THE FIVE NIGHTS OF ST. ALBANS.*

SOISE man of talent has taken up the old story of the Wandering Jew, to try what he could make of a new version of it. He has succeeded in composing as pretty a piece of diablerie as ever made candles burn blue at midnight. We do not see much use in thus racking the invention for horrors ; but we are bound to say, that the inventor has succeeded in his aim ; and that few if any of hts school have shown more power in harrowing up the feelings, in enchaining the attention, in filling the heart with mystery and wonder. The materials and the machinery are the ancient and well-known means and methods of sorcery ; but the author has polished them up as becomes a writer in an enlightened age, when he produces them rather as matters of curiosity than for use, and in fact as the mere exercise of the inventive faculties, and with no view, in these days, of working on the credulity of any one. We are to tremble, but not to believe*; or if there is to be belief, it is to be of that shadowy and flitting kind which we accord to the miracles of ARIOSTO or to the temporary delusions of the stage. The fundamental idea of the Wandering Jew, or as he is here termed, the Black Horseman,—a well-bred, reasoning, elegant, and persuasive person, in short a necromancer of the nineteenth century, condemned to eternal wandering, and denied the luxury of death—is, as we have observed, an old one : many too have been the devices by which it has been imagined that he has attempted to work out the anathema which condemns him to immortality : novels and tales in abundance have been founded on this superstition. But the manner in which the author of the Five Nights of. St. Albans contrives to re- deem the cross which emancipates the wanderer from the thraldom of the mighty power whose slave he seems, and the ordeal through which he is made to pass, in order to eradicate from his brow the fatal and burning mark, the sign of his curse and his privilege, is not old : it is original, and as agreeable as any thing in diablerie can be. We shall not unfold the mysteries of the The Nights, beyond saying that the scheme of bringing the twelve gentlemen of St. Albans to watch and work in the ancient cathedral of that place, during the passage of the great wonders and signs which manifest themselves on the spot, is a good one, and well supported. The epoch chosen for the exhibi- tion of these mysteries is the reign of ELIZABETH; and the language, and wit, and characters of the actors, show considerable fertility of thought and humour in the writer. In short, if we are to have tales of magical wonder, of the sorcerer's power, of his horrific means of working his ends,—if the dark superstitions of blind and ignorant times are to be again dug up, and attired in a modern imitation of their an- cient guise,—we know not any writer who is so well able to supply the qualifications. He is the worthy successor of the author of Me? moth, the wonder-working MATURIN. Perhaps he falls short at times of that writer's power over the mind ; but he is a much more equable writer, is much less frequently absurd, and indeed, unlike MATURIN, goes straight to his object, with little raving, and no high-flown non- sense. The forte of MAruaiN was his poetical enthusiasm : the author of the Five Nights of St. Albans deals with the Devil logically —it is by the force of reasoning that the new Faust carries most of his points; and in an interview between the Devil and one of the gentle- men of St. Albans, the principal agent in the ordeal, the Devil, or he who is as good as the Devil, is fairly outreasoned and discomfited by hard blows out Of ARISTOTLE or SANDERSON. The combination in the same mind of the powers of dexterous reasoning, and of inventing such monstrosities as he has exhibited in such great plenty, is really curious. The horrors of Der Freischiitx are mere child's play compared with the terrors of the Old Man or the dannon of Amaimon ; and yet all the thinking and talking portion of the book is as shrewd and sharp as the gladiatorial dialogues of SHAKSPEARE'S comedies ; where it would seem that the cutting of quips was the great end of all education, the reigning accomplishment.

A passage from the commencement of the work will afford a fit troduction to the other extracts we shall make.

*3 vols. Edinburgh, 1829. Blackwood. " It was towards the latter end of September, in the year 4570, that Hugh Clayton, and Marmaduke Peverell, two substantial yeomen of the ancient town of St. Albans, were returning home from Dunstable, when, just upon the hour of midnight, they came within sight of the venerable towers of the Abbey. They were proceeding leisurely along, their horses somewhat the

'worse of a long day's journey, as the Abbey bell tolled the first hour of twelve.

