The Collected Writings Of Thomas De Quincey Vol-xiii

DE QUINCEY'S COLLECTED WRITINGS

VOL. XIII
TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

CONTENTS OF VOL, XIII

PWJ!

EDITOR'S PREFACE , i

ON MURDER CONSIDERED AS ONE OF THE FINE Am-

REST PAPER 9

SECOND PAPER , , 52

POSTSCRIPT IN 1854 , -fO

EARLY MEMORIALS OF GRASMERE , 125

n

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN , 159

AUTHOR'S POSTSCRIPT 238

APPENDED EDITORIAL NOTE . M, 245-

n ^# 8 * / , * 1 "i S " ft 1 , I

SORTILEGE AND ASTROLOGY < I " V:,//,:'***V'2gf"
THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH-: ";T r, T 5!' : 5!vii- A i

, * 4 * * * * ** * *** *

SECTION I.-TiiE QLori'orfHotforfV ';***"' ^Q'
SECTION H.-THJS VISION OF SUDDEN DEATH , JiOO
SECTION IIL-DREAM-FuGUE; FOUNDED ON THE PRE-
CEDING THEME OF SUDDEN DEATH 318
POSTSCRIPT 328

SUSHRIA DE PROFUNDIS: BEING A SEQUEL TO THE CON-
FESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH TIUM-EATER-

DREAMING , , , ,333

THE PALIMPSEST OF THE HUMAN BRAIN . 340

VISION OF LIFE 350

MEMORIAL SUSPIRIA , ,351

CONTENTS
DE PllOFUNDIS (coilthuterf) PAGE

SAVANNAH-LA-MAU ..... 359
LEVANA AND oun LADIES OF SORROW . . 362

MISCELLANEA
DANISH Ouiiiix OF THK L \KE-COUNTRY DIALECT . . 373

HlSTORICO-CrJTICAL iNQriKY INTO THE ORIGIN OF THE

ROSICHUCTANS VXD FllKR-MASoNS . . . 384

EDITOR'S PREFACE

IT may be the chief recommendation of the present volume
to a considerable number of readers that it overtakes at last
the famous set of papers, begun by De Quincey in a " First
Essay" in 182V, continued in a "Second Essay" in 1839,
and completed by a "Postscript" in 1854, which bears the
still startling name of Murder Considered as one of the Fine
Arts, But the papers that follow in the volume are not
without claims to admiration, even in so trying a companion-
"ship. It needed the imagination of a De Quincey to weave
out of the real incidents of the perishing of two peasants,
husband and wife, in a snow-storm among the Westmorland
hills, such a legend of pathetic beauty for ever as is
enshrined in his Memorials of Gmmere, Then, what a
change of key, and what a revelation of another kind of
dexterity, in his romance of The Spanish Military Nm !
Here, it is true, he worked on materials ready to his hands ;
but it was Ins own art that rescued those materials
from the comparative coarseness of their previous handling,
and brought it about that, wherever the strange Spanish
adventuress of the seventeenth century should be remem-
bered, she should pass as a creation of De Quincey's, The
little paper which comes next, called Sortilege and Astrology,
is a specimen of De Quincey's cleverness in the invention
of a light and playful bit of phantasy for a passing social
occasion, Of The English Mail-Coach, in its three consecu-
tive sections, what need to say more than that this is one of
the papers which, by the suffrage of De Quincey's admirers
all the world over, would be selected for preservation if it

VOL XIII B

2 EDITOR'S PREFACE

were necessary to limit the choice to those that would best
transmit to future times an impression of some of his finest
characteristics 1 To this succeeds the little cluster of frag-
ments called Suspma de Profmidis. As De Quincey did
not live to carry out fully his project of a pretty numerous
series of papers under this collective name, and indeed dis-
posed of some papers he had actually written for the series
by publishing them separately and independently, the half-
dozen pieces so reproduced in this volume are all that he left
in print under that express designation. Remarkable pieces
they are, three of them especially ; but the crowning distinc-
tion of the whole cluster is derived from one in particular,
Absolutely, and by universal admission, the little piece called
" Levana and Our Ladies of Sorrow," which we have put last
among the Buspwia, is the finest thing that ever came from
De Quincey's pen,

So large a portion of the contents of the volume being
thus representative of De Quincey in some of the most inti-
mate and peculiar qualities of his genius, one may dwell
a little here on two of those qualities in particular.

Wlnle nearly all the chief writers in the long chrono-
logical list which summarises the literary history of the
British Islands have been Humourists to some extent, only
some have been wholly Humourists, or Humourists by such
an overbalance in the general sum of their writings that one
feels them to be sufficiently described all in all by that one
name, Others have been Humourists only in the sense that
portions of their writings have been of the humorous order,
or that there has been an interfusion of the humorous here
and there in their writings throughout. So far, therefore,
as it may be desired to include De Quincey among the
English Humourists, it must be in this modified, or non-
exclusive, sense.

In that sense, most certainly, he is to be included among
our English Humourists. Of the incidentally humorous
in his miscellaneous writings there have been examples
in abundance through the preceding volumes. It is in the
present volume, however, that the peculiar humour of De
Quincey may be studied in some of its best specimens. Take

EDITOR'S PREFACE 3

the story of The Spanish Military Nun. Not only is there
in this story, as in so many others of De Quincey's papers,
ample amusement in the form of playM wit in individual
passages, and not only is there fun like that of the Spanish
picaresque novels in the descriptions of the characters and
situations ; but it is because of the bathing of the whole
from first to last in the spirit of that deeper kind of humour
which suggests universal kindliness and tolerance, and can
find the lovable and admirable even in the disreputable,
the humour of Shakespeare in his Falstaffs, Bardolphs, Nyms,
and Pistols, it is because of the importation by De Quincey
of this kind of humour into the story that it is rescued, as
we have said, from coarseness, and raised into poetry and
romance. Though Sortilege and Astrology is a much slighter
affair, he has contrived to exhibit in it two varieties of his
skill in humorous effect. To the frolicsome gaiety of the first
part there succeeds a satirical and murky kind of gro-
tesque in the second and one hardly knows which is the
more De Quinceyish. But, as the world everywhere knows,
it is by the two essays on "Murder considered as one of the
Fine Arts that De Quincey has most of all established his
reputation for originality among English Humourists. True,
the instrument of his humour throughout those two cele-
brated essays is the old Swiftian instrument of outrageous
and sustained irony ; but, apart from the pleasure derived
from the curiously compacted erudition of the essays and
from the artist-like finish of their style, what a difference
between the serpentine exquisiteness of De Quincey's irony,
the oily quietude of his assumed gravity, and the rough
directness, the broadside strength, of the irony of Swift !
And then the horrible gruesomeness of the total result ! In
the first of the essays the revel in ghastly fancies is already
so various that one thinks it can go no farther ; but in the
second essay it breaks into sheer rollick and limitless
delirium. In both, and indeed in the very conception of
the papers, De Quincey's achievement was one of those feats
of which only great writers are capable. Every great writer
requires now and then what may be bluntly called " more
elbow-room," and, on a sudden inspiration, will burst conven-
tional bounds. Hence those occasional " extravaganzas " by

4 EDITOR'S PREFACE

a happy succession of which English Literature has been
saved from all risk of stagnancy. So conscious was De
Quincey of the unusually daring character of the " extrava-
ganza" which fa had perpetrated in his two Murder essays
that he tried to safeguard himself by an attached apology.
For some readers even yet the apology may not suffice ; but
there the essays are, irrevocably De Quincey's, and regarded
now by conclusive opinion in the highest quarters as among
the things likeliest to be permanent in English Prose. And
this distinction they owe to the fact that they were extrava-
ganzas, that they did burst bounds.

Besides the interest of the contents of the present volume
as illustrating in a special manner De Quincey's faculty of
humour, they have a further interest as illustrating also
certain notions of his as to the undeveloped capabilities of
English Prose.

One has to remember here those paragraphs in De
Quincey's General Preface in 1853 to the Collective Edin-
burgh Edition of his writings, then just begun, in which,
taking for his basis the twelve already-published volumes of
the American Collective Edition, he ventured to indicate
how his writings might be classified. (See ante, Vol. I, pp.
8-15.) After speaking, first, of that numerous class of his
papers the chief purpose of which was general amusement
combined with useful information (viz. his descriptive, bio-
graphical, and historical papers), and after having distin-
guished another class as consisting of essays properly so
called (viz. speculative and critical discussions, with
investigations of abstruse .problems), he called attention to
a third class. "Finally, as a third class," he said, "and, in
' virtue of their aim, as -a far higher class, of compositions
1 included in the American Edition, I rank The Confessions
' of an Opium-Eater, and also (but more emphatically) the
* Suspiria de Profundis. On these, as modes of impassioned
' prose ranging under no precedents that I am aware of in any
" literature, it is much more difficult to speak justly, whether
" in a hostile or a friendly character." In some further
sentences he emphasised his remark on the novelty of his
literary attempts in this kind by asking his readers " to con-
" sider the utter sterility of universal literature in this one

EDITOR'S PREFACE 5

" department of impassioned prose." His meaning in these
expressions by themselves is far from clear ; "but I think it
may be elucidated by bringing together the sense of various
dispersed passages in his writings.

De Quincey, I find, recognised three kinds of prose as
worthy of the name of literary art, in distinction from the
ordinary jog-trot prose which suffices for business-documents,
books of information, &c. : 1 RHETORICAL PROSE. His
exposition of the characteristics of this kind of prose will be
found best in his essay on Rhetoric (ante, Yol. X, pp. 81-133).
The term which he had selected was, as I had occasion to
remark in connexion with the essay, an unhappy misnomer,
inasmuch as it proceeded from a conception of Rhetoric
utterly astray from all previous tradition, But, though the
name was capricious, it did point to a special kind of literary
practice for which a name is required, What De Quincey
meant by " rhetoric 33 or a "rhetorical" style of writing was,
as I ventured to explain (Vol. X, p. 3), " the art of rich or
" ornate style, the art of conscious playing with a subject
" intellectually and inventively, and of never leaving it till
" it has been brocaded with the utmost possible amount of
" subsidiary thought, humour, fancy, ornamentation, and
" anecdote. 33 De Quincey gave a list of eminent English
representatives of this " rich " kind of English style, beginning
with Donne, Jeremy Taylor, and Sir Thomas Browne ; and,
if he had stretched the list into his own time, he would have
had to include himself I De Qumcey's writings generally are
among the best illustrations that could be cited of the " rich "
style in English prose. Of this, of course, he was aware ;
but it was not this that he had in view when he referred to
certain of his writings as examples of a mode of prose in
which there had been no precedents. II ELOQUENT PROSE,
or PROSE ELOQUENCE. In the same essay De Quincey
distinguished "Eloquence" from what he wanted to call
*' Rhetoric, 33 and, though hinting that examples of what he
would regard specifically as " eloquence " might be found in
the writings of some of his " rhetorical 3) favourites, eviden%
desired to wall off " eloquent writing J3 as a species by itself.
In fact, what he proposed thus to distinguish as a distinct
species of literary practice was Oratory, the literature of

6 EDITOR'S PREFACE

fervid and powerfully moved feeling of any sort, indig-
nation, pity, scorn, patriotic enthusiasm, earnestness of
religious or moral conviction. As, however, there had
been no deficiency of such "eloquent prose" in the
course of English Literature, hut, on the contrary, an abund-
ance of most splendid examples, the "impassioned prose"
of which De Quincey conceived himself to be the first
exemplar must have been something of a very special nature.
Our interpretation of his meaning is that, while he was
willing to take his chance of being reputed capable of
eloquent or impassioned writing in the general sense, what
he reserved as the " mode of impassioned prose " in which
he could claim to be singular was a kind of new lyrical
prose that could undertake the expression of feelings till
then supposed unutterable except in verse. Oratory in
some of its extremes as when the feeling to be expressed is
peculiarly keen and ecstatic does tend to pass into song
or metrical lyric ; and De Quincey, in order to extend the
powers of prose in this extreme and difficult direction, pro-
posed to institute, we may say, a new form of prose-litera-
ture nameable as the prose-lyric. Ill PROSE PHANTASY or
PROSE POETRY. Despite the prevalence still of the vulgar
and disastrous misconception which has made Poetry a mere
synonym for Verse-Literature of any sort, all sound theorists
are agreed in some variety or other of that definition of Poetry
which makes it to consist essentially in a particular kind of
matter or mental product, viz. the matter or product of the
faculty or mood of mind called Imagination or Phantasy.
Hence, in all sound theory, the novel, the romance, the
prose-drama, and all other prose-works of the imaginative
order, ie. of "feigned history," as Bacon called it, are
regarded as so many forms of Poetry, having their metrical
equivalents in the verse-epic, the verse-drama, &c. Fielding,
for example, expressly vindicated the right of the novel to
be considered as simply the prose epic. At the same time,
not only is it certain that even such solid matter of phantasy
or u feigned history " as may be undertaken in prose receives
incalculable modifications when it is lifted into verse; but it
is also certain that there are peculiar kinds of phantasy for
which Prose in all ages has felt itself incompetent, or which

EDITOR'S PREFACE 7

it has been too shamefaced to attempt, Such, in especial,
are the visionary phantasies that form themselves in the
poetic mind in its most profound fits of solitary self-musing,
its hours of inventive day-dream in some sequestered nook of
rocky sea-shore, or of long nocturnal reverie within-doors over
the embers of a dying fire. Now, as Be Quincey had been
a dreamer all his life, with an abnormal faculty of dreaming
at work in him constitutionally from his earliest infancy, and
with the qualification moreover that he had unlocked the
terrific potencies of opium for the generation of dreams beyond
the human, his idea seems to have been that, if prose would
but exert itself, it could compass, almost equally with verse,
or even better, the representation of some forms at least of
dream-experience and dream-phantasmagory. Add this idea
to that other of the possibility of a prose-lyric that should
rival the verse-lyric in ability to express the keenest and rarest
forms of human feeling, or suppose the two ideas combined, and
De Quincey 'a conception of the exact nature of his service towards
the extension of the liberties and powers of English prose will
be fully apprehended.

Examples of De Quincey's use of a twofold agency of
dreamy prose - phantasy and impassioned prose -lyric are
scattered through his writings generally. He refers, how-
ever, to his Confessions of an Opium-Eater as more largely
representative in this respect ; and those who have read the
Confessions in the enlarged edition of them in 1856 will
remember passages enough in illustration. He purposely
bedded in the text of that enlarged edition passages of this
sort which he had penned independently ; and he annexed
to the edition, by way of overplus and appendage, the fine
prose-phantasy called The Daughter of Lebanon. His Auto-
lioyrayliic Sketches were similarly used, in various places, as
a receptacle for independently-written pieces of prose-lyric.
But it is in the present volume that there will be found
those specimens of De Quincey's genius in his peculiar art
of prose-phantasy from which his conceptions of the art itself
may be best inferred, and the amount of his success in it
rnott surely appraised. The English Mail-Goavh and the
Suspiiia de Profund-is have a certain interconnexion, and
possess between them the supreme interest in the class to

8 EDITOR'S PREFACE

which they belong. The first two sections of The English
Hail- Coach are noble pieces of prose -poetry, and more
successful, all in all, I think, than the appended c< Dream
Fugue." Though that is an extraordinary piece of writing too,
and gains on one perhaps by repeated reading, the prefixed
direction " Tumufawsissimmente" rather repels one, as too
suggestive of artificiality and the flourished baton of the leader
of an orchestra ; and the total effect does not seem equal to
the exertion expended, The first three fragments of the
Suspiria, besides being but a kind of wreckage from prior
materials, are somewhat didactic in their tenor, and only pre-
pare the way, and that rather raggedly, for the i( Memorial
Suspiria 3J and the fragments called " Savannah-la-Mar " and
"Levana and Our Ladies of Sorrow." Most memorable
pieces of impassioned prose-phantasy are all these three ; but
it is the last that is transcendent. Even alone, that would
have made De Quincey immortal.

Some space having been left after the conclusion of the
series of De Quincey's papers classed in this edition as his
"Tales, Romances, and Prose -Phantasies," we commence in
this volume the publication of those surplus papers of his,
pretty numerous and of different sorts, which may be thrown
together as Miscellanea. The bulk of these will follow m
our next and final volume ; and, as the arrangement there is
to be as nearly chronological as possible, the precedence in
the entire series is due to the two that appear in the present.
The Danish Origin of the Lake-Country Dialect is of date
1819-20, and is taken from an interesting recent pamphlet
by Mr, Pollitt of Kendal, telling the story of De Quiucey's
strange editorship of the "Westmorland Gazette," The long
paper on the Origin of th Eosicrudans and Free-masons is a De
Quinceyfied compilation from the German, done in 1824.
Though it is unpromising at the outset, and rather haggard
in form, the reader who may persist will find it full of
ingenious and curious matter. ~ , ,

ON MUKDER
CONSIDERED AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS

FIRST PAPER 1
I, ADVERTISEMENT OF A MAN MORBIDLY VIRTUOUS 2

MOST of us who read books have probaUy heard of a Society
for the Promotion of Vice, of the Hell-Fire Olub founded in
the last century by Sir Francis Dashwood, &c. 3 At Brighton
I think it was that a Society was formed for the Suppression
of Virtue, That society was itself suppressed ; but I am
sorry to say that another exists in London, of a character
still more atrocious. In tendency, it may be denominated a
Society for the Encouragement of Murder ; but, according to
their own delicate &^/*r/ws, it is styled, the Society of
Connoisseurs in Murder. They profess to be curious in

1 This First Paper of the composite series now bearing the general
title " On Murder Considered as one of the Pme Arts," appeared
originally in Blwfamfs Magazine for February 1827, the same
number which contained De Quincey's article on the Last Days of
Kant, He reprinted it, with modifications, in 1854, in vol. iv of
the Collective Edition of his Writings, along with the Second or Sup-
plementary Paper, which had meanwhile appeared in Bkclmod for
November 1839, at the same time completing the Murder Series by
the addition of the long "Postscript/'-M,

2 This sub-title for the introductory paragraph was invented by
De Quincey when he reprinted the paper in 1854, As originally
printed in Blctdwood, the paper opened thus : " To th Editor of
Blctc'kwood's Magazine, Sir, We have all heard of a Society for the
Promotion of Vice, "&C.M,

3 Convivial fraternities under the outrageous name of HeU-Fire
CM*, because founded on a principle of ostentatious contempt and

10 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

homicide, amateurs and dilettanti in the various modes of
carnage, and, in short, Murder - Fanciers. Every fresh
atrocity of that class which the police annals of Europe
bring up, they meet and criticise as they would a picture,
statue, or other work of art, But I need not trouble myself
with any attempt to describe the spirit of their proceedings,
as the reader will collect that much better from one of the
Monthly Lectures read before the society last year. This
has fallen into my hands accidentally, in spite of all the
vigilance exercised to keep their transactions from the public
eye. The publication of it will alarm them ; and my pur-
pose is that it should. For I would much rather put them
down quietly, by an appeal to public opinion, than by such
an exposure of names as would follow an appeal to Bow
Street; which last appeal, however, if this should fail, 1
must really resort to. For my intense virtue will not put
up with such things in a Christian land. Even in a heathen
land the toleration of murder viz, in the dreadful shows of
the amphitheatre was felt by a Christian writer to be the
most crying reproach of the public morals. This writer was
Lactantius 1 ; and with his words, as singularly applicable to
the present occasion, I shall conclude : "Quid tarn horribile,"
says he, "tain tetrum, quam hominis trucidatio 1 Ideo
" severissimis legibus vita nubtra munitur ; ideo bella execra-
" bilia sunt. Invenit tainen consuetude quatenus homicidmm
" sine bello ac sine legibus faciat ; et hoc sibi voluptas quod
" scelus vindicavit. Quod, si interesse homicidio sceleris
" conscientia est, et eidem facinori spectator obstrictus est

ridicule of the established religion and of all ordinary morality, and
indulging, it was supposed, in blasphemous and profligate orgies, came
into being m the early part of the eighteenth century, and spread like
an epidemic through the British Islands during the next fifty or sixty
years, The particular club of this kind which De Quincey here men-
tions was the famous fraternity of the Monks of St. Francis, called
also TJie Medmenham Club, "whose usual place of meeting was the
mansion-house of Medmenham in Buckinghamshire, originally a Cis-
tercian monastery. The most notorious members of the club were
Sir Francis Dashwood, baronet (known from 1763 onwards as Lord Le
Despencer), and John Wilkes ; but it included the poet Churchill, the
less-known poets Lloyd and Whitehead, Sir John Dashwood King,
Bubb Doddington, and others. M.

1 Latin Christian miter of the fourth century. -M.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 11

" cui et admisBor 3 ergo et in his gladiatorum csedibus non
" minus cruore profunditcr qui spectat quam ille qui facit :
" nee potest esse immunis a sanguine qui voluit effundi, aut
" videri non interfecisse qui interfectori et favit et praemium
"postulavit." "What is so dreadful," says Lactantius,
" what so dismal and revolting, as the murder of a human
" creature 1 Therefore it is that life for us is protected by
" laws the most rigorous ; therefore it is that wars are
" objects of execration, And yet the traditional usage of
" Rome has devised a mode of authorising murder apart
11 from war, and in defiance of law ; and the demands of
" taste (voluptas) are now become the same as those of aban-
" doned guilt/' Let the Society of Gentlemen Amateurs
consider this ; and let me call their especial attention to the
last sentence, which is so weighty, that I shall attempt to
convey it in English : " Now, if merely to be present at a
" murder fastens on a man the character of an accomplice ;
" if barely to be a spectator involves us in one common
" guilt with the perpetrator : it follows, of necessity, that, in
" these murders of the amphitheatre, the hand which inflicts
*' the fatal blow is not more deeply imbrued in blood than
" his who passively looks on ; neither can he be clear of
" blood who has countenanced its shedding ; nor that man
" seem other than a participator in murder who gives his
" applause to the murderer and calls for prizes on his behalf."
The "pmmia postulamt 3 ' I have not yet heard charged upon
the Gentlemen Amateurs of London, though undoubtedly
their proceedings tend to that; but the " interfectori f ami" is
implied in the very title of this association, and expressed in
every line of the lecture which follows, X. Y. Z. 1

1 To this introductory paragraph as it oiigmally appeared in Black-
wood there was subjoined the following, probably from the pen of De
Qumcey's friend Christopher North, the reputed editor of the maga-
zine : " [Note of the Editor : We thank our correspondent for his
" communication, and also for the quotation from Lactantius, which is
" very pertinent to his view of the case ; our own, we confess, is differ-
* ' ent. We cannot suppose the lecturer to be in earnest, any more than
" Erasmus in his Praise of Folly, or Dean Swift m his Proposal for
" Eating Children. However, either on his own view or on ours, it
1 ' is equally fit that the lecture should be made public.,]" Wilson, it
would seem, was a little dubious as to the reception of a paper in
such a ghastly strain and with such a ghastly title. The words " our

12 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

IL THE LECTUBE

GENTLEMEN : I have bad the honour to be appointed by
your committee to the trying task of reading the Williams
Lecture on Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts, a
task which might be easy enough three or four centuries ago,
when the art was little understood, and few great models had
been exhibited ; but in this age, when masterpieces of excel-
lence have been executed by professional men, it must be
evident that in the style of criticism applied to them the
public will look for something of a corresponding improve-
ment. Practice and theory must advance pwripawi. People
begin to see that something more goes to the composition of
a fine murder than two "blockheads to kill and be killed, a
knife, a purse, and a dark lane. Design, gentlemen, group-
ing, light and shade, poetry, sentiment, are now deemed
indispensable to attempts of this nature. Mr. Williams has
exalted the ideal of murder to all of us, 1 and to me, there-
fore, in particular, has deepened the arduousness of my task.
Like ^Eschylus or Milton in poetry, like Michael Angelo in
painting, he has carried his art to a point of colossal sub-
limity, and, as Mr. Wordsworth observes, has in a manner
" created the taste by which he is to be enjoyed." To sketch
the history of the art, and to examine its principles critically,
now remains as a duty for the connoisseur, and for judges of
quite another stamp from his Majesty's Judges of Assize.

Before I begin, let me say a word or two to certain prigs,
who affect to speak of our society as if it were in some
degree immoral in its tendency. Immoral ! Jupiter protect
me, gentlemen ! 2 what is it that people mean 1 I am for
morality, and always shall be, and for virtue, and all that ;
and I do affirm, and always shall (let what will come of
it), that murder is an improper line of conduct, highly
improper ; and I do not stick to assert that any man who
deals in murder must have very incorrect ways of thinking,

correspondent" seem to imply that the paper was sent by De Qiuncey
from Grasmere. M.

1 John Williams, the London murderer of 1811. The story of his
murders is told in the Postscript. "Mi.

2 The original phrase in Blackuood was " Immoral ! God "bless my
soul, gentlemen!" M.

MQJRDJBK AS ONE OF THE FINE AfiTS 13

and truly inaccurate principles ; ami, &o far from aiding and
abetting him by pointing out his victim's hiding-place, as a
great moralist of Germany declared it to be every good
man's duty to do, 1 I would subscribe one shilling and six-
pence to have him apprehended, which is more by eighteen-
pence than the most eminent moralists have hitherto
subscribed for that purpose. But what then fl Everything
in this, world has two handles. Murder, for instance, may
be laid hold of by its moral handle (as it generally is in the
pulpit and at the Old JBailey), and that, I confess, is its
weak side \ or it may also be treated aesthetically, as the Ger-
mans call it that is, in relation to good taste.

To illustrate this, I will urge the authority of three
eminent persons : viz. S. T. Coleridge, Aristotle, and Mr.
Howship the surgeon.

To begin with S. T. C. . One night, many years ago 3 I
was drinking tea with him in Berners Street (which, by the
way, for a short street, has been uncommonly fruitful in men
of genius). 2 Others were there besides myself ; and, amidst

1 Kant who earned his demands of unconditional veracity to so
extravagant a length as to affirm that, if a man were to see an inno-
cent person e,scape from a murderer, it would be his duty, on being
questioned by the murderer, to tell the truth, and to point out the
retreat of the innocent person, under any certainty of causing murder.
Lest this doctrine should be supposed to have escaped him in any heat
of dispute, on being taxed with it by a celebrated French writer, he
solemnly re-affirmed it, with his reasons.

- In Cunningham's Handbook of London (1850) the street is thus
described ; " A street chiefly inhabited by artists. Sir William
: Chambers was living in it m 1773, Fuseli m 1804, and Opie from
' 1792 to 1808. No. 8 was Opie's ; No. 13 Fuseli's ; and No, 15
Bone the enameler's ; No. 6 was the Banking House of Marsh,
' Stracey, Fauntleroy, and Graham. The loss to the Bank of Eng-
' land by Fauntleroy 's foigeries amounted to the sum ol 360,000.
' No. 54 was (26th November 1810) the scene of the famous Berners
{ Street Hoax, a trick of Theodore Hook's when a young man
f (described at length in the Quarterly Review, No. 143, p. 62), The
' lady on whom the hoax was played was Mrs. Tottingham, and the
' trick itselt (since frequently imitated) counted in sending out two
{ hundred orders to different tradespeople to deliver goods, both
' bulky and small, at the same house, to the same person, at the
' same hour." De Quincey may have had all this m his mind, as
well as the fact that Coleridge had at one time lodged m the street.
The phrase "many years ago," used in 1827, may imply that the
time was between 1810 and 1812, M,

H TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

some carnal considerations of tea and toast, we were all im-
bibing a dissertation on Plotinus from the Attic lips of S. T.
C. Suddenly a cry arose of " Fire fire I " upon which all
of us, master and disciples, Plato and ot irtpi rov IlAarajva,
rushed out, eager for the spectacle. The fire was in Oxford
Street, at a pianoforte-maker's ; and, as it promised to be a
conflagration of merit, I was sorry that my engagements
forced me away from Mr. Coleridge's party before matters
had come to a crisis. Some days after, meeting with my
Platonic host, I reminded him of the case, and begged to
know how that very promising exhibition had terminated.
" Oh, sir," said he, " it turned out so ill that we damned it
unanimously." Now, does any man suppose that Mr, Cole-
ridge who, for all he is too fat to be a person of active
virtue, is undoubtedly a worthy Christian that this good
S. T. 0., I say, was an incendiary, or capable of wishing any
ill to the poor man and his pianofortes (many of them,
doubtless, with the additional keys) ? On the contrary, I
know him to be that sort of man that I durst stake my life
upon it he would have worked an engine in a case of
necessity, although rather of the fattest for such fiery trials
of his virtue. But how stood the case ? Virtue was in no
request. On the arrival of the fire engines, morality had
devolved wholly on the insurance office. This being the
case, he had a right to gratify his taste. He had left his
tea. "Was he to have nothing in return ?

I contend that the most virtuous man, under the pre-
mises stated, was entitled to make a luxury of the fire, and
to hiss it, as he would any other performance that raised
expectations in the public mind which afterwards it dis-
appointed. Again, to cite another great authority, what
says the Stagirite ? He (in the Fifth Book, I think it is, of
his Metaphysics) describes what he calls K\7rrrjv reXetov i,e.
a perfect thief 1 : and, as to Mr. Howship, in a work of his on

1 It is in the Fourth Book, chap, xvi, and stands thus : " A per-
fect or finished physician, and a perfect or finished musician, are such
when they are in no wise deficient as far as regards the species of
excellence that is proper to their professions so also, transferring our
remarks to the ca&e of evil things, we say a perfect or finished syco-
phant, and & finished thief.'* N.>

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 15

Indigestion 1 he makes no scruple to talk with adiniration of
a certain ulcer which he had seen, and which he styles " a
beautiful ulcer." Now, will any man pretend that,
abstractly considered, a thief could appear to Aristotle a
perfect character, or that Mr. Howship could be enamoured
of an ulcer ? Aristotle, it is well known, was himself so
very moral a character that, not content with writing his
Nicoruachean Ethics in one volume octavo, he also wrote
another system, called Magna Morality or Big Ethics. Now,
it is impossible that a man who composes any ethics at all,
big or little, should admire a thief per se ; and, as to Mr.
HowsTiip, it is well known that he makes war upon all
ulcers, and, without suffering himself to be seduced by their
charms, endeavours to banish them from the county of
Middlesex. But the truth is that, however objectionable
per se, yet, relatively to others of their class, both a thief and
an ulcer may have infinite degrees of merit. They are both
imperfections, it is true ; but, to be imperfect being their
essence, the very greatness of their imperfection becomes
their perfection. Spartam nactus es, hanc exorna. A thief
like Autolycus or the once famous George Barrmgton, 2 and
a grim phagedcemc ulcer, 3 superbly defined, and running
regularly through all its natural stages, may no less justly be
regarded as ideals after their kind than the most faultless
moss-rose amongst flowers, in its progress from bud to
" bright consummate flower/' or, amongst human (lowers, the
most magnificent young female, apparelled in the pomp of
womanhood. And thus not only the ideal of an inkstand
may be imagined, as Mr. Coleridge illustrated in his cele-
brated correspondence with Mr. Blackwood, 4 in which, by

1 Howship, Jolm : Prttclfad Remarks upon Jndiyestion, Svo,
London, 1825, M.

3 George Waldron alias Bairnngtou, the most famous gentleman-
pickpocket of hib time, was transported to Botany Bay in 1790, and
died there in 180-1, in respectable employment and with the reputation
of a reformed character. M.

8 Phagedcenic, Greek for "eating" or "corrosive": the word, whether
in the form of the noun phagcdana, or of the adjective phagedcenic or
pkaged<mous, is a surgical definition of a special kind of ulcer. M.

4 Kefers to certain whimsical letters of Coleridge in Blackwood, for
October 1821, in one of which are enumerated the requisites for a per-
fect or ideal inkstand M.

16 TALES AND PBOSE PHANTASIES

the way, there is not so much, because an inkstand is a
laudable sort of thing, and a valuable member of society,
but even imperfection itself may have its ideal or perfect
state.

Really, gentlemen, I beg pardon for so much philosophy
at one time ; and now let me apply it, When a murder is
in the paulo-post-futurum tense not done, not even (accord-
ing to modern purism) king done, but only going to be done
and a rumour of it comes to our ears, by all means let us
treat it morally. But suppose it over and done, and that you
can say of it, Terf'Aecrrai, It is finished, or (in that adamantine
molossus 1 of Medea) Eipyaorcu, Done it is, it is a fait
accompli ; suppose the poor murdered man to be out of his
pain, and the rascal that did it off like a shot nobody knows
whither; suppose, lastly, that we have done our best, by
putting out our legs, to trip up the fellow in his flight, but
all to no purpose " abiit, evasit, excessit, erupit," etc. why,
then, I say, what's the use of any more virtue 1 Enough has
been given to morality ; now comes the turn of Taste and
the Fine Arts, A sad thing it was, no doubt, very sad ; but
we can't mend it. Therefore let us make the best of a bad
mutter ; and, as it is impossible to hammer anything out of
it for moral purposes, let us treat it aesthetically, and see if
it will turn to account in that way. Such is the logic of a
sensible man ; and what follows t We dry up our tears, and
have the satisfaction, perhaps, to discover that a transaction
which, morally considered, was shocking, and without a leg
to stand upon, when tried by principles of Taste, turns out
to be a very meritorious performance. Thus all the world is
pleased ; the old proverb is justified, that it is an ill wind
which blows nobody good ; the amateur, from looking bilious
and sulky by too close an attention to virtue, begins to pick
up his crumbs ; and general hilarity prevails. Virtue has
had her day ; and henceforward, Virth, so nearly the same
thing as to differ only by a single letter (which surely is not
worth haggling or higgling about) Vvrthj I repeat, and

1 Molossus is the name in Greek prosody for a word or foot of three
consecutive long syllables. The particular molossus which De Quincey
goes on to quote, the word etpyaffrai, occurs in line 293 of the
Medea of Euripides. M.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE AETS 17

Connoisseurship, have leave to provide for themselves. Upon
this principle, gentlemen, I propose to guide your studies from
Cain to Mr. Thurtell. Through this great gallery of murder,
therefore, together let us wander hand in hand, in delighted
admiration ; while I endeavour to point your attention to
the objects of profitable criticism,

The first muider is familiar to you all As the inventor
of murder, and the father of the art, Cain must have been a
man of first-rate genius. All the Cains were men of genius,
Tubal Cain invented tubes, I think, or some such thing.
But, whatever might be the originality and genius of the
artist, every art was then in its infancy ; and the works
turned out from each several studio must be criticised with a
recollection of that fact. Even TubalVvork would probably
be little approved at this day in Sheffield ; and therefore of
Cain (Cain senior, I mean) it is no disparagement to say that
his performance was but so-so. Milton, however, is supposed
to have thought differently, By his way of relating the case,
it should seem to have been rather a pet murder with him,
for he retouches it with an apparent anxiety for its picturesque
effect :

" Whereat lie inly raged, and, as they talked,
Smote him into the midriff with a stone
That beat out life : he fell, and, deadly pale,
Groaned out his soul, with gushing Hood e/iised"

Par. Lost, Bk. XL

Upon this Richardson the painter, who had an eye for effect,
remarks as follows in his " Notes on Paradise Lost/' p. 497 :
"It has been thought," says lie, "that Cain beat (as the
" common saying is) the breath out of his brother's body with
" a great stone : Milton gives in to this, with the addition,
" however, of a large wound.'' In this place it was a judicious
addition ; for the rudeness of the weapon, unless raised and
enriched by a warm, sanguinary colouring, has too much of
the naked air of the savage school ; as if the deed were
perpetrated by a Polypheme, without science, premeditation,
or anything but a mutton-bone. However, I am chiefly
pleased with the improvement, as it implies that Milton was
an amateur. As to Shakspere, there never was a better;

VOL. XIII Q

18 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

witness his description of the murdered Duncan, Banquo,
&c. j and above all witness his incomparable miniature, in
" Henry VI," of the murdered Gloucester. 1

The foundation of the art having been once laid, it is
pitiable to see how it slumbered without improvement for
ages. In fact, I stall now be obliged to leap over all murders,
sacred and profane, as utterly unworthy of notice until long
after the Christian era. Greece, even in the age of Pericles,
produced no murder, or at least none is recorded, of the

1 The passage occurs in the second part (act 3) of ' ' Henry VI," and
is doubly remarkable : first, for its critical fidelity to nature, were the
description meant only for poetic effect ; but, secondly, for tha judicial
value impressed upon it when offered (as here it is offered) in silent
corroboration legally of a dreadful whisper, all at once arising, that
foul play had been dealing with a great prince, clothed with an official
state character. It is the Duke of Gloucester, faithful guardian and
loving uucle of the simple and imbecile king, who has been found dead
in his bed. How shall this event be interpreted 1 Had he died under
some natural visitation of Providence, or by violence from his enemies '
The two court factions read the circumstantial indications of the case
into opposite constructions. The affectionate and afflicted young king,
whose position almost pledges him to neutrality, cannot, nevertheless,
disguise his overwhelming suspicions of hellish conspiracy in the back-
ground. Upon tins, a leader of the opposite faction endeavours to
break the force of this royal frankness, countersigned and echoed most
impressively by Lord Warwick. " What instance,'" he asks meaning
by instance not example or illustration, as thoughtless commentators
have constantly supposed, but, in the common scholastic sense, what
instantia, what pressure of argument, what urgent plea, can Lord
Warwick put forward in support of his "dreadful oath" an oath,
namely, that, as surely as he hopes for the life eternal, so surely
11 1 do believe that violent hands were laid
Upon the life of this tlirice famed duke."

Ostensibly the challenge is to Warwick, but substantially it is meant
for the King And the reply of Warwick, the argument on winch he
builds, lies in a solemn array of all the changes worked in the duke's
features by death, as irreconcilable with any other hypothesis than
that this death had been a violent one. What argument have I that
Gloucester died under the hands of murderers ' Why, the following
roll-call of awful changes, affecting head, face, nostrils, eyes, hands,
&c., which do not belong indifferently to any mode of death, but
exclusively to a death by violence :

11 But see, his face is black and full of blood,

His eyeballs further out than when he lived,

Staring full ghastly like a strangled man ;

His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretched with struggling;

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 19

slightest merit ; and Rome had too little originality of genius
in any of the arts to succeed where her model failed her. 1
In fact, the Latin language sinks under the very idea of
murder. " The man was murdered ; " how will this sound
in Latin ? Interfectus est, interemptus erf which simply ex-
presses a homicide ; and hence the Christian Latinity of the
middle ages was obliged to introduce a new word, such as the
feebleness of classic conceptions never ascended to. Murdratus
est, says the sublimer dialect of Gothic ages. 2 Meantime,

His hands abroad display'd, as one that gasp'd

And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdued.

Look, on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking ;

His well-proportion'd beard made rough and nigged,

Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged.

It cannot be but he was murder'd here ;

The least of all these things were probable "
As the logic of the case, let us not for a moment forget that, to be of
any value, the signs and indications pleaded must be sternly diagnostic.
The discrimination sought for is between death that is natural and
death that is violent, All indications, therefore, that belong equally
and indifferently to either are equivocal, useless, and alien from the
very purpose of the signs here registered by Shakspere.

1 At the time of writing this [1827] I held the common opinion
upon that subject. Mere inconsideration it was that led to so erroneous
a judgment. Since then, on closer reflection, I have seen ample reason
to retract it : satisfied I now [1854] am th.it the Romans, m every
art which allowed to them any parity of advantages, had merits as
racy, native, and characteristic, as the best of the Greeks. Elsewhere
I shall plead this cause circumstantially, with the hope of converting
the reader. In the meantime, I was anxious to lodge my protest
against this ancient error, an error which commenced in the time-
&ervmg sycophancy of Virgil the court-poet. With the base purpose of
gratifying Augustus in his vindictive spite against Cicero, and by way
of introducing, therefore, the little clause ordbunt causas melius as
applying to all Athenian against all Roman orators, Virgil did not
scruple to sacrifice by wholesale the just pretensions of his compatriots
collectively. [Compare ante, vol. x, pp. 54-59. M.]

2 De Qumcey is here characteristically correct. The word Murder
(though the same at ultimate loot with the Latin mm, " to die," and
mors-mortis, "death," and so with the Sanskrit win, "to die") did
come into the Christian Latinity of the Middle Ages, and so into the
Romance tongues of Europe, by importation from the Gothic.
" Wasuh than sa haitana Barabbas, mith thaim mith imma drobyandam
gabundans, thaiei in auhyodau maurthr gatawidedun " : so runs the
verse, Mark xv. 7, in the Moeso-Gothic of Ulphilas ; and, though it is
a bit of the speech of the Goths of the Danube as old as 360 A.D., we

20 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

the Jewish school of murder kept alive whatever was yet
known in the art, and gradually transferred it to the Western
World. Indeed, the Jewish school was always lespectable,
even in its medieval stages, as the case of Hugh of Lincoln
shows, which was honoured with the approbation of Chaucer,
on occasion of another performance from the same school,
which, in his Canterbury Tales, he puts into the mouth of
the Lady Abbess. 1

Recurring, however, for one moment, to classical antiquity,
I cannot but think that Catiline, Clodius, and some of that
coterie, would have made first-rate artists ; and it is on all
accounts to be regretted that the priggism of Cicero robbed

can recogmt>e its kinship with our own English m the same passage,
"And there was one named Barabbas, which lay bound with them
that had made insurrection with him, who had committed murder in
the insurrection." I do not suppose that an older example can "be
produced of the Gothic noun manrthr (mwther, murder) ; and I do
not find it referred to in the article on the word Murder in even the
latest edition of Du Cange's great Dictionary of Medieval Latin. The
essentially Gothic origin of the word is there recognised, however, m
the general statement that it is from the ''Saxon" moith, meaning
death or slaughter (ex Sa&omco niorth) ; and, in five columns of copious
learning, it is shown how the Mediaeval Latinists appropriated this
worth or moro&i, at first bedding it in that uncouth form in their own
Latin texts, but at length boldly Latinising it into murdntm or mufti urn,
and so providing themselves with a train of requisite cognates in
muUndwn, murdificntin, murdreduw, murdrare t murdnre, murdrator,
murdritor, &c. &c. From the Latin the word passed easily, of course,
into the vernacular Romance tongues: e.g. the French meurtre,
meurtrir. As the various Teutonic nations had conserved the Gothic
word, in one form or another, in their own veruaculars,-~fi g. in Anglo-
Saxon, m&rth (death), morthor (violent death), and in German mwd,
(murder), morden (to murder), murder (murderer), their claim to it
may be regaided as aboriginal. It may be doubted, however, whether
the word murder) so common m early English after the Conquest in
the alternative foims morthre and mordre (which alternative was kept
up in much later English in the forms murtliei and murder), uas only
the native old Anglo-Saxon word north or morthor conserved, or was
a recovery from the Mediaeval Latin directly or through the Norman-
French. Murther, with the th sound, looks the more native English
form ; and in the First Folio Shakespeare the prevailing spelling of
the word is, I think, murther, though the modern editors substitute
murder. M.

1 Chaucer's Priwesses Tale in his Canterbuiy Pilgrimage is the
story of a little Christian boy in a city in Asia, supposed to have
been murdered by the Jews of the city because of the offence he gave

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 21

his country of the only chance she had for distinction in this
line. As the subject of a murder, no person could have
answered Letter than himself. 01] Gemini I 1 how he would
have howled with panic, if he had heard Cethegus under his
bed, It would have been truly diverting to have listened to
him; and satisfied I am, gentlemen, that he would have
preferred the utile of creeping into a closet, or even into a
cloaca, to the honestum of facing the bold artist.

To come now to the Dark Ages (by which we that speak
with precision mean, par excellence, the tenth century as a
meridian line, and the two centuries immediately before and
after, full midnight being from A.D. 888 to A.D. 1111)
those ages ought naturally to be favourable to the art of
murder, as they were to church architecture, to stained glass,
&c. ; and, accordingly, about the latter end of this period,
there arose a great character in our art, I mean the Old Man
of the Mountains He was a shining light indeed, and I
need not tell you that the very word "assassin" is deduced
from him. 2 So keen an amateur was he that on one occasion,

them by always singing the Christian hymn A Ima Re&mptons Matey
through the streets as he went to school. The Prioress concludes the
story by referring to a specially Euglish legend of a like character,
that of young " Hugh of Lincoln, "whom some Jews of that town were
said to have put to death for similar reasons by a horrihle crucifixion.
The historian Matthew Pans, who relates the thing as a fact that
happened in his own lifetime, dates it in the year 1255, and adds that
a number of Jews were executed for the crime in London in the
following year. This explains the wording of the reference to it by the
Prioress :

" yonge Hugh of Lincoln, sleyn also
With cursed Jewes, as it is notable,
For it nis but a little whyle ago." M,

1 " Oh Gemini/" This is a softening in 1854 from the original
exclamation of 1827 ; which was "Lord'" Taste in such matters
had become less robust in the interval.- M.

2 The name "Old Man of the Mountains " does not designate any
Individual person, but was the title, in Arabic SheMah-al-jebal,
" Prince of the Mountain/' of a series of chiefs who presided from
1090 to 1258 over a community or military order of fanatical Moham-
medan sectaries, called The Assassins, distributed through Persia and
Syria, but with certain mountain-ranges for their headquarters. But,
though there is no doubt that the words assassin and assassination,
as terms for secret murder, and especially for secret murder by stabbing,
are a recollection of the reputed habits of this old Persian and Syrian

22 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

when his own life was attempted by a favourite assassin, he
was so much pleased with the talent shown that, notwith-
standing the failure of the artist, he created him a duke upon
the spot, with remainder to the female line, and settled a
pension on him for three lives. Assassination is a branch of
the art which demands a separate notice ; and it is possible
that I may devote an entire lecture to it. Meantime, I shall
only observe how odd it is that this branch of the art has
flourished by intermitting fits. It never rains but it pours.
Our own age can boast of some fine specimens, such, for
instance, as Bellingham's affair with the prime minister Per-
ceval, the Due de Berri's case at the Parisian Opera House,
the Marshal Bessieres's case at Avignon l ; and about two-
and a half centuries ago, there was a most brilliant constella-
tion of murders in this class. I need hardly say that I
allude especially to those seven splendid works : the assassina-
tions of William I. of Orange ; of the three French Henries,
viz. of Henri, Duke of Guise, that had a fancy for the throne
of France, of Henri III, last prince of the line of Valois,

community, the original etymology of the word Assassins itself, as the
name of the community, is net so certain. Skeat sets it down as
simply the Arabic hashishin^ "hashish-drmkeis," from the fact or on,
the supposition that the agents of the Old Man of the Mountains,,
when they were detached on their murderous errands, went forth
nerved for the task by the intoxication of hashish, or Indian hemp.

1 These three assassinations are an insertion m 1854. Spencer 1
Perceval, whose Premiership began m 1809, was assassinated, by
a pistol-shot in th lobby of the House of Commons, on the lithe
May 1812, by a bankrupt Liverpool merchant named John Bel-
lingham. The Due de Berri, who was the second son of the Count
d'Artois, heir-apparent to Louis XVIII, and afterwards that king's
successor on the throne of France by the title of Charles X, had, by
the death of his elder brother, the Duke of Orleans, become his father's
prospective heir, when, on Sunday the 13th February 1820, he was
stabbed by a Republican fanatic as he was leaving the opera-house in
Paris, and handing his wife to her carriage, Jean-Baptiste Bessieres,
born 1768, one of Napoleon's ablest generals, and made marshal in
1804 and Duke of Istria in 1809, fell by a chance bullet in a skirmish
with the Germans, 1st May 1813, the day before the battle of Lutzen ;
and his name is a misrecollection by De Qumcey here for that of
another of Napoleon's generals, Guillaume Marie Anne Brune, born*
1763, made a marshal in 1804, and assassinated by the populace at
Avignon, 2d August 1815, just after the collapse of Napoleon's for-
tunes at Waterloo. M,

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 23

wlio then occupied that throne, and finally of Henri IV, lna
brother-in-law, who succeeded to that throne as first prince
in the line of Bourbon ; not eighteen years later came the
5th on the roll, viz. that of our Duke of Buckingham (which
you will find excellently described in the letters published
by Sir Henry Ellis, of the British Museum), 6thly of Gus-
tavus Adolphus, and 7thly of Wallenstein, What a glorious
Pleiad of Murders ! And it increases one's admiration
that this bright constellation of artistic displays, comprehend-
ing 3 Majesties, 3 Serene Highnesses, and 1 Excellency, all
lay within so narrow a field of time as between A.D. 1588
and 1635. 1 The King of Sweden's assassination, by the bye,
is doubted by many writers, Harte amongst others ; but they
are wrong. He was murdered ; and I consider his murder
unique in its excellence ; for he was murdered at noon-day,
and on the field of battle a feature of original conception
which occurs in no other work of art that I remember, To
conceive the idea of a secret murder on private account as
enclosed within a little parenthesis on a vast stage of public
battle-carnage is like Hamlet's subtle device of a tragedy
within a tragedy. Indeed, all of these assassinations may be

1 The chronology of the seven famous assassinations here grouped
together by De Quiucey is, more exactly, as follows : (1) William of
Orange, called "William the Silent," the first stadtholder of the
United Dutch Provinces, assassinated at Delft, 10th July 1584, by
Balthazar Gerard ; (2) Henri, Duke of Guise, the head of the Guise
faction, and oi their design for dethroning Henry III of France,
but assassinated by that king's contrivance in the royal apartments
at Blow, 23d December 1588 ; (3) the said Henry III of France,
assassinated hy Jacques Clement, a fanatical Dominican friar, 2d
August 1589 ; (4) Henry IV of France, the great and good Henry of
Navaire, who came to the throne as a Huguenot, a&sassinated, 14th
May 1610, by Francis Ravaillac ; (5) the resplendent George Vilhers,
Duke of Buckingham, favourite of James I, and Charles I., and
supreme minister of England in the end of James's reign and the
beginning of Charles's, assassinated at Portsmouth, 23d August 1628,
by the knife of John Felton ; (6) Gustavus Adolphus, the heroic King
of Sweden, champion of European Protestantism through one of the
stages of the great Thirty Years' War, shot on his horse in the battle-
field of Lutzen, as he was leading a charge, and in the moment of
victory, 6th November 1632 ; (7) Waldstein, or Wallenstein, the great
captain on the other, or Catholic, side in the same stage of the Thirty
Years' War, assassinated, in the interest of the Emperor Ferdinand,
by some Irish soldiers, in the Castle of Eger, 25th February 1634. M.

24: TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

studied with profit by the advanced connoisseur. They are
all of them exemplaria, model murders, pattern murders, of
which one may say

" Nocturna versate raauu, versate diarna "
especially nocturm.

In these assassinations of princes and statesmen there is
nothing to excite our wonder. Important changes often
depend on their deaths ; and, from the eminence on which
they stand, they are peculiarly exposed to the aim of every
artist who happens to he possessed by the craving for scenical
effect. But there is another class of assassinations, which has
prevailed from an early period of the seventeenth century,
that really does surprise me : I mean the assassination of
philosophers. For, gentlemen, it is a fact that every philo-
sopher of eminence for the two last centuries has either been
murdered, or at the least been very near it, insomuch that,
if a man calls himself a philosopher and never had his life
attempted, rest assured there is nothing in him ; and against
Locke's Philosophy in particular I think it an unanswerable
objection (if we needed any) that, although he carried his
throat about with him in this world for seventy-two years,
no man ever condescended to cut it 1 As these cases of
philosophers are not much known, and are generally good
and well composed in their circumstances, I shall here read
an excursus on that subject, chiefly by way of showing my
own learning.

The first great philosopher of the seventeenth century (if
we except Bacon and Galileo) was Des Cartes ; and, if ever one
could say of a man that he was all lid murdered murdered
within an inch one must say it of him. The case was this,
as reported by Baillet in his Vie de M. Des Qartes, torn. i.
pp. 102-3: In the year 1621, when Des Caries might be
about twenty-six years old, he was touring about as usual
(for he was as restless as a hyena) ; and, coining to the Elbe,
either at Gluckstadt or at Hamburgh, he took shipping for
East Friezland. What he could want in East Friezland no
man has ever discovered; and perhaps he took this into

1 Locke, born 1632, died 1704. This is not the only place in De
Qumcey's writings in which he shows his dislike of Locke and Locke's
philosophy. M.

M0KDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARCS 25

consideration himself : for, on reaclung Embden, lie resolved
to sail instantly for West Friezlantl ; and, being very im-
patient of delay, lie hired a bark, witfc a few manners lo
navigate it. No sooner had he got out to sea than he made
a pleasing discovery, vk that he had shut himself up in a
den of murderers. His crew, says M. Baillet, he soon found
out to he "des sce"lerats" not amateurs, gentlemen, as we
are, hut professional men, the height of whose ambition at
that moment was to cut his individual throat. But the
story is too pleasing to be abridged ; I shall give it, there-
fore, accurately from the French of his biographer : tl M. Des
" Cartes had no company but that of his servant, with whom
" he was conversing in French. The sailors, who took him for
" a foreign merchant, rather than a cavalier, concluded that
" he must have money about him, Accordingly, they came
" to a resolution by no means advantageous to his purse.
" There is this difference, however, between sea-robbers and
" the robbers in forests, that the latter may without hazard
" spare the lives of their victims, whereas the others cannot
" put a passenger on shore in such a case without running the
" risk of being apprehended. The crew of M. Des Cartes
" arranged their measures with a view to evade any danger
" of that sort. They observed that he was a stranger from a
" distance, without acquaintance in the country, and that
" nobody would take any trouble to inquire about him, in
" case he should never come to hand (guand il viendroit a
" manguer)." Think, gentlemen, of these Fnezland dogs
discussing a philosopher as if he were a puncheon of rum
consigned to some shipbroker. " His temper, they remarked,
" was very mild and patient ; and, judging from the gentle-
u ness of his deportment, and the courtesy with which lie
" treated themselves, that he could be nothing more than
" some green young man, without station or root in the
" world, they concluded that they should have all the easier
" task in disposing of his life. They made no scruple to
" discuss the whole matter in his presence, 'as not supposing
" that he understood any other language than that in which
" he conversed with his servant ; and the amount of their
" deliberation was to murder him, then to throw him into
" the sea, and to divide his spoils,"

26 TALES AND HiOSE PHANTASIES

Excuse my laughing, gentlemen ; but the fact is I always
do laugh when I think of this case two things about it seem
so droll. One is the. horrid panic or "funk" (as the men of
Eton call it) in which Des Cartes must have found himself
upon hearing this regular drama sketched for his own death,
funeral, succession and administration to his effects. But
another thing which seems to me still more funny about this
affair is that, if these Friezland hounds had been " game," we
should have no Cartesian philosophy ; and how we could
have done without tliat, considering the world of books it
has produced, I leave to any respectable trunk -maker to
declare.

However, to go on spite of his enormous funk, Des Cartes
showed fight, and by that means awed these Anti-Cartesian
rascals. " Finding," says M. Baillet, " that the matter was no
' joke, M. Des Cartes leaped upon his feet in a trice, assumed a
' stern countenance that these cravens Lad never looked for,
' and, addressing them in their own language, threatened to
' run them through on the spot if they dared to give him any
insult." Certainly, gentlemen, this would have been an
honour far above the merits of such inconsiderable rascals
to be spitted like larks upon a Cartesian sword ; and therefore
I am glad M. Des Cartes did not rob the gallows by execut-
ing his threat, especially as he could not possibly have brought
his vessel to port after he had murdered his crew ; so that he
must have continued to cruise for ever in the Zuyder Zee,
and would probably have been mistaken by sailors for the
Flying Dutchman homeward bound. " The spirit which M.
" Des Caites manifested," says his biographer, "had the effect
u of magic on these wretches. The suddenness of their con-
" sternation struck their minds with a confusion which
" blinded them to their advantage, and they conveyed him
" to his destination as peaceably as he could desire."

Possibly, gentlemen, you may fancy that, on the model
of Caesar's address to his poor ferryman " GcEsarem vehis et
fortunas qua" M. Des Cartes needed only to have said,
" Dogs, you cannot cut my throat, for you carry Des Cartes
and his philosophy," and might safely have defied them to
do their worst. A German emperor had the same notion
when, being cautioned to keep out of the way of a cannon-

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 27

ading, he replied, " Tut ! man. Did you ever hear of a
cannon-ball that killed an emperor " 1 l As to an emperor I
cannot say, but a less thing has sufficed to smash a philo-
sopher ; and the next great philosopher of Europe undoubt-
edly was murdered. This was Spinoza.

I know very well the common opinion about him is that
he died in his bed. Perhaps he did, but he was murdered
for all that ; and this I shall prove by a book published at
Brussels in the year 1731, entitled "La Vie de Spinoza, par
M. Jean Colerus," with many additions from a MS. life by
one of his friends. Spinoza died on the 21st February 1677,
being then little more than forty-four years old. This, of
itself, looks suspicious ; and M. Jean admits that a certain
expression in the MS. life of him would warrant the con-
clusion "que sa mort n'a pas e"te tout-a-fait naturelle."
Living in a damp country, and a sailor's country, like
Holland, he may be thought to have indulged a good deal in
grog, especially in punch, 2 which was then newly discovered.
Undoubtedly he might have done so ; but the fact is that he
did not M. Jean calls him " extremement sobre en son
boire et en son manger." And, though some wild stories
were afloat about his using the juice of mandragora (p. 140)
and opium (p. 144), yet neither of these articles is found in
his druggist's bill. Living, therefore, with such sobriety,
how was it possible that he should die a natural death at
forty -four ? Hear his biographer's account : " Sunday
" morning, the 21st of February, before it was church time,
" Spinoza came downstairs, and conversed with the master

1 This same argument has been employed at least once too often.
Some centuries back a dauphin of France, when admonished of his

1 risk from small-pox, made the same demand as the emperor ' f Had
any gentleman heard of a dauphin killed by small-pox ? " No ; not
any gentleman had heard of such a case. And yet, for all that, this
dauphin died of that same small-pox.

2 "June 1, 1675. Drinke part of thiee boules of punch (a liquoi
very strainge to me)," says the Rev. Mr. Henry Teonge, in his Diary
published by 0. Knight. In a note on this passage, a reference is
made to Fryer's Travels to the East Indies, 1672, who speaks of
""that enervating liquor called paunch (which is Hmdostanee for five),
from five ingredients." Made thus, it seems the medical men called
it diapeute ; if with four only, diates&aron. No doubt, it was this
-evangelical name that recommended it to the Rev. Mr. Teonge.

28 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

" and mistress of the house." At this time, therefore, per
haps ten o'clock on Sunday morning, you see that Spinoza
was alive, and pretty well. But it seems " he had summoned
from Amsterdam a certain physician, whom," says the
biographer, " I shall not otherwise point out to notice than
by these two letters, L. M." This L M. had directed the
people of the ho'use to purchase " an ancient cock,' ; and to
have him boiled forthwith, in order that Spinoza might take
some broth about noon ; which in fact he did, and ate some
of the old cock with a good appetite, after the landlord and
his wife had returned from church.

"In the afternoon, L. M. staid alone with Spinoza, the
" people of the house having returned to church ; on coining
" out from which, they learned, with much surprise, that
" Spinoza had died about three o'clock, in the presence of L.
" M., who took his departure for Amsterdam that same even-
K ing, by the night-boat, without paying the least attention
" to the deceased/' and probably without paying very much
attention to the payment of his own little account, " No
" doubt, he was the readier to dispense with these duties as
" he had possessed himself of a ducatoon, and a small quantity
" of silver, together with a silver -hafted knife, and had
" absconded with his pillage," Here you see, gentlemen,
the murder is plain, and the manner of it. It was L. M.
who murdered Spinoza for his money. Poor Spinoza was an
invalid, meagre and weak : as no blood was observed, L. M.
no doubt threw him down, and smothered him with pillows
the poor man being already half suffocated by his infernal
dinner. After masticating that " ancient cock," which I take
to mean a cock of the preceding century, in what condition
could the poor invalid find himself for a stand-up fight with
L. M. 1 But who was L. M. ? It surely never could be
Lindley Murray, for I saw him at York in 1825 ; and,,
besides, I do not think he would do such a thing at least,
not to a brother-grammarian : for you know, gentlemen, that
Spinoza wrote a very respectable Hebrew grammar.

Hobbes but why, or on what principle, I never could
understand was not murdered. This was a capital over-
sight of the professional men in the seventeenth century ;,
because in every light he was a fine subject for murder,,

MURDER AS ONE OF THE PINE ARTS 29

except, indeed, that he was lean and skinny ; for I can prove
that he had money, and (what was very funny) he had no
right to make the least resistance ; since, according to him-
self, irresistible power creates the very highest species of
right, so that it is rehellion of the blackest dye to refuse to
be murdered when a competent force appears to murder you.
However, gentlemen, though he was not murdered, I am
happy to assure you that (by his own account) he was three
times very near being murdered, which is consolatory.
The first time was in the spring of 1640, when he pretends
to have circulated a little MS. on the King's behalf against
the Parliament. 1 He never could produce this MS., by the
bye ; but he says that, "had not His Majesty dissolved the
Parliament " (in May), " it had brought him into danger of
his life." Dissolving the Parliament, however, was of no
use ; for in November of the same year the Long Parliament
assembled, 2 and Hobbes, a second time fearing he should be
murdered, ran away to France. This looks like the madness
of John Dennis, 3 who thought that Louis XIY would never
make peace with Queen Anne unless he (Dennis to wit) were
given up to French vengeance, and actually ran away from
the sea-coast under that belief. In France, Hobbes managed
to take care of his throat pretty well for ten years; but at
the end of that time, by way of paying court to Cromwell, he
published his " Leviathan." The old coward now began to
"funk" horribly for the third time ; he fancied the swords of
the Cavaliers were constantly at his throat, recollecting how

Madrid. " Turn," says he, in his dog-Latin life of himself,

" Turn venit in mentem milii Dorislaus et Ascham j
Tanquam probcripto terror ubique aderat," 4

1 The English Parliament which Charles I., after there had been
complete disu&e of parliaments in England tor eleven years, called
together on 13th April 1640, to assist him out of his difficulties with
the Scottish Covenanters. As it proved refractory, it sat but about
three weeks, being dissolved 011 the 5th May ; and hence it is known
m English History as "The Short Parliament, " M

J 3d November 1640, M,

3 John Dennis, literary ciitic, bom 1657, died 1734. M,

4 "Then there came into my mind Donslaus and Ascliam fear
attended me everywhere as one proscribed." The quotation is' from

30 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

And, accordingly, he ran home to England. Now, certainly,
it is very true that a man deserved a cudgelling for writing
"Leviathan/* and two or three cudgellings for writing a
pentameter ending so villainously as "terror ubique aderat"!
But no man ever thought him worthy of anything beyond
cudgelling. And, in fact, the whole story is a bounce of his
own. For, in a most abusive letter which he wrote " to a
learned person" (meaning Wallis the mathematician), he
gives quite another account of the matter, and says (p. 8), he
ran home " because he would not trust his safety with the
French clergy"; insinuating that he was likely to be murdered
for his religion ; which would have been a high joke indeed
Tom's being brought to the stake for religion !

Bounce or not bounce, however, certain it is that Hobbes,
to the end of his life, feared that somebody would murder
him. This is proved by the story I am going to tell you :
it is not from a manuscript, but (as Mr. Coleridge says) it is
as good as manuscript; for it comes from a book now
entirely forgotten, viz. "The Creed of Mr, Hobbes Exa-
mined : in a Conference between him and a Student in
Divinity " (published about ten years before Hobbes's death).
The book is anonymous ; but it was written by Tenison,
the same who, about thirty years after, succeeded Tillotson as
Archbishop of Canterbury. 1 The introductory anecdote is as
follows : " A certain divine " (no doubt Tenison himself)
" took an annual tour of one month to different parts of the
island." In one of these excursions (1670), he visited the
Peak in Derbyshire, partly in consequence of Hobbes's
description of it. 2 Being in that neighbourhood, he could

Hobbes's Life of himself in Latin elegiac versej first published in
December 1679, about three weeks after his death. Dr. Isaac Doris-
laus, a Dutchman naturalised in England, and who had acted as one
of the counsel for the prosecution at the trial of Charles I., was sent
to the Hague as envoy for the English Commonwealth in the first year
of its existence, but had no sooner arrived than he was assassinated in
his inn (3d May 1649) by some loyalist exiles. Anthony Ascham,
sent to Spain in the following year as envoy for the Commonwealth,
had a similar fate, being assassinated in Madrid by English Royalist
refugees, 27th May 1650. M.

1 Thomas Tenison, born 1636, became Archbishop of Canterbury
1694, died 1715. M.

3 One of Hobbes's earliest publications was a Latin poem De Mira-

MURDER AS ONE OP THE FINE AKTS 31

not but pay a visit to Buxton ; and at the very moment of
his arrival he was fortunate enough to find a paity of gentle-
men dismounting at the inn-door, amongst whom was a long
thin fellow, who turned out to be no less a person than Mr.
Hobbes, who probably had ridden over from Chatsworth. 1
Meeting so great a lion, a tourist in search of the picturesque
could do no less than present himself in the character of
bore. And, luckily for this scheme, two of Mr. Hobbes's
companions were suddenly summoned away by express ; so
that, for the rest of his stay at Buxton, he had Leviathan
entirely to himself, and had the honour of boozing with him
in the evening. Hobbes, it seems, at first showed a good
deal of stiffness, for he was shy of divines ; but this wore off,
and he became very sociable and funny, and they agreed to
go into the bath together. How Tenison could venture to
gambol in the same water with Leviathan I cannot explain ;
but so it was: they frolicked about like two dolphins,
though Hobbes must have been as old as the hills ; and " in
" those intervals wherein they abstained from swimming and
" plunging themselves " (i.e, diving) " they discoursed of
" many things relating to the baths of the Ancients, and
" the Origine of Springs, When they had in this manner
" passed away an hour, they stepped out of the bath ; and,
rt having dried and cloathed themselves, they sate down in
" expectation of such a supper as the place afforded ; design-
J< ing to refresh themselves like the DeipnosopUstce, and rather
({ to reason than to drink profoundly. But in this innocent
" intention they were interrupted by the disturbance arising
" from a little quarrel in which some of the ruder people in
" the house were for a short time engaged. At this Mr,

bil/Snu Peed (" On the Wonders of the Peak.") It was first printed
in London in 1636, when the author was in his forty-eighth year; and
there was a second edition in 1666, M.

1 Chatsworth was then, as now, the superb seat of the Cavendishes
in their highest branch in those days Earl, at present Duke, of
Devonshire. It is to the honour of this family that, through two
generations, they gave an asylum to Hobbes. It is noticeable that
Hobbes was born in the year of the Spanish Armada, i.e. in 1588 :
such, at least, is my belief [5th April 1588, the day being the Good
Friday of that year. M.] And, therefore, at this meeting with Teni-
son iu 1670 he must have been about eighty-two years old.

32 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

" Hobbes seemed much concerned, though he was at some
" distance from the persons." And why was he concerned,
gentlemen ? No doubt, you fancy, from some benign and
disinterested love of peace, worthy of an old man and a
philosopher. But listen "For a while he was not com-
" posed, but related it once or twice, as to himself, with a low
" and careful, i.e. anxious, tone, how Sextus Eoscius was
c murthered after supper by the Balneae Palatinse, 1 Of such
' general extent is that remark of Cicero in relation to
' Epicurus the Atheist, of whom he observed that he of all
' men dreaded most those things which he contemned
Death and the Gods." Merely because it was supper-time,
and in the neighbourhood of a bath, Mr. Hobbes must have
the fate of Sextus Eoscius ! He must be murdered, because
Sextus Eoscius was murdered ! What logic was there in
this, unless to a man who was always dreaming of murder 1
Here was Leviathan, no longer afraid of the daggers of
English cavaliers or French clergy, but " frightened from his
propriety " by a row in an alehouse between some honest
clodhoppers of Derbyshire, whom his own gaunt scarecrow
of a person, that belonged to quite another century, would
have frightened out of their wits.

Malebranche, it will give you pleasure to hear, was
murdered. The man who murdered him is well known : it
was Bishop Berkeley. The story is familiar, though hitherto
not put in a proper light. Berkeley, when a young man,
went to Paris, and called on Pere Malebranche. He found
him in his cell cooking. Cooks have ever been a g&mus irri-
tabile ; authors still more so Malebranche was both : a dis-
pute arose ; the old father, warm already, became warmer ;
culinary and metaphysical irritations united to derange his
liver : he took to his bed, and died. Such is the common
version of the story: "so the whole ear of Denmark is
abused." The fact is that the matter was hushed up, out of

1 Sextus Roaeius, a wealthy citizen of Ameria, who often visited
Rome, was assassinated there on one of his visits (B o. 80) near the
Palatine Batlis, as he was returning from a banquet, The assassins
weretuo of his relatives ; who, to shield themselves and secure his
property, accused his son, also called Sextus Eoscius, of the crime.
Cicero's first speech in a criminal case was in defence of this Sextus ;
and he was acquitted. M.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 33

consideration for Berkeley, who (as Pope justly observes) had
" every virtue under heaven " : else it was well known that
Berkeley, feeling himself nettled by the waspishness of the
old Frenchman, squared at him ; a turnup was the conse-
quence : Malebranche was floored in the first round ; the
conceit was wholly iaken out of him, and he would perhaps
have given in ; but Berkeley's blood was now up, and he
insisted on the old Frenchman's retracting his doctrine of
Occasional Causes. The vanity of the man was too great
for this i and he fell a sacrifice to the impetuosity of Irish
youth, combined with his own absurd obstinacy. 1

Leibnitz being every way superior to Malebranche, one
might, a fortiorij have counted on his being murdered ;
which, however, was not the case. I believe he was nettled
at this neglect, and felt himself insulted by the security in
which he passed his days. -In no other way can I explain
his conduct at the latter end of his life, when he chose to
grow very avaricious, and to hoard up large sums of gold,
which he kept in his own house. This was at Vienna,

1 Berkeley was certainly in Pans on a visit in 1713, when he was
twenty-eight years of age, and a Junior Fellow of Trinity College,
Dublin, In a letter of his dated "Pans, November 25, 1713, N.S."
he says "To-morrow I intend, to visit Father Malebranche, and dis-
course him on certain points." Whether he made out this visit is
unknown j and, if he did, it is not to this visit in 1713 that De
Quincey refers, but to a second one in October 1715. ,0n the 13th of
that month Malebranche died, in the 77th year of his age ; and the
story, as told in Stock's Life of Berkeley, published in 1776, is that it
was Berkeley's visit that had caused his death. " He found the
' ingenious Father m a cell, cooking, in a small pipkin, a medicine
' for a disorder with which he was then troubled, an inflammation
' on the lungs. The conversation naturally turned on Berkeley's
' system, of which he had received some knowledge from a translation
1 just published. But the issue of the debate proved tragical to poor
* Malebranche. In the heat of the disputation he raised fiis voice
' too high, and gave way so freely to the natural impetuosity of a man
' of parts and a Frenchman, that he brought on himself a violent in-
' crease of his disorder, which carried him off ma few days," This quota-
tion from Stock is from Professor Campbell Fraser's Life and Letters of
B&rkeley (1871) ; where the authenticity of the story is carefully dis-
cussed. "It is unfortunate," says Professor Eraser, "that we have
" no authentic account of the meeting, especially one by Berkeley
" himself, nor any authority that I can find, except the biographer's,
" for its having occurred at all." M.

VOL. XITI D

34 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

where he died ; and letters are still in existence describing
the immeasurable anxiety which he entertained for his throat.
Still, liis ambition for being attempted at least was so great
that he would not forgo the danger. A laie English peda-
gogue of Birmingham manufacture viz. Dr. Parr l took a
more selfish course under the same circumstances. He had
amassed a considerable quantity of gold and silver plate,
which was for some time deposited in his bedroom at his
parsonage -house, Euttou, But, growing every day more
afraid of being murdered, which he knew that he could not
stand (and to which, indeed, he never had the slightest pre-
tensions), he transferred the whole to the Hatton black-
smith ; conceiving, no doubt, .that the murder of a blacksmith
would fall more lightly on the salus reipuUicce than that of a
pedagogue. But I have heard this greatly disputed ; and it
seems now generally agreed that one good horseshoe is worth
about two and a quarter Spital sermons. 2

As Leibnitz, though not murdered, may be said to have
died partly of the fear that he should be murdered, and
partly of vexation that he was not, Kant, on the other hand
who manifested no ambition in that way bid a narrower
escape from a murderer than any man we read of except
Des Cartes. So absurdly does fortune throw about her
favours ! The case is told, I think, in an anonymous life of
this very great man. Tor health's sake, Kant imposed upon
himself, at one time, a walk of six miles every day along a
high-road. This fact becoming known to a man who had
his private reasons for committing murder, at the third
milestone from Konigsberg he waited for his "intended,"
who came up to time as duly as a mail-coach. But for an
accident, Kant was a dead man. This accident lay in the

1 Dr. Samuel Parr, born 1747, .died 1825. See ante, Vol. V, for
Do Qumcey's long paper entitled Dr. Samuel Parr ; or, Whigtjism in
its relations to Literature. M.

J "Spital Sermons": Dr. Parr's chief public appearances as an
author, after his original appearance in the famous Latin preface to
Bellendenus (don't say BellencU'nus), occuired in certain sermons at
periodic intervals, delivered on behalf of some hospital (I really forget
what) which retained for its official designation the old word Spital }
and thus it happened that the sermons themselves were generally
known by the title of Spital Sermons.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 35

scrupulous, or what Mrs. Quickly would have called the
peevish, morality of the murderer. An old professor, he
fancied, might be laden with sins. Not so a young child.
0& this consideration, he turned away from Kant at the
critical moment, and soon after murdered a child of five years
old, Such is the German account of the matter ; but my
opinion is that the murderer was an amateur, who felt how
little would be gained to the cause of good taste by murder-
ing an old, arid, and adust metaphysician . there was no
room for display, as the man could not possibly look more
like a mummy when dead than he had done alive.

Thus, gentlemen, I have traced the connexion between
Philosophy and our Art, until insensibly I find that I have
wandered into our own era. This I shall not take any pains
to characterise apart from that which preceded it ; for, in
fact, they have no distinct character. The seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries, together with so much of the nineteenth
as we have yet seen, jointly compose the Augustan age of
Murder. The finest work of the seventeenth century is,
unquestionably, the murder of Sir Edmundbury Godfrey, 1
which has my entire approbation. In the grand feature of
mystery, which in some shape or other ought to colour every
judicious attempt at murder, it is excellent ; for the mystery
is 'not yet dispersed. The attempt to fasten the murder upon
the Papists, which would injure it as much as some well-
known Correggios have been injured by the professional
picture-cleaners, or would even ruin it by translating it

1 On the 17th of October 1678 a dead body, with a sword run
through it, the face bruised, and marks of strangulation round the
neck, was found in a ditch at the foot of Primrose Hill, in the fields
north of London. It turned out to be that of Sir Edmuiidbury Godfrey,
a Westminster magistrate, who had been missing for several days from
his house 4 in Green's Lane, in the Strand. The conclusion, from the
appearances, was that he had been strangled in London, somewhere
about the Strand, and that his body had been removed to the place
where it wag found. As it chanced that he was the magistrate befoie
whom Titus Oates had made his first deposition, on the 27th of the
preceding month, as to the existence of a great Popish plot for the rum
of London and the whole nation, the rumour immediately ran- about
that his assassination was the work of the Catholics ; and, during the
long and mad " No Popery " excitement which followed, the murder
of Sir Edmundbury Godfrey was used as a goad to the popular fury,
and he, continued to be spoken of as "The Protestant Martyr." M.

36 TALES AND PEOSB PHANTASIES

into the spurious class of mere political or partisan murders,
thoroughly wanting in the murderous animus, I exhort the
society to discountenance. In fact, this notion is altogether
baseless, and arose in pure Protestant fanaticism. Sir
Edmundbury had not distinguished himself amongst the
London magistrates by any severity against the Papists, or in
favouring the attempts of zealots to enforce the penal laws
against individuals. He had not armed against himself the
animosities of any religious sect whatever. And, as to the
droppings of wax-lights upon the dress of the corpse when
first discovered in a ditch, from which it was inferred at the
time that the priests attached to the Popish Queen's Chapel had
beenconcerned in the murder, either these were mere fraudulent
artifices devised by those who wished to fix the suspicion upon
- the Papists, or else the whole allegation wax-droppings and
the suggested cause of the dioppings might be a bounce or fib
of Bishop Burnet ; who, as the Duchess of Portsmouth used to
say, was the one great master of fibbing and romancing in the
seventeenth century. At the same time, it must be observed
that the quantity of murder was not great in Sir Edmundbury's
century, at least amongst our own artists ; which, perhaps, is
attributable to the want of enlightened patronage. Sink
Macenatea, non deerunt, Flacce, Marones. 1 Consulting Grant's
Observations on the Bilk of Mortality (4th edition, Oxford,
16G5), I find that, out of 229,250 who died in London
during one period of twenty years in the seventeenth century,
not more than eighty-six were murdered ; that is, about four
and three-tenths per annum. A small number this, gentlemen,
to found an academy upon ; and, certainly, where the quantity
is so small, we have a right to expect that, the quality should
be first-rate. Perhaps it was j yet still I am of opinion that
the best artist in this century was not equal to the best in
that which followed. For instance, however praiseworthy
the case of Sir Edmundbury Godfrey may be (and nobody
can be more sensible of its merits than I am), still I cannot
consent to place it on a level with that of Mrs. Ruscombe of
Bristol, either as to originality of design, or boldness and
breadth of style. This good lady's murder took place early

1 This may be translated : " Let Maecenases com, and Virgils will
not le w<mtvng."N.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE AETS 3?

in the reign of George III a reign which, was notoriously
favourable to the arts generally. She lived in College Green,
with a single maid-servant, neither of. them having any
pretension to the notice of History but what they derived
from the great artist whose workmanship I am recording.
One fine morning, when all Bristol was alive and in motion,
some suspicion arising, the neighbours forced an entrance
into the house, and found Mrs. Euscombe murdered in her
bedroom, and the servant murdered on the stairs : this was
at noon ; and, not more than two hours before, both mistress
and servant had been seen alive. To the best of my remem-
brance, this was in 1764 ; upwards of sixty years, therefore,
have now elapsed, and yet the artist is still undiscovered.
The suspicions of posterity have settled upon two pretenders
a baker and a chimney-sweeper. But posterity is wrong ; no
unpractised artist could have conceived so bold an idea as that
of a noonday murder m the heart of a great city. It was no
obscure baker, gentlemen, or anonymous chimney-sweeper,
be assured, that executed this work. I know who it was,
(Here there was a general buzz, which at length broke out into
open applause ; upon which the lecturer Mushed, and went on
with much earnestness.) For heaven's sake, gentlemen, do not
mistake me ; it was not I that did it. I have not the vanity
to think myself equal to any such achievement ; be assured that
you greatly overrate my poor talents ; Mrs. Kuscombe's affair
wa_s far beyond my slender abilities. But I came to know who
the artist was from a celebrated surgeon who assisted at LIB
dissection. This gentleman had a private museum in the
way of his profession, one corner of which was occupied by a
cast from a man of remarkably fine proportions.

" That," said the surgeon, " is a cast from the celebrated
" Lancashire highwayman ^ ho concealed his profession for
" some time from his neighbours by drawing woollen stock-
" ings over his horse's legs, and in that way muffling the
" clatter which he must else have made in riding up a flagged
" alley that led to his stable. At the time of his execution
" for high way robbery I was studying under Cruickshank ; and
" the man's figure was so uncommonly fine that no money or
" exertion was spared to get into possession of him with the
" least possible delay. By the connivance of the under-

38 TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

" sheriff, lie was cut down within the legal time, and instantly
"put into a chaise -and -four; so that, when he reached

" Cruickshank's, he was positively not dead. Mr. , a

" young student at that time, had the honour of giving him
" the coup de grace, and finishing the sentence of the law."

This remarkable anecdote, which seemed to imply that
all the gentlemen in the dissecting-room were amateurs of our
class, struck me a good deal ; and I was repeating it one day
to a Lancashire lady, who thereupon informed me that she
had herself lived in the neighbourhood of that highwayman,
and well remembered two circumstance? winch combined, in
the opinion of all his neighbours, to fix upon him the credit
of Mr?. Ruscomhe's affair. One was the fact of Ins absence
for a whole fortnight at the period of that murder ; the other,
that within a very little time after the neighbourhood of this
highwayman was deluged with dollars : now Mrs Ruscombe
was known to have hoarded about two thousand of that coin.
Be the artist, however, who he might, the affair remains a
durable monument of his genius ; for such was the im-
pression of awe and the sense of power left behind by the
strength of conception manifested in tins murder that no
tenant (as I was told in 1810) had been found up to that
time for Mrs Ruscombe's house l

But, whilst I thus eulogise the Kuscombian case, let me
not be supposed to overlook the many other specimens of
extraordinary merit spread over the face of this century.
Such cases, indeed, as that of Miss Bland, 2 or of Captain
Donnellan and Sir Theophilus Boughton, 3 shall never have

1 This is not tlie only time of De Quincey's telliii" the story of the
famous Bristol murder. See a longer account of it in one of the
chapters of his Autobiography, ante, Vol. I. pp. 386-393 M.

2 This must be Mary Blandy, who was executed, 6th April 1752,
for poisoning her father, a respectable attorney of Henley-on-Thames,
with powders that had been furnished her by a scamp of a lover. M.

3 Captain Donnellan and Sir Theodosius (not Theophihus) Boughton
make but one case between them, Donnellan having been the murderer
and Boughton the victim. Donnellan, an ex -military man, had
mairied in 1777 an only sister of Sir Theodobius, a young Warwick-
shire baronet ; and, as the property was to come to her in case of her
brother's death, Donnellan, while staying in the house of the young
man, poisoned him by putting " laurel-water " into some medicine he
was taking. Tried for the crime m March 1781, Donnellan was
hanged at Warwick on the 2d of April in that year. M.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE A11T& 39

any countenance from me Fie on these dealers in poison,
&ay I : can tliey not keep to tlie old honest way of cutting
throats, without introducing such abominable innovations
from Italv? I consider all these poisoning cases, compared
with the legitimate style, as no better than waxwork by the
side of sculpture, or a lithographic print by the side of a fine
Volpato. But, dismissing the^e, there remain many excellent
works of art m a pure style, such as nobody need be ashamed
to own ; and this every candid connoisseur will admit.
Candid, observe, I say ; for great allowances must be made in
these cases ; no artist can ever be sure of carrying through
his own fine preconception. Awkward disturbances will
arise; people will not submit to have their throats cut
quietly ; they will run, they will kick, they will bite ; and,
whilst the portrait-painter often has to complain of too much
torpor in his subject, the artist in our line is generally em-
barrassed by too much animation. At the same time, how-
ever disagreeable to the artist, this tendency in murder to
excite and irritate the subject is certainly one of its advan-
tages to the world in general which we ought not to overlook,
since it favours the development of latent talent. Jeremy
Taylor notices with admiration the extraordinary leaps which
people will take under the influence of fear. There was a
striking instance of this in the recent case of the M'Keans * ;
the boy cleared a height such as he will never clear again to
his dying day. Talents also of the most brilliant description
for thumping, and, indeed, for all the gymnastic exercises,
have sometimes been developed by the panic which accom-
panies our artists, talents else buried and hid under a
bushel, to the possessors, as much as to their friends. I
remember an interesting illustration of this fact in a case of
which I learned in Germany.

Eiding one day in the neighbourhood of Munich, I over-
took a distinguished amateur of our society, whose name, for
obvious reasons, I shall conceal. This gentleman informed
me that, finding himself wearied with the frigid pleasures
(such he esteemed them) of mere amateurship, he had
quitted England for the Continent meaning to practise a
little professionally. For this purpose he resorted to Germany,
1 See account of this case m the Postscript. M.

40 TALES A#D PROSE- PHANTASIES

conceiving the police in that part of Europe to be more
heavy and drowsy than elsewhere. His dfbuk as a practitioner
took place at Mannheim ; and, knowing me to be a brother
amateur, he freely communicated the whole of his maiden
adventure. "Opposite to my lodging," said he, "lived a
baker: he was somewhat of a miser, and lived quite alone.
"Whether it were his great expanse of chalky face, or what else,
I know not, but the fact was, I ' fancied' him, and resulved
to commence business upon his throat ; which, by the way,
he always carried bare a fu&hion which is very irritating to
my desires, Precisely at eight u'clock in the evening, I
observed that he regularly shut up his windows. One night
I watched him when thus engaged bolted in after him
locked the door and, addressing him with great suavity,
acquainted him with the nature of my errand ; at the same
time advising him to make no resistance, which would be
mutually unpleasant. So saying, I drew out ray tools, and
was proceeding to operate. But at this spectacle the baker,
who seemed to have been struck by catalepsy at my first
announcement, awoke into tremendous agitation. 'I will
not be murdered!' he shrieked aloud; 'what for will I 5
(meaning skaU I) l lose my precious throat ? ' f What for ? -
said I ; { if for no other reason, for this that you put alum
into your bread. But no matter ; alum or no alum (for I
was resolved to forestall any argument on that point), know
that I am a virtuoso in the art of murder am desirous of
improving myself in its details and am enamoured of your
vast surface of throat, to which I am determined to be a
customer.' 'Is it so 2 ' said he ; ' but I'll find you a
customer in another line ' ; and, so saying, he threw himself
into a boxing attitude. The very idea of his boxing struck
me as ludicrous. It is true, a London baker had distinguished
himself in the ring, and became known to fame under the
title uf The Master of the Eolls , hut he was young and
unspoiled ; whereas this man was a momtrous feather-bed in
person, fifty years old, and totally out of condition. Spite
ot all this, however, and contending against wie, who am a
master in the art, he made so desperate a defence that many
times I feared he might turn the tables upon me, and
that I, an amateur, might be murdered by a rascally baker

MURDEB AS ONE OP THE FINE AETS 41

What a situation ! Minds of sensibility will sympathise with
my anxiety. How severe it was you may understand by this,
that for the first thirteen rounds the baker positively had the
advantage. Round the 14th, I received a blow on the right
eye, T\ Inch closed it up , in the end, I believe, tins was my
salvation ; for the anger it roused in me was so great that in
the next, and every one of the three following rounds, I
floored the baker.

" Hound 1 9th, The baker came up piping, and manifestly
the worse for wear. His geometrical exploits in the four last
rounds had done him no good. However, he showed some
skill in stopping a message . which I was sending to his
cadaverous mug ; in delivering winch my foot slipped, and I
went down

" Bound 20th. Surveying the baker, I became ashamed
of having been so much bothered by a shapeless mass of
dough ; and I went in fiercely, and administered some severe
punishment. A rally took place both went down baker
undermost ten to three on amateur.

"Bound 21st The baker jumped up -with surprising
agility ; indeed, he managed his pins capitally, and fought
wonderfully, considering that he was drenched in perspira-
tion ; but the shine was now taken out of him, and his game
was the mere effect of panic. It was now clear that he could
not last much longer. In the course of this round we tried
the weaving system, in which I had greatly the advantage,
and hit him repeatedly on the conk. My reason for this was
that his conk was covered with carbuncles, and I thought 1
should vex him by taking such liberties with his conk,
which in fact I did.

" The three nex t rounds, the master of the rolls staggered
about like a cow on the ice. Seeing how matters stood, in
round 24th I whispered something into his ear which sent
him Sown like a shot It was nothing more than my
private opinion of the value of his throat at an annuity
office. Tins little confidential whisper affected him greatly ;
the very perspiration was frozen on his face, and for the
next two rounds I had it all my own way. And, when I
called time for the 27th round, he lay like a log on the
floor,"

42 TALES AND PBOSE PHANTASIES

After which, said I to the amateur, "It may be presumed
that you accomplished your purpose," " You are right,"
said he mildly ; " I did ; and a great satisfaction, you know,
it was to my mind, for by this means I killed two biids with
one stone" ; meaning that he had both thumped the baker
and murdered him. Now, for the life of me, I could not see
that ; for, on the contrary, to my mind it appeared that he
had taken two Htones to kill one bird, having been obliged to
take the conceit out of him first with his fist, and then with
his tools. But no matter for his logic. The moral of his
story was good, for it showed what an astonishing stimulus
to latent talent is contained in any reasonable prospect of
being murdered. A pursy, unwieldy, half-cataleptic baker of
Mannheim had absolutely fought sevcn-and-twenty rounds
with an accomplished English boxer, merely upon this in-
spiration j so greatly was natural genius exalted and sublimed
by the genial presence of his murderer.

Eeally, gentlemen, when one hears of such things as these,
it becomes a duty, perhaps, a little to soften that extreme
asperity with which most men speak of murder. To hear
people talk, you would suppose that all the disadvantages and
inconveniences were on the side of being murdered, and that
there were none at all in not being murdeivd. But con-
siderate men think otherwise. "Certainly," says Jeremy
Taylor, " it is a less temporal evil to fall by the rudeness of
" a sword than the violence of a fever : and the axe " (to
which he might have added the ship-carpenter's mallet and
the crowbar) " a much less affliction than a strangury." Very
true ; the bishop talks like a wise man and an amateur, as I
am sure he was ; and another great philosopher, Marcus
Aurehus, was equally above the vulgar prejudices on this
subject. He declares it to be one of " the noblest functions
of reason to know whether it is time to walk out of the
woild or not" (Book III, Collers's Translation). No sort of
knowledge being rarer than this, surely that man must be a
most philanthropic character who undertakes to instruct
people in this branch of knowledge gratis, and at no little
hazard to himself. All this, however, I throw out only in
the way of speculation to future moralists ; declaring in the
meantime my own private conviction that very few men

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 43

commit murder upon philanthropic or patriotic principles,
and repeating what I have already said once at least that,
as to the majority of murderers, they are very incorrect
characters.

With respect to the Williams murders, the sublimest and
most entire in their excellence that ever were committed, I
shall not allow myself to speak incidentally. Nothing less
than an entire lecture, or even an entire' course of lecturqa,
would suffice to expound their merits. 1 But one curious fact
connected with his case I shall mention, because it seems to
imply that the blaze of his genius absolutely dazzled the eye
of criminal justice. You all remember, I doubt not, that the
instruments with which he executed his first L great work (the
murder of the Marrs) were a ship-carpenter's mallet and a
knife. Now, the mallet belonged to an old Swede, one John
Peterson, and bore his initials. This instrument Williams
left behind him in Marr's house, and it fell into the hands of
the magistrates. But, gentlemen, it is a fact that the publica-
tion of this circumstance of the initials led immediately to
the apprehension of Williams, and, if made earlier, would
have prevented his second great work (the murder of the
Williamsons), which took place precisely twelve days after.
Yet the magistrates kept back this fact from the public for
the entire twelve clays, and until that second work was
accomplished. That finished, they published it, apparently
feeling tliat Williams had now done enough for his lame, and
that his glory was at length placed beyond the reach of
accident.

As to Mr. Thurtell's case, 2 I know not what to say.

1 For a full account of the Williams Murders see Postscript. M,

2 On Friday, October 24, 1823, at about eight o'clock m the
evening, a farmer at Butler's Green, in the south of Hertfordshire,
heard the noise of a vehicle going down a country-lane m his neighbour-
hood, called Gill's-Hill Lane, "and, shortly after, the report of a
pistol, followed by deep groans." The next morning, a pistol was
found under the hedge of the lane by two labourers, -\vlio reported that
they had seen two persons come down the lane at daybreak, and
" grabble " about the spot, as if looking for something. In consequence
of further inquiries and of information leceived, search was made, two
or three days after, in a marshy pond, some miles off ; and there a dead
body was found, the legs tied together, and the upper part, with the
throat cut and the skull fractured, thrust into a sack, weighted with

41 TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

Naturally, I have every disposition to think highly of my
predecessor in the chair of this society ; and I acknowledge
that his lectures were unexceptionable. But, speaking in-
genuously, I do really think that his principal performance
as an arti&t has heea much overrated. I admit that at first
I was myself carried away "by the general enthusiasm. On
the morning when the murder was made known in London
there was the fullest meeting of amateurs that I have ever
known bince the days of Williams ; old bedridden connois-
seurs, who had got into a peevish way of sneering and com-
plaining "that there was nothing doing,' 5 now hobbled down

stones, The body, as had been expected, was that of Mr. William
Woare, a gentleman of gambling propensities, whose residence was in
Lyon's Inn, off the Sliand, London. The peison arrested as the
rourderer-m-chief was Jolm Tlmrtell, owner of a gambling-house in
Manchester Buildings, Westminster, but of a lespectable Norwich
family ; and there were arrested also a London vocalist and coffee-
house keepei called Joseph Hunt, who was a friend of Thurtell's, and
a man named William Probert, also a friend of Thnrtell's, who had
been insolvent in the London wine-trade, and had retired into Hert-
fordshire, where he rented a, cottage near the scone of the murder. At
the Heitford assizes, whore Tlmrtell, Hunt, and Robert were tried for
the murder, Tlmrtell as principal and the oilier two as accessories,
Tlmrtell and Hunt were sentenced to death, Probert having got off by
turning knm's evidence 1 . The capital sentence was earned into
execution only in the casw of Thurtell, who was hanged at Hertford
on the 8th ot January 1824. Never did a nmrderei go out of the
world encircled "Kith such praise and popnlanty. Not only had the
circumstances of the crime, and the legends connected with it, taken a
peculiarly strong etfeet upon the public fancy ; but the impressive
defence which Thurtell had made for himself at Ins trial, and his
whole subsequent demeanour in prison under his death-sentence, as it
was repoited by the jailers and turnkeys, had won him golden opinions.
Wh.it is most menwnble of all now is the peculiar literary celebrity
which Thurtell and his ITertfoiililiire murder of 1824 have chanced to
obtain In a contempoiary street - ballad, attributed to Theodore
Hook, thjie is this imraoital summary ot the facts '
" They cut his throat from ear to ear ,

His brains they haltered in .
His name was Mr. William Wi-are ,

He dwelt in Lyon'a Inn."

The miki-d strength of this stanza so recommended it to Sir Walter
Scott that he delighted in quoting it ; nor, in all Sir Walter's many
leadings m murder-literature, does he seem to have come upon, any
murder that more fascinated him than that which Theodore Hook had

MURDER AS ONE OP THE FINE ARTS 45

to our club-room : such hilarity, such benign expression of
general satisfaction, I have rarely witnessed. On every side
you saw people shaking hands, congratulating each other, and
forming dinner parties for the evening ; and nothing was to
be heard but triumphant challenges of "Well! will tins
do?" "Is this the right thing?" "Are you satisfied at
last?" But, in the middle of the row, I remember, we all

grew silent, on hearing the old cynical amateur L. S

stumping along with his wooden leg. lie entered the room
with his usual scowl ; and, as he advanced, he continued to
growl and stutter the whole way " Mere plagiarism base

thus celebrated. Here is an extract from Scott's diary at Abbotsfoid
in those sad months of 1826 when his commercial rum had come upon
him, and he lay stunned and broken-hearted for the time under the
great misfortune "July 16. Sleepy, stupid, indolent, finished
" ai ranging the books, and after that was totally useless, unless it
" can be called study that I slumbered for three or four hours over a
1 variorum edition of the Gill's Hill Tragedy. Admirable escape for
' low spirits, for, not to mention the brutality of so extraordinary a
1 murder, it led John Bull into one of his most uncommon fits of
1 gambols, until at last he became so maudlin as to weep for the
' pitiless assassin Thurtell, and treasure up the leaves and twigs of the
'hedge and shuibs in the fatal garden as valuable relics, nay,
' thronged the minor theatres to see the roan horse and yellow gig In
' which his victim was transported from one house to the other. I
* have not stept ovei the threshold to-day, so veiy stupid have I been."
Nearly two yeais afterwaids, when on a retmn journey to Scotland
from a visit to London, Scott could not resist going out of his way to
visit Gill's-Hill and the remains of Probert's cottage. In his Diary,
under date 28th May 1828, there is a description of the place and of
the impressions it made upon him, summed up in this quotation from
Wordsworth :

" A merry spot, 'tis said, in days of yore ;
But something ails it now, the place is cursed. "

Carlyle also had read the contemporary accounts of Thurtell's trial ;
and one incident of it furnished him with one of the best-known and
most persistent of his Carlyhsms. "What sort of person was Mi.
Weare ' " one of the witnesses had been asked at the trial. ' ' He was
always a respectable person," was the answer. "What do you mean
by respectable'" asked the counsel. "He kept a gig," said the
witness. Mr. Weare's "gig" became from that moment Carlyle's pet
symbol for respectability ; and the world was never to hear the last of
it from him, whether in the simple form of the mere " gig " or in the
generalised forms of " gigmauity," "gigmanity disgigged," and other
compounds, M.

46 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

plagiarism from Lints that I threw out ! Besides, his style
is as harsh as Albert Uurer, and as coarse as Fuseli." Many
thought that this was mere jealousy and general waspishness ;
but I confess that, when the first glow of enthusiasm had
subsided, I have found moat judicious critics to agree that
there was something falsetto in the style of Thurtell. The
fact is, he was a member of our society, which naturally gave
a friendly bias to our judgments ; and his person was
universally familiar to the i% fancy M , which gave him, with
the whole London public, a temporary popularity that his
pretensions are not capable of supporting; for opinwnum
comments ddd tlie* t ntittir jiuhnii, coiifirnud. There was,
however, un unfinished doai^n of Thurtell 1 8 for the murder of
a man \\ ith a pair of dumb-bells, which I admired greatly ;
it wus a mere outline that he never filled in ; but to my mind
it peemed every way superior to his chief work. I remember
that there was great regret expressed by some amateurs that
this sketch should have been left in an unfinished state ; but
there I cannot agree with them ; for the fragments and fir&t
bold outlines of original artists have often ,a felicity about
them which is apt to vanish in the management of the
details.

The case of the M'Keans 1 I consider far beyond the
vaunted performance of Thurtell indeed, above all praise ;
and bearing that relation, in fact, to the immortal works of
Williams which the Jhusid" bears to the "Iliad."

But it is now time that I should say a few words about
the principles of murder, not with a view to regulate your
practice, but your judgment. As to old women, and the
mob of newspaper readers, they are pleased with anything,
provided it is bloody enough. But the mind of sensibility
requires something more. First, then, let us speak of the
kind of person who is adapted to the purpose of the nmiderer;
secondly, of the place where ; thirdly, of the tune when, and
other little circumbtances.

As to the person, I suppose it is evident that he ought to

be a good man, because, if he were not, he might himself, by

possibility, be contemplating murder at the very time ; and

such " diaraond-cut-diamond " tussles, though pleasant enough

1 See the Postscript.

MUBDEtt AS ONE OP THE FINE ARTS 47

where nothing better is stirring, are really not what a critic
can allow himself to call murders, I could mention some
people (I name no names) who have been murdered by other
people in a dark lane; and so far all seemed correct enough;
but, on looking further into the matter, the public have
become aware that the murdered party was himself, at the
moment, planning to rob his murderer, at the least, and
possibly to murder him, if he had been strong enough,
\Vhenever that is the case, or may be thought to be the case,
farewell to all the genuine effects of the art, Tor the final
purpose of murder, considered as a fine art, is precisely the
same as that of tragedy in Aristotle's account of it ; viz. u to
cleanse the heart by means of pity and terror." Now, terror
there may be, but how can there be any pity for one tiger
destroyed by another tiger ?

IL is also evident that the person selected ought not to be
a public character. For instance, no judicious artist would
have attempted to murder Abraham Newland, 1 For the case
was this : everybody read so much about Abraham Newland,
and so few people ever saw him, that to the general belief he
was a mere abstract idea. And I remember that once, when
I happened to mention that I had dined at a coffee-house in
company with Abraham Newland, everybody looked scorn-
fully at me, as though I had pretended to have played at
billiards with Prester John, 'or to have had an affair of honour
with the Pope. And, by the way, the Pope would be a very
improper person to murder; for he has such a virtual
ubiquity as the father of Christendom, and, like the cuckoo,
is so often heard but never seen, that I suspect most people
regard him also as an abstract idea. Where, indeed, a public
man is in the habit of giving dinners, "with every delicacy
of the season," the case is very different : every person is
satisfied that he is no abstract idea ; and, therefore, there can

1 Abraham Newland [chief cashier of the Bank of England, who
died 1807 M ] is now utterly forgotten. But, when this was written
[1827], his name had not ceased -to ring in British ears, as the most
familiar and most significant that perhaps has ever existed. It was
the name winch appeared on tho face of all Bank of England notes,
great or small ; .and had been, for more than a quarter of a century
(especially through the whole career of the French Revolution), a short-
hand expression for paper money in its safest form.

48 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

be no impropriety in murdering him ; only that his murder
will fall into the class of assassinations, which I have not yet
treated.

Thirdly. The subject chosen ought to be in good health ;
for it is absolutely barbarous to murder a sick person, who is
usually quite unable to bear it. On this principle, no tailor
ought to be chosen who is above twenty-five, for after that age
he is sure to be dyspeptic. Or, at least, if a man will hunt
in that warren, he will of course think it his duty, on the
old established equation, to murder some multiple of 9 say
IS, 27, or 36, And here, in this benign attention to the
comfort of sick people, yuu will observe the usual effect of a
fine art to soften and refine the feelings. The world in
general, gentlemen, are very bloody-minded j and all they
want in a murder is a copious effusion of blood ; gaudy dis-
play in this pomt is enough for them. But the enlightened
connois&eur is more refined in his taste ; and from our art,
as from all the other liberal arts when thoroughly mastered,
the result is, to humanise the heart ; so true is it that

" Ingermas dichcisse fidelitei artcs
Emollit mores, nee smit esse feros."

A philosophic friend, \\ell known for his philanthropy and
general benignity, suggests that the subject chosen ought
also to have a family of young children wholly dependent on
his exertions, by way of deepening the pathos. And, un-
doubtedly, this is a judicious caution. Yet I would not
insist too keenly on such a condition. Severe good taste un-
questionably suggests it ; but still, where the man was other-
wise unobjectionable in point of morals and health, I would
not look with too curious a jealousy to a restriction which
might have the effect of narrowing the aitistfs sphere.

So much for the person. As to the time, the place, and
the tools, I have many things to say which at present I
have no room for. The good sense of the practitioner has
usually directed him to night and privacy. Yet there have
not been wanting cases where this rule was departed from
with excellent effect. In respect to time, Mrs Ruscombe's
case is a beautiful exception which I have already noticed ;
and in respect both to time and place there is a fine excep-

MURDER AS ONE OF TIIE FINE ARTS 49

tion in the annals of Edinburgh (year 1805), familiar to
every child in Edinburgh, hut which has unaccountably been
defrauded of its due poition of fame amongst English
amateurs. The case I mean is that of a porter to one of the
banks, who was murdered whilst carrying a bag of money, in
broad'day light, on turning out of the High Street, one of the
most public streets in Europe ; and the murderer is to this
hour undiscovered. 1

" Sed fugit interea, fngit irreparabile tcmpus,
Singula dum capti circuniviictannir amore "

And now, gentlemen, in conclusion, let me again solemnly
disclaim all pretensions on my own part to the character of a
professional man. I never attempted any murder in my life,
except in the year 1801, upon the body of a tom-cat ; and
that turned out differently from my intention. My purpose,

1 Had De Qmncey been bettei acquainted with Edinburgh iu 1827,
his allusion to this famous murder would piobably have been less
slight and more accniate. The circumstances, as narrated m Eobert
(Jhambers's Traditions of Md'inbnryh, are these: On the 13th
November 1806, about five o'clock m the evening, there was found hi
Tweeddalc Court, a iianow court off the High Stieet of Edinburgh,
leading to a small square, where there were then the chief premises of
the British Lmeu Company's Bank, the dead body of William Begbie,
a porter of the Bank, who had that afternoon, in the course of a cus-
tomary duty, left a branch office of the Bank in Leith, in chaigc of a
package of bank-notes, to the amount of 4392, to be deposited in the
Edinburgh Head Office. He had betm stabbed to the heart in the
narrow court, just after he had entered it iioni the main stieet, and
probably while there was still a glimmering m the comt of the fading
light of a late November afternoon. The knife with which the deed
had been done remained in the body, struck up to the wooden haft ;
and, in proof that the murder had been deliberately pi emeditated, it
was found that the blade, which was broad and thin, had been ground
at the end to a sharp point, and that a bunch of soft paper had been
wrapped round the haft, whether to give a better hold or to prevent
the sputtering back of the blood on the murderer. The package of
bank-notes was gone. There was an immediate hue and cry, with
offers of rewaid, &c., and several arrests were made on suspicion But
all that came out was that some people thought they had seen a man
accompanying or dogging Begbie on his way from Leith, and that
others thought they had seen a man lunmng out of Tweeddale Comt
across the High Street, and disappearing into a wynd on the other
side of the street, leading in the direction of Leith. Months passed,
and the quest after the murdeier of Begbie had not ceased, when, on

ill

50 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

I own, was downright murder. <: Semper ego auditor
tanturn?" said I, "nunquamne reponam 1 ?' 3 And I went
downstairs in scarcli of Tom at one o'clock on a dark night,
with the u animus," and no doubt with the tiendish looks, of
a murderer. But, when I found him, he was in the act of
plundering the pantry of bread and other things. Now this
gave a new turn to the affair ; for, tho time being one of
general scarcity, when even Christians were reduced to the
use of potato-bread, rice-bread, and all sorts of things, it was
downright treason in a tom-cat to be wasting good wheaten-
Itt'tiiul in the way lie was doing. It instantly became a
patriotic duty to put him tu death ; and, as I raised aloft
and shook the glittering steel, I fancied myself rising, like
Brutus, effulgent from a crowd of patriots, and, as I stabbed
him, I

" Called aloud on Tally's name,
And bade the father of his country had ! "

the 10th of August 1807, a parcel of the missing notes was accident-
ally found Ity some workmen in a hole in a stoue wall m what was
then a vacant ground in the northern neighbourhood of the town.
The murderer had kept the smaller notes, and had stuffed the laigei
ones to th'j amount of about 3000 altogether, into this hole. Even
tliia did not furnish any further clue ; years i oiled on ; and, though
public fct'ispiciou fanned capriciously on one person or anotliei from
time to time, the Begbie murder became a legend of the past, To
this day, when the murderer of Begbie, however long he lived, must
luuebcen lung in his grave somewhere fur many years, people pass-
ing Tweeddale Court in tho High Street of Edinburgh remember what
happened there, and the phrase " The Begbie Murder " is in Edinburgh
parlance a synonym for any typical mystery or unsolved problem. It
was on tlie 23d of February 1827, the ^ery month of the appearance
of this paper of Da Quincey in Blackwnnd, that there took place in
Edinburgh that famous Theatrical Fund Dinner at which Sir Walter
Scott presided, and at which he was led, by the manner in which his
health was proposed by his inund Lord Meadow bank, to drop the
mask he had worn so long, and announce himself as the real and sole
author of the Waverley Ko\els. The raptures of applause which
greeted the announcement were still filling the hall, and Sir Walter
had resumed his teat, when, as Lockhart tells the story, he sent on a
slip nf paper to ore of the guests at some distance iron* him, the
will-know 11 Mr. Patrick ItnliL-rUon, alias k( Puter of the Paunch," then
the* Witty Fulbtaff of the Scottish Bar, as he was uftei wards of the
Scottish Bi-nch, Peter was to be one of the speukeis ; and the
mt-ssiiye to hirn was " Confess something too,- why not the murder of
iMJIfUtj ""![.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 51

Since then, what wandering thoughts I may have had of
attempting the life of an ancient ewe, of a superannuated
hen, and such " small deer," are locked up in the secrets of
my own breast ; but for the higher departments of the art I
confess myself to be utterly unfit My ambition does not
rise so high. No, gentlemen : in the words of Horace,

" Fungar vice cotis, acntum
Jfteddere quce ferrum valet, exsors ipsa sccaiidi."

SECOND PAPER 1

A GOOD many years ago, the reader may remember that I
came forward in the character of a dikttimle iu murder. 2
Perhaps dM&ntt is too strong a word. CmwiwtLr is Letter
suited to the scruples and infirmity of public taste, I sup-
pose there is no harm in ihi } at least A man is not hound
to put his eyes, ears, and understanding into his beeches
pocket when he meets with a murder, If he is not in a
downright comatose state, I suppose he must see that one
murder is better or worse than another, in point of good
taste. Murders have their little differences and shades of
merit, as well as statues, pictmes, oratorios, cameos, intaglios,
or what not, You may be angry with the man fur talking
too much, or too publicly (as to the too much, that I deny
a man can never cultivate his taste too highly) ; but you

1 Appeared originally in DWwwf * Marine for November 1839,
nearly thirteen years after the publication of the First Paper. M.

