The Printer's Devil (23 page)

¹
Times change, and we with them

²
Either don’t try or else succeed

And I bethought me of that Richard Duckworth for with those recent events just gone past I had well nigh forgot my thoughts of a ringing-book and my correspondence with the man. These clear days of knowledge, that have ransacked the dark corners of most arts and sciences, and freed their hidden mysteries from the bonds of obscurity, have also registered this of ringing, in the catalogue of their improvements; as well the speculative as the practic part, which of late years remained in embryo, are now become perfect, and worthy the knowledge of the most ingenious.

Although the practic part of ringing is a subject for another place, yet the art of changes has his invention in the mathematical, and produceth incredible effects. Catherine doth admit to a great fascination with my peal, and oft do I see her pricking out on paper an extension of it; I much admire her mathematical mind, and am amazed by it.

Like unto an unspoken pact betwixt us, we neither one do speak ever of Roger Southwell; I did act like unto a fool in the matter of the creature that is now destroyed, that I well do know; but an we are assigning fault, first to blame was Roger, and there is not cause for guilt in my-self, save only guilt by association, an there be such a thing.

He is gone off for the stone of the philosophers or some such thing and we are well rid on him indeed. None the less I do think on him, not the least through cause of that which was summoned by the succubus in the glass; I cannot keep my-self from the thought that ’tis this which doth lurk in the hazy air of this muggy summer, like unto a constant threat of thunder.

In the town ’tis so hot as to be sans comfort of any sort; the women fan themselves with little fans of paper or cloth and the streets do stink worse nor the jakes; the air is filled with flies of divers sorts, all the which do bite and sting; many folk have got the flux and I do doubt that the plague will come again, for ’tis a sickly year.

There cometh relief only in the ringing of bells, the which is a very wondrous thing; I’d a thought such an exercise to sweat us worse nor walking in the streets; ’tis not like playing at Angel-beast for heavy toil; but the air in the ringing-chamber seemeth more sweet nor that outside.

We oft are visited by one nor another of the College-youths, a band that heretofore hath held themselves aloof from the common run of ringers, thinking they are over grand for the likes of us; yet now they make themselves pleasant and extend invitations to some of our number, my self included, to join their society.

Whether or no I shall do this I know not, for I take more delight in the company of those with whom I am wont to ring, and Catherine also; the College-youths have not invited her into their ranks (the which would be a great and merry jest were it to occur) for they believe this boy Kit be over-youthful for their number, though she be in truth one of the best of our ringers.

None theless I did see no wrong in introducing my peal to them: Master Stedman’s peculiar production on five bells, they do call it, but this does not stop them from ringing it most Industriously. The poet I believe is wrong to say,
Bene qui latuit bene vixit,
³
for an we live obscure, so shall we die; only those that never did achieve any thing die so. Pride it may be on my part to say that my peal may out-live me; I’d liefer say,
Exegi
monumentum aere perennius;
⁴
but I never did believe pride to be a sin, nor even sin to be that which the Puritans do hold it,
videlicet,
every thing that brings pleasure to a man.

³
He has lived well who has lived in obscurity
(Ovid)    

Did I think I’d seen the last of Roger Southwell I was mistaken, for up he comes again at ringing-time; making speech an you’d not believe a thing ever happened, and dressed in a suit of very fine stuff (as Catherine. did tell me after, for myself I’d not know lawn from fustian without some one did tell me) with rings upon his fingers.

For a man that had not touched a bell-rope these three months he did ring some Grandsire passing fine, but I was pleased to see his visage when that Francis Bullen did say, -Now we’ll ring Master Stedman’s composition, and did not try over hard to suppress a smile.

Now as the ringing of changes is performed partly by the ear and partly by the eye, a man must needs fix his attention upon his fellow ringers to mark their ropes (the ear informs when to make a change, guiding the striking of the note true in its place according to time; the eye directeth the pull in the making of it); but a man’s eye-sight is such, that other things are also seen, in periphery, as ’twere; thus did I mark the expression on Roger’s face while we rung and found it wondrous strange; ’twas like unto a man having a revelation, and I did wonder the import on it. Nor did I think I’d wait a long time to find out, for whatsoever else Roger may be you’d never call him a close-mouthed man.