Suddenly, the whole building presented the appearance of one solid mass of a deep-red fire, but "without casting forth flame or smoke, or shedding one ray of light upon surrounding objects. It resembled a huge furnace, glowing with intense heat ; and from the magnitude of the building, the effect was at onee terrific and sublime.

" Peverell was the first who observed the strange spectacle. `By my soul,' aitid he, stopping his horse, 'the Abbey is on fire—look how it is burning ! ' " Burning,' quoth Clayton, ' truly I think the burning is all over, and what we see are only the ruins for, do you mark, there is neither smoke nor flame!

" ' You are right,' rejoined Peverell, and, what is strange, there seems no bustle in the town. Listen I All is still, and, save yon burning mass, all is dark. Let us push on and learn what has happened.' So saying, they clapped spurs to their jaded steeds, and in a few minutes entered the town. " To their great surprise, they found no persons stirring. Every house was closed; and the inhabitants were all quietly asleep in their beds. But, still greater was their surprise, when, directing their looks towards the Abbey they could no longer perceive the burning ruins which had first attracted their notice.

" What can all this mean ?' said Peverell, in a half-whisper, to his com- panion, We saw it, and now—'

" Hush 1 ' interrupted Clayton, while he crossed himself devoutly; let GS watch for a few minutes.'

" They did so ; but to no purpose. Where they had seen the fiery edifice, was now a mere black void ; for the night was too dark to permit of their distinuishing the towers or walls of the Abbey. " Are we awake,' continued Clayton, after a pause, or have we been dreaming all this time.'

" 'It was no dream,' answered Peverell, and for my own part, I am de- termined to find out whatever it is. I'll ride up to the Abbey door, and if the arch-fiend himself be sitting there, I'll ask him what he has been about.'

" Don't be fool hardy,' exclaimed Clayton, catching hold of the bridle of Peverell's horse ; you know there are strange stories told about this Abbey,— since the grievous sin committed by our eighth Henry. They do say—' " Yes, rejoined Peverell, laughing, they do say that the devil, once a-month, testate and revels here, with a few choice souls of monks and friars, whom he brings with him to revive the recollection of old times, when the oily rogues themselves wallowed in the lusts of the flesh, as pious churchmen of those days were won't to do.'

" Clayton was silent. He did not half relish what he considered as the profane jesting of his companion ; for besides being a devout Catholic, he -was also prone to superstition, and entertained very orthodox notions about evil spirits, benign fairies, and mischievous goblins. Peverell, on the con-. trary, had hut little fear of what man could do to him, and none of what might heal him from spirits of another world. So he spurred his horse, and galloped up to the walls of the Abbey. Clayton, who, of two evils, preferred following a fearless swaggerer, to remaining alone with hi 3 own misgivings, also put spurs to his horse; but not without sundry pious ejaculations as they proceeded, partly addressed to himself in the way of comfort, and partly intended to dissuade his companion from his enterprise, if the clattering of their horses' feet would have allowed him to hear them.

"In a few minutes they were under the walls of the Abbey—and to their mutual surprise there stood the walls, massive, gloomy, and frowning, just as they had seen them in the morning when they set out for Dunstable.

',Weil ; ' quoth Peverell, after a aloft pause, I am satisfied.'

" And so am I,' rejoined Clayton.

" But the satisfaction of the latter was of a far different quality to that of the former. Clayton was satisfied, that the devil ad his imps, or some other supernatural personages, had been at their gambols. Peverell was satisfied, they had been befooled by their own fancies."

The next night this sight is witnessed again, not by two solitary in- ', dividuals, but by the whole town, amidst the tremendous agitation of the people. A meeting of the inhabitants is called the morning after, to deliberate on the steps necessary to be taken in order to fathom the mystery concealed under this extraordinary exhibition.

