Hawksmoor (17 page)

Sir Chris, was well known to those impannelled as Coroners to be a Man who understood the Anatomical Administration of the Humane Body, by means of his geometrical and mechanical Speculations, and one who showed such keen Inclination to cut the fresh Corses that he could be call'd upon in the Ministration of their Office. So it was that one day when I was working with him, on the making of Sewers at the West End of a Church, a packet arrived with a Messenger who desir'd an answer instantly -the Letter saying that the Corps of a Woman was even then lying in the Gate-house at Southwark Reach, having been taken from the River, and that if Sir Chris, should bring his Instruments they would be much obliged to him. Well, well; says he, another Body: I had been hoping for one. And then he asked the Messenger what was the fatal Stroke?

She drowned herself in the Thames, Sir, or so it seems.

Good, good, Sir Chris, goes on hardly hearing this News, but we have little time to prepare ourselves: have you the Stomach for it Nick?

It is not my Stomach, I replied and he laugh'd out loud, while the Messenger looked on bemus'd.

Come then, says he, we will cross the River and see about this Affair.

And so we walked straight to the Wharf at White-hall, where we hired an Oarsman to take us over. And even tho' the River-men set up their usual cacophony of Billingsgate abuse, Sir Chris, was lost in the Anticipation of his Work: Anatomy, says he as the Oaths fly about him, is a noble Art -You shitten skulled son of a Turd that has Spit your Brains in my Face, who was begot in Buggery, born in a House of Office, delivered at the Fundament -just as, Nick, the Body it self is a perfect peece of Work from the Hand of the Omniscient Architect -You Brandy-Faced Bawdy Son of a Brimstone Whore. Sir Chris, listens for a moment to the River-men and then speaks once more: Do you know that I have shown the Geometric Mechanics of Rowing -Piss up my arse, Buggar onie -to be a Vectis on a moving or cèdent Fulcrum -Every time you Conjobble with your Mother may she beget a Bellyfull of Crab lice. And then he smiles upon our Oarsman saying, He is a good Gentleman; and the Oarsman on hearing this shouts out to us: Well, Sirs, can you riddle me a riddle?

Oh yes, says Sir Chris., is it a Rhyme?

And then the man sings: Riddle my Riddle, my ree, And tell me what my Riddle shall be.

Long, white and slender,

Tickles Maids where they are tender

Lyes where Hair grows,

And hath long Slit under the Nose.

Why, cries Sir Chris., this is a Bodkin! And the Oarsman, looking sourly upon him, says You are right, Sir. And Sir Chris., lying back and smiling, trails his Finger in the Water until we reached the other Side.

We coach'd it at once to the Gate-house (being only about a Mile from where we landed) and thereupon the Coroner took us into a small Chamber where the naked Body of the Woman was to be seen.

Sir Chris, rapidly surveyed the Corse: She must have been a fine woman when she was dressed, he muttered as he started work upon her with his Surgeon's Tools. The Romans held it unlawfull to look on the Entrails, says he as he cuts into the Skin, but now Anataomy is a free and generall Practice. You see here, Nick, (shewing me the Inside of the Corse as he spoke), you see the Valve at the entrance of the gut Colon, and here the Milkie Veins and the Lymphatick Vessels (he looked up, his Hands dangling and bloody, and I heard a Roaring in my Ears); so we have discover'd the art of Transfusion of the Blood from one living Animal to another. It is of use, he continued, in Pleurisies, Cancers, Leprosies, Ulcers, Small Pox, Dotage, and all such Distempers.

There was a lady, I said when Sir Chris, had paused, who seeing Hoggs and other Creatures cut up and their Bowels taken out, tormented her self with the Thought that she also carried about with her in her own Body such stinking Filth, as she call'd it, inclosed.

Upon which she conceeved a sudden Abhorrence, and hated her own Body so that she did not know what Course to take to free her self from Uncleanness.

Meer Phrensy, Sir Chris, replied. See here, the Body is still fresh and what is this Corrupcion you mention but the Union and Dissolution of little Bodies or Particles: have you no Sense, Nick? I kept my Peace but I thought to myself: The meerest Rake-hell has a finer Philosophie.

The Coroner now returned into the Room, having gone out for Air, and asked Sir Chris, his Judgment on this poor, poor Girl (as he put it).