' J In the original article in Bkchoood there w.is this opening para-
graph: " DOCTOR NoniH-You arc a liberal man: liberal in the
true classical sense, not in the slang sense of modern politicians and
education-mongers. Being so, I am sure that you will sympathise
\\ith my case. I am an ill-usud man, Dr, Ninth particulaily ill-
used ; anil, with your permission, I uill bnetly explain how. A black
scene of calumny will be laid open ; but you, Doctor, will make all
things square a^aiii, One frown from yon, directed to the proper
quarter, or a warning shake of the crutch, will set me right in public
opinion , uhich at present, I am sony to say, is rather hostile to me
and mine all owing to the wicked acts of slanderuis But you hhall
hear," The as tide then proceeds with the sentence "A good many
years ago," &c , as now, save that tk the rcarlur may remember" is sub-
stituted lor "you [i e. Dr, North] may remember." That touch of
Alteration recurs throughout, M,

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE AETS 53

mtifit allow him to think, at any rate, Well, would you
believe it ? all my neighbours came to hear of that little
aesthetic essay which I had published ; and, unfortunately,
hearing at the very same time of a club that I was connected
with and a dinner at which I presided both tending to the
same little object as the essay, viz. the diffusion of a just
taste among Her Majesty's subjects 1 they got up the most
barbarous calumnies against me. In particular, they said
that I, or that the club (which comes to the same thing), had
offered bounties on well-conducted homicides with a scale
of drawbacks, in case of any one defect or flaw, according to
a table issued to private friends. Now, let me tell the whole
truth about the dinner and the club, and it will be seen how
malicious the world is. But, first, confidentially, allow me
to say what my real principles are upon the matter in 'question.
As to murder, I never committed one in my life. It's a
well-known thing amongst all my friends, I can get a paper
to certify as much, signed by lots of people. Indeed, if you
come to that, I doubt whether many people could produce
as strong a. certificate. Mine would be as big as a break-
fast tablecloth. There is indeed one member of the club
who pretends to say he caught me once making too free with
his throat on a club night, after everybody else had retired.
But, observe, he shuffles in Ms story according to his state of
civilation. 2 When not far gone, he contents himself with
saying that he caught me ogling his throat, and that I was
melancholy for some weeks after, and that my voice sounded
in a way expressing, to the nice ear of a connoisseur, the
sense of opportunities lost ; but the club all know that he is a
disappointed man himself, and that he speaks querulously
at times about the fatal neglect of a man's coining abroad
without his tools. Besides, all this is an affair between two
amateurs, and everybody makes allowances for little asperities
and fibs in such a case. " But," say you, lt if no murderer,

1 Her Majesty : In the lecture, having occasion to refer to the
reigning sovereign, I said "His Majesty"; for at that time [1827]
William IV was on the throne [no : George IV. M.] ; but between
the lecture and this supplement had occurred the accession of our
present Queen. [This note was added in 1854 M.]

2 De Quincey elsewhere explains this word civiMion. It i
wtion as pronounced by an after-dinner speaker. M.

54 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

you may have encouraged, or even have bespoken, a
murder." No, upon my honour- no, And that was the
v r ery point I wished to argue for your satisfaction. ^ The
truth is, I am a very particular man in everything relating
to murder ; and perhaps I carry my delicacy too far. The
Stagirite most justly, and possibly with a view to my case,
placed virtue in the TO /-lecroj/, or middle point between two
extremes. A golden mean is certainly what every man
should aim at. But it is easier talking than doing ; anil,
my infirmity being notoriously too much milkiness of heart,
I find it difficult to maintain that steady equatorial line
between the two poles of too much murder on the one hand
and too little on the other. I am too soft ; and people get
excused through me nay, go through life without an
attempt made upon them that ought not to be excused. I
believe, if I had the management of things, there would
hardly be a murder from year's end to year's end. In fact,
I'm for peace, and quietness, and fawningness, and what may
be styled hwcking-underness. 1 A man came to me as a can-

1 Tlio plira^e in the original Blaclwootl article was "I'm for virtue,
and goodness, and all that sort of thing." Not only is tins phrase
' altered and amplified ; but there is total omission of a longish passage
which followed it. The passage is worth reproducing, and ran as
follows: "And two instances I'll give you to what an extremity I
" carry my virtue. The fast may seem a tnlle ; but not if you knew
" my nephew, who was certainly born to be hanged, and woxild have
" been so long ago, but for my restraining voice, He is horribly am-
'bitious, and thinks himself a man of cultivated taste in most
* blanches of murder, whereas, in fact, he has not one idea on the
' subject but such as he has stolen from me. Tins is so well known
c that the Club has twice blackballed him, though every indulgence
( was shown to him as my relative. People came to me and said
1 ' Now really, President, we would do much to serve a xelative of
' yours. But still, what can be said ? You know yourself that he'll
'disgrace us. If we u ere to elect him, why, the nest thing we
'should hear of would be some vile butcherly minder, by way of
' justifying our choice. And what sort of a concern would it be '
1 You know, as well as we do, that it would be a disgraceful affair,
1 more worthy of the bhambles than of an artist's atelier, He would
' fall upon some great big man, some hage farmer returning drunk
' from a fair. There would be plenty ot hluod, and that he would
' expect ns to take in lieu of taste, finish, scemcal grouping. Then,
' again, how would he tool ? Why, most probably with a cleaver
' aiid a couple of paving stones : so that the whole coup tfo&il would

MUBDER AS ONE OF THE FINE AKTS 55

dictate for the place of my servant, just then vacant. He
had tlie reputation of having dabbled a little in our art;
Borne said, not without merit. What startled me, however,
was, that he supposed this art to be part of his regular duties
in my service, and talked of Laving it considered in his
wages. Now, that was a thing I would not allow ; so I
said at once, " Richard (or James, as the case might be), you
misunderstand my character. If a man will and must prac-
tise this difficult (and, allow me to add, dangerous) branch of
art if he has an overruling genius for it why, in that case,
all I say is that he might as well pursue his studies whilst
living in my service as in another's. And also I may ob-
serve that it can do no harm either to himself or to the
subject on whom he operates that he should be guided by
men of more taste than himself. Genius may do much, but
long study of the art must always entitle a man to offer
advice. So far I will go general principles I will suggest.
But, as to/ any particular case, once for all I will have

"remind you rather of sonic hideous Ogie or Cyclops than of tliu
" delicate opeiator of the 19th century.' The picture was drawn with
"the hand of truth ; that I could not but allow, fiiid, as to personal
" feelings in the matter, I dismissed them from tlio first. The next
"morning I spoke to my nephew: I was delicately situated, as you
"see, but I determined that no Qonsuleiation should induce me to
"flinch from my duty. 'John,' said I, 'you seem to me to have
"taken an erroneous view of life and its duties. Pushed on by am-
" Tuition, you are dreaming rather of what it might be glorious to
"attempt than what it would he possible for jou to accomplish.
" Believe me, it is not necessary to a man's respectability that he
"should commit a minder, Many a man has passed through life
"most respectably without attempting any species of homicide
" good, bad, or indifferent, It is your first duty to ask yourself, quid
"valeant humen, quid ferre recusentl We cannot all be brilliant
" men m this life. And it is for your interest to be contented rather
"with a humble station well filled than to shock everybody with
" failures, tLe more conspicuous by contrast with the ostentation of
' ' their promises,' John made no answer ; he looked very sulky at the
" moment, and I am in high hopes that I have saved a near relative
"from making a fool of himself by attempting what is as much be-
" yond his capacity as an epic poem. Others, however, tell me that
" he is meditating a levenge upon me and the whole Club. But, let
"this be as it may, libemm atnimam meam' and, as you see, have
" run some risk with a wish to dimmish the amount of homicide."
De Qumcey's reason for omitting this passage in 1854 does not
appear. M.

50 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

nothing to do with it. Never tell me of any special work
of art 7011 are meditating I set my face against it in toto.
For, if once a man indulges himself in murder, very soon
he comes to think little of robbing, and from robbing he
comes next to drinking and Sabbath-breaking, and from that
to incivility and procrastination. Once begin upon this
downward path, you never know where you are to stop.
Many a man dated his ruin from some murder or other that
perhaps he thought little of at the tune. Principiis obsla
that's my rule " Such was my speech, and I have always
acted up to it ; so, if that is not being virtuous, I should be
glad to know what is.

But now about the dinner and the club. The club was
not particularly of my creation ; it arose, prutty much as
other similar associations for the propagation of truth and the
communication of new ideas, rather from the necessities of
things than upon any one man's suggestion. As to the dinner,
if any man more than another could be held responsible for
that, it was a member known amongst us by the name of
Tuuil-inrtfie-hole. He was so called from his gloomy" misan-
thropical disposition, which led him into constant disparage-
ments of all modern murders as vicious abortions, belonging
to no authentic school of art. The finest performances of
our own age he snarled at cynically ; and at length this
querulous humour grew upon him so much, and he became
so notorious as a laudator temporis arfi, that few people cared
to seek his society. This made him still more fierce and
truculent. He went about muttering and growling ;
wherever you met him, he was soliloquising, and saying
"Despicable pretender without grouping without two

ideas upon handling without " ; and there you- lost

him. At length existence seemed to be painful to him ; he
rarely spoke ; he seemed conversing with phantoms in the
air ; his housekeeper informed us that his reading was nearly
confined to "Gud's Revenge upon Murder" by Reynolds, 1
and a more ancient book of the same title, noticed by Sir

1 TJie Triumphs of O^tTs Ikieiige against the (J eying and Exe -
ctalfo Stu of Murder, London, 1621. There were five subsequent
parts ; all six were punted together in fuJio m 1C35 j and there wac
a reprint, with mUui'in,', m Id79 M.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ABTS 57

Walter Scott in Ins "Fortunes of Nigel" l Sometimes,
perhaps, lie might read in the "Newgate Calendar" down to
the year 1788 ; but lie never looked into a Look more recent,
In fact, he h ( ad a theory with regard to the French Revolu-
tion, as having been the great cause of degeneration in
murder. " Very soon, sir," he used to say, " men will have
lost the art of killing poultry : the very rudiments of the
art will have perished ! " In the year 1811 he retired from
general society. Toad-in-the-hole was no more seen in any
public resort, We missed him from his wonted haunts
" Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he." By the side
of the mam conduit Ms listless length at noontide he would
stretch, and pore upon the filth that muddled by. 2 " Even
dogs," this pensive moralist would say, "are not what they
Wer6j s i r not what they should be. I remember in my
grandfather's time that some dogs had an idea of murder. I
have known a mastiff, sir, that lay in ambush for a rival,
yea, sir, and finally murdered him, with pleasing circum-
stances of good taste. I also was on intimate terms of
acquaintance with a tom-cat that was an assassin. But

now " and then, the subject growing too painful, he

dashed his hand to his forehead, and went off abruptly in
a homeward direction towards his favourite conduit ; where
he was seen by an amateur in such a state that he thought

1 The terrible "book which Nigel is represented as reading late at
night in his room in the house of tlie old miser Trapbois when he
hears the shriek of Martha Trapbois announcing that her father had
been murdered. Scott describes it thus : " The book was entitled
God's Mevenge against Murder, not, as the bibhomaniacal reader
may easily conjecture, the work which Eeynolds published under that
imposing name, but one of a much earlier date, printed and sold by
old "Wolfe," Yet an early copy of Reynolds's book would have
almost suited the date of the story. M.

3 Having quoted a line from one of the closing stanzas of Giay's
Elegy,

" Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he, "
De Quincey keeps up the metrical tune in his mischievous parody
of this other stanza of the passage describing the solitary poet
" There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high
His listless length at noontide he would stretch,
And pore upon the brook that bubbles by." M.

58 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

it dangerous to address him. Soon after Toad slmt himself
entirely up ; it was understood that he had resigned himself
to melancholy ; and at length the prevailing notion was that
Toad-in-the-hole had hanged himself.

The world was wrong there, as it had been on some other
que,4ions. Toad-in-the-hole might he sleeping, but dead he
was not ; and of that we soon had ocular proof, One morn-
ing in 1812, an amateur surprised us with the news that he
had seen Toad-in-the-hole brushing with hasty steps the dews
away, to meet the postman by the conduit side. Even that
was something : how much more, to hear that he had shaved
liis beard had laid aside 1 his sad-coloured clothes, and was
adorned like a bridegroom of ancient days. What could be
the meaning of all tins'? Was Toad-in-the-hole mad? or
how 1 Soon after the secret was explained ; in more than a
figurative sense " the murder was out." For in came the
London morning papers, by which it appeared that, but three
days before, a murder the most superb of the century by
many degrees had occurred in the heart of London. I need
hardly say that this was the great exterminating cluf-tfmm
of Wham* at Mr. Man's, No. 29 Ratclitfe Highway. That
was the debut of the artist ; at least for anything the public
knew. What occurred at Mr. Williamson's twelve uiyuts
afterwards the second work turned out from the same
chisel some people pronounced even superior. But Toad-
in-the-hole always " reclaimed," he was even angry, at such
comparisons. "This vulgar gout de coinpaiai&on, as La
Bruyere calls it," he would often remark, " will be our ruin;
each work has its own separate characteristicseach in and
for itself is incomparable. One, perhaps, might suggest the

1 This also falls into veiv; : e g.

" Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the postman by tho conduit side.
Even that was something how much more, to hear
That lie had shaved his beard had laid asidu" ;

ft Inch is a kind of parody of Gray's stanza :

" Haply some hoary-headed swam may say,
Oft have I seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn." If.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 59

Eiad the other the Odyssey : but what do you get by such
comparisons ? Neither ever was or will be surpassed ; and,
when you've talked for hours, you must still come back to
that" Vain, however, as all criticism might be, he often
said'that volumes might be written on each case for itself;
and he even proposed to publish a quarto on the subject.

Meantime, how had Toad-m-the-hole happened to hear of
tins grecit work of art so early in the morning 1 He had
received an account by express, despatched by a correspondent
in London who watched the progress of art on Toad's behalf,
with a general commission to send off a special express, at
whatever cost, in the event of any estimable works appear-
ing, The express arrived in the night-time; Toad-in-the-
hole was then gone to bed ; he had been rmutering and
grumbling for hours; but of course he was called up, On
reading the account, he threw his arms round the express,
declared him his brother and his preserver, and expressed
his regret at not having it in his power to knight him. We,
amateurs, having heard that he was abroad, and therefore
had not hanged himself, made sure of soon seeing him amongst
us. Accordingly he soon arrived ; seized every man's Land
as he passed him wrung it almost frantically, and kept
ejaculating, "Why, now, here's something like a murder !
this is the real thing this is genuine this is what you can
approve, can recommend to a friend : this says every man,
on reflection this is the thing that ought to be ! Such
works are enough to make us all young." And in fact the
general opinion is that Toad-in-the-hole would have died but
for this regeneration of art, which he called a second age of
Leo the Tenth ; and it was our duty, he said, solemnly to
commemorate it. At present, and en attendant, he proposed
that the club should meet and dine together. A dinner,
therefore, was given by the club ; to which all amateurs
were invited from a distance of one hundred miles.

Of this dinner there are ample shorthand notes amongst
the archives of the club. But they are not " extended," to
speak diplomatically ; and the reporter who only could give
the whole report in extenso is missing I believe, murdered.
Meantime, in years long after that day, and on an occasion
perhaps equally interesting, viz. the turning up of Thugs and

60 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Thjiggisnij 1 another dinner was given. Of this I myself kepi
notes, for fear of another accident to the shorthand reporter.
And I here subjoin them.

Toad-in-the-holej I must mention, was present at this
dinner. In fact, it was one of its sentimental incidents.
Being as old as the valleys at the dinner of 1812, naturally
he was as old as the hills at the Thug dinner of 1838. He
had taken to wearing his beard again ; why, or with what
view, it pawl's my pi j r-iminon to tell you. But so it was.
And his appearance was iuo4 benign and venerable. Nothing
could equal the angelic radiance of his smile as he inquired
after the unfortunate reporter (whom, as a piece of private
scandal, I should tell you that he was himself supposed to
have murdered in a rapture of creative art). The answer
was, with roars of laughter, from the under-sheriff of our
county "Non est mventus." Toad -in -the -hole laughed
outrageously at this : in fact, we all thought he was choking ;
and, t at the earned request of the company, a musical com-
puter furnished a most beautiful glee upon the occasion,
which was sung five times after dinner, with universal
applause and inextinguishable laughter, the words being
these (and the chorus so contrived, as most beautifully to
mimic the peculiar laughter of Toad-in-the-hole) :

' ! Bt interrogating est a Toad-m-the-hole Ubi est ilia reporter ?
Et reaponsum est cum cachinno Aon- est inventus"

Chorus.

" Deinde iteratum est ab omnibus, cum cacliinnatione undulante,
trepidante JVoft est inventus."

Toad-m-the-hole, I ought to mention, about nine years

before, when an express from Edinburgh brought him the
earliest intelligence of the Burke-and-Hare revolution in the
art, 2 went mad upon the spot, and, instead of a pension to

1 It was about the year 1831 that the British authorities in India
began really energetic measures for the suppression of the Thugs, the
sect or fraternity in Northern India whose practice it -was, under the
sanction of lii'ieilitary custom and xeligion, to waylay and murder
traveller*!, careiully burying the bodies, and dividing the spoil. One
of the fir^t books on Thugs and Tlm<rgism was Thornton's Illustrations
of the History and Practices of the Thugs, published in 1837. M.

' 2 In 1828 Ediubuigh \\as homfied by the discovery that two Irish-

MUEDBB AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 61

the express for even one life, or a knighthood, endeavoured
to Burke him ; in consequence of which he was put into a
strait-waistcoat. And that was the reason we had no dinner
then. But now all of us were alive and kicking, strait-
waistcoaters and others ; in fact, not one absentee was re-
ported upon the entire roll. There were also many foreign

amateurs present Dinner being over, and the cloth

drawn, there was a general call made for the new glee of
Non est inventus ; but, as this would have interfered with the
requisite gravity of the company during the earlier toasts } I
overruled the call. After the national toasts had been given,

men, William Burke and William Hare, with one or more accomplices,
had been carrying on a traflic in murder for the hideous purpose of
selling the dead bodies as subjects for anatomical use. Their method
was to lure wayfaring strangers, beggar-women, idiots, and such other
poor creatures as weie not likely to bo missed, into the dens where
they lived, especially into Burke's house in a comt oil the West Port,
and there to make them drunk, and then smother or strangle them.
It is computed that as many as sixteen victims had been thus disposed
of before the horror was found out. Condemned for one of the
murders, Burke was hanged on the 28th of January 1829, his colleague
Hare having, greatly to the disgust of the public, escaped the same
doom by acting as king's evidence on the trial. Theie is no more
fatriking instance of the coining of a metonymy than in the immediate
conversion of the name of the Edinburgh muiderer oi 1828 into a new
word in the English language, People at once began to use the word
burk (the final e dropped) as a verb for suffocate, whether in the literal
sense of killing by suffocation (in which sense an anatomical lecture-
room in a northern Scottish town was for a while popularly known as
" The Burkmg-House," from the notion that subjects were obtained
for it, or actually manufactured within its walls, by Burke's method),
or in a more figurative sense in such phrases as " His speech was
lurked" i.e. choked off or suppressed by the impatient audience.
Hare, whom the Edinburgh mob would have torn to pieces if they
could have clutched him, disappeared from public view, and lived on,
no one knows wheie, or in how many difieicnt places, under another
name. There is a legend that, as he was working somewhere as a
plasterer's labourer, his fellow- workmen, finding out who he was, rolled
him in lime or pelted him with lime, with the result of the total
destruction of his eyesight, An old gray-haired man who used to sit
begging by the railings of the National Gallery m Trafalgar Square,
London, was pointed out to myself, more than twenty years ago, as
no other than the murderer Hare. I was sceptical at the time, the "
rather because the look of the old man was not unronera'ble ; and I
have heard since of the supposed identification of Hare with this oi
that similarly conspicuous blind mendicant in other localities, M,

62 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

the first official toast of the clay was The Old Man of the
Mountains l drunk in solemn silence.

Toacl-in-the-hole returned thanks in a neat speech. He
likened himself to the Old Man of the Mountains in a few
"brief allusions that made the company yell with laughter ;
and he concluded with giving the health of

Mr. von Hammer, with many thanks to him for his
learned History of the Old Man and his subjects the
Assassins. 2

Upon this I rose and said that doubtless most of the
company were aware of the distinguished place assigned by
Orientalists to the very learned Turkish scholar, Von Hammer
the Austrian ; that he had made the profoundest researches
into our art, as connected with those early and eminent
artists, the Syrian assassins in the period of the Crusaders ;
that his work had been for several years deposited, as a rare
treasure of art, in the library of the club. Even the author's
name, gentlemen, pointed him out as the historian of our
art Von Hammer

u Yes, yes, ;) interrupted Toad-in-the-hole, "Von Hammer
he's the man for a malleus hceieticorum. You all know
what consideration Williams bestowed on the hammer, or
the ship -carpenter's mallet, which is the same thing.
Gentlemen, I give you another great hammer Charles the
Hammer, the Marteau, or, in old French, the Martel: he
hammered the Saracens till they were all as dead as door-
nails."

" Charles the Hammer, with all the honours."

But the explosion of Toad-in-the-hole, together with the
uproarious cheers for the grandpapa of Charlemagne, had
now made the company unmanageable. The orchestra was

1 Sec footnote, ante, p. 21. M.

2 Voii Hammer's Geschidite der Assassmen was published in 1818.
In a note to Gibbon's account of the Assassins and the Old Man of the
Mountains, he had acknowledged his authority thus : "All that can
be known of the Assassins of Persia and Syria is procured from the
copious, and even profuse, erudition of M. Falconet in two Memoires
read More the Academy of Inscnptions"; to which this note by
Hilman is added m the 1839 edition of Gibbon: "Von Hammer's
History of the Assassins has now throvru Falconet's Dissertation into
tlits shade."- M,

MUBDEtt AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 63

a^ain challenged with shouts the stormiest for the new glee.
I foresaw a tempestuous evening ; arid I ordered myself to
be strengthened with three waiters on each side, the vice-
president with as many. Symptoms of unruly enthusiasm
were beginning to show out ; and I own that I myself was
considerably excited as the orchestra opened with its storm
of music and the impassioned glee began" Et interrogation!
cat a Toad-in-the-hole Ubi est ille Reporter?" And the
frenzy of the passion became absolutely convulsing as the
full chorus fell in "Et iteratum est ab omnibus Non est
inventus"

The next toast was The Jewish Sicarii.

Upon which I made the following explanation to the
company : " Gentlemen, I am sure it will interest you all
to hear that the Assassins, ancient as they were, had a race
of predecessors in the very same country. All over Syria,
but particularly in Palestine, during the early years of the
Emperor Nero, there was a band of murderers, who
prosecuted their studies in a very novel manner. They did
not practise in the night-time, or in lonely places ; but,
justly considering that great crowds are in themselves a sort
of darkness by means of the dense pressure, and the
impossibility of finding out who it was that gave the blow,
they mingled with mobs everywhere ; particularly at the
great paschal feast in Jerusalem ; where they actually had
the audacity, as Josephus assures us, to press into the temple
and whom should they choose for operating upon but
Jonathan himself, the Pontifex Maximus ^ They murdered
him, gentlemen, as beautifully as if they had had him alone
on a moonless night in a dark lane. And, when it was
asked who was the murderer, and where he was "

" Why, then, it was answered," interrupted Toad-in-the-
hole, "'Non est invenkus.' " And then, in spite of all I
could do or say, the orchestra opened, and the whole
company began " Et interrogatum est a Toad-m-the-hole
Ubi est ille Sicarius ? Et responsum est ab omnibus Non
est inventus,"

When the tempestuous chorus had subsided, I began
again : ff Gentlemen, you will find a very circumstantial
account of the Sicarii in at least three different parts of

64 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Josephus: once in Book XX, sec. v, c. viii, of his
1 Antiquities' ; once in Book 1 of his ' Wars' : but in sec. x
of the chapter first cited you will find a particular de-
scription of their tooling. This is what he says : c They
tooled with small scimitars not much different from the
Persian acinacte, but more curved, and for all the world
most like the Roman semi -lunar sicos.' It is perfectly
magnificent, gentlemen, to hear the sequel of their history.
Perhaps the only case on record where a regular army of
murderers was assembled, a Justus exercitus, was in the case
of these Suxtrii. They mustered in such strength in the
wilderness that Festus himself was obliged to march, against
them with the Roman legionary force, A pitched battle
ensued \ and this army of amateurs was all cut to pieces in
the desert. Heavens, gentlemen, what a sublime picture !
The Roman legions the wilderness Jerusalem in the
distance an army of murderers in the foreground ! J>

The next toast was "To the further improvement of
Tooling, and thanks to the Committee for their services."

Mr. L, on behalf of the Committee who had reported on
.that subject, returned thanks. He made an interesting
extract from the report, by which it appeared how very
much stress had been laid formerly on the mode of tooling
by the Fathers, both Greek and Latin. In confirmation of
this pleasing fact, he made a very striking statement in
reference to the earliest work of antediluvian art. Father
Mersenne, that learned French Roman Catholic, in page one
thousand four hundred and thirty -one 1 of his operose
Commentary on Genesis, mentions, on the authority of
several rabbis, that the quarrel of Cain with Abel was about

1 "Pacce one thousand four hundred and thirty-one" literally ',
good reader, and no joke at all. [Mann Mersenne, a monk of a
-convent near Pans, was born 1588 and died 1648. Among Ins works
is a Commentary on Genesis, published at Pans in 1623 under the
title P. Manni Mersenni, ordinis minorum 8, Fmncisd de Paula
Qucestwnes celebemma in Qenesim, cum awwafa Textus explications,
It is a laige folio, each page divided into two columns, and with the
columns numbered, and not the pages. De'Qumcey, with all his
exactness, had not observed this, and is consequently wrong in his
twice emphasised joke that the passage he cites is on "page one
thousand four hundred and thirty-one." It is in column 1431 which
would "bbjaaye 118 only. M j

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE AETS 65

a young woman ; that, according to various accounts, Cain
had tooled with his teeth (Abulem fuisse momlus dila-
ceratum a Cain) ; according to many others, with the jaw-
bone of an ass, which is the tooling adopted by most
painters. But it is pleasing to the mind of sensibility to
know that, as science expanded, sounder views were adopted,
One author contends for a pitchfork, St, Chrysostom for a
sword, Irenceus for a scythe, and Prudentius, the Christian
poet of the fourth century, for a hedging-bill. This last
writer delivers his opinion thus :

" Frater, probatae sanctitatis zemulus,
Germana curvo colla irangit sarculo : "

ML his brother, jealous of his attested sanctity, fractures his
fraternal throat with a curved hedging-bill. "All which
is respectfully submitted by your committee, not so much as
decisive of the question (for it is not), but in order to
impress upon the youthful mind the importance which has
ever been attached to the quality of the tooling by such men
as Chrysostom and IrensGiis."

" IrensBus be hanged ! }) said Toad-in-the-hole, who now
rose impatiently to give the next toast : " Our Irish
friends ; wishing them a speedy revolution in their mode of
tooling, as well as in everything else connected with the
art!"

" Gentlemen, I'll tell you the plain truth. Every day of
the year when we take up a paper we read the opening of
a murder. We say, This is good, this is charming, this is
excellent ! But, behold you ! scarcely have we read a little
farther before the word Tipperary or Ballina- something
betrays the Irish manufacture. Instantly we loathe it ; we
call to the waiter ; we say, ' Waiter, take away this paper ;
send it out of the house ; it is absolutely a scandal in the
nostrils of all just taste. 3 I appeal to every man whether,
on finding a murder (otherwise perhaps promising
enough) to be Irish, he does not feel himself as much
insulted as when, Madeira being ordered, he finds it to be
Cape, or when, taking up what he takes to be a mushroom,
it turns out what children call a toad-stool ? Tithes, politics,
something wrong in principle, vitiate every Irish murder.

VOL. XIII F

66 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Gentlemen, tliis must be reformed, or Ireland will not be a
land to live in ; at lea&t, if we do live there, we must import
all our murders, that's clear." Toad-m-the-hole sat down,
growling with suppressed wrath ; and the uproarious " Hear,
hear !" clamorously expressed the general concurrence,

The next toa&t was "The sublime epoch of Burkism
and Harism ! "

This was drunk with enthusiasm ; and one of the mem-
bers who spoke to the question made a very curious com-
munication to the company : " Gentlemen/ we fancy
Lurkism to be a pure invention of our own times ; and in
fact no Pancirollus has ever enumerated this branch of art
when writing de rebus depndith. 1 Still, I have ascertained
that the essential principle of this variety in the art was
known to the ancients ; although, like the art of painting
upon glass, of making the myrrhine cups, &c., it was lost in
the dark ages for want of encouragement. In the famous
collection of Greek epigrams made by Planudes 2 is one
upon a very fascinating case of Burkism: it is a perfect
little gem of art. The epigram itself I cannot lay my hand
upon at this moment ; but the following is an abstract of it
by Salmasius, as I find it in his notes on Yopiscus 3 : 'Est
' et elegans epigramina Lucilii, 4 ubi medicus et pollinctor de
* coinpacto sic egerunt ut medicus segros omnes ciiKe suse
' commissos occideret,' This was the basis of the contract,
you see, that on the one part the doctor, fox himself and

1 Guido Panciroh, Italian jurist (bora 1523, died 1599), author of
a work on lost arts and inventions. M,

* This collection of Greek epigrams by Planudes Maximus, a
Byzantine monk of the fourteenth century, was first printed at
Florence in 1594- M.

3 Flavins Vopiscns, of the fourth centmy, was the author of some
of those lives of ftonuii Emperow which are known collectively as the
Aur/Ustit Historia. His annotator Salmasius, or dlaude de Saumaise,
thought the most learned man of his age (born 1588, died 1653), is
perhaps best remembered now from Milton's assault on him in the
l)&fen.sio pro Popitlo Anghcano. M

4 The epigiaui, which had been preserved by Planudes in its Greek
form, is here attributed by Salmasius to the Latin satirical poet, Gains
Lucilms, \\ho was bom about B.O. 148, and died about B.O. 103. It
13 not found, however, among the preserved fragments of Lucilms; and
the Greek form of the epigram is anonymous.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 67

his assigns, doth undertake and contract duly and truly
to murder all the patients committed to his charge : "but
why ? There lies the beauty of the case ' Et ut pollinctori

* amico suo traderet pollingendos.' The pollinctor, you are
aware, was a person whose business it was to dress and pre-
pare dead bodies for buiial. The original ground of the
transaction appears to have been sentimental : * He was my
friend,' says the murderous doctor, * lie was clear to me,'
in speaking of the pollmctor. But the law, gentlemen, is
stern and harsh : the law will not hear of these tender
motives : to sustain a contract of this nature in law, it is
essential that a ' consideration ' should be given, Now, what
was the consideration 1 For thus far all is on the side of the
pollinctor : he will be well paid for his services ; but mean-
time the generous, the noble-minded doctor gets nothing.
What was the equivalent, again I ask, which the law would
insist on the doctor's taking, in order to establish that con-
' sideration ' without which the contract had no force 1 You
shall hear : ' Et ut pollinctor vicissim reAa/zwvas quos fura-

* batur de pollmctione mortuorum medico mitteret donis ad

* alliganda vulnera eorum quos curabat ' ; ie. and that reci-
procally the pollinctor should transmit to the physician, as
free gifts for the binding up of wounds in those whom he
treated medically, the belts or trusses (TeAc/xaJvas) which he
had succeeded in purloining in the course of his functions
about the corpses!"

" Now the case is clear : the whole went on a principle
of reciprocity which would have kept up the trade for ever.
The doctor was also a surgeon : he could not murder all his
patients : some of the patients must be retained intact. For
these he wanted linen bandages. But, unhappily, the
Romans wore woollen; on which account it was that they
bathed so often. Meantime, there was linen to "be had in
Rome ; but it was monstrously dear ; and the reXa/^wves, or
linen swathing bandages, in which superstition obliged them
to bind up corpses, would answer capitally for the surgeon.
The doctor, therefore, contracts to furnish his friend with a
constant succession of corpses, provided, and be it under-
stood always, that his said friend, in return, should supply
him with one-half of the articles he would receive from the

68 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

friends of the parties murdered or to be murdered. The
doctor invariably recommended his invaluable friend the
pollinctor (whom let us call the undertaker) ; the under-
taker, with equal regard to the sacred rights of friendship,
uniformly recommended the doctor. Like Pylades and
Orestes, they were models of a perfect friendship : in their
lives they were lovely ; and on the gallows, it is to be hoped,
they were not divided.

" Gentlemen, it makes me laugh horribly when I think
of those two friends drawing and re-drawing on each other :
'Pollinetor in account with Doctor, debtor by sixteen
corpses: creditor by forty -five bandages, two of which
damaged/ Their names unfortunately are lost 1 ; but I
conceive they must have been Quintus Burkius and Publius
Harius. By the way, gentlemen, has anybody heard lately
of Hare? I understand he is comfortably settled in Ireland,
considerably to the west, and does a little business now and
then ; but, as he observes with a sigh, only as a retailer
nothing like the fine thriving wholesale concern so carelessly
blown up at Edinburgh. c You see what comes of neglecting
business ' is the chief moral, the 7ri/u>0iov, as JEsop would
say, which Hare draws from his past experience." 2

At length came the toast of the day TJiugdom in all its

The speeches attempted at this crisis of the dinner were
past all counting. But the applause was so furious, the
music so stormy, and the crashing of glasses so incessant,
from the general resolution never again to drink an inferior

1 la the Greek form of the epigram the Doctor figures as Kmteas
and the Pollinctor as Damon. So the readers of the original article
in Blackwood were informed m an editorial note which Wilson took
the trouble to subjoin to De Quincey's text. The note was in these
words: "Here is the Greek epigram with aversion. C. N. [i.e.
Christopher North]. We need not give the Greek here : Wilson's
version (or was it his ') is as follows :

" Damon, who plied the undertaker s trade,

With Doctor Krateas an agreement made.

What graveclothes Damon from the dead could seize

While the good Doctor here no bargain-breaker
Sent aU his patients to the Undertaker." M.
3 See footnote, ante, p. 61. M.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE AETS 69

toast from the same glass, tliat I am unequal to the task of
reporting. Besides which, Toad -in -the -hole now became
ungovernable. He kept firing pistols in every direction ;
sent his servant for a blunderbuss, and talked of loading
with ball-cartridge. We conceived that his former madness
had returned at the mention of Burke and Hare ; or that,
being again weary of life, he had resolved to go off in a
general massacre. This we could not think of allowing it
became indispensable, therefore, to kick him out ; which we
did with universal consent, the whole company lending their
toes uno pede, as I may say, though pitying his gray hairs
and his angelic smile During the operation the orchestra
poured in their old chorus. The universal company sang,
and (what surprised us most of all) Toad-in-the-hole joined
us furiously in singing

"Et interrogatum est ab omnibus Ubi est ille Toad-in-tlie-Hole ?
Et responsum est ab omnibus jNon est invents."

POSTSCRIPT IN 1854

WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE WILLIAMS AND M'KEAN MURDERS ]

IT is impossible to conciliate readers of so saturnine and
gloomy a class that they cannot enter with genial sympathy
into any gaiety whatever, but, least of all, when the gaiety
trespasses a little into the province of the extravagant, In
such a case, not to sympathise is not to understand ; and the
playfulness which is not relished becomes flat and insipid, or
absolutely without meaning, Fortunately, after all such
churls have withdrawn from my audience in high displeasure,
there remains a large majority who are loud in acknowledging
the amusement which they have derived from this little
paper 2 ; at the same time proving the sincerity of their
praise by one hesitating expression of censure, Repeatedly
they have suggested to me that perhaps the extravagance,
though clearly intentional, and forming one element in the
general gaiety of the conception, went too far, I am not
myself of that opinion ; and I beg to remind these friendly
censors that it is amongst the direct purposes and efforts of
this hgatdle to graze the brink of horror, and of all that
would in actual realisation be most repulsive, The very

1 This was an addition by De Qumcey in 1854, when he reprinted
the two foregoing papers in vol. iv of his Collected Writings. He
entitled it simply " POSTSCRIPT " ; but the extended title here given is
now more convenient, M,

2 The use of the word "paper" in the singular suggests that the

lie " First Paper " and before the "Second" had been wntten.-M,

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 71

excess of the extravagance, in fact, by suggesting to the
reader continually the mere aeriality of the entire speculation,
furnishes the surest means of disenchanting him from the
horror which might else gather from his feelings, Let me
remind such objectors, once for all, of Dean Swift's proposal
for turning to account the supernumerary infants of the three
kingdoms, which, in those days, both at Dublin and at
London, were provided for in foundling hospitals, by cooking
and eating them. This was an extravaganza, though really
bolder and more coarsely practical than mine, which did not
provoke any reproaches even to a dignitary of the supreme
Irish Church -, its own monstrosity was its excuse ; mere
extravagance was left to license and accredit the little jeu
d'esprit, precisely as the blank impossibilities of Lilliput, of
Laputa, of the Yahoos, &c., had licensed those. 1 If, there-
fore, any man thinks it worth his while to tilt against so
mere a foam-bubble of gaiety as this lecture on the aesthetics
of murder, I shelter myself for the moment under the Tela-
monian shield of the Dean. But, in reality, which (to say
the truth) formed one motive for detaining the reader by this

1 The paper of Swift's referred to was published in 1729, and bears
the title A Modest Proposal for preventing the Children of Poor People
in Ireland from "being a Burden to their Parents or Country, and for
waking them beneficial to the PuUick. The gnmness of its irony will
appear from a selected sentence or two : "I have been assured by a
' very knowing American of my acquaintance in London that a young
' healthy child, well nursed, is at a year old a most delicious,
' nourishing and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or
' boiled ; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in zfricassS
1 or ragoust. I do therefore humbly offer it to publick considera-
1 ton that of the hundred and twenty thousand children already
c computed [as born every year in Ireland] twenty thousand may be
' reserved for breed, whereof only one-fourth part to be males ; which
' is more than we allow to sheep, black cattle, or swine ; . . . that
' the remaining hundred thousand may, at a year old, be offered in
' sale to the persons of quality and fortune through the kingdom ;
( always advising the mother to let them suck plentifully in the last
c month, so as to render them plump, and fit for a good table. A
' child will make two dishes at an entertainment for friends ; and,
' when the family dines alone, ihe fore or hind quarter will make a
* reasonable dish, and, seasoned with a little pepper or salt, will be
' very good boiled on the fourth day, especially in winter. "No
wonder that De Quincey brought this precedent into his Apology.
Christopher North had already done it for him, See note, p 11. M,

72 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Postscript, my own. little paper may plead a privileged
excuse for its extravagance, such, as is altogether wanting to tho
Dean's. Nobody can pretend, for a moment, on behalf of
the Dean, that there is any ordinary and natural tendency in
human thoughts which could ever turn to infants as articles
of diet ; under any conceivable circumstances, this would be
felt as the most aggravated form of cannibalism cannibalism
applying itself to the most defenceless part of the species.
But, on the other hand, the tendency to a critical or aesthetic
valuation of fires and murders is universal. If you are
summoned to the spectacle of a great fire, undoubtedly the
first impulse is to assist in putting it out. But that field
of exertion is very limited, and is soon filled by regular
professional people, trained and equipped for the service. In
the case of a fire which is operating upon private property,
pity for a neighbour's calamity checks us at first in treating
the affair as a scenic spectacle. But perhaps the fire may
be confined to public buildings. And in any case, after we
have paid our tribute of regret to the affair considered as a
calamity, inevitably, and without restraint, we go on to
consider it as a stage spectacle. Exclamations of How
grand ! how magnificent ! arise in a sort of rapture from the
crowd. For instance, when Drury Lane was burned down
in the first decennium of this century, 1 the falling in of the
roof was signalised by a mimic suicide of the protecting
Apollo that surmounted and crested the centre of this roof.
The god was stationary with his lyre, and seemed looking
down upon the fiery ruins that were so rapidly approaching
him. Suddenly the supporting timbers below him gave way ;
a convulsive heave of the billowing flames seemed for a
moment to raise the statue ; and then, as if by some impulse
of despair, the presiding deity appeared not to fall, but to
throw himself into the fiery deluge, for he went down head
foremost, and in all respects the descent had the air of a
voluntary act. What followed? From every one of the
bridges over the river, and from other open areas which
commanded the spectacle, there rarose a sustained uproar of
admiration and sympathy. Some few years before this event,
a prodigious fire occurred at Liverpool : the Goree, a vast pile
1 24th February 1809. M.

MQBDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ABTS 73

of warehouses close to one of the docks, was burned to the
ground. The huge edifice, eight or nine storeys high, and
laden with most combustible goods, many thousand bales of
cotton, wheat and oats in thousands of quarters, tar, turpentine,
rum, gunpowder, &c,, continued through many hours of
darkness to feed this tremendous fire. To aggravate the
calamity, it blew a regular gale of wind ; luckily for the
shipping, it blew inland, that is, to the east ; and all the
way down to Warrington, eighteen miles distant to the east-
ward, the whole air was illuminated by flakes of cotton, often
saturated with rum, and by what seemed absolute worlds of
blazing sparks, that lighted up all the upper chambers of
the air. All the cattle lying abroad in the fields through a
breadth of eighteen miles were thrown into terror and
agitation. Men, of course, read in this hurrying overhead of
scintillating and blazing vortices the annunciation of some
gigantic calamity going on in Liverpool ; and the lamenta-
tion on that account was universal. But that mood of public
sympathy did not at all interfere to suppress or even to
check the momentary bursts of rapturous admiration, as this
arrowy sleet of many-coloured fire rode on the wings of
hurricane, alternately through open depths of air or through
dark clouds overhead.

Precisely the same treatment is applied to murders. After
the first tribute of sorrow to those who have perished, but,
at all events, after the personal interests have been tranquil-
lised by time, inevitably the scenical features (what aesthetically
may be called the comparative advantages) of the several
murders are reviewed and valued. One murder is compared
with another ; and the circumstances of superiority, as, for
example, in the incidence and effects of surprise, of mystery,
&c., are collated and appraised. I, therefore, for my ex-
travagance, claim an inevitable and perpetual ground in the
spontaneous tendencies of the human mind when left to
itself. But no one will pretend that any corresponding plea
can be advanced on behalf of Swift,

In this important distinction between myself and the
Dean lies one reason which prompted the present Postscript.
A second purpose of the Postscript is to make the reader
acquainted circumstantially with three memorable cases of

H fALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

murder which long ago the voice of amateurs has crowned
with laurel, but especially with the two earliest of the three,
viz. the immortal Williams murders of 1812, 1 The act and
the actor are each separately in the highest degree interesting ;
and, as forty-two years have elapsed since 1812, it cannot he
supposed that either is known circumstantially to the men of
the current generation.

Never, throughout the annals of universal Christendom,
has there indeed been any act of one solitary insulated
individual armed with power so appalling over the hearts of
men as that exterminating murder by which, during the
winter of 1812, John Williams, in one hour, smote two
houses with emptiness, exterminated all but two entire
households, and asserted his own supremacy above all the
children of Cain. It would be absolutely impossible ade-
quately to describe the frenzy of feelings which, throughout
the next fortnight, mastered the popular heart, the mere
delirium of indignant horror in some, the mere delirium of
panic in others. For twelve succeeding days, under some
groundless notion that the unknown murderer had quitted
London, the panic which had convulsed the mighty metro-
polis diffused itself all over the island. I was myself at
that time nearly three hundred miles from London; but
there, and everywhere, the panic was indescribable. One
lady, my next neighbour, whom personally I knew, living at
the moment, during the absence of her husband, with a few
servants in a very solitary house, never rested until she had
placed eighteen doors (so she told me, and, indeed, satisfied
me by ocular proof), each secured by ponderous bolts, and
bars, and chains, between her own bedroom and any intruder
of human build. To reach her, even in her drawing-room,
was like going as a flag of truce into a beleaguered fortress ;
at every sixth step one was stopped by a sort of portcullis.
The panic was not confined * to the rich ; women in the
humblest ranks more than once died upon the spot from the

1 Strange that De Qumcey should have forgotten the exact date of
those Williams murders of which he makes so much ! They were in
December 1811. He wiote peihaps from memory; and the panic
taused by the mmders did extend into 1812. M.

MUftDER AS ONE OF THE FINE AfcTS 75

shock attending some suspicious attempts at intrusion upon
the part of vagrants meditating probably nothing worse than
a robbery, but whom the poor women, misled by the London
newspapers, had fancied to be the dreadful London murderer.
Meantime this solitary artist, that rested in the centre of
London, self-supported by his own conscious grandeur, as a
domestic Attila, or " Scourge of God," this man that walked
in darkness, and relied upon murder (as afterwards trans-
pired) for bread, for clothes, for promotion in life, was
silently preparing an effectual answer to the public journals j
and on the twelfth day after his inaugural murder he adver-
tised his presence in London, and published to all men the
absurdity of ascribing to him any ruralising propensities, by
striking a second blow and accomplishing a second family
extermination. Somewhat lightened was the provincial panic
by this proof that the murderer had not condescended to
sneak into the country, or to abandon for a moment, under
any motive of caution or fear, the great metropolitan castra
stativa of gigantic crime seated for ever on the Thames. In
fact, the great artist disdained a provincial reputation ; and
he must have felt, as a case of ludicrous disproportion, the
contrast between a country town or village, on the one hand,
and, on the other, a work more lasting than brass a Ki^pa
es aet a murder such in quality as any murder that fa
would condescend to own for a work turned out from his
own studio.

Coleridge, whom I saw some months after these terrific
murders, told me that, for Ms part, though at the time
resident in London, he had not shared in the prevailing
panic ; him they affected only as a philosopher, and threw
Mm into a profound reverie upon the tremendous power
which is laid open in a moment to any man who can recon-
cile himself to the abjuration of all conscientious restraints, if
at the same time thoroughly without fear, Not sharing in
the public panic, however, Coleridge did not consider that
panic at all unreasonable ; for, as he said most truly, in that
vast metropolis there are many thousands of households com-
posed exclusively of women and children ; many other
thousands there are who necessarily confide their safety, in
the long evenings, to the discretion of a young servant girl j

76 TALES AND P&OSE PHANTASIES

and, if she suffers herself to be beguiled by the pretence of
a message from her mother, sister, or sweetheart, into opening
the door, there, in one second of time, goes to wreck the
security of the house. However, at that time, and for many
months afterwards, the practice of steadily putting the chain
upon the door before it was opened prevailed generally, and
for a long time served as a record of that deep impression
left upon London by Mr. Williams. Southey, I may add,
entered deeply into the public feeling on this occasion, and
said to me, within a week or two of the first murder, that it
was a private event of that order which rose to the dignity
of a national event. 1 But now, having prepared the reader
to appreciate on its true scale this dreadful tissue of murder
(which, as a record belonging to an era that is now left forty-
two years behind us, not one person in four of this generation
can be expected to know correctly), let me pass to the
circumstantial details of the affair.

Yet, first of all, one word as to the local scene of the
murders. Batcliffe Highway is a public thoroughfare in a
most chaotic quarter of eastern or nautical London ; and at
this time (viz. in 1812), when no adequate police existed
except the detective police of Bow Street, admirable for its
own peculiar purposes, but utterly incommensurate to the
general service of the capital, it was a most dangerous
quarter. Every third man at the least might be set down as
a foreigner. Lascars, Chinese, Moors, Negroes, were met at
every step. And, apart from the manifold ruffianism
shrouded impenetrably under the mixed hats and turbans of
men whose past was untraceable to any European eye, it is
well known that the navy (especially, in time of war, the
commercial navy) of Christendom is the sure receptacle of all
the murderers and ruffians whose crimes have given them a
motive for withdrawing themselves for a season from the
public eye. It is true that few of this class are qualified to
act as "able" seamen ; but at all times, and especially during
war, only a small proportion (or nucleus) of each ship's com-

1 I am not sure whether Southey held at this time his appointment
to the editorship of the " Edinburgh Annual Register." If he did, no
doubt in the domestic section of that chronicle will be found an
excellent account of the whole.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 7?

pany consists of such men, the large majority being mere
untutored landsmen. John Williams, however, who had
been, occasionally rated as a seaman on board of various
Indiamen, &c., was probably a very accomplished seaman.
Pretty generally, in fact, he was a ready and adroit man,
fertile in resources under all sudden difficulties, and most
flexibly adapting himself to all varieties of social life.
Williams was a man of middle stature (five feet seven and a
half to five feet eight inches high), slenderly built, rather
thin, but wiry, tolerably muscular, and clear of all superfluous
flesh. A lady who saw him under examination (I think at
the Thames Police Office) assured me that his hair was .of the
most extraordinary and vivid colour, viz, bright yellow,
something between an orange and a lemon colour. Williams
had been in. India ; chiefly in Bengal and Madras, but he
had also been upon the Indus. Now, it is notorious that in
the Punjaub horses of a high caste are often painted crim-
son, blue, green, purple ; and it struck me that Williams
might, for some casual purpose of disguise, have taken a hint
from this practice of Scinde and Lahore, so that the colour
might not have been natural In other respects his appear-
ance was natural enough, and, judging by a plaster cast of
him which I purchased in London, I should say mean as
regarded his facial structure. One fact, however, was strik-
ing, and fell in with the impression of his natural tiger
character, that his face wore at all times a bloodless ghastly
pallor, " You might imagine," said my informant, " that in
his veins circulated not red life-blood, such as could kindle
into the blush of shame, of wrath, of pity but a green sap
that welled from no human heart." His eyes seemed frozen
and glazed, as if their light were all converged upon some
victim lurking in the far background. So far his appearance
might have repelled ; but, on the other hand, the concurrent
testimony of many witnesses, and also the silent testimony
of facts, showed that the oiliness and snaky insinuation of
his demeanour counteracted the repulsiveness of his ghastly
face, and amongst inexperienced young women won for him
a very favourable reception. In particular, one gentle-
mannered girl, whom Williams had undoubtedly designed to
murder, gave in evidence that once, when sitting alone with

78 TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

her, lie had said, "Now, Miss R, supposing that I should
appear about midnight at your bedside armed with a carving
knife, what would you say ?" To which the confiding girl
had replied, "Oh, Mr. Williams, if it was anybody else, I
should be frightened, But, as soon as I heard your voice, I
should be tranquil." Poor girl ! had this outline sketch of
Mr, Williams been filled in and realised, she would have seen
something in the corpsehke face, and heard something in the
sinister voice, that would have unsettled her tranquillity for
ever. But nothing short of such dreadful experiences could
avail to unmask Mr. John Williams.

Into this perilous region it was that, on a Saturday night
in December, 1 Mr. Williams, whom we must suppose to have
long since made his coup d'essai, forced his way through the
crowded streets, bound on business. To say was to do. . Aad
this night he had said to himself secretly that he wo'uld
execute a design which he had already sketched, and which,
when finished, was destined on the following day to strike
consternation into "all that mighty heart" of London, from
centre to circumference. It was afterwards remembered that
he had quitted his lodgings on this dark errand about eleven
o'clock P.M. . not that he meant to begin so soon ; but he
needed to reconnoitre. He carried his tools closely buttoned
up under his loose roomy coat, It was in harmony with the
general subtlety of his character, and his polished hatred of
brutality, that by universal agreement his manners were dis^
tinguished for exquisite suavity j the tiger's heart was masked
by the most insinuating and snaky refinement. All his
acquaintances afterwards described his dissimulation as so
ready and so perfect that, if, in making his way through the
streets, always so crowded on Saturday night in neighbour-
hoods so poor, he had accidentally jostled any person, he
would (as they were all satisfied) have stopped to offer the
most gentlemanly apologies: with his devilish heart brooding
over the most hellish of purposes, he would yet have paused
to express a benign hope that the huge mallet buttoned up
under his elegant surtout, with a view to the little business
that awaited him about ninety minutes further on, had not
inflicted any pain on the stranger with whom he had come
1 Saturday, 7th December 1811, M.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 79

into collision. Titian, I believe, but certainly Rubens, and
perhaps Vandyke, made it a rule never to practise their art
but in full dress point-ruffles, bag- wig, and diamond-hilted
sword j and Mr. Williams, there is reason to believe, when
Le went out for a grand compound massacre (in another
sense, one might have applied to it the Oxford phrase of
going out as Grand Compounder), always assumed black silk
stockings and pumps ; nor would he on any account have
degraded his position as an artist by wearing a morning
gown. In his second great performance, it was particularly
noticed and recorded, by the one sole trembling man who
under killing agonies of fear was compelled (as the reader
will find) from a secret stand to become the solitary spec-
tator of his atrocities, that Mr. Williams wore a long blue
frock, of the very finest cloth, and richly lined with silk.
Amongst the anecdotes which circulated about him, it was
also said at the time that Mr. Williams employed the first of
dentists and also the first of chiropodists. On no account
would he patronise any second-rate skill. And, beyond a
doubt, in that perilous little branch of business which was
practised by himself he might be regarded as the most aristo-
cratic and fastidious of artists.

But who meantime was the victim to whose abode he was
hurrying 1 For surely he never could be so indiscreet as to
be sailing about on a roving cruise in search of some chance
person to murder ' Oh no ; he had suited himself with a
victim some time before, viz. an old and very intimate friend.
For he seems to have laid it down as a maxim that the best
person to murder was a friend, and, in default of a friend,
which is an article one cannot always command, an acquaint-
ance : because, in either case, on first approaching his sub-
ject, suspicion would be disarmed, whereas a stranger might
take alarm, and find in the very countenance of his murderer
elect a warning summons to place himself on guard. How-
ever, in the present case, his destined victim was supposed
to unite both characters : originally he had been a Mend ;
but subsequently, on good cause arising, he had become an
enemy. Or more probably, as others said, the feelings had
long since languished which gave life to either relation of
friendship or of enmity. Marr was the name of that unhappy

80 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

man who (whether in the character of friend or enemy) had
been selected for the subject of this present Saturday night's
performance. And the story current at that time about the
connexion between Williams and Marr, having (whether
true or not true) never been contradicted upon authority,
was that they sailed in the same Indiaman to Calcutta, and
that they had quarrelled when at sea. But another version
of the story said No : they had quarrelled after returning
from sea j and the subject of their quarrel was Mrs. Marr, a
very pretty young woman, for whose favour they had been
rival candidates, and at one time with most bitter enmity
towards each other, Some circumstances give a colour of
probability to this story. Otherwise it has sometimes hap-
pened, on occasion of a murder not sufficiently accounted for,
that, from pure goodness of heart intolerant of a mere sordid
motive for a striking murder, some person has forged, and
the public has accredited, a story representing the murderer as
having moved under some loftier excitement : and in this
case the public, too much shocked at the idea of Williams
having on the single motive of gain consummated so complex
a tragedy, welcomed the tale which represented him as
governed by deadly malice, growing out of the more impas-
sioned and noble rivalry for the favour of a woman. The
case remains in some degree doubtful ; but, certainly, the
probability is that Mrs. Marr had been the true cause, the
coma, teterrima, of the feud between the men. Meantime
the minutes are numbered, the sands of the hour-glass are
running out, that measure the duration of this feud upon
earth. This night it shall cease. To-morrow is the day
which in England they call Sunday, which in Scotland they
call by the Judaic name of "Sabbath." To both nations,
under different names, the day has the same functions ; to
both it is a day of rest. For thee also, Marr, it shall be a
day of rest ; so is it written ; thou, too, young Marr, shalt
find rest thou, and thy household, and the stranger that is
within thy gates. But that rest must be in the world which
lies beyond the grave. On this side the grave ye have all
slept your final sleep.

The night was one of exceeding darkness ; and in this
humble quarter of London, whatever the night happened to

MURDER AS ONE OF THE PINE ARTS 81

be, light or dark, quiet or stormy, all shops were kept open
on Saturday nights until twelve o'clock at the least, and
many for half an hour longer. There was no rigorous and
pedantic Jewish superstition about the exact limits of Sunday,
At the very worst, the Sunday stretched over from one o'clock
A.M. of one day up to eight o'clock A.M, of the next, making
a clear circuit of thirty-one hours. This, surely, was long
enough. Marr, on this particular Saturday night, would be
content if it were even shorter, provided it would come
more quickly ; for he has been toiling through sixteen hours
behind his counter. Marr's position, in life was this : He
kept a little hosier's shop, and had invested in his stock and
the fittings of his shop about ,180. Like all men engaged
in trade, he suffered some anxieties. He was a new be-
ginner ; but already bad debts had alarmed him, and bills
were coming to maturity that were not likely to Le met by
commensurate sales. Yet, constitutionally, he was a sanguine
hoper. At this time he was a stout, fresh-coloured young
man of twenty-seven ; in some slight degree uneasy from his
commercial prospects ; but still cheerful, and anticipating
(how vainly I) that for this night, and the next night, at
least, he will rest his wearied head and his cares upon the
faithful bosom of his sweet, lovely young wife. The house-
hold of Marr, consisting of five persons, is as follows:
First, there is himself, who, if he should happen to be ruined
in a limited commercial sense, has energy enough to jump up
again, like a pyramid of fire, and soar high above ruin many
times repeated. Yes, poor Marr, so it might ))e if thou wert
left to thy native energies unmolested ; but even now there
stands on the other side of the street one born of hell who
puts his peremptory negative on all these flattering pro-
spects. Second in the list of this household stands his pretty
and amiable wife ; who is happy after the fashion of youthful
wives, for she is only twenty-two, and anxious (if at all) only
on account of her darling infant. For, thirdly, there is in a
cradlej not quite nine feet below the street, viz. in a warm,
cosy kitchen, and rocked at intervals by the young mother,
a baby eight months old. Nineteen months have Marr and
herself been married ; and this is their first-born child.
Grieve not for this child, that it must keep the deep rest of

VOL. XIII Q

82 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Sunday in some other world; for wherefore should an
orphan, steeped to the lips in poverty when once bereaved of
father and mother, linger upon an alien and a murderous
earth 1 Fourthly, there is a stoutish boy, an apprentice, say
thirteen years old, a Devonshire boy, with handsome features,
such as most Devonshire youths have 1 j satisfied with his
place ; not overworked ; treated kindly, and aware that he
was treated kindly, by his master and mistress. Fifthly, and
lastly, bringing up the rear of this quiet household, is a
servant girl, a grown-up young woman ; and she, being par-
ticularly kind-hearted, occupied (as often happens in families
of humble pretensions as to rank) a sort of sisterly place in
her relation to her mistress, A great democratic change is
at this very time (1854), and has been for twenty years,
passing over British society. Multitudes of persons are
becoming ashamed of saying "my master" or "my
mistress " : the term now in the slow process of superseding
it is "my employer." Now, in the United States, such an
expression of democratic hauteur, though disagreeable as a
needless proclamation of independence which nobody is dis-
puting, leaves, however, no lasting bad effect. For the
domestic "helps 35 are pretty generally in a state of transition
so sure and so rapid to the headship of domestic establish-
ments belonging to themselves that in effect they are but
ignoring, for the present moment, a relation which would at
any rate dissolve itself in a year or two. But in England,
where no such resources exist of everlasting surplus lands,
the tendency of the change is painful. It carries with it a
sullen and a coarse expression of immunity from a yoke
which was in any case a light one, and often a benign one.
In some other place I will illustrate my meaning. Here,
apparently, in Mrs. Marr's service, the principle concerned
illustrated itself practically. Mary, the female servant, felt
a sincere and unaffected respect for a mistress whom she saw
so steadily occupied with her domestic duties, and who,

1 An artist told me in this year, 1812, that, having accidentally
seen a native Devonshire regiment (either volunteers or militia), nine
hundred strong, marching past a station at which lie had posted him-
self, he did not observe a dozen men that would not have been dj-
scnbed in common parlance as " good-looking."

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS '83

though so young, and invested with some slight authority,
never exerted it capriciously, or even showed it at all con-
spicuously. According to the testimony of all the neigh-
bours, she treated her mistress with a shade of unobtrusive
respect on the one hand, and yet was eager to relieve her,
whenever that was possible, from, the weight of her maternal
duties, with the cheerful voluntary service of a sister.

To this young woman it was that, suddenly, within three
or four minutes of midnight, Marr called aloud from the
head of the stairs directing her to go out and purchase
some oysters for the family supper, Upon what slender
accidents hang oftentimes solemn life-long results! Marr,
occupied in the concerns of his shop, Mrs. Marr, occupied
with some little ailment and restlessness of lier baby, had
both forgotten the affair of supper; the time was now
narrowing every moment as regarded any variety of choice ;
and oysters were perhaps ordered as the likeliest article to be
had at all after twelve o'clock should have struck. And yet
upon this trivial circumstance depended Mary's life. Had
she been sent abroad for supper at the ordinary time of ten
'or eleven o'clock, it is almost certain that she, the solitary
member of the household who escaped from the exterminating
tragedy, would not have escaped ; too surely she would have
shared the general fate. It had now become necessary to be
quick. Hastily, therefore, receiving money from Marr, with
a basket in her hand, but unbonneted, Mary tripped out of
the shop. It became afterwards, on recollection, a heart-
chilling remembrance to herself that, precisely as she emerged
from the shop-door, she noticed, on the opposite side of the
street, by the light of the lamps, a man's figure ; stationary
it the instant, but in the next instant slowly moving. This
ivas Williams, as a little incident, either just before or just
ifter (at present it is impossible to say which), sufficiently
oroved. Now, when one considers the inevitable hurry and
irepidation of Mary under the circumstances stated, time
)arely sufficing for any chance of executing her errand, it
>ecomes evident that she must have connected some deep
eeling of mysterious uneasiness with the movements of this
inknown man ; else> assuredly, she would not have found
ter attention disposable for such a case. Thus far she her-

84 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

self threw some little light upon what it might be that, semi-
consciously, was then passing through her mind : she said
that, notwithstanding the darkness, which would not permit
her to trace the man's features, or to ascertain the exact
direction of his eyes, it yet struck her that, from his carriage
when in motion, and from the apparent inclination of his
person, he must he looking at No. 29. The little incident
which I have alluded to as confirming Mary's "belief was that,
at some period not very far from midnight, the watchman
had specially noticed this stranger ; he had observed him
continually peeping into the window of Man's shop, and
had thought this act, connected with the man's appearance,
so suspicious that he stepped into Marr's shop and communi-
cated what he had seen. This fact he afterwards stated
before the magistrates ; and he added that subsequently, viz.
a few minutes after twelve (eight or ten minutes, probably,
after the departure of Mary), he (the watchman), when re-
entering upon his ordinary half-hourly beat, was requested
by Marr to assist him in closing the shutters. Here they
had a final communication with each other ; and the watch-
man mentioned to Marr that the mysterious stranger had
now apparently taken himself off ; for that he had not been
visible since the first communication made to Marr by the
watchman. There is little doubt that Williams had observed
the watchman's visit to Marr, and had thus had his attention
seasonably drawn to the indiscretion of his own demeanour ;
so that the warning, given unavailingly to Marr, had been
turned to account by Williams. There can be still less
doubt that the bloodhound had commenced his work within
one minute of the watchman's assisting Marr to put up his
shutters ; and on the following consideration : That which
prevented Williams from commencing even earlier was the
exposure of the shop's whole interior to the gaze of street
passengers. It was indispensable that the shutters should be
accurately closed before Williams could safely get to work.
But, as soon as ever this preliminary precaution had been
completed, once having secured that concealment from the
public eye, it then became of still greater importance not to
lose a moment by delay than previously it had been not to
hazard anything by precipitance. For all depended upon

MUKDER AS ONE OF THE FINE AKTS 85

going in before Marr should have locked the door. On any
other mode of effecting an entrance (as, for instance, by wait-
ing for the return of Mary, and making his entrance simul-
taneously with her) it will be seen that Williams must have
forfeited that particular advantage which mute facts, when
read into their true construction, will soon show the reader
that he must have employed. Williams waited, of necessity,
for the sound of the watchman's retreating steps ; waited,
perhaps, for thirty seconds ; but, when that danger was past,
the next danger was lest Marr should lock the door : one
turn of the key, and the murderer would have been locked
out. In, therefore, he bolted, and by a dexterous movement
of his left hand, no doubt, turned the key, without letting
Marr perceive this fatal stratagem. It is really wonderful
and most interesting to pursue the successive steps of this
monster, and to notice the absolute certainty with which the
silent hieroglyphics of the case betray to us the whole pro-
cess and movements of the bloody drama, not less surely and
fully than if we had been ourselves hidden in Marr's shop,
or had looked down from the heavens of mercy upon this
hell-kite that knew not what mercy meant. That he had
concealed from Marr his trick, secret and rapid, upon the
lock, is evident; because else Marr would instantly have
taken the alarm, especially after what the watchman had
communicated. But it will soon be seen that Marr had not
been alarmed. In reality, towards the full success of Wil-
liams it was important, in the last degree, to intercept and
forestall any yell or shout of agony from Marr. Such ail
outcry, and in a situation so slenderly fenced off from the
street, viz. by walls the very thinnest, makes itself heard
outside pretty nearly as well as if it were uttered in the
street. Such an outcry it was indispensable to stifle. It was
stifled; and the reader will soon understand how. Mean-
time, at this point, let us leave the murderer alone with his
victims. For fifty minutes let him work his pleasure, The
front-door, as we know, is now fastened against all help,
Help there is none. Let us, therefore, in vision, attach our-
selves to Mary ; and, when all is over, let us come back with
her, again raise the curtain, and read the dreadful record of
all that has passed in her absence.

86 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

The poor girl, uneasy in her inind to an extent that she
could but half understand, roamed up and down in search of an
oyster shop ; and, finding none that was still open within any
circuit that her ordinary experience had made her acquainted
with, she fancied it best to try the chances of some remoter
district, Lights she saw gleaming or twinkling at a distance,
that still tempted her onwards ; and thus, amongst unknown
streets poorly lighted, 1 and on a night of peculiar darkness,
and in a region of London where ferocious tumults were con-
tinually turning her out of what seemed to be the direct
course, naturally she got bewildered. The purpose with
which she started had by this time become hopeless. No-
thing remained for her now but to retrace her steps. But this
was difficult ; for she was afraid to ask directions from
chance passengers whose appearance the darkness prevented
her from reconnoitring. At length by his lantern she re-
cognised a watchman ; through him she was guided into the
right road ; and in ten minutes more she found herself back
at the door of No. 29, in Eatcliffe Highway. But by this
time she felt satisfied that she must have been absent for
iifty or sixty minutes ; indeed, she had heard, at a distance,
the cry of past one Jdodc, which, commencing a few seconds
after one, lasted intermittingly for ten or thirteen minutes.

In the tumult of agonising thoughts that very soon
surprised her, naturally it became hard for her to recall
distinctly the whole succession of doubts, and jealousies, and
shadowy misgivings that soon opened upon her. But, so far
as could be collected, she had not in the first moment of
reaching homo noticed anything decisively alarming. In
very many cities bells are the main instruments for com-
municating between the street and the interior of houses ;
but in London knockers prevail At Marr's there was both
a knocker and a bell Mary rang, and at the same time
very gently knocked. She had no fear of disturbing her

l I do not remember, chronologically, the history of gas-lights,
But in London, long after Mr. Winsor [a German] had shown the value
of gas-lighting, and its applicability to street purposes [which he did
by lighting up Pall Mall with gas, 28th January 1807 M,], various
di&tricts were prevented, for many years, from resorting to the new
system, in consequence of old contracts with oil -dealers, subsisting
through long terms of years.

MURBER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 8?

master or mistress ; them she made sure of finding still up,
Her anxiety was for the baby, who, being disturbed, might
again rob her mistress of a night's rest. And she well knew
that, with three people all anxiously awaiting her return, and
by this time, perhaps, seriously uneasy at her delay, the least
audible whisper from herself would in a moment bring one
of them to the door. Yet how is this ? To her astonish-
ment, but with the astonishment came creeping over her an
icy horror, no stir nor murmur was heard ascending from
the kitchen. At this moment came back upon her, with
shuddering anguish, the indistinct image of the stranger in
the loose dark coat whom she had seen stealing along under
the shadowy lamp -light, and too certainly watching her
master's motions: keenly she now reproached herself that,
under whatever stress of hurry, she had not acquainted Mr.
Marr with the suspicious appearances, Poor girl ! she did
not then know that, if this communication could have availed
to put Marr upon his guard, it had reached him from another
quarter ; so that her own omission, which had in reality
arisen under her hurry to execute her master's commission,
could not be charged with any bad consequences. But all
such reflections this way or that were swallowed up at this
point in overmastering panic. That her double summons
could have been unnoticed this solitary fact in one moment
made a revelation of horror. One person might have fallen
asleep, but two but three that was a mere impossibility.
And, even supposing all three together with the baby locked
in sleep, still how unaccountable was this utter utter
silence! Most naturally at this moment something like
hysterical horror overshadowed the poor girl, and now at last
she rang the bell with the violence that belongs to sickening
terror, This done, she 1 paused : self-command enough she
still retained, though fast and fast it was slipping away from
her, to bethink herself that, if any overwhelming accident
had compelled both Marr and his apprentice-boy to leave the
house in order to summon surgical aid from opposite quarters
a thing barely supposablc still, even in that case Mrs,
Marr and her infant would be left, and some murmuring
reply, under any extremity, would be elicited from the poor
mother. To pause, therefore, to impose stern silence upon

88 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

her&elf, so as to leave room for the possible answer to this
final appealj became a duty of spasmodic effort. Listen,
therefore, poor trembling heart; listen, and for twenty
seconds be still as death ! Still as death she was ; and
during that dreadful stillness, when she hushed her breath
that she might listen, occurred an incident of killing fear,
that to her dying day would never cease to renew its echoes
in her ear. She, Mary, the poor trembling girl, checking
and overruling herself by a final effort, that she might leave
full opening for her dear young mistress's answer to her own
last frantic appeal, heard at last and most distinctly a sound
within the house. Yes, now beyond a doubt there is coming
an answer to her summons. What was it ? On the stairs,
not the stairs that led downwards to the kitchen, but the
stairs that led upwards to the single storey of bedchambers
above, was heard a creaking sound. Next was heard most
distinctly a footfall : one, two, three, four, five stairs were
slowly and distinctly descended. Then the dreadful foot-
steps were heard advancing along the little narrow passage to
the door. The steps oh heavens! whose steps? have
paused at the door. The very breathing can be heard of that
dreadful being who has silenced all breathing except his own
in the house. There is but a door between him and Mary.
What is he doing on the other side of the door * A cautious
step, a stealthy step it was that came down the stairs, then
paced along the little narrow passage narrow as a coffin
till at last the step pauses at the door. How hard the fellow
breathes ! He, the solitary murderer, is on one side the
door ; Mary is on the other side. Now, suppose that he
should suddenly open the door, and that incautiously in
the dark Mary should rush in, and find herself in the
arms of the murderer. Thus far the case is a possible
one that to a certainty, had this little trick been tried
immediately upon Mary's return, it would have succeeded ;
had the door been opened suddenly upon her fiist tingle-
tingle, headlong she would have tumbled in, and perished.
But now Mary is upon her guard. The unknown mur-
derer and she have both their lips upon the door, listening,
breathing hard ; but luckily they are on different sides of
the door; and upon the least indication of unlocking or

MOTHER AS ONE OP THE FINE AUTS 89

unlatching she would have recoiled into the asylum of general
daikness.

What was the murderer's meaning in. coming along
the passage to the front-door ? The meaning was this :
Separately, as an individual, Mary was worth nothing at all
to him, But, considered as a member of a household, she
had this value, viz. that she, if caught and murdered, per-
fected and rounded the desolation of the house. The case
being reported, as reported it would be all over Christendom,
led the imagination captive. The whole covey of victims
was thus netted ; the household ruin was thus full and
orbicular ; and in that proportion the tendency of men and
women, flutter as they might, would be helplessly and hope-
lessly to sink into the all-conquering hands of the mighty
murderer. He had but to say ' My testimonials are dated
from No. 29 Ratdiffe Highway, 5 and the poor vanquished
imagination sank powerless before the fascinating rattlesnake
eye of the murderer. There is not a doubt that the motive
of the murderer for standing on the inner side of Marr's
front-door whilst Mary stood on the outside was a hope that,
if he quietly opened the door, whisperingly counterfeiting
Marr's voice, and saying, What made you stay so long?
possibly she might have been inveigled, He was wrong ; the
time was past for that ; Mary was now maniacally awake ;
she began now to ring the bell and to ply the knocker with
unintermitting violence, And the natural consequence was
that the next-door neighbour, who had recently gone to bed
and instantly fallen asleep, was roused ; and by the incessant
violence of the ringing and the knocking, which now obeyed
a delirious and uncontrollable impulse in Mary, he became
sensible that some very dreadful event must be at the root of
so clamorous an uproar. To rise, to throw up the sash, to
demand angrily the cause of this unseasonable tumult, was
the work of a moment. The poor girl remained sufficiently
mistress of herself rapidly to explain, the circumstance of
her own absence for an hour, her belief that Mr. and
Mrs. Marr's family had all been murdered in the interval,
and that at this very moment the murderer was in the
house.

The person to whom she addressed this statement was a

90 TALES AND PKOSE PHANTASIES

pawnbroker; and a thoroughly brave man he must have
been, ; for it was a perilous undertaking, merely as a trial of
physical strength, singly to face a mysterious assassin, who
had apparently signalised his prowess by a triumph so com-
prehensive. But, again, for the imagination it required an
effort of self-conquest to rush headlong into the presence of
one invested with a cloud of mystery, whose nation, age,
motives, were all alike unknown. Rarely on any field of
battle has a soldier been called upon to face so complex
a danger. For, if the entire family of his neighbour Marr
had been exterminated, were this indeed true, such a
scale of bloodshed would seem to argue that there must have
been two persons as the perpetrators ; or, if one singly had
accomplished such a ruin, in that case how colossal must
have been his audacity ! probably, also, Ms skill and animal
power ! Moreover, the unknown enemy (whether single or
double) would, doubtless, be elaborately armed. Yet, under
all these disadvantages, did this fearless man rush at once to
the field of butchery in his neighbour's house. Waiting only
to draw on his trousers, and to arm himself with the kitchen
poker, he went down into his own little back-yard. On this
mode of approach, he would have a chance of intercepting the
murderer ; whereas from the front there would be no such
chance, and there would also be considerable delay in the
process of breaking open the door. A brick wall, 9 or 10
feet high, divided his own back premises from those of Marr.
Over this he vaulted; and, at the moment when he was
recalling himself to the necessity of going back for a candle,
he suddenly perceived a feeble ray of light already glimmer-
ing on some part of Man's premises, Marr's back-door stood
wide open. Probably the murderer had passed through it
one half -minute before. Bapidly the brave man passed
onwards to the shop, and there beheld the carnage of the
night stretched out on the floor, and the narrow premises so
floated with gore that it was hardly possible to escape the
pollution of blood in picking out a path to the front-door.
In the lock of the door still remained the key which had
given to the unknown murderer so fatal an advantage over
his victims. By this time the heart-shaking news involved
in the outcries of Mary (to whom it occurred that by possi-

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 91

bility some one out of so many victims might still be within
the reach of medical aid, but that all would depend upon
speed) had availed, even at that late hour, to gather a small
mob about the house. The pawnbroker threw open the
door. One or two watchmen headed the crowd; but the
soul-harrowing spectacle checked them, and impressed sudden
silence upon their voices, previously so loud. The tragic
drama read aloud its own history, and the succession of its
several steps few and summary. The murderer was as yet
altogether unknown ; not even suspected. But there were
reasons for thinking that he must have been a person
familiarly known to Marr. He had entered the shop by
opening the door after it had been closed by Marr. But it
was justly argued that, after the caution conveyed to Marr by
the watchman, the appearance of any stranger in the shop at
that hour, and in so dangerous a neighbourhood, and entering
by so irregular and suspicious a course (ie. walking in after
the door had been closed, and after the closing of the shutters
had cut off all open communication with the street), would
naturally have roused Marr to an attitude of vigilance and
self-defence. Any indication, therefore, that Marr had not
been so roused would argue to a certainty that smetiving had
occurred to neutralise this alarm, and fatally to disarm the
prudent jealousies of Marr. But this "something" could
only have lain in one simple fact, viz. that the person of the
murderer was familiarly known to Marr as that of an ordinary
and unsuspected acquaintance. This being presupposed as
the key to all the rest, the whole course and evolution of the
subsequent drama becomes clear as daylight : The murderer,
it is evident, had opened gently, and again closed behind him
with equal gentleness, the street-door. He had then advanced
to the little counter, all the while exchanging the ordinary
salutation of an old acquaintance with the unsuspecting Marr.
Having reached the counter, he would then ask Marr for a>
pair of unbleached cotton socks. In a shop so small as Marr's
there could be no great latitude of choice for disposing of the
different commodities. The arrangement of these had no
doubt become familiar to the murderer ; and he had already
ascertained that, in order to reach down the particular parcel-
wanted at present, Marr would find it requisite to face round

92 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

to the rear, and at the same moment to raise his eyes and his
hands to a level eighteen inches above his own head. This
movement placed him in the most disadvantageous possible
position with regard to the murderer; who now, at the
instant when Marr's hands and eyes were embarrassed, and
the back of his head fully exposed, suddenly from below his
large surtout had unslung a heavy ship-carpenter's mallet,
and with one solitary blow bad so thoroughly stunned his
victim as to leave him incapable of resistance, The whole
position of Marr told its own tale. He had collapsed
naturally behind the counter, with bis hands so occupied as
to confirm the whole outline of the affair as I have here
suggested it. Probable enough it is that the very first blow,
the first indication of treachery that reached Marr, would also
be the last blow as regarded the abolition of consciousness,
The murderer's plan and rationale of murder started system-
atically from this infliction of apoplexy, or at least of a
stunning sufficient to insure a long loss of consciousness.
This opening step placed the murderer at his ease. But
still, as returning sense might constantly have led to the
fullest exposures, it was his settled practice, by way of con-
summation, to cut the throat. To one invariable type all the
murders on this occasion conformed: the skull was first
shattered ; this step secured the murderer from instant
retaliation ; and then, by way of locking up all into eternal
silence, uniformly the throat was cut. The rest of the
circumstances, as self-revealed, were these : The fall of Marr
might, probably enough, cause a dull confused sound of a
scuffle, and the more so as it could not now be confounded
with any street uproar the shop-door being shut. It is more
probable, however, that the signal for the alarm passing down
to the kitchen would arise when the murderer proceeded to
cut Marr's throat. The very confined situation behind the
counter would render it impossible, under the critical hurry
of the case, to expose the throat broadly ; the horrid scene
would proceed by partial and interrupted cuts ; deep groans
would arise ; and then would come the rush upstairs.
Against this, as the only dangerous stage in the transaction,
the murderer would have specially prepared. Mrs. Marr
and the apprentice-boy, both young and active, would make,

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 93

of course, for the street-door ; bad Mary been at home, and
three persons at once had combined to distract the purposes
of the murderer, it is barely possible that one of them would
have succeeded in reaching the street. But the dreadful
swing of the heavy mallet intercepted both the boy and his
mistress before they could reach the door. Each of them
lay stretched out on the centre of the shop floor ; and the
very moment that this disabling was accomplished the
accursed hound was down upon their throats with his razor.
The fact is that, in the mere blindness of pity for poor Man-
on hearing his groans, Mrs. Marr had lost sight of her obvious
policy ; she and the boy ought to have made for the back-
door ; the alarm would thus have been given in the open
air; which, of itself, was a great point ; and several means
of distracting the murderer's attention offered upon that
course which the extreme limitation of the shop denied to
them upon the other.

Vain would be all attempts to convey the horror
which thrilled the gathering spectators of this piteous
tragedy. It was known to the crowd that one person had,
by some accident, escaped the general massacre j but she was
now speechless, and probably delirious ; so that, in com-
passion for her pitiable situation, one female neighbour had
carried her away, and put her to bed. Hence it had happened,
for a longer space of time than could else have been possible,
that no person present was sufficiently acquainted with the
Marrs to be aware of the little infant ; for the bold pawn-
broker had gone off to make a communication to the coroner,
and another neighbour to lodge some evidence which he
thought urgent at a neighbouring police-office. Suddenly
some person appeared amongst the crowd who was aware that
the murdered parents had a young infant j this would be
found either below-stairs, or in one of the bedrooms above.
Immediately a stream of people poured down into the kitchen,
where at once they saw the cradle but with the bedclothes
in a state of indescribable confusion. On disentangling these,
pools of blood became visible ; and the next ominous sign
was that the hood of the cradle had been smashed to pieces.
It became evident that the wretch had found himself doubly
embarrassed first, by the arched hood at the head of the

'94 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

cradle, which accordingly he had beat into a ruin with his
mallet, and, secondly, by the gathering of the blankets and
pillows about the baby's head. The free play of his blows
had thus been baffled. And he had therefore finished the
scene by applying his razor to the throat of the little inno-
cent ; after which, with no apparent purpose, as though he
had become confused by the spectacle of his own atrocities,
he had busied himself in piling the clothes elaborately over
the child's corpse. This incident undeniably gave the char-
acter of a vindictive proceeding to the whole affair, and so
far confirmed the current rumour that the quarrel between
"Williams and Marr had originated in rivalship. One writer,
indeed, alleged that the murderer might have found it
necessary for his own safety to extinguish the crying of the
child ; but it was justly replied that a child only eight
months old could not have cried under any sense of the
tragedy proceeding, but simply in its ordinary way for the
absence of its mother ; and such a cry, even if audible at all
out of the house, must have been precisely what, the neigh-
bours were hearing constantly, so that it could have drawn
no special attention, nor suggested any reasonable alarm to
the murderer. No one incident, indeed, throughout the whole
tissue of atrocities, so much envenomed the popular fury
against the unknown ruffian as this useless butchery of the
infant.

Naturally, on the Sunday morning that dawned four or
five hours later, the case was too full of horror not to diffuse
itself in all directions ; but I have no reason to think that it
crept into any one of the numerous Sunday papers. In the
regular course, any ordinary occurrence, not occurring or not
transpiring 1 until 15 minutes after 1 A.M. on a Sunday
morning, would first reach the public ear through the Mon-
day editions of the Sunday papers, and the regular morning
papers of the Monday. But, if such were the course pur-
sued on this occasion, never can there have been a more
signal oversight. For it is certain that to have met the
public demand for details on the Sunday, which might so

1 There could not be a neater example than this of the difference
between occur and transpire t or a neater rehyke of the vulgar use of
toanspfot in the sense of occur. M.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 95

easily have been done by cancelling a couple of dull columns,
and substituting a circumstantial narrative, for which, the
pawnbroker and the watchman could have furnished the
materials, would have made a small fortune. By proper
handbills dispersed through all quarters of the infinite
metropolis, 250,000 extra copies might have been sold,
that is, by any journal that should have collected exclusive
materials, meeting the public excitement, everywhere stirred
to the centre by flying rumours, and everywhere burning for
ampler information. 1 On the Sunday se'ennight (Sunday the
octave from the event) took place the funeral of the Marrs :
in the first coffin was placed Marr ; in the second Mrs. Marr,
and the baby in her arms ; in the third the apprentice-boy.
They were buried side by side ; and 30,000 labouring people
followed the funeral procession, with horror and grief written
in their countenances.

1 An interesting pamphlet just published by Mr. Charles Pollitt
of Kendal, under the title De Quincey's Editorship of the West-
morland Gazette, informs us that, during the whole period of his
editorship of that provincial Tory journal (which extended, it now
appears, exactly from llth July 1818 to 5th November 1819), he was
notably fond of filling its columns with assize reports and murder
trials. "During the whole of his connexion with the paper," says
Mr. Pollitt, " assize news formed not only a prominent, but frequently
" an all-absorbing, portion of the available space," In illustration,
Mr. Pollitt quotes the following editorial notice from the paper for
8th August 1818 : "This week it will be observed that our columns

* are occupied almost exclusively with assize reports. We have
f thought it right to allow them precedency of all other news, whether
' domestic or foreign, for the thiee following reasons : (1) Because to
c all ranks alike they possess a powerful and commanding interest.
' (2) Because to the more uneducated classes they yield a singular
{ benefit, by teaching them their social duties in the most impressive
c shape : that is to say, not in a state of abstraction from all that may
1 explain, illustrate, and enforce them (as in the naked terms of the
' Statute), but exemplified (and, as the logicians say, concreted] in the

* actual circumstances of an interesting case, and in connexion with
{ the penalties that accompany their neglect or their violation. (3)
1 Because they present the best indications of the moral condition
' of society. " What the Westmorland people thought of this per-
petual provision of horrors for them by the editor of the Gazette does
not quite appear ; but it seems to have been one of the causes of that
dissatisfaction on the part of the proprietors of the paper which led,
according to Mr. Pollitt, to tfce termination of De Quincey's editor*

96 TALES AND PKOSE PHANTASIES

As yet no whisper was astir that indicated, even con-
jecturally, the hideous author of those ruins this patron of
gravediggers. Had as much been known on this Sunday of
the funeral concerning that person as became known uni-
versally six days later, the people would have gone right
from the churchyard to the murderer's lodgings, and (brook-
ing no delay) would have torn him limb from limb, As yet,
however, in mere default of any object on whom reasonable
suspicion could settle, the public wrath was compelled to
suspend itself. Else, far indeed from showing any tendency
to subside, the public emotion strengthened every day con-
spicuously, as the reverberation of the shock began to travel
back from the provinces to the capital. On every great road
in the kingdom continual arrests were made of vagrants and
" trampers " who could give no satisfactory account of them-
selves, or whose appearance in any respect answered to the
imperfect description of Williams furnished by the watchman.

With this mighty tide of pity and indignation pointing
backwards to the dreadful past there mingled also in the
thoughts of reflecting persons an under-current of fearful
expectation for the immediate future. "The earthquake,"
to quote a fragment from a striking passage in Wordsworth

"The earthquake is not satisfied at once."

All perils, specially malignant, are recurrent. A murderer
who is such by passion and by a wolfish craving for blood-
shed as a mode of unnatural luxury cannot relapse into
inertia. Such a man, even more than the Alpine chamois-
hunter, comes to crave the dangers and the hairbreadth
escapes of his trade, as a condiment for seasoning the insipid
monotonies of daily Me. But, apart from the hellish instincts
that might too surely be relied on for renewed atrocities, it
was clear that the murderer of the Marrs, wheresoever lurk-
ing, must be a needy man, and a needy man of that class
least likely to seek or to find resources in honourable modes
of industry ; for which, equally by haughty disgust and by
disuse of the appropriate habits, men of violence are specially
disqualified. Were it, therefore, merely for a livelihood, the
murderer, whom all hearts were yearning to decipher, might
be expected to make his resurrection on some stage of horror,

MURDER, AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 97

after a reasonable interval. Even in the Marr murder, grant-
ing that it had been governed chiefly by cruel and vindictive
impulses, it was still clear that the desire of booty had co-
operated with such feelings. Equally clear it was that this
desire must have been disappointed : excepting the trivial
sum reserved by Marr for the week's expenditure, the mur-
derer found, doubtlesSj little or nothing that he could turn
to account, Two guineas, perhaps, would be the outside of
what he had obtained in the way of booty. A week or so
would see the end of that. The conviction, therefore, of all
people was that in a month or two, when the fever of excite-
ment might a little have cooled down, or have been super-
seded by other topics of fresher interest, so that the new-born
vigilance of household life would have had time to relax,
some new murder, equally appalling, might be counted
upon.

Such was the public expectation. Let the reader then
figure to himself the pure frenzy of horror when in this hush
of expectation, looking, indeed, and waiting for the unknown
arm to strike once more, but not believing that any audacity
could be equal to such an attempt as yet, whilst all eyes
were watching, suddenly, on the twelfth night from the Marr
murder, a second case of the same mysterious nature, a
murder on the same exterminating plan, was perpetrated in
the very same neighbourhood. It was on the Thursday next
but one succeeding to the Marr murder that this second
atrocity took place l ; and many people thought at the time
that in its dramatic features of thrilling interest this second
case even went beyond the first. The family which suffered
in this instance was that of a Mr. Williamson ; and the
house was situated, if not absolutely in Eatcliffe Highway, at
any rate immediately round the corner of some secondary
street, running at right angles to this public thoroughfare.
Mr. Williamson was a well-known and respectable man, long
settled in that district ; he was supposed to be rich ; and,
more with a view to the employment furnished by such a
calling than with much anxiety for further accumulations, he
kept a sort of tavern which, in this respect, might be con-
sidered on an old patriarchal footing that, although people
1 On Thursday night, 19th December 1811. M.

VOL, XIII H

98 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

of considerable property resorted to the house in the
evenings, no kind of anxious separation was maintained
between them and the other visitors from the class of
artisans or common labourers. Anybody who conducted
himself with propriety was free to take a seat and call for
any liquor that he might prefer, And thus the society was
pretty miscellaneous ; in part stationary, but in some propor-
tion fluctuating, The household consisted of the following
five persons : 1, Mr, Williamson, its head, who was an old
man above seventy, and was well fitted for his situation,
being civil, and not at all morose, but at the same time firm
in maintaining order ; 2, Mrs, Williamson, his wife, about
ten years younger than himself ; 3, a little grand-daughter,
about nine years old ; 4, a housemaid, who was nearly forty
years old ; 5, a young journeyman, aged about twenty-six,
belonging to some manufacturing establishment (of what
class I have forgotten; neither do I remember of what
nation he was). It was the established rule at Mr. William-
son's that exactly as the clock struck eleven all the company,
without favour or exception, moved off. That was one of
the customs by which, in so stormy a district, Mr. William-
son had found it possible to keep his house free from brawls.
On the present Thursday night everything had gone on as
usual, except for one slight shadow of suspicion, which had
caught the attention of more persons than one. Perhaps at
a less agitating time it would hardly have been noticed ; but
now, when the first question and the last in all social meet-
ings turned upon the Marrs and their unknown murderer, it
was a circumstance naturally fitted to cause some uneasiness
that a stranger, of sinister appearance, in a wide surtout, had
flitted in and out of the room at intervals during the
evening, had sometimes retired from the light into obscure
corners, and by more than one person had been observed
stealing into the private passages of the house, It was pre-
sumed in general that the man must be known to William-
son. And, in some slight degree, as an occasional customer
of the house, it is not impossible that he was. But afterwards
this repulsive stranger, with his cadaverous ghastliness,
extraordinary hair, and glazed eyes, showing himself inter*
mittingly through the hours from 8 to 11 P.M., revolved

MURDER AS ONE OF THE PINE AftTS 99

upon the memory of all who had steadily observed him with
something of the same freezing effect as belongs to the two
assassins in " Macbeth " who present themselves reeking from
the murder of Banquo, and gleaming dimly, with dreadful
faces, from the misty background, athwart the pomps of the
regal banquet.

Meantime the clock struck eleven ; the company broke
up ; the door of entrance was nearly closed ; and at this
moment of general dispersion the situation of the five
inmates left upon the premises was precisely this : The
three elders, viz. Williamson, his wife, and his female
servant, were all occupied on the ground-floor, Williamson
himself was drawing ale, porter, &c., for those neighbours in
whose favour the house-door had been left ajar until the
hour of twelve should strike ; Mrs. Williamson and her
servant were moving to and fro between the back-kitchen
and a little parlour ; the little grand-daughter, whose sleep-
ing-room was on the first floor (which term in London
means always the floor raised by one flight of stairs above
the level of the street), had been fast asleep since nine o'clock;
lastly, the journeyman artisan had retired to rest for some
time. He was a regular lodger in the house ; and his bed-
room was on the second floor, For some time he had been
undressed, and had lam down in bed. Being, as a working
man, bound to habits of early rising, he was naturally
anxious to fall asleep as soon as possible. But, on this
particular night, his uneasiness, arising from the recent
murders at No. 29, rose to a paroxysm of nervous excite-
ment which kept him awake. It is possible that from some-
body he had heard of the suspicious-looking stranger or
might even personally have observed him slinking about.
But, were it otherwise, he was aware of several circumstances
dangerously affecting this house : for instance, the ruffianism
of this whole neighbourhood, and the disagreeable fact that
the Marrs had lived within a few doors of this very house,
which again argued that the murderer also lived at no great
distance. These were matters of general alarm. But there
were others peculiar to this house: in particular, the
notoriety of Williamson's opulence,- the belief, whether well
or ill founded, that he accumulated in desks and drawers the

100 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

money continually flowing into his hands ; and, lastly, the
danger so ostentatiously courted by that habit of leaving the
house-door ajar through one entire hour, and that hour
loaded with extra danger by the well-advertised assurance
that no collision need be feared with chance convivial
visitors, since all such people were banished at eleven. A
reguktion which had hitherto operated beneficially for the
character and comfort of the house now, on the contrary,
under altered circumstances, became a positive proclamation
of exposure and defencelessness through one entire period of
an hour. Williamson himself, it was said generally, being a
large unwieldy man, past seventy, and signally inactive,
ought, in prudence, to make the locking of his door coinci-
dent with the dismissal of his evening party.

Upon these and other grounds of alarm (particularly this,
that Mrs. Williamson was reported to possess a considerable
quantity of plate), the journeyman was musing painfully,
and the time might be within twenty-eight or twenty-five
minutes of twelve, when all at once, with a crash, proclaim-
ing some hand of hideous violence, the house-door was
suddenly shut and locked. Here, then, beyond all doubt,
was the diabolic man, clothed in mystery, from No. 29
KatclifFe Highway. Yes, that dreadful being, who for
twelve days had employed all thoughts and all tongues, was
now, too certainly, in this defenceless house, and would, in a
few minutes, be face to face with every one of its inmates.
A question still lingered in the public mind whether at
Man's there might not have been two men at work. If so,
there would be two at present ; and one of the two would
be immediately disposable for the upstairs work ; since no
danger could obviously be more immediately fatal to such an
attack than any alarm given from an upper window to the
passengers in the street. Through one half-minute the pooi-
panic-stricken man sat up motionless in bed. But then he
rose, his first movement being towards the door of his room.
Not for any purpose of securing it against intrusion too
well he knew that there was no fastening of any sort-
neither lock nor bolt ; nor was there any such moveabla
furniture in the room as might have availed to barricade the
door, even if time could be counted on for such an attempt

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 101

It was no effect of prudence, merely the fascination of killing
fear it was, that drove him to open the door. One step
brought him to the head of the stairs j he lowered his head
over the balustrade in order to listen ; and at that moment
ascended from the little parlour this agonising cry from the
woman-servant, " Lord Jesus Christ ! we shall all be mur-
dered ! " What a Medusa's head must have lurked in those
dreadful bloodless features, and those glazed rigid eyes, that
seemed rightfully belonging to a corpse, when one glance at
them sufficed to proclaim a death-warrant,

Three separate death-struggles were by this time over ;
and the poor petrified journeyman, quite unconscious of
what he was doing, in blind, passive, self-surrender to panic,
absolutely descended both flights of stairs. Infinite terror
inspired him with the same impulse as might have been
inspired by headlong courage. In his shirt, and upon old
decaying stairs, that at times creaked under his feet, he con-
tinued to descend, until he had reached the lowest step but
four. The situation was tremendous beyond any that is on
record. A sneeze, a cough, almost a breathing, and the
young man would be a corpse, without a chance or a struggle
for his life. The murderer was at that time in the little
parlour the door of which parlour faced you in descending
the stairs; and this door stood ajar; indeed, much more
considerably open than what is understood by the term
"ajar." Of that quadrant, or 90 degrees, which the door
would describe in swinging so far open as to stand at right
angles to the lobby, or to itself in a closed position, 55
degrees at the least were exposed. Consequently, two out of
three corpses were exposed to the young man's gaze. Where
was the third ? And the murderer where was he ? As to
the murderer, he was walking rapidly backwards and for-
wards in the parlour, audible but not visible at first, being
engaged with something or other in that part of the room
which the door still concealed. What the something might
be the sound soon explained ; he was applying keys tenta-
tively to a cupboard, a closet, and a scrutoire, in the hidden
part of the room. Very soon, however, he came into view ;
but, fortunately for the young man, at this critical moment
the murderer's purpose too entirely absorbed him to allow of

102 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

his throwing a glance to the staircase, on which else the
white figure of the journeyman, standing in motionless
horror, would have been detected in one instant, and seasoned
for the grave in the second. As to the third corpse, the
missing corpse, viz. Mr. "Williamson's, that is m the cellar ;
and how its local position can be accounted for remains as a
separate question, much discussed at the time, but never
satisfactorily cleared up. Meantime, that Williamson was
dead became evident to the young man ; since else he would
have been heard stirring or groaning, Three friends, there-
fore, out of four whom the young man had parted with forty
minutes ago, were now extinguished ; remained, therefore,
40 per cent (a large percentage for Williams to leave);
remained, in fact, himself and his pretty young friend, the
little grand -daughter, whose childish innocence was still'
slumbering, without fear for herself, or grief for her aged
grand-parents. If they are gone for ever, happily one friend
(for such he will prove himself indeed, if from such a danger
he can save this child) is pretty near to her. But alas ! he
is still nearer to a murderer. At this moment he is unnerved
for any exertion whatever ; he has changed into a pillar of
ice ; for the objects before him, separated by just thirteen
feet, are these : The housemaid had been caught by the
murderer on her knees ; she was kneeling before the fire-
grate, which she had been polishing with black lead. That
part of her task was finished ; and she had passed on to
another task, viz. the filling of the grate with wood and
coals, not for kindling at this moment, but so as to have it
ready for kindling on the next day. The appearances all
showed that she must have been engaged in this labour at
the very moment when the murderer entered ; and perhaps
the succession of the incidents arranged itself as follows :
From the awful ejaculation and loud outcry to Christ, as
overheard by the journeyman, it was clear that then first she
had been alarmed ; yet this was at least one and a half or
even two minutes after the door-slamming. Consequently
the alarm which had so fearfully and seasonably alarmed the
young man must, in some unaccountable way, have been
misinterpreted by the two women. It was said, at the time,
that Mrs. Williamson laboured under some dulness of hear-

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 103

ing ; and it was conjectured that the servant, haying her
ears filled with the noise of her own scrubbing, and her head
half under the grate, might have confounded it with the
street noises, or else might have imputed this violent closure
to some mischievous boys. But, howsoever explained, the
fact was evident that, until the words of appeal to Christ,
the servant had noticed nothing suspicious, nothing which
interrupted her labours. If so, it followed that neither had
Airs. Williamson noticed anything ; for, in that case, she
would have communicated her own alarm to the servant,
since both were in the same small room. Apparently the
course of things after the murderer had entered the room was
t]ii s -Mrs. Williamson had probably not seen him, from the
accident of standing with her back to the door. Her, there-
fore, before he was himself observed at all, he had stunned
and prostrated by a shattering blow on the back of her head;
this blow, inflicted by a crowbar, had smashed in the hinder
part of the skull. She fell ; and by the noise of her fall
(for all was the work of a moment) had first roused the
attention of the servant, who then uttered the cry which had
reached the young man ; but before she could repeat it the
murderer had descended with his uplifted instrument upon
her head, crushing the skull inwards upon the brain, Both
the women were irrecoverably destroyed, so that further
outrages were needless; and, moreover, the murderer was
conscious of the imminent danger from delay ; and yet, in
spite of his hurry, so fully did he appreciate the fatal conse-
quences to himself, if any of his victims should so far revive
into consciousness as to make circumstantial depositions,
that, by way of making this impossible, he had proceeded
instantly to cut the throats of each. All this tallied with
the appearances as now presenting themselves. Mrs. William-
son had fallen backwards with her head to the door ; the
servant, from her kneeling posture, had been incapable of
rising, and had presented her head passively to blows ; after
which, the miscreant had but to bend her head backwards so
as to expose her throat, and the murder was finished. It is
remarkable that the young artisan, paralysed as he had been
by fear, and evidently fascinated for a time so as to walk
right towards the lion's mouth, yet found himself able to

104 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

notice everything important, The reader must suppose him
at this point watching the murderer whilst hanging over the
"body of Mrs. Williamson, and whilst renewing his search for
certain important keys Doubtless it was an anxious situa-
tion for the murderer ; for, unless he speedily found the
keys wanted, all this hideous tragedy would end in nothing
but a prodigious increase of the public horror, in tenfold
precautions therefore, and redoubled obstacles interposed
between himself and his future game. Nay, there was even
a nearer interest at stake ; his own immediate safety might,
by a probable accident, be compromised. Most of those who
came to the house for liquor were giddy girls or children,
who, on finding this house closed, would go off carelessly to
some other ; but, let any thoughtful woman or man come to
the door now, a full quarter of an hour before the established
time of closing, in that case suspicion would arise too power-
ful to be checked. There would be a sudden alarm given ;
after which, mere luck would decide the event For it is a
remarkable fact, and one that illustrates the singular incon-
sistency of this villain, who, being often so superfluously
subtle, was in other directions so reckless and improvident,
that at this very moment, standing amongst corpses that
had deluged the little parlour with blood, Williams must
have been in considerable doubt whether he had any sure
means of egress. There were windows, he knew, to the
back ; but upon what ground they opened he seems to have
had no certain information ; and in a neighbourhood so
dangerous the windows of the lower storey would not im-
probably be nailed down ; those in the upper might be free,
but then came the necessity of a leap too formidable. From
all this, however, the sole practical inference was to hurry
forward with the trial of further keys, and to detect the
hidden treasure. This it was, this intense absorption in one
overmastering pursuit, that dulled the murderer's perceptions
as to all around him; otherwise he must have heard the
breathing of the young man, which to himself at times
became fearfully audible. As the murderer stood once more
over the body of Mrs. Williamson, and searched her pockets
more narrowly, he pulled out various clusters of keys, one
of which, dropping, gave a harsh jingling sound upon the

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 105

floor. At this time it was that the secret witness, from his
secret stand, noticed the fact of Williams's surtout "being
lined with silk of the finest quality. One other fact he
noticed, which eventually became more immediately important
than many stronger circumstances of incrimination : this was
that the shoes of the murderer, apparently new, and hought
probably with poor Marr's money, creaked as he walked,
harshly and frequently. "With the new clusters of keys, the
murderer walked off to the hidden section of the parlour.
And here, at last, was suggested to the journeyman the sudden
opening for an escape. Some minutes would be lost to a
certainty in trying all these keys, and subsequently in search-
ing the drawers, supposing that the keys answered or in
violently forcing them, supposing that they did not. He
might thus count upon a brief interval of leisure, whilst the
rattling of the keys might obscure to the murderer the
creaking of the stairs under the reascending journeyman.
His plan was now formed. On regaining his bedroom, he
placed the bed against the door by way of a transient
retardation to the enemy, that might give him a short
warning, and, in the worst extremity, might give him a
chance for life by means of a desperate leap. This change
made as quietly as was possible, he lore the sheets, pillow-
cases, and blankets into broad ribbons, and, after plaiting
them into ropes, spliced the different lengths together. But
at the very first he descries this ugly addition to his labours.
Where shall he look for any staple, hook, bar, or other
fixture, from which his rope, when twisted, may safely depend ?
Measured from the window-siZJ i.e the lowest part of the
window architrave there count but twenty-two or twenty-
three feet to the ground. Of this length ten or twelve feet
may be looked upon as cancelled, because to that extent he
might drop without danger. So much being deducted, there
would remain, say, a dozen feet of rope to prepare. But,
unhappily, there is no stout iron fixture anywhere about his
window. The nearest, indeed the sole, fixture of that sort is
not near to the window at all ; it is a spike fixed (for no
reason at all that is apparent) in the bed-tester. Now, the
bed being shifted, the spike is shifted ; and its distance from
the window, having always been four feet, is now seven.

106 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Seven entire feet, therefore, must be added to that which
would have sufficed if measured from the window. But
courage ! God, by the proverb of all nations in Christendom,
helps those that help themselves. This our young man
thankfully acknowledges ; he reads already, in the very fact
of any spike at all being found where hitherto it has been
useless, an earnest of providential aid. Were it only for
himself that he worked, he could not feel himself meri-
toriously employed ; but this is not so. In deep sincerity he
is now agitated for the poor child, whom he knows and loves ;
every minute, he feels, brings rum nearer to her ; and, as he
passed her door, his first thought had been to take her out of
bed in his arms, and to carry her where she might share his
chances. But, on consideration, he felt that this sudden
awaking of her, and the impossibility of even whispering any
explanation, would cause her to cry audibly ; and the inevit-
able indiscretion of one would be fatal to the two. As the
Alpine avalanches, when suspended above the traveller's
head, oftentimes (we are told) come down through the stirring
of the air by a simple whisper, precisely on such a tenure of
a whisper was now suspended the murderous malice of the
man below. No ; theru is but one way to save the child ;
towards her deliverance the first step is through his own.
And he has made an excellent beginning ; fur the spike,
which too fearfully he had expected to see torn away by any
strain upon it from the half-carious wood, stands firmly when
tried against the pressure of his own weight. He has rapidly
fastened on to it three lengths of his new rope, measuring
eleven feet. He plaits it roughly ; so that only three feet
have been lost in the intertwisting ; he has spliced on a
second length equal to the first ; so that, already, sixteen feet
are ready to throw out of the window ; and thus, let the
worst come to the worst, it will not be absolute ruin to
swarm down the rope so far as it will reach, and then to
drop boldly. All this has been accomplished in about six
minutes ; and the hot contest between above and below is
still steadily, but fervently, proceeding. Murderer is working
hard in the parlour; journeyman is working hard in the
bedroom. Miscreant is getting on famously downstairs ; one
batch of bank-notes he has already bagged, and is hard upon

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 107

the scent of a second. He has also sprung a covey of
golden coins. Sovereigns as yet were not \ but guineas at
this period fetched thirty shillings apiece ; and he has
worked his way into a little quarry of these. Murderer is
almost joyous ; and, if any creature is still living in this
house, as shrewdly he suspects and very soon means to know,
with that creature he would be happy, before cutting the
creature's throat, to drink a glass of something. Instead of
the glass, might he not make a present to the poor creature
of his throat '? Oh no ! impossible ! Throats are a sort of
thing that he never makes presents of ; business business
must be attended to. Really the two men, considered simply
as men of business, are both meritorious. Like chorus and
semi-chorus, strophe and anti-strophe, they work each against
the other, Pull journeyman, pull murderer ! Pull baker,
pull devil ! As regards the journeyman, he is now safe. To his
sixteen feet, of which seven are neutralised by the distance
of the bed, he has at last added six feet more ; which will be
short of reaching the ground by perhaps ten feet a trifle
which man or boy may drop without injury. All is safe,
therefore, for him ; which is more than one can be sure of
for miscreant in the parlour. Miscreant, however, takes it
coolly enough : the reason being that, with all his cleverness,
for once in his life miscreant has been overreached. The
reader and I know, but miscreant does not in the least
suspect, a little fact of some importance, viz. that just now
through a space of full three minutes he has been overlooked
and studied by one who (though reading in a dreadful book and
suffering under mortal panic) took accurate notes of so much as
his limited opportunities allowed him to see, and will assuredly
report the creaking shoes and the silk-mounted surtoufc in
quarters where such little facts will tell very little to his
advantage. But, although it is true that Mr. Williams,
unaware of the journeyman's having "assisted" at the
examination of Mrs. Williamson's pockets, could not connect
any anxiety with that person's subsequent proceedings, nor
specially therefore with his having embarked in the rope-
weaving hue, assuredly he knew of reasons enough for not
loitering. And yet he did loiter. Reading his acts by the
light of such mute traces as he left behind him, the police

108 TALES AND KtOSE PHANTASIES

became aware that latterly lie must have loitered. And the
reason which governed him is striking ; because at once it
records that murder was not pursued by him simply as a
means to an end, but also as an end for itself. Mr. Williams
had now been upon the premises for perhaps fifteen or
twenty minutes ; and in that space of time he had des-
patched, in a style satisfactory to himself, a considerable
amount of business. He had done, in commercial language,
"a good stroke of business." Upon two floors, viz. the
cellar-floor and the ground-floor, he has " accounted for " all
the population. But there remained at least two floors
more ; and it now occurred to Mr, Williams that, although
the landlord's somewhat chilling manner had shut lnm out
from any familiar knowledge of the household arrangements,
too probably on one or other of those floors there must be
some throats. As to plunder, he has already bagged the
whole. And it was next to impossible that any arrear, the
most trivial, should still remain for a gleaner. But the
throats the throats there it was that arrears and gleanings
might perhaps be counted on. And thus it appeared that,
in his wolfish thirst for blood, Mr. Williams put to hazard
the whole fruits of his night's work, and his life into the
bargain. At this moment, if the murderer knew all, could
he see the open window above stairs ready for the descent of
the journeyman, could he witness the life-and-death rapidity
with which that journeyman is working, could he guess at
the almighty uproar which within ninety seconds will be
maddening the population of this populous district, no
picture of a maniac in flight of panic or m pursuit of
vengeance would adequately represent the agony of haste
with which he would himself be hurrying to the street-door
for final evasion. That mode of escape was still free. Even
at this moment there yet remained time sufficient for a
successful flight, and, therefore, for the following revolution
in the romance of his own abominable life : He had in his
pockets above a hundred pounds of booty, means, therefore,
for a full disguise. This very night, if he will shave off his
yellow hair, and blacken his eyebrows, buying, when morning
light returns, a dark-coloured wig, and clothes such as may
co-operate in personating the character of a grave professional

MURDER AS ONE OF THE PINE ARTS 109

man, he may elude all suspicions of impertinent policemen-
may sail by any one of a hundred vessels bound for any
port along the huge line of seaboard (stretching through 2400
miles) of the American United States ; may enjoy fifty years
for leisurely repentance ; and may even die in the odour of
sanctity. On the other hand, if lie prefer active life, it is
not impossible that, with his subtlety, hardihood, and un-
scrupulousness, in a land where the simple process of
naturalisation converts the alien at once into a child of the
family, he might rise to the President's chair ; might have a
statue at his death ; and afterwards a life in three volumes
quarto, with no hint glancing towards No, 29 RatcMe High-
way. But all depends on the next ninety seconds. Within
that time there is a sharp turn to be taken ; there is a wrong
turn, and a right turn. Should his better angel guide him
to the right one, all may yet go well as regards this world's
prosperity. But behold ! m two minutes from this point we
shall see him take the wrong one \ and then Nemesis will be
at his heels with ruin perfect and sudden.

