1829.] 



c 97 : 



MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERi\TURE, DOMESTIC AND FOREIGN. 



Five Nights at St. Albans. 3 vols. 



\2mo. ; 1829 We have not seen so wild 



a story, and one so vigorously told as this, 

 since AUan Cunningham's Michael Scot ; 

 but we must confess — exerted as the writer's 

 best energies have been, and they are no 

 common ones — we have been more struck 

 by the richness of his inventions, and the 

 facility of his paintings, than interested by 

 the complications of his story, or awed by 

 its machinery, or amused by its details, or 

 successful in detecting those results which 

 he, in the consciousness of his lofty daring, 

 tells us " have been aimed at," but which, 

 in the possibility of failure, and to spare his 

 consequent mortification, he refrains from 

 aiding his readers to discover. The whole 

 is wrapt in the marvellous, and in clouds too 

 dense for common optics to penetrate and 

 discern any useful design, if such design 

 there has really been. No man can tell 

 how he or others would act under the im- 

 pulse of supernatural agency, and of course 

 the writer, who describes such action, is 

 safe from the censure that rests on human 

 experience only ; nor in such descriptions 

 can he have any other object than to shew 

 with what ease he wields the weapons of 

 romance. No advantage can be gained for 

 young or old by sheer extravagance ; nor 

 do we see wftt/ we shoidd return to nursery 

 tales, when the whole world and its ways, in 

 their exhaastless variety, is all before us, and 

 where surely every writer may find some- 

 thing to suit his powers, be they ever so 

 exalted or eccentric. For vigour of concep- 

 tion — for strength and variety of phrase — 

 for dexterity in developing his own compli- 

 cations — for delineation of character even, 

 where human motives alone are ojierating — 

 the writer, whoever he is, and he is, we 

 presume, well known, though not in this 

 line precisely, may challenge competition 

 with any of his cotemporaries. He will no 

 doubt find readers in abundance less fasti- 

 dious than ourselves, and some of more sus- 

 ceptibility and sympathy for the vagaries of 

 unbridled imagination ; but generally, or 

 ^ve are more than usually mistaken, more 

 wonderers than admirers. 



Though the scene is laid at St. Albans, 

 and in the reign of Elizabeth, the tale has 

 nothing historical about it. It is founded, 

 it seems, upon no tradition — derived from 

 no legend — but is purely a work of fiction 

 — altogether a creature of imagination. 

 The author details first and explains after ; 

 we must take the reverse course, or rather 

 chiefly explain, for we shall have little space 

 for detailti. From the Temple of the Se- 

 pulchre at .Jerusalem had been stolen a pre- 

 cious relic — a crucifix — by the dark spirit, 

 or magician, Am.iimon,who had filched it in 

 the disguise of a pilgrim's weeds. Every 

 knight of the Holy Sepulchre, at his ordi- 

 nation, was told of the duty incumbent 

 M.M. New Series Vol.. VIII. No. 43. 



upon him to recover this sacred relic. 

 Through tliree centuries numbers had 

 fought with the monster who guarded the 

 magician's den, and tlieir bones still whiten- 

 ed the front of the cave. In the thirteenth 

 century, the hero of the piece — Fitzmaurice 

 — in the ardour of his daring spirit, under- 

 takes this desperate venture, but before he 

 sets out he prudently resolves to visit a fa- 

 mous exorcist of his acquaintance, to obtain 

 some information or assistance for the better 

 execution of his task. Amaimon, he learns, 

 is far above his friend's hands — he had 

 three lives, charmed by the life of the mon- 

 ster a talisman worn next his own heart— 



and the crucifix itself; but, though his in- 

 ferior in power, the exorcist furnishes the 

 knight with a signet, adding, " if this fail 

 to redeem the cross at first, it may redeem 

 it for thee at last ;" and then hands him a 

 scroll, containing instructions how, in hia 

 exigency, to use the said signet. The bold 

 knight kiUs the monster — and moreover 

 tears the talisman from the magician's 

 breast, but in grappling with him he re* 

 ceives a blow from the crucifix, which left a 

 burning impress upon his brow, and laid 

 him prostrate at the magician's feet, his 

 slave perhaps for ever. " The lives thou 

 hast taken." exclaims the magician, " keep ! 

 they are yotu"s. Groan beneath their bond- 

 age ! I snap in twain the mingled yarn of 

 mortal existence, which stretches from the 

 cradle to the grave. In the deep earth, nor 

 in the roUing sea, shall thou find a grave. 

 Slave of my power, be slave of my slave. 

 Behold, the shadow follows not the sub- 

 stance more closely, than this thing shall be 

 upon thy steps, to vex, torment, and harry 

 thee." " This thing" proved to be Mephisto, 

 a filthy and malignant spirit, the abhorred 

 fruit of a Jloorish vampire and a hag of 

 Thessaly, &c. In this pretty predicament, 

 the knight loses no time in breaking the 

 sealed scroll, whicli contained an oracle iii 

 these puzzling terms — 



When an idiot sliall die. 



And a mother's heart breaks ; 



When an idiot shall live, 

 Who a father's life takes; 



When the friend slays the friend ; 

 And the first is the last. 



He takes up the cross. 

 And thy sorrows are past. 



This was accompanied with an interpre- 

 tation by his friend the exorcist, in prose — 

 " In some region of the globe, but place 

 and time are hidden from me, thou must 

 find the number of the Apostles — nor more 

 nor less — who of their own free choice, 

 shall be brought together, to inquire of a 

 great mystery, by tlice made manifest ac- 

 cording to thy will. When twelve arc 

 found, uninfluenced, save In/ their several 

 humours, to know tlie causes of what they 

 shall see or hear, they are subjected to your 



O 



