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Transcriber's Note
Greek text has been transliterated and is surrounded with + signs,
e.g. +biblos+.
Characters with a macron (straight line) above are indicated as [=x],
where x is the letter.
Characters with a caron (v shaped symbol) above are indicated as [vx],
where x is the letter.
Superscripted characters are surrounded with braces, e.g. D{ni}.
There is one instance of a symbol, indicated with {+++}, which in the
original text appeared as three + signs arranged in an inverted
triangle.
WITCH, WARLOCK, AND
MAGICIAN
Historical Sketches of Magic and Witchcraft
in England and Scotland
BY
W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS
'Dreams and the light imaginings of men'
Shelley
J. W. BOUTON
706 & 1152 BROADWAY
NEW YORK
1889
PREFACE.
The following pages may be regarded as a contribution towards that
'History of Human Error' which was undertaken by Mr. Augustine Caxton.
I fear that many minds will have to devote all their energies to the
work, if it is ever to be brought to completion; and, indeed, it may
plausibly be argued that its completion would be an impossibility,
since every generation adds something to the melancholy
record--'pulveris exigui parva munera.' However this may be, little
more remains to be said on the subjects which I have here considered
from the standpoint of a sympathetic though incredulous observer.
Alchemy, Magic, Witchcraft--how exhaustively they have been
investigated will appear from the list of authorities which I have
drawn up for the reader's convenience. They have been studied by
'adepts,' and by critics, as realities and as delusions; and almost
the last word would seem to have been said by Science--though not on
the side of the adepts, who still continue to dream of the Hermetic
philosophy, to lose themselves in fanciful pictures, theurgic and
occult, and to write about the mysteries of magic with a simplicity
of faith which we may wonder at, but are bound to respect.
It has not been my purpose, in the present volume, to attempt a
general history of magic and alchemy, or a scientific inquiry into
their psychological aspects. I have confined myself to a sketch of
their progress in England, and to a narrative of the lives of our
principal magicians. This occupies the first part. The second is
devoted to an historical review of witchcraft in Great Britain, and an
examination into the most remarkable Witch-Trials, in which I have
endeavoured to bring out their peculiar features, presenting much of
the evidence adduced, and in some cases the so-called confessions of
the victims, in the original language. I believe that the details,
notwithstanding the reticence imposed upon me by considerations of
delicacy and decorum, will surprise the reader, and that he will
readily admit the profound interest attaching to them, morally and
intellectually. I have added a chapter on the 'Literature of
Witchcraft,' which, I hope, is tolerably exhaustive, and now offer the
whole as an effort to present, in a popular and readable form, the
result of careful and conscientious study extending over many years.
W. H. D. A.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
PAGE
PROGRESS OF ALCHEMY IN EUROPE 1
BOOK I.
_THE ENGLISH MAGICIANS._
CHAPTER
I. ROGER BACON: THE TRUE AND THE LEGENDARY 27
II. THE STORY OF DR. JOHN DEE 59
III. DR. DEE'S DIARY 93
IV. MAGIC AND IMPOSTURE: A COUPLE OF KNAVES 102
V. THE LAST OF THE ENGLISH MAGICIANS: WILLIAM LILLY 128
VI. ENGLISH ROSICRUCIANS 181
BOOK II.
_WITCHES AND WITCHCRAFT._
I. EARLY HISTORY OF WITCHCRAFT IN ENGLAND 203
II. WITCHCRAFT IN ENGLAND IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY 244
III. THE DECLINE OF WITCHCRAFT IN ENGLAND 292
IV. THE WITCHES OF SCOTLAND 303
V. THE LITERATURE OF WITCHCRAFT 378
WITCH, WARLOCK, AND MAGICIAN.
INTRODUCTION.
PROGRESS OF ALCHEMY IN EUROPE.
The word +chêmeia+--from which we derive our English word
'chemistry'--first occurs, it is said, in the Lexicon of Suidas, a
Greek writer who flourished in the eleventh century. Here is his
definition of it:
'Chemistry is the art of preparing gold and silver. The books
concerning it were sought out and burnt by Diocletian, on
account of the new plots directed against him by the
Egyptians. He behaved towards them with great cruelty in his
search after the treatises written by the ancients, his
purpose being to prevent them from growing rich by a
knowledge of this art, lest, emboldened by measureless
wealth, they should be induced to resist the Roman
supremacy.'
Some authorities assert, however, that this art, or pretended art, is
of much greater antiquity than Suidas knew of; and Scaliger refers to
a Greek manuscript by Zozomen, of the fifth century, which is entitled
'A Faithful Description of the Secret and Divine Art of Making Gold
and Silver.' We may assume that as soon as mankind had begun to set an
artificial value upon these metals, and had acquired some knowledge
of chemical elements, their combinations and permutations, they would
entertain a desire to multiply them in measureless quantities. Dr.
Shaw speaks of no fewer than eighty-nine ancient manuscripts,
scattered through the European libraries, which are all occupied with
'the chemical art,' or 'the holy art,' or, as it is sometimes called,
'the philosopher's stone'; and a fair conclusion seems to be that
'between the fifth century and the taking of Constantinople in the
fifteenth, the Greeks believed in the possibility of making gold and
silver,' and called the supposed process, or processes, _chemistry_.
The delusion was taken up by the Arabians when, under their Abasside
Khalifs, they entered upon the cultivation of scientific knowledge.
The Arabians conveyed it into Spain, whence its diffusion over
Christendom was a simple work of time, sure if gradual. From the
eleventh to the sixteenth century, alchemy was more or less eagerly
studied by the scholars of Germany, Italy, France, and England; and
the volumes in which they recorded both their learning and their
ignorance, the little they knew and the more they did not know,
compose quite a considerable library. One hundred and twenty-two are
enumerated in the 'Bibliotheca Chemica Curiosa,' of Mangetus, a
dry-as-dust kind of compilation, in two huge volumes, printed at
Geneva in 1702. Any individual who has time and patience to expend _ad
libitum_, cannot desire a fairer field of exercise than the
'Bibliotheca.' One very natural result of all this vain research and
profitless inquiry was a keen anxiety on the part of victims to
dignify their labours by claiming for their 'sciences, falsely
so-called,' a venerable and mysterious origin. They accordingly
asserted that the founder or creator was Hermes Trismegistus, whom
some of them professed to identify with Chanaan, the son of Ham, whose
son Mizraim first occupied and peopled Egypt. Now, it is clear that
any person might legitimately devote his nights and days to the
pursuit of a science invented, or originally taught, by no less
illustrious an ancient than Hermes Trismegistus. But to clothe it with
the awe of a still greater antiquity, they affirmed that its
principles had been discovered, engraved in Phoenician characters,
on an emerald tablet which Alexander the Great exhumed from the
philosopher's tomb. Unfortunately, as is always the case, the tablet
was lost; but we are expected to believe that two Latin versions of
the inscription had happily been preserved. One of these may be
Englished as hereinunder:
1. I speak no frivolous things, but only what is true and most
certain.
2. What is below resembles that which is above, and what is above
resembles that which is below, to accomplish the one thing of all
things most wonderful.
3. And as all things proceeded from the meditation of the One God, so
were all things generated from this one thing by the disposition of
Nature.
4. Its father is _Sol_, its mother _Luna_; it was engendered in the
womb by the air, and nourished by the earth.
5. It is the cause of all the perfection of things throughout the
whole world.
6. It arrives at the highest perfection of powers if it be reduced
into earth.
7. Separate the earth from the fire, the subtle from the gross, acting
with great caution.
8. Ascend with the highest wisdom from earth to heaven, and thence
descend again to earth, and bind together the powers of things
superior and things inferior. So shall you compass the glory of the
whole world, and divest yourself of the abjectness of humanity.
9. This thing has more fortitude than fortitude itself, since it will
overcome everything subtle and penetrate everything solid.
10. All that the world contains was created by it.
11. Hence proceed things wonderful which in this wise were
established.
12. For this reason the name of Hermes Trismegistus was bestowed upon
me, because I am master of three parts of the philosophy of the whole
world.
13. This is what I had to say concerning the most admirable process of
the chemical art.
These oracular utterances are so vague and obscure that an enthusiast
may read into them almost any meaning he chooses; but there seems a
general consensus of opinion that they refer to the 'universal
medicine' of the earlier alchemists. This, however, is of no great
importance, since it is certain they were invented by some ingenious
hand as late as the fifteenth century. Another forgery of a similar
kind is the 'Tractatus Aureus de Lapidis Physici Secretis,' also
attributed to Hermes; it professes to describe the process of making
this 'universal medicine,' or 'philosopher's stone,' and the formulary
is thus translated by Thomson:
'Take of moisture an ounce and a half; of meridional
redness--that is, the soul of the sun--a fourth part, that
is, half an ounce; of yellow sage likewise half an ounce; and
of auripigmentum half an ounce; making in all three ounces.'
Such a recipe does not seem to help forward an enthusiastic student to
any material extent.
THE EARLIER ALCHEMISTS.
It is in the erudite writings of the great Arabian physician,
Gebir--that is, Abu Moussah Djafar, surnamed _Al Sofi_, or The
Wise--that the science of alchemy, or chemistry (at first the two were
identical), first assumes a definite shape. Gebir flourished in the
early part of the eighth century, and wrote, it is said, upwards of
five hundred treatises on the philosopher's stone and the elixir of
life. In reference to the latter mysterious potion, which possessed
the wonderful power of conferring immortal youth on those who drank of
it, one may remark that it was the necessary complement of the
philosopher's stone, for what would be the use of an unlimited faculty
of making gold and silver unless one could be sure of an immortality
in which to enjoy its exercise? Gebir's principal work, the 'Summæ
Perfectionis,' containing instructions for students in search of the
two great secrets, has been translated into several European
languages; and an English version, by Richard Russell, the alchemist,
was published in 1686.
Gebir lays down, as a primary principle, that all metals are compounds
of mercury and sulphur. They all labour under disease, he says, except
gold, which is the one metal gifted with perfect health. Therefore, a
preparation of it would dispel every ill which flesh is heir to, as
well as the maladies of plants. We may excuse his extravagances,
however, in consideration of the services he rendered to science by
his discovery of corrosive sublimate, red oxide of mercury, white
oxide of arsenic, nitric acid, oxide of copper, and nitrate of silver,
all of which originally issued from Gebir's laboratory.
Briefly speaking, the hypothesis assumed by the alchemists was this:
all the metals are compounds, and the baser contain the same elements
as gold, contaminated, indeed, with various impurities, but capable,
when these have been purged away, of assuming all its properties and
characters. The substance which was to effect this purifying process
they called the philosopher's stone (_lapis philosophorum_), though,
as a matter of fact, it is always described as a _powder_--a powder
red-coloured, and smelling strongly. Few of the alchemists, however,
venture on a distinct statement that they had discovered or possessed
this substance.
The arch-quack Paracelsus makes the assertion, of course; unblushing
mendacity was part of his stock-in-trade; and he pretends even to
define the methods by which it may be realized. Unfortunately, to
ordinary mortals his description is absolutely unintelligible. Others
there are who affirm that they had seen it, and seen it in operation,
transmuting lead, quicksilver, and other of the inferior metals into
ruddy gold. One wonders that they did not claim a share in a process
which involved such boundless potentialities of wealth!
Helvetius, the physician, though no believer in the magical art, tells
the following wild story in his 'Vitulus Aureus':
On December 26, 1666, a stranger called upon him, and, after
discussing the supposed properties of the universal medicine, showed
him a yellow powder, which he declared to be the _lapis_, and also
five large plates of gold, which, he said, were the product of its
action. Naturally enough, Helvetius begged for a few grains of this
marvellous powder, or that the stranger would at least exhibit its
potency in his presence. He refused, however, but promised that he
would return in six weeks. He kept his promise, and then, after much
entreaty, gave Helvetius a pinch of the powder--about as much as a
rape-seed. The physician expressed his fear that so minute a quantity
would not convert as much as four grains of lead; whereupon the
stranger broke off one-half, and declared that the remainder was more
than sufficient for the purpose. During their first conference,
Helvetius had contrived to conceal a little of the powder beneath his
thumb-nail. This he dropped into some molten lead, but it was nearly
all exhaled in smoke, and the residue was simply of a vitreous
character.
On mentioning this circumstance to his visitor, he explained that the
powder should have been enclosed in wax before it was thrown into the
molten lead, to prevent the fumes of the lead from affecting it. He
added that he would come back next day, and show him how to make the
projection; but as he failed to appear, Helvetius, in the presence of
his wife and son, put six drachms of lead into a crucible, and as soon
as the lead was melted, flung into it the atoms of powder given to him
by his mysterious visitor, having first rolled them up in a little
ball of wax. At the end of a quarter of an hour he found the lead
transmuted (so he avers) into gold. Its colour at first was a deep
green; but the mixture, when poured into a conical vessel, turned
blood-red, and, after cooling, acquired the true tint of gold. A
goldsmith who examined it pronounced it to be genuine. Helvetius
requested Purelius, the keeper of the Dutch Mint, to test its value;
and two drachms, after being exposed to aquafortis, were found to have
increased a couple of scruples in weight--an increase doubtlessly
owing to the silver, which still remained enveloped in the gold,
despite the action of the aquafortis.
It is obvious that this narrative is a complete mystification, and
that either the stranger was a myth or Helvetius was the victim of a
deception.
The recipes that the alchemists formulate--those, that is, who
profess to have discovered the stone, or to have known somebody who
enjoyed so rare a fortune--are always unintelligible or impracticable.
What is to be understood, for example, of the following elaborate
process, or series of processes, which are recorded by Mangetus, in
his preface to the ponderous 'Bibliotheca Chemica' (to which reference
has already been made)?
1. Prepare a quantity of spirits of wine, so free from water as to be
wholly combustible, and so volatile that a drop of it, if let fall,
will evaporate before it reaches the ground. This constitutes the
first menstruum.
2. Take pure mercury, revived in the usual manner from cinnabar; put
it into a glass vessel with common salt and distilled vinegar; shake
violently, and when the vinegar turns black, pour it off, and add
fresh vinegar. Shake again, and continue these repeated shakings and
additions until the mercury no longer turns the vinegar black; the
mercury will then be quite pure and very brilliant.
3. Take of this mercury four parts; of sublimed mercury (_mercurii
meteoresati_--probably corrosive sublimate), prepared with your own
hands, eight parts; triturate them together in a wooden mortar with a
wooden pestle, till all the grains of running mercury disappear. (This
process is truly described as 'tedious and rather difficult.')
4. The mixture thus prepared is to be put into a sand-bath, and
exposed to a subliming heat, which is to be gradually increased until
the whole sublimes. Collect the sublimed matter, put it again into the
sand-bath, and sublime a second time; this process must be repeated
five times. The product is a very sweet crystallized sublimate,
constituting the _sal sapientum_, or wise men's salt (probably
calomel), and possessing wonderful properties.
5. Grind it in a wooden mortar, reducing it to powder; put this powder
into a glass retort, and pour upon it the spirit of wine (see No. 1)
till it stands about three finger-breadths above the powder. Seal the
retort hermetically, and expose it to a very gentle heat for
seventy-four hours, shaking it several times a day; then distil with a
gentle heat, and the spirit of wine will pass over, together with
spirit of mercury. Keep this liquid in a well-stoppered bottle, lest
it should evaporate. More spirit of wine is to be poured upon the
residual salt, and after digestion must be distilled off, as before;
and this operation must be repeated until all the salt is dissolved
and given off with the spirit of wine. A great work will then have
been accomplished! For the mercury, having to some extent been
rendered volatile, will gradually become fit to receive the tincture
of gold and silver. Now return thanks to God, who has hitherto crowned
your wonderful work with success. Nor is this wonderful work enveloped
in Cimmerian darkness; it is clearer than the sun, though preceding
writers have sought to impose upon us with parables, hieroglyphs,
fables, and enigmas.
6. Take this mercurial spirit, which contains our magical steel in
its belly (_sic_), and put it into a glass retort, to which a receiver
must be well and carefully adjusted; draw off the spirit by a very
gentle heat, and in the bottom of the retort will remain the
quintessence or soul of mercury. This is to be sublimed by applying a
stronger heat to the retort that it may become volatile, as all the
philosophers affirm:
'Si fixum solvas faciesque volare solutum,
Et volucrum figas faciet te vivere tutum.'
This is our _luna_, our fountain, in which 'the king' and 'the queen'
may bathe. Preserve this precious quintessence of mercury, which is
exceedingly volatile, in a well-closed vessel for further use.
8. Let us now proceed to the production of common gold, which we shall
communicate clearly and distinctly, without digression or obscurity,
in order that from this common gold we may obtain our philosophical
gold, just as from common mercury we have obtained, by the foregoing
processes, philosophical mercury. In the name of God, then, take
common gold, purified in the usual way by antimony, and reduce it into
small grains, which must be washed with salt and vinegar until they
are quite pure. Take one part of this gold, and pour on it three parts
of the quintessence of mercury: as philosophers reckon from seven to
ten, so do we also reckon our number as philosophical, and begin with
three and one. Let them be married together, like husband and wife, to
produce children of their own kind, and you will see the common gold
sink and plainly dissolve. Now the marriage is consummated; and two
things are converted into one. Thus the philosophical sulphur is at
hand, as the philosophers say: 'The sulphur being dissolved, the stone
is at hand.' Take then, in the name of God, our philosophical vessel,
in which the king and queen embrace each other as in a bedchamber, and
leave it till the water is converted into earth; then peace is
concluded between the water and the fire--then the elements no longer
possess anything contrary to each other--because, when the elements
are converted into earth, they cease to be antagonistic; for in earth
all elements are at rest. The philosophers say: 'When you shall see
the water coagulate, believe that your knowledge is true, and that all
your operations are truly philosophical.' Our gold is no longer
common, but philosophical, through the processes it has undergone: at
first, it was exceedingly 'fixed' (_fixum_); then exceedingly
volatile; and again, exceedingly fixed: the entire science depends
upon the change of the elements. The gold, at first a metal, is now a
sulphur, capable of converting all metals into its own sulphur. And
our tincture is wholly converted into sulphur, which possesses the
energy of curing every disease; this is our universal medicine against
all the most deplorable ills of the human body. Therefore, return
infinite thanks to Almighty God for all the good things which He hath
bestowed upon us.
9. In this great work of ours, two methods of fermentation and
projection are wanting, without which the uninitiated will not
readily follow out our process. The mode of fermentation: Of the
sulphur already described take one part, and project it upon three
parts of very pure gold fused in a furnace. In a moment you will see
the gold, by the force of the sulphur, converted into a red sulphur of
an inferior quality to the primary sulphur. Take one part of this, and
project it upon three parts of fused gold; the whole will again be
converted into a sulphur or a fixable mass; mixing one part of this
with three parts of gold, you will have a malleable and extensible
metal. If you find it so, it is well; if not, add more sulphur, and it
will again pass into a state of sulphur. Now our sulphur will
sufficiently be fermented, or our medicine brought into a metallic
nature.
10. The method of projection is this: Take of the fermented sulphur
one part, and project it upon two parts of mercury, heated in a
crucible, and you will have a perfect metal; if its colour be not
sufficiently deep, fuse it again, and add more fermented sulphur, and
thus it will gain colour. If it become frangible, add a sufficient
quantity of mercury, and it will be perfect.
Thus, friend, you have a description of the universal medicine, not
only for curing diseases and prolonging life, but also for transmuting
all metals into gold. Give thanks, therefore, to Almighty God, who,
taking pity on human calamities, hath at last revealed this
inestimable treasure, and made it known for the common benefit of all.
Such is the jargon with which these so-called philosophers imposed
upon their dupes, and, to some extent perhaps, upon themselves. As Dr.
Thomson points out, the philosopher's stone prepared by this elaborate
process could hardly have been anything else than _an amalgam of
gold_. Chloride of gold it could not have contained, because such a
preparation, instead of acting medicinally, would have proved a most
virulent poison. Of course, amalgam of gold, if projected into melted
lead or tin, and afterwards cupellated, would leave a portion of
gold--that is, exactly the amount _which existed previously in the
amalgam_. Impostors may, therefore, have availed themselves of it to
persuade the credulous that it was really the philosopher's stone; but
the alchemists who prepared the amalgam must have known that it
contained gold.[1]
It is well known that the mediæval magicians, necromancers,
conjurers--call them by what name you will--who adopted alchemy as an
instrument of imposition, and by no means in the spirit of
philosophical inquiry and research which had characterized their
predecessors, resorted to various ingenious devices in order to
maintain their hold upon their victims. Sometimes they made use of
crucibles with false bottoms--at the real bottom they concealed a
portion of oxide of gold or silver covered with powdered sulphur,
which had been rendered adhesive by a little gummed water or wax. When
heat was applied the false bottom melted away, and the oxide of gold
or silver eventually appeared as the product of the operation at the
bottom of the crucible. Sometimes they made a hole in a lump of
charcoal, and filling it with oxide of gold or silver, stopped up the
orifice with wax; or they soaked charcoal in a solution of these
metals; or they stirred the mixture in the crucible with hollow rods,
containing oxide of gold or silver, closed up at the bottom with wax.
A faithful representation of the stratagems to which the
pseudo-alchemist resorted, that his dupes might not recover too soon
from their delusion, is furnished by Ben Jonson in his comedy of 'The
Alchemist,' and his masque of 'Mercury vindicated from the
Alchemists.' The dramatist was thoroughly conversant with the
technicalities of the pretended science, and also with the deceptions
of its professors. In the masque he puts into the mouth of Mercury an
indignant protest:
'The mischief a secret any of them knows, above the consuming
of coals and drawing of usquebagh; howsoever they may
pretend, under the specious names of Gebir, Arnold, Lully, or
Bombast of Hohenheim, to commit miracles in art, and treason
against nature! As if the title of philosopher, that creature
of glory, were to be fetched out of a furnace!'
But while the world is full of fools, it is too much to expect there
shall be any lack of knaves to prey upon them!
FOOTNOTE:
[1] _Cf._ Stahl, 'Fundamenta Chimiæ,' cap. 'De Lapide Philosophorum';
and Kircher, 'Mundus Subterraneus.'
IN THE MIDDLE AGES.
The first of the great European alchemists I take to have been
_Albertus Magnus_ or _Albertus Teutonicus_ (_Frater Albertus de
Colonia_ and _Albertus Grotus_, as he is also called), a man of
remarkable intellectual energy and exceptional force of character, who
has sometimes, and not without justice, been termed the founder of the
Schoolmen. Neither the place nor the date of his birth is
authentically known, but he was still in his young manhood when, about
1222, he was appointed to the chair of theology at Padua, and became a
member of the Dominican Order. He did not long retain the
professorship, and, departing from Padua, taught with great success in
Ratisbon, Köln, Strassburg, and Paris, residing in the last-named city
for three years, together with his illustrious disciple, Thomas
Aquinas. In 1260 he was appointed to the See of Ratisbon, though he
had not previously held any ecclesiastical dignity, but soon resigned,
on the ground that its duties interfered vexatiously with his studies.
Twenty years later, at a ripe old age, he died, leaving behind him, as
monuments of his persistent industry and intellectual subtlety,
one-and-twenty ponderous folios, which include commentaries on
Aristotle, on the Scriptures, and on Dionysius the Areopagite. Among
his minor works occurs a treatise on alchemy, which seems to show that
he was a devout believer in the science.
From the marvellous stories of his thaumaturgic exploits which have
come down to us, we may infer that he had attained a considerable
amount of skill in experimental chemistry. The brazen statue which he
animated, and the garrulity of which was so offensive that Thomas
Aquinas one day seized a hammer, and, provoked beyond all endurance,
smashed it to pieces, may be a reminiscence of his powers as a
ventriloquist. And the following story may hint at an effective
manipulation of the _camera obscura_: Count William of Holland and
King of the Romans happening to pass through Köln, Albertus invited
him and his courtiers to his house to partake of refreshment. It was
mid-winter; but on arriving at the philosopher's residence they found
the tables spread in the open garden, where snowdrifts lay several
feet in depth. Indignant at so frugal a reception, they were on the
point of leaving, when Albertus appeared, and by his courtesies
induced them to remain. Immediately the scene was lighted up with the
sunshine of summer, a warm and balmy air stole through the whispering
boughs, the frost and snow vanished, the melodies of the lark dropped
from the sky like golden rain. But as soon as the feast came to an end
the sunshine faded, the birds ceased their song, clouds gathered
darkling over the firmament, an icy blast shrieked through the
gibbering branches, and the snow fell in blinding showers, so that the
philosopher's guests were glad to fold their cloaks about them and
retreat into the kitchen to grow warm before its blazing fire.
Was this some clever scenic deception, or is the whole a fiction?
A knowledge of the secret of the _Elixir Vitæ_ was possessed (it is
said) by _Alain de l'Isle_, or Alanus de Insulis; but either he did
not avail himself of it, or failed to compound a sufficient quantity
of the magic potion, for he died under the sacred roof of Citeaux, in
1298, at the advanced age of 110.
_Arnold de Villeneuve_, who attained, in the thirteenth century, some
distinction as a physician, an astronomer, an astrologer, and an
alchemist--and was really a capable man of science, as science was
then understood--formulates an elaborate recipe for rejuvenating one's
self, which, however, does not seem to have been very successful in
his own case, since he died before he was 70. Perhaps he was as
disgusted with the compound as (in the well-known epitaph) the infant
was with this mundane sphere--he 'liked it not, and died.' I think
there are many who would forfeit longevity rather than partake of it.
'Twice or thrice a week you must anoint your body thoroughly with the
manna of cassia; and every night, before going to bed, you must place
over your heart a plaster, composed of a certain quantity (or, rather,
uncertain, for definite and precise proportions are never
particularized) of Oriental saffron, red rose-leaves, sandal-wood,
aloes, and amber, liquefied in oil of roses and the best white wax.
During the day this must be kept in a leaden casket. You must next pen
up in a court, where the water is sweet and the air pure, sixteen
chickens, if you are of a sanguine temperament; twenty-five, if
phlegmatic; and thirty, if melancholic. Of these you are to eat one a
day, after they have been fattened in such a manner as to have
absorbed into their system the qualities which will ensure your
longevity; for which purpose they are first to be kept without food
until almost starved, and then gorged with a broth of serpents and
vinegar, thickened with wheat and beans, for at least two months.
When they are served at your table you will drink a moderate quantity
of white wine or claret to assist digestion.'
I should think it would be needed!
* * * * *
Among the alchemists must be included _Pietro d'Apono_. He was an
eminent physician; but, being accused of heresy, was thrown into
prison and died there. His ecclesiastical persecutors, however, burned
his bones rather than be entirely disappointed of their _auto da fé_.
Like most of the mediæval physicians, he indulged in alchemical and
astrological speculations; but they proved to Pietro d'Apono neither
pleasurable nor profitable. It was reputed of him that he had summoned
a number of evil spirits; and, on their obeying his call, had shut
them up in seven crystal vases, where he detained them until he had
occasion for their services. In his selection of them he seems to have
displayed a commendably catholic taste and love of knowledge; for one
was an expert in poetry, another in painting, a third in philosophy, a
fourth in physic, a fifth in astrology, a sixth in music, and a
seventh in alchemy. So that when he required instruction in either of
these arts or sciences, he simply tapped the proper crystal vase and
laid on a spirit.
The story seems to be a fanciful allusion to the various acquirements
of Pietro d'Apono; but if intended at first as a kind of allegory, it
came in due time to be accepted literally.
* * * * *
I pass on to the great Spanish alchemist and magician, _Raymond
Lully_, or Lulli, who was scarcely inferior in fame, or the qualities
which merited fame, even to Albertus Magnus. He was a man, not only of
wide, but of accurate scholarship; and the two or three hundred
treatises which proceeded from his pen traversed the entire circle of
the learning of his age, dealing with almost every conceivable subject
from medicine to morals, from astronomy to theology, and from alchemy
to civil and canon law. His life had its romantic aspects, and his
death (in 1315?) was invested with something of the glory of
martyrdom; for while he was preaching to the Moslems at Bona, the mob
fell upon him with a storm of stones, and though he was still alive
when rescued by some Genoese merchants, and conveyed on board their
vessel, he died of the injuries he had received before it arrived in a
Spanish port.
There seems little reason to believe that Lulli visited England about
1312, on the invitation of Edward II. Dickenson, in his work on 'The
Quintessences of the Philosophers,' asserts that his laboratory was
established in Westminster Abbey--that is, in the cloisters--and that
some time after his return to the Continent a large quantity of
gold-dust was found in the cell he had occupied. Langlet du Fresnoy
contends that it was through the intervention of John Cremer, Abbot of
Westminster, a persevering seeker after the _lapis philosophorum_,
that he came to England, Cremer having described him to King Edward as
a man of extraordinary powers. Robert Constantine, in his 'Nomenclator
Scriptorum Medicorum' (1515), professes to have discovered that Lulli
resided for some time in London, and made gold in the Tower, and that
he had seen some gold pieces of his making, which were known in
England as the nobles of Raymond, or rose-nobles. But the great
objections to these very precise statements rests on two facts pointed
out by Mr. Waite, that the rose-noble, so called because a rose was
stamped on each side of it, was first coined in 1465, in the reign of
Edward IV., and that there never was an Abbot Cremer of Westminster.
* * * * *
_Jean de Meung_ is also included among the alchemists; but he
bequeathed to posterity in his glorious poem of the 'Roman de la Rose'
something very much more precious than would have been any formula for
making gold. In one sense he was indeed an alchemist, and possessed
the secret of the universal medicine; for in his poem his genius has
transmuted into purest gold the base ore of popular traditions and
legends.
Some of the stories which Langlet du Fresnoy tells of _Nicholas
Flamel_ were probably invented long after his death, or else we should
have to brand him as a most audacious knave. One of those amazing
narratives pretends that he bought for a couple of florins an old and
curious volume, the leaves of which--three times seven (this sounds
better than twenty-one) in number--were made from the bark of trees.
Each seventh leaf bore an allegorical picture--the first representing
a serpent swallowing rods, the second a cross with a serpent crucified
upon it, and the third a fountain in a desert, surrounded by creeping
serpents. Who, think you, was the author of this mysterious volume?
No less illustrious a person than Abraham the patriarch, Hebrew,
prince, philosopher, priest, Levite, and magian, who, as it was
written in Latin, must have miraculously acquired his foreknowledge of
a tongue which, in his time, had no existence. A perusal of its mystic
pages convinced Flamel that he had had the good fortune to discover a
complete manual on the art of transmutation of metals, in which all
the necessary vessels were indicated, and the processes described. But
there was one serious difficulty to be overcome: the book assumed, as
a matter of course, that the student was already in possession of that
all-important agent of transmutation, the philosopher's stone.
Careful study led Flamel to the conclusion that the secret of the
stone was hidden in certain allegorical drawings on the fourth and
fifth leaves; but, then, to decipher these was beyond his powers. He
submitted them to all the learned savants and alchemical adepts he
could get hold of: they proved to be no wiser than himself, while some
of them actually laughed at Abraham's posthumous publication as
worthless gibberish. Flamel, however, clung fast to his conviction of
the inestimable value of his 'find,' and daily pondered over the two
cryptic illustrations, which may thus be described: On the first page
of the fourth leaf Mercury was contending with a figure, which might
be either Saturn or Time--probably the latter, as he carried on his
head the emblematical hour-glass, and in his hand the not less
emblematical scythe. On the second stage a flower upon a mountain-top
presented the unusual combination of a blue stalk, with red and white
blossoms, and leaves of pure gold. The wind appeared to blow it about
very harshly, and a gruesome company of dragons and griffins
encompassed it.
Upon the study of these provokingly obscure designs Flamel fruitlessly
expended the leisure time of thrice seven years: after which, on the
advice of his wife, he repaired to Spain to seek the assistance of
some erudite Jewish rabbi. He had been wandering from place to place
for a couple of years, when he met, somewhere in Leon, a learned
Hebrew physician, named Canches, who agreed to return with him to
Paris, and there examine Abraham's volume. Canches was deeply versed
in all the lore of the Cabala, and Flamel hung with delight on the
words of wisdom that dropped from his eloquent lips. But at Orleans
Canches was taken ill with a malady of which he died, and Flamel found
his way home, a sadder, if not a wiser, man. He resumed his study of
the book, but for two more years could get no clue to its meaning. In
the third year, recalling some deliverance of his departed friend, the
rabbi, he perceived that all his experiments had hitherto proceeded
upon erroneous principles. He repeated them upon a different basis,
and in a few months brought them to a successful issue. On January 13,
1382, he converted mercury into silver, and on April 25 into gold.
Well might he cry in triumph, 'Eureka!' The great secret, the sublime
magistery was his: he had discovered the art of transmuting metals
into gold and silver, and, so long as he kept it to himself, had at
his command the source of inexhaustible wealth.
At this time Nicholas Flamel, it is said, was about eighty years old.
His admirers assert that he also discovered the elixir of immortal
life; but, as he died in 1419, at the age (it is alleged) of 116, he
must have been content with the merest sip of it! Why did he not
reveal its ingredients for the general benefit of our afflicted
humanity? His immense wealth he bequeathed to churches and hospitals,
thus making a better use of it after death than he had made of it in
his lifetime. For it is said that Flamel was a usurer, and that his
philosopher's stone was 'cent per cent.' It is true enough that he
dabbled in alchemy, and probably he made his alchemical experiments
useful in connection with his usurious transactions.
BOOK I.
_THE ENGLISH MAGICIANS._
CHAPTER I.
ROGER BACON: THE TRUE AND THE LEGENDARY.
It was in the early years of the fourteenth century that the two
pseudo-sciences of alchemy and astrology, the supposititious sisters
of chemistry and astronomy, made their way into England. At first
their progress was by no means so rapid as it had been on the
Continent; for in England, as yet, there was no educated class
prepared to give their leisure to the work of experimental
investigation. A solitary scholar here and there lighted his torch at
the altar-fire which the Continental philosophers kept burning with so
much diligence and curiosity, and was generally rewarded for his
heterodox enthusiasm by the persecution of the Church and the
prejudice of the vulgar. But by degrees the new sciences increased the
number of their adherents, and the more active intellects of the time
embraced the theory of astral influences, and were fascinated by the
delusion of the philosopher's stone. Many a secret furnace blazed day
and night with the charmed flames which were to resolve the metals
into their original elements, and place the pale student in
possession of the coveted _magisterium_, or 'universal medicine.' At
length the alchemists became a sufficiently numerous and important
body to draw the attention of the Government, which regarded their
proceedings with suspicion, from a fear that the result might
injuriously affect the coinage. In 1434 the Legislature enacted that
the making of gold or silver should be treated as a felony. But the
Parliament was influenced by a very different motive from that of the
King and his Council, its patriotic fears being awakened lest the
Executive, enabled by the new science to increase without limit the
pecuniary resources of the Crown, should be rendered independent of
Parliamentary control.
In the course of a few years, however, broader and more enlightened
views prevailed; and it came to be acknowledged that scientific
research ought to be relieved from legislative interference. In 1455
Henry VI. issued four patents in succession to certain knights, London
citizens, chemists, monks, mass-priests, and others, granting them
leave and license to undertake the discovery of the philosopher's
stone, 'to the great benefit of the realm, and the enabling the King
to pay all the debts of the Crown in _real gold and silver_.' On the
remarkable fact that these patents were issued to ecclesiastics as
well as laymen, Prynne afterwards remarked, with true theological
acridity, that they were so included because they were 'such good
artists in transubstantiating bread and wine in the Eucharist, and
were, therefore, the more likely to be able to effect the
transmutation of base metals into better.' Nothing came of the
patents. The practical common-sense of Englishmen never took very
kindly to the alchemical delusion, and Chaucer very faithfully
describes the contempt with which it was generally regarded.
Enthusiasts there were, no doubt, who firmly believed in it, and
knaves who made a profit out of it, and dupes who were preyed upon by
the knaves; and so it languished on through the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries. It seems at one time to have amused the shrewd
intellect of Queen Elizabeth, and at another to have caught the
volatile fancy of the second Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. But alchemy
was, in the main, the _modus vivendi_ of quacks and cheats, of such
impostors as Ben Jonson has drawn so powerfully in his great comedy--a
Subtle, a Face, and a Doll Common, who, in the Sir Epicure Mammons of
the time, found their appropriate victims. These creatures played on
the greed and credulity of their dupes with successful audacity, and
excited their imaginations by extravagant promises. Thus, Ben Jonson's
hero runs riot with glowing anticipations of what the alchemical
_magisterium_ can effect.
'Do you think I fable with you? I assure you,
He that has once the flower of the sun,
The perfect ruby, which we call _Elixir_,
Not only can do that, but, by its virtue,
Can confer honour, love, respect, long life;
Give safety, valour, yes, and victory,
To whom he will. In eight-and-twenty days
I'll make an old man of fourscore a child....
'Tis the secret
Of nature naturized 'gainst all infections,
Cures all diseases coming of all causes;
A month's grief in a day, a year's in twelve,
And of what age soever in a month.'
