SPECTATOR'S LIBRARY.

Norton, Gaston De Fan ; a Romance of the Sisteeuth Century. In three volumes. Mortimer.

The Forester's Daughter ; a Tale of the Reformation. By the Authoress of Sey-

mour of Sudley." " Thirst for Gold," &c. Ia three volumes Newby.

MISCELLANEOUS LrTITIATURK,

A New Spirit of the Age. Edited by It. II. Home. Author of Orion." " Gregory

VII.," &c. ko. In two volumes Smith and Elder.

POLITICAL ECONOMY,

The Effect oral, Alteration in the Sugar-duties on the Condition of the People of England and the Negro Race. Considered. By Macgregor Laird.

GASTON DE FOIX—THE FORESTER'S DAUGHTER.

THE " season " has this week produced two historical fictions; neither, certainly, exhibiting a high or original genius for this class

of writing, and both of them wanting that freshness which often re- sults from delineations of common life. A writer who places his scene in his own times may easily enough fail in producing a com- plete novel ; but his characters, reflections, and even his incidents, when drawn from nature, will have some reality and truth, however deficient the whole may be as a work of art. An author attempt- ing to animate the historical past must in a measure recreate na- ture : his genius must vivify his knowledge before he can revive the dead. This can only be done by great imagination, and not always very truly even then unless guided by an instinctive taste. But the writer of historical fiction has one advantage—he escapes a

comparison which all must undergo who attempt communia dicere. The mass of readers, who know but one kind of life, are satisfied to have it presented as the type of all other life, in all other times ; varied only by the forms of chivalry, and the efforts of the writer, according to his bent, to endow his matter with the spirit of ro- mance. This is not properly fiction, but history in masquerade, and to the judicious about as empty as looking at that species of amusement ; though it may pass away a few hours as a change, or be preferable to idleness or mischief; whilst to those who know no- thing of the original characters, and cannot by speculation rise to their conception, the shifting scene is as good as something better. To this kind of utility both the romances before us attain; but their respective merits are of a very different kind.

The author of Gaston de Foix is a person of considerable literary ability; possessing an easy and agreeable style, the faculty of judi- ciously conceiving the abstract qualities which should distinguish his persons, a pleasant enough art of narrating, and even the power of naturally carrying on a lively dialogue among common persons on common occasions. But he has no original genius for historical romance, or the habitual judgment attained by practice which serves as a substitute ; so that history has misled him. To the swelling aspirant for the honours of Scorr, the Italian wars accom- panying.and following the League of Cambray are very tempting. The Italians—learned, polished, wealthy, and civilized, with all the conveniences and refinements which wealth and civilization produce—seem just fitted to contrast with the invaders, of differ- ent degrees of rudeness, Spanish, French, and German. The inex- perienced novelist gloats in like manner upon the characters—Pope Julius, Leo de Medici, the Spanish captains, the Italian artists, poets, priests, and villains, with the French chivalry headed by Bayard and Gaston himself. But, without great judgment, or that instinctive genius which supersedes it, all this is likely to prove as much an ignis fatuus to the novelist, as a "strong company" of stars or great " property " capabilities to the playwright. Looking at his aids, the dramatist thinks he must take in all. He selects and fashions his subject, not according to the requirements of dra- matic art, but the expectations of the green-room and his own. The first fiddles, both male and female, must have a part apiece; the merits of the other ladies and gentlemen must be fully written up to, and the means and powers of the theatre for spectacle brought into play ; till, what with superfluous persons, and story- suspending scenes, the strongly-cast piece is damned on the first night, or drags its slow length along to a more quiet departure.

