Hawksmoor

by Peter Ackroyd

  Nature yields to the Froward and the Bold.

  It does not yield, it devours: You cannot master or manage Nature.

  But, Nick, our Age can at least take up the Rubbidge and lay the Foundacions: that is why we must study the principles of Nature, for they are our best Draught.

  No, sir, you must study the Humours and Natures of Men: they are corrupt, and therefore your best Guides to understand Corrupcion.

  The things of the Earth must be understood by the sentient Faculties, not by the Understanding.

  There was a Silence between us now until Sir Chris, says, Is your Boy in the Kitchin? I am mighty Hungry.

  He can go to the Boiling cooks, I replied, and choose us some Meat.

  That is the Answer, Nick, to all of our Problems.

  He shifted in his Seat, and I smelt a Fart as I called Nat to us and gave him his Charge. And Nat bows low to Sir Chris, saying, And what kind of Meat can I get you, sir, may it be beef, mutton, veal, pork or lamb?

  Mutton, and I will be obliged.

  And will you have it fat or lean?

  Fat.

  Much done or little done?

  Much done.

  Very good, sir, and will you have a little Salt and Mustard upon the side with your Roll, to make a proper Feast?

  Begone Nat, I murmur'd, before this Gentleman anatomises you.

  And with a look of Horrour Nat rushed out of the Room. He is a poor Boy, I said, and you must Excuse him.

  He once had the Small-pox did he not, Nick?

  That is so.

  Sir Chris leaned back, satisfied: I could tell it by his Face. And there is a Residue of a Stammer there, if I heard him aright?

  He was once confounded by it, but I cured him.

  By what means, sir?

  By magick art, sir.

  You must discourse on that Topick, says he laughing, at the Society: if you can be perswaded to stay long enough.

  After a little while Nat brought in the Meats and was as like to have stood in a corner and watched us earing if I had not waved him away.

  To go back a Bit, continued Sir Chris, after he had finished his Portion, Of all nations we were most us'd to order our Affairs by Omens and Praedictions, until we reached this Enlightened Age: for it is now the fittest season for Experiments to arise, to teach us the New Science which springs from Observation and Demonstration and Reason and Method, to shake off the Shaddowes and to scatter the Mists which fill the Minds of Men with a vain Consternation. And then he gave his Eloquence a Stop.

  It had started to Rain so fast that I got up from my Chair to close the Shutters, which made my Chamber exceeding dark. But I saw no need for a Candle as I composed my self and gave Sir Chris, this Reply: You say that it is time to shake off the Mist, but Mankind walks in a Mist; that Reason which you cry up as the Glory of this Age is a Proteus and Caméléon that changes its Shape almost in every Man: there is no Folly that may not have a thousand Reasons produc'd to advance it into the Class of Wisdom. Reason itself is a Mist. At this point Sir Chris, held up his Hand, palm forward, but I continued: These Philosophers or Experimenters who are so bold as to trust in their Reason or their Invention or their Discoveries are like Cats that try to hide their Excrement in the Coles, for in the dust of their Elaboratories they conceel the true state of Nature. I may give you an Instance: they cannot conceeve how the Foetus is form'd in the Womb so that the Fancy of the Mother can wound the Embrio, and yet it is so These are but Fables, Nick. Sir Chris, then called for a Light and at once Nat brought in a Candle to place it in the Lanthorn; but in his Haste he dropp'd the Taper and the Room was filled with Smoak. I do not Rely upon such Stories, Sir Chris, went on, but upon my own ri^l Observation, to test if such-and-such be true: I put my Faith in Experience.

  You speak of Experience, I replied, and hold it to be consistent with Reason? At this he nods sagely. But may it not be that Experience is inconsistent with Reason: the Gulphe in which Truth lies is bottomless and it will wash over whatever is thrown into it.

  He shakes his head as the Candle falters and then flares up: This is but a windy Conceit of Knowledge, Nick, a Maze of Words in which you will lose your self.

  As he spoke, Nat was crouch'd upon the Floor, gazing at us wide-eyed. I know this is an Age of Systems, said I at last, but there is no System to be made of those Truths which we learn by Faith and Terrour: you may make your Planns to explain the effects of the Lodestone, the Ebbing and the Flowing of the Sea, or the Motion of the Planets, but you cannot lead to any Cause that satisfies the Truths of those who have looked into the Abyss or seen Sacred Visions. Or of those, I added falteringly, who say that Daemons stir up Raptures and Exstasies in Men. I watched the Shaddowe of Nat upon the Wall, and saw how he trembled.