Meantime, if the murderer allows himself to loiter, the
ropemaker overhead does not. Well he knows that the poor
child's fate is on the edge of a razor ; for all turns upon the
alarm being raised before the murderer reaches her bedside.

And at this very moment, whilst desperate agitation is
nearly paralysing his fingers, he hears the sullen stealthy
step of the murderer creeping up through the darkness.
It had been the expectation of the journeyman (founded
on the clamorous uproar with which the street-door was
slammed) that Williams, when disposable for his upstairs
work, would come racing at a long jubilant gallop, and with
a tiger roar ; and perhaps, on his natural instincts, he would
have done so. But this mode of approach, which was of dread-
ful effect when applied to a case of surprise, became dangerous
in the case of people who might by this time have been
placed fully upon their guard. The step which he had
heard was on the staircase but upon which stair? He
fancied upon the lowest ; and, in a movement so slow and
cautious, even this might make .all the difference ; yet might
it not have been the tenth, twelfth, or fourteenth stair?
Never, perhaps, in this world did any man feel his own re-

110 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

sponsibility so cruelly loaded and strained as at this moment
did the poor journeyman on behalf of the slumbering child.
Lose but two seconds, through awkwardness or through the
self-counteractions of panic, and for her the total differc nee
arose between life and death, Still there is a hope ; and no-
thing can so frightfully expound the hellish nature of him
whose baleful shadow, to speak astrologically, at this moment
darkens the house of life, as the simple expression of the
ground on which this hope rested. The journeyman felt
sure that the murderer would not be satisfied to kill the poor
child whilst unconscious. This would be to defeat his whole
purpose in murdering her at all. To an epicure in murder
such as Williams, it would be taking away the very sting of
the enjoyment if the poor child should be suffered to drink
off the bitter cup of death without fully apprehending the
misery of the situation. But this luckily would require
time ; the double confusion of mind, first, from being roused
up at so unusual an hour, and, secondly, from the horror of
the occasion when explained to her, would at first produce
fainting, or some mode of insensibility or distraction, such as
must occupy a considerable time. The logic of the case, in
short, all rested upun the ultra fiendishness of Williams.
Were he likely to be content with the mere fact of the
child's death, apart from the process and leisurely expansion
of its mental agony in that case there would be no hope.
.But, because our present murderer is fastidiously finical in
his exactions a sort of martinet in the scemcal grouping
and draping of the circumstances in his murders therefore
it is that hope becomes reasonable, since all such refinements
of preparation demand time. Murders of mere necessity
Williams was obliged to hurry ; but in a murder of pure
voluptuousness, entirely disinterested, where no hostile wit-
ness was to be removed, no extra booty to be gained, and no
revenge to be gratified, it is clear that to hurry would be
altogether to rum. If this child, therefore, is to be saved, it
will be on pure sesthetical considerations. 1

1 Let tlie reader who is disposed to regaid as exaggerated or
romantic the pure fiendishness imputed to Williams recollect that,
except for the luxurious purpose of basking and revelling in the
anguish of dying despair, he had no motive at all, small or great, foi

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 111

But all considerations whatever are at tins moment sud-
denly cut short. A second step is heard on Qie stairs, but
still stealthy and cautious ; a third and then the child's
doom seems fixed. But just at that moment all is ready.
The window is wide open ; the rope is swinging free ; the
journeyman has launched himself; and already he is in the
first stage of his descent, Simply by the weight of his per-
son he descended, and by the resistance of his hands he
retarded the descent. The danger was that the rope should
run too smoothly through his hands, and that by too rapid
an acceleration of pace he should come violently to the
ground. Happily he was able to resist the descending im-
petus ; the knots of the splicings furnished a succession of
retardations. But the rope proved shorter by four or five
feet than he had calculated : ten or eleven feet from the
ground he hung suspended in the air ; speechless for the pre-
sent through long-continued agitation, and not daring to drop
boldly on the rough carriage pavement, lest he should fracture
his legs. But the night was not dark, as it had been on
occasion of the Man- murders, And yet, for purposes of
criminal police, it was by accident worse than the darkest
night that ever hid a murder or baffled a pursuit London,
from east to west, was covered with a deep pall (rising from
the river) of universal fog. Hence it happened that for
twenty or thirty seconds the young man hanging in the air
was not observed. His white shirt at length attracted notice.
Three or four people ran up, and received him in their arms,
all anticipating some dreadful annunciation. To what house
did he belong ? Even that was not instantly apparent ; but
he pointed with his finger to Williamson's door, and said in
a half-choking whisper " Mam's murderer, now at work ! "

All explained itself in a moment : the silent language of
the fact made its own eloquent revelation. The mysterious
exterminator of No. 29 Ratcliffe Highway had visited another
house j and, behold ! one man only had escaped through the

attempting the murder of this young girl, She had seen nothing,
heard nothing was fqpt asleep, and her door was closed ; so that, as
a witness against him, he knew that she was as useless as any one of
the three corpses, And yet he was making preparations for her murder
when the alarm in the street interrupted him.

112 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

air, and in his night-dress, to tell the tale. Superstitiously,
there was something to check the pursuit of this unintel-
ligible criminal, Morally, and in the interests of vindictive
justice, there was everything to rouse, quicken, and sustain it.
Yes, Marr's murderer the man of mystery was again
at work ; at this moment perhaps extinguishing some lamp
of life, and not at any remote place, hut here in the very
house which the listeners to this dreadful announcement were
actually touching. The chaos and Hind uproar of the scene
which followed, measured hy the crowded reports in the
journals of many subsequent days, and in one feature of that
case, has never to my knowledge had its parallel ; or, if a
parallel, only in one case what followed, I mean, on the
acquittal of the seven bishops at Westminster in 1688. At
present there was more than passionate enthusiasm. The
frenzied movement of mixed horror and exultation the
ululation of vengeance which ascended instantaneously from
the individual street, and then by a sublime sort of magnetic
contagion from all the adjacent streets can be adequately
expressed only by a rapturous passage in Shelley :

" The transport of a fierce and monstrous gladness

Spread through the multitudinous streets, fast flying
Upon the wings of fear : From his dull madness

The starveling -waked, and died in joy : the dying.

Among the corpses in stark agony lying,

Just heaid the happy tidings, and in hope
Closed their faint eyes : from house to house replying

With loud acclaim, the living shook heaven's cope
And filled the startled earth with echoes," x

There was something, indeed, half inexplicable in the in-
stantaneous interpretation of the gathering shout according
to its true meaning. In fact, the deadly roar of vengeance,
and its sublime unity, could point in this district only to the
one demon whose idea had brooded and tyrannised, for twelve
days, over the general heart ; every door, every window in
the neighbourhood, flew open as if at a word of command ;
multitudes, without waiting for the regular means of egress,
leaped clown at once from the windows on, the lower storey ;
sick men rose from their beds ; in one instance, as if expressly

1 Revolt of Islam, canto xii.

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 113

to verify the image of Shelley (in v. 4, 5, 6, 7), a man whose
death had been looked for through some days, and who actually
did die on the following day, rose, armed himself with a sword,
and descended in his shirt into the street. The chance was a
good one, and the mob were made aware of it, for catching
the wolfish dog in the high noon and carnival of his bloody
revels in the very centre of his own shambles. For a
moment the mob was self-baffled by its own numbers and its
own fury. But even that fury felt the call for self-control.
It was evident that the massy street-door must be driven in,
since there was no longer any living person to co-operate
with their efforts from within, excepting only a female child.
Crowbars dexterously applied in one minute threw the door
out of hangings, and the people entered like a torrent. It
may be guessed with what fret and irritation to their con-
suming fury a signal of pause and absolute silence was made
by a person of local importance. In the hope of receiving
some useful communication, the mob became silent " Now,
listen," said the man of authority, "and we shall learn
whether he is above-stairs or below." Immediately a noise
was heard as if of some one forcing windows, and clearly the
sound came from a bedroom above. Yes, the fact was
apparent that the murderer was even yet in the house : he
had been caught in a trap. Not having made himself
familiar with the details of Williamson's house, to all appear-
ance he had suddenly become a prisoner m one of the upper
rooms. Towards this the crowd now rushed impetuously,
The door, however, was found to be slightly fastened ; and,
at the moment when this was forced, a loud crash of the
window, both glass and frame, announced that the wretch
had made his escape. He had leaped down ; and several
persons in the crowd, who burned with the general fury,
leaped after him. These persons had not troubled themselves
about the nature of the ground; but now, on making an
examination of it with torches, they reported it to be an in-
clined plane, or embankment of clay, very wet and adhesive.
The prints of the man's footsteps were deeply impressed
upon the clay, and therefore easily traced up to the summit
of the embankment ; but it was perceived at once that pur-
suit would be useless, from the density of the mist. Two
VOL. xni i

1U TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

feet ahead of you a man was entirely withdrawn from your
power of identification ; and, on overtaking him, you could
not venture to challenge him as the same whom you had
lost sight of, Never, through the course of a whole century,
could there "be a night expected more propitious to an escap-
ing criminal ; means of disguise Williams now 'had in excess ;
and the dens were innumerable in the neighbourhood of the
river that could have sheltered him for years from trouble-
some inquiries. But favours are thrown away upon the reck-
less and the thankless. That night, when the turning-point
offered itself for his whole future career, Williams took the
wrong turn ; for, out of mere indolence, he took the turn to
his old lodgings that place which, in all England, he had
just now the most reason to shun.

Meantime the crowd had thoroughly searched the pre-
mises of Williamson. The first inquiry was for the young
grand-daughter. Williams, it was evident, had gone into
her room ; but in this room apparently it was that the
sudden uproar in the streets had surprised him; after
which his undivided attention had been directed to
the windows, since through these only any retreat had
been left open to him. Even this retreat he owed only
to the fog, and to the hurry of the moment, and to the diffi-
culty of approaching the premises by the rear. The little
girl was naturally agitated by the influx of strangers at that
hour ; but otherwise, through the humane precautions of the
neighbours, she was preserved from all knowledge of the
dreadful events that had occurred whilst she herself was
sleeping. Her poor old grandfather was still missing, until
the crowd descended into the cellar ; he was then found
lying prostrate on the cellar floor : apparently he had been
thrown down from the top of the cellar stairs, and with so
much violence that one leg was broken. After he had been,
thus disabled, Williams had gone down to him, and cut his
throat. There was much discussion at the time, in some of
the public journals, upon the possibility of reconciling these
incidents with other circumstantialities of the case, supposing
that only one man had been concerned in the affair. That
there uas only one man concerned seems to be certain. One
only was seen or heard at Man's ; one only, and beyond all

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 115

doubt the same man, was seen by the young journeyman in
Mrs. Williamson's parlour ; and one only was traced by his
footmarks on the clay embankment Apparently the course
which he had pursued was this : He had introduced himself
to Williamson by ordering some beer. This order would
oblige the old man to go down into the cellar ; Williams
would wait until he had reached it, and would then " slam "
and lock the street door in the violent way described.
Williamson would come up in agitation upon hearing this
violence. The murderer, aware that he would do so, met
him, no doubt, at the head of the cellar stairs, and threw
him down ; after which he would go down to consummate
the murder in his ordinary way, All this would occupy a
minute, or a minute and a half; and in that way the
interval would be accounted for that elapsed between the
alarming sound of the street-door as heard by the journey-
man and the lamentable outcry of the female servant. It
is evident also that the reason why no cry whatsoever had
been heard from the lips of Mrs. Williamson is due to the
positions of the parties as I have sketched them. Coming
behind Mrs. Williamson, unseen therefore, and from her
deafness unheard, the murderer would inflict entire
abolition of consciousness while she was yet unaware of his
presence. But with the servant, who had unavoidably wit-
nessed the attack upon her mistress, the murderer could not
obtain the same fulness of advantage ; and she therefore had
time for making an agonising ejaculation.

It has been mentioned that the murderer of the Marrs
was not for nearly a fortnight so much as suspected, mean-
ing that, previously to the Williamson murder, no vestige of
any ground for suspicion in any direction whatever had
occurred either to the general public or to the police. But
there were two very limited exceptions to this state of abso-
lute ignorance. Some of the magistrates had in their posses-
sion something which, when closely examined, offered a very
probable means for tracing the criminal. But as yet they had
not traced him. Until the Friday morning next after the
destruction of the Williamsons, they had not published the
important fact that upon the ship-carpenter's mallet (with
which, as regarded the stunning or disabling process, the

116 TALES AND PBOSE PHANTASIES

murders had been achieved) were inscribed the letters
"J. P." This mallet had, by a strange oversight on the
part of the murderer, been left behind in Marr's shop ; and
it is an interesting fact, therefore, that, had the villain been
intercepted by the brave pawnbroker, he would have been
met virtually disarmed. This public notification was made
officially on the Friday, viz. on the thirteenth day after the
first murder, And it was instantly followed (as will be
seen) by a most important result, Meantime, within the
secrecy of one single bedroom in all London, it is a fact that
Williams had been whisperingly the object of very deep sus-
picion from the very first that is, within that same hour
which witnessed the Marr tragedy. And singular it is that
the suspicion was due entirely to his own folly. Williams
lodged, in company with other men of various nations, at a
public-house. In a large dormitory there were arranged five
or six beds. These were occupied by artisans, generally of
respectable character. One or two Englishmen there were,
one or two Scotchmen, three or four Germans, and William^
whose birthplace was not certainly known. On the fatal
Saturday night, about half-past one o'clock, when Williams
returned from his dreadful labours, he found the English
and Scotch party asleep, but the Germans awake: one of
them was sitting up with a lighted candle in his hands, and
reading aloud to the other two. Upon this, Williams said,
in an angry and very peremptory tone, u Oh, put that candle
out ; put it out directly : we shall all be burned in our
beds." Had the British party in the room been awake, Mr.
Williams would have roused a mutinous protest against this
arrogant mandate, But Germans are generally mild and
facile in their tempers ; so the light was complaisantly ex-
tinguished. Yet, as there were no curtains, it struck the
Germans that the danger was really none at all ; for bed-
clothes, massed upon each other, will no more burn than the
leaves of a closed book. Privately, therefore, the Germans
drew an inference that Mr. Williams must have had some
urgent motive for withdrawing his own person and dress
from observation, What this motive might be the next
day's news diffused all over London, and of course at this
house, not two furlongs from Marr's shop, made awfully

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 117

evident; and, as may well be supposed, the suspicion was
communicated to the other members of the dormitory. All
of them, however, were aware of the legal danger attaching,
under English law, to insinuations against a man, even if
true, which might not admit of proof. In reality, had
Williams used the most obvious precautions, had he simply
walked down to the Thames (not a stone's-throw distant) and
flung two of his implements into the river, no conclusive
proof could have been adduced against him. And he might
have realised the scheme of Courvoisier (the murderer of
Lord William Russell) viz. have sought each separate
month's support in a separate well-concerted murder, The
party in the dormitory, meantime, were satisfied themselves,
but waited for evidences that might satisfy others. No sooner,
therefore, had the official notice been published as to the initials
J. P. on the mallet than every man in the house recognised
at once the well-known initials of an honest Norwegian ship-
carpenter, John Petersen, who had worked in the English
dockyards until the present year, but, having occasion to
revisit his native land, had left his box of tools m the
garrets of this inn. These garrets were now searched.
Petersen's tool-chest was found, but wanting the mallet ;
and, on further examination, another overwhelming dis-
covery was made. The surgeon who examined the corpses
at Williamson's had given it as his opinion that the throats
were not cut by means of a razor, but of some implement
differently shaped. It was now remembered that Williams
had recently borrowed a large French knife of peculiar con-
struction ; and, accordingly, from a heap of old lumber and
rags, there was soon extricated a waistcoat, which the whole
house could swear to as recently worn by Williams. In this
waistcoat, and glued by gore to the lining of its pockets, was
found the French knife, Next, it was matter of notoriety to
everybody in the inn that Williams ordinarily wore at pre-
sent a pair of creaking shoes, and a brown surtout lined with
silk. Many other presumptions seemed scarcely called for.
Williams was immediately apprehended, and briefly ex-
amined. This was on the Friday. On the Saturday morn-
ing (viz. fourteen days from the Marr murders) he was again
brought up. The circumstantial evidence was overwhelming.

118 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Williams watched its course, but said very little. At the
close, lie was fully committed for trial at the next sessions ;
and it is needless to say that, on his road to prison, he was
pursued by mobs so fierce that, under ordinary circumstances,
there would have been small hope of escaping summary
vengeance. But upon this occasion a powerful escort had
been provided ; so that he was safely lodged in jail. In this
particular jail at this time the regulation was that at five
o'clock P.M. all the prisoners on the criminal side should be
finally locked up for the night, and without candles. For
fourteen hours (that is, until seven o'clock on the next morn-
ing) they were left un visited, and in total darkness. Time,
therefore, Williams had for committing suicide. The means
in other respects were small. One iron bar there was, meant
(if I remember) for the suspension of a lamp ; upon this he
had hanged himself by his braces. At what hour was un-
certain : some people fancied at midnight. And in that
case, precisely at the hour when, fourteen days before, he
had been spreading horror and desolation through the quiet
family of poor Marr, now was he forced into drinking of the
same cup, presented to his lips by the same accursed hands.

The case of the M'Keans, which has been specially alluded
to, merits also a slight rehearsal for the dreadful picturesque-
ness of some two or three amongst its circumstances. The
scene of this murder was at a rustic inn, some few miles
(I think) from Manchester ; and the advantageous situation
of this inn it was out of which arose the twofold temptations
of the case. Generally speaking, an inn argues, of course, a
close cincture of neighbours, as the original motive for open-
ing such an establishment. But in this case the house indi-
vidually was solitary, so that no interruption was to be looked
for from any persons living within reach of screams ; and yet,
on the other hand, the circumjacent vicinity was eminently
populous ; as one consequence of which, a benefit club had
established its weekly rendezvous in this inn, and left the
pecuniary accumulations in their club -room, under the
custody of the landlord. This fund arose often to a con-
siderable amount, fifty or seventy pounds, before it was
transferred to the hands of a banker. Here, therefore, was

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 119

a treasure worth some little risk, and a situation that pro-
mised next to none. These attractive circumstances had, by
accident, become accurately known to one or both of the two
M'Keans ; and, unfortunately, at a moment of overwhelming
misfortune to themselves. They were hawkers, and until
lately had borne most respectable characters; but some
mercantile crash had overtaken them with utter ruin, in
which their joint capital had been swallowed up to the last
shilling. This sudden prostration had made them desperate :
their own little property had been swallowed up in a large
sodal catastrophe, and society at large they looked upon as
accountable to them for a robbery. In preying, therefore,
upon society, they considered themselves as pursuing a wild
natural justice of retaliation. The money aimed at did
certainly assume the character of public money, being the
product of many separate subscriptions. They forgot, how-
ever, that in the murderous acts which too certainly they
meditated as preliminaries to the robbery they could plead
no such imaginary social precedent. In dealing with a
family that seemed almost helpless, if all went smoothly,
they relied entirely upon their own bodily strength. They
were stout young men, twenty-eight to thirty-two years old :
somewhat undersized as to height ; but squarely built, deep-
chested, broad-shouldered, and so beautifully formed, as
regarded the symmetry of their limbs and their articulations,
that, after their execution, the bodies were privately exhibited
by the surgeons of the Manchester Infirmary as objects of
statuesque interest. On the other hand, the household
which they proposed to attack consisted of the following four
persons : 1, the landlord, a stoutish farmer but him they
intended to disable by a trick then newly introduced amongst
robbers, and termed Twcussing, i.e. clandestinely drugging the
liquor of the victim with laudanum ; 2, the landlord's wife ;
3, a young servant- woman ; 4, a boy, twelve or fourteen
years old. The danger was that out of four persons,
scattered by possibility over a house which had two separate
exits, one at least might escape, and, by better acquaintance
with the adjacent paths, might succeed in giving an alarm to
some of the houses a furlong distant. Their final resolution
was to be guided by circumstances as to the mode of con-

120 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

ducting the affair ; and yet, as it seemed essential to success
that they should assume the air of strangers to each other, it
was necessary that they should preconcert some general out-
line of their plan ; since it would on this scheme he
impossible, without awaking violent suspicions, to make
any communications under the eyes of the family. This
outline included, at the least, one murder: so much was
settled ; hut otherwise their subsequent proceedings make it
evident that they wished to have as little bloodshed as was
consistent with their final object. On the appointed day
they presented themselves separately at the rustic inn, and
at different hours. One came as early as four o'clock in the
afternoon ; the other not until half-past seven. They saluted
each other distantly and shyly ; and, though occasionally
exchanging a few words in the character of strangers, did not
seem disposed to any familiar intercourse. With the land-
lord, however, on his return about eight o'clock from Man-
chester, one of the brothers entered into a lively conversation,
invited him to take a tumbler of puncli ; and, at a moment
when the landlord's absence from the room allowed it, poured
into the punch a spoonful of laudanum. Some time after
this the clock struck ten ; upon which the elder M'Kean^
professing to be weary, asked to be shown up to his bedroom :
for each brother, immediately on arriving, had engaged a bed.
On this, the poor servant-girl presented herself with a bed-
candle to light him upstairs. At this critical moment the
family were distributed thus : The landlord, stupefied with
the horrid narcotic which he had drunk, had retired to a
private room adjoining the public room, for the purpose of
reclining upon a sofa ; and he, luckily for his own safety, was
looked upon as entirely incapacitated for action. The land-
lady was occupied with her husband. And thus the younger
M'Kean was left alone in the public room. He rose, therefore,
softly, and placed himself at the foot of the stairs which Ms
brother had just ascended, so as to be sure of intercepting any
fugitive from the bedroom above. Into that room the elder
M'Kean was ushered by the servant, who pointed to two beds
one of which was already half occupied by the boy, and
the other empty : in these she intimated that the two strangers
must dispose of themselves for the night, according to any

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 121

arrangement that they might agree upon. Saying this, she
presented him with the candle ; which he in a moment
placed upon the table, and, intercepting her retreat from the
room, threw his arms around her neck with a gesture aa
though he meant to kiss her. This was evidently what she
herself anticipated, and endeavoured to prevent. Her horror
may be imagined when she felt the perfidious hand that
clasped her neck armed with a razor, and violently cutting
her throat. She was hardly able to utter one scream before
she sank powerless upon the floor. This dreadful spectacle
was witnessed by the boy; who was not asleep, but had
presence of mind enough instantly to close his eyes. The
murderer advanced hastily to the bed, and anxiously examined
the expression of the boy's features : satisfied he was not, and
he then placed his hand upon the boy's heart, in order to
judge by its beatings whether he were agitated or not. This
was a dreadful trial; and no doubt the counterfeit sleep
would immediately have been detected, when suddenly a
dreadful spectacle drew off the attention of the murderer.
Solemnly, and in ghostly silence, uprose in her dying
delirium the murdered girl ; she stood upright, she walked
steadily for a moment or two, she bent her steps towards the
door. The murderer turned away to pursue her; and at
that moment the boy, feeling that his one solitary chance was
to fly whilst this scene was in progress, bounded out of bed.
On the landing at the head of the stairs was one murderer ;
at the foot of the stairs was the other : who could believe
that the boy had the shadow of a chance for escaping ? And
yet, in the most natural way, he surmounted all hindrances.
In the boy's horror, he laid his left hand on the balustrade,
and took a flying leap over it, which landed him at the
bottom of the stairs, without having touched a single stair.
He had thus effectually passed one of the murderers : the
other, it is true, was still to be passed ; and this would have
been impossible but for a sudden accident. The landlady
had been alarmed by the faint scream of the young woman ;
had hurried from her private room to the girl's assistance ;
but at the foot of the stairs had been intercepted by the
younger brother, and was at this moment struggling with
fern The confusion of this life-and-death conflict had allowed

122 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

the "boy to whirl past them. Lucidly he took a turn into a
kitchen out of which was a "back-door, fastened by a single
holt that ran freely at a touch ; and through this door he
rushed into the open fields. But at this moment the elder
brother was set free for pursuit hy the death of the poor
girl. There is no douht that in her delirium the image
moving through her thoughts was that of the cluh, which
met once a-week, She fancied it no douht sitting ; and to
this room, for help and for safety, she staggered along ; she
entered it, and within the doorway once more she dropped
clown and instantly expired. Her murderer, who had
followed her closely, now saw himself set at liberty for the
pursuit of the boy. At this critical moment all was at
stake; unless the boy were caught the enterprise was
ruined. He passed his brother, therefore, and the landlady,
without pausing, and rushed through the open door into the
fields. By a single second perhaps, he was too late. The
boy was keenly aware that, if he continued in sight, he
would have no chance of escaping from a powerful young
man. He made, therefore, at once for a ditch ; into which
he tumbled headlong. Had the murderer ventured to make
a leisurely examination of the nearest ditch, he would easily
have found the boy made so conspicuous by his white
shirt. But he lost all heart, upon failing at once to arrest
the boy's flight. And every succeeding second made his
despair the greater. If the boy had really effected his escape
to the neighbouring farm-houses, a party of men might be
gathered within five minutes ; and already it might have
become difficult for himself and his brother, unacquainted
with the field paths s to evade being intercepted. Nothing
remained, therefore, but to summon his brother away. Thus
it happened that the landlady, though mangled, escaped with
life, and eventually recovered. The landlord owed his safety
to the stupefying potion. And the baffled murderers had
the misery of knowing that their dreadful crime had been
altogether profitless. The road, indeed, was now open to the
club-room ; and, probably, forty seconds would have sufficed
to carry off the box of treasure, which afterwards might have
been burst open and pillaged at leisure. But the fear of
intercepting enemies was too strongly upon them ; and they

MURDER AS ONE OF THE FINE ARTS 123

fled rapidly by a road which carried them actually within six
feet of the lurking boy. That night they passed through
Manchester. When daylight returned, they slept in a thicket
twenty miles distant from the scene of their guilty attempt,
On the second and third nights, they pursued their march
on foot, resting again during the day. About sunrise on the
fourth morning they were entering some village near Kirby
Lonsdale, in "Westmorland. They must have designedly
quitted the direct line of rqute ; for their object was Ayrshire,
of which county they were natives, and the regular road
would have led them through Shap, Penrith, Cailisle. Prob-
ably they were seeking to elude the persecution of the stage-
coaches, which, for the last thirty hours, had been scattering
at all the inns and road-side cabarets hand-bills describing
their persons and dress. It happened (perhaps through
design) that on this fourth morning they had separated, so as
to enter the village ten minutes apart from each other.
They were exhausted and footsore. In this condition it was
easy to stop them. A blacksmith had silently reconnoitred
them, and compared their appearance with the descriptions
of the hand-bills. They were then easily overtaken, and
separately arrested. Their trial and condemnation speedily
followed at Lancaster ; and in those days it followed, of
course, that they were executed. Otherwise, their case fell
so far within the sheltering limits of what would now be
regarded as extenuating circumstances that, whilst a murder
more or less was not to repel them from their object, very
evidently they were anxious to economise the bloodshed as
much as possible. Immeasurable, therefore, was the interval
which divided them from the monster Williams. 1

They perished on the scaffold : Williams, as I have said,

1 While De Quincey lias told the story of the M'Kean murder in
such detail, ho has left it undated. The criminals, however, were two
"brothers, Alexander and Michael Mackean (spelt also M'Keand), who
were tried and condemned at Lancaster on the 18th of August 1826
for the murder, on the preceding 22d of May, of Elizabeth Bates,
servant to Joseph Blears, keeper of a public-house at Wmton, near
Manchester. Though only this servant hud "been actually murdered,
Blears himself had been drugged, his wife nearly murdered, and a hoy
in the house (Michael Higgms) chased for his life, much in the
manner described by De Qumcey. M.

124 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

by Ma own hand ; and, in obedience to the law as it then
stood, he was buried in the centre of a guadrivium, or conflux
of four roads (in this case four streets), with a stake driven
through his heart, And over him drives for ever the uproar
of unresting London !

[The following appeared among the " Explanatory Notices " pre-
fixed to the volume of De Qumcey's Collected Writings which con-
tained his completed revision of Murder considered as one of the Fine
Irfe : k The paper on ' Murder as one of the Fine Arts ' seemed to
' exact from me some account of Williams, the dreadful London
' minderer of the last generation, not only because the amateurs hail
\ much insisted on his merit as the supreme of artists for grandeur
' of design and breadth of style, and because, apart from this
' momentary connexion with, my paper, the man himself merited a
' record for his matchless audacity, combined with so much of snaky
' subtlety and even insinuating amiableness in his demeanour, but
' also because, apart from the man himself, the works of the man
' (those two of them especially which so profoundly impressed the
' nation in 1812) were in themselves, for dramatic effect, the most
' impressive on record. Southey pronounced their pre-eminence
' when he said to me that they ranked amongst the few domestic
' events which, by the depth and expansion of horror attending them,
' had risen to the dignity of a national interest. I may add that
" this interest benefited also by the mystery which invested the
ff murders ; mystery as to vaiious points, but especially as respected
" one important question, Had the murderer any accomplice ? 1 There
" was, therefore, reason enough, both in the man's hellish character
" and m the mystery which surrounded him, for this Postscript to the
" original paper ; since, in the lapse of forty-two years, both the man
" and his deeds had faded away from the knowledge of the present
" generation. But still I am sensible that my record is far too diffuse,
" Feeling this at the very time of writing, I was yet unable to correct
"it; so little self-control was I able to exercise under the afflicting agita-
" tions and the unconquerable impatience of my nervous malady,"]

i Upon a large overbalance of probabilities, it was, however, definitively
agreed amongst amateurs that Williams must have been alone in these
atrocities Meantime, amongst the colourable presumptions on the othei
aide was this 'Some hours after the last murder, a man was apprehended at
Barnet (the first stage from London on a principal north road), encumbered
with a quantity of plate. How he came by it, or whithei he was going, he
steadfastly lefusod to say In the daily journals, which he was allowed to see,
he read with eagerness the police examinations of Williams ; and, on the same
day which announced the catastrophe of Williams, he also committed suicide
in his cell.

EAELY MEMORIALS OP GRASMEKE*

SOON after my return to Oxford in 1807-S, 2 1 received a
letter from Miss Wordsworth, asking for any subscriptions I
might succeed in obtaining amongst my college friends in

1 Appeared originally, with the title Recollections of Gramere, in
Taifs Edinburgh Magazine for September 1839, as one of the senes
of articles which De Qmncey had begun to contribute to that periodical
in 1834 under the title of "Sketches of Life and Manners from the
Autobiography of an English Opium-Eater," with the alternative title
of "Lake Eeminiscences from 1807 to 1830" for a portion of them,
When De Qumcey reprinted the paper in 1854, in vol. n of the Collect-
ive Edition of his Writings, it was under its new title of Mly
Memorials of Gramere, but still as one of the series of his Autobio-
graphic Sketches with its place in that senes altered, however, so as
to make it the first of his papers of "Lake Reminiscences," preceding
and introducing those on Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Southey, This
arrangement was retained in Messrs, Black's sixteen-volume reissue
of the Collective Writings. But, though thus originally interjected

really independent, and quite different in kind from the rest of that
series. Accordingly, it is best presented by itself as a specimen of De
Quincey's descriptive and narrative art in commemorating a tragic
incident of real English life which happened in the Lake District about
the time of his own first acquaintance with that district The words
"Early Memorials of Grasmere," as the reader soon finds, do not
mean "Memoirs of Grasmere in Early Times," or "Antiquities of
Grasmere," or anything of that kind, It is to De Qumcey himself, as
associated with Grasmere, that the word "Early" has reference ; and
A Tak of Gramere wJm I fast hiew it would be a more exact title.
On comparing De Quincey's reprint of 1854 with the original in
Tatis MagasiiM for September 1839, 1 have found that he bestowed
great pains on the revision, and made considerable changes, These,
I think, were all improvements,-M,

2 After one week of what he calls "delightful intercourse" with
the poet and the poet's admirable sister Dorothy Wordsworth, he had

126 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

aid of the funds then raising on behalf of an orphan family
who had "become such by an affecting tragedy that had
occurred within a few weeks from my visit to Grasmere,

Miss "Wordsworth's simple but fervid memoir not being
within my reach at this moment, 1 I must trust to my own
recollections and my own impressions to retrace the story ;
which, after all, is not much of a story to excite or to im-
press, unless for those who can find a sufficient interest in
the trials and calamities of hard-working peasants, and can
reverence the fortitude which, being lodged in so frail a
tenement as the person of a little girl, not much, if anything,
above nine years old, could face an occasion of sudden
mysterious abandonment, and could tower up, during one
night, into the perfect energies of womanhood, under the
mere pressure of difficulty, and under the sense of new-born
responsibilities awfully bequeathed to her, and in the most
lonely, perhaps, of English habitations.

The little valley of Easedale, which, and the neighbour-
hood of which, were the scenes of these interesting events,
is on its own account one of the most impressive solitudes
amongst the mountains of the Lake district ; and I must
pause to describe it. Easedale is impressive as a solitude ;
for the depth of the seclusion is brought out and forced more
pointedly upon the feelings by the thin scattering of houses
over its sides, and over the surface of what may be called its
floor. These are not above six at the most ; and one, the
remotest of the whole, was untenanted for all the thirty
years of my acquaintance with the place. Secondly, it is
impressive from the excessive loveliness which adorns its
little area. This is broken up into small fields and miniature
meadows, separated, not as too often happens, with sad
injury to the beauty of the Lake country by stone walls,

left G-rasmere " about tlie 12th of November 1807," to return to
Oxford, where lie had been a student in Worcester College since 1803.
He was then twenty-two years of age. M.

1 From some sentences of the original paper of 1839, omitted in
the reprint, it appears that the "memoir" here spoken of was one
which Dorothy Wordsworth had drawn up by way of a circular appeal
to chantalile persons, but \\ith a special view of its coming into the
hands of Queun Charlotte and the other ladies of the royal family.
M.

MEMORIALS OF GffiASMERE 127

but sometimes by little hedgerows, sometimes by little spark-
ling, pebbly " becks," lustrous to tlie very bottom, and not
too broad for a child's flying leap, and sometimes by wild
self-sown woodlands of birch, alder, holly, mountain ash, and
hazel, that meander through the valley, intervening the
diffeient estates with natural sylvan marches, and giving
cheerfulness in winter by the bright scarlet of their berries.
It is the character of all the northern English valleys, as I
have already remarked, and it is a character first noticed
by Wordsworth that they assume, in their bottom areas,
the level, floor-like shape, making everywhere a direct angle
with the surrounding hills, and definitely marking out the
margin of their outlines ; whereas the Welsh valleys have
too often the glaring imperfection of the basin shape, which
allows no sense of any flat area or valley surface : the hills
are already commencing at the very centre of what is called
the level area. The little valley of Easedale is, in this
respect, as highly finished as m every other ; and in the
Westmorland spring, which may be considered May and the
earlier half of June, whilst the grass in the meadows is yet
short from the habit of keeping the sheep on it until a much
later period than elsewhere (viz. until the mountains are so
far cleared of snow and the probability of storms as to make
it safe to send them out on their summer migration), it
follows naturally that the little fields in Easedale have the
most lawny appearance, and, from the humidity of the West-
morland 1 climate, the most verdant that it is possible to
imagine. But there is a third advantage possessed by this
Easedale, above other rival valleys, in the sublimity of its
mountain barriers. In one of its many rocky recesses is
seen a "force" (such is the local name for a cataract), \\hite
with foam, descending at all seasons with considerable
strength, and, after the melting of snows, with an Alpine
violence, Follow the leading of this "force" for three

1 It is pretty generally known, perhaps, that Westmorland and
Devonshire are the two rainiest counties in England. At Kirby
Lonsdale, lying just on the outer margin of the Lake distuct, one-fifth
more ram is computed to fall than in the adjacent counties on the
same western side of England. But it is also notonous that the
western side of the island universally is more rainy than the east,
Collins called it the showery west,

128 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

quarters of a mile, and you come to a little mountain lake,
locally termed a " tarn," 1 the very finest and most gloomily
sublime of its class. From this tarn it was, I doubt not,
though applying it to another, that Wordsworth drew the
circumstances of his general description. And far beyond
this " enormous barrier," that thus imprisons the very winds,
tower upwards the aspiring heads (usually enveloped in cloud
and mist) of Glaramara, Bow Fell, and the other fells of
Langdale Head and Borrowdale. Easedale, in its relation to
Grasmere, is a chamber within a chamber, or rather a closet
within a chamber a chapel within a cathedral a little
private oratory within a chapel. The sole approach, as I
have mentioned, is from Grasmere ; and some one outlet
there must inevitably be in every vale that can be interesting
to a human occupant, since without water it would not be
habitable, and running water must force an egress for itself,
and, consequently, an ingress for the reader and myself. But,
properly speaking, there is no other. For, when you explore
the remoter end of the vale, at which you suspect some
communication with the world outside, you find before you
a most formidable amount of climbing, the extent of which
can hardly be measured where there is no solitary object of
human workmanship or vestige of animal life, not a sheep-
track, not a shepherd's hovel, but rock and heath, heath and
rock, tossed about in monotonous confusion. And, after the
ascent is mastered, you descend into a second vale long,
narrow, sterile known by the name of "Far Easedale":
from which point, if you could drive a tunnel under the ever-
lasting hills, perhaps six or seven miles might bring you to
the nearest habitation of man, in Borrowdale ; but, going
over the mountains, the road cannot be less than twelve or
fourteen, and, in point of fatigue, at the least twenty. This
long valley, which is really terrific at noonday, from its utter

1 A tarn is a lake, generally (perhaps always) a small one, and
always, as I think (but this I have heard disputed), lying above the
level of the inhabited valleys and the large lakes ; and subject to this
farther restnction, first noticed by Wordsworth, that it has no main
feeder. Now, this latter accident of the tiling at once explains and
authenticates my account of the word, viz. that it is the Danish word
taaren (a trickling of tears), a deposit of waters from the weeping of
rain down the smooth faces of the rocks.

MEMORIALS OF GRASMERE 129

loneliness and desolation, completes the defences of little
sylvan Easedale. There is one door into it from the Gras-
mere side ; but that door is obscure ; and on every other
quarter there is no door at all ; not any, the roughest, access,
but such as would demand a day's walking.

Such is the solitude so deep and so rich in miniature
beauty of Easedale ; and in this solitude it was that George
and Sarah Green, two poor and hard-working peasants, dwelt,
with a numerous family of small children. Poor as they
were, they had won the general respect of the neighbourhood,
from the uncomplaining firmness with which they bore the
hardships of their lot, and from the decent attire in which
the good mother of the family contrived to send out her
children to the Grasmere parish-school. It is a custom, and
a very ancient one, in Westmorland the same custom
(resting on the same causes) I have witnessed also in southern
Scotland that any sale by auction of household furniture
(and seldom a month passes without something of the sort)
forms an excuse for the good women, throughout the whole
circumference of perhaps four or five valleys, to assemble at
the place of sale, with the nominal purpose of buying some-
thing they may happen to want. A sale, except it were of
the sort exclusively interesting to farming mm, is a kind of
general intimation to the country, from the owner of the
property, that he will, on that afternoon, be "at home" to
all comers, and hopes to see as large an attendance as possible.
Accordingly, it was the almost invariable custom and often,
too, when the parties were far too poor for such an effort of
hospitality to make ample provision, not of eatables, but
of liquor, for all who came. Even a gentleman who should
happen to present himself on such a festal occasion, by way
of seeing the " humours " of the scene, was certain of meeting
the most cordial welcome. The good woman of the house
more particularly testified her sense of the honour done to
her, and was sure to seek out some cherished and solitary
article of china a wreck from a century back in order that
he, being a porcelain man among so many delf men and
women, might have a porcelain cup to drink from.

The main secret of attraction at these sales many of
which I have attended was the social rendezvous thus

VOL, XIII

130 TALES AND PKOSE PHANTASIES

effected between parties so remote from each other (either
by real distance or by virtual distance resulting from the
separation effected by mountains 3000 feet high) that, in
fact, without some such common object, they would not be
likely to hear of each other for months, or actually to meet
for years. This principal charm of the "gathering,"
seasoned, doubtless, to many by the certain anticipation that
the whole budget of rural gossip would then and there be
opened, was not assuredly diminished to the men by the
anticipation of excellent ale (usually brewed six or seven
weeks before, in preparation for the event), and possibly of
still more excellent powsowdy (a combination of ale, spirits,
and spices) ; nor to the women by some prospect, not so
inevitably fulfilled, but pretty certain in a liberal house, of
communicating their news over excellent tea. Even the
auctioneer was always a character in the drama : he was
always a rustic old humourist, and a jovial drunkard,
privileged in certain good-humoured liberties and jokes with
all bidders, gentle or simple, and furnished with an ancient
inheritance of jests appropriate to the articles offered for sale,
jests that had, doubtless, done their office from Elizabeth's
golden days, but no more, on that account, failing of their
expected effect, with either man or woman of this nineteenth
century, than the sun fails to gladden the heart because it is
that same old superannuated sun that has gladdened it for
thousands of years.

One thing, however, in mere justice to the Dalesmen of
Westmorland and Cumberland, I am bound in this place to
record. Often as I have been at these sales, and years
before even a scattering of gentry began to attend, yet so
true to the natural standard of politeness was the decorum
uniformly maintained that even the old buffoon of an
auctioneer never forgot himself so far as to found upon any
article of furniture a jest fitted to call up a painful blush in
any woman's faca He might, perhaps, go so far as to
awaken a little rosy confusion upon some young bride's
countenance, when pressing a cradle upon her attention ; but
never did I hear him utter, nor would he have been tolerated
in uttering, a scurrilous or disgusting jest, such as might
easily have been suggested by something offered at a house-

MEMORIALS OF GRASMERE 131

hold sale. Such, jests as these I heard for the first tine at
a sale in Grasmere in 1814 j and, I am ashamed to say it,
from some " gentlemen " of a great city. And it grieved me
to see the effect, as it expressed itself upon the manly faces
of the grave Dalesmen a sense of insult offered to their
women, who met in confiding reliance upon the forbearance
of the men, and upon their regard for the dignity of the
female sex ; this feeling struggling with the habitual respect
they are inclined to show towards what they suppose gentle
blood and superior education. Taken generally, however,
these were the most picturesque and festal meetings which
the manners of the country produced. There you saw all
ages and both sexes assembled ; there you saw old men
whose heads would have been studies for Guido ; there you
saw the most colossal and stately figures amongst the young
men that England has to show ; there the most beautiful
young women. There it was that the social benevolence, the
innocent mirth, and the neighbourly kindness of the people,
most delightfully expanded, and expressed themselves with
the least reserve.

To such a scene it was, to a sale of domestic furniture
at the house of some proprietor in Langdale, that George
and Sarah Green set forward in the forenoon of a day fated
to be their last on earth. The sale was to take place in
Langdalehead ; to which, from their own cottage in Ease-
dale, it was possible in daylight, and supposing no mist upon
the hills, to find out a short cut of not more than five or six
miles. By this route they went ; and, notwithstanding the
snow lay on the ground, they reached their destination in
safety. The attendance at the sale must have been
diminished by the rigorous state of the weather ; but still
the scene was a gay one as usual Sarah Green, though a
good and worthy woman in her maturer years, had been
imprudent, and as the merciful judgment of the country is
apt to express it " unfortunate " in her youth. She had an
elder daughter, who was illegitimate; and I believe the
father of this girl was dead. The girl herself was grown up;
and the peculiar solicitude of poor Sarah's maternal heart
was at this time called forth on her behalf : she wished to
see her placed in a very respectable house, where the mistress

132 TALES AND PBOSE PHANTASIES

was distinguished for her notable qualities, and for success in
forming good servants. This object, as important to Sarah
Green in the narrow range of her cares as, in a more exalted
family, it might be to obtain a ship for a lieutenant that had
passed as master and commander, or to get him " posted,"
occupied her almost throughout the sale. A doubtful
answer had been given to her application ; and Sarah was
going about the crowd, and weaving her person in and out,
in order to lay hold of this or that intercessor who might
have, or might seem to have, some weight with the principal
person concerned.

This I think it interesting to notice, as the last occupation
which is known to have stirred the pulses of her heart. An
illegitimate child is everywhere, even in the indulgent
society of Westmorland Dalesmen, under some cloud of dis-
countenance 1 ; so that Sarah Green might consider her duty
to be the stronger towards this child of her " misfortune."
And she probably had another reason for her anxiety as
some words dropped by her on this evening led people to
presume in her conscientious desire to introduce her
daughter into a situation less perilous than that which had
compassed her own youthful steps with snares. If so, it is
painful to know that the virtuous wish, whose

" Vital warmth
Gave the last human motion to her heart,"

should not have been fulfilled. She was a woman of ardent
and affectionate spirit ; of which Miss Wordsworth gave me
some circumstantial and affecting instances. This ardour it
was, and her impassioned manner, that drew attention to
what she did ; for, otherwise, she was too poor a person to
be important in the estimation of strangers, and, of all
possible situations, to be important at a sale, where the
public attention was naturally fixed upon the chief pur-

1 But still nothing at all in England by comparison with its
gloomy excess in Scotland. In the present generation the rancorous
bigotry of this feeling has been considerably mitigated. But, if the
reader wishes to view it in its ancient strength, I advise him to look
into the "Life of Alexander Alexander" (2 vols. 1830). He was a
poor outcast, whose latter days were sheltered from ruin by the
munificence of the late Mr. Blackwood, senior.

MEMORIALS OF GRASMERE 133

chasers, and the attention of the purchasers fixed upon the
chief competitors. Hence it happened that, after she ceased
to challenge notice by the emphasis of her solicitations for
her daughter, she ceased to be noticed at all ; and nothing
was recollected of her subsequent behaviour until the time
arrived for general separation. This time was considerably
after sunset ; and the final recollections of the crowd with
respect to George and Sarah Green were that, upon their
intention being understood to retrace their morning path,
and to attempt the perilous task of dropping down into
Easedale from the mountains above Langdalehead, a sound
of remonstrance arose from many quarters. However, at
such a moment, when everybody was in the hurry of
departure, and to such persons (persons, I mean, so mature
in years and in local knowledge), the opposition could not
be very obstinate : party after party rode off ; the meeting
melted away, or, as the northern phrase is, scaled l ; and at
length nobody was left of any weight that could pretend to
influence the decision of elderly people. They quitted the
scene, professing to obey some advice or other upon the
choice of roads ; but, at as early a point as they could do so
unobserved, began to ascend the hills everywhere open from
the rude carriage-way. After this they were seen no more.
They had disappeared into the cloud of death. Voices were
heard, some hours afterwards, from the mountains voices, as
some thought, of alarm : others said, No, that it was only the
voices of jovial .people, carried by the wind into uncertain re-
gions. The result was that no attention was paid to the sounds.

1 " Scaled " : Scale is a verb both active and neuter. I use it

to all the points of the compass, But by Shakspere it is used m an
active or transitive sense. Speaking of some secret news, he says,
" We'll scale it a little more " i e. spread it in all directions, and dis-
entangle its complexities. [Not quite correct. The passage is in
Coriolanus I 1, where Menenius Agrippa, when about to tell the
citizens the story of the rebellion of the Belly against the other mem-
bers of the body, says they may have heard it already, but he will
scaled a little more. Another reading of the phrase, however, is
s f ale't ; and the Cambridge editors adopt this reading, Scale in the
sense of disperse is one of the commonest of Scottish words : e.g. "the
kirk was scaUn* " for " the service was over and the congregation was
dispersing itself."-M.]

134 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

That night, in little peaceful Easeclale, six children sat by
a peat fire, expecting the return of their parents, upon whom
they depended for their daily bread. Let a day pass, and
they were starving. Every sound was heard with anxiety ;
for all this was reported many hundred times to Miss Words-
worth, and to those who, like myself, were never wearied of
hearing the details. Every sound, every echo amongst the
hills, was listened to for five hours, from seven to twelve.
At length the eldest girl of the family about nine years old
told her little brothers and sisters to go to bed. They had
been trained to obedience and all of them, at the voice of
their eldest sister, went off fearfully to their beds. What
could be their fears it is difficult to say ; they had no know-
ledge to instruct them in the dangers of the hills ; but the
eldest sister always averred that they had as deep a solicitude
as she herself had about their parents. Doubtless she had
communicated her fears to them. Some time in the course
of the evening but it was late, and after midnight the
moon arose, and shed a torrent of light upon the Langdale
fells, which had already, long hours before, witnessed in
darkness the death of their parents.

That night, and the following morning, came a further
and a heavier fall of snow ; in consequence of which the poor
children were completely imprisoned, and cut off from all
possibility of communicating with their next neighbours,
The brook was too much for them to leap ; and the little,
crazy wooden bridge could not be crossed, or even approached
with safety, from the drifting of the snow having made it
impossible to ascertain the exact situation of some treacherous
hole in its timbers, which, if trod upon, would have let a
small child drop through into the rapid waters. Their
parents did not return. For some honrs of the morning the
children clung to the hope that the extreme severity of the
night had tempted them to sleep in Langdale ; but this hope
forsook them as the day wore away. Their father, George
Green, had served as a soldier, and was an active man, of
ready resources, who would not, under any circumstances,
have failed to force a road back to his family, had he been
still living ; and this reflection, or rather semi-conscious feel-
ing, which the awfulness of their situation forced upon the

MEMORIALS OF GRASMEEE 135

minds of all but the mere infants, awakened them to the
whole extent of their calamity. Wonderful it is to see the
effect of sudden misery, sudden grief, or sudden fear, in
sharpening (where they do not utterly upset) the intellectual
perceptions. Instances must have fallen in the way of most
of us. And I have noticed frequently that even sudden and
intense bodily pain forms part of the machinery employed by
nature for quickening the development of the mind, The
perceptions of infants are not, in fact, excited by graduated
steps and continuously, but per saltum, and by unequal starts.
At least, within the whole range of my own experience, I
have remarked that, after any very severe fit of those peculiar
pains to which the delicate digestive organs of most infants
are liable, there always became apparent on the following day
a very considerable increase of vital energy and of quickened
attention to the objects around them. The poor desolate
children of Blentarn Ghyll, 1 hourly becoming more pathetic-
ally convinced that they were orphans, gave many evidences
of this awaking power as lodged, by a providential arrange-
ment, in situations of trial that most require it. They
huddled together, in the evening, round their hearth-fire of
peats, and held their little family councils upon what was to
be done towards any chance if chance remained of yet
giving aid to their parents ; for a slender hope had sprung
up that some hovel or sheepfold might have furnished them
a screen (or, in Westmorland phrase, a Held*) against the

1 Wordsworth's conjecture as to the origin of the name is probably
the true one. There is, at a little elevation above the place, a small
concave tract of ground, shaped like the bed of a tarn. Some causes
having diverted the supplies of water, at some remote period, from the
little reservoir, the tarn has probably disappeared ; but, the bed, and
other indications of a tarn (particularly a little ghyll, or steep rocky
cleft for discharging the water), having remained as memorials that it
once existed, the country people have called it the Blind Tarn the
tarn which wants its eye, in wanting the luminous sparkle of the
waters of right belonging to it.

2 Another instance of a word common to the vocabulary of the
English Lake district and that of Scotland. Bidd in Scotch means
"a shelter," and is a word of fine and tender associations in that
sense. " Better a, wee buss tlian nae tield " (" Better a small bush than
no shelter at all ") is an old Scottish proverb, of which Burns was
particularly fond. M,

136 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

weather quarter of the storm, in winch hovel they might even
now he lying snowed np ; and, secondly, as regarded them-
selves, in what way they were to make known their situation,
in case the snow should continue or should increase ; for
starvation stared them in the face if they should be confined
for many days to their house.

Meantime, the eldest sister, little Agnes, though sadly
alarmed, and feeling the sensation of eeriness as twilight came
on and she looked out from the cottage-door to the dreadful
fells on which, too probably, her parents were lying corpses (and
possibly not many hundred yards from their own threshold),
yet exerted herself to take all the measures which their own
prospects made prudent. And she told Miss Wordsworth
that, in the midst of the oppression on her little spirit from
vague ghostly terrors, she did not fail, however, to draw
some comfort from the consideration that the very same
causes which produced their danger in one direction sheltered
them from danger of another kind, such dangers as she
knew, from books that she had read, would have threatened
a little desolate flock of children in other parts of England ;
for she considered thankfully that, if they could not get out into
Grasmere, on the other hand bad men, and wild seafaring
foreigners, who sometimes passsed along the high road even
in that vale, could not get to them ; and that, as to their
neighbours, so far from having anything to fear in that
quarter, their greatest apprehension was lest they might not
be able to acquaint them with their situation ; but that, if
this could be accomplished, the very sternest amongst them
were kind -hearted people, that would contend with each
other for the privilege of assisting them. Somewhat cheered
with these thoughts, and having caused all her brothers and
sisters except the two little things, not yet of a fit age to
kneel down and say the prayers which they had been taught,
this admirable little maiden turned herself to every house-
hold task that could have proved useful to them in a long
captivity. First of all, upon some recollection that the clock
was nearly going down, she wound it up. Next, she took
all the milk which remained from what her mother had pro-
vided for the children's consumption during her absence and
for the breakfast of the following morning, this luckily

MEMORIALS OF GRASMERE 137

was still in sufficient plenty for two clays' consumption
(skimmed or "blue" milk being only one halfpenny a quart,
and the quart a most redundant one, in Grasmere), this she
took and scalded, so as to save it from turning sour. That
done, she next examined the meal chest ; made the common
oatmeal porridge of the country (the " burgoo " of the Royal
Navy) ; but put all of the children, except the two youngest,
on short allowance ; and, by way of reconciling them in
some measure to this stinted meal, she found out a little
hoard of flour, part of which she baked for them upon the
hearth into little cakes ; and this unusual delicacy persuaded
them to think that they had been celebrating a feast. Next,
before night coming on should make it too trying to her own
feelings, or before fresh snow coming on might make it im-
possible, she issued out of doors. There her first task was,
with the assistance of two younger brothers, to carry in from
the peat-stack as many peats as might serve them for a week's
consumption. That done, in the second place she examined
the potatoes, buried in "brackens" (that is, withered fern):
these were not many; and she thought it better to leave them
where they were, excepting as many as would make a single
meal, under a fear that the heat of their cottage would spoil
them if removed.

Having thus made all the provision in her power for sup-
porting their own lives, she turned her attention to the cow.
Her she milked ; but, unfortunately, the milk she gave,
either from being badly fed, or from some other cause, was
too trifling to be of much consideration towards the wants of
a large family. Here, however, her chief anxiety was to get
down the hay for the cow's food from a loft above the out-
house ; and in this she succeeded but imperfectly, from want
of strength and size to cope with the difficulties of the case,
besides that the increasing darkness by this time, together with
the gloom of the place, made it a matter of great self-conquest
for her to work at all ; but, as respected one night at any
rate, she placed the cow in a situation of luxurious warmth
and comfort. Then, retreating into the warm house, and
"barring" the door, she sat down to undress the two youngest
of the children ; them she laid carefully and cosily in their
little nests upstairs, and sang them to sleep. The rest she

138 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

kept up to bear her company until the clock should tell
them it was midnight ; up to which time she had still a
lingering hope that some welcome shout from the hills above,
which they were all to strain their ears to catch, might yet
assure them that they were not wholly orphans, even though
one parent should have perished. No shout, it may be sup-
posed, was ever heard ; nor could a shout, in any case, have
been heard, for the night was one of tumultuous wind. And,
though, amidst its ravings, sometimes they fancied a sound
of voices, still, in the dead lulls that now and then succeeded,
they heard nothing to confirm their hopes. As last services
to what she might now have called her own little family,
Agnes took precautions against the drifting of the snow within
the door and within the imperfect window, which had caused
them some discomfort on the preceding day ; and, finally,
she adopted the most systematic and elaborate plans for pre-
venting the possibility of their fire being extinguished,
which, in the event of their being thrown upon the ultimate
resource of their potatoes, would be absolutely indispensable
to their existence, and in any case a main element of their
comfort.

The night slipped away, and morning came, bringing with
it no better hopes of any kind. Change there had been
none but for the worse. The snow had greatly increased in
quantity; and the drifts seemed far more formidable. A
second day passed like the first, little Agnes still keeping
her young flock quiet, and tolerably comfortable, and still
calling on all the elders in succession to say their prayers,
morning and night.

A third day came ; and, whether on that or on the fourth
I do not now recollect, but on one or other, there came a
welcome gleam of hope, The arrangement of the snow-drifts
had shifted during the night ; and, though the wooden bridge
was still impracticable, a low wall had been exposed, over
which, by a circuit which evaded the brook, it seemed
possible that a road might be found into Grasmere. In some
walls it was necessary to force gaps ; but this was effected
without much difficulty, even by children; for the West-
morland field walls are " open/' that is, uncemented with
mortar; and the push of a stick will generally detach so

MEMORIALS OF GRASME11E 139

much from the upper part of any old crazy fence as to lower
it sufficiently for female, or even for childish, steps to pass.
The little boys accompanied their sister until she came to the
other side of the hill ; which, lying more sheltered from the
weather, offered a path onwards comparatively easy. Here
they parted ; and little Agnes pursued her solitary mission to
the nearest house she could find accessible in Grasmere.

No house could have proved a wrong one in such a case.
Miss "Wordsworth and I often heard the description renewed
of the horror which, in an instant, displaced the smile of
hospitable greeting, when little weeping Agnes told her sad
tale. No tongue can express the fervid sympathy which
travelled through the vale, like fire in an American forest,
when it was learned that neither George nor Sarah Green
had been seen by their children since the day of the Lang-
dale sale. Within half an hour, or little more, from the
remotest parts of the valley some of them distant nearly
two miles from the point of rendezvous all the men of
Grasmere had assembled at the little cluster of cottages called
"Kirktown," from its adjacency to the venerable parish-
church of St. Oswald, There were at the time I settled in
Grasmere viz. in the spring of 1809, and, therefore, I
suppose, in 180*7-8, fifteen months previously about sixty-
three households in the vale ; and the total number of souls
was about 265 to 270 ; so that^he number of fighting men
would be about sixty or sixty-six, according to the common
way of computing the proportion ; and the majority were
athletic and powerfully built. Sixty, at least, after a short
consultation as to the plan of operations, and for arranging
the kind of signals by which they we.re to communicate from
great distances, and in the perilous events of mists or snow-
storms, set off with the speed of Alpine hunters to the hills.
The dangers of the undertaking were considerable, under the
uneasy and agitated state of the weather \ and all the women
of the vale were in the greatest anxiety until night brought
them back, in a body, unsuccessful. Three days at the least,
and I rather think five, the search was ineffectual : which
arose partly from the great extent of the ground to be
examined, and partly from the natural mistake made of rang-
ing almost exclusively during the earlier days on that part

HO TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

of the liills over which the path of Easedale might be pre
sumed to have been selected under any reasonable latitude of
circuitousness. But the fact is, when the fatal accident (for
such it has often proved) of a permanent mist surprises a
man, on the hills, if he turns and loses his direction, he is a
lost man ; and, without doing this so as to lose the power of
fmmter l all at once, it is yet well known how difficult it is
to avoid losing it insensibly and by degrees. Baffling snow-
showers are the worst kind of mists. And the poor Greens
had, under that kind of confusion, wandered many a mile
out of their proper track ; so that to search for them upon any
line indicated by the ordinary probabilities would perhaps
offer the slenderest chance for finding them.

The zeal of the people, meantime, was not in the least
abated, but rather quickened, by the wearisome disappoint-
ments; every hour of daylight was turned to account; no
man of the valley ever came home to meals ; and the reply
of a young shoemaker, on the fourth night's return, speaks
sufficiently for the unabated spirit of the vale. Miss Words-
worth asked what he would do on the next morning. " Go
up again, of course," was his answer. But what if to-morrow
also should turn out like all the rest 2 "Why, go up in
stronger force on the day after." Yet this man was sacrificing
his own daily earnings, without a chance of recompense. At
length (sagacious dogs were taken up ; and, about noonday, a
shout from an aerial height, amongst thick volumes of
cloudy vapour, propagated through repeating bands of men
from a distance of many miles, conveyed as by telegraph into
Grasmere the news that the bodies were found. George
Green was lying at the bottom of a precipice from which he
had fallen. Sarah Green was found on the summit of the
precipice ; and, by laying together all the indications of
what had passed, and reading into coherency the sad hiero-
glyphics of their last agonies, it was conjectured that the
husband had desired his wife to pause for a few minutes,
wrapping her, meantime, in his own greatcoat, whilst he

1 S'orienter, i.e. originally setting oneself by the east as one of
the cardinal points of the compass; hence "steering one's course ,
properly," " discovering where one is," or even "knowing what one
is atxrat"-M.

MEMORIALS OF GRASMERE Hi

should go forward and reconnoitre the ground, in order to
catch a sight of some object (rocky peak, or tarn, or peai-
field) which might ascertain their real situation, Either the
snow above, already lying in drifts, or the blinding snow-
storms driving into his eyes, must have misled him as to the
nature of the circumjacent ground ; for the precipice over
which he had fallen was but a few yards from the spot in
which he had quitted his wife. The depth of the descent
and the fury of the wind (almost always violent on these
cloudy altitudes) would prevent any distinct communica-
tion between the dying husband below and his despairing
wife above; but it was believed by the shepherds best
acquainted with the ground, and the range of sound as
regarded the capacities of the human ear under the probable
circumstances of the storm, that Sarah might have caught,
at intervals, the groans of her unhappy partner, supposing
that his death were at all a lingering one. Others, on the
contrary, supposed her to have gathered this catastrophe
rather from the wani of any sounds, and from his continued
absence, than from any one distinct or positive expression
of it ; both because the smooth and unruffled surface of the
snow where he lay seemed to argue that he had died without
a struggle, perhaps without a groan, and because that tre-
mendous sound of "hurtling" in the upper chambers of the
air which often accompanies a snow-storm, when combined
with heavy gales of wind, would utterly suppress and stifle
(as they conceived) any sounds so feeble as those from a
dying man. In any case, and by whatever sad language of
sounds or signs, positive or negative, she might have learned
or guessed her loss, it was generally agreed that the wild
shrieks heard towards midnight in Langdalehead l announced

1 I once heaid, also, in talking with a Langdale family upon this
tragic tale, that the sounds had penetrated into the valley of Little
Langdale ; which is possible enough, For, although this interesting
recess of the entire Langdale basin (which bears somewhat of the
same relation to the Great Langdale that Easedale bears to Grasmere)
does, in fact, lie beyond Langdalehead by the entire breadth of that
dale, yet, from the singular accident of having its area raised far
above the level of the adjacent vales, one most solitary section of
Little Langdale (in which lies a tiny lake, and on the banks of that
lake dwells one solitary family), being exactly at right angles both tc

142 TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

the agonizing moment whichbrought to her now widowed heart
the conviction of utter desolation and of final abandonment to
her own solitary and fast-fleeting energies. It seemed probable
that the sudden disappearance of her husband from her pur-
suing eyes would teach her to understand his fate, and that the
consequent indefinite apprehension of instant death lying all
around the point on which she sat had kept her stationary to
the very attitude in which her husband left her, until her
failing powers, and the increasing bitterness of the cold to
one no longer in motion, would soon make those changes of
place impossible which too awfully had made themselves
known as dangerous, The footsteps in some places, wherever
drifting had not obliterated them, yet traceable as to the
outline, though partially filled up with later falls of snow,
satisfactorily showed that, however much they might have
rambled, after crossing and doubling upon their own tracks,
and many a mile astray from their right path, they must
have kept together to the very plateau or shelf of rock at
which (ie. on which, and below which) their wanderings had
terminated ; for there were evidently no steps from this
plateau in the retrograde order.

By the time they had reached this final stage of their
erroneous course, all possibility of escape must have been
long over for both alike; because their exhaustion must
have been excessive before they could have reached a point
so remote and high ; and, unfortunately, the direct result of
all this exhaustion had been to throw them farther off their
home, or from " any dwelling-place of man," than they were
at starting. Here, therefore, at this rocky pinnacle, hope
was extinct for the wedded couple, but not perhaps for the
husband. It was the impression of the vale that perhaps,
within half-an-hour before reaching this fatal point, George
Green might, had his conscience or his heart allowed him in
so base a desertion, have saved himself singly, without any
very great difficulty. It is to be hoped, however and, for
my part, I think too well of human nature to hesitate in
believing that not many, even amongst the meaner-minded

Langdalehead and to the other complementary section of the Lesser
Langdale, is brought into a position and an elevation virtually much
nearer to objects (especially to audible objects) on the Easedale Fells.

MEMORIALS OF GRASMERE itf

and the least generous of men, could have reconciled them-
selves to the abandonment of a poor fainting female com-
panion in such circumstances. Still, though not more than
a most imperative duty, it was such a duty as most of his
associates believed to have cost him (perhaps consciously) his
life. It is an impressive truth that sometimes in the very
lowest forms of duty, less than which would rank a man as
a villain, there is, nevertheless, the sublimest ascent of self-
sacrifice. To do less would class you as an object of eternal
scorn: to do so much presumes the grandeur of heroism,
For his wife not only must have disabled him greatly by
clinging to his arm for support ; but it was known, from her
peculiar character and manner, that she would be likely to
rob him of his coolness and presence of mind, by too pain-
fully fixing his thoughts, where her own would be busiest,
upon their helpless little family. ' ( Stung with the thoughts
of home " to borrow the fine expression of Thomson in de-
scribing a similar case ] alternately thinking of the blessed-
ness of that warm fireside at Blentarn Ghyll which was not
again to spread its genial glow through her freezing limbs,
and of those darling little faces which, in this world, she was
to see no more ; unintentionally, and without being aware
even of that result, she would rob the brave man (for such
he was) of his fortitude, and the strong man of his mvml
resources. And yet (such, in the very opposite direction,
was equally the impression universally through Grasmere),
had Sarah Green foreseen, could her affectionate heart have
guessed, even the tenth part of that love and neighbourly
respect for herself which soon afterwards expressed them-
selves in showers of bounty to her children ; could she have

1 In his Winter, where there is a description of a cottager lost in
a snow-storm :

"The swain

Disastered stands ; sees other hills ascend,
Of unknown, joyless "brow \ and other scenes,
Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain ;
Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid
Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on
From hill to dale, still more and more astray,
Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps,
Stung with the thoughts of home. " M.

144 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

looked behind the curtain of destiny sufficiently to learn that
the very desolation of these poor children which wrung her
maternal heart, and doubtless constituted to her the sting of
death, would prove the signal and the pledge of such anxious
guardianship as not many rich men's children receive, and
that this overflowing offering to her own memory would not
be a hasty or decaying tribute of the first sorrowing sensi-
bilities, but would pursue her children steadily until their
hopeful settlement in life : anything approaching this, known
or guessed, would have caused her (so said all who knew
her) to welcome the bitter end by which such privileges
were to be purchased, and solemnly to breathe out into
the ear of that holy angel who gathers the whispers of
dying mothers torn asunder from their infants a thankful
Nunc dimittis (Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in
peace), as the farewell ejaculation rightfully belonging to the

The funeral of the ill-fated Greens was, it may be sup-
posed, attended by all the Vale : it took place about eight
days after they were found ; and the day happened to be in
the most perfect contrast to the sort of weather which pre-
vailed at the time of their misfortune. Some snow still
remained here and there upon the ground ; but the azure of
the sky was unstained by a cloud ; and a golden sunlight
seemed to sleep, so balmy and tranquil was the season, upon
the very hills where the pair had wandered, then a howling
wilderness, but now a green pastoral lawn in its lower ranges,
and a glittering expanse of virgin snow in its higher. George
Green had, I believe, an elder family by a former wife ; and
it was for some of these children, who lived at a distance, and
who wished to give their attendance at the grave, that the
funeral was delayed. At this point, because really suggested
by the contrast of the funeral tranquillity with the howling
tempest of the fatal night, it may be proper to remind the
reader of Wordsworth's memorial stanzas :

" Who weeps for strangers ? Many wept

For George and Sarah Green ;
Wept for that pair's unhappy fate
Whose graves may here be seen.

MEMORIALS OF GRASMERE 145

11 By night upon these stormy fells

Did -wife and husband roam -,
Six little ones at home had left,
And could not find that home.

' For any dwelling-place of man

As vainly did they seek :
He perished ; and a voice was heard
The widow's lonely shriek.

" Not many steps, and she was left

A body without life
A few short steps were the chain that bound
The husband to the wife,

" Now do these sternly-featured hills

Look gently on this grave ;
And quiet now are the depths of air,
As a sea without a wave,

" But deeper lies the heart of peace,

In quiet more piofound ;
The heart of quietness is here
Within this churchyard bound.

" And from all agony of mind

It keeps them safe, and far
From fear and grief, and from all need

" darkness of the grave ' how deep,

After that living night
That last and dreary living one
Of sorrow and affright !

K sacred marriage-bed of death '
That keeps them side by side
In bond of peace, in bond of love,
That may not be untied ! "

After this solemn ceremony of the funeral was over at
which, by the way, I heard Miss Wordsworth declare that
the grief of Sarah's illegitimate daughter was the most over-
whelming she had ever witnessed a regular distribution of
the children was made amongst the wealthier families of the
Vale. There had already, and before the funeral, been a
perfect struggle to obtain one of the children amongst all
who had any facilities for discharging the duties of such a
trust ; and even the poorest had put in their claim to "bear

VOL. XIII J,

146 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

some part in the expenses of the case. But it was judiciously
decided that none of the children should be intrusted to any
persons who seemed likely, either from old age or from
slender means, or from nearer and more personal responsi-
bilities, to be under the necessity of devolving the trust,
sooner or later, upon strangers who might have none of that
interest in the children which attached, in the minds of the
Grasmere people, to the circumstances that made them
orphans. Two twins, who had naturally played together
and slept together from their birth, passed into the same
family : the others were dispersed ; but into such kind-
hearted and intelligent families, with continued opportuni-
ties of meeting each other on errands, or at church, or at
sales, that it was hard to say which had the more comfort-
able home. And thus, in so brief a period as one fortnight,
a household that, by health and strength, by the humility of
poverty and by innocence of life, seemed sheltered from all
attacks but those of time, came to be utterly broken up.
George and Sarah Green slept in Grasmere churchyard,
never more to know the want of "sun or guiding star."
Their children were scattered over wealthier houses than
those of their poor parents, through the Vales of Grasmere
or Rydal; and Blentarn Ghyll, after being shut up for a
season, and ceasing for months to send up its little slender
column of smoke at morning and evening, finally passed
into the hands of a stranger.

The Wordsworths, meantime, acknowledged a peculiar
interest in the future fortunes and education of the children.
They had taken by much the foremost place in pushing the
subscriptions on behalf of the family, feeling, no doubt, that,
when both parents, in any little sequestered community like
that of Grasmere, are suddenly cut off by a tragical death,
the children in such a case devolve by a sort of natural
right and providential bequest on the other members of this
community. They energetically applied themselves to the
task of raising funds by subscription; most of which, it
is true, might not be wanted until future years should
carry one after another of the children successively into
different trades or occupations ; but they well understood
that more by tenfold would be raised under an imme-

MEMORIALS OF GR1SMERE H?

diate appeal to the sympathies of men whilst yet burn-
ing fervently towards the sufferers in this calamity than
if the application were delayed until the money should be
needed, The Royal Family were made acquainted with the
details 'of the case 1 ; they were powerfully affected by the
story, especially by the account of little Agnes, and her pre-
mature assumption of the maternal character; and they
contributed most munificently. Her Majesty, and three at
least of her august daughters, were amongst the subscribers
to the fund. For my part, I could have obtained a good
deal from the careless liberality of Oxonian friends towards
such a fund. But, knowing previously how little, in such
an application, it would aid me to plead the name of Words-
worth as the founder of the subscription (a name that now
would stand good for some thousands of pounds in that same
Oxford : so passes the injustice, as well as the glory, of this
world !) knowing this, I did not choose to trouble anybody j
and the more so as Miss Wordsworth, upon my proposal to
write to various ladies upon whom I could have relied for
their several contributions, wrote back to me desiring that I
would not, and upon this satisfactory reason that the fund
had already swelled, under the Royal patronage, and the in-
terest excited by so much of the circumstances as could be
reported in hurried letters, to an amount beyond what was
likely to be wanted for persons whom there was no good reason
for pushing out of the sphere to which their birth had called
them. The parish even was liable to give aid ; and, in the
midst of Royal bounty, this aid was not declined. Perhaps
this was so far a solitary and unique case that it might be
the only one in which some parochial Mr. Bumble found
himself pulling in joint harness with the denizens of Windsor
Castle, and a coadjutor of "Majesties" and "Royal High-
nesses." Finally, to complete their own large share in the
charity, the Wordsworths took into their own family one of
the children, a girl: the least amiable, I believe, of the
whole ; slothful and sensual ; so, at least, I imagined ; for
this girl it was, that in years to come caused by her criminal
negligence the death of little Kate Wordsworth, 2

1 See footnote ante, p. 126. M.

2 In the original paper m Tail's Magazine the words were : " a

148 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

.From a gathering of years far ahead of the events, look-
ing back by accident to this whole little cottage romance oi
Blentarn Ghyll, with its tips and downs, its lights and
shadows, and its fitful alternations of grandeur derived from
mountain solitude and of humility derived from the very
lowliest poverty, its little faithful Agnes keeping up her
records of time in harmony with the mighty world outside,
and feeding the single cow, the total " estate " of the new-
made orphans, I thought of that beautiful Persian apologue
where some slender drop or crystallizing filament within the
shell of an oyster fancies itself called upon to bewail its own
obscure lot, consigned apparently and irretrievably to the
gloomiest depths of the Persian Gulf. But changes happen ,
good and bad luck will fall out, even in the darkest depths
of the Persian Gulf ; and messages of joy can reach those
that wait in silence, even where no post -horn has ever
sounded. Behold ! the slender filament has ripened into the
most glorious of pearls. In a happy hour for himself, some
diver from the blossoming forests of Ceylon brings up to
heavenly light the matchless pearl ; and very soon that soli-
tary crystal drop, that had bemoaned its own obscure lot,
finds itself glorifying the central cluster in the tiara bound
upon the brow of him who signed himself " King of Kings,"
the Shah of Persia, and that shook all Asia from the Indus
to the Euphrates. Not otherwise was the lot of little Agnes ;
faithful to duties so suddenly revealed amidst terrors ghostly
as well as earthly ; paying down her first tribute of tears to
an affliction that seemed past all relief, and such that at first
she, with her brothers and sisters, seemed foundering simul-
taneously with her parents in one mighty darkness. And
yet, because, under the strange responsibilities which had
suddenly surprised her, she sought counsel and strength from

" girl; Sarali by name; the least amiable, I believe, of tlie whole;
" so at least I imagined ; for this girl it was, and her criminal negli-
1 ' gence, that in years to come inflicted the first heavy wound that I
" sustained in my affections, and first caused me to drink deeply from
" the cup of grief." Little Kate Wordsworth, the poet's daughter,
was a special favourite of De Quincey, whom she used in her childish
prattle to call f( Kinsey " ; and her death, on the 4th June 1812, when
De Quincey was on a visit to London, affected him greatly. See the
circumstances more in detail, ante, Vol. II, pp. 440-445. M.

MEMORIALS OF GRASMERE 149

God, teaching her brothers and sisters to do the same, and
seemed (when alone at midnight) to hear her mother's voice
calling to her from the hills above, one moon had scarcely
finished its circuit before the most august ladies on our planet
were reading, with sympathizing tears, of Agnes Green, and
from the towers of Windsor Castle came gracious messages of
inquiry to little, lowly Blentarn Ghyll. 1

In taking leave of this subject I may mention, by the
way, that accidents of this nature are not by any means so
uncommon in the mountainous districts of Cumberland and
Westmorland as the reader might infer from the intensity
of the excitement which waited on the catastrophe of the
Greens. In that instance it was not the simple death by cold
upon the hills, but the surrounding circumstances, which
invested the case with its agitating power. The fellowship
in death of a wife and husband ; the general impression that
the husband had perished in his generous devotion to his
wife (a duty, certainly, and no more than a duty, but still,
under the instincts of self-preservation, a generous duty) ;
sympathy with their long agony, as expressed by their long
ramblings, and the earnestness of their efforts to recover their
home ; awe for the long concealment which rested upon
their fate ; and pity for the helpless condition of the children,
so young and so instantaneously made desolate, and so nearly
perishing through the loneliness of their situation, co-operat-
ing with stress of weather, had they not been saved by the
prudence and timely exertions of a little girl not much above
eight years old ; these were the circumstances and necessary
adjuncts of the story which pointed and sharpened the public
feelings on that occasion. Else the mere general case of
perishing upon the mountains is not, unfortunately, so rare,
in any season of the year, as for itself alone to command a
powerful tribute of sorrow from the public mind. Natives
as well as strangers, shepherds as well as tourists, have fallen
victims, even in summer, to the misleading and confounding
effects of deep mists. Sometimes they have continued to
wander unconsciously in a small circle of two or three miles,
never coming within hail of a human dwelling until ex-
1 The whole of this paragraph is an addition in the reprint, M,

150 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

haustion lias forced them into a sleep which has proved theii
last. Sometimes a sprain or injury, that disabled a foot or
leg, has destined them to die by the shocking death of
hunger, 1 Sometimes a fall from the summit of awful pre-
cipices has dismissed them from the anguish of perplexity in

1 The case of Mr. Gough, who perished in the bosom of Helvellyii
[1805], and was supposed by some to have been disabled by a sprain
of the ankle, whilst others believed him to have received that injury
and his death simultaneously in a fall from the lower shelf of a preci-
pice, became well known to the public, in all its details, through the
accident of having been recorded in \eise by t\vo writers nearly at the
same time, viz. Sir Walter Scott and Wordsworth [by Scott in stanzas
entitled "Helvellyn " and by Wordsworth in lines called "Fidelity"
M.] But here, again, as in the case of the Gieens, it was not the
naked fact of his death amongst the solitudes of the mountains that
would have won the public attention, or have obtained the honour of
a metrical commemoration. Indeed, to say the truth, the general
sympathy with this tragic event was not derived chiefly from the un-
happy tourist's melancholy end ; for that was too shocking to be even
hinted at by either of the two writers (in fact, there was too much
reason to fear that it had been the lingering death of famine). Not
the personal sufferings of the principal figure in the little drama, but
the sublime and mysterious fidelity of the secondary figuie, his dog :
this it was which won the imperishable remembrance of the vales, and
which accounted for the piofound interest that immediately gathered
round the incidents an interest that still continues to hallow the
memory of the dog. Not the dog of Athens, nor the dog of Pompeii,

so well deserve the immortality of history or verse. Mr. Gough was

a young man, belonging to the Society of Friends, who took an interest
in the mountain scenery of the Lake distiiut, both as a lover of the
picturesque and as a man of science. It was in this latter character,
I believe, that he had ascended Helvellyn at the time when he met his
melancholy end. From his familiarity with the ground for he had
been an annual visitant to the Lakes he slighted the usual precaution
of taking a guide. Mist, unfortunately, impenetrable volumes of
mist, came floating over (as so often they do) from the gloomy fells
that compose a common centre for Easedale, Langdale, Eskdale,
Borrowdale, Wastdale, Gatesgarthdale (pronounced Keskadale), and
Ennerdale. Ten or fifteen minutes afford ample time for this aerial
navigation : within that short mterval s sunlight, moonlight, starlight,
alike disappear ; all paths are lost ; vast precipices are concealed, or
filled up by treacherous draperies of vapour ; the points of the compass
are irrecoverably confounded ; and one vast cloud, too often the cloud
of death even to the experienced shepherd, sits like a vast pavilion
upon the summits and gloomy coves of Helvellyn. Mr. Gough ought
to have allowed for this not unfrequent accident, and for its bewilder-
ing effects ; under which all local knowledge (even that of shepherds)

MEMORIALS OP GRASMERE 151

the extreme, from the conflicts of hope and fear, by dismiss-
ing them at once from life. Sometimes, also, the mountainous
solitudes have been made the scenes of remarkable suicides,

In particular, there was a case, a little before I came into the
country, of a studious and meditative young boy, who found no
pleasure but in books and the search after knowledge. He

becomes in an instant unavailing. What was the conrse and succession
of his dismal adventures after lie became hidden from the world by
the vapoury screen could not be fully deciphered even by the most
sagacious of mountaineers, although in most cases they manifest an
Indian truth of eye, together with an Indian felicity of weaving all the
signs that the eye can gather into a significant tale by connecting
links of judgment and natural inference, especially where the whole
case ranges within certain known limits of time and of space. But in
this case two accidents forbade the application of their customary skill
to the circumstances. One was the want of snow at the time to re-
ceive the impression of his feet ; the other, the unusual length of time
through which his remains lay undiscovered. He had made the
ascent at the latter end of October, a season when the final garment
of snow which clothes Helvellyn from the setting in of winter to the
sunny days of June has frequently not made its appearance. He was
not discovered until the following spring, when a shepherd, traversing
the coves of Helvellyn or of ^airfield in quest of a stray sheep, was
struck by the unusual sound (and its echo from the neighbouring
rocks) of a short quick bark, or cry of distress, as if from a dog or
young fox. Mr. Grough had not been missed ; for those who saw or
knew of his ascent from the Wyburn side of the mountain took it for
granted that he had fulfilled his intention of descending in the opposite
direction into the valley of Patterdale, or into the Duke of Norfolk's
deer-park on Ullswater, or possibly into Matterdale, and that he had
finally quitted the country by way of Penrith. Having no reason,
therefore, to expect a domestic animal in a region so far from human
habitations, the shepherd was the more surprised at the sound and its
continued iteration. He followed its guiding, and came to a deep
hollow, near the awful curtain of rock called Stridmg-JEdge There,
at the foot of a tremendous precipice, lay the body of the unfortunate
tourist ; and, watching by his side, a meagre shadow, literally reduced
to a skin and to bones that could be counted (for it is a matter of
absolute demonstration that he never could have obtained either food
or shelter through his long winter's imprisonment), sat this most faith-
ful of servants mounting guard upon his master's honoured body, and
protecting it (as he had done effectually) from all violation by the
birds of prey which haunt the central solitudes or Helvellyn :
" How nourished through that length of time

He knows who gave that love sublime

And sense of loyal duty great

Beyond all human estimate "

152 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

languished with a sort of despairing nympholepsy after intel-
lectual pleasures for which he felt too well assured that hu
term of allotted time, the short period of years through
which his relatives had been willing to support him at St.
Bees, 1 was rapidly drawing to an end. In fact, it was just
at hand ; and he was sternly required to take a long farewell
of the poets and geometricians for whose suhlime contem-
plations he hungered and thirsted. One week was to have
transferred him to some huckstering concern, which not in any
spirit of pride he ever affected to despise, hut which in utter
alienation of heart he loathed, as one whom nature, and his
own diligent cultivation of the opportunities recently opened
to him for a hrief season, had dedicated to a far different
service. He mused revolved his situation in his own
mind computed his power to liberate himself from the
bondage of dependency calculated the chances of his ever
obtaining this liberation, from change in the position of his
family, or revolution in his own fortunes and, finally,
attempted conjecturally to determine the amount of effect
which his new and illiberal employments might have upon
his own mind in weaning him from his present elevated
tasks, and unfitting him for their enjoyment in distant years,
when circumstances might again place it in his power to
indulge them.

These meditations were in part communicated to a friend,
and in part, also, the result to which they brought him.
That this result was gloomy his friend knew ; but not, as in
the end it appeared, that it was despairing. Such, however,
it was ; and, accordingly, having satisfied himself that the
chances of a happier destiny were for him slight or none,
and having, by a last fruitless effort, ascertained that there
was no hope whatever of mollifying his relatives, or of ob-
taining a year's delay of his sentence, he walked quietly up
to the cloudy wildernesses within Blencathara ; read his
Jlschylus (read, perhaps, those very scenes of the " Prome-

1 St. Bees, on tne Cumberland coast, where there is a theological
college for the education of young men intended for orders in the
Church of England, As this was not founded till 1816, De Quincey
may refer to the Grammar School, which dates fiom the sixteenth
century. M.

MEMORIALS OF GRASMERE 153

tlieus " that pass amidst the wild valleys of the Caucasus,
and below the awful summits, untrod by man, of the ancient
Elborus) ; read him for the last time ; for the last time
fathomed the abyss-like subtleties of his favourite geome-
trician, the mighty Apollonius l ; for the last time retraced
some parts of the narrative, so simple in its natural grandeur,
composed by that imperial captain, the most majestic man of
ancient history

"The foremost man of all this world "

Julius the Dictator, the eldest of the Caesars. These three
authors ^schylus, Apollonius, and C^sar lie studied
until the daylight waned and the stars began to appear.
Then he made a little pile of the three volumes, that served
him for a pillow ; took a dose, such as he had heard would
be sufficient, of laudanum ; laid his head upon the monu-
ment which he himself seemed in fancy to have raised to
the three mighty spirits ; and, with his face upturned to the
heavens and the stars, slipped quietly away into a sleep upon
which no morning ever dawned. The laudanum whether
it were from the effect of the open air, or from some peculi-
arity of temperament had not produced sickness in the
first stage of its action, nor convulsions in the last. But,
from the serenity of his countenance, and from the tranquil
maintenance of his original supine position for his head was
still pillowed upon the three intellectual Titans, Greek and
Roman, and his eyes were still directed towards the stars
it would appear that he had died placidly, and without a
struggle. In this way the imprudent boy, who, like
Chatterton, would not wait for the change that a day might
bring, obtained the liberty he sought. I describe him as
doing whatsoever he had described himself in his last con-
versations as wishing to do ; for whatsoever in his last scene
of life was not explained by the objects and the arrangement
of the objects about him found a sufficient solution in the
confidential explanations of his purposes \\rhich he had com-
municated, so far as he felt it safe, to his only friend, 2

1 Apollonius, a native of Perga in Pamphylia, and called "the
Great Geometer," lived about B.C. 240. M.

2 This story has been made the subject of a separate poem, entitled

154 TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

From this little special episode, where the danger was of
a more exceptional kind, let us fall "back on the more ordi-
nary case of shepherds, whose duties, in searching after
missing sheep, or after sheep surprised by sudden snow-
drifts, are too likely, in all seasons of severity, to force them
upon facing dangers which, in relation to their natural
causes, must for ever remain the same. This uniformity it
is, this monotony of the danger, which authorizes our sur-
prise and our indignation that long ago the resources of art
and human contrivance, in any one of many possible modes,
should not have been applied to the relief of an evil so
constantly recurrent, A danger that lias no fixed root in
our social system suggests its own natural excuse when it
happens to be neglected. But this evil is one of frightful
ruin when it does take effect, and of eternal menace when it
does not. In some years it has gone near to the depopula-
tion of a whole pastoral hamlet, as respects the most vigorous
and hopeful part of its male population ; and annually it
causes, by its mere contemplation, the heartache to many a
young wife and many an anxious mother. In reality,
amongst all pastoral districts where the field of their labour
lies in mountainous tracts, an allowance is as regularly made
for the loss of human life, by mists or storms suddenly en-
veloping the hills and surprising the shepherds, as for the
loss of sheep ; some proportion out of each class shepherds
and sheep is considered as a kind of tithe-offering to the
stem Goddess of Calamity, and m the light of a ransom for
those who escape. Grahame, the author of " The Sabbath,"

"The Student of St. Bees," by my friend Mr. James Payn of Cam-
bridge, The volume is published by Macmillan, Cambridge, and con-
tains thoughts of great beauty, too likely to escape the vapid and
irreflective reader. [The volume so referred to by De Quincey was
published in 1853 with the title " Poems: ty James Payn, Author of
Stories from Boccaccio" ; and the particular poem mentioned is a
piece of about a hundred lines in heroic couplets. It is a rather
remarkable coincidence that in the Life Drama of Alexander Smith,
which was published also in 1853, there is a passage, almost too
daringly powerful, describing a suicide by night on a mountain-top,
which one can suppose to have been suggested, just as Mr. Payn's
poem was, by the present incident in De Qumcey's Lake Reminiscences.
There, however, it is not a scholar, but a poet, that is the victim of
the suicidal melancholy, M.]

MEMORIALS OF GRASMERE 155

says tliat (confining himself to Scotland) lie has known
winters in which a single parish lost as many as ten shep-
herds. And this mention of Grahame reminds me of a
useful and feasihle plan proposed by him for obviating the
main pressure of such sudden perils amidst snow and soli-
tude and night. I call it feasible with good reason ; for
Grahame, who doubtless had made the calculations, declares
that, for so trilling a sum as a few hundred pounds, every
square mile in the southern counties of Scotland (that is, I
presume, throughout the Lowlands) might be fitted up with
his apparatus. He prefaces his plan by one general remark,
to which I believe that every mountaineer will assent,
viz. that the vast majority of deaths in such cases is
owing to the waste of animal power in trying to recover
the right direction, and probably it would be recovered
in a far greater number of instances were the advance per-
sisted in according to any unity of plan. But, partly, the
distraction of mind and irresolution under such circum-
stances cause the wanderer frequently to change his direction
voluntarily, according to any new fancy that starts up to
beguile him ; and, partly, he changes it often insensibly and
unconsciously, from the same cause which originally led him
astray. Obviously, therefore, the primary object should be
to compensate the loss of distinct vision, which, for the
present, is irreparable in that form, by substituting an
appeal to another senpe. That error which has been caused
by the obstruction of the eye may be corrected by the sounder
information of the ear. Let crosses, such as are raised for
other purposes in Catholic lands, be planted at intervals
suppose of one mile in every direction. "Snow-storms,"
says Grahame, " are almost always accompanied with wind.
" Suppose, then, a pole, fifteen feet high, well fixed in the
"ground, with two cross spars placed near the bottom, to
"denote the *airts ; (or points of the compass) : a bell hung
" at the top of this pole, with a piece of flat wood (attached
"to it) projecting upwards, would ring with the slightest
" breeze, As they would be purposely made to have different
<{ tones, the shepherd would soon be able to distinguish one
" from another. He could never be more than a mile from
" one or other of them. On coming to tie spot, he would at

156 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

" once know the points of the compass, and, of course, the
"direction in which his home lay," 1 Another protecting
circumstance would rise out of the simplicity of manners,
which is pretty sure to prevail in a mountainous region, and
"the pious tenderness universally felt towards those situations
of peril which are incident to all alike men and women,
parents and children, the strong and the weak. The crosses,
I would answer for it, whenever they are erected, will be
protected by a superstition, such as that which in Holland
protects the stork. But it would be right to strengthen this
feeling by instilling it as a principle of duty in the cate-
chisms of mountainous regions ; and perhaps, also, in order
to invest this duty with a religious sanctity, at the approach
of every winter there might be read from the altar a solemn
commination, such as that which the English Church appoints
for Ash-Wednesday " Cursed is he that removeth his
^neighbour's landmark," etc, ; to which might now be added,
<c Cursed is he that causeth the steps of the wayfarer to go
astray, and layeth snares for the wanderer on the hills :
cursed is he that removeth the bell from the snow-cross."
And every child might learn to fear a judgment of retribu-
tion upon its own steps in case of any such wicked action,
by reading the tale of that Scottish sea-rover who, in order

"To plague the Abbot of Aberbrothock,"

removed the bell from the Inchcape Eock ; which same
rock, in after days, and for want of this very warning bell,
inflicted miserable ruin upon himself, his ship, and his crew. 2
Once made sacred from violation, these crosses might after-
wards be made subjects of suitable ornament ; that is to say,
they might be made as picturesque in form, and colour, and

1 This, I think, is a quotation from Grahame's note to his poem
A Winter Sabbath Walk ; and in the original article of 1839 it was
followed hy a longish extract from that poem, and by these words
with reference to Grahame's proposal "A more useful suggestion
" was never made. Many thousands of lives would be saved in each
"century by the general adoption of Mr. Grahame's plan." The
extract from Grahame's poem, and these words in his praise, were
omitted in De Qumcey's reprint of 1851 M.

3 Southey's well-known ballad of Sir Ealph the Rover and the
Inchcape Rock. M.

MEMORIALS OF GBASMERE 157

material, as the crosses of Alpine countries or the guide-posts
of England often are. The associated circumstances of storm
and solitude, of winter, of night, and wayfaring, would give
dignity to almost any form which had become familiar to the
eye as the one appropriated to this purpose ; and the par-
ticular form of a cross or crucifix, besides its own beauty,
would suggest to the mind a pensive allegoric memorial of
that spiritual asylum offered by the same emblem to the poor
erring roamer in our human pilgrimage, whose steps are beset
with other snares, and whose heart is bewildered by another
darkness and another storm, by the darkness of guilt, or by
the storm of affliction. 1

1 The original concluding paragraph, of the paper in the Magazine
article of 1839 had been about three times as long as that which
De Quincey retained m 1854, including, indeed, all that lie then
retained, but consisting for the rest of a iritter of icmarks towards a
practical modification of the poet Grahame's plan for preventing the
deaths of travellers among hills or moors in snow-storms. De Quincey
thought (1) that the storm-crosses proposed by Graliaiue might be
useful even if, to save expense, they were placed at intervals of four
miles instead of one, inasmuch as a traveller would then be always
within two miles of one of them, and the wind would carry the sound
of a bell that distance, (2) that the crosses might be made of cast-
iron, (3) that each cross might be provided with a little box or cell,
elevated about eight feet from the giound, accessible by a ladder, and
capable of containing one person, (4) that it would not be amiss if,
after the sanctity of the crosses had been sufficiently established to
protect them from theft, a small supply of brandy and biscuits were
lodged in each cell or box at the beginning of every winter, with a
few rockets and matches for lighting thorn. " If iron were too costly,"
he adds, "it might be used only for the little cell ; and the rest of
' the structure might be composed with no expense at all, except the
'labour (and that would generally be given by public contribution
'from the neighbourhood), from the rude undressed stones which
'are always found lying about in such situations, and which aie so
sufficient for all purposes of strength that the field-walls, and by
'far the greater number of the dwelling-houses, in Westmorland,
'are built of such materials, and, until late years, without mortar."
To this mention of the novelty ot the use of mortar m Westmorland
in such cases De Quincey could not lesist subjoining a footnote, as
iollows: "This recent change in the art of rustic masonry by the
1 adoption of mortar does not mark any advance in that art, but, on
'the contrary, a decay of skill and care. Twenty years ago [1819],
' when ' dry ' walls were in general use except for a superior class of
'houses, it was necessary to supply the want of mortar by a much
' nicer adaptation of the stones to each other, But now this care w

158 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

"regarded as quite superfluous; for the largest gaps and cavities
"amongst the stones are filled up with mortar ; meantime, the walls
"built in this way are not so impervious either to ram or wind as
"those built upon the old patent construction of the past generation."
All this is interesting enough ; but De Qumcey, when he reprinted
the EAELY MEMORIALS OF GRASMEBE in 1854, showed artistic tact in
sweeping it all away, and closing a paper of this kind poetically and
musically, rather than with a bristle of such mechanical miautise.
It

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 1

L An Mm Nuismce is ivdroduwd into Spain

ON a night in the year 1592 (but which night is a secret
liable to 365 answers), a Spanish u m of somkdy" (i&
hidalgo), in the fortified town of St, Sebastian, 2 received the
disagreeable intelligence from a nurse that his wife had just
presented him with a daughter, No present that the poor

useless towards any purpose of his, He had three daughters
already; which happened to be more by 2 + 1, according to
to reckoning, than any reasonable allowance of daughters,

1 This story appeared first in three instalments, each headed with
the words "By Thomas De Qumcey," in the numbers of Taifs Mdm-
fargh Magame for May, June, and July 1847, It appeared then,
however, under the clumsier title of THE NAUTICO-MILITARY NUN OF
SPAIN, The change of title was made in 1854, when De Quincey

There were alterations at the same time in the text of the story, and
in some particulars of its form and arrangement, The most important
of these was the division of the text, which had previously been
printed in block, into a succession of short chapters, each topped with
i smart descriptive summary of its purport, after the fashion of the

story professes to be a real one, derived from old Spanish records,
something will have to be said respecting De Qmncey's authorities and
his immediate materials, The information, however, will be best given
in an appended editorial note at the close, I,

2 SL Sehstm : a sea-coast town in the north of Spain, in that
corner of the Bay of Biscay where Spain begins to he divided from
France by the chain of the Pyrenees, M,

ISO TALUS AND PROSE PHANTASIES

A supernumerary son might have been stowed away ; but
supernumerary daughters were the very nuisance of Spain.
He did, therefore, what in such cases every proud and lazy
Spanish gentleman endeavoured to do. And surely I need
not interrupt myself by any parenthesis to inform the base
British reader, who makes it his glory to work hard, that
the peculiar point of honour for the Spanish gentleman lay
in precisely these two qualities of pride and laziness ; for, if he
were not proud, or had anything to do, what could you look
for but ruin to the old Spanish aristocracy ? some of whom
boasted that no member of their house (unless illegitimate,
and a mere term filius) had done a day's work since the
Flood, In the ark they admitted that Noah kept them
tightly to work ; because, in fact, there was work to do that
must be done by somebody. But, once anchored upon
Ararat, they insisted upon it most indignantly that no
ancestor of the Spanish noblesse had ever worked, except
through his slaves. And with a view to new leases of idle-
ness, through new generations of slaves, it was (as many
people think) that Spain went so heartily into the enterprises
of Cortez and Pizarro. A sedentary body of Dons, without
needing to uncross their thrice-noble legs, would thus lev} 7
eternal tributes of gold and silver upon eternal mines, through
eternal successions of nations that had been, and were to be,
enslaved. Meantime, until these golden visions should be
realised, aristocratic daughters, who constituted the hereditary
torment of the true Castilian Don, were to be disposed of in
the good old way, viz. by quartering them for life upon nun-
neries : a plan which entailed no sacrifice whatever upon any
of the parties concerned, except, indeed, the little insignificant
sacrifice of happiness and natural birthrights to the daughters.
But this little inevitable wreck, when placed in the counter
scale to the magnificent purchase of eternal idleness for an
aristocracy so ancient, was surely entitled to little attention
amongst philosophers, Daughters must perish "by genera-
tions, and ought to be proud of perishing, in order that their
papas, being hidalgos, might luxuriate in laziness. Accord-
ingly, on this system, our hidalgo of St. Sebastian wrapped
the new little daughter, odious to his paternal eyes, in a
pocket-handkerchief, and then, wrapping up his own throat

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 161

with a great deal more care, off he bolted to the neighbouring
convent of St. Sebastian, meaning by that term not merely
a convent of that city, but also (amongst several convents)
the one dedicated to that saint. It is well that in this
quarrelsome world we quarrel furiously about tastes ; since,
agreeing too closely about the objects to be liked, we should
agree too closely about the objects to be appropriated ; which
would breed much more fighting than is bred by disagreeing.
That little human tadpole, which the old toad of a father
would not suffer to stay ten minutes in his house, proved as
welcome at the nunnery of St. Sebastian as she was odious at
home. The lady superior of the convent was aunt, by the
mother's side, to the new-born stranger. She therefore
kissed and blessed the little lady. The poor nuns, who were
never to have any babies of their own, and were languishing
for some amusement, perfectly doated on this prospect of a
wee pet. The superior thanked the hidalgo for life very
splendid present. The nuns thanked him, each and all ;
until the old crocodile actually began to whimper sentiment-
ally at what he now perceived to be excess of munificence in
himself. Munificence, indeed, he remarked, was his foible,
next after parental tenderness.

2._ Wait a little, Hidalgo !

What a luxury it is, sometimes, to a cynic that there go
two words to a bargain, In the convent of St. Sebastian all
was gratitude ; gratitude (as aforesaid) to the hidalgo from
all the convent for his present, until at last the hidalgo began
to express gratitude to them for their gratitude to him. Then
came a rolling fire of thanks to St. Sebastian: from the
superior, for sending a future saint; from the nuns, for
sending such a love of a plaything ; and, finally, from papa,
for sending such substantial board and well-bolted lodgings ;
" from which," said the malicious old fellow, " my pussy will
never find her way out to a thorny and dangerous world."
Won't she ? I suspect, son of somebody, that the next time
you see " pussy," which may happen to be also the last, will
not be in a convent of any kind. At present, whilst this
general rendering of thanks was going on, one person only

VOL. XIII M

162 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

took no part in them. That person was "pussy," whose
little figure lay quietly stretched out in the arms of a e nailing
young nun, with eyes nearly shut, yet peering a little at the
candles. Pussy said nothing. It's of no great use to say
much when all the world is against you, But, if St. Sebastian
had enabled her to speak out the whole truth, pussy would
have said : " So, Mr. Hidalgo, you have been engaging
lodgings for me, lodgings for life. Wait a little. We'll try
that question when my claws are grown a little longer."

3. Symptoms of Mutiny

Disappointment, therefore, was gathering ahead. But for
the present there was nothing of the kind. That noble old
crocodile, papa, was not in the least disappointed as regarded
Ms expectation of having no anxiety to waste, and no money
to pay, on account of his youngest daughter. He insisted on
his right to forget her ; and in a week had forgotten her,
never to think of her again, but once, The lady superior, as
regarded her demands, was equally content, and through a
course of several years ; for, as often as she asked pussy if
she would be a saint, pussy replied that she would if saints
were allowed plenty of sweetmeats. But least of all were
the nuns disappointed. Everything that they had fancied
possible in a human plaything fell short of what pussy
realised in racketing, racing, and eternal plots against the
peace of the elder nuns. No fox ever kept a hen-roost in
such alarm as pussy kept the dormitory of the senior sisters ;
whilst the younger ladies were run off their legs by the
eternal wiles, and had their gravity discomposed, even ih
chapel, by the eternal antics, of this privileged little kitten.

The kitten had long ago received a baptismal name,
which was Kitty, or Kate ; and that in Spanish is Gatalina.
It was a good name, as it recalled her original name of
" pussy." And, by the way, she had also an ancient and
honourable surname viz. De Erauso \ which is to this day
a name rooted in Biscay. Her father, the hidalgo, was a
military officer in the Spanish service, and had little care
whether his kitten should turn out a wolf or a lamb, having
made over the fee-simple of his own interest in the little

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 163

Kate to St. Sebastian, " to have and to hold," so long as
Kate should keep her hold of this present life. Kate had
no apparent intention to let slip that hold ; for she was
"blooming as a rose-bush in June, tall and strong as a young
cedar. Yet, notwithstanding this robust health, which for-
bade one to think of separation from St. Sebastian by death,
and notwithstanding the strength of the convent walls, which
forbade one to think of any other separation, the time was
drawing near when St. Sebastian's lease in Kate must, in
legal phrase, " determine," and any chateaux en Espagne that
the saint might have built on the cloistral fidelity of his pet
Catalina must suddenly give way in one hour, like many
other vanities in our own days of Spanish growth, such as
Spanish constitutions and charters, Spanish financial reforms,
Spanish bonds, and other little varieties of Spanish ostenta-
tious mendacity.

4. The Symptom Thicken,

After reaching her tenth year, Catalina became thoughtful
and not very docile. At times she was even headstrong and
turbulent, so that the gentle sisterhood of Si Sebastian, who
had no other pet or plaything in the world, began to weep
in secret, fearing that they might have been rearing by
mistake some future tigress; for, as to infancy, that, you
know, is playful and innocent even in the cubs of a tigress.
But there the ladies were going too far. Catalina was im-
petuous and aspiring, violent sometimes, headstrong and
haughty towards those who presumed upon her youth,
absolutely rebellious against all open harshness, but still
generous and most forgiving, disdainful of petty arts, and
emphatically a noble girl. She was gentle, if people would
let her be so. But woe to those who took liberties with her I
A female servant of the convent, in some authority, one day,
in passing up the aisle to matins, inlftdly gave Kate a push ;
and, in return, Kate, who never left her debts in arrear, gave
the servant for a keepsake such a look as that servant carried
with her in fearful remembrance to her grave. It seemed as
if Kate had tropic blood in her veins that continually called
her away to the tropics. It was all the fault of that "blue
rejoicing sky," of those purple Biscayan mountains, of that

164 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

glad tumultuous ocean, which she beheld daily from the
nunnery gardens. Or, if only half of it was their fault, the
other half lay in those golden tales, streaming upwards even
into the sanctuaries of convents, like morning mists touched
"by earliest sunlight, of kingdoms overshadowing a new world
which had been founded by her kinsmen with the simple aid
of a horse and a lance. The reader is to remember that this
is no romance, or at least no fiction, that he is reading ; and
it is proper to remind the reader of real romances in Ariosto
or our own Spenser that such martial ladies as the Marfisa
or Bradamant of the first, and Britomart of the other,
were really not the improbabilities that modern society
imagines. Many a stout man, as you will soon see, found
that Kate, with a sabre in hand, and well mounted, was no
romance at all, but far too serious a fact.

5. Good-night, St, Sebastian!

The day is come the evening is come when our poor
Kate, that had for fifteen years been so tenderly rocked in
the arms of St. Sebastian and his daughters, and that hence-
forth shall hardly find a breathing space between eternal
storms, must see her peaceful cell, must see the holy chapel,
for the last time. It was at vespers, it was during the
chanting of the vesper service, that she finally read the
secret signal for her departure, which long she had been
looking for. It happened that her aunt, the Lady Principal,
had forgotten her breviary. As this was in a private
scrutoire, the prudent lady did not choose to send a servant
for it, but gave the key to her niece. The niece, on opening
the scrutoire, saw, with that rapidity of eye-glance for the
one thing needed in great emergencies which ever attended
her through life, that now was the moment, now had the
clock struck for an opportunity which, if neglected, might
never return. There lay the total keys, in one massive
trousseau, of that monastic fortress, impregnable even to
armies from without, St. Sebastian ! do you see what your
pet is going to do ? And do it she will, as sure as your
name is St. Sebastian. Kate went back to her aunt with the
breviary and the key, but taking good care to leave that

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 165

awful door, on whose hinge revolved all her future life,
unlocked. Delivering the two articles to the superior, she
complained of headache (ah, Kate ! what did you know of
headaches?) upon which her aunt, kissing her forehead,
dismissed her to bed. Now, then, through three -fourths of
an hour Kate will have free elbow-room for unanchoring her
boat, for unshipping her oars, and for pulling ahead right out
of St Sebastian's cove into the mam ocean of life.

Catalina, the reader is to understand, does not belong to
the class of persons in whom pre-eminently I profess an
interest, But everywhere one loves energy and indomitable
courage. And always what is best in its kind one admires,
even where the kind may happen to be not specially attractive.
Kate's advantages for her r6k in this life lay in four things :
viz. in a well-built person and a particularly strong wrist ;
2d, in a heart that nothing could appal ; 3d, in a sagacious
head, never drawn aside from the hoc age (from the instant
question of the hour) by any weakness of imagination ; 4th,
in a tolerably thick skin, not literally, for she was fair and
blooming and eminently handsome, having such a skin, in
fact, as became a young woman of family in northernmost
Spain; but her sensibilities were obtuse as regarded some
modes of delicacy, some modes of equity, some modes of the
world's opinion, and all modes whatever of personal hardship.
Lay a stress on that word some for, as to delicacy, she never
lost sight of that kind which peculiarly concerns her sex.
Long afterwards she told the Pope himself, when confessing
without disguise to the paternal old man her sad and in-
finite wanderings (and I feel convinced of her veracity), that
in this respect viz. all which concerned her sexual honour
even then she was as pure as a child. And, as to equity,
it was only that she substituted the rude natural equity of
camps for the specious and conventional equity of courts and
towns. I must add, though at the cost of interrupting the
story by two or three more sentences, that Catalina had also
a fifth advantage, which sounds humbly, but is really of use
in a world where even to fold and seal a letter adroitly is not
the lowest of accomplishments. She was a handy girl. She
could turn her hand to anything ; of which I will give you
two memorable instances. Was there ever a girl in this

166 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

world but herself that cheated and snapped her fingers at
that awful Inquisition which brooded over the convents of
Spain ? that did this without collusion from outside ; trusting
to nobody but to herself, and what beside 9 to one needle, two
skeins of thread, and a bad pair of scissors ! For that the scissors
were bad, though Kate does not say so in her memoirs, I
know by an a priori argument : viz. because all scissors were
bad in the year 1607. Now, say all decent logicians, from
a universal to a particular wlet consequents, the right of
inference is good, All scissors were bad, ergo some scissors
were bad. The second instance of her handiness will surprise
you even more ; She once stood upon a scaffold, under
sentence of death (but, understand, on the evidence of false
witnesses). Jack Ketch or, as the present generation calls

him, "Mr. Calcrafi? or " Oalaraft, Esf was absolutely

tying the knot under her ear, and the shameful man of ropes
fumbled so deplorably, that Kate (who by much nautical
experience had learned from another sort of " Jack " how a
knot should be tied in this world) lost all patience with the
contemptible artist, told him she was ashamed of him, took
the rope out of his hand, and tied the knot irieproachably
herself. The crowd saluted her with a festal roll, long and
loud, of vinos ; and, this word mva being a word of good

augury But stop ; lot me not anticipate.