A similar error has been committed by the author before us. Tempted by the fame of Gaston de Foix, he has made him his hero, and cannot manage him. The first and most obvious diffi- culty is 'historical fact. We all know that Gaston was killed at the battle of Ravenna, in April 1512 : when, therefore, the story opens, "In a bleak December afternoon in the year of our Lord one thousand five hundred and eleven," we know that the hero must have a short life, and, as commander of the army in Italy, rather a busy one. The endeavours to engraft fiction upon history are not more happy. The French prince, though flint to all the beauties of Paris; is smitten at first sight by the daughter of a Venetian Senator, at whose house he takes refuge from a storm; and the romance consists of a debate between love and honour, something after the faShion of Prince Volscius in the Rehearsal. To gain a second interview with his beloved, the hero keeps his army waiting, while he turns back with his squire to the castle of Mariana's father, disguised as minstrels. But the masquerade is penetrated, the parties' are arrested, and there is a prospect of ending the campaign of Italy before it began, when they are opportunely rescued. Gaston is then carried into courts and politics; and the historical characters of the age, including Machiavelli, are brought before the reader : but the hero returns to love and war at the capture of revolted Brescia. Mariana is rescued from the soldiery by Gaston : but her father is governor of the city, called a rebel, brought to trial, and condemned to death. We do not exactly see how he was a rebel. Gaston, however, presses the obdurate fair one with the offer of her father's life : but the father is inexorable; he is duly beheaded in a chapter by itself; and Gaston, instead of flying with Mariana to the New World, or conquering Naples by himself, as he proposed, is duly killed at the battle of Ravenna, as aforesaid.

All this is very improbable, and very improbably told. The distress of the lover, daughter, and father, is perused without interest or pity— the reader is as insensible as Launce's dog. And this arises, we think, from the injudicious attempt to make history the groundwork of a ro- mance instead of an accessory. Perhaps the author cannot rise to the height of animating history with a poetical spirit : at all events, he is much better in pure history or pure fiction than when he at- tempts to combine the two. Even the effect of the supernatural is not altogether beyond him. Read with the context, there is something of a Renciarp character in the following scene at Avo- garo's castle, when Gaston and his squire are confined in a haunted chamber.

A GHOST-SCZNE.

Gaston felt its full influence while sitting in that lonely chamber by the fading embers of the fire. It was now considerably past midnight, and the in- mates of the castle had long since retired to rest. The night was very dark,

but calm ; and the moat perfect silence reigned throughout, broken only by the deep breathings of the sleeper. The Viceroy looked around him frequently, he knew not wherefore—perhaps to guard against sudden surprises of every kind: but every thing was quiet as the tomb; not a breath of wind was stirring with- out, and the waves broke so gently on the beach as to be only audible at times— an occasional faint ripple on the sand, and all was hushed again. The castle-clock struck one; • and as the peal died away in the midnight air, Gaston again looked round his prison-walls, until his eye rested on that mysterious looking bed, which so well accorded with the general appearance of the chamber. Did he expect to see its last tenant, the ill-fated lady who had disappeared no strangely ? We know not ; but he was disappointed. All was dark and solitary as before. Smiling at his superstitious fears,.he once more placed himself, half-seated, half-reclining, on the seat beside the table, and, closing his eyes, fell into a kind of dozing slumber, which lasted he knew not how long. From this un- conscious state he was aroused by what appeared to be the sudden brightness of the lamp which stood before him. He started up : the flame burnt more dimly than before, and yet the room was lighter. He glanced around him- " Mere de Dieu!" there was a brilliant ray of light streaming from the bed. He looked for his companion; but he lay fast asleep as he had left him. De Foix was a brave man, but you might have heard the beating of his heart a yard off. He grasped his sword, however, unsheathed it, and walked forward to the bed.

Before Ile had reached it, however, a female figure, clothed from bead to foot in white, and bearing a lighted taper, issued from it. The Viceroy stopped suddenly in the middle of the room. The apparition, if such it was, did not seem to notice him, but glided through the opening in the arras into the adjoining apartment. Gaston had now in some measure recovered his self-possession ; he seized the lamp, and followed.