  There are no Spirits, says Sir Chris softly, rising and going to my Window to view the Street beneath.

  I looked at him searchingly but his Face was hidden from me. But what of that Demoniack, I cried, locked up in Bedlam, who spoke so truly to me and who said -and here I was about to Blirt out all, so I checked myself. Then the Room suddenly fell quiet as the Rain stopped. But indeed, I continued recovering myself, I am only a builder of Churches.

  Sir Chris, now gave a glance down at Nat bent in the Corner and I saw them observing each other in the Gloom before he spoke: Ah, Nick, what dark or melancholy Passions can overshadow the Man whose Senses are always so full of so many various Productions as yours are?

  You need not humour me, I said, rising and then sitting down again.

  You live too solitary, Nick.

  I am no more solitary in my Closet than you are in your Elaboratory: my strange and extravagant Passions, as you call them, are no different from the Hypotheses you build in the Air when you describe that Imaginary world of Attommes and Particles which is all of your own Making. Your World and your Universe are but Philosophicall Romances: how can you call me Phrensied?

  Your Mind has a Distemper, he replied, which I may cure: I am aware of the Composition of the Blood, and so I can better understand the difference between Phrensies and Inspirations.

  Then I saw the shaddowe of Nat his head slowly turn to me. Yes, I said, yes, and what of your Microscopical Glasses for what do we see with their Aid but frightful Shapes and Figures? When the Breath is condens'd on a Glass does not the Microscope show us Snakes and Dragons withinne it? There is no Mathematicall Beauty or Geometrical Order here -nothing but Mortality and Contagion on this Ordure Earth.

  Sir Christopher walked over to face me, before placing his Hands upon my Shoulders: This is a meer Rabble of Words, Nick, which you must place in Order for your own good Health. There is no Truth so abstruse nor so far elevated that Man's Reason may not reach it: what you understand, you may control. Keep hold of this Truth, Nick, and all will be well.

  I was quieter now: And when Reason bids us goodnight, sir, what then?

  Why should you ask me such a Question?

  I grew angry with him once more: your Zeal, I said, is more for Experriments than for the Truth, thus you will turn Experriments into a Truth of your own devising.

  This does not signifie two-pence, Nick.

  But, I went on looking at Nat again, while you pursew your Rationall Philosophy the general Practice of the World shows that we are in a state of Rapine -like people on a full Career on the Ice, all slide directly into the same Hole they saw their Companions sink into just before them. And I heard Nat laugh at this.

  That does not justifie the Folly of it, Sir Chris, replied.

  There is a Hell, sir, there are Gods and Daemons and Prodigies: your Reason is but a Toy, your Fortitude downright Madnesse against such Terrours.

  He looked at me steadily enough for one who has been Destroy'd: You have many unseasonable Passions, says he, and I could wish you a better Mien. But the years we have been acquainted cannot be obliterated by the Expression of your Melancholy temperament.

  I admit, I replied softly, I am of a Melancholick humour but it has been aggravat
ed by many Hardships of which you know nothing.

  I know now, Nick. Just after this the Clock struck Ten, and he went to the Window to see if the Rain had entirely ceased. He stared out at the Moon above the Houses: I have stayed late enough, says he after a Moment, it has been a dreadfully Stormy Day, has it not, but now it has cleared for a fine Night. Then he shook me by the Hand in a most familiar Manner, as Nat rose from the Corner and showed him to the Stairs.

  I sat upon my Bed and looked down at the Floor. When I heard the Door being closed behind Sir Christopher I called out, Nat! Nat!, and as he came running back into my Chamber I lowered my Voice and whispered to him, Nat, I have said too much, Nat, I have said all.

  He came up close to me and put his Head upon my Shoulder: it is no matter, says he, for he is a good Gentleman and will never harm you.

  And yet as he spoke I repeated to myself: What must I do? What must I do? But then I bethought myself of Vitruvius his phrase, O pigmy Man, how transient compared to Stone and remembered that this sad Humour of mine would soon be changed, as each Humour makes way for another and cannot even be recollected once it has passed.

