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Fantasy Commentator, v. 1, issue 7, Summer 1945
Page 145
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FANTASY COMMENTATOR 145 Jepson, Edgar (1864-1938) The Garden at No. 19: a Novel New York: Wessels & Bissel Co., 299pp. 19 cm. $1 1/2. London: Hills & Boon, (1910). vi-309pp. 20 cm. 6/-. Further information: The American edition contains four illustrations by Richard Boehm, and has a pictorial cover. The English edition is titled No. 19. Synoptic review: From out the wood of ancient time / One darksome night there roared a voice: / "Great Pan is dead!" But that tongue lied: / Pan lives! Today! Even as you and I! The above lines quoted from a forgotten classical scholar fittingly express the final implications left with us by the absorbing and rather remarkable novel The Garden at No. 19. Jepson's thesis is scarcely new, of course, but in this work the age-old legend of Pan is handled with admirable restraint and a distinctly modern outlook of considerable interest. The author does not strive for unusual word effects, nor does he engulf us in adjectives. He tells his story in a circumstantial and completely straightforward manner---and a harrowing tale it is, indeed! When John Plowden, a young English barrister, bought the house at no. 20 Walden Road he was seeking a haven for quiet existence in this drowsy lane. The beautiful garden of no. 19 next door seemed an additional promise of peace and contentment. Yet before many days had elapsed this same garden had become a place of sickening terror, a genius loci of cosmic horror which was to change utterly Plowden's concepts of life and the universe. What was the great, sluggy creature which he heard dragging its pendulous body over the lawn, just beyond his hedge? What loathesome terror caused Pamela, who lived at no. 19, to run to the house---shrieking for her uncle's protection? What was it that her uncle, Woodfell, drove back into its lair by invocations in bastard Latin? What night horror lurked under the tiny cupola in the garden, from which birds and rats fled in headlong panic? Bit by bit, John pieced the incredible story together with the help of conversations with Pamela and with his friend, Marks, who was a skeptical dabbler in black magic. The damning revelations come under the full moon on that terrible night when John looks down into that accursed garden from his top window---and has his sight and soul blasted forever by a vision of the abominable rites conducted there. Earlier he had noticed the queer characters entering the dwelling for their unholy rendezvous: the horrid, fat man; the battered Apollo; the mincing fellow with the pointed beard; a queer, shambling red-haired man; the odd old professor; and finally his friend Marks. Now, in their cabalistic robes and blasphemous head-dresses, he saw them grouped before the unhallowed cupola. Amid dense clouds of incense---with Pamela's uncle acting as high priest---they invoked the Seven Lords of the Abyss in the Seven Pristine Tongues: in turn, the rites of Adonis, Pan, Moloch, Mithras, Nodens, Apollo and that last deity---whose very name it was forbidden to mention---were performed. The sacrifice of the lamb completed the ceremony. There was a moment of dread silence: and then the Abyss vomited its spawn---not the Lords themselves but their minions, for this occasion at least. The fetid odor of the goat welled up noxiously; the garden teemed with wild, nightmare entities which danced
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FANTASY COMMENTATOR 145 Jepson, Edgar (1864-1938) The Garden at No. 19: a Novel New York: Wessels & Bissel Co., 299pp. 19 cm. $1 1/2. London: Hills & Boon, (1910). vi-309pp. 20 cm. 6/-. Further information: The American edition contains four illustrations by Richard Boehm, and has a pictorial cover. The English edition is titled No. 19. Synoptic review: From out the wood of ancient time / One darksome night there roared a voice: / "Great Pan is dead!" But that tongue lied: / Pan lives! Today! Even as you and I! The above lines quoted from a forgotten classical scholar fittingly express the final implications left with us by the absorbing and rather remarkable novel The Garden at No. 19. Jepson's thesis is scarcely new, of course, but in this work the age-old legend of Pan is handled with admirable restraint and a distinctly modern outlook of considerable interest. The author does not strive for unusual word effects, nor does he engulf us in adjectives. He tells his story in a circumstantial and completely straightforward manner---and a harrowing tale it is, indeed! When John Plowden, a young English barrister, bought the house at no. 20 Walden Road he was seeking a haven for quiet existence in this drowsy lane. The beautiful garden of no. 19 next door seemed an additional promise of peace and contentment. Yet before many days had elapsed this same garden had become a place of sickening terror, a genius loci of cosmic horror which was to change utterly Plowden's concepts of life and the universe. What was the great, sluggy creature which he heard dragging its pendulous body over the lawn, just beyond his hedge? What loathesome terror caused Pamela, who lived at no. 19, to run to the house---shrieking for her uncle's protection? What was it that her uncle, Woodfell, drove back into its lair by invocations in bastard Latin? What night horror lurked under the tiny cupola in the garden, from which birds and rats fled in headlong panic? Bit by bit, John pieced the incredible story together with the help of conversations with Pamela and with his friend, Marks, who was a skeptical dabbler in black magic. The damning revelations come under the full moon on that terrible night when John looks down into that accursed garden from his top window---and has his sight and soul blasted forever by a vision of the abominable rites conducted there. Earlier he had noticed the queer characters entering the dwelling for their unholy rendezvous: the horrid, fat man; the battered Apollo; the mincing fellow with the pointed beard; a queer, shambling red-haired man; the odd old professor; and finally his friend Marks. Now, in their cabalistic robes and blasphemous head-dresses, he saw them grouped before the unhallowed cupola. Amid dense clouds of incense---with Pamela's uncle acting as high priest---they invoked the Seven Lords of the Abyss in the Seven Pristine Tongues: in turn, the rites of Adonis, Pan, Moloch, Mithras, Nodens, Apollo and that last deity---whose very name it was forbidden to mention---were performed. The sacrifice of the lamb completed the ceremony. There was a moment of dread silence: and then the Abyss vomited its spawn---not the Lords themselves but their minions, for this occasion at least. The fetid odor of the goat welled up noxiously; the garden teemed with wild, nightmare entities which danced
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