The figure was kneeling at the altar as he entered, apparently in prayer. The drapery was so arranged as to conceal the features ; but it breathed and sighed like a human being, and beat its breast, and seemed to weep. Gaston looked on with surprise and awe : once or twice he was upon the point of call- ing up his comrade, but abstained, from fear of losing sight of his mysterious visiter. At length she finished her devotions, and, rising slowly and majestic- ally, prepared to take her departure. Gaston now resolved upon his course ; which was to confront the figure in the narrow doorway which led into the outer room, and satisfy himself as to its material or spiritual essence. His visiter, on turning round, seemed to guess his purpose, and proudly motioned to him to make way.

" For what must I make way ? " exclaimed Gaston, raising the point of his sword : "art thou a spirit or a mortal ?—of earth, or hell ? Speak 1" Another impatient wave of the arm was the sole reply. "I swear by Him that made me, thou shalt not pass! "

He was answered by a laugh, so shrill and piercing that it seemed to deafen him. Two eyes of surpassing brilliancy glared upon him for an instant : the next moment he felt the light struck from his band, and all was darkness.

So rapidly did all this take place, so bewildered was he with those strange sights and sounds, that he knew not which way to turn. As he stood thus irresolute, be felt something glide swiftly past him: he attempted to seize it, but it escaped his grasp.

The Forester's Daughter, a Tale of the Reformation, is a much better novel, in the circulating library sense, than Gaston de Lois ;. though there is not, perhaps, so much freshness of mind put into it. Characters, incidents, scenes, descriptions, all belong to the com- mon stock of historico-religious romance : but they are exhibited in rather a new fashion, by craftamanlike cleverness more than ar- tistical ability. There is a very villanous monk ; there is a good- hearted Jew, with a dash of the money-lender, who acts as ma- chinery of the piece; there is a nun, tainted with Reforming doc- trines and flying from her convent ; and of course there is a Reform- ing preacher of some of the wild doctrines prevalent in Germany during the latter part of the sixteenth century—part fanatic, part madman, and only second in villany to the regular priest. Besides- these more prominent individuals, there are peasants, robbers, and nobles, of the usual German stamp, with a German Prince-Bishop- Elector, who is converted from the Routish to the Reformed religion, by reading and reflection, increased by his love for a noble lady, likewise under vows, but likewise converted. The incidents are of the same common kind : an escape from a convent, a pursuit, and capture, with a trial for breach of vows, and immurement alive ; an ambush of robbers, an attack upon a tyrannical baron's castle, with two or three minor affairs, and a sort of campaign, when the Prince- Elector wishes to retain his bishopric after discarding his religion. There are also some more private scenes, in which Father Philip the villain, and Wolfang the fanatic, as well as the two heroines and the two lovers, with the Jew, bear a part. The reader may exclaim, "What novelty is there in all this? Much of it is the common staple of melodramas; for which it is not even requisite to read a romance or an historical compilation." What novelty, good Sir, is there in any thing about us ? Look at that fine villa, Gothic or Grecian, though not of the purest : the design is a mere plagiarism, altered and spoiled, or some extraneous ornaments stuck upon the builder's own ideas of a villa ; and for the materials—had you but seen the batch which was to form the walls I You would have beheld nothing save a lot of old or " shaky " bricks, with a few of a superior kind to form the casing. But the workman came, and his practised eye and active hand changed appearances in a trice. These old pieces of a figure de- fying definition, that you would have thrown away, are reduced to form by a blow of the trowel, and drop into their allotted places; the odds and ends fill up the interior ; and when this old material is hidden by a coat of cement, ornamented and coloured, it looks as good as stone, answers the purpose quite as well, and only an eye learned in bricks and mortar can detect the true state of the case. So it is with The Forester's Daughter. The materials, bating the Bishop, have no generic novelty ; but they are put to- gether in a very workmanlike manner, and answer every purpose of a romance for those who are not learned in the article and see how the thing is done.