  When my Name is no more than Dust, and my Passions which now heat this small Room are cooled for ever, when even this Age itself is for succeeding Generations nothing but a Dreem, my Churches will live on, darker and more solid than the approaching Night.

  And Nat was saying to me: Your story of the poor Creatures sliding thro' the Ice made me to Laugh, Master, and it put me in Mind of a Song I learnt I know not how when I was a little Child, and I will sing it now to cheer you if I can. And at that he suddenly placed himself before the Window and began: Three Children sliding thereabout, Upon some Ice too thin, That so at last it did fall out That they did all fall in.

  Yee Parents all that Children have

  And yee that have none yet,

  Preserve your Children from the Grave,

  Teach them at Home to sit.

  I do not recall how it ends, Master, says Nat at a Loss. But then, as he stood before me, at last I wept.

  To go on with my Story: my Sorrow being parted from me (and no Harm coming from Sir Chris., as it turned out), I was perfectly Easy of Manner with the Serpent Hayes until the Time had come for my Purpose. And then at about Six of the Clock in the Evening, three weeks after the Events just related, I approach'd him in his Closet and in the politest possible Manner asked if he might take a Glass with me?

  He said that he had much Businesse to complect, but when I gave him to understand that the church of St Mary Woolnoth needed his Attention, he readily assented: now, thought I, go you like a Bear to the Stake. I took the Villain first to Hipolyto's in Bridge-street, near the Theatre Royal, where we crack'd the first Bottle of French claret; Hayes was of a greedy and covetous Disposition, and grew thirsty as he drank the Wine I paid for. Then we walk'd on to the Cock and Pye in Drury Lane, where a second and third Bottle succeeded on the Table; then we took a turn to the Deville Tavern opposite Katherine Street, and all the while I watched his Glass attentively. Then we coach'd it to Black-Marys-Hole by St Paul Churchyard (for he was now too drunken to walk). This was such a Place that the Walls were adorned with many unsavoury Finger-dabs, and marks sketched by unskilful Hands with candle-flame and charcole. The Floor was broken like an old Stable, the Windows were mended with Brown- paper and the Corners were full of Dust and Cobwebs. Over the Mantle on a little Shelf were half a dozen long bottles of Rosa Sous with an Advertisement for the speedy Cure of a violent Gonorrhea.

  There was a handful of Fire in a rusty Grate and a large earthern Chamber Pot in the chimney-corner: the Mixture of Scents that met us when we first entred were those of Tobacco, Piss, dirty Shirts and uncleanly Carcasses, but Hayes was so drunken that he did not so much as regard it. I like it here, says he entering through the Door with a staggering Gait, and yet I do not remember choosing it.

  I led him to a Table and, when the Boy approach'd us, call'd for Brandy. Tell me, says Hayes, how Licquour makes Men see things Dubble: for see this here (and he pick'd up a Pipe) this is Dubble to me now. What Mistery is this?

  You must wear the plant called Fuga Demonum, I told him, to prevent the seeing of Visions.

  What? says he squinting at me. And then he goes on: But there are many, many different things in this World, are there not Master? For whereas I might say, I would eat more Cheese if I had it, a Northern man would speak it thus (and here he opened his Mouth to one side like a Fish) Ay sud eat mare cheese gyn ay had et, and a Western man thus (and here he lowered his Head down into his Neck) Chud eat more cheese an chad it. His Eyes were brisk and sparkling: more Brandy, I thought to myself, before the Spirit sinks utterly. But there must be rules, Mr Dyer, he was saying, do you agree with me there?

  There must be rules, sir. Then he sank back in his Chair, and his Eyes lost their brightnesse.

  I have had Letters, said I to make Tryal of him in his Infirmity.

  I have had Letters, too.

  But these ones threaten me, I replied.

  They threaten you? And he gave me a blank Look: the Rogue is cunning even in his Cups, was my Thought. Now he had fixed his Wigg to the Chair and reached but to Spew, while still I smiled upon him; then he looked around himself as if suddenly waking and, seeing some Sots pissing against the Wall, he went to join them. But he was not able to Walk, only to Reel, so he took out his Gear and pissed under the Table where we sat. I poured his Glass: No, no, no more, says he, no more, I have a Pain in my Stomach. He got up again and, staring straight ahead, went towards the Door; 1 walked with him and asked him which way he was travelling. To my Lodgings, he replied. I suppose you go along Lombard Street? He assented to this, and I said: then I will help you.

