Hawksmoor (24 page)

I remember, I said as I took a Chair opposite to him, how the Mobb applauded the Flames. I remember how they sang and danced by the Corses during the Contagion: that was not Chearfulnesse but Phrenzy. And I remember, also, the Rage and the Dying These were the Accidents of Fortune, Nick, from which we have learned so much in this Generation.

It was said, sir, that the Plague and the Fire were no Accidents but Substance, that they were the Signes of the Beast withinne. And Sir Chris, laughed at this.

At which point Nat put his Face in: Do you call, sirs? Would you care for a Dish of Tea or some Wine?

Some Tea, some Tea, cried Sir Chris, for the Fire gives me a terrible Thirst. But no, no, he continued when Nat had left the Room, you cannot assign the Causes of Plague or Fire to Sin. It was the negligence of Men that provoked those Disasters and for Negligence there is a Cure; only Terrour is the Hindrance.

Terrour, I said softly, is the lodestone of our Art. But he was too busied about his own Thoughts to hear me.

We can learn, Nick, to control Fire. Since it is the Dissolution of heated Sulphureous Bodies, we need satiated Air and then it will be quite Extinguish'd. But this is for Futurity. As for the Contagion, I made a Diary at that time of Wind, Weather and other Conditions of the Air such as Heat, Cold and Weight: all these together give a true account of Epidemical diseases.

You may tell that, I answered, to those dying of the Distemper: they will be greatly comforted. Then Nat came in with the Tea as I continued: There were those, sir, who were made fearful by the two great Comets which appeared in the end of 1664 and in the beginning of 1665.

I remember them, says he taking the Dish of Tea without a word to my Boy, what of it?

And it was said that they gave off a great hollow Sound which signified Disasters to come.

This is meer Schoolboy prattle, Nick. We can already prophesy the place of Comets among the fixed Starres, we need only Line, Distance, Motion and Inclination to the Ecliptick.

I was pleased to think my Face was in Shaddowe as I continued: But what of those who say 1666 contained the Number of the Beast, and so boded some ominous and direful Matter?

It is one of the greatest Curses visited upon Mankind, he told me, that they shall fear where no Fear is: this astrological and superstitious Humour disarms men's Hearts, it breaks their Courage, it makes them help to bring such Calamities on themselves. Then he stopped short and looked at me, but my Measure was not yet fill'd up so I begg'd him to go on, go on. And he continued: First, they fancy that such ill Accidents must come to pass, and so they render themselves fit Subjects to be wrought upon; it is a Disgrace to the Reason and Honour of Mankind that every fantasticall Humourist can presume to interpret the Skies (here he grew Hot and put down his Dish) and to expound the Time and Seasons and Fates of Empires, assigning the Causes of Plagues and Fires to the Sins of Men or the Judgements of God. This weakens the Constancy of Humane Actions, and affects Men with Fears, Doubts, Irresolutions and Terrours.

I was afraid of your Moving Picture, I said without thought, and that was why I left.

It was only Clock-work, Nick.

But what of the vast Machine of the World, in which Men move by Rote but in which nothing is free from Danger?

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 aggravated 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.