From this sketch of Oatalina 1 s character the reader is
prepared to understand the decision of her present proceeding.
She had no time to lose : the twilight, it is true, favoured
her ; but in any season twilight is as short-lived as a farthing
rushlight ; and she must get under hiding before pursuit
commenced. Consequently she lost not one of her forty-five
minutes in picking and choosing. No shilly-shally m Kate.
She saw with the eyeball of an eagle what was indispensable.
Some little money perhaps, in the first place, to pay the first
toll-bar of life : so, out of four shillings in Aunty's purse, or
what amounted to that English sum in various Spanish coins,
she took one. You can't say that was exorbitant, Which of
us wouldn't subscribe a shilling for poor Kate, to put into
the first trouser-pockets that ever she will wear ? I remember
even yet, as a personal experience, that, when first arrayed,
at four years old, in nankeen trousers, though still so far

TEE SPANISH MIL1TAIIY NUN 167

retaining hermaphrodite relations of dress as to wear a
petticoat above my trousers, all my female friends (because
they pitied me, as one that had suffered from years of ague)
filled my pockets with half-crowns, of which I can render no
account at this day. But what were my poor pretensions by
the side of Kate's ? Kate was a fine blooming girl of fifteen,
with no touch of ague ; and, before the next sun rises, Kate
shall draw on her first trousers, made "by her own hand ;
and, that she may do so, of all the valuables in aunty^
repository she takes nothing beside, first (for I detest your
ridiculous and most pedantic neologism of firstly *) first, the
shilling, for which I have already given a receipt, secondly,
two skeins of suitable thread, thirdly, one stout needle, and
(as I told you before, if you would please to remember things)
one bad pair of scissors. Now she was ready ; ready to cast
off St Sebastian's towing-rope ; ready to cut and run for
port anywhere ; which port (according to a smart American
adage) is to be looked for " at the back of beyond." The
finishing touch of her preparations was to pick out the proper
keys ; even there she showed the same discretion. She did
no gratuitous mischief, She did not take the wine-cellar
key, which would have irritated the good father-confessor ; she
did not take the key of the closet which held the peppermint-
water and other cordials, for that would have distressed the
elderly nuns. She took those keys only that belonged to
7ier, if ever keys did ; for they were the keys that locked her
out from her natural birthright of liberty. Very different
views are taken by different parties of this particular act
now meditated by Kate. The Court of Borne treats it as the
immediate suggestion of Hell, and open to no forgiveness.
Another Court, far loftier, ampler, and of larger authority
viz. the Court which holds its dreadful tribunal in the human
heart and conscience pronounces this act an inalienable
privilege of man, and the mere reassertion of a birthright
that can neither be bought nor sold.

1 Characteristic of De Qumcey, and worth lemembering ! M.

168 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

6. Kate's First Bivouac and First March.

Eight or wrong, however, in Komish casuistry, Kate was
resolved to let herself out ; and did \ and, for fear any man
should creep in while vespers lasted, and steal the kitchen
grate, she locked her old friends in. Then she sought a
shelter. The air was moderately warm. She hurried into
a chestnut wood ; and upon withered leaves, which furnished
to Kate her very first bivouac in a long succession of such
experiences, she slept till earliest dawn, Spanish diet and
youth leave the digestion undisordered, and the slumbers
light, When the lark rose, up rose Catalina. No time to
lose ; for she was still in the dress of a nun, and therefore,
by a law too flagrantly notorious, liable to the peremptory
challenge and arrest of any man the very meanest or
poorest in all Spain. With her armed finger (ay, by the
way, I forgot the thimble; but Kate did not), she set to
work upon her amply-embroidered petticoat She turned it
wrong side out ; and, with the magic that only female hands
possess, had she soon sketched and finished a dashing
pair of Wellington trousers. All other changes were made
according to the materials she possessed, and quite sufficiently
to disguise the two main perils her sex, and her monastic
dedication. What was she to do next? Speaking of
Wellington trousers anywhere in the north of Spain would
remind us, but could hardly remind her, of Yittoria, where
she dimly had heard of some maternal relative. To Vittoria,
therefore, she bent her course 1 ; and, like the Duke of Well-
ington, but arriving more than two centuries earlier, she
gained a great victory at that place. She had made a two
days' march, with no provisions but wild berries ; she
depended, for anything better, as light-heartedly as the duke,
upon attacking sword in hand, storming her dear friend's
iutrenchments, and effecting a lodgment in his breakfast-
room, should he happen to possess one. This amiable rela-

1 " Vittoria, " : A town m the same province of Spain as St. Sebas-
tian, but about fifty miles inland There Wellington gamed one of hia
greatest Peninsular War victories over the French, on the 21st of
June 1813. M.

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 169

live proved to be an elderly man, who had but one foible,
or perhaps it was a virtue, which had by continual
development overshadowed his whole nature: it waa
pedantry. On that hint Catalina spoke: she knew by
heart, from the services of the convent, a good number of
Latin phrases. Latin 1 Oh, but that was charming ; and
in one so young ! The grave Don owned the soft impeach-
ment ; relented at once, and clasped the hopeful young
gentleman in the Wellington trousers to his unculo/r and
rather angular breast. In this house the yarn of life was of
a mingled quality. The table was good, but that was
exactly what Kate cared least about. On the other hand,
the amusement was of the worst kind. It consisted chiefly
in conjugating Latin verbs, especially such as were obsti-
nately irregular. To show him a withered frost-bitten verb,
that wanted its preterite, wanted its gerunds, wanted its
supines, wanted, in fact, everything in this world, fruits or
blossoms, that make a verb desirable, was to earn the Don's
gratitude for life. All day long he was, as you may say,
marching and counter -marching his favourite brigades of
verbs verbs frequentative, verbs inceptive, verbs desidera-
tive horse, foot, and artillery ; changing front, advancing
from the rear, throwing out skirmishing parties ; until Kate,
not given to faint, must have thought of such a resource, as
once in her life she had thought so seasonably of a vesper
headache. This was really worse than St. Sebastian's. It
reminds one of a French gaiety in Thiebault ; who describes
a rustic party, under equal despair, as employing themselves
in conjugating the verb s'ennuyer Je m'ennuie, tu tiennuw, il
s'ennuit ; nous nous ennuyons, &c, ; thence to the imperfect
Je m'ennuyois, tu t'ennuyois, &c. ; thence to the imperative
Qu'il s'ennuye, &c. \ and so on, through the whole dolorous
conjugation. Now, you know, when the time comes that
7101*5 nous ennuyons, the best course is to part, Kate saw
that ; and she walked off from the Don's (of whose amorous
passion for defective verbs one would have wished to know
the catastrophe), taking from his mantelpiece rather more
silver than she had levied on her aunt. But then, observe,
the Don also was a relative ; and really he owed her a small
cheque on his banker for turning out on his field-days. A

170 TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

man, if lie is a kinsman, has no unlimited privilege of boring
one ; an uncle has a qualified right to bore his nephews, even
when they happen to be nieces ; but he has no right to bore
either nephew or niece gratis.

7. Kate at Court, wlwre she prescribes Phlebotomy, and is
Promoted.

From Vittoria, Kate was guided by a carrier to Valla-
dolid. 1 Luckily, as it seemed at first, but, in fact, it made
little difference in the end, here, at Valladolid, were
assembled the King and his Court. Consequently, there
was plenty of regiments, and plenty of regimental bands.
Attracted by one of these, Catalma was quietly listening to
the music, when some street ruffians, in derision of the gay
colours and the particular form of her forest-made costume
(rascals ! what sort of trousers would they have made with no
better scissors ?), began to pelt her with stones. Ah, my
friends of the genus Uachjuard, you little know who it is
that you are selecting for experiments ! This is the one
creature of fifteen years old in all Spain, be the other male
or female, whom nature, and temper, and provocation have
qualified for taking the conceit out of you ! This she very
soon did, laying open, with sharp stones more heads than either
one or two, and letting out rather too little than too much of
bad Valladolid blood. But mark the constant villainy of
this world! Certain Alguazils 2 very like some other
Alguazils that I know of nearer home having stood by
quietly to see the friendless stranger insulted and assaulted,
now felt it their duty to apprehend the poor nun for her
most natural retaliation ; and, had there been such a thing
as a treadmill in Valladolid, Kate was booked for a place on
it without further inquiry. Luckily, injustice does not
always prosper, A gallant young cavalier, who had wit-
nessed from his windows the whole affair, had seen the pro-
vocation, and admired Catalma's behaviour, equally patient

1 Valladolid, ill Old Castille, about 140 miles south-west from
Vittorin. M.

3 Algwmtts, police-officers : a Spanish word from the Arabic or
Mooribli al (tlie) and iemw (oliicer, vizier}. M.

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 171

at first and bold at last, hastened into the street, pursued the
officers, forced them to release their prisoner upon stating the
circumstances of the case, and instantly offered to Catalma a
situation amongst his retinue. He was a man of birth and
fortune ; and the place offered, that of an honorary page, not
being at all degrading even to a " daughter of somebody," was
cheerfully accepted,

8. Too Good to Last!

Here Catalma spent a happy quarter of a year. She was
now splendidly dressed in dark blue velvet, by a tailor that
did not work within the gloom of a chestnut forest. She
and the young cavalier, Don Francisco de Cardenas, were
mutually pleased, and had mutual confidence. All went
well, until one evening (but, luckily, not before the sun had
been set so long as to make all things indistinct) who should
march into the antechamber of the cavalier but that sublime
of crocodiles, papa, whom we lost sight of fifteen years ago,
and shall never see again after this night. He had his
crocodile tears all ready for use, in working order, like a
good industrious fire-engine. Whom will he speak to first
in this lordly mansion ? It was absolutely to Oatalina her-
self that he advanced ; whom, for many reasons, he could
not be supposed to recognise lapse of years, male attire,
twilight, were all against him. Still, she might have the
family countenance; and Kate fancied (but it must have
been a fancy) that he looked with a suspicious scrutiny into
her face, as he inquired for the young Don. To avert her
own face, to announce him to Don Francisco, to wish papa
on the shores of that ancient river, the Nile, furnished but
one moment's work to the active Catalina. She lingered,
however, as her place entitled her to do, at the door of the
audience-chamber. She guessed already, but in a moment
she heard from papa's lips, what was the nature of his
errand. His daughter Catherine, he informed the Don, had
eloped from the convent of St. Sebastian, a place rich in
delight, radiant with festal pleasure, overflowing with
luxury. Then he laid open the unparalleled ingratitude of
such a step. Oh, the unseen treasure that had been spent
upon that girl ! Oh, the untolol sums of money, the

172 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

unknown amounts of cash, that had been sunk in that
unhappy speculation ! The nights of sleeplessness suffered
during her infancy ! The fifteen years of solicitude thrown
away in schemes for her improvement ! It would have
moved the heart of a stone, The hidalgo wept copiously
at his own pathos. And to such a height of grandeur
had he carried his Spanish sense of the sublime that
he disdained to mentionyes ! positively not even in a
parenthesis would he condescend to notice that pocket-
liandkerchief which he had left at St. Sebastian's fifteen
years ago, by way of envelope for " pussy," and which, to
the best of pussy's knowledge, was the one sole memorandum
of papa ever heard of at St. Sebastian's. Pussy, however,
saw no use in revising and correcting the text of papa's
remembrances. She showed her usual prudence, and her
usual incomparable decision. It did not appear, as yet, that
she would be reclaimed (or was at all suspected for the fugi-
tive) by her father, or by Don Cardenas. For it is an
instance of "that singular fatality which pursued Oatalina
through life that, to her own astonishment (as she now
collected from her father's conference), nobody had traced
her to Valladolid, nor had her father's visit any connexion
with any suspicious traveller in that direction. The case
was quite different. Strangely enough, her street row had
thrown her, by the purest of accidents, into the one sole
household in all Spain that had an official connexion with
St. Sebastian's That convent had been founded by the
young cavalier's family \ and, according to the usage of
Spain, the young man (as present representative of his
house) was the responsible protector and official visitor of
the establishment. It was not to the Don as harbourer of
his daughter, but to the Don as hereditary patron of the
convent, that the hidalgo was appealing, This being so,
Kate might have staid safely some time longer. Yet, again,
that would but have multiplied the clues for tracing her ;
and, finally, she would too probably have been discovered \
after which, with all his youthful generosity, the poor Don
could not have protected her. Too terrific was the venge-
ance that awaited an abettor of any fugitive nun ; but, above
all, if suuh a crime were perpetrated by an official mandatory

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 173

of the Church. Yet, again, so far it was the more hazard-
ous course to abscond that it almost revealed her to the
young Don as the missing daughter. Still, if it really had
that effect, nothing at present obliged him to pursue her, as
might have been the case a few weeks later. Kate argued
(I daresay) rightly, as she always did. Her prudence whis-
pered eternally that safety there was none for her until she
had laid the Atlantic between herself and St. Sebastian's.
Life was to be for her a Bay of Biscay ; and it was odds but
she had first embarked upon this billowy life from the
literal Bay of Biscay. Chance ordered otherwise. Or, as a
Frenchman says, with eloquent ingenuity, in connexion with
this very story, " Chance is but the pseudonym of God for
those particular cases which he does not choose to subscribe
openly with his own sign -manual." She crept upstairs to
her bedroom. Simple are the travelling preparations of
those that, possessing nothing, have no imperials to pack,
She had Juvenal's qualification for carolling gaily through a
forest full of robbers l ; for she had nothing to lose but a
change of linen, that rode easily enough under her left arm,
leaving the right free for answering the questions of imperti-
nent customers. As she crept downstairs, she heard the
crocodile still weeping forth his sorrows to the pensive ear of
twilight, and to the sympathetic Don Francisco. Ah ! what
a beautiful idea occurs to me at this point ! Once, on the
hustings at Liverpool, I saw a mob orator, whose brawling
mouth, open to its widest expansion, suddenly some larking
sailor, by the most dexterous of shots, plugged up \vith a
paving-stone. Here, now, at Valladolid was another mouth
that equally required plugging. What a pity, then, that
some gay brother-page of Kate's had not been there to turn
aside into the room armed with a roasted potato, and, taking
a sportsman's aim, to have lodged it in the crocodile's
abominable mouth ! Yet, what an anachronism ! There
weie no roasted potatoes in Spain at that date (1608); which

1 An allusion to the line in Juvenal's Tenth Satire :
" Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator " ;
which may be translated :
"The empty-pocketed tramp will sing in the face of a robber," M,

174 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

can be apodeictically proved, because in Spain there were no
potatoes at all, and very few in England. But anger drives
a man to say anything.

9. How to choose Lodgings.

Oatalina had seen her last of friends and enemies in
Valladolid. Short was her time there ; but she had improved
it so far as to make a few of both. There was an eye or two
in Yalladolid that would have glared with malice upon her,
had she been seen by all eyes in that city as she tripped
through the streets in the dusk ; and eyes there were that
would have softened into tears, had they seen the desolate
condition of the child, or in vision had seen the struggles
that were before her. But what's the use of wasting tears
upon our Kate ? Wait till to-morrow morning at sunrise,
and see if she is particularly in need of pity. What, now,
should a young lady do I propose it as a subject for a prize
essay that finds herself in Valladolid at nightfall, having no
letters of introduction, and not aware of any reason, great or
small, for preferring this or that street in general, except so
far as she knows of some reason for avoiding one street in
particular The great problem I have stated Kate investi-
gated as she went along ; and she solved it with the accuracy
which she ever applied to practical exigencies. Her con-
clusion was that the best door to knock at, in such a
case, was the door where there was no need to knock at all,
as being deliberately left open to all comers. For she argued
that within such a door there would be nothing to steal, so
that, at least, you could not be mistaken in the dark for a
thief. Then, as to stealing from her, they might do that if
they could.

Upon these principles, which hostile critics will in vain
endeavour to undermine, she laid her hand upon what seemed
a rude stable-door. Such it proved ; and the stable was not
absolutely empty : for there was a cart inside a four-wheeled
cart. True, there was so ; but you couldn't take that away
in your pocket ; and there were also five loads of straw but
then of those a lady could take no more than her reticule
would carry ; which perhaps was allowed by the courtesy of

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 175

Spain. So Kate was right as to the difficulty of being
challenged for a thief. Closing the door as gently as she had
opened it, she dropped her person, handsomely dressed as she
was, upon the nearest heap of straw, Some ten feet further
were lying two muleteers, honest and happy enough, as com-
pared with the lords of the bedchamber then in Valladolid ;
but still gross men, carnally deaf from eating garlic and
onions and other horrible substances. Accordingly, they
never heard her, nor were aware, until dawn, that such a
blooming person existed, But she was aware of them, and of
'their conversation. In the intervals of their sleep, they
talked much of an expedition to America, on the point of
sailing under Don Ferdinand de Cordova. It was to sail
from some Andalusian port. That was the thing for her. At
daylight she woke, and jumped up, needing little more toilet
than the birds that already were singing in the gardens, or
than the two muleteers, who, good, honest fellows,
saluted the handsome boy kindly, thinking no ill at his
making free with Mr straw, though no leave had been

With these philo-garlic men Kate took her departure.
The morning was divine ; and, leaving Valladolid with the
transports that befitted such a golden dawn, feeling also
already, in the very obscurity of her exit, the pledge of her
final escape, she cared no longer for the crocodile, nor for
St. Sebastian, nor (in the way of fear) for the protector of St.
Sebastian, though of him she thought with some tenderness ;
so deep is the remembrance of kindness mixed with justice.
Andalusia she reached rather slowly; many weeks the
journey cost her; but, after all, what are weeks? She
reached Seville many months before she was sixteen years
old, and quite in time for the expedition, 1

1 Airived at Seville in Andalusia after her long journey, Kate, the
reader will understand, was now m the south of Spain, at the extreme
opposite point of the map from her native St, Sebastian, having
traversed the entire diagonal distance of more than 450 miles between
the two places, M,

176 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

10. An Ugly Di7emma, where Right and Wrong is reduced
to a Question of Eight or Left.

Ugly indeed is that dilemma where shipwreck and the
sea are on one side of you, and famine on the other, or, if a
chance of escape is offered, apparently it depends upon taking
the right road where there is no guide-post.

St. Lucar being the port of rendezvous for the Peruvian
expedition, thither she went. 1 All comers were welcome on
board the fleet ; much more a fine young fellow like Kate,
She was at once engaged as a mate; and her ship, in
particular, after doubling Cape Horn without loss, made the
coast of Peru. Paita was the port of her destination. 2 Very
near to this port they were, when a storm threw them upon
a coral reef. There was little hope of the ship from the
first, for she was unmanageable, and was not expected to hold
together for twenty- four hours. In this condition, with
death before their faces, mark what Kate did ; and please to
remember it for her benefit, when she does any other little
thing that angers you. The crew lowered the long-boat.
Vainly the captain protested against this disloyal desertion
of a king's ship, which might yet, perhaps, be run on shore,
so as to save the stores. All the crew, to a man, deserted the
captain. You. may say that literally ; for the single exception
was not a man, being our bold-hearted Kate. She was the
only sailor that refused to leave her captain, or the King of
Spain's ship, The rest pulled away for the shore, and with
fair hopes of reaching it. But one half-hour told another
tale. Just about that time came a broad sheet of lightning,
which, through the darkness of evening, revealed the boat in

1 "St Lucctr" : A seaport of Andalusia, at the mouth of the Guadal-
quivir, somewhat north of Cadiz. M,

2 The reader who would follow Kate's adventures geographically
must not neglect these two short and hasty sentences. They carry her
away from Spain and Europe altogether, across the Atlantic to South
America, nay, not only across the Atlantic to South America, but
round Cape Horn, to the west or Pct&ifc coast of South America, and
to a point far north on that coast. Paita or Payta is a seaport of the

, Pacific in the extreme north of Peru, about five degrees below the
Equator. All the long voyage of thousands of miles is suppressed.
-M.

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 177

the very act of mounting like a horse upon an inner reef,
instantly filling, and throwing out the crew, every man of
whom disappeared amongst the breakers. The night which
succeeded was gloomy for Loth the representatives of his
Catholic Majesty. It cannot he denied hy the underwriters
at Lloyd's that the muleteer's stable at Yalladolid was worth
twenty such ships, though the stable was not insured against
fire, and the ship was insured against the sea and the wind by
some fellow that thought very little of his engagements.
But what's the use of* sitting down to cry ? That was never
any trick of Catalina's. By daybreak she was at work with
an axe in her hand. I knew it, before ever I came to this
place in her memoirs. I felt, as sure as if I had read
it, that when day broke we should find Kate at work.
Thimble or axe, trousers or raft, all one to her.

The captain, though true to his duty, faithful to his king,
and on his king's account even hopeful, seems from the first
to have desponded on his own. He gave no help towards
the raft. Signs were speaking, however, pretty loudly that
he must do something ; for notice to quit was now served
pretty bberally. Kate's raft was ready ; and she encouraged
the captain to think that it would give both of them some-
thing to hold by in swimming, if not even carry double. At
this moment, when all was waiting for a start and the ship
herself was waiting only for a final lurch to say Good-bye to
the King of Spain, Kate went and did a thing which some
erring people will misconstrue. She knew of a box laden
with gold coins, reputed to be the King of Spain's, and
meant for contingencies on the voyage out. This she smashed
open with her axe, and took out a sum in ducats and pistoles
equal to one hundred guineas English ; which, having well
secured in a pillow-case, she then lashed firmly to the raft,
Now, this, you know, though not "flotsam" because it would
not float, was certainly, by maritime law, "jetsam." It would
be the idlest of scruples to fancy that the sea or a shark had
a better right to it than a philosopher, or a splendid girl who
showed herself capable of writing a very fair 8vo, to say
nothing of her decapitating in battle, as you will find, more
than one of the king's enemies, and recovering the king's
banner. No sane moralist would hesitate to do the same

VOL, xin N

178 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

tiling under the same circumstances, even on board an
English vessel, and though the First Lord of the Admiralty,
and the Secretary, that pokes his nose into everything
nautical, should be looking on. The raft was now thrown
into the sea, Kate jumped after it, and then entreated the
captain to follow her. He attempted it ; but, wanting her
youthful agility, he struck his head against a spar, and sank
like lead, giving notice below that his ship was coming after
him as fast as she could make ready. Kate's luck was
better: she mounted the raft, and by the rising tide was
gradually washed ashore, but so exhausted as to have lost all
recollection. She lay for hours, until the warmth of the sun
revived her. On sitting up, she saw a desolate shore stretch-
ing both ways nothing to eat, nothing to drink ; but
fortunately the raft and the money had been thrown near
her, none of the lashings having given way : only what is
the use of a gold ducat, though worth nine shillings in
silver, or even of a hundred, amongst tangle and sea-gulls ?
The money she distributed amongst her pockets, and soon
found strength to rise and march forward. But which was
forward? and which backward? She knew by the con-
versation of the sailors that Paita must be in the neighbour-
hood ; and Paita, being a port, could not be in the inside of
Peru, but, of course, somewhere on its outside and the
outside of a maritime land must be the shore ; so that, if she
kept the shore, and went far enough, she could not fail of
hitting her foot against Paita at last, in the very darkest of
nights, provided only she could first find out which was up
and which was down : else she might walk her shoes off, and
find herself, after all, a thousand miles in the wrong. Here
was an awkward case, and all for want of a guide-post. Still,
when one thinks of Kate's prosperous horoscope, that, after
so long a voyage, she only, out of the total crew, was thrown
on the American shore, with one hundred and five pounds in
her purse of clear gain on the voyage, a conviction arises
that she could not guess wrongly. She might have tossed up,
having coins in her pocket, heads or tails ! but this kind of
sortilege was then coming to be thought irreligious in
Christendom, as a Jewish and a heathen mode of questioning
the dark future, She simply guessed, therefore ; and very

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 179

soon a thing happened which, though adding nothing to
, strengthen her guess as a true one, did much to sweeten it,
if it should prove a false one. On turning a point of the
shore, she came upon a barrel of biscuit washed ashore from
the ship. Biscuit is one of the best things I know, even if
not made by Mrs. Bobo 1 ; but it is the soonest spoiled ; and
one would like to hear counsel on one puzzling point, why
it is that a touch of water utterly rums it, taking its life, and
leaving behind a caput mortuum. Upon this caput, in default
of anything better, Kate breakfasted. And, breakfast being
over, she rang the bell for the waiter to take away, and

to 'Stop! what nonsense 1 There could be no bell;

besides which, there could be no waiter. TVell, then, with-
out asking the waiter's aid, she that was always prudent
packed up some of the Catholic king's biscuit, as she had
previously packed up far too little of his gold. But in such
cases a most delicate question occurs, pressing equally on
dietetics and algebra. It is this : if you pack up too much,
then, by this extra burden of salt provisions, you may retard
for days your arrival at fresh provisions ; on the other hand,
if you pack up too little, you may famish, and never arrive
at all. Catalina hit the juste milieu j and about twilight on
the third day she found herself entering Paita, without
having had to swim any very broad river in her walk,

1 Who is Mrs. Bobo The reader will say, "I know not Bobo."
Possibly ; but, for all that, Bobo is known to Senates, From the
American Senate (Friday, March 10, 1854) Bobo received the amplest
testimonials of merits that have not yet been matched. In the debate
on William Nevms's claim for the extension of his patent for a machine
that lolls and cuts crackers and biscuits, thus spoke Mr. Adams, a
most distinguished senator, against Mr, Badger" It is said this is a
" discovery of the patentee for making the best biscuits. Now, if it
" be so, he must have got his invention from Mrs. Bobo of Alabama ;
" for she certainly makes better biscuit than anybody in the world. 1
" can prove by my inend from Alabama (Mr. Clay), who sits beside
" me, and by any man who ever staid at Mrs. Bobo's house, that she
" makes better biscuit than anybody else in the world ; and, if this
" man has the best plan for making biscuit, he must have got it
<{ from her" Henceforward I hope we know where to apply for
biscuit,

180 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

11. From the Malice of tlie Sea to the Malice of Man
and Woman

The first thing, in such a case of distress, which a young
lady does, even if she happens to be a young gentleman, is
to beautify her dress. Kate always attended to that The
man she sent for was not properly a tailor, but one who
employed tailors, he himself furnishing the materials. His
name was Urquiza, a fact of very little importance to us in
1854, 1 if it had stood only at the head and foot of Kate's
little account. But, unhappily for Kate's dfbut on, this vast
American stage, the case was otherwise. Mr. Urquiza had
the misfortune (equally common in the Old World and the
New) of being a knave, and also a showy, specious knave.
Kate, who had prospered under sea allowances of biscuit and
hardship, was now expanding in proportions. With very
little vanity or consciousness on that head, she now displayed
a really magnificent person ; and, when dressed anew in the
way that became a young officer in the Spanish service, she
looked 2 the representative picture of a Spanish caballador.
It is strange that such an appearance, and such a rank,
should have suggested to Urquiza the presumptuous idea of
wishing that Kate might become his clerk. He did, how-
ever, wish it; for Kate wrote a beautiful hand; and a
stranger thing is that Kate accepted his proposal. This
might arise from the difficulty of moving in those days to

1 This elate is substituted by De Quincey in the reprint in the
Collective Edition of Ms works for the original " 1847 "in Taitfs
Magazine.- -M.

2 "She looked" etc. : If ever the reader should visit Aix-la-
Chapelle, he will probably feel interest enough in the poor, wild, im-
passioned girl to look out for a picture of her in that city, and the
only one known certainly to be authentic. It is in the collection of
Mr. Sempeller. For some time it was supposed that the best (if not
the only) portrait of her lurked somewh ere in Italy. Since the discovery
of the picture at Aix-la-Chapelle that notion has been abandoned. But
there is great reason to believe that both in Madrid and Kome many
portraits of her must have been painted to meet the intense interest
which arose in her history subsequently amongst all men of rank,
military or ecclesiastical, whether in Italy or Spain. The date of
these would range between sixteen and twenty-two years from the
period winch we have now reached (1608).

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 181

any distance in Peru. The ship which threw Kate ashore
had heen merely bringing stores to the station of Paita ; and
no corps of the royal armies was readily to he reached, whilst
something must he done at once for a livelihood. Urquiza
had two mercantile establishments one at Trujillo, to which
he repaired in person, on Kate's agreeing to undertake the
management of the other in Paita. 1 Like the sensible girl
that we have always found her, she demanded specific in-
structions for her guidance in duties so new. Certainly she
was in a fair way for seeing life. Telling her beads at St.
Sebastian's, manoeuvring irregular verbs at Yittoria, acting as
gentleman-usher at Valladohd, serving his Spanish Majesty
round Cape Horn, fighting with storms and sharks off the
coast of Peru, and now commencing as book-keeper or comnis
to a draper at Paita does she not justify the character that
I myself gave her, just before dismissing her from St.
Sebastian's, of being a " handy " girl ? Mr. Urquiza's in-
structions were short, easy to be understood, but rather
comic ; and yet (which is odd) they led to tragic results.
There were two debtors of the shop (many, it is to be hoped,
but two meriting his affectionate notice) with respect to whom
he left the most opposite directions. The one was a very
handsome lady ; and the rule as to her was that she was to
have credit unlimited, strictly unlimited. That seemed
plain. The other customer, favoured by Mr. Urquiza's
valedictory thoughts, was a young man, cousin to the hand-
some lady, and bearing the name of Eeyes. This youth
occupied in Mr. Urquiza's estimate the same hyperbolical
rank as the handsome lady, but on the opposite side of the
equation. The rule as to him was that he was to have no
credit, strictly none. In this case, also, Kate saw no diffi-
culty ; and, when she came to know Mr. Eeyes a little, she
found the path of pleasure coinciding with the path of duty.
Mr. Urquiza could not be more precise in laying down the
rule than Kate was in enforcing it. But in the other
case a scruple arose. Unlimited might be a word, not of
Spanish law, but of Spanish rhetoric; such as, "Live a
thousand years," which even annuity offices utter without a

1 Trujillo or Truosillo is a coast-town of Peru, about 250 miles
south from Paita. M.

182 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

pang. Kate therefore wrote to Trujillo, expressing her
honest fears, and desiring to have more definite instructions.
These were positive. If the lady chose to send for the entire
shop, her account was to be debited instantly with that
She had, however, as yet, not sent for the shop ; hut she
began to manifest strong signs of sending for the shopman*
Upon the blooming young Biscayan had her roving eye
settled ; and she was in the course of making up her mind
to take Kate for a sweetheart. Poor Kate saw this with a
heavy heart, And, at the same time that she had a prospect
of a tender friend more than she wanted, she had become
certain of an extra enemy that she wanted quite as little.
What she had done to offend Mr. Eeyes Kate could not
guess, except as to the matter of the credit ; but, then, in
that she only followed her instructions, Still, Mr. Eeyes
was of opinion that there were two ways of executing orders.
But the main offence was unintentional on Kate's part.
Eeyes (though as yet she did not know it) had himself been
a candidate for the situation of clerk, and intended probably
to keep the equation precisely as it was with respect to the
allowance of credit, only to change places with the hand-
some lady keeping lier on the negative side, himself on the
afhrmative: an arrangement, you know, that in the final
result could have made no sort of pecuniary difference to
Urquiza.

Thus stood matters when a party of vagrant comedians
strolled into Paita. Kate, being a native Spaniard, ranked
as one of the Paita aristocracy, and was expected to attend.
She did so ; and there also was the malignant Eeyes. He
came and seated himself purposely so as to shut out Kate
from all view of the stage. She, who had nothing of the
bully in her nature, and was a gentle creature when her
wild Biscayan blood had not been kindled by insult,
courteously requested him to move a little ; upon which
Eeyes replied that it was not in his power to oblige the clerk
as to that, but that he could oblige him by cutting his throat.
The tiger that slept in Catalina wakened at once. She seized
him, and would have executed vengeance on the spot, but that
a party of young men interposed, for the present, to part
them. The next day, when Kate (always ready to forget and

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 183

forgive) was thinking no more of the row, Reyes passed : Ly
spitting at the window, and other gestures insulting to Kate,
again he roused her Spanish blood, Out she rushed, sword
in hand ; a duel began in the street ; and very soon Kate's
sword had passed into the heart of Reyes. Now that the
mischief was done, the police were, as usual, all alive for the
pleasure of avenging it. Kate found herself suddenly in a
strong prison, and with small hopes of leaving it, except for
execution.

12. From the Steps leading up to the Scaffold to the Steps
leading down to Assassination

The relatives of the dead man were potent in Paita, and
clamorous for justice ; so that the corre'gidor, in a case where
he saw a very poor chance of being corrupted by bribes, felt
it his duty to be sublimely incorruptible. The reader knows,
however, that amongst the connexions of the deceased bully
was that handsome lady who differed as much from her cousin
in her sentiments as to Kate as she did in the extent of her
credit with Mr. Urquiza. To her Kate wrote a note ; and,
using one of the Spanish King's gold coins for bribing the
jailer, got it safely delivered. That, perhaps, was unneces-
sary ; for the lady had been already on the alert, and had
summoned Urquiza from Trujillo. By some means not very
luminously stated, and by paying proper fees in proper
quarters, Kate was smuggled out of the prison at nightfall,
and smuggled into a pretty house in the suburbs. Had she
known exactly the footing she stood on as to the law, she would
have been decided. As it was, she was uneasy, and jealous
of mischief abroad ; and, before supper, she understood it all.
Urquiza briefly informed his clerk that it would be requisite
for him (the clerk) to marry the handsome lady. But why ?
Because, said Urquiza, after talking for hours with the
corrfgidor, who was infamous for obstinacy, he had found it
impossible to make him "hear reason" and release the
prisoner until this compromise of marriage was suggested.
But how could public justice be pacified for the clerk's un-
fortunate homicide of Reyes by a female cousin of the deceased
man engaging to love, honour, and obey the clerk for life 1

184 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Kate could not see her way through this logic. " Nonsense,
my friend," said Urquiza ; "you don't comprehend. As it
stands, the affair is a murder, and hanging the penalty. But,
if you marry into the murdered man's house, then it becomes
a little family murder all quiet and comfortable amongst
ourselves. What has the corrdgidor to do with that ? or the
public either ] Now, let me introduce the bride." Supper
entered at that moment, and the bride immediately alter,
The thoughtfulness of Kate was narrowly observed, and even
alluded to, but politely ascribed to the natural anxieties of a
prisoner and the very imperfect state of his liberation even
yet from prison surveillance. Kate had, indeed, never been
in so trying a situation before, The anxieties of the farewell
night at St. Sebastian were nothing to this ; because, even
if she had failed then, a failure might not have been always
irreparable. It was but to watch and wait. But now, at
this supper table, she was not more alive to the nature of the
peril than she was to the fact that, if before the night closed
she did not by some means escape from it, she never would
escape with life. The deception as to her sex, though resting
on no motive that pointed to these people, or at all concerned
them, would be resented as if it had. The lady would regard
the case as a mockery ; and Urquiza would lose his oppor-
tunity of delivering himself from an imperious mistress.
According to the usages of the times and country, Kate knew
that within twelve hours she would be assassinated.

People of infirmer resolution would have lingered at the
supper table, for the sake of putting off the evil moment of
final crisis, Not so Kate. She had revolved the case on
all its sides in a few minutes, and had formed her resolution.
This done, she was as ready for the trial at one moment as
another ; and, when the lady suggested that the hardships
of a prison must have made repose desirable } Kate assented,
and instantly rose. A sort of procession formed, for the
purpose of doing honour to the interesting guest, and escort-
ing him in pomp to his bedroom. Kate viewed it much in
the same light as that procession to which for some days she
had been expecting an invitation from the corrtyidor. Far
ahead ran the servant- woman, as a sort of outrider ; then
came Urquiza, like a pacha of two tails, who granted two

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 185

sorts of credit viz. unlimited and none at all bearing two
wax-lights, one in each hand, and wanting only cymbals and
kettle-drums to express emphatically the pathos of his
Castilian strut ; next came the bride, a little in advance of
the clerk, hut still turning obliquely towards him, and
smiling graciously into his face ; lastly, bringing up the
rear, came the prisoner our poor ensnared Kate the nun,
the page, the mate, the clerk, the homicide, the convict,
and, for this night only, by particular desire, the bridegroom-
elect.

It was Kate's fixed opinion that, if for a moment she
entered any bedroom having obviously no outlet, her fate
would be that of an ox once driven within the shambles.
Outside, the bullock might make some defence with his
horns ; but, once in, with no space for turning, he is muffled
and gagged. She carried her eye, therefore, like a hawk's,
steady, though restless, for vigilant examination of every
angle she turned. Before she entered any bedroom, she was
resolved to reconnoitre it from the doorway, and, in case of
necessity, show fight at once before entering, as the best
chance in a crisis where all chances were bad. Everything
ends ; and at last the procession reached the bedroom-door,
the outrider having filed off to the rear. One glance sufficed
to satisfy Kate that windows there were none, and therefore
no outlet for escape. Treachery appeared even in that ; and
Kate, though unfortunately without arms, was now fixed for
resistance. Mr. Urquiza entered first, with a strut more
than usually grandiose, and inexpressibly sublime " Sound
the trumpets 1 Beat the drums ! " There were, as we know
already, no windows; but a slight interruption to Mr.
Urquiza's pompous tread showed that there were steps down-
wards into the room. Those, thought Kate, will suit me
even better. She had watched the unlocking of the bedroom-
door she had lost nothing she had marked that the key
was left in the lock. At this moment, the beautiful lady,
as one acquainted with the details of the house, turning with
the air of a gracious monitress, held out her fair hand to
guide Kate in careful descent of the steps. This had the air
of taking out Kate to dance ; and Kate, at that same moment,
answering to it by the gesture of a modern waltzer, threw

186 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

her arm behind the lady's waist, hurled her headlong down
the steps right against Mr. Urquiza, draper and haberdasher,
and then, with the speed of lightning, throwing the door
home within its architrave, doubly locked the creditor and
unlimited debtor into the rat-trap which they had prepared
for herself.

The affrighted outrider fled with horror ; she knew that
the clerk had already committed one homicide ; a second
would cost him still less thought; and thus it happened
that egress was left easy.

13. From Human Malice iac/c again to the Malice of
Winds and Waves

But, when abroad, and free once more in the bright
starry night, which way should Kate turn ? The whole city
would prove but one vast rap-trap for her, as bad as Mr.
Urquiza's, if she was not off before morning. At a glance
she comprehended that the sea was her only chance. To
the port she fled. All was silent. Watchmen there were
none ; and she jumped into a boat. To use the oars was
dangerous, for she had no means of muffling them. But she
contrived to hoist a sail, pushed off with a boat-hook, and
was soon stretching across the water for the mouth of the
harbour, before a breeze light but favourable. Having
cleared the difficulties of exit, she lay down, and uninten-
tionally fell asleep. When she awoke, the sun had been up
three or four hours \ aH was right otherwise ; but, had she
not served as a sailor, Kate would have trembled upon find-
ing that, during her long sleep of perhaps seven or eight
hours, she had lost sight of land ; by what distance she
could only guess ; and in what direction was to some degree
doubtful. All this, however, seemed a great advantage to
the bold girl, throwing her thoughts back on the enemies
she had left behind. The disadvantage was having no
breakfast, not even damaged biscuit; and some anxiety
naturally arose as to ulterior prospects a little beyond the
horizon of breakfast. But who's afraid ? As sailors whistle
for a wind, Catalina really had but to whistle for anything
with energy, and it was sure to come. Like Caesar to the

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 187

pilot of Dyrrhachium, she might have said, for the comfort
of her poor timorous boat (though a boat that in fact was
destined soon to perish), " Gatalvnam i)ehis, et fortmas ejus" l
Meantime, being very doubtful as to the best course for
sailing, and content if her course did but lie off shore, she
" earned on," as sailors say, under easy sail, going, in fact,
just whither and just how the Pacific breezes suggested in
the gentlest of whispers. All right behind, was Kate's opinion ;
and, what was better, very soon she might say, all right ahead ;
for, some hour or two before sunset, when dinner was for
once becoming, even to Kate, the most interesting of subjects
for meditation, suddenly a krge ship began to swell upon
the brilliant atmosphere. In those latitudes, and in those
years, any ship was pretty sure to be Spanish : sixty years
later, the odds were in favour of its being an English
buccaneer; which would have given a new direction to
Kate's energy. Kate continued to make signals with a
handkerchief whiter than the crocodile's of Ann. Dom. 1592 ;
else it would hardly have been noticed. Perhaps, afLer all,
it would not, but that the ship's course carried her very
nearly across Kate's. The stranger lay to for her. It was
dark by the time Kate steered herself under the ship's
quarter ; and then was seen an instance of this girl's eternal
wakefulness. Something was painted on the stern of her
boat, she could not see what ; but she judged that, what-
ever this might be, it would express some connexion with
the port that she had just quitted. Now, it was her wish
to break the chain of traces connecting her with such a
scamp as Urquiza ; since, else, through his commercial corre-
spondence, he might disperse over Peru a portrait of herself
by no means flattering. How should she accomplish this ?
It was dark ; and she stood, as you may see an Etonian do
at times, rocking her little boat from side to side, until it
had taken in water as much as might be agreeable. Too
much it proved for the boat's constitution, and the boat
perished of dropsy Kate declining to tap it. She got a
ducldng herself; but what cared she? Up the ship's side
she went, as gaily as ever, in those years when she was called
pussy, she had raced after the nuns of St. Sebastian ; jumped
1 " You carry Catalina, and her fortunes." M.

188 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

upon deck, and told the first lieutenant, when he questioned
her about her adventures, quite as much truth as any man,
under the rank of admiral, had a right to expect.

1 4. Bright Gleam of Sunshine

This ship was full of recruits for the Spanish army, and
bound to Conception. 1 Even in that destiny was an iteration,
or repeating memorial, of the significance that ran through
Catalina's most casual adventures. She had enlisted amongst
the soldiers j and, on reaching port, the very first person
who came off from shore was a dashing young military
officer, whom at once, by his name and rank (though she had
never consciously seen him), she identified as her own
brother. He was splendidly situated in the service, being
the Governor-General's secretary, besides his rank as a cavalry
officer ; and, his errand on board being to inspect the recruits,
naturally, on reading in the roll one of them described as a
Biseayan, the ardent young man canie up with high-bred
courtesy to Catalina, took the young recruit's hand with
kindness, feeling that to be a compatriot at so great a distance
was to be a sort of relative, and asked with emotion after old
boyish remembrances. There was a scriptural pathos in
what followed, as if it were some scene of domestic reunion
opening itself from patriarchal ages. The young officer was
the eldest son of the house, and had left Spain when Catalina
was only three years old. But, singularly enough, Catalina
it was, the little wild cat that he yet remembered seeing at
St Sebastian's, upon whom his earliest inquiries settled.
"Did the recruit know his family, the De Erausos?" Oh
yes ; everybody knew them. " Did the recruit know little
Catalina ? " Catalina smiled as she replied that she did ;
and gave such an animated description of the little fiery
wretch as made the officer's eye flash with gratified tender-
ness, and with certainty that the recruit was no counterfeit
Biseayan. Indeed, you know, if Kate couldn't give a good
description of " pussy," who could ? The issue of the inter-
view was that the officer insisted on Kate's making a home

1 "Conception": On the coast of Chili, some 2400 miles south
from Paita, on the shore of the Pacific. M.

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 189

of liis quarters, He did other services for his unknown
sister. He placed her as a trooper in his own regiment, and
favoured her in many a way that is open to one having
authority, But the person, after all, that did most to serve
our Kate, was Kate. War was then raging with Indians,
both from Chili and Peru. Kate had always clone her duty
in action ; hut at length, in the decisive battle of Pun-en, there
was an opening for doing something more. Havoc had been
made of her own squadron j most of the officers were killed,
and the standard was carried off. Kate gathered around her
a small party galloped after the Indian column that was
carrying away the trophy charged saw all her own party
killed but, in spite of wounds on her face and shoulder,
succeeded in bearing away the recovered standard. She rode
up to the general and his staff; she dismounted; she
rendered up her prize ; and fainted away, much less from
the blinding blood than from the tears of joy which dimmed
her eyes as the general, waving his sword in admiration over
her head, pronounced our Kate on the spot an Alftm?- or
standard-bearer, with a commission from the King of Spain
and the Indies, Bonny Kate ! noble Kate ! I would there
were not two centuries laid between us, so that I might have
the pleasure of kissing thy fair hand,

15. TJie Sunshine is Overcast

Kate had the good sense to see the danger of revealing
her sex, or her relationship, even to her own brother. The
grasp of the Church never relaxed, never "prescribed,"
unless freely and by choice. The nun, if discovered, would
have been taken out of the horse-barracks or the dragoon-
saddle. She had the firmness, therefore, for many years, to
resist the sisterly impulses that sometimes suggested such a
confidence. For years, and those years the most important
of her life the year& that developed her character she
lived undetected as a brilliant cavalry officer, under her
brother's patronage. And the bitterest grief in poor Kate's
whole life was the tragical (and, were it not fully attested,

1 " AlfOrez " : This rank in the Spanish army is t or "was, on a level
with the modern sous-lieutenant of France.

190 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

one might say the ultra-sccnical) event that dissolved their
long connexion. Let me spend a word of apology on poor
Kate's errors. \Ye all commit many; both you and I,
reader. No, stop ; that's not civil. You, reader, I know,
are a saint ; I am noi, though very near it. I do err at long
intervals ; and then I think with indulgence of the many
circumstances that plead for this poor girl. The Spanish
armies of that day inherited, from the days of .Cortcz and
Pizarro, shining remembrances of martial prowess, and the
very worst of ethics. To think little of bloodshed, to quarrel,
to fight, to gamble, to plunder, belonged to the very atmo-
sphere of a camp, to its indolence, to its ancient traditions.
In your own defence, you were obliged to do such things.
Besides all these grounds of evil, the Spanish army had just
then an extra demoralisation from a war with savages
faithless and bloody. Do not think too much, reader, of
killing a man do not, I beseech you ! That word " hll"
is sprinkled over every page of Kate's own autobiography.
It ought not to be read by the light of these days. Yet, how

if a man that she killed were ? Hush 1 It was sad ;

but is better hurried over in a few words. Years after this
period, a young officer, one day dining with Kate, entreated her
to become his second in a duel. Such things were everyday
affairs. However, Kate had reasons for declining the service,
and did so. But the officer, as he was sullenly departing,
said that, if he were killed (as he thought he should be), his
death would lie at Kate's door. I do not take his view of
the case, and am not moved by his rhetoric or his logic.
Kate was, and relented. The duel was fixed for eleven at
night, under the walls of a monastery. Unhappily, the
night proved unusually dark, so that the two principals had
to tie white handkerchiefs round their elbows, in order to
descry each other. In the confusion they wounded each
other mortally. Upon that, according to a usage not peculiar
" to Spaniards, but extending (as doubtless the reader knows)
for a century longer to our own countrymen, the two seconds
were obliged in honour to do something towards avenging
their principals. Kate had her usual fatal luck. Her sword
passed sheer through the body of her opponent: this unknown
opponent, falling dead, had just breath left to cry out, "Ah,

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 193

villain ! you have killed me ! " in a voice of horrific reproach ;
and the voice was the voice of her brother !

The monks of the monastery under whose silent shadows
this murderous duel had taken place, roused by the clashing
of swords and the angry shouts of combatants, issued out
with torches, to find one only of the four officers surviving.
Every convent and altar had the right of asylum for a short
period. According to the custom, the monks carried Kate,
insensible with anguish of mind, to the sanctuary of their
chapel, There for some days they detained her ; but then,
having furnished her with a horse and some provisions, they
turned her adrift. Which way should the unhappy fugitive
turn ? In blindness of heart, she turned towards the sea.
It was the sea that had brought her to Peru ; it was the sea
that would perhaps carry her away. It was the sea that had
first shown her this land and its golden hopes ; it was the
sea that ought to hide from her its fearful remembrances. 1
The sea it was that had twice spared her life in extremities ;
the sea it was that might now, if it chose, take back the
bauble that it had spared in vain.

16, Kate's Ascent of the Andes

Three days our poor heroine followed the coast, 2 Her
horse was then almost unable to move j and on Ms account

1 De Quincey seems to have forgotten that Kate was not now in
Peru, but in Chili. Although the fightings with the Indians in winch
she had been engaged during the years that had elapsed since her
arrival at the Chilian town of Coucepciou may have cairied her far
enough north in Chili from that town, they could hardly have taken
her back into Pern. So one fancies at least ; for all has been left to
fancy. The geography of the last few pages, telling the story of
Kate's years of military service as a cavalry- officer under her brother,
has been singularly vague. We have certainly been m the Spanish
Indies all the while, but whether in Chili or Peru, or m both, we have
not known, and have not inquned, The chronology is as vague as the
geography ; but Kate must have been ten or twelve years in South
America by this time, and has to be imagined as about thirty years of
age, more or less, at this point of her story. M.

a It becomes necessary here to have some more definite conception
of that matter of Kate's whereabouts at this time which has been
mooted in the last note. Kate was about to commence her great feat
of the ascent of the Andes ; but the Andes arc a mountain-chain, 4GQQ

192 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

she turned inland to a thicket, for grass and shelter, AB she
drew near to it, a voice challenged, " Wlio (joes there ?" Kate
answered, " Spain?" What people f " " A friend." It waa
two soldiers, deserters, and almost starving. Kate shared her
provisions with these men ; and, on hearing their plan, which
was to go over the Cordilleras, 1 she agreed to join the party.
Their object was the wild one of seeking the river Dorado,
whose waters rolled along golden sands, and whose pebbles
were emeralds. Hers was to throw herself upon a line the
least liable to pursuit, and the readiest for a new chapter of
life, in which oblivion might be found for the past. After a
few days of incessant climbing and fatigue, they found them-
selves in the regions of perpetual snow. Summer came even
hither ; but came as vainly to this kingdom of frost as to the
grave of her brother. No fire but the fire of human blood
in youthful veins could ever be kept burning in these aerial
solitudes. Fuel was rarely to be found, and kindling a fire
by interfriction of dry sticks was a secret almost exclusively
Indian. However, our Kate can do everything; and she's
the girl, if ever girl did such a thing, that I back at any odds
for crossing the Cordilleras. I would bet you something
now, reader, if I thought you would deposit your stakes by
return of post (as they play at chess through the post-office),
that Kate does the trick ; that she gets down to the other
side ; that the soldiers do not ; and that the horse, if pre-
served at all, is preserved in a way that will leave him very
little to boast of.

The party had gathered wild berries and esculent roots at
the foot of the mountains, and the horse was of very great
use in carrying them. But this larder was soon emptied.

miles long, running parallel with the Pacific through the whole extenl
of the South American Continent from Panama to Patagonia. At what
point in this vast range was Kate about to make the ascent? De
Qmncey is at his ease on the subject, and gives us no information.
From evidence which will appear in the sequel, however, we have to
assume that it was over the northern portion of the Chilian Andes that
Kate's ascent was to he made. Accordingly, if any reader should think
it worth his while to follow the poor gill's adventures on the map, he
must imagine the piece of sea-shore along which she is now wandering,
before her ascent begins, to be the northern coast of Chili. M.

1 "Cordilleras" :k general word for any mountain chain in
Spanish America ; applied here specifically to the Andes. M.

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 193

There was nothing then to carry ; so that the horse's value,
as a beast of burden, fell cent per cent. lu fact, very soon
he could not carry himself, and it became easy to calculate
when he would reach the bottom on the wrong side the
Cordilleras. He took three steps back for one upwards. A
council of war being held, the small army resolved to slaughter
their horse. He, though a member of the expedition, had
no vote ; and, if he had, the votes would have stood three to
one majority, two against him. He was cut into quarters
a difficult fraction to distribute amongst a triad of claimants.
No saltpetre or sugar could be had ; but the frost was anti-
septic. And the horse was preserved in as useful a sense as
ever apricots were preserved, or strawberries ; and thd was
the kind of preservation which one page ago I promised to
the horse.

On a fire painfully devised out of broom and withered
leaves a horse-steak was dressed ] for drink, snow was allowed
A discretion. This ought to have revived the party ; and
Kate, perhaps, it did. But the poor deserters were thinly
clad, and they had not the boiling heart of Catalina. More
and more they drooped. Kate did her best to cheer them.
But the march was nearly at an end for them ; and they were
going, in one half-hour, to receive their last billet. Yet,
before this consummation, they have a strange spectacle to
see such as few places could show but the upper chambers
of the Cordilleras. They had reached a billowy scene of
rocky masses, large and small, looking shockingly black on
their perpendicular sides as they rose out of the vast snowy
expanse. Upon the highest of those that was accessible Kate
mounted to look around her, and she saw oh, rapture at
such an hour ! a man sitting on a shelf of rock, with a gun
by his side. Joyously she shouted to lier comrades, and ran
down to communicate the good news. Here was a sports-
man, watching, perhaps, for an eagle ; and now they would
have relief. One man's cheek kindled with the hectic of
sudden joy, and he rose eagerly to inarch. The other was
fast sinking under tlie fatal sleep that frost sends before her-
self as her merciful minister of death ; but, hearing in his
dream the tidings of relief, and assisted by his friends, he
also staggeringly arose. It could not be three minutes' walk,

VOL. XIII

194 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Kate thought, to the station of the sportsman. That thought
supported them all. Under Kate's guidance, who had taken
a sailor's glance at the bearings, they soon unthreaded the
labyrinth of rocks so far as to bring the man within view.
He had not left his resting-place ; their steps on the sound-
less snow, naturally, he could not hear ; and, as their road
brought them upon him from the rear, still less cuuld he see
them, Kate hailed him ; but so keenly was he absorbed in
some speculation, or in the object of his watching, that he
took no notice of them, not even moving his head. Coming
close behind him, Kate touched his shoulder, and said, " My
friend, are you sleeping ' " Yes, he was sleeping sleeping
the sleep from which there is no awaking ; and, the slight
touch of Kate having disturbed the equilibrium of the corpse,
down it rolled on the snow: the frozen body rang like a
hollow iron cylinder ; the face uppermost, and blue with
mould, mouth open, teeth ghastly and bleaching in the frost,
and a frightful grin upon the lips. This dreadful spectacle
finished the struggles of the weaker man, who sank and died
at once, The other made an effort with so much spirit that,
in Kate's opinion, horror had acted upon him beneficially as
a stimulant. But it was not really so. It was simply a
spasm of morbid strength. A collapse succeeded ; his blood
began to freeze ; he sat down in spite of Kate, and he also
died without further struggle. Yes, gone are the poor suffer-
ing deserters ; stretched out and bleaching upon the snow ;
and insulted discipline is avenged, Great kings have long
arms ; and sycophants are ever at hand for the errand of the
potent. What had frost and snow to do with the quarrel ?
Yet they made themselves sycophantic servants to the King
of Spain ; and they it was that dogged his deserters up to the
summit of the Cordilleras, more surely than any Spanish
bloodhound, or any Spanish tirailleur's bullet.

17. Kate, stanfa alone on the Summit of the Andes

Now is our Kate standing alone on the summits of the
Andes, and in solitude that is frightful, for she is alone with
her own afflicted conscience. Twice before she had stood in
solitude as deep upon the wild, wild waters of the Pacific - }

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 195

but her conscience had been then untroubled. Now is there
nobody left that can help ; her horse is dead the soldiers
are dead. There is nobody that she can speak to, except
God ; and very soon you will find that she does speak to Him ;
for already on these vast aerial deserts He has been whisper-
ing to her. The condition of Kate in some respects resembled
that of Coleridge's Ancient Manner. But possibly, reader,
you may be amongst the many careless readers that have
never fully understood what that condition was. Suffer me
to enlighten you ; else you ruin the story of the mariner,
and, by losing all its pathos, lose half its beauty.

There are three readers of the Ancient Marmer. The
first is gross enough to fancy all the imagery of the mariner's
visions delivered by the poet for actual facts of experience ;
which being impossible, the whole pulverises, for that reader,
into a baseless fairy tale. The second reader is wiser than
that ; he knows that the imagery is the imagery of febrile
delirium ; really seen, but not seen as an external reality.
The mariner had caught the pestilential fever which carried
off all his mates ; he only had survived . the delirium had
vanished; but the visions that had haunted the delirium
remained. " Yes," says the third reader, " they remained ;
naturally they did, being scorched by fever into his brain ;
but how did they happen to remain on his belief as gospel
truths ? The delirium had vanished ; why had not the painted
scenery of the delirium vanished except as visionary memorials
of a sorrow that was cancelled ? Why was it that craziness settled
upon this mariner's brain, driving him, as if he were a Cain, or
another "Wandering Jew, to 'pass like night from land to land,'
and, at certain intervals, wrenching him until he made rehearsal
of his errors, even at the difficult cost of * holding children
from their play, and old men from the chimney corner' ?" l
That craziness, as the third reader deciphers, rose out of a
deeper soil than any bodily affection. It had its root in peni-
tential sorrow. Oh, bitter is the sorrow to a conscientious
heart, when, too late, it discovers the depth of a love that
has been trampled under foot ! This mariner had slain the
creature that, on all the earth, loved him best. In the dark-

1 The beautiful words of Sir Philip Sidney, m his Defense of
Poesy.

196 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES'

ness of his cruel superstition lie had done it, to save his
human brothers from a fancied inconvenience ; and yet, by
that very act of cruelty, he had himself called destruction upon
their heads. The Nemesis that followed punished him through
themr him that wronged through those that wrongfully he
sought to benefit. That spirit who watches over the sanctities of
love is a strong angel is a jealous angel and this angel it was

"That loved the bird that loved the man
That shot him with his how."

He it was that followed the cruel archer into silent and
slumbering seas .

"Nine fathom deep he had followed him,
Through the realms of mist and snow."

This jealous angel it was that pursued the man into noonday
darkness and the vision of dying oceans, into delirium, and
finally (when recovered from disease) into an unsettled
mind.

Not altogether unlike, though free from the criminal
intention of the mariner, had been the offence of Kate ; not
unlike, also, was the punishment that now is dogging her
steps. She, like the mariner, had slain the -one sole creature
that loved her upon the whole wide earth ; she, like the
mariner, for tliis offence, had been hunted into frost and
snow very soon will be hunted into delirium ; and from
that (if she escapes with life) will be hunted into the trouble
of a heart that cannot rest. There was the excuse of one
darkness, phybical darkness, for her j there was the excuse
of another darkness, the darkness of superstition, for the
mariner. But, with all the excuses that earth, and the dark-
ness of earth, can furnish, bitter it would be for any of us,
reader, through every hour of life, waking or dreaming, to
look back upon one fatal moment when we had pierced the
heart that would have died for us. In this only the dark-
ness had been merciful to Kate that it had hidden for ever
from her victim the hand that slew him. But now, in such
utter solitude, her thoughts ran back to their earliest inter-
view. She remembered with anguish how, on touching the
shores of America, almost the first word that met her ear had
been from UT\\ the brother whom she had killed, about the

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 197

"pussy" of times long past; how the gallant young man
had hung upon her words, as in her native Basque she de-
scribed her own mischievous little self, of twelve years back *
how his colour went and came whilst his loving memory of
the little sister was revived by her own descriptive traits,
giving back, as in a mirror, the fawn-like grace, the squirrel-
like restlessness, that once had kindled his own delighted
laughter ; how he would take no denial, but showed on the
spot that simply to have touched to have kissed to have
played with the little wild thing that glorified by her inno-
cence the gloom of St. Sebastian's cloisters, gave a right to
his hospitality ; how through him only she had found a wel-
come in camps ; how through him she had found the avenue
to honour and distinction. And yet this brother, so loving
and generous, who, without knowing, had cherished and pro-
tected her, and all from pure holy love for herself as the
innocent plaything of St. Sebastian's, him in a moment she
had dismissed from life, She paused ; she turned round, as
if looking back for his grave ; she saw the dreadful wilder-
nesses of snow which already she had traversed. Silent they
were at this season, even as in the panting heats of noon the
Saharas of the torrid zone are oftentimes silent. Dreadful
was the silence - } it was the nearest thing to the silence of the
grave. Graves were at the foot of the Andes,' that she knew
too well ; graves were at the summit of the Andes, that she saw
too well. And, as she gazed, a sudden thought flashed upon
her,whenher eyes settled upon the corpses of the poor deserters,
Could she, like tlwm, have been all this while unconsciously
executing judgment upon herself? Running from a wrath that
was doubtful, into the very jaws of a wrath that was inexor-
able? Flying in panic and behold! there was no man that
pursued ? For the first time in her life, Kate trembled. Not
for the first time, Kate wept. Far less for the first time was
it that Kate bent her knee that Kate clasped her hands
that Kate prayed. But it was the first time that she prayed
as they pray for whom no more hope is left but in prayer.

Here let me pause a moment, for the sake of making
somebody angry. A Frenchman who sadly misjudges
Kate, looking at her through a Parisian opera-glass, gives
it as his opinion that, because Kate first records her

198 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

prayer on this occasion, therefore now first of all she prayed. 1
I think not so. I love this Kate, bloodstained as she is ;
and I could not love a woman that never bent her knee in
thankfulness or in supplication. However, we have all a
right to our own little opinion; and it is not you, "won
cher," you Frenchman, that I am angry with, but somebody
else that stands behind you. You, Frenchman, and your
compatriots, I love oftentimes for your festal gaiety of heart ;
and I quarrel only with your levity, and that eternal world-
liness that freezes too fiercely that absolutely blisters with
its frost, like the upper air of the Andes. You speak of
Kate only as too readily you speak of all women ; the instinct
of a natural scepticism being to scoff at all hidden depths of
truth. Else you are civil enough to Kate ; and your
"homage" (such as it may happen to be) is always at the
service of a woman on the shortest notice. But behind you
I see a worse fellow a gloomy fanatic, a religious syco-
phant, that seeks to propitiate his circle by bitterness against
the offences that are most unlike his own. And against him
I must say one word for Kate to the too hasty reader. This
villain opens his fire on our Kate under shelter of a lie.
For there is a standing lie in the very constitution of civil
society a necessity of error, misleading us as to the propor-
tions of crime. Mere necessity obliges man to create many
acts into felonies, and to punish them as the heaviest offences,
which his better sense teaches him secretly to regard as per-
haps among the lightest. Those poor mutineers or deserters,
for instance, were they necessarily without excuse ? They
might have been oppressively used ; but, in critical times of
war, no matter for the individual palliations, the mutineer
must be shot : there is no help for it, as, in extremities of
general famine, we shoot the man (alas ! we are obliged to
shoot him) that is found robbing the common stores in order
to feed his own perishing children, though the offence is
hardly visible in the sight of God. Only blockheads adjust
their scale of guilt to the scale of human punishments. Now,
our wicked friend the fanatic, who calumniates Kate, abuses
the advantage which, for such a purpose, he derives from

1 Who this Frenchman was will appear from the Appended
Editorial Note M.

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 199

the exaggerated social estimate of all violence. Personal
security being so main an object of social union, we are
obliged to frown upon all modes of violence, as hostile to the
central principle of that union, We are olhged to rate it
according to the universal results towards which it tends,
and scarcely at all according to the special condition of cir-
cumstances in which it may originate, ITence a horror
arises for that class of offences, which is (philosophically
speaking) exaggerated ; and, by daily use, the ethics of a
police-office translate themselves insensibly into the ethics
even of religious people. But I tell that sycophantish fanatic
not this only, viz, that he abuses unfairly against Kate the
advantage which he has from the inevitably distorted bias
of society ; but also I tell him this second little thing,
that, upon turning away the glass from that one obvious
aspect of Kate ; s character, her too fiery disposition to vindi-
cate all rights by violence, and viewing her in relation lo
general religious capacities, she was a thousand times more
promisingly endowed than himself. It is impossible to be
noble in many things without having many points of contact
with true religion. If you deny that, you it is that calum-
niate religion. Kate was noble in many things. Her worst
errors never took a shape of self-interest or deceit. She was
brave, she was generous, she was forgiving, she bore no
malice, she was full of truth qualities that God loves either
in man or woman. She hated sycophants and dissemblers,
I hate them ; and more than ever at this moment on her
behalf. I wish she were but here, to give a punch on the
head to that fellow who traduces her. And, coming round
again to the occasion from which this short digression has
started viz. the question raised by the Frenchman, whether
Kate were a person likely to pray under other circumstances
than those of extreme danger I offer it as my opinion that
she was. Violent people are not always such from choice,
but perhaps from situation, And, though the circumstances
of Kate's position allowed her little means for realising her
own wishes, it is certain that those wishes pointed continually
to peace and an unworldly happiness, if that were possible.
The stormy clouds that enveloped her in camps opened over-
head at intervals, showing her a far-distant blue serene. She

200 TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

yearned, at many times, for the rest which is not in camps
or armies ; and it is certain that she ever combined with
any plans or day -dreams' of tranquillity, as their most essential
ally, some aid derived from that dove-like religion which,
at St. Sebastian's, from her infant days, she had been taught
so profoundly to adore,

18. Kate If gins to descend the Mighty Staircase

Now, let us rise from this discussion of Kate against
libellers, as Kate herself is rising from prayer, and consider,
in conjunction with her, the character and promise of that
dreadful ground which lies immediately before her. What
is to be thought of it ? I could wish we had a theodolite
here, and a spirit-level, and other instruments, for settling
some important questions. Yet, no : on consideration, if
one had a wish allowed by that kind fairy without whose
assistance it would be quite impossible to send even for the
spint-levul, nobody would throw away the wish upon things
so paltry, I would not put the fairy upon such an errand :
I would order the good creature to bring no spirit-level, but
a stiff glass of spirits for Kate ; also, next after which, I
would request a palanquin, and relays of fifty stout bearers
all drunk, in order that they might not feel the cold.
The main interest at this moment, and the main difficulty
indeed, the " ojen question 5) of the case was, to ascertain
whether the ascent were yet accomplished or not, and when
would the descent commence 1 ? or Lad it, perhaps, long com-
menced ? The character of the ground, in those immediate
successions that could be connected by the eye, decided
nothing ; for the undulations of the level had been so con-
tinual for miles as to perplex any eye, even an engineer's, in
attempting to judge whether, upon the -whole, the tendency
were upwards or downwards. Possibly it was yet neither
way. It is indeed probable that Kate had been for some
time travelling along a series of terraces that traversed the
whole breadth of the topmost area at that point of crossing
the Cordilleras ; and this area, perhaps, but not certainly,
might compensate any casual tendencies downwards by
corresponding reascents. Then came the question, how long

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 201

would these terraces yet continue ? and had the ascending
parts really balanced the descending 1 Upon that seemed to
rest the final chance for Kate. Because, unless she very
soon reached a lower level and a warmer atmosphere, mere
weariness would ohlige her to lie clown, under a fierceness of
cold that would not suffer her to rise alter once losing the
warmth of motion ; or, inversely, if she even continued in
motion, continued extremity of cold would, of itself, speedily
absorb the little surplus energy for moving which yet
remained unexhausted by weariness : that is, in short, the
excessive weariness would give a murderous advantage to the
cold, or the excessive cold would give a corresponding
advantage to the weariness.

At this stage of her progress, and whilst the agonising
question seemed yet as indeterminate as ever, Kate's struggle
with despair, which had been greatly soothed by the fervour
of her prayer, revolved upon her in deadlier blackness. All
turned, she saw, upon a race against time and the arrears of
the road ; and she, poor thing ! how little qualified could
slw be, in such a condition, for a race of any kind and
against two such obstinate brutes as Time and Space ! This
hour of the progress, this noontide of Kate's struggle, must
have been the very crisis of the whole. Despair was rapidly
tending to ratify itself. Hope, in any degree, would be a
' cordial for sustaining her efforts, But to flounder along a
dreadful chaos of snow-drifts, or snow-chasms, towards a
point of rock which, being turned, should expose only
another interminable succession of the same character
might that be endured by ebbing spirit?, by stiffening limbs,
by the ghastly darkness that was now beginning to gather
upon the inner eye 1 And, if once despair became triumph-
ant, all the little arrear of physical strength would collapse
at once.

Oh ! verdure of human fields, cottages of men and women
(that now suddenly, in the eyes of Kate, seemed all brothers
and sisters), cottages with children around them at play, that
are so far below oh 1 spring and summer, blossoms and
flowers, to which, as to his symbols, God has given the
gorgeous privilege of rehearsing for ever upon earth his most
mysterious perfection Life, and the resurrections of Life

202 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

is it indeed true that poor Kate must never see you more
Mutteringly she put that question to herself. But strange
are the caprice^ of ebb and flow in the deep fountains ol
human sensibilities. At this very moment, when the utter
incapacitation of despair was gathering fast at Kate's heart,
a sudden lightening, as it were, or flashing inspiration of
hope, shot far into her spirit, a reflux almost supernatural
from the earliest effects of her prayer. Dimmed and con-
fused had been the accuracy of her sensations for hours ; but
all at once a strong conviction came over her that more
and more was the sense of descent becoming steady and con-
tinuous. Turning round to measure backwards with her eye
the ground traversed through the last half-hour, she identi-
fied, by a remarkable point of rock, the spot near which the
three corpses were lying. The silence seemed deeper than
ever. Neither was there any phantom memorial of life for
the eye or for the ear, nor wing of bird, nor echo, nor green
leaf, nor creeping thing that moved or stirred, upon the
soundless waste. Oh, what a relief to this burden of silence
would be a human groan ! Here seemed a motive for still
darker despair. And yet, at that very moment, a pulse of
joy began to thaw the ice at her heart. It struck her, as she
reviewed the ground from that point where the corpses lay,
that undoubtedly it had been for some time slowly descend-
ing. Her senses were much dulled by suffering ; but this
thought it was, suggested by a sudden apprehension of a con-
tinued descending movement, which had caused her to turn
round. Sight had confirmed the suggestion first derived
from her own steps. The distance attained was now sufficient
to establish the tendency. Oh, yes, yes ; to a certainty she
was- descending she had been descending for some time.
Frightful was the spasm of joy which whispered that the
worst was over. It was as when the shadow of midnignt,
that murderers had relied on, is passing away from your be-
leaguered shelter, and dawn will soon be manifest. It was as
when a flood, that all day long has raved against the walls
of your house, ceases (you suddenly think) to rise ; yes 1
measured by a golden plummet, it is sinking beyond a
doubt, and the darlings of your household are saved. Kate
faced round in agitation to her proper direction. She saw,

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 203

what previously, in her stunning confusion, she had twi seen,
that hardly two stonethrows in advance lay a mass of rock,
split as into a gateway. Through that opening it now
became certain that the road was lying. Hurrying forward,
she passed within these natural gates. Gates of paradise
they were. Ah, what a vista did that gateway expose before
her dazzled eye ! what a revelation of heavenly promise !
Full two miles long, stretched a long narrow glen, every-
where descending, and in many parts rapidly. All was now
placed beyond a doubt. She was descending, for hours,
perhaps, had been descending insensibly, the mighty stair-
case. Yes, Kate is leaving behind her the kingdom of frost
and the victories of death. Two miles farther, there may be
rest, if there is not shelter. And very soon, as the crest of
her new-born happiness, she distinguished at the other end
of that rocky vista a pavilion-bhaped mass of dark green
foliage a belt of trees, such as we see in the lovely parks of
England, but islanded by a screen of thick bushy under-
growth ! Oh ! verdure of dark olive foliage, offered suddenly
to fainting eyes, as if by some winged patriarchal herald of
wrath relenting solitary Arab's tent, rising with saintly
signals of peace in the dreadful desert must Kate indeed
die even yet, whilst she sees but cannot reach you ] Outpost
on the frontier of man's dominions, standing within life, but
looking out upon everlasting death, wilt thou hold up the
anguibh of thy mocking invitation only to betray 1 Never,
perhaps, in this world was the line so exquisitely grazed that
parts salvation and ruin. As the dove to her dovecot from
the swooping hawk as the Christian pinnace to the shelter
of Christian batteries from the bloody Mahometan corsair
so flew, so tried to fly, towards the anchoring thickets, that,
alas ! could not weigh their anchors, and make sail to meet her,
the poor exhausted Kate from the vengeance of pursuing frost.
And she reached them ; staggering, fainting, reeling, she
entered beneath the canopy of umbrageous trees. But, as often-
times the Hebrew fugitive to a city of refuge, flying for his life
before the avenger of blood, was pressed so hotly that, on enter-
ing the archway of what seemed to him the heavenly city gate,
as he kneeled in deep thankfulness to kiss its holy merciful
shadow, he could not rise again, but sank instantly with infant

204 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

weakness into sleep sometimes to wake no more ; so sank, so
collapsed upon the ground, without power to choose her couch,
and with little prospect of ever rising again to her feet, the
martial nun. She lay as luck had ordered it, with her head
screened by the undergrowth of hushes from any gales that
might arise ; she lay exactly as she sank, with her eyes up
to heaven . and thus it was that the nun saw, before falling
asleep, the two sights that upon earth are the fittest for the
closing eyes of a nun, whether destined to open again or to
close for ever, She saw the interlacing of boughs overhead
forming a dome that seemed like the dome of a cathedral.
She saw, through the fretwork of the foliage, another dome,
far beyond the dome of an evening sky, the dome of some
heavenly cathedral, not built with hands She saw upon
this upper dome the vesper lights, all alive with pathetic
grandeur of colouring from a sunset that had just been
rolling down like a chorus. She had not till now consciously
observed the time of day ; whether it were morning, or
whether it were afternoon, in the confusion of her misery,
she had not distinctly known, But now she whispered to
herself, " It is evening" j and what lurked half unconsciously
in these words might be, " The sun, that rejoices, has finished
his daily toil j man, that labours, has finished his ; I, that
puffer, have finished mine." That might be what she
thought ; but what she said was " It is evening ; and the
hour is come when the Angelas is sounding through St.
Sebastian." What made her think of St. Sebastian, so far
away in the depth of space and time? Her brain was
wandering, now that her feet were not ; and, because her
eyes had descended from the heavenly to the earthly dome,
that made her think of earthly cathedrals, and of cathedral
choirs, and of St. Sebastian's chapel, with its silvery bells
that carried the echoing Angdus far into mountain recesses,
Perhaps, as her wandering* increased, she thought herself
back into childhood ; became " pussy " once again ; fancier!
that all since then was a frightful dream ; that she was not
upon the dreadful Ancles, but still kneeling in the -holy
chapel at vespers ; still innocent as then ; loved as then she
had been loved ; and that all men were liars who said her
hand was ever stained with blood. Little is mentioned of

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 205

fche delusions which possessed her ; but that little gives a
key to the impulse which her palpitating heart obeyed, and
which her rambling brain for ever reproduced in multiplying
mirrors. Eestlessness kept her in waking dreams for a brief
half-hour. But then fever and delirium would wait no
longer ; the killing exhaustion would no longer be refused ;
the fever, the delirium, and the exhaustion, swept in together
with power like an army with banners ; and the nun ceased
through the gathering twilight any ID ore to watch the
cathedrals of earth, or the more solemn cathedrals that rose
in the heavens above.

19. Kate's Bedroom is invaded by Horsemen

All night long she slept in her verdurous St. Bernard's
hospice without awaking ; and whether she would ever awake
seemed to depend upon accident. The_slnmber that towered
above her brain was like that fluctuating silvery column
which stands in scientific tubes, sinking, rising, deepening,
lightening, contracting, expanding ; or like the mist that sits,
through sultry afternoons, upon the river of the American
St. Peter, sometimes rarefying for minutes into sunny gauze,
sometimes condensing for hours into palls of funeral dark-
ness. You fancy that, after twelve hours of any sleep, she
must have been refreshed ; better, at least, than she was last
night. Ah ! but sleep is not always sent upon missions of
refreshment. Sleep is sometimes the secret chamber in which
death arranges his machinery, and stations his artillery.
Sleep is sometimes that deep mysterious atmosphere in which
the human spirit is slowly unsettling jts wings for flight from
earthly tenements. It is now" eight o'clock iii the morning ;
and, to all appearance, if Kate should receive no aid before
noon, when next the sun is departing to his rest, then, alas !
Kate will be departing to hers : when next the sun is holding
out his golden Christian signal to man that the hour is come
for letting his anger go down, Kate will be sleeping away for
ever into the arms of brotherly forgiveness.

"What is wanted just now for Kate, supposing Kate herself
to be \\anted by this world, is that this world would be kind
enough to send her a little brandy before it is too late, The

206 TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

simple truth was, and a truth which I have known to take
place in more ladies than Kate, who died or did not die,
accordingly as they had or had not an adviser like myself,
capable of giving an opinion equal to Captain Bunsby's l on
this pointviz, whether the Jewell y star of life had descended
too far down the arch towards setting for any chance of
reascending by spontaneous effort. The fire was still burning
in secret, but needed, perhaps, to be rekindled by potent
artificial breath. It lingered, and might linger, but appar-
ently would never culminate again without some stimulus
from earthly vineyards. 2 Kate was ever lucky, though ever
unfortunate ; and the world, being of my opinion that Kate
was worth saving, made up its mind about half-past eight
o'clock in the morning to save her. Just at that time, when
the night was over, and its sufferings were hidden in one

1 The sage Captain Bunsby in. Dickens's Dombey cfc Son. M.

2 Though not exactly in the same circumstances as Kate, or sleep-
Ing, & la, Idle etoile, on a declivity of the" Andes, I have known (or
heard circumstantially reported) the cases of many ladies, besides
Kate, who were in precisely the same critical danger of perishing for
want of a little brandy. A dessert-spoonful or two would have saved
them. Avaunt ' you wicked " Temperance " medalist ' repent as fast
as ever you can, or, perhaps, the next time we hear of you, anasarca
and hydfothorcu will be running after you, to punish your shocking
excesses m water. Seriously, the case is one of cnnstant recurrence,
and constantly ending fatally from unseasonable and pedantic rigour
of temperance. Dr. Darwin, the famous author of Zoonomia,
The Botanic Garden, &c., sacrificed his life to the very pedantry
and superstition of temperance, by lefusing a glass of brandy, in obe-
dience to a system, at a moment when (according to the opinion of all
around him) one single glass would have saved his life. The fact is
that the medical profession composes the most generous and liberal
body of men amongst us, taken generally, by much the most enlight :
ened ; but, professionally, the most timid. "Want of boldness in the
administration of opium, &c., though they can be bold enough with
mercury, is their besetting infirmity. And from this infirmity females
suffer most. One instance I need hardly mention, the fatal case of
an august lady mourned by nations [the Princess Charlotte, who died
in childbirth 6th Nov. 1817 M.] ; with respect to whom it was, and
is, the belief of multitudes to this hour (well able to judge) that she
would have been saved by a glass of brandy ; and her chief medical
attendant, Sir I? 0. [Sir Richard Croft M.], who shot himself, came
to think so too latetoo late for her, and too late for himself.
Amongst many cases of the same nature which personally I have been
acquainted with, thirty years ago, a man illustrious for his intellectual

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 207

of those intermitting gleams that for a moment or two
lightened the clouds of her slumber Kate's dull ear caught
a sound that for years had spoken a familiar language to
her. What was it ? It was the sound, though muffled and
deadened, like the ear that heard it, of horsemen advancing.
Interpreted hy the tumultuous dreams of Kate, was it the
cavalry of Spain, at whose head so often she had charged the
bloody Indian scalpers ^ Was it, according to the legend of
ancient days, cavalry that had been sown by her brother's
blood cavalry that rose from the ground on an inquest of
retribution, and were racing up the Andes to seize her?
Her dreams, that had opened sullenly to the sound, waited
for no answer, but closed again into pompous darkness.
Happily, the horsemen had caught the glimpse of some bright
ornament, clasp or aiguillette, on Kate's dress. They were

iiccomplishraents 1 mentioned to me that his own wife, during her first
or second confinement, was suddenly reported to him, by one of her
female attendants (who slipped away unobserved by the medical
people), as undoubtedly sulking fast. He hurried to her chamber, and
s&w that it was so. On this, lie suggested earnestly some stimulant
laudanum or alcohol. The presiding medical authority, however,
was inexorable. "Oh, by no means," shaking his ambrosial wig;
"any stimulant at this crisis would be fatal." But no authority
could overrule the concurrent testimony of all symptoms, and of all
unprofessional opinions, By some pious falsehood, my friend smuggled
the doctor out of the room, and immediately smuggled a glass of
brandy into the poor lady's lips She recovered as if under the
immediate afflatus of magic ; so sudden was her recovery, and so com-
plete The doctor is now dead, and went to his grave under the
delusive persuasion that not any vile glass of "brandy, but the stern
refusal of all brandy, was the thing that saved his collapsing patient.
The patient herself, who might naturally know something of the
matter, was of a different opinion. She sided with the factious body
around her bed (comprehending all beside the doctor), who felt sure
that death was rapidly approaching, barring that brandy. The same
result, in the same appalling crisis, I have known repeatedly produced
by twenty-five drops of laudanum. Many will say, "Oh, never
listen to a non-medical man like this writer Consult in such a case
your medical adviser," You will, will you ' Then let me tell you
that you are missing the very logic of all t have been saying for the
improvement of blockheads ; which is that you should consult any
man lut a medical man, since no other man has any obstinate prejudice
of professional timidity.

i On second thought?, I see no reason for scrupling to mention that tliu
man was Robert Southey.

208 TALES AND PKOSE PHANTASIES

hunters and foresters from below servants in the household
of a beneficent lady and, in pursuit of some flying game,
had wandered far beyond their ordinary limits. Struck by
the sudden scintillation from Kate's dress played upon by the
morning sun, they rode up to the thicket, Great was theii
surprise, great their pity, to see a young officer in uniform
stretched within the bushes upon the ground, and apparently
dying. Borderers from childhood on this dreadful frontier,
sacred to winter and death, they understood the case at once.
They dismounted, and, with the tenderness of women, raising
the poor frozen cornet in their arms, washed her temples
with brandy, whilst one, at intervals, suffered a few drops to
trickle within her lips. As the restoration of a warm bed
was now most likely to be the one thing needed, they lifted
the helpless stranger upon a horse, walking on each side with
supporting arms. Once again our Kate is in the saddle, once
again a Spanish caballero. But Kate's bridle-hand is deadly
cold. And her spurs, that she had never unfastened since
leaving the monastic asylum, hung as idle as the napping sail
1 that fills unsteadily with the breeze upon a stranded ship.

This procession had many miles to go, and over difficult
ground ; but at length it reached the forest-like park and the
chateau of the wealthy proprietress. Kate was still half-
frozen, and speechless, except at intervals. Heavens ! can
this corpse-like, languishing young woman be the Kate that
once, in her radiant girlhood, rode with a handful of com-
rades into a column of two thousand enemies, that saw her
comrades die, that persisted when all were dead, that tore
from the heart of all resistance the banner of her native
Spain ? Chance and change have " written strange defeatures
in her face." Much is changed ; but some things are not
changed, either in herself or in those about her : there is
still kindness that overflows with pity ; there is still help-
lessness that asks for this pity without a voice : she is now
received by a senora not less kind than that maternal aunt
who, on the night of her birth, first welcomed her to a loving
home ; and she, the heroine of Spain, is herself as helpless
now as that little lady who, then at ten minutes of age, was
kissed and blessed by all the household of St. Sebastian. 1
1 At this point De Quincey had reached the close of the second

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 209

20. A Second Lull in Kate's Stormy Life

Let us suppose Kate placed in a warm bed. Let us sup-
pose her in a lew hours recovering steady consciousness ; in
a few days recovering some power of self-support ; in a fort-
night able to seek the gay saloon where the senora was sitting
alone, and able to render thanks, with that deep sincerity
which ever characterised our wild-hearted Kate, for the
critical services received from that lady and hei establish-
ment.

This lady, a widow, was what the French call a m&isse,
the Spaniards a mestma, that is, the daughter of a genuine
Spaniard and an Indian mother. I will call her simply a
Creole, 1 which will indicate her want of pure Spanish blood

part of the story as it originally appeared m Tait's Edinburgh Magazine.
As thg fust part (May 1847) had closed with the intimation " To le
concluded in the next NvwJber" he thought it necessary to apologise
for the non-fulfilment of that promise and the protraction of the story
into a third port. ' This he did in the following paragraph, uiseited at
this point in the magazine, but omitted, of course, in the reprint :
"Last month, reader, I promised, or some one promised for me, that '
" I should drive through to the end of the journey m the next .stage.
" But, oh, dear reader ! these Andes, in Jonathan's phrase, are a
" ( severe ' range of hills. It takes ' the kick ' out of any horse, or,
" indeed, out of any cornet of horse, to climb up this cruel side of the
" range. Rest I really must, whilst Kate is resting. But next month
" I will carry you down the other side at such a Hying gallop that you
" shall suspect me (though most unjustly) of a plot against your
" neck. Now, let me throw down the reins ; and then, in onr brother
" Jonathan's sweet sentimental expression, ' let's liquor.' " There is
some pathos now in this careless piece of slang, scribbled by De
Qumceyas a stop-gap for his magazine readeis in 18-17, "Rest I
really nmt," "Let me throw down the reins," "Let's liquor," m
these phrases, and with real fun in the last, one sees De Qumcey yet,
pen in hand more than forty years ago, in some fatigued moment in
his Edinburgh abode M.

1 " Oreok " : At that time the infusion of negro or African blood
was small. Consequently, none of the negro hideousness was diffused.
After those intercomplexities had arisen between all complications
and interweavings of descent from three original strands European,
American, Africanthe distinctions of social consideration founded
on them bred names so many that a court calendar was necessary
to keep you from blundering. As yet (ie. in Kate's time) the
varieties were few. Meantime, the word Creole has always been mis-
applied in our English colonies to a person (though of strictly European

VOL. XIII P

210 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

sufficiently to explain her deference for those who had it.
She was a kind, liberal women ; rich rather more than
needed where there were no opera-boxes to rent ; a widow
about fifty years old in. the wicked world's account, some
forty-two in her own ; and happy, above all, in the posses-
sion of a most lovely daughter, whom even the wicked world
did not accuse of more than sixteen years. This daughter,

Juana, was But stop let her open the door of the

saloon in which the senora and the cornet are conversing,
and speak for herself. She did so, after an hour had passed ;
which length of time, to her that never had any business
whatever in her innocent life, seemed sufficient to settle the
business of the Old World and the New. Had Pietro Diaz
(as Catalina now called herself) Leen really a Peter, and not
a sham Peter, what a vision of loveliness would have rushed
upon his sensibilities as the door opened. Do not expect me
to describe her ; for which, however, there are materials
extant, sleeping in archives where they have slept for two
hundred and twenty-eight years. It is enough that she is
reported to have united the stately tread of Andalusiau
women with the innocent voluptuousness of Peruvian eyes.
As to her complexion and figure, be it known that Juana's
father was a gentleman from Grenada, having in his veins the
grandest blood of all this earth blood of Goths and Vandals,
tainted (for which Heaven be thanked!) twice over with
blood of Arabs once through Moors, once through Jews 1 ;

blood) simply if burn m the West Indies. In this English use, the
word Creole expresses exactly the same difference as the Romans in-
dicated by Ilispanus and Hispamcus. The first meant a peison of
Spanish Mood, a native of Spain ; the second, a Roman born in Spain.
So of Germanm and Germamus, Italus and Balieus, Anglus and
Angliciis, etc. : an important distinction, on which see Isaac Casaubon
upud Scriptures Hist, A wf/vstan.

1 It is well known that the very reason why the Spanish beyond
all nations became so gloomily jealous of a Jewish cross in the pedWee
was because, until the vigilance of the Church rose into ferocity, in nc
nation was such a cross so common. The hatred of fear is ever the
deepest. And men hated the Jewish taint, as once in Jerusalem they
hated the leprosy, because, even whilst they raved against it, the
secret proofs of it might be detected amongst their own kindred ; even
as in the Temple, whilst once a Hebrew king rose in mutiny against
the priesthood (2 Chron. mi 16-20), suddenly the leprosy that de-
throned him blazed out upon his forehead.

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 211

whilst from her grandmother Juana drew the deep subtle
melancholy, and the beautiful contours of limb, which be-
longed to the Indian race a race destined (ah, wherefore ?)
silently and slowly to fade away from the earth. No awk-
wardness was or could be in this antelope, when gliding with
forest grace into the room ; no town-bred shame ; nothing but
the unaffected pleasure of one who wishes to speak a fervent
welcome, but knows not if she ought ; the astonishment of a
Miranda, bred in utter solitude, when first beholding a princely
Ferdinand ; and just so much reserve as to remind you that, if
Catalina thought fit to dissemble her sex, she did not. And
consider, reader, if you look back, and are a great arithmetician,
that, whilst the senora had only fifty per cent of Spanish
blood, Juana had seventy-five ; so that her Indian melancholy,
after all, was swallowed up for the present by her Visigothic,
by her Vandal, by her Arab, by her Spanish, fire.

Catalina, seared as she was by the world, has left it
evident in her memoirs that she was touched more than she
wished to be by this innocent child. Juana formed a brief
lull for Catalina in her too stormy existence. And, if for
her in this life the sweet reality of a sister had been possible,
here was the sister she would have chosen. On the other
hand, what might Juana think of the cornet 1 To have been
thrown upon the kind hospitalities of her native home, to
have been rescued by her mother's servants from that fearful
death which, lying but a few miles off, had filled her nursery
with traditionary tragedies that was sufficient to create an
interest in the stranger. Such things it had been that wooed
the heavenly Desdemona. But his bold martial demeanour,
his yet youthful style of beauty, his frank manners, his ani-
mated conversation, that reported a hundred contests with
suffering and peril, wakened for the first time her admiration.
Men she had never seen before, except menial servants, or a
casual priest. But here was a gentleman, young like herself,
a splendid cavalier, that rode in the cavalry of Spain ; that
carried the banner of the only potentate whom Peruvians
knew of the King of the Spams and the Indies ; that had
doubled Cape Horn ; that had crossed the Andes ; that had
suffered shipwreck ; that had rocked upon fifty storms, and
had wrestled for life through fifty battles.

212 TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

The reader already guesses all that followed. The sisterly
love which Catalina did really feel for this young mountaineer
was inevitably misconstrued. Embarrassed, but not able, from
sincere affection, or almost in bare propriety, to refuse such ex-
pressions of feeling as corresponded to the artless and involun-
tary luridnesses of the ingenuous Juana, one day the cornet \VMS
surprised by mamma in the act of encircling her daughter's
waist with his martial arm, although waltzingwas premature by
at least two centuries in Peru. l She taxed him instantly with
dishonourably abusing her confidence. The cornet made but a
baddefence. He muttered something about u fraternal a/ection"
about lt esteem, }> and a great deal of metaphysical words that
are destined to remain untranslated in their original Spanish.
The good senora, though she could boast only of forty-two
years' experience, or say forty-four, was not altogether to be
" had J: in that fashion : she was as learned as if she had
been fifty, and she brought matters to a speedy crisis. " You
" are a Spaniard," she said, " a gentleman, therefore ; remember
" that you are a gentleman. This very night, if your in-
" tentions are not serious, quit my house. Go to Tucuman ;

* you shall command my horses and servants ; but stay no
4 longer to increase the sorrow that already you will have
' left behind you. My daughter loves you. That is sorrow

* enough, if you are tiifling with us. But, if not, and you
' also love her, and can be happy in our solitary mode of

* life, stay with us stay for ever. Marry Juana with my
free consent. I ask not for wealth. Mine is sufficient for

* you both." The cornet protested that the honour was one

never contemplated by Mm that it was too great that .

But, of course, reader, you know that " gammon " flourishes
in Peru, amongst the silver mines, as well as in some more
boreal lands that produce little better than copper and tin.
" Tin," however, has its uses. The delighted senora overruled

1 Ou the supposition that Catalina had crossed the Andes from
some point in the north of Chili, she must now, after having de-
scended " the mighty staircase " on the other side, and found refuge in
the house of the land senora, have "been in the part of Spanish Soutli
America known as La Plata. But there have been many changes in
the territorial divisions of South America since the beginning of the
seventeenth century ; and Peru or Peruma was then a name for a
much larger extent of Spanish South America than at present. M.

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 213

all objections, great and small ; and she coniirmed Juana's
notion that the business of two worlds could be transacted
in an hour, by titling her daughter's future happiness in
exactly twenty minutes. The poor, weak Catalina, not act-
ing now in any spirit of recklessness, grieving sincerely for
the gulf that was opening before her, and yet shrinking
effeminately from the momentary shock that would be
inflicted by a firm adherence to her duty, clinging to the
anodyne of a short delay, allowed herself to be installed as
the lover of Juana. Considerations of convenience, however,
postponed the marriage, It was requisite to make various
purchases ; and for this it was requisite to visit Tucurnanj
where also the marriage ceremony could be performed with
more circumstantial splendour. To Tucuman, therefore,
after some weeks' interval, the whole party repaired. 1 And
at Tucuman it was that the tragical events arose which,
whilst interrupting such a mockery for ever, left the poor
Juana still happily deceived, and never believing for a
moment that hers was a rejected or a deluded heart.

One reporter of Mr. Be Ferrer's narrative forgets his usual
generosity when he says that the senora's gift of her daughter
to the Alferez was not quite so disinterested as it seemed to
be. 2 Certainly it was not so disinterested as European
ignorance might fancy it ; but it was quite as much so as it
ought to have been in balancing the interests of a child.
Very true it IB, that, being a genuine Spaniard, who was

1 It is this mention of Tucuman that throws light at last on the
question, mooted in notes at pp. 191-2, as to the point at which
Catalina had crossed the Andes, and the part of Spanish America in
which she had found herself after that feat. Tucuman is the name of
one of the provinces of the present Republic of La Plata, in the interior
of South America ; and the town Tucuinan, which gives it the name,
and which has a present population of about 11,000, is between 250
and 300 miles east from the Andes frontiei of North Chili. There-
fore, unless Catalma had crossed the Andes from northern Chili, one
can hardly see how Tucuman could be the nearest town to that
lesidence of the Creole lady in which Catalina had been a guest after
having crossed them. But a large part of what is now La Plata was
then included m the viceroyalty of Peru. M.

2 This "reporter" is the same person as the Frenchman attacked
previously in pp 197-8. Who he was, and who Mr. De Ferrer was, is
explained in the Appended Editorial Note M.

2H TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

still a rare creature in so vast a world as Peru being a
Spartan amongst Helots a Spanish Alfe"rez would, in those
days, and in that region, have been a natural noble. His
alliance created honour for his wife and for his descendants,
Something, therefore, the cornet would add to the family
consideration. But, instead of selfishness, it argued just
regard for her daughter's interest to build upon this, as some
sort of equipoise to the wealth which her daughter would
bring.

Spaniard, however, as she was, our Alferez, on reaching
Tucuman, found no Spaniards to mix with, but, instead,
twelve Portuguese. 1

21. Kate once more in Storm.

Catalina remembered the Spanish proverb, " Pump out of
a Spaniard all his good qualities, and the remainder makes
a pretty fair Portuguese " ; but, as there was nobody else to
gamble with, she entered freely into their society, Soon she
suspected that there was foul play ; for all modes of doctor-
ing dice had been made familiar to her by the experience of
camps. She watched ; and, by the time she had lost her
final coin, she was satisfied that she had been plundered. In
her first anger, she would have been glad to switch the whole
dozen across the eyes ; but, as twelve to one were too great
odds, she determined on limiting her vengeance to the imme-
diate culprit, Him she followed into the street ; and, coming
near enough to distinguish his profile reflected on a wall,
she continued to keep him in view from a short distance. The
Hghthearted young cavalier whistled, as he went, an old
Portuguese ballad of romance, and in a quarter-of-an-hour
came up to a house, the front-door of which lie began to
open with a pass-key. This operation was the signal for
Catalina that the hour of vengeance had struck ; and, stepping
up hastily, she tapped the Portuguese on the shoulder, saying,
"Senor, you are a robber I" The Portuguese turned coolly

1 The interior parts of South America were then a meeting ground,
and their native inhabitants a common prey, for the Spanish colonists
of Peru, Chili, etc,, in the west of South America, and for the Portu-
guese colonists of Brazil in the east of the same continent, M,

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 215

round, and, seeing his gaming antagonist, replied, " Possibly,
sir ; but I have no particular fancy for being told so," at the
same time drawing his sword. Catalina had not designed to
take any advantage , and the touching him on the shoulder ;
with the interchange of speeches, and the known character of
Kate, sufficiently imply it, But it is too probable, in such cases,
that the party whose intention had been regularly settled from
the first will, and must, have an advantage unconsciously
over a man so abruptly thrown on his defence. However
this might be, they had not fought a minute before Catalina
passed her sword through her opponent's body ; and, without
a groan or a sigh, the Portuguese cavalier fell dead at his own
door. Kate searched the street with her ears, and (as far as
the indistinctness of night allowed) with her eyes. All was
profoundly silent ; and she was satisfied that no human
figure was in motion, What should be done with the body ?
A glance at the door of the house settled that : Fernando
had himself opened it at the very moment when he received
the summons to turn round. She dragged the corpse in,
therefore, to the foot of the staircase, put the key by the
dead man's side, and then, issuing softly into the street,
drew the door close with as little noise as possible. Oatalina
again paused to listen and to watch, went home to the hos-
pitable senora's house, retired to bed, fell asleep, and early
the next morning was awakened by the corrdgidor and four
alguazils,

The lawlessness of all that followed strikingly exposes the
frightful state of criminal justice at that time wherever
Spanish law prevailed. No evidence appeared to connect
Catalina in any way with the death of Fernando Acosta.
The Portuguese gamblers, besides that perhaps they thought
lightly of such an accident, might have reasons of their own
for drawing off public attention from their pursuits in Tucu-
man. Not one of these men came forward openly ; else the
circumstances at the gaming-table, and the departure of
Catalina so closely on the heels of her opponent, would have
suggested reasonable grounds for detaining her until some
further light should be obtained. As it was, her imprison-
ment rested upon no colourable ground whatever, unless the
magistrate had received eome anonymous information,

216 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

which, however, he never alleged. One comfort there was,
meantime, in Spanish injustice : it did not loiter. Pull
gallop it went over the ground : one week often sufficed for
informations for trialfor execution ; and the only bad
consequence was that a second or a third week sometimes
exposed the disagreeable fact that everything had been " pre-
mature " ; a solemn sacrifice had been made to offended
justice in which all was right except as to the victim ; it
was the wrong man ; and that gave extra trouble ; for then
all was to do over again another man to be executed, and,
possibly, still to be caught

Justice moved at her usual Spanish rate in the present
case. Kate was obliged to rise instantly ; not suffered to
speak to anybody in the house, though, in going out, a door
opened, and she saw the young Juana looking out with her
saddest Indian expression. In one day the trial was finished.
Catalina said (which was true) that she hardly knew Acosta,
and that people of her rank were used to attack their enemies
face to face, not by murderous surprises. The magistrates
were impressed by Catalina's answers (yet answers to what,
or to W/WTO, in a case where there was no distinct charge,
and no avowed accuser ?) Things were beginning to look
well when all was suddenly upset by two witnesses, whom
the reader (who is a sort of accomplice after the fact, having
been privately let into the truths of the case, and having
concealed his knowledge) will know at once to be false wit-
nesses, but whom the old Spanish buzwigs doated on as
models of all that could be looked for in the best. Both
were ill-looking fellows, as it was their duty to be. And
the first deposed as follows , That through his quarter of
Tucuman the fact was notorious of Acosta's wife being the
object of a criminal pursuit on the part of the Alferez
(Catalma); that, doubtless, the injured husband had sur-
prised the prisoner, which, of course, had led to the
murder, to the staircase, to the key, to everything, in short,
that could be wished. No stop ! what am I saying ? to
everything that ought to be abominated. Finally for lie
had now settled the main qxiestion that he had a friend
who would take up the case where he himself, from short-
sightedness, was obliged to lay it down. This friend the

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 217

Pythias of this shortsighted Damon started up in a frenzy
of virtue at this summons, and, lushing to the front of the
alguazils, said, cc That, since his friend had proved sufficiently
the fact of the Alferoz having heei) lurking in the house,
and having murdered a man, all that rested upon him to
show was how that murderer got out of that house ; which
he could do satisfactorily ; for there was a balcony running
along the windows on the second floor, one of which windows
he himself, lurking in a corner of the street, saw the Alfte
throw up, and from the said balcony take a flying leap into
the said street." Evidence like this was conclusive; no
defence was listened to, nor indeed had the prisoner any to
produce, The Alferez could deny neither the staircase nor
the balcony ; the street is there to this day, like the bricks
in Jack Cade's chimney, testifying all that may be required ;
and, as to our friend who saw the leap, there he was
nobody could deny Urn. The prisoner might indeed have
suggested that she never heard of Acosta's wife ; nor had the
existence of such a wife been proved, or even ripened into a
suspicion. But the bench were satisfied ; chopping logic in
defence was henceforward impertinence ; and sentence was
pronounced that, on the eighth day from the day of arrest,
the Alfdrez should be executed in the public square.

It was not amongst the weaknesses of Catalina who had
so often inflicted death, and, by her own journal, thought so
lightly of inflicting it (unless under cowardly advantages)
to shrink from facing death in her own person. Many inci-
dents in her career show the coolness and even gaiety with
which, in any case where death was apparently inevitable,
she would have gone forward to meet it. But in this case
she had a temptation for escaping it, which was certainly in
her power, She had only to reveal the secret of her sex, and
the ridiculous witnesses,' beyond whose testimony there was
nothing at all against her, inu&t at once be covered with
derision. Catalina had some liking for fun ; and a main
inducement to this course was that it would enable her to
say to the judges, " Now, you see what old fools you've made
of yourselves ; every woman and child in Peru will soon be
laughing at you." I must acknowledge my own weakness ;
this last temptation I could not have withstood ; flesh is

218 TALES AND PJROSE PHANTASIES

weak, and fun is strong. But Oatalina did. On considera
cion, she fancied that, although the particular motive for
murdering Acosta would be dismissed with laughter, still
this might not clear her of the murder ; which, on some
other motive, she might he supposed to have committed.
But, allowing that she were cleared altogether, what most of
all she feared was that the publication of her sex would
throw a reflex light upon many past transactions in her life :
would instantly find its way to Spain ; and would probably
soon bring her within the tender attentions of the Inquisition.
She kept firm, therefore, to the resolution of not saving her
life by this discovery. And, so far as her fate lay in her own
hands, she would to a certainty have perished which to me
seems a most fantastic caprice ; it was to court a certain
death and a present death, in order to evade a remote con-
tingency of death. But even at this point how strange n
case ! A woman /alsdy accused (because accused by lying
witnesses) of an act which she really did commit 1 And
falsely accused of a true offence upon a motive that was
impossible !

As the sun was setting upon the seventh day, when the
hours were numbered for the prisoner, there filed into her
cell four persons in religious habits. They came on the
charitable mission of preparing the poor convict for death
Catalina, however, watching all things narrowly, remarked
something earnest and significant in the eye of the leader, as
of one who had some secret communication to make She
contrived, therefore, to clasp this man's hands, as if in the
energy of internal struggles, and he contrived to slip into here
the very smallest of billets from poor Juana. It contained
for indeed it could contain, only these three words" Do not
confess. J." This one caution, so simple and so brief,
proved a talisman. It did not refer to any confession of the
crime ; that would have been assuming what Jnana was
neither entitled nor disposed to assume ; but it referred, in
the technical sense of the Church, to the act of devotional
confession. Catalina found a single moment for a glance at
it ; understood the whole ; resolutely refused to confess, as a
person unsettled in her religious opinions that needed spiritual
instructions ; and the four monks withdrew to make their

THE SPANISH MILITAEY NUN 219

report. The principal judge, upon hearing of the prisoner's
impenitence, granted another day. At the end of that, no
change having occurred either in the prisoner's mind or in
the circumstances, he issued his warrant for the execution.
Accordingly, as the sun went down, the sad procession formed
within the prison. Into the great square of Tucuman it
moved, where the scaffold had been built, and the whole
city had assembled for the spectacle. Oatalina steadily
ascended the ladder of the scaffold ; even then she resolved
not to benefit by revealing her sex ; even then it was that
she expressed her scorn for the lubberly executioner's mode
of tying a knot ; did it herself in a " ship-shape," orthodox
manner ; received in return the enthusiastic plaudits of the
crowd, and so far ran the risk of precipitating her fate ; for
the timid magistrates, fearing a rescue from the fiery clamours
of the impetuous mob, angrily ordered the executioner to
finish the scene. The clatter of a galloping horse, however,
at this instant forced them to pause. The crowd opened a
road for the agitated horseman, who was the bearer of an
order from the President of La Plata to suspend the execution
until two prisoners could be examined. The whole was the
work of the senora and her daughter. The elder lady, having
gathered informations against the witnesses, had pursued
them to La Plata. There, by her influence with the governor,
they were arrested, recognised as old malefactors, and in their
terror had partly confessed their perjury. Catalina was
removed to La Plata; solemnly acquitted; and, by the
advice of the president, for the present the connexion with
the senora's family was indefinitely postponed. 1

22. Katds Penultimate Adventure

Now was the last-but-one adventure at hand that ever
Catalina should see in the New World. Some fine sights

1 The story thinks nothing of shifting Catalina some hundreds
of miles in a mere sentence or two, and without any intimation of
difficulty. The town once called Plata or La Plata, but now known
as Chug/uisaca, the capital of Bolivia, is ahout 600 miles due north
of Tucuman. What is now Bolivia was then Upper Peru ; and at
Plata, even more than in Tucuman, Kate was among Peruvian
Spaniards. M.

220 TALES AND PBOSE PHANTASIES

she may yet see in Europe, but nothing after this (which slit
Has recorded) in America. Europe, if it had ever heard of her
name (as very shortly it sfiall hear), Kings, Pope, Cardinals,
if they were hut aware of her existence (which in six months
they shall be), would thirst for an introduction to our
Catalina. You hardly thought now, reader, that she was
such a great person, or anybody's pet but yours and mine.
Bless you, sir, she would scorn to look at iis. I tell you,
that Eminences, Excellencies, Highnesses nay, even Royalties
and Holinesses are languishing to see her, or soon will be,
But how can this come to pass, if she is to continue in her
present obscurity ? Certainly it cannot without some great
y&ripetteia, or vertiginous whirl of fortune \ which, therefore,
you shall now behold taking place in one turn of her next
adventure. Tlmt shall let in a light, tJuit shall throw back a
Claude Lorraine gleam over all the past, able to make kings,
that would have cared not for her under Peruvian daylight,
come to glorify her setting beams.

The senora and, observe, whatever kindness she does to
Catalina speaks secretly from two hearts, her own and Juana's
had, by the advice of Mr. President Mendonia, given
sufficient money for Catalina's travelling expenses. So far
well. But Mr. M. chose to add a little codicil to this beque&t
of the senora's, never suggested by her or by her daughter.
"Pray," said this inquisitive president, who surely might
have found business enough within his own neighbourhood-
" pray, Senor Pietro Diaz, did you ever live at Concepcion 1
And were you ever acquainted there with Signer Miguel de
Erauso 1 That man, sir, was my friend." "What a pity that
on this occasion Catalina could not venture to be candid !
What a capital speech it would have made to say, "FmTid,
were you ? I think you could hardly be that, with seven
hundred miles between you. But that man was my friend
also ; and, secondly, my brother. True it is I killed him.
But, if you happen to know that this was by pure mistake in
the dark, what an old rogue you must be to throw that in my
teeth which is the affliction of my life ! " Again, however,
as so often in the same circumstances, Catalina thought that
it would cause more ruin than it could heal to be candid ;
and, indeed if she were really P. Diaz, .%., how came she

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 221

to be brother to the late Mr, Erauso? Oil consideration,
also, if she could not tell all, merely to have professed a
fraternal connexion which never was avowed by either whilst
living together would not have brightened the reputation of
Catalina. Still, from a kindness for poor Kate, I feel
uncharitably towards the president for advising Senor Pietro
" to travel for his health." What had he to do with people's
health ? However, Mr, Peter, as he had pocketed the senora's
money, thought it right to pocket also the advice that accom-
panied its payment, That he might be in a condition to do
so, he went off to buy a horse. On that errand, in all lands,
for some reason only half explained, you must be in luck if
you do not fall in, and eventually fall out, with a knave,
But on this particular clay Kate was in luck. For, beside
money and advice, she obtained at a low rate a horse both
beautiful and serviceable for a journey. To Paz it was, a
city of prosperous name, that the cornet first moved. 1 But
Paz did not fulfil the promise of its name. For it laid the
grounds of a feud that drove our Kate out of America.

Her first adventure was a bagatelle, and fitter for a jest-
book than for a serious history ; yet it proved no jest either,
since it led to the tragedy that followed. Biding into Paz,
our gallant standard-bearer and her bonny black horse drew
all eyes, comme de raison, upon their separate charms. This
was inevitable amongst the indolent population of a Spanish
town ; and Kate was used to it But, having recently had
a little too much of the public attention, she felt nervous on
remarking two soldiers eyeing the handsome horse and the
handsome rider with an attention that seemed too earnest for
mere (esthetics. However, Kate was not the kind of person
to let anything dwell on her spirits, especially if it took the
shape of impudence ; and, whistling gaily, she was riding
forward, when who should cross her path but the Alcalde of
Paz ? Ah ! alcalde, you see a person now that has a mission
against you and all that you inherit ; though a mission
known to herself as little as to you. Good were it for you
had you never crossed the path of this Biscayan Alferez.

1 Another locomotive leap ' Paz, or La Paz, the capital of the
department of that name in the present Bolivia, is about 300 miles
north-west from Plata or Chtiquisaca. M.