  The Night was far advanc'd, and the Clock struck Eleven as we entered the Street; I wanted no Coachman to see us, so I took him by the Arm and led him thro' Alleys to the Church. He had so got his Load, as they say, that he came along with me quite willingly and was even ready to sing out loud as we cross'd the dark and empty Lanes.

  Do you know this one, do you? he asks: Wood and clay will wash away, Wash away, wash away, Wood and clay will wash away I have forgot the rest, he adds as he links his Arm in mine. Then on reaching Lombard Street he looked up at me: Where are we going, Nick?

  We are going Home, says I and pointed out to him the Church of St Mary Woolnoth with the Scaffolding upon it.

  This is no Home, Nick, at least not for a Live Man.

  He makes to Laugh out loud, but I put my Hand over his Mouth: Quiet, I said, the Watchman may hear us!

  To which he replied: There is no Watchman, the Watchman has gone from this Site, why did you not know this when you wrote expressly? And then he goes on: Let me climb up the Scaffolding, let me climb up and see the Moon.

  No, no, I replied softly, let us visit the new Work. And so we crept, both of us Laughing, to the Place where the Pipes were being laid. He bent over to look at this Work, tho' he could see but little, and then I stroked him and put my Hands around his Neck. I owe you a Pass, I whispered, and now you shall have it. He made no Crie, and yet it is possible that I myself uttered one: I do not know. I read once of an Englishman in Paris who rose in his Sleep, unlock'd the Door, took his Sword and went down towards the river Seine where, having met with a Boy, he kill'd him and returned still asleep to his Bed: so it was with me, for when I came to my self Hayes was lying beneeth the Pipes and wooden Planks had been put over his Corse. Then I trembled at what I had done, and looked up at the new Stone of the Church to stare away my Feare. Thus I remained under the Shaddowe of the Walls for a good while, until I grew sensible of the Cold, and then I walked with swift Pace back into Lombard Street.

  I was just got into Grace-Church-street when I pass'd a Constable, who asked me if I needed a Link on so dark a Night? I told him that I knew my Way very well and needed no Light nor Watchman, while all the while I was as like to have made a Stool-pan of my Breeches. Your Servant, sir, says he at last, and a safe Nigh
t to you. I looked fearfully behind me until he had gone into Great Eastcheap and then, being acquainted with these Streets, I put a good Distance between us. At Cripple-gate I whipt into a Coach and made him drive away as if the Divill were behind me; but it was not until I sank back in the Vehicle that I found I still had the dead Man's linnen Kerchief grasp'd in my Hand: I dropt it out of the Flap of the Coach which opens just behind the Coachman. In this manner I travelled as far as Drury Lane, where I took myself next into an Ale-house but, what with the Running and the dreadful Apprehensions, I was almost as wet with Sweat as if I had been plunged into the Thames. I lean'd against the rotten Wall of the Tavern but, as soon as I had recovered my Breath, I was seized with an unusual Merriment: I call'd for Strong-water and made my self Drunken as soon as may be.

  I knew not what Time it was when a Mask came to my Table and brightened upon me at a strange Rate: Captain, says she, my dearest Captain, will you take a Turn with me? And then she fluttered me in the Face with her Fan and languish'd upon me, taking my own Glass to her Lips.

  You have no Shame in doing this? I ask'd her as she settled down beside me.

  Never fear, my Captain, those things like Shame are meer Bugbears for Children, she replied. I drive my Trade like an Honest woman, and I am as sound as a Eunuch which is the main Point. Kiss me, Captain, and I will show you.

  But do you not fear God?

  She mov'd back a little from me: Fuh, says she, I hate all that Stuff.

  Then I took her Wrist and whisper'd to her: Have you any Rods?

  She gave me Eye-contact and smiled then: You are a flogging Cully, I see, Captain. Well, well, I am an old Partner in that Game. So after some more merry Discourse the Harlot took me with her to the Dog Tavern where she kept her Room: come in, says she after I mounted the Stairs behind her and was a little Fatigued, come in and be at your Ease while I clean myself. And then in my Sight she washed her Bubbies and sweetened her Arm-pits. With her Cloaths off, she smelt as frowzily as an old Goat but I turned my Face to the Wall and did not so much as move a Finger as she went to work on me. You are new to this Game, says she, for I see that the Body is still fresh.