The English alchemists, however, with a few exceptions, depended for a
livelihood chiefly on their sale of magic charms, love-philters, and
even more dangerous potions, and on horoscope-casting, and
fortune-telling by the hand or by cards. They acted, also, as agents
in many a dark intrigue and unlawful project, being generally at the
disposal of the highest bidder, and seldom shrinking from any crime.
* * * * *
The earliest name of note on the roll of the English magicians,
necromancers and alchemists is that of
ROGER BACON.
This great man has some claim to be considered the father of
experimental philosophy, since it was he who first laid down the
principles upon which physical investigation should be conducted.
Speaking of science, he says, in language far in advance of his times:
'There are two modes of knowing--by argument and by experiment.
Argument winds up a question, but does not lead us to acquiesce in, or
feel certain of, the contemplation of truth, unless the truth be
proved and confirmed by experience.' To Experimental Science he
ascribed three differentiating characters: 'First, she tests by
experiment the grand conclusions of all other sciences. Next, she
discovers, with reference to the ideas connected with other sciences,
splendid truths, to which these sciences without assistance are unable
to attain. Her third prerogative is, that, unaided by the other
sciences, and of herself, she can investigate the secrets of nature.'
These truths, now accepted as trite and self-evident, ranked, in Roger
Bacon's day, as novel and important discoveries.
He was born at Ilchester, in Somersetshire, in 1214. Of his lineage,
parentage, and early education we know nothing, except that he must
have been very young when he went to Oxford, for he took orders there
before he was twenty. Joining the Franciscan brotherhood, he applied
himself to the study of Greek, Latin, Hebrew, and Arabic; but his
genius chiefly inclined towards the pursuit of the natural sciences,
in which he obtained such a mastery that his contemporaries accorded
to him the flattering title of 'The Admirable Doctor.' His lectures
gathered round him a crowd of admiring disciples; until the boldness
of their speculations aroused the suspicion of the ecclesiastical
authorities, and in 1257 they were prohibited by the General of his
Order. Then Pope Innocent IV. interfered, interdicting him from the
publication of his writings, and placing him under close supervision.
He remained in this state of tutelage until Clement IV., a man of more
liberal views, assumed the triple tiara, who not only released him
from his irksome restraints, but desired him to compose a treatise on
the sciences. This was the origin of Bacon's 'Opus Majus,' 'Opus
Minus' and 'Opus Tertius,' which he completed in a year and a half,
and despatched to Rome. In 1267 he was allowed to return to Oxford,
where he wrote his 'Compendium Studii Philosophiæ.' His vigorous
advocacy of new methods of scientific investigation, or, perhaps, his
unsparing exposure of the ignorance and vices of the monks and the
clergy, again brought down upon him the heavy arm of the
ecclesiastical tyranny. His works were condemned by the General of his
Order, and in 1278, during the pontificate of Nicholas III., he was
thrown into prison, where he was detained for several years. It is
said that he was not released until 1292, the year in which he
published his latest production, the 'Compendium Studii Theologiæ.'
Two years afterwards he died.
In many respects Bacon was greatly in advance of his contemporaries,
but his general repute ignores his real and important services to
philosophy, and builds up a glittering fabric upon mechanical
discoveries and inventions to which, it is to be feared, he cannot lay
claim. As Professor Adamson puts it, he certainly describes a method
of constructing a telescope, but not so as to justify the conclusion
that he himself was in possession of that instrument. The invention of
gunpowder has been attributed to him on the strength of a passage in
one of his works, which, if fairly interpreted, disposes at once of
the pretension; besides, it was already known to the Arabs.
Burning-glasses were in common use; and there is no proof that he made
spectacles, although he was probably acquainted with the principle of
their construction. It is not to be denied, however, that in his
interesting treatise on 'The Secrets of Nature and Art,'[2] he
exhibits every sign of a far-seeing and lively intelligence, and
foreshadows the possibility of some of our great modern inventions.
But, like so many master-minds of the Middle Ages, he was unable
wholly to resist the fascinations of alchemy and astrology. He
believed that various parts of the human body were influenced by the
stars, and that the mind was thus stimulated to particular acts,
without any relaxation or interruption of free will. His 'Mirror of
Alchemy,' of which a translation into French was executed by 'a
Gentleman of Dauphiné,' and printed in 1507, absolutely bristles with
crude and unfounded theories--as, for instance, that Nature, in the
formation of metallic veins, tends constantly to the production of
gold, but is impeded by various accidents, and in this way creates
metals in which impurities mingle with the fundamental substances. The
main elements, he says, are quicksilver and sulphur; and from these
all metals and minerals are compounded. Gold he describes as a perfect
metal, produced from a pure, fixed, clear, and red quicksilver; and
from a sulphur also pure, fixed, and red, not incandescent and
unalloyed. Iron is unclean and imperfect, because engendered of a
quicksilver which is impure, too much congealed, earthy, incandescent,
white and red, and of a similar variety of sulphur. The 'stone,' or
substance, by which the transmutation of the imperfect into the
perfect metals was to be effected must be made, in the main, he said,
of sulphur and mercury.
It is not easy to determine how soon an atmosphere of legend gathered
around the figure of 'the Admirable Doctor;' but undoubtedly it
originated quite as much in his astrological errors as in his
scientific experiments. Some of the myths of which he is the
traditional hero belong to a very much earlier period, as, for
instance, that of his Brazen Head, which appears in the old romance of
'Valentine and Orson,' as well as in the history of Albertus Magnus.
Gower, too, in his 'Confessio Amantis,' relates how a Brazen Head was
fabricated by Bishop Grosseteste. It was customary in those days to
ascribe all kinds of marvels to men who obtained a repute for
exceptional learning, and Bishop Grosseteste's Brazen Head was as
purely a fiction as Roger Bacon's. This is Gower's account:
'For of the gretè clerk Grostest
I rede how busy that he was
Upon the clergie an head of brass
To forgè; and make it fortelle
Of suchè thingès as befelle.
And seven yerès besinesse
He laidè, but for the lachèsse[3]
Of half a minute of an hour ...
He lostè all that he hadde do.'
Stow tells a story of a Head of Clay, made at Oxford in the reign of
Edward II., which, at an appointed time, spoke the mysterious words,
'Caput decidetur--caput elevabitur. Pedes elevabuntur supra caput.'
Returning to Roger Bacon's supposed invention, we find an ingenious
though improbable explanation suggested by Sir Thomas Browne, in his
'Vulgar Errors':
'Every one,' he says, 'is filled with the story of Friar
Bacon, that made a Brazen Head to speak these words, "_Time
is_." Which, though there went not the like relations, is
surely too literally received, and was but a mystical fable
concerning the philosopher's great work, wherein he eminently
laboured: implying no more by the copper head, than the
vessel wherein it was wrought; and by the words it spake,
than the opportunity to be watched, about the _tempus ortus_,
or birth of the magical child, or "philosophical King" of
Lullius, the rising of the "terra foliata" of Arnoldus; when
the earth, sufficiently impregnated with the water, ascendeth
white and splendent. Which not observed, the work is
irrecoverably lost.... Now letting slip the critical
opportunity, he missed the intended treasure: which had he
obtained, he might have made out the tradition of making a
brazen wall about England: that is, the most powerful defence
or strongest fortification which gold could have effected.'
An interpretation of the popular myth which is about as ingenious and
far-fetched as Lord Bacon's expositions of the 'Fables of the
Ancients,' of which it may be said that they possess every merit but
that of probability!
Bacon's Brazen Head, however, took hold of the popular fancy. It
survived for centuries, and the allusions to it in our literature are
sufficiently numerous. Cob, in Ben Jonson's comedy of 'Every Man in
his Humour,' exclaims: 'Oh, an my house were the Brazen Head now!
'Faith, it would e'en speak _Mo' fools yet_!' And we read in Greene's
'Tu Quoque':
'Look to yourself, sir;
The brazen head has spoke, and I must have you.'
Lord Bacon used it happily in his 'Apology to the Queen,' when
Elizabeth would have punished the Earl of Essex for his misconduct in
Ireland:--'Whereunto I said (to the end utterly to divert her),
"Madam, if you will have me speak to you in this argument, I must
speak to you as Friar Bacon's head spake, that said first, '_Time
is_,' and then, '_Time was_,' and '_Time would never be_,' for
certainly" (said I) "it is now far too late; the matter is cold, and
hath taken too much wind."' Butler introduces it in his
'Hudibras':--'Quoth he, "My head's not made of brass, as Friar Bacon's
noddle was."' And Pope, in 'The Dunciad,' writes:--'Bacon trembled for
his brazen head.' A William Terite, in 1604, gave to the world some
verse, entitled 'A Piece of Friar Bacon's Brazen-head's Prophecie.'
And, in our own time, William Blackworth Praed has written 'The Chaunt
of the Brazen Head,' which, in his prose motto, he (in the person of
Friar Bacon) addresses as 'the brazen companion of his solitary
hours.'
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Epistola Fratris Rogerii Baconis de Secretis Operibus Artis et
Naturæ et de Nullitate Magiæ.
[3] _Laches_, oversight.
'THE FAMOUS HISTORIE OF FRIAR BACON.'
Towards the end of the sixteenth century, the various legends which
had taken Friar Bacon as their central figure were brought together in
a connected form, and wrought, along with other stories of magic and
sorcery, into a continuous narrative, which became immensely popular.
It was entitled, 'The Famous Historie of Friar Bacon: Conteyning the
Wonderful Thinges that he Did in his Life; also the Manner of his
Death; with the Lives and Deaths of the Two Conjurers, Bungye and
Vandermast,' and has been reprinted by Mr. Thoms, in his 'Early
English Romances.'
According to this entertaining authority, the Friar was 'born in the
West part of England, and was sonne to a wealthy farmer, who put him
to the schoole to the parson of the towne where he was borne; not with
intent that hee should turne fryer (as hee did), but to get so much
understanding, that he might manage the better the wealth hee was to
leave him. But young Bacon took his learning so fast, that the priest
could not teach him any more, which made him desire his master that he
would speake to his father to put him to Oxford, that he might not
lose that little learning that he had gained.... The father affected
to doubt his son's capacity, and designed him still to follow the same
calling as himself; but the student had no inclination to drive fat
oxen or consort with unlettered hinds, and stole away to "a cloister"
some twenty miles off, where the monks cordially welcomed him.
Continuing the pursuit of knowledge with great avidity, he attained to
such repute that the authorities of Oxford University invited him to
repair thither. He accepted the invitation, and grew so excellent in
the secrets of Art and Nature, that not England only, but all
Christendom, admired him.'
There, in the seclusion of his cell, he made the Brazen Head on which
rests his legendary fame.
'Reading one day of the many conquests of England, he
bethought himselfe how he might keepe it hereafter from the
like conquests, and so make himselfe famous hereafter to all
posterities. This, after great study, hee found could be no
way so well done as one; which was to make a head of brasse,
and if he could make this head to speake, and heare it when
it speakes, then might hee be able to wall all England about
with brasse.[4] To this purpose he got one Fryer Bungey to
assist him, who was a great scholar and a magician, but not
to bee compared to Fryer Bacon: these two with great study
and paines so framed a head of brasse, that in the inward
parts thereof there was all things like as in a naturall
man's head. This being done, they were as farre from
perfection of the worke as they were before, for they knew
not how to give those parts that they had made motion,
without which it was impossible that it should speake: many
bookes they read, but yet coulde not finde out any hope of
what they sought, that at the last they concluded to raise a
spirit, and to know of him that which they coulde not attaine
to by their owne studies. To do this they prepared all things
ready, and went one evening to a wood thereby, and after many
ceremonies used, they spake the words of conjuration; which
the Devill straight obeyed, and appeared unto them, asking
what they would? "Know," said Fryer Bacon, "that wee have
made an artificiall head of brasse, which we would have to
speake, to the furtherance of which wee have raised thee; and
being raised, wee will here keepe thee, unlesse thou tell to
us the way and manner how to make this head to speake." The
Devill told him that he had not that power of himselfe.
"Beginner of lyes," said Fryer Bacon, "I know that thou dost
dissemble, and therefore tell it us quickly, or else wee will
here bind thee to remaine during our pleasures." At these
threatenings the Devill consented to doe it, and told them,
that with a continual fume of the six hottest simples it
should have motion, and in one month space speak; the time of
the moneth or day hee knew not: also hee told them, that if
they heard it not before it had done speaking, all their
labour should be lost. They being satisfied, licensed the
spirit for to depart.
'Then went these two learned fryers home againe, and prepared
the simples ready, and made the fume, and with continuall
watching attended when this Brazen Head would speake. Thus
watched they for three weekes without any rest, so that they
were so weary and sleepy that they could not any longer
refraine from rest. Then called Fryer Bacon his man Miles,
and told him that it was not unknown to him what paines Fryer
Bungey and himselfe had taken for three weekes space, onely
to make and to heare the Brazen Head speake, which if they
did not, then had they lost all their labour, and all England
had a great losse thereby; therefore hee intreated Miles that
he would watch whilst that they slept, and call them if the
head speake. "Fear not, good master," said Miles, "I will not
sleepe, but harken and attend upon the head, and if it doe
chance to speake, I will call you; therefore I pray take you
both your rests and let mee alone for watching this head."
After Fryer Bacon had given him a great charge the second
time, Fryer Bungey and he went to sleepe, and Miles was lefte
alone to watch the Brazen Head. Miles, to keepe him from
sleeping, got a tabor and pipe, and being merry disposed,
with his owne musicke kept from sleeping at last. After some
noyse the head spake these two words, "TIME IS." Miles,
hearing it to speake no more, thought his master would be
angry if hee waked him for that, and therefore he let them
both sleepe, and began to mocke the head in this manner:
"Thou brazen-faced Head, hath my master tooke all these
paines about thee, and now dost thou requite him with two
words, TIME IS? Had hee watched with a lawyer so long as hee
hath watched with thee, he would have given him more and
better words than thou hast yet. If thou canst speake no
wiser, they shal sleepe till doomes day for me: TIME IS! I
know Time is, and that you shall heare, Goodman Brazen-face.
'"Time is for some to eate,
Time is for some to sleepe,
Time is for some to laugh,
Time is for some to weepe.
'"Time is for some to sing,
Time is for some to pray,
Time is for some to creepe,
That have drunken all the day.
'"Do you tell us, copper-nose, when TIME IS? I hope we
schollers know our times, when to drink drunke, when to kiss
our hostess, when to goe on her score, and when to pay
it--that time comes seldome." After halfe an houre had
passed, the Head did speake againe, two words, which were
these, "TIME WAS." Miles respected these words as little as
he did the former, and would not wake them, but still scoffed
at the Brazen Head that it had learned no better words, and
have such a tutor as his master: and in scorne of it sung
this song:
'"Time was when thou, a kettle,
wert filled with better matter;
But Fryer Bacon did thee spoyle
when he thy sides did batter.
'"Time was when conscience dwelled
with men of occupation;
Time was when lawyers did not thrive
so well by men's vexation.
'"Time was when kings and beggars
of one poore stuff had being;
Time was when office kept no knaves--
that time it was worth seeing.
'"Time was a bowle of water
did give the face reflection;
Time was when women knew no paint,
which now they call complexion.
'"TIME WAS! I know that, brazen-face, without your telling; I
know Time was, and I know what things there was when Time
was; and if you speake no wiser, no master shall be waked for
mee." Thus Miles talked and sung till another halfe-houre was
gone: then the Brazen Head spake again these words, "TIME IS
PAST;" and therewith fell downe, and presently followed a
terrible noyse, with strange flashes of fire, so that Miles
was halfe dead with feare. At this noyse the two Fryers
awaked, and wondred to see the whole roome so full of smoake;
but that being vanished, they might perceive the Brazen Head
broken and lying on the ground. At this sight they grieved,
and called Miles to know how this came. Miles, halfe dead
with feare, said that it fell doune of itselfe, and that with
the noyse and fire that followed he was almost frighted out
of his wits. Fryer Bacon asked him if hee did not speake?
"Yes," quoth Miles, "it spake, but to no purpose: He have a
parret speake better in that time that you have been teaching
this Brazen Head."
'"Out on thee, villaine!" said Fryer Bacon; "thou hast undone
us both: hadst thou but called us when it did speake, all
England had been walled round about with brasse, to its glory
and our eternal fames. What were the words it spake?" "Very
few," said Miles, "and those were none of the wisest that I
have heard neither. First he said, 'TIME IS.'" "Hadst thou
called us then," said Fryer Bacon, "we had been made for
ever." "Then," said Miles, "half-an-hour after it spake
againe, and said, 'TIME WAS.'" "And wouldst thou not call us
then?" said Bungey. "Alas!" said Miles, "I thought hee would
have told me some long tale, and then I purposed to have
called you: then half-an-houre after he cried, 'TIME IS
PAST,' and made such a noyse that hee hath waked you
himselfe, mee thinkes." At this Fryer Bacon was in such a
rage that hee would have beaten his man, but he was
restrained by Bungey: but neverthelesse, for his punishment,
he with his art struck him dumbe for one whole month's space.
Thus the greate worke of these learned fryers was overthrown,
to their great griefes, by this simple fellow.'
The historian goes on to relate many instances of Friar Bacon's
thaumaturgical powers. He captures a town which the king had besieged
for three months without success. He puts to shame a German conjuror
named Vandermast, and he performs wonders in love affairs; but at
length a fatal result to one of his magical exploits induces him to
break to pieces his wonderful glass and doff his conjurer's robe.
Then, receiving intelligence of the deaths of Vandermast and Friar
Bungey, he falls into a deep grief, so that for three days he refuses
to partake of food, and keeps his chamber.
'In the time that Fryer Bacon kept his Chamber, hee fell into
divers meditations; sometimes into the vanity of Arts and
Sciences; then would he condemne himselfe for studying of
those things that were so contrary to his Order soules
health; and would say, That magicke made a man a Devill:
sometimes would hee meditate on divinity; then would hee cry
out upon himselfe for neglecting the study of it, and for
studying magicke: sometime would he meditate on the
shortnesse of mans life, then would he condemne himself for
spending a time so short, so ill as he had done his: so would
he goe from one thing to another, and in all condemne his
former studies.
'And that the world should know how truly he did repent his
wicked life, he caused to be made a great fire; and sending
for many of his friends, schollers, and others, he spake to
them after this manner: My good friends and fellow students,
it is not unknown to you, how that through my Art I have
attained to that credit, that few men living ever had: of the
wonders that I have done, all England can speak, both King
and Commons: I have unlocked the secrets of Art and Nature,
and let the world see those things that have layen hid since
the death of Hermes,[5] that rare and profound philosopher:
my studies have found the secrets of the Starres; the bookes
that I have made of them do serve for precedents to our
greatest Doctors, so excellent hath my judgment been therein.
I likewise have found out the secrets of Trees, Plants, and
Stones, with their several uses; yet all this knowledge of
mine I esteeme so lightly, that I wish that I were ignorant
and knew nothing, for the knowledge of these things (as I
have truly found) serveth not to better a man in goodnesse,
but onely to make him proude and thinke too well of himselfe.
What hath all my knowledge of Nature's secrets gained me?
Onely this, the losse of a better knowledge, the losse of
Divine Studies, which makes the immortal part of man (his
soule) blessed. I have found that my knowledge has beene a
heavy burden, and has kept downe my good thoughts; but I will
remove the cause, which are these Bookes, which I doe purpose
here before you all to burne. They all intreated him to spare
the bookes, because in them there were those things that
after-ages might receive great benefit by. He would not
hearken unto them, but threw them all into the fire, and in
that flame burnt the greatest learning in the world. Then did
he dispose of all his goods; some part he gave to poor
schollers, and some he gave to other poore folkes: nothing
left he for himselfe: then caused hee to be made in the
Church-Wall a Cell, where he locked himselfe in, and there
remained till his Death. His time hee spent in prayer,
meditation, and such Divine exercises, and did seeke by all
means to perswade men from the study of Magicke. Thus lived
hee some two years space in that Cell, never comming forth:
his meat and drink he received in at a window, and at that
window he had discourse with those that came to him; his
grave he digged with his owne nayles, and was there layed
when he dyed. Thus was the Life and Death of this famous
Fryer, who lived most part of his life a Magician, and dyed a
true Penitent Sinner and Anchorite.'
Upon this popular romance Greene, one of the best of the second-class
Elizabethan dramatists, founded his rattling comedy, entitled 'The
Historye of Fryer Bacon and Fryer Bungay,' which was written, it would
seem, in 1589, first acted about 1592, and published in 1594. He does
not servilely follow the old story-book, but introduces an under-plot
of his own, in which is shown the love of Prince Edward for Margaret,
the 'Fair Maid of Fressingfield,' whom the Prince finally surrenders
to the man she loves, his favourite and friend, Lacy, Earl of Lincoln.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] This patriotic sentiment would seem to show that the book was
written or published about the time of the Spanish Armada.
[5] Hermes Trismegistus ('thrice great'), a fabulous Chaldean
philosopher, to whom I have already made reference. The numerous
writings which bear his name were really composed by the Egyptian
Platonists; but the mediæval alchemists pretend to recognise in him
the founder of their art. Gower, in his 'Confessio Amantis,' says:
'Of whom if I the namès calle,
Hermes was one the first of alle,
To whom this Art is most applied.'
The name of Hermes was chosen because of the supposed magical powers
of the god of the caduceus.
GREENE'S COMEDY.
In Scene I., which takes place near Framlingham, in Suffolk, we find
Prince Edward eloquently expatiating on the charms of the Fair Maid to
an audience of his courtiers, one of whom advises him, if he would
prove successful in his suit, to seek the assistance of Friar Bacon, a
'brave necromancer,' who 'can make women of devils, and juggle cats
into coster-mongers.'[6] The Prince acts upon this advice.
Scene II. introduces us to Friar Bacon's cell at Brasenose College,
Oxford (an obvious anachronism, as the college was not founded until
long after Bacon's time). Enter Bacon and his poor scholar, Miles,
with books under his arm; also three doctors of Oxford: Burden, Mason,
and Clement.
BACON. Miles, where are you?
MILES. _Hic sum, doctissime et reverendissime Doctor._ (Here
I am, most learned and reverend Doctor.)
BACON. _Attulisti nostros libros meos de necromantia?_ (Hast
thou brought my books of necromancy?)
MILES. _Ecce quam bonum et quam jucundum habitare libros in
unum!_ (See how good and how pleasant it is to dwell among
books together!)
BACON. Now, masters of our academic state
That rule in Oxford, viceroys in your place,
Whose heads contain maps of the liberal arts,
Spending your time in depths of learnèd skill,
Why flock you thus to Bacon's secret cell,
A friar newly stalled in Brazen-nose?
Say what's your mind, that I may make reply.
BURDEN. Bacon, we hear that long we have suspect,
That thou art read in Magic's mystery:
In pyromancy,[7] to divine by flames;
To tell by hydromancy, ebbs and tides;
By aeromancy to discover doubts,--
To plain out questions, as Apollo did.
BACON. Well, Master Burden, what of all this?
MILES. Marry, sir, he doth but fulfil, by rehearsing of these
names, the fable of the 'Fox and the Grapes': that which is
above us pertains nothing to us.
BURD. I tell thee, Bacon, Oxford makes report,
Nay, England, and the Court of Henry says
Thou'rt making of a Brazen Head by art,
Which shall unfold strange doubts and aphorisms,
And read a lecture in philosophy:
And, by the help of devils and ghastly fiends,
Thou mean'st, ere many years or days be past,
To compass England with a wall of brass.
BACON. And what of this?
MILES. What of this, master! why, he doth speak mystically;
for he knows, if your skill fail to make a Brazen Head, yet
Master Waters' strong ale will fit his time to make him have
a copper nose....
BACON. Seeing you come as friends unto the friar,
Resolve you, doctors, Bacon can by books
Make storming Boreas thunder from his cave,
And dim fair Luna to a dark eclipse.
The great arch-ruler, potentate of hell,
Tumbles when Bacon bids him, or his fiends
Bow to the force of his pentageron.[8] ...
I have contrived and framed a head of brass
(I made Belcephon hammer out the stuff),
And that by art shall read philosophy:
And I will strengthen England by my skill,
That if ten Cæsars lived and reigned in Rome,
With all the legions Europe doth contain,
They should not touch a grass of English ground:
The work that Ninus reared at Babylon,
The brazen walls framed by Semiramis,
Carved out like to the portal of the sun,
Shall not be such as rings the English strand
From Dover to the market-place of Rye.
In this patriotic resolution of the potent friar the reader will trace
the influence of the national enthusiasm awakened, only a few years
before Greene's comedy was written and produced, by the menace of the
Spanish Armada.
It is unnecessary to quote the remainder of this scene, in which Bacon
proves his magical skill at the expense of the jealous Burden. Scene
III. passes at Harleston Fair, and introduces Lacy, Earl of Lincoln,
disguised as a rustic, and the comely Margaret. In Scene IV., at
Hampton Court, Henry III. receives Elinor of Castile, who is betrothed
to his son, Prince Edward, and arranges with her father, the Emperor,
a competition between the great German magician, Jaques Vandermast,
and Friar Bacon, 'England's only flower.' In Scene V. we pass on to
Oxford, where some comic incidents occur between Prince Edward (in
disguise) and his courtiers; and in Scene VI. to Friar Bacon's cell,
where the friar shows the Prince in his 'glass prospective,' or magic
mirror, the figures of Margaret, Friar Bungay, and Earl Lacy, and
reveals the progress of Lacy's suit to the rustic beauty. Bacon
summons Bungay to Oxford--straddling on a devil's back--and the scene
then changes to the Regent-house, and degenerates into the rudest
farce. At Fressingfield, in Scene VIII., we find Prince Edward
threatening to slay Earl Lacy unless he gives up to him the Fair Maid
of Fressingfield; but, after a struggle, his better nature prevails,
and he retires from his suit, leaving Margaret to become the Countess
of Lincoln. Scene IX. carries us back to Oxford, where Henry III., the
Emperor, and a goodly company have assembled to witness the trial of
skill between the English and the German magicians--the first
international competition on record!--in which, of course, Vandermast
is put to ridicule.
Passing over Scene X. as unimportant, we return, in Scene XI., to
Bacon's cell, where the great magician is lying on his bed, with a
white wand in one hand, a book in the other, and beside him a lighted
lamp. The Brazen Head is there, with Miles, armed, keeping watch over
it. Here the dramatist closely follows the old story. The friar falls
asleep; the head speaks once and twice, and Miles fails to wake his
master. It speaks the third time. 'A lightning flashes forth, and a
hand appears that breaks down the head with a hammer.' Bacon awakes to
lament over the ruin of his work, and load the careless Miles with
unavailing reproaches. But the whole scene is characteristic enough to
merit transcription:
Scene XI.--_Friar Bacon's Cell._
_FRIAR BACON is discovered lying on a bed, with a white stick
in one hand, a book in the other, and a lamp lighted beside
him; and the BRAZEN HEAD, and MILES with weapons by him._
BACON. Miles, where are you?
MILES. Here, sir.
BACON. How chance you tarry so long?
MILES. Think you that the watching of the Brazen Head craves
no furniture? I warrant you, sir, I have so armed myself
that if all your devils come, I will not fear them an inch.
BACON. Miles,
Thou know'st that I have divèd into hell,
And sought the darkest palaces of fiends;
That with my magic spells great Belcephon
Hath left his lodge and kneelèd at my cell;
The rafters of the earth rent from the poles,
And three-form'd Luna hid her silver looks,
Tumbling upon her concave continent,
When Bacon read upon his magic book.
With seven years' tossing necromantic charms,
Poring upon dark Hecat's principles,
I have framed out a monstrous head of brass,
That, by the enchanting forces of the devil,
Shall tell out strange and uncouth aphorisms,
And girt fair England with a wall of brass.
Bungay and I have watch'd these threescore days,
And now our vital spirits crave some rest:
If Argus lived and had his hundred eyes,
They could not over-watch Phobetor's[9] night.
Now, Miles, in thee rests Friar Bacon's weal:
The honour and renown of all his life
Hangs in the watching of this Brazen Head;
Therefore I charge thee by the immortal God
That holds the souls of men within his fist,
This night thou watch; for ere the morning star
Sends out his glorious glister on the north
The Head will speak. Then, Miles, upon thy life
Wake me; for then by magic art I'll work
To end my seven years' task with excellence.
If that a wink but shut thy watchful eye,
Then farewell Bacon's glory and his fame!
Draw close the curtains, Miles: now, for thy life,
Be watchful, and ... (_Falls asleep._)
MILES. So; I thought you would talk yourself asleep anon; and
'tis no marvel, for Bungay on the days, and he on the nights,
have watched just these ten and fifty days: now this is the
night, and 'tis my task, and no more. Now, Jesus bless me,
what a goodly head it is! and a nose! You talk of _Nos[10]
autem glorificare_; but here's a nose that I warrant may be
called _Nos autem populare_ for the people of the parish.
Well, I am furnished with weapons: now, sir, I will set me
down by a post, and make it as good as a watchman to wake me,
if I chance to slumber. I thought, Goodman Head, I would call
you out of your _memento_.[11] Passion o' God, I have almost
broke my pate! (_A great noise._) Up, Miles, to your task;
take your brown-bill in your hand; here's some of your
master's hobgoblins abroad.
THE BRAZEN HEAD (_speaks_). Time is.
MILES. Time is! Why, Master Brazen-Head, you have such a
capital nose, and answer you with syllables, 'Time is'? Is
this my master's cunning, to spend seven years' study about
'Time is'? Well, sir, it may be we shall have some better
orations of it anon: well, I'll watch you as narrowly as
ever you were watched, and I'll play with you as the
nightingale with the glow-worm; I'll set a prick against my
breast.[12] Now rest there, Miles. Lord have mercy upon me, I
have almost killed myself. (_A great noise._) Up, Miles; list
how they rumble.
THE BRAZEN HEAD (_loquitur_). Time was.
MILES. Well, Friar Bacon, you have spent your seven years'
study well, that can make your Head speak but two words at
once, 'Time was.' Yea, marry, time was when my master was a
wise man; but that was before he began to make the Brazen
Head. You shall lie while you ache, an your head speak no
better. Well, I will watch, and walk up and down, and be a
peripatetian[13] and a philosopher of Aristotle's stamp. (_A
great noise._) What, a fresh noise? Take thy pistols in hand,
Miles. (_A lightning flashes forth, and a Hand appears that
breaks down the HEAD with a hammer._) Master, master, up!
Hell's broken loose! Your Head speaks; and there's such a
thunder and lightning, that I warrant all Oxford is up in
arms. Out of your bed, and take a brownbill in your hand; the
latter day is come.
BACON. Miles, I come. (_Rises and comes forward._)
O, passing warily watched!
Bacon will make thee next himself in love.
When spake the Head?
MILES. When spake the Head? Did you not say that he should
tell strange principles of philosophy? Why, sir, it speaks
but two words at a time.
BACON. Why, villain, hath it spoken oft?
MILES. Oft! ay, marry hath it, thrice; but in all those three
times it hath uttered but seven words.
BACON. As how?
MILES. Marry, sir, the first time he said, 'Time is,' as if
Fabius Commentator[14] should have pronounced a sentence;
then he said, 'Time was;' and the third time, with thunder
and lightning, as in great choler, he said, 'Time is past.'
BACON. 'Tis past, indeed. Ah, villain! Time is past;
My life, my fame, my glory, are all past.
Bacon,
The turrets of thy hope are ruined down,
Thy seven years' study lieth in the dust:
Thy Brazen Head lies broken through a slave
That watched, and would not when the Head did will.
What said the Head first?
MILES. Even, sir, 'Time is.'
BACON. Villain, if thou hadst called to Bacon then,
If thou hadst watched, and waked the sleepy friar,
The Brazen Head had uttered aphorisms,
And England had been circled round with brass:
But proud Asmenoth,[15] ruler of the North,
And Demogorgon,[16] master of the Fates,
Grudge that a mortal man should work so much.
Hell trembled at my deep-commanding spells,
Fiends frowned to see a man their over-match;
Bacon might boast more than a man might boast;
But now the braves[17] of Bacon have an end,
Europe's conceit of Bacon hath an end,
His seven years' practice sorteth to ill end:
And, villain, sith my glory hath an end,
I will appoint thee to some fatal end.[18]
Villain, avoid! get thee from Bacon's sight!
Vagrant, go, roam and range about the world,
And perish as a vagabond on earth!
MILES. Why, then, sir, you forbid me your service?
BACON. My service, villain, with a fatal curse,
That direful plagues and mischief fall on thee.
MILES. 'Tis no matter, I am against you with the old proverb,
'The more the fox is cursed, the better he fares.' God be
with you, sir: I'll take but a book in my hand, a
wide-sleeved gown on my back, and a crowned cap[19] on my
head, and see if I can merit promotion.
BACON. Some fiend or ghost haunt on thy weary steps,
Until they do transport thee quick to Hell!
For Bacon shall have never any day,
To lose the fame and honour of his Head.
[_Exeunt._
Scene XII. passes in King Henry's Court, and the royal consent is
given to Earl Lacy's marriage with the Fair Maid, which is fixed to
take place on the same day as Prince Edward's marriage to the Princess
Elinor. In Scene XIII. we again go back to Bacon's cell. The friar is
bewailing the destruction of his Brazen Head to Friar Bungay, when two
young gentlemen, named Lambert and Sealsby, enter, in order to look
into the 'glass prospective,' and see how their fathers are faring.
Unhappily, at this very moment, the elder Lambert and Sealsby, having
quarrelled, are engaged 'in combat hard by Fressingfield,' and stab
each other to the death, whereupon their sons immediately come to
blows, with a like fatal result. Bacon, deeply affected, breaks the
magic crystal which has been the unwitting cause of so sad a
catastrophe, expresses his regret that he ever dabbled in the unholy
science, and announces his resolve to spend the remainder of his life
'in pure devotion.'
At Fressingfield, in Scene XIV., the opportune arrival of Lacy and his
friends prevents Margaret from carrying out her intention of retiring
to the nunnery at Framlingham, and with obliging readiness she
consents to marry the Earl. Scene XV. shifts to Bacon's cell, where a
devil complains that the friar hath raised him from the darkest deep
to search about the world for Miles, his man, and torment him in
punishment for his neglect of orders.
Miles makes his appearance, and after some comic dialogue, intended to
tickle the ears of the groundlings, mounts astride the demon's back,
and goes off to ----! In Scene XVI., and last, we return to the Court,
where royalty makes a splendid show, and the two brides--the Princess
Elinor and the Countess Margaret--display their rival charms. Of
course the redoubtable friar is present, and in his concluding speech
leaps over a couple of centuries to make a glowing compliment to Queen
Elizabeth, which seems worth quotation:
'I find by deep prescience of mine art,
Which once I tempered in my secret cell,
That here where Brute did build his Troynovant,[20]
From forth the royal garden of a King
Shall flourish out so rich and fair a bud,
Whose brightness shall deface proud Phoebus' flower,
And overshadow Albion with her leaves.
Till then Mars shall be master of the field,
But then the stormy threats of war shall cease:
The horse shall stamp as careless of the pike,
Drums shall be turned to timbrels of delight;
With wealthy favours Plenty shall enrich
The strand that gladded wandering Brute to see,
And peace from heaven shall harbour in these leaves
That gorgeous beautify this matchless flower:
Apollo's heliotropian[21] then shall stoop,
And Venus' hyacinth[22] shall vail her top;
Juno shall shut her gilliflowers up,
And Pallas' bay shall 'bash her brightest green;
Ceres' carnation, in consort with those,
Shall stoop and wonder at Diana's rose.'[23]
So much for Greene's comedy of 'Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay'--not, on
the whole, a bad piece of work.
* * * * *
Among the earlier English alchemists I may next name, in chronological
order, George Ripley, canon of Bridlington, who, in 1471, dedicated to
King Edward III. his once celebrated 'Compound of Alchemy; or, The
Twelve Gates leading to the Discovery of the Philosopher's Stone.'
These 'gates,' each of which he describes in detail, but with little
enlightenment to the uninitiated reader, are:--1. Calcination; 2.
Solution; 3. Separation; 4. Conjunction; 5. Putrefaction; 6.
Congelation; 7. Cibation; 8. Sublimation; 9. Fermentation; 10.
Exaltation; 11. Multiplication; and 12. Projection. In his old age
Ripley learned wisdom, and frankly acknowledged that he had wasted his
life upon an empty pursuit. He requested all men, if they met with any
of the five-and-twenty treatises of which he was the author, to
consign them to the flames as absolutely vain and worthless.
Yet there is a wild story that he actually discovered the
'magisterium,' and was thereby enabled to send a gift of £100,000 to
the Knights of St. John, to assist them in their defence of Rhodes
against the Turks.
* * * * *
Thomas Norton, of Bristol, was the author of 'The Ordinall of Alchemy'
(printed in London in 1652). He is said to have been a pupil of
Ripley, under whom (at the age of 28) he studied for forty days, and
in that short time acquired a thorough knowledge of 'the perfection of
chemistry.' Ripley, however, refused to instruct so young a man in the
master-secret of the great science, and the process from 'the white'
to 'the red powder,' so that Norton was compelled to rely on his own
skill and industry. Twice in his labours a sad disappointment overtook
him. On one occasion he had almost completed the tincture, when the
servant whom he employed to look after the furnace decamped with it,
supposing that it was fit for use. On another it was stolen by the
wife of William Canning, Mayor of Bristol, who immediately sprang into
immense wealth, and as some amends, I suppose, for his ill-gotten
gains, built the beautiful steeple of the church of St. Mary,
Redcliffe--the church afterwards connected with the sad story of
Chatterton. As for Norton, he seems to have lived in poverty and died
in poverty (1477).