At the appointed time the market-place was filled with the inhabitants, whom the mayor addressed as soon as they obtained admittance into the hall, in an oration replete with civic eloquence. He descanted upon the scene which he, in common with them all, had witnessed; wondered what it could mean ; expressed sundry pious and loyal fears, that all was not right in church and state ; exhorted them to be watchful of coming events ; wan- dered into superstitious conjectures ; and after stating that a minute exami- nation had been made of the interior of the Abbey that morning, to discover if there were any trick or device, but which had ended in nothing, he con- eluded by propounding the important query, what shall we do.' "After a short pause, an aged man, of venerable aspect, stood forth. His

beard was of a snowy whiteness, his head entirely bald, his air, that of--one "Fitz-Maurice, calm and undaunted, advanced. The Old Man receded a accustomed to command; and though of somewhat diminitive stature, there few paces, but still confronting his adversary. The grim shadows flit about was a calm dignity of manner about him, and a certain stateliness of carriage in quicker motion, and became more ghastly. Fitz-Maurice continues to walk which enforced respect. As he advanced towards that part of the hall where slowly onwards, and the Old Man gives way, step by step. The ground rocks the mayor was seated, with a slow and measured step, the people fell back on and heaves and the stones cleaving asunder, a deep, dark grave yawns before each side to open a passage for him. He acknowledged the courtesy by a them ! The Old Man points to it with an air of deriding malignity. Fitz- gentle inclination of the head. No one knew him ; lie was a stranger in the Maurice bows his head in silence, as be still proceeds. They have all passed town; no one had ever seen him till that moment! neither his entrance into the grave. Suddenly, a dismal howl, a long, deep, and melancholy moan, the hall, nor his presence there while the mayor had addressed them, had break upon the stillness of the scene,

been observed by any one. "Again the ground rocks and heaves—again the pavement opens, and an- " He approached to within a few paces of the mayor. There was a pro- other grave gapes beneath their feet ! The Old Man points to it, as before. found silence.Fitz-Maurice raises his eyes to heaven, and his lips move, as if in prayer. A "'What shall we do?' be exclaimed, repeating the concluding words of the louder howl, a longer and a deeper moan, are heard; but Fitz. Mauricead- mayor. His voice was unearthly. It struck upon the ear like the scream vances, upon the still retreating footsteps of the Old Man, whose looks be- of the eagle. His eye glared with a ferocious expression as he looked round tray rage and amazement ! the assembly and added, • I pause for a reply "And now, upon the leaden-coloured mist that had hitherto enveloped " No one spoke. They gazed upon each other with speechless amazement, them, there grew a streaming brightness of saffron-tinted-light, which and ever and anon directed their view towards the old man, whose counte- emitted a most noisome odour, and filled the whole surrounding space ; hut

nance deepened into darker and darker shades of scorn- and mockery. it was too opaque to render visible more than a small portion of it. The Old " Is there a man among you,' he continued, in the same wild accent, who Man plucked from his golden clasp a part of it, and cast it violently on the has a heart stout enough to pass the Abbey doors this night ere the clock ground ; when the earth opened with a tremendous noise, and from the strike twelve, and abide the rest ?' rugged chasm ascended sulphureous flames of roaring fire ! The blue glare " 'That man am I!' exclaimed one, starting from the throng and ad- fell upon their faces as they passed, and gave a frightful expression to the °

vancing into the middle of the hall. It was Kit Barnes. I am the chosen convulsed features of the Old Man, who found himself unable to arrest their of God, and fear him only, whom with fear and trembling I obey.' progress.

"The old man eyed him for a moment, then advanced towards him, grasped "He starts—stops—thrusts the cross into his bosom—draws thence a broad his arm, and said in a low voice-11'11 meet thee there ;' Kit shuddered—his sable fillet, inscribed with mystic characters, in silver, which he binds round colour fled—he gasped for breath—his knees tottered—and he looked like one his head—throws hirhself upon the ground, and lies motionless for nearly a suddenly struck with some grievious malady. The people gathered round minute. Fitz-Maurice unsheathes his sword, and springs towards him; but him,—' Wrench, tear me from that iron hand V he exclaimed, convulsively, at the moment when his arm is raised to strike, the blade shivers into a thou

and reeling forward, fell upon the ground. sand pieces like so much brittle glass, and the Old Man rising, looks at him

- " Terror and amazement were now at their. height. They looked aroina for the old man—he was gone! No one saw him enter—no one saw • him go. He was gone 1—and none could tell whence he came, or whither he had de- parted.