222 TALES AND PBOSE PHANTASIES

The alcalde looked so sternly that Kate asked if his worship
had any commands, "Yes. These men," said the alcalde,
"these two soldiers, say that this horse is stolen." To one
who had so narrowly and so lately escaped the halcony
witness and his friend, it was really no laughing matter to
hear of new affidavits in preparation. Kate was nervous,
but never disconcerted. In a moment she had twitched off
a saddle-cloth on which she sat ; and, throwing it over the
horse's head, so as to cover up all between the ears and the
mouth, she replied, " That she had bought and paid for the
horse at La Plata. But now, your worship, if this horse has
really been stolen from these men, they must know well of
which eye it is blind ; for it can be only in the right eye or
the left. 3 ' One of the soldiers cried out instantly that it was
the left eye ; but the other said, "No, no ; you forget, it's
the right." Kate maliciously called attention to this little
schism. But the men said, "Ah, that was nothing they
were hurried ; but now, on recollecting themselves, they
were agreed that it was the left eye." " Did they stand to
that?" "Oh yes, positive they were left eye left."

Upon which our Kate, twitching off the horse-cloth, said
gaily to the magistrate, " Now, sir, please to observe that this
horse has nothing the matter with either eye." And, in fact,
it was so. Upon that, his worship ordered his alguazils to
apprehend the two witnesses, who posted off to bread and
water, with other reversionary advantages ; whilst Kate rode
in quest of the best dinner that Paz could furnish.

23. Preparation for Kate's Final Adventure in Peru

This alcalde's acquaintance, however, was not destined to
drop here. Something had appeared in the young caballero's
bearing which made it painful to have addressed him with
harshness, or for a moment to have entertained such a charge
against such a person. He despatched his cousin, therefore,
Don Antonio Calderon, to offer his apologies, and at the
same time to request that the stranger, whose rank and
quality he regretted not to have known, would do him the
honour to come and dine with him This explanation, and
the fact that Don Antonio had already proclaimed his own

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 223

position as cousin to the magistrate, and nephew to the Bishop
of CuzcOj obliged Catalma to say, after thanking the gentle-
men for their obliging attentions, " I myself hold the rank
of Alferez in the service of his Catholic Majesty. I am a
native of Biscay, and I am now repairing to Cuzeo on private
business." l "To Cnzco ! " exclaimed Antonio ; u and you
from dear lovely Biscay ! How very fortunate ! My cousin
is a Basque like you ; and, like you, he starts for Cuzco to-
morrow morning ; so that, if it is agreeable to you, Senor
Alferez, we will travel together." It was settled that they
should. To travel amongst "balcony witnesses," and
anglers for "blind horses" not merely with a just man,
but with the very abstract idea and riding allegory of justice,
was too delightful to the storm-wearied cornet ; and he cheer-
fully accompanied Don Antonio to the house of the magis-
trate, called Don Pedro de Chavarria, Distinguished was
his reception ; the alcalde personally renewed his regrets for
the ridiculous scene of the two scampish oculists, and pre-
sented Kate to his wife a most splendid Andalusian beauty,
to whom he had been married about a year.

This lady there is a reason for describing ; and the French
reporter of Gatalina's memoirs dwells upon the theme. She
united, he says, the sweetness of the German lady with the
energy of the Arabian a combination haid to judge of. "As
to her feet," he adds, " I say nothing, for she had scarcely
any at all. Je m parle point de ses pieds; elk rten avait
presgue pas" " Poor lady ! " says a compassionate rustic :
"no feet! What a shocking thing that so fine a woman
should have been so sadly mutilated ! " Oh, my dear rustic,
you're quite in the wrong box. The Frenchman means this
as the very highest compliment. Beautiful, however, she
must have been, and a Cinderella, I hope ; but still not a
Cinderellula, considering that she had the inimitable walk
and step of Andalusian women, which cannot be accomplished
without something of a proportionate basis to stand upon.

The reason which there is (as I have said) for describing

1 Cuzco is about 300 miles north-west from La Paz, It was the
capital of the native Peruvian Empire of the Incas, and is one of the
most important cities, and the capital of one of the provinces, of the
piesent and much-restricted Peru. M.

224 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

this lady arises out of her relation to the tragic events which
followed. She, by her criminal levity, was the cause of all.
And I must here warn the moralising blunderer of two errors
that he is likely to make ; 1st, that he is invited to read
some extract from a licentious amour, as if foi its own in-
terest; 2dly, or on account of Donna Catalma's memoirs,
with a view to relieve then 1 too martial character, I have
the pleasure to assure him of his being so utterly in the dark-
ness of error that any possible change he can make in his
opinions, right or left, must be for the better : he cannot stir
but he will mend, which is a delightful thought for the
moral and blundering mind. As to the first point, what little
glimpse he obtains of a licentious amour is, as a court of
justice will sometimes show him such a glimpse, simply to
make intelligible the subsequent facts which depend upon it,
Secondly, as to the conceit that Catalina wished to embellish
her memoirs, understand that no such practice then existed
certainly not in Spanish literature, Her memoirs are
electrifying by their facts ; else, in the manner of telling
these facts, they are systematically dry.

But let us resume, Don Antonio Calderon was a hand-
some, accomplished cavalier. And in the course of dinner
Catalina was led to judge, from the behaviour to each other of
this gentleman and the lady, the alcalde's beautiful wife, that
they had an improper understanding. This also she inferred
from the furtive language of their eyes. Her wonder was
that the alcalde should be so blind ; though upon that point
&he saw reason in a day or two to change her opinion. Some
people see everything by affecting to see nothing. The whole
affair, however, was nothing at all to h&r ; and she would
have dismissed it altogether from her thoughts, but for the
dreadful events on the journey.

This went on but slowly, however steadily. Owing to
the miserable roads, eight hours a-clay of travelling was found
quite enough for man and beast ; the product of which eight
hours was from ten to twelve leagues, taking the league at
2j miles. On the last day but one of the journey, the travel-
ling party, which was precisely the original dinner party,
reached a little town ten leagues short of Cuzco. The cor-
regidor of this place was a friend of the alcalde ; and through

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 225

his influence the party obtained better accommodations 'than
those which they had usually commanded in a hovel calling
itself a venta, or in a sheltered corner of a barn, The alcalde
was to sleep at the corre'gidor's house; the two young
cavaliers, Calderon and our Kate, had sleeping-rooms at the
public locanda ; but for the lady was reserved a little plea-
sure-house in an enclosed garden. This was a mere toy of a
house ; but, the season being summer, and the house sur-
rounded with tropical flowers, the lady preferred it (in spite
of its loneliness) to the damp mansion of the official grandee,
who, in her humble opinion, was quite as fusty as his man-
sion, and his mansion not much less so than himself,

After dining gaily together at the locanda, and possibly
taking a " rise " out of his worship the-corre'gidor, as a repeat-
ing echo of Don Quixote (then growing popular in Spanish
America), the young man Don Antonio, who was no young
officer, and the young officer Catalma, who was no young
man, lounged down together to the little pavilion in the
flower-garden, with the purpose of paying their respects to
the presiding belle. They were graciously received, and had
the honour of meeting there his mustiness the alcalde, and
his fustiness the corrdgidor ; whose conversation ought surely
to have been edifying, since it was anything but brilliant.
How they got on under the weight of two such muffs has
been a mystery for two centuries. But they did to a cer-
tainty, for the party did not break up till eleven. Tea and
turn out you could not call it ; for there was the turn-out in
rigour, but not the tea. One thing, however, Catalina by
mere accident had an opportunity of observing, and observed
with pain. The two official gentlemen, on taking leave, had
gone down the steps into the garden. Catalina, having for-
got her hat, went back into the little vestibule to look for it.
There stood the lady and Don Antonio, exchanging a few
final words (they were final) and a few final signs. Amongst
the last Kate observed distinctly this, and distinctly she
understood it First of all, by raising her forefinger, the
lady drew Calderon's attention to the act which followed as
one of significant pantomime ; which done, she snuffed out
one of the candles. The young man answered it by a look
of intelligence ; and then all three passed* down the stepa

VOL. xin Q

226 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

together. The lady was disposed to take the cool air, and
accompanied them to the garden-gate ; but, in passing down
the walk, Gatalina noticed a second ill-omened sign that all
was not right, Two glaring eyes she distinguished amongst
the shrubs for a moment, and a rustling immediately after.
" What's that 1 " said the lady ; and Don Antonio answered,
carelessly, " A bird flying out of the bushes." But birds do
not amnse themselves by staying up to midnight ; and birds
do not wear rapiers.

Catalina, as usual, had read everything. Not a wrinkle
or a rustle was lost upon her. And therefore, when she
reached the locanda, knowing to an iota all that was coming,
she did not retire to bed, but paced before the house. She
had not long to wait : in fifteen minutes the door opened
softly, and out stepped Calderon. Kate walked forward, and
faced him immediately ; telling him laughingly that it was
not good for his health to go abroad on this night. The
young man showed some impatience ; upon which, very
seriously, Kate acquainted him with her suspicions, and with
the certainty that the alcalde was not so blind as he had
seemed. Calderon thanked her for the information ; would
be upon his guard ; but, to prevent further expostulation, he
wheeled round instantly into the darkness. Catalina was too
well convinced, however, of the mischief on foot to leave him
thus. She followed rapidly, and passed silently into the
garden,. almost at the same time with Calderon, Both took
their stations behind trees, Calderon watching nothing but
the burning candles, Catalina watching circumstances to
direct her movements, The candles burned brightly in the
little pavilion. Presently one was extinguished. Upon this,
Calderon pressed forward to the steps, hastily ascended them,
and passed into the vestibule. Catalina followed on his
traces. What succeeded was all one scene of continued,
dreadful dumb show ; different passions of panic, or deadly
struggle, or hellish malice, absolutely suffocated all articulate
utterances,

In the first moments a gurgling sound was heard, as of a
wild beast attempting vainly to yell over some creature that
it was strangling. Next came a tumbling out at the door of
one black mass, which heaved and parted at intervals into

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 227

two figures, which closed, which parted again, which at last
fell down die steps together. Then appeared a figure in
white. It was the unhappy Andalusian; and she, seeing
the outline of Catalina's person, ran up to her, unahle to
utter one syllable. Pitying the agony of her horror, Catalina
took her within her own cloak, and carried her out at the
garden gate, Calderon had by this time died ,- and the
maniacal alcalde had risen up to pursue his wife. But Kate,
foreseeing what he would do, had stepped silently within the
shadow of the garden wall Looking down the road to the
town, and seeing nobody moving, the maniac, for some
purpose, went back to the house. This moment Kate used
to recover the locanda, with the lady still panting in
horror. What was to be done 1 To think of concealment
in this little place was out of the question. The alcalde was
a man of local power, and it was certain that lie would kill his
wife on the spot. Kate's generosity would not allow her to
have any collusion with this murderous purpose. At Cuzco,
the principal convent was ruled by a near relative of the
Andalusian ; and there she would find shelter. Kate there-
fore saddled her horse rapidly, placed the lady behind, and
rode off in the darkness.

24. A Steeplechase

About five miles out of the town their road was crossed by
'a torrent, over which they could not hit the bridge. " For-
,ward ! " cried the lady, " Oh, -heavens ! forward ! " j and,
Kate repeating the word to the horse, the docile creature
leaped down into the water. They were all sinking at
first ; -but, having its head free, the horse swam clear of all
obstacles through midnight darkness, and scrambled out on
the opposite bank. The two riders were dripping from the
shoulders downward. But, seeing a light twinkling from a
cottage window, Kate rode up, obtaining a little refreshment,
and the benefit of a fire, from a poor labouring man. From
this man she also bought a warm mantle for the lady ; who
besides her torrent bath, was dressed in a light evening robe,
so that but for the horseman's cloak of Kate she would have
, perished. But there was no time to lose. They had already
'lost two hours from the consequences of their' cold bath.

128 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

was still eighteen miles distant ; and the alcalde's
shrewdness would at once divine this to be his wife's mark.
They remounted: very soon the silent night echoed the
hoofs of a pursuing rider; and now commenced the most
frantic race, in which each party rode as if the whole game
of He were staked upon the issue. The pace was killing ;
and Kate has delivered it as her opinion, in the memoirs
which she wrote, that the alcalde was the better mounted.
This may be doubted. And certainly Kate had ridden too
many years in the Spanish cavalry to have any fear of his
worship's horsemanship ; but it was a prodigious disadvantage
that her horse had to carry double, while the horse ridden by
her opponent was one of those belonging to the murdered
Don Antonio, and known to Kate as a powerful animal. At
length they had come within three miles of Cuzco. The
road after this descended the whole way to the city, and in
some places rapidly, so as to require a cool rider. Suddenly
a deep trench appeared, traversing the whole extent of a
broad heath. It was useless to evade it, To have hesitated
was to be lost. Kate saw the necessity of clearing it ; but
she doubted much whether her poor exhausted horse, after
twenty-one miles of work so severe, had strength for the
effort. However, the race was nearly finished ; a score of
dreadful miles had been accomplished ; and Kate's maxim,
which never yet had failed, both figuratively for life, and
literally for the saddle, was to ride at everything that showed
a front of resistance. She did so now. Having come upon
the trench rather too suddenly, she wheeled round for the
advantage of coming down upon it with more impetus, rode
resolutely at it, cleared it, and gained the opposite bank.
The hind feet of her horse were sinking back from the
rottenness of the ground ; but the strong supporting bridle-
hand of Kate carried him forward ; and in ten minutes more
they would be in Cuzco. This being seen by the vengeful
alcalde, who had built great hopes on the trench, he unslung
his carbine, pulled up, and fired after the bonny black horse
and its two bonny riders. But this vicious manoeuvre
would have lost his worship any bet that he might have had
depending on this admirable steeplechase. For the bullets,
says Kate in her memoirs, whistled round the poor clinging

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 229

lady en woupe luckily none struck her ; "but one wounded
the horse, And that settled the odds, Kate now planted
herself well in her stirrups to enter Cuzco, almost dangerously
a winner ; for the horse was so maddened by the wound, and
the road so steep, that he went like blazes ; and it really
became difficult for Kate to guide him with any precision
through narrow episcopal 1 paths. Henceforwards the
wounded horse required uuintermitting attention and yet,
in the mere luxury of strife, it was impossible for Kate to
avoid turning a little in her saddle to see the alcalde's
performance on this tight-rope of the trench. His worship's
horsemanship being, perhaps, rather rusty, and he not
perfectly acquainted with his horse, it would have been
agreeable for him to compromise the case by riding round,
or dismounting But all tliat was impossible. The job must
be done. And I am happy to report, for the reader's
satisfaction, the sequel so far as Kate could attend the
performance. Gathering himself up for mischief, the alcalde
took a mighty sweep, as if ploughing out the line of some
vast encampment, or tracing the pmcerium for some future
Rome ; then, like thunder and lightning, with arms flying
aloft in the air, down he came upon the trembling trench.
But the horse refused the leap ; to take the leap was im-
possible ; absolutely to refuse it, the horse felt, was immoral ;
and therefore, as the only compromise that Ms unlearned
brain could suggest, he threw his worship right ovei his ears,
lodging him safely in a sand-heap, that rose with clouds of
dust and screams of birds into the morning air. Kate had
now no time to send back her compliments in a musical
halloo. The alcalde missed breaking his neck on this*
occasion very narrowly ; but his neck was of no use to him
in twenty minutes more, as the reader will find, Kate rode
right onwards ; and, coming in with a lady behind her, horse
bloody, and pace such as no hounds could have lived with,
she ought to have made a great sensation in Cuzco, But,
unhappily, the people of Cuzco, the spectators that should
have been, were fast asleep in bed. 2

1 "Episcopal" : The roads around Cuzco we made, and main-
tained, under the patronage and control of the bishop,

2 As the ride from Paz to Cuzco has been described with exceptional

230 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

The steeplechase into Cuzco had been a fine headlong
thing, considering the torrent, the trench, the wounded
horse, the lovely Andalusian lady, with her agonising fears,
mounted behind Kate, together with the meek dove-like
dawn ; but the finale crowded together the quickest suc-
cession of changes that out of a melodrama ever can have
been witnessed. Kate reached the convent in safety ; carried
into the cloisters, and delivered like a parcel, the fair Anda-
lusian. But to rouse the servants and obtain admission to
the convent caused a long delay ; and, on returning to the
street through the broad gateway of the convent, whom
should she face but the alcalde ! How he had escaped the
trench who can tell ? He had no time to write memoirs ;
his horse was too illiterata But he had escaped ; temper
not at all improved by that adventure, and now raised to a
hell of malignity by seeing that he had lost his prey. The

spirit and minuteness, so that our attention has been bespoken more
strongly for Cuzco than for any other of the towns m the circuit of
Kate's South American wanderings since she left Paita (except perhaps
Concepcion and Tucuman), the following account of Cuzco from the
description of Peru given in Heylyn's Cosmography may not he un-
welcome:" Cusco, in the latitude of 13 degrees and 30 minutes,
" about 130 leagues to the east of Lima, and situate m a rugged and
" uneven soil, begirt with mountains, but on both sides of a pleasant
" and commodious river, Once the Seat-Royal of the Ingas or
" Peruvian Kings ; who, the more to beautifie this city, commanded
" every one of the nobility to build here a palace for their continual
" abode. Still of most credit in this country, both for beauty and
" bigness and the multitudes of inhabitants ; here being thought to
" dwell 3000 -Spaniards and 10,000 of the natives, besides women and
" children. The Palace of the King, advanced on a lofty mountain,
" was held to be a work of so great magnificence, built of such huge
" and massive stones, that the Spaniards thought it to have been the
" work rather of devils than of men. Now miserably defaced, most
" of the stones being tumbled down to build private houses in the
" city : some of the churches raised also by the ruins of it ; and
" amongst them perhaps both the Bishop's Palace and Cathedral,
' whose annual rents are estimated at 20,000 ducats. Yet did not
' this vast building yield more lustre to the City of Cusco tha.n a
' spacious Market-place, the centre m which those highways did
c meet together which the Ingas had caused to be made cross the kmg-
' dom, both for length and breadth, with most mci edible charge and
' pains, for the use of their subjects." This description of Cii2co by
Heylyn in the middle of the seventeenth century may serve for Cuzco
as Kate came into it and saw it some twenty-five years earlier. M.

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 231

morning light showed him how to use his sword, and whom
he had before him j and he attacked Kate with fury. Both
were exhausted ; and Kate, besides that she had no personal
quarrel with the alcalde, having now accomplished her sole
object in saving the lady, would have been glad of a truce.
She could with difficulty wield her sword ; and the alcalde
had so far the advantage that he wounded Kate severely.
That roused her ancient Biscayan blood ; and she turned on
him now with deadly determination. At that moment in
rode two servants of the alcalde, who took part with their
master. These odds strengthened Kate's resolution, but
weakened her chances. Just then, however, rode in, and
ranged himself on Kate's side, the servant of the murdered
Don Calderon. In an instant Kate had pushed her sword
through the alcalde ; who died upon the spot. In an instant
the servant of Calderon had fled. In an instant the alguazils
had come up. They and the servants of the alcalde pressed
furiously on Kate, who was again fighting for her life with
persons not even known to her by sight. Against such odds,
she was rapidly losing ground ; when, in an instant, on the
opposite side of the street, the great gates of the Episcopal
Palace rolled open, Thither it was that Calderon's servant
had fled. The bishop and his attendants hurried across.
"Senor Caballero," said the bishop, "in the name of the
Virgin, I enjoin you to surrender your sword." " My lord,"
said Kate, " I dare not do it with so many enemies about
me." " But I," replied the bishop, " become answerable to
the law for your safe keeping." Upon which, with filial
reverence, all parties dropped their swords. Kate being
severely wounded, the bishop led her into his palace. In,
another instant came the catastrophe : Kate's discovery could
no longer be delayed ; the blood flowed too rapidly ; and the
wound was in her bosom. She requested a private inter-
view with the bishop : all was known in a moment ; sur-
geons and attendants were summoned hastily ; and Kate had
fainted. The good bishop pitied her, and had her attended
in his palace ; then removed to a convent ; then to a second
convent at Lima ; and, after many months had passed, his
report of the whole extraordinary case in all its details to
the supreme government at Madrid drew from the king,

232 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Philip IY, and from the papal legate, an order that the nun
should be transferred to Spain, 3

25.$. Sebastian is finally GJiecJmatcd

Yes, at length the warrior lady, the blooming cornet
this mm that is so martial, this dragoon that is so lovely-
must visit again the home of her childhood, which now for
seventeen years she has not seen. 2 All Spain, Portugal,
Italy, rang with her adventures. Spam, from north to
south, was frantic with desire to behold her fiery child,
whose girlish romance, whose patriotic heroism, electrified
the national imagination. The King of Spain must kiss his
faithful daughter, that would not suffer his banner to see
dishonour. The Pope must kiss his wandering daughter,
that henceforwards will be a lamb travelling back into the
Christian fold. Potentates so great as these, when they
speak words of love, do not speak in vain. All was for-
given, the sacrilege, the bloodshed, the flight, and the scorn
of St. Sebastian's (consequently of St. Peter's) keys ; the
pardons were made out, were signed, were sealed ; and the
chanceries of earth were satisfied.

Ah ! what a day of sorrow and of joy was that one day,

1 Lima, tlie capital of Peru, is on the Pacific coast, about 300 miles
north-west from Cuzco, and about 600 miles south from the Peruvian
town of Paita where Kate's South American adventures had begun
sixteen years before. The geography of her transatlantic wanderings
during those sixteen years may therefore be now reviewed thus : (1)
By sea from Paita m Peru to Concepcion in OlnJi, a distance of 2400
miles. (2) In Chili and Peru, or backwards and forwards between
them, in military service in the Spanish armies, for an indefinite num-
ber of years, (3) Across the Andes, presumably somewhere from the
north of Chili, and so to her residence with the Creole Senora some-
where at the eastern foot of the Andes, iu what is now La Plata, but
was then part of Peru. (4) At Tucuman in that part of Peru;
thence to La Plata or Chuquisaca; thence to La Paz; thence to
Cuzco, where her sex was discovered and her game was at an end ;
and so finally to Lima, where she was nearer her original starting-
point of Paita than she had been yet in all her long previous circuit
from it, and whence she was to be shipped back to Spain. M.

s These seventeen years had brought her, it the data are correct,
from 1608, when she landed in South America at Paita, a girl o! seven-
teen, to 1624, when she embarked on her return voyage to Spam from
Lima, at the age of thirty-three. M.

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 233

in the first week of November 1624, when the returning
Kate drew near to the shore of Andalusia; when, descending
into the ship's barge, she was rowed to the piers of Cadiz by
bargemen in the royal liveries j when she saw every ship,
street, house, convent, church, crowded, as if on some mighty
day of judgment, with human faces, with men, with women,
with children, all bending the lights of their flashing eyes
upon herself! Forty myriads of people had gathered in
Cadiz alone. All Andalusia had turned out to receive her. 1
Ah ! what joy for her, if she had not looked back to the
Andes, to their dreadful summits, and their more dreadful
feet. Ali ! what sorrow, if she had not been forced by
music, and endless banners, and the triumphant jubilations
of her countrymen, to turn away from the Andes, and to fix
her thoughts for the moment upon that glad tumultuous
shore which she approached,

Upon this shore stood, ready to receive her, in front of
all this mighty crowd, the Prime Minister of Spain, that
same Concld Olivarez 2 who but one year before had been so
haughty and so defying to our haughty and defying Duke of
Buckingham. But a year ago the Prince of Wales had been
in Spain, seeking a Spanish bride, and he also was welcomed
with triumph and great joy 3 ; but not with the hundredth
part of that enthusiasm which now met the returning nun.

1 The precise day of this reception of Catalina at Cadiz on her
return from the New World is given as 1st November ] 624 in other
documents. M.

2 Olivarez was Prime Minister m Spain from 1621 to 1643. M.

3 It was in February 1622-3 that James I. of England despatched
Ids heir- apparent, Prince Charles, afterwards Charles I., to Spain,
under the escort of the splendid royal favourite, George Where, then
Marquis of Buckingham, on the famous business of the Spanish Match,
i e. for the conclusion of the long-pending negotiations for a
marriage between the Prince and the Spanish Infanta, daughter of the
late Philip III of Spain, and sister of Philip IV. The Prince and
Buckingham remained at the Spanish Court some months, the Prince
eager for the match, but Buckingham's attitude in the matter becom-
ing that of obstruction and of open quarrel with the Spanish officials.
In September 1623 the two were back in England, reporting that
they had been duped ; and, greatly to tlie delight of the English
people, the Spanish Match business and all friendly relations with
Pieman Catholic Spain were at an end. Buckingham had been raised
to the dignity of Duke during his absence. M.

234 TALUS AND PEOSB PHANTASIES

And Olivarez, that had spoken so roughly to the English
duke, to her "was sweet as summer." 1 Through endless
crowds of welcoming compatriots he conducted her to the
king. The king folded her in his arms, and could never be
satisfied with listening to her. He sent for her continually
to his presence ; he delighted in her conversation, so new, so
natural, so spirited , he settled a pension upon her (at the
time of unprecedented amount) ; and by his desire, because
the year 1625 was a year of jubilee, 2 she departed in a few
months from Madrid to Rome. She went through Barcelona,
there and everywhere welcomed as the lady whom the
king delighted to honour. She travelled to Rome, and all
doors flew open to receive her. She was presented to his
Holiness, with letters from his Most Catholic Majesty. But
letters there needed none. The Pope admired her as much
as all before had done. He caused her to recite all her
adventures ; and what he loved most in her account was the
sincere and sorrowing spirit in which she described herself as
neither better nor worse than she had been. Neither proud
was Kate, nor sycophautishly and falsely humble. Urban
VIII it was then that filled the chair of St. Peter. 3 He did
not neglect to raise his daughter's thoughts from earthly
things : he pointed her eyes to the clouds that were floating
in mighty volumes above the dome of St. Peter's Cathedral;
he told her what the cathedral had told her amongst the
gorgeous clouds of the Andes and the solemn vesper lights-
how sweet a thing, how divine a thing, it was for Christ's
sake to forgive all injuries, and how he trusted that no
more she would think of bloodshed, but that, if again she
should suffer wrongs, she would resign all vindictive retalia-
tion for them into the hands of God, the final Avenger. I

1 Griffith in Sliakspere, when vindicating, m that immortal scene
with Queen Catharine, Cardinal "Wolsey.

3 "A year of jubilee " : This is an institution of the Roman
Catholic Church, dating from 1300, when, "by a bull of Pope Boniface
VIII, a plenary indulgence was granted to all pilgrims who visited
Rome in that year, and complied with certain other conditions. It
was then intended that the festival should be repeated every hundredth
year ; but the interval was afterwards abridged to fifty years, and
latterly, with changed conditions, to twenty-five years. The jubilee
of 1625 was the seventh on the twenty-five years' system. M.

3 Urban VITI was Pope from 1623 to 1644. M.

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 235

must also find time to mention, although the press and the
compositors are in a fury at my delays, that the Pope, in his
farewell audience to his dear daughter, whom he was to see
no more, gave her a general licence to wear henceforth in all
countries even in partibus Infideliim a cavalry officer's
dress, hoots, spurs, sabre ; in fact, anything that she and
the Horse Guards might agree upon, Consequently, reader,
say not one word, nor suffer any tailor to say one word, or
the ninth part of a word, against those Wellington trousers
made in the chestnut forest; for, understanding that the
papal indulgence as to this point runs backwards as well as
forwards, it sanctions equally those trousers in the forgotten
rear and all possible trousers yet to come.

From Rome, Kate returned to Spain. She even went to
St. Sebastian's to the city ; but whether it was that her
heart failed her or not never to the convent. She roamed
up and down ; everywhere she was welcome everywhere an
honoured guest ; but everywhere restless. The poor and
humble never ceased from their admiration of her ; and amongst
the rich and aristocratic of Spain, with the king at their
head, Kate found especial love from two classes of men, The
cardinals and bishops all doated upon her, as their daughter
that was returning. The military men all doated upon her,
as their sister that was retiring,

26. Farewell to the Daughter of St. Sebastian !

Now, at this moment, it has become necessary for me to
close ; but I allow to the reader one question before laying
down my pen. Come now, reader, be quick ; " look sharp,"
and ask what you have to ask ; for in one minute and a-half
I am going to write in capitals the word FINIS ; after which,
you know, I am not at liberty to add a syllable. It would
be shameful to do so ; since that word Finis enters into a
secret covenant with the reader that he shall be molested no
more with words, small or great. Twenty to one, I guess
what your question will be. You desire to ask me, What
became of Kate ? What was her end 1

Ah, reader ! but, if I answer that question, you will say
I have not answered it. If I tell you that secret, you will

236 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

say tliat the secret is still hidden. Yet, because I have
promised, and because you will be angry if I do not, let me
do my best.

After ten years of restlessness in Spain, with thoughts
always turning back to the dreadful Andes, Kate heard of an
expedition on the point of sailing to Spanish America. 1 All
soldiers knew her, so that she hod information of everything
which stirred in camps. Men of the highest military rank
were going out with the expedition ; but Kate was a sister
everywhere privileged ; she was as much cherished and as
sacred, in the eyes of every brigade or t&rtia, as their own
regimental colours ; and every member of the staff, from the
highest to the lowest, rejoiced to hear that she would join
their mess on board ship. This ship, with others, sailed ;
whither finally bound, I really forget. But, on reaching
America, all the expedition touched at Vera Cruz? Thither
a great crowd of the military went on shore. The leading
officers made a separate party for the same purpose. Their
intention was to have a gay, happy dinner, after their long
confinement to a ship, at the chief hotel ; and happy in
perfection the dinner could not be unless Kate would consent
to join it She, that was ever kind to brother soldiers,
agreed to do so. She descended into the boat along with
them, and in twenty minutes the boat touched the shore.
All the bevy of gay laughing officers, junior and senior, like
so many schoolboys let loose from school, jumped on shore,
and walked hastily, as their time was limited, up to the
hotel. Arriving there, all turned round in eagerness, say-
ing, " Where is our dear Kate ? " Ah, yes, my dear Kate, at
that solemn moment, where, indeed, were you ? She had,

1 This brings us to the year 1635, when Kate, after her ten years
or so of attempted rest and quasi-respectability in Spam or elsewhere
in Europe, had attained the forty- third year of her age. M.

2 If De Quincey had not been here huddling up the conclusion of
his story for Tait's Magaxine on pressure from the printers, he would
certainly have explained that Yera Cruz is not on that western or
Pacific shore of South America with which Kate had already been
familiar by her previous adventures, nor in any part of South Ainerica
at all, but is on the East or Atlantic side of Spanish North Ainerica,
being, in fact, the chief port of Mexico, and situated far within the
Gulf of Mexico, about 190 miles from the inland city ci Mexico itself.
-M.

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 237

beyond all doubt, taken her seat in the boat : that was
certain, though nobody, in the general confusion, was certain
of having seen her actually step ashore. The sea was searched
for her the forests were ransacked. But the sea did not
give up its dead, if there indeed she lay; and the forests
made no answer to the sorrowing hearts which sought her
amongst them. Have I never formed a conjectuie of my own
upon the mysterious fate which thus suddenly enveloped her,
and hid her in darkness for ever 1 Yes, I have. But it is
a conjecture too dim and unsteady to be worth repeating.
Her brother soldiers, that should naturally have had more
materials for guessing than myself, were all lost in sorrowing
perplexity, and could never arrive even at a plausible
conjecture. 1

That happened two hundred and twenty-one years ago !
And here is the brief upshot of all : This nun sailed from
Spain to Peru, and she found no rest for the sole of her foot.
This nun sailed back from Peru to Spain, and she found no
rest for the agitations of her heart. This nun sailed again
from Spain to America, and she found the rest which all
of us find. But where it was could never be made known
to the father of Spanish camps, that sat in Madrid, nor to
Kate's spiritual father, that sat in Rome. Known it is to
the great Father of All, that once whispered to Kate on the
Andes ; but else it has been a secret for more than two
centuries ; and to man it remains a secret for ever and ever !

1 See Appended Editorial Note.M,

AUTHOR'S POSTSCRIPT IN 1854

THERE are some narratives which, though pure fictions from
first to last, counterfeit so vividly the air of grave realities
that, if deliberately offered for such, they would for a time
impose 'upon everybody. In the opposite scale there are
other narratives, which, whilst rigorously true, move amongst
characters and scenes so remote from our ordinary experi-
ence, and through a state of society so favourable to an
adventurous cast of incidents, that they would everywhere
pass for romances, if severed from the documents which attest
their fidelity to facts. In the former class stand the admirr
able novels of Defoe, and, on a lower range within the
same category, the inimitable Vicar of Walzefidd ; upon
which last novel, without at all designing it, I once became
the author of the following instructive experiment : I had
given a copy of this little novel to a beautiful girl of seven-
teen, the daughter of a 'statesman in Westmorland, not
designing any deception (nor so much as any concealment)
with respect to the fictitious character of the incidents and
of the actors in that famous tale. Mere accident it was that
had intercepted those explanations as to the extent of fiction
in these points which in this case it would have been so
natural to make. Indeed, considering the exquisite veri-
similitude of the work, meeting with such absolute inexperi-
ence in the reader, it was almost a duty to have made them.
This duty, however, something had caused me to forget ;
and, when next I saw the young mountaineer, I forgot that
I had forgotten it. Consequently, at first I was perplexed
by the unfaltering gravity with which my fair young friend

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 239

spoke of Dr. Primrose, of Sophia and her sister, of Squire
Thornhill, etc., as real and probably living personages, who
could sue and be sued. It appeared that this artless young
rustic, who had never heard of novels and romances as a
bare possibility amongst all the shameless devices of London
swindlers, had read with religious fidelity every word of this
tale, so thoroughly life-like, surrendering her perfect faith
and loving sympathy to the different persons m the tale and
the natural distresses in which they are involved, without
suspecting for a moment that, by so much as a breathing of
exaggeration or of embellishment, the pure gospel truth of
the narrative could have been sullied. She listened in a
kind of breathless stupor to my frank explanation that not
part only, but the whole, of this natural tale was a pure
invention. Scorn and indignation flashed from her eyes.
She regarded herself as one who had been hoaxed and
swindled ; begged me to take back the book ; and never
again, to the end of her life, could endure to look into the
book, or to be reminded of that criminal imposture which
Dr. Oliver Goldsmith had practised upon her youthful
credulity.

In that case, a book altogether fabulous, and not meaning
to offer itself for anything else, had been read as genuine
history. Here, on the other hand, the adventures of the
Spanish Nun, which, in every detail of time and place have
since been sifted and authenticated, stood a good chance at
one period of being classed as the most lawless of romances.
It is, indeed, undeniable and this arises as a natural result
from the bold adventurous character of the heroine, and from
the unsettled state of society at that period in Spanish
America that a reader the most credulous would at times
be startled with doubts upon what seems so unvarying a
tenor of danger and lawless violence. But, on the other
hand, it is also undeniable that a reader the most obstinately
sceptical would be equally startled in the very opposite
direction, on remarking that the incidents are far from being
such as a romance-writer would have been likely to invent ;
since, if striking, tragic, and even appalling, they are at
times repulsive. And it seems evident that, once patting
himself to the cost of a wholesale fiction, the writer would

240 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

have used his privilege more freely for his own advantage,
whereas the author of these memoirs clearly writes under
the coercion and restraint of a notorious reality, that would
not suffer him to ignore or to modify the leading facts.
Then, as to the objection that few people or none have an
experience presenting such uniformity of perilous adventure,
a little closer attention shows that the experience in this case
is not uniform ; and so far otherwise that a period of several
years in Kate's South American life is confessedly sup-
pressed, and on no other ground whatever than that this long
parenthesis is not adventurous, not essentially differing from
the monotonous character of ordinary Spanish life.

Suppose the case, therefore, that Kate's Memoirs had been
thrown upon the world with no vouchers for their authen-
ticity beyond such internal presumptions as would have
occurred to thoughtful readers when reviewing the entire
succession of incidents, I am of opinion that the person best
qualified by legal experience to judge of evidence would finally
have pronounced a favourable award ; since it is easy to
understand that in a world so vast as the Peru, the Mexico,
the Chili, of Spaniards during the first quarter of the seven-
teenth century, and under the slender modification of Indian
manners as yet effected by the Papal Christianisation of
these countries, and in the neighbourhood of a river-system
so awful, of a mountain-system so unheard-of in Europe,
there would probably, by blind, unconscious sympathy, grow
up a tendency to lawless and gigantesque ideals of adventur-
ous life, under which, united with the duelling code of
Europe, many things would become tiivial and commonplace
experiences that to us home-bred English (" qui musas colimus
severiom ") seem monstrous and revolting.

Left, therefore, to itself, my belief is that the story of the
Military Nun would have prevailed finally against the
demurs of the sceptics. However, in the meantime, all such
demurs were suddenly and officially silenced for ever. Soon
after the publication of Kate's Memoirs, in what you may
call an early stage of her literary career, though two centuries
after her personal career had closed, a regular controversy
arose upon the degree of credit due to these extraordinary
confessions (such they may be called) of the poor conscience-

THE SPANISH MILITARY NIJN 241

haunted nun. Whether these in Kate's original MS. were
entitled "Autobiographic Sketches," or "Selections Grave
and Gay, from the Military Experiences of a Nun," or
possibly " The Confessions of a Biscayan Fire-Eater," is more
than I know. No matter : confessions they were ; and con-
fessions that, when at length published, were absolutely
mobbed and hustled by a gang of misbelieving (i.e. miscreant)
critics. And this fact is most remarkable, that the person
who originally headed the incredulous party viz. Senor De
Ferrer, a learned Gastilian was the very' same who finally
authenticated, by documentary evidence, the extraordinary
narrative in those parts which had most of all invited
scepticism. The progress of the dispute threw the decision
at length upon the archives of the Spanish Marine. Those
for the southern ports of Spain had been transferred, I
believe, from Cadiz and St. Lucar to Seville ; chiefly, per-
haps, through the confusions incident to the two French
invasions of Spain in our own day (1st, that under Na-
poleon, 2dly, that under the Due d'AngonlSme). Amongst
these archives, subsequently amongst those of Cuzco in
South America, 3dly amongst the records of some royal
courts in Madrid, 4thly by collateral proof from the Papal
Chancery, 5thly from Barcelona have been drawn together
ample attestations of all the incidents recorded by Kate,
The elopement from St Sebastian's, the doubling of Cape
Horn, the shipwreck on the coast of Peru, the rescue of the
royal banner from the Indians of Chili, the fatal duel in the
dark, the astonishing passage of the Andes, the tragical
scenes at Tucuman and Cuzco, the return to Spain in obe-
dience to a royal and a papal summons, the visit to Rome
and the interview with the Pope ; finally, the return to South
America, and the mysterious disappearance at Vera Cruz,
upon which no light was ever thrown, all these capital
heads of the narrative have been established beyond the
reach of scepticism ; and, in consequence, the story was soon
after adopted as historically established, and was reported at
length by journals of the highest credit in Spain and
Germany, and by a Parisian journal so cautions and so dis-
tinguished for its ability as the Revw des Deux Mondes.
1 must not leave the impression upon my readers that this
VOL, xin R

242 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

complex body of documentary evidences has been searched
and appraised by myself, Frankly, I acknowledge that, on
the sole occasion when any opportunity offered itself for
such a labour, I shrank from it as too fatiguing, and also as
superfluous ; since, if the proofs had satisfied the compatriots
of Catalina, who came to the investigation with hostile feel-
ings of partisanship, and not dissembling their incredulity,
armed also (and in Mr. Be Ferrer's case conspicuously armed)
with the appropriate learning for giving effect to this in-
credulity, it could not become a stranger to suppose himself
qualified for disturbing a judgment that had been so deliber-
ately delivered. Such a tribunal of native Spaniards being
satisfied, there was no further opening for demur. The
ratification of poor Kate's Memoirs is now therefore to be
understood as absolute and without reserve. 1

This being stated viz. such an attestation from compe-
tent authorities to the truth of Kate's narrative, as may save
all readers from my fair Westmorland friend's disaster it
remains to give such an answer as without further research
can be given to a question pretty sure of arising in all re-
flective readers' thoughts viz. Does there anywhere survive
a portrait of Kate ? I answer and it would be both morti-
fying and perplexing if I could not Yes. One such portrait
there is confessedly ; and seven years ago this was to be
found at Aix-la-Chapelle, in the collection of Herr Sempeller.
The name of the artist I am not able to report ; neither can
I say whether Herr Sempeller's collection still remains intact,
and remains at Aix-la-Chapelle.

But, inevitably, to most readers who review the circum-
stances of a case so extraordinary it will occur that beyond
a doubt many portraits of the adventurous nun must have
been executed. To have affronted the wrath of the Inqui-
sition, and to have survived such an audacity, would of itself
be enough to found a title for the martial nun to a national
interest. It is true that Kate had not taken the veil- she
had stopped short of the deadliest crime known to the Inqui-
sition ; but still her transgressions were such as to require a
special indulgence ; and tins indulgence was granted by 3

1 See Appended Editorial Note, M,

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 243

Pope to the intercession of a King the greatest then reign-
ing. It was a favour that could not have "been asked by any
greater man in this world, nor granted by any less, Had no
other distinction settled upon Kate, this would have been
enough to fix the gaze of her own nation. But her whole
life constituted Kate's supreme distinction. There can be no
doubt, therefore, that from the year 1624 (i.e. the last year
of our James I.) she became the object of an admiration in
her own country that was almost idolatrous. And this
admiration was not of a kind that rested upon any partisan-
schism amongst her countrymen. So long as it was kept
alive by her bodily presence amongst them, it was an
admiration equally aristocratic and popular, shared alike by
the rich and the poor, by the lofty and the humble. Great,
therefore, would be the demand for her portrait. There is
a tradition that Velasquez, who had in 1623 executed a
portrait of Charles I. (then Prince of Wales), was amongst
those who in the three or four following years ministered to
this demand. 1 It is believed also that, in travelling from
Genoa and Florence to Eome, she sat to various artists, in
order to meet the interest about herself already rising amongst
the cardinals and other dignitaries of the Romish Church.
It is probable, therefore, that numerous pictures ef Kate are
yet lurking both in Spain cind Italy, but not known as such.
For, as the public consideration granted to her had grown
out of merits and qualities purely personal, and were kept
alive by no local or family memorials rooted in the land, or
surviving herself, it was inevitable that, as soon as she herself
died, all identification of her portraits would perish ; and the
portraits would thenceforwards be confounded with the similar
memorials, past all numbering, which every year accumulates
as the wrecks from household remembrances of generations
that are passing or passed, that are fading or faded, that are
dying or buried. It is well, therefore, amongst so many

1 Velasquez, b. 1599, d. 1660. His great celebrity may be said to
elate from 1623, when, on his second visit to Madrid at the age of
twenty-four, he painted portraits of Philip IV, Olivarez, and other
Spanish magnates, besides that of the English Prince Charles men-
tioned in the text, which last, unfortunately, has been lost. M,

244 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

irrecoverable ruins, that in the portrait at Aix-la-Ohapelle
we still possess one undoubted representation (and therefore
in some degree a means for identifying other representations)
ol a female so memorably adorned by nature ; gifted with
capacities so unparalleled both of doing and suffering ; who
lived a life so stormy, and perished by a fate so unsearchably
mysterious.

APPENDED EDITOK1AL NOTE

[The following is substantially a repetition of a Note which ]
appended to a reprint of the story of the Spanish Military Nun con-
tained m a Selection of Be Qumcey's Essays published in two volumes
in 1888 by Messrs, Black, -M]

De Qumcey was often secretive when tlieie was little need for being
so ; and he would have saved himself trouble if, instead of mystifying
his readers with the elaborate explanations m his Postscript, he had
simply inibiraed them that his story of tlie Spanish Military Nun was
a cooked, and spiced, and De Quinceyfied (which means electrified and
glorified) translation from the French,

Such, at all events, is the fact, In the Bern des Deux Mondes of
15th February 1847, or two months and a half before the publication
of the first instalment of De Qumcey's stovy in Ws Edinburgh
Magmne, there appeared, under the title "Catahna de Erauso," an
article of forty-nine pages, signed " Alexis de Valon," and containing
the same tissue of adventures which De Qumcey thought it woitli his
while to turn into English. The writer of that article announced,
near the beginning of it, that he took his facts from autobiographic
Memoirs in the old Castihan tongue left by the heroine herself, and
bearing the title Histona de k Monja Alferez Donna Cat&kna de
Muso, escrito por did imsm ("History of the Nun-Lieutenant
Donna Catalina de Erauso, written by herself") ; and the last section
of the article was devoted to a farther account of what the author
called "the history of this history" (" I'Mstom de cette histovre "),

According to this account, a certain M. de Ferrer, at one time a

records, come upon some glowing mention of the exploits of the Nun
of St, Sebastian, and feeling the more interested because he was him-
self a native of the province to which the Nun belonged, remembered
that he had heard of her original manuscript memoirs as one of the
.preserved curiosities in the Eoyal Library of Seville, and of a copy of

Having made inquiries and obtained a copy for his own use, he was
-sceptical at first as to the authenticity of the memoirs, the copyist
laving written Awujo for Muso, and M, de Ferrer not recognising

246 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Araujo as ever having been the name of any family in his province,
When the error was rectified, however, all became plain. On writing
to St. Sebastian, M. de Ferier obtained, we are told, the most definite
testimony, from parish registers, the convent registers, etc,, as to the
existence of a Catalina de Erauso in that town at the time alleged,
and as to the accuracy of the particulars in the earlier part of her ie-
puted Autobiography. Piesearch among the Government records at
Seville, especially those relating to the Spanish American Colonies in
the seventeenth century, having proved the substantial accuracy of all
the rest, and traces having been found of a portrait of the Nun as
having once existed m Rome, and an actual portrait of her having
been discovered at Aix-la-Chapelle, M, de Ferrer no longer hesitated.
" He published, for himself and his friends, the manuscript of
" Catalina. This was just before the Revolution of July [1830], and
" it was an ill-chosen time. The political excitement whirled away
cc the unfortunate book, which disappeared as mysteriously as the
" heroine whose history it related, It can hardly have been seen by
' ' more than a few rare amateurs, and it has passed now into the state
" of a bibliographical curiosity." M. Alexis de Valon, the writer in
the Revue des Deux Monties for February 1847, we are to assume,
had a copy then before him, and founded his article upon it.

Of the Memoirs themselves M. Alexis de Valon gives no very
favourable opinion. "The original memoirs of Catalma," he writes,
" are, it is my duty to say, clumsily written. They are less a narra-
" tivo than matter for a narrative ; they are a dry and short summary,
" without animation and without life. One feels that the hand which
" held the pen had been hardened by holding a sword ; and I find in
" the very inexperience of the narrator the best guarantee of her
" veracity. If a fiction, these memoirs would have been wholly
" different ; a writer of fiction would have done better or otherwise.
" The style of Catalma is Hide, coarse, often obscure, and sometimes
" of an untranslateable frankness, verging on impudence. On the
" whole, the narrative, though Spanish, is far from being orthodox.
" If a scrupulous reader should find it even deplorable from the point
" of view of morality, I should be noway surprised : plenty of rogues
" have been hanged who were infinitely more respectable characters, I
" fancy, than the Nun-Lieutenant. Her faults, however, great as
" they may have been, do not inspire disgust, Hers is a savage, self-
" abandoned nature, which has a conscience neither for good nor tor
" evil. Bred up to the age of fifteen by ignorant religi&uses, aban-
" doned from that time to all the hazards of a wandering life, all the
" instincts of a vulgar nature, Catalina could learn no other morality
" than that of the highways, camps, and life on board ship. She
" evidently did not know what she did ; she herself tells, without
" malice, without bragging, without even thinking of excusing herself,
" of actions of hers such as now-a-days would come before an assize-
" court. She robs with candour, worthy woman, and she kills with
" naivetS. For her a man's death is a very small thing." So much
for the cnticibin of the memoirs themselves and their author by the

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 247

writer in the Revue des Deux Mondes. His criticism on their editor,
M. de Ferrer, is good-natured on the whole, but rather sarcastic in
parts. M. de Ferrer's painstaking research is praised ; but he is
quizzed for his over-enthusiasm for his subject, and for having written
about a person "who, at the best, was but a man-woman adventuress
of the seventeenth century, entitled to the same kind of interest as
that which attached to the famous Chevalier d'Eon of the eighteenth,
as if there had been the makings in her of a Saint Theresa, an Aspasia,
or a Madame de Stael. One passage quoted from M, de Ferrer, pur-
porting to be a description of Catalina's personal appearance in her
more advanced life by a contemporary Spanish historian, may be
worth re-quotation here : " She is of large size for a woman," reports
this authority, "without, however, having the stature of a fine man.
" She has no throat or bust to speak of. Her figure is neither good
" nor bad. Her eyes are black, brilliant, and well-opened ; and her
" features have been changed more by the fatigues she has undergone
" than by age. She has black hair, short like that of a man, and
" pomaded in the fashion. She is dressed like a Spaniard. Her
" gait is elegant and light, and she carries a sword well. She has a
" maitial air. Her hands alone have a something feminine about
" them, and this more in their pose than in their shape. Finally, her
" upper lip is covered with a slight brown clown, which, without
" being actually a moustache, yet gives a certain virile aspect to her
"physiognomy."

All this is from the last section of the article by M. Alexis de Yalon
m the Revue des Deux Mondcs, the whole of the preceding forty-five
pages of the article having consisted of a pretty skilful and vivid
narrative of the adventures of Donna Catalina, as the writer had been
able to conceive them from the rude autobiogiaphical original, with
the aid of M. de Ferrer's editorial elucidations. How far he adhered
to the original, and how far he dressed it up into a romance suitable
for modern French tastes, no one can tell who has not seen M. de
Ferrer's own book.

De Qumcey, I am pretty sure, had never seen that book. There is
not, so far as I know, a copy of it in Edinburgh now ; and there can
hardly have "been a copy of it in Edinburgh in De Quincey's time.
His chief authority, I believe, when he wiote his paper for Ta&s
Magazine, was the previous paper by M. Alexis de Valon in the Revue
des Deux Mondes. But it is fair to give his own account of the
matter.

In an introductory paragraph prefixed to the first instalment of the
story m Tad for May 1847, and vouching for its authenticity, he
wrote : "No memoir exists, or personal biography, that is so trebly
" authenticated by proofs and attestations, direct and collateral.
" From the archives of the Royal Marine at Seville, from the auto-
" biography of the heroine, from contemporary chroniclers, and from
" several official sources scattered in and out of Spain, some of them
" ecclesiastical, the amplest proofs have been drawn, and may yet be
" greatly extended, of the extraordinary events here recorded. M.

248 TALES AND PKOSE PHANTASIES

" de Ferrer, a Spaniard of much research, and originally incredulous as
" to the facts, published about seventeen years ago a selection from
11 the leading documents, accompanied by his palinode as to their
" accuracy. His materials have been since used for the basis of more
" than one narrative, not inaccurate, in French, German, and Spanish
" journals of high authority. It is seldom that the French writers err
" by prolixity, They have done so m this case. The present narra-
b ' tive, which contains no one sentence derived from any foreign one,
" has the great advantage of close compression ; my own pages, after
" equating the size, being as 1 to 3 of the shortest continental form."
One remarks here, in the first place, that De Qumcey's own complete
paper in TaifsNayaaine is decidedly longer than its predecessor m the
Revue des Deux Mondes, and, in the second place, not without some
surprise, that, while mentioning vaguely other continental versions of
the story of Donna Catalma, in German, Spanish, and French, he has
avoided mentioning that one m particular ! In the reprint of 1854 he
does mention it. In that reprint the introductory paragraph of 1847
just quoted was cancelled, and what had to be told of "the history of
the history " was relegated, as we have seen, to a more formal Post'
script restating in detail the case for the authenticity of Kate's memoirs.
There had been a controversy on the subject after their first publication,
he there says ; but, the researches of De Ferrer and others having
been conclusive, the narrative had at last been adopted as "histori-
cally established," and had been "reported at length by journals of
" the highest credit in Spam and Germany, and by a Parisian journal
" so cautious and so distinguished for its ability as the Itevue des Deux
" Maudes" Better late than never, though still, I think, not up to
the proper maik ! What follows is more significant. "I must not
" leave the impression upon my readers, 3 ' he says, "that this complex
tc body of documentary evidence has been searched and appraised by
" myself. Frankly I acknowledge that, on the sole occasion when
" any opportunity offered itself for such a labour, I shrank from it as
11 too fatiguing." This seems to be De Quincey's way of saying that,
to as late as 1854, he had never had an opportunity of examining the
original of Kate's memoirs in M. de Ferret's book, and had therefore
lepnnted his story of her adventuies much as it stood m his magazine
papers of 1847.

My own final impression of the whole matter is that De Quincey,
having read the article in the Revue des Deux Mondes in February or
March 1847, said to himself, "This is a capital subject ; I will do it
over again," and that there and then he proceeded to do it over again,
with little or nothing else than the article in the Remte des Deux Mondes
for his material. Incident for incident, situation for situation, at all
events, the story in the two papers is one and the same, Necessarily
also the phraseology of the one corresponds to that of the other to a
great extent throughout, though here De Quincey's craft m language
enabled him to make good his assertion that his narrative contained
"no one sentence derived from any foreign one." He had the art of
De Quinceyfyiug whatever he borrowed ; and his SPANISH MIUTABY

THE SPANISH MILITARY NUN 249

NUN is, in reality, I repeat, a De Qumceyfied translation from the
French. But much is involved in the word " Be Qumceyfied." Not
only are there passages m which we see him throwing ironical side-
glances at the Fiench original he is using, and icf using its vcision, OT
any French version, of the facts and circumstances ; not only are there
digressions, in which De Quincey leaves the track of the onginal alto-
gether, to amuse himself and his readers for some moments with some
crank or whimsy before returning to it , but the key of playful wit m
winch he has set the whole narrative of the Nun's life and ad\ entures
from its very start in the first few sentences, and the humour with
which some ol the situations and the sketches of some of the characteis
are suffused, are entirely De Qumcey's. Above all, the Catalma of
his story emerges as a much higher being than the Catalma ot the
French original ; and, if ever that wild Spanish eccentric, that mascu-
line nun-adventuress from Biscay, with her black eyes and black hair,
the tinge of brown down on her upper lip, and the sword by her side,
shall take permanent hold of the imagination of those who read books,
it will be because her portiait, after having been attempted by rougher
hands, was repainted more sympathetically by this gi eater artist,

At the same time, M. Alexis de Valon deserves the credit of having,
m his fashion, told hi& story well We have to go to him, in fact, ior
the exact chronology of Kate's life : Born in 1592, she escaped irom
the nunnery of St. Sebastian on the 18th of March 1607, when she was
m her fifteenth year. It was in the following year that, after her
intermediate adventures in other Spanish towns, she embarked for
Spanish America, Her various adventures there extended over a period
oi sixteen or seventeen years ; and, when she returned to Spam m
November 1624 as the famous detected woman-soldier, she was thirty-
two years of age. The decree for the pension bestowed upon her by
the Spanish King, Philip IV, and said to be still extant at Seville, was
signed in August 1625. It was during the subsequent ten years of her
vague residence in Spain and visits to Italy that several likenesses of
her were taken, and those observations of her personal appearance and
habits were made winch M, de Ferrer gathered up. She was forty-
three years of age when, m the year 1635, she took that fatal voyage
back to America which ended in her mysterious disappearance on a
stormy night at the landing-place of Vera Ciuz on the Mexican coast,
when all the other passengers got safely ashore and were surprised that
bhe was not among them. De Quincey had formed a conjecture of hid
own, he says, on the subject of this mysterious disappearance ; but, as
he does not give it, we may quote that of her French biographer.
' No need to say," M, Alexis de Valon writes, "that this mysterious
' disappearance occasioned the most contradictory suppositions, Had
{ Catalma, passionate for a return to a life of wandering, fled again
" into the wilds ' How then should no farther traces of her have
been discovered * Or, in the dark of that stormy night, was she
f drowned m disembarking, no one observing the accident ? This
1 opinion seems the most reasonable, and yet her body was not found
"in the harbour. A shark, no doubt, had swallowed Catalma:

250 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

" many persons more respectable than she have had no other sepal-
"toe."

The reader will understand now who that Frenchman was whom Be
Quincey, without naming him, takes to task several times in the course
of his story, and once so severely, for insufficient appreciation of the
character of the Spanish Military Nun, He was M. Alexis de Vulon,
the author of that article in the Rene des Deux Nondes for 15th
February 1847 of the matter of which De Qumcey's story in Twtfs
Edinburgh Magame for May, June, and July of the same year was a
De Quinceyfied reproduction. One can go back now with increased
interest to that paragraph (pp. 197-200) where De Quincey, commenting
on one passage of his French original, takes occasion to declare
polemically, once for all, the fundamental difference of his own mood
throughout the narrative from that of his unnamed French authority.
" Left alone, the wanderer knelt down, took to weeping, and prayed
"to God with fervour, doubtless for the first time in her life": so M.
Alexis de Valon had written, m his description of Kate in her terrible
solitude on the heights of the Andes after the deaths of her two com-
panions. For the last phrase De Quincey is down upon him in an
instant. He is "a Frenchman, who sadly misjudges Kate, looking at
her through a Parisian opera-glass " ; and, as for himself, not only
does he believe that Kate had prayed many times before without
mentioning the fact, but he will champion Kate in many other matters
against all Frenchmen and all gaiusayers whatever ! It is here that he
breaks out, "/love this Kate, bloodstained as she is," and that he
proceeds to an ethical dissertation in her behalf, winding up with the
assertion that "Kate ms noble in many things," possessing " qualities
that God loves either in man or woman," and with the wish that she
were still alive "to give a punch on the head to that iellow who
tiaduces her." This difference in De Qumcey's conception of his
heroine from that of the French critic of her Memoirs is maintained
to the very end, but is perhaps nowhere more conspicuous than in the
contrast between the two accounts of the unexplained disappearance
of the heroine at last in the harbour of Vera Cruz. " Fell overboard,
and probably eaten by a shark I " is substantially, as we have seen,
our last glimpse of Kate m the French account of her life. De
Quincey refuses a close so precise and so prosaic. He will not tell
even his own hypothesis on the subject, but rises into the mysterious
unknown, and leaves us there. The reader may choose between the
two moods, and the two versions of Kate's story which they re-
spectively inspire ; and all is subject, of course, to any re-inquiry that
may yet be moved into the historical authenticity of Kate's professed
Autobiography. M,

SORTILEGE AND ASTROLOGY 1

SUDDENLY, about the middle of February, I received a
request for some contribution of my own proper writing to
a meditated ALBUM of a new Literary Institution, called the
AthenEEum, in- a great western city. What was to be done '?
The 13th of the month had already dawned before the
request reached me ; " return of post " was the sharp limita-
tion notified within which my communication must revolve ;
whilst the request itself was dated February 10th : so that
already three "returns of post" had finished their brief
career on earth. I am not one of those people who, in
respect of bread, insist on the discretionary allowance (pain
a discretion) of Paris restaurants ; but, in respect to time, I
do. Positively, for all efforts of thought I must have time
a discretion. And thus it happened that there was no
resource available but one ; which was this : In my study
I have a bath, large enough to swim in, provided the
swimmer, not being an ambitious man, is content with going
ahead to the extent of three inches at the utmost. This
bath, having been superseded (as regards its original purpose)
by a better, has yielded a secondary service to me as a

1 Appeared originally in a printed little collection of pieces, in
prose and verse, got up as a contribution to a Ladies' Bazaar held on
the 22d and 23d of March 1848 in aid of the Library of the Glasgow
Athenaeum. The volume, which is now scarce, bears the title Glasgow
Athenaeum Album, 1848. De Qumcey's paper bears his name, and is
placed first. Among the other contributors were Robert Chambers,
James Hedderwick, George Gilfillan, Samuel Brown, and Mrs. Crowe.
De Quincey's paper was reprinted by himself in 1858 in vol. ix. of his
Collected Writings. M.

252 TALES AND PftOSE PHANTASIES

reservoir for my MSS, Filled to tlie brim it is by papers of
all sorts and sizes. Every paper written by me, to me, for
me, of or concerning me, and, finally, against me, is to be
found, after an impossible search, in this capacious repertory.
Those papers, by the way, that come under the last (or
hostile) subdivision are chiefly composed by shoemakers and
tailors an affectionate class of men, who stick by one to the
last like pitch-plasters. One admires this fidelity ; but it
shows itself too often in waspishness, and all the little
nervous irritabilities of attachment too jealous. They are
wretched if they do not continually hear what one is "about,"
what one is " up to," and which way one is going to travel.
Me, because I am a political economist, they plague for my
private opinions on the currency, especially on that part of
it which consists in bills at two years after date ; and they
always want an answer by return of post.

Now, from this reservoir I resolved to draw some paper
for the use of the Athenaeum. It was my fixed determination
that this Institution should receive full justice, so far as
human precautions could secure it. Pour dips into the bath
I decreed that the Athenaeum should have j whereas an
individual man, however hyperbolically illustrious, could
have had but one. On the other hand, the Athenaeum must
really content itself with what fortune might send, and not
murmur at me as if I had been playing with loaded dice. To
cut off all pretence for such allegations, I requested the
presence of three young ladies, haters of everything unfair,
as female lawyers to watch the proceedings on behalf of the
Athenseuin, to see that the dipping went on correctly, and
also to advise the court in case of any difficulties arising.
At six P.M. all was reported right for starting in my study.
The bath had been brilliantly illuminated from above, so
that no tricks could be played in that quarter j and the
young man who was to execute the dips had finished dressing
in a new potato-sack, with holes cut through the bottom for
his legs. Now, as the sack was tied with distressing tight-
ness about his throat, leaving only a loophole for his right
arm to play freely, it is clear that, however sincerely fraud-
ulent in his intentions, and in possible collusion with myself,
he could not assist me by secreting any papers about his

SORTILEGE AND ASTROLOGY 253

person, or by any other knavery that we might wish to
perpetrate. The young ladies having taken their seats in
stations admirably chosen for overlooking any irregular
movements, the proceedings opened. The inaugural step
was made in a neat speech from myself, complaining that 1
was the object of unjust suspicions, and endeavouring to
re-establish my character for absolute purity of intentions ;
but, I regret to say, ineffectually, I declared, with some
warmth, that in the bath, but whereabouts I could not guess,
there lay a particular paper which I valued as equal to the
half of my possessions. " But for all that," I went on, " if
our honourable friend in the potato sack should chance to
haul up this very paper, I am resolved to stand by the
event : yes, in that case, to the half of my kingdom I will
express my interest in the Institution. Should even that
prize be drawn, out of this house it shall pack off to the
Athenaeum, this very night." Upon this, the leader of the
attorneys, whom, out of honour to Shaksperc, 1 1 may as well
call Portia, chilled my enthusiasm disagreeably by saying
" There was no occasion for any extra zeal on my part in such
an event, since, as to packing out of this house to the
Athensoum, she and her learned sisters would take good care
that it did -, " in fact, I was to have no merit whatever I
did. Upon this, by way of driving away the melancholy
caused by the obstinate prejudices of the attorneys, I called
for a glass of wine ; and, turning to the west, I drank the
health of the Athensoum, under the allegoric idea of a young
lady about to come of age and enter upon the enjoyment of
her estates. "Here's to your prosperity, my dear lass," I
said ; " you're very young j but that's a fault which, accord-
ing to the old Greek adage, is mending every day ; and I'm
sure you'll always continue as amiable as you are now towards
strangers in distress for books and journals. Never grow
churlish, my dear, as some of your sex are" (saying which, I
looked savagely at Portia). And then I made the signal to
the young man for getting to work Portia's eyes, as I
noticed privately, brightening like a hawk's, "Prepare to
dip!" I called aloud; and soon after "Dip!" At the
"prepare" Potato-sack went on his right knee (his face being
1 Merchant of Venice.

264 TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

at right angles to the "bath) ; at the C{ Dip ! " he plunged his
right arm into the billowy ocean of papers. For one minute
he worked amongst them as if he had been pulling an oar ;
and then, at the peremptory order "Haul up!" he raised
aloft in air, like Brutus refulgent from the stroke of Caesar,
his booty. It was handed, of course, to the attorneys ; who
showed a little female curiosity at first, for it was a letter
with the seal as yet unbroken, and might prove to be some
old love-letter of my writing, recently sent back to me by
the Dead-Letter Office. It still looked fresh and blooming.
So, if there was no prize for the Athenaeum, there might
still be an interesting secret for the benefit of the attorneys.
What it was, and what each successive haul netted, I will
register under corresponding numbers.

No. 1. This was a dinner invitation for the 15th of
February, which I had neglected to open. .It was, as bill-
brokers say, " coming to maturity," but luckily not past due
(in which case you have but a poor remedy) ; for it had still
two days to run before it could be presented for payment A
debate arose with the attorneys Whether this might not do
for the Album, in default of any better haul? I argued for
the affirmative that, although a dinner invitation cannot
in reason be looked to for very showy writing, its motto
being Em guam videri (which is good Latin for To eat 1 rather
than make believe to eat, as at Barmecide banquets), yet, put
the case that I should send this invitation to the Athenaeum,
accompanied with a power-of-attorney to eat the dinner in
my stead, might not that solid bonus as an enclosure weigh
down the levity of the letter considered as a contribution to
the Album, and take off the edge of the Athenaeum's dis-
pleasure? Portia argued contra that such a thing was
impossible ; because the Athenseum had 2000 mouths, and
would, therefore, require 2000 dinners ; an argument which
I admitted to be showy, but, legally speaking, hardly, tenable:

1 Esse, to eat : The reader who may chance to be no great scholar
as regards Latin will yet perhaps be aware of this meaning attached
of old to the verb Esse, from a Latin enigma current amongst school-
boys, viz. Pes est caput ; which at first sight seems to say that the
foot is the head, but in the true version means Pes (in its secondary
sense the same as Pediculus t an insect not to be named) est, eats,
caput, the head.

SORTILEGE AND ASTROLOGY 255

because the Athenaeum had power to appoint a plenipoten-
tiary some man of immense calibre to eat the dinner as
representative of the collective 2000, What there was to
laugh at I don't see ; but, at this hot skirmish between me
and Portia, Potato-sack began to laugh so immoderately that
I was obliged to pull him up by giving the word rather
imperiously "Prepa/re to dip!" Before he could obey, I
was myselt pulled up by Portia, with a triumph in her eye
that alarmed me. She and her sister-attorneys had been
examining the dinner invitation "And" said Portia
maliciously to me, " it's quite correct ; as you observe there
are two days good to the dinner hour on the 15th. Only,
by misfortune, the letter is in the wrong year ; it is four
years old ! " Oh ! fancy the horror of this ; since, besides
the mortification from Portia's victory, I had perhaps narrowly
escaped an indictment from the plenipotentiary for sending
him what might now be considered a bwindle. I hurried to
cover my confusion by issuing the two orders lt Prepare to
dip I " and " Dip /" almost in the same breath. No. 1, after
all the waste of legal learning upon it, had suddenly burst
like a soap-bubble ; and the greater stress of expectation,
therefore, had now settled on No. 2. With considerable
trepidation of voice, I gave the final order " Haul up ! "

No, 2. It is disagreeable to mention that this haul
brought up "a dun." Disgust was written upon every
countenance ; and I fear that suspicion began to thicken
upon myself, as having possibly (from my personal experience
in these waters) indicated to our young friend where to
dredge for duns with most chance of success. But I protest
fervently my innocence. It is true that I had myself long
remarked that part of the channel to be dangerously infested
with duns. In searching for literary or philosophic papers,
it would often happen for an hour together that I brought up
little else than variegated specimens of the dun. And one
vast bank there was which I called the Goodwin Sands,
because nothing within the memory of man was ever known
to be hauled up from it except eternal varieties of the dun
some grey with antiquity, some of a neutral tint, some green
and lively. With grief it was that I had seen oxir dipper
shoaling his water towards that dangerous neighbourhood,

256 TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

But what could I do? If I had warned him off, Portia
would have "been sure to fancy that there was some great
oyster-bed or pearl-fishery in that region ; and all I should
have effected by my honesty would have been a general
conviction of my treachery. Exactly below that very spot
where he had dipped lay, as stationary as if he had been
anchored, a huge and ferocious dun of great antiquity. Age
had not at all softened the atrocious expression of his coun-
tenance, but rather aided it by endowing him with a tawny
hue. The size of this monster was enormous, nearly two
square feet ; and I fancied at times that, in spite of his
extreme old age, he had not done growing. I knew Mm but
too well ; because, whenever I happened to search in that '
region of the bath, let me be seeking what I would, and let
me miss what T might, always I was sure to haul up Urn
whom I never wanted to see again. Sometimes I even
found him basking on the very summit of the papers ; and
I conceived an idea, which may be a mere fancy, that he
came up for air in particular states of the atmosphere. At
present he was not basking on the surface : better for the
Athenaeum if he had ; for then the young man would have
been cautious. Not being above, he was certainly below, and
underneath the very centre of the dipper's plunge. Unable
to control my feeling*, I cried out "Bear away to the
right ! " But Portia protested with energy against this
intermeddling of mine, as perfidy too obvious. "Well,"
I said, " have it your own way : " you'll see what will
happen."

So. 3. This, it is needless to say, turned out the horrid
old shark, as I had long christened him, I knew his vast
proportions, and his bilious aspect, the moment that the
hauling-up commenced, which in his case occupied some
time. Portia was the more angry because she had thrown
away her right to express any anger by neutralizing my
judicious interference. She grew even more angry because
I, though sorry for the Athenaeum, really could not help
laughing when I saw the truculent old wretch expanding his
huge dimensions all umbered by time and ill-temper
under the eyes of the wondering young ladies ; so mighty
\vas the contrast between this sallow behemoth and a rose-

SORTILEGE AND ASTROLOGY 257

coloured little billet of their own. By the \vay, No. 2 had
been a specimen of the dulcet dun, breathing only zephyrs
of request and persuasion ; but this No. 3 was a specimen
of the polar opposite the dun horrific and Gorgoman
blowing great guns of menace. As ideal specimens in their
several classes, might they not have a value for the mwiim,
of the Athenseum, if it has one, or even for the Album 1
This was my suggestion, but overruled, like everything else
that I proposed, and on the ground that a great city had
too vast a conservatory of duns, native and indigenous, to
need any exotic specimens. This settled, we hurried to
the next dip j which, being by contract the last, made us all
nervous.

No. 4. This, alas ! turned out a lecture addressed tc
myself by an ultra-moral friend, a lecture on procrastina-
tion, and not badly written. I feared that something of the
soit was coining ; for, at the moment of dipping, I called out
to the dipper " Starboard your helm ! you're going smack
upon the Goodwins : in thirty seconds you'll founder,"
Upon this, in an agony of fright, the dipper forged off, but
evidently quite unaware that vast spurs stretched off from
the Goodwins shoals and sand-banks where it was mere
destruction to sail without a special knowledge of the sound-
ings. He had run upon an ethical sand-bank. "Yet, after
all, since this is to be the last dip," said Portia, "if the
lecture is well written, might it not be acceptable to the
Athenaeum'?" "Possibly," I replied; "but it is too per-
sonal. I could not allow myself to be advertised in a book
as a procrastinator on principle, unless the Athenseum would
add a postscript under its official seal expressing entire dis-
belief of the accusation ; winch I have private reasons for
thinking that the Athemcitm may decline to do."

"Well, then/' said Portia, "as you wilfully rob the
AthemBum of No. 4, which by contract is the undoubted
property of that body, then you are bound to give us a fifth
dip ; particularly as you have been so treacherous all along."
In the tone of an injured man I cried out, "My friend
Potato-sack ! will you quietly listen to this charge upon me '
If it is a crime in me to know, and in you not to know,
where the Goodwins lie, why, then, let you and me sheer off

VOL. xin &

258 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

to the other side of the room, and let Portia try if she can do
better. I allow her motion. I grant a fifth dip : and the
more because it is an old saying that there is luck in odd
numbers : numero d&as impare gaudet ; only I must request
of Portia to be the dipper on this final occasion," All the
three attorneys blushed a rosy red on this unexpected
summons. It was one thing to criticise, but quite another
thing to undertake the performance : and the fair attorneys
trembled for their professional reputation. Secretly, how-
ever, I whispered to Potato-sack, a You'll see now, such is
female art and readiness that, whatever sort of monster they
haul up, they'll proclaim it a great prize, and contrive to
extract some use from it that may place us in the wrong,"

No. 5. Thrilling, therefore, were the doubts, fears, ex-
pectations of us all, when Portia "prepared to dip," and
secondly " dipped." She shifted her hand, and " ploitered "
amongst the papers for full five minutes. I winked at this
in consideration of past misfortunes ; but, strictly speaking,
she had no right to "ploiter" for more than one minute.
She contended that she knew, by intuition, the sort of paper
upon which " duns " were written ; and, whatever else might
come up, she was resolved it should not be a dun. " Don't
be too sure," I said ; and, at last, when she seemed to have
settled her choice, I called out the usual word of command,
"Haul up l"

"What is it?" we said ; "what's the prize ?" one and all
rushing up to Portia. Oh Gemini ! my sympathizing reader ;
it was a sheet of blank paper !

Did we laugh, or did we cry '* I, for my part, was afraid
to do either. I really felt for Portia, and, at the same time,
for the Athenaeum. Bat, bless you, reader ! there was no
call for pity to Portia. With the utmost coolness she said,
so ready were her wits for facing any issue, " Oh ! this is
carte IfancJw for receiving your latest thoughts. This is the
paper on which you are to write an essay for the Athenaeum ;
and thus we are providentially enabled to assure our client
the Athenaeum of something expressly manufactured for the
occasion, and not an old wreck from the Goodwins. Fortune
loves the Athenseum ; and her four blanks at starting were
only meant to tease that Institution, and to enhance the

SORTILEGE AND ASTROLOGY 259

value of her final favour," " Ah, indeed ! " I said m an
under tone : " meant to tease I there are other ladies who
understand that little science beside Fortune !" However,
there is no disobeying the commands of Portia; so I sat
down to write a paper on ASTROLOGY. But, before beginning,
I looked at Potato-sack, whispering only, " You see ; I told
you what would happen."

ASTBOLOGY

As my contribution fco their Album, I will beg the Athen-
aeum to accept a single thought on this much-injured subject.
Astrology I greatly respect; but it is singular that my
respect for the science arose out of my contempt for its pro-
fessors, not exactly as a direct logical consequence, but
as a casual suggestion from that contempt. I believe in
Astrology, but not in astrologers; as to them I am an
incorrigible infidel. First, let me state the occasion upon
which my astrological thought arose ; and then, secondly,
the thought itself.

When about seventeen years old, I was wandering as a
pedestrian tourist in North Wales. For some little time, the
centre of my ramblings (upon which I still revolved from all
my excursions, whether elliptical, circular, or zigzag) was
Llangollen in Denbighshire, or else Rhuabon, not more than
a few miles distant. One morning I was told by a young
married woman, at whose cottage I had received some kind
hospitalities, that an astrologer lived in the neighbourhood.
"What might be his name?" Very good English it was
that my young hostess had hitherto spoken ; and yet, in this
instance, she chose to answer me in Welsh. MocUnahante
was her brief reply. I daresay that my spelling of the
word will not stand Welsh criticism; but what can you
expect from a man's first attempt at Welsh orthography?
which at that time was, and (I believe) still is, a very rare
accomplishment in the six counties of North Wales. But
what did MocUnahante mean ? For a man might as well be
anonymous, or call himself X Y Z, as offer one his visiting
card indorsed with a name so frightful to look at so tortur-
ing to utter so impossible to spell as MocMnahante, And

260 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

that it had a translatable meaning that it was not a proper
name but an appellative, in fact some playful sobriquet, I
felt certain, from observing the young woman to smile
whilst she uttered it My next question drew from her that
this Pagan-looking monster of a name meant Piy-in-the-
dingle. But really, now, between the original monster and
this English interpretation there was very little to choose ;
in fact the interpretation, as often happens, strikes one as the
harder to understand of the two. " To be sure it does,"" says
a lady sitting at my elbow, and tormented by a passion so
totally unfeminine as curiosity; "to be sure very much
harder ; for Mochina what-do-yoiwall-it 1 might, you know,
mean something or other, for anything that you or I could
say to the contrary ; but, as to Pig-in-the-dingle what
dreadful nonsense ! what an impossible description of an
astrologer! A man that let me see does something or
other about the stars: how can lie be described as a pig?
pig in any sense, you know ; pig in any place ? But Pig-in-
Ordingle ; why, if he's a pig at all, he must be Pig-on-a-steeple,
or Pig-oti-the-top-of-frhiU) that he may rise above the mists
and vapours. Now, I insist, my dear creature, on your
explaining all this riddle on the spot. You know it ; you
came to the end of the mystery ; but none of us that are
sitting here can guess at the meaning ; we shall all be ill if
you keep us waiting I've a headache beginning already ;
so say the tiling at once, and put us out of torment. "

What's to be done ? I mud explain the thing to the
Athenaeum ; and, if I stop to premise an oral explanation
for the lady's separate use, there will be no time to save the
village post ; which waits for no man, and is deaf even to
female outcries. By way of compromise, therefore, I request
of the lady that she will follow my pen with her radiant eyes;
by which means she will obtain the earliest intelligence, and
the speediest relief to her headache. I, on my part, will
not loiter, but will make my answer as near to a telegraphic
answer, in point of speed, as a rigid metallic pen will allow.

I divide this answer into two heads : the first concerning
" in the dingle " ; the second concerning u pig. n My philo-
sophic researches, and a visit to the astrologer, ascertained a
profound reason for describing him as in-the-dingle ; viz.

SORTILEGE AND ASTROLOGY 261

because lie was in a dingle. He was the sole occupant of a
little cove amongst the hills the sole householder ; and so
absolutely such that, if ever any treason should be hatched
in the dingle, clear it was to my mind that Mochimhante
would be found at the bottom of it ; if ever war should be
levied in this dingle, Mochinahante must be the sole bel-
ligerent ; and, if a forced contribution were ever imposed
upon this dingle, Mochimhante (poor man !) must pay it all
out of his own pocket. The lady interrupts me at this point
to say " Well, I understand all that ; that's all very clear.
But what I want to know about is Pig. Come to Piy.
Why Pig ? How Pig 1 In what sense Pig ? You can't
have any profound reason, you know, for that."

Yes, I iiave : a very profound reason ; and satisfactory
to the most sceptical of philosophers, viz. that he was a Pig.
I was presented by my fair hostess to the great interpreter
of the stars in person ; for I was anxious to make the
acquaintance of an astrologer, and especially of one who,
whilst owning to so rare a profession, owned also to the soft
impeachment of so very significant a name. Having myself
enjoyed so favourable an opportunity for investigating the
reasonableness of that name, Mochnahantc, as applied to the
Denbighshire astrologer, I venture to pronounce it unim-
peachable. About his dress there was a forlornness, and an
ancient tarnish or cerugo, which went far to justify the name ;
and upon his face there sat that lugubrious rust (or what
medallists technically call patina) which bears so costly a
value when it is found on the coined face of a Syro-Macedoman
prince long since compounded with dust, but, alas I bears no
value at all if found upon the flesh-and-blood face of a living
philosopher. Speaking humanly, one would have insinuated
that the star-gazer wanted much washing and scouring ; but,
astrologically speaking, perhaps he would have been spoiled
by earthly waters for his celestial vigils,

Mochinahante was civil enough, a pig, if by accident
dirty, is not therefore rude ; and, after seating me in his
chair of state, he prepared for his learned labours by cross-
examination as to the day and hour of my birth. The day I
knew to a certainty ; and even about the hour I could tell
quite as much as ought in reason to be expected from one

262 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

who certainly had not been studying a chronometer when
that event occurred, These points settled, the astrologer
withdrew into an adjoining room, for the purpose (as he
assured me) of scientifically constructing my horoscope ; but,
unless the drawing of corks is a part of that process, I should
myself incline to think that the great man, instead of mind-
ing my interests amongst the stars and investigating my
horoscope, had been seeking consolation for himself in bottled
porter. Within half -an -hour he returned; looking more
lugubrious than ever more grim more grimy (if grime
yields any such adjective) a little more rusty rather more
patinoiis, if numismatists will lend me that word and a
great deal more m want of scouring, He had a paper of
diagrams in his hand, which was supposed to contain some
short-hand memoranda upon my horoscope ; but, from its
smokiness, a malicious visitor might have argued a possibility
that it had served for more customers than myself. Under
his arm he carried a folio book, which (he said) was a manu-
script of unspeakable antiquity. This he was jealous of my
seeing ; and, before he would open it, as if I and the book
had been two prisoners at the bar suspected of meditating
some collusive mischief (such as tying a cracker to the
judge's wig), he separated us as widely from each other as the
dimensions of the room allowed. These solemnities finished,
we were all ready I, and the folio volume, and Pig-in-the-
dingle for our several parts in the play.

Mochinahante began, He opened the pleadings in a
deprecatory tone, protesting, almost with tears, that, if any-
thing should turn out amiss in the forthcoming revelations,
it was much against his will that he was powerless, and
could not justly be held responsible for any part of the
disagreeable message which it might be his unhappiness to
deliver. I hastened to assure him that I was incapable of
such injustice ; that I should hold the stars responsible for
the whole ; by nature, that I was very forgiving ; that any
little malice which I might harbour for a year or so should
all be reserved for the use of the particular constellations
concerned in the plot against myself ; and, lastly, that I was
now quite ready to stand the worst of their thunders. Pig
was pleased with this reasonableness he saw that he had to

SORTILEGE AND ASTKOLOGY 263

deal with a philosopher and, in a more cheerful tone, he
now explained that my " case " was mystically contained in
the diagrams : these smoke-dried documents submitted, as it
were, a series of questions to the book ; which book it was
a book of unspeakable antiquity that gave the inflexible
answers, like the gloomy oracle that it was. But I was not
to be angry with the book, any more than with himself, since

! " Of course not," I replied, interrupting him ; " the

book did but utter the sounds which were predetermined by
the white and black keys struck in the smoky diagrams ;
and I could no more be angry with the book for speaking
what it conscientiously believed to be the truth than with a
decanter of port wine, or a bottle of porter, for declining to
yield more than one or two wine-glasses of the precious
liquor at the moment when I was looking for a dozen, under
a transient forgetlulness, incident to the greatest minds, that
I myself, ten minutes before, had nearly drunk up the
whole," This comparison, though to a ciitic wide awake it
might have seemed slightly personal, met with the entire
approbation of Pig-in-the-dingle. A better frame of mind for
receiving disastrous news, he evidently conceived, could not
exist or be fancied by the mind of man than existed at that
moment in myself. He was in a state of intense pathos from
the bottled porter. I was in a state of intense excitement
(pathos combined with horror) at the prospect of a dreadful
lecture on my future life, now ready to be thundered into
my ears from that huge folio of unspeakable antiquity,
prompted by those wretched smoke-dried diagrams. I believe
we were in magnetical rapport ! Think of that, reader ! Pig
and I in magnetical rapport ! Both making passes at each other !
What in the world \$ould have become of us if suddenly
we should have taken to somnambulizing ? Pig would have
abandoned his dingle to me ; and I should have dismissed
Pig to that life of wandering which must have betrayed the
unsecured and patinous condition of the astrologer to the
astonished eyes of Cambria :

" Stout Glo'ster stood aghast [or might have stood] in speechless

trance.

To arms ' cried Mortimer [or at least might have cried], and
couch'd his quivering lance "

264 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

But Pig was a greater man than lie seemed. He yielded
neither to magnetism nor to bottled porter ; kit commenced
reading from the black book in the most awful tone of voice,
and, generally speaking, most correctly. Certainly he made
one dreadful mistake ; he started from tlio very middle of a
sentence, instead of the beginning ; but then that had a truly
lyrical effect, and also it was excused by the bottled porter.
The words of the prophetic denunciation, from which he
started, were these " also he [that was myself, you under-
stand] shall have red hair." " There goes a bounce,' 3 I said
in an under tone ; " the stars, it seems, can tell falsehoods as
well as other people." " Also," for Pig went on without
stopping, "he shall have seven-ancl-twenty children." Too
horror-struck I was by this news to utter one word of protest
against it. " Also," Pig yelled out at the top of his voice,
"he shall desert them." Anger restored my voice, and I
cried out, " That's not only a lie in the stars, but a libel ;
and, if an action lay against a constellation, I should recover
damages." Vain it would be to trouble the reader with all
the monstrous prophecies that Pig read against me. He read
with a steady Pythian fury. Dreadful was his voice ; dread-
ful were the starry charges against myself things that I was
to do things that I must do ; dreadful was the wrath with
which secretly I denounced all participation in the acts
which these wicked stars laid to my charge. But this
infirmity of good-nature besets me, that, if a man shows
trust and absolute faith in any agent or agency whatever,
heart there is not in me to resist him, or to expose his folly.
Pig trusted how profoundly! in his black book of
unspeakable antiquity. It would have killed him on the
spot to prove that the black book was a hoax, and that he
himself was another. Consequently, I submitted in silence
to pass for the monster that Pig, under the coercion of the
stars, had pronounced me, rather than part in anger from the
solitary man, who, after all, was not to blame, acting only in
a ministerial capacity, and reading only what the stars obliged
him to read. I rose without saying one word, advanced to
the table, and paid my fees ; for it is a disagreeable fact to
record, that astrologers grant no credit, nor even discount
upon prompt payment. I shook hands with Mochinahante \

SORTILEGE AND ASTROLOGY 265

we exchanged kind farewells : he smiling benignly upon me,
in total forgetfulness that he had just dismissed me to a life
of storms and crimes ; I, in return, as the very best benedic-
tion that I could think of, saying secretly, " Pig, may the
heavens rain their choicest soap-suds upon thee ! "

Emerging into the open air, I told my fair hostess of the
red hair winch the purblind astrologer had obtained for me
from the stars, and which, with tfair permission, I would
make over to Mockinahmte for a reversionary wig in his days
of approaching baldness. But I said not one word upon that
too bountiful allowance of children with which Mock had
endowed me. I retreated by nervous anticipation from
that inextinguishable laughter which, I was too certain,
would follow upon her part ; and yet, when we reached the
outlet of the dingle, and turned round to take a parting look
of the astrological dwelling, I myself was overtaken by fits
of laughter ; for suddenly I figured in vision my own future
return to this mountain recess with the young legion of
twenty-seven children. " I desert them, the darlings ! 1J I
exclaimed ; " far from it ' Backed by this filial army, I
shall feel myself equal to the task of taking vengeance on
the stars for the affronts they have put upon me through
Pig, their servant. It will be like the return of the Hera-
cleidse to the Peloponnesus. The sacred legion will storm
the ' dingle,' whilst I storm Pig ; the rising generation will
take military possession of '-inahante,' whilst I deal with
' Moch' (which I presume to be the part in the long word
belonging to Pig). a My hostess laughed in sympathy with my
laughter ; but I was cautious of letting her have a look into my
vision of the sacred legion. For the female mind is naturally
but too prone to laughter. We quitted the dingle for
ever ; and so ended my first visit, being also my last, to an
astrologer.

This, reader, was the true general occasion of my one
thought upon astrology ; and, before I mention that thought,
I may add that the immediate impulse drawing my mind in
any such direction was this : On walking to the table where
the astrologer sat, in order to pay my fees, naturally I came
nearer to the folio book than astrological prudence would
generally have allowed. But Pig's attention was diverted for

266 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

the moment to the silver coins laid before him : these he
reviewed with the care reasonable in one so poor, and in a
state of the coinage so neglected as in 1802 it was, By that
moment of avarice in Pig I profited so far as to look over the
astrologer's person, sitting and bending forward full upon the
book, This was spread open ; and at a glance I saw that
it was no MS., but a printed book, in black-letter types.
The month of August stood as a rubric at the head of the
broad margin ; and below it stood some days of that month
in orderly succession. " So, then, Pig," said I in my thoughts,
" it seems that any person whatever, born on my particular
day and hour of August, is to have the same exact fate as
myself, But a king and a beggar may chance thus far to
agree. And be you assured, Pig, that all the infinite variety
of cases lying between these two termim differ from each
other in fortunes and incidents of life as much, though not
so notoriously, as king and beggar.' 3

Hence arose a confirmation of my contempt for astrology.
It seemed as if necessarily false false by an a priori prin-
ciple, viz. that the possible differences in human fortunes,
which are infinite, cannot be measured by the possible differ-
ences in the particular moments of birth, which are too
strikingly finite. It strengthened me in this way of think-
ing that subsequently I found the very same objection in
Macrobius. Macrobius may have stolen the idea ; but cer-
tainly not from me as certainly I did not steal it from him ;
so that here is a concurrence of two people independently,
one of them a great philosopher, in the very same annihilat-
ing objection.

Now comes my one thought. Both of us were wrong,
Macrobius and myself. Even the great philosopher is ob-
liged to confess it. The objection, truly valued, is to
astrologers, not to astrology. No two events ever did coin-
cide in point of time. Every event has, and must have, a
certain duration ; this you may call its breadth ; and the
true kcus of the event in time is the central point of that
breadth, which never was or will be the same for any two
separate events, though grossly held to be contemporaneous.
It is the mere imperfection of our human means for chasing
the infinite subdivisibilities of time which causes us to regard

SORTILEGE AND ASTROLOGY 267

two events as even "by possibility concurring in their central
moments. This imperfection is crushing to the pretensions
of astrologers ; but astrology laughs at it in the heavens ;
and astrology, armed with celestial chronometers, is true !

Suffer me to illustrate the case a little : It is rare that
a metaphysical difficulty can be made as clear as a pike-staff.
This can. Suppose two events to occur in the same quarter
of a minute that is, in the same fifteen seconds ; then,
if they started precisely together, and ended precisely to-
gether, they would not only have the same breadth, but
this breadth would accurately coincide in all its parts or
fluxions ; consequently, the central moment, viz, the eighth,
would coincide rigorously with the centre of each event.
But suppose that one of the two events, A, for instance,
commenced a single second before B, the other : then, because
we are still supposing them to have the same breadth or ex-
tension, A will have ended in the second before B ends, and
consequently, the centres will be different, for the eighth
second of A will be the seventh of B. The disks of the two
events will overlap : A will overlap B at the beginning ; B
will overlap A at the end. Now, go on to assume that, in a
particular case, this overlapping does not take place, but that
the two events eclipse each other, lying as truly surface to
surface as two sovereigns in a tight rouleau of sovereigns, or
one dessert-spoon nestling in the bosom of another ; in that
case, the eighth or central second will be the centre for both.
But even here a question will arise as to the degree of rigour
in the coincidence; for divide the eighth secondinto a thousand
parts of sub-moments, and perhaps the centre of A will be
found to hit the 450th sub-moment, whilst that of B may hit
the 600th, Or suppose, again, even this trial surmounted :
the two harmonious creatures, A and B, running neck and
neck together, have both hit simultaneously the true centre
of the thousand sub-moments which lies half-way between the
500th and the 501st. All is right so far" all right behind " ;
but go on, if you please ; subdivide this last centre, which
we will call X, into a thousand lesser fractions, Take, in
fact, a railway express-train of decimal fractions, and give
chase to A and B ; my word for it that yon will come up
with .them in some stage or other nf the journey, and arrest

268 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

them in the very act of separating their centres which is a
dreadful crime in the eye of astrology; for it is utterly
impossible that the initial moment, or s?i&-moment, or sub-
sw5-moment of A anrl B should absolutely coincide. Such a
thing as a perfect start was never heard of at Doncaster.
Now, this severe accuracy is not wanted on earth. Archi-
medes, it is well known, never saw a perfect circle, nor even,
with his leave, a decent circle ; for, doubtless, the reader
knows the following fact, viz. that, if you take the most
perfect Vandyking ever cut out of paper or silk, by the most
delicate of female fingers, witli the most exquisite of Salis-
bury scissors, upon viewing it through a microscope you
will find the edges frightfully ragged ; but, if you apply the same
microscope to a case of God's Vandyking on the corolla of a
flower, you will find it as truly cut and as smooth as a moon-
beam. We on earth, I repeat, need no such rigorous truth . For
instance, you and I, my reader, want little perhaps with circles,
except now and then to bore one with an auger in a ship's
bottom, when we wish to sink her, and to cheat the under-
writers ; or, by way of variety, to cut one with a centre-bit
through shop-shutters, in order to rob a jeweller ; so we
don't care much whether the circumference is ragged or not.
But that won't do for a constellation ! The stars n'entendent
pas h raillene on the subject of geometry. The pendulum
of the starry heavens oscillates truly ; and, if the Greenwich
time of the Empyreum can't be repeated upon earth without
an error, a horoscope is as much a chimera as the perpetual
motion, or as an agreeable income-tax. In fact, in casting a
nativity, to swerve from the true centre by the trillionth of
a centillionth is as fatal as to leave room for a coach-and-six
to turn between your pistol shot and the bull's eye. If you
haven't done the trick, no matter how near you've come to
it. And to overlook this is as absurd as was the answer of
that Lieutenant M. who, being asked whether he had any
connexion with another officer of the same name, replied
" yes ! a very close one." " But in what way ? " < Why,
you see, Pm in the 50th regiment of foot, and he's in the
49th" : walking, in fact, just behind him! Yet, for all
this, horoscopes may be calculated very truly by the stars
amongst themselves ; and my conviction is that they are.

SORTILEGE AND ASTROLOGY 269

They are perhaps even printed hieroglyplncally, and pub-
lished as regularly as a nautical almanac. Only, they can-
not be republished upon earth by any mode of piracy yet
discovered amongst sublunary booksellers. Astrology, in
fact, is a very profound, or, at least, a very lofty science ;
but astrologers are humbugs.

I have finished, and I am vain of my work ; for I have
accomplished three considerable things : I have floored
Macrobius ; I have cured a lady of her headache ; and, lastly,
which is best of all, I have expressed my sincere interest in
the prosperity of a new-born Athenaeum.

But our village pobt (a boy, in fact, who rides a pony) is
mounting ; and the chances are that this letter of mine will
be too late, a fact which, amongst all the dangers besetting
me in this life, the wretched Pig forgot to warn me of.

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 1

SECTION I THE GLORY OP MOTION

SOME twenty or more years before I matriculated at Oxford,
Mr, Palmer, at that time M.P. for Bath, had accomplished
two things, very hard to do on our little planet, the Earth,
however cheap they may be held by eccentric people in
comets : he had invented mail-coaches, and he had married
the daughter of a duke. 2 He was, therefore, just twice as

i In October 1849 there appeared m Blatfmod's Magazine an
article entitled "The English Mail-Coach, or the Glory of Motion"
There was no intimation that it was to be continued , but in Decem-

headed by a paragraph explaining that it was by the author of the
previous article in the October number, and was to be taken in con-
nexion with that article, One of the sections oi this second article was
entitled k ' The Vmm of Sudden Death" and the other " Dm-Fitgue
on tk above them oj Sudden Death. When De Qnincey revised the
papers in 1854 for ^publication in volume iv of the Collective Edition
of his writings, he brought the whole under the one general title of
" The English Mail-Coach" dividing the text, as at presentj into three
sections or chapters, the first with the sub-title The Glory of Motion^
the second with the sub-title The Vision of Sudden Death) and the

oj Sudden Death. Great care was bestowed on the revision,
ages that had appeared in the magazine articles were omitted ; new
sentences were inserted ; and the language was retouched throughout,
-M,

- Mr, John Palmer, a native of Bath, and from about 1768 the
energetic proprietor of the Theatre Royal in that city, had been led,
by the wretched state in those days of the means of intercommunica-
tion between Bath and London, and his own consequent difficulties m
arranging for a punctual succession of good actors at his theatre, to
turn his attention to the improvement of the whole system of Post-

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 271

great a man as Galileo, who did certainly invent (or, which
is the same thing, 1 discover) the satellites of Jupiter, those
very next things extant to mail-coaches in the two capital
pretensions of speed and keeping time, but, on the other
hand, who did not marry the daughter of a duke.

These mail-coaches, as organised by Mr. Palmer, are en-
titled to a circumstantial notice from myself, having had so
large a share in developing the anarchies of my subsequent
dreams : an agency which they accomplished, 1st, through
velocity at that time unprecedented for they first revealed
the glory of motion ; 2dly, through grand effects for the eye
between lamp-light and the darkness upon solitary roads ;
3dly, through animal beauty and power so often displayed
in the class of horses selected for this mail service ; 4thly,

Office conveyance, and of locomotive machinery generally, in the
British Islands, The result was a scheme for superseding, on the
great roads at least, the then existing system of sluggish and irregular
stage-coaches, the property of private persons and companies, by a
new system of government coaches, in connexion with the Post-Office,
carrying the mails, and also a regulated nnmher of passengers, \vith
clock-work precision, at a rate of comparative speed, which he hoped
should ultimately be not less than ten miles an hour, The opposition
to the scheme was, of course, enormous; coach -proprietors, inn-
keepers, the Post-Office officials themselves, were all against Mr.
Palmer ; he was voted a crazy enthusiast and a public bore. Pitt,
however, when the scheme was submitted to him, recognised its
feasibility ; on the 8th of August 1784 the first mail-coach on Mr,
Palmer's plan started from London at 8 o'clock in the morning and
reached Bristol at 11 o'clock at night ; and from that day the success
of the new system was assured. Mr. Palmer himself, having been ap-
pointed Surveyor and Comptroller-General of the Post-Office, took rank
as an eminent and wealthy public man, M.P. for Bath and what not,
and lived till 1818. De Quincey makes it one of his distinctions that
he "had married the daughter of a duke " ; and in a footnote to that
paragraph he gives the lady's name as "Lady Madeline Gordon."
From an old Debrett, however, I learn that Lady Madelma Gordon,
second daughter of Alexander, fourth Duke of Gordon, was first
married, on the 3d of April 1789, to Sir Robert Sinclair, Bart., and
next, on the 25th of November 1805, to OJiurles Palmer, o/Lockley
Park, Berfa, Esq. If Debrett is right, her second husband was not
the John Palmer of Mail-Coach celebrity, and De Quincey is wrong,
M.

1 " The saim thing" : Thus, in the calendar of the Church Festi-
vals, the discovery of the true cross (by Helen, the mother of
Constantine) is recorded (and, one might think, with the express
consciousness of sarcasm) as the Invention of the Cross.

272 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

through, the conscious presence of a central intellect, that, in
the midst of vast distances 1 of storms, of darkness, oi
danger overruled all obstacles into one steady co-operation
to a national result. For my own feeling, this post-office
service spoke as by some mighty orchestra, where a thousand
instruments, all disregarding each other, and so far in danger
of discord, yet all obedient as slaves to the supreme baton of
some great leader, terminate in a perfection of harmony like
that of heart, brain, and lungs in a healthy animal organisa-
tion. But, finally, that particular element in this whole
combination which most impressed myself, and through
which it is that to this hour Mr. Palmer's mail-coach system
tyrannises over my dreams by terror and terrific beauty, lay in
the awful political mission which at that time it fulfilled. The
mail-coach it was that distributed over the face of the land,
like the opening of apocalyptic vials, the heart-shaking news
of Trafalgar, of Salamanca, of Vittoria, of Waterloo. 2 These
were the harvests that, in the grandeur of their reaping, re-
deemed the tears and blood in which they had been sown.
Neither was the meanest peasant so much below the grandeur
and the sorrow of the times as to confound battles such
as these, which were gradually moulding the destinies of
Christendom, with the vulgar conflicts of ordinary warfare,
so often no more than gladiatorial trials of national prowess.
The victories of England in this stupendous contest lose of
themselves as natural Te Denims to heaven ; and it was felt
by the thoughtful that such victories, at such a ciisis of
general prostration, were not more beneficial to ourselves
than finally to France, our enemy, and to the nations of all
western or central Europe, through whose pusillanimity it
was that the French domination had prospered.

The mail-coach, as the national organ for publishing these
mighty events, thus diffusively influential, became itself a
spiritualised and glorified object to an impassioned heart ;

1 " Vast distances " : One case was familar to mail-coach travellers
where two mails in opposite directions, noith and south, starting at
the same minute from points six hundred miles apart, met almost con-
stantly at a particular bridge which bisected the total distance.

2 Battle of Trafalgar, Nelson's last victory, 21st October 1805 ;
Battle of Salamanca, 22d July 1812 ; Battle of Vittoria, 21st June
1813 ; Battle of Waterloo, 18th June 1815- M,

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 273

and naturally, in tlie Oxford of that day, all hearts were im-
passioned, as being all (or nearly all) in early manhood. In
most universities there is one single college ; in Oxford there
were five-and-twenty, all of which were peopled by young
men, the elite of their own generation ; not boys, but men :
none under eighteen. In some of these many colleges the
custom permitted the student to keep what are called "short
terms 53 ; that is, the four terms of Michaelmas, Lent, Easter,
and Act, were kept by a residence, in the aggregate, of
ninety-one days, or thirteen weeks. Under this interrupted
residence, it was possible that a student might have a reason
for going down to his home four times in the year. This
made eight journeys to and fro. But, as these homes lay
dispersed through all the shires of the inland, and most of us
disdained all coaches except his majesty's mail, no city out of
Ijondon could pretend to so extensive a connexion with Mr.
Palmer's establishment as Oxford. Three mails, at the least,
I remember as passing every day through Oxford, and bene-
fiting by my personal patronage viz. the Worcester, the
Gloucester, and the Holyliead mail. Naturally, therefore, it
became a point of some interest with us, whose journeys
revolved every six \\ eeks on an average, to look a little into
the executive details of the system. With some of these Mr,
Palmer had no concern ; they rested upon bye-laws enacted
by posting-houses for their own benefit, and upon other bye-
laws, equally stem, enacted by the inside passengers for the
illustration of thuir own haughty excluaivcnesa. These la&t
were of a nature to rouse our scorn j from ^ Inch the tran-
sition was not very long to systematic mutiny. Up to this
time, say 1804, or 1805 (the year of Trafalgar), it had been
the fixed assumption of the four inside people (as an old
tradition of all public carriages derived from the reign of
Charles II) that they, the illustrious quaternion, constituted
a porcelain variety of the human race, whose dignity would
have been compromised by exchanging one word of civility
with the three mibeiable delf-ware outsides. Even to have
kicked an outsider might have bcim hold to attaint the foot
concerned in that operation, so that, perhupp, it would have
required an act of Parliament to icstore its purity of blood.
What words, then, could express the horror, and the sense of

VOL XIII T

274 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

treason, in that case, which had happened, where all three
outsides (the trinity of Pariahs l ) made a vain attempt to sit
down at the same breakfast-table or dinner-table with the
consecrated four 1 I myself witnessed such an attempt ; and
on that occasion a henevolent old gentleman endeavoured to
soothe his three holy associates, by suggesting that, if
the outsides were indicted for this criminal attempt at
the next assizes, the court would regard it as a case
of lunacy or delirium tremens rather than of treason. Eng-
land owes much of her grandeur to the depth of the
aristocratic element in her social composition, when pulling
against her strong democracy, I am not the man to laugh
at it. But sometimes, undoubtedly, it expressed itself in
comic shapes. The course taken with the infatuated out-
siders, in the particular attempt which I have noticed, was
that the waiter, beckoning them away from the privileged
salle-a-wiwger, sang out, " This way, my good men," and then
enticed these good men away to the kitchen. But that plan
had not always answered. Sometimes, though rarely, cases
occurred where the intruders, being stronger than usual, or
more vicious than usual, resolutely refused to budge, and so
far carried their point as to have a separate table arranged
for themselves in a corner of the general room. Yet, if an
Indian screen could be found ample enough to plant them
out from the very eyes of the high table, or dais, it then be-
came possible to assume as a fiction of law that the three
delf fellows, after all, were not present. They could be
ignored by the porcelain men, under the maxim that objects
not appearing and objects not existing are governed by the
same logical construction. 2

Such being, at that time, the usage of mail-coaches, what
was to be done by us of young Oxford? We, the most
aristocratic of people, who were addicted to the practice of
looking down superciliously even upon the insides themselves
as often very questionable characters were we, by voluntarily

1 This word Panah for " social outcast " (from the name of the
lowest of the Hindoo ranks) was a favourite word in De Quincey's
vocabulary, for which he often found very serious use. M.

2

fadem est tee],

THE ENGLISH MAIkCOAOH 275

going outside, to court indignities ? If our dress and bearing
sheltered us generally from the suspicion of being "raff' 11
(the name at that period for " snobs " *), we really were such
constructively by the place we assumed. If we did not
submit to the deep shadow of eclipse, we entered at least the
skirts of its penumbra. And the analogy of theatres was
valid against us, where no man can complain of the
annoyances incident to the pit or gallery, having his instant
remedy in paying the higher price of the boxes. But the
soundness of this analogy we disputed, In the case of the
theatre, it cannot be pretended that the inferior situations
have any separate attractions, unless the pit may be supposed
to have an advantage for the purposes of the critic or
the dramatic reporter. But the critic or reporter is a
rarity. For most people, the sole benefit is in the price.
Now, on the contrary, the outside of the mail had its own
incommunicable advantages. These we could not forgo.
The higher price we would willingly have paid, tut not the
price connected with the condition of riding inside ; which
condition we pronounced insufferable. The air, the freedom
of prospect, the proximity to the horses, the elevation of seat :
these were what we required; but, above all, the certain
anticipation of purchasing occasional opportunities of driving.

Such was the difficulty which pressed us ; and under the
coercion of this difficulty we instituted a searching inquiry
into the true quality and valuation of the different apart-
ments about the mail. We conducted this inquiry on meta-
physical principles ; and it was ascertained satisfactorily
that the roof of the coach, which "by some weak men had been
called the attics, and by some the garrets, was in reality the
drawing-room ; in which drawing-room" the box was the chief
ottoman or sofa ; whilst it appeared that the inside, which
had been traditionally regarded as the only room tenantable
by gentlemen, was, in fact," the coal-cellar in disguise.

Great wits jump. The very same idea had not long

1 "Snobs" and its antithesis, "nobs" arose among the internal
factions of shoemakeis perhaps ten years later. Possibly enough, the
terms may have existed much earlier ; but they were then first made
known, picturesquely and effectively, by a trial at some assizes which
happened, to fix the public attention.

276 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

before struck the celestial intellect of China. Amongst the
presents carried out by our first embassy to that country was
a state-coach. It had been specially selected as a personal
gift by George III ; but the exact mode of using it was an
intense mystery to Pekin, The ambassador, indeed (Lord
Macartney), had made some imperfect explanations upon this
point ; but, as His Excellency communicated these in a
diplomatic whisper at the very moment of his departure, the
celestial intellect was very feebly illuminated, and it became
necessary to call a cabinet council on the grand state question,
"Where was the Emperor to sit?" The hammer -cloth
happened to be unusually gorgeous ; and, partly on that con-
sideration, but partly also because the box offered the most
elevated seat, was nearest to the moon, and undeniably went
foremost, it was resolved by acclamation that the box was
the imperial throne, and, for the scoundrel who drove, lie
might sit where he could find a perch. The horses, there-
fore, being harnessed, solemnly his imperial majesty ascended
his new English throne under a flourish of trumpets, having
the first lord of the treasury on his right hand, and the chief
jester on his left. Pekin gloried in the spectacle ; and in
the whole flowery people, constructively present by repre-
sentation, there was but one discontented person, and that
was the coachman. This mutinous individual audaciously
shouted, " Where am I to sit ?" But the privy council, in-
censed by his disloyalty, unanimously opened the door, and
kicked him into the inside. He had all the inside places to
himself ; but such is the rapacity of ambition that he was
still dissatisfied. "I say," he cried out in an extempore
petition addressed to the Emperor through the window
" I say, how am I to catch hold of the reins 1 '' " Anyhow,"
was the imperial answer; "don't trouble we, man, in my
glory. How catch the reins ? Why, through the windows,
through the keyholes anyhow." Finally this contumacious
coachman lengthened the check-strings into a sort of jury-
reins communicating with the horses ; with these he drove
as steadily as Pekin had any right to expect. The Emperor
returned after the briefest of circuits ; he descended in great
pomp from his throne, with the severest resolution never to
remoiint it. A public thanksgiving was ordered for his

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 277

majesty's happy escape from the disease of broken neck ;
and the state-coach was dedicated thenceforward as a votive
offering to the god Fo Fo whom the learned more
accurately called Pi la 1

A revolution of this same Chinese character did young
Oxford of that era effect in the constitution of mail-coach
society, It was a perfect French Revolution ; and we had
good reason tu say, $a ira. 2 In fact, it soon became too
popular. The " public" a well-known character, particularly
disagreeable, though slightly respectable, and notorious for
affecting the chief seats in synagogues had at first loudly
opposed this revolution ; but, when the opposition showed
itself to be ineffectual, our disagreeable friend went into it
with headlong zeal. At first it was a sort of race between
us ; and, as the public is usually from thirty to fifty years
old, naturally we of young Oxford, that averaged about
twenty, had the advantage, Then the public took to bribing,
giving fees to horse-keepers, &c., who hired out their persons
as warming -pans on the box-seat. That, you know, was
shocking to all moral sensibilities. Come to bribery, said
we, and there is an end. to all morality, Aristotle's, Zeno's,
Cicero's, or anybody's. And, besides, of what use was it ?
For we bribed also. And, as our bribes, to those of the
public, were as five shillings to sixpence, here again young
Oxford had the advantage. But the contest was ruinous to
the principles of the stables connected with the mails. This
whole corporation was constantly bribed, rebribed, and often
sur-rebribed ; a mail-coach yard was like the hustings in a
contested election ; and a horse-keeper, ostler, or helper, was
held by the philosophical at that time to be the most corrupt
character in the nation

There was an impression upon the public mind, natural
enough from the continually augmenting velocity of the
mail, but quite erroneous, that an outside seat on this class
of carriages was a post of danger. On the contrary, I niain-

1 This paragraph is a caricature of a story told iu Staunton's
Account of the Earl of Macartney's Embassy to China in 1792. M.

