel by Henry Arthur Jones

First produced: 1896

First published: 1896

Type of work: Drama

Type of plot: Social tragedy

Time of work: Nineteenth century

Locale: England and Italy

Principal Characters:

• The Reverend Michael Feversham, vicar at Cleveheddon
• Andrew Gibbard, a parish clerk
• Rose Gibbard, his daughter
• Audrie Lesden, Michael’s mistress
• Sir Lyolf Feversham, Michael’s uncle
• Ther Hilary, a priest

Critique:

Although MICHAEL AND HIS LOST ANGEL was not one of Henry Arthur Jones’ most popular plays at the time of its presentation, he himself considered it his most serious and best work. The play, which has become a familiar anthology piece, is the tragic story of a man’s loss of faith in himself, for the death of Audrie Lesden is secondary to the disintegration of Michael Feversham’s own soul. The character development is excellent, accurately portrayed, with deep insight into a minister’s struggle with his own conscience.

The Story:

The Reverend Michael Feversham regretted that he must deal harshly with Rose, the daughter of his clerk, Andrew Gibbard. Because the girl had sinned, and Andrew had lied about Rose and her now dead child, Michael sternly insisted upon a public confession before the whole congregation of Cleveheddon Church. Only in that way, he believed, could Andrew and his daughter be absolved of their sin and deceit. Later Michael sent the girl away to an Anglican religious house where she could start life anew.

Andrew owed everything he had in life to Michael, but he could not forgive him for exposing Rose to the scorn of the smug, self-righteous parishioners. He recognized, however, the moral fervor which had prompted Michael’s attitude and convictions.

Michael, having dedicated his life to his church and his people, felt that he was watched over by his dead mother, whose picture hung in his study. She was his guardian angel, he thought, knowing everything he said or did. He knew he must try always to be worthy of her guardianship.

When Audrie Lesden came to his parish, he was afraid he would be unworthy of his guardian angel’s love and care. Audrie was a wealthy woman, reported a widow, who had been attracted to Michael because of a book he had written. Although she subscribed large sums for Michael’s project of restoring the minster of Saint Decuman, an ancient Gothic church at Cleveheddon, she was a worldly woman, one torn in half by her emotions and desires. She wanted to be a good woman, to be worthy of Michael, but she wished also to enjoy the pleasures of the world. Sir Lyolf Feversham, Michael’s kinsman, warned the young clergyman against her. Michael, thinking her possessed of great possibilities for good or evil, fought against her influence and pleaded with her to use him only as her spiritual adviser. At the same time he found himself almost helpless against her charm.

Andrew Gibbard watched Michael’s struggle with an evil pleasure which he too fought against. He knew that the vicar had acted as he thought right in his daughter’s case, but he was human enough to enjoy seeing a saintly man learn what temptations of the flesh were like.

The ancient shrine on Saint Decuman’s Island in the Bristol Channel was a place to which Michael often went for study and meditation. One day Audrie took an excursion steamer to the island and remained behind after the boat had returned to the mainland. It was then impossible for her or Michael to return to Cleveheddon before the next day. She and Michael spent the night on the island. Although he did his best to resist her, he found himself weak. They sinned, just as Rose Gibbard had sinned. Afterward Michael tried to conceal the truth, more to protect Audrie than himself, but Andrew finally uncovered the clergyman’s secret. He did not reproach Michael; in fact, he promised to keep silent. For the next several months, however, Michael could sense Andrew’s scorn because the vicar did not make the same confession he had forced from Andrew and his daughter.

Audrie went to Michael with some disturbing news. She had heard from her husband, whom she had allowed everyone to believe dead. Their married life had been wretched, she said, and at last she had paid him to go to America and never bother her again. Now he was returning to England. Michael advised her to go back to her husband; that course, he said, was the road to true repentance for their sin. After Audrie had left Cleveheddon she continued to send him money for the restoration of the minster. Although the money was sent anonymously, Michael knew the gifts came from her. Andrew also guessed the source of the donations.

When the minster of Saint Decuman had been restored, Michael sent for Rose Gibbard. Having decided that he could no longer live with his own conscience if he did not confess publicly, he wanted the girl to witness his disgrace so that she would know that he could be just and unsparing with himself as well. Andrew tried to dissuade him from his plan, but Michael was firm. Then Andrew really forgave Michael and blessed him.