The 'Ordinall of Alchemy' is a tedious panegyric of the science,
interspersed with a good deal of the vague talk about white and red
stones and the philosophical magnesia in which 'the adepts' delighted.
* * * * *
To Norton we owe our scanty knowledge of Thomas Dalton, who flourished
about the middle of the fifteenth century. He had the reputation of
being a devout Churchman until he was accused by a certain Debois of
possessing the powder of projection. Debois roundly asserted that
Norton had made him a thousand pounds of gold (lucky man!) in less
than twelve hours. Whereupon Dalton simply said, 'Sir, you are
forsworn.' His explanation was that he had received the powder from a
canon of Lichfield, on undertaking not to use it until after the
canon's death; and that since he had been so troubled by his
possession of it, that he had secretly destroyed it. One Thomas
Herbert, a squire of King Edward, waylaid the unfortunate man, and
shut him up in the castle of Gloucester, putting heavy pressure upon
him to make the coveted tincture. But this Dalton would not and could
not do; and after a captivity of four years, Herbert ordered him to be
brought out and executed in his presence. He obeyed the harsh summons
with great delight, exclaiming, 'Blessed art Thou, Lord Jesus! I have
been too long absent from Thee. The science Thou gavest me I have
kept without ever abusing it; I have found no one fit to be my heir;
wherefore, sweet Lord, I will restore Thy gift to Thee again.'
'Then, after some devout prayer, with a smiling countenance he desired
the executioner to proceed. Tears gushed from the eyes of Herbert when
he beheld him so willing to die, and saw that no ingenuity could wrest
his secret from him. He gave orders for his release. His imprisonment
and threatened execution were contrived without the King's knowledge
to intimidate him into compliance. The iniquitous devices having
failed, Herbert did not dare to take away his life. Dalton rose from
the block with a heavy countenance, and returned to his abbey, much
grieved at the further prolongation of his earthly sojourn. Herbert
died shortly after this atrocious act of tyranny, and Debois also came
to an untimely end. His father, Sir John Debois, was slain at the
battle of Tewkesbury, May 4, 1471; and two days after, as recorded in
Stow's "Annales," he himself (James Debois) was taken, with several
others of the Lancastrian party, from a church where they had fled for
sanctuary, and was beheaded on the spot.'
FOOTNOTES:
[6] That is, costard, or apple, mongers.
[7] See Appendix to the present chapter, p. 58.
[8] The pentageron, or pentagramma, is a mystic figure produced by
prolonging the sides of a regular pentagon till they intersect one
another. It can be drawn without a break in the drawing, and, viewed
from five sides, exhibits the form of the letter A (pent-alpha), or
the figure of the fifth proposition in Euclid's First Book.
[9] From the Greek +phobos+, fear; +phobêtra+, bugbears.
[10] Bad puns were evidently common on the stage before the days of
Victorian burlesque.
[11] So Shakespeare, '1 Hen. IV.,' iii. Falstaff says: 'I make as good
use of it as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento house.'
[12] So in the 'Passionate Pilgrim':
'Save the nightingale alone:
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Leaned her breast uptill a thorn.'
[13] A _peripatetic_, or walking philosopher. Observe the
facetiousness in 'Aristotle's _stamp_.' Aristotle was the founder of
the Peripatetics.
[14] Fabius _Cunctator_, or the Delayer, so called from the policy of
delay which he opposed to the vigorous movements of Hannibal. One
would suppose that the humour here, such as it is, would hardly be
perceptible to a theatrical audience.
[15] In the old German 'Faustbuch,' the title of 'Prince of the North'
is given to Beelzebub.
[16] _Demogorgon_, or _Demiourgos_--the creative principle of
evil--figures largely in literature. He is first mentioned by
Lactantius, in the fourth century; then by Boccaccio, Boiardo, Tasso
('Gierusalemme Liberata'), and Ariosto ('Orlando Furioso'). Marlowe
speaks, in 'Tamburlaine,' of 'Gorgon, prince of Hell.' Spenser, in
'The Faery Queen,' refers to--
'Great Gorgon, prince of darkness and dead night,
At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to flight.'
Milton, in 'Paradise Lost,' alludes to 'the dreaded name of
Demogorgon.' Dryden says: 'When the moon arises, and Demogorgon walks
his round.' And he is one of the _dramatis personæ_ of Shelley's
'Prometheus Unbound': 'Demogorgon, a tremendous gloom.... A mighty
Darkness, filling the seat of power.'
[17] Boasts. So in Peele's 'Edward I': 'As thou to England brought'st
thy Scottish braves.'
[18] This reiteration of the same final word, for the sake of
emphasis, is found in Shakespeare.
[19] A corner or college cap.
[20] An allusion to the old legend that Brut, or Brutus,
great-grandson of Æneas, founded New Troy (Troynovant), or London.
[21] Probably the reference is to the sunflower.
[22] The classic writers usually identify the hyacinth with Apollo.
[23] The rose, that is, of the Virgin Queen--an English
Diana--Elizabeth. In Shakespeare's 'Midsummer Night's Dream'
(Act iv., scene 1) we read of 'Diana's bud.'
APPENDIX TO CHAPTER I.
The ancient magic included various kinds of divination, of which the
principal may here be catalogued:
_Aeromancy_, or divination from the air. If the wind blew from the
east, it signified good fortune (which is certainly not the general
opinion!); from the west, evil; from the south, calamity; from the
north, disclosure of what was secret; from all quarters simultaneously
(!), hail and rain.
_Axinomancy_, practised by the Greeks, more particularly for the
purpose of discovering criminals. An axe poised upon a stake, or an
agate on a red-hot axe, was supposed by its movement to indicate the
offender. Or the names of suspected persons were called out, and the
movement of the axe at a particular name was understood to certify
guilt.
_Belomancy_, in use among the Arabs, was practised by means of arrows,
which were shot off, with written labels attached to them; and the
inscription on the arrow first picked up was accepted as prophetic.
_Bibliomancy_, divining by means of the Bible, survived to a
comparatively recent period. The passage which first caught the eye,
on a Bible being opened haphazard, was supposed to indicate the
future. This was identical with the _Sortes Virgilianæ_, the only
difference being that in the latter, Virgil took the place of the
Bible. Everybody knows in connection with the Sortes the story of
Charles I. and Lord Falkland.
_Botanomancy_, divining by means of plants and flowers, can hardly be
said to be extinct even now. In Goethe's 'Faust,' Gretchen seeks to
discover whether Faust returns her affection by plucking, one after
another, the petals of a star-flower (_sternblume_, perhaps the
china-aster), while she utters the alternate refrains, 'He loves me!'
'He loves me not!' as she plucks the last petal, exclaiming
rapturously, 'He loves me!' According to Theocritus, the Greeks used
the poppy-flower for this purpose.
_Capnomancy_, divination by smoke, the ancients practised in two ways:
they threw seeds of jasmine or poppy in the fire, watching the motion
and density of the smoke they emitted, or they observed the
sacrificial smoke. If the smoke was thin, and shot up in a straight
line, it was a good omen.
_Cheiromancy_ (or Palmistry), divination by the hand, was worked up
into an elaborate system by Paracelsus, Cardan, and others. It has
long been practised by the gipsies, by itinerant fortune-tellers, and
other cheats; and recently an attempt has been made to give it a
fashionable character.
_Coscinomancy_ was practised by means of a sieve and a pair of shears
or forceps. The forceps or shears were used to suspend a sieve, which
moved (like the axe in axinomancy) when the name of a guilty person
was mentioned.
_Crystallomancy_, divining by means of a crystal globe, mirror, or
beryl. Of this science of prediction, Dr. Dee was the great English
professor; but the reader will doubtless remember the story of the
Earl of Surrey and his fair 'Geraldine.'
_Geomancy_, divination by casting pebbles on the ground.
_Hydromancy_, divination by water, in which the diviner showed the
figure of an absent person. 'In this you conjure the spirits into
water; there they are constrained to show themselves, as Marcus Varro
testifieth, when he writeth how he had seen a boy in the water, who
announced to him in a hundred and fifty verses the end of the
Mithridatic war.'
_Oneiromancy_, divination by dreams, is still credited by old women of
both sexes. Absurdly baseless as it is, it found believers in the old
time among men of culture and intellectual force. Archbishop Laud
attached so much importance to his dreams that he frequently recorded
them in his diary; and even Lord Bacon seems to have thought that a
prophetic meaning was occasionally concealed in them.
_Onychomancy_, or _Onymancy_, divination by means of the nails of an
unpolluted boy.
_Pyromancy_, divination by fire. 'The wife of Cicero is said, when,
after performing sacrifice, she saw a flame suddenly leap forth from
the ashes, to have prophesied the consulship to her husband for the
same year.' Others resorted to the blaze of a torch of pitch, which
was painted with certain colours. It was a good omen if the flame ran
into a point; bad when it divided. A thin-tongued flame announced
glory; if it went out, it signified danger; if it hissed, misfortune.
_Rabdomancy_, divination by the rod or wand, is mentioned by Ezekiel.
The use of a hazel-rod to trace the existence of water or of a seam of
coal seems a survival of this practice. But enough of these follies:
'Necro-, pyro-, geo-, hydro-, cheiro-, coscinomancy,
With other vain and superstitious sciences.'
Tomkis, 'Albumazar,' ii. 3.
CHAPTER II.
THE STORY OF DR. JOHN DEE.
The world must always feel curious to know the exact moment when its
great men first drew the breath of life; and it is satisfactory,
therefore, to be able to state, on the weighty authority of Dr. Thomas
Smith, that Dr. John Dee, the famous magician and 'philosopher,' was
born at forty minutes past four o'clock on the morning of July 13,
1527. According to the picturesque practice of latter-day biographers,
here I ought to describe a glorious summer sunrise, the golden light
spreading over hill and pasture, the bland warm air stealing into the
chamber where lay the mother and her infant; but I forbear, as, for
all I know, this particular July morning may have been cloudy, cold,
and wet; besides, John, the son of Rowland Dee, was born in London.
From like want of information I refrain from comments on Master Dee's
early bringing-up and education. But it is reported that he gave proof
of so exceptional a capacity, and of such a love of letters, that, at
the early age of fifteen, he was sent to the University of Cambridge,
to study the classics and the old scholastic philosophy. There, for
three years, he was so vehemently bent, he says, on the acquisition of
learning, that he spent eighteen hours a day on his books, reserving
two only for his meals and recreation, and four for sleep--an
unhealthy division of time, which probably over-stimulated his
cerebral system and predisposed him to delusions and caprices of the
imagination. Having taken his degree of B.A., he crossed the seas in
1547 'to speak and confer' with certain learned men, chiefly
mathematicians, such as Gemma Frisius, Gerardus Mercator, Gaspar a
Morica, and Antonius Gogara; of whom the only one now remembered is
Mercator, as the inventor of a method of laying down hydrographical
charts, in which the parallels and meridians intersect each other at
right angles. After spending some months in the Low Countries he
returned home, bringing with him 'the first astronomer's staff of
brass that was made of Gemma Frisius' devising, the two great globes
of Gerardus Mercator's making, and the astronomer's ring of brass (as
Gemma Frisius had newly framed it).'
Returning to the classic shades of Granta, he began to record his
observations of 'the heavenly influences in this elemental portion of
the world;' and I suppose it was in recognition of his scientific
scholarship that Henry VIII. appointed him to a fellowship at Trinity
College, and Greek under-reader. In the latter capacity he
superintended, in 1548, the performance of the +Eirênê+ of
Aristophanes, introducing among 'the effects' an artificial scarabæus,
which ascended, with a man and his wallet of provisions on its back,
to Jupiter's palace. This ingenious bit of mechanism delighted the
spectators, but, after the manner of the time, was ascribed to Dee's
occultism, and he found it convenient to retire to the Continent
(1548), residing for awhile at Louvain, and devoting himself to
hermetic researches, and afterwards at Paris (1580), where he
delivered scientific lectures to large and distinguished audiences.
'My auditory in Rhemes Colledge,' he says, 'was so great, and the most
part older than my selfe, that the mathematicall schooles could not
hold them; for many were faine, without the schooles, at the windowes,
to be auditors and spectators, as they best could help themselves
thereto. I did also dictate upon every proposition, beside the first
exposition. And by the first foure principall definitions representing
to the eyes (which by imagination onely are exactly to be conceived),
a greater wonder arose among the beholders, than of my Aristophanes
Scarabæus mounting up to the top of Trinity-hall in Cambridge.'
The accomplishments of this brilliant scientific mountebank being
noised abroad over all Europe, the wonderful story reached the remote
Court of the Muscovite, who offered him, if he would take up his
residence at Moscow, a stipend of £2,000 per annum, his diet also to be
allowed to him free out of 'the Emperor's own kitchen, and his place to
be ranked amongst the highest sort of the nobility there, and of his
privy councillors.' Was ever scholar so tempted before or since? In
those times, the Russian Court seems to have held _savants_ and
scholars in as much esteem as nowadays it holds _prima-donnas_ and
_ballerines_. Dee also received advantageous proposals from four
successive Emperors of Germany (Charles V., Ferdinand, Maximilian II.,
and Rudolph II.), but the Muscovite's outbade them all. A residence in
the heart of Russia had no attraction, however, for the Oxford scholar,
who, in 1551, returned to England with a halo of fame playing round his
head (to speak figuratively, as Dee himself loved to do), which
recommended him to the celebrated Greek professor at Cambridge, Sir
John Cheke. Cheke introduced him to Mr. Secretary Cecil, as well as to
Edward VI., who bestowed upon him a pension of 100 crowns per annum
(speedily exchanged, in 1553, for the Rectory of Upton-upon-Severn). At
first he met with favour from Queen Mary; but the close correspondence
he maintained with the Princess Elizabeth, who appreciated his
multifarious scholarship, exposed him to suspicion, and he was accused
of practising against the Queen's life by divers enchantments. Arrested
and imprisoned (at Hampton Court), he was subjected to rigorous
examinations, and as no charge of treason could be proved against him,
was remitted to Bishop Bonner as a possible heretic. But his enemies
failed again in their malicious intent, and in 1555 he received his
liberty. Imprisonment and suffering had not quenched his activity of
temper, and almost immediately upon his release he solicited the
Queen's assent to a plan for the restoration and preservation of
certain precious manuscripts of classical antiquity. He solicited in
vain.
When Elizabeth came to the throne, Dee, as a proficient in the occult
arts, was consulted by Dudley (afterwards Earl of Leicester) as to the
most suitable and auspicious day for her coronation. She testified to
her own belief in his skill by employing him, when her image in wax
had been discovered in Lincoln's Inn Fields, to counteract the evil
charm. But he owed her favour, we may assume, much more to his
learning, which was really extensive, than to his supposed magical
powers. He tells us that, shortly before her coronation, she summoned
him to Whitehall, remarking to his patrons, Dudley and the Earl of
Pembroke, 'Where my brother hath given him a crown, I will give him a
noble.' She was certainly more liberal to Dee than to many of her
servants who were much more deserving. In December, 1564, she granted
him the reversion of the Deanery of Gloucester. Not long afterwards
his friends recommended him for the Provostship of Eton College.
'Favourable answers' were returned, but he never received the
Provostship. He obtained permission, however, to hold for ten years
the two rectories of Upton and Long Ledenham. Later in her reign
(July, 1583), when two great nobles invited themselves to dine with
him, he was compelled to decline the honour on account of his poverty.
The Queen, on being apprised of this incident, sent him a present of
forty angels of gold. We shall come upon other proofs of her
generosity.
Dee was travelling on the Continent in 1571, and on his way through
Lorraine was seized with a dangerous sickness; whereupon the Queen not
only sent 'carefully and with great speed' two of her physicians, but
also the honourable Lord Sidney 'in a manner to tend on him,' and 'to
discern how his health bettered, and to comfort him from her Majesty
with divers very pithy speeches and gracious, and also with divers
rarities to eat, to increase his health and strength.' Philosophers
and men of letters, when they are ailing, meet with no such pleasant
attentions nowadays! But the list of Elizabeth's bounties is not yet
ended. The much-travelling scholar, who saw almost as much of cities
and men and manners as Odysseus himself, had wandered into the
farthest parts of the kingdom of Bohemia; and that no evil might come
to him, or his companion, or their families, she sent them her most
princely and royal letters of safe-conduct. After his return home, a
little before Christmas, 1589, hearing that he was unable to keep
house as liberally as became his position and repute, she promised to
assist him with the gift of a hundred pounds, and once or twice
repeated the promise on his coming into her presence. Fifty pounds he
_did_ receive, with which to keep his Christmas merrily, but what
became of the other moiety he was never able to discover. A malignant
influence frequently interposed, it would seem, between the Queen's
benevolence in intention and her charity in action; and the
unfortunate doctor was sometimes tantalized with promises of good
things which failed to be realized. On the whole, however, I do not
think he had much to complain of; and the reproach of parsimony so
often levelled at great Gloriana would certainly not apply to her
treatment of Dr. Dee.
She honoured him with several visits at Mortlake, where he had a
pleasant house close by the riverside, and a little to the westward of
the church--surrounded by gardens and green fields, with bright
prospects of the shining river. Elizabeth always came down from
Whitehall on horseback, attended by a brave retinue of courtiers; and
as she passed along, her loyal subjects stood at their doors, or lined
the roadside, making respectful bows and curtseys, and crying, 'God
save the Queen!' One of these royal visits was made on March 10, 1575,
the Queen desiring to see the doctor's famous library; but learning
that he had buried his wife only four hours before, she refused to
enter the house. Dee, however, submitted to her inspection his magic
crystal, or 'black stone,' and exhibited some of its marvellous
properties; her Majesty, for the better examination of the same, being
taken down from her horse 'by the Earl of Leicester, by the Church
wall of Mortlack.'
She was at Dr. Dee's again on September 17, 1580. This time she came
from Richmond in her coach, a wonderfully cumbrous vehicle, drawn by
six horses; 'and when she was against my garden in the fielde,' says
the doctor, 'her Majestie staide there a good while, and then came
into the street at the great gate of the field, where her Majestie
espied me at my dore, making reverent and dutifull obeysance unto her,
and with her hand her Majestie beckoned for me to come to her, and I
came to her coach side; her Majestie then very speedily pulled off her
glove, and gave me her hand to kiss; and to be short, her Majestie
wished me to resort oftener to her Court, and by some of her Privy
Chamber to give her Majestie to wete (know) when I came there.'
Another visit took place on October 10, 1580:--'The Queenes Majestie
to my great comfort (_horâ quintâ_) came with her train from the
Court, and at my dore graciously calling me unto her, on horseback
exhorted me briefly to take my mother's death patiently; and withal
told me, that the Lord Treasurer had greatly commended my doings for
her title royall, which he had to examine. The which title in two
rolls of velome parchment his Honour had some houres before brought
home, and delivered to Mr. Hudson for me to receive at my coming from
my mother's buriall at church. Her Majestie remembered also then, how
at my wives buriall it was her fortune likewise to call upon me at my
house, as before is noted.'
Dee's library--as libraries went then--was not unworthy of royal
inspection. Its proud possessor computed it to be worth £2,000, which,
at the present value of money, would be equal, I suppose, to £10,000.
It consisted of about 4,000 volumes, bound and unbound, a fourth part
being MSS. He speaks of four 'written books'--one in Greek, two in
French, and one in High Dutch--as having cost him £533, and inquires
triumphantly what must have been the value of some hundred of the
best of all the other written books, some of which were the
_autographia_ of excellent and seldom-heard-of authors? He adds that
he spent upwards of forty years in collecting this library from divers
places beyond the seas, and with much research and labour in England.
Of the 'precious books' thus collected, Dee does not mention the
titles; but he has recorded the rare and exquisitely made 'instruments
mathematical' which belonged to him: An excellent, strong, and fair
quadrant, first made by that famous Richard Chancellor who boldly
carried his discovery-ships past the Icy Cape, and anchored them in
the White Sea. There was also an excellent _radius astronomicus_, of
ten feet in length, the staff and cross very curiously divided into
equal parts, after Richard Chancellor's quadrant manner. Item, two
globes of Mercator's best making: on the celestial sphere Dee, with
his own hand, had set down divers comets, their places and motions,
according to his individual observation. Item, divers other
instruments, as the theorie of the eighth sphere, the ninth and tenth,
with an horizon and meridian of copper, made by Mercator specially for
Dr. Dee. Item, sea-compasses of different kinds. Item, a magnet-stone,
commonly called a loadstone, of great virtue. Also an excellent
watch-clock, made by one Dibbley, 'a notable workman, long since
dead,' by which the time might sensibly be measured in the seconds of
an hour--that is, not to fail the 360th part of an hour. We need not
dwell upon his store of documents relating to Irish and Welsh estates,
and of ancient seals of arms; but my curiosity, I confess, is somewhat
stirred by his reference to 'a great bladder,' with about four pounds
weight of 'a very sweetish thing,' like a brownish gum, in it,
artificially prepared by thirty times purifying, which the doctor
valued at upwards of a hundred crowns.
* * * * *
While engaged in learned studies and correspondence with learned men,
Dee found time to indulge in those wild semi-mystical, transcendental
visions which engaged the imagination of so many mediæval students.
The secret of 'the philosopher's stone' led him into fascinating
regions of speculation, and the ecstasies of Rosicrucianism dazzled
him with the idea of holding communication with the inhabitants of the
other world. How far he was sincere in these pursuits, how far he
imparted into them a spirit of charlatanry, I think it is impossible
to determine. Perhaps one may venture to say that, if to some small
extent an impostor, he was, to a much larger extent, a dupe; that if
he deceived others, he also deceived himself; nor is he, as biography
teaches, the only striking example of the credulous enthusiast who
mingles with his enthusiasm, more or less unconsciously, a leaven of
hypocrisy. As early as 1571 he complains, in the preface to his
'English Euclid,' that he is jeered at by the populace as a conjurer.
By degrees, it is evident, he begins to feel a pride in his magical
attainments. He records with the utmost gravity his remarkable dreams,
and endeavours to read the future by them. He insists, moreover, on
strange noises which he hears in his chamber. In those days a
favourite method of summoning the spirits was to bring them into a
glass or stone which had been prepared for the purpose; and in his
diary, under the date of May 25, 1581, he records--for the first
time--that he had held intercourse in this way with supra-mundane
beings.
Combining with his hermetico-magical speculations religious exercises
of great fervour, he was thus engaged, one day in November, 1582, when
suddenly upon his startled vision rose the angel Uriel 'at the west
window of his laboratory,' and presented him with a translucent stone,
or crystal, of convex shape, possessing the wonderful property of
introducing its owner to the closest possible communication with the
world of spirits. It was necessary at times that this so-called mirror
should be turned in different positions before the observer could
secure the right focus; and then the spirits appeared on its surface,
or in different parts of the room by reason of its action. Further,
only one person, whom Dee calls the _skryer_, or seer, could discover
the spirits, or hear and interpret their voices, just as there can be
but one medium, I believe, at a spiritualistic séance of the present
day. But, of course, it was requisite that, while the medium was
absorbed in his all-important task, some person should be at hand to
describe what he saw, or professed to see, and commit to paper what he
heard, or professed to hear; and a seer with a lively imagination and
a fluent tongue could go very far in both directions. This humbler,
secondary position Dee reserved for himself. Probably his invention
was not sufficiently fertile for the part of a medium, or else he was
too much in earnest to practise an intentional deception. As the
crystal showed him nothing, he himself said so, and looked about for
someone more sympathetic, or less conscientious. His choice fell at
first on a man named Barnabas Saul, and he records in his diary how,
on October 9, 1581, this man 'was strangely troubled by a spiritual
creature about midnight.' In a MS. preserved in the British Museum, he
relates some practices which took place on December 2, beginning his
account with this statement: 'I willed the skryer, named Saul, to
looke into my great crystalline globe, if God had sent his holy angel
Azrael, or no.' But Saul was a fellow of small account, with a very
limited inventive faculty, and on March 6, 1582, he was obliged to
confess 'that he neither heard nor saw any spiritual creature any
more.' Dee and his inefficient, unintelligent skryer then quarrelled,
and the latter was dismissed, leaving behind him an unsavoury
reputation.
EDWARD KELLY.
Soon afterwards our magician made the acquaintance of a certain Edward
Kelly (or Talbot), who was in every way fitted for the mediumistic
_rôle_. He was clever, plausible, impudent, unscrupulous, and a most
accomplished liar. A native of Worcester, where he was born in 1555,
he was bred up, according to one account, as a druggist, according to
another as a lawyer; but all accounts agree that he became an adept in
every kind of knavery. He was pilloried, and lost his ears (or at
least was condemned to lose them) at Lancaster, for the offence of
coining, or for forgery; afterwards retired to Wales, assumed the name
of Kelly, and practised as a conjurer and alchemist. A story is told
of him which illustrates the man's unhesitating audacity, or, at all
events, the notoriety of his character: that he carried with him one
night into the park of Walton-le-Dale, near Preston, a man who
thirsted after a knowledge of the future, and, when certain
incantations had been completed, caused his servants to dig up a
corpse, interred only the day before, that he might compel it to
answer his questions.
How he got introduced to Dr. Dee I do not profess to know; but I am
certainly disinclined to accept the wonderful narrative which Mr.
Waite renders in so agreeable a style--that Kelly, during his Welsh
sojourn, was shown an old manuscript which his landlord, an innkeeper,
had obtained under peculiar circumstances. 'It had been discovered in
the tomb of a bishop who had been buried in a neighbouring church, and
whose tomb had been sacrilegiously up-torn by some fanatics,' in the
hope of securing the treasures reported to be concealed within it.
They found nothing, however, but the aforesaid manuscript, and two
small ivory bottles, respectively containing a ponderous white and red
powder. 'These pearls beyond price were rejected by the pigs of
apostasy: one of them was shattered on the spot, and its ruddy,
celestine contents for the most part lost. The remnant, together with
the remaining bottle and the unintelligible manuscript, were speedily
disposed of to the innkeeper in exchange for a skinful of wine.' The
innkeeper, in his turn, parted with them for one pound sterling to
Master Edward Kelly, who, believing he had obtained a hermetic
treasure, hastened to London to submit it to Dr. Dee.
This accomplished and daring knave was engaged by the credulous doctor
as his skryer, at a salary of £50 per annum, with 'board and lodging,'
and all expenses paid. These were liberal terms; but it must be
admitted that Kelly earned them. Now, indeed, the crystal began to
justify its reputation! Spirits came as thick as blackberries, and
voices as numerous as those of rumour! Kelly's amazing fertility of
fancy never failed his employer, upon whose confidence he established
an extraordinary hold, by judiciously hinting doubts as to the
propriety of the work he had undertaken. How could a man be other than
trustworthy, when he frankly expressed his suspicions of the _mala
fides_ of the spirits who responded to the summons of the crystal? It
was impossible--so the doctor argued--that so candid a medium could be
an impostor, and while resenting the imputations cast upon the
'spiritual creatures,' he came to believe all the more strongly in the
man who slandered them. The difference of opinion gave rise, of
course, to an occasional quarrel. On one occasion (in April, 1582)
Kelly specially provoked his employer by roundly asserting that the
spirits were demons sent to lure them to their destruction; and by
complaining that he was confined in Dee's house as in a prison, and
that it would be better for him to be near Cotsall Plain, where he
might walk abroad without danger.
Some time in 1583 a certain 'Lord Lasky,' that is, Albert Laski or
Alasco, prince or waiwode of Siradia in Poland, and a guest at
Elizabeth's Court, made frequent visits to Dee's house, and was
admitted to the spirit exhibitions of the crystal. It has been
suggested that Kelly had conceived some ambitious projects, which he
hoped to realize through the agency of this Polish noble, and that he
made use of the crystal to work upon his imagination. Thenceforward
the spirits were continually hinting at great European revolutions,
and uttering vague predictions of some extraordinary good fortune
which was in preparation for Alasco. On May 28 Dee and Kelly were
sitting in the doctor's study, discussing the prince's affairs, when
suddenly appeared--perhaps it was an optical trick of the ingenious
Kelly--'a spiritual creature, like a pretty girl of seven or nine
years of age, attired on her head, with her hair rowled up before, and
hanging down very long behind, with a gown of soy, changeable green
and red, and with a train; she seemed to play up and down, and seemed
to go in and out behind my books, lying in heaps; and as she should
ever go between them, the books seemed to give place sufficiently,
dividing one heap from the other while she passed between them. And
so I considered, and heard the diverse reports which E. K. made unto
this pretty maid, and I said, "Whose maiden are you?"' Here follows
the conversation--inane and purposeless enough, and yet deemed worthy
of preservation by the credulous doctor:
DOCTOR DEE'S CONVERSATION WITH THE SPIRITUAL CREATURE.
SHE. Whose man are you?
DEE. I am the servant of God, both by my bound duty, and also
(I hope) by His adoption.
A VOICE. You shall be beaten if you tell.
SHE. Am not I a fine maiden? give me leave to play in your
house; my mother told me she would come and dwell here.
(_She went up and down with most lively gestures of a young
girl playing by herself, and divers times another spake to
her from the corner of my study by a great perspective
glasse, but none was seen beside herself._)
SHE. Shall I? I will. (_Now she seemed to answer me in the
foresaid corner of my study._) I pray you let me tarry a
little? (_Speaking to me in the foresaid corner._)
DEE. Tell me what you are.
SHE. I pray you let me play with you a little, and I will
tell you who I am.
DEE. In the name of Jesus then, tell me.
SHE. I rejoice in the name of Jesus, and I am a poor little
maiden; I am the last but one of my mother's children; I have
little baby children at home.
DEE. Where is your home?
SHE. I dare not tell you where I dwell, I shall be beaten.
DEE. You shall not be beaten for telling the truth to them
that love the truth; to the Eternal Truth all creatures must
be obedient.
SHE. I warrant you I will be obedient; my sisters say they
must all come and dwell with you.
DEE. I desire that they who love God should dwell with me,
and I with them.
SHE. I love you now you talk of God.
DEE. Your eldest sister--her name is Esim[ve]li.
SHE. My sister is not so short as you make her.
DEE. O, I cry you mercy! she is to be pronounced Esim[=i]li!
KELLY. She smileth; one calls her, saying, Come away, maiden.
SHE. I will read over my gentlewomen first; my master Dee
will teach me if I say amiss.
DEE. Read over your gentlewomen, as it pleaseth you.
SHE. I have gentlemen and gentlewomen; look you here.
KELLY. She bringeth a little book out of her pocket. She
pointeth to a picture in the book.
SHE. Is not this a pretty man?
DEE. What is his name?
SHE. My (mother) saith his name is Edward: look you, he hath
a crown upon his head; my mother saith that this man was Duke
of York.
And so on.
The question here suggests itself, Was this passage of nonsense Dr.
Dee's own invention? And has he compiled it for the deception of
posterity? I do not believe it. It is my firm conviction that he
recorded in perfect good faith--though I own my opinion is not very
complimentary to his intelligence--the extravagant rigmarole dictated
to him by the arch-knave Kelly, who, very possibly, added to his many
ingenuities some skill in the practices of the ventriloquist. No great
amount of artifice can have been necessary for successfully deceiving
so admirable a subject for deception as the credulous Dee. It is
probable that Dee may sometimes have suspected he was being imposed
upon; but we may be sure he was very unwilling to admit it, and that
he did his best to banish from his mind so unwelcome a suspicion. As
for Kelly, it seems clear that he had conceived some widely ambitious
and daring scheme, which, as I have said, he hoped to carry out
through the instrumentality of Alasco, whose interest he endeavoured
to stimulate by flattering his vanity, and representing the spiritual
creature as in possession of a pedigree which traced his descent from
the old Norman family of the Lacys.
With an easy invention which would have done credit to the most
prolific of romancists, he daily developed the characters of his
pretended visions.[24] Consulting the crystal on June 2, he professed
to see a spirit in the garb of a husbandman, and this spirit
rhodomontaded in mystical language about the great work Alasco was
predestined to accomplish in the conversion and regeneration of the
world. Before this invisible fictionist retired into his former
obscurity, Dee petitioned him to use his influence on behalf of a
woman who had committed suicide, and of another who had dreamed of a
treasure hidden in a cellar. Other interviews succeeded, in the course
of which much more was said about the coming purification of humanity,
and it was announced that a new code of laws, moral and religious,
would be entrusted to Dee and his companions. What a pity that this
code was never forthcoming! A third spirit, a maiden named Galerah,
made her appearance, all whose revelations bore upon Alasco, and the
greatness for which he was reserved: 'I say unto thee, his name is in
the Book of Life. The sun shall not passe his course before he be a
king. His counsel shall breed alteration of his State, yea, of the
whole world. What wouldst thou know of him?'
'If his kingdom shall be of Poland,' answered Dee, 'in what land
else?'
'Of two kingdoms,' answered Galerah.
'Which? I beseech you.'
'The one thou hast repeated, and the other he seeketh as his right.'
'God grant him,' exclaimed the pious doctor, 'sufficient direction to
do all things so as may please the highest of his calling.'
'He shall want no direction,' replied Galerah, 'in anything he
desireth.'
Whether Kelly's invention began to fail him, or whether it was a
desire to increase his influence over his dupe, I will not decide; but
at this time he revived his pretended conscientious scruples against
dealing with spirits, whom he calumniously declared to be ministers of
Satan, and intimated his intention of departing from the unhallowed
precincts of Mortlake. But the doctor could not bear with equanimity
the loss of a skryer who rendered such valuable service, and watched
his movements with the vigilance of alarm. It was towards the end of
June, the month made memorable by such important revelations, that
Kelly announced, one day, his design of riding from Mortlake to
Islington, on some private business. The doctor's fears were at once
awakened, and he fell into a condition of nervous excitement, which,
no doubt, was exactly what Kelly had hoped to provoke. 'I asked him,'
says Dee, 'why he so hasted to ride thither, and I said if it were to
ride to Mr. Henry Lee, I would go thither also, to be acquainted with
him, seeing now I had so good leisure, being eased of the book
writing. Then he said, that one told him, the other day, that the Duke
(Alasco) did but flatter him, and told him other things, both against
the Duke and me. I answered for the Duke and myself, and also said
that if the forty pounds' annuity which Mr. Lee did offer him was the
chief cause of his minde setting that way (contrary to many of his
former promises to me), that then I would assure him of fifty pounds
yearly, and would do my best, by following of my suit, to bring it to
pass as soon as I possibly could, and thereupon did make him promise
upon the Bible. Then Edward Kelly again upon the same Bible did sweare
unto me constant friendship, and never to forsake me; and, moreover,
said that unless this had so fallen out, he would have gone beyond the
seas, taking ship at Newcastle within eight days next. And so we
plight our faith each to other, taking each other by the hand upon
these points of brotherly and friendly fidelity during life, which
covenant I beseech God to turn to His honour, glory, and service, and
the comfort of our brethren (His children) here on earth.'
This concordat, however, was of brief duration. Kelly, who seems to
have been in fear of arrest,[25] still threatened to quit Dee's
service; and by adroit pressure of this kind, and by unlimited
promises to Alasco, succeeded in persuading his two confederates to
leave England clandestinely, and seek an asylum on Alasco's Polish
estates. Dee took with him his second wife, Jane Fromond, to whom he
had been married in February, 1578, his son Arthur (then about four
years old), and his children by his first wife. Kelly was also
accompanied by his wife and family.
On the night of September 21, 1583, in a storm of rain and wind, they
left Mortlake by water, and dropped down the river to a point four or
five miles below Gravesend, where they embarked on board a Danish
ship, which they had hired to take them to Holland. But the violence
of the gale was such that they were glad to transfer themselves, after
a narrow escape from shipwreck, to some fishing-smacks, which landed
them at Queenborough, in the Isle of Sheppey, in safety. There they
remained until the gale abated, and then crossed the Channel to Brill
on the 30th. Proceeding through Holland and Friesland to Embden and
Bremen, they thence made their way to Stettin, in Pomerania, arriving
on Christmas Day, and remaining until the middle of January.
Meanwhile, Kelly was careful not to intermit those revelations from
the crystal which kept alive the flame of credulous hope in the bosom
of his two dupes, and he was especially careful to stimulate the
ambition of Alasco, whose impoverished finances could ill bear the
burden imposed upon them of supporting so considerable a company. They
reached Siradia on February 3, 1584, and there the spirits suddenly
changed the tone of their communications; for Kelly, having
unexpectedly discovered that Alasco's resources were on the brink of
exhaustion, was accordingly prepared to fling him aside without
remorse. The first spiritual communication was to the effect that, on
account of his sins, he would no longer be charged with the
regeneration of the world, but he was promised possession of the
Kingdom of Moldavia. The next was an order to Dee and his companions
to leave Siradia, and repair to Cracow, where Kelly hoped, no doubt,
to get rid of the Polish prince more easily. Then the spirits began to
speak at shorter intervals, their messages varying greatly in tone and
purport, according, I suppose, as Alasco's pecuniary supplies
increased or diminished; but eventually, when all had suffered
severely from want of money, for it would seem that their tinctures
and powders never yielded them as much as an ounce of gold, the
spirits summarily dismissed the unfortunate Alasco, ordered Dee and
Kelly to repair to Prague, and entrusted Dee with a Divine
communication to Rudolph II., the Emperor of Germany.