2 QQ, ira ("This will do," "This is the go"), a proverb of the
French Revolutionists when they were hanging the aristocrats in the
streets, '&c., and the burden of one of the popular revolutionary songs
" Qa ira, ^ ira, a ira " -M.

278 TALES AN]) PKOSE PHANTASIES

tained that, if a man had become nervous from some gipsy
prediction in his childhood, allocating to a particular moon
now approaching some unknown danger, and he should
inquire earnestly, " Whither can I fly for shelter ? Is a
prison the safest retreat ? or a lunatic hospital 1 or the
British Museum 1 '* I should have replied, " Oh no ; I'll
tell you what to do. Take lodgings for the next forty days
on the box of his majesty's mail. Nobody can touch 'you
there. If it is by bills at ninety days after date that you
are made unhappy if uoters and protesters are the sort of
wretches whose astrological shadows darken the house of life
then note you what I vehemently protest : viz. that, no
matter though the sheriff and under-sheriff in every county
should be running after you with his posae, touch a hair of
your head he cannot whilst you keep house and have your
legal domicile on the box of the mail It is felony to stop
the mail ; even the sheriff cannot do that. And an extra
touch of the whip to the leaders (no great matter if it grazes
the sheriff) at any time guarantees your safety." In fact, a
bedroom in a quiet house seems a safe enough retreat ; yet
it is liable to its own notorious nuisances to robbers by night,
to rats, to fire. But the mail laughs at these terrors. To
robbers, the ans\ver is packed up and ready for delivery in
the barrel of the guard's blunderbuss. Rats again ! there
are none about mail-coaches, any more than snakes in Von
Troil's Iceland l j except, indeed, now and then a parlia-
mentary rat, who always hides his shame in what I have
shown to be the " coal-cellar." And, as to fire, I never knew
but one in a mail-coach ; which was in the Exeter mail, and
caused by an obstinate sailor bound to Devonport. Jack,
making light of the law and the lawgiver that had set their
faces against his offence, insisted on taking up a forbidden
seat 2 in the rear of the roof, from which he could exchange

1 " Von Troil's Iceland " : The allusion is to a well-known chapter
m Von Troil's work, entitled, " Concerning the Snakes of Iceland."
The entire chapter consists of these six words " There are no snakes
in Iceland"

2 " Forbidden seat" .The very sternest code of rules was enforced
upon the mails by the Post-office. Throughout England, only three
outsides were allowed, of whom one was to sit on the box, and the
other two immediately behind the box ; none, under any pretext, to

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 27$

his own yarns with those of the guard. No greater offence
was then known to mail-coaches ; it was treason, it \\ as hem
majestas, it was by tendency arson ; and the ashes of Jack's
pipe, falling amongst the straw of the hinder boot, containing
the mail-bags, raised a flame which (aided by the wind of
our motion) threatened a revolution in the republic of letters,
Yet even this left the sanctity of the box unviolated. In
dignified repose, the coachman and myself sat on, resting
with benign composure upon our knowledge that the fire
would have to burn its way through four inside passengers
before it could reach ourselves. I remarked to tHe coach-
man, with a quotation from Virgil's MM really too
hackneyed

" Jam proxunus ardet
Ucalegou. "

But, recollecting that the Virgilian part of the coachman's
education might have been neglected, I interpreted so far as
to say that perhaps at that moment the flames were catching
hold of our worthy brother and inside passenger, TJcalegon.
The coachman made no answer, which is my own way
when a stranger addresses me either in Syriac or in Coptic ;
but by his faint sceptical smile he seemed to insinuate that
he knew better, for that Ucalegon, as it happened, was not
in the way-bill, and therefore could not have been booked.

No dignity is perfect which does not at some point ally
itself with the mysterious, The connexion of the mail with

come near the guard ; an indispensable caution ; since else, under the
guise of a passenger, a robber might by any one of a thousand advan-
tageswhich sometimes are created, but always are favoured, by the
animation of frank social intercourse have disarmed the guard.
Beyond the Scottish border, the regulation was so far relaxed as to
allow dfour ontsides, but not relaxed at all as to the mode of placing
them. One, as before, was seated on the box, and the other three on
the front of the roof, with a determinate and ample separation from
the little insulated chair of the guard. This relaxation was conceded
by way of compensating to Scotland her disadvantages in point of
population. England, by the superior density of her population,
might always count upon a large fund of profits in the fractional trips
of chance passengers riding for short distances of two or three stages. In
Scotland this chance counted for much less. And therefore, to make ,
good the deficiency, Scotland was allowed a compensatory profit npon

280 TALES AND THOSE PHANTASIES

the state and the executive, government a connexion obvious,
but yet not strictly defined gave to the whole mail establish-
ment an official grandeur which did us service on the roads,
and invested us with seasonable terrors. Not the less im-
pressive were those terrors because their legal limits were
imperfectly ascertained Look at those turnpike gates: with
what deferential hurry, with what an obedient start, they
fly open at our approach ' Look at that long line of carts
and carters ahead, audaciously usurping the very crest of the
road, Ah ! traitors, they do not hear us as yet ; but, as
soon as the dreadful blast of our horn reaches them with
proclamation of our approach, see with what frenzy of trepida-
tion they fly to their horses' heads, and deprecate our wrath
by the precipitation of their crane-neck quarterings. Treason
they feel to be their crime ; each individual carter feels him-
self under the ban of confiscation and attainder ; Ins blood is
attainted through six generations ; and nothing is wanting
but the headsman and his axe, the block and the sawdust,
to close up the vista of his horrors. What ! shall it be
within benefit of clergy to delay the king's message on the
high road ' to interrupt the great respirations, ebb and
flood, systole and diastole, of the national intercourse? to
endanger the safety of tidings running day and night between
all nations and languages ? Or can it be fancied, amongst
the weakest of men, that the bodies of the criminals will be
given up to their widows for Christian burial 1 Now, the
doubts which were raised as to our powers did more to wrap
them in terror, by wrapping them in uncertainty, than could
have been effected by the sharpest definitions of the law
from the Quarter Sessions. We, on our parts (we, the col-
lective mail, I mean), did our utmost to exalt the idea of
our privileges by the insolence with which we wielded them,
Whether this insolence rested upon law that gave it a sanc-
tion, or upon conscious power that haughtily dispensed with
that sanction, equally it spoke from a potential station ; and
the agent, in each particular, insolence of the moment, was
viewed reverentially, as one having authority.

Sometimes after breakfast his majesty's mail would become
frisky ; and, in its difficult wheelings amongst the intricacies
of early markets, it would upset an apple-cart, a cart loaded

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 281

with eggs, &c. Huge was the affliction and dismay, awful
was the smash. I, as far as possible, endeavoured in such a
case to represent the conscience and moral sensibilities of the
mail ; and, when wildernesses of eggs were lying poached
under our horses' hoofs, then would I stretch forth my
hands in sorrow, saying (in words too celebrated at that time,
from the false echoes 1 of Marengo), "Ah! wherefore have
we not time to weep over you ? " which was evidently im-
possible, since, in fact, we had not time to laugh over them.
Tied to post-office allowance in some cases of fifty minutes
for eleven miles, could the royal mail pretend to undertake
the offices of sympathy and condolence 1 Could it be ex-
pected to provide tears for the accidents of the road? If
even it seemed to trample on humanity, it did so, I felt, in
discharge of its own more peremptory duties.

Upholding the morality of the mail, a fortiori I upheld
its rights ; as a matter of duty, I stretched to the uttermost
its privilege of imperial precedency, and astonished weak
minds by the feudal powers which I hinted to be lurking
constructively in the charters of this proud establishment.
Once I remember being on the box of the Holyhead mail,
between Shrewsbury and Oswestry, when a tawdry thing
from Birmingham, some "Tallyho" or "Highflyer," all
flaunting with green and gold, came up alongside of us.
What a contrast to our royal simplicity of form and colour
m this plebeian \\retch ! The single ornament on our dark
ground of chocolate colour was the mighty shield of the im-
perial arms, but emblazoned in proportions as modest as a
signet-ring bears to a seal of office. Even this was displayed
only on a single panel, whispering, rather than proclaiming,
our relations to the mighty state ; whilst the beast from
Birmingham, our green-and-gold friend from false, fleeting,
perjured Brummagem, had as much writing and painting on
its sprawling flanks as would have puzzled a decipherer from

1 "False echoes " : Yes, false ' for the words ascribed to Napoleon,
as breathed to the memory of Desaix, never were tittered at all. They
stand in the same category of theatrical fictions as the cry of the
foundering line-of-battle ship Venyeur, as the vaunt of General Cam-
bronne at Waterloo, " La Garde mewrt, mate ne $e rend pas" or as the
repartees of Talleyrand.

282 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

tlie tombs of Luxor. For some time this Birmingham
machine ran along by our side a piece of familiarity that
already of itself seemed to me suffici eiitly j acobinical. But all
at once a movement of the horses announced a desperate in-
tention of leaving us behind. " Do you see that 1 " I said to
the coachman. "I see," was his short answer. He was
wide awake, yet he waited longer than seemed prudent ;
for the horses of our audacious opponent had a disagreeable
air of freshness and power. But his motive was loyal ; his
wish was that the Birmingham conceit should be full-blown
before he froze it When fhtit seemed right, he unloosed, or,
to speak by a stronger word, he sprang, his known resources .
he slipped our royal horses like cheetahs, or hunting-leopards,
after the affrighted game. How they could retain such a
reserve of fiery power after the work they had accomplished
seemed hard to explain. But on our side, besides the
physical superiority, was a tower of moral strength, namely
the king's name, "which they upon the adverse faction
wanted." Passing them without an effort, as it seemed, we
threw them into the rear with so lengthening an interval
between us as proved in itself the bitterest mockery of their
presumption ; whilst our guard blew back a shattering blast
of triumph that was really too painfully full of derision.

I mention this little incident for its connexion with what
followed. A Welsh rustic, sitting behind me, asked if I had
not felt iny heart burn within me during the progress of the
race ? I said, with philosophic calmness, No ; because we
were not racing with a mail, so that no glory could be
gained. In fact, it was sufficiently mortifying that such a
Birmingham thing should dare to challenge us. The Welsh-
man replied that he didn't see that , for that a cat might
look at a king, and a Brummagem coach might lawfully race
the Holyhead mail. "Race us, if you like," I replied,
" though even that has an air of sedition ; but not hat us.
This would have been treason ; and for its own sake I am
glad that the ' Tallyho ' was disappointed." So dissatisfied
did the Welshman seem with this opinion that at last I was
obliged to tell him a very fine story from one of our elder
dramatists : viz. that once, in some far oriental kingdom,
when the sultan of all the land, with his princes, ladies, and

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 283

chief onirahs, were flying their falcons, a hawk suddenly
flew at a majestic eagle, and, in defiance of the eagle's natural
advantages, in contempt also of the eagle's traditional royalty,
and before the whole assembled field of astonished spectators
from Agra and Lahore, killed the eagle on the spot. Amaze-
ment seized the sultan at the unequal contest, and burning
admiration for its unparalleled result. He commanded that
the hawk should be brought before him ; he caressed the
bird with enthusiasm ; and he ordered that, for the com-
memoration of his matchless courage, a diadem of gold and
rubies should be solemnly placed on the hawk's head, but
then that, immediately after this solemn coronation, the bird
should be led off to execution, as the most valiant indeed of
traitors, but not the less a traitor, as having dared to rise
rebelliously against his liege lord and anointed sovereign, the
eagle, " Now," said I to the Welshman, " to you and me,
as men of refined sensibilities, how painful it would have
been that this poor Brummagem brute, the ' Tallyho/ m the
impossible case of a victory over us, should have been
crowned with Birmingham tinsel, with paste diamonds and
Roman pearls, and then led off to instant execution." The
Welshman doubted if that could be warranted by law. And,
when I hinted at the 6th of Edward Longshanks, chap. 1 8,
for regulating the precedency of coaches, as being probably
the statute relied on for the capital punishment of such
offences, he replied drily that, if the attempt to pass a mail
really were treasonable, it was a pity that the " Tallyho ;>
appeared to have so imperfect an acquaintance with law.

The modern modes of travelling cannot compare with
the old mail-coach system in grandeur and power. They
boast of more velocity, not, however, as a consciousness,
but as a fact of our lifeless knowledge, resting upon alien
evidence : as, for instance, because somebody says that we
have gone fifty miles in the hour, though we are far from
feeling it as a personal experience ; or upon the evidence of
a result, as that actually we find ourselves in York four hours
after leaving London. Apart from such an assertion, or such
a result, I myself am little aware of the pace. But, seated
on the old mail-coach, we needed no evidence out of ourselves
to indicate the velocity. On this system the word was not

284 TALES AND PROBE PHANTASIES

mtigrut loquimur, as upon railways, but vimnms Yes,
" magna vivimitA " ; we do not make veibal ostentation of
our grandeurs, we realise our grandeurs in act, and in the
very experience of life The vital experience of the glad
animal sensibilities made doubts impossible on the question
of our speed ; we heard our speed, we saw it, we felt it as
a thrilling; and this speed was not the product of blind
insensate agencies, that had no sympathy to give, but was
incarnated in the fiery eyeballs of the noblest amongst brutes,
in his dilated nostril, spasmodic muscles, and thunder-beating
hoofs. The sensibility of the horse, uttering itself in the
maniac light of his eye, might be the last vibration of such
a movement; the glory of Salamanca might be the first.
But the intervening links that connected them, that spread
the earthquake of battle into the eyeball of the horse, were
the heart of man and its dectric thrillings kindling in the
rapture of the fiery strife, and then propagating its own
tumults by contagious shouts and gestures to the heart of his
servant the horse. But now, on the new system of travelling,
iron tubes and boilers have disconnected man's heart from the
ministers of his locomotion, Nile nor Trafalgar has power
to raise an extra bubble in a steam-kettle. The galvanic
cycle is broken up for ever ; man's imperial nature no longer
sends itself forward through the electric sensibility of the
horse ; the inter-agencies are gone in the mode of communi-
cation between the horse and his master out of which grew
so many aspects of sublimity under accidents of mists that
hid, or sudden blazes that revealed, of mobs that agitated, or
midnight solitudes that awed. Tidings fitted to convulse all
nations must henceforwards travel by culinary process ; and
the trumpet that once announced from afar the laurelled
mail, heart-shaking when heard screaming on the wind and
proclaiming itself through the darkness to every village or
solitary house on its route, has now given way for ever to
the pot- wallopings of the boiler. Thus have perished multi-
form openings for public expressions of interest, scemcal
yet natural, in great national tidings, for revelations of
ifaces and groups that could not offer themselves amongst
the fluctuating mobs of a railway station. The gatherings
of gazers about a laurelled mail had one centre, an<J

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 2SS

acknowledged one sole interest. But the crowds attending
at a railway station have as little unity as running water,
and own as many centres as there are separate caniages in
the train.

How else, for example, than as a constant watcher for the
dawn, and for the London mail that in summer months
entered about daybreak amongst the lawny thickets of
Marlborough forest, couldst thou, sweet Fanny of the Bath
road, have become the glorified inmate of my dreams ?
Yet Fanny, as the loveliest young woman for face and person
that perhaps in my whole life I have beheld, merited the
station which even now, from a distance of forty years, she
holds in my dreams ; yes, though by links of natural asso-
ciation she brings along with her a troop of dreadful creatures,
fabulous and not fabulous, that are more abominable to the
heart than Fanny and the dawn are delightful.

Miss Fanny of the Bath road, strictly speaking, lived at
a mile's distance from that road, but came so continually to
meet the mail that I on my frequent transits rarely missed
her, and naturally connected her image with the great
thoroughfare where only I had ever seen her. Why she
came so punctually I do not exactly know ; but I believe
\vith some burden of commissions, to be executed m Bath,
which had gathered to her own residence as a central
rendezvous for converging them. The mail-coachman who
drove the Bath mail and wore the royal livery l happened
to be Fanny's grandfather. A good maii he was, that loved
his beautiful granddaughter, and, loving her wisely, was
vigilant over her deportment in tiny case where young
Oxford might happen to be concerned. Did my vanity
then suggest that I mysolf, individually, could fall within

1 " Wvfetfie royal lively": The general impression was that the
royal livery belonged of right to the mail-coachmen as their profes-
sional dress. But that was an error, To the guard it did belong, I
believe, and was obviously essential as an official warrant, and as a
means of instant identification for his peison, in the discharge of his
important public duties. But the coachman, and especially if his.
place in the series did not connect him immediately with London
and the General Post-Olh'ce, obtained the scarlet coat only as an
houoiary distinction after long (or, if not long, trying and special)
service.

286 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

the line of his terrors' Certainly not, as regarded anj
physical pretensions that I could plead ; for Fanny (as a
chance passenger from her own neighbourhood once told me)
counted in her train a hundred and ninety-nine professed
admirers, if not open aspirants to her favour ; and probably
not one of the whole brigade but excelled myself in per-
sonal advantages. Ulysses even, with the unfair advantage
of his accursed bow, could hardly have undertaken that
amount of suitors. So the danger might have seemed slight
only that woman is universally aristocratic ; it is amongst
her nobilities of heart that she is so. Now, the aristocratic
distinctions in my favour might easily with Miss Fanny
have compensated my physical deficiencies. Did I then
make love to Fanny 1 Why, yes ; about as much love as
one could make whilst the mail was changing horses a
process which, ten years later, did not occupy above eighty
seconds ; but then, viz. about Waterloo it occupied five
times eighty. Now, four hundred seconds offer a field quite
ample enough for whispering into a young woman's ear a
great deal of truth, and (by way of parenthesis) some trifle
of falsehood. Grandpapa did right, therefore, to watch me.
And yet, as happens too often to the grandpapas of earth in
a contest with the admirers of granddaughters, how vainly
would he have watched me had I meditated any evil whispers
to Fanny ! She, it is my belief, would have protected
herself against any man's evil suggestions. But he, as the
result showed, could not have intercepted the opportunities
for such suggestions. Yet, why not ? Was he not active ?
Was he not blooming ? Blooming he was as Fanny herself.

" Say, all our praises why should lords "

Stop, that's not the line.

" Say, all our roses why should girls engross ? "

The coachman showed rosy blossoms on his face deeper even
than his granddaughter's his being drawn from the ale-cask,
Fanny's from the fountains of the dawn. But, in spite of
his blooming face, some infirmities he had ; and one particu-
larly in which he too much resembled a crocodile. This lay
in a monstrous inaptitude for turning round, The crocodile,

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 287

I presume, owes that inaptitude to the absurd length of his
back ; but in our grandpapa it arose rather from the absurd
breadth of his back; combined, possibly, with some growing
stiffness in his legs. Now, upon this crocodile infirmity of
his I planted a human advantage for tendering my homage
to Miss Fanny. In defiance of all his honourable vigilance,
no sooner had he presented to us his mighty Jovian back
(what a field for displaying to mankind his royal scarlet !),
whilst inspecting professionally the buckles, the straps, and
the silvery turrets 1 of his harness, than I raised Miss
Fanny's hand to my lips, and, by the mixed tenderness and
respectfulness of my manner, caused her easily to under-
stand how happy it would make me to rank upon her list
as No. 10 or 12; in which case a few casualties amongst
her lovers (and, observe, they hanged liberally in those days)
might have promoted me speedily to the top of the tree ;
as, on the other hand, with how much loyalty of submission
I acquiesced by anticipation in her award, supposing that she
should plant me in the very rearward of her favour, as
No. 199 + 1. Most truly I loved this beautiful and ingenu-
ous girl ; and, had it not been for the Bath mail, timing all
courtships by post-office allowance, heaven only knows what
might have come of it. People talk of being over head
and ears in love ; now, the mail was the cause that I sank
only over ears in love, which, you know, still left a trifle
of brain to overlook the whole conduct of the affair.

Ah, reader ! when I look back upon those days, it seems
to me that all things change all things perish. " Perish
the roses and the palms of kings " : perish even the crowns
and trophies of Waterloo : thunder and lightning are not the
thunder and lightning which I remember. Roses are de-

" -As one who loves and venerates Chaucer for his
unrivalled merits of tenderness, of picturesque characterisation, and
of narrative skill, I noticed with great pleasure that the word torrettes
is used by him to designate the little devices through which the reins
are made to pass ["torettz fyled rounde" occurs in line 1294 of the
Knightes Tale', where, however, the reference is not to horse-
trappings. M.] This same word, in the same exact sense, I heard
uniformly used by many scores of illustrious mail-coachmen to whose
confidential friendship I had the honour of being admitted in my

288 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

generating. The Fannies of our island though this I sav
with reluctance are not visibly improving ; and the Bath
Road is notoriously superannuated. Crocodiles, you will
say, are stationary. Mr, Waterton tells me that the croco-
dile does not change, that a cayman, in fact, or an alligator,
is just as good for riding upon as he was in the time of the
Pharaohs. That may "be ; but the reason is that the croco-
dile does not live fast he is a slow coach. I believe it is
generally understood among naturalists that the crocodile is
a blockhead. It is my own impression that the Pharaohs
were also blockheads. Now, as the Pharaohs and the croco-
dile domineered over Egyptian society, this accounts for a
singular mistake that prevailed through innumerable genera-
tions on the Nile. The crocodile made the ridiculous
blunder of supposing man to be meant chiefly for his own
eating. Man, taking a different view of the subject, natur-
ally met that mistake by another : he viewed the crocodile
as a thing sometimes to worship, but always to run away
from. And this continued till Mr. Waterton 1 changed the
relations between the animals. The mode of escaping from
the reptile he showed to be not by running away, but by
leaping on its back booted and spurred. The two animals
had misunderbtood each other. The use of the crocodile has
now been cleared up viz. to be ridden ; and the final cause
of man is that he may improve the health of the crocodile by
riding him a-foxhunting before breakfast. And it is pretty
certain that any crocodile who has been regularly hunted
through the season, and is master of the weight he carries,
will take a six-barred gate now as well as ever he would have
done in the infancy of the pyramids.

1 " Mr. Wnt&rton " Had the reader lived through the last
generation, he would not need to lie told that, some thirty or thirty-
live years hack, Mr. Wateiton, a distinguished country gentleman of
ancient family in Northumberland [Charles Waterton, naturalist, born
1782, died 1865 M,], publicly mounted and rode in top-boots a
savage old crocodile, that was restwo and very impertinent, but all
to no purpose. The crocodile jibbed and tried to kick, but vainly,
lie was no more able to tlnow the bqiure than Siubad wag to throw
the old scoundrel who used liu* back without paying for it, until he
discovered a mode (slightly unmoral, perhaps, though borne think not)
ot murdering the old fraudulent jockey, and so cucuitously of uiihoiv
ing him.

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 289

If, therefore, the crocodile does not change, all things else
undeniably do : even the shadow of the pyramids grows less.
And often the restoration in vision of Fanny and the Bath
road makes me too pathetically sensible of that truth. Out
uf the darkness, if I happen to call back the image of Fanny,
up rises suddenly from a gulf of forty years a rose in June ;
or, if I think for an instant of the rose in June, up rises the
heavenly face of Fanny. One after the other, like the anti-
phonies in the choral service, rise Fanny and the rose in
June, then back again the rose in June and Fanny. Then
come both together, as in a chorus roses and Fannies,
Fannies and roses, without end, thick as blossoms in paradise.
Then comes a venerable crocodile, in a royal livery of scarlet
and gold, with sixteen capes ; and the crocodile is driving
four-in-hand from the box of the Bath mail. And suddenly
we upon the mail are pulled up by a mighty dial, sculptured
with the hours, that mingle with the heavens and the
heavenly host. Then all at once we are arrived at Marl-
borough forest, amongst the lovely households 1 of the roe-
deer ; the deer and their fawns retire into the dewy thickets ;
the thickets are rich with roses \ once again the roses call up
the sweet countenance of Fanny ; and she, being the grand-
daughter of a crocodile, awakens a dreadful host of semi-
legendary animals griffins, dragons, basilisks, sphinxes
till at length the whole vision of fighting images crowds
into one towering armorial shield, a vast emblazonry of
human charities and human loveliness that have perished,
but quartered heraldically with unutterable and demoniac
natures, whilst over all rises, as a surmounting crest, one
fair female hand, ^ with the forefinger pointing, in sweet,
sorrowful admonition, upwards to heaven, where is sculptured
the eternal writing which proclaims the frailty of earth and
her children. 2

1 "Households" : Roe-deer do not congregate in herds like the
fallow or the red deer, but by separate families, parents and children ;
which feature of approximation to the sanctity of human hearths,
added to their comparatively miniature and graceful proportions, con-
ciliates to them an interest of peculiar tenderness, supposing even that
this beautiful creature is less characteristically impressed with the
grandeurs of savage and forest life.
1 2 This paragraph is but about one-fifth of the length of the corre-

VOL. XIII U

290 TALES AND TROSK PHANTASIES

GOING DOWN WITH VICTORY

Bat the grandest chapter of our experience within the
whole mail-coach service was on those occasions when we
went down from London with the news of victory. A

spending paragraph as it appeared originally mBlaefaoood, De Quincey's
taste having led him, on revision in 1854, to cancel the other four-
fifths as forced or inolevant. The condensation was judicious for its
particular purpose; but, as the onginal paragraph is too characteristic
to be sacrificed altogether, we reproduce it here entire in detached
form j " Perhaps, therefore, the crocodile does not change, but all
" things else do ; even the shadow of the Pyramids grows less. And
" often the restoration in vision of Fauny and the Bath road makes
" me too pathetically sensible of that truth Out of the darkness, if
' I happen to call up the image of Fanny from thirty-five years back,
" arises suddenly a rose in June ; or, if I think for an instant of a
" rose in June, np rises the heavenly face of Fanny. One after the
" other, like the antiphonies in a choral service, rises Fanny and the
" rose in June, then back again the rose in June and Fanny Then
' come both together, as in a chorus ; roses and Fannies, Fannies and
' roses, without end thick as blossoms in paradise. Then comes a
' venerable crocodile, in a royal livery of scarlet and gold, or in a
f coat with sixteen capes ; and the crocodile is driving four-in-hand
' from the box of the Bath mail. And suddenly we upon the mail
' are pulled up by a mighty dial, sculptured with the hours, and with
' the dreadful legend of Too LATE. Then all at once we are arrived
c in Marlborough forest, amongst the lovely households of the roe-
"deer: these retire into the dewy thickets ; the thickets are rich
" with roses ; the roses call up (as ever) the sweet countenance of
' Fanny, who, being the granddaughter of a crocodile, awakens a dread-
' ful host of wild semi-legendary animals griffins, dragons, basilisks,
c sphinxes till at length the whole vision of fighting images crowds
' into one towering armorial shield, a vast emblazonry of human
' charities and human loveliness that have perished, but quartered
' heraldically with unutterable horrors of monstrous and demoniac
'natures; whilst over all rises, as a surmounting crest, one fair
" female hand, with the fore-finger pointing, m sweet, sorrowful
" admonition, upwards to heaven, and having power (which, without
" experience, I never could have believed) to awaken the pathos that
tl kills, in the very bosom of the horrors that madden, the grief that
" gnaws at the heart, together with the monstrous creations of dark-
tl ness that shock the belief, and make dizzy the reason, of man. This
c< is the peculiarity that I wish the reader to notice, as having first
" been made known to me for a possibility by this early vision of
" Fanny on the Bath road. The peculiarity consisted in the conflu-
" ence of two different keys, though apparently repelling each other,
" into the music and governing principles of the same dream ; horror,
" such as possesses the maniac, and yet, by momentary transition^

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 291

period of about ten years stretched from Trafalgar to Water-
loo ; the second and third years of which period (1806 and
1807) were comparatively sterile ; but the other nine (from
1805 to 1815 inclusively) furnished a long succession of
victories, the least of which, in such a contest of Titans, had

" grief, such as may be supposed to possess the dying mother when
leaving her infant children to the mercies of the cruel. Usually,
and perhaps always, in an unshaken nervous system, these two
modes of misery exclude each other here first they met in horrid
reconciliation. There was always a separate peculiarity in the
quality of the horror. This was afterwards developed into far more
revolting complexities of misery and incomprehensible darkness ;
and perhaps I am wrong in ascribing any value as a causative
agency to this particular case on the Bath road possibly it fur-
nished merely an occasion that accidentally introduced a mode of
" horrors certain, at any rate, to have grown up, with or without the
" Bath road, from more advanced stages of the nervous derangement.
" Yet, as the cubs of tigers or leopards, when domesticated, have been
" observed to suffer a sudden development of their latent ferocity
under too eager an appeal to their playfulness the gaieties of sport
in them being too closely connected with the fiery brightness of their
c murderous instincts so I have remarked that the caprices, the gay
" arabesques, and the lively floral luxuriatious of dreams, betray a
shocking tendency to pass into finer maniacal splendours. That
'gaiety, for instance (for such at first it was), in the dreaming
' faculty, by which one principal point of resemblance to a ciocodile
in the mail-coachman way soon made to clothe him with the form
of a crocodile, and yet was blended with accessory circumstances
derived from his human functions, passed rapidly into a further
' development, no longer gay or playful, but terrific, the most terrific
1 that besieges dreams viz, the hoirid inoculation upon each other
' of incompatible natures. This horror has always been secretly felt
' by man ; it was felt even under pagan forms of religion, which
' offered a very feeble, and also a very limited, gamut for giving
' expression to the human capacities of sublimity or of horror. We
' read it iu the fearful composition, of the sphinx. The dragon,
' again, is the snake inoculated upon the scorpion. The basilisk
' unites the mysterious malice of the evil eye, unintentional on the
' part of the unhappy agent, with the intentional venom, of some
1 other malignant natures. But these horrid complexities of evil
' agency are but objectively hoirid ; they inflict the horror suitable to
' their compound nature ; but there is no insinuation that they feel
1 that horror. Heraldry is so full of these fantastic creatures that, m
' some zoologies, we find a separate chapter or a supplement dedi-
cated to what is denominated heraldic zoology. And why not '
For these hideous creatures, however visionary, have a real tradi-
" tionary ground in medieval belief sincere and partly reasonable,
"though adulterating with mendacity, blundering, credulity, and

292 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

an inappreciable value of position : partly for its absolute
interference with the plans of our enemy, but still more from
its keeping alive through central Europe the sense of a deep-
seated vulnerability in France. Even to tease the coasts of
our enemy, to mortify them by continual blockades, to insult
them by capturing if it were but a baubling schooner under
the eyes of their arrogant armies, repeated from time to time
a sullen proclamation of power lodged in one quarter to
which the hopes of Christendom turned in secret. How
much more loudly must this proclamation have spoken in
the audacity 1 of having bearded the elite of -their troops, and

4 intense superstition. But the dream -horror winch I speak of is far
' more frightful, The dreamer finds housed within himself occupy -
' mg, as it were, some separate chamber in his brain holding, per-
' haps, from that station a secret and detestable commerce with his
' own heart some horrid alien nature. What if it were his own
' nature repeated, still, if the duality were distinctly perceptible,
' even that even this mere numerical double of his own conseious-
: ness might be a curse too mighty to be sustained. But how if
( the alien nature contradicts his own, fights with it, perplexes and
' confounds it ' How, again, it not one alien nature, but two, but
' three, but four, but five, are introduced withm what once he
c thought the inviolable sanctuary of himself These, however, are
' horrors from the kingdom of anarchy and darkness, which, by their
f very intensity, challenge the sanctity of concealment, and gloomily
{ retire from exposition Yet it was necessary to mention them,
' because the first introduction to sucli appearances (whether causal
{ or merely casual) lay in the heraldic monsters, which monsters were
' themselves introduced (though playfully) by the transfigured coach-
{ man of the Bath mail." M.

1 "Audacity" : Such the French accounted it ; and it has struck
me that Soult would not have been so popular m London, at the
period of her present Majesty's coronation [28th June 1838], or in
Manchester, on occasion of his visit to that town [July 1838], if they
had been aware of the insolence with which he spoke of us in notes
written at intervals from the field of Waterloo. As though it had
been mere felony in our army to look a French one in the face, he said
in more notes than one, dated from two to four P.M. on the field of
Waterloo, "Here are the English we have them ; they are caught en
flagrant delit." Yet no man should have known us better ; no man
had drunk deeper from the cup of humiliation than Soult had in 1809j
when ejected by us with headlong violence from Oporto, and pursued
through a long line of wrecks to the frontier of Spain ; and subsequently
at Albuera, in the bloodiest of recorded battles [16th May 1811], to
say nothing of Toulouse [10th April 1814], he should have learned
our pretensions,

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 293

having beaten them in pitched battles ! Five years of life it
was worth paying down for the privilege of an outside place
on a mail-coach, when carrying down the first tidings of any
such event. And it is to be noted that, from our insular
situation, and the multitude of our frigates disposable for the
rapid transmission of intelligence, rarely did any unauthorised
rumour steal away a prelibation from the first aroma of the
regular despatches. The government news was generally the
earliest news.

From eight P.M. to fifteen or twenty minutes later imagine
the mails assembled on parade in Lombard Street ; where, at
that time, 1 and not in St. Martiris-le-Grand, was seated the
General Post-office. 2 In what exact strength we mustered I
do not remember ; but, from the length of each separate
attelage, we filled the street, thought a long one, and though
we were drawn up m double file. On any night the spec-
tacle was beautiful. The absolute perfection of all the
appointments about the carriages and the harness, their
strength, their brilliant cleanliness; their beautiful simplicity
but, more than all, the royal magnificence of the horses
were what might first have fixed the attention. Every
carriage on every morning in the year was taken down to an.
official inspector for examination : wheels, axles, linchpins,
pole, glasses, lamps, were all critically probed and tested.
Every part of every carriage had been cleaned, every horse
had been groomed, with as much rigour as if they belonged
to a private gentleman; and that part of the spectacle
offered itself always. But the night before us is a night of
victory ; and, behold ! to the ordinary display what a heart-
shaking addition ! horses, men, carriages, all are dressed in
laurels and flowers, oak-leaves and ribbons. The guards, as
being officially his Majesty's servants, and of the coachmen
such as are within the privilege of the post-office, wear the
royal liveries of course ; and, as it is summer (for all the
land victories were naturally won in summer), they wear, on
this fine evening, these liveries exposed to view, without any
covering of upper coats. Such a costume, and the elaborate

1 " At tlMt time" : I speak of the era previous to Waterloo.

2 The present General Post-office in St. Martm's-le-Graiid was
opened 23d Sept. 1829. M.

294 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

arrangement of the laurels in their hats, dilate their hearts,
by giving to them openly a personal connexion with the
great news in which already they have the general interest
of patriotism. That great national sentiment surmounts and
quells all sense of ordinary distinctions. Those passengers
who happen to be gentlemen are now hardly to be distin-
guished as such except by dress ; for the usual reserve of
their manner in speaking to the attendants has on this night
melted away. One heart, one pride, one glory, connects
every man by the transcendent bond of his national blood,
The spectators, who are numerous beyond precedent, express
their sympathy with these fervent feelings by continual
hurrahs. Every moment are shouted aloud by the post-
office servants, and summoned to draw up, the great ancestral
names of cities known to history through a thousand years
Lincoln, Winchester, Portsmouth, Gloucester, Oxford, Bristol,
Manchester, York, Newcastle, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Perth,
Stirling, Aberdeen expressing the grandeur of the empire
by the antiquity of its towns, and the grandeur of the mail
establishment by the diffusive radiation of its separate
missions. Every moment you hear the thunder of lids
locked down upon the mail -bags. That sound to each
individual mail is the signal for drawing off; winch process
is the finest part of the entire spectacle. Then come the
horses into play. Horses ! can these be horses that bound
off with the action and gestures of leopards 1 What stir !
what sea-like ferment ! what a thundering of wheels !
what a trampling of hoofs ! what a sounding of trumpets !
what farewell cheers what redoubling peals of brotherly
congratulation, connecting the name of the particular mail
" Liverpool for ever ' " with the name of the particular
victory " Badajoz for ever 1 " or " Salamanca for ever ! "
The half-slumbering consciousness that all night long, and
all the next day perhaps for even a longer period many
of these mails, like fire racing along a train of gunpowder,
will be kindling at every instant new successions of burning
joy, has an obscure effect of multiplying the victory itself, by
multiplying to the imagination into infinity the stages of its
progressive diffusion. A fiery arrow seems to be let loose,
which from that moment is destined to travel, without inter-

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 295

mission, westwards for three hundred 1 miles northwards
for six hundred ; and the sympathy of our Lombard Street
friends at parting is exalted a hundredfold by a sort of
visionary sympathy with the yet slumbering sympathies
which in so vast a succession we are going to awake.

Liberated from the embarrassments of the city, and issuing
into the broad uncrowded avenues of the northern suburbs,
we soon begin to enter upon our natural pace of ten miles an
hour. In the broad light of the summer evening, the sun,
perhaps, only just at the point of setting, we are seen from
every storey of every house. Heads of every age crowd to
the windows; young and old understand the language of

1 " Three hundred " : Of necessity, this scale of measurement, to
an American, if lie happens to he a thoughtless man, must sound
ludicrous. Accordingly, I remember a ca&e in which an American
wiiter indulges himself in the luxury of a little fibhmg, by ascribing
to an Englishman a pompous account of the Thames, constructed
entirely upon American ideas of grandeur, and concluding in some-
thing like these teims : " And, sir, arriving at London, tins mighty
father of rivers attains a breadth of at least two furlongs, having, m
its winding course, travel sed the astonishing distance of one hundred
and seventy miles." And this the candid American thinks it fair to
contrast with the scale, of the Mississippi. Now, it is hardly worth
while to answer a pure fiction gravely ; else one might say that no
Englishman out of Bedlam ever thought of looking in an island for the
rivers of a continent, nor, consequently, could nave thought of looking
for the peculiar grandeur of the Thames in the length of its course, or
in the extent of soil which it drains. Yet, if he had been so absurd,
the American might have recollected that a river, not to be compared
with the Thames even as to volume of water viz. the Tiber has con-
trived to make itself heard of in this world lor twenty-five centuries
*o an extent not reached as yet by any river, however corpulent, of
Ins own land. The glory of the Thames is measured by the destiny of
the population to which it ministers, by the commerce which it sup-
ports, by the grandeur of the empire in which, though far from the
largest, it is the most influential stream. Upon some such scale, and
not by a tiansfer of Columbian standaids, is the course of our English
mails to be valued The American may fancy the effect of his own
valuations to our English ears by supposing the case of a Siberian
glorifying his country in these terms: "These wretches, sir, in
France and England, cannot march half a mile in any direction with-
out finding a house where food can be had and lodging ; whereas
such is the noble desolation of our magnificent country that in many
a direction for a thousand miles I will engage that a dog shall not
find shelter from a snow-storm, nor a wren find au apology foi
breakfast."

296 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

our victorious symbols ; and rolling volleys of sympathising
cheers rim along us, behind us, and before us, The beggar,
rearing himself against the wall, forgets his lameness real
or assumed thinks not of his whining trade, but stands
erect, with bold exulting smiles, as we pass him. The
victory has healed him, and says, Be thou whole ! Women
and children, from garrets alike and cellars, through infinite
London, look down or look up with loving eyes upon our
gay ribbons and our martial laurels; sometimes kiss their
hands ; sometimes hang out, as signals of affection, pocket-
handkerchiefs, aprons, dusters, anything that, by catching the
summer breezes, will express an aerial jubilation. On the
London side of Barnet, to which we draw near within a few
minutes after nine, observe that private carriage which is
approaching us. The weather being so warm, the glasses are
all down ; and one may read, as on the stage of a theatre,
everything that goes on within. It contains three ladies
one likely to be " mamma," and two of seventeen or eighteen,
who are probably her daughters, What lovely animation,
what beautiful unpremeditated pantomime, explaining to us
every syllable that passes, in these ingenuous girls ! By the
sudden start and raising of the hands on first discovering
our laurelled equipage, by the sudden movement and appeal
to the elder lady from both of them, and by the heightened
colour on their animated countenances, we can almost hear
them saying, "See, see! Look at their laurels! Oh,
mamma ! there has been a great battle in Spain ; and it has
been a great victory." In a moment we are on the point of
passing them, We passengers I on the box, and the two
on the roof behind me raise our hats to the ladies ; the
coachman makes his professional salute with the whip ; the
guard even, though punctilious on the matter of his dignity
as an officer under the crown, touches his hat. The ladies
move to UP, in return, with a winning graciousness of gesture j
all smile on each side in a way that nobody could misunder-
stand, and that nothing short of a grand national sympathy
could so- instantaneously prompt. Will these ladies say that
we are nothing to them 1 Oh no ; they will not say that,
They cannot deny they do not deny that for this night
they are our sisters ; gentle or simple, scholar or illiterate

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 29?

servant* for twelve Lours to come, we on the outside have
the honour to "be their brothers. Those poor women, again,
who stop to gaze upon us with delight at the entrance of
Barnet, and seem, by their air of weariness, to be returning
from labour do you mean to say that they are washerwomen
and charwomen ? Oh, my poor friend, you are quite mis-
taken. I assure you they stand in a far higher rank ; for
this one night they feel themselves by birthright to be
daughters of England, and answer to no humbler title.

Every joy, however, even rapturous joy such is the sad
law of earth may carry with it grief, or fear of grief, to
some. Three miles beyond Barnet, we see approaching us
another private carriage, nearly repeating the circumstances
of the former case. Here, also, the glasses are all down ;
here, also, is an elderly lady seated ; but the two daughters
are missing ; for the single young person sitting by the lady's
side seems to be an attendant so I judge from her dress,
and her air of respectful reserve. The lady is in mourning ;
and her countenance expresses sorrow. At first she does not
look up ; so that I believe she is not aware of our approach,
until she hears the measured beating of our horses' hoofs,
Then she raises her eyes to settle them painfully on our
triumphal equipage. Our decorations explain the case to her
at once ; bat she beholds them with apparent anxiety, or
even with terror. Some time before this, I, finding it
difficult to hit a flying mark when embarrassed by the
coachman's person and reins intervening, had given to the
guard a Courier evening paper, containing the gazette, for
the next carriage that might pass. Accordingly he tossed
it in, so folded that the huge capitals expressing some such
legend as GLORIOUS VICTORY might catch the eye at once.
To see the paper, however, at all, interpreted as it was by
our ensigns of triumph, explained everything ; and, if the
guard were right in thinking the lady to have received it
with a gesture of horror, it could not be doubtful that she
had suffered some deep personal affliction in connexion with
this Spanisli war.

Here, now, was the case of one who, having formerly
suffered, might, erroneously perhaps, be distressing herself
with anticipations of another similar suffering. That same

m TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

night, and hardly three hours later, occurred the reverse
case. A poor woman, who too probably would find herself,
in a day or two, to have suffered the heaviest of afflictions
by the battle, blindly allowed herself co express an exultation
so unmeasured in the news and its details as gave to her the
appearance which amongst Celtic Highlanders is called 1 /^. 1
This was at some little town where we changed horses an
hour or two after midnight. Some fair or wake had kept
the people up out of their beds s and had occasioned a partial
illumination of the stalls and booths, presenting an unusual
but very impressive effect. We saw many lights moving
about as we drew near ; and perhaps the most striking scene
on the whole route was our reception at this place. The
flashing of torches and the beautiful radiance of blue lights
(technically, Bengal lights) upon the heads of our horses ;
the fine effect of such a showery and ghostly illumination
falling upon our flowers and glittering laurels 2 ; whilst all
around ourselves, that formed a centre of light, the darkness
gathered on the rear and flanks in massy blackness : these
optical splendours, together with the prodigious enthusiasm
of the people, composed a picture at once scenical and affect-
ing, theatrical and holy. As we staid for three or four
minutes, I alighted ; and immediately from a dismantled
stall in the street, where no doubt she had been presiding
through the earlier part of the night, advanced eagerly a
middle-aged woman. The sight of my newspaper it was
that had drawn her attention upon myself. The victory
which we were carrying down to the provinces on this
occasion was the imperfect one of Talavera imperfect for
its results, such was the virtual treachery of the Spanish
general, Ouesta, but not imperfect in its ever -memorable

1 Fey } fated, doomed to die : not a Celtic word, tot an Anglo-
Saxon word preserved in Lowland Scotch. " You are surely fey "
would be said in Scotland to a person observed to be in extra-
vagantly high spirits, or in any mood surprisingly beyond the bounds
of his ordinary temperament, the notion being that the excitement is
supernatural, and a presage of his approaching death or of some other
calamity about to befall him. M.

3 " Glittering laurels" : I must observe that the colour of green
suffers almost a spiritual change and exaltation under the effect of

THE ENGLISH MAIL.COACH 299

heroism. 1 I told her the main outline of the battle. The
agitation of her enthusiasm had been so conspicuous when
listening, and when first applying for information, that I
could not but ask her if she had not some relative in the
Peninsular army. Oh yes j her only son was there. In
what regiment 1 He was a trooper in the 23d Dragoons.
My heart sank within me as she made that answer. This
sublime regiment, which an Englishman should never mention
without raising his hat to their memory, had made the most
memorable and effective charge recorded in military annals.
They leaped their horses over a trench where they could ;
into it, and with the result of death or mutilation, when
they could not. What proportion cleared the trench is
nowhere stated. Those who did closed up and went down
upon the enemy with such divinity of fervour (I use the
word divinity by design ; the inspiration of God must have
prompted tins movement to those whom even then He was
calling to His presence) that two results followed. As
regarded the enemy, this 23d Dragoons, not, I believe,
originally three hundred and fifty strong, paralysed a French
column six thousand strong, then ascended the hill, and
fixed the gaze of the whole French army. As regarded
themselves, the 23d were supposed at first to have been
barely not annihilated ; but eventually, I believe, about one
in four survived. And this, then, was the regiment a
regiment already for some hours glorified and hallowed tc
the ear of all London, as lying stretched, by a large majority,
upon one bloody aceldama in which the young trooper
served whose mother was now talking in a spirit of such
joyous enthusiasm. Did I tell her the truth 1 Had I the
heart to break up her dreams ? No. To-morrow, said I to
myself to-morrow, or the next day, will publish the worst.
For one night more wherefore should she not sleep in peace ?
After to-morrow the chances are too many that peace will
forsake her pillow. This brief respite, then, let her owe to
my gift and my forbearance. But, if I told her not of the
bloody price that had been paid, not therefore was I silent

1 Battle of Talavera, in Spain, but close to the Portuguese frontier,
fought by Wellington (then Sir Arthur Wellesley) 27th and 28th
July 1809. M.

300 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

on the contributions from her son's regiment to that day's
service and glory. I showed her not the funeral banners
under which the noble regiment was sleeping. I lifted not
the overshadowing laurels from the bloody trench in which
horse and rider lay mangled together. But I told her how
these dear children of England, officers and privates, had
leaped their horses over all obstacles as gaily as hunters to
the morning's chase. I told her how they rode their horses
into the mists of death, saying to myself, but not saying to
her, "and laid down their young lives for thee, mother
England! as willingly poured out their noble blood as
cheerfully as eyer, after a long day's sport, when infants,
they had rested their wearied heads upon their mother's
knees, or had sunk to sleep in her arms." Strange it is, yet
true, that she seemed to have no fears for her son's safety,
even after this knowledge that the 23d Dragoons had been
memorably engaged ; but so much was she enraptured by the
knowledge that Us regiment, and therefore that he, had
rendered conspicuous service in the dreadful conflict a
service which had actually made them, within the last
twelve hours, the foremost topic of conversation in London
so absolutely was fear swallowed up in joy that, in the
mere simplicity of her fervent nature, the poor woman threw
her arms round my neck, as she thought of her son, and
gave to m the kiss which secretly was meant for him.

SECTION II THE VISION OF SUDDEN DEA.TH 1

What is to be taken as the predominant opinion of man,
reflective and philosophic, upon SUDDEN DEATH ? It is 're-
markable that, in different conditions of society, sudden death
has been variously regarded as the consummation of an earthly
career most fervently to be desired, or, again, as that con-
summation which is with most horror to be deprecated.
Csesar the Dictator, at his last dinner-party (ccem), on the

1 In Blachoood for December 1849 there was prefixed to this Paper
a paragraph within brackets, explaining its connexion with the preced-
ing Section, which had appeared in October, and also its connexion
with the subsequent "Dream-Fugue." See ante, p 270, footnote. M,

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 301

very evening "before his assassination, when the minutes of
his earthly career were numbered, being asked what death,
in hw judgment, might be pronounced the most eligible, re-
plied (< That which should be most sudden." On the othei
hand, the divine Litany of our English Church, when breath-
ing forth supplications, as if in some representative character,
for the whole human race prostrate before God, places such
a death in the very van of horrors : " From lightning and
tempest ; from plague, pestilence, and famine ; from battle
and murder, and from SUDDEN DEATH Good Lord, deliver us"
Sudden death is here made to crown the climax in a grand
aactjnt of calamities ; it is ranked among the last of curses ;
and yet by the noblest of Romans it was ranked as the first
of blessings. In that difference most readers will see little
more than the essential difference between Christianity and
Paganism. But this, on consideration, I doubt. The
Christian Church may be right in its estimate of sudden
death ; and it is a natural feeling, though after all it may
also be an infirm one, to wish for a quiet dismissal from life,
as that which seem most reconcilable with meditation, with
penitential retrospects, and with the humilities of farewell
prayer. There does not, however, occur to me any direct
scriptural warrant for this earnest petition of the English
Litany, unless under a special construction of the word
"sudden." It seems a petition indulged rather and con-
ceded to human infirmity than exacted from human piety.
It is not so much a doctrine built upon the eternities of the
Christian system as a plausible opinion built upon special
varieties of physical temperament, Let that, however, be as
it may, two remarks suggest themselves as prudent restraints
upon a doctrine which else may wander, and has wandered,
into an uncharitable superstition. The first is this: that
many people are likely to exaggerate the horror of a sudden
death from the disposition to lay a false stress upon words
or acts simply because by an accident they have become
final words or acts. If a man dies, for instance, by some
sudden death when he happens to be intoxicated, such a death
is falsely regarded with peculiar horror , as though the in-
toxication were suddenly exalted into a blasphemy. But
that is unphilosophic. The man was, or he was not, haUtu*

302 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

ally a drunkard. If not, if his intoxication were a solitary
accident, there can be no reason for allowing special emphasis
to this act simply because through misfortune it became his
final act. Nor, on the other hand, if it were no accident,
but one of his habitual transgressions, will it be the more
habitual or the more a transgression because some sudden
calamity, surprising him, has caused this habitual transgres-
sion to be also a final one. Could the man have had any
reason even dimly to foresee his own sudden death, there
would have been a new feature in his act of intemperance
a feature of presumption and irreverence, as in one that,
having known himself drawing near to the presence of God,
should have suited his demeanour to an expectation so awful.
But tins is no part of the case supposed. And the only new
element in the man's act is not any element of special im-
morality, but simply of special misfortune.

The other remark has reference to the meaning of the
word svd&m. Very possibly Czesar and the Christian Church
do not differ in the way supposed, that is, do not differ
by any difference of doctrine as between Pagan and Christian
views of the moral temper appropriate to death ; but per-
haps they are contemplating different cases. Both con-
template a violent death, a Btaflavaros death that is
/3touos, or, in other words, death that is brought about, not
by internal and spontaneous change, but by active force
having its origin from without. 1 In this meaning the two
authorities agree. Thus far they are in harmony. But the
difference is that the Roman by the word " sudden " means
unlingering, whereas the Christian Litany by sudden death "
means a death without warning, consequently without any
available summons to religious preparation. The poor muti-
neer who kneels down to gather into his heart the bullets
from twelve firelocks of his pitying comrades dies by a most
sudden death in Caesar's sense ; one shock, one mighty
spasm, one (possibly not one) groan, and all is over, But, in
the sense of the Litany, the mutineer's death is far from
sudden : his offence originally, his imprisonment, his trial,
the interval between his sentence and its execution, having

1 Biaios, Greek for " forcible " or " violent " :
violent death. M.

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 303

all furnished him with separate warnings of his fate having
all summoned him to meet it with solemn preparation.

Here at once, in this sharp verbal distinction, we
comprehend the i'aithful earnestness with which a holy
Christian Church pleads on behalf of her poor departing
children that God would vouchsafe to them the last great
privilege and distinction possible on a death-bed, viz. the
opportunity of untroubled preparation for facing this mighty
trial Sudden death, as a mere variety in the modes of dying
where death in some shape is inevitable, proposes a question
of choice which, equally in the Roman and the Christian
sense, will be variously answered according to each man's
variety of temperament. Meantime, one aspect of sudden
death there is, one modification, upon which no doubt can
arise, that of all martyrdoms it is the most agitating viz.
where it surprises a man under circumstances which offer (or
which seem to offer) some hurrying, flying, inappreciably
minute chance of evading it. Sudden as the danger which
it affronts must be any effort by which such an evasion can
be accomplished. Even that, even the sickening necessity
for hurrying in extremity where all hurry seems destined to
be vain, even that anguish is liable to a hideous exasper-
ation in one particular case : viz. where the appeal is made
not exclusively to the instinct of self-preservation, but to the
conscience, on behalf of some other life besides your own,
accidentally thrown upon your protection, To fail, to
collapse in a service merely your own, might seem compara-
tively venial ; though, in fact, it is far from venial But to
fail in a case where Providence has suddenly thrown into
your hands the final interests of another, a fellow- creature
shuddering between the gates of life and death : this, to a
man of apprehensive conscience, would mingle the misery
of an atrocious criminality with the misery of a bloody
calamity, You are called upon, by the case supposed,
possibly to die, but to die at the very moment when, by
any even partial failure or effeminate collapse of your
energies, you will be self-denounced as a murderer. You
had but the twinkling of an eye for your effort, and that
effort might have been unavailing ; but to have risen to
the level of such an effort would have rescued you, though

304 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

not from dying, yet from dying as a traitor to your final
and farewell duty,

The situation here contemplated exposes a dreadful ulcer,
lurking far down in the depths of human nature. It is not
that men generally are summoned to face such awful trials,
But potentially, and in shadowy outline, such a trial is mov-
ing subterraneously in perhaps all men's natures. Upon the
secret mirror of oar dreams such a trial is darkly projected,
perhaps, to every one of us. That dream, so familiar to
childhood, of meeting a lion, and, through languishing pros-
tration in hope and the energies of hope, that constant sequel
of lying down before the lion, publishes the secret frailty of
human nature reveals its deep-seated falsehood to itself-
records its abysmal treachery. Perhaps not one of us escapes
that dream ; perhaps, as by some sorrowful doom of man,
that dream repeats for every one of us, through every gen-
eration, the original temptation in Eden. Every one of us,
in this dream, has a bait offered to the infirm places of his
own individual will ; once again a snare is presented for
tempting him into captivity to a luxury of ruin ; once again,
as in aboriginal Paradise, the man falls by his own choice ;
again, by infinite iteration, the ancient earth groans to
Heaven, through her secret caves, over the weakness of her
child, " Nature, from her seat, sighing through all her
works," again "gives signs of woe that all is lost"; and
again the counter-sigh is repeated to the sorrowing heavens
for the endless rebellion against God. It is not without
probability that in the world of dreams every one of us
ratines for himself the original transgression. In dreams,
perhaps under some secret conflict of the midnight sleeper,
lighted up to the consciousness at the time, but darkened to
the memory as soon as all is finished, each several child of
our mysterious race completes for himself the treason of the
aboriginal fall.

The incident, so memorable in itself by its features of
horror, and so scenical by its grouping for the eye, which
furnished the text for this reverie upon Sudden Death,
occurred to myself in the dead of night, as a solitary spec-
tator, when seated on the box of the Manchester and Glasgow

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 305

mail, in the second or third summer after Waterloo. I find
it necessary to relate the circumstances, because they are
such as could not have occurred unless under a singular com-
bination of accidents. In those days, the oblique and lateral
communications with many rural post-offices were so arranged,
either through necessity or through defect of system, as to
make it requisite for the main north-western mail (i.e. the
down mail) on reaching Manchester to halt for a number of
hours j how many, I do not remember ; six or seven, I
think but the result was that, in the ordinary course, the
mail recommenced its journey northwards about midnight.
Wearied with the long detention at a gloomy hotel, I walked
out about eleven o'clock at night for the sake of fresh air ;
meaning to fall in with the mail and resume my seat at the
post-office. The night, however, being yet dark, as the moon
had scarcely risen, and the streets being at that hour empty,
so as to offer no opportunities for asking the road, I lost my
way, and did not reach the post-office until it was consider-
ably past midnight ; but, to my great relief (as it was im-
portant for me to be in Westmorland by the morning), I
saw in the huge saucer eyes of the mail, blazing through the
gloom, an evidence that my chance was not yet lost. Past
the time it was ; but, by some rare accident, the mail was
not even yet ready to start. I ascended to my seat on the
box, where my cloak was still lying as it had lain at the
Bridgewater Arms. I had left it there in imitation of a
nautical discoverer, who leaves a bit of bunting on the shore
of his discovery, by way of warning off the ground the whole
human race, and notifying to the Christian and the heathen
worlds, with his best compliments, that he has hoisted his
pocket-handkerchief once and for ever upon that virgin soil r
thenceforward claiming the jus dominii to the top of the
atmosphere above it, and also the right of driving shafts to
the centre of the earth below it ; so that all people found
after this warning either aloft in upper chambers of the
atmosphere, or groping in subterraneous shafts, or squatting
audaciously on the surface of the soil, will be treated aa
trespasserskicked, that is to say, or decapitated, as circum-
stances may suggest, by their very faithful servant, the
owner of the waid pojcket-handkerchief. In the present case,
VOL. xni

306 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

it is probable that my cloak might not have been respected,
and the jus gentium might have been cruelly violated in my
person for, in the dark, people commit deeds of darkness,
gas being a great ally of morality ; but it so happened that
on this night there was no other outside passenger; and
thus the crime, which else was but too probable, missed fire
for want of a criminal,

Having mounted the box, I took a small quantity of
laudanum, having already travelled two hundred and fifty
miles viz, from a point seventy miles beyond London, In
the taking of laudanum there was nothing extraordinary.
But by accident it drew upon me the special attention of my
assessor on the box, the coachman. And in that also there
was nothing extraordinary. But by accident, and with great
delight, it drew my own attention to the fact that this coach-
man was a monster in point of bulk, and that he had but one
eye. In fact, he had been foretold by Virgil as

- " Monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum."

He answered to the conditions in every one of the items :
1, a monster he was \ 2, dreadful ; 3, shapeless ; 4, huge ;
5, who had lost an eye. But why should ilwd, delight me ?
Had he been one of the Calendars in the Arabian Nights,
and had paid down his eye as the price of his criminal
curiosity, what right had I to exult in his misfortune 1 I
did not exult j I delighted in no man's punishment, though
it were even merited, But these personal distinctions (Nos.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5) identified in an instant an old friend of mine
whom I had known in the south for some years as the IriosT-
masterly of mail-coachmen. He was the man in all Europe
that could (if any could) have driven six-in-hand full gallop
over Al Sir at that dreadful bridge oi^Iahoinet^^tPD
idc battlements, and of extra room not^enou^rloTa razoA,
edge leading right across the bottomless gulf. Under this '
eminent man, whom in Greek I cognominated Cyclops -
Diphrelates (Cyclops the Charioteer), I, and others known to
me, studied the diphrelatic art. Excuse, reader, a word too
elegant to be pedantic 1 As a pupil, though I paid extra,

1 For the last two sentences the original in filackwood had these
four :" I used to call him Oydups ftfu8tigoyhant8 t Cyclops the Whip*

TEE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 307

fees, it is to be lamented that I did not stand high in his
esteem. It showed his dogged honesty (though, observe, not
his discernment) that he could not see my merits. Let us
excuse his absurdity in this particular by remembering his
want of an eye, Doubtless that made him blind to my
merits. In the art of conversation, however, he admitted
that I had the whip-hand of him. On this present occasion
great joy was at our meeting. But what was Cyclops doing
here ? Had the medical men recommended northern air, or
how 2 I collected, from such explanations as he volun-
teered, that he had an interest at state in some suit-at-law
now pending at Lancaster ; so that probably he had got him-
self transferred to this station for the purpose of connecting
with his professional pursuits an instant readiness for the
calls of his lawsuit.

Meantime, what are we stopping for ? Surely we have
now waited long enough. Oh, this procrastinating mail,
and this procrastinating post-office ! Can't they take a lesson
upon that subject from ml Some people have called me
procrastinating. Yet you are witness, reader, that I was
here kept waiting for the post-office. Will the post-office lay
its hand on its heart, in its moments of sobriety, and asseit
that ever it waited for me ? What are they about 1 The
guard tells me that there is a large extra accumulation of
foreign mails this night, owing to irregularities caused by
war, by wind, by weather, in the packet service, which as
yet does not benefit at all by steam. For an extra hour, it
seems, the post-office has been engaged in threshing out the
pure wheaten correspondence of Glasgow, and winnowing it
from the chaff of all baser intermediate towns. But at last
all is finished. Sound your horn, guard ! Manchester,
good-bye ! ; we've lost an hour by your criminal conduct at

bearer, until I observed that his skill made whips useless, except to
fetch off an impertinent fly from a leader's head ; upon which I
changed his Grecian name to Cyclops DiphriMes (Cyclops the
Charioteer). I, and others known to me, studied under him the
diphrelatic art. Excuse, reader, a word too elegant to he pedantic,
And also take this remark from me as a gage d'amtiit that no word
ever was or can lie pedantic which, by supporting a distinction, sup-
ports the accuracy of logic, or which fills up a chasm for the under.
"

308 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

the post-office : which, however, though I do not mean to
part with a serviceable ground of complaint, and one which
really is such for the horses, to me secretly is an advantage,
since it compels us to look sharply for this lost hour amongst
the next eight or nine, and to recover it (if we can) at the
rate of one mile extra per hour. Off we are at last, and at
eleven miles an hour ; and for the moment I detect no
changes in the energy or in the skill of Cyclops.

From Manchester to Kendal, which virtually (though not
in law) is the capital of Westmorland, there were at this
time seven stages of eleven miles each. The first five of
these, counting from Manchester, terminate in Lancaster;
which is therefore fifty-five miles north of Manchester, and
the same distance exactly from Liverpool. The first three
stages terminate in Preston (called, hy way of distinction
from other towns of that name, Proud Preston) ; at which
place it is that the separate roads from Liverpool and from
Manchester to the north become confluent. 1 Within these
first three stages lay the foundation, the progress, and termi-
nation of our night's adventure. During the first stage, T
found out that Cyclops was mortal : he was liable to the
shocking affection of sleep a thing which previously I had
never suspected. If a man indulges in the vicious habit of
sleeping, all the skill in aurigation of Apollo himself, with
the horses of Aurora to execute his notions, avails him nothing.
" Oh, Cyclops 1 " I exclaimed, " thou art mortal My friend,
thou snorest." Through the first eleven miles, however, this
infirmity which I grieve to say that he shared with the
whole Pagan Pantheon betrayed itself only by brief snatches.
On waking up, he made an apology for himself which, instead
of mending matters, laid open a gloomy vista of coming
disasters. The summer assizes, he reminded me, were now
goiug on at Lancaster : in consequence of which for three
nights and three days he had not lain down in a bed. During

1 " Confluent " : Suppose a capital Y (the Pythagorean letter) :
Lancaster is at the foot of this letter ; Liverpool at the top of the right
branch ; Manchester at the top of the left ; Proud Preston at the
centre, where the two branches unite. It is thirty-three miles along
either of the two branches ; it is twenty-two miles along the stem
viz. from Preston in the middle to Lancaster at the root. There's a
lesson m geography for the reader I

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 309

the day he was waiting for his own summons as a witness on
the trial in which he was interested, or else, lest he should
be missing at the critical moment, was drinking with the
other witnesses under the pastoral surveillance of the at-
torneys. During the night, OT that part of it which at sea
would form the middle watch, he was driving. This explana-
tion certainly accounted for his drowsiness, but in a way
which made it much more alarming ; since now, after several
days' resistance to this infirmity, at length lie was steadily
giving way. Throughout the second stage he grew more
and more drowsy. In the second mile of the third stage he
surrendered himself finally and without a struggle to his
perilous temptation, All his past resistance had but d eepened
the weight of tins final oppression. Seven atmospheres of
&leep rested upon him ; and, to consummate the case, our
worthy guard, after singing " Love amongst the Roses " for
perhaps thirty times, without invitation and without applause,
had in revenge moodily resigned himself to slumber not so
deep, doubtless, as the coachman's, but deep enough for
mischief. And thus at last, about ten miles from Preston,
it came about that I found myself left in charge of his
Majesty's London and Glasgow mail, then running at the
least twelve miles an hour.

What made this negligence less criminal than else it must
have been thought was the condition of the roads at night
during the assizes. At that time, all the law business of
populous Liverpool, and also of populous Manchester, with
its vast cincture of populous rural districts, was called up by
ancient usage to the tribunal of Lilliputian Lancaster. To
break up this old traditional usage required, 1, a conflict
with powerful established interests, 2, a large system of new
arrangements, and 3, a new parliamentary statute. But as
yet this change was merely in contemplation, As things
were at present, twice in the year 1 so vast a body of business
rolled northwards from the southern quarter of the county
that for a fortnight at least it occupied the severe exertions
of two judges in its despatch. The consequence of this was

1 " Twice in the year" -.There were at that time only two assizea
even in the most populous counties viz. the Lent Assizes and the
Summer Assizes.

310 TALES AND PEOSB PHANTASIES

that every liorse available for s,uch a service, along the whole
line of road, was exhausted in carrying down the multitudes
of people who were parties to the different suits. By sunsetj
therefore, it usually happened that, through utter exhaustion
amongst men and horses, the road sank into profound silence.
Except the exhaustion in the vast adjacent county of York
from a contested election, no such silence succeeding to no
auch fiery uproar was ever witnessed in England.

On this occasion the usual silence and solitude prevailed
along the road. Not a hoof nor a wheel was to be heard.
And, to strengthen this false luxurious confidence in the
noiseless roads, it happened also that the night was one of
peculiar solemnity and peace. For my own part, though
slightly alive to the possibilities of peril, I had so far yielded
to the influence of the mighty calm as to sink into a pro-
found reverie. The month was August ; in the middle of
which lay my own birthday a festival to every thoughtful
man suggesting solemn and often sigh-born 1 thoughts. The
county was my own native county upon which, in its
southern section, more than upon any equal area known to
man past or present, had descended the original curse of
labour in its heaviest form, not mastering the bodies only of
men, as of slaves, or criminals in mines, but working through
the fiery will. Upon no equal space of earth was, or ever
had been, the same energy of human power put forth daily.
At this particular season also of the assizes, that dreadful
hurricane of flight and pursuit, as it might have seemed to a
stranger, which swept to and from Lancaster all day long,
hunting the county up and down, and regularly subsiding
back into silence about sunset, could not fail (when united
with this permanent distinction of Lancashire as the very
metropolis and citadel of labour) to point the thoughts path-
etically upon that counter-vision of rest, of saintly repose
from strife and sorrow, towards which, as to their secret
haven, the profounder aspirations of man's heart are in
solitude continually travelling. Obliquely upon our left we
were nearing the sea ; which also must, under the present

1 " SighJiorn " : I owe the suggestion of this word to an obscure
remembrance of a beautiful phrase in "Giraldus Cambreusis" viz,
suspinosce cogitatwnes.

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 311

circumstances, be repeating the general stale of halcyon
repose. The sea, the atmosphere, the light, bore each an
orchestral part in this universal lull. Moonlight and the
first timid tremblings of the dawn were by this time blend-
ing ; and the blendings were brought into a still more
exquisite state of unity by a slight silvery mist, motionless
and dreamy, that covered the woods and fields, but with a
Veil of equable transparency. Except the feet of our own
horses, which, running on a sandy margin of the road,
made but little disturbance, there was no sound abroad.
In the clouds and on the earth prevailed the same majestic
peace ; and, in spite of all that the villain of a schoolmaster
has done for the ruin of our sublimer thoughts, which are
the thoughts of our infancy, we still believe in no such
nonsense as a limited atmosphere. "Whatever we may swear
with our false feigning lips, in our faithful hearts we still
believe, and must for ever believe, in fields of air traversing
the total gulf between earth and the central heavens, Still,
in the confidence of children, that tread without fear every
chamber in their lather's house, and to whom no door is
closed, we, in that Sabbatic vision which sometimes is revealed
for an hour upon nights like this, ascend with easy steps
from the sorrow -stricken fields of earth upwards to the
sandals of God.

Suddenly, from thoughts like these I was awakened to a
sullen sound, ^as of some motion on the distant road. It
stole upon the air for a moment ; I listened in awe ; but
then it died away. Once roused, however, I could not but
observe with alarm the quickened motion of our horses.
Ten years' experience had made my eye learned in the valuing
of motion ; and I saw that we were now running thirteen
miles an hour. I pretend to no presence of mind. On the
contrary, my fear is that I am miserably and shamefully
deficient in that quality as regards action. The palsy of
doubt and distraction hangs like some guilty weight of dark
unfathomed remembrances upon my energies when the signal
is flying for action. But, on the other hand, this accursed
gift I have, as regards tiwugU, that in the first step towards
the possibility of a misfortune I see its total evolution ; in
the radix of the series I see too certainly and too instantly

312 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

its entire expansion; in the first syllable of the dreadful
sentence I read already the last. It was not that I feared
for ourselves. Us our bulk and impetus charmed against
peril in any collision. And I had ridden through too many
hundreds of perils that were frightful to approach, that were
matter of laughter to look back upon, the first face of which
was horror, the parting face a jest for any anxiety to rest
upon our interests. The mail was not built, I felt assured,
nor bespoke, that could betray me who tiusted to its protec-
tion. But any carriage that we could meet would be frail
and light in comparison of ourselves. And I remarked this
ominous accident of our situation, we were on the wrong
side of the road. But then, it may be said, the other party,
if other there was, might also be on the wrong side ; and
two wrongs might make a right. That was not likely. The
same motive which had drawn us to the right-hand side of
the road viz. the luxury of the soft beaten sand as contrasted
with the paved centre would prove attractive to others.
The two adverse carriages would therefore, to a certainty, be
travelling on the same side ; and from this side, as not being
ours in law, the crossing over to the other would, of course,
be looked for from us. 1 Our lamps, still lighted, would give
the impression of vigilance on our part And every creature
that met us would rely upon us for quartering. 2 All this,
and if the separate links of the anticipation had been a
thousand times more, I saw, not discursively, or by effort,
or by succession, but by one flash of horrid simultaneous
intuition.

Under this steady though rapid anticipation of the evil
which might be gathering ahead, ah ! what a sullen mystery
of fear, what a sigh of woe, was that which stole upon the
air, as again the far-off sound of a wheel was heard A
whisper it was a whisper from, perhaps, four miles off

1 It is true that, according to tlie law of the case as established by
legal precedents, all carriages were required to give way before royal
equipages, and theiefore before the mail as one of them. But this
only increased the danger, as being a regulation very imperfectly
made known, very unequally enforced, and therefore often embarrassing
the movements on both sides.

2 " Quartering " : This, is the technical word, and, I presume,
derived from the French cartayer, to evade a rut or any obstacle

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COA.OH 313

secretly announcing a ruin that, being foreseen, was not the
- less inevitable ; that, being known, was not therefore healed.
What could be done who was it that could do it to check
the storm-flight of these maniacal horses? Could I not
seize the reins from the grasp of the slumbering coachman 1
You, reader, think that it would have been in your power to
do so. And I quarrel not with your estimate of yourself.
But, from the way in which the coachman's hand was viced
between his upper and lower thigh, this was impossible.
Easy was it 1 See, then, that bronze equestrian statue. The
cruel rider has kept the bit in his horse's mouth for two cen-
turies. Unbridle him for a minute, if you please, and wash
his mouth with water. Easy was it 1 ? Unhorse me, then,
that imperial rider ; knock me those marble feet from those
marble stirrups of Charlemagne.

The sounds ahead strengthened, and were now too clearly
the sounds of wheels. Who and what could it be ? Was it
industry in a taxed cart ? Was it youthful gaiety in a gig ?
Was it sorrow that loitered, or joy that raced ? For as yet
the snatches of sound were too intermitting, from distance, to
decipher the character of the motion. Whoever were the
travellers, something must be done to wain them. Upon the
other party rests the active responsibility, but upon us and,
woe is me 1 that us was reduced to niy frail opium-shattered
self rests the responsibility of warning. Yet, how should
this be accomplished ? Might I not sound the guard's horn ?
Already, on the first thought, I was making my way over
the roof to the guard's seat. But this, from the accident
which I have mentioned, of the foreign mails being piled
upon the roof, was a difficult and even dangerous attempt to
one cramped by nearly three hundred miles of outside travel-
ling. And, fortunately, before I had lost much time in the
attempt, our frantic horses swept round an angle of the road
which opened upon us that final stage where the collision
must be accomplished and the catastrophe sealed. All was
apparently finished. The court was sitting ; the case was
heard ; the judge had finished ; and only the verdict was yet
in arrear.

Before us lay an avenue straight as an arrow, six hundred
yards, perhaps, in length and the umbrageous tiees, which

314 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

rose in a regular line from either side, meeting high overhead,
gave to it the character of a cathedral aisle. These trees
lent a deeper solemnity to the early light ; but there was
still light enough to perceive, at the further end of this
Gothic aisle, a frail reedy gig, in which were seated a young
man, and by his side a young lady. Ah, young sir ! what
are you about ? If it is requisite that you should whisper
your communications to this young lady though really I see
nobody, at an hour and on a road so solitary, likely to over-
hear you is it therefore requisite that you should cany your
lips forward to hers ? The little carriage is creeping on at
one mile an hour; and the parties within it, being thus
tenderly engaged, are naturally bending clown their heads.
Between them and eternity, to all human calculation, there
is but a minute and a-half. Oh heavens ! what is it that I
shall do? Speaking or acting, what help can I offer?
Strange it is, and to a mere auditor of the tale might seem
laughable, that I should need a suggestion from the Iliad
to prompt the sole resource that remained. Yet so it was.
Suddenly I remembered the shout of Achilles, and its effect.
But could I pretend to shout like the son of Peleus, aided by
Pallas 1 No : but then I needed not the shout that should
alarm all Asia militant ; such a shout would suffice as might
carry terror into the hearts of two thoughtless young people
and one gig-horse, I shouted and the young man heard
me not. A second time I shouted and now he heard me,
for now he raised his head.

Here, then, all had been done that, by me, could be done ;
more on my part was not possible. Mine had been the first
step ; the second was for the young man ; the third was for
God. If, said I, this stranger is a brave man, and if indeed
he loves the young girl at his side or, loving her not, if he
feels the obligation, pressing upon every man worthy to be
called a man, of doing his utmost for a woman confided to
his protection he will at least make some effort to save her.
If that fails, he will not perish the more, or by a death more
cruel, for having made it ; and he will die as a brave man
should, with his face to the danger, and with his arm about
the woman that he sought in vain to save, But, if 'he mates
no effort, shrinking without a struggle from hia duty, he

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 315

himself will not the less certainly perish for thh baseness of
poltroonery. He will -die no less : and why not 2 Where-
fore should we giieve that there is one craven less in the
world ? No ; let him perish, without a pitying thought of
ours wasted upon him ; and, in that case, all our grief will
be reserved for the fate of the helpless girl who now, upon
the least shadow of failure in him, must by the fiercest of
translations must without time for a prayer must within
seventy seconds stand before the judgment-seat of God.

But craven he was not : sudden had been the call upon
him, and sudden was his answer to the call. He saw, he
heard, he comprehended, the ruin that was coming down :
already its gloomy shadow daikened above him ; and already
he was measuring his strength to deal with it, Ah ! what a
vulgar thing does courage seem when we see nations buying
it and selling it for a shilling a-day : ah ! what a sublime
thing does courage seem when some fearful summons on the
great deeps of life carries a man, as if running before a
hurricane, up to the giddy crest of some tumultuous crisis
from which lie two courses, and a voice says to him audibly,
" One way lies hope ; take the other, and mourn for ever ! "
How grand a triumph if, even then, amidst the raving of all
around him, and the frenzy of the danger, the man is able to
confront his situation is able to retire for a moment into
solitude with God, and to seek his counsel from Em !

For seven seconds, it might be, of his seventy, the stranger
settled his countenance stedfastly upon us, as if to search and
value every element in the conflict before him. For five
seconds more of his seventy he sat immovably, like one that
mused on some great purpose. For five more, perhaps, he
sat with eyes upraised, like one that prayed in sorrow, under
some extremity of doubt, for light that should guide him to
the better choice. Then suddenly he rose ; stood upright ;
and, by a powerful strain upon the reins, raising his horse's
fore-feet from the ground, he slewed him round on the pivot
of his hind-legs, so as to plant the little equipage in a position
nearly at right angles to ours. Thus far his condition was
not improved ; except as a first step had been taken towards
the possibility of a second. If no more were done, nothing
was done ; for the little carriage still occupied the very centre

316 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

of our path, though in an altered direction. Yet even no\v
it may not be too late : fifteen of the seventy seconds may
still be unexhausted ; and one almighty bound may avail to
clear the ground. Hurry, then, hurry! for the flying
moments they hurry. Oh, hurry, hurry, my brave young
man ! for the cruel hoofs of our horses they also hurry !
Fast are the flying moments, faster are the hoofs of our
horses. But fear not for him, if human energy can suffice ;
faithful was he that drove to his terrific duty ; faithful was
the horse to his command. One blow, one impulse given
with voice and hand, by the stranger, one rush from the
horse, one bound as if in the act of rising to a fence, landed
the docile creature's fore-feet upon the crown or arching
centre of the road. The larger half of the little equipage
had then cleared our over-towering shadow : that was evident
even to my own agitated sight. But it mattered little that
one wreck should float off in safety if upon the wreck that
perished were embarked the human freightage. The rear
part of the carriage was that certainly beyond the line of
absolute ruin? What power could answer the question?
Glance of eye, thought of man, wing of angel, which of these
had speed enough to sweep between the question and the
answer, and divide the one from the other ' Light does not
tread upon the steps of light more indivisibly than did our
all-conquering arrival upon the escaping efforts of the gig.
That must the young man have felt too plainly, His back
was now turned to us ; not by sight could he any longer
communicate with the peril ; but, by the dreadful rattle of
our harness, too truly had his ear been instructed that all was
finished as regarded any effort of his. Already in resignation
he had rested from his struggle ; and perhaps in his heart he
was whispering, "Father, which art in heaven, do Thou
finish above what I on earth have attempted." Faster than
ever mill-race we ran past them in our inexorable flight. 1

1 Among the many modifications of the original wording made by
De Qumcey in revising these paragraphs for the reprint in his Collected
Works may be noted, as particularly characteristic, his substitution of
this form of the present sentence for the original form ; which was,
""We ran past them faster than ever mill-race in our inexorable
flight." His sensitiveness to fit sound, at such a mome,nt of wild
rapidity, suggested the inversion. M,

THE 'ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 317

Oh, raving of hurricanes that must have sounded in their
young ears at the moment of our transit ! Even in that
moment the thunder of collision spoke aloud. Either with
the swingle-bar, or with the haunch of our near leader, we
had struck the off-wheel of the little gig ; which stood rather
obliquely, and not quite so far advanced as to be accurately
parallel with the near-wheel. The blow, from the fury of
our passage, resounded terrifically. I rose in horror, to gaze
upon the ruins we might have caused. From my elevated
station I looked down, and looked back upon the scene ;
which in a moment told its own tale, and wrote all its records
on my heart for ever.

Here was the map of the passion that now had finished. 1
The horse was planted immovably, with his fore-feet upon
the paved crest of the central road. He of the whole party
might be supposed untouched Ly the passion of death. The
little cany carriage partly, perhaps, from the violent torsion
of the wheels in its recent movement, partly from the
thundering blow we had given to it as if it sympathised
with human horror, was all alive with tremblings and shiver-
ings. The young man trembled not, nor shivered. He sat
like a rock. But Us was the steadiness of agitation frozen
into rest by horror. As yet he dared not to look round ; for
he knew that, if anything remained to do, by him it could no
longer be done. And as yet he knew not for certain if their
safety were accomplished. But the lady

But the lady ! Oh, heavens ! will that spectacle ever

depart from my dreams, as she rose and sank upon her seat,
sank and rose, threw up her arms wildly to heaven, clutched
at some visionary object in the air, fainting, praying, raving,
despairing ? Figure to yourself, reader, the elements of the
case ; suffer me to recall before your mind the circumstances
of that unparalleled situation. From the silence and deep
peace of this saintly summer night from the pathetic blend-
ing of this sweet moonlight, dawnlight, dreamlight from
the manly tenderness of this flattering, whispering, mur-

1 This sentence, "Here was the map," etc,, is ail insertion in the
reprint ; and one observes how artistically it causes the clue pause
between the horror as still in rush of transaction and the backward
look at the wreck when the crash was past. M.

318 TALES AND PKOSE PHANTASIES

muring love suddenly as from the woods and fields
suddenly as from the chambers of the air opening in revelation
suddenly as from the ground yawning at her feet, leaped
upon her, with the flashing of cataracts. Death the crowned
phantom, with all the equipage of his terrors, and the tiger
roar of his voice.

The moments were numbered ; the strife was finished ;
the vision was closed, In the twinkling of an eye, our
flying horses had carried us to the termination of the um-
brageous aisle; at the right angles we wheeled into our
former direction ; the turn of the road carried the scene out
of my eyes in an instant, and swept it into my dreams for
ever.

SECTION III. DREAM-FUGUE :

FOUNDED ON THE PRECEDING THEME OF SUDDEN DEATH

(t Whence the sound

Of instruments, that made melodious chime,
Was heard, of harp and organ ; and who moved
Their stops and chords was seen ; his volant touch
Instinct through all proportions, low and high,
Fled and pursued transverse the resonant fugue. "

Par. Lost, Bk. XT.

Passion of sudden death ! that once in youth I read and
interpreted by the shadows of thy averted signs ! 1 rapture
of panic taking the shape (which amongst tombs in churches
I have seen) of woman bursting her sepulchral bonds of
woman's Ionic form bending forward from the ruins of her
grave with arching foot, with eyes upraised, with clasped
adoring hands waiting, watching, trembling, praying for
the trumpet's call to rise from dust for ever ! Ah, vision
too fearful of shuddering humanity on the brink of almighty
abysses ! vision that didst start back, that didst reel away,

1 "Averted signs" :l road the course and changes of the lady's
agony in the succession of her involuntary gestures ; but it must be
remembered that I read all this from the rear, never once catching the
lady's full face, and even her profile imperfectly.

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 319

like a shrivelling scroll from before the wrath of fire racing
on the wings of the windl Epilepsy so brief of horror,
wherefore is it that thou canst not die ? Passing so suddenly
into darkness, wherefore is it that still thou sheddest thy sad
funeral blights upon the gorgeous mosaics of dreams ? Frag-
ment of music too passionate, heard once, and heard no more,
what aileth thee, that thy deep rolling chords come up at
intervals through all the worlds of sleep, and after forty
years have lost no element of horror ?

Lo, it is summer almighty summer ! The everlasting
gates of life and summer are thrown open wide ; and on the
ocean, tranquil and verdant as a savannah, the unknown
lady from the dreadful vision and I myself are floating she
upon a fairy pinnace, and I upon an English three-decker.
Both of us are wooing gales of festal happiness within the
domain of our common country, within that ancient watery
park, withm the pathless chase of ocean, where England takes
her pleasure as a huntress through winter and summer, from
the rising to the setting sun. Ah, what a wilderness of floral
beauty was hidden, or was suddenly revealed, upon the
tropic islands through which the pinnace moved ! And upon
her deck what a bevy of human flowers : young women how
lovely, young men how noble, that were dancing together,
and slowly drifting towards us amidst music and incense,
amidst blossoms from forests and gorgeous corymbi 1 from
vintages, amidst natural carolling, and the echoes of sweet
girlish laughter, Slowly the pinnace nears us, gaily she
hails us, and silently she disappears beneath the shadow of
our mighty bows. But then, as at some signal from heaven,
the music, and the carols, and the sweet echoing of girlish
laughter all are hushed. What evil has smitten the pinnace,
meeting or overtaking her 1 Did ruin to our friends couch
within our own dreadful shadow ? Was our shadow the
shadow of death ? I looked over the bow for an answer,
and, behold ! the pinnace was dismantled ; the revel and the
revellers were found no more ; the glory of the vintage was
1 Coj'pte> a chister of fruit or flowers, M,

320 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

dust ; and the forests with their beauty were left without a
witness upon the seas. " But where," and I turned to our
crew " where are the lovely women that danced beneath
the awning of flowers and clustering corymbi ? Whither
have fled the noble young men that danced with them I "
Answer there was none. But suddenly the man at the
mast-head, whose countenance darkened with alarm, cried
out, " Sail on the weather beam ! Down she comes upon us
in seventy seconds she also will founder,"

II

I looked to the weather side, and the summer had departed.
The sea was rocking, and shaken with gathering wrath.
Upon its surface sat mighty mists, which grouped themselves
into arches and long cathedral aisles. Down one of these,
with the fiery pace of a quarrel from a cross-bow, 1 ran a
frigate right athwart our course. " Are they mad 1 " some
voice exclaimed from our deck. " Do they woo their ruin 1 "
But in a moment, as she was close upon us, some impulse
of a heady current or local vortex gave a wheeling bias to
her course, and off she forged without a shock. As she ran
past us, high aloft amongst the shrouds stood the lady of the
pinnace. The deeps opened ahead in malice to receive her,
towering surges of foam ran after her, the billows were fierce
to catch her. But far away she was borne into desert spaces
of the sea : whilst still by sight I followed her, as she ran
before the howling gale, chased by angry sea-birds and by
maddening billows ; still I saw her, as at the moment when
she ran past us, standing amongst the shrouds, with her white
draperies streaming before the wind. There she stood, with
hair dishevelled, one hand clutched amongst the tackling
rising, sinking, fluttering, trembling, praying ; there for
leagues I saw her as she stood, raising at intervals one hand to
heaven, amidst the fiery crests of the pursuing waves and the

1 Quarrel, a cross-how bolt, an arrow with a four-square head ;
connected with (jfrndratus, made square. Richardson's Dictionary
gives this example from Robert Brunne

" A qnarrelle lete he flie,
And smote him m the schank," M.

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 321

raving of the storm ; until at last, upon a sound from afar
of malicious laughter and mockery, all was hidden for ever
in driving showers ; and afterwards, but when I know not,
nor how,

III

Sweet funeral bells from some incalculable distance,
wailing over the dead that die before the dawn, awakened
me as I slept in a boat moored to some familiar shore. The
morning twilight even then was breaking ; and, by the
dusky revelations which it spread, I saw a girl, adorned
with a garland of white roses about her head for some great
festival, running along the solitary strand in extremity of
haste, Her running was the running of panic ; and often
she looked back as to some dreadful enemy in the rear, But,
when I leaped ashore, and followed on her steps to warn her
of a peril in front, alas ! from me she fled as from another
peril, and vainly I shouted to her of quicksands that lay
ahead. Faster and faster she ran ; round a promontory of
rocks she wheeled out of sight ; in an instant I also wheeled
round it, but only to see the treacherous sands gathering
above her head. Already her person was buried ; only the
fair young head and the diadem of white roses around it
were still visible to the pitying heavens ; and, last of all,
was visible one white marble arm. I saw by the early
twilight this fair young head, as it was sinking down to
darkness saw this marble arm, as it rose above her head
and her treacherous grave, tossing, faltering, rising, clutching,
as at some false deceiving hand stretched out from the clouds
saw this marble arm uttering her dying hope, and then
uttering her dying despair. The head, the diadem, the arm
these all had sunk ; at last over these also the cruel quick-
sand had closed ; and no memorial of the fair young girl
remained on earth, except my own solitary tears, and the
funeral bells from the desert seas, that, rising again more
softly, sang a requiem over the grave of the buried child,
and over her blighted dawn.

I sat,, and wept in secret the tears that men have ever
given to the memory of those that died before the dawn,
and by the treachery of earth, our mother. But suddenly

VOL. XIII T

322 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

the tears and funeral bells were hushed by a shout as of
many nations, and by a roar as from some great king's
artillery, advancing rapidly along the valleys, and heard afar
by echoes from the mountains. " Hush ! " I said, as I bent
my ear earthwards to listen "hush! this either is the
very anarchy of strife, or else "and then I listened more
profoundly, and whispered as I raised my head" or else,
oh heavens ! it is victory that is final, victory that swallows
up all strife."

IV

Immediately, in trance, I wa& carried over land and sea
to some distant kingdom, and placed upon a triumphal car,
amongst companions crowned with laurel. The darkness of
gathering midnight, brooding over all the land, hid from us
the mighty crowds that were weaving restlessly about our-
selves as a centre : we heard them, but saw them not.
Tidings had arrived, within an hour, of a grandeur that
measured itself against centuries; too full of pathos they
were, too full of joy, to utter themselves by other language
than by tears, by restless anthems, and Te Demis reverber-
ated from the choirs and orchestras of earth. These tidings
we that sat upon the laurelled car had it for our privilege
to publish amongst all nations. And already, by signs
audible through the darkness, by snortings and tramplings,
our angry horses, that knew no fear of fleshly weariness,
upbraided us with delay. Wherefore was it that we delayed ?
We waited for a secret word, that should bear witness to the
hope of nations as now accomplished for ever. At midnight
the secret word arrived ; which word was Waterloo and
Recovered Christendom ! The dreadful word shone by its own
light ; before us it went ; high above our leaders' heads it
rode, and spread a golden light over the paths which we
traversed. Every city, at the presence of the secret word,
threw open its gates. The rivers were conscious as we
crossed. All the forests, as we ran along their margins,
shivered in homage, to the secret word. And the darkness
comprehended it,

Two hours after midnight we approached a mighty
Minster. Its gates, which rose to the clouds, were closed,

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 323

But, when, the dreadful word that rode before us reached
them with its golden light, silently they moved back upon
their hinges ; and at a flying gallop our equipage entered the
grand aisle of the cathedral. Headlong was our pace ; and
at every altar, in the little chapels and oratories to the right
hand and left of our course, the lamps, dying or sickening,
kindled anew in sympathy with the secret word that was
flying past. Forty leagues we might have run in the cathe-
dral, and as yet no strength of morning light had reached us,
when before us we saw the aerial galleries of organ and choir.
Every pinnacle of the fretwork, every station of advantage
amongst the traceries, was crested by white-robed choristers
that sang deliverance ; that wept no more tears, as once
their fathers had wept , but at intervals that sang together
to the generations, saying,

" Chant the deliverer's praise in every tongue,"
and receiving answers from afar,

"Such as once in heaven and earth were sung."

And of their chanting was no end ; of our headlong* pace was
neither pause nor slackening.

Thus as we ran like torrents- thus as we swept with
bridal rapture over the Campo Santo 1 of the cathedral
graves suddenly we became aware of a vast necropolis
rising upon the far-off horizon a city of sepulchres, built
within the saintly cathedral for the warrior dead that rested
from their feuds on earth. Of purple granite was the necro-
polis; yet, in the first minute, it lay like a purple stain

1 " Campo Santo " : It is probable that most of my readers will
be acquainted with the history of the Campo Santo (or cemetery) at
Pisa, composed of earth brought from Jerusalem from a bed of sanc-
tity, as the highest prize which the noble piety of crusaders could ask
or imagine. To readers who are unacquainted with England, or who
(being English) are yet unacquainted with the cathedral cities of Eng-
land, it may be right to mention that the graves withm-side the
cathedrals oiten form a flat pavement over which carriages and horses
might run ; and perhaps a boyish remembrance of one particular
cathedral, across which I had seen passengers walk and burdens
earned, as about two centuries back they were through the middle of
St, Paul's in London, may have assisted my dream.

324 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

upon the horizon, so mighty was the distance. In the second
minute it trembled through many changes, growing into
terraces and towers of wondrous altitude, so mighty was the
pace. In the third minute already, with our dreadful gallop,
we were entering its suburbs. Vast sarcophagi rose on
every side, having towers and turrets that, upon the limits
of the central aisle, strode forward with haughty intrusion,
that ran back with mighty shadows into answering recesses,
Every sarcophagus showed many bas-reliefs bas-reliefs of
battles and of battle-fields ; battles from forgotten ages,
battles from yesterday ; battle-fields that, long since, nature
had hpaled and reconciled to herself with the sweet oblivion
of flowers ; battle-fields that were yet angry and crimson
with carnage. Where the terraces ran, there did we run ;
where the towers curved, there did we curve. With the
flight of swallows our horses swept round every angle. Like
rivers in flood wheeling round headlands, like hurricanes
that ride into the secrets of forests, faster than ever light
unwove the mazes of darkness, our flying equipage carried
earthly passions, kindled warrior instinct?, amongst the dust
that lay, around us dust oftentimes of our noble fathers
that had slept in God from Creci to Trafalgar. And now
had we reached the last sarcophagus, now were we abreast of
the last bas-relief, already had we recovered the arrow-like
flight of the illimitable central aisle, when coming up this
aisle to meet us we beheld afar off a female child, that rode
in a carriage as frail as flowers. The mists which went
before her hid the fawns that drew her, but could not hide
the shells and tropic flowers with which she played but
could not hide the lovely smiles by which she uttered her
trust in the mighty cathedral, and in the cherubim 'that
looked down upon her from the mighty shafts of its pillars.
Face to face she was meeting us ; face to face she rode, as if
danger there were none. " Oh, baby ! " I exclaimed, " shalt
thou be the ransom for Waterloo 1 Must we, that carry
tidings of great joy to every people, be messengers of ruin to
thee ! " In horror I rose at the thought ; but then also, in
horror at the thought, rose one that was sculptured on a bas-
relief a Dying Trumpeter. Solemnly from the field of
battle he rose to his feet ; and, unshnging his stony trumpet,

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 325

carried it, in his dying anguish, to his stony lips sounding
once, and yet once again ; proclamation that, in thy ears, oh
baby ! spoke from the battlements of death. Immediately
deep shadows fell between us, and aboriginal silence. The
choir had ceased to sing, The hoofs of our horses, the
dreadful rattle of our harness, the groaning of our wheels,
alarmed the graves no more. By horror the bas-relief had
been unlocked unto life. By horror we, that were so full of
life, we men and our horses, with their fiery fore-legs rising
in mid air to their everlasting gallop, were frozen to a bas-
relief, Then a third time the trumpet sounded ; the seals
were taken off all pulses ; life, and the frenzy of life, tore
into their channels again ; again the choir burst forth in
sunny grandeur, as from the muffling of storms and dark-
ness ; again the thunderinga of our horses carried temptation
into the graves. One cry burst from our lips, as the clouds,
drawing off from the aisle, showed it empty before us.
" Whither has the infant iled ? is the young child caught
up to God ? " Lo ! afar off, in a vast recess, rose three
mighty windows to the clouds ; and on a level with their
summits, at height insuperable to man, rose an altar of
purest alabaster. On its eastern face was trembling a
crimson glory. A glory was it from the reddening dawn
that now streamed through the windows ? Was it from the
crimson robes of the martyrs painted on the windows ? Was
it from the bloody bas-reliefs of earth? There, suddenly,
within that crimson radiance, rose the apparition of a
woman's head, and then of a woman's figure. The child it
was grown up to woman's height. Clinging to the horns
of the altar, voiceless she stood sinking, rising, raving,
despairing ; and behind the volume of incense that, night
and day, streamed upwards from the altar, dimly was seen
the fiery font, and the shadow of that dreadful being who
should have baptized her with the baptism of death. But
by her side was kneeling her better angel, that hid his face
with wings ; that wept and pleaded for her ; that prayed
when she could not ; that fought with Heaven by tears for
her deliverance; which also, as he raised his immortal
countenance from his wings, I saw, by the glory in his eye,
that from Heaven he had won at last.

326 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Then was completed tlie passion of the mighty fugue.
The golden tubes of the organ, which as yet had but muttered
at intervals gleaming amongst clouds and surges of incense
threw up, as from fountains unfathomable, columns of heart-
shattering music. Choir and anti-choir were filling fast with
unknown voice". Thou also, Dying Trumpeter, with thy
love that was victorious, and thy anguish that was finishing,
didst enter the tumult ; trumpet and echo farewell love,
and farewell anguish rang through the dreadful sanctus.
Oh, darkness of the grave ! that from the crimson altar and
from the fiery font wert visited and searched Ly the effulgence
in the angel's eye were these indeed thy children ? Pomps
of life, that, from the burials of centuries, rose again to the
voice of perfect joy, did ye indeed mingle with the festivals
of Death ? Lo ! as I looked back for seventy leagues through
the mighty cathedral, I saw the quick and the dead that sang
together to God, together that sang to the generations of man.
All the hosts of jubilation, like armies that ride in pursuit,
moved with one step. Us, that, with laurelled heads, were
passing from the cathedral 3 they overtook, and, as with a
garment, they wrapped us round with thunders greater than
our own. As brothers we moved together ; to the dawn that
advanced, to the stars that fled ; rendering thanks to God
in the highest that, having hid His face through one gen-
eration behind thick clouds of War, once again was ascend-
ing, from the Cainpo Santo of Waterloo was ascending,
in the visions of Peace ; rendering thanks for thee, young
girl ! whom having overshadowed with His ineffable passion
of death, suddenly did God relent, suffered thy angel to turn
aside His arm, and even in thee, sister unknown ! shown to
ine for a moment only to be hidden for ever, found an occa-
sion to glorify His goodness. A thousand times, amongst
the phantoms of sleep, have I seen thee entering the gates of
the golden dawn, with the secret word riding before thee,
with the armies of the grave behind thee, seen thee sink-
ing, rising, raving, despairing ; a thousand times in the worlds
of sleep have seen thee followed by God's angel through

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH 327

storms, through desert seas, through the darkness of quick-
sands, through dreams and the dreadful revelations that are
in dreams ; only that at the last, with one sling of His vic-
torious arm, He might snatch thee back from ruin, and might
emblazon in thy deliverance the endless resurrections of His
love !

AUTHOR'S POSTSCRIPT 1

" THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH." This little paper, according
to my original intention, formed part of the "Suspiria de
Profundis"; from which, for a momentary purpose, I did not
scruple to detach it, and to publish it apart, as sufficiently
intelligible even when dislocated from its place in a larger
whole. To my surprise, however, one or two critics, not
carelessly in conversation, Hit deliberately in print, pro-
fessed their inability to apprehend the meaning of the whole,
or to follow the links of the connexion between its several
parts. I am myself as little able to understand where the
difficulty lies, or to detect any lurking obscurity, as these
critics found themselves to unravel my logic. Possibly I may
not be an indifferent and neutral judge in such a case. I
will therefore sketch a brief abstract of the little paper
according to my original design, and then leave the reader to
judge how far this design is kept in sight through the actual
execution.

Thirty-seven years ago, or rather more, accident made
me, in the dead of night, and of a night memorably solemn,
the solitary witness of an appalling scene, which threatened
instant death in a shape the most terrific to two young people
whom I had no means of assisting, except in so far as I was
able to give them a most hurried warning of their danger ;
but even that not until they stood within the very shadow of

1 What is now printed properly as a " Postscript " was printed by
De Quincey himself as a portion of the Preface which he prefixed in
1854 to the volume of his Collected Writings containing The English
Mail- Coach. -M.

THE ENGLISH MAIL-COACH ' 329

the catastrophe, being divided from the most frightful of
deaths by scarcely more, if more at a]l, than seventy seconds.

Such was the scene, such in its outline, from which the
whole of this paper radiates as a natural expansion. This
scene is circumstantially narrated in Section the Second,
entitled The Vision of Sudden Death."

But a movement of horror, and of spontaneous recoil from
this dreadful scene, naturally carried the whole of that scene,
raised and idealised, into my dreams, and very soon into a
rolling succession of dreams. The actual scene, as looked
down upon from the box of the mail, was transformed into a
dream, as tumultuous and changing as a musical fugue. This
troubled dream is circumstantially reported in Section the
Third, entitled "Dream-Fugue on the theme of Sudden
Death." What I had beheld from my seat upon the mail,
the scenical strife of action and passion, of anguish and fear,
as I had there witnessed them moving in ghostly silence,
this duel between life and death narrowing itself to a point
of such exquisite evanescence as the collision neared : all
these elements of the scene blended, under the law of associa-
tion, with the previous and permanent features of distinction
investing the mail itself; which features at that time lay-
1st, in velocity unprecedented, 2dly, in the power and beauty
of the horses, 3dly, in the official connexion with the
government of a great nation, and, 4thly, in the function,
almost a consecrated function, of publishing and diffusing
through the land the great political events, and especially
the great battles, during a conflict of unparalleled grandeur.
These honorary distinctions are all described circumstantially
in the First or introductory Section (" The Glory of Motion ")
The three first were distinctions maintained at all times ; but
the fourth and grandest belonged exclusively to the war with
Napoleon ; and this it was which most naturally introduced
Waterloo into the dream. Waterloo, I understand, was the
particular feature of the " Dream-Fugue " which my censors
were least able to account for. Yet surely Waterloo, which,
in common with every other great battle, it had been our
special privilege to publish over all the land, most naturally
entered the dream under the licence of our privilege. If not
if there be anything amiss let the Dream be responsible.

330 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

The Dream is a law to itself; and as well quarrel with a
rainbow for showing, or for not showing, a secondary arch
So far as I know, every element in the shifting movements
of the Dream derived itself either primarily from the incidents
of the actual scene, or from secondary features associated with
the mail. For example, the cathedral aisle derived itself
from the mimic combination of features which grouped them-
selves together at the point of approaching collision viz. an
arrow-like section of the road, six hundred yards long, under
the solemn lights described, with lofty trees meeting overhead
in arches. The guard's horn, again a humble instrument
in itself was yet glorified as the organ of publication for so
many great national events. And the incident of the Dying
Trumpeter, who rises from a marble bas-relief, and carries a
marble trumpet to his marble lips for the purpose of warning
the female infant, was doubtless secretly suggested by my
own imperfect effort to seize the guard's horn, and to blow a
warning blast But the Dream knows best ; and the Dream.
I say again, is the responsible party.

SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS

BEING A SEQUEL TO

"THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER"

[De Quince y began 111 1815 a special series of contributions to Black-
wood's Magf&m under the title of SUSHKA DE PROFCNDIS : BEING A
SEQUEL TO THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER, It seems
dear that lie intended tins series to be a collection of fragments or
papers, some peihapa already beside him in manuscript, but others
still to be wntten, all in that species of piose-phantasy, and some
more particularly in that vein of dream -phantasy, of which his
CONFESSIONS OP AN OMUM-EATER had been, as he believed, the first
example set m English Literature, Hence the propriety of announcing

For some reason or other, however, whether because De Quincey him-
self became languid, or because a long continuity of papers under the
melancholy title of "Sighs from the Depths" did not suit the editorial
arrangements of Bkckwoodj the series broke down after it had run
through four numbers of the Magazine In the number for March
1845 there had appeared, by way of opening, an " Introductory Notice "
on the subject of Dreaming in general, but especially of Opium-
Dreaming, followed by an autobiographic paper entitled

lyrical prose ; in the number for April there were a few more pages of
autobiographical and lyrical matter, undistinguished by any sub-titles,
but offered together as a continuation of " Part I " of the SUSPIRIA ;
in the number for June the said "Part I" was announced as "con-
cluded," the conclusion consisting of four independent short papers,
sub-titled respectively " The Palimpsest ," "Lmu and Our Mm
of Sorrvw" "Tk Apparition of the Brockn" and "&wMa-
Mar " ; and in the number for July appeared the first instalment of a
" Part II," printed continuously as such, without subdivision or sub-
titling. There the series stopped ; the rest of Part II, and the whole of

832 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

Parts in all) remaining hopelessly due, There is proof, however,

that De Quincey still secretly persevered m his notion of making
SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS the collective name for a miscellany of such
papers or shreds as might prove his unabated \igour in his later years
m his old craft of prose-phantasy, His sketch called The Daughter
of Lebanon purports to have been one of a number of httle things he
was privately penning for appearance at some time or other in this
projected collection, and we have his own word for the fact that The
English Mail-Coach itself was originally meant to be part of the same,

In the case of this last paper there was an afterthought ; for,

when it gut into ttladwood in 1849 (see ante, p. 270), it appeared
there independently, and without the least intimation of any connexion
between it and the interrupted and unfinished SUSPIRIA. papers of
1845. This, in itself, was a considerable subtraction from the stock
that was in reserve for the special SUSPIRIA series ; and, before De
Quincey's death, there was to he, also by his own act, a still further
diminution of the quantity of his writings that could m future claim
the striking name. For, when he was engaged, from 1853 onwards,
in bringing out the Collective Edinburgh Edition of his writings, he
pillaged at his pleasure, for the purposes of that edition, whatever
of his own, printed or in manuscript, he could conveniently lay
his hands on, the STJSPIRIA gatherings included. The result, as re-
garded these, was rather perplexing, Thus, not only was The Daughter
of Lebanon attached to the enlarged edition of the CONFESSIONS OP
AN ENGLISH OPIUM-BATES which formed volume v. of the collective
issue (see ante, Vol. Ill, p, 222 and p. 450), and not only was there
no replacing of The English Mail- Coach in its originally intended
relationship ; but so much of the original SU^PIRTA m Blackwood of
1845 was utilised, m recast shape, in new connexions, The Affliction
of ChildJiood and The Apparition o/ the Brocken, for example, being
worked into the Volume of "Autobiographic Sketches" (see ante,
Vol. I, pp. 28-54) that nothing tangible remained of what had once
been "Part I " and the fragment of "Part II " in Blachcood, except
The Introductory Notice, The Palimpsest, Levana and Qw Ladies of
Sorrow, Savannah-la- Mar, and a few stray paragraphs besides. De
Qnincey had been revising and retouching these too ; but what he
would have done with them if he had lived to extend his Collective
Edition, and to introduce into it a SUSPIRIA DE PROJFUNDIS series in
finally arranged form, one can hardly guess. As it was, though
there was frequent mention of the SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS m the
course of the fourteen volumes of his Collective Edition issued between
1853 and 1860, not a single paper appeared under that expiess title

in the whole range of the volumes, The defect was remedied in

1871 m the second of the two supplementary volumes of Messrs.
Black's augmented edition of De Quiucey's Collected Writings. Among
the additions in that volume to the matter of the previous edition were
forty-nine pages bearing the general title of SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS :

BEING A SEQUEL TO THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER, and

consisting of six separate short papers, sub-titled as follows: (1)

SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS 333

Dreaming,^) The Palimpsest of the Human Brain, (3) Levana and Our
Ladies of Sorrow, (4) Savannah-la-Mar, (5) Vision of 'Life -, (6) Memorial
Suspina. With respect to the volume generally it was announced
in the Preface that most of the papers contained in it had been acquired
fromDeQuincey's " original publishers, Messrs. James Hogg & SOD,"
and that, with the exception of those that were reprinted from the
London Magazine, all had had " the benefit of the Author's revision and
correction " ; and in a special further note prefixed to the six SUSPIRIA
papers themselves there was the repeated intimation that they were

"printed with the Author's latest corrections." One can see now

how it had happened. The Blachoood Suspina of 1845, both Part I
and the fragments of Part II, having been pillaged for the purposes of
the Collective Edition of the writings, and so much of their matter
having been worked into the Autobiographic Sketches in vol. i of that
edition, and into the enlarged Confessions of an Opium-JBater in vol.
v, it was only the residue that De Quincey could regard as available
for future use in any publication that could then be offered as the
SUSPIRIA proper. This residue, accordingly, he had conserved and
corrected, retaining the original Blachoood sub-titles for three of the
six short articles into which it broke itself, and fitting suitable sub-
titles to the other three, How great an improvement had been thus

effected will be seen by any one who will take the trouble of comparing
the original Jilacknoood Swspirw (of which the Suspiria as given in the
American Collective Edition of De Quincey is a mere reprint) with the
Suspiria of the conserved and corrected residue. The original Slack-
wood SuspiriOfyfi&TL i ead now, annoy one as a kind of clotted confusion,
in which duplicates of portions of the Autobiographic Sketches and the
enlarged Confessions interrupt and disturb the succession of the pieces
of phantasy that constitute the Suspiria properly and essentially ;
whereas in De Qumcey's reduction of that heterogeneous original these
pieces are rescued into impressive independence and stand on their own

merits. At all events it is the six papers printed in Messrs. Black's

supplementary volume of 1871, and there vouched for as having been
left by De Quincey ready for use in case there should be a posthumous
publication of his SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS, it is these that we have
to reproduce here. For reasons which will appear presently, and which
will seem sufficient to all, the order of their arrangement is slightly
changed, M.]