" In a few moments Kit recovered. `I'll meet thee there !' he feebly ut- tered, as he raised himself from the earth. Then, looking at his arm, and clenching it with his other hand, he added, ' an if thou do, this limb shall wither in thy grasp, but I'll beard thee 1 ' " What made thee quail thus, Christopher ?' said Peverill, addressing him; why, man, thou hast had the falling sickness o'the sudden. He was but a pigmy to thee, but thou didst seem like one planet-struck. What may this mean ?' "

'Mean n replied Kit, who by this time had regained somewhat of his wonted energy of manner, it means this,—that I have been in the grip of the foul fiend—Lucifer has beleaguered me. When that imp of darkness laid his hand upon me, a freezing ice stream ran through my -veins—my blood suddenly congealed—my very bones seemed to crack and crumble beneath his grasp, as if my arm had been crushed in mine own vice. I would have spoken, but my tongue cleaved to my mouth, while his words, Pli meet thee there,' whirled like fire through my brain. My eyes grew suddenly dim, and I fell, powerless as an infant. What it means I know not, Master Peverell ; but perhaps, I shall be wiser before to-morrow.'" What he saw, or how wise he became, and what were the mar- vellous adventures of the subsequent nights, we shall leave our readers to discover from the book ; and content ourselves with quoting a pas- sage which may be considered as a fair specimen of the author's power. After the watch of Kit Barnes, twelve townspeople, of various ranks and characters, undertake the investigation of the mysteries, under the guidance of a singular character who calls himself Fitz-Maurice, who has sprung from nobody knows where, and appears invested with powers and knowledge and the arts-of persuasion in a singular degree of excellence. He is the Black Horseman, and the bearer of the burning cross on his brow.

"Fits-Maurice threw open the doors of the Abbey, and entered, followed by Peverell, Lacy, De Clare, Walwyn, Morthner, Hoskyns, and Owen Rees. A loud yell, as if proceeding from a thousand iron voices, smote their ears ;

and then, a horrid laughing burst forth, which seemed to come from above, below, and around them. -This was followed by dismal shrieks, which grew

fainter and fainter, till at last they subsided into what seemed a funereal dirge, accompanied by the swelling tones of an organ ! As these died away, a solemn stillness prevailed. "The interior was lighted, if light it could be called, with that kind of dusky gloom which is shed over every object by the descending shadows of the evening. The eye could distinguish neither the height, nor the length, nor the breadth of the aisles. But pale phantoms, in shrouds and winding sheets, and in every stage almost of mortal decay, were visible. Some looked, as if life had just departed—others with that green and yellow hue, as if they had

not lain in the earth a week—some shrewd incipient rottenness, in the loss of lips, and eyes, and cheeks—others with the features dissolving into putrid

liquefaction—some were brushing away the worms that crawled out of their ears and mouth—and some, more horrible still, seemed to dress up their dry, fleshless bones, in the living characters of thought and passion ! On every side, these hideous spectres were seen, sweeping slowly along in the air, or gliding upon the ground, or stalking backwards and forwards, with noiseless motion. Sometimes they would bring their pestiferous faces Close; and their smell was of corruption ; but if the up-lifted hand was raised to put them back,• it passed throtigh mere vacancy. "At the very entrance, almost, stood the Old Man, with the crucifix held above his head, and glaring like a demon at Fitz-Maurice, while rage, defi-

ance, and scorn successively dwelt upon his features. His head and feet were

bare ; his right arm naked to the shoulder ; and round MI body, an ample purple vest or robe, confined by a crimson girdle, with a cutiousiy wrought clasp of gold, which fastened beneath the bosom, and flickered to the eye, like gently undulating flame. He did not utter a word; but remained mo- tionless, as if it was his intent to dispute the further progress of Fitz-Mau. rice, who also paused for a moment.