Quarrels often occurred between the two adepts during the Cracow
period. In these Kelly was invariably the prime mover, and his object
was always the same: to confirm his influence over the man he had so
egregiously duped. At Prague, Dee was received by the Imperial Court
with the distinction due to his well-known scholarship; but no
credence was given to his mission from the spirits, and his
pretensions as a magician were politely ignored. Nor was he assisted
with any pecuniary benevolences; and the man who through his crystal
and his skryer had apparently unlimited control over the inhabitants
of the spiritual world could not count with any degree of certainty
upon his daily bread. He failed, moreover, to obtain a second
interview with the Emperor. On attending at the palace, he was
informed that the Emperor had gone to his country seat, or else that
he had just ridden forth to enjoy the pleasures of the chase, or that
his imperfect acquaintance with the Latin tongue prevented him from
conferring with Dee personally; and eventually, at the instigation of
the Papal nuncio, Dee was ordered to depart from the Imperial
territories (May, 1586).
The discredited magician then betook himself to Erfurt, and afterwards
to Cassel. He would fain have visited Italy, where he anticipated a
cordial welcome at those Courts which patronized letters and the arts,
but he was privately warned that at Rome an accusation of heresy and
magic had been preferred against him, and he had no desire to fall
into the fangs of the Inquisition. In the autumn of 1586, the
Imperial prohibition having apparently been withdrawn, he followed
Kelly into Bohemia; and in the following year we find both of them
installed as guests of a wealthy nobleman, named Rosenberg, at his
castle of Trebona. Here they renewed their intercourse with the spirit
world, and their operations in the transmutation of metals. Dee
records how, on December 9, he reached the point of projection!
Cutting a piece out of a brass warming-pan, he converted it--by merely
heating it in the fire, and pouring on it a few drops of the magical
elixir--a kind of red oil, according to some authorities--into solid,
shining silver. And there goes an idle story that he sent both the pan
and the piece of silver to Queen Elizabeth, so that, with her own
eyes, she might see how exactly they tallied, and that the piece had
really been cut out of the pan! About the same time, it is said, the
two magicians launched into a profuse expenditure,--Kelly, on one of
his maid-servants getting married, giving away gold rings to the value
of £4,000. Yet, meanwhile, Dee and Kelly were engaged in sharp
contentions, because the spirits fulfilled none of the promises made
by the latter, who, his invention (I suppose) being exhausted,
resolved, in April, 1587, to resign his office of 'skryer,' and young
Arthur Dee then made an attempt to act in his stead.
The conclusion I have arrived at, after studying the careers and
characters of our two worthies, is that they were wholly unfitted for
each other's society; a barrier of 'incompatibility' rose straitly
between them. Dee was in earnest; Kelly was practising a sham. Dee
pursued a shadow which he believed to be a substance; Kelly knew that
the shadow was nothing more than a shadow. Dee was a man of rare
scholarship and considerable intellectual power, though of a credulous
and superstitious temper; Kelly was superficial and ignorant, but
clever, astute, and ingenious, and by no means prone to fall into
delusions. The last experiment which he made on Dee's simple-mindedness
stamps the man as the rogue and knave he was; while it illustrates the
truth of the preacher's complaint that there is nothing new under the
sun. The doctrine of free marriage propounded by American enthusiasts
was a _remanet_ from the ethical system of Mr. Edward Kelly.
* * * * *
Kelly had long been on bad terms with his wife, and had conceived a
passionate attachment towards Mrs. Dee, who was young and charming,
graceful in person, and attractive in manner. To gratify his desires,
he resorted to his old machinery of the crystal and the spirits, and
soon obtained a revelation that it was the Divine pleasure he and Dr.
Dee should exchange partners. Demoralized and abased as Dee had become
through his intercourse with Kelly, he shrank at first from a proposal
so contrary to the teaching and tenor of the religion he professed,
and suggested that the revelation could mean nothing more than that
they ought to live on a footing of cordial friendship. But the
spirits insisted on a literal interpretation of their command. Dee
yielded, comparing himself with much unction to Abraham, who, in
obedience to the Divine will, consented to the sacrifice of Isaac. The
parallel, however, did not hold good, for Abraham saved his son,
whereas Dr. Dee lost his wife!
It was then Kelly's turn to affect a superior morality, and he
earnestly protested that the spirits could not be messengers from
heaven, but were servants of Satan. Whereupon they then declared that
he was no longer worthy to act as their interpreter. But why dwell
longer on this unpleasant farce? By various means of cajolery and
trickery, Kelly contrived to accomplish his design.
This communistic arrangement, however, did not long work
satisfactorily--at least, so far as the ladies were concerned; and one
can easily understand that Mrs. Dee would object to the inferior
position she occupied as Kelly's paramour. However this may be, Dee
and Kelly parted company in January, 1589; the former, according to
his own account, delivering up to the latter the mysterious elixir and
other substances which they had made use of in the transmutation of
metals. Dee had begun to turn his eyes wistfully towards his native
country, and welcomed with unfeigned delight a gracious message from
Queen Elizabeth, assuring him of a friendly reception. In the spring
he took his departure from Trebona; and it is said that he travelled
with a pomp and circumstance worthy of an ambassador, though it is
difficult to reconcile this statement with his constant complaints of
poverty. Perhaps, after all, his three coaches, with four horses to
each coach, his two or three waggons loaded with baggage and stores,
and his hired escort of six to twenty-four soldiers, whose business it
was to protect him from the enemies he supposed to be lying in wait
for him, existed only, like the philosopher's stone, in the
imagination! He landed at Gravesend on December 2, was kindly received
by the Queen at Richmond a day or two afterwards, and before the year
had run out was once more quietly settled in his house 'near the
riverside' at Mortlake.
Kelly, whom the Emperor Maximilian II. had knighted and created
Marshal of Bohemia, so strong a conviction of his hermetic abilities
had he impressed on the Imperial mind, remained in Germany. But the
ingenious, plausible rogue was kept under such rigid restraint, in
order that he might prepare an adequate quantity of the transmuting
stone or powder, that he wearied of it, and one night endeavoured to
escape. Tearing up the sheets of his bed, he twisted them into a rope,
with which to lower himself from the tower where he was confined. But
he was a man of some bulk; the rope gave way beneath his weight, and
falling to the ground, he received such severe injuries that in a few
days he expired (1593).
Dee's later life was, as Godwin remarks, 'bound in shallows and
miseries.' He had forfeited the respect of serious-minded men by his
unworthy confederacy with an unscrupulous adventurer. The Queen still
treated him with some degree of consideration, though she had lost all
faith in his magical powers, and occasionally sent him assistance. The
unfortunate man never ceased to weary her with the repetition of his
trials and troubles, and strongly complained that he had been deprived
of the income of his two small benefices during his six years'
residence on the Continent. He related the sad tale of the destruction
of his library and apparatus by an ignorant mob, which had broken into
his house immediately after his departure from England, excited by the
rumours of his strange magical practices. He enumerated the expenses
of his homeward journey, arguing that, as it had been undertaken by
the Queen's command, she ought to reimburse him. At last (in 1592) the
Queen appointed two members of her Privy Council to inquire into the
particulars of his allegations. These particulars he accordingly put
together in a curious narrative, which bore the long-winded title of:
'The Compendious Rehearsall of John Dee, his dutiful
Declaracion and Proof of the Course and Race of his Studious
Lyfe, for the Space of Halfe an Hundred Yeares, now (by God's
Favour and Helpe) fully spent, and of the very great
Injuries, Damages, and Indignities, which for those last nyne
Years he hath in England sustained (contrary to Her Majesties
very gracious Will and express Commandment), made unto the
Two Honourable Commissioners, by Her Most Excellent Majesty
thereto assigned, according to the intent of the most humble
Supplication of the said John, exhibited to Her Most Gracious
Majestie at Hampton Court, Anno 1592, November 9.'
It has been remarked that in this 'Compendious Rehearsal' he alludes
neither to his magic crystal, with its spiritualistic properties, nor
to the wonderful powder or elixir of transmutation. He founds his
claim to the Queen's patronage solely upon his intellectual eminence
and acknowledged scholarship. Nor does he allude to his Continental
experiences, except so far as relates to his homeward journey. But he
is careful to recapitulate all his services, and the encomiastic
notices they had drawn from various quarters, while he details his
losses with the most elaborate minuteness. The quaintest part of his
lamentable and most fervent petition is, however, its conclusion.
Having shown that he has tried and exhausted every means of raising
money for the support of his family, he concludes:
'Therefore, seeing the blinded lady, Fortune, doth not
governe in this commonwealth, but _justitia_ and _prudentia_,
and that in better order than in Tullie's "Republica," or
bookes of offices, they are laied forth to be followed and
performed, most reverently and earnestly (yea, in manner with
bloody teares of heart), I and my wife, our seaven children,
and our servants (seaventeene of us in all) do this day make
our petition unto your Honors, that upon all godly,
charitable, and just respects had of all that, which this day
you have seene, heard, and perceived, you will make such
report unto her Most Excellent Majestie (with humble request
for speedy reliefes) that we be not constrained to do or
suffer otherwise than becometh Christians, and true, and
faithfull, and obedient subjects to doe or suffer; and all
for want of due mainteynance.'
The main object Dee had in view was the mastership of St. Cross's
Hospital, which Elizabeth had formerly promised him. This he never
received; but in December, 1594, he was appointed to the
Chancellorship of St. Paul's Cathedral, which in the following year he
exchanged for the wardenship of the College at Manchester. He still
continued his researches into supernatural mysteries, employing
several persons in succession as 'skryers'; but he found no one so
fertile in invention as Kelly, and the crystal uttered nothing more
oracular than answers to questions about lovers' quarrels, hidden
treasures, and petty thefts--the common stock-in-trade of the
conjurer. In 1602 or 1604, he retired from his Manchester appointment,
and sought the quiet and seclusion of his favourite Mortlake. His
renown as 'a magician' had greatly increased--not a little, it would
seem, to his annoyance; for on June 5, 1604, we find that he presented
a petition to James I. at Greenwich, soliciting his royal protection
against the wrong done to him by enemies who mocked him as 'a
conjurer, or caller, or invocator of devils,' and solemnly asserting
that 'of all the great number of the very strange and frivolous fables
or histories reported and told of him (as to have been of his doing)
none were true.' It is said that the treatment Dee experienced at this
time was the primary cause of the Act passed against personal slander
(1604)--a proof of legislative wisdom which drew from Dee a versified
expression of gratitude--in which, let us hope, the sincerity of the
gratitude is not to be measured by the quality of the verse. It is
addressed to 'the Honorable Members of the Commons in the Present
Parliament,' and here is a specimen of it, which will show that,
though Dee's crystal might summon the spirits, it had no control over
the Muses:
'The honour, due unto you all,
And reverence, to you each one
I do first yield most spe-ci-all;
Grant me this time to heare my mone.
'Now (if you will) full well you may
Fowle sclaundrous tongues for ever tame;
And helpe the truth to beare some sway
In just defence of a good name.'
Thenceforward Dee sinks into almost total obscurity. His last years
were probably spent in great tribulation; and the man who had dreamed
of converting, Midas-like, all he touched into gold, seems frequently
to have wanted bread. It was a melancholy ending to a career which
might have been both useful and brilliant, if his various scholarship
and mental energy had not been expended upon a delusion. Unfortunately
for himself, Dee, with all his excellent gifts, wanted that greatest
gift of all, a sound judgment. His excitable fancy and credulous
temper made him the dupe of his own wishes, and eventually the tool of
a knave far inferior to himself in intellectual power, but surpassing
him in strength of will, in force of character, in audacity and
inventiveness. Both knave and dupe made but sorry work of their lives.
Kelly, as we have seen, broke his neck in attempting to escape from a
German prison, and Dee expired in want and dishonour, without a friend
to receive his last sigh.
He died at Mortlake in 1608, and was buried in the chancel of
Mortlake Church, where, long afterwards, Aubrey, the gossiping
antiquary, was shown an old marble slab as belonging to his tomb.
His son Arthur, after acting as physician to the Czar of Russia and to
our own Charles I., established himself in practice at Norwich, where
he died. Anthony Wood solemnly records that this Arthur, in his
boyhood, had frequently played with quoits of gold, which his father
had cast at Prague by means of his 'stone philosophical.' How often
Dee must have longed for some of those 'quoits' in his last sad days
at Mortlake, when he sold his books, one by one, to keep himself from
starvation!
After Dee's death, his fame as a magician underwent an extraordinary
revival; and in 1659, when the country was looking forward to the
immediate restoration of its Stuart line of kings, the learned Dr.
Meric Casaubon thought proper to publish, in a formidable folio
volume, the doctor's elaborate report of his--or rather
Kelly's--supposed conferences with the spirits--a notable book, as
being the initial product of spiritualism in English literature. In
his preface Casaubon remarks that, though Dee's 'carriage in certain
respects seemed to lay in works of darkness, yet all was tendered by
him to kings and princes, and by all (England alone excepted) was
listened to for a good while with good respect, and by some for a long
time embraced and entertained.' And he adds that 'the fame of it made
the Pope bestir himself, and filled all, both learned and unlearned,
with great wonder and astonishment.... As a whole, it is undoubtedly
not to be paralleled in its kind in any age or country.'
FOOTNOTES:
[24] 'Adeo viro præ credulo errore jam factus sui impos et mente
captus, et Dæmones, quo arctius horrendis hisce Sacris adhærescent
illius ambitioni vanæ summæ potestatis in Patria adipiscendæ spe et
expectatione lene euntis illum non solius Poloniæ sed alterius quoque
regni, id est primo Poloniæ, deinde alterius, viz. Moldaviæ Regem
fore, et sub quo magnæ universi mundi mutationes incepturas esse,
Judæos convertendos, et ab illo Saræmos et Ethnicos vexillo crucis
superandos, facili ludificarentur.'--Dr. Thomas Smith, 'Vitæ
Eruditissimorum ac Illustrium Virorum,' London, 1707. 'Vita Joannis
Dee,' p. 25.
[25] He was suspected of coining false money, but Dr. Dee declares he
was innocent. (June, 1583.)
NOTE.
In the curious 'Apologia' published by Dee, in 1595, in the form of a
letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury, 'containing a most briefe
Discourse Apologeticall, with a plaine Demonstration and formal
Protestation, for the lawfull, sincere, very faithfull and Christian
course of the Philosophicall studies and exercises of a certaine
studious Gentleman, an ancient Servant to her most excellent Maiesty
Royall,' he furnishes a list of 'sundry Bookes and Treatises' of which
he was the author. The best known of his printed works is the 'Monas
Hieroglyphica, Mathematicè, Anagogicè que explicata' (1564), dedicated
to the Emperor Maximilian. Then there are 'Propæ deumata Aphoristica;'
'The British Monarchy,' otherwise called the 'Petty Navy Royall: for
the politique security, abundant wealth, and the triumphant state of
this kingdom (with God's favour) procuring' (1576); and 'Paralaticæ
Commentationis, Praxcosque Nucleus quidam' (1573). His unpublished
manuscripts range over a wide field of astronomical, philosophical,
and logical inquiry. The most important seem to be 'The first great
volume of famous and rich Discoveries,' containing a good deal of
speculation about Solomon and his Ophirian voyage; 'Prester John, and
the first great Cham;' 'The Brytish Complement of the perfect Art of
Navigation;' 'The Art of Logicke, in English;' and 'De Hominis
Corpore, Spiritu, et Anima: sive Microcosmicum totius Philosophiæ
Naturalis Compendium.'
The character drawn of Dr. Dee by his learned biographer, Dr. Thomas
Smith, by no means confirms the traditional notion of him as a crafty
and credulous practiser in the Black Art. It is, on the contrary, the
portrait of a just and upright man, grave in his demeanour, modest in
his manners, abstemious in his habits; a man of studious disposition
and benevolent temper; a man held in such high esteem by his
neighbours that he was called upon to arbitrate when any differences
arose between them; a fervent Christian, attentive to all the offices
of the Church, and zealous in the defence of her faith.
Here is the original: 'Si mores exterioremque vitæ cultum
contemplemur, non quicquam ipsi in probrum et ignominium verti
possit; ut pote sobrius, probus, affectibus sedatis, compositisque
moribus, ab omni luxu et gulâ liber, justi et æqui studiosissimus,
erga pauperes beneficus, vicinis facilis et benignus, quorum lites,
atrisque partibus contendentium ad illum tanquam ad sapientum arbitrum
appellantibus, moderari et desidere solebat: in publicis sacris
coetibus et in orationibus frequens, articulorum Christianæ fidei,
in quibus omnes Orthodoxi conveniunt, strenuus assertor, zelo in
hæreses, à primitiva Ecclesia damnatas, flagrans, inqui Pecc[=o]rum,
qui virginitatem B. Mariæ ante partum Christi in dubium vocavit,
accerimè invectus: licet de controversiis inter Romanenses et
Reformatos circa reliqua doctrinæ capita non adeo semperosè solicitus,
quin sibi in Polonia et Bohemia, ubi religio ista dominatur, Missæ
interesse et communicare licere putaverit, in Anglia, uti antea, post
redditum, omnibus Ecclesiæ Anglicanæ ritibus conformis.' It must be
admitted that Dr. Smith's Latin is not exactly 'conformed' to the
Ciceronian model.
CHAPTER III.
DR. DEE'S DIARY.
I am not prepared to say, with its modern editor, that Dr. Dee's
Diary[26] sets the scholar magician's character in its true light more
clearly than anything that has yet been printed; but I concede that it
reveals in a very striking and interesting manner the peculiar
features of his character--his superstitious credulity, and his
combination of shrewdness and simplicity--as well as his interesting
habits. I shall therefore extract a few passages to assist the reader
in forming his opinion of a man who was certainly in many respects
remarkable.
(i.) I begin with the entries for 1577:
'1577, January 16th.--The Erle of Leicester, Mr. Philip
Sidney, Mr. Dyer,[27] etc., came to my house (at Mortlake).
'1577, January 22nd.--The Erle of Bedford came to my house.
'1577, March 11th.--My fall uppon my right nuckel bone, _hora
9 fere mane_, wyth oyle of Hypericon (_Hypericum_, or St.
John's Wort) in twenty-four howers eased above all hope: God
be thanked for such His goodness of (to?) His creatures.
'1577, March 24th.--Alexander Simon, the Ninevite, came to
me, and promised me his service into Persia.
'1577, May 1st.--I received from Mr. William Harbut of St.
Gillian his notes uppon my "Monas."[28]
'1577, May 2nd.--I understode of one Vincent Murfryn his
abbominable misusing me behinde my back; Mr. Thomas Besbich
told me his father is one of the cokes of the Court.
'1577, May 20th.--I hyred the barber of Cheswik, Walter
Hooper, to kepe my hedges and knots in as good order as he
saw them then, and that to be done with twice cutting in the
yere at the least, and he to have yerely five shillings, meat
and drink.
'1577, June 26th.--Elen Lyne gave me a quarter's warning.
'1577, August 19.--The "Hexameron Brytanicum" put to
printing. (Published in 1577 with the title of "General and
Rare Memorials pertayning to the perfect Art of Navigation.")
'1577, November 3rd.--William Rogers of Mortlak about 7 of
the clok in the morning, cut his own throte, _by the fiende
his instigator_.
'1577, November 6th.--Sir Umfrey Gilbert[29] cam to me to
Mortlak.
'1577, November 22nd.--I rod to Windsor to the Q. Majestie.
'1577, November 25th.--I spake with the Quene _hora quinta_;
I spoke with Mr. Secretary Walsingham.[30] I declared to the
Quene her title to Greenland, Estotiland, and Friesland.
'1577, December 1st.--I spoke with Sir Christopher Hatton; he
was made Knight that day.
'1577, December --th.--I went from the Courte at Wyndsore.
'1577, December 30th.--Inexplissima illa calumnia de R.
Edwardo, iniquissima aliqua ex parte in me denunciebatur:
ante aliquos elapsos diro, sed ... sua sapientia me
innocentem.'
I cannot ascertain of what calumny against Edward VI. Dee had been
accused; but it is to be hoped that his wish was fulfilled, and that
he was acquitted of it before many days had elapsed.
I have omitted some items relating to moneys borrowed. It is
sufficiently plain, however, that Dee never intended his Diary for the
curious eyes of the public, and that it mainly consists of such
memoranda as a man jots down for his private and personal use.
Assuredly, many of these would never have been recorded if Dee had
known or conjectured that an inquisitive antiquarian, some three
centuries later, would exhume the confidential pages, print them in
imperishable type, and expose them to the world's cold gaze. It seems
rather hard upon Dr. Dee that his private affairs should thus have
become everybody's property! Perhaps, after all, the best thing a man
can do who keeps a diary is to commit it to the flames before he
shuffles off his mortal coil, lest some laborious editor should
eventually lay hands upon it, and publish it to the housetops with all
its sins upon it! But as in Dr. Dee's case the offence has been
committed, I will not debar my readers from profiting by it.
(ii.) 1578-1581.
'1578, June 30th.--I told Mr. Daniel Rogers, Mr. Hackluyt of
the Middle Temple being by, that Kyng Arthur and King Maty,
both of them, did conquer Gelindia, lately called Friseland,
which he so noted presently in his written copy of Mon ...
thensis (?), for he had no printed boke thereof.'
What a pity Dr. Dee has not recorded his authority for King Arthur's
Northern conquests! The Mr. Hackluyt here mentioned is the industrious
compiler of the well-known collection of early voyages.
Occasionally Dee relates his dreams, as on September 10, 1579: 'My
dream of being naked, and my skyn all overwrought with work, like some
kinde of tuft mockado, with crosses blue and red; and on my left
arme, about the arme, in a wreath, this word I red--_sine me nihil
potestis facere_.'
Sometimes he resorts to Greek characters while using English words:
'1579, December 9th.--+This nigt mi uuiph dremid that one kam
to 'er and touched 'er, saing, "Mistres Dee, gou ar konkeined
oph child, uos name must be Zacharias; be oph god chere, he
sal do uuel as this doth!"+
'1579, December 28th.--I reveled to Roger Coke the gret
secret of the elixir of the salt +oph aketels, one uppon a
undred+.'
Other entries refer to this Mr. Roger Coke, or Cooke, who seems to
have been Dee's pupil or apprentice, and at one time to have enjoyed
his confidence. They quarrelled seriously in 1581.
'1581, September 5th.--Roger Cook, who had byn with me from
his 14 years of age till 28, of a melancholik nature, pycking
and devising occasions of just cause to depart on the
suddayn, about 4 of the clok in the afternone requested of me
lycense to depart, wheruppon rose whott words between us; and
he, imagining with himself that he had, the 12 of July,
deserved my great displeasure, and finding himself barred
from view of my philosophicall dealing with Mr. Henrik,
thought that he was utterly recast from intended goodness
toward him. Notwithstanding Roger Cook his unseamely dealing,
I promised him, if he used himself toward me now in his
absens, one hundred pounds as sone as of my own clene
hability I myght spare so much; and moreover, if he used
himself well in life toward God and the world, I promised him
some pretty alchimicall experiments, whereuppon he might
honestly live.
'1581, September 7th.--Roger Cook went for altogether from
me.'
In February, 1601, however, this quarrel was made up.
(iii.) Of the learned doctor's colossal credulity the Diary supplies
some curious proofs:
'1581, March 8th.--It was the 8 day, being Wensday, hora
noctis 10-11, the strange noyse in my chamber of knocking;
and the voyce, ten times repeted, somewhat like the shriek
of an owle, but more longly drawn, and more softly, as it
were in my chamber.
'1581, August 3rd.--All the night very strange knocking and
rapping in my chamber. August 4th, and this night likewise.
'1581, October 9th.--Barnabas Saul, lying in the ... hall,
was strangely trubled by a spirituall creature about
mydnight.
'1582, May 20th.--Robertus Gardinerus Salopiensis lactum mihi
attulit minimum de materia lapidis, divinitus sibi revelatus
de qua.
'1582, May 23rd.--Robert Gardiner declared unto me hora 4½ a
certeyn great philosophicall secret, as he had termed it, of
a spirituall creature, and was this day willed to come to me
and declare it, which was solemnly done, and with common
prayer.
'1590, August 22nd.--Ann, my nurse, had long been tempted by
a wycked spirit: but this day it was evident how she was
possessed of him. God is, hath byn, and shall be her
protector and deliverer! Amen.
'1590, August 25th.--Anne Frank was sorowful, well comforted,
and stayed in God's mercyes acknowledging.
'1590, August 26th.--At night I anoynted (in the name of
Jesus) her brest with the holy oyle.
'1590, August 30th.--In the morning she required to be
anoynted, and I did very devoutly prepare myself, and pray
for virtue and powr, and Christ his blessing of the oyle to
the expulsion of the wycked, and then twyce anoynted, the
wycked one did rest a while.'
The holy oil, however, proved of no effect. The poor creature was
insane. On September 8 she made an attempt to drown herself, but was
prevented. On the 29th she eluded the dexterity of her keeper, and cut
her throat.
(iv.) Occasionally we meet with references to historic events and
names, but, unfortunately, they are few:
'1581, February 23rd.--I made acquayntance with Joannes
Bodonius, in the Chamber of Presence at Westminster, the
ambassador being by from Monsieur.'
Bodonius, or Bodin, was the well-known writer upon witchcraft.
'1581, March 23rd.--At Mortlak came to me Hugh Smyth, who had
returned from Magellan strayghts and Vaygatz.
'1581, July 12th.--The Erle of Leicester fell fowly out with
the Erle of Sussex, Lord Chamberlayn, calling each other
trayter, whereuppon both were commanded to kepe theyr chamber
at Greenwich, wher the court was.'
This was the historic quarrel, of which Sir Walter Scott has made such
effective use in his 'Kenilworth.'
'1583, January 13th.--On Sonday, the stage at Paris Garden
fell down all at once, being full of people beholding the
bear-bayting. Many being killed thereby, more hurt, and all
amased. The godly expownd it as a due plage of God for the
wickedness ther used, and the Sabath day so profanely spent.'
This popular Sabbatarian argument, which occasionally crops up even in
our own days, had been humorously anticipated, half a century before,
by Sir Thomas More, in his 'Dyalogue' (1529): 'At Beverley late, much
of the people being at a bear-baiting, the church fell suddenly down
at evening-time, and overwhelmed some that were in it. A good fellow
that after heard the tale told--"So," quoth he, "now you may see what
it is to be at evening prayers when you should be at the
bear-baiting!"'
The Paris Garden Theatre at Bankside had been erected expressly for
exhibitions of bear-baiting. The charge for admission was a penny at
the gate, a penny at the entry of the scaffold or platform, and a
penny for 'quiet standing.' During the Commonwealth this cruel sport
was prohibited; but it was revived at the Restoration, and not
finally suppressed until 1835.
'1583, January 23rd.--The Ryght Honorable Mr. Secretary
Walsingham came to my howse, where by good luk he found Mr.
Adrian Gilbert (of the famous Devonshire family of seamen),
and so talk was begonne of North West Straights discovery.
'1583, February 11th.--The Quene lying at Richmond went to
Mr. Secretary Walsingham to dinner; she coming by my dore,
graciously called me to her, and so I went by her horse side,
as far as where Mr. Hudson dwelt. +Er maiesti axed me
obyskyreli oph mounsieuris state: dixe bisthanatos erit.+
'1583, March 6th.--I, and Mr. Adrian Gilbert and John Davis
(the Arctic discoverer), did mete with Mr. Alderman Barnes,
Mr. Tounson, Mr. Young and Mr. Hudson, about the N. W.
voyage.
'1583, April 18th.--The Quene went from Richmond toward
Greenwich, and at her going on horsbak, being new up, she
called for me by Mr. Rawly (Sir Walter Raleigh) his putting
her in mynde, and she sayd, "quod defertur non aufertur," and
gave me her right hand to kiss.
'1590, May 18th.--The two gentlemen, the unckle Mr. Richard
Candish (Cavendish), and his nephew, the most famous Mr.
Thomas Candish, who had sayled round about the world, did
visit me at Mortlake.
'1590, December 4th.--The Quene's Majestie called for me at
my dore, circa 3½ a meridie as she passed by, and I met her
at Est Shene gate, where she graciously, putting down her
mask, did say with mery chere, "I thank thee, Dee; there wus
never promisse made, but it was broken or kept." I understode
her Majesty to mean of the hundred angels she promised to
have sent me this day, as she yesternight told Mr. Richard
Candish.
'1595, October 9th.--I dyned with Sir Walter Rawlegh at
Durham House.'
(v.) Some of the entries which refer to Dee's connection with Lasco
and Kelly are interesting:
'1583, March 18th.--Mr. North from Poland, after he had byn
with the Quene he came to me. I received salutation from
Alaski, Palatine in Poland.
'1583, May 13th.--I became acquaynted with Albertus Laski at
7½ at night, in the Erle of Leicester his chamber, in the
court at Greenwich.
'1583, May 18th.--The Prince Albertus Laski came to me at
Mortlake, with onely two men. He came at afternone, and
tarryed supper, and after sone set.
'1583, June 15th.--About 5 of the clok cum the Polonian
prince, Lord Albert Lasky, down from Bisham, where he had
lodged the night before, being returned from Oxford, whither
he had gon of purpose to see the universityes, wher he was
very honorably used and enterteyned. He had in his company
Lord Russell, Sir Philip Sydney, and other gentlemen: he was
rowed by the Quene's men, he had the barge covered with the
Quene's cloth, the Quene's trumpeters, etc. He came of
purpose to do me honour, for which God be praysed!
'1583, September 21st.--We went from Mortlake, and so the
Lord Albert Lasky, I, Mr. E. Kelly, our wives, my children
and familie, we went toward our two ships attending for us,
seven or eight myle below Gravesende.
'1586, September 14th.--Trebonam venimus.
'1586, October 18th.--E. K. recessit a Trebona versus Pragam
curru delatus; mansit hic per tres hebdomadas.
'1586, December 19th.--Ad gratificandam Domino Edouardo
Garlando, et Francisco suo fratri, qui Edouardus nuncius mihi
missus erat ab Imperatore Moschoriæ ut ad illum venirem,
E. K. fecit proleolem (?) lapidis in proportione unius ...
gravi arenæ super quod vulgaris oz. et ½ et producta est
optimè auri oz. fere: quod aurum post distribuimus a
crucibolo una dedimus Edouardo.
'1587, January 18th.--Rediit E. K. a Praga. E. K. brought
with him from the Lord Rosenberg to my wyfe a chayne and
juell estemed at 300 duckettes; 200 the juell stones, and 100
the gold.
'1587, September 28th.--I delivered to Mr. Ed. Kelley
(earnestly requiring it as his part) the half of all the
animall which was made. It is to weigh 20 oz.; he wayed it
himself in my chamber: he bowght his waights purposely for
it. My lord had spoken to me before for some, but Mr. Kelly
had not spoken.
'1587, October 28th and 29th.--John Carp did begyn to make
furnaces over the gate, and he used of my rownd bricks, and
for the yron pot was contented now to use the lesser bricks,
60 to make a furnace.
'1587, November 8th.--E. K terribilis expostulatio,
accusatio, etc., hora tertia a meridie.
'1587, December 12th.--Afternone somewhat, Mr. Ed. Kelly
[did] his lamp overthrow, the spirit of wyne long spent to
nere, and the glas being not stayed with buks about it, as it
was wont to be; and the same glass so flitting on one side,
the spirit was spilled out, and burnt all that was on the
table where it stode, lynnen and written bokes,--as the bok
of Zacharias, with the "Alkanor" that I translated out of
French, for some by [boy?] spirituall could not; "Rowlaschy,"
his third boke of waters philosophicall; the boke called
"Angelicum Opus;" all in pictures of the work from the
beginning to the end; the copy of the man of Badwise
"Conclusions for the Transmution of Metalls;" and 40 leaves
in 4to., entitled "Extractiones Dunstat," which he himself
extracted and noted out of Dunstan his boke, and the very
boke of Dunstan was but cast on the bed hard by from the
table.'
This so-called 'Book of St. Dunstan' was one which Kelly professed to
have bought from a Welsh innkeeper, who, it was alleged, had found it
among the ruins of Glastonbury.
'1588, February 8th.--Mr. E. K., at nine of the clok,
afternone, sent for me to his laboratory over the gate to see
how he distilled sericon, according as in tyme past and of
late he heard of me out of Ripley. God lend his heart to all
charity and virtue!
'1588, August 24th.--Vidi divinam aquam demonstratione
magnifici domini et amici mei incomparabilis D[omini] Ed.
Kelii ante meridiem tertia hora.
'1588, December 7th.--+great phrendkip promisid phor mani,
and tuuo ounkes phor the thing.+'[31]
FOOTNOTES:
[26] 'The Private Diary of Dr. John Dee,' edited by J. O. Halliwell
(Phillipps) for the Camden Society, 1842.
[27] This was Sir Edward Dyer, the friend of Spenser and Sidney,
remembered by his poem 'My Mind to me a Kingdom is.'
[28] The 'Monas Hieroglyphica.'
[29] The celebrated navigator, whose heroic death is one of our
worthiest traditions.
[30] A warm and steady friend to Dr. Dee.
[31] This Diary, written in a very small and illegible hand on the
margins of old almanacs, was discovered by Mr. W. H. Black in the
Ashmolean Library at Oxford.
CHAPTER IV.
MAGIC AND IMPOSTURE--A COUPLE OF KNAVES.
The secrecy, the mystery, and the supernatural pretensions associated
with the so-called occult sciences necessarily recommended them to the
knave and the cheat as instruments of imposition. If some of the
earlier professors of Hermeticism, the first seekers after the
philosophical stone, were sincere in their convictions, and actuated
by pure and lofty motives, it is certain that their successors were
mostly dishonest adventurers, bent upon turning to their personal
advantage the credulous weakness of their fellow-creatures. With some
of these the chief object was money; others may have craved
distinction and influence; others may have sought the gratification of
passions more degrading even than avarice or ambition. At all events,
alchemy became a synonym for fraud: a magician was accepted as, by
right of his vocation, an impostor; and the poet and the dramatist
pursued him with the whips of satire, invective, and ridicule, while
the law prepared for him the penalties usually inflicted upon
criminals. These penalties, it is true, he very frequently contrived
to elude; in many instances, by the exercise of craft and cunning; in
others, by the protection of powerful personages, to whom he had
rendered questionable services; and again in others, because the agent
of the law did not care to hunt him down so long as he forbore to
bring upon himself the glare of publicity. Thus it came to pass that
generation after generation saw the alchemist still practising his
unwholesome trade, and probably he retained a good deal of his old
notoriety down to as late a date as the beginning of the eighteenth
century. It must be admitted, however, that his alchemical pursuits
gradually sank into obscurity, and that it was more in the character
of an astrologer, and as a manufacturer of love-potions and philtres,
of charms and waxen images--not to say as a pimp and a bawd--that he
looked for clients. In the _Spectator_, for instance, that admirable
mirror of English social life in the early part of the eighteenth
century, you will find no reference to alchemy or the alchemist; but
in the _Guardian_ Addison's light humour plays readily enough round
the delusions or deceptions of the astrologer. The reader will
remember the letter which Addison pretends to have received with great
satisfaction from an astrologer in Moorfields. And in contemporary
literature generally, it will be found that the august inquirer into
the secrets of nature, who aimed at the transmutation of metals, and
the possession of immortal youth, had by this time been succeeded by
an obscure and vulgar cheat, who beguiled the ignorant and weak by his
jargon about planetary bodies, and his cheap stock-in-trade of a wig
and a gown, a wand, a horoscope or two, and a few coloured vials. This
'modern magician' is, indeed, a common character in eighteenth-century
fiction.
But a century earlier the magician retained some little of the 'pomp
and circumstance' of the old magic, and was still the confidant of
princes and nobles, and not seldom the depository of State secrets
involving the reputation and the honour of men and women of the
highest position. So much as this may be truly asserted of Simon
Forman, who flourished in the dark and criminal period of the reign of
James I., when the foul practices of mediæval Italy were transferred
for the first and last time to an English Court. Forman was born at
Quidham, a village near Wilton, in Wilts, in 1552. Little is known of
his early years; but he seems to have received a good education at the
Sarum Grammar School, and afterwards to have been apprenticed to a
druggist in that ancient city. Endowed with considerable natural gifts
and an ambitious temper, he made his way to Oxford, and was entered at
Magdalene College, but owing to lack of means was unable to remain as
a student for more than two years. To improve his knowledge of
astrology, astronomy, and medicine, he visited Portugal, the Low
Countries, and the East.