DREAMING l

IN 1821, as a contribution to a periodical work, in 1822,
as a separate volume, appeared the "Confessions of an

1 This is De Qumcey's revised form of what appeared in Blacfacood
for March 1845 as the "Introductory Notice " to Part I of the original
SUSPIRIA (see ante> p. 331). Though the title is changed, it still serves
as an " introduction," inasmuch as it avowedly connects the SUSPIRIA
DB PROFUNDIS with the CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER,
and explains the nature of the connexion. M.

334 TALES AND PEOSE PHANTASIES

English Opium-Eater." l The object of that work was to
reveal something of the grandeur which belongs potentially
to human dreams. Whatever may be the number of those
in whom this faculty of dreaming splendidly can be supposed
to lurk, there are not, perhaps, very many in whom it is
developed, He whose talk is of oxen will probably drearn
of oxen ; and the condition of human life which yokes so
vast a majority to a daily experience incompatible with
much elevation of thought oftentimes neutralises the tone of
grandeur in the reproductive faculty of dreaming, even for
those whose minds are populous with solemn imagery.
Habitually to dream magnificently, a man must have a con-
stitutional determination to reverie. This in the first place ;
and even this, where it exists strongly, is too much liable to
disturbance from the gathering agitation of our present
English life. Already, what by the procession through fifty
years of mighty revolutions amongst the kingdoms of the
earth, what by the continual development of vast physical
agencies, steam in all its applications, light getting under
harness as a slave for man, powers from heaven descending
upon education and accelerations of the press, powers from
hell (as it might seem, but these also celestial) coming round
upon artillery and the forces of destruction, the eye of the
calmest observer is troubled ; the brain is haunted as if by
some jealousy of ghostly beings moving amongst us ; and it
becomes too evident that, unless this colossal pace of advance
can be retarded (a thing not to be expected), or, which is
happily more probable, can be met by counter-forces of cor-
responding magnitude, forces in the direction of religion or
profound philosophy that shall radiate ceatrifugally against
thib storm of life so perilously centripetal towards the vortex of
the merely human, left to itself, the natural tendency of so
chaotic a tumult must be to evil ; for some minds to lunacy,

1 As has been explained ante, Vol. Ill, pp, 5-7, the " Confessions "
appeared originally in the London Magazine for September and Octo-
ber 1821, and the reprint of them m book -form by the proprietors of
the magazine was in 1822. It is to this original form of the famous
book that De Quincey refers in the above sentence, written in 1845,
His revised and enlarged edition, swelling the " Confessions " to nearly
three times their original bulk, and therefore completely superseding
the original edition, did not appear till 1855. M.

SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS 335

For others a reagency of fleshly torpor. How much this
fierce condition of eternal hurry upon an arena too ex-
clusively human in its interests is likely to defeat the
grandeur which is latent in all men, may he seen in the
ordinary effect from living too constantly in varied company,
The word dissipation, in one of its uses, expresses that effect ;
the action of thought and feeling is consciously dissipated
and squandered. To reconcentrate them into meditative
habits, a necessity is felt hy all observing persons for some-
times retiring from ciwds. No man ever will unfold the
capacities of his own intellect who does not at least checker
his life with solitude. How much solitude, so much power.
Or, if not true in that rigour of expression, to this formula
undoubtedly it is that the wise rule of life must approximate.

Among the powers in man which suffer by this too intense
life of the social instincts, none suffers more than the power of
dreaming. Let no man think this a trifle. The machinery
for dreaming planted in the human brain was not planted for
nothing. That faculty, in alliance with the mystery of dark-
ness, is the one great tube through which man communicates
with the shadowy. And the dreaming organ, in connexion
with the heart, the eye, and the ear, composes the magnificent
apparatus which forces the infinite into the chambers of a
human brain, and throws dark reflections from eternities
below all life upon the -mirrors of that mysterious camera
.ohcuia, the sleeping mind.

But, if this faculty suffers from the decay of solitude,
which is becoming a visionary idea in England, on the other
hand it is certain that some merely physical agencies can and
do assist the faculty of dreaming almost preternaturally.
Amongst these is intense exercise, to some extent at least,
for some persons ; but beyond all others is opium : which
indeed seems to possess a specific power in that direction ; not
merely for exalting the colours of dream-scenery, but for
deepening its shadows, and, above all, for strengthening the
sense of its fearful nalities.

The Opiwn Confessions were written with some slight
secondary purpose of exposing this specific power of opium
upon the faculty of dreaming, but much more with the pur
pose of displaying the faculty itself ; and the outline of the

336 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

work travelled in this course : Supposing a reader acquainted
with the true object of the Confessions as here stated, namely,
the revelation of dreaming, to have put this question :

"But how came you to dream more splendidly than
others?"

The answer would have been

"Because (pi'cemissis pmmittendis] I took excessive quan-
tities of opium."

Secondly, suppose him to say, " But how came you to take
opium in this excess ? "

The answer to that would be, " Because some early events
in my life had left a weakness in one organ which required
(or seemed to require) that stimulant."

Then, because the opium dreams could not always have
been understood without a knowledge of these events, it
became necessary to relate them. Now, these two questions
and answers exhibit the law of the work, that is, the prin-
ciple which determined its form, but precisely in the inverse
or regressive order. The work itself opened with the narra-
tion of my early adventures. These, in the natural order of
succession, led to the opium as a resource for healing their
consequences ; and the opium as naturally led to the dreams.
But, in the synthetic order of presenting the facts, what stood
last in the succession of development stood first in the order
of my purposes.

At the close of this little work, the reader was instructed-
to believe, and truly instructed, that I had mastered the
tyranny of opium. The fact is that twice I mastered it, and
by efforts even more prodigious in the second of these cases
than in the first. But one error I committed in both, I
did not connect with the abstinence from opium, so trying to
the fortitude under any circumstances, that enormity of
exercise which (as I have since learned) is the one sole
resource for making it endurable. I overlooked, in those
days, the one sine qua non for making the triumph per-
manent. Twice I sank, twice I rose again. A third time I
.sank ; partly from the cause mentioned (the oversight as to
exercise), partly from other causes, on which it avails not
now to trouble the reader. I could moralise, if I chose ;
and perhaps he will moralise, whether I choose it or not,

SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS 337

But, in the meantime, neither of us is acquainted properly
with the circumstances of the case : I, from natural bias of
judgment, not altogether acquainted ; and he (with his per-
mission) not at all.

During this third prostration before the dark idol, and
after some years, new and monstrous phenomena began
slowly to arise. For a time, these were neglected as acci-
dents, or palliated by such remedies as I knew of, But,
when I could no longer conceal from myself that these
dreadful symptoms were moving forward for ever, by a pace
steadily, solemnly, and equably increasing, I endeavoured,
with some feeling of panic, for a third time to retrace my
steps. But I had not reversed my motions for many weeks
before I became profoundly aware that this was impossible
Or, in the imagery of my dreams, which translated every-
thing into their own language, I saw, through vast avenues
of gloom, those towering gates of ingress which hitherto had
always seemed to stand open now at last barred against my
retreat, and hung with funeral crape.

As applicable to this tremendous situation (the situation
of one escaping by some refluent current from the maelstrom
roaring for him in the distance, who finds suddenly that this
current is but an eddy wheeling round upon the same mael-
strom), I have since remembered a striking incident in a
modern novel.

A lady-abbess of a convent, herself suspected of Protestant
leanings, and in that way already disarmed of all effectual
power, finds one of her own nuns (whom she knows to be
innocent) accused of an offence leading to the most terrific of
punishments. The nun will be immured alive if she is
found guilty ; and there is no chance that she will not, for
the evidence against her is strong, unless something were
made known that cannot be made known, and the judges are
hostile. All follows in the order of the reader's fears. The
witnesses depose ; the evidence is without effectual contra-
diction ; the conviction is declared ; the judgment is de-
livered ; nothing remains but to see execution done. At
this crisis, the abbess, alarmed too late for effectual inter-
position, considers with herself that, according to the regular
forms, there will be one single night open, during which the

VOL. xin z

338 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

prisoner cannot be withdrawn from -her own separate juris-
diction, This one night, therefore, she will use, at any
hazard to herself, for the salvation of her friend. At mid-
night, when all is hushed in the convent, the lady traverses
the passages which lead to the cells of prisoners. She bears
a master-key under her professional habit. As this will
open every door in every corridor, already, by anticipation,
she feels the luxury of holding her emancipated friend
within her arms. Suddenly she has reached the door ; she de-
scries a dusky object ; she raises her lamp ; and, ranged within
the recess of the entrance, she beholds the funeral banner of
the holy office, and the black robes of its inexorable officials.
I apprehend tliat, in a situation such as this, supposing it
a real one, the lady-abbess would not start, would not show
any marks externally of consternation or horror. The case
was beyond that. The sentiment which attends the sudden
revelation that all is lost silently is gathered up into the
heart ; it is too deep for gestures or for words ; and no part
of it passes to the outside. Were the ruin conditional, or
were it in any point doubtful, it would be natural to utter
ejaculations, and to seek sympathy. But, where the ruin is
understood to be absolute, where sympathy cannot be conso-
lation, and counsel cannot be hope, this is otherwise. The
voice perishes ; the gestures are frozen ; and the spirit of
man flies back upon its own centre. I, at leabt, upon seeing
those awful gates closed and hung with draperies of woe, as
lor a death already past, spoke nut, nor started, nor groaned.
One profound sigh ascended from my heart, and I was silent
for days. 1

In the Opium Confessions I touched a little upon the
extraordinary power connected with opium (after long use)
of amplifying the dimensions of time. Space, also, it ampli-
fies by degrees that are sometimes terrific, But time it is
upon which the exalting and multiplying power of opium
chiefly spends its operation. Time becomes infinitely elastic,
stretching out to such immeasurable and vanishing termini
that it seems ridiculous to compute the sense of it, on waking,

1 To this point the paper is substantially the same as the "Intro-
ductory Notice " in Wackwood for March 1845. See ante, p. 331. M,

SUSPIftTA DE PROFUNDIS 339

by expressions commensurate to human life. As in starry
fields one computes by diameters of the Earth's orbit, or of
Jupiter's, so, in valuing the virtual time lived during some
dreams, the measurement by generations is ridiculous by
millennia is ridiculous ; by seons, I should say, if ceons were
more determinate, would be also ridiculous.

Here pause, reader ! Imagine yourself seated in some
cloud-scaling swing, oscillating under the impulse of lunatic
hands ; for the strength of lunacy may belong to human
dreams, the fearful caprice of lunacy, and the malice of
lunacy, whilst the lictim of those dreams may be all the
more certainly removed from lunacy; even as a bridge
gathers cohesion and strength from the increasing resistance
into which it is forced by increasing pressure. Seated in
such a swing, fast as you reach the lowest point of depres-
sion, may you rely on racing up to a starry altitude of
corresponding ascent. Ups and downs you will see, heights
and depths, in our fiery course together, such as will some-
times tempt you to look shyly and suspiciously at me, your
guide, and the ruler of the oscillations, Here, at the point
where I have called a halt, the reader has reached the lowest
depths in iny nursery afflictions. From that point according
to the principles of art which govern the movement of these
Confessions, I had meant to launch him upwards through
the whole arch of ascending visions which seemed requisite
to balance the sweep downwards, so recently described in his
course. But accidents of the press have made it impossible
to accomplish this purpose. There is reason to regret that
the advantages of position which were essential to the full
effect of passages planned for the equipoise and mutual resist-
ance have thus been lost. Meantime, upon the principle of
the mariner who rigs a jwi/-mast in default of his regular
spars, I find my resource in a sort of "jury" peroration, not
sufficient in the way of a balance by its proportions, but
sufficient to indicate the quality of the balance which I had
contemplated. He who has really read the preceding parts
of these present Confessions will be aware that a stricter
scrutiny of the past, such as was natural after the whole
economy of the dreaming faculty had been convulsed beyond

340 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

all precedents on record, led me to the conviction that not
one agency, but two agencies had co-operated to the tremen-
dous result. The nursery experience had been the ally and
the natural coefficient of the opium. For that reason it was
that the nursery experience has been narrated. Logically it
bears the very same relation to the convulsions of the dream-
ing faculty as the opium. The idealising tendency existed
in the dream-theatre of my childhood ; but the preternatural
strength of its action and colouring was first developed after
the confluence of the two causes. The reader must suppose
me at Oxford ; twelve years and a half are gone by ; I am
in the glory of youthful happiness : but I have now first
tampered with opium ; and now first the agitations of my
childhood reopened in strength ; now first they swept in upon
the brain with power and the grandeur of recovered life
under the separate and the concurring inspirations of opium. 1

THE PA.LIMPBEOT OP THE HTJHA.N BRAIN,*

You know perhaps, masculine reader, better than I can
tell you, what is a Palimpsest. Possibly you have one in
your own library, But yet, for the sake of others who may
not know, or may have forgotten, suffer me to explain it
here, lest any female reader who honours these papers with

1 The two closing paragraphs aru the somewhat abrupt substitution
left by De Quincey for five closing paragraphs of the paper as it stood
originally in Bkckirood for March 1845. Those five closing paragraphs
were intended to prepaie the reader for what immediately followed in
the same number of the magazine, in the shape of that section of
11 Paii I" of the SUHPIRIA which bore the title The Affliction of Child-
hood ; and De Qnincey's feeling seems to have been that there was no
need to retain the paragraphs after The Affliction nf Childhood had
been removed from among the SUSPIRIA, for partial incorporation with
his AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCHES. But I have doubts whether De
Quincey did really mean to close his present paper with the two
paragraphs that now appear in such ragged shape to do duty for the
omitted original conclusion of the " Introductory Notice " in filuck-
wood. The two paragraphs, I mid, are clippings from the superseded
" Affliction of Childhood " ; and it seems more natural to suppose that
they had been preserved inadvertently than that De Quincey thought
they could be moved back suitably to where they now are. The
paper seems to end more fitly without them. M.

2 Printed originally, but with the title of "The Palimpsest"
merely, in Blackwood for June 1845, See ante, p. 331. M.

SUSPIRIA DE PEOFUND1S 341

her notice should tax me with explaining it once too seldom ;
which would be worse to bear than a simultaneous complaint
from twelve proud men that I had explained it three times
too often. You, therefore, fair reader, understand that for
yowr accommodation exclusively I explain the meaning of
this word. It is Greek ; and our sex enjoys the office and
privilege of standing counsel to yours in all questions of
Greek. We are, under favour, perpetual and hereditary drago-
mans to you. So that if, by accident, you know the meaning
of a Greek word, yet by courtesy to us, your counsel learned
in that matter, you will always seem not to know it.

A palimpsest, then, is a membrane or roll cleansed of its
manuscript by reiterated successions.

What was the reason that the Greeks and the Komans
had not the advantage of printed books ? The answer will
be, from ninety- nine persons in a hundred, Because the
mystery of printing was not then discovered. But this is
altogether a mistake. The secret of printing must have been
discovered many thousands of times before it was used, or
could be used The inventive powers of man are divine;
and also his stupidity is divine, as Gowper so playfully
illustrates in the slow development of the sofa through
successive generations of immortal dulness. It took cen-
turies of blockheads to raise a joint stool into a chair ; and
it required something like a miracle of genius, in the
estimate of elder generations, to reveal the possibility of
lengthening a chair into a cimse-longue, or a sofa. Yes,
these were inventions that cost mighty throes of intellectual
power. But still, as respects printing, and admirable as is
the stupidity of man, it was really not quite equal to the
task of evading an object which &tared him in the face with
so broad a gaze, It did not require an Athenian intellect to
read the main secret of printing in many scores of processes
which the ordinary uses of life were daily repeating. To
say nothing of analogous artifices amongst various mechanic
artizans, all that is essential in printing must have been
known to every nation that struck coins and medals, Not,
therefore, any want of a printing art, that is, of an art for
multiplying impressions, but the want of a cheap material
for recevuing such impressions, was the obstacle to an mtro-

342 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

duotion of printed books even as early as Pisistratus. The
ancients did apply printing to records of silver and gold ; to
marble, and many other substances cheaper than gold or
silver, they did nrt, since each monument required a separate
effort of inscription. Simply this defect it was of a cheap
material for receiving impresses which froze in its very
fountains the early resources of printing.

Some twenty years ago this view of the case was luminously
expounded by Dr. Whately, and with the merit, I believe, of
having first suggested it. Since then, this theory has received
indirect confirmation. Now, out of that original scarcity
affecting all materials proper for durable books, which con-
tinued up to times comparatively modern, grew the opening
for palimpsests. Naturally, when once a roll of parchment
or of vellum had done its office, by propagating through a
series of generations what once had possessed an interest for
them, but which > under changes of opinion or of taste, had
faded to their feelings or had become obsolete for their under-
takings, the whole memlirana or vellum skin, the twofold pro-
duct of human skill and costly material, and the costly freight
of thought which it carried, drooped in value concurrently
supposing that each were inalienably associated to the other.
Once it had been the impress of a human mind which
stamped its value upon the vellum; the vellum, though
costly, had contributed but a secondary element of value to
the total result. At length, however, this relation between
the vehicle and its freight has gradually been undermined.
The vellum, from having been the setting of the jewel, has
risen at length to be the jewel itself; and the burden of
thought, from having given the chief value to the vellum,
has now become the chief obstacle to its value ; nay, has
totally extinguished its value, unless it can be dissociated
from the connexion. Yet, if this unlinking can be effected,
then, fast as the inscription upon the membrane is sinking
into rubbish, the membrane itself is reviving in its separate
importance; and, from bearing a ministerial value, the
vellum has come at last to absorb the whole value.

Hence the importance for our ancestors that the separa-
tion should be effected. Hence it arose in the Middle Ages as
a considerable object for chemistry to discharge the writing

SUSPIRU DE PfiOFUNDlS 343

from the roll, and thus to make it available for a new
succession of thoughts. The soil, if cleansed from what once
had heen hot-house plants, but now were held to be weeds,
would be ready to receive a fresh and more appropriate crop.
In that object the monkish chemists succeeded ; but after a
fashion which seems almost incredible, incredible not as
regards the extent of their success, but as regards the
delicacy of restraints under which it moved, so equally
adjusted was their success to the immediate interests of
that period, and to the reversionary objects of our own.
They did the thing , but not so radically as to prevent us,
their posterity, from undoing it. They expelled the writing
sufficiently to leave a field for the new manuscript, and yet
not sufficiently to make the traces of the elder manuscript
irrecoverable for us. Could magic, could Hermes Trisme-
giatus, have done more 1 What would you think, fair reader,
of a problem such as this : to write a book which should be
sense for your own generation, nonsense for the next ; should
revive into sense for the next after that, but again become
nonsense for the fourth ; and so on by alternate successions
sinking into night or blazing into day, like the Sicilian river
Arethupa and the English river Mole, 1 or like the undu-
lating motions of a flattened stone which children cause to
skim the breast of a river, now diving below the water, now
grazing its surface, sinking heavily into darkness, rising
buoyantly into light, through a long vista of alternations 1
Such a problem, you say, is impossible. But really it is a
problem not harder apparently than to bid a generation kill,
so that a subsequent generation may call back into life;
bury, so that posterity may command to rise again. Yet
that was what the rude chemistry of past ages effected when
coming into combination with the reaction from the more
refined chemistry of our own. Had they been better chemists,
had we been worse, the mixed result, namely, that, dying

1 The famous Sicilian fountain of Arethusa is said to be still
visible,' though in shrunken dimensions, in the ancient quarter of
Syracuse called Ortygia, The English Mole is in Surrey, and has,
or had, the trick of disappearing in summer, for a part of its course,
into a subterranean channel : whence Milton's line in his poem At a
Vacatiwi Exercise :

u Or sullen Mole, that runneth underneath." M.

344 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

for tliem, the flower should revive for w, could not have
been effected. They did the thing proposed to them : they
did it effectually, for they founded upon it all that was
wanted : and yet ineffectually, since we unravelled their
work, effacing all ahove which they had superscribed,
restoring all below which they had effaced.

Here, for instance, is a parchment which contained some
Grecian tragedy, the Agamemnon of JEschylus, or the
Phoenissse of Euripides. This had possessed a value almost
inappreciable in the eyes of accomplished scholars, continually
growing rarer through generations. But four centuries are
gone by since the destruction of the Western Empire. Christ-
ianity, with towering grandeurs of another class, has founded
a different empire ; and some bigoted, yet perhaps holy
monk has washed away (as he persuades himself) the
heathen's tragedy, replacing it with a monastic legend ;
which legend is disfigured with fables in its incidents, and
yet in a higher sense is true, because interwoven with
Christian morals, and with the sublimest of Christian revela-
tions. Three, four, five, centuries more find man still
devout as ever ; but the language has become obsolete , and
even for Christian devotion a new era has arisen, throwing it
into the channel of crusading zeal or of chivalrous enthusiasm.
The membrana is wanted now for a knightly romance for
tf My Cid " or Coeur de Lion, for Sir Tristrem or Lybseus
Disconus. In this way, by means of the imperfect chemistry
known to the mediaeval period, the same roll has served as a
conservatory for three separate generations of flowers and
fruits, all perfectly different, and yet all specially adapted to
the wants of the successive possessors. The Greek tragedy,
the monkish legend, the knightly romance, each has ruled its
own period. One harvest after another has been gathered into
the garners of man through ages far apart. And the same
hydraulic machinery has distributed, through the same marble
fountains, water, milk, or wine, according to the habits and
training of the generations that came to quench their thirst,

Such were the achievements of rude monastic chemistry.
But the more elaborate chemistry of our own days has
reversed all these motions of our simple ancestors, with
results in every stage that to them would have real ]0fi d the

SUSPIRU BE PROFUNDIS 345

most fantastic amongst the promises of thaumaturgy.
Insolent vaunt of Paracelsus, tliat he would restore the
original rose or violet out of the ashes settling from its com-
bustion that is now rivalled in this modern achievement.
The traces of each successive handwriting, regularly effaced,
as had been imagined, have, in the inverse order, been regu-
larly called back ; the footsteps of the game pursued, wolf or
stag, in each several chase, have been unlinked, and hunted
back through all their doubles ; and, as the chorus of the
Athenian stage unwove through the antistrophe every step
that had been mystically woven through the strophe, so, by
our modern conjurations of science, secrets of ages remote
from each other have been exorcised l from the accumulated
shadows of centuries, Chemistry, a witch as potent as the
Erictho of Lucan (Pharsalia, lib. vi or vh), 2 has extorted by
her torments, from the dust and ashes of forgotten centuries,
the secrets of a life extinct for tlie general eye, but still
glowing in the embers, Even the fable of the Phoenix, that
secular bird who propagated his solitary existence, and his
solitary births, along the line of centuries, through eternal
relays of funeral mists, 3 is but a type of what we have done

1 Some readers may be apt to suppose, from all Engh&h experience,
that the word exorcise meaiis properly "banishment to the shades. Not
so. Citation from the shades, or sometimes the torturing coercion of
Tiystic adjurations, is more truly the primary sense.

2 The passage in Lucan referred to is in Book VI of Ins Pha/rsalia,
lines 507 et seq. ; where the name, however, is spelt "Erichtho." M.

3 The fable respecting the Phoenix was that it was a marvellous
Arabian bird, the sole bird of the sort alive, which went every 500
years to Egypt, to die therej and leave its own burnt ashes as relics
out of which might spring its sole successor, the next Phoenix. Be
Quincey had m his mind Milton's passage near the close of his
Samson Agonistes :

" So Virtue, given for lost,
Depressed and overthrown, as Deemed,
Like that self-begotten bird
In the Arabian woods embost,
That no second knows nor third,
And lay erewhile a holocaust,
From out her ashy womb now teemed,
Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most
When most uuactive deemed ;
And, though her body die, her fame survives,
A secular bird, ages of lives." M.

346 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

with Palimpsests. We have backed upon each phoenix in
the long regmsiis, and forced him to expose his ancestral
phoenix, sleeping in the ashes below his own ashes. Our
good old forefathers would have been aghast at our sorceries ;
and, if they speculated on the propriety of burning Dr,
Faustus, us they would have burned by acclamation. Trial
there would have been none ; and they could not otherwise
have satisfied their horror of the brazen profligacy marking
our modern magic than by ploughing up the houses of all
who had been parties to it, and sowing the ground with salt,

Fancy not, reader, that this tumult of images, illustrative
or allusive, moves under any impulse or purpose of mirth.
It is but the coruscation of a restless understanding, often
made ten times more so by irritation of the nerves, such as
you will first learn to comprehend (its how and its why) some
stage or two ahead. The image, the memorial, the record,
which for me is derived from a palimpsest as to one great
fact in our human being, and which immediately I will show
you, is but too repellent of laughter; or, even if laughter
hid been possible, it would have been such laughter as often-
times is thrown off from the fields of ocean, 1 laughter that
hides, or that seems to evade, mustering tumult ; foam-bells
that weave garlands of phosphoric radiance for one moment
round the eddies of gleaming abysses ; mimicries of earth-
born flowers that for the eye raise phantoms of gaiety, as
oftentimes for the ear they raise the echoes of fugitive'
laughter, mixing with the ravings and choir-voices of an
angry sea.

What else than a natural and mighty palimpsest is the
human brain ' Such a palimpsest is my brain ; such a
palimpsest, oh reader ! is yours. Everlasting layers of ideas,
images, feelings, have fallen upon your brain softly as light.
Each succession has seemed to bury all that went before.
And yet, in reality, not one has been extinguished. And, if

1 Many readers will i ecall, though, at the moment of writing, my own
thoughts did not recall, the well-known passage in the Prometheus

VQVTLdW r KVfMTUV

A.vripi.6fjLOv 7Xa<rfta,

" multitudinous laughter of the ocean billows ' " It is not clear
whether JSschylus contemplated the laughter as addressing the ear or
the eye.

SUSPIRtA DB PBOPUNDIS 347

in the vellum palimpsest, lying amongst the oilier diplomats
of human archives or libraries, there is anything fantastic or
which moves to laughter, as oftentimes there is in the
grotesque collisions of those successive themes, having no
natural connexion, which by pure accident have consecu-
tively occupied the roll, yet, in our own heaven-created
palimpsest, the deep memorial palimpsest of the brain, there
are not and cannot be such incoherences. The fleeting
accidents of a man's life, and its external shows, may indeed
be irrelate and incongruous ; but the organising principles
which fiihe into harmony, and gather about fixed predeter-
mined centres, whatever heterogeneous elements life may
have accumulated from without, will not permit the grandeur
of human unity greatly to be violated, or its ultimate repose
to be troubled, in the retrospect from dying moments, or
from other great convulsions.

Such a convulsion is the struggle of gradual suffocation,
as in drowning , and in the original Opium Confessions I
mentioned a case of that nature communicated to me by a
lady from her own childish experience, The lady was then
still living, though of unusually great age ; and I may men-
tion that amongst her faults never was numbered any levity
of principle, or carelessness of the most scrupulous veracity,
but, on the contrary, such faults as arise from austerity, too
harsh, perhaps, and gloomy, indulgent neither to others nor
herself. And, at the time of relating this incident, when
already very old, she had become religious to asceticism. 1
According to my present belief, she had completed her ninth
year when, playing by the side of a solitary brook, she fell
into one of its deepest pools. Eventually, but after what
lapse of time nobody ever knew, she was saved from death
by a fanner, wlio, riding in some distant lane, had seen her
rise to the surface ; but not until she had descended within
the abyss of death and looked into its secrets, as far, perhaps,
as ever human eye can have looked that had permission to
return. At a certain stage of this descent, a blow seemed to
strike her ; phosphoric radiance sprang forth from her eye-
balls ; and immediately a mighty theatre expanded within

1 The description partly suits tlie known character of De Quincey'a
own mother ; and peihaps it is she that is meant M.

348 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

her brain, In a moment, in the twinkling of un eye, every
act, every depign of her past life, lived again, arraying them-
selves not as a succession, kit as parts of a coexistence.
Such a light fell upon the whole path of her life backwards
into the shades of infancy as the light, perhaps, which wrapt
the destined Apostle on his road to Damascus. Yet that
light blinded for a season ; but hers poured celestial vision
upon the brain, so that her consciousness became omni-
present at one moment to every feature in the infinite
review.

This anecdote was treated sceptically at llie time by some
critics. But, besides that it has. since been confirmed by
other experience essentially the same, reported by other
parties in the same circumstances, who had never heard of
each other, the true point for astonishment is not the simul-
taneity of arrangement under which the past events of life,
though in fact successive, had formed their dread line of
revelation. This was but a secondary phenomenon; the
deeper lay in the resurrection itself, and the possibility of
resurrection for what had so long slept in the dust. A pall,
deep as oblivion, had been thrown by life over every trace of
these experiences ; and yet suddenly, at a silent command,
at the signal of a blazing rocket sent up from the brain, the
pall draws up, and the whole depths of the theatre are
exposed. Here was the greater mystery. Now, this mystery
is liable to no doubt \ for it is repeated, and ten thousand
times repeated, by opium, for those who are its martyrs.

Yes, reader, countless are the mysterious handwritings of
grief or joy which have inscribed themselves successively upon
the palimpsest of your brain ; and, like the annual leaves of
aboriginal forests, or the undissolvmg snows on the Himalaya,
or light falling upon light, the endless strata have covered up
each other in forgetfulness, But by the hour of death, but
by fever, but by the searchings of opium, all these can revive
in strength. They are not dead, but sleeping. In the
illustration imagined by myself from the case of some indi-
vidual palimpsest, the Grecian tragedy had seemed to be dis-
placed, but was not displaced, by the monkish legend ; and
the monkish legend had seemed to be displaced, but was not
displaced, by the knightly romance, In some potent con-

SUSPIBU DE PROFUNDIS 349

vulsion of the system, all wheels back into its earliest
elementary stage, The bewildering romance, light tarnished
with darkness, the semi-fabulous legend, truth celestial mixed
with human falsehoods, these fade even of themselves as life
advances, The romance has perished that the young man
adored ; the legend has gone that deluded the boy ; but the
deep, deep tragedies of infancy, as when the child's hands
were unlinked for ever from his mother's neck, or his lips for
ever from his sister's kisses, these remain lurking below all,
and these lurk to the last, Alchemy there is none of passion
or disease that can scorch away these immortal impresses ;
and the dream which closed the preceding section, 1 together
with the succeeding dreams of this (which may be viewed as
in the nature of choruses winding up the overture contained
in Part 1 2 ), are but illustrations of this truth, such as every
man probtibly will meet experimentally who passes through
similar convulsions of dreaming or delirium from any similar
or equal disturbance in his nature. 3

1 These words, as used m Jjlackwood for June 1845, referred to a
dream of his sister's funeral with an account of which the preceding
section of the SUSPIRIA, in the April number of the magazine, had
closed ; and, as the -whole of that section, tins dream included, is now
removed from the context of the SUSPIRIA, having besn converted into
a chapter of the AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCHES (see ante, Vol. I. pp 32-
50) the words are now irrelevant. They are retained, however, in
order that The Palimpsest may end as De Qumcey ended it, and that

^iis final footnote may be saved. M.

2 The reader will remember that the papers published in Black-
mod, in March, April, and June 1845, with the title of SUSPIBIA
DE PIIOFUNDIS, formed together only what was offered as Part I of
the projected series. M,

3 This, it may be said, requires a corresponding duration of ex-
perience ; but, as an argument for this mysterious power lurking in
our nature, I may remind the reader of one phenomenon open to the
notice of everybody, namely, the tendency of very aged persons to
throw back and concentrate the light of their memory upon scenes of
early childhood, as to which they recall many tiaces that had faded
even to themselves in middle life, whilst they often forget altogether
the whole intermediate stages of their experience. This shows that
naturally, and without violent agencies, the human brain is by tendency
a palimpsest.

350 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

VISION OF LIFE l

Upon me, as upon others scattered thinly by tens and
twenties over every thousand years, fell too powerfully and
too early the vision of life. The horror of life mixed itself
already in earliest youth with the heavenly sweetness of life ;
that grief which one in a hundred has sensibility enough to
gather from the sad retrospect of life in its closing stage for
me shed its dews as a prelibation upon the fountains of life
whilst yet sparkling to the morning sun. I saw from afar
and from before what I was to see from behind, Is this the
description of an early youth passed in the shades of gloom ?
No ; but of a youth passed in the divinest happiness. And,
if the reader has (which so few have) the passion without
which there is no reading of the legend and superscription
upon man's brow, if he is not (as most are) deafer than the
grave to every deep note that sight) upwards from the Delphic
caves of human life, he will know that the rapture of life (or
anything which by approach can merit that name) does not
arise, unless as perfect music arises, music of Mozart or Beeth-
oven, by the confluence of the mighty and terrific discords
with the subtile concords. Not by contrast, or as reciprocal
foils, do these elements act, which is the feeble conception
of many, but by union. They are the sexual forces in
music : " male and female created he them " ; and these
mighty antagonists do not put forth their hostilities by repul-
sion, but by deepest attraction.

As " in to-day already walks to-morrow," so in the past
experience of a youthful life may be seen dimly the future.
The collisions with alien interests or hostile views of a child,
boy, or very young man, so insulated as each of these is sure
to be, those aspects of opposition which such a person can
occupy, are limited by the exceedingly few and trivial lines
of connexion along which he is able to radiate any essential
influence whatever upon the fortunes or happiness of others.
Circumstances may magnify his importance for the moment \
but, after all, any cable which he carries out upon other

: A conserved portion of "Part II" of the STJSPIRIA as published
in Klacfacood for July 1845. See ante, p. 331. M,

SUSPIRIA DB PBQFUNDIS 351

vessels is easily slipped upon a feud arising. Far otherwise
is the state of relations connecting an adult or responsible
man with the circles around him as life advances. The net-
work of these relations is a thousand times more intricate,
the jarring of these intricate relations a thousand times more
frequent, and the vibrations a thousand times harsher which
these jarrings diffuse. This truth is felt beforehand, mis-
givingly and in troubled vision, by a young man who stands
upon the threshold of manhood. One earliest instinct of
fear and horror would darken his spirit if it could be revealed
to itself and self-questioned at the moment of birth : a second
instinct of the same nature would again pollute that tremulous
mirror if the moment were as punctually marked as physical
birth is marked which dismisses him finally upon the tides of
absolute self-control. A dark ocean would seem the total
expanse of life from the first; but far darker and more
appalling would seem that inferior and second chamber of
the ocean which called him away for ever from the direct
accountability of others. Dreadful would be the morning
which should say, " Be thou a human child incarnate" ; but
more dreadful the morning which should say, " Bear thou
henceforth the sceptre of thy self-dominion through life, and
the passion of life ! " Yes, dreadful would be both ; but
without a basis of the dreadful there is no perfect rapture,
It is in part through the sorrow of life, growing out of dark
3vents, that this basis of awe and solemn darkness slowly
accumulates. That I have illustrated. But, as life expands,
it is more through the stnfe which besets us, strife from con-
flicting opinions, positions, passions, interests, that the funereal
ground settles and deposits itself which sends upward the
dark lustrous brilliancy through the jewel of life, else reveal-
ing a pale and superficial glitter. Either the human being
must suffer and struggle, as the price of a more searching
vision, or his gaze must be shallow and without intellectual
revelation.

MEMORIAL SUSPIRIA l
Heavens ! when I look back to the sufferings which I have

1 Another conserved portion of the Blacfaoood Part II of tlie
SUSPIEIA, Seeawte, p. 331, M.

352 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

witnessed or heaid of, I say, if life could throw open its long
suites of chambers to our eyes from some station beforehand,
if from some secret stand we could look by anticipation along
its vast corridors, and aside into the recesses opening upon
them from either hand halls of tragedy or chambers of
retribution, simply in that small wing and no more of the
great caravanserai which we ourselves shall haunt, simply
in that narrow tract of time, and no more, where we ourselves
shall range, and confining our gaze to those and no others for
whom personally we shall be interested, What a recoil we
should suffer of horror in our estimate of life ! What if
those sudden catastrophes, or those inexpiable afflictions,
which have already descended upon the people within my
own knowledge, and almost below my own eyes, all of them
now gone past, and some long past, had been thrown open
before me as a secret exhibition when first I and they stood
within the vestibule of morning hopes, when the calamities
themselves had hardly begun to gather in their elements of
possibility, and when some of the parties to them were as yet
no more than infants ! The past viewed not as the past, but
by a spectator who steps back ten years deeper into the rear
in order that he may regard it as a future, the calamity of
1840 contemplated from the station of 1830, the doom that
rang the knell of happiness viewed from a point of time
when as yet it was neither feared nor would even have been
intelligible, tho name that killed in 1843 which in 1835,
would have struck no vibration upon the heart, the portrait
that on the day of her Majesty's coronation would have been
admired by you with a pure disinterested admiration, but
which, if seen to*day, would draw forth an involuntary
groan : cases such as these are strangely moving for all who
add deep though tfulness to deep sensibility. As the hastiest
of improvisations, accept, fair reader (for such reader it is
that will chiefly feel such an invocation of the past), three or
four illustrations from my own experience :

Who is this distinguished-looking young woman, with her
eyes drooping, and the shadow of a dreadful shock yet fresh
upon every feature ? Who is the elderly lady, with her eyes
flashing fire 1 Who is the downcast child of sixteen ? What

SUSPIRIA DE PBOFUNDIS 353

is that torn paper lying at their feet? Who is the writer*?
Whom does the paper concern 1 Ah ! if she, if the central
figure in the group twenty-two at the moment when she is
revealed to us could, on her happy birthday at sweet seven-
teen, have seen the image of herself five years onwards just
as we see it now, would she have prayed for life as for an abso-
lute blessing ? or would she not have prayed to be taken
from the evil to come to be taken away one evening, at
least, before this day's sun arose ' It is true, she still wears
a look of gentle pride, and a relic of that noble smile which
belongs to her that suffers an injury which many times over
she would have died sooner than inflict. Womanly pride
refuses itself before witnesses to the total prostration of the
blow ; but, for all that, you may see that she longs to be left
alone, and that her tears will flow without restraint when
she is so. This room is her pretty boudoir, in which, till
to-night poor thing ! she has been glad and happy. There
stands her miniature conservatory, and there expands her
miniature library ; as we circumnavigators of literature are
apt (you know) to regard all female libraries in the light of
miniatures. None of these will ever rekindle a smile on Jiw
face ; and there, beyond, is her music, which only of all that
she possesses will now become dearer to her than ever ; but,
not, as once, to feed a self-mocked pensiVeness, or to cheat a
half-visionary sadness, She will be sad, indeed. But she
"to one of those that will suffer in silence. Nobody will ever
detect her failing in any point of duty, or querulously seeking
the support in others which she can find for herself in this
solitary room. Droop she will not in the sight of men;
and, for all beyond, nobody has any concern with that, except
God. You shall hear what becomes of her before we take
our departure ; but now let me tell you what has happened.

In the main outline I am sure you guess already, without
aid of mine ; for we leaden -eyed men, in such cases/ see
nothing by comparison with you our quick-witted sisters.
That haughty-looking lady, with the Roman cast of features,
who must once have been strikingly handsome, an Agrip-
pina even yet in a favourable presentation, is the younger
lady's aunt, She, it is rumoured, once sustained, in her
younger days, some injury of that same cruel nature which

VOL. sm 2 A

354 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

has tins clay assailed her niece, and ever since she has worn
an air of disdain, not altogether unsupported by real dignity,
towards men. This aunt it was that tore the letter which
lies upon the floor. It deserved to be torn ; and yet she
that had the best right to do so would not have torn it. That
letter was an elaborate attempt on the part of an accom-
plished young man to release himself from sacred engage-
ments. What need was there to argue the case of such,
engagements 9 Could it have been requisite with pure female
dignity to plead anything, or do more than look an indis-
position to fulfil them 1 The aunt is now moving towards
the door, which I am glad to see and she is followed by
that pale, timid girl of sixteen, a cousin, who feels the case
profoundly, but is too young and shy to offer an intellectual
sympathy.

One only person in this world there is who could to-night
have been a supporting friend to our young sufferer ; and
that is her dear, loving twin-sister, that for eighteen years
read and wrote, thought and sang, slept and breathed, with
the dividing-door open for ever between their "bed-rooms, and
never once a separation between their hearts. But she is in
a far distant land. Who else is there at her call ' Except
God, nobody. Her aunt had somewhat sternly admonished
her, though still with a relenting in her eye as she glanced
aside at the expression in her niece's face, that she must " call
pride to her assistance." Ay, true; but pride, though a
strong ally in public, is apt in private to turn as treacherous
as the worst of those against whom she is invoked, How
could it be dreamed, by a person of sense, that a brilliant
young man, of merits various and eminent in spite of his
baseness, to whom for nearly two years this young woman
had given her whole confiding love, might be dismissed from
a heart like hers on the earliest summons of pride, simply
because she herself had been dismissed from his, or seemed
to have been dismissed, on a summons of mercenary calcula-
tion *{ Look ! now that she is relieved from the weight of
an unconfi dential presence, she has sat for two hours with her
head buried in her hands. At last she rises to look for
something. A thought has struck her ; and, taking a little
golden key which hangs by a chain within her bosom, she

SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDTS 355

searches for something locked up amongst her few jewels,
What is it 1 It is a Bible exquisitely illuminated, with a
letter attached by some pretty silken artifice to the blank
leaves at the end. This letter is a beautiful record, wisely
and pathetically composed, of maternal anxiety still burning
strong in death, and yearning, when all objects beside were
fast fading from her eyes, after one parting act of communion
with the twin darlings of her heart. Both were thirteen
years old, within a week or two, as on the night before her
death they sat weeping by the bedside of their mother, and
hanging on her lips, now for farewell whispers and now for
farewell kisses. They both knew that, as her strength had
permitted during the latter month of her life, she had thrown
the last anguish of love in her beseeching heart into a letter
of counsel to themselves. Through this, of which each sister
had a copy, she trusted long to converse with her orphans.
And the last promise which she had entreated on this evening
from both was that in either of two contingencies they would
review her counsels, and the passages to which she pointed
their attention in the Scriptures : namely, first, in the event
of any calamity that, for one sister or for both, should over-
spread their paths with total darkness ; and, secondly, in the
event of life flowing in too profound a stream of prosperity,
so as to threaten them with an alienation of interest from all
spiritual objects. She had not concealed that, of these two
extreme cases, she would prefer for her own children the
iirst. And now had that case arrived, indeed, which she in
spirit had desired to meet. Nine years ago, just as the
silvery voice of a dial in the dying lady's bed-room was
striking nine, upon a summer evening, had the last visual
ray streamed from her seeking eyes upon her orphan twins ;
after which, throughout the night, she had slept away into
heaven. Now again had come a summer evening memorable
for unhappiness ; now again the daughter thought of those
dying lights of love which streamed at sunset from, the closing
eyes of her mother ; again, and just as she went back m
thought to this image, the same silvery voice of the dial
sounded nine o'clock. Again she remembered her mother's
dying request ; again her own tear-hallowed promises ; and,
with her heart in her mother's grave, she now rose to fulfil

J56 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

it. Here 3 then, when this solemn recurrence to a testament-
ary counsel has ceased to be a mere office of duty towards
the departed, having taken the shape of a consolation for
herself, let us pause.

Now, fair companion in this exploring voyage of inquest
into hidden scenes or forgotten scenes of human life, perhaps
it might be instructive to direct our glasses upon the false,
perfidious lover. It might. But do not let us do so. We
might like him better, or pity him more, than either of us
would desire. His name and memory have long since
dropped out of everybody's thoughts. Of prosperity, and
(what is more important) of internal peace, he is reputed to
have had no gleam from the moment when he betrayed his
faith, and in one day threw away the jewel of good con-
science, and " a pearl richer than all his tribe." But, how-
ever that may be, it is certain that, finally, he became a
wreck ; and of any hopeless wreck it is painful to talk,
much more so when through him others also became
wrecks.

Shall we, then, after an interval of nearly two years has
passed over the young lady in the boudoir, look in again
upon her 1 You hesitate, fair friend ; and I myself hesitate.
For, in fact, she also has hecome a wreck ; and it would
grieve us both to see her altered. At the end of twenty-one
months she letains hardly a vestige of resemblance to the^
fine young woman we saw on that unhappy evening with
her aunt and cousin. On consideration, therefore, let us do
this : We will direct our glas&es to her room at a point of
time about six weeks further on. Suppose this time gone ;
suppose her now dressed for her grave, and placed in her
coffin. The advantage of that is that, though no change can
restore the ravages of the past, yet (as often is found to
happen with young persons) the expression has revived from
her girlish years. The child-like aspect has revolved, and
settled back upon her features. The wasting away of the
flesh is less apparent in the face ; and one might imagine
that in this sweet marble countenance was seen the very
same upon which, eleven years ago, her mother's darkening
eyes had lingered to the last, until clouds had swallowed up

SUSPIRIA DE PROFTJNDIS 357

the vision of hr beloved twins. Yet, if that were in part a
fancy, this, at least, is no fancy, that not only much of a
child-like truth and simplicity has reinstated itself in the
temple of her now reposing features, but also tranquillity and
perfect peace, such as are appropriate to eternity, but which
from the living countenance had taken their flight for ever
on that memorable evening when we looked in upon the
impassioned group, upon the towering and denouncing
aunt, the sympathising but silent cousin, the poor, blighted
niece, and the wicked letter lying in fragments at their feet.

Cloud, that hast revealed to us this young creature and
her blighted hopes, close up again ! And now, a few years
later, not more than four or five, give back to us the
latest arrears of the changes which thou concealest within
thy draperies, Once more, " open sesame ! " and show us a
third generation.

Behold a lawn islanded with thickets 1 How perfect is
the verdure ; how rich the blossoming shrubberies that screen
with verdurous walls from the possibility of intrusion, whilst
by their own wandering line of distribution they shape, and
umbrageously embay, what one might call lawny saloons
and vestibules, sylvan galleries and closets ! Some of these
recesses, which unlink themselves as fluently as snakes, and
unexpectedly as the shyest nooks, watery cells, and crypts,
amongst the shores of a forest-lake, being formed by the mere
caprices and ramblings of the luxuriant shrubs, are so small
and so quiet that one might fancy them meant for boudoirs.
Here is one that in a less fickle climate would make the
loveliest of studies for a writer of breathings from some
solitary heart, or of suspiria from some impassioned memory !
And, opening from one angle of this embowered study, issues
a little narrow corridor, that, after almost wheeling back
upon itself in its playful mazes, finally widens into a little
circular chamber ; out of which there is no exit (except back
again by the entrance), small or great ; k so that, adjacent to
his study, the writer would command how sweet a bed-room,
permitting him to lie the summer through, gazing all night
long at the burning host of heaven. How silent Hint would
be at the noon of summer nights, how grave-like in its
quiet ! And yet need there be asked a stillness or a silence

358 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

more profound than, is felt at this present noon of day 1 One
reason for such peculiar repose, over and above the tranquil
character of the clay, and the distance of the place from the
high-roads, is the outer zone of woods which almost on every
quarter invests the shrubberies, swathing them (as one may
express it), belting them and overlooking them, from a vary-
ing distance of two and three furlongs, so as oftentimes to
keep the winds at a distance. But, however caused and
supported, the silence of these fanciful lawns and lawny
chambers is oftentimes oppressive in the depths of summer
to people unfamiliar with solitudes either mountainous or
sylvan ; and many would be apt to suppose that the villa to
which these pretty shrubberies form the chief dependencies
must be untenanted. But that is not the case. The house
is inhabited, and by its own legal mistress, the proprietress
of the whole domain ; and not at all a silent mistress, but as
noisy as most little ladies of five years old ; for that is her
age. Now, and just as we are speaking, you may hear her
little joyous clamour, as she issues from the house. This way
she comes, bounding like a fawn ; and soon she rushes into
the little recess which I pointed out as a proper study for
any man who should be weaving the deep harmonies of
memorial suspiria. But I fancy that she will soon dispossess
it of that character, for her suspiria are not many at this
stage of her life. Now she comes dancing into sight ; and
you see that, if she keeps the promise of her infancy, shr
will be an interesting creature to the eye in after-life. In
other respects, also, she is an engaging child, loving, natural,
and wild as any one of her neighbours for some miles round,
namely, leverets, squirrels, and ring-doves. But what
will surprise you most is that, although a child of pure
English blood, she speaks very little English, but more
Bengalee than peihaps you will find it convenient to con-
strue. That is her ayah, who comes up from behind at a
pace so different from her youthful mistress's. But, if their
paces are different, in other things they agree most cordially;
and dearly they love each other. In reality, the child has
passed her whole life in the arms of this ayah. She remem-
bers nothing elder than h&r ; eldest of things is the ayah in
her eyes ; and, if the ayah should insist on her worshipping

SUSPIRJA DE PROFUNDIS 359

herself as the goddess Railroadina or Steamboatma, that made
England, and the sea, and Bengal, it is certain that the little
thing would do so, asking no question but this, whether
kissing would do for worshipping,

Every evening at nine o'clock, as the ayah sits by the
little creature lying awake in bed, the silvery tongue of a dial
tolls the hour. Header, you know who she is. She is the
grand-daughter of her that faded away about sunset in gazing
at her twin orphans. Her name is Grace. And she is the
niece of that elder and once happy Grace who spent so much
of her happiness in this very room, but whom, in her utter
desolation, we saw in the boudoir, with the torn letter at her
feet. She is the daughter of that other sister, wife to a
military officer who died abroad. Little Grace never saw
her grandmamma, nor her lovely aunt that was her name-
sake, nor consciously her mamma. She was born six mouths
after the death of the elder Grace ; and her mother saw her
only through the mists of mortal suffering, which carried her
off three weeks after the birth of her daughter.

This view was taken several years ago ; and since then
the younger Grace, in her turn, is under a cloud of affliction.
But she is still under eighteen ; and of her there may be
hopes. Seeing such things in so short a space of years, for
the grandmother died at thirty-two, we say, " Death we
can face ; but, knowing as some of us do what is human
life, which of us is it that without shuddering could (if
consciously we were summoned) face the hour of birth ? "

SAVANNAH-LA-MAR 1

God smote Savannah-la-mar, and in one night, by earth-
quake, removed her, with all her towers standing and
population sleeping, from the steadfast foundations of the
shore to the coral floors of ocean. And God said, " Pompeii
did I bury and conceal from men through seventeen centuries :
this city I will bury, but not conceal. She shall be a
monument to men of my mysterious anger, set in azure light
through generations to come ; for I will enshrine her in a

1 Originally in Bteobwood for June 1845. See ante, p, 331, M.

360 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

crystal dome of my tropic seas." This city, therefore, like a
mighty galleon with, all her apparel mounted, streamers
flying, and tackling perfect, seems floating along the noise-
less depths of ocean ; and oftentimes in glassy calms, through
the translucid atmosphere of water that now stretches like
an air-woven awning above the silent encampment, mariners
from every clime look down into her courts and terraces,
count her gates, and number the spires of her churches.
She is one ample cemetery, and has been for many a year ;
but, in the mighty calms that brood for weeks over tropic
latitudes, she fascinates the eye with a Fata-Morgana revela-
tion, as of human life still subsisting in submarine asylums
sacred from the storms that torment our upper air.

Thither, lured by the loveliness of cerulean depths, by
the peace of human dwellings privileged from molestation,
by the gleam of marble altars sleeping in everlasting sanctity,
oftentimes in dreams did I and the Bark Interpreter cleave
the watery veil that divided us from her streets. We looked
into the belfries, where the pendulous bells were waiting in
vain for the summons which should awaken their marriage
peals ; together we touched the mighty organ-keys, that sang
no jubilates for the ear of heaven, that sang no requiems for
the ear of human sorrow ; together we searched the silent
nurseries, where the children were all asleep, and had been
asleep through five generations, " They are waiting for the
heavenly dawn," whispered the Interpreter to himself : " and,
when that comes, the bells and the organs will utter a jubilate '
repeated by the echoes of Paradise." Then, turning to me,
he said, " This is sad, this is piteous ; but less would not
have sufficed for the purpose of God, Look here. Put into
a Eoman clepsydra one hundred drops of water ; let these
run out as the sands in an hour-glass, every drop measuring
the hundredth part of a second, so that each shall represent
but the three-hundred-and-sixty-thousandth part of an hour.
Now, count the drops as they race along ; and, when the
fiftieth of the hundred is passing, behold ! forty-nine are
not, because already they have perished, and fifty are not,
because they are yet to come. You see, therefore, how
narrow, how incalculably narrow, is the true and actual
present. Of that time which we call the present, hardly a

SUSPIETA BE PEOFUNDIS 361

hundredth part but belongs either to a past which has fled,
or to a future which is still on the wing. It has perished,
or it is not born. It was, or it is not. Yet even this ap-
proximation to the truth is infinitely false. For again sub-
divide that solitary drop, which only was found to represent
the present, into a lower series of similar fractions, and the
actual present which you arrest measures now but the
thirty-sixth-millionth of an hour ; and so by infinite de-
clensions the true and very present, in which only we live
and enjoy, will vanish into a mote of a mote, distinguishable
only by a heavenly vision. Therefore the present, which
only man possesses, offers less capacity for his footing than
the slenderest film that ever spider twisted from her womb.
Therefore, also, even this incalculable shadow from the
narrowest pencil of moonlight is more transitory than
geometry can measure, or thought of angel can overtake.
The time which is contracts into a mathematic point ; and
even that point perishes a thousand times before we can
titter its birth. All is finite in the present ; and even that
finite is infinite in its velocity of flight towards death.
But in God there is nothing finite; but in God there is
nothing transitory j but in God there can be nothing that
tends to death. Therefore it follows that for God there can
be no present. The future is the present of God, and to the
future it is that he sacrifices the human present. Therefore
, it is that he works by earthquake. Therefore it is that he
works by grief. 0, deep is the ploughing of earthquake !
0, deep " (and his voice swelled like a sanctus rising from
the choir of a cathedral) " 0, deep is the ploughing of
grief ! But oftentimes less would not suffice for the agricul-
ture of God. Upon a night of earthquake he builds a
thousand years of pleasant habitations for man. Upon the
sorrow of an infant he raises oftentimes from human intellects
glorious vintages that could not else have been. Less than
these fierce ploughshares would not have stirred the stubborn
soil. The one is needed for Earth, our planet, for Earth
itself as the dwelling - place of man ; but the other is
needed yet oftener for God's mightiest instrument, yes"
(and he looked solemnly at myself), "is needed for the
mysterious children of the Earth ! "

TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

LEVANA AND OUR LADIES OF SORROW l

Oftentimes at Oxford I saw Levana in my dreams. I
knew her by her Roman symbols. Who is Levana '
Header, that do not pretend to have leisure for very much
scholarship, you will not be angry with me for telling you.
Levana was the Roman goddess that performed for the new-
born infant the earliest office of ennobling kindness,
typical, by its mode, of that grandeur which belongs to man
everywhere, and of that benignity in powers invisible which
even in Pagan worlds sometimes descends to sustain it. At
the very moment of birth, just as the infant tasted for the
first time the atmosphere of our troubled planet, it was laid
on the ground. That might bear different interpretations.
But immediately, lest so grand a creature should grovel
there for more than one instant, either the paternal hand, as
proxy for the goddess Levana, or some near kinsman, as proxy
for the father, raised it upright, bade it look erect as the
king of all this world, and presented its forehead to the
stars, saying, perhaps, in his heart, " Behold what is greater
than yourselves ! " This symbolic act represented the
function of Levana, And that mysterious lady, who never
revealed her face (except to me in dreams), but always acted
by delegation, had her name from the Latin verb (as still
it is the Italian verb) levare, to raise aloft.

This is the explanation of Levana. And hence it has
arisen that some people have understood by Levana the
tutelary power that controls the education of the nursery.
She, that would not suffer at his birth even a prefigurative
or mimic degradation for her awful ward, far less could be
supposed to suffer the real degradation attaching to the non-

1 One reason for putting this piec-e last is that De Quincey himself
calls attention to it as furnishing a key to the whole scheme of his
SUSPIRIA DE PROPUNDIS had he been able to complete the series.
See appended footnote at the end. Another reason, however, is that
this little paper is perhaps, all in all, the finest thing that De
Quincey ever wrote, It is certainly the most perfect specimen he
has left us of his peculiar art of English prose-poetry, and certainly
silso one of the most magnificent pieces of prose in the English or in
any other language. M.

SUSPIRIA DE PKOFUNDIS 363

development of his powers. She therefore watchos over
human education. Now, the word edtoco, with, the penulti-
mate short, was derived (by a process often exemplified in
the crystallisation of languages) from the word educo, with
the penultimate long. Whatsoever educes, or develops,
educates. By the education of Levana, therefore, is meant,
not the poor machinery that moves by spelling-books and
grammars, but by that mighty system of central forces
hidden m the deep bosom of human life, which by passion,
by strife, by temptation, by the energies of resistance, works
for ever upon children, resting not day or night, any more
than the mighty wheel of day and night themselves, whose
moments, like restless spokes, are glimmering l for ever as
they revolve.

If, then, these are the ministries by which Levana works,
how profoundly must she reverence the agencies of grief !
But you, reader, think that children generally are not liable
to grief such as mine. There are two senses in the word
generally, the sense of Euclid, where it means universally (or
in the whole extent of the genus), and a foolish sense of this
world, where it means usually. Now, I am far from saying
that children universally are capable of grief like mine. But
there are more than you ever heard of who die of grief in
this island of ours. I will tell you a common case. The
rules of Eton require that a boy on the foundation should be
there twelve years : he is superannuated at eighteen ; con-
sequently he must come at six. Children torn away from
mothers and sisters at that age not unfrequently die. I speak

1 As I have never allowed myself to covet any man's ox nor Ins
ass, nor anything that is his, still less would it become a philosopher
to covet other people's images or metaphors. Here, therefore, I
restore to Mr. Wordsworth this fine image of the revolving wheel
and the glimmering spokes, as applied by him to the flying successions
of day and night. I borrowed it for one moment in order to point
my own sentence ; which being done, the reader is witness that I
now pay it hack instantly by a note made for that sole purpose.
On the same principle I often borrow their seals from young ladies,
when closing my letters, because there is sure to be some tender
sentiment npon them about "memory," or "hope," or "roses," or
" reunion," and my correspondent must be a sad brute who is not
touched by the eloquence of the seal, even if his taste is so had that
he remains deaf to mine.

364 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

of what I know. The complaint is^ot entered by the
registrar as grief ; but that it is. Grief oLthat sort, and at
that age, has killed more than ever have been counted
amongst its martyrs.

Therefore it is that Levana often communes with the
powers that shake man's heart ; therefore it is that she dotes
upon grief, "These ladies," said I softly to myself, on see-
ing the ministers with whom Levana was conversing, " these
are the Sorrows ; and they are three in number : as the
Graces are three, who dress man's life with beauty; the
Porcof are three, who weave the dark arras of man's life in
their mysterious loom always with colours sad in part, some-
times angry with tragic crimson and black ; the Furies are
three, who visit with retributions called from the other side
of the grave offences that walk upon this ; and once even the
Muses were but three, who fit the harp, the trumpet, or the
lute, to the great burdens of man's impassioned creations.
These are the Sorrows ; all three of whom I know." The
last words I say now ; but in Oxford I said, "one of whom
I know, and the others too surely I shall know." For already,
in my fervent youth, I saw (dimly relieved upon the dark
background of my dreams) the imperfect lineaments of the
awful Sisters.

These Sistersby what name shall we call them ? If I
say simply "The Sorrows," there will be a chance of mis-
taking the term j it might be understood of individual sorrow,
separate cases of sorrow, whereas I want a term express-
ing the mighty abstractions that incarnate themselves in all
individual sufferings of man's heart, and I wish to have these
abstractions presented as impersonations, that is, as clothed
with human attributes of life, and with functions pointing to
flesh. Let us call them, therefore, Our Ladies of Sorrow,

I know them thoroughly, and have walked, in all their
kingdoms. Three sisters they are, of one mysterious house-
hold ; and their paths are wide apart ; but of their dominion
there is no end. Them I saw often conversing with Levana,
and sometimes about myself. Do they talk, then ? no !
Mighty phantoms like these disdain the infirmities of lan-
guage. They may utter voices through the organs of man
when they dwell in human hearts, but amongst themselves

SUSPIEIA DB PBOFUNBIS 365

is no voice nor sound ; eternal silence reigns in their
kingdoms. They spoke not as they talked with Levana;
they whispered not ; they sang not ; though oftentimes
methought they might have sung: for I upon earth had
heard their mysteries oftentimes deciphered "by harp and
timbrel, by dulcimer and organ. Like God, whose servants
they are, they utter their pleasure not by sounds that perish,
or by words that go astray, but by signs in heaven, by changes
on earth, by pulses in secret rivers, heraldries painted on
darkness, and hieroglyphics written on the tablets of the
brain. They wheeled in mazes ; I spelled the steps. They
telegraphed from afar ; I read the signals, They conspired
together ; and on the mirrors of darkness my eye traced the
plots. Theirs were the symbols \ mine are the words

What is it the Sisters are ? What is it that they do ?
Let me describe their form and their presence, if form it were
that still fluctuated in its outline, 01 presence it were that for
ever advanced to the front or for ever receded amongst shades.

The eldest of the three is named Mater Lachnjmanm,
Our Lady of Tears. She it is that night and day raves and
moans, calling for vanished faces. She stood in Rama,
where a voice was heard of lamentation, Rachel weeping
for her children, and refusing to be comforted. She it was
that stood in Bethlehem on the night when Herod's sword
swept its nurseries of Innocents, and the little feet were
stiffened for ever which, heard at times as they trotted along
floors overhead, woke pulses of love in household hearts that
were not unmarked in heaven. Her eyes are sweet and
subtle, wild and sleepy, by turns ; oftentimes rising to the
clouds, oftentimes challenging the heavens. She wears a
diadem round her head. And I knew by childish memories
that she could go abroad upon the winds, when she heard
the sobbing of litanies, or the thundering of organs, and
when she beheld the mustering of summer clouds. This
Sister, the elder, it is that carries keys more than papal at
her girdle, which open every cottage and every palace. She,
to my knowledge, sat all last summer by the bedside of the
blind beggar, him that so often and so gladly I talked with,
whose pious daughter, eight years old, with the sunny coun-
tenance, resisted the temptations of play and village mirth,

366 TALES AND PROSE PHANTASIES

to travel all day long on dusty roads with her afflicted father.
For this did God send her a great reward. In the spring
time of the year, and whilst yet her own spring was budding,
He recalled her to himself. But her blind father mourns for
ever over her : still he dreams at midnight that the little
guiding hand is locked within his own; and &till he
wakens to a darkness that is now within a second and a
deeper darkness. This Mater Lachrymarum also has been
sitting all this winter of 1844-5 within the bedchamber of
the Czar, bringing before his eyes a daughter (not less pious)
that vanished to God not less suddenly, and left behind her
a darkness not less profound, By the power of the keys it
is that Our Lady of Tears glides, a ghostly intruder, into the
chambers of sleepless men, sleepless women, sleepless children,
from Ganges to the Nile, from Nile to Mississippi. And her,
because she is the first-born of her house, and has the widest
empire, let us honour with the title of " Madonna."

The second Sister is called Mat&r Suspirwum, Our Lady
of Sighs. She never scales the clouds, nor walks abroad
upon the winds. She wears no diadem. And her eyes, if
they were ever seen, would be neither sweet nor subtle ; no
man could read their story ; they would be found filled with
perishing dreams, and with wrecks of forgotten delirium.
But she raises not her eyes ; her head, on which sits a
dilapidated turban, droops for ever, for ever fastens on the
dust. She weeps not. She groans not But she sighs
inaudibly at intervals. Her sister, Madonna, is oftentimes
stormy and frantic, raging in the highest against heaven, and
demanding back her darlings. But Our Lady of Sighs never
clamours, never defies, dreams not of rebellious aspirations.
She is humble to abjectness. Hers is the meekness that
belongs to the hopeless. Murmur she may, but it is in her
sleep. Whisper she may, but it is to herself in the twilight.
Mutter she does at times, but it is in solitary places that are
desolate as she is desolate, in ruined cities, and when the sun
has gone down to his rest. This Sister is the visitor of the
Pariah, of the Jew, of the bondsman to the oar in the Medi-
terranean galleys ; of the English criminal in Norfolk Island,
blotted out from the books of remembrance in sweet far-ofi
England ; of the baffled penitent reverting his eyes for ever

SUSPIRU BE PROFUNDIS 367

upon a solitary grave, which to him seems the altar over-
thrown of some past and bloody sacrifice, on which altar no
oblations can now be availing, whether towards pardon that
he might implore, or towards reparation that he might
attempt. Every slave that at noonday looks up to the
tropical sun with timid reproach, as he points with one hand
to the earth, our general mother, but for hm a stepmother,
as he points with the other hand to the Bible, our general
teacher, but against hm sealed and sequestered 1 ; every
woman sitting in darkness, without love to shelter her head,
or hope to illumine her solitude, because the heaven-born
instincts kindling in her nature germs of holy affections,
which God implanted in her womanly bosom, having been
stifled by social necessities, now burn sullenly to waste, like
sepulchral lamps imongst the ancients ; every nun defrauded
of her unreturning May-time by wicked kinsman, whom God
will judge j every captive in every dungeon ; all that are
betrayed, and all that are rejected ; outcasts by traditionary
law, and children of hereditary disgrace : all these walk with
Our Lady of Sighs. She also carries a key ; but she needs it
little. For her kingdom is chiefly amongst the tents of
Shem, and the houseless vagrant of every dune. Yet in the
very highest ranks of man she finds chapels of her own ; and
even in glorious England there are some that, to the world,
carry their heads as proudly as the reindeer, who yet secretly
have received her mark upon their foreheads.

But the third Sister, who is also the youngest !

Hush ! whisper whilst we talk of her ! Her kingdom is not
large, or else no flesh should live ; but within that kingdom
all power is hers. Her head, turreted like that of Cybele,
rises almost beyond the reach of sight She droops not ; and
her eyes, rising so high, might be hidden by distance. But,
being what they are, they cannot be hidden : through the
treble veil of crape which she wears the fierce light of a
blazing misery, that rests not for matins or for vespers, for noon

1 This, the reader will be aware, applies chiefly to the cotton and
tobacco States of North America ; but not to them only : on which
account I have not scrupled to figure the sun which looks down upon
slavery as tropical, no matter if strictly within the tropics, or simply
so near to them as to produce a similar climate.

3G8 TALES AND PROSE PBANTASIES

of clay or noon of night, for ebbing or for flowing tide, may
be read from the very ground. She is the defier of God
She also is the mother of lunacies, and the suggestress of
suicides, Deep lie the roots of her power ; but narrow is
the nation that she rules. For she can approach only those
in whom a profound nature has been upheaved by central
convulsions ; in whom the heart trembles and the brain
rocks under conspiracies of tempest from without and tempest
from within. Madonna moves with uncertain steps, fast or
slow, but still with tragic grace. Our Lady of Sighs creeps
timidly and stealthily. But this youngest Sister moves with
incalculable motions, bounding, and with tiger's leaps. She
carries no key ; for, though coming rarely amongst men, she
storms all doors at which she is permitted to enter at all.
And her name is Mater Tenebrarum, our Lady of Darkness.

These were the Semnai Theai or Sublime Goddesses, 1 these
were the Eumenides or Gracious Ladies (so called by antiquity
in shuddering propitiation), of my Oxford dreams. Madonna
spoke. She spoke by her mysterious hand. Touching my
head, she beckoned to Our Lady of Sighs ; and what she
spoke, translated out of the signs which (except in dreams)
no man reads, was this :

" Lo ! here is he whom in childhood I dedicated to my
altars. This is he that once I made my darling, Him I led
astray, him I beguiled ; and from heaven I stole away his
young heart to mine. Through me did he become idola-
trous ; and through me it was, by languishing desires, that
he worshipped the worm, and prayed to the wormy grave.
Holy was the grave to him ; lovely was its darkness ; saintly
its corruption. Him, this young idolater, I have seasoned
for thee, dear gentle Sister of Sighs ! Do thou take him
now to thy heart, and season him for our dreadful sister.
And thou, )J turning to the Mater Tenebrarum, she said,
" wicked sister, that temptest and hatest, do thou take him
from her. See that thy sceptre lie heavy on his head
Suffer not woman and her tenderness to sit near him in his

1 " Subliine Goddesses": The word <re/^os is usually rendered vener-
abk m dictionaries, uot a very flattering epithet for females. But I
am disposed to think that it comes nearest to our idea ol the sublime,
as near as a Greek word could come,

SUSPIRIA DE PROIUNDIS 369

darkness. Banish the frailties of hope ; wither the relenting
of love ; scorch the fountains of tears ; curse him as only
ihou canst curse. So shall he be accomplished in the furnace ;
so shall he see the things that ought not to be seen, sights
that are abominable, and secrets that are unutterable. So
shall he read elder truths, sad truths, grand truths, fearful
truths. So shall he rise again before he dies. And so shall
our commission be accomplished which from God we had,
to plague his heart until we had unfolded the capacities of
his spirit." *

1 To LEVANA AND OUR LADIES OF SORROW as originally printed in

Blackwood of June 1845 De Qumcey subjoined this important note :

' ' The reader who wishes at all to understand the course of these

' Confessions ought not to pass over this dieam-legend. There is no

{ great wonder that a vision which occupied my waking thoughts in

' those years should reappear in my dreams. It was, in fact, a legend

1 recurring in sleep, most of which I had myself silently written or

' sculptured in my daylight reveries. But its importance to the

' present Confessions is this, that it rehearses or prefigures their

' course This FIRST Part belongs to Madonna. The THIRD belongs

1 to the ' Mater Suspiriorum, 1 and will be entitled The Pwiak Worlds.

1 The FOURTH, which terminates the work, belongs to the ' Mater

' Tenebrarum,' and will be entitled The Kingdom of Darkness. As

' to the SECOND, it is an interpolation requisite to the effect of the

! others, and will be explained in its proper place." Such was De

Quiiicey's piefiguration in 1845 of the course of those SUSPIRIA DE

PROFUNDIS papers, then only begun, which, when completed, were to

be ofi'ered by him in his old age as a second, and more profoundly

Conceived, set of his CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. I

detect signs in the footnote of a mere momentary attempt to forecast

the probable nature and range of a series of papers yet unborn for the

most part, and to bespeak a plausible principle for their classification

when they should all be in existence It \\ as a mere extempore scheme,

very hazy in the gap between the finished Part L, which the Mater

Lachrymarum was supposed already to own, and the projected Parts

III and IV, which were to belong to the Mater Suspiriorum and the

Mater Tenebrarmi respectively ; and I doubt whether the scheme

could, in any circumstances, have been consistently and acceptably

carried out. In fact, as has been explained in our Introduction to

these SUSPIRIA, it broke down. What is most interesting in the

words just quoted is the evidence they afford of the value which De

Quincey himself attached, and partly for autobiographical reasons, to

his mythological conception of "The Three Ladies of Sorrow" and of

the diverse realms and functions of those three sister-goddesses in the

world of mankind. M.

VOL, SHI 2 B

MISCELLANEA

DANISH ORIGIN OF THE LAKE-COUNTRY
DIALECT 1

IT was in the hottest part of a very hot clay of August in
the year 1812 or 1813 that I happened, in the course of a

1 Appeared originally as the mam portion of a series of four articles
(on languages generally and the Lake dialect in particular) contributed
by De Qumcuy to the columns of The Westmorland QwtU for 13th
November and 4th and!8th December 1819, and 8th January 1820 ; and
taken here from the copy in Mr Charles Pollitt's very interesting pam-
phlet recently printed at Kendal (1890) under the title " De Qumcey's
Editorship of the Westmorland Gazette'. July 1818 to November
1819, " Mr, Pollitt, having access to the files of the old newspaper and
to the minutes of the meetings of its proprietors during De Quincey's
memorable connexion with it, has been able to clear up in this
pamphlet much that has hitherto been obscure in this portion of De
Qumcey's biography ; and he has increased the interest of his narra-
tive by giving numerous extracts from De Quincey's leading ai tides
in the paper, his curious notices to correspondents, &c,, in addition
to those printed in 1877 in the first edition of Dr, Japp's Life of DC
Qumcey, Most of these extracts are on current topics of general or
local politics illustrating De Quincey's peculiar conceptions of the
duty of a Tory piovincial editor in those days, and his fighting rela-
tions with the editor of the rival Whig newspaper at Eendal , but Mr,
Pollitt quotes also specimens of the literary articles, and the occasional
bits of scholarship and philosophy, with which De Quincey sought to
enlighten and edify his north-country readers, The longest and
liveliest of the literary articles so quoted, and the only one suitable
for reproduction here, is that which we have selected, As De
Qumcey's actual editorship of the paper ceased, however, Mr, Pollitt
tells us, on the 5th of November 1819, and as his four articles on the
Lake Dialect were published in the paper during the next two months,
they were really contributions from him as ex-editor, and may be
regarded as spillmgs-over from his editorship in the shape of promised
or already prepared matter, If.

374 MISCELLANEA

long walk, to find myself in a sequestered valley of West-
morland. Retired from the high road at some little distance
I saw a respectable farmhouse, towards which I turned and
begged permission to rest myself within doors for the sake
of obtaining a short respite from the oppressive heat of the
sun. This being immediately granted with the cheerful
courtesy of a "Westmorland 'statesman, I stepped in and took
a seat Whilst the master of the house was conversing with
me upon Bonaparte, Marshal Blucher, the National Debt,
and other like pastoral subjects, I observed, in the furthest
corner of the house, a fine young woman sitting with an
infant in her lap, and busily engaged in playing with it.
So entirely was she taken up with her child that I am afraid
she paid very little attention to the wisdom with which we
settled the affairs of Europe, and that even the full and
clear payment of the National Debt up to the last sixpence
without defrauding a single creditor failed to give her that
satisfaction which at another time no doubt it would have
done. Indeed, to say the truth, the loveliness of the youth-
ful mother and child, whose joint ages, I imagine, would not
have made eighteen years their innocent happiness and the
perfect love which appeared to connect them combined to
make up a picture so touching and beautiful that even I,
Stoic as I profess myself, could not contemplate it wholly
unmoved. My attention being thus drawn to them, I could
not fail to hear something of what the mother addressed to <
her child j and, though all passed in an under voice, little
above a whisper, I was struck by the words "No more
patten," repeated two or three times, and accompanied with
a playful gesture as though defending her bosom from the
busy little hands of the laughitig infant. This word "patten "
arrested my notice; for I remembered that "patte" a
dissyllable, the e final pronounced as the a in sopha, or the e
in the French article Ze, is the Danish word for a woman's
breast. The plural of this word is "patten" pronounced
exactly as it is in Westmorland ; and the proper expression
(indeed the only expression) in Danish for weaning a child
is "at mnner et larn fra patten" (lit. to wean a child from the
breasts) ; in which sentence, as the initial letter in " vcenner "
is pronounced like a w, a Westmorland man would be at a

THE LAKE-COUNTRY DIALECT 375

/oss to know whether to call it English or Danish. To he
sure that I had heard the word accurately, I took the liberty
of asking the young woman what was the meaning of the
word "patten" which, if I was not mistaken, she had
addressed to her child. Hereupon the old 'statesman burst
out a-laughing ; but his grand-daughter (as I found she was)
blushed, and evaded my question by saying that it was only
a word used to children. I apologised for my freedom by
explaining its object j and from the old man I learned that
my conjecture was right, and since then I have had it
frequently confirmed.

Such was the occasion of my first coming to perceive the
Danish origin of the Westmorland dialect ; and I have since
met with further cases of the same fact in such abundance
as would furnish matter for a small dictionary. Some few
of the most striking instances which rest upon my memory
I will here adduce.

Walking near Ambleside, I heard an old woman exclaim
" I'll slcyander him if he comes here again." I stepped up to
her and conjured her, as she valued the interests of Philology
and the further progress of Etymology, that she would
expound to me that venerable word (as I doubted not it
would prove) which she had just used, " Why," said she,
" I'll give him a semgk. 11 This was " ignotum per ignotius "
with a vengeance. However, I remembered the Danish
word sUender meant to scold, to rate, etc, ; and, on cross-
questioning the old woman, it appeared that such was the
meaning which it still bore in Westmorland. " Didn't thee
blaspheme my name, and shake thy neif in my face at
Keswick on Pie Saturday ? " said a man at a country fair to
another with whom he was wrangling. " NCBV w (pronounced
neif) is the Danish word for fist. But this word is found
south of Westmorland ; for it is used by Shakspere. 1
" Master," said a Cumberland girl to me, " is I to sweep
the attercops off them books?" By attercops (as I need
scarcely tell your readers) she meant cobwebs : in Danish
" edderJcop " is a spider. 2

1 It is a common Scottish word. M.
2 This also is a common Scottish word, in the form ettercay,^ M<

876 MISCELLANEA

1. The Danish origin of the Cumbrian dialect shows
itself not merely in a very extensive list of words radically
distinct from such as "belong to the universal English, and
wholly unintelligible to a Southern Englishman, but also in
the peculiar pronunciation of many words common to the
Cumbrian and the classical English. E.g. For a 'diunken
man' the Cumbrians say a 'drultken man'; for 'wrong'
* wrong'; for ' long ' ' kng ' (as in Lamgdule) j all
of which, though commonly ascribed to provincial mispro-
nunciation, are good Danish. Again, for 'smew* the Cum-
brians say 'rwege' which is the Danish 'nyse'; for
'Acme' they say 'yome'; at least that comes as near the
sound as I can express : now { yame' is the true pronuncia-
tion of the Danish word 'Uem' (home), So entirely, in-
deed, does the Danish pronunciation survive in some words
that I have remarked (and I have heard others re-mark)
among even well-educated people of Darlington, Stockton,
and other places in Durham, the Danish practice of sound-
ing the Jc in words beginning with kn ; as, e g., in ' knife '
(Danish <kniv'\ <Lnee' (Danish l hice'), 'kneel* (Danish
1 foiwle '), ' knitting ' (Danish ' Lnytting ') : in all of which
words the people of Stockton, &c., sound the k ; and I think
I have remarked the same practice in some persons of educa-
tion from Penrith (though possibly brought up in Durham). 1
Now this practice is clearly Danish, and so abhorrent to the
general usage of England that from the earliest times it has
been customary to accommodate to the English pronuncia-
tion all Danish names beginning with Icn by intercalating an
a between the k and the n. On this principle we say
'King Canute,' whereas the Danish historians call him
'Konge Knud* ; which was his real name: and therefore it
is that our Selden, whose monstrous erudition had mastered
every language, ancient as well as modern, from the
Euphrates to the Severn, never mentioned him by any
other name than King Knout. Why not King Knudl
The reader will see below.

2. So richly indeed is our northern vernacular speech
interveined with Danish peculiarities that even the grossest

1 This kn sound is also common in Scotland, as are druchn for
drunken, lang for long, &c. M.

THE LAKE-COUNTRY DIALECT 377

vulgarisms and barbarisms (as we are apt to consider tliein)
cannot safely be condemned for such until the Danish and
its sister-dialects have confirmed the verdict What greater
vulgarism, for instance, is there according to the general
feeling of well-educated persons than the common substitute
of < I mun ' for c I must ' 2 Yet this is good Icelandic, if not
good English, and in earlier times was used by many tribes
of those who were called Danes, * Duo defectiva ; eg mun et
eg skal (i.e. I mun and I shall), in constructions cum. aliis
verbis, efficiunt orationis structuram non absimilem illi
quam habet Grsecorum MELLO : ut eg mun yidra vel eg skal
giora, Faciam vel Facturus sum,' lonce Gram. Island., p,
10 9. Upon which passage the learned Hickes observes
' Mun apud septentrionales Anglos et Scotos gerundivam vim
habet, conjunctum cum aliis verbis : ut I mun go, Abeundum
est rnihi.' Again, to give another instance, I remember that
a young woman from Lancashire who attended me in my
infancy was accustomed, on any sudden surprise, to exclaim
c Odd rabbet it I ' and I think I have seen the same exclama-
tion in some work of 1'Estrange's or Tom Brown's. As
English this expression has no meaning : read, therefore, on
my authority ' Udraabet lij i.e. literally 'Cry out upon it }
'Gum #/' 'Raalen' in Danish is to cry or ejaculate, and
( ud } is the preposition out : whence, by the way, ' Owilaw '
in law Latin is ( Cftlegatus ' ; whence also, for analogy's
sake, Selden chose to Anglicize King Knud into King
Knout.

3. Hitherto I have been indebted for my specimens of
Danish to the men of Hawkshead, Ambleside, Bowness, &c. j
that is, to the Cis-Alpines as they may be called by those
who live on the Windermere side of Kirkstone. But these
tribes, though speaking very tolerable Danish for people
that have had no Danish schoolmasters during the last eight
hundred years, are mere novices in that language compared
with the natives of the Trans- Alpine regions of Patterdale,
Matterdale, Martindale, &c. There it is that the Danish is
spoken in its purity : there lies our Westmorland Copen-
hagen. Amongst the Cis-Alpines are found Danish words
in abundance: but in the Trans- Alpine vales the very
nerves and sinews of the dialect are Danish. The particles

878 MISCELLANEA

of most common use, the very joints for Mud ing tlie parts of
a sentence together, are Danish, They say at for the parti-
ciple to ; as, for instance, ' I telFcl him at gang yaine ' for ' I
told him to go home/ They say l tiV for the preposition to ;
as < He came til me ' for ' He came to me.' They &ay 'fro, '
for from. 1 They say ' titter ' for sooner. They say * over ' for
too, which indeed is common to all Westmorland, us in
the two first lines of a song with which I heard a nurse
singing a child to sleep :

Bee-bo, Baby-lo ! Babies are "bonny :

Two in a "bed's enough three's over many. 2

All are Danish, except, perhaps, that ' titter ' comes nearer
to the Icelandic. In the early Metrical Romances, by the
bye, the positive degree ' tyte? quick, or soon, is used as com-
monly as the comparative 'titter* is in Martindale.

I come now to say a few words on the topographical
nomenclature of the Lake District.

In a sublime and very philosophical sonnet Mr. Words-
worth has apostrophised the power of twilight as per-
forming for the external world, as the object of sense, a
process analogous to that which he has attributed to the
imagination in respect to the world, external or internal,
as the objects of thought. Now, let us suppose a
spectator placed upon the summit of Helvellyn, and that
by some process of abstraction ' Day's mutable distinctions '
have been gradually withdrawn from the spectacle below,
and only the immutabilities of the scenery preserved : on
such a supposition he will have before him a scene the very
same which heretofore the ancient Briton or the Dane may
have beheld under the same circumstances

Those mighty "barriers, and the gulf between ;
The flood, the stars, a spectacle as old
As the beginning of the heavens and earth.

Whatsoever, then, under such circumstances the spectator
would see he may expect to find bearing a British or else
a Danish name. The grand barriers of the principal moun-

1 TO for to and/me forlorn are also Scotch. M,
3 Scotch also, in the form ower. M,

THE LAKE-COUNTftY DIALECT 379

tains, the great chambers of the valleys which they enclose,
the lakes, the streams which feed them at the head and by
which they issue at the foot : all these may be expected to
hear ancient names ; for these are the ancient features of the
scenery, ( the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.' But
the subordinate incidents of the landscape, which belong to
the hand of man, and are measured as to duration by his
years, such as woods, and the subdivision of lands, roads,
and houses, will naturally have names coeval with their
own origin ; and, even where that origin ascends to a very
high antiquity, it will sometimes happen with respect to
houses and mclosures that the pride of ownership has super-
seded the ancient name by one more modern, especially
where they have been acquired by purchase. Houses,
therefore, and inclosures cannot in general be expected to
bear Danish names. But to this rule there occur to me at
this moment two cases of exception. First, it must be
recollected that many houses, as well as towns, borrow from
the localities the same prerogative of immortality which the
laws of England attribute to the King : they never die,
Like Sir Francis Drake's ship, which had been so often
repaired that not one of the original timbers remained,
there are many houses and towns at this clay of which,
whilst the materials have perished or been dilapidated, the
form has been maintained by successive repairs. Whereso-
ever indeed the site of a house or town ia peremptorily
determined by the relation in which it stands to water or
shelter, we may presume the house or the town to be the
modern representative of more ancient structures. And it
will present a still stronger ground for presuming this if we
find reason for believing that second-rate situations were so
occupied. If Aa, Ab, Ac, Ad, etc., be a series of home-
steads of which the worst is better than the best of the series
Ba, Bb, Be, Bd, then will it be some reason for presuming
all the first series to have been occupied in ancient times
if we have sufficient evidence that some of the second
series were then occupied. Now, this evidence is satisfac-
torily conveyed in the Danish name which to this day clings
to certain houses or homesteads of that description. Here,
then, is one case in which the words of man may, in respect

880 MISCELLANEA

to the perpetuity of their names, share in. the privilege
usually appropriated to the grandest works of nature, viz.
by approaching to nature in her immortality. But there
is a second case of exception in which there is no need for
supposing any such immortality. Whosoever is acquainted
with the pastoral nomenclature will know that no figure of
speech is of larger influence or more tends to disturb the
accuracy of its use and its application than the common
figure of synecdoche, by which a part is put for the whole
or the whole for a part. Yery often the name which in
popular usage is understood to denote a mountain or even a
range of mountains will be restricted amongst learned shep-
herds to a single point or eminence (just as the name
Holland, by a natural usurpation over the names of the six
confederate states, came to denote* all the seven), And, vice
versa, the name of a whole mountain (or even of a cluster
of separate heights) will be found in some cases to have
settled upon an individual estate or field, and thence upon
the house of which they form the little domain,

Having premised these general remarks, I will now come
more directly to the point And, first, I will examine the
Appellatives of topography (i.e. the general terms of classification
under which we arrange the various elements of natural
scenery), and, secondly, a few of the proper names.

Fells, the most comprehensive designation of mountainous
grounds, under which as the genus are classed the various
species of How, Scar, Grog, &c, I used to derive it from the
German c FelsJ a rock ; but, perhaps, it may 'come from the
Danish word c FeldJ a hill or mountain.

Dale, from the Danish ' Dal,' a valley ; and that origin-
ally meant a division ; whence the Danish word c Dale, 3 a
plank, i,e. one of the divisions into which a cubic piece of
wood was sawed up ; and thence our Deal, which, from de-
noting the shape and relation, has come to denote the species
of timber ; though I believe that timber merchants still say
Deals for Planks.

Mere, a Lake : I know of no Danish word to which it
comes so near as the German word * Meer,' a Lake,

Beck, a Brook or Bivulet : Danish 'Me,' a Brook.

Hokfi, applied to some of the small islands in Winder-

THE LAKE-COUNTRY DIALECT 381

mere '. Danish 'Holme,' an Islet. But this word is perhaps
a classical English word, and not merely provincial : thus,
two very remarkable islands in the British Channel are
called Tfo Holms.

Hawse, any depression or remarkable sinking in a moun-
tainous ridge which allows a road to be carried over it. Thus,
between Grasmere and Patterdale there is a communication
by means of a bridle-road carried over a dip at the inter-
section of Seat-Sandal and Fairfield, either of which moun-
tains at any other point would be almost impracticable. This
is called Grisdale Hawse. Another lies between Little
Langdale and Eskdale, Borrowdale and Wastdale, Ennerdale
and Buttermere, Long Sleddale and Mardale (at the head of
Hawswater), &c. &c. The word is manifestly the word
' Hals, 3 which both in Danish and German means a neck :
the mountainous pass being imaged under the relation of a
neck to the body or main mountain. The work ' Hals, 3 by the
way, is common in the old English Metrical Romances under
its literal meaning, though never used figuratively as in the
Cumbrian. And, again, in a whimsical poem entitled ' The
Garment of Good Ladies 3 by Robert Henrysoun, a Scotch
Poet of the fifteenth century (written, as Lord Hailes had
suggested, by way of expanding 1st Tim. chap. 2, verses 9,
11), in which he has dressed a young lady out of an allegorical
wardrobe :

Her hat should be of fair homing (i.e. demeanour],
And her tippet of truth ;

Her patelet of good panning (i.e. thmking^
Her EALS-ribbon, of ruth,

In which stanza, by the bye, the word ' Patelet,' which the
critics have been unable to explain, may mean her tucker :
from the Danish { Patte 3 a woman's breast, which I had
occasion to cite before. I need scarcely add that the dropping
of I in Hals, as we do in Cumberland, is agreeable to the
analogy ol most languages in the same case : thus l fa's 3 and
' caV is common in the old Scotch ballads for falls and calls :
'fause ' is used for false : in French ' douce 3 sweet, fi 0111 dulcis :
the Malvern Hills we call Mamern : Malham, near the
Yorkshire caves, is called Jfcww*: Betoovr Castle, Be/vet
Castle,

382 MISCELLANEA

Tarn, a small lake usually lying above the level of the
large Lakes and the inhabited dales, In order to justify
the derivation which I am going to suggest for this word I
must call the reader's attention to a nearer scrutiny of an
exact definition. That which I have given above is agreeable
to the popular usage and meets the case of most tarns as they
actually exist ; but, if a hair-splitter of logical niceties were
to cavil at it, I know not that it would be strictly tenable.
To be above some dales is to be on a. level with others, seeing
that their levels are at such various elevations in respect to
the aea : and, moreover, neither of the conditions expressed
in the definition is strictly a sine qua non ; for I presume
that, if a lake were much above the neighbouring lakes, it
would be called a tarn, even though it were not very
small ; and again I presume that, if a lake were a very small
one, it would be called a tarn, even though it were not above
the level of the neighbouring lakes. Indeed, this latter pre-
sumption is realized in the case of Blellam Tarn, a small lake
between Ambleside and Hawkshead, and also in that between
Carlisle and Hesketh. Thus, then, it appears that the de-
finition cannot be a good one, because it does not reciprocate
with the thing defined ; for, though every small lake above
other lakes is a tarn, yet every tarn is not a small lake above
others. But, though it is not impregnable as a definition, it
may answer pretty well as a description of the general cir-
cumstances which combine to constitute a tarn ; and it will (
answer still better if to these we add one other, which was
pointed out to me by Mr. Wordsworth. That gentleman,
whose severe accuracy of logic is well known to those who
have the honour of his acquaintance, once remarked to me in
conversation that, whereas lakes have always one main feeder,
of tarns on the contrary it is characteristic that they are fed by
a multitude of small independent rills, all apparently equal
in importance, or (it may be added) having only a transient
pre-eminence according to the accidental inequalities in the
distribution of mountain showers (which are often confined
to spots of a few square yards) and of snow, both in respect
to the very various dimensions of the areas which melt into
any one rill, and also to the very different accumulations of
it by drivings, as governed by the wind and the circumstances

THE LAKE-COUNTRY DIALECT 383

of the ground. Thus discriminated, then, a tarn will "be
rather a deposition or settling of waters from the little rain-
rills converging from the steep "banks immediately adjacent,
whilst a lake will be the disemboguing of a river after it has
collected many inferior streams into a spacious bed or area
not necessarily surrounded by precipitous banks. With this
preface I shall now venture to derive the word Tarn from
the Danish word Taaren, a trickling or a gradual de-
position. 1

* See ante, p. 128 n, arid Vol. IV, p. 118 n.

HISTOKCO-CRITICAL INQUIRY

INTO THE OEIGIN OF THE

ROSICRUCIANS AND THE FREE-MASONS 1

THERE is a large body of outstanding problems in history,
great and little, some relating to persons, some to tilings,
some to usages, some to words, &a, which furnish occasion,
beyond any other form of historical researches, for the dis-
play of extensive reading and critical acumen. 1. In refer-
ence to persons : as those which regard whole nations : e.y.
What became of the ten tiibes of Israel? Did Brennus cind
his Gauls penetrate into Greece 1 Who and what are the
Gypsies S or those, far more in number, which regard indi-
viduals, as the case of the Knights Templars, of Mary
Stuart, of the Ruthvens (the Gowrie Conspiracy), Who was
the man in the Iron Mask ? Was the unhappy Lady of the
Haystack, who in our own days slept out of doors or in
bams up and down Somersetshire, a daughter of the Emperor
of Germany 1 Was Perkin Warbeck three centuries ago
the true Plantagenet 1 2 2, In reference to things ; as Who
first discovered the sources of the Nile ? Who built Stone-
hengel Who discovered the compass! What was the

1 Appeared originally in the London Mugnzine for January, Feb-
ruary, March, and June 1824 ; not included by De Qiuncey himself
in his Collective Edition ; but reprinted in 1871 in the second of the
two supplementary volumes published by Messrs, Black in their
re-issue of that edition M.

- There can be no doubt that he was, Bnt I mention it as a

ROSICBUCIANS AND FEEE-MASONS 385

Golden .Fleece ? Was the Siege of Troy a romance or a
grave historic fact 1 Was the Iliad the work of one mind, or
(on the Wolfian hypothesis) of many 1 ? What is to be
thought of the Thundering Legion ? of the miraculous dis-
persion of the Emperor Julian's labourers before Jerusalem ?
of the burning of the Alexandrian library ? &c. Who wrote
EiKtov Bao-tAiKj; 1 Who wrote the letters of Junius ? Was
the Fluxional Calculus discovered simultaneously by Leibnitz
and Newton ; or did Leibnitz derive the first hint of it from
the letter of Newton? 3. In reference to usages; as the
May-pole and May-day dances the Morris dancers the
practice (not yet extinct amongst uneducated people) of say-
ing " God bless you ! " on hearing a person sneeze, and
thousands of others. 4. In reference to wards ; as whence
came the mysterious Ldbarum of Gonstantine 1 &c.

Among the problems of the first class there are not many
more irritating to the curiosity than that which concerns the
well-known order of Fiee-masons. In our own language I
um not aware of any work which has treated this question
with much learning. I have therefore abstracted, re-
arranged, and in some respects, I shall not scruple to say,
have improved, the German work on this subject, of Pro-
fessor J. G. Buhle. This work is an expansion of a Latin
Dissertation read by the Professor in the year 1803 to the
Philosophical Society of Gottingen j and, in respect to the
particular sort of merit looked for in a work of this kind, has,
(I believe) satisfied the most competent judges. Coming
after a crowd of other learned works on the Rosicrucians,
aiid those of Les&ing and Nicolai on the Free-masons, it
could not well fail to embody what was most important in
their elaborate researches, and to benefit by the whole.
Implicitly, therefore, it may be looked upon as containing
the whole learning of the case as accumulated by all former
writers, in addition to that contributed by the Professor
himself ; which, to do him justice, seems to be extensive and
accurate. But the Professor's peculiar claims to distinction
in this inquiry are grounded upon the solution which he first
has given in a satisfactory way to the main problem of the case
What is the origin of Free-masonry ? For, as to the secret of
Free-masonry, and its occult doctrines, there is a readier and

VOL, xin 2 c

386 MISCELLANEA

more certain way of getting at those than through any
Professor's book. To a hoax played off by a young man of
extraordinary talents in the beginning of the seventeenth
century (w, about 1610-14), but for a more elevated purpose
than most hoaxes involve, the reader will find that the whole
mysteries of Free-masonry, as now existing all over the
civilized world after a lapse of more than two centuries, are
here distinctly traced . such is the power of a grand and capa-
cious aspiration of philosophic benevolence to embalm even
the idlest levities, as amber enshrines straws and insects !

Any reader who should find himself satisfied with the
Professor's solution and its proof would probably be willing
to overlook his other defects ; his learning and his felicity of
conjecture may pass as sufficient and redeeming merits in a
Gottingen Professor. Else, and if these merits were set
aside, I must say that I have rarely met with a more
fatiguing person than Professor Buhle. That his essay is
readable at all, if it be readable, the reader must understand
that he owes to me. Mr. Buhle is celebrated as the historian
of philosophy, and as a logic-professor at a great German
University. 1 But a more illogical work than his as to the
conduct of the question, or one more confused in its arrange-
ment, I have not often seen. It is doubtless a rare thing to
meet with minds sufficiently .stern in their logic to keep a
question steadily and immovably before them, without ever
being thrown out of then track by verbal delusions ; and for
my own part I must say that I never was yie&eiit in my life
at one of those after-dinner disputations by which social
pleasure is poisoned (except in the higher and more refined
classes) where the course of argument did not within ten
minutes quit the question upon which it had fii-st started,
and all upon the seduction of some equivocal word, or of
some theme which bore affinity to the main theme but was

1 I believe tliat lie is also the editor of the Bipoiit Aristotle ; but,
not possessing that edition of Aristotle myself, I cannot pretend to
speak of its value. His History of PMowphy I have ; it is probably
as good as such \voiks usually are ; and, alas ' no better. [Johann
Gottlieb Buhle, 1763-1821, Professor of Philosophy at Gottingen from
1787 to 1804 ; authoi of two works on the History of Philosophy.
His essay on the Rosicrucian-s and Freemasons was published at
Gottingen in 1804 ~M.]

ROSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 387

not that main theme itself, or still oftener of some purely
verbal transition. All this is common ; but the eternal see-
sawing, weaving and counter-weaving, flux and reflux, of
Professor Buhle's course of argument is not common by any
means, but very wicommon, and worthy of a place in any
cabinet of natural curiosities. There is an everlasting con-
fusion in the worthy man's mind between the two questions
What is the ongin of Free-masonry? and What is the
nature and essence of Free-masonry? The consequence is
that, one idea always exciting the other, they constantly
come out shouldering and elbowing each other for precedency
every sentence is charged with a double commission the
Professor gets angry with himself, begins to eplutter unin-
telligibly, and finds on looking round him that he has
wheeled about to a point of the argument considerably in the
rear of that which he had reached perhaps 150 pages before.
I have done what I could to remedy these infirmities of the
book ; and upon the whole it is a good deal less paralytic
than it was. But, having begun my task on the assumption
that the first chapter should naturally come before the
second, the second before the third, and so on, I find now
(when the mischief is irreparable) that I made a great
mistake in that assumption, which perhaps is not applicable
to Gottingen books, and that, if I had read the book on the
Hebrew principle, or BowTpo^Sor, or had tacked and tra-
^ersed or done anything but sail on a straight line, I could
not have failed to improve the arrangement of my materials.
But, after all, I have so whitewashed the Professor that
nothing but a life of gratitude on his part, and free admission
to his logic lectures for ever, can possibly repay me for my
services. 1

1 The purport of this paragraph has to be remembered by the
reader throughout the rest of the paper. While the matter of the
paper is Buhle's, and the whole is therefore a kind of translation from
Buhle, it is a translation after De Qumcey's peculiar notion of what
might sometimes be necessary in a translation. In other words it is
a "De Qumceyfied" translation, even the matter owing a good deal
to De Qumcey's digestion of it, while the mamer is still more
obviously here and theio De Quincey's own. The reader will observe
more particularly the lightening of the text at several points by little
gleams of fun thrown in at Buhle's expense, M,

388 MISCELLANEA

The three most triumphant dissertations existing upon
the class of hlstorico-critical problems which I have described
above are : 1, Bentley's upon the spurious Epistles ascribed
to Phalaris ; 2, Malcolm Laing's upon Perkin Warbeck (pub-
lished by Dr. Henry in his History of Great Britain) ; 3, Mr.
Taylor's upon the Letters of Junius. All three are loaded
with a superfetation of evidence, and conclusive beyond what
the mind altogether wishes. For it is pleasant to have the
graver part ot one's understanding satisfied, and yet to have
its capricious pait left in possession of some miserable frag-
ment of a scruple upon which it may indulge itself with an
occasional speculation in support of the old error. In fact,
coercion is not pleasant in any cases ; and, though reasons be
as plenty as blackberries, one would not either give or
believe them "on compulsion." In the present work the
reader will perhaps not find himself under this unpleasant
sense of coercion, but left more to the free exercise of his
own judgment. Yet, upon the whole, I think he will give
his final award in behalf of Professor Buhle's hypothesis,

CHAPTER I
Of the,

the Free-masona

I deem it an indispensable condition of any investigation
into the origin of the Rosier ucians and Free-masons that both
orders should be surveyed comprehensively and in the whole
compass of their iclations and characteristic marks, not
with reference to this or that m\thos, symbol, usage, or
form ; and to the neglect of this condition, I believe, we
must impute the unsuccessful issue which has hitherto
attended the essays on this subject. First of all, therefore, I
will assign those distinguishing features of these orders
which appear to me universal and essential ; and these I
shall divide into internal and external, accordingly as they
respect the personal relations and the purposes of their mem-
bers, or simply the outward form of the institutions.

The universal and essential characteristics of the two
orders which come under the head of internal are these which
follow ;

ROSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 389

I. As their fundamental maxim they assume Ewfare
equality of personal rights amongst their members in relation to
their final object. All distinctions of social rank are annihi-
lated. In the character of masons the prince and the lowest
citizen behave reciprocally as free men, standing to each
other in no relation of civic inequality. This is a feature of
masonry in which it resembles the Church ; projecting itself,
like tha^ from the body of the State, and in idea opposing
itself to the State, though not in fact, for, on the contrary,
the ties of social obligation are strengthened and sanctioned
by the masonic doctrines It is true that these orders have
degrees -many .or few according to the constitution of the
several mother-lodges. These, however, express no subordi-
nation in rank or power : they imply simply a more or less
intimate connexion with the concerns and purposes of the
institution. A gradation of this sort, corresponding to the
different stages of knowledge and initiation in the mysteries
of the order, was indispensable to the objects which they had
in view. It could not be advisable to admit a young man,
inexperienced and untried, to the full participation of their
secrets : he must first be educated and moulded for the ends
of the society. Even elder men it was found necessary to
subject to the probation of the lower degrees before they were
admitted to the higher. Without such a regulation dangerous
persons might sometimes have crept into the councils of the
society ; which, in fact, happened occasionally in spite of all
provisions to the contrary. It may be alleged that this
feature of personal equality nmongst the members in relation
to their private object is not exclusively tlie characteristic of
Rosicrucians and Fiee-masons. True ; it belongs no less to
all the secret societies which have arisen in modern times.
But, notwithstanding that, it is indisputable that to them
was due the original scheme of an institution having neither
an ecclesiastic nor a political tendency, and built on the per-
sonal equality of all the individuals who composed it.

II. Women, children, those who were not in the full possession
of civic freedom, Jews, Anti-Qhristians generally, and (according
to undoubted historic documents), in the early days of these
orders, Roman Catholics, were excluded from the Society. For
what reason women were excluded I suppose it can hardly

390 MISCELLANEA

be necessary to say. The absurd spirit of curiosity, talkative-
ness, and levity, which distinguishes that unhappy sex was
obviously incompatible with the grave purposes of the Bosi-
crucians and Masons, not to mention that the familiar
intercourse which co-membership in these societies brings
along with it would probably have led to some disorders in
a promiscuous assemblage of both sexes, such as might have
tainted the good fame or even threatened the existence of
the order. More remarkable is the exclusion of persons not
wholly free, of Jews, and of Anti-Qliristians ; and, indeed, it
throws an important light upon the origin and character of
the institutions. By persons not free we are to understand not
merely slaves and vassals, but also those who were in the
service of others, and, generally, all who had not an inde-
pendent livelihood. Even freeborn persons are comprehend ed
in this designation so long as they continued in the state of
minority. Masonry presumes in all its members the devotion
of their knowledge and powers to the objects of the institu-
tion. Now, what services could be rendered by vassals,
menial servants, day-labourers, journeymen, with the limited
means at their disposal as to wealth or knowledge, and in
their state of dependency upon others * Besides, with the
prejudices of birth and rank prevalent in that age, any ad-
mission of plebeian members would have immediately ruined
the scheme. Indeed, we have great reason to wonder that
an idea so bold for those times as the union of nobles and
burghers under a law of perfect equality could ever have
been realised. And, m fact, ainong4 any other people than
the English, with their national habits of thinking and other
favourable circumstances, it could not have been realised.
Minors were rejected unless when the consent of their
guardians was obtained ; for otherwise the order would have
exposed itself to the suspicion of tampering with young
people in an illegal way: to say nothing of tbe want of free-
agency in minors. That lay-brothers were admitted for the
performance of servile offices is not to be taken as any
departure from the general rule ] for it was matter of neces-
sity that persons of lower rank should fill the menial offices
attached to the society ; and these persons, be it observed,
were always chosen from amongst those who had an inde-

ROSICRUCTANS AND FREE-MASONS 391

pendent property, however small, As to the exclusion of
Anti-Christians, especially of Jews, this may seem at first
sight inconsistent with the cosmopolitical tendency of
Masonry. But had it that tendency at its first establishment 1
Be this as it may, we need not be surprised at such a regula-
tion in an age so little impressed with the virtue of toleration,
and indeed so little able from political circumstances to
practise it. Besides, it was necessary for their own security.
The Free-masons themselves were exposed to a suspicion of
atheism and sorcery; and this suspicion would have been
confirmed by the indiscriminate admission of persons hostile
to Christianity. For the Jews in particular, there was a
further reason for rejecting them, founded on the deep degra-
dation of the national character. With respect to the Roman
Catholics, I need not at this point anticipate the historic data
which favour their exclusion. The fact is certain ; but, I
add, only for the earlier periods of Free-masonry. Further
on, the cosmopolitical constitution of the order had cleared it
of all such religious tests ; and at this day I believe that in
the lodges of London and Paris there would be no hesitation
in receiving as a brother any upright Mahometan or Jew.
Even in smaller cities, where lingering prejudices would still
cleave with more bigotry to the old exclusions, greater stress
is laid upon the natural religion of the candidate his belief
in God and his sense of moral obligation than upon his posi-
tive confession of faith. In saying this, however, I would
not be understood to speak of certain individual sects amongst
the Rosicrucians, whose mysticism leads them to demand
special religious qualities in their proselytes which are dis-
pensed with by common Free-masonry.

III. The orders make pretensions to mysteries. These relate
partly to ends and partly to means, and are derived from the
East, whence they profess to derive an occult wisdom not
revealed to the profane. This striving after hidden know-
ledge it was that specially distinguished these societies from
others that pursued unknown objects. And, because their
main object was a mystery, and that it might remain such,
an oath of secrecy was demanded of every member on his ad-
mission. Nothing of this mystery could ever be discovered
by a visit from the police ; for, when such an event happens,

392 MISCELLANY

and naturally it lias happened mauy times, the business
is at an end and the lodge ipso facto dissolved ; besides that
all the acts of the members are symbolic, and unintelligible
to all but the initiated. Meantime no government can com-
plain of this exclusion from the mysteries, as every governor
lias it at his own option to make himself fully acquainted
with them by procuring his own adoption into the society.
This it is which in most countries has gradually reconciled
the supreme authorities to Masonic Societies, .hard as the
persecution was which they experienced at first. Princes and
prelates made themselves brothers of the order as the condi-
tion of admission to the mysteries. And, think what they
would of these mysteries in other respects, they found nothing
in them which could justify any hostility on the part of the
State.

In an examination of Masonic and Rosicrucian Societies
the weightiest question is that which regards the nature of
those mysteries. To this question we must seek for a key in
the spirit of that age when the societies themselves originated.
We shall thus learn, first of all, whether these societies do in
reality cherish any mystery as the final object of their re-
searches ; and, secondly, perhaps we shall thus come to under-
stand the extraordinary fact thatthe Rosicracian and Masonic
secret should not long ago have been betrayed in spite of the
treachery which we must suppose in a certain proportion of
those who were parties to that secret in every age.

IV. These orders have a general system of signs (e.g. that of
recognition), wages, symbols, mythi, and festivals. In this
place it may be sufficient to say generally that even that part
of the ritual and mythology which is already known to the
public 1 will be found to confirm the conclusions drawn from
other historical data as to the origin and purpose of the in-
stitution. Thus, for instance, we may be assured beforehand
that the original Free-masons must have had some reason for
appropriating to themselves the attributes and emblems of

1 We must not forget, however, that the Eo&icrucian and Masonic
orders were not originally at all points what they now ar : they have
passed through many changes and modifications , and no inconsider-
able part of their symbolic system, etc., has been the product of suc-
cessive generations.

ROSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 393

real handicraft Masons : which part of their ritual they are
so far from concealing that in London they often parade on
solemn occasions attired in full costume. As little can
it he imagined that the selection of the feast of St. John
(Midsummer-day) as their own chief festival was at first arbi-
trary and without a significant import.

Of the external characteristics or those which the society
itself announces to the world the main is the public profes-
sion of beneficence ; not to the brothers only, though of course
to them more especially, hut also to strangers. And it cannot
he denied by those who are least favourably disposed to the
order of Free-masons that many states in Europe, where
lodges have formerly existed or do still exist, are indebted to
them for the original establishment of many salutary institu-
tions having for their object the mitigation of human suffer-
ing. The other external characteristics are properly negative,
and are these :

I. Masonry is compatible with every form of civil constitu-
tion; which cosmopobtical relation of the order to every
mode and form of social arrangements has secured the possi-
bility of its reception amongst all nations, however widely
separated in policy and laws.

II. It does not impose celibacy ; and this is the criterion
that distinguishes it from the religious orders, and from many
of the old knightly orders, in which celibacy was an indis-
pensable law, or still is so.

III. It enjoins no peculiar dress (except indeed in the
official assemblages of the lodges, for the purpose of marking
the different degrees), no marks of distinction in the ordinary
commerce of life, and no abstinence from civil offices and business.
Here again is a remarkable distinction from the religious and
knightly orders.