"As to the feelings of those who were following him, it were vain to at- tempt, by any description, to convey a notion of their intensity. Peverell, De Clare, and Lacy were the only ones of whom it could truly be affirmed they felt no fear : the first, from native intrepidity of character—the second from disdain—and the third from habit. Of the other four, it could only be said they expressed none. Walwyn thought of his kinsman'sdeath, and hardly cared how soon he followed him. Mortimer played with his love-lock, and breathed short. The Welchman kept his hand upon the hilt of his sword, and raising himself upon his toes, essayed to peep over the shoulders of the others, at what might be coming. Hungerford Hoskyns touched him on the elbow, and in a whisper, that partook of something between a groan and a laugh, exclaimed, I think we are cracking the shell of this business now—keep close, for the love of God '

With a scoffing air, while he points exultingly, to two more graves which are seen Slowly opening before him! As they gradually widen themselves, there appean, in one, the spectre of Kit Barnes, with outstretched arms, gaunt, grim, apd. terrible I In the other a dark-red fluid, which gives it the sem- blance of a cistern of blood ! " The Old Man stands between them, and by his gestures defies Fitz-Mau- rice to advance! The defiance avails him nothing. Fitz-Maurice, answering the silent challenge of his adversary only by a placid smile, does advance ; and the Old Man springing back several feet, with a loud scream, tears the fillet from his head. He breathes upon it thrice ; then holds it out, and as it nem away, dropping like liquid diamonds on the ground, he utters words of uncouth sound, and trembles violently! " And now, the saffron tinted light which had diffused itself, disappeared ; and a thick yapour succeeded, which went on deepening and deepening, till there was total darkness ! The eye could distinguish no object, save the grisly phantom shapes, which glided about more brightly horrible through the surrounding,eiciom. A profound stillness prevailed ; no one spoke—no one moved. At length, there appeared along the walls on each side, and at each end, black dimly burning tapers, held by skeleton hands. These, as they slowly multiplied, shed a sombre, funereal light upon the whole interior of the Abbey; and the likeness of a marble tomb of massy structure and vast dimensions was visible ! The doors were closed ; but beside them stood two spectral figures, each with a glittering key, as of burnished gold, in its hand. The portals were surmounted with a white alabaster tablet, upon which ap- peared the name of BENJAMIN LACY! A few paces behind, was the Old Man, surveying with an air of seeming triumph, the wondrous scene around him.

"Fits-Maurice, too, surveyed it with an anxious look. For a moment, he appeared irresolute and disconcerted, while exulting mockery sat scoffing on the Old Man's brow. The bell strikes the first hour of twelve! The presence of a mightier power is confessed, in the writhings and contortions of the Old Man—in the rocking of the walls—in the trembling of the earth—and in the groans that burst from beneath the earth !

"Fits-Maurice advances—he is followed by Peverell—by Lacy ! The iron portals of the tomb fly open ! Within, reclining on a bier, appears the pale, shrouded form of Lacy's wife—the sainted mother of his Helen ! She points to a vacant place by her side, and a solemn voice issues from the sepulchre, crying, COME ' Lacy staggers towards the tomb, but the Old Man rushes forward—seizes him, and holds him back ! A death-like silence reigns.

"The chimes have ceased—the twelfth hour has tolled. A loud knock is given at the Abbey door, and the words HUSBAND COME !—THE CROSS IS MINE!' in tones of silvery sweetness, are heard without. Another knock, and again that gentle invocation ! A third—and a third time it is pronounced! —The doors roll back their ponderous bulk, and Helen Lacy enters "'Behold!' exclaimed Fitz-Maurice.