On his return he began to practise as a physician in Philpot Lane,
London; but, as he held no diploma, was four times imprisoned and
fined as a quack. Eventually he found himself compelled to take the
degree of M.D. at Cambridge (June 27, 1603); after which he settled in
Lambeth, and carried on the twofold profession of physician and
astrologer. In his comedy of 'The Silent Woman,' Ben Jonson makes one
of his characters say: 'I would say thou hadst the best philtre in the
world, and could do more than Madam Medea or Doctor Forman,' whence we
may infer that the medicines he compounded were not of the orthodox
kind or approved by the faculty. Lovers resorted to him for potions
which should soften obdurate hearts; beauties for powders and washes
which might preserve their waning charms; married women for drugs to
relieve them of the reproach of sterility; rakes who desired to
corrupt virtue, and impatient heirs who longed for immediate
possession of their fortunes, for compounds which should enfeeble, or
even kill. Such was the character of Doctor Forman's sinister
'practice.' Among those who sought his unscrupulous assistance was the
infamous Countess of Essex, though Forman died before her nefarious
schemes reached the stage of fruition.
His death, which took place on the 12th of September, 1611, was
attended (it is said) by remarkable circumstances. The Sunday night
previous, 'his wife and he being at supper in their garden-house, she
being pleasant, told him she had been informed he could resolve
whether man or wife should die first. "Whether shall I," quoth she,
"bury you or no?" "Oh, Truais," for so he called her, "thou shalt bury
me, but thou wilt much repent it." "Yea, but how long first?" "I
shall die," said he, "on Thursday night." Monday came; all was well.
Tuesday came, he not sick. Wednesday came, and still he was well, with
which his impertinent wife did much twit him in his teeth. Thursday
came, and dinner was ended, he very well; he went down to the
water-side, and took a pair of oars to go to some buildings he was in
hand with in Puddle Dock. Being in the middle of the Thames, he
presently fell down, only saying, "An impost, an impost," and so died.
A most sad storm of wind immediately following.'
It seems as if these men could never die without bringing down upon
the earth a grievous storm or tempest! The preceding story, however,
partakes too much of the marvellous to be very easily accepted.
According to Anthony Wood, this renowned magician was 'a person that
in horary questions, especially theft, was very judicious and
fortunate' (in other words, he was well served by his spies and
instruments); 'so, also, in sickness, which was indeed his
masterpiece; and had good success in resolving questions about
marriage, and in other questions very intricate. He professed to his
wife that there would be much trouble about Sir Robert Carr, Earl of
Somerset, and the Lady Frances, his wife, who frequently resorted to
him, and from whose company he would sometimes lock himself in his
study one whole day. He had compounded things upon the desire of Mrs.
Anne Turner, to make the said Sir Robert Carr calid _quo ad hanc_, and
Robert, Earl of Essex frigid _quo ad hanc_; that his, to his wife the
Lady Frances, who had a mind to get rid of him and be wedded to the
said Sir Robert. He had also certain pictures in wax, representing Sir
Robert and the said Lady, to cause a love between each other, with
other such like things.'
A CAUSE CÉLÈBRE.
Lady Frances Howard, second daughter of the Earl of Suffolk, was
married, at the age of thirteen, to Robert, Earl of Essex, who was
only a year older. The alliance was dictated by political
considerations, and had been recommended by the King, who did not fail
to attend the gorgeous festivities that celebrated the occasion
(January 5th, 1606). As it was desirable that the boy-bridegroom
should be separated for awhile from his child-wife, the young Earl was
sent to travel on the Continent, and he did not return to claim his
rights as a husband until shortly after Christmas, 1609, when he had
just passed his eighteenth birthday. In the interval his wife had
developed into one of the most beautiful, and, unfortunately, one of
the most dissolute, women in England. Naturally impetuous,
self-willed, and unscrupulous, she had received neither firm guidance
nor wise advice at the hands of a coarse and avaricious mother. Nor
was James's Court a place for the cultivation of the virtues of
modesty and self-restraint. The young Countess, therefore, placed no
control upon her passions, and had already become notorious for her
disregard of those obligations which her sex usually esteem as sacred.
At one time she intrigued with Prince Henry, but he dismissed her in
angry disgust at her numerous infidelities. Finally, she crossed the
path of the King's handsome favourite, Sir Robert Carr, and a guilty
passion sprang up between them. It is painful to record that it was
encouraged by her great-uncle, Lord Northampton, who hoped through
Carr's influence to better his position at Court; and it was probably
at his mansion in the Strand that the plot was framed of which I am
about to tell the issue. But the meetings between the two lovers
sometimes took place at the house of one of Carr's agents, a man named
Coppinger.
At first, when Essex returned, the Countess refused to live with him;
but her parents ultimately compelled her to treat him as her husband,
and even to accompany him to his country seat at Chartley. There she
remained for three years, wretched with an inconceivable wretchedness,
and animated with wild dreams of escape from the husband she hated to
the paramour she loved.
For this purpose she sought the assistance of Mrs. Anne Turner, the
widow of a respectable physician, and a woman of considerable personal
charms, who had become the mistress of Sir Arthur Mainwaring.[32] Mrs.
Turner introduced her to Dr. Simon Forman, and an agreement was made
that Forman should exercise his magical powers to fix young Carr's
affections irrevocably upon the Countess. The intercourse between the
astrologer and the ladies became very frequent, and the former
exercised all his skill to carry out their desires. At a later period,
Mrs. Forman deposed in court 'that Mrs. Turner and her husband would
sometimes be locked up in his study for three or four hours together,'
and the Countess learned to speak of him as her 'sweet father.'
The Countess next conceived the most flagitious designs against her
husband's health; and, to carry them out, again sought the assistance
of her unscrupulous quack, who accordingly set to work, made waxen
images, invented new charms, supplied drugs to be administered in the
Earl's drinks, and washes in which his linen was to be steeped. These
measures, however, did not prove effectual, and letters addressed by
the Countess at this time to Mrs. Turner and Dr. Forman complain that
'my lord is very well as ever he was,' while reiterating the sad story
of her hatred towards him, and her design to be rid of him at all
hazards. In the midst of the intrigue came the sudden death of Dr.
Forman, who seems to have felt no little anxiety as to his share in
it, and, on one occasion, as we have seen, professed to his wife 'that
there would be much trouble about Carr and the Countess of Essex, who
frequently resorted unto him, and from whose company he would
sometimes lock himself in his study a whole day.' Mrs. Forman, when,
at a later date, examined in court, deposed 'that Mrs. Turner came to
her house immediately after her husband's death, and did demand
certain pictures which were in her husband's study, namely, one
picture in wax, very mysteriously apparelled in silk and satin; as
also another made in the form of a naked woman, spreading and laying
forth her hair in a glass, which Mrs. Turner did confidently affirm to
be in a box, and she knew in what part of the room in the study they
were.' We also learn that Forman, in reply to the Countess's
reproaches, averred that the devil, as he was informed, had no power
over the person of the Earl of Essex. The Countess, however, was not
to be diverted from her object, and, after Forman's death, employed
two or three other conjurers--one Gresham, and a Doctor Lavoire, or
Savory, being specially mentioned.
What followed has left a dark and shameful stain on the record of the
reign of James I. The King personally interfered on behalf of his
favourite, and resolved that Essex should be compelled to surrender
his wife. For this purpose the Countess was instructed to bring
against him a charge of conjugal incapacity; and a Commission of right
reverend prelates and learned lawyers, under the presidency--one
blushes to write it--of Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, was appointed
to investigate the loathsome details. A jury of matrons was empanelled
to determine the virginity of Lady Essex, and, as a pure young girl
was substituted in her place, their verdict was, of course, in the
affirmative! As for the Commission, it decided, after long debates, by
a majority of seven to five, that the Lady Frances was entitled to a
divorce--the majority being obtained, however, only by the King's
active exercise of his personal influence (September, 1613). The lady
having thus been set free from her vows by a most shameless intrigue,
James hurried on a marriage between her and his favourite, and on St.
Stephen's Day it was celebrated with great splendour. In the interval
Carr had been raised to the rank and title of Earl of Somerset, and
his wife had previously been made Viscountess Rochester.
A strenuous opponent of these unhallowed nuptials had been found in
the person of Sir Thomas Overbury, a young man of brilliant parts, who
stood towards Somerset in much the same relation that Somerset stood
towards the King. At the outset he had looked with no disfavour on his
patron's intrigue with Lady Frances, but had actually composed the
love-letters which went to her in the Earl's name; but, for reasons
not clearly understood, he assumed a hostile attitude when the
marriage was proposed. As he had acquired a knowledge of secrets which
would have made him a dangerous witness before the Divorce Commission,
the intriguers felt the necessity of getting him out of the way.
Accordingly, the King pressed upon him a diplomatic appointment on the
Continent, and when this was refused committed him to the Tower. There
he lingered for some months in failing health until a dose of poison
terminated his sufferings on September 13, 1613, rather more than
three months before the completion of the marriage he had striven
ineffectually to prevent. This poison was unquestionably administered
at the instigation of Lady Essex, though under what circumstances it
is not easy to determine. The most probable supposition seems to be
that an assistant of Lobell, a French apothecary who attended
Overbury, was bribed to administer the fatal drug.
For two years the murder thus foully committed remained unknown, but
in the summer of 1615, when James's affection for Somerset was rapidly
declining, and a new and more splendid favourite had risen in the
person of George Villiers, some information of the crime was conveyed
to the King by his secretary, Winwood. How Winwood obtained this
information is still a mystery; but we may, perhaps, conjecture that
he received it from the apothecary's boy, who, being taken ill at
Flushing, may have sought to relieve his conscience by confession. A
few weeks afterwards, Helwys, the Lieutenant of the Tower, under an
impression that the whole matter had been discovered, acknowledged
that frequent attempts had been made to poison Overbury in his food,
but that he had succeeded in defeating them until the apothecary's boy
eluded his vigilance. Who sent the poison he did not know. The only
person whose name he had heard in connection with it was Mrs. Turner,
and the agent employed to convey it was, he said, a certain Richard
Weston, a former servant of Mrs. Turner, who had been admitted into
the Tower as a keeper, and entrusted with the immediate charge of
Overbury.
On being examined, Weston at first denied all knowledge of the affair;
but eventually he confessed that, having been rebuked by Helwys, he
had thrown away the medicaments with which he had been entrusted; and
next he accused Lady Somerset of instigating him to administer to
Overbury a poison, which would be forwarded to him for that purpose.
Then one Rawlins, a servant of the Earl, gave information that he had
been similarly employed. As soon as Somerset heard that he was
implicated, he wrote to the King protesting his innocence, and
declaring that a conspiracy had been hatched against him. But many
suspicious particulars being discovered, he was committed to the
custody of Sir Oliver St. John; while Weston, on October 23, was put
on his trial for the murder of Overbury, and found guilty, though no
evidence was adduced against him which would have satisfied a modern
jury.
On November 7 Mrs. Turner was brought before the Court. Her trial
excited the most profound curiosity, and Westminster Hall was crowded
by an eager multitude, who shuddered with superstitious emotion when
the instruments employed by Forman in his magical rites were exposed
to view.[33] It would seem that Mrs. Turner, when arrested,
immediately sent her maid to Forman's widow, to urge her to
burn--before the Privy Council sent to search her house--any of her
husband's papers that might contain dangerous secrets. She acted on
the advice, but overlooked a few documents of great importance,
including a couple of letters written by Lady Essex to Mrs. Turner and
Forman. The various articles seized in Forman's house referred,
however, not to the murder of Overbury, but to the conjurations
employed against the Earls of Somerset and Essex. 'There was shewed in
Court,' says a contemporary report, 'certaine pictures of a man and a
woman made in lead, and also a moulde of brasse wherein they were
cast, a blacke scarfe alsoe full of white crosses, which Mrs. Turner
had in her custody,' besides 'inchanted paps and other pictures.'
There was also a parcel of Forman's written charms and incantations.
'In some of those parchments the devill had particular names, who were
conjured to torment the lord Somersett and Sir Arthur Mannering, if
theire loves should not contynue, the one to the Countesse, the other
to Mrs. Turner.' Visions of a dingy room haunted by demons, who had
been summoned from the infernal depths by Forman's potent spells,
stimulated the imagination of the excited crowd until they came to
believe that the fiends were actually there in the Court, listening in
wrath to the exposure of their agents; and, behold! in the very heat
and flush of this extravagant credulity, a sudden crack was heard in
one of the platforms or scaffolds, causing 'a great fear, tumult, and
commotion amongst the spectators and through the hall, every one
fearing hurt, as if the devil had been present and grown angry to have
his workmanship known by such as were not his own scholars.' The
narrator adds that there was also a note showed in Court, made by Dr.
Forman, and written on parchment, signifying what ladies loved what
lords; but the Lord Chief Justice would not suffer it to be read
openly. This 'note,' or book, was a diary of the doctor's dealings
with the persons named; and a scandalous tradition affirms that the
Lord Chief Justice would not have it read because his wife's name was
the first which caught his eye when he glanced at the contents.
Mrs. Turner's conviction followed as a matter of course upon Weston's.
There was no difficulty in proving that she had been concerned in his
proceedings, and that if he had committed a crime she was _particeps
criminis_. Both she and Weston died with an acknowledgment on their
lips that they were justly punished. Her end, according to all
accounts, was sufficiently edifying. Bishop Goodman quotes the
narrative of an eye-witness, one Mr. John Castle, in which we read
that, 'if detestation of painted pride, lust, malice, powdered hair,
yellow bands, and the rest of the wardrobe of Court vanities; if deep
sighs, tears, confessions, ejaculations of the soul, admonitions of
all sorts of people to make God and an unspotted conscience always our
friends; if the protestation of faith and hope to be washed by the
same Saviour and the like mercies that Magdalene was, be signs and
demonstrations of a blessed penitent, then I will tell you that this
poor broken woman went _a cruce ad gloriam_, and now enjoys the
presence of her and our Redeemer. Her body being taken down by her
brother, one Norton, servant to the Prince, was in a coach conveyed to
St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, where, in the evening of the same day, she
had an honest and a decent burial.' Her sad fate seems to have
appealed strongly to public sympathy, and to have drawn a veil of
oblivion over the sins and follies of her misspent life. A
contemporary versifier speaks of her in language worthy of a Lucretia:
'O how the cruel cord did misbecome
Her comely neck! and yet by Law's just doom
Had been her death. Those locks, like golden thread,
That used in youth to enshrine her globe-like head,
Hung careless down; and that delightful limb,
Her snow-white nimble hand, that used to trim
Those tresses up, now spitefully did tear
And rend the same; nor did she now forbear
To beat that breast of more than lily-white,
Which sometime was the bed of sweet delight.
From those two springs where joy did whilom dwell,
Grief's pearly drops upon her pale cheek fell.'
The next to suffer was an apothecary named Franklin, from whom the
poison had been procured. 'Before he was executed, he threw out wild
hints of the existence of a plot far exceeding in villainy that which
was in course of investigation. He tried to induce all who would
listen to him to believe that he knew of a conspiracy in which many
great lords were concerned; and that not only the late Prince [Henry]
had been removed by unfair means, but that a plan had been made to get
rid of the Electress Palatine and her husband. As, however, all this
was evidently only dictated by a hope of escaping the gallows, he was
allowed to share with the others a fate which he richly deserved.'
* * * * *
After the execution of these smaller culprits, some months elapsed
before Bacon, as Attorney-General, was directed to proceed against the
greater. It was not until May 24, 1616, that the Countess of Somerset
was put upon her trial before the High Steward's Court in Westminster
Hall. Contemporary testimony differs strangely as to her behaviour.
One authority says that, whilst the indictment was being read, she
turned pale and trembled, and when Weston's name was mentioned hid her
face behind her fan. Another remarks: 'She won pity by her sober
demeanour, which, in my opinion,' he adds, 'was more curious and
confident than was fit for a lady in such distress, yet she shed, or
made show of some tears, divers times.' The evidence against her was
too strong to be confuted, and she pleaded guilty. When the judge
asked her if she had anything to say in arrest of judgment, she
replied, in low, almost inaudible tones, that she could not extenuate
her fault. She implored mercy, and begged that the lords would
intercede with the King on her behalf. Sentence was then pronounced,
and the prisoner sent back to the Tower, to await the King's decision.
On the following day the Earl was tried. Bacon again acted as
prosecutor, and in his opening speech he said that the evidence to be
brought forward by the Government would prove four points: 1. That
Somerset bore malice against Overbury before the latter's
imprisonment; 2. That he devised the plan by which that imprisonment
was effected; 3. That he actually sent poisons to the Tower; 4. That
he had made strenuous efforts to conceal the proofs of his guilt. He
added that he himself would undertake the management of the case on
the first two points, leaving his subordinates, Montague and Crew, to
deal with the third and fourth.
Bacon had chosen for himself a comparatively easy task. The
ill-feeling that had existed between Overbury and his patron was
beyond doubt; while it was conclusively shown, and, indeed, hardly
disputed, that Somerset had had a hand in Overbury's imprisonment, and
in the appointment of Helwys and Weston as his custodians. Passages
from Lord Northampton's letters to the Earl proved the existence of a
plot in which both were mixed up, and that Helwys had expressed an
opinion that Overbury's death would be a satisfactory termination of
the imbroglio. But he might probably have based this opinion on the
fact that Overbury was seriously ill, and his recovery more than
doubtful.
When Bacon had concluded his part of the case, Ellesmere, who
presided, urged Somerset to confess his guilt. 'No, my lord,' said the
Earl calmly, 'I came hither with a resolution to defend myself.'
Montague then endeavoured to demonstrate that the poison of which
Overbury died had been administered with Somerset's knowledge. But he
could get no further than this: that Somerset had been in the habit of
sending powders, as well as tarts and jellies, to Overbury; but he did
not, and could not prove that the powders were poisonous. Nor was
Serjeant Crew able to advance the case beyond the point reached by
Bacon; he could argue only on the assumption of Somerset's guilt,
which his colleagues had failed to establish.
In our own day it would be held that the case for the prosecution had
completely broken down; and I must add my conviction that Somerset was
in no way privy to Overbury's murder. He had assented to his
imprisonment, because he was weary of his importunity; but he still
retained a kindly feeling towards him, and was evidently grieved at
the serious nature of his illness. As a matter of fact, it was not
proved even that Overbury died of poison, though I admit that this is
put beyond doubt by collateral circumstances. Somerset's position,
however, before judges who were more or less hostilely disposed, with
the agents of the Crown bent on obtaining his conviction, and he
himself without legal advisers, was both difficult and dangerous. He
was embarrassed by the necessity of keeping back part of his case. He
was unable to tell the whole truth about Overbury's imprisonment. He
could not make known all that had passed between Lady Essex and
himself before marriage, or that Overbury had been committed to the
Tower to prevent him from giving evidence which would have certainly
quashed Lady Essex's proceedings for a divorce. And, in truth, if he
mustered up courage to tell this tale of shame, he could not hope that
the peers, most of whom were his enemies, would give credence to it,
or that, if they believed it, they would refrain from delivering an
adverse verdict.
Yet he bore himself with courage and ability, when, by the flickering
light of torches, for the day had gone down, he rose to make his
defence. Acknowledging that he had consented to Overbury's
imprisonment in order that he might throw no obstacles in the way of
his marriage with Lady Essex, he firmly denied that he had known
anything of attempts to poison him. The tarts he had sent were
wholesome, and of a kind to which Overbury was partial; if any had
been tampered with, he was unaware of it. The powders he had received
from Sir Robert Killigrew, and simply sent them on; and Overbury had
admitted, in a letter which was before the Court, that they had done
him no mischief. Here Crew interrupted: The three powders from
Killigrew had been duly accounted for; but there was a fourth powder,
which had not been accounted for, and had (it was assumed) contained
poison. Now, it was improbable that the Earl could remember the exact
history of every powder sent to Overbury two years before, and,
besides, it was a mere assumption on the part of the prosecution that
this fourth powder was poison. But Somerset's inability to meet this
point was made the most of, and gave the peers a sufficient pretext
for declaring him guilty. The Earl received his sentence with the
composure he had exhibited throughout the arduous day, which had shown
how a nature enervated by luxury and indulgence can be braced up by
the chill air of adversity, and contented himself with expressing a
hope that the Court would intercede with the King for mercy.
I have dwelt at some length on the details of this celebrated trial
because it is the last (in English jurisprudence) in which men and
women of rank have been mixed up with the secret practices of the
magician; though, for other reasons, it is one of very unusual
interest. In briefly concluding the recital, I may state that James
was greatly relieved when the trial was over, and he found that
nothing damaging to himself had been disclosed. It is certain that
Somerset was in possession of some dark secret, the revelation of
which was much dreaded by the King; so that precautions had even been
taken, or at all events meditated, to remove him from the Court if he
entered upon the dangerous topic, and to continue the trial in his
absence. He would probably have been silenced by force. The Earl,
however, refrained from hazardous disclosures, and James could breathe
in peace.
On July 13, the King pardoned Lady Somerset, who was certainly the
guiltiest of all concerned. The Earl was left in prison, with sentence
of death suspended over him for several years, in order, no doubt, to
terrify him into silence. A few months before his death, James appears
to have satisfied himself that he had nothing to fear, and ordered the
Earl's release (January, 1622). Had he lived, he would probably have
restored him to his former influence and favour.[34]
FOOTNOTES:
[32] This woman has a place in the records of fashion as introducer of
the novelty of yellow-starching the extensive ruffs which were then
generally worn. When Lord Chief Justice Coke sentenced her to death
(as we shall hereafter see) for her share in the murder of Overbury,
he ordered that 'as she was the person who had brought yellow-starched
ruffs into vogue, she should be hanged in that dress, that the same
might end in shame and detestation.' As the hangman was also adorned
with yellow ruffs, it is no wonder that Coke's prediction was amply
fulfilled.
[33] Arthur Wilson, in his 'Memoirs,' furnishes a strange account of
the practices in which Lady Essex, Mrs. Turner, and the conjurer took
part. 'The Countess of Essex,' he says, 'to strengthen her designs,
finds out one of her own stamp, Mrs. Turner, a doctor of physic's
widow, a woman whom prodigality and looseness had brought low; yet her
pride would make her fly any pitch, rather than fall into the jaws of
Want. These two counsel together how they might stop the current of
the Earl's affection towards his wife, and make a clear passage for
the Viscount in his place. To effect which, one Dr. Forman, a reputed
conjurer (living at Lambeth) is found out; the women declare to him
their grievances; he promises sudden help, and, to amuse them, frames
many little pictures of brass and wax--some like the Viscount and
Countess, whom he must unite and strengthen, others like the Earl of
Essex, whom he must debilitate and weaken; and then with philtrous
powders, and such drugs, he works upon their persons. And to practise
what effects his arts would produce, Mrs. Turner, that loved Sir
Arthur Manwaring (a gentleman then attending the Prince), and willing
to keep him to her, gave him some of the powder, which wrought so
violently with him, that through a storm of rain and thunder he rode
fifteen miles one dark night to her house, scarce knowing where he was
till he was there. Such is the devilish and mad rage of lust,
heightened with art and fancy.
'These things, matured and ripened by this juggler Forman, gave them
assurance of happy hopes. Her courtly incitements, that drew the
Viscount to observe her, she imputed to the operation of those drugs
he had tasted; and that harshness and stubborn comportment she
expressed to her husband, making him (weary of such entertainments) to
absent himself, she thought proceeded from the effects of those
unknown potions and powders that were administered to him. So apt is
the imagination to take impressions of those things we are willing to
believe.
'The good Earl, finding his wife nurseled in the Court, and seeing no
possibility to reduce her to reason till she were estranged from the
relish and taste of the delights she sucked in there, made his
condition again known to her father. The old man, being troubled with
his daughter's disobedience, embittered her, being near him, with
wearisome and continued chidings, to wean her from the sweets she
doted upon, and with much ado forced her into the country. But how
harsh was the parting, being sent away from the place where she grew
and flourished! Yet she left all her engines and imps behind her: the
old doctor and his confederate, Mrs. Turner, must be her two
supporters. She blazons all her miseries to them at her depart, and
moistens the way with her tears. Chartley was an hundred miles from
her happiness; and a little time thus lost is her eternity. When she
came thither, though in the pleasantest part of the summer, she shut
herself up in her chamber, not suffering a beam of light to peep upon
her dark thoughts. If she stirred out of her chamber, it was in the
dead of the night, when sleep had taken possession of all others but
those about her. In this implacable, sad, and discontented humour, she
continued some months, always murmuring against, but never giving the
least civil respect to, her husband, which the good man suffered
patiently, being loth to be the divulger of his own misery; yet,
having a manly courage, he would sometimes break into a little passion
to see himself slighted and neglected; but having never found better
from her, it was the easier to bear with her.'
[34] See 'The State Trials;' 'The Carew Letters;' Spedding, 'Life and
Letters of Lord Bacon;' Amos, 'The Grand Oyer of Poisoning;' and S. R.
Gardiner, 'History of England,' vol. iv., 1607-1616.
DR. LAMBE.
A worthy successor to Simon Forman appeared in Dr. Lambe, or Lamb,
who, in the first two Stuart reigns, attained a wide celebrity as an
astrologer and a quack doctor. A curious story respecting his
pretended magical powers is related by Richard Baxter in his
'Certainty of the World of Spirits' (1691). Meeting two acquaintances
in the street, who evidently desired some experience of his skill in
the occult art, he invited them home with him, and ushered them into
an inner chamber. There, to their amazement, a tree sprang up before
their eyes in the middle of the floor. Before they had ceased to
wonder at this sight surprising, three diminutive men entered, with
tiny axes in their hands, and, nimbly setting to work, soon felled the
tree. The doctor then dismissed his guests, who went away with a
conviction that he was as potent a necromancer as Roger Bacon or
Cornelius Agrippa.
That same night a tremendous gale arose, so that the house of one of
Lambe's visitors rocked to and fro, threatening to topple over with a
crash, and bury the man and his wife in the ruins. In great terror his
wife inquired, 'Were you not at Dr. Lambe's to-day?' The husband
acknowledged that it was so. 'And did you bring anything away from his
house?' Yes: when the dwarfs felled the tree, he had been foolish
enough to pick up some of the chips, and put them in his pocket. Here
was the cause of the hurricane! With all speed he got rid of the
chips; the storm immediately subsided, and the remainder of the night
was spent in undisturbed repose.
Lambe was notorious for the lewdness of his life and his evil habits.
But his supposed skill and success as a soothsayer led to his being
frequently consulted by George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, with the
result that each helped to swell the volume of the other's
unpopularity. The Puritans were angered at the Duke's resort to a man
of Lambe's character and calling; the populace hated Lambe as the tool
and instrument of the Duke. In 1628 the brilliant favourite of
Charles I. was the best-hated man in England, and every slander was
hurled at him that the resources of political animosity could supply.
The ballads of the time--an indisputably satisfactory barometer of
public opinion--inveighed bitterly and even furiously against his
luxuriousness, his love of dress, his vanity, his immorality, and his
proved incompetence as soldier and statesman. He was accused of having
poisoned Lords Hamilton, Lennox, Southampton, Oxford, even James I.
himself. He had sat in his boat, out of the reach of danger, while his
soldiers perished under the guns of Ré. He had corrupted the chastest
women in England by means of the love-philtre which Dr. Lambe
concocted for him. In a word, the air was full of the darkest and
dreadest accusations.
Lambe's connection with the Duke brought on a catastrophe which his
magical art failed to foresee or prevent. He was returning, one summer
evening--it was June 13--from the play at the Fortune Theatre, when he
was recognised by a company of London prentices. With a fine scent for
the game, they crowded round the unfortunate magician, and hooted at
him as the Duke's devil, hustling him to and fro, and treating him
with cruel roughness. To save himself from further violence, he hired
some sailors to escort him to a tavern in Moorgate Street, where he
supped. On going forth again, he found that many of his persecutors
lingered about the door; and, bursting into a violent rage, he
threatened them with his vengeance, and told them 'he would make them
dance naked.' Still guarded by his sailors, he hurried homeward, with
the mob close at his heels, shouting and gesticulating, and increasing
every minute both in numbers and fury. In the Old Jewry he turned to
face them with his protectors; but this movement of defence, construed
into one of defiance, stimulated the passions of the populace to an
ungovernable pitch; they made a rush at him, from which he took refuge
in the Windmill tavern. A volley of stones smashed against pane and
door; and with shouts, screams, and yells, they demanded that he
should be given up. But the landlord, a man of courage and humanity,
would not throw the poor wretch to his pursuers as the huntsman throws
the captured fox to the fangs of his hounds. He detained him for some
time, and then he provided him with a disguise before he would suffer
him to leave. The precaution was useless, for hate is keen of vision:
the man was recognised; the pursuit was resumed, and he was hunted
through the streets, pale and trembling with terror, his dress
disordered and soiled, until he again sought an asylum. The master of
this house, however, fell into a paroxysm of alarm, and dismissed him
hastily, with four constables as a bodyguard. But what could these
avail against hundreds? They were swept aside--the doctor, bleeding
and exhausted, was flung to the ground, and sticks and stones rained
blows upon him until he was no longer able to ask for mercy. One of
his eyes was beaten out of its socket; and when he was rescued at
length by a posse of constables and soldiers, and conveyed to the
Compter prison, it was a dying man who was borne unconscious across
its threshold.
Such was the miserable ending of Dr. Lambe. Charles I. was much
affected when he heard of it; for he saw that it was a terrible
indication of the popular hostility against Lambe's patron. The
murderers had not scrupled to say that if the Duke had been there they
would have handled him worse; they would have minced his flesh, so
that every one of them might have had a piece. Summoning to his
presence the Lord Mayor and Aldermen, the King bade them discover the
offenders; and when they failed in what was an impossible task, he
imposed a heavy fine upon the City.
The ballad-writers of the day found in the magician's fate an occasion
for attacking Buckingham: one of them, commenting on his supposed
contempt for Parliament, puts the following arrogant defiance into his
mouth:
'Meddle with common matters, common wrongs,
To th' House of Commons common things belong ...
Leave him the oar that best knows how to row
And State to him that the best State doth know ...
Though Lambe be dead, _I'll_ stand, and you shall see
I'll smile at them that can but bark at me.'
CHAPTER V.
THE LAST OF THE ENGLISH MAGICIANS: WILLIAM LILLY.
'Lilly was a prominent, and, in the opinion of many of his
contemporaries, a very important personage in the most
eventful period of English history. He was a principal actor
in the farcical scenes which diversified the bloody tragedy
of civil war; and while the King and the Parliament were
striving for mastery in the field, he was deciding their
destinies in the closet. The weak and the credulous of both
parties who sought to be instructed in "destiny's dark
counsels," flocked to consult the "wily Archimagus," who,
with exemplary impartiality, meted out victory and good
fortune to his clients, according to the extent of their
faith and the weight of their purses. A few profane Cavaliers
might make his name the burthen of their malignant rhymes--a
few of the more scrupulous among the saints might keep aloof
in sanctified abhorrence of the "Stygian sophister"--but the
great majority of the people lent a willing and reverential
ear to his prophecies and prognostications. Nothing was too
high or too low, too mighty or too insignificant, for the
grasp of his genius. The stars, his informants, were as
communicative on the most trivial as on the most important
subjects. If a scheme was set on foot to rescue the King, or
to retrieve a stray trinket; to restore the royal authority,
or to make a frail damsel an honest woman; to cure the nation
of anarchy, or a lap-dog of a surfeit--William Lilly was the
oracle to be consulted. His almanacks were spelled over in
the tavern, and quoted in the Senate; they nerved the arm of
the soldier, and rounded the period of the orator. The
fashionable beauty, dashing along in her calash from St.
James's or the Mall, and the prim starched dame from Watling
Street or Bucklersbury, with a staid foot-boy, in a plush
jerkin, plodding behind her--the reigning toast among "the
men of wit about town," and the leading groaner in a
tabernacle concert--glided alternately into the study of the
trusty wizard, and poured into his attentive ear strange
tales of love, or trade, or treason. The Roundhead stalked in
at one door, whilst the Cavalier was hurried out at the
other.
'The confessions of a man so variously consulted and trusted,
if written with the candour of a Cardan or a Rousseau, would
indeed be invaluable. The "Memoirs of William Lilly," though
deficient in this particular, yet contain a variety of
curious and interesting anecdotes of himself and his
contemporaries, which, when the vanity of the writer or the
truth of his art is not concerned, may be received with
implicit credence.
'The simplicity and apparent candour of his narrative might
induce a hasty reader of this book to believe him a
well-meaning but somewhat silly personage, the dupe of his
own speculations--the deceiver of himself as well as of
others. But an attentive examination of the events of his
life, even as recorded by himself, will not warrant so
favourable an interpretation. His systematic and successful
attention to his own interest, his dexterity in keeping on
"the windy side of the law," his perfect political
pliability, and his presence of mind and fertility of
resources when entangled in difficulties, indicate an
accomplished impostor, not a crazy enthusiast. It is very
possible and probable that, at the outset of his career, he
was a real believer in the truth and lawfulness of his art,
and that he afterwards felt no inclination to part with so
pleasant and so profitable a delusion.... Of his success in
deception, the present narrative exhibits abundant proofs.
The number of his dupes was not confined to the vulgar and
illiterate, but included individuals of real worth and
learning, of hostile parties and sects, who courted his
acquaintance and respected his predictions. His proceedings
were deemed of sufficient importance to be twice made the
subject of a Parliamentary inquiry; and even after the
Restoration--when a little more scepticism, if not more
wisdom, might have been expected--we find him examined by a
Committee of the House of Commons respecting his
foreknowledge of the Great Fire of London. We know not
whether it "should more move our anger or our mirth" to see
our assemblage of British Senators--the contemporaries of
Hampden and Falkland, of Milton and Clarendon, in an age
which moved into action so many and such mighty
energies--gravely engaged in ascertaining the cause of a
great national calamity from the prescience of a knavish
fortune-teller, and puzzling their wisdoms to interpret the
symbolical flames which blazed in the misshapen woodcuts of
his oracular publications.
'As a set-off against these honours may be mentioned the
virulent and unceasing attacks of almost all the party
scribblers of the day; but their abuse he shared in common
with men whose talents and virtues have outlived the malice
of their contemporaries.'--_Retrospective Review._
William Lilly was born at Diseworth, in Leicestershire, on May 1,
1602. He came of an old and reputable family of the yeoman class, and
his father was at one time a man of substance, though, from causes
unexplained, he fell into a state of great impoverishment. William
from the first was intended to be a scholar, and at the age of eleven
was sent to the grammar-school at Ashby-de-la-Zouch, where he made a
fair progress in his classical studies. In his sixteenth year he began
to be much troubled in his dreams regarding his chances of future
salvation, and felt a large concern for the spiritual welfare of his
parents. He frequently spent the night in weeping and praying, and in
an agony of fear lest his sins should offend God. That in this
exhibition of early piety he was already preparing for his career of
self-hypocrisy and deception, I will not be censorious enough to
assert; but in after-life his conscience was certainly much less
sensitive, and he ceased to trouble himself about the souls of any of
his kith and kin.
He was about eighteen when the collapse of his father's circumstances
compelled him to leave school. He had used his time and opportunities
so well that he had gained the highest form, and the highest place on
that form. He spoke Latin as readily as his native tongue; could
improvise verses upon any theme--all kinds of verses, hexameter,
pentameter, phalenciac, iambic, sapphic--so that if any ingenious
youth came from remote schools to hold public disputations, Lilly was
always selected as the Ashby-de-la-Zouch champion, and in that
capacity invariably won distinction. 'If any minister came to examine
us,' he said, 'I was brought forth against him, nor would I argue with
him unless in the Latin tongue, which I found few could well speak
without breaking Priscian's head; which, if once they did, I would
complain to my master, _Non bene intelliget linguare Latinam, nec
prorsus loquitur_. In the derivation of words, I found most of them
defective; nor, indeed, were any of them good grammarians. All and
every of those scholars who were of my form and standing went to
Cambridge, and proved excellent divines; only I, poor William Lilly,
was not so happy; fortune then frowning upon my father's present
condition, he not in any capacity to maintain me at the University.'
The _res angustæ domi_ pressing heavily upon the quick-witted,
ingenious, and active young fellow, he set forth--as so many Dick
Whittingtons have done before and since--to make his fortune in London
City. His purse held only 20s., with which he purchased a new
suit--hose, doublets, trunk, and the like--and with a donation from
his friends of 10s., he took leave of his father ('then in Leicester
gaol for debt') on April 4th, and tramping his way to London, in
company with 'Bradshaw the carrier,' arrived there on the 9th. When he
had gratified the carrier and his servants, his capital was reduced to
7s. 6d. in money, a suit of clothes on his back, two shirts, three
bands, one pair of shoes, and as many stockings. The master to whom he
had been recommended--Leicestershire born, like himself--a certain
Gilbert Wright, received him kindly, purchasing for him a new cloak--a
welcome addition to Lilly's scanty wardrobe; and Lilly then settled
down, contentedly enough, to his laborious duties, though they were
hardly of a kind to gratify the tastes of an earnest scholar. 'My
work,' he says, 'was to go before my master to church; to attend my
master when he went abroad; to make clean his shoes; sweep the street;
help to drive bucks when he washed; fetch water in a tub from the
Thames (I have helped to carry eighteen tubs of water in one morning);
weed the garden; all manner of drudgeries I willingly performed;
scrape trenchers,' etc.