He sate down beside me in the ale-house all so full of words he looked like to burst.

-God give me wit, Fabian, he saith to me, but is it true that you did invent that peal?

And I replied, -It is; and he stared at me awhile, and at Catherine (anent whom he’d spoke not a word); until he saw that I verily had not an idea why he should ask.

-Marriage hath dulled your senses then, quoth he; Do you truly not know what you have wrought?

-Roger, said I, you have not lost your talent for exasperation of a man; for pox sake tell me whereof you speak.

And he shook his head and said, -Your peal, Fabian, your merry and ingenious little peal, it is naught less than a charm against the demon. Do you not feel it, feel th’air when you do ring it?

And it did fit like unto a key in a lock, or a finger in a glove.

-Ay, certes, said I, but I did not make the connection.

-You make powerful magic, my friend, said Roger. You know that folk on a time did hold that the sound of bells did calm the winds and tempests?

-Ay, what of it, I asked.

-Do you also know aught of Ficinian magic?

-Nay, said I.

-Ah well, much of it hath but little power; there be better charms for most purposes; yet ’tis based upon music, the power of harmony. What you have done, Fabian, without even knowing it, is mix together two sorts of magic to make a third type more power-full than either, and mayhap we should name it, and call it Fabian magic. Thou art a very magus and never known it.

-And indeed, said Catherine when I had done gaping at Roger, ’tis a magic that never was possible before, for we are only ringing changes now these forty years past. Close thy mouth, Fabian, thou lookst like a cod- fish.

⁴
1
have built a monument longer-lasting than bronze    
₁₁₀

-I drunk of my ale and said, So why is it yet in th’aire, an it be true, and my peal doth charm it?

-’Tis not so potent, replied Roger, and for all that I do not believe this daemon will truly be laid until that I am in my grave. But you’ve shown me how I may keep it from me. I’ll build me a house, quoth he, a great house in the country; I’ll make it like unto a church, with a tower, and I’ll have vi bells in the tower, to ring your peal when soever the demon doth approach near, and another bell to chime me the hours of the day.

- And how shall the bells ring, with only you to pull their ropes? asked Catherine.

-Why, Kit, I am a magus, quoth Roger. I’ll make me a mechanical frame for to hang the bells in, and they shall ring at my pleasure. And I’ll charm them also, so there’s virtue in the very bells. I thank you, Fabian, and you too, little Kit-cat; have a care of your-selves, lest he turn on you his wrath, being thwarted of me.

And he drained his mug, and clapped me on the shoulder, and departed the Inn; we followed his example but a short space thereafter, for my thoughts were in a moil anew. Truly Roger’s appearance is ever a mixed blessing at the most.

-I am sore inclined to wish we’d never met with Roger Southwell, said Catherine as we walked homewards, and this sat with mine own thought. I would we could give him his lure, she added.

-And how to do that? I asked. I know naught of his art, nor wish to.

-Yet it seemeth that power hath come none the less; wouldst thou not use it?

-Nay, quoth I, I’ll not meddle with such, it’s done me naught but ill.

-Oh ay? said Catherine, you’d be yet a prentice, and unwed?

-’Twas not that of which I spake, said I, I but think on the demon and such-like.

-Ay, think on’t, she replied; Roger nominated it not twenty minutes since; what then shall we do when that it comes a-hunting, Fabian? Make us a ring o’ bells like Roger, or live in the church, an they’d give us sanctuary? Gods arse, man, he’d not ha’ warned us an he thought us safe.

-Is this my lion-hearted Catherine, I asked. What is become of the maid that would spit in the demon’s eye an it came?

And she sighed and said, -Well I’d ha’ told you soon enough, I carried my water to the doctor a sennight since.

-Thou art with child? I said.

-Ay, she replied.

I forgot demon and all then and took her up in my arms.

-O have a care, she cried, remember how I am dressed.