IV. It grants to evety member a fwll liberty to dissolve his
connection with the order at any time, and without even acquaint-
ing the superiors of the lodge: though of course he cannot
release himself from the obligation of his vow of secrecy.
Nay, even after many years of voluntary separation from
the order, a return to it is always allowed, In the religious
and knightly orders the members have not the powers,
excepting under certain circumstances, of leaving them ; and,

394 MISCELLAKEA

under no circumstances, of returning, This last was a politic
regulation ; for, whilst on one hand the society was suffici-
ently secured by the oath of secrecy, on the other hand hy
the easiness of the yoke which it imposed it could the more
readily attract members. A young man might enter the
order, satisfy himself as to the advantages that were to be
expected from it, and leave it upon further experience or any
revolution in his own way of thinking.

In thus assigning the internal and external characteristics
of the Rosicrucians and Free-masons, I have purposely said
nothing of the distinctions between the two orders them-
selves; for this would have presupposed that historical
inquiry which is now to follow. That the above character-
istics, however, were common to both is not to be doubted.
Rosicrucianism, it is true, is not Free -masonry ; but the
latter borrowed its form from the first. He that gives him-
self out for a Rosicrueian without knowing the general ritual
of masonry is unqxiestionably an impostor. Some peculiar
sects there are which adopt certain follies and chimeras of
the Rosicrucians (as gold-making) ; and to these he may
belong ; but a legitimate Rosicrueian, in the original sense
and spirit of the order, he cannot be.

CHAPTER II

Upon the Earliest Historical Traces of the Hoswrucian
and Masonic Orders

The accredited records of these orders do not ascend
beyond the two last centuries. On the other hand, it is
alleged by many that they have existed for eighteen hundred
years. He who adopts this latter hypothesis, which even
as a hypothesis seems to me scarcely endurable for a moment,
is bound to show, in the first place, in what respect the
deduction of these orders from modem history is at all
unsatisfactory ; and, secondly, upon his own assumption of
a far elder origin, to explain how it happened that for sixteen
entire centuries no writers contemporary with the different
periods of these orders have made any allusion to them. If
he replies by alleging the secrecy of their, proceedings, I

ROSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 395

rejoin that this might have secured their doctrines and
mysteries from being divulged, but not the mere fact of their
existence. My view of their origin will perhaps be granted
with relation to Western Europe ; but I shall be referred to
the east for the incunabula of the order. At one time Greece,
at another Egypt, or different countries of Asia, are alleged
as the cradle of the Rosicrucians and the Free-masons. Let
ITS take a cursory survey of the several hypotheses.

1. In the earlier records of GREECE we meet with nothing
which bears any resemblance to these institutions but the
Orphic and Eleusinian mysteries. Here, however, the word
mysteries implied not any occult problem or science sought
for, but simply sensuous 1 and dramatic representations of
religious ideas which could not otherwise be communicated
to the people in the existing state of intellectual culture, and
which (as often happens), having been once established, were
afterwards retained in a more advanced state of the national
mind. In the Grecian mysteries there were degrees of
initiation amongst the members, but with purposes wholly
distinct from those of the masonic degrees. The Grecian
mysteries were not to be profaned ; but that was on religious
accounts. Lastly, the Grecian mysteries were a part of the
popular religion acknowledged and authorised by the state.
The whole resemblance, in short, rests upon nothing, and
serves only to prove an utter ignorance of Grecian antiquities
in those who have alleged it. 2

2. Neither in the history of EGYPT is any trace to be
found of the Eosicrucian and Masonic characteristics. It is
true that the meaning of the Egyptian religious symbols and
usages was kept secret from the people and from strangers ;
and in that sense Egypt may be said to have had mysteries ;
but these mysteries involved nothing more than the essential
points of the popular religion. 3 As to the writings attributed

1 The word sensuous is a Miltomc word, and is, moreover, a word
that cannot be dispensed with.

2 See the German essay of Meiners upon the Mysteries of the
Ancients, especially the Eleusinian Mysteries, in the third part of his
Miscellaneous Philosophical Works. Collate with this the work of
Ste. Croix entitled Mtmovres pour serow d I'Histovre de la Religion
secrete des Andens Peuples. Pans, 1784.

3 On the principle and meaning of the popular religion in Egypt,

396 MISCELLANEA

to Hermes Trismegistus, they are now known to be spurious ;
and their pretensions could never have imposed upon any
person who had examined them by the light of such know-
ledge as we still possess of the ancient Egyptian history and
religion : indeed, the gross syncretism in these writings of
Egyptian doctrines with those of the later Platonists too
manifestly betrays them as a forgery from the schools of
Alexandria. Forgery apart, however, the substance of the
Hermetic writings disconnects them wholly from masonic
objects : it consists of a romantic Theology and Theurgy ;
and the whole is very intelligible, and far from mysterious.
What is true of these Hermetic books is true a fortiori of all
later writings that profess to deliver the traditional wisdom
of ancient Egypt.

3. If we look to ancient CHALIXEA and PERSIA for the
origin of these orders, we shall be as much disappointed.
The vaunted knowledge of the Ohaldseans extended only to
Astrology, the interpretation of dreams, and the common
arts of jugglers. As to the Persian Magi, as well before as
after the introduction of the doctrine of Zoroaster, they were
simply the depositaries of religious ideas and traditions, and
the organs of the public worship. Moreover, they composed
no secret order, but rather constituted the highest caste or
rank in the nation, and were recognised by the government
as an essential part of the body-politic. In succeeding ages
the religion of the Magi passed over to many great nations,
and has supported itself up to our days. Anquatil du Perron
has collected and published the holy books in which it is
contained. But no doctrine of the Zendavesta is presented
as a mystery ; nor could any of those doctrines, from their
very nature, have been presented as such. Undoubtedly
amongst the Rosicrucian titles of honour we find that of
Magus ; but with them it simply designates a man of rare

and the hieroglyphics connected with it, consult Gatterer's essay DC
Theogonia, Aegyptiorum in the 7th vol., and his essay De metempsy-
chosi, wimortalitatis animorum symbolo Aeyyptio, in the 9th vol.,
of the Gottingen Tiansactions. The path opened by G-atterer has been
since pursued with success by Dornedden in his Amenophis and in his
new theory for the explanation of the Grecian Mythology : 1802.
Consult also Vogei's Essay on the Religion of the ancient Egyptians
and the Greeks : 4to. Nuremberg: 1793.

ROSICRUCIANS AND FKEE-MASONS 397

knowledge in physics i.e> especially in Alchemy. That the
ancient Magi in the age immediately before and after the
birth of Christ attempted the transmutation of metals is
highly improbable : that idea, there ia reason to believe,
first began to influence the course of chemical pursuits
amongst the Arabian students of natural philosophy and
medicine.

4. The pretensions of the DERVISHES and BRAHMINS of
Asia, especially of Hindostan, to be the fathers of the two
orders, need no examination, as they are still more groundless
than those which have been just noticed.

5. A little before and after the birth of Christ there arose
in Egypt and Palestine a Jewish religious sect which split
into two divisions the ESSENES and the THERAPEUT^.
Their history and an account of their principles may be
found in Josephus and more fully m Philo, who probably
himself belonged to the Therapeutoe. The difference between
the two sects consisted in this that the Essenes looked upon
practical morality and religion as the main business of life,
whereas the Therapeutae attached themselves more to philo-
sophic speculations, and placed the essence of religion in the
contemplation and reverence of the deity. They dwelt in
hermitages, gardens, villages, and cottages, shunning the
uproar of crowds and cities. With them arose the idea of
monkish life ; which has subsisted to this day, though it has
received a mortal shock in our revolutionary times. To
these two sects have been traced the Kosicrucians and Free-
masons. Now, without entering minutely into their history,
it is sufficient for the overthrow of such a hypothesis to cite
the following principles common to both the Essenes and the
Therapeutge, First, they i ejected as morally unlawful all
distinction of ranks in civil society. Secondly, they made
no mystery of their doctrines. Thirdly, they admitted to
their communion persons of either sex. Fourthly, though
not peremptorily enjoining celibacy, they held it to be a more
holy state than that of maniage. Fifthly, they disallowed of
oaths. Sixthly, they had nothing symbolic in their worship
or ritual. If it should be objected that the Free-masons
talk much of the rebuilding of Solomon's temple, and refer
some of their legends to this speculation, I answer that the

398 MISCELLANEA

Essenes and Therapeutae either were Christians or continued
Jews until by little and little their sects expired. Now, to
the Christians the rebuilding of the Temple must have been
an object of perfect indifference } and to the Jews it must
have been an important object in the literal sense. But with
the Free-masons it is a mere figure under which is represented
the secret purpose of the society : why this image was
selected will be satisfactorily accounted for further on. 1

6. The ARABS, who step forth upon the stage of History
in the seventh century after Christ, have as little concern
with the origin of these orders. They were originally a
nomadic people that rapidly became a conquering nation not
less from the weakness of their neighbours than their own
courage and religious fanaticism. They advanced not less
rapidly in their intellectual conquests ; and these they owed
chiefly to their Grecian masters, who had themselves at that
time greatly degenerated from the refinement of their
ancestors. The sciences in which the Arabs made original
discoveries, and in which, next after the Greeks, they have
been the instructors of the moderns, were Mathematics,
Astronomy, Astrology, Medicine, Materia Mediea, and
Chemistry, Now, it is very possible that from the Arabs
may have originally proceeded the conceit of physical
mysteries without aid of magic, such as the art of gold-
making, the invention of a panacea, the philosopher's stone,
and other chimseras of alchemy which afterwards haunted
the heads of the Eosicrucians and the elder Free-masons.
But of Cabbalism and Theosophy, which occupied both sects
in their early period, the Arabs as Mahometans could know
nothing. And, if those sects had been derived from an
Arabian stock, how comes it that at this day in most parts
of Europe (and until lately everywhere) a Mahometan
candidate would be rejected by both of them ? And how
comes it that in no Mahometan country at this time are
there any remains of either ?

In general, then, I affirm as a fact established upon
historical research that before the beginning of the seven-

1 With this paragraph compare De Qumcey'h own opinions about
the Es&enes and Therapeutae. ante. Vol. VII, pp 101-172. and pp,
230-246. -M,

ROSICRUCIANS AND PKEE-MASONS 399

teenth century no traces are to be met with of the Rosi-
crucian or Masonic orders. And I challenge any antiquarian
to contradict me. Of course, I do not speak of individual
and insulated Adepts, Cabbalists, Theosophists, etc. ; who
doubtless existed much earlier. Nay, I do not deny that in
elder writings mention is made of the rose and the cross as
symbols of Alchemy and Cabbahsm, Indeed it is notorious
that in the sixteenth century Martin Luther used both
symbols on his seal ; and many Protestant divines have
imitated him in this. Semler, it is true, has brought
together a great body of data from which he deduces the
conclusion that the Rosicrucians were of very high antiquity. 1
But all of them prove nothing more than what I willingly
concede; Alchemists, Cabbalists, and dealers in the Black
Art there were unquestionably before the seventeenth cen-
tury ; lut not Bosi crucians and Free-masons connected into a
secret society and distinguished lij those characteristics which I
have assigned \n the first chapter.

One fact has been alleged from Ecclesiastical History as
pointing to the order of the Rosicrucians. In 1586 the
Militia Grudfera Evangelica assembled at Lunenburg. The
persons composing this body have been represented as Rosi-
crucians ; but in fact they were nothing more than a Pro-
testant sect heated by apocalyptic dreams ; and the object of
the assemblage appears to have been exclusively connected
with religion. Our chief knowledge of it is derived from the
work of Simon Studion, a mystic ami Theosoplnst, entitled
Naometria, and written about the year 1604. The author
was born at Urach, a little town of Wn-temberg ; in 1565 he
received the degree of Master of Arts at Tubingen ; and soon
after he settled at Marbach, not far from Louisburg, in the
capacity of teacher. His labours m Alchemy brought him
into great embarrassment, and his heretical novelties into
all kinds of trouble. His Naomelria^ ulrich is a tissue of

1 See Solomon Semler'h Impartial Collections for the History of
Me Rosicrwutns. In Four Parts, 8vo. Leipzig : 1786-8.

2 The full title of this imprinted and curious book is this
" NAOMETKIA, sen Nuda et Prim a Irtni mtus et foris script! per
clavem Davicus et calamum (virgm similem) Apertio ; in quo non
tantum ad cognoscenda tarn S Scripture totius quain Naturae quoquo
Uuiversaj my&terift brevis tit Tutroductio, verum etiam Prognostics

400 MISCELLANEA

dreams and allegories relating to the cardinal events of the
world and to the mysteries of scripture, as well as of external
nature from its creation to its impending destruction, contains
a great deal of mysticism and prophecy about tlie rose and the
cross. But the whole has a religious meaning ; and the
fundw of his ideas and his imagery is manifestly the Apoca-
lypse of St. John, Nor is there any passage or phrase in
his work upon, which an argument can be built for connecting
him with the Bosicrucians which would not equally apply
to Philo the Alexandrian, to John Picus ot Mirandula, to
Beuchlin, to George of Venice, to Francis Patrick, and to all
other Gabbalists, Theosophists, Magicians, and Alchemists.

Of the alleged connexion between the Templars and the
Kosicrucians, or more properly with the Free-masons, which
connexion, if established, would undoubtedly assign a much
earlier date to the origin of both orders, I shall have occa-
sion to speak in another part of my inquiry.

CHAPTER III

Of the circumstances which gave the first occasion to the rise of tJit
fiosicntcim Order, and of the Earliest Authentic Records of His-
tory which relate to it.

Towards the end of the sixteenth century, Cabbalism,
Theosophy, and Alchemy had overspread the whole of

(stellsB illius matutinde anno Domini 1572 con&pectse ductu) demon-
stratur Adveutus ille Christ! ante diem novissimum Secuudus per
quern, Homitie Peccati (Papa) cum filio suo peulitionis (Mahometo)
divinitus devastate, ipse Ecclesiam Suam ot Principatus Mundi
restaurabit, ut in iis posthac sit cum ovili pastor unus. In Cruciferce
Milittce jEvangelicce gratiam. Authore Simone Studione inter Scor-
piones, Anno 1604." An anonymous writer on the Rosierucians
in the Wirtemberg Magazine (No. 3, p. 523) and the learned Von
Murr in his treatise upon the true origin of the Eosicruciaus and
Free-masons, printed at Suhbach in the year 1803, have confounded
the word Naometna (Nao^rpia), Temple-measuring, with Neometria
(NeofMTpia), New art of nieasurmff, as though Studion had written a
new geometry, By the Temple, inner and outer, Studion means the
Holy Scriptures and Nature ; the liber wins etfom scnptus of uLit'h
St. John says in the Revelations "I saw on the right of him who sat
upon the throne a book written within and without, and guarded with
seven seals," etc.

ROSICKQCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 401

Western Europe and especially of Germany. To this mania,
winch infected all classes high and low, learned and un-
learned no writer had contributed so much as Theophrastus
Paracelsus, How general was the diffusion, and how great
the influence, of the writings of this extraordinary man (for
such, amidst all his follies, he must ever he accounted in the
annals of the human mind), may be seen in the life of Jacob
Behmen. Of the many Cabbalistic conceits drawn from the
Prophetic books of the Old Testament and still more from
the Revelations, one of the principal and most interesting
was this that in the seventeenth century a great and general
reformation was believed to be impending over the human
race as a necessary forerunner to the Day of Judgment.
What connects this very general belief with the present in-
quiry is the circumstance of Paracelsus having represented
the comet which appeared in 1572 as the sign and harbinger
of the approaching revolution, and thus fixed upon it the
expectation and desire of a world of fanatics. Another pro-
phecy of Paracelsus, which created an equal interest, was that
soon after the decease of the Emperor Rudolph there would
be found three treasures that had never been revealed before
that time. Now, in the year 1610 or thereabouts there were
published simultaneously three books, the substance of which
it is important in this place to examine, because these books
in a very strange way led to the foundation of the Rosicrucian
, order as a distinct society.

The first is so far worthy of notice as it was connected
with the two others, and furnished something like an in-
troduction to them. It is entitled Universal Reformation of
the whole wide World, and is a tale not without some wit and
humour. The Seven Wise Men of Greece, together with M.
Cato and Seneca, and a secretary named Mazzonius, are sum-
moned to Delphi by Apollo at the desire of the Emperor
Justinian, and there deliberate on the best mode of redressing
human misery. All sorts of strange schemes are proposed,
Thales advises to cut a hole in every man's breast and place
a little window in it; by which means it would become pos-
sible to look into the heart, to detect hypocrisy and vice, and
thus to extinguish it. Solon proposes an equal partition of
all possessions and wealth. Chile's opinion is that the

VOL. XIII 2 P

402 MISCELLANEA

readiest way to the end in view would be to banish out of
the world the two infamous and rascally metals, gold and
silver, Kleobulus steps forward as the apologist of gold
and silver, but thinks that iron ought to be prohibited, be-
cause in that case no more wars could be carried on amongst
men. Pittaeus insists upon more rigorous laws, which
should make virtue and merit the sole passports to honour ;
to which, however, Periander objects that there had never
been any scarcity of such laws nor of princes to execute
them, but scarcity enough of subjects conformable to good
laws. The conceit of Bias is that nations should he kept
apart from each other, and each confined to its own home,
and for this purpose that all bridges should be demolished,
mountains rendered insurmountable, and navigation totally
forbidden. Cato, who seems to be the wisest of the party,
wishes that God in Ms mercy would be pleased to wash away all
women from the earth by a new deluge, and at the same time to
introduce some new arrangement l for the continuation of the
excellent male sex without female help. Upon this pleasing
and sensible proposal the whole company manifest the greatest
displeasure, and deem it so abominable that they unani-
mously prostrate themselves on the ground and devoutly
pray to God " that he would graciously vouchsafe to preserve
the lovely race of woman " (what absurdity !) " and to save
the world from a second deluge." At length, after a long
debate, the counsel of Seneca prevails ; which counsel is this,
That out of all ranks a society should be composed having
for its object the general welfare of mankind, and pursuing
it in secret. This counsel is adopted ; though without much
hope on the part of the deputation, on account of the des-
perate condition of " the Age " ; who appears before them in
person and describes his own wretched state of health.

1 In which wish lie seems to have anticipated the Miltonie Adam :

why did God,

Creator wise, that peopled highest Heaven
With spirits masculine, create at last
This novelty oil earth, this fair defect
Of nature, and not fill the world at once
With Men, as Angels, without feminine ;
Or find some other way to generate
Mankind? j>. A, Book T,

ROSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 403

The second work gives an account of such a society as
already established : this is the celebrated work entitled
Fama Fraternitatis of tlw meritorious Order of the Rosy Cross,
addressed to the learned in general and the Governors of Europe ;
and here we are presented with the following narrative :
Christian Rosycross, of noble descent, having upon his travels
into the East and into Africa learned great mysteries from
Arabians, Chaldeans, etc., upon his return to Germany estab-
lished, in some place not mentioned, a secret society com-
posed at first of four afterwards of eight members, who
dwelt together in a building (called the House of the Holy
Ghost) erected by him: to these persons, under a vow of
fidelity and secrecy, he communicated his mysteries. After
they had been instructed, the society dispersed agreeably to
their destination, with the exception of two members, who
remained alternately with the founder. The rules of the
order were these " The members were to cure the sick
without fee or reward. No member to wear a peculiar
habit, but to dress after the fashion of the country. On a
certain day in every year all the members to assemble in
' the House of the Holy Ghost, or to account for their
absence. Every member to appoint some person with the
' proper qualifications to succeed him at his own decease.
" The word Rosy-Cross to be their seal, watch-word, and
" characteristic mark. The association to be kept unrevealed
" for a hundred years," Christian Bosycross died at the
age of 106 years. His death was known to the society, but
not his grave : for it was a maxim of the first Rosicrucians
to conceal their burial-places even from each other. New
masters were continually elected into the House of the Holy
Ghost ; and the society had now lasted 120 years. At the
end of this period a door was discovered in the house, and
upon the opening of this door a sepulchral vault. Upon the
door was this inscription: One hundred and twenty years
hence I shall open (Post OXX annos patebo}. The vault was a
heptagon. Every side was five feet broad and eight feet
high. It was illuminated by an artificial sun. In the centre
was placed, instead of a grave-stone, a circular altar, with a
little plate of brass whereon these words were inscribed :
This grave, an aktract of the whole world, I made for myself

404 MISCELLANEA

whilst yet living (A. 0. B, 0. Hoc Umversi compendium vims
mihi sepidchrumfed). About tlie margin was To me Jesus
is all in all (Jesus mihi omnia) In the centre were four
figures enclosed in a circle by tin's revolving legend : Nequa-
quam vacuum legist jugum. Libeitas Evangehi. Uei gloria
intacta. (The empty yoke of the Law is made void. The Liberty
of the Gospel. The unsullied ylory of God.) Each of the seven
sides of the vault had a door opening into a chest ; which
chest, besides tlie secret books ot the order and the Vocabu-
Imum of Paracelsus, contained also mirrors, little bells, binn-
ing lamps, marvellous mechanisms of music, etc,, all &o con-
trived that after the lapse of many centuries, if the whole
order should have perished, it might be re-established by
means of this vault. Under the altar, upon raising the
brazen tablet, the brothers found the body of Rosycros*,
without taint or corruption. The right hand held a book
written upon vellum with golden letters : this book, which
is called T., has since become the most precious jewel of the
society next after the Bible ; nnd at the end stand subscribed
the names of the eight brethren, arranged in two separate
circles, who were present at the death and burial of Father
Rosycroas. Immediately after the above narrative follows a
declaration of their mysteries addressed by the society to the
whole world. They profess themselves to be of the Protestant
faith ; that they honour the Emperor and the laws of the
Empire ; and that the art of gold-making is but a slight
object with them, and a mere Trapepyov. The whole work
ends with these words : Ct ' Our House of the Holy Ghost,
IC though a hundred thousand men should have looked upon
" it, is yet destined to remain untouched, imperturbable, out of
" sight, and unrevealed to the whole godless world for ever."
The third book, which originally appeared in Latin
with the title Confessio tfratwiiitatis Rosew Grucis ad Eruditos
Europw contains nothing more than general explanations
upon the object and spirit of the order. It is added that
the order has different degrees ; that not only princes, men
of rank, rich men, and learned men, but also mean and in-
considerable persons, are admitted to their communion, pro-
vided they have pure and disinterested purposes, and are
able and willing to exert themselves for the ends of the

EOSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 405

institution ; that the order lias a peculiar language ; that it
is possessed of more gold and silver than the whole world
beside could yield ; that it is not this, however, but true
philosophy, which IB the object of their labours.

The first question, which arises on these three l works,
the Uniwrsal Reformation, the Fama Fratermtatis, and the
(lonfessio Fratermtatis, is this : from what quarter do they
proceed ? The reputed author was John Valentine Andrea,
a celebrated theologian of Wirtemberg, known also as a
satirist and a poet, and in our days revived into notice by
the late illustrious Herder. Others have disputed his claim
to these works ; and Burke has excluded them from his
catalogue of Andrea's writings. I shall attempt, however, to
prove that he was the true author.

Andrea was horn in 1586 at Herrenberg, a little town of
Wirtemberg, and was the grandson of the Chancellor Jacob
Andrea, so deservedly celebrated for his services to the
church of "Wirtemlierg. From his father, the Abbot of
Konigsbronn, ho received an excellent education, which his
own extraordinary thirst for knowledge led him to turn to
the best account. Besides Hebrew, Greek, and Latin (m
which languages he was distinguished for the elegance of his
style), he made himself master of the French, Italian, and

1 The earliest edition ol these works which I have seen is that of
1614, printed at Casael, in 8vo, which is in the Woli'enbuttel library ;
but in this the Cmifessw is wanting. From a pahsage in this edition
it appears that the Fama Fratermtatis had been received in the Tyrol
as early as 1610, in manuscript, as the passage alleges ; but the
words seem to imply that printed copies were m existence even before
1610 In the year 1015 appeared "Secretions Philosophise Consider-
atio a Philippo a Gabella, Philosophise fetudioso, conscripta, et mine
primmn, una cum Confessione Fraternitatis Ros Crucis, in Incem
edita, Casselhs : excud. G. Wesselius, A. 1615." In the very same
year, at Frankfuit-on-the-Mayne, was printed by John Berner an
edition of all the three works the Confes&io in a German translation.
In this year also appeared a Dutch translation of all three : a copy of
winch is in the Gottmgen library. The second Frankfurt edition was
followed by a third in 1616, enlarged by the addition of some letteis
addressed to the brotherhood ot the R. Cross. Other editions followed
in the years immediately succeeding ; but these it is unnecessary to
notice. In the title-page of the third Frankfurt edit, stands Fwst
printed at Cassel in the yeur 1616. But the four first words apply to
the onginal edition , the four la&t to this.

406 MISCELLANEA

Spanish : he was well versed in Mathematics, Natural and
Civil History, Geography, and Historical Genealogy, without
at all neglecting his professional study of divinity. Very
early in. life he seems to have had a deep sense of the evils
and abuses of the times not so muuli the political abuses as
those in philosophy, morals, and religion. These it seems
that he sought to redress by the agency of secret societies :
on what motives and arguments he has not told us m the
record of his own life which he left behind him in MS. 1
But the fact is certain : , for as early as his sixteenth year he
had written his Chemical Nuptials of Christian Rosycross, his
Julius, sive de Politick, his Condemnation oj Astrology, with
other works of the same tendency.

Between the years 1607 and 1C 12 Andrea travelled ex-
tensively in south and west Germany, in Switzerland, France,
and Italy. 2 In the succeeding years he made short excur-
sions almost annually : after the opening of the Thirty
Years' War he still continued this practice ; and in the very
midst of that great storm of wretchedness and confusion
which then swept over Germany he exerted himself, in a
way which is truly astonishing, to heal the " sorrow of the
times, 35 by establishing schools and religious worship, and
by propagating the Lutheran faith, through Bohemia,
Moravia, Carinthia, etc, Even to this day his country owes
to his restless activity and enlightened patriotism many
great blessings. At Stuttgart, where he was at length ap-
pointed chaplain to the court, he met with so much thwart-
ing and persecution that, with his infirm constitution of
body and dejection of mind from witnessing the desolation
of Germany, it is not to be wondered that he became weary
of life and sank into deep despondency and misanthropy.
In this condition he requested leave in 1646 to resign his
office. This was at first refused, with many testimonies of
respect, by Eberhard, the then Duke of Wirtemberg ; but on

1 This is written in Latin. A German translation will be found m
the second book of Seybold's Autobiographies of Celebrated Men.

3 Travelling, was not at that time so expensive for learned men as
it now is. Many scholars travelled on the same plan as is now pur-
sued by the journeymen artisans of Germany exercising their pro-
fessional knowledge at every stage of their journey, and tbus gaining
a respectable livelihood.

ROSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 407

the urgent repetition of his request he was removed to the
Abbey of Bebenhausen, and shortly afterwards was made
Abbot of Adelberg. In the year 1654, after a long and
painful sickness, lie departed this life. On the day of his
death he dictated a letter to his friend and benefactor,
Augustus, Duke of Brunawick-WolfenbutteL He made an
effort to sign it ; wrote the two first letters of his name ;
and in the act of writing the third he expired.

From a close review of his life and opinions, I am not
only satisfied that Andrea wrote the three works which laid
the foundation of Rosierucianism 3 but I see clearly why he
wrote them, The evils of Germany were then enormous ;
and the necessity of some great reform was universally
admitted. As a young man without experience, Andrea
imagined that this reform would be easily accomplished.
He had the example of Luther before him, the heroic
reformer of the preceding century whose memory was yet
fresh in (lermauy, and whose labours seemed on the point of
perishing unless supported by corresponding efforts in the
existing generation. To organise these efforts and direct
them to proper objects, he projected a society, composed of
the noble, the intellectual, the enlightened, and the learned,
which he hoped to see moving, as under the influence of
one soul, towards the redressing of public evils. Under this
hope it was that he travelled so much,- seeking everywhere,
no doubt, for the coadjutors and instruments of his designs
These designs he presented originally in the shape of a pro-
ject for a Rosicrucian Society ; and in this particular project
he intermingled some features that were at variance with its
gravity and really elevated purposes. Young as he was at
that time, Andrea knew that men of various tempers and
characters could not be brought to co-operate steadily for
any object so purely disinterested as the elevation of human
nature : he therefore addressed them through the common
foible of their age, by holding out promises of occult know-
ledge which should invest its possessor with authority over
the powers of nature, should lengthen his life, or raise him
from the dust of poverty to wealth and high station. In an
age of Theosophy, Cabbalism, and Alchemy, he knew that
the popular ear would be caught by an account, issuing

408 MISCELLANEA

nobody knew whence, of a secret society that professed to be
the depositary of Oriental mysteries, and to have lasted for
two centuries. Muny would seek to connect themselves with
such a society: from these candidates he might gradually
select the members of that real society which he projected,
The pretensions of the ostensible society were indeed illu-
sions ; but, before they could be detected as such by the new
proselytes, those proselytes would become connected with
himself and (as he hoped) moulded to nobler aspirations
On this view of Andrea's real intentions, we understand at
once the ground of tlie contradictory language which he held
about astrology and the transmutation of metak His satirical
works show that he looked through the follies of his age
with a penetrating eye. He speaks with toleration there of
these follies, as an exotic concession to the age ; he condemns
them in his own esoteric character as a religious philosopher.
Wishing to conciliate prejudices, he does not forbear to Mt
his schemes with these delusions ; but he is careful to let us
know that they are with his society mere Trapepya or col-
lateral pursuits, the direct and main one being true philosophy
and religion,

Meantime, in opposition to the claims of Andrea, it has
been asked why he did not avow the three books as his own
composition. I answer that to hare done so at first would
have defeated the scheme. Afterwards he had still better
reasons for disavowing them. In whatever way he meant
to have published the works, it is clear that they were in
fact printed without his consent. An uproar of hostility and
suspicion followed the publication, which made it necessary
for the author to lie hid. If he would not risk his own
safety, and make it impossible for his projects to succeed
under any other shape, the author was called on to disown
them. Andrea did &o ; and, as a suspected person, he even
joined in public the party of those who ridiculed the whole
as a chimera. 1 More privately, however, and in his postlm-

1 In the midst of his ridicule, however, it is easy to discover the
tone of a writer who is laughing not mth the laughers but at them.
Ajidrea laughed at those follies of the scheme wliich he well knewtliat
the general folly of the age had compelled him to interweave with -it
against his own better judgment,

BOSTOBUOTANfi AND FREE-MASONS 409

mous memoirs of himself, we find that lie nowhere disavow,?
the works. Indeed the bare fact of his being confessedly the
author of the Chemical Nuptials of Christian Rosycross
a hero never before heard ofis alone sufficient to vindicate
his claim. But, farther, if Andrea were not the author, who
was 9 Heidegger in his Historia Vitw Jo, Ludov. Fabridi
maintains that Jung, the celebrated mathematician of Ham-
burg, founded the sect of Rosicrucians and wrote the Foam :
but on what ground 1 Simply on the authority of Albert
Fabricius, who reported the story in casual conversation as
derived from a secretary of the court of Heidelberg. (See
the Ado, Eruditorum Lipsiww t 1698, p. 172.) Others
have brought forward a claim for Giles Gutmann, supported
by no other argument than that he was a distinguished
mystic in that age of mysticism

Morhof (PolyUist. i. p. 131, ed. Lubeca, 1732) has a
remark which, if true, might leave Andrea in possession of
the authorship without therefore ascribing to him any in-
fluence in the formation of the Eosicrucian order : " Juere"
says he, il non priscis tantum seculis collegia talia occulta, sed et
superiori secido (i.e. sexto-decimo) do Fratmiitate Rose Cruets
famct percrebuit" According to this remark, 1 the order
existed in the sixteenth century, that is, before the year
1600 : now, if so, the three hooks in question are not to be
considered as an anticipation of the order, but as its history.
Here then the question arises Was the brotherhood of
Rosicrucians, as described in these books, an historical matter
of fact or a romance 1 That it was a pure romantic fiction
might be shown by arguments far more than I can admit.
The Universal Reformation (the first of the three works)
was borrowed from the " Generate Itiforma dell } Universe dai
sette Savii della Green e da altri Letterati, pnblicata di ordine
di Apollo" which occurs in the Racjuaylio di Parnasso of
Boccalini, It is true that the earliest edition of the Raguaglio
which I have seen bears the date of 1615 (in Milano) ; but
there was an edition of the first Centuria in 1612. Indeed

1 Which has been adopted Ity many of the learned : see Arnold's
Hist, of tJie Church and of Heretics, boot li. p. 245 ; Bruckeri Hist.
Orit. Philosophies, torn, iv, p. 735, sq. ; Nicolai, On. the charges nqaitist
the Templars, part i. p. 164 ; Herder's Letters on Nicolai's Work in the
German Mercivry for 1782,

410 MISCELLANEA

Boccalini himself was cudgelled to death in 1613 (see
MaMuclidliScrittori d'ltoMa, voL ii. p. iii. p. 1378). As to
the Fama, which properly contains the pretended history of
the order, it teems with internal arguments against itself.
The House of the Holy Ghost exists for two centuries, and is
seen by nobody. Father Rosycross diets, and none of the
order even knew where he is buried , and yet afterwards it
appears that ei^ht brothers witnessed his death and his
burial, He builds himself a magnificent sepulchre, with
elaborate symbolic decorations ; and yet for 120 years it
remains undiscovered. The society offers its treasures and
its mysteries to the world ; and yet no reference to place or
person is assigned to direct the inquiries of applicants.
Finally, to say nothing of the Vocalidariim of Paracelsus,
which must have been put into the grave before it existed,
the Rosicrucians are said to be Protestants, though founded
upwards of a century before the Reformation. In short, the
fiction is monstrous, and betrays itself in every circumstance.
Whosoever was its author must be looked upon as the founder
in effect of the Rosicrucian order, inasmuch as this fiction
was the accidental occasion of such an orders being teally
founded. That Andrea was that author 1 shall now prove
by one final argument : it is a presumptive argument, but in
my opinion conclusive . The armorial hearings of Andrews
family were a St. Andrew's Gross and four Hoses. By the order
of the Rosy-cross he means therefore an order founded by
himself. 1

CHAPTER IV
Qf tlie Immediate Results of tfte Fama and the Confessio in Gertmiiy.

The sensation which was produced throughout Germany
by the works in question is sufficiently evidenced by the

1 Nieolai supposes that the rose was assumed as the symbol of
secrecy, and the cross to express the solemnity of the oath by which
the vow of secrecy was ratified. Such an allegoric meaning is not
inconsistent with that which I have assigned, and may have been a
secondary purpose of Andrea. Some authors have insisted on the
words Sub Umbra Alarum, twrumJehovUj which stand at the end of
the Fama Frater)titat'is&$ furnishing the initial letters of Johannes
VaL Andrea, Stipendiata Tukingensis. But on this I have not
thought it necessary to lay much stress,

ROSICRUC1ANS AND FREE-MASONS 411

repeated editions of them which appeared between 1614 and
1617, "but still more by the prodigious commotion which
followed in the literary world, In the library at Gottingen
there is a body of letters addressed to the imaginary order of
Father Eosycross from 1614 to 1617 by persons offering
themselves as members. These letters are filled with com-
plimentary expressions and testimonies of the highest respect,
and are all printed the writers alleging that, being un-
acquainted with the address of the society (as well they
might), they could not send them through any other than a
public channel. As certificates of their qualifications, most
of the candidates have inclosed specimens of their skill in
alchemy and cabbalism. Some of the letters are signed with
initials only, or with fictitious names, but assign real places
of address. Many other literary persons there were at that
day who forbore to write letters to the society, but threw out
small pamphlets containing their opinions of the order, and
of its place of residence, Each successive writer pretended
to be better informed on that point than all his predecessors.
Quarrels arose ; partisans started up on all sides ; the uproar
and confusion became indescribable ; cries of heresy and
atheism resounded from every corner ; some were for calling
in the secular power ; and, the more coyly the invisible
society retreated from the public advances, so much the more
eager and amorous were its admirers, and so much the more
bloodthirsty its antagonists Meantime there were some who
from the beginning had escaped the general delusion ; and
there were many who had gradually recovered from it. It was
remarked that of the many printed letters to the society,
tbough courteously and often learnedly written, none had
been answered ; and all attempts to penetrate the darkness in
which the order was shrouded by its unknown memorialist
were successively baffled, Hence arose a suspicion that some
bad designs lurked under the ostensible purposes of these
mysterious publications: a suspicion which was naturally
strengthened by what now began to follow. Many vile
impostors arose who gave themselves out for members of the
Rosicrucian order, and, upon the credit which they thus
obtained for a season, cheated numbers of their money by
alchemy, or of their health by panaceas. Three in particular

412 MISCELLANEA

made a great noise, at Wetzlar, at Nuremberg, and at
Augsburg : all were punished by the magistracy ; one lost his
ears in running the gauntlet, and one was hanged. At this
crisis stepped forward a powerful writer, who attacked the
supposed order with much scorn and homely good sense :
this was Andrew Lihiu. He exposed the impracticability of
the meditated reformation, the incredibility of the legend of
Father Rosycross, and the hollownes^ of the pretended
sciences which they professed. Ho pointed the attention of
governments to the confusions which these impostures were
producing, and predicted from them a renewal of the scenes
which had attended the fanaticism of the Anabaptists. These
writings (of which two were Latin, Frankfurt, 1615, folio,
one in German, Erfurt, 1616, 8vo), added to others of the
same tendency, would possibly have laid the storm by causing
the suppression of all the Rosicrucian books and pretensions ;
but this termination of the mania was defeated by two cir-
cumstances. The first was the conduct of the Paracelsists.
With frantic eagerness they had sought to press into the
imaginary order ; but, finding themselves lamentably repulsed
in all their efforts, at length they paused ; and, turning
suddenly round, they paid to one another" "What need to
court this perverse order any longer? We are ourselves
Rosicrucians as to all the essential marks laid down in the three
books. We also are holy persons of great knowledge ; we
also make gold, or shall make it we also, no doubt, give us
but time, shall reform the world : external ceremonies aze
nothing : substantially it is clear that we are the Rosicrucian
Order." Upon this, they went on in numerous books and
pamphlets to assert that they were the very identical order
instituted by Father Rosycross and described in the Fama
Fraternitatis. The public mind was now perfectly dis-
tracted ; no man knew what to think ; and the uproar
became greater than ever. The other circumstance which
defeated the tendency of Libau's exertions was the conduct
of 'Andrea and his friends. Clear it is that Andrea
enjoyed the scene of confusion, until he began to be sensible
that he had called up an apparition which it was beyond
his art to lay. Well knowing that, in all that great
crowd of aspirants who were knocking clamorously for admit-

ROSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 413

tance into the airy college of Father Rosycross, though one
and all pretended to be enamoured of that mystic wisdom he
had promised, yet by far the majority were in fact enamoured
of that gold which he had hinted at, it is evident that his
satirical l propensities were violently tickled : and he was
willing to keep up the hubbub of delusion by flinging out a
couple of pamphlets amongst the hungry crowd, which tended
to amuse them. These were, 1. Epistola ad Reveremdcm
Fraternitatem E. Grucis. Franco/. 1613 ; Z.Assertio Fraterni-
tatis H, G. a quodani Fmtern. ejus Sotio Carmine Expmsa,
Franc. 1614 : which last was translated into German in
1G16, and again, in 16 L8, into German rhyme -under the
title of Ant Faderis Therapid, or Altar of the Healiwj
Fraternity (the most general abstraction of the pretensions
made for the Rosicrucians being that they healed both the
body and the mind). All this, in a young man and a pro-
fessed satirist, was natural and excusable, But in a few
years Anclreu was shocked to find that the delusion had
taken firm root in the public mind. Of the many authors
who wrote with a sincere design to countenance the notion of
a pretended Kosicrucian society I shall here mention a few
of the most memorable; 1. A writer calling himself
Jutiams a Cttnypis wrote expressly to account for the Rosi-
crucians not revealing themselves and not answering the
letters addressed to them. He was himself, he said, a
member of the order ; but in all his travels he had met but
three other members, there being (as he presumed) no more
persons on the earth worthy of being entiusted w^h its
mysteries. The Rosicrucian wisdom was to be more cxten-

1 I have no doubt that Andrea alludes to liis own high diver-
sion on this occasion in the following passage of a later work
(Mytholotjia Christiana) winch he printed at Stvasljnrg in 1619.
It is. Truth (die Atethia) \vlio is speaking: " Plamssime nihil
cum hac JFraterwtate (sc. 2ios. Crum} commune hitleo. Nam, cmi
paullo ante htsum quendam vir/eniomo-rem personufais aliqms (no
doubt himself) in litemrw foro ayere vellet, nihil motus sum Hbellis
inter se con/lidantibus, sed velut in scena prodeuntes kistriones non
dm wluptate spectitii "Like Miss in her Teens (in the excellent
farce of Gairick), who so much enjoys the prospect of a battle between
her two lovers, Andrea, instead ot calming the tumult which he had
caused, was disposed at first to cry out to the angry polemics-" Stick
him, Captain Flash ; do stick him, Captain Flash."

414 MISCELLANEA

sively diffused in future, but still not to be hawked about in
market-places. 2, Julius Sperber, of Anhalt-Dessau (accord-
ing to common repute), wrote 1 the " Echo of the divinely
illuminated fraternity of the admirable order of the R. 0" In
this there is a passage which. I recommend to the especial
notice of Free-masons : Having maintained the probability
of the Rosicrucian pretensions on the ground that such.
magnolia Dei had from the creation downwards been confided
to the keeping of a few individuals, agreeably to which, he
affirms that Adam was the first Rosicrucian of the Old
Testament and Simeon the last, he goes on to ask \\hether
the Gospel put an end to the secret tradition? By no
means, he answers : Christ established a new " college of
magic" amongst his disciples, and the greater mysteries were
revealed to St. John and St. Paul, In this passage, which I
shall notice farther on, we find the Grand-Master and the St.
John of Masonry. 3. Radtich Brotoffer was not so much a
Cabbahst, like Julius Sperber, as an Alchemist. He under-
stood the three Rosicrucian books not in a literal or historical
sense, but allegorically as a description of the art of making
gold and finding the philosopher's stone. He even favoured
the public with an interpretation of it ; so that both "materia
et prcuparatw lapidis aurei" was laid bare to the profane.
With this practical test of his own pretensions, it might have
been supposed that Brotoffer would have exposed himself as
an impostor ; but on the contrary his works sold well, and
were several times reprinted, 4. A far more important
person in the history of Rosicrucianism was Michael Maier.
He it was that first transplanted it into England, where (as
we shall see) it led ultimately to more lasting effects than in
Germany. He was born in Holstein, and was physician to
the Emperor Rudolph II ; who, being possessed by the
mystical frenzy of the age, sent for him to Prague. In 1622
he died at Magdeburg, having previously travelled extensively
and particularly to England, His works are among the

1 This was printed at Dantzig in 1616 Nicolai, however, cites an
edition printed in 1615, Whether Sperber was the author is a point
not quite settled, Katzauer, in his Dissert, de liosceoniciams, p. 38,
takes him for the same person as Julianus a Campis : but from
internal grounds this is very improbable.

ROSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 415

rarities of bibliography, and fetch very high prices. The
first of them which concerns our present inquiry is that
entitled Jocus Severus: Franco/. 1617. It is addressed (in a
dedication written on his road fiorn England to Bohemia),
"omnibus Vem Ghymice amantibus per Germaniam" and
amongst them more especially " ilU ordini adhuc dektesc&nti,
at Fama Fraternitatis et Confessione sua admiranda, et probdbUi
manifestato" This work, it appears, had been written in
England. On his return to Germany he became acquainted
with the fierce controversy on the Rosicrucian sect ; and, as
he firmly believed in the existence of such a sect, he sought
to introduce himself to its notice ; but, finding this impos-
sible, he set himself to establish such an order by his own
efforts ; and in his future writings he spoke of it as already
existing, going so far even as to publish its laws (which
indeed had previously been done by the author of the Echo).
From the principal work which lie wrote on this subject,
entitled Sdentium post (Jlammes^ 1 I shall make an extract,
because in this work it is that we meet with the first traces
of Masonry. " Nature is yet but half unveiled. What we
" want is chiefly experiment and tentative inquiry. Great,
" therefore, are our obligations to the Eosicrucians for labour-
" ing to supply this want. Their weightiest mystery is a
" Universal Medicine. Such a Catholicon lies hid in nature,
" It is, however, no simple, but a very compound, medicine.
" For out of the meanest pebbles and weeds medicine, and
" even gold, is to be extracted." "He that doubts the exist-
" ence of the E-. 0. should recollect that the Greeks,
" Egyptians, Arabians, etc., had such secret societies ; where,
" then, is the absurdity in their existing at this day ? Their
" maxims of self-discipline are these To honour and fear
" God above all things ; to do all the good in their power to
" their fellow-men ; " and so on. " What is contained in the
" Fama and Confessio is true. It is a very childish objection
" that the brotherhood have promised so much and per-

1 "Silentium post Clamores, li. e. Tractates Apologetious, quo
cau&te non solum Clamorum (seu revelationum) Fratermtatis Ger-
manics de R. C., sed et Silentii (sen non redditse ad smgulorum vota
responsionis) traduntur et demonstrantur. Antore Michaele Maiero,
Imp, Consist. Oomite, et Med. Doct. Francof. 1617."

416 MISCELLANEA

" formed so little. With them, as elsewhere, many are
" called, but few chosen. The masters of the order hold out
" the rose as a remote prize, but they impose the cross on
"those who are entering." 1 "Like the Pythagoreans and
l Egyptians, the Rosicrucians exact vows of silence and
" secrecy. Ignorant men have treated the whole as a fiction ;
" but this has arisen from the five years' probation to which
" they subject even well-qualified novices before they are
" admitted to the higher mysteries : within this period they
L< are to learn how to govern their tongues/' In the same
year with this book he published a work of Robert Fludd's
(with whom he had lived on friendly terms in England), J)e,
7ita, Morte, d Resiinectione? Of other works, which he
published afterwards, I shall here say nothing : neither
shall I detain my reader with any account of his fellow-
labourers in this path Theophilus Schweighart of Con-
stance, Josephus Stellatus, or Giles Gutrnann.

The books I have mentioned were enough to convince
Andrea that his romance had succeeded in a way which lie
had never designed. The public had accredited the charla-
tanerie of his books, but gave no welcome to that for the sake
of which this charlatanene was adopted as a vehicle. The
Alchemy had been approved, the moral and religious scheme
slighted. And societies were forming even amongst the
learned upon the basis of all that was false in the system, to
the exclusion of all that was true. This was a spectacle
which could no longer be viewed in the light of a joke: the
folly was becoming too serious ; and Andrea set himself to
counteract it with all his powers. For this purpose he now
published his Ghemical Nuptials of Christian Eosywoss, which
he had written in 1601-2 (when only in his sixteenth year),
but not printed. This is a comic romance of extraordinary
talent, the covert purpose of it being a refined and delicate
banter of the Pedants, Theosophists, Goldmakers, and En-
thusiasts of every class, with whom Germany at that time
swarmed. In his former works he had treated the Para-
celsists with forbearance, hoping by such treatment to have

1 Ecce mmuneri adsimt ex vocatts, seseque offerunt: at non
aiidmntuv a magistris R. Crucis, qui losas ostentant, at cruceni
exigent. P, 77. a Robert Fludd, 1574-1637. M.

ROSICBUOIA.NS AND FREE-MASONS 417

won them over to his own elevated designs; but in this
they were invested with the cap and bells. Unfortunately
for the purpose of Andrea, however, even this romance was
swallowed by the public as true and serious history. Upon
this, in the following year, he published a collection of
satirical dialogues under the title of Menippus; sive Dial
Satyrworum Oenturia,, inanitatum nostratium Speculum. In
this he more openly unveils his true design revolution of
method in the arts and sciences, and a general religious
reformation. The efforts of Andrea were seconded by those
of his friends, especially of Irenseus, Agnostus, and of Joh.
Val. Alberti under the name of Menapiua, Both wrote with
great energy against the Eosicrucians : the former, indeed,
from having ironically styled himself "an unworthy clerk
of the Fraternity of the E. C.," has been classed by some
learned writers on the Eosicrucians as one of that sect ;
but it is impossible to read his writings without detecting
the lurking satire. Soon after these writers a learned
foreigner placed the Rosicrucian pretensions in a still more
ludicrous light : this was the celebrated Thomas Campanella.
In his work upon the Spanish Monarchy, which was trans-
lated into German, published, and universally read in
Germany some time 1 before the original work appeared,
the Italian philosopher speaking of the follies of the age
thus expresses himself of the E. G. : " That the whole of
" Christendom teems with such heads (viz. Eeformation-
" jobbers) we have one proof more than was wanted in
" the Fraternity of the R. 0. For scarcely was that
K absurdity hatched when notwithstanding it was many
16 times declared to be nothing more than a Imus ingenii
" nimium lascivientis, a mere hoax of some man of wit
" troubled with a superfluity of youthful spirits yet, be-
" cause it dealt in reformations and in pretences to mystical
" arts, straightway from every country in Christendom pious
" and learned men, passively surrendering themselves dupes
" to this delusion, made offers of their good wishes and

1 It was published in 1620, at which time Campanella was
confined in prison at Naples. The publishers had obtained the
original copy either from some traveller or during their own resi-
dence m Italy.

VOL. XIII 2 JE

418 MISCELLANEA

<r services : some "by name ; others anonymously, but con-
tc stantly maintaining that the brothers of the R. G,
" could easily discover their names by Solomon's mirror
" or other cabbalistic means, Nay, to such a pass of ab-
" surdity did they advance that they represented the first of
" the three Rosicrucian books (the Universal Reformation) as
" a high mystery, and expounded it in a chemical sense as
"if it had contained a cryptical account of the art of gold-
" making, whereas it is nothing more than a literal trans-
" lation, word for word, of the Parnasso of Boccalini."
The effect of all this ridicule and satire was that in Germany,
as there is the best reason to believe, no regular lodge of
Rosicrucians was ever established, DCS Cartes, who had
heard a great deal of talk about them in 1619, during his
residence at Frankfort-on-the-Maine, sought to connect him-
self with some lodge (for which he was afterwards exposed
to the ridicule of his enemies) ; but the impossibility of
finding any body of them formally connected together, and
a perusal of the Rosicrucian writings, satisfied him in the
end that no such order was in existence. Many years after,
Leibnitz came to the same conclusion. He was actually
connected in early life with a soi-disant society of the
R. C. in Nuremberg, for even at this day there is obvi-
ously nothing to prevent any society in any place from
assuming that or any other title ; but that they were not
connected traditionally with the alleged society of Father*
Rosycross Leibnitz was convinced. " II me paroit," says he,
in a letter to a friend published by Feller in the Otium
Hcmnoveranum (p. 222), " il me paroit qiie tout ce que 1'on
" a dit des Freres de la Croix de la Rose est une pure in-
" vention de quelque personne ingenieuse." And again, so
late as the year 1696, tie says in another letter " Fratres
" RosejB Grucis fictitios fuisse suspicor ; quod et Helmontius
4t mihi confirmavit.' 3 Adepts there were here and there, it
is true, and even whole clubs of swindlers, who called them-
selves Rosicrucians : thus Ludov. Conr. Orvius, in Mb
Occulta Phiksophia, sive Oalum Sapientum et Yexatio Stul-
torum, tells a lamentable tale of such a society, pretending to
deduce themselves from Father Rosycross, who were settled
at the Hague in 1622, and, after swindling him out of his

KOSTCRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 419

own and his wife's fortune, amounting to eleven thousand
dollars, kicked him out of the order, with the assurance
that they would murder him if he revealed their secrets :
" which secrets," says he, " I have faithfully kept, and for
" the same reason that women keep secrets viz. because I
" have none to reveal ; for their knavery is no secret,"
There is a well-known story also in Voltaire's Diction,
Philosoph.j Art. Alchimiste, of a rogue who cheated the
Duke of Bouillon of 40,000 dollars under the masque of
Rosicrucianibm. But these were cases for the police-office,
and the gross impostures of jail-birds. As the aberration of
learned men, and as a case for the satirist, Eosicrucianism
received a shock from the writings of its accidental father,
Andrea, and others, such as in Germany l it never recovered.
And hence it has happened that, whatever number there may
have been of individual mystics calling themselves Rosicru-
cians, no collective body of Rosicrucians acting in conjunction
was ever matured and actually established in Germany.
In England the case was otherwise ; for there, as I shall
show, the order still subsists under a different name. But
this will furnish matter for a separate chapter, Meantime
one word remains to be said of Andrea's labours with
respect to the Rosi crucians He was not content with
opposing gravely and satirically the erroneous societies which

1 la France it never had even a momentary success. It was met
by the ridicule of P. Garasse and of Gabriel Nande m his Instruction
a la France sur fa wriU de I'histoire des Fr&res de la Rose-Crows : Paris,
1623 ; and in Le Mascurat, a rare work printed in 1624, and of
which the second edition, 1650 3 is still rarer. Independently of these
works, France was at that time the rival of Italy in science, and had
greatly the start of Germany and England in general illumination.
She was thus sufficiently protected from such a delusion, Thus far
Professor Buhle. But, pace tua, worthy Professor, I the translator
of your book affirm that France had not the start of England, nor
wanted then or since the ignotler elements of credulity, as the
history of Animal Magnetism and many other fantastic follies before
that have sufficiently shown. But she has always wanted the nobler
(i.e. the imaginative) elements of credulity. On this account the
French have always been an irreligious people. And the scheme of
Father Rosycross was too much connected with religious feelings 5 and
moved too much under a religious impulse, to recommend itself to
the French, This reason apart, however, accident had much to do
with the ill fortune of Rosicrucianism in France.

420 MISCELLANEA

learned men were attempting to found upon his own
romance of the lama Iraternitatis, hut laboured more
earnestly than ever to mature and to establish that genuine
society for the propagation of truth which had been the real
though misinterpreted object of his romance and indeed. of
his whole life. Such a society he lived to see accomplished :
and, in order to mark upon what foundation he placed all
hopes of any great improvement in the condition of human
nature, he called it by the name of The Christian Fraternity.
This fact I have recorded in order to complete the account
of Andrea's history in relation to Rosicrucianism ; hut 1
shall not further pursue the history of The Christian
Fraternity, 1 as it is no ways connected with the subject of
my present inquiry.

CHAPTER Y
Of the Origin oj Free-masonry in England

Thus I have traced the history of Eosicrucianism from its
birth in Germany ; and I have ended with showing that,
from the energetic opposition and ridicule which it latterly
incurred, no college or lodge of Bosierucian brethren, pro-
fessing occult knowledge and communicating it under solemn
forms and vows of secrecy, can be shown from historical
records to have been ever established in Germany. I shall
now undertake to prove that Rosicruciauism was transplanted
to England, where it flourished under a new name, under
which name it has been since re-exported to us in common
with the other countries of Christendom. For I affirmTT^-
the mam thesis of my concluding labours, THAT FREE-MASONRY

IS NEITHER MORE NOR LESS THAN ROSICRUCIANISM AS MODI-
PIED BY THOSE WHO TRANSPLANTED IT INTO ENGLAND.

At the beginning of the seventeenth century many learned
heads in England were occupied with Theosophy, Cabbahsnj,
and Alchemy : amongst the proofs of this (for many of which

1 See tlie Invitatio Fratermtatis Ckristi ad Sacri Amoris can-
didatos, Argentor. 1617 ; the Christiance Sodetatis Idea, Tubing,
1624 ; the Ver& Unionis in Christo Jem Specimen, Norimb. 1628 ;
and other woiks on the same subject. A list of the members com-
posing this Christian Brotherhood, which continued its labours aftei
Andrea's death, is still preserved,

ROSICRUC1ANS AND FREE-MASONS 421

" see the Mhence Oxonienses) may be cited the works of John
Pordage, of Norbert, of Thomas and Samuel Norton, but
above all (in reference to our present inquiry) of Robert
Fludd. 1 Fludd it was, or whosoever was the author of the
SuTn/niwn, Bonum, 1629, that must be considered as the
immediate father of Free-masonry, as Andrea was its remote
father, What was the particular occasion of his own first
acquaintance with Rosicrucianism is not recorded : all the
books of Alchemy or other occult knowledge published in
Germany were at that time immediately carried over to
England provided they were written in Latin ; and, if
written in German, were soon translated for the benefit of
English students. He may therefore have gained his know-
ledge immediately from the three Bosicrucian books. But it
is more probable that he acquired his knowledge on this head
from his friend Maier (mentioned in the preceding chapter),
who was intimate with Fludd during his stay in England,
and corresponded with him after he left it. At all events he
must have been initiated into Rosicrucianism at an early
period, having published his Apology 2 for it in the year 1617.
This indeed is denied to be his work, though ascribed to him
in the title-page : but, be that as it may, it was at any rate
the work of the same author who wrote the Summum Bonum*
being expressly claimed by him at p. 39, If not Fludd's, it
was the work of a friend of Fludcl's ; and, as the name is of
no importance, I shall continue to refer to it as Fludd's
having once apprised my reader that I mean by Fludd the
author, be he who he may, of those two works. Now, the
first question which arises is this : For what reason did Fludd
drop the name of Rosicrucians 1 The reason was briefly

1 John Pordage, 16254698; Robert Fludd (Latinised as "De
Fluctibus"), 1574-1637.

2 Tractatus Apologcticus, integritatem Societatis de Rosea Cruce
defenders Autliore Roberto De Fluctibus, Anglo, M D.L. Lugcl.
Bat. 1617.

J This work was disavowed "by Fludd But, as the principles, the
style, the animosity towards Mersenne, the publisher, and the year,
were severally the same in this as in the Sophies cum Moria Ccrtamen
\vlnch Fludd acknowledged, there cannot be much reason to doubt
that it was his. Consult the " Catalogue of some Rare Books," by G
Serpilius, No. II. p. 238.

422 MISCELLANEA

tliis : His Apology for the Rosicrucians was attacked by the
celebrated Father Mersenne. To this Fludd replied, under
the name of Joachim Fritz, in two witty but coarse books
entitled Summum Bonum and Sophies cum Moria Oertamen ;
in the first of which, to the question" Where the Rosi-
crucians resided ?" he replied thus "In the houses of God,
where Christ is the corner-stone"; and he explained the
symbols of the Rose and Gross in a new sense, as meaning
" the Cross sprinkled with the rosy blood of Christ." Mer-
senne being obviously no match for Fludd either in learning
or in polemic wit, Gassendi stepped forward into his place
and published (in 1630) an excellent rejoinder to Fludd in
his fixercitatio Epistohca, which analysed and ridiculed the
principles of Fludd in general, and in particular reproached
him with his belief in the romantic legend of the Rosicrucians.
Upon this, Fludd, finding himself hard pressed under his
conscious inability to assign their place of abode, evades the
question, in his answer to Gassendi (published in 1633), by
formally withdrawing the name Rosicrucians : for, having
occasion to speak of them, he calls them " Fratres R, G. ohm
sic dicti, quos nos hodie Sapientes (Sty Acs) wcamus; omisso illo
nomine, ianquam odioso miseris mortalibus velo ignorantiw
oMuctis, et in olkvione hominum jam fere sepulto." Here then
we have the negative question answered why and when
they ceased to be called Rosicrucians. But now comes a
second, or affirmative question why and when they began
to be called Free-masons. In 1633 we have seen that the
old name was abolished, but as yet no new name was substi-
tuted ; in default of such a name, they were styled ad interim
by the general term Wise Men. This, however, being too
vague an appellation for men who wished to form themselves
into a separate and exclusive society, a new one was to be
devised, bearing a more special allusion to their characteristic
objects. Now, the immediate hint for the name Masons
was derived from the legend, contained in the Fama
Fraternitatis, of the " House of the Holy Ghost." Where
and what was that house? This had been a subject of
much speculation in Germany ; and many had been simple
enough to understand the expression of a literal house,
and had inquired after it up and down the Empire. But

ROSICBUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 423

Andrea had himself made it impossible to understand it
in any other than an allegoric sense, by describing it
as a building that would remain "invisible to the god-
less world for ever." Theophilus Schweighart also had
spoken of it thus; "It is a building/' says he, "a great
" building, carens fenestris el foribus, a princely, nay an
" imperial palace, everywhere visible, and yet not seen by
" the eyes of man," This building in fact represented the
purpose or object of the Bosicrucians. And what was that ?
It was the secret wisdom, or in their language magic (viz.
1. Philosophy of Nature, or occult knowledge of the works
of God ; 2, Theology, or the occult knowledge of God him-
self ; 3. Religion, or God's occult intercourse with the spirit
of man) which they imagined to have been transmitted from
Adam through the Cabbalists to themselves. But they dis-
tinguished between a carnal and a spiritual knowledge of
this magic. The spiritual knowledge is the business of
Christianity, and is symbolised by Christ himself as a rock,
and as a building of which he is the head and the founda-
tion. What rock, and what building 1 says Fludd. A
spiritual rock, and a building of human nature, in which
men are the stones and Christ the corner-stone. 1 But how
shall stones move and arrange themselves into a building 1
They must become living stones: " Transmutemini, trans-
mutemini" says Pludd, " de lapidibus mortuis in lapides vivos
philosophicos" But what is a living stone 1 A. living stone
is a mason who builds himself up into the wall as a part of
the temple of human nature : " Viam liujusmodi tra,n2ra-
tatiom nos docet Apostolus dum ait Eadem mens sit in
wlis qua est in Jesu." In these passages we see the rise of
the allegoric name masons upon the extinction of the former
name. But Fludd expresses this allegory still more plainly

1 Summum Bununi, p. 37. " Conchidimis igitur quod Jesus sit
templi Immani lapis cwyulans; atgue ita ex mortuis lapides wvi
facti sunt homines pu; idqiw transmutatione reah ab Adami lapsi
statu in statum sues innocentios et perfedionisi.z* a wili et kptosa
plumbi conditione in auri purissimi perfectionem." Masonic readers
will remember a ceremony used on the introduction of a new member
which turns upon this distinction between lead and gold as the symbol
of transition from the lost state of Adani to the onginal condition of
innocence and perfection.

421 MISCELLANEA

elsewhere : "Denique" says he, " gmUter ddent operari Fratres
ad, gewm istiusmodi (meaning magic) inquisitionem nos docet
pagina sacra," How, then 1 Nos docet Apostolus ad mysteni
peifectionem vel sub Agricolce vel Anhtecti typo pertingeie" ;
either under the image of a husbandman who cultivates a
field, or of an architect who builds a house : and, had the
former type been adopted, we should have had Frw-hiisband-
men, instead of Free-mmow Again, in another place, he
says, "Atquc sub istiusmodi Archtecti typo nos monet Propheta
ut cGdificemus Domum Sapientice" The society was therefore
to be a masonic society, in order to represent typically that
temple of the Holy Spirit which it was their business to
erect in the spirit of man. This temple was the abstract of
the doctrine of Christ, who was the Grand-Master : hence the
light from the East, of which so much is said in Rosicrucian
and Masonic books. St. John was the beloved disciple of
Christ: hence the solemn celebration of his festival. Having,
moreover, once adopted the attributes of masonry as the
figurative expression of their objects, they were led to
attend more minutely to the legends and history of that art ;
and in these again they found an occult analogy with their
own relations to the Christian Wisdom, The first great
event in the art of Masonry was the building of the Tower
of Babel : this expressed figuratively the attempt of some
unknown Mason to build up the temple of the Holy Ghost
in anticipation of Christianity, which attempt, however,
had been confounded by the vanity of the builders. The
building of Solomon's Temple, the second great incident in
the art, had an obvious meaning as a prefiguration of Christ-
ianity. Hiram, 1 simply the architect of this temple to the
real professors of the art of building, was to the English
Kosicrucians a type of Christ; and the legend of Masons,
which represented this Hiiam as having been murdered by
his fellow-workmen, made the type still more striking. The
two pillars also, JaMi and Boan* (strength and power),

1 The name of Hiram was understood by the elder Free-masons as
an anagram. H I, R. A. M meant Homo Jesus Eedemptor AnimaruM
Others explained the name Homo Jesus Eex Altissimus Mundi Others
added a C to the Hiram, in order to make it CHristus Jesus, etc.

2 See the account of these pillars in the 1st Book of Kings, vii.
14-22, where it is said "And tliere stood upon the pillars as it wore

ROSIORUCUNS AND FREE-MASONS 425

\vliicli are amongst the memorable singularities in Solomon's
Temple, have an occult meaning to the Free-masons ; winch,
however, I shall not undertake publicly to explain. This
symbolic interest to the English Rosicrucians in the attributes,
incidents, and legends of the art exercised by the literal
Masons of real life naturally brought the two orders into
some connexion with each other. They were thus enabled
to realise to their eyes the symbols of their own allegories ;
and the same building which accommodated the guild of
builders in their professional meetings offered a desirable
means of secret assemblies to the early Free-masons. An
apparatus of implements and utensils, such as were presented
in the fabulous sepulchre of Father Rosycross, were here
actually brought together. And, accordingly, it is upon
record that the first formal and solemn lodge of Free-masons,
on occasion of which the very name of Free-masons was
first publicly made known, was held in Mason's Hall,
Mason's Alley, Basinghall Street, London, in the year 1646.
Into this lodge it was that Ash-mole the antiquary was
admitted. Private meetings there may doubtless have been
before ; and one at Warrington (half-way between Liverpool
and Manchester) is expressly mentioned in the life of Ash-
mole ; but the name of a Free-mason's Lodge, with all the
insignia, attributes, and circumstances of a lodge, first came
forward in the page of history on the occasion I have men-
tioned, It is perhaps in requital of the services at that time
rendered in the loan of their hall, etc., that the guild of
Masons as a body, and where they are not individually
objectionable, enjoy a precedency of all orders of men in the
right to admission, and pay only half-fees. Ashmole, by the
way, whom I have just mentioned as one of the earliest
Free-masons, appears from his writings to have been a zealous
Rosicrucian. 1 Other members of the lodge were Thomas

Hoses." Tills may be taken as a free translation of the first passage
in veiao 20. Compare 2d Book of Chron. ui. 17.

1 When Ashmole [Elias Ashmole, 1617-1692. M.] speaks of the
antiquity of Free-masonry, he is to be understood either as confound-
ing the order of philosophic masons with thai of the handicraft masons
(as many have done), or simply as speaking the language of Bosicru-
ciaus, who (as we have shown) carry up their traditional pretensions
to Adam as the first professor of the secret wisdom In Florence,

426 MISCELLANEA

Wharton, a physician, George Wharton, Oughtred tlie
mathematician, Dr. Hewitt, Dr. Pearson the divine, and
William Lilly, the principal astrologer of the day. 1 All the
members, it must be observed, had annually assembled to
hold a festival of astrologers before they were connected into
a lodge bearing the title of Free-masons. This previous con-
nexion had no doubt paved the way for the latter.

I shall now sum up the results of my inquiry into the
origin and nature of Free-masonry, and shall then conclude
with a brief notice of one or two collateral questions growing
out of popular errors on the mam one.

I. The original Free-masons were a society that arose out of
the Rosicrucian mania, certainly within the thirteen years from
1633 to 1646, and probably between 1633 and 1640. Their
object was magic in the cabbalistic sense : i.e the occult wisdom
transmitted from the beginning of the world, and matured by
Christ ; to communicate this when they had it, to search for
it when they had it not ; and both under an oath of secrecy.

II. This object of Free-masonry was represented under the
form of Solomon's Temple as a type of the true Church, whose
corner-stone is Christ. This Temple is to be built of men, or
living stones; and the true method and art of building with
men it is the province of magic to teach. Hence it is that all the
masonic symbols either refer to Solomon's Temple or are
figurative modes of expressing the ideas and doctrines of
magic in the sense of the Eosicrucians and their mystical
predecessors in general.

III. The Free-masons, having once adopted symbols, etc 3
from the art of masonry, to which they were led by the lan-
guage of Scripture, went on to connect themselves m a certain
degree with the order itself of handicraft masons, and adopted
their distribution of members into apprentices, journeymen,
and masters. Christ is the Grand-Master, and was put to death
whilst laying the foundation of the temple of human nature.

about the year 1512, there were two societies (the Gompagnia, delta
Ccunwla and the Compagnia del Pajuolo) who assumed the mason's
hammer as their sign ; "but these were merely convivial clnLs. Sec the
life of J. F. Eusticim Vasari Vite dei Pittori, etc. Boma* 1760, p. 76
1 Thomas Wharton, M.D., 1610-1673 ; Sir George Wharton, 1617-

1681 ; Oughtred, 1574-1660 ; Dr. Joan Hewitt, 1658 ; Pearson,

1613-16S6 ; William Lilly, 1602-1682. -M.

ROSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 427

IV. The Jews were particularly excluded from the original
lodges of Free-masons as being the great enemies of the
Grand-Master. For the same reason, in a less degree, were
excluded Mohamedans and Pagans. The reasons for excluding
Eoman Catholics were these : First, the original Free-
masons were Protestants in an age when Protestants were in
the liveliest hostility to Papists, and in a country which had
suffered deeply from Popish cruelty. They could not there-
fore he expected to view popery with the languid eyes of
modern indifference. Secondly, the Papists were excluded
prudentially, on account of their intolerance : for it was a
distinguishing feature of the Bosicrucians and Free-masons
that they first x conceived the idea of a society which should

1 It is well known that until the latter end of the seventeenth
century all churches and tho best men discountenanced tlio doctrine of
religious toleration in fact they rejected it with horror, as a deliberate
act of compromise with error : they were intolerant on principle, and
persecuted on conscientious grounds It is among the glories of
Jeremy Taylor and Milton that, in so intolerant an age, they fearlessly
advocated the necessity of mutual toleration as a Christian duty.
Jeremy Taylor in particular is generally supposed to have been the
very earliest champion of toleration ra his Liberty of Prophesying, first
published in 1647 , and the presentBishop of Calcutta has lately asserted
in his life of that great man (prefixed to the collected edition of his works,
1822) that " The Liberty of Prophesying is the fast attempt on record to
conciliate the minds of Christians to the reception of a doctrine which
was then by every sect alike regarded as a perilous and portentous
novelty" (p xxvu.) ; and again (at p. ccxi ) his lordship calls it "the
first work perhaps, since the earliest days oi Christianity, to teach the art
of differing harmlessly. " Now, m the place where this assertion is made,
i.e. in the life of Jeremy Taylor perhaps it is virtually a just asser-
tion : for it cannot affect the claims of Jeremy Taylor that he was antici-
pated by authors whom in all probability he never read No doubt he
owed the doctrine to his own comprehensive intellect and the Christian
magnanimity of Ins nature. Yet, in a history of the doctrine itself, it
should not be overlooked that the Smmum Bawm preceded the
Liberty of Prophesying by eighteen years [A doctrine of Toleration
far more absolute than that of Jeremy Taylor had been promulgated
in tracts of the English Baptists from 1611 onwards, and had been
preached, with memorable energy and eloquence, for the instruction of
both sides of the Atlantic, by the Americanised Welshman, Roger
Williams (founder of the state of Rhode Island) in his Blovdy Tenent of
Persecution for Cause of Conscience, published 111 London in 1644 To this
day there has been no advocacy of toleration so bold and exceptionless
as that of Roger Williams, himself a fervid evangelical Puiitau, M.]

42$ MISCELLANEA

act on the principle of religious toleration, wishing that
nothing should interfere with the most extensive co-operation
in their plans except such differences about the essentials of
religion as must make all sincere co-operation impossible
This fact is so little Itnown, and is so eminently honourable
to the spirit of Free-masonry, that I shall trouble the reader
with a longer quotation in proof of it than I should otherwise
have allowed myself. Fludd, in his Summum Bonum
(Epilog p. 53), says: "Quod, si quaeratur cujus sint reli-
" gionis qui mystica ista Scripturarnm interpretatione pollent,
" viz. an Romanes, Lutheranee, Calvinianoe, etc., vel
" habeantne ipsi religionem aliquam sibi ipsis peculiarem et
' ub ahis divisam facillimum erit ipsis respondere. Nam,
c cum omnes Christiana, cujuscunque religionis, tendant ad
' unam eaiidem inetam (viz. ipsum Christum, qui est sola
' ventas), in hoc quidem nnanimi cousensu illse omnes reli*
c giones conveniunt. At verb, quatenus religiones istse in
4 ceremoniis Ecclesise externis 5 humanis nempe inventionibus
{ (cujusmodi sunt habitus varii Monachorum et Pontificum,
" crucis adoratio, imaginum approbatio vel abnegatiOjluminum
" de nocte accensio, et infimta alia), discrepare videntur,
" has quidem disceptationes sunt prceter esscntiales vera3
" Sapientiae Mystic leges." l

V, Free-masonry, as it honoured all forms of Christianity,
deeming them approximations more or less remote to the
ideal truth, so it abstracted from all forms of civil polity as
alien from its own objects which, according to their briefest
expressions, are 1. The Glory of God ; 2. The Service of
Men.

1 "But, if it is asked of what religion those are wlio excel in that
" mystical interpretation of the Scriptures whether the Roman, the
" Lutheran, the Calvmiau, &c., or whether they have some religion
" peculiar to themselves and distinct from others, the answer is very
" easy For, since all Chustiaus, of whatsoever religion, tend to one
" and the same goal (viz C'hnst himself, who is the sole Truth) in this
" with unanimous consent all those religions meet. But, so far as
" those religions seem to differ in external church-ceremonies of human
" invention (of which sort aie the vaiious habits of monks and priests,
" the adoration of the Cross, the use or abnegation of images, the
11 burning of lights at night, and endless other things), these differ-
kl ences are beyond the essential laws of the true mystical \visdom."
-M.

ROSICRUCIANS AND FEEU-MASONS 429

VI There is nothing in the imagery, mythi, ritual, or
purposes of the elder Free-masonry which may not be traced
to the romances of Father Rosycross, as given in the Fomu,
Frat&rnitatis,

APPENDIX

[iN BEFUTATION OF CEBTAIN SPECULATIONS]

I. That the object of the elder Free-masons was not to build
Lord Bacon's vmaginanj temple of Solomon :

This was one of the hypotheses advanced by Nicolai. The
House of Solomon, which Lord Bacon had sketched in his
romantic fiction of the island of Bensalem (New Atlantis),
Nicolai supposed that the elder Free-masons had sought to
realise, and that forty years afterwards they had changed the
Baconian house of Solomon into the Scriptural type of Solo-
mon's Temple. Whoever has read the New Atlantis of
Bacon, and is otherwise acquainted with the relations in
which this great man stood to the literature of his own times,
will discover iu this romance a gigantic sketch from the hand
of a mighty scientific intellect, that had soared far above his
age, and sometimes, on the heights to which he had attained,
indulged in a dream of what might be accomplished by a
rich state under a wise governor for the advancement of the
arts and sciences. This sketch, agreeably to the taste of his
century, he delivered in the form of an allegory, and feigned
an island of Bensalem, upon which a society, composed on
his model, had existed for a thousand years under the name
of Solomon's House ; for the lawgiver of this island, who
was also the founder of the society, had been indebted to
Solomon for his wisdom. The object of this society was the
extension of physical science ; on which account it was called
the College of the Work of Six Days. Romance as all this
was, it led to very beneficial results ; for it occasioned in the
end the establishment of the Royal Society of London, which
for nearly two centuries has continued to merit immortal
honour in the department of physics. Allegory, however, it
contains none, except in its idea and name. The House of
Solomon is neither more nor less than a great academy of
learned men, authorised and supported by the state, and
endowed with a liberality approaching to profusion for all

430 MISCELLANEA

purposes of experiment and research. Beneficence, education
of the young, support of the sick, cosmopolitism, are not the
objects of this institution. The society is divided into classes
according to the different objects of their studies ; hut it has
no higher and lower degrees. None hut learned men can be
members ; not, as in the masonic societies, every decent work-
man who is sui juris. Only the exoteric knowledge of nature,
not the esoteric, is pursued by the House of Solomon. The
Book of the Six Days is studied as a book that lies open
before every man's eyes ; by the Free-masons it was studied
as a mystery which was to be illuminated by the light out of
the East. Had the Free-masons designed to represent or to
imitate the House of Solomon in their society, they would
certainly have adopted the forms, constitution, costume, and
attributes of that house as described by Bacon. They would
have exerted themselves to produce or to procure a philo-
sophical apparatus such as that house is represented as pos-
sessing ; or would at least have delineated this apparatus upon
their carpets by way of symbols. But nothing of all this
was ever done. No mile-deep cellars, no mile-high towers,
no lakes, marshes, or fountains, no botanic or kitchen gardens,
no modelling-houses, perspective-houses, collections of minerals
and jewels, etc , were ever formed by them, either literal or
figurative. Universally the eldest Free -masonry was in-
different with respect to all profane sciences and all exoteric
knowledge of nature. Its business was with a secret wisdom
in which learned and unlearned were alike capable of initia-
tion, And, in fact, the exoteric^ at whose head Bacon stood,
and who afterwards composed the Royal Society of London,
were the antagonist party of the Theosophists, Cabbalists,
and Alchemists, at the head of whom stood Fludd, and from
whom Free-masonry took its rise. 1

1 There is besides in this hypothesis of Nicolai's a complete con-
fusion of the end of the society with the persons composing it. The
Free-masons wished to build the Temple of Solomon But Lord
Bacon's House of Solomon did not typify the object of his society : it
was himply the name of it, and means no more than what is under-
stood at piesent by an academy, i.e. a circle of learned men united for
a common purpose. It would be just as absurd to say of the Acade-
micians of Berlin not that they composed or foimed an Academy,
but that they proposed, as their secret object, to build one.

ROSICRUCJANS AND FREE-MASONS 431

II. That the object of the elder Free-masons and the origin of
the master's degree had no connexion with the mtoiation of
Gharles II:

This is another of the hypotheses advanced by Kicolai,
and not more happy than that which we have just examined,
He postulates that the elder Free-masons pretended to no
mystery ; and the more so because very soon after their first
origin they were really engaged in a secret transaction, which
made it in the highest degree necessary that their assemblies
should wear no appearance of concealment, but should seem
to be a plain and undisguised club of inquirers into natural
philosophy. What was this secret transaction according to
Mr Nicolai ? Nothing less than the restoration of the Prince
of Wales, afterwards King Charles 11, to the throne of Eng-
land, The members of the Masonic union, says he, were
hostile to the Parliament and to Cromwell, and friendly to
the Royal family. After the death of Charles I (1649)
several people of rank united themselves with the Free-
masons, because under this mask they could assemble and
determine on their future measures. They found means to
establish within this society a " secret conclave " which held
meetings apart from the general meetings. This conclave
adopted secret signs expressive of its grief for its murdered
master, of its hopes to revenge him on his murderers, and of
its search for the lost word or logos (the son) and its design to
re-establish him on hig father's throne. As faithful adherents
of the Eoyal family, whose head the Queen had now become,
they called themselves Sons of the Widow. In this way a
secret connexion was established amongst all persons attached
to the Royal family, as well in Great Britain and Ireland
as in France and the Netherlands, which subsisted until after
the death of Cromwell, and had the well-known issue for the
royal cause. The analogies alleged by Nicolai between the
historical events in the first period of Free-masonry and the
symbols and mythi of the masonic degree of master are cer-
tainly very extraordinary ; and one might easily be led to
suppose that the higher object of masonry had passed into
a political object, and that the present master's degree was
nothing more than a figurative memorial of this event.
Meantime the weightiest hibturical reasons are so entirely

432 MISCELLANEA

opposed to this hypothesis that it must evidently be pro-
nounced a mere conceit of Mr. Nicolai's :

1. History mentions nothing at all of any participation oj
the Freemasons in the transactions of time times. We have
the most accurate and minute accounts of all the other
political parties the Presbyterians, the Independents, the
Levellers, etc. etc. ; but no historian of this period has so
much as mentioned the Free-masons. Is it credible that a
society which is represented as the centre of the counter-
revolutionary faction should have escaped the jealous eyes of
Cromwell, who had brought the system of espionage to per-
fection, and who carried his vigilance so far as to seize the
Oceania of Harrington at the press ? He must have been well
assured that Free-masonry was harmless ; or he would not
have wanted means to destroy it, with all its pretensions and
mysteries. Moreover, it is a pure fancy of Nicolai's that the
elder Free-masons were all favourably disposed to the royal
cause. English clubs, I admit, are accustomed to harmonise
in their political principles ; but the society of Free-masons, <
whose true object abstracted from all politics, must have
made an exception to this rule then as certainly as they do
now.

2. TJie Masonic Degree of Matter, and indeed Free-masonry
in general, is in direct cont) adiction to this hypothesis of Nicolai.
It must be granted to me, by those who maintain this hypo-
thesis, that the order of the Free-masons had attained
some consistence in 1646 (in which year Ashmole was
admitted a member), consequently about three years before
the execution of Charles I. It follows, therefore, upon this
hypothesis, that it must have existed for some years without
any ground or object of its existence. It pretended as yet
to no mystery, according to Nicolai (though I have shown
that at its very earliest formation it made such a pretension) :
it pursued neither science, art, nor trade ; social pleasure was
not its object: it "masoned" mysteriously with closed doors
in its hall in London ; and no man can guess at what it
" masoned," It constituted a "mystery" (a guild) with
this contradiction in adjecto, that it consisted not of masters,
journeymen, and apprentices ; for the master's degree, accord-
ing to Nicolai, was first devised by the conclave after the

KOSIORUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 433

execution of Charles I. Thus far the inconsistencies of this
hypothesis are palpable ; but in what follows it will appear
that there are still more striking ones. For, if the master's
degree arose first after the execution of Charles I, and
symbolically imported vengeance on the murderers of their
master and restoration of his son to the royal dignity, in that
case, during the two Protectorates, and for a long time after
the abdication of Richard, the mythus connected with that
degree might indeed have spoken of a murdered master, but
not also (as it does) of a master risen again, living, and tri-
umphant ; for as yet matters had not been brought thus far.
If to this it be replied that perhaps in fact the case was really
so, and that the niythus of the restored master might have
been added to that of the slain master after the Restoration,
there will still be this difficulty, that in the masonic my thus
the two masters are one and the same person who is first
slain and then restored to life ; yet Charles I , who was slain,
did not arise again from the dead ; and Charles II, though
he was restored to his throne, was yet never slain, and therefore
could not even metaphorically be said to rise again. 1 Suiting
therefore to neither of these kings, the mythus of the masonic
master's degree does not adapt itself to this part of history.
Besides, as Herder has justly remarked, what a childish part
would the Free-masons be playing after the Restoration !
With this event their object was accomplished : to what pur-
pose, then, any further mysteries ? The very ground of the
mysteries had thus fallen away ; and, according to all analogy
of experience, the mysteries themselves should have ceased at
the same time.

But the Free-masons called themselves at that time Sons of
the Widow (ie.j as it is alleged, of Henrietta Maria, the wife
of the murdered king) ; and they were in search of the lost

1 Begging Professor Buhle'b pardon, he is wrong in tins particular
argumentthough no doubt right in the main point he is urging
against Nicolai. The mere passion of the case would very naturally
express the identity of interest in any father and son by attributing
identity to their persons, as though the father lived again and triumphed
in the triumph of his son, But in the case of an English king, who,
never dies quoad his office, there is not only a pathos, but a philo-
sophic accuracy and fidelity to the constitutional doctrine, in this way
of symbolising the story,

VOL. XIII 2 E

434 MISCELLANEA

Word (the Prince of Wales). This, it is argued, has too neat
an agreement, with the history of that period to be altogether
a fiction, I answer that we must not allow ourselves to be
duped "by specious resemblances The elder Free-masons
called themselves Sons of the Widow because the working
masons called and still call themselves by that name agree-
ably to their legend. In the 1st Book of Kings, vii. 13, are
these words : " And King Solomon sent and fetched Hiram
of Tyre, a widow's son of the tribe of Naphtali ." Hiram,
therefore, the eldest mason of whom anything is known, was
a widow's son. Hence, therefore, the masons of the seven-
teenth century, who were familiar with the Bible, styled
themselves in memory of their founder Sons of the Widow ;
and the Free-masons borrowed this designation from them as
they did the rest of their external constitution. Moreover,
the masonic expression Sons of the Widow has the closest con-
nexion with the building of Solomon's Temple.

Just as little did the Free-masons mean by the lost word
which they sought the Prince of Wales. That great person-
age was not lost ; so that there could be HO occasion for
seeking him. The Royal party knew as well where he was
to be found as in our days the French Royalists have always
known the residence of the emigrant Bourbons. The
question was not where to find him, but how to replace
him on his throne. Besides, though a most majestic person
in his political relations, a Prince of Wales makes no especial
pretensions to sanctity of character ; and, familiar as scrip-
tural allusions were in that age, I doubt whether he could
have been denominated the kgos or wmd without offence to
the scrupulous austerity of that age in matters of religion,
What was it, then, that the Free-masons really did mean by
the lost word ? Manifestly the masonic mystery itself, the
secret wisdom delivered to us under a figurative veil through
Moses, Solomon, the Prophets, the grand-master Christ, and
his confidential disciples. Briefly, they meant the lost word
of God in the Cabbalistic sense ; and therefore it was that
long after the Restoration they continued to seek it, and are
still seeking it to this day.

Ill, That Cromwell was not the founder of Free-masonry ;
As Nicolai has chosen to represent the elder Free-masons

ROSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 435

as zealous Royalists, so, on the contrary, others have thought
fit to describe them as furious democrats. According to this
fiction, Cromwell, with some confidential friends (e,g. Iretun,
Algernon Sidney, Neville, Martin Wildman, Harrington, etc.),
founded the order of 1645 ostensibly, on the part of Crom-
well, for the purpose of reconciling the contending parties in
religion and politics, but really with a view to his own
ambitious projects. To this statement I oppose the following
arguments :

First, it contradicts the internal character and spirit of
Free-masonry which is free from all political tendency, and
is wholly unintelligible on this hypothesis.

Secondly, though it is unquestionable that Cromwell
established and supported many secret connexions, yet the
best English historians record nothing of any connexion
which he had with the Free-masons. Divide et inqpera was
the Machiavelian maxim which Cromwell derived, not from
Machiavel, but from his own native political sagacity ; and,
with such an object before him, it is very little likely that
lie would have sought to connect himself with a society that
aims at a general harmony amongst men.

Thirdly, how came it rif the order of Free-rnasons were
the instrument of the Cromwellian revolution that the
Koyalists did not exert themselves after the restoration of
Charles II to suppress it 1

But the fact is that this origin of Free-masonry has been
forged for the purpose of making it hateful and an object of
suspicion to monarchical states. See for example " The Free-
masons Annihilated^ or Prosecution of the detected Ord&r of
Free-masons," Frankfort and Leipzig, 1746. The first part
of this work, which is a translation from the French,
appeared under the title of "Free-masonry exposed," etc.,
Leipz. 1745.

IV. That the Scotch degree, as it is called, did not arise from
the intrigues for the restoration of GJiarks II:

I have no intention to enter upon the tangled web of
the modern higher masonry; though, from an impartial
study of the historical documents, I could perhaps bring
more light, order, and connexion into this subject than at
present it exhibits. Many personal considerations move me

436 MISCELLANEA

to let the curtain drop on the history of the modern higher
masonry, or at most to allow myself only a few general
hints, which may be pursued by those amongst my readers
who may be interested in such a research One only of the
higher masonic degrees viz. the Scotch degree, which is the
most familiarly known and is adopted by most lodges, I
must notice more circumstantially because, upon some
statements which have been made, it might seem to have
been connected with the elder Free -masonry. Nicolai's
account of this matter is as follows :

"After the death of Cromwell and the deposition of his
" son, the government of England fell into the hands of a
" violent but weak and disunited faction. In such hands,
" as every patriot saw, the government could not be durable ,
" and the sole means for delivering the country was to
" restore the kingly authority, But in this there was the
" greatest difficulty ; for the principal officers of the army in
" England, though otherwise in disagreement with each
" other, were yet unanimous in their hostility to the king.
" Under these circumstances the eyes of all parties were
" turned upon the English army in Scotland, at that time
" under the command of Monk, who was privately well
" affected to the royal cause ; and the secret society of the
" king's friends in London, who placed all their hopes on
" him, saw the necessity in. such a critical period of going
" warily and mysteriously to work. It strengthened their
" sense of this necessity that one of their own members, Sir
" Richard Willis, became suspected of treachery ; and there-
" fore out of the bosom of their * secret conclave J (the
' masonic master's degree) they resolved to form a still
narrower conclave, to whom the Scotch, i.e. the most
' secret, affairs should be confided. They chose new sym-
{ bols, adapted to their own extremely critical situation.
' These symbols imported that, in the business of this
interior conclave, wisdom, obedience, courage, self-sacrifice,

' and moderation were necessary. Their motto was

' Wisdom above fhee. For greater security they altered their
" signs, and reminded each other in their tottering condition
" not to stumble and break the arm"

I do not deny that there is much plausibility in this

ROSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 437

hypothesis of Nicolai's; but, upon examination, it will
appear that it is all pure delusion, without any basis of
historical truth.

1. Its validity rests upon the previous assumption that
the interpretation of the master's degree, as connected with
the political interests of the Stuarts between the death of
Charles I and the restoration of his son, is correct . it is
therefore a petitio principii ; and what is the value of the
principium we have already seen.

2. Of any participation on the part of a secret society of
Free-masons in the counsels and expedition of Gen. Monk
history tells us absolutely nothing. Even Skinner 1 pre-
serves a profound silence on this head. Now, if the fact
were so, to 'suppose that this accurate biographer should
not have known it is absurd ; and, knowing it, that
he should designedly suppress a fact so curious and so
honourable to the Free-masons amongst the Royal party is
inexplicable.

3. Nicolai himself maintains, and even proves, that Monk
was not himself a Free-mason. In what way then could the
society gain any influence over his measures. My sagacious
friend justly applauds the politic mistrust of Monk (who
would not confide his intentions even to his own brother),
his secrecy, and the mysterious wisdom of his conduct ; and
in the very same breath he describes him as surrendering
himself to the guidance of a society with which he was not
even connected as a member. How is all this to be recon-
ciled?

Undoubtedly there existed at that time in London a
secret party of Royalists, known in history under the name
of the Secret Conclave; but we are acquainted with its
members, and there were but some few Free-masons amongst
them. Nicolai alleges the testimony of Ramsay " that the
restoration of Charles II to the English throne was first
concerted in a society of Free-masons; because Gen. Monk
was a member of it." But in this assertion of Ramsay's
there is at any rate one manifest untruth on Nicolai's own
showing ; for Monk, according to Nicolai, was not a Free-

1 The Life of General Monk, by Thomas Skinner, M.D. : London,
1723.-M.

438 MISCELLANEA

mason. The man who begins with such an error in his
premises must naturally err in his conclusions. 1

4. The Scotch degree, nay, the very name of Scotch
masonry, does not once come forward in the elder Free-
masonry throughout the whole of the seventeenth century ;
as it must inevitahly have done if it had home any relation
to the restoration of Charles II. Indeed it is doubtful
whether the Scotch degree was known even in. Scotland or
in England before the third decenniiun of the eighteenth
century.

But how then did this degree arise ? What is its mean-
ing and object ? The answer to these questions does not
belong to this place. It is enough on the present occasion
to have shown how it did not arise, and what were not its
meaning and object. I am here treating of the origin and
history of the elder and legitimate masonry, not of an
indecent pretender who crept at a later period into the
order, and, by the side of the Lion, the Pelican, and the
Dove, introduced the Ape and the Fox,

V. The Free-masons are not derived from the ord&r of the
Knights Templevrs ;

No hypothesis upon the origin and primitive tendency of
the Free-masons has obtained more credit in modern times
than this that they were derived from the order of Knights
Templars so cruelly persecuted and ruined under Pope
Clement V and Philip the Fair of France, and had no other

1 Andiew Michael Ramsay [1686-1743 M.] was a Scotchman by
birth, "but lived chiefly in France (where lie became a Catholic), and
is well known as the author of Tlie Travels of Cyrus, and other
works. His dissertation on the Free-masons contains the old legend
that Free-masonry dated its origin from a guild of working masons
who resided during the crusades in the Holy Land for the purpose of
rebuilding the Christian churches destroyed by the Saracens, and were
afterwards summoned by a king of England to his own dominions.
As tutor to the two sons of the Pretender, for whose use he wrote
The Travels of Cyrus,' Bamsay is a distinguished person in the
history of the later Free-masonry. Of all that part of its history
which lay half a century before his own time he was, however, very
ill informed. On this he gives us nothing but the cant of the later
English lodges, who had lost the kernel in the shell the original
essence and object of masonry in its form as early as the beginning
of the eighteenth century,

ROSICKUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 439

secret purpose on their first appearance than, the re-establish-
ment of that injured order. So much influence has this
opinion had in France that in the first half of the eighteenth
century it led to the amalgamation of the external forms and
ritual of the Templars with those of the Free-masons ; and
some of the higher degrees of French masonry have un-
doubtedly proceeded from this amalgamation. In Germany
it was Leasing who, if not first, yet chiefly, gave to the
learned \\orld an interest in this hypothesis by some allusions
to it scattered through his masterly dialogues for Free-
masons. With many it became a favourite hypothesis ; for
it assigned an honourable origin to the Masonic order, and
flattered the vanity of its members. The Templars were
one of the most celebrated knightly orders during the
Crusades ; their whole institution, acts, and tragical fate are
attractive to the feelings and the fancy : how natural there-
fore it was that the modern masons should seize with
enthusiasm upon the conjectures thrown out by Lcssmg!
Some modern English writers have also adopted this mode of
explaining the origin of Free-masonry ; not so much on the
authority of any historical documents as because they found
m the French lodges degrees which had a manifest reference
to the Templar institutions, and which they naturally attri-
buted to the elder Free-masonry, being ignorant that they
had been purposely introduced at a later period to serve an
hypothesis. In fact the French degrees had been originally
derived from the hypothesis ; and now the hypothesis was in
turn derived from the French degrees, If in all this there
were any word of truth, it would follow that I had written
this whole book of 418 pages to no purpose: and what a
shocking thing would that be! 1 Knowing therefore the
importance to myself of this question, it may be presumed
-that I have examined it not negligently before I ventured to
bring forward my own deduction of the Free-masons from
the Rosicrucians. This is not the place for a full critique
upon all the idle prattle about the Templars and the Free-
masons ; but an impartial review of the arguments for and
against the Templar hypothesis may reasonably be demanded
of me as a negative attestation of my own hypothesis. In
1 De Quincey's interjection, doubtless ! M.

440 MISCELLANEA

doing tins I must presume in my reader a general acquaint-
ance with the constitution and history of the Templars,
which it will lie very easy for any one not already in
possession of it to gain,

1. It is alleged that the masonic mystical allegory repre-
sented nothing else in its capital features than the persecu-
tion and overthrow of the Templars, especially the dreadful
death of the innocent grand-master James Burg cle Mollay.
Some knights, together with Aumont, it is said, made their
escape in the dress of masons to Scotland, and, for the sake
of disguise, exercised the trade of masons, This was the
reason that they adopted symbols from that trade, and, to
avoid detection, gave them the semblance of moral purposes.
They called themselves Franc Mayans : as well in memory of
the Templars, who in Palestine were always called Franks
by the Saracens, as with a view to distinguish themselves
from the common working masons, The Temple of Solomon,
which they professed to build, together with all the masonic
attributes, pointed collectively to the grand purpose of the
society the restoration of the Templar order. At first the
society was confined to the descendants of its founders ; but
within the last 150 years the Scotch masters have communi-
cated their hereditary right to others, in order to extend
their own power ; and from this period, it is said, "begins the
public history of Free-masonry. 1

Such is the legend ; which is afterwards supported by
the general analogy between the ritual and external charac-
teristics of both orders, The three degrees of masonry (the
holy masonic number) are compared with the triple office of
general amongst the Templars. The masonic dress is alleged
to be copied from that of the Templars. The signs of Free-
masonry are the same with those used in Palestine by the
Templars. The rights of initiation, as practised on the'
admission of a novice, especially on admission to the master's
degree, and the symbolic object of this very degree, are all

1 See "The Use and Abuse of Free-masonry by Captain George
Smith, Inspector of the Royal Military School at Woolwich, &c. &c.,
London, 1783." See also, "Scotch Masonry compared with the three
Vows of the Order and with the Mystery of the Knights Templars :
from the French of Nicolas de Bonneville."

BOSICEUOIANS AND FREE-MASONS 441

connected with the persecution of the Templars, with the
trial of the knights, and the execution of the grand-master.
To tins grand-master (James .Burg) the letters I and B, which
no longer mean Jachin and Boaz, are said to point, Even
the holiest masonic name of Hiram has no other allusion
than to the murdered grand-master of the Templars, With
regard to these analogies in general, it may be sufficient to
say that some of them are accidental, some very forced and
far-sought, and some altogether fictitious. Thus, for instance,
it is said that the name Franc Ma$on was chosen in allusion
to the connexion of the Templars with Palestine. And thus
we are required to believe that the eldest Free-masons of
Great Britain styled themselves at first Frank Masons : as if
this had any warrant from History, or, supposing even that
it had, as it a name adopted on such a ground could ever
have been dropped. The simple fact is that the French were
the people who first introduced the seeming allusion to
Franks by translating the English name Free- mason into
Franc Ma$on ; which they did because the word libre would
not so easily blend into composition with the word Magon.
So also the late Mr. Yon Born, having occasion to express
the word Free-masons in Latin, rendered it Franco-murarii.
Not to detain the reader, however, with a separate examina-
tion of each particular allegation, I will content myself with
observing that the capital mythus of the masonic master's
degree tallies but in one half with the execution of the
Grand-Master of the Templars, or even of the Sub-Prior of
Montfaucon (Charles de Monte Carmel). The grand-master
was indeed murdered, as the grand-master of the Free-masons
is described to have been ; but not, as the latter, by treacher-
ous journeymen : moreover, the latter rose from the grave,
still lives, and triumphs ; which will hardly be said of James
(Burg de Mollay, Two arguments, however, remain to be
noticed, both out of respect to the literary eminence of those
who have alleged them, and also because they seem intrinsic-
ally of some weight,

2. The English' word masonry. This word, or (as it
ought in that case to be written) the word masony, is derived,
according to Leasing, from the Anglo-Saxon word massoneijj
a secret commensal society ; which last word again comes

442 MISCELLANEA

from mase, a table. Such table societies and compotuses
were very common amongst our forefathers, especially amongst
the princes and knights of the middle ages : the weightiest
affairs were there transacted, and peculiar buildings were
appropriated to their use, In particular, the masonies of the
Knights Templars were highly celebrated in the thirteenth
century. One of them was still subsisting in London at the
end of the 17th century, at which period, according to
Leasing, the public history of the Free-masons first com-
mences. This society had its house of meeting near St.
Paul's Cathedral ; which was then rebuilding. Sir Christo-
pher Wren, the architect, was one of its members. For
thirty years, during the building of the cathedral, he con-
tinued to frequent it. From this circumstance the people,
who had forgotten the true meaning of the word massoney,
took it for a society of architects with whom Sir Christopher
consulted on any difficulties which arose in the progress of
the work. This mistake Wren turned to account. He had
formerly assisted in planning a society which should make
speculative truths more useful for purposes of common life.
The very converse of this idea now occurred to him, viz.
the idea of a society which should raise itself from the praxis
of civil life to speculation, " In the former," thought he,
"would be examined all that was useful amongst the true \
in this all that is true amongst the useful. How if I should
make some principles of the masony exoteric ? How if I
should disguise that which cannot be made exoteric under
the hieroglyphics and symbols of masonry, as the people
pronounce the word, and extend this masonry into a Free-
masonry m which all may take a share ? " In this way,
according to Leasing, did Wren scheme ; and in this way did
Free-masonry arise. Afterwards, however, from a conversa-
tion which he had with Nicolai, it appears that Lessing had,
thus far changed his first opinion (as given in the Ernst und
Falty that he no longer supposed Sir Christopher simply to
have modified a massoney, or society of Knights Templars,
which had subsisted secretly for many centuries, and to have
translated their doctrines into an exoteric shape, but rather
to have himself first established such a massoney upon some
basis of analogy, however, with the elder masson&ys.

EOSICRUCTANS AND FREE-MASONS 443

To an attentive examiner of this conjecture of Lessing's
it will appear that it rests entirely upon the presumed
identity of meaning "between the word massoney and the word
masony (or masonry , as it afterwards became, according to the
allegation, through a popular mistake of the meaning). But
the very meaning and etymology ascribed to massoney (viz, a
secret club or compotus, from mase, a table) are open to much
doubt. Nicolai, a friend of Lessing's, professes as little to
know any authority for such an explanation as myself, and
is disposed to derive the word massoney from massonya:
which in the Latin of the middle age meant first a club
(cZcww, m French massue) ; secondly, a key (clews), and a
secret society (a club). Tor my part I think both the etymo-
logies false. Massoney is doubtless originally the same word
with maison and magione ; and the primitive etymon of all
three words is clearly the Latin word mansio, in the sense of
the middle ages. It means simply a residence or place of
abode, and was naturally applied to the dwelling-houses of
the Templars. Their meetings were held in mansione Tem-
plwiwm,, ie. in the massoney of the Templars. On the
suppression of the order, their buildings still remained, and
preserved the names of temples, templar-mansions, &c., just
as at this day we find many convents in Hanover, though
they are no longer occupied by monks or nuns; and in
Italy there are even yet churches to be found which are
denominated de la Mason ; which Paciaudi properly explains
by della Mugione these churches having been attached to
the dwellings of the Knights Templars. It is therefore very
possible that a Templar Massoney may have subsisted in
London, in the neighbourhood of St. Paul's church, up to the
end of the seventeenth century. Some notice of such a fact
Lessmg perhaps stumbled on in the course of his reading.
^Ho mistook the building for a secret society of Templars
that still retained a traditional knowledge of the principles
peculiar to the ancient order of Knights Templars ; next he
found that Sir Christopher Wren had been a frequenter of
this masson&y. He therefore was a Knight Templar, but he
was also an architect ; and by him the Templar doctrines
had been moulded into a symbolic conformity with his own
art, and had been fitted for diffusion amongst the people !

444 MISCELLANEA

Such is the way in which a learned hypothesis arises ; and
on this particular hypothesis may be pronounced what Lessing
said of many an older one Dust ! and nothing hut dust '
In conclusion, I may add what Nicolai had already observed,
that Lessing was wholly misinformed as to the history and
chronology of Free-masonry. So far from arising out of the
ashes of the Templar traditions at the end of the seventeenth
century, we have seen that it was fully matured in the forty-
sixth year of that century, and therefore long before the
rebuilding of St. Paul's. In fact Sir Christopher Wren was
himself elected Deputy Grand- master of the Free -masons
in 1666 ; and in less than twenty years after (viz. in 1685)
he became Grand-master.

3. B&phomt. But, says Mr. Nicolai, the Templars had a
secret, and the Free-masons have a secret ; and the secrets
agree in this, that no uninitiated person has succeeded in
discovering either. Does not this imply some connexion
originally between the two orders ; more especially if it can
be shown that the two secrets are identical ? Sorry I am>
my venerable friend, to answer No, Sorry I am, in your
old days, to be under the necessity of knocking on the head
a darling hypothesis of yours, which has cost you, I doubt
not, much labour of study and research, much thought, and,
I fear also, many many pounds of candles. But it is my
duty to do so ; and indeed, considering Mr. Nicolai's old age
and his great merits in regard to German Literature, it would
be my duty to show him no mercy, but to lash him with the
utmost severity for his rotten hypothesis, if my time would
allow it. But to come to business. The Templars, says old
Nicolai, had a secret. They had so ; but what was it ?
According to Nicolai, it consisted in the denial of the Trinity,
and in a scheme of natural religion opposed to the dominant
Popish Catholicism. Hence it was that the Templars sough*
to make themselves independent of the other Catholic clergy :
the novices were required to abjure the divinity of Christ,
and even to spit upon a crucifix and trample it under foot.
Their Anti-Tnnitarianism Mr, Nicolai ascribes to their
connexion with the Saracens, who always made the doctrine
of the Trinity a matter of reproach to the Franks, He
supposes that, during periods of truce or in captivity, many

ROSICRUCIANS AND FREE-MASONS 445

Templars had, "by communication with learned Mohammedans,
become enlightened to the errors and the tyranny of Popery j
but at the same time, strengthening their convictions of the
falsehood of Mohammedanism, they had retained nothing of
iheir religious doctrines but Monotheism, These heterodoxies,
however, under the existing power of the hierarchy and the
universal superstition then prevalent, they had the strongest
reasons for communicating to none hut those who were
admitted into the highest degree of their order, and to them
only symbolically. From these data, which may be received
as tolerably probable and conformable to the depositions of
the witnesses on the trial of the Templars, old Mr. Nicolai
flatters himself that he can unriddle the mystery of mysteries :
viz. Baphomet (Baffoinct, Baphemet, or Baffometus) ; which
was the mam symbol of the Knights Templars in the highest
degrees. This Baphomet was a figure representing a human
bust, but sometimes of monstrous and caricature appearance,
which symbolized the highest object of the Templars ; and
therefore upon the meaning of Baphomet hinges the ex-
planation of the great Templar mystery.

First, then, Mr, Nicolai tells us what Baphomet was not
It was not Mohammed. According to the genius of the
Arabic language, out of Mohammed might be made Mahomet
or Bahomet but not Baphomet. In some Latin historians
about the period of the Crusades Bahomet is certainly used
for Mahomet, and m one writer perhaps Baphomet (viz. in
the Epistola A'uselmi de Rilodimonte ad Manassem Archiepis-
copum Remensem, of the year 1099, in Dachery's Spicilegivm,
torn, ii, p. 431. "Sequenti die aurora apparente altis
" vocibus Baphomet invocaverunt ; et nos, Deum nostrum in
" cordibus nostris deprecantes, impetum fecinnis in eos, et de
" nraris civitatis omnes expulimus." Nicolai, supposing that
Jfte cry of the Saracens was in this case addressed to their
own prophet, concludes that Baphomet is an error of the
press for Bahomet, and that this is put for Mahomet But it
is possible that Baphomet may be the true reading ; for it
may not have been used in devotion fox Mohammed, but
scoffingly as the known watchword of the Templars). But
it contradicts the whole history of the Templars to suppose
that they had introduced into their order the worship of an

446 MISCELLANEA

image of Mohammed, In fact, from all the records of their
trial and persecution, it results that no such charge was
brought against them by their enemies. And, moreover,
Mohammedanism itself rejects all worship of images.

Secondly, not being Mahomet, what was it 1 It was, says
Mr, Nicolai, Ba<jf>i? /X^TOUS : i.e. as he interprets it, the word
Baphomet meant the baptism of wisdom ; and the image so
called represented God, the universal father, i.e. expressed
the unity of the divine being, By using this sign therefore
under this name, which partook much of a Gnostic and
Cabbalistic spirit, the Templars indicated their dedication to
the truths of natural religion.

Now, m answer to this learned conceit of Mr. Nicolai's, I
would wish to ask him

, First, in an age so barbarous as that of the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries, when not to be able to read or write was
no disgrace, how came a body of rude warriors like the
Templars to descend into the depths of Gnosticism ?

Secondly, if by the image called Baphomet they meant
to represent the unity of God, how came they to designate
it by a name which expresses no attribute of the Deity, but
simply a mystical ceremony amongst themselves (viz. the
baptism of wisdom) ?

Thirdly, I will put a home question to Mr. Nicolai ; and
let him parry it if he can : How many heads had Bap-
homet 1 His own conscience will reply Two. Indeed a
whole length of Baphomet is recorded which has also four
feet ; but, supposing these to be disputed, Mr. Nicolai can
never dispute away the two heads, Now, what sort of a
symbol would a two-headed image have been for the expres-
sion of unity of being? Answer me that, Mr. Nicolai.
Surely the rudest skulls of the twelfth century could have
expressed their meaning better.

Having thus upset my learned brother's hypothesis, I
now come forward with my own. Through the illumination
which some of the Templars gained in the east as to the
relations in which they stood to the Pope and Eomish
Church, but still more perhaps from the suggestions of their
own great power and wealth opposed to so rapacious and
potent a supremacy, there gradually arose a separate Templar

448 MISCELLANEA

such extremities, the licensed should not have confessed the
truth. In all probability the Court of Rome had good in-
formation of the secret tendency of the Templar doctrines ;
and hence no doubt it was that Pope Clement V proceeded
so furiously against them.

Now then I come to my conclusion j which is this : If
the Knights Templars had no other secret than one relating
to a political interest which placed them in opposition to the
Pope and the claims of the Roman Catholic clergy on the
one hand, and to Mohammed on the other, then it is impos-
sible that there can have been any affinity or resemblance
whatsoever between them and the Free-masons ; for the Free-
masons have never in any age troubled themselves about
either Mohammed or the Pope. Popery * and Mohammedanism
are alike indifferent to the Free-masons, and always have
been. And, in general, the object of the Free-masons is
not political. Finally, it is in the highest degree probable
that the secret of the Knights Templars perished with their
order : for it is making too heavy a demand on our credulity
to suppose that a secret society never once coming within
the light of history can have propagated itself through a
period of 'four centuries i.e. from the thirteenth to the
seventeenth century ; in which century it has been shown
that Free-masonry first arose,

1 In rejecting Boman Catliolic candidates for admission into their
order the reader must remember that tlie Free-masons objected to
them not as Koman Catholics, but as persons of intolerant principles.
-Translator.

END OF VOL, ZIII

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