* * * * *
In 1624 his mistress (he says) died of cancer in the breast, and he
came into possession--by way of legacy, I suppose--of a small scarlet
bag belonging to her, which contained some rare and curious things.
Among others, several sigils, amulets, or charms: some of Jupiter in
trine, others of the nature of Venus; some of iron, and one of
gold--pure angel gold, of the bigness of a thirty-shilling piece of
King James's coinage. In the circumference, on one side, was
engraven, _Vicit Leo de tribu Judæ Tetragrammaton_, and within the
middle a holy lamb. In the circumference on the obverse side were
Amraphel and three {+++}, and in the centre, _Sanctus Petrus Alpha et
Omega_.
According to Lilly, this sigil was framed under the following
circumstances:
'His mistress's former husband travelling into Sussex,
happened to lodge in an inn, and to lie in a chamber thereof,
wherein, not many months before, a country grazier had lain,
and in the night cut his own throat. After this night's
lodging he was perpetually, and for many years, followed by a
spirit, which vocally and articulately provoked him to cut
his throat. He was used frequently to say, "I defy thee, I
defy thee," and to spit at the spirit. This spirit followed
him many years, he not making anybody acquainted with it; at
last he grew melancholy and discontented, which being
carefully observed by his wife, she many times hearing him
pronounce, "I defy thee," desired him to acquaint her with
the cause of his distemper, which he then did. Away she went
to Dr. Simon Forman, who lived then in Lambeth, and acquaints
him with it; who having framed this sigil, and hanged it
about his neck, he wearing it continually until he died, was
never more molested by the spirit. I sold the sigil for
thirty-two shillings, but transcribed the words _verbatim_ as
I have related.'
Lilly continued some time longer in the service of Master Gilbert
Wright. When the plague broke out in London in 1625, he, with a
fellow-servant, was left in charge of his employer's house. He seems
to have taken things easily enough, notwithstanding the sorrow and
suffering that surrounded him on every side. Purchasing a bass-viol,
he hired a master to instruct him in playing it; the intervals he
spent in bowling in Lincoln's Inn Fields, with Wat the Cobbler, Dick
the Blacksmith, and such-like companions. 'We have sometimes been at
our work at six in the morning, and so continued till three or four in
the afternoon, many times without bread or drink all that while.
Sometimes I went to church and heard funeral sermons, of which there
was then great plenty. At other times I went early to St. Antholin's,
in London, where there was every morning a sermon. The most able
people of the whole city and suburbs were out of town; if any
remained, it were such as were engaged by parish officers to remain;
no habit of a gentleman or woman continued; the woeful calamity of
that year was grievous, people dying in the open fields and in open
streets. At last, in August, the bills of mortality so increased, that
very few people had thoughts of surviving the contagion. The Sunday
before the great bill came forth, which was of five thousand and odd
hundreds, there was appointed a sacrament at Clement Danes'; during
the distributing whereof I do very well remember we sang thirteen
parts of the 119th Psalm. One Jacob, our minister (for we had three
that day, the communion was so great), fell sick as he was giving the
sacrament, went home, and was buried of the plague the Thursday
following.'
Having been led by various circumstances to apply himself to the study
of astrology, he sought a guide and teacher in the person of one
Master Evans, whom he describes as poor, ignorant, boastful, drunken,
and knavish; he had a character, or reputation, however, for erecting
a figure (or horoscope) predicting future events, discovering
secrets, restoring stolen goods, and even for raising spirits, when it
so pleased him. Of this crafty cheat he relates an extraordinary
story. Some time before Lilly became acquainted with him, Lord
Bothwell and Sir Kenelm Digby visited him at his lodgings in the
Minories, in order that they might enjoy what is nowadays called a
'spiritualistic séance.' The magician drew the mysterious circle, and
placed himself and his visitors within it. He began his invocations;
but suddenly Evans was caught up from the others, and transferred, he
knew not how, to Battersea Fields, near the Thames. Next morning a
countryman discovered him there, fast asleep, and, having roused him,
informed him, in answer to his inquiries, where he was. Evans in the
afternoon sent a messenger to his wife, to acquaint her with his
safety, and dispel the apprehensions she might reasonably entertain.
Just as the messenger arrived, Sir Kenelm Digby also arrived, not
unnaturally curious to learn the issue of the preceding day's
adventure. This monstrous story Evans told to Lilly, who, I suppose,
affected to believe it, and asked him how such an issue chanced to
attend on his experiment. Because, the knave replied, in performing
the invocation rites, he had carelessly omitted the necessary
suffumigation, and at this omission the spirit had taken offence. It
is evident that the spirits insist on being treated with due regard to
etiquette.
Lilly, by the way, records some quaint biographical particulars
respecting the astrologers of his time; they are not of a nature,
however, to elevate our ideas of the profession. One would almost
suppose that free intercourse with the inhabitants of the unseen world
had an exceptionally bad effect on the morals and manners of the
mortals who enjoyed it; or else the spirits must have had a penchant
for low society. Lilly speaks of one William Poole, who was a nibbler
at astrological science, and, in addition, a gardener, an apparitor, a
drawer of lime, a plasterer, a bricklayer; in fact, he bragged of
knowing no fewer than seventeen trades--such was the versatility of
his genius! It is pleasant to know that this wonderfully clever fellow
could condescend to 'drolling,' and even to writing poetry (heaven
save the mark!), of which Lilly, in his desire to astonish posterity,
has preserved a specimen. Master Poole's rhymes, however, are much too
offensively coarse to be transferred to these pages.
This man of many callings died about 1651 or 1652, at St. Mary
Overy's, in Southwark, and Lilly quotes a portion of his last will and
testament:
'_Item._ I give to Dr. Arder all my books, and one manuscript
of my own, worth one hundred of Lilly's Introduction.
'_Item._ If Dr. Arder gives my wife anything that is mine, I
wish the D--l may fetch him body and soul.'
Terrified at this uncompromising malediction, the doctor handed over
all the deceased conjurer's books and goods to Lilly, who in his turn
handed them over to the widow; and in this way Poole's curse was
eluded, and his widow got her rights.
The true name of this Dr. Arder, it seems, was Richard Delahay. He
had originally practised as an attorney; but falling into poverty, and
being driven from his Derbyshire home by the Countess of Shrewsbury,
he turned to astrology and physic, and looked round about him for
patients, though with no very great success. He had at one time known
a Charles Sledd, a friend of Dr. Dee, 'who used the crystal, and had a
very perfect sight'--in modern parlance, was a good medium.
Dr. Arder often declared to Lilly that an angel had on one occasion
offered him a lease of life for a thousand years, but for some
unexplained reasons he declined the valuable freehold. However, he
outlived the Psalmist's span, dying at the ripe old age of eighty.
* * * * *
A much more famous magician was John Booker, who, in 1632 and 1633,
gained a great notoriety by his prediction of a solar eclipse in the
nineteenth degree of Aries, 1633, taken out of 'Leuitius de Magnis
Conjunctionibus,' namely, 'O Reges et Principes,' etc., both the King
of Bohemia and Gustavus, King of Sweden, dying during 'the effects of
that eclipse.'
John Booker was born at Manchester, of good parentage, in 1601. In his
youth he attained a very considerable proficiency in the Latin tongue.
From his early years we may take it that he was destined to become an
astrologer--he showed so great a fancy (otherwise inexplicable!) for
poring over old almanacks. In his teens he was despatched to London to
serve his apprenticeship to a haberdasher in Lawrence Lane. But
whether he contracted a distaste for the trade, or lacked the capital
to start on his own account, he abandoned it on reaching manhood, and
started as a writing-master at Hadley, in Middlesex. It is said that
he wrote singularly well, 'both Secretary and Roman.' Later in life he
officiated as clerk to Sir Christopher Clithero, Alderman of London,
and Justice of the Peace, and also to Sir Hugh Hammersley, Alderman,
and in these responsible positions became well known to many citizens
who, like Cowper's John Gilpin, were 'of credit and renown.'
In star-craft this John Booker was a past master! His verses upon the
months, framed according to their different astrological
significations, 'being blessed with success, according to his
predictions,' made him known all over England. He was a man of 'great
honesty,' abhorring any deceit in the art he loved and studied. So
says Lilly; but it is certain that if an astrologer be in earnest, he
must deceive himself, if he do not deceive others. This Booker had
much good fortune in detecting thefts, and was not less an adept in
resolving love-questions. His knowledge of astronomy was by no means
limited; he understood a good deal of physic; was a great advocate of
the antimonial cup, whose properties were first discovered by Basil
Valentine; not unskilled in chemistry, though he did not practise it.
He died in the sweet odour of a good reputation in 1667, leaving
behind him a tolerable library (which was purchased by Elias Ashmole,
the antiquary), a widow, four children, and the MSS. of his annual
prognostications. During the Long Parliament period he published his
'Bellum Hibernicale,' which is described as 'a very sober and
judicious book,' and, not long before his death, a small treatise on
Easter Day, wherein he displayed a laudable erudition.
* * * * *
Lilly has also something to say about a Master Nicholas Fiske,
licentiate in physic, who came of a good old family, and was born near
Framlingham, in Suffolk. He was educated for the University, but
preferred staying at home, and studying astrology and medicine, which
he afterwards practised at Colchester, and at several places in
London.
'He was a person very studious, laborious, of good
apprehension, and had by his own industry obtained both in
astrology, physic, arithmetic, astronomy, geometry, and
algebra, singular judgment: he would in astrology resolve
horary questions very soundly, but was ever diffident of his
own abilities. He was exquisitely skilful in the art of
directions upon nativities, and had a good genius in
performing judgment thereupon; but very unhappy he was that
he had no genius in teaching his scholars, for he never
perfected any. His own son Matthew hath often told me that
when his father did teach any scholars in his time, they
would principally learn of him. _He had Scorpio ascending
(!)_, and was secretly envious to those he thought had more
parts than himself. However, I must be ingenuous, and do
affirm that by frequent conversation with him I came to know
which were the best authors, and much to enlarge my judgment,
especially in the art of directions: he visited me most days
once after I became acquainted with him, and would
communicate his most doubtful questions unto me, and accept
of my judgment therein rather than his own.'
Resuming his own life-story, Lilly records an important purchase which
he made in 1634--the great astrological treatise, the 'Ars Notaria,'
a large parchment volume, enriched with the names and pictures of
those angels which are thought and believed by wise men to teach and
instruct in all the several liberal sciences--as if heaven were a
scientific academy, with the angels giving lectures as professors of
astrology, medicine, mathematics, and the like! Next he describes how
he sought to extend his fame as a magician by attempting the discovery
of a quantity of treasure alleged to have been concealed in the
cloister of Westminster Abbey; and having obtained permission from the
authorities, he repaired thither, one winter night, accompanied by
several gentlemen, and by one John Scott, a supposed expert in the use
of the Mosaical or divining rods. The hazel rods were duly played
round about the cloister, and on the west side turned one over the
other, a proof that the treasure lay there. The labourers, after
digging to a depth of six feet, came upon a coffin; but as it was not
heavy, Lilly refrained from opening it, an omission which he
afterwards regretted. From the cloister they proceeded to the Abbey
Church, where, upon a sudden, so fierce, so high, so blustering and
loud a wind burst forth, that they feared the west end of the church
would fall upon them. Their rods would not move at all; the candles
and torches, all but one, were extinguished, or burned very dimly.
John Scott, Lilly's partner, was amazed, turned pale, and knew not
what to think or do, until Lilly gave command to dismiss the demons.
This being done, all was quiet again, and the party returned home
about midnight. 'I could never since be induced,' says Master Lilly,
with sublime impertinence, 'to join with any in such-like actions. The
true miscarriage of the business,' he adds, 'was by reason of so many
people being present at the operation; for there were about thirty,
some laughing, others deriding, _so that if we had not dismissed the
demons, I believe most part of the Abbey Church had been blown down_!
Secrecy and intelligent operators,' he adds, 'with a strong confidence
and knowledge of what they are doing, are best for this work.' They
are, at all events, for conspiracy and collusion.
In reading a narrative like this, one finds it not easy to satisfy
one's self how far it has been written in good faith, or how far it is
compounded of credulity or of conscious deception--how far the writer
has unwittingly imposed upon himself, or is knowingly imposing upon
the reader. That Lilly should gravely transmit to posterity such a
record, if aware that it was an audacious invention, seems hardly
credible; and yet it is still less credible that a man so shrewd and
keen-witted should believe in the operations of demons, and in their
directing a blast of wind against the Abbey Church because they
resented his search for a hidden treasure, to which they at least
could have no claim! As great wit to madness nearly is allied, so is
there a dangerous proximity between credulity and imposture, and the
man who begins by being a dupe often ends by becoming a knave. Perhaps
there are times when the axiom should be reversed.
Lilly's astrological pursuits appear to have affected his health: he
grew lean and haggard, and suffered much from hypochondria; so that,
at length, he resolved to try the curative effects of country air, and
removed, in the spring of 1636, to Hersham, a quiet and picturesque
hamlet, near Walton-on-the-Thames. He did not give up his London
house, however, until thirty years later (1665), when he finally
settled at Hersham as a country gentleman, and a person of no small
consideration.
Having recovered his health in his rural quarters, our great magician
returned to London, and practised openly his favourite art. But a
secret intelligence apprising him that he was not sufficiently an
adept, he again withdrew into the country, where he remained for a
couple of years, immersed, I suppose, in occult studies. We may take
it that he really entered on a professional career in 1644, when a
'happy thought' inspired him to bring out the first yearly issue of
his prophetical almanac, or 'Merlinus Anglicus Junior.' In his usual
abrupt and disjointed style he gives the following account of his
publication: 'I had given, one day, the copy thereof unto the then Mr.
[afterwards Sir Bulstrode] Whitlocke, who by accident was reading
thereof in the House of Commons. Ere the Speaker took the chair, one
looked upon it, and so did many, and got copies thereof; which, when I
heard, I applied myself to John Booker to license it, for then he was
licenser of all mathematical books.... He wondered at the book, made
many impertinent obliterations, formed many objections, swore it was
not possible to distinguish betwixt King and Parliament [O shrewd
John Booker!]; at last licensed it according to his own fancy. I
delivered it unto the printer, who being an arch Presbyterian, had
five of the ministry to inspect it, _who could make nothing of it_,
but said that it might be printed, for in that I meddled not with
their Dagon. The first impression was sold in less than one week. When
I presented some [copies] to the members of Parliament, I complained
of John Booker, the licenser, who had defaced my book; they gave me
order forthwith to reprint it as I would, and let me know if any durst
resist me in the reprinting or adding what I thought fit: so the
second time it came forth as I would have it.'
In June, 1644, Lilly published his 'Supernatural Sight,' and also 'The
White King's Prophecy,' of which, in three days, eighteen hundred
copies were sold. He issued the second volume of his 'Prophetical
Merlin,' in which he made use of the King's nativity, and discovering
that _his ascendant was approaching to the quadrature of Mars about
June, 1645_, delivered himself of this oracular utterance, as
ambiguous as any that ever fell from the lips of the Pythian
priestess:
'If now we fight, a victory stealeth upon us--'
which he afterwards boasted to be a clear prediction of the defeat of
Charles I. at Naseby, and, of course, would equally well have served
to have explained a royal victory. Whitlocke, in his 'Memorials of
Affairs in his own Times,' states that he met the astrologer in the
spring of 1645, and jestingly asking him what events were likely to
take place, Lilly repeated this prophecy of a victory. He remarks that
in 1648 some of Lilly's prognostications 'fell out very strangely,
particularly as to the King's fall from his horse about this time.'
But it would have been strange if a man so well informed of public
affairs, and so shrewd, as William Lilly, had never been right in his
forecasts. And a lucky coincidence will set an astrologer up in credit
for a long time, his numerous failures being forgotten.
In this same memorable and eventful year he published his 'Starry
Messenger,' with an interpretation of three mock suns, or _parhelia_,
which had been seen in London on the 29th of May, 1644, King Charles
II.'s birthday. Complaint was immediately made to the Parliamentary
Committee of Examination that it contained treasonable and scandalous
matter. Lilly was summoned before the Committee, but several of his
friends were upon it, and voted the charges against him frivolous--as,
indeed, they were--so that he met with his usual good fortune, and
came off with flying colours.
All the English astrologers of the old school seem to have been
startled and confounded by the innovations of this dashing young
magician, with his yearly almanacks and political predictions and
self-advertisement, especially a certain Mr. William Hodges, who lived
near Wolverhampton, and candidly confessed that Lilly did more by
astrology than he himself could do by the crystal, though he
understood its use as well as any man in England. Though a strong
royalist, he could never strike out any good fortune for the King's
party--the stars in their courses fought against Charles Stuart. The
angels whom he interviewed by means of the crystal were Raphael,
Gabriel, and Ariel; but his life was wanting in the purity and
holiness which ought to have been conspicuous in a man who was
favoured by communications from such high celestial sources.
A proof of his skill is related by Lilly on the authority of Lilly's
partner, John Scott.
Scott had some knowledge of surgery and physic; so had Will Hodges,
who had at one time been a schoolmaster. Having some business at
Wolverhampton, Scott stayed for a few weeks with Hodges, and assisted
him in dressing wounds, letting blood, and other chirurgical matters.
When on the point of returning to London, he asked Hodges to show him
the face and figure of the woman he should marry. Hodges carried him
into a field near his house, pulled out his crystal, bade Scott set
his foot against his, and, after a pause, desired him to look into the
crystal, and describe what he saw there.
'I see,' saith Scott, 'a ruddy-complexioned wench, in a red waistcoat,
drawing a can of beer.'
'She will be your wife,' cried Hodges.
'You are mistaken, sir,' rejoined Scott. 'So soon as I come to London,
I am engaged to marry a tall gentlewoman in the Old Bailey.'
'You will marry the red gentlewoman,' replied Hodges, with an air of
imperturbable assurance.
On returning to London, Scott, to his great astonishment, found that
his tall gentlewoman had jilted him, and taken to herself another
husband. Two years afterwards, in the course of a Kentish journey, he
refreshed himself at an inn in Canterbury; fell in love with its
ruddy-complexioned barmaid; and, when he married her, remembered her
red waistcoat, her avocation, and Mr. Hodges 'his crystal.'
An amusing story is told of this man Hodges.
A neighbour of his, who had lost his horse, recovered the animal by
acting upon the astrologer's advice. Some years afterwards he
unluckily conceived the idea of playing upon the wise man a practical
joke, and obtained the co-operation of one of his friends. He had
certainly recovered his horse, he said, in the way Hodges had shown
him, but it was purely a chance, and would not happen again. 'So come,
let us play him a trick. I will leave some boy or other at the town's
end with my horse, and we will then call on Hodges and put him to the
test.'
This was done, and Hodges said it was true the horse was lost, and
would never be recovered.
'I thought what fine skill you had,' laughed the gentleman; 'my horse
is walking in a lane at the town's end.'
Whereupon Hodges, with an oath, as was his evil habit, asserted that
the horse was gone, and that his owner would never see him again.
Ridiculing the wise man without mercy, the gentleman departed, and
hastened to the town's end, and there, at the appointed place, the
boy lay stretched upon the ground, fast asleep, with the bridle round
his arm, but the horse was gone!
Back to Hodges hurried the chap-fallen squire, ashamed of his
incredulity, and eagerly seeking assistance. But no; the conjurer
swore freely--'Be gone--be gone about your business; go and look for
your horse.' He went and he looked, east and west, and north and
south, but his horse saw never more.
* * * * *
Let us next hear what Lilly has to tell us of Dr. Napper, the parson
of Great Lindford, in Buckinghamshire, the advowson of which parish
belonged to him. He sprang from a good old stock, according to the
witness of King James himself. For when his brother, Robert Napper, an
opulent Turkey merchant, was to be made a baronet in James's reign,
some dispute arose whether he could prove himself a gentleman for
three or more descents. 'By my soul,' exclaimed the King, 'I will
certify for Napper, that he is of above three hundred years' standing
in his family; all of them, by my soul, gentlemen!' The parson was
legitimately and truly master of arts; his claim to the title of
doctor, however, seems to have been dubious. Miscarrying one day in
the pulpit, he never after ventured into it, but all his lifetime kept
in his house some excellent scholar to officiate for him, allowing him
a good salary. Lilly speaks highly of his sanctity of life and
knowledge of medicine, and avers that he cured the falling sickness by
constellated rings, and other diseases by amulets.
The parents of a maid who suffered severely from the falling sickness
applied to him, on one occasion, for a cure. He fashioned for her a
constellated ring, upon wearing of which she completely recovered. Her
parents chanced to make known the cure to some scrupulous divines, who
immediately protested that it was done by enchantment. 'Cast away the
ring,' they said; 'it's diabolical! God cannot bless you, if you do
not cast it away.' The ring was thrown into a well, and the maid was
again afflicted with her epilepsy, enduring the old pain and misery
for a weary time. At last the parents caused the well to be emptied,
and regained the ring, which the maid again made use of, and recovered
from her fits. Thus things went on for a year or two, until the
Puritan divines, hearing that she had resumed the ring, insisted with
her parents until they threw the ring away altogether; whereupon the
fits returned with such violence that they betook themselves to the
doctor, told their story, acknowledged their fault, and once more
besought his assistance. But he could not be persuaded to render it,
observing that those who despised God's mercies were not capable or
not worthy of enjoying them.
We do not dismiss this story as entirely apocryphal, knowing that, in
the cure or mitigation of nervous diseases, the imagination exercises
a wonderful influence. There are well-authenticated instances of
'faith healing' not a whit less extraordinary than this case described
by Lilly of the maiden and the ring. It would be trivial, perhaps, to
hint that a good many maidens have been cured of some, at least, of
their ailments by _a ring_.
* * * * *
In 1646 Lilly printed a collection of prophecies, with the explanation
and verification of 'Aquila; or, The White King's Prophecy,' as also
the nativities of Archbishop Laud and the Earl of Strafford, and a
learned speech, which the latter intended to have spoken on the
scaffold. In the following year he completed his 'Introduction unto
Astrology,' or 'Christian Astrology,' and was summoned, along with
John Booker, to the head-quarters of Fairfax, at Windsor. They were
conveyed thither in great pomp and circumstance, with a coach and four
horses, welcomed in hearty fashion, and feasted in a garden where
General Fairfax lodged. In the course of their interview with the
general he said to them:
'That God had blessed the army with many signal victories,
and yet their work was not finished. He hoped God would go
along with them until His work was done. They sought not
themselves, but the welfare and tranquillity of the good
people and whole nation; and, for that end, were resolved to
sacrifice both their lives and their own fortunes. As for the
art that Lilly and Booker studied, he hoped it was lawful and
agreeable to God's Word: he himself understood it not, but
doubted not they both feared God, and therefore had a good
opinion of them both.'
Lilly replied:
'My lord, I am glad to see you here at this time. Certainly,
both the people of God, and all others of this nation, are
very sensible of God's mercy, love, and favour unto them, in
directing the Parliament to nominate and elect you General of
their armies, a person so religious, so valiant.
'The several unexpected victories obtained under your
Excellency's conduct will eternize the same unto all
posterity.
'We are confident of God's going along with you and your army
until the great work, for which He ordained you both, is
fully perfected, which we hope will be the conquering and
subversion of your and the Parliament's enemies; and then a
quiet settlement and firm peace over all the nation unto
God's glory, and full satisfaction of tender consciences.
'Sir, as for ourselves, we trust in God; and, as Christians,
we believe in Him. We do not study any art but what is lawful
and consonant to the Scriptures, Fathers, and antiquity,
which we humbly desire you to believe.'
They afterwards paid a visit to Hugh Peters, the famous Puritan
ecclesiastic, who had lodgings in the Castle. They found him reading
'an idle pamphlet,' which he had received from London that morning.
'Lilly, thou art herein,' he exclaimed. 'Are not you there also?'
'Yes, that I am,' he answered.
The stanza relating to Lilly ran as follows:
'From th' oracles of the Sibyls so silly,
The curst predictions of William Lilly,
And Dr. Sibbald's Shoe-Lane Philly,
Good Lord, deliver me.'
After much conference with Hugh Peters, and some private discourse
betwixt the two 'not to be divulged,' they parted, and Master Lilly
returned to London.
In 1647 he published 'The World's Catastrophe,' 'The Prophecies of
Ambrose Merlin' (both of which were translated by Elias Ashmole), and
'Trithemius of the Government of the World, by the Presiding
Angels'--all three tracts in one volume.
Notwithstanding his services to the Parliamentary cause, Lilly
secretly retained a strong attachment towards Charles I., and he was
consulted by Mrs. Whorwood, a lady who enjoyed the royal confidence,
as to the best place for the concealment of the King, when he escaped
from Hampton Court. After the usual sham of 'erecting a figure' had
been gone through, Lilly advised that a safe asylum might be found in
Essex, about twenty miles from London. 'She liked my judgment very
well,' he says, and being herself of sharp judgment, remembered a
place in Essex about that distance, where was an excellent house, and
all conveniences for his reception. But, either guided by an
irresistible destiny, or misled by Ashburnham, whose good faith has
been sometimes doubted, he went away in the night-time westward, and
surrendered himself to Colonel Hammond, in the Isle of Wight.
With another unfortunate episode in the King's later career, Lilly was
also connected. During the King's confinement at Carisbrooke the
Kentishmen, in considerable numbers, rose in arms, and joined with
Lord Goring; at the same time many of the best ships revolted, and a
movement on behalf of the King was begun among the citizens of London.
'His Majesty then laid his design to escape out of prison by sawing
the iron bar of his chamber window; a small ship was provided, and
anchored not far from the Castle, to bring him into Sussex; horses
were provided ready to carry him through Sussex into Kent, so that he
might be at the head of the army in Kent, and from thence to march
immediately to London, where thousands then would have armed for
him.' Lilly was brought acquainted with the plot, and employed a
locksmith in Bow Lane to make a saw for cutting asunder the iron bar,
and also procured a supply of aqua fortis. But, as everybody knows,
the King was unable to force his body through the narrow casement,
even after the removal of the bar, and the plot failed.
When the Parliament sent Commissioners into the Island to negotiate
with Charles the terms of a concordat, of whom Lord Saye was one, Lady
Whorwood again sought Lilly's assistance and advice. After perusing
his 'figure,' he told her the Commissioners would arrive in the Island
on such a date; elected a day and hour when the King would receive the
Commissioners and their propositions; and as soon as these were read,
advised the King to sign them, and in all haste to accompany the
Commissioners to London. The army being then far removed from the
capital, and the citizens stoutly enraged against the Parliamentary
leaders, Charles promised he would do so. But, unfortunately, he
allowed Lord Saye to dissuade him from signing the propositions, on
the assurance that he had a powerful party both in the House of Lords
and the House of Commons, who would see that he obtained more
favourable conditions. Thus was lost almost his last chance of
retaining his crown, and baffling the designs of his enemies.
Whilst the King, in his last days, was at Windsor Castle, on one
occasion, when he was taking the air upon the leads, he looked through
Captain Wharton's 'Almanack.' 'My book,' saith he, 'speaks well as to
the weather.' A Master William Allen, who was standing by, inquired,
'What saith his antagonist, Mr. Lilly?' 'I do not care for Lilly,'
remarked his Majesty, 'he has always been against me,' infusing some
bitterness into his expressions. 'Sir,' observed Allen, 'the man is an
honest man, and writes but what his art informs him.' 'I believe it,'
said his Majesty, 'and that Lilly understands astrology as well as any
man in Europe.'
* * * * *
In 1648 the Council of State acknowledged Lilly's services with a
grant of £50, and a pension of £100 a year, which, however, he
received for two years only.
In the following January, while the King lay at St. James's House,
Lilly began his observations, he tells us, in the following oracular
fashion:
'I am serious, I beg and expect justice; either fear or shame begins
to question offenders.
'The lofty cedars begin to divine a thundering hurricane is at hand;
God elevates man contemptible.
'Our demigods are sensible, we begin to dislike their actions very
much in London; more in the country.
'Blessed be God, who encourages His servants, makes them valiant, and
of undaunted spirit to go on with His decrees: upon a sudden, great
expectations arise, and men generally believe a quiet and calm time
draws nigh.'
Our garrulous and egotistical conjurer, who seems really to have
believed that he exercised a considerable influence upon the course of
events, though his position was no more important than that of the fly
upon the wheel, evidently wished to connect these commonplaces with
the execution of Charles I.:
'In Christmas holidays,' he writes, 'the Lord Gray of Groby, and Hugh
Peters, sent for me to Somerset House, with directions to bring them
two of my almanacks. I did so. Peters and he read January's
observations. "If we are not fools and knaves," saith he, "we shall do
justice." Then they whispered. _I understood not their meaning until
his Majesty _was beheaded_._ They applied what I wrote of justice to
be understood of his Majesty, _which was contrary to my intention_;
for Jupiter, the first day of January, became direct; and Libra is a
sign signifying justice. I implored for justice generally upon such as
had cheated in their places, being treasurers and such-like officers.
I had not then heard the least intimation of bringing the King unto
trial, and yet the first day thereof I was casually there, it being
upon a Saturday. For going to Westminster every Saturday in the
afternoon, in these times, at Whitehall I casually met Peters. "Come,
Lilly, wilt thou go hear the King tried?" "When?" said I. "Now--just
now; go with me." I did so, and was permitted by the guard of soldiers
to pass up to the King's Bench. Within one quarter of an hour came the
judges; presently his Majesty, who spoke excellently well, and
majestically, without impediment in the least when he spoke. I saw
the silver top of his staff unexpectedly fall to the ground, which was
took up by Mr. Rushworth; and then I heard Bradshaw, the judge, say to
his Majesty: "Sir, instead of answering the Court, you interrogate
their power, which becomes not one in your condition." These words
pierced my heart and soul, to hear a subject thus audaciously to
reprehend his Sovereign, who ever and anon replied with great
magnanimity and prudence.'
Lilly tells us that during the siege of Colchester he and his
fellow-astrologer, Booker, were sent for, to encourage the soldiers by
their vaticinations, and in this they succeeded, as they assured them
the town would soon be surrendered--which was actually the case. Our
prophet, however, if he could have obtained leave to enter the town,
would have carried all his sympathies, and all his knowledge of the
condition of affairs in the Parliament's army, to Sir Charles Lucas,
the Royalist Governor. He had a narrow escape with his life during his
sojourn in the camp of the besiegers. A couple of guns had been placed
so as to command St. Mary's Church, and had done great injury to it.
One afternoon he was standing in the redoubt and talking with the
cannoneer, when the latter cried out for everybody to look to himself,
as he could see through his glass that there was a piece in the Castle
loaded and directed against his work, and ready to be discharged.
Lilly ran in hot haste under an old ash-tree, and immediately the
cannon-shot came hissing over their heads. 'No danger now,' said the
gunner, 'but begone, for there are five more loading!' And so it was.
Two hours later those cannon were fired, and unluckily killed the
cannoneer who had given Lilly a timely warning.
The practice of astrology must have been exceedingly lucrative, for
Lilly is known to have acquired a considerable fortune. In 1651 he
expended £1,030 in the purchase of fee-farm rents, equal in value to
£120 per annum. And in the following year he bought his house at
Hersham, with some lands and buildings, for £950. In the same year he
published his 'Annus Tenebrosus,' a title which he chose _not_
'because of the great obscurity of the solar eclipse,' but in allusion
to 'those underhand and clandestine counsels held in England by the
soldiery, of which he would never, except _in generals_, give
information to any Parliament man.' Unfortunately, Lilly's knowledge
was always embodied 'in generals,' and the misty vagueness of his
vaticinations renders it impossible for the reader to pin them down to
any definite meaning. You may apply them to all events--or to none.
Their elastic indications of things good and evil may be made to suit
the events of the nineteenth century almost as well as those of the
seventeenth.
Many characters Mr. William Lilly must be owned to have represented
with great success. But that all-essential one--if we desire to secure
the confidence of our contemporaries, and the respect of posterity--of
_an honest man_, I fear he was never able to personate successfully.
Of the craft and cunning he could at times display he records a
striking illustration--evidently with entire satisfaction to himself,
and apparently never suspecting that it might not be so favourably
regarded by others, and especially by those plain, commonplace people
who make no pretensions to hermetic learning or occult knowledge, but
have certain unsophisticated ideas as to the laws of morality and fair
dealing.
In his 1651 'Almanack' he asserted that the Parliament stood upon
tottering foundations, and that the soldiery and commonalty would
combine against it--a conclusion at which every intelligent onlooker
must by that time have arrived, without 'erecting a figure' or
consulting the starry heavens.
This previous attempt at forecasting the future 'lay for a whole
week,' says its author, 'in the Parliament House, much criticised by
the Presbyterians; one disliking this sentence, another that, and
others disliking the whole. In the end a motion was made that it
should be examined by a Committee of the House, with instructions to
report concerning its errors.
'A messenger attached me by a warrant from that Committee. I had
private notice ere the messenger came, and hasted unto Mr. Speaker
Lenthall, ever my friend. He was exceeding glad to see me, told me
what was done, called for "Anglicus," marked the passages which
tormented the Presbyterians so highly. I presently sent for Mr.
Warren, the printer, an assured cavalier, obliterated what was most
offensive, put in other more significant words, and desired only to
have six amended against next morning, which very honestly he brought
me. I told him my design was to deny the book found fault with, to own
only the six books. I told him I doubted he would be examined. "Hang
them!" said he; "they are all rogues. I'll swear myself to the devil
ere they shall have an advantage against you, by my oath."
'The day after, I appeared before the Committee. At first they showed
me the true "Anglicus," and asked if I wrote and printed it.'
Lilly, after pretending to inspect it, denied all knowledge of it,
asserting that it must have been written with a view to do him injury
by some malicious Presbyterian, at the same time producing the six
amended copies, to the great surprise and perplexity of the Committee.
The majority, however, were inclined to send him to prison, and some
had proposed Newgate, others the Gate House, when one Brown, of
Sussex, who had been influenced to favour Lilly, remarked that neither
to Newgate nor the Gate House were the Parliament accustomed to send
their prisoners, and suggested that the most convenient and legitimate
course would be for the Sergeant-at-Arms to take this Mr. Lilly into
custody.
'Mr. Strickland, who had for many years been the Parliament's
ambassador or agent in Holland, when he saw how they inclined, spoke
thus:
'"I came purposely into the Committee this day to see the man who is
so famous in those parts where I have so long continued. I assure you
his name is famous over all Europe. I come to do him justice. A book
is produced by us, and said to be his; he denies it; we have not
proved it, yet will commit him. Truly this is great injustice. It is
likely he will write next year, and acquaint the whole world with our
injustice, and so well he may. It is my opinion, first to prove the
book to be his ere he be committed."
'Another old friend of mine spoke thus:
'"You do not know the many services this man hath done for the
Parliament these many years, or how many times, in our greatest
distresses, on applying unto him, he hath refreshed our languishing
expectations; he never failed us of comfort in our most unhappy
distresses. I assure you his writings have kept up the spirits both of
the soldiery, the honest people of this nation, and many of us
Parliament men; and at last, for a slip of his pen (if it were his),
to be thus violent against him, I must tell you, I fear the
consequence urged out of the book will prove effectually true. It is
my counsel to admonish him hereafter to be more wary, and for the
present to dismiss him."
'Notwithstanding anything that was spoken on my behalf, I was ordered
to stand committed to the Sergeant-at-Arms. The messenger attached my
person said I was his prisoner. As he was carrying me away, he was
called to bring me again. Oliver Cromwell, Lieutenant-General of the
army, having never seen me, caused me to be produced again, when he
steadfastly beheld me for a good space, and then I went with the
messenger; but instantly a young clerk of that Committee asks the
messenger what he did with me. Where is the warrant? Until that is
signed you cannot seize Mr. Lilly, or shall [not]. Will you have an
action of false imprisonment against you? So I escaped that night, but
next day stayed the warrant. That night Oliver Cromwell went to Mr.
R----, my friend, and said: "What, never a man to take Lilly's cause
in hand but yourself? None to take his part but you? He shall not be
long there." Hugh Peters spoke much in my behalf to the Committee, but
they were resolved to lodge me in the Sergeant's custody. One
Millington, a drunken member, was much my enemy, and so was Cawley and
Chichester, a deformed fellow, unto whom I had done several
courtesies.
'First thirteen days I was a prisoner, and though every day of the
Committee's sitting I had a petition to deliver, yet so many churlish
Presbyterians still appeared I could not get it accepted. The last day
of the thirteen, Mr. Joseph Ash was made chairman, unto whom my cause
being related, he took my petition, and said I should be bailed in
despite of them all, but desired I would procure as many friends as I
could to be there. Sir Arthur Haselrig and Major Galloway, a person of
excellent parts, appeared for me, and many more of my old friends came
in. After two whole hours' arguing of my cause by Sir Arthur and Major
Galloway, and other friends, the matter came to this point: I should
be bailed, and a Committee nominated to examine the printer. The order
of the Committee being brought afterwards to him who should be
Chairman, he sent me word, do what I would, he would see all the
knaves hanged, or he would examine the printer. This is the truth of
the story.'