At the church, shortly before the dedication service, Audrie came to Michael again. Her husband had died and she hoped that she and Michael might love each other honorably at last. But Michael felt that their sin had been too great ever to allow them happiness with each other. He sent her away after making her promise not to attend the service the next day.

Before the reconsecration of the minster the next morning, Michael bared his sin to his congregation. He told them that he could no longer be their vicar because he was not worthy, and he asked the people to pray for him after he left the parish.

A year later Michael was living in a monastery at Majano, Italy. He was almost ready to change his faith and join the Catholic Church in order to find peace of mind. Also at Majano were Sir Lyolf and Father Hilary, a priest whom Michael had known at Saint Decuman’s shrine. Longing for Audrie had made the young clergyman almost physically ill. Even his mother’s picture brought him no happiness; he felt that his guardian angel had justifiably deserted him because of his wickedness.

During his absence from the monastery Audrie arrived. She was sick and soon to die, and she wanted to see Michael once more. Sir Lyolf was greatly concerned over her condition. When Michael returned, Sir Lyolf reminded him of his promise that he would go to Audrie if she ever needed him. Michael was almost beside himself when he saw her and realized that she was dying. Audrie, still torn between love for him and love for the world, said that she would become his guardian angel, that they would never part again. His mother, she whispered, would forgive. As she died in his arms, Michael threw himself on her body and cried to Father Hilary that he was willing to suffer all but that he must meet Audrie again. He asked the priest to help him to believe.

Further Critical Evaluation of the Work:

Henry Arthur Jones was the first of the British dramatists who were to revitalize the English theater at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries. The new realism and seriousness of the Continental drama, stimulated primarily by the impact of Henrik Ibsen’s plays, prepared the theatrical atmosphere in England for a similar thrust into modernity. Although denying any direct Ibsen influence, Jones felt that the same seriousness could be brought to the English stage and that he was the playwright to do so. He made his position clear in a letter to The Daily News in 1883:

The truth is that audiences want literature, they want poetry, but they do not want unactable, intractable imitations of Shakespeare’s form without his vitality. They want life, they want reality; they demand that the characters they see on stage shall be, not the ghostly abstractions of the study, but living, breathing human beings, with good warm red blood in their veins.

During his most popular and successful years, Jones ably translated his polemic into such plays as SAINTS AND SINNERS (1884), THE MIDDLEMAN (1889), THE LIARS (1897), and MRS. DANE’S DEFENCE (1900). The important exception in Jones’ sequence of popular successes was MICHAEL AND HIS LOST ANGEL.

Since that time critics have taken a closer look at the play and some—including the playwright—have believed it to be his best. It is certainly one of his most ambitious and there are moments of considerable dramatic intensity and powerful character revelation. But, in the final analysis, the play lacks the necessary focus, and Michael’s character remains a little too vague for tragedy.

Michael’s change from the rigidly moralistic minister of Act I to the tormented, contrite Catholic convert of Act V is understandable, but not completely convincing. The moments in which he attempts to come to terms with his guilt and confusion are intense and agonized, and the scene where Michael confesses his sin directly to his congregation has a tragic feeling worthy of Hawthorne. But the overall characterization is somewhat dissipated by Jones’ failure to dramatize Michael’s feelings toward Audrie Lesden with precision. Is it a mature love that he accepts in spite of its effect on him, or is it only a periodic sexual infatuation?

Although Audrie’s character is not as thoroughly developed as Michael’s, her feelings toward him are easier to comprehend. At the beginning of the play she is torn between a cynical desire to manipulate a “good man” and a genuine romantic attraction. But, by the end of the play, her feelings have clarified: she loves the man, but hates his “pieties.” “I think,” she says at one point, “a little love on this earth is worth a good many paradises hereafter.”

The dramatic climax of their relationship comes at the end of Act II, just prior to their “fatal” night together, when they almost crystalize and state their feelings to each other. But the act ends too soon and the issue is never raised as directly again. Thus, the affair is never completely in focus and the resolution of it, in Audrie’s death and Michael’s conversion to Catholicism, gives the impression of being a somewhat contrived “Victorian” ending that offends—and provokes—no one.