" Peverell and Lacy look, and they see the figure of Helen, attired like a bride, in virgin white, and veiled, advancing slowly along. They see ONLY her ! But before their tongues can exclaim= Where is De Clare ?—where Welwyn ?—where Mortimer ?—where Hoskyns?—where Owen Rees?' their unasked questions are fearfully answered. Each grave they had passed is tenanted ! And as the shuddering Helen walks towards the altar, each grave heaves to its surface, at her approach, the lifeless and disfigured form of its fresh inhabitant

" Horror and consternation possess the minds of Lacy and Peverell. The

latter thinks of all that Conrad Geister said; the former, of all that had fallen from his daughter's lips. He half doubts, half believes, it is she NtrhO silently

and slowly paces along. He knows not her dress; and her veil conceals her features. He is still in the grasp of the Old Man, at the entrance of the tomb ; but his whole and undivided attention is elsewhere. His heart beats

high—his mouth is parched—his straining eyes follow the movements a

„ . . .

"Fitz-Maurice, too, gazes upon her ! Hope and despair alternately sus- tain and smite his agitated soul. The Old Man foams with agony and rage, the blackened froth gathering on his lips, as he glares at the spotless maiden, in whose purity of purpose he reads his own damnation ! Peverell has his hand upon the arm of Fitz-Maurice, who, with a stern look, imposes silence upon his intrepid follower. Helen remembered well, and performed nobly, the task enjoined her. She spoke not—she uttered no exclamation—though affrighted almost beyond mortal bearing, by what she saw. With a majestic step, and a lofty air, as if she felt the eye of Heaven were upon her, she advanced towards the altar ; and when she stood beneath it, she cast back her veil. Then, for the first time she saw her father ! And a smothered shriek died within her lips, as she beheld the angelic vision of her mother in the tomb beyond ! Then, too, Lacy recognised his daughter, and consoling doubts yielded to paternal anguish.

"Helen looked at him with radiant eyes : with an ecstatic expression of bliss upon her features, which proclaimed the kindling consciousness of her heart, that she had done well in all she had done, and that now was to be the glad reward of all, in delivering him from his jeopardy. Oh that I might speak !' was her silent ejaculation ; and abridge, hut by a single moment, the wretchedness that clings to thy noble spirit.' She caught one glimpse, too, of the dark, penetrating eye of Fitz-Maurice, and read its language with a proud smile.

She took off the SIGNET; placed it on the altar; knelt—and with such fervid devotion as expiring saints might feel, while the yet struggling soul is preparing for its flight to realms of everlasting bliss, already opening in bright glory to its view, she prayed : Forgive me ! I know not what I do : but thy will be mine ! ' Choral voices catch her words, and hymning- strains are heard above, chanting in solemn response, FORGIVE ! FORGIVE!'

"She rises—places the signet again upon her finger, and lifts her hand to Heaven, as she looks towards her father. At that moment Lacy speaks. "'Helen! cursed be the arts by which you work! See me perish, and ab- jure them !'

" See him perish, cia abjure them I' screamed forth the Old Man. " I implore you!' added her father ; 'begone, and let thy trust be in God alone!'

" Helen paused : her arm was still extended—her bosom heaved convul- sively—her brain whirled—her knees smote each other—her countenance was awfully sublime—her eyes were fixed in the up-raised expression of in- tense piety. Fitz-Maurice rushed towards her—knelt, and in the wildest agony of speech exclaimed, 'You deny me then ' These words—that voice— that attitude—that mysterious being, subdued all fear and hesitation. The next moment, I COMMAND THEE—OBEY!' fell from her lips !

"The Old Man, with a loud and terrific yell, quitted his grasp of Lacy, and the two spectral figures which had guarded the doors of the tomb, thrust him in. They close. The Old Man darts to where Helen stands, takes the cross from his bosom, and lays it on the altar. Instantly the lights vanish, and there is total darkness again! Fires flash around—the blue lightning, in forked wrath, darts through the windows—the volleying thunder bursts, and rebellows, till the deep foundations of the Abbey seem to shake to their bottom—and the fierce wind-storm raves round the walls, like the discordant howlings of the spirits of the abyss I" They who have a taste for horrors of this appalling description, may sup full of them, by despatching a familiar for the last new work in the black art, ycleped eCte Situ 011-bta of baint