Lilly's biographer, however anxious he may be to imitate biographers
generally, and whitewash his hero, feels that in this episode of his
life the great seer fell miserably below the heroic standard, and was
guilty of pusillanimous as well as unveracious and dishonourable
conduct. Yet Lilly is evidently unaware of the unfavourable light in
which he has shown himself, and ambles along in an easy and
well-satisfied mood, as if to the sound of universal applause.
On February 26, 1654, Lilly lost his second wife, and I regret to say
he seems to have borne the loss with astonishing equanimity. On April
20 Cromwell expelled from the House our astrologer's great enemies,
the Parliament men, and thereby won his most cordial applause. He
breaks out, indeed, into a burst of devotional praise--Gloria
Patri--as if for some special and never-to-be-forgotten mercy. A
German physician, then resident in London, sent to him the following
epigram:
_Strophe Alcaica: Generoso Domino Gulielmo Lillio
Astrologo, de dissoluto super Parliamento:_
'Quod calculasti Sydere prævio,
Miles peregit numine conscio;
Gentis videmus nunc Senatum
Marti togaque gravi leviatum.'
His widower's weeds, if he ever wore them, he soon discarded, marrying
his third wife in October, eight months after the decease of his
second. This, his latest partner and helpmate, was signified in his
nativity, he says, by _Jupiter in Libra_, which seems to have been a
great comfort to him, and perhaps to his wife also. 'Jupiter in Libra'
sounds as well, indeed, as 'that blessed word, Mesopotamia.'
In reference to the restoration of Charles II., in 1660, Lilly
unearths an old prophecy attributed to Ambrose Merlin, and written, he
says, 990 years before.
'He calls King James the Lion of Righteousness, and saith, when he
died, or was dead, there would reign a noble White King; this was
Charles I. The prophet discovers all his troubles, his flying up and
down, his imprisonment, his death, and calls him Aquila. What concerns
Charles II. is,' says Lilly, 'the subject of our discourse; in the
Latin copy it is thus:
'_Deinde ab Austro veniet cum Sole super ligneos equos, et super
spumantem inundationem maris, Pullus Aquilæ navigans in Britanniam._
'_Et applicans statim tunc altam domum Aquilæ sitiens, et cito aliam
sitiet._
'_Deinde Pullus Aquilæ nidificabit in summa rupe totius Britanniæ: nec
juvenis occidet, nec ad senem vivet._'
This, in an old copy, is Englished thus:
'After then shall come through the south with the sun, on horse of
tree, and upon all waves of the sea, the Chicken of the Eagle, sailing
into Britain, and arriving anon to the house of the Eagle, he shall
show fellowship to these beasts.
'After, the Chicken of the Eagle shall nestle in the highest rock of
all Britain: nay, he shall nought be slain young; nay, he nought come
old.'
Master William Lilly then supplies an explanation, or, as he calls it,
a verification, of these venerable predictions. We shall give it in
his own words:
'His Majesty being in the Low Countries when the Lord-General had
restored the secluded members, the Parliament sent part of the royal
navy to bring him for England, which they did in May, 1660. Holland is
east from England, so he came with the sun; but he landed at Dover, a
port in the south part of England. Wooden horses are the English
ships.
'_Tunc nidificabit in summo rupium._
'The Lord-General, and most of the gentry in England, met him in Kent,
and brought him unto London, then to White-hall.
'Here, by the highest Rooch (some write Rock) is intended London,
being the metropolis of all England.
'Since which time, unto this very day, I write this story, he hath
reigned in England, and long may he do hereafter.' (Written on
December 20, 1667.)
Lilly quotes a prophecy, printed in 1588, in Greek characters, which
exactly deciphered, he says, the long troubles the English nation
endured from 1641 to 1660, but he omits to tell us where he saw it or
who was its author. It ended in the following mysterious fashion:
'And after that shall come a dreadful dead man, and with him a royal
G' (it is gamma, +G+, in the Greek, intending C in the Latin, being
the third letter in the alphabet), 'of the best blood in the world,
and he shall have the crown, and shall set England in the right way,
and put out all heresies.'
To a man who could read the secrets of the stars, and divine the
events of the future, there was, of course, nothing mysterious or
obscure in these lines, and their meaning he had no difficulty in
determining. Monkery having been extinguished above eighty or ninety
years, and the Lord-General's name being _Monk_, what more clear than
that he must be the 'dead man'? And as for the royal +G+, or C, who
came of the best blood of the world, it was evident that he could be
no other than Charles II.? The unlearned reader, who has neither the
stars nor the crystal to assist him, will, nevertheless, arrive at the
conclusion that if prophecies can be interpreted in this liberal
fashion, there is nothing to prevent even him from assuming the _rôle_
of an interpreter!
But let it be noted that, according to our brilliant magicians, 'these
two prophecies were not given vocally by the angels, but by inspection
of the crystal in types and figures, or by apparition, the circular
way, where, at some distance, the angels appear, representing by
forms, shapes, and motions, what is demanded. It is very rare, yea,
even in our days, for any operator or master to have the angels speak
articulately; _when they do speak, it is like the Irish, much in the
throat_.'
In June, 1660, Lilly was summoned before a Committee of the House of
Commons to answer to an inquiry concerning the executioner employed to
behead Charles I. Here is his account of the examination:
'God's providence appeared very much for me that day, for walking in
Westminster Hall, Mr. Richard Pennington, son to my old friend, Mr.
William Pennington, met me, and inquiring the cause of my being there,
said no more, but walked up and down the Hall, and related my kindness
to his father unto very many Parliament men of Cheshire and
Lancashire, Yorkshire, Cumberland, and those northern counties, who
numerously came up into the Speaker's chamber, and bade me be of good
comfort; at last he meets Mr. Weston, one of the three [the two others
were Mr. Prinn and Colonel King] unto whom my matter was referred for
examination, who told Mr. Pennington that he came purposely to punish
me, and would be bitter against me; but hearing it related, namely, my
singular kindness and preservation of old Mr. Pennington's estate, to
the value of £6,000 or £7,000, "I will do him all the good I can,"
says he. "I thought he had never done any good; let me see him, and
let him stand behind me where I sit." I did so. At my first
appearance, many of the young members affronted me highly, and
demanded several scurrilous questions. Mr. Weston held a paper before
his mouth; bade me answer nobody but Mr. Prinn; I obeyed his command,
and saved myself much trouble thereby; and when Mr. Prinn put any
difficult or doubtful query unto me, Mr. Weston prompted me with a fit
answer. At last, after almost one hour's tugging, I desired to be
fully heard what I could say as to the person who cut Charles I.'s
head off. Liberty being given me to speak, I related what follows,
viz.:
'That the next Sunday but one after Charles I. was beheaded, Robert
Spavin, Secretary unto Lieutenant-General Cromwell at that time,
invited himself to dine with me, and brought Anthony Peirson and
several others along with him to dinner: that their principal
discourse all dinner-time was only who it was that beheaded the King.
One said it was the common hangman; another, Hugh Peters; others also
were nominated, but none concluded. Robert Spavin, so soon as dinner
was done, took me by the hand, and carried me to the south window:
saith he, "These are all mistaken, they have not named the man that
did the fact: it was Lieutenant-Colonel Joyce. I was in the room when
he fitted himself for the work, stood behind him when he did it; when
done, went in again with him. There is no man knows this but my
master, namely, Cromwell, Commissary Ireton, and myself." "Doth not
Mr. Rushworth know it?" said I. "No, he doth not know it," saith
Spavin. The same thing Spavin since had often related unto me when we
were alone. Mr. Prinn did, with much civility, make a report hereof in
the House; yet Norfolk, the Serjeant, after my discharge, kept me two
days longer in arrest, purposely to get money of me. He had six
pounds, and his messenger forty shillings; and yet I was attached but
upon Sunday, examined on Tuesday, and then discharged, though the
covetous Serjeant detained me until Thursday. By means of a friend, I
cried quittance with Norfolk, which friend was to pay him his salary
at that time, and abated Norfolk three pounds, which he spent every
penny at one dinner, without inviting the wretched Serjeant; but in
the latter end of the year, when the King's Judges were arraigned at
the Old Bailey, Norfolk warned me to attend, believing I could give
information concerning Hugh Peters. At the Sessions I attended during
its continuance, but was never called or examined. There I heard
Harrison, Scott, Clement, Peters, Harker, Scroop, and others of the
King's Judges, and Cook the Solicitor, who excellently defended
himself; I say, I did hear what they could say for themselves, and
after heard the sentence of condemnation pronounced against them by
the incomparably modest and learned Judge Bridgman, now Lord Keeper of
the Great Seal of England.'
In spite of Spavin's circumstantial statement, as recorded by Lilly,
it is now conclusively established that the executioner of Charles I.
was Richard Brandon, the common executioner, who had previously
beheaded the Earl of Strafford. It is said that he was afterwards
seized with poignant remorse for the act, and died in great mental
suffering. His body was carried to the grave amid the execrations of
an excited and angry populace.
Though our astrologer, as we have seen, was at heart a Royalist, his
services towards the Parliamentary cause were sufficiently conspicuous
to expose him after the Restoration to a good deal of persecution; and
he found it advisable to sue out his pardon under the Great Seal,
which cost him, as he takes care to tell us, £13 6s. 8d.
He claimed to have foreseen the Restoration, and all the good things
which flowed--or were expected to have flowed--from that 'auspicious
event.' In page 111 of his 'Prophetical Merlin,' published in 1644,
dwelling upon three sextile aspects of Saturn and Jupiter made in 1659
and 1660, he says: 'This, their friendly salutation, comforts us in
England: every man now possesses his own vineyard; our young youth
grow up unto man's estate, and our old men live their full years; our
nobles and gentlemen rest again; our yeomanry, many years
disconsolated, now take pleasure in their husbandry. The merchant
sends out ships, and hath prosperous returns; the mechanic hath quick
trading; here is almost a new world; new laws, new lords. Now any
county of England shall shed no more tears, but rejoice with and in
the many blessings God gives or affords her annually.'
He also wrote, he says, to Sir Edward Walker, Garter King-at-Arms in
1659, when, by the way, the restoration of Charles II. was an event
that loomed in the near future, and was anticipated by every man of
ordinary political sagacity: 'Tu, Dominusque vester videbitis Angliam,
infra duos annis' (You and your Lord shall see England within two
years). 'For in 1662,' adds the arch impostor, in his strange
astrological jargon, 'his moon came by direction to the body of the
sun.'
'_But he came in upon the ascendant directed unto the trine of Sol and
antiscion of Jupiter._'
No doubt he did. Who would presume to contradict our English Merlin?
In 1663 and 1664 he served as churchwarden--surely the first and last
astrologer who filled that respectable office--of Walton-upon-Thames,
settling as well as he could the affairs of that 'distracted parish'
upon his own charges.
An absurdly frivolous accusation was brought against him in the year
1666. He was once more summoned before a Committee of the House of
Commons, because in his book, 'Monarchy or No Monarchy,' published in
1651, he had introduced sixteen plates, of which the eighth
represented persons digging graves, with coffins and other emblems of
mortality, and the thirteenth a city in flames. Hence it was inferred
that he must have had something to do with the Great Fire which had
destroyed so large a part of London, if not with the Plague, which had
almost depopulated it. The chairman, Sir Robert Burke, on his coming
into the Committee's presence, addressed him thus:
'Mr. Lilly, this Committee thought fit to summon you to appear before
them this day, to know if you can say anything as to the cause of the
late Fire, or whether there might be any design therein. You are
called the rather hither, because in a book of yours, long since
printed, you hinted some such thing by one of your hieroglyphics.'
Whereto Mr. Lilly replied, with a firm assumption of superior wisdom
and oracular knowledge:
'May it please your Honours,--After the beheading of the late King,
considering that in the three subsequent years the Parliament acted
nothing which concerned the settlement of the nation in peace; and
seeing the generality of people dissatisfied, the citizens of London
discontented, the soldiery prone to mutiny, I was desirous, according
to the best knowledge God had given me, to make inquiry by the art I
studied, what might from that time happen unto the Parliament and
nation in general. At last, having satisfied myself as well as I
could, and perfected my judgment therein, I thought it most convenient
to signify my intentions and conceptions thereof in Forms, Shapes,
Types, Hieroglyphics, etc., without any commentary, that so my
judgment might be concealed from the vulgar, and made manifest only
unto the wise. I herein imitating the examples of many wise
philosophers who had done the like.'
'Sir Robert,' saith one, 'Lilly is yet _sub vestibulo_.'
'Having found, sir,' continued Lilly, 'that the city of London should
be sadly afflicted with a great plague, and not long after with an
exorbitant Fire, I framed those two hieroglyphics as represented in
the book, which in effect have proved very true.'
'Did you foresee the year?' inquired a member of the Committee.
'I did not,' said Lilly, 'nor was desirous; of that I made no
scrutiny. Now, sir,' he proceeded, 'whether there was any design of
burning the city, or any employed to that purpose, I must deal
ingenuously with you, that since the Fire, I have taken much pains in
the search thereof, but cannot or could not give myself any the least
satisfaction therein. I conclude, that it was the only finger of God;
but what instruments he used thereunto, I am ignorant.'
* * * * *
In 1665 Lilly finally left London, and settling down at Hersham,
applied himself to the study of medicine, in which he arrived at so
competent a degree of knowledge, assisted by diligent observation and
experiment, that, in October, 1670, on a testimonial from two
physicians of the College in London, he obtained from the Archbishop
of Canterbury a license to practise. In his new profession this
clever, plausible fellow was, of course, successful. Every Saturday he
rode to Kingston, whither the poorer sort flocked to him from all the
countryside, and he dispensed his advice and prescriptions freely and
without charge. From those in a better social position he now and then
took a shilling, and sometimes half a crown, if it were offered to
him; but he never demanded a fee. And, indeed, his charity towards the
poor seems to have been real and unaffected. He displayed the greatest
care in considering and weighing their particular cases, and in
applying proper remedies for their infirmities--a line of conduct
which gained him deserved popularity.
Gifted with a robust constitution, he enjoyed good health far on into
old age. He seems to have had no serious illness until he was past his
seventy-second birthday, and from this attack he recovered completely.
In November, 1675, he was less fortunate, a severe attack of fever
reducing him to a condition of great physical weakness, and so
affecting his eyesight that thenceforward he was compelled to employ
the services of an amanuensis in drawing up his annual astrological
budget. After an attack of dysentery, in the spring of 1681, he became
totally blind; a few weeks later he was seized with paralysis; and on
June 9 he passed away, 'without any show of trouble or pangs.'
He was buried, on the following evening, in the chancel of Walton
Church, where Elias Ashmole, a month later, placed a slab of fair
black marble ('which cost him six pounds four shillings and
sixpence'), with the following epitaph, in honour of his departed
friend: 'Ne Oblivione conteretur Urna GULIELMI LILLII, Astrologi
Peritissimi Qui Fatis cessit, Quinto Idus Junii, Anno Christi Juliano,
MDCLXXXI, Hoc illi posuit amoris Monumentum ELIAS ASHMOLE, Armiger.'
There is a pagan flavour about the phrases 'Qui Fatis cessit,' and
'Quinto Idus Junii,' and they read oddly enough within the walls of a
Christian church.
There are two sides to every shield. As regards our astrologer, the
last of the English magicians who held a position of influence, let us
first take the silver side, as presented in the eulogistic verse of
Master George Smalridge, scholar at Westminster. Thus it is that he
describes his hero's capacity and potentiality. 'Our prophet's gone,'
he exclaims in lugubrious tones--
'No longer may our ears
Be charmed with musick of th' harmonious spheres:
Let sun and moon withdraw, leave gloomy night
To show their Nuncio's fate, who gave more light
To th' erring world, than all the feeble rays
Of sun or moon; taught us to know those days
Bright Titan makes; followed the hasty sun
Through all his circuits; knew the unconstant moon,
And more constant ebbings of the flood;
And what is most uncertain, th' factious brood,
Flowing in civil broils: by the heavens could date
The flux and reflux of our dubious state.
He saw the eclipse of sun, and change of moon
He saw; but seeing would not shun his own:
Eclipsed he was, that he might shine more bright,
And only changed to give a fuller light.
He having viewed the sky, and glorious train
Of gilded stars, scorned longer to remain
In earthly prisons: could he a village love
Whom the twelve houses waited for above?'
The other side of the shield is turned towards us by Butler, who, in
his 'Hudibras,' paints Lilly with all the dark enduring colours which
a keen wit could place at the disposal of political prejudice. When
Hudibras is unable to solve 'the problems of his fate,' Ralpho, his
squire, advises him to apply to the famous thaumaturgist. He says:
'Not far from hence doth dwell
A cunning man, hight Sidrophel,
That deals in Destiny's dark counsels,
And sage opinions of the Moon sells;
To whom all people, far and near,
On deep importances repair:
When brass and pewter hap to stray,
And linen slinks out o' the way;
When geese and pullen are seduced,
And sows of sucking pigs are choused;
When cattle feel indisposition,
And need th' opinion of physician;
When murrain reigns in hogs or sheep,
And chickens languish of the pip;
When yeast and outward means do fail,
And have no pow'r to work on ale;
When butter does refuse to come,
And love proves cross and humoursome;
To him with questions, and with urine,
They for discov'ry flock, or curing.'
After this humorous _reductio ad absurdum_ of Lilly's pretensions as
an astrologer, the satirist proceeds to allude to his dealings with
the Puritan party:
'Do not our great Reformers use
This Sidrophel to forebode news;
To write of victories next year,
And castles taken, yet i' th' air?
Of battles fought at sea, and ships
Sunk, two years hence, the last eclipse?'
The satirist then devotes himself to a minute exposure of Lilly's
pretensions:
'He had been long t'wards mathematics,
Optics, philosophy, and statics;
Magic, horoscopy, astrology,
And was old dog at physiology;
But as a dog that turns the spit
Bestirs himself, and plies his feet
To climb the wheel, but all in vain,
His own weight brings him down again,
And still he's in the self-same place
Where at his setting out he was;
So in the circle of the arts
Did he advance his nat'ral parts ...
Whate'er he laboured to appear,
His understanding still was clear;
Yet none a deeper knowledge boasted,
Since old Hodge Bacon and Bob Grosted.'
(Robert Grostête, Bishop of Lincoln [_temp._ Henry III.], whose
learning procured him among the ignorant the reputation of being a
conjurer.)
'He had read Dee's prefaces before
The Dev'l and Euclid o'er and o'er;
And all th' intrigues 'twixt him and Kelly,
Lascus, and th' Emperor, would tell ye;
But with the moon was more familiar
Than e'er was almanack well-willer;
Her secrets understood so clear,
That some believed he had been there;
Knew when she was in fittest mood
For cutting corns or letting blood ...'
Continuing his enumeration of the conjurer's various and versatile
achievements, the poet says he can--
'Cure warts and corns with application
Of med'cines to th' imagination;
Fright agues into dogs, and scare
With rhymes the toothache and catarrh;
Chase evil spirits away by dint
Of sickle, horse-shoe, hollow flint;
Spit fire out of a walnut-shell,
Which made the Roman slaves rebel;
And fire a mine in China here
With sympathetic gunpowder.
He knew whats'ever's to be known,
But much more than he knew would own ...
How many diff'rent specieses
Of maggots breed in rotten cheese;
And which are next of kin to those
Engendered in a chandler's nose;
Or those not seen, but understood,
That live in vinegar and wood.'
In the course of the long dialogue that takes place between Hudibras
and the astrologer, Butler contrives to introduce a clever and
trenchant exposure of the follies and absurdities, the impositions and
assumptions, of the art of magic. With reference to the pretensions of
astrologers, he observes that--
'There's but the twinkling of a star
Between a man of peace and war,
A thief and justice, fool and knave,
A huffing officer and a slave,
A crafty lawyer and pick-pocket,
A great philosopher and a blockhead,
A formal preacher and a player,
A learn'd physician and man-slayer;
As if men from the stars did suck
Old age, diseases, and ill-luck,
Wit, folly, honour, virtue, vice,
Trade, travel, women, claps, and dice;
And draw, with the first air they breathe,
Battle and murder, sudden death.
Are not these fine commodities
To be imported from the skies,
And vended here among the rabble,
For staple goods and warrantable?
Like money by the Druids borrowed
In th' other world to be restored.'
The character of Lilly is to some extent a problem, and I confess it
is not one of easy or direct solution. As I have already hinted, it is
always difficult to draw the line between conscious and unconscious
imposture--to determine when a man who has imposed upon himself begins
to impose upon others. But was Lilly self-deceived? Or was he openly
and knowingly a fraud and a cheat? For myself I cannot answer either
question in the affirmative. I do not think he was entirely innocent
of deception, but I also believe that he was not wholly a rogue. I
think he had a lingering confidence in the reality of his horoscopes,
his figures, his stellar prophecies; though at the same time he did
not scruple to trade on the credulity of his contemporaries by
assuming to himself a power and a capacity which he did not possess,
and knew that he did not possess. Despite his vocation, he seems to
have lived decently, and in good repute. The activity of his enemies
failed to bring against him any serious charges, and we know that he
enjoyed the support of men of light and leading, who would have stood
aloof from a common charlatan or a vulgar knave. He was, it is
certain, a very shrewd and quick observer, with a keen eye for the
signs of the times, and a wide knowledge of human nature; and his
success in his peculiar craft was largely due to this alertness of
vision, this practical knowledge, and to the ingenuity and readiness
with which he made use of all the resources at his command.
NOTE.--DR. DEE'S MAGIC CRYSTAL.
Horace Walpole gives an amusing account of Kelly's famous crystal, and
of the useful part it played in a burglary committed at his house in
Arlington Street in the spring of 1771. At the time, he was taking his
ease at his Strawberry Hill villa, near Teddington, when a courier
brought him news of what had occurred. Writing to his friend, Sir
Horace Mann, March 22, he says:
'I was a good quarter of an hour before I recollected that it was very
becoming to have philosophy enough not to care about what one does
care for; if you don't care, there is no philosophy in bearing it. I
despatched my upper servant, breakfasted, fed the bantams as usual,
and made no more hurry to town than Cincinnatus would if he had lost a
basket of turnips. I left in my drawers £270 of bank bills and three
hundred guineas, not to mention all my gold and silver coins, some
inestimable miniatures, a little plate, and a good deal of furniture,
under no guard but that of two maidens....
'When I arrived, my surprise was by no means diminished. I found in
three different chambers three cabinets, a large chest, and a glass
case of china wide open, the locks not picked, but forced, and the
doors of them broken to pieces. You will wonder that this should
surprise me, when I had been prepared for it. Oh, the miracle was that
I did not find, nor to this time have found, the least thing missing!
In the cabinet of modern medals there were, and so there are still, a
series of English coins, with downright John Trot guineas,
half-guineas, shillings, sixpences, and every kind of current money.
Not a single piece was removed. Just so in the Roman and Greek
cabinet, though in the latter were some drawers of papers, which they
had tumbled and scattered about the floor. A great exchequer desk,
that belonged to my father, was in the same room. Not being able to
force the lock, the philosophers (for thieves that steal nothing
deserve the title much more than Cincinnatus or I) had wrenched a
great flapper of brass with such violence as to break it into seven
pieces. The trunk contained a new set of chairs of French tapestry,
two screens, rolls of prints, and a suit of silver stuff that I had
made for the King's wedding. All was turned topsy-turvy, and nothing
stolen. The glass case and cabinet of shells had been handled as
roughly by these impotent gallants. Another little table with drawers,
in which, by the way, the key was left, had been opened too, and a
metal standish, that they ought to have taken for silver, and a silver
hand-candlestick that stood upon it, were untouched. Some plate in the
pantry, and all my linen just come from the wash, had no more charms
for them than gold or silver. In short, I could not help laughing,
especially as the only two movables neglected were another little
table with drawers and the money, and a writing-box with the
bank-notes, both in the same room where they made the first havoc. In
short, they had broken out a panel in the door of the area, and
unbarred and unbolted it, and gone out at the street-door, which they
left wide open at five o'clock in the morning. A passenger had found
it so, and alarmed the maids, one of whom ran naked into the street,
and by her cries waked my Lord Romney, who lives opposite. The poor
creature was in fits for two days, but at first, finding my
coachmaker's apprentice in the street, had sent him to Mr. Conway, who
immediately despatched him to me before he knew how little damage I
had received, the whole of which consists in repairing the doors and
locks of my cabinets and coffers.
'All London is reasoning on this marvellous adventure, and not one
argument presents itself that some other does not contradict. I insist
that I have a talisman. You must know that last winter, being asked by
Lord Vere to assist in settling Lady Betty Germaine's auction, I found
in an old catalogue of her collection this article, "_The Black Stone
into which Dr. Dee used to call his spirits_." Dr. Dee, you must know,
was a great conjurer in the days of Queen Elizabeth, and has written a
folio of the dialogues he held with his imps. I asked eagerly for this
stone; Lord Vere said he knew of no such thing, but if found, it
should certainly be at my service. Alas, the stone was gone! This
winter I was again employed by Lord Frederick Campbell, for I am an
absolute auctioneer, to do him the same service about his father's
(the Duke of Argyll's) collection. Among other odd things, he produced
a round piece of shining black marble in a leathern case as big as the
crown of a hat, and asked me what that possibly could be? I screamed
out, "Oh, Lord! I am the only man in England that can tell you!... It
is Dr. Dee's 'Black Stone.'" It certainly is; Lady Betty had formerly
given away or sold, time out of mind, for she was a thousand years
old, that part of the Peterborough collection which contained natural
philosophy. So, or since, the Black Stone had wandered into an
auction, for the lotted paper was still on it. The Duke of Argyll, who
bought everything, bought it. Lord Frederick [Campbell] gave it to me;
and if it was not this magical stone, which is only of high-polished
coal, that preserved my chattels, in truth I cannot guess what
did.'[35]
At the great Strawberry Hill sale, in 1842, which dispersed the
Walpole Collection, it was described in the catalogue as 'a singularly
interesting and curious relic of the superstition of our
ancestors--the celebrated _Speculum of Kennel Coal_, highly polished,
in a leathern case. It is remarkable for having been used to deceive
the mob (!) by the celebrated Dr. Dee, the conjurer, in the reign of
Queen Elizabeth,' etc.
The authorities of the British Museum purchased this 'relic of the
superstition of our ancestors' for the sum of twelve guineas. It is
neither more nor less than what it has been described, a polished
piece of cannel-coal, and thus explains the allusion in Butler's
'Hudibras':
'Kelly did all his feats upon
The devil's looking-glass--a stone.'
FOOTNOTE:
[35] Horace Walpole (Earl of Orford), 'Letters,' v. 290, _et seq._
CHAPTER VI.
ENGLISH ROSICRUCIANS.
It is not very easy to trace the origin of the Rosicrucian
Brotherhood. It is not easy, indeed, to get at the true derivation of
the name 'Rosicrucian.' Some authorities refer it to that of the
ostensible founder of the society, the mysterious Christian
Rosenkreuse, but who can prove that such an individual ever existed?
Others borrow it from the Latin word _ros_, dew, and _crux_, a cross,
and explain it thus: 'Dew,' of all natural bodies, was esteemed the
most powerful solvent of gold; and 'the cross,' in the old chemical
language, signified _light_, because the figure of a cross exhibits at
the same time the three letters which form the word _lux_. 'Now, lux
is called the seed, or menstruum, of the red dragon; or, in other
words, that gross and corporeal light, which, when properly digested
and modified, produces gold.' So that, according to this derivation, a
Rosicrucian is one who by the intervention and assistance of the 'dew'
seeks for 'light'--that is, the philosopher's stone. But such an
etymology is evidently too fanciful, and assumes too much to be
readily accepted, and we try a third derivation, namely, from _rosa_
and _crux_; in support of which may be adduced the oldest official
documents of the brotherhood, which style it the 'Broederschafft des
Roosen Creutzes,' or Rose-Crucians, or 'Fratres Rosatæ Crucis;' while
the symbol of the order is 'a red rose on a cross.' Both the rose and
the cross possess a copious emblematic history, and their choice by a
secret society, which clothed its beliefs and fancies in allegorical
language, is by no means difficult to understand. 'The rose,' says
Eliphas Levi, in his 'Histoire de la Magie,' 'which from time
immemorial has been the symbol of beauty and life, of love and
pleasure, expressed in a mystical manner all the protestations of the
Renaissance. It was the flesh revolting against the oppression of the
spirit; it was Nature declaring herself to be, like Grace, the
daughter of God; it was Love refusing to be stifled by celibacy; it
was Life desiring to be no longer barren; it was Humanity aspiring to
a natural religion, full of love and reason, founded on the revelation
of the harmonies of existence of which the rose was for initiates the
living and blooming symbol....' The reunion of the rose and the
cross--such was the problem proposed by supreme initiation, and, in
effect, occult philosophy, being the universal synthesis, should take
into account all the phenomena of Being. It may be doubted, however,
whether this ingenious symbolism has anything at all to do with
Rosicrucianism; but it is not the less a fact that the rose and the
cross were chosen because they were recognised emblems. And probably
because the rose typified secrecy, while the cross was a protest
against the tyranny and superstition of the Papacy.
We hear nothing of Rosicrucianism until the beginning of the
seventeenth century. The earlier alchemists knew nothing of its
theosophic doctrines; and the earlier Rosicrucians did not dabble in
alchemy. The connection between the two was established at a later
date; when the quest of the 'elixir of life' and the 'philosopher's
stone' was grafted upon the mysticism which had taken up the ancient
teaching of the Alexandrian Platonists, combining with it much of the
allegorical jargon of Paracelsus, and something of the theology of
Luther and the German Reformers. The antiquity claimed for the
brotherhood in the 'Fama Fraternitatis' is purely a myth. For my own
part, I must regard as its virtual founder--though he may not have
been its actual initiator--the celebrated Johann Valentine Andreas,
who with wide and profound learning united a lively imagination, and
was, moreover, a man of pure and lofty purpose. The regeneration of
humanity, the extirpation of the vices and follies which had sprung up
in the dark shadow of the mediæval Church, was the dream of his life;
and it is beyond doubt that he hoped to realize it by secret societies
bound together for the purpose of reforming the morals of the age and
inspiring men with a love of wisdom. This is proved by three of his
acknowledged works, namely, 'Reipublicæ Christianapolitanæ
Descriptio,' 'Turris Babel, sive Judiciorum de Fraternitate Rosaceæ
Crucis Chaos,' and 'Christianæ Societatis Idea'; and I venture to
think, though Mr. Waite will not have it so, that the author of these
works was also the author of the 'Fama,' as well as of the 'Confessio
Fraternitatis' and the 'Nuptæ Chymicæ,' in which he gathered up all
the floating dreams and traditions bearing on his subject, and gave to
them a certain form and order, infusing into them a fascinating
poetical colouring, and inspiring them with his own idealistic
speculations.
'Akin to the school of the ancient Fire-Believers,' says Ennemoser,
'and of the magnetists of a later period, of the same cast as those
speculators and searchers into the mysteries of Nature, drawing from
the same well, are the theosophists of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. These practised chemistry, by which they asserted they
could explore the profoundest secrets of Nature. As they strove, above
all earthly knowledge, after the Divine, and sought the Divine light
and fire, through which all men can acquire the true wisdom, they were
called the Fire-Philosophers (_philosophi per ignem_).' They were
identical with the Rosicrucians, and in the books of the later
Rosicrucians we meet with the same mysticism and transcendental
philosophy as in theirs.
Whether we agree in accepting Andreas as the founder of the order, or
as simply its hierophant, we must admit that the rise of
Rosicrucianism dates from the publication of the 'Fama' and the
'Confessio Fraternitatis.' They produced an immense sensation, passed
through several editions, and were devoured by multitudes of eager
readers. 'In the library at Gottingen,' says De Quincey (adapting
from Professor Buhle), 'there is a body of letters addressed to the
imaginary order of Father Rosy Cross, from 1614 to 1617, by persons
offering themselves as members.... As certificates of their
qualifications, most of the candidates have enclosed specimens of
their skill in alchemy and cabalism.... 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.'
It is not my business, however, to write a history of Rosicrucianism.
I have desired simply to say so much about its origin as will serve as
a preface to my account of the principal English members of the
brotherhood. The reader who would know more about its origin and
extension, its pretensions and professors, may consult Heckethorn's
'Secret Societies of all Ages and Countries,' Ennemoser's 'History of
Magic,' Thomas de Quincey's essay on 'Rosicrucians and Freemasons,'
and Arthur Edward Waite's 'Real History of the Rosicrucians.'[36]
The greatest English Rosicrucian, and most distinguished of the
disciples of Paracelsus, was Robert Fludd (or Flood, or De Fluctibus),
a man of singular erudition, of great though misdirected capacity, and
of a vivid and fertile imagination.
The second son of Sir Thomas Flood, Treasurer of War to Queen
Elizabeth, he was born at Milgate House, in the parish of Bersted,
Kent, in the year 1574. At the age of seventeen he was entered of St.
John's College, Oxford. His father had originally intended him for a
military life, but finding that his inclinations led him into the
peaceful paths of scholarship, he forbore to oppose them, and the
youth entered upon a particular study of medicine, which drew him, no
doubt, into a pursuit of alchemy and chemistry. Having graduated both
in the arts and sciences, he went abroad, and for six years travelled
over France, Germany, Italy, and Spain, making the acquaintance of the
principal Continental scholars, as well as of the enthusiasts who
belonged to the theosophic school of the divine Paracelsus, and the
adepts who dabbled in the secrets of the Cabala. Returning to England
in 1605, he became a member of the College of Physicians, and settled
down to practise in Coleman Street, London, where, about 1616, he was
visited by the celebrated German alchemist, Michael Maier.
His active imagination stimulated by his knowledge of the Rosicrucian
doctrines, he resolved on revealing to his countrymen the true light
of science and wisdom. He had already, as a believer in the theory of
magnetism, introduced into England the celebrated 'weapon salve' of
Paracelsus, which healed the severest wound by sympathy--not being
applied to the wound itself, but to the weapon or instrument that had
caused it. The recipe, as formulated by Paracelsus, would hardly be
approved by modern practitioners: 'Take of moss growing on the head of
a thief who has been hanged and left in the air, of real mummy, of
human blood still warm, one ounce each; of human suet, two ounces; of
linseed-oil, turpentine, and Armenian bole, of each two drachms. Mix
together thoroughly in a mortar, and keep the salve in a narrow oblong
urn.' This, or, I presume, some similar compound, Fludd tried with
success in several cases, and no wonder; for while the sword was
anointed and put away, the wound was well washed and carefully
bandaged--a process which has been known to succeed in our own day
without the intervention of any salve whatever! Fludd contended that
every disease might be cured by the magnet if it were properly
applied; but that as every man had, like the earth, a north pole and a
south, magnetism could be produced only when his body occupied a
boreal position. The salve, at all events, grew into instant favour.
Among other believers in its virtues was Sir Kenelm Digby, who,
however, converted the salve into a powder, which he named 'the powder
of sympathy.' But it had its incredulous opponents, of whom the most
strenuous was a certain Pastor Foster, who published an invective
entitled 'Hyplocrisma Spongus; or, A Sponge to Wipe Away the Weapon
Salve,' and affirmed that it was as bad as witchcraft to use or
recommend such an unguent, that its inventor, the devil, would at the
Last Day claim every person who had meddled with it. 'The devil,' he
said, 'gave it to Paracelsus, Paracelsus to the Emperor, the Emperor
to a courtier, the courtier to Baptista Porta, and Baptista Porta to
Doctor Fludd, a doctor of physic, yet living and practising in the
famous city of London, who now stands tooth and nail for it.' Tooth
and nail Dr. Fludd met his adversary, and the public were infinitely
amused by the vehemence of his style in his pamphlet, 'The Spunging of
Parson Foster's Spunge; wherein the Spunge-carrier's immodest Carriage
and Behaviour towards his Brethren is detected; the bitter Flames of
his Slanderous Reports are, by the sharp Vinegar of Truth, corrected
and quite extinguished; and, lastly, the Virtuous Validity of his
Spunge in wiping away the Weapon Salve, is crushed out and clean
abolished.'
In all the dreams of the mediæval philosophy--in the philosopher's
stone and the stone philosophic, in the universal alkahest, in the
magical 'elixir vitæ'--Dr. Fludd was a serious believer. It was a
favourite hypothesis of his that all things depended on two
principles--_condensation_, or the boreal principle, and _rarefaction_,
the southern or austral. The human body, he averred, was governed by a
number of demons, whom he distributed over a rhomboidal figure.