It was not self-murther, he replied, and I am induced to believe that she was knocked down with a Blow on her left Ear, from the large Settlement of Blood there (and he pointed to the Head with his little Hammer): after she was fell'd to the Ground by the Blow it is probable, with the Gripe of a strong Hand, that she was throttled, and this to be understood from the Stagnation on both sides of her Neck under her Ears; and from the Settlement of Blood on her Breast, he went on, I am inclined to believe that the person who throttled her rested his Arm on her Breast to gripe the stronger. She is not long Dead, he continu 'd, for although she was found floating upon the Thames, I find no Water in the Stomach, Intestines, Abdomens, Lungs, or cavity of the Thorax.

She did not drown her self for Shame neither, since her Uterus is perfectly free and empty.

I survey'd the woman's Face, flinching as if my own Body had felt the Blows she endured, and then I saw what she had seen: Well Madam, says her Murtherer, I was walking here as I generally do, will you not walk with me a little? And I saw the first Blow and suffer'd the first Agonie of her Pain. He has taken a white Cloath from his Breeches, looks at it, then throws it upon the Ground and his Hand goes around my Throat: You need not be afraid, he whispers, for you will be sure to get what you Want. And now I feel the Torrents of my own Blood surging in my Head.

And so ends your first Anatomy lesson, says Sir Chris, to me, but be pleased to wait now till I have washed my self.

Sir Chris, was always strowling abroad to seek out fresh Wonders, so filling his Head that it had become a pure Cabinet of Curiosities. On one Day he comes in after our Work is complete: Shall we see the sixteen-foot Worm brought from a young Gentleman and now lying in a Bottle at the House of Mr Moor, he asks, or shall we visit the Demoniack new clapp'd up in Bedlam? I advised him that the Worm was smaller than the Prodigy reported, having my self gone to observe it two days before; and, since there is nothing finer in an idle Hour than to make merry among the Lunaticks, I agreed to take that Course and walk with him that Way. We were admitted thro' the iron Gate of Bedlam and, having given Sixpence, turned in thro' another Barricado into the Gallery of the Men's Apartments where there was such a ratling of Chains and drumming of Doors that it made a body's Head ache. The Noise and Roaring, the Swearing and Clamour, the Stench and Nasrinesse, and all the Croud of afflicted Things to be seen there, joyn'd together to make the Place seem a very Emblem of Hell and a kind of Entrance into it.

We walked through with Linnen pressed against our Nostrils, and Sir Chris, gave his bright Glances all around at this assembly of derang'd Creatures. Some of the Mad who peeped through their Wickets were indeed known to him, for he had set them down in his Pocket-book before, and when one magoty-brained Fellow called out Masters, Masters! Sir Chris, murmured to me, Do not turn back but go on a little and see the Conclusion to his Cries. For there were others who, on hearing him, went back to hear what he had to say and, when they came close to his Wicket, he provided them all with a plentifull Bowl of Piss which he cast very successfully amongst them, singing out: I never give Victuals but I give Drink and you're welcome, Gentlemen. He is a merry Fellow, said Sir Chris, with a laugh. Then as we passed down this Passage we were knocked against certain Women of the Town, who gave us Eye-language, since there were many Corners and Closets in Bedlam where they would stop and wait for Custom: indeed it was known as a sure Market for Lechers and Loiterers, for tho' they came in Single they went out by Pairs. This is a Showing-room for Whores, I said.

And what better place for Lust, Sir Chris, replied, than among those whose Wits have fled?

The Singing and Ranting now grew so loud that Sir Chris, said no more to me but motioned me towards the Gate which led into the Gallery of the Women's Apartments. Here we discovered some more unhappy Objects, viz. a Woman who stood with her Back against the Wall crying Come John, Come John, Come John (I believe that to be her Son who is dead, Sir Chris, told me) while another was tearing her Straw in peece-meal, swearing and blaspheming and biting her Grate.

There was yet another talking very merrily at her peeping Hole, but when we came near her she was saying Bread was good with Cheese, and Cheese was good with Bread, and Bread and Cheese were good together. Sir Chris, bent down to listen to her and said Quite so, quite so, before the Stink sent us away from her Cell. We went back into the Mens Apartments where there were others raving of Ships that may fly and silvered Creatures upon the Moon: Their Stories seem to have neither Head nor Tayl to them, Sir Chris, told me, but there is a Grammar in them if I could but Puzzle it out.

This is a mad Age, I replied, and there are many fitter for Bedlam than these here confin'd to a Chain or a dark Room.

A sad Reflection, Nick.

And what little Purpose have we to glory in our Reason, I continu 'd, when the Brain may so suddenly be disorder'd?