-Then let’s to our bed, said I, desiring her more than ever I did ere then.
Ille terrarum mihipraeter omnes angulus ridet
.
⁵

What’s a man to think, when he is first to become a father? Strange indeed, for swiving is the most natural thing in the world; a man doeth it whensoever he can and thinks on’t more than that; indeed I’d lain with Catherine these many months and never known that she hath ceased to take of her potion; yet I feel proud, an I’d done some clever thing. How can this then be sin; ’tis against nature to term it such.

Wherefore have we religion; only to take away such fleeting pleasure we have in this short life, it me

⁵
That corner of the earth to me smiles sweetest of all (Horace)

seemeth. I felt Catherine’s belly with my hand but she shows no swelling, she says it is two months gone. Can a man then swive with his wife when that she be big with child, or will that do harm? I’ve no inclination to find occupation with common cuts again; I never was a great mutton-monger.

Now I do see how it is that a woman doth change in many ways her nature when that she be with child. Thus Catherine’s doubt of the demon is not for herself; she puts the child first in her mind; she’s not so ready to spend time a-working, nor ringing neither, nor as she had use to do, pricking out divers peals and the like; ’tis as well I suppose, we’ll not be able to disguise her no more in a few months.

This day I determined to go to Richmond-town and visit that Nicholas Griffin that did aid me. For he being an herbalist will be able to give me some specific against Catherine’s becoming sick, for I hear a woman with child is wont to vomit in the morning-time. Indeed it may be that he can advise me in the matter of the demon, for ’twas he that did give to me the counsel I now do follow; put not thy trust in magic; for I do believe that Master Griffin be rather more nor a common pothecary.

’Tis entirely another matter to find the time to hie me thence, so I wrote a letter to that John Fletcher whom was known to my late master Daniel Pakeman and paid a messenger-boy to carry it thither.

This Fletcher is a versifier of some sort that paid Master Pakeman to print up his poems; therefore I made bold to suggest him that he and Matthew Boys did meet; ’twas Matthew himself gave me this notion, he did tell me of a musical piece was writ by one Master Davenant and called the
Siege of Rhodes,
that was like unto a play save that much of the speech was not speech at all, but sung; ’Twas made into a moral piece to instruct folk so that the faithful-brothers should not call it sinful. This style of
Masque,
as ’twere, might make merry revelment when that we be rid on this Puritan rule and the play-houses opened up again; an any man can write such pretty airs then it be Matthew.

Master Fletcher has took the dangled bait and I am gone to Richmond; he told me that in Italy and France these music-dramas hight
Opera
and even that here in England masques yet be put on stage, but in private houses and
sans
spectacle. He did describe to me a grand masque that he did witness some XX years since, that had a great procession upon horseback between Holborn and White-chapel; and showed me some writings by a wittaly whoreson instiled Prynne that ranted against such entertainment. I’d not have used such pamphlets to wipe my arse with.

When that I was done with mine errand at John Fletcher’s I hied me down towards the river and the dwelling of Nicholas. Griffin, and bounced at his door.

An he admired my advent he did not betray this by his countenance, merely bowed his head a whit and said, -Master Stedman, is’t not? You are come up i’the world an I mistake not.

-Ay, I replied, I have a print-shop now and a wife withal, and am come for to repay you your kindnesses.

-Well, there’s no call, said he, but I’ll not refuse you; and stood to one side to admit me.

-There was one other thing I’d ask of you, I said.

And Nicholas. Griffin said -Ay, so I did guess.

-It’s two things, I added; one’s some specific for my wife to give her surcease of morning-sickness, and to ease the travel.

-And th’other? he inquired.

-’Tis a lengthy tale, said I, an you have the time ^ hear’t.

-’Tis the reason you sought me out, quoth he; speak.

And I did relate all that befell with the magic of Roger Southwell, although I did not speak his name.

When that I was done he looked at me a rare long time, and then he sighed and said, -What a tale you tell; ’tis a hard chapter you have learned.

-Have you then any counsel you can give? I asked.