Well that may be, that may be, said he hurriedly, but where is our new Demoniack? And he walked up to a Gaoler who he knew by Sight, and begins to converse with him; then he wags his Fingers at me to come forward. The Man is lockt away from the Spectators, he told me when I came up to him, but we are at Liberty to see him if we so please. This placed me in some Fear and Confusion, and I must have turned Pale or seemed Uneasy for Sir Chris, clapped me on the Shoulder saying: He cannot hurt you, Nick, he is in Chains; come, we will visit the Man for a Minute only. And so the Gaoler led us up a back stair-case to the private Chambers of Bedlam where those who are not fit for Entertainment are placed in Confinement. The Creature is in here, the Gaoler told us in a Sombre voice, but be comfortable, Gentlemen, he is nicely tyed.

When we went forward, and our Eyes grew accustomed to the thin Light, we saw the Man lying upon the Ground. In his Fitts, said the Gaoler rolling his Eyes, he has been blown about the Room or born up suddenly from his Chair, and would as like have flown away but the Holders of him hung at his Arms and Legs. At this Sir Chris, smiled but did not show it to the Gaoler. And then, he continu à, he was lain down as if dead upon the Floor as he is now, Sirs, and then without the natural help of Arms or Legs has broken into such wild Curves and Bounces as cannot be described. Sir Chris, looked at the Luna tick but said nothing. And then, he went on, there were amazing hideous Sounds to be heard coming from him -sometimes as of Swine, or Water-mills, or of a Bear, and they mix up into a Peal of Noises. And then Have done, have done, murmured the Creature from the Ground, in a low Voice which affrighted me.

You see that his Lips did not move! exclaimed the Gaoler.

Have done, I said! And the Demoniack rose from the Floor: Sir Chris, and I stepped back a Pace, at which the Man laughed out loud.

Then he paid no more Heed to us: there were Rushes strewed on the Floor to keep his Bones from being broken, and he took them up and handled them as if they had been a Pack of Cards, every way acting the Gamester to the life; then he ordered the Rushes as if they had been Dice, then as if he had been playing at Bowl, with the various Postures of the Bowler.

Sir Chris, looked on silently and at last took out his Pocket-book, at which point the Demoniack spat a Ball of Phlegm at him. Then he began to Speak: The other day I lookt for your Worships Nativity, which lies in the Quadrature of a Magnet, in the Sextile of the Twins that always go in the Shade. Guard yourself from the Horse-flies. And he added: Thus have I puzled all thy Scholarship. At this I laugh'd and the Madman turned to me crying: What more Death still Nick, Nick, Nick, you are my own! At this I was terribly astounded, for he could in no wise have known my name. And in his Madness he called out to me again: Hark ye, you boy! I'll tell you somewhat, one Hawksmoor will this day terribly shake you! Then his Tongue rolled inwards all in a Lump, and his Eye-balls turned backwards, nothing but the White of them being seen. And the Gaoler made Signs for us to leave.

Who is this Hawksmoor, Sir Chris, asked me as we left the Mad-House and entered the Fields.

No one, I answered, no Man I know. Then leaving him I went quick into a Tavern, and swallow'd pot after pot of Ale till I became drunken.

I kept my own list of Wonders as much as did Sir Chris., tho' he would have been more afraid of the truth of my Stories than the Ape is of the Whip. Thus he was like to ridicule in my Hearing the Discourse concerning Mr Greatrack, the Irish stroker: pains strangely flew before his Hands, Dimness was cleared and Deafness cured by his Touch, running Sores were dried up, obstructions and stoppings remov'd and Cancerous Knots in the Breast dissolv'd. And then there was the narrative of the Child, Mary Duncan, who, when she pointed with her Finger at Neck, Head, Hand-wrists, Arms and Toes there did bloody Thorns appear. I kept among these Memorials the story of the woman in Islington who was deliver'd of a Child with the head of a Cat, for while she was Big she was frightened exceedingly by one which had got into her Bed. And when the Duke of Alva ordered three hundred Citizens to be put to Death together at Antwerp, a Lady who saw the Sight was presently afterwards deliver'd of a Child without a Head.

So lives the Power of Imagination even in this Rationall Age. There has also been in the News the History of Mr John Mompesson of Tedworth, who has related the moving of Chairs by Spirits invisible, the plucking of Hair and Night-cloaths, the great Heat, the singing in the Chimney, the scratching and the panting. For those who wish the Sight of such Ghosts and Apparitions I say this: it is of no long Duration, continuing for the most part only as you keep your Eyes steady (as I have done); the Timerous see meerly by Glances, therefore, their Eyes always trembling at the first sight of the Object, but the most Assured will fix their Look. There is this also: those who see the Daemon must draw down their Eyes with their Fingers after.