Further, he taught that every disease had its own particular demon, the
evil influence of which could be neutralized only by the assistance of
the demon placed opposite to it in the rhomboid. The doctrines of the
Rosicrucian brotherhood he defended with a charming enthusiasm, and
when they had been attacked by Libavius and others, he set them forth
in what he conceived to be their true light in his 'Apologia
Compendiaria Fraternitatem de Rosea-Cruce suspicionis et infamiæ
Maculis Aspersam,' etc. (published at Leyden in 1616)--a work which
entitles him to be regarded as the high-priest of their mysteries. It
was severely criticised, however, by contemporary men of science, as by
Kepler, Gassendus (in his 'Epistolica Exercitatio'), and Mersenne,
whose searching analysis of the pretensions of the fraternity provoked
from Fludd an elaborate reply, entitled 'Summum Bonum, quod est Magiæ,
Cabalæ, Alchemiæ, Fratrum Roseæ-Crucis verorum, et adversus Mersenium
Calumniatorem.'[37]
In addition to the foregoing works, Fludd gave to the world:
1. 'Utriusque Cosmi, Majoris et Minoris, Technica Historia,' 2 vols.,
folio, Oppenheim, 1616; 2. 'Tractatus Apologeticus Integritatem
Societatis de Rosea-Cruce Defendens,' Leyden, 1617; 3. 'Monochordon
Mundi Symphoniacum, seu Replicatio ad Apologiam Johannis Kepleri,'
Frankfort, 1620; 4. 'Anatomiæ Amphitheatrum effigie triplici
Designatum,' Frankfort, 1623; 5. 'Philosophia Sacra et vere
Christiana, seu Meteorologica Cosmica,' Frankfort, 1626; 6. 'Medicina
Catholica, seu Mysterium Artis Medicandi Sacrarium,' Frankfort, 1631;
7. 'Integrum Morborum Mysterium,' Frankfort, 1631; 8. 'Clavis
Philosophiæ et Alchymiæ,' Frankfort, 1633; 9. 'Philosophia Mosaica,'
Goudac, 1638; and 10. 'Pathologia Dæmoniaca,' Goudac, 1640.
The last two treatises were posthumous publications. Fludd died in
London in 1637, and was buried in Bersted Church, where an imposing
monument perpetuates his memory. It represents him seated, with his
hand on a book, from the perusal of which his head has just been
lifted. Just below are two volumes (there were eight originally) in
marble, inscribed respectively, 'Mysterium Cabalisticum' and
'Philosophia Sacra.' The epitaph runs as follows: 'viii. Die Mensis
vii. A{o} D{ni}, M.D.C.XXXVII. Odoribvs vana vaporat crypta tegit
cineres nee speciosa tros qvod mortale minvs tibi. Te committimvs vnvm
ingenii vivent hic monvmenti tvi nam tibi qvi similis scribit
moritvrqve sepvlchrvm pro tota eternvm posteritate facit. Hoc
monvmentvm Thomas Flood Gore Courti in-coram apud Cantianos armiger
infoelicissimum in charissimi patrvi svi memoriam erexit die Mensis
Avgvsti, M.D.C.XXXVII.'
I shall not weary the reader with an analysis of any of Fludd's
elaborately mystical productions. They are as dead as anything can be,
and no power that I know of could breathe into them the breath of
life. But I may quote a few specimen or sample sentences, so to speak,
which will afford an idea of their style and tone:
'Particulars are frequently fallible, but universal never. Occult
philosophy lays bare Nature in her complete nakedness, and alone
contemplates the wisdom of universals by the eyes of intelligence.
Accustomed to partake of the rivers which flow from the Fountain of
Life, it is unacquainted with grossness and with clouded waters.'
In reference to Music, which he says stands in the same relation to
arithmetic as medicine to natural philosophy, he revives the
Pythagorean idea of the harmony of the universe: 'What is this music
(of men) compared with that deep and true music of the wise, whereby
the proportions of natural things are investigated, the harmonical
concord and the qualities of the whole world are revealed, by which
also connected things are bound together, peace established between
conflicting elements, and whereby each star is perpetually suspended
in its appointed place by its weight and strength, and by the harmony
of its herent spirit.'
_Light._--'Nothing in this world can be accomplished without the
mediation or divine act of light.'
_Magic._--'That most occult and secret department of physics, by which
the mystical properties of natural substances are extracted, we term
Natural Magic. The wise kings who (led by the new star from the east)
sought the infant Christ, are called Magi, because they had attained a
perfect knowledge of natural things, whether celestial or sublunar.
This branch of the Magi also includes Solomon, since he was versed in
the arcane virtues and properties of all substances, and is said to
have understood the nature of every plant, from the cedar to the
hyssop. Magicians who are proficient in the mathematical division
construct marvellous machines by means of their geometrical knowledge;
such were the flying dove of Archytas, and the brazen heads of Roger
Bacon and Albertus Magnus, which are said to have spoken. Venefic
magic is familiar with potions, philtres, and with the various
preparations of poisons; it is, in a measure, included in the natural
division, because a knowledge of the properties of natural things is
requisite to produce its results. Necromantic magic is divided into
Goëtic, maleficent, and theurgic. The first consists in diabolical
commerce with unclean spirits, in rites of criminal curiosity, in
illicit songs and invocations, and in the invocation of the souls of
the dead. The second is the adjuration of the devils by the virtue of
Divine names. The third pretends to be governed by good angels and the
Divine will, but its wonders are most frequently performed by evil
spirits, who assume the names of God and of the angels. This
department of necromancy can, however, be performed by natural powers,
definite rites and ceremonies, whereby celestial and Divine virtues
are reconciled and drawn to us; the ancient Magi formulated in their
secret books many rules of this doctrine. The last species of magic is
the thaumaturgic, begetting illusory phenomena; by this art the Magi
produced their phantasms and other marvels.'
_The Creation._--'According to Fludd's philosophy,' says Mr. Waite,
'the whole universe was fashioned after the pattern of an archetypal
world which existed in the Divine ideality, and was framed out of
unity in a threefold manner. The Eternal Monad or Unity, without any
regression from His own central profundity, compasses complicitly the
three cosmical dimensions, namely, root, square, and cube. If we
multiply unity as a root, in itself, it will produce only unity for
its square, which being again multiplied in itself, brings forth a
cube, which is one with root and square. Thus we have three branches
differing in formal progression, yet one unity in which all things
remain potentially, and that after a most abstruse manner. The
archetypal world was made by the egression of one out of one, and by
the regression of that one, so emitted into itself by emanation.
According to this ideal image, or archetypal world, our universe was
subsequently fashioned as a true type and exemplar of the Divine
Pattern; for out of unity in His abstract existence, viz., as it was
hidden in the dark chaos, or potential mass, the bright flame of all
formal being did shine forth, and the spirit of wisdom, proceeding
from them both, conjoined the formal emanation with the potential
matter, so that by the union of the divine emanation of light, and the
substantial darkness, which was water, the heavens were made of old,
and the whole world.'[38]
FOOTNOTES:
[36] See also Louis Figuier's 'L'Alchimie et les Alchimistes,' a
popular and agreeable survey; and the more erudite work of Professor
Buhle.
[37] This is sometimes ascribed to Joachim Fritz, but no one can doubt
that virtually it is Fludd's, who accompanied it with a defence of his
general philosophical teaching, entitled 'Sophiæ cum Moriâ Certamen.'
But whose was 'the Wisdom,' and whose 'the Folly'?
[38] Waite, 'History of the Rosicrucians,' p. 385.
THOMAS VAUGHAN.
Another English Rosicrucian to whom allusion must briefly be made is
Thomas Vaughan, who in his writings assumes the more classical
appellation of Eugenius Philalethes ('truth-lover'), and in his
travels was known as Carnobius in Holland, and Doctor Zheil in
America. He was born about 1612; was educated at Oxford; wandered
afterwards through many countries; embraced the delusions of alchemy
and the Rosy Cross; accreted round his personality a number of wild
and extravagant stories; and finally disappeared into such complete
oblivion that the time and place of his death are alike unknown.
The writings attributed to him are: 1. 'Anthroposophia Magica; or, A
Discourse of the Nature of Man and his State after Death;' and 'Anima
Magica Abscondita; or, A Discourse of the Universall Spirit of
Nature,' London, 1650. 2. 'Magia Adamica; or, The Antiquities of
Magic,' same place and date. 3. 'The Man-Mouse taken in a Trap;' a
reply to Henry More, who had criticised his 'Anthroposophia Magica.'
4. 'Lumen de Lumine; or, A New Magicall Light discovered and
communicated to the World,' London, 1651. 5. 'The Second Wash; or, The
Moor Scoured Once More, being a charitable Cure for the Distractions
of Abazonomastix' [Henry More], London, 1651. 6. 'The Fame and
Confession of the Fraternity of R. C., with a Preface annexed thereto,
and a short declaration of their physicall work,' London, 1652. 7.
'Euphrates; or, The Waters of the East, being a Short Discourse of
that Great Fountain whose water flows from Fire, and carries in it the
beams of the Sun and Moon,' London, 1656. 8. 'A Brief Natural
History,' London, 1669. And 9. 'Introitus Apertus ad Occlusum Regis
Palatium. Philalethæ Tractatus Tres: i. Metallorum Metamorphosis; ii.
Brevis Manductio ad Rubrium Coelestem; iii. Fons Chymicæ Veritatis,'
London, 1678.
Vaughan seems to have led a wandering life, and to have fallen 'often
into great perplexities and dangers from the mere suspicion that he
possessed extraordinary secrets.' The suspicion, I should say, was
abundantly justified, since he made gold at will, and knew the
composition of the wonderful elixir! On one occasion, he tells us, he
went to a goldsmith, desiring to sell him twelve hundred marks' worth
of gold; but the goldsmith at first sight pronounced that it had never
come out of any mine, but was the production of art, seeing that it
was not of the standard of any known kingdom. Vaughan adds that he was
so confounded at this statement--though, surely, he must have expected
it--that he at once departed, _leaving the gold behind him_. But the
strangest part of his history is, that a writer in 1749 speaks of him
as living _then_, at the respectable old age of 137. 'A person of
great credit at Nuremberg, in Germany, affirms that he conversed with
him but a year or two ago. Nay, it is further asserted that this very
individual is the president of the Illuminated in Europe, and that he
sits as such in all their annual meetings.' Mayhap he is sitting at
them still! Only if he have discovered, not only the secret of the
transmutation of metals, but that of the indefinite prolongation of
life, is it not cruelly selfish of him to withhold it--we will not say
from the world at large, which deserves to be punished for its
scepticism and incredulity, but from the members of his own
fraternity?
JOHN HEYDON.
The English Rosicrucians are few in number--_rari gurgite in vasto
nantes_--and when I have added John Heydon to Vaughan and Fludd, I
shall have named the most distinguished. Heydon was the author of 'The
Wise Man's Crown; or, The Glory of the Rosie Cross' (1664); 'The Holy
Guide, leading the Way to Unite Art and Nature, with the Rosie Cross
Uncovered' (1662); and 'A New Method of Rosicrucian Physic; by John
Heydon, the Servant of God and the Secretary of Nature' (1658). In the
last-named he describes himself as an attorney--who will not pity his
clients, if he had any?--practising at Westminster Hall all term times
as long as he lived, and in the vacations devoting himself to
alchemical and Rosicrucian speculation. His introduction ('An Apologue
for an Epilogue') is full of such outrageous nonsense as to suggest
suspicion of his sanity. He speaks of Moses, Elias, and Ezekiel as the
prophets and founders of Rosicrucianism. Its present believers, he
says, may be few in number, but their position is incomparably
glorious. They are the eyes and ears of the great King of the
universe, seeing all things and hearing all things; they are
seraphically illuminated; they belong to the holy company of embodied
souls and immortal angels; they can assume any shape at will, and
possess the power of working miracles. They can walk in the air,
banish epidemics from stricken cities, pacify the most violent storms,
heal every disease, and turn all metals into gold. He had known, he
says, two illustrious brethren, named Williams and Walford, and had
seen them perform miracles--a statement which brands him either as a
knave or a dupe. 'I desired one of them to tell me,' he says, 'whether
my complexion were capable of the society of my good genius. "When I
see you again," said he (which was when he pleased to come to me, for
I knew not where to go to him), "I will tell you." When I saw him
afterwards, he said: "You should pray to God: for a good and holy man
can offer no greater or more acceptable service to God than the
oblation of himself--his soul." He said also, that the good genii were
the benign eyes of God, running to and fro in the world, and with love
and pity beholding the innocent endeavours of harmless and
single-hearted men, ever ready to do them good and to help them.'
Heydon advocated, without enforcing his precepts by example, the
Rosicrucian dogma, that men could live without eating and drinking,
affirming that all of us could exist in the same manner as the
singular people dwelling near the source of the Ganges, described by
his namesake, Sir Christopher Heydon[39] (but certainly by no other
traveller), who had no mouths, and therefore could not eat, but lived
by the breath of their nostrils--except when they went on a far
journey, and then, to recuperate their strength, they inhaled the
scent of flowers. He dilated on the 'fine foreign fatness' which
characterized really pure air--the air being impregnated with it by
the sunbeams--and affirmed that it should suffice for the nourishment
of the majority of mankind. He was not unwilling, however, that people
with gross appetites should eat animal food, but declared it to be
unnecessary for them, and that a much more efficacious mode would be
to use the meat, nicely cooked, as a plaster on the pit of the
stomach. By adopting this external treatment, they would incur no risk
of introducing diseases, as they did by the broad and open gate of the
mouth, as anyone might see by the example of drink; for so long as a
man sat in water, he knew no thirst. He had been acquainted--so he
declared--with many Rosicrucians who, by using wine as a bath, had
fasted from solid food for several years. And, as a matter of fact,
one might fast all one's life, though prolonged for 300 years, if one
ate no meat, and so avoided all risk of infection by disease.
Growing confidential in reference to his imaginary fraternity, he
states that its chiefs always carried about with them their symbol,
the R.C., an ebony cross, flourished and decked with roses of gold;
the cross typifying Christ's suffering for the sins of mankind, and
the golden roses the glory and beauty of His Resurrection. This symbol
was carried in succession to Mecca, Mount Calvary, Mount Sinai, Haran,
and three other places, which I cannot pretend to identify--Casele,
Apamia, and Chaulateau Viciosa Caunuch: these were the meeting-places
of the brotherhood.
'The Rosie Crucian Physick or Medicines,' says this bravely-mendacious
gentleman, 'I happily and unexpectedly light upon in Arabia, which
will prove a restoration of health to all that are afflicted with
sickness which we ordinarily call natural, and all other diseases.
These men have no small insight into the body: Walford, Williams, and
others of the Fraternity now living, may bear up in the same likely
equipage with those noble Divine Spirits their Predecessors; though
the unskilfulness in men commonly acknowledges more of supernatural
assistance in hot, unsettled fancies, and perplexed melancholy, than
in the calm and distinct use of reason; yet, for mine own part, I look
upon these Rosie Crucians above all men truly inspired, and more than
any that professed themselves so this sixteen hundred years, and I am
ravished with admiration of their miracles and transcendant mechanical
inventions, for the solving the Phænomenon of the world. I may,
without offence, therefore, compare them with Bezaliel, Aholiab, those
skilful workers of the Tabernacle, who, as Moses testifies, were
filled with the Spirit of God, and therefore were of an excellent
understanding to find out all manner of curious work.'
The plain fact is that Heydon's books are _fictions_--purely
imaginative work, based on some rough and ready knowledge of the old
alchemy and the new magic; partly allegorical and mystical, such as a
quick invention might readily conceive under the influence of
theosophic study, and partly borrowed from Henry More, and other
writers of the same stamp. The island inhabited by Rosicrucians, which
he describes in the introduction to 'The Holy Guide,' was evidently
suggested by Sir Thomas More's 'Utopia,' and Bacon's 'New Atlantis.'
It would be easy to point out his obligations elsewhere.
I may add, in bringing this chapter to a close, that Dr. Edmund
Dickenson, one of Charles II.'s physicians, professed to be a member
of the brotherhood, and wrote a book upon one of their supposed
doctrines, entitled 'De Quinta Essentia Philosophorum,' which was
printed at Oxford in 1686.
* * * * *
Whatever may be our opinion of Rosicrucianism, which, I believe, still
finds some believers and adepts in this country, we must acknowledge
that the literature of poetry and fiction is indebted to it
considerably. The machinery of Pope's exquisite poem, 'The Rape of the
Lock,' was borrowed from Paracelsus and Jacob Böhmen--not directly, it
is true, but through the medium of the Abbé de Villars' sparkling
romance, 'Le Comte de Gabalis.' 'According to those gentlemen,' says
Pope, 'the four elements are inhabited by spirits, which they call
sylphs, gnomes, nymphs, and salamanders.'
The Rosicrucian water-nymph supplied La Motte Fouqué with the idea of
that graceful and lovely creation, 'Undine,' and Sir Walter Scott has
invested his 'White Lady of Avenel' with some of her attributes.
William Godwin's romance of 'St. Leon' turns on the Rosicrucian fancy
of immortal life; while Lord Lytton's 'Zanoni' is practically a
Rosicrucian fiction. The influence of the Rosicrucian writers is also
apparent in the same author's 'A Strange Story.'
FOOTNOTE:
[39] Author of 'A Defence of Judiciall Astrologie,' printed at
Cambridge in 1603.
BOOK II.
_WITCHES AND WITCHCRAFT._
CHAPTER I.
EARLY HISTORY OF WITCHCRAFT IN ENGLAND.
To various conspicuous and easily intelligible causes the witch and
the warlock, like the necromancer and the astrologer, owed their power
with the multitude. First, there was the eager desire which humanity
not unnaturally feels to tear aside the veil of Isis, and obtain some
knowledge of that Other World which is hidden so completely from it.
Next must be taken into account man's greed for temporal advantages,
his anxiety to direct the course of events to his personal benefit;
and, lastly, his malice against his fellows. Thus we see that the
influence enjoyed by the sorcerer and the magician had its origin in
the unlawful passions of humanity, in whose history the pages that
treat of witches and witchcraft are painful and humiliating reading.
To define the limit between the special functions of the magician and
the witch is somewhat difficult, more especially as the position of
the witch gradually decreased in reputation and importance. There is a
great gulf between the witch of Endor, or the witch of classical
antiquity, or the witch of the Norse Sagas, or the witch of the
Saxons, and the English or Scottish witch of the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries. The former were surrounded with an atmosphere
of dread and mystery; the latter was the creature of vulgar and
commonplace traditions. In the early age of witchcraft, the witch,
like the magician, summoned spirits from the vasty deep, discovered
the hiding-places of concealed treasures, struck down men or beasts by
her spells, or covered the heavens with clouds and let loose the winds
of destruction and desolation. Both could blight the promise of the
harvest, baffle the plans of their enemies, or wither the health of
their victims. But while the magician was frequently a man of ability
and learning, and belonged to the cultured classes, the witch was
almost always a woman of the lower orders, ignorant and uneducated,
though occasionally ladies of high rank, and even ecclesiastics, have
been accused of practising witchcraft.
While witchcraft was a power in the land, the witch, or warlock, was
popularly supposed to be the direct instrument, and, indeed, the
bond-slave, of the Evil One, fulfilling his behests in virtue of a
compact, written in letters of blood, by which the witch made over her
soul to the Infernal Power in return for the enjoyment of supernatural
prerogatives for a fixed period. This treaty having been concluded,
the witch received a mark on some part of the body, which was
thenceforward insensible of pain--the stigma or devil's mark, by which
he might know his own again. A familiar imp or spirit was assigned to
her, generally in the form of an animal, and more particularly in that
of a black cat or dog. Round this general idea were gathered a number
of horrible and unclean conceptions, on which, happily, it will not be
necessary to enlarge. The devil, it was said, resorted to carnal
communication with his servants, being denominated _succubus_ when the
favourite was a female, and _incubus_ when a male was chosen. It was
alleged, too, that on certain occasions the devil, with his familiars,
and the great company of witches and warlocks whose souls he had
bought, assembled in the dead of night in some remote and savage
wilderness, to hold that frightful carnival of the Witches' Sabbat
which Goethe has depicted so powerfully in the second part of 'Faust.'
The human imagination has not invented, I think, any scene more
horrible, more degrading, or more bestial. We may suppose, however,
that it was not conceived by any single mind, or even people, or in
any single generation, but that it gradually took up additional
details from different nations, at different times, until it was
developed into the terrible whole presented by the mediæval writers.
This wild and awful revel was called the Sabbat because it took place
after midnight on Friday; that is, on the Jewish Sabbath--a curious
illustration of the popular antipathy against the Jews.
The spot where it was held never bloomed again with flower or herb;
the burning feet of the demons blighted it for ever.
Witch or warlock who failed to obey the summons of the master was
lashed by devils with rods made of scorpions or serpents, in
chastisement of his or her contumacy.
The guests repaired thither, according to the belief entertained in
France and England, upon broomsticks; but in Spain and Italy it was
thought that the devil himself, in the shape of a goat, conveyed them
on his back, which he contracted or elongated according to the number
he carried. The witch, when starting on her aerial journey, would not
quit her house by door or window; but astride on her broomstick made
her exit by the chimney. During her absence, to prevent the suspicions
of her neighbours from being aroused, an inferior demon assumed the
semblance of her person, and lay in her bed, pretending to be ill or
asleep.
A curious story may here be introduced. In April, 1611, a Provençal
curé, named Gaurifidi, was accused of sorcery before the Parliament of
Aix. In the course of trial much was said in proof of the power of the
demons. Several witnesses asserted that Gaurifidi, after rubbing
himself with a magic oil, repaired to the Sabbat, and afterwards
returned to his chamber down the chimney. One day, when this sort of
thing was exciting the imagination of the judges, an extraordinary
noise was heard in the chimney of the hall, terminating suddenly in
the apparition of a tall black man, who shook his head vigorously. The
judges, thinking the devil had come in person to the rescue of his
servant, took to their heels, with the exception of one Thorm, the
reporter, who was so hemmed in by his desk that he was unable to move.
Terror-stricken at the sight before him, with his body all of a
tremble, and his eyes starting from his head, he made repeated signs
of the cross, until the supposed fiend was equally alarmed, since he
could not understand the cause of the reporter's evident perturbation.
On recovering from his embarrassment he made himself known--he was a
sweep, who had been operating on a chimney on the roof above, but,
when ready to return, had mistaken the entrance, and thus unwillingly
intruded himself into the chamber of the Parliament.
* * * * *
The unclean ceremonies of the Witches' Sabbat were 'inaugurated' by
Satan, who, in his favourite assumption of a huge he-goat (a
suggestion, no doubt, from Biblical imagery), with one face in front,
and another between his haunches, took his place upon his throne.
After all present had done homage by kissing him on the posterior
face, he appointed a master of the ceremonies, and, attended by him,
made a personal examination of any guest to ascertain if he or she
bore the stigma, which indicated his right of ownership. Any who were
found without it received the mark at once from the master of the
ceremonies, while the devil bestowed on them a nickname. Thereafter
all began to dance and sing with wild extravagance--
'There is no rest to-night for anyone:
When one dance ends another is begun'--
until some neophyte arrived, and sought admission into the circle of
the initiated. Silence prevailed while the newcomer went through the
usual form of denying her salvation, spitting upon the Bible, kissing
the devil, and swearing obedience to him in all things. The dancing
then renewed its fury, and a hoarse chorus went up of--
'Alegremos, alegremos,
Que gente va tenemos!'
When spent with the violent exercise, they sat down, and, like the
witches in 'Macbeth,' related the evil things each had done since the
last Sabbat, those who had not been sufficiently active being
chastised by Satan himself until they were drenched in blood. A dance
of toads was the next entertainment. They sprang up out of the earth
by thousands, and danced on their hind-legs while Satan played on the
bagpipes or the trumpet, after which they solicited the witches to
reward them for their exertions by feeding them _with the flesh of
unbaptized babes_. Was there ever a more curious mixture of the
grotesque and the horrible? At a stamp from the devil's foot they
returned to the earth whence they came, and a banquet was served up,
the nature of which the reader may be left to imagine! Dancing was
afterwards resumed, while those who had no partiality for the pastime
found amusement in burlesquing the sacrament of baptism, the toads
being again summoned and sprinkled with holy water, while the devil
made the sign of the cross, and the witches cried out in chorus: 'In
nomine Patricâ, Aragueaco Patrica, agora, agora! Valentia, jurando
gome guito goustia!' that is, 'In the name of Patrick, Patrick of
Aragon now, now, all our ills are over!'
Sometimes the devil would cause the witches to strip themselves, and
dance before him in their nakedness, each with a cat tied round her
neck, and another suspended from her body like a tail. At cockcrow the
whole phantasmagoria vanished.
One cannot help wondering who first conceived the idea of these horrid
saturnalia. Did it spring from the diseased imagination of some
half-mad monk, brooding in the solitude of his silent cell, who
gathered up all these unclean and grim images and worked them into so
ghastly a picture? They are partly heathen, partly Christian; partly
classical, partly Teutonic--a strange and unwholesome compound, as
'thick and slab' as the hell-broth mixed by the hags on 'the blasted
heath'!
In these pages I am concerned only with our own 'tight little island,'
into which the superstition was most certainly introduced by the
northern invaders. It would derive strength and consistency from the
teaching of the Old Testament, which distinctly recognises the
existence of witchcraft. 'Let not a witch live!' is the command given
in Exodus (chapter xxii.); and similar threats against witches,
wizards and the like frequently occur in the books of Leviticus and
Deuteronomy. Says Sir William Blackstone: 'To deny the possibility,
nay, the actual existence of witchcraft and sorcery, is at once flatly
to contradict the revealed Word of God in various passages of the Old
and New Testaments, and the thing itself is a truth to which every
nation in the world hath, in its turn, borne testimony, either by
example seemingly well attested, or by prohibitory laws, which at
least suppose the possibility of a commerce with evil spirits.' The
Church at a very early period admitted its existence, and fulminated
against all who practised it. The fourth canon of the Council of
Auxerre, in 525, stringently prohibited all resort to sorcerers,
diviners, augurs, and the like. A canon of the Council held at
Berkhampstead in 696 condemned to corporal punishment, or mulcted in a
fine, every person who made sacrifices to the evil spirits. Under the
name of _sortilegium_, the offence was treated eventually as a kind of
heresy, for which, on the first occasion, the offender, if penitent,
was punished by the Ecclesiastical Courts; but if there were no
abjuration, or a relapse after abjuration, she was handed over to the
secular power to be executed by authority of the writ _de heretico
comburendo_. At a later date, statutes against witchcraft were enacted
by Parliament, and the offence was both tried and punished by the
civil power. Such statutes were passed in the reigns of Henry VIII.,
Elizabeth, and James I. Legislation derives its chief support from
public opinion; and these statutes are a proof that the existence of
witchcraft was generally believed in. 'For centuries in this country,'
says Mr. Inderwick, 'strange as it may now appear, a denial of the
existence of such demoniacal agency was deemed equal to a confession
of atheism, and to a disbelief in the Holy Scriptures themselves. Not
only did Lord Chancellors, Lord Keepers, benches of Bishops, and
Parliament after Parliament attest the truth and the existence of
witchcraft, but Addison, writing as late as 1711, in the pages of the
_Spectator_, after describing himself as hardly pressed by the
arguments on both sides of this question, expresses his own belief
that there is, and has been, witchcraft in the land.' At the same
time, it is pleasant to remember that there have almost always been a
few minds, bolder and more enlightened than the rest, to protest
against a credulity which led to acts of the greatest inhumanity, and
fostered a grotesque and dangerous superstition.
It is in the twelfth century that we first obtain, in England, any
distinct indications of the nature of this superstition, and it is
then we first meet with the written compact between the devil and his
victim. The story of the old woman of Berkeley, with which Southey's
ballad has made everybody familiar, is related by William of
Malmesbury, on the authority of a friend who professed to have been an
eye-witness of the facts. When the devil, we read, announced to the
witch that the term of her compact had nearly expired, she summoned to
her presence the monks of the neighbouring monastery and her children,
confessed her sins, acknowledged her criminal compact, and displayed a
curious anxiety lest Satan should secure her body as well as her soul.
'Sew me in a stag's hide,' she said, 'and, placing me in a stone
coffin, shut me in with lead and iron. Load this with a heavy stone,
and fasten down the whole with three iron chains. Let fifty psalms be
sung by night, and fifty masses be said by day, to baffle the power of
the demons, and if you can thus protect my body for three nights, on
the fourth day you may safely bury it in the ground.' These
precautions, though religiously observed, proved ineffectual. On the
first night the monks bravely resisted the efforts of the fiends, who,
however, on the second night, renewed the attack with increased
vehemence, burst open the gates of the monastery, and rent asunder two
of the chains which held down the coffin. On the third night, so
terrible was the hurly-burly, that the monastery shook to its
foundations, and the terror-stricken priests paused, aghast, in the
midst of their ministrations. Then the doors flew apart, and into the
sacred place stalked a demon, who rose head and shoulders above his
fellows. Stopping at the coffin, he, in a terrible voice, commanded
the dead to rise. The woman answered that she was bound by the third
chain: whereupon the demon put his foot on the coffin, the chain
snapped like a thread, the coffin-lid fell off, the witch arose, and
was hurried to the church-door, where the demon, mounting a huge black
horse, swung his victim on to the crupper, and galloped away into the
darkness with the swiftness of an arrow, while her shrieks resounded
through the air.
There are many allusions in the old monastic chronicles which
illustrate the development of public opinion in reference to witches
and their craft. Thus, John of Salisbury describes the nocturnal
assemblies of the witches, the presence of Satan, the banquet, and the
punishment or reward of the guests according to the failure or
abundance of their zeal. William of Malmesbury tells us that on the
highroad to Rome dwelt a couple of beldams, of ill repute, who
enticed the weary traveller into their wretched hovel, and by their
incantations transformed him into a horse, a dog, or some other
animal--similar to the transformations we read of in Oriental
tales--and that this animal they sold to the first comer, in this way
picking up a tolerable livelihood. One day, a jongleur, or mountebank,
asked for a night's lodging, and when he disclosed his vocation to the
two hags, they informed him that they had an ass of remarkable
capacity, which, indeed, could do everything but speak, and that they
were willing to sell it. The sum asked was large, but the ass
displayed such wonderful intelligence that the jongleur gladly paid
it, and departed, taking with him the ass and a piece of advice from
the old women--not to let the ass go near running water. For some time
all went well, the ass became an immense attraction, and the jongleur
was growing passing rich, when, in one of his drunken fits, he allowed
the animal to escape. Running directly to the nearest stream, it
plunged in, and immediately resumed its original shape as a handsome
young man, who explained that he had been transformed by the spells of
the two crones.
The first trial for witchcraft in England occurred in the tenth year
of King John, when, as recorded in the 'Abbreviatio Placitorum,'
Agnes, wife of Ado the merchant, accused one Gideon of the crime; but
he proved his innocence by the ordeal of red-hot iron. The first trial
which has been reported with any degree of particularity belongs to
the year 1324. Some citizens of Coventry, it would appear, had
suffered severely at the hands of the prior, who had been supported in
his exactions by the two Despensers, Edward II.'s unworthy favourites.
In revenge, they plotted the death of the prior, the favourites, and
the King. For this purpose they sought the assistance of a famous
magician of Coventry, named Master John of Nottingham, and his man,
Robert Marshall of Leicester. The conspiracy was revealed by the said
Robert Marshall, probably because his pecuniary reward was
unsatisfactory, and he averred that John of Nottingham and himself,
having agreed to carry out the desire of the citizens, the latter, on
Sunday, March 13, brought an instalment of the stipulated fee,
together with seven pounds of wax and two yards of canvas; that with
this wax he and his master made seven images, representing
respectively the King (with his crown), the two Despensers, the prior,
his caterer, and his steward, and one Richard de Lowe--the last named
being introduced merely as a lay-figure on which to test the efficacy
of the charm.
The two wizards retired to an old ruined house at Shorteley Park,
about half a league from Coventry, where they remained at work for
several days, and about midnight on the Friday following Holy Cross
Day, the said Master John gave to the said Robert a sharp-pointed
leaden branch, and commanded him to insert it about two inches deep in
the forehead of the image representing Richard de Lowe, this being
intended as an experiment. It was done, and next morning Master John
sent his servant to Lowe's house to inquire after his condition, who
found him screaming and crying 'Harrow!' He had lost his memory, and
knew no one, and in this state he continued until dawn on the Sunday
before Ascension, when Master John withdrew the branch from the
forehead of the image and thrust it into the heart. There it remained
until the following Wednesday, when the unfortunate man expired. Such
was Robert Marshall's fable, as told before the judges; but apparently
it met with little credence, and the trial, after several
adjournments, fell to the ground.
Wonderful stories are told by the later chroniclers of a certain Eudo
de Stella, who had acquired great notoriety as a sorcerer. William of
Newbury says that his 'diabolical charms' collected a large company of
disciples, whom he carried with him from place to place, adding to
their number wherever he stopped. At times he encamped in the heart of
a wood, where sumptuous tables were suddenly spread with all kinds of
dainty dishes and fragrant wines, and every wish breathed by the
meanest guest was immediately fulfilled. Some of Eudo's followers,
however, confided to our authority that there was a strange want of
solidity in these magically-supplied viands, and that though they ate
of them continually, they were never satisfied. But it appears that
whoever once tasted of the sorcerer's meats, or received from him a
gift, thereby became enrolled among his followers. And the chronicler
supplies this irrefutable proof: A knight of his acquaintance paid a
visit to the wizard, and endeavoured to turn him from his evil
practices. When he departed, Eudo presented his squire with a handsome
hawk, which the knight, observing, advised him to cast away. Not so
the squire: he rejoiced in his high-mettled bird; but they had
scarcely got out of sight of the wizard's camp before the hawk's
talons gripped him more and more closely, and at last it flew away
with him, and he was never more heard of.
The trial of Dame Alicia Kyteler, or Le Poer, takes us across the
seas, but it furnishes too many interesting particulars to be entirely
ignored. Hutchinson informs us that, in 1324, Bishop de Ledrede, of
Ossory, in the course of a visitation of his diocese, came to learn
that, in the city of Kilkenny, there had long resided certain persons
addicted to various kinds of witchcraft; and that the chief offender
among them was a Dame Alicia Kyteler. As she was a woman of
considerable wealth, which might prove of great benefit to the Church,
the episcopal zeal blazed up strongly, and she and her accomplices
were ordered to be put upon their trial.
The accusation against them was divided into seven distinct heads:
First: That, in order to give effect to their sorcery, they were wont
altogether to deny the faith of Christ and of the Church for a year or
month, according as the object to be attained was greater or less, so
that during this longer or shorter period they believed in nothing
that the Church believed, and abstained from worshipping Christ's
body, from entering a church, from hearing Mass, and from
participating in the Sacrament. Second: That they propitiated the
demons with sacrifices of living animals, which they tore limb from
limb, and offered, by scattering them in cross-roads, to a certain
demon, Robert Artisson (_filius Artis_), who was 'one of the poorer
class of hell.' Third: That by their sorceries they sought responses
and oracles from demons. Fourth: That they used the ceremonies of the
Church in their nocturnal meetings, pronouncing, with lighted candles
of wax, sentence of excommunication even against the persons of their
own husbands, naming expressly every member, from the sole of the foot
to the top of the head, and at length extinguishing the candles with
the exclamation, 'Fi! fi! fi! Amen!' Fifth: That with the intestines
and other inner parts of cocks sacrificed to the demons, with 'certain
horrible worms,' various herbs, the nails of dead men, the hair,
brains, and clothes of children who had died unbaptized, and other
things too disgusting to mention, boiled in the skull of a certain
robber who had been beheaded, on a fire made of oak-sticks, they had
invented powders and ointments, and also candles of fat boiled in the
said skull, with certain charms, which things were to be instrumental
in exciting love or hatred, and in killing or torturing the bodies of
faithful Christians, and for various other unlawful purposes. Sixth:
That the sons and daughters of the four husbands of the same Dame
Alice had made their complaint to the Bishop, that she, by such
sorcery, had procured the death of her husbands, and had so beguiled
and infatuated them, that they had given all their property to her and
her son [by her first husband, William Outlawe], to the perpetual
impoverishment of their own sons and heirs: insomuch that her present
[and fourth] husband, Sir John Le Poer, was reduced to a most
miserable condition of body by her ointments, powders, and other
magical preparations; but, being warned by her maidservant, he had
forcibly taken from his wife the keys of her house, in which he found
a bag filled with the 'detestable' articles above mentioned, which he
had sent to the Bishop. Seventh: That there existed an unholy
connection between the said Lady Alice and the demon called Robert
Artisson, who sometimes appeared to her in the form of a cat,
sometimes in that of a black shaggy dog, and at others in the form of
a black man, with two tall companions as black as himself, each
carrying in his hand a rod of iron. Some of the old chroniclers
embroider upon this charge the fanciful details that her offering to
the demon was nine red cocks' and nine peacocks' eyes, which were paid
on a certain stone bridge at a cross-road; that she had a magical
ointment,[40] which she rubbed upon a coulter or plough handle, in
order that the said coulter might carry her and her companions
whithersoever they wished to go; that in her house was found a
consecrated wafer, with the devil's name written upon it; and that,
sweeping the streets of Kilkenny between complin and twilight, she
raked up all the ordure towards the doors of her son, William Outlawe,
saying to herself:
'To the house of William my son,
Hie all the wealth of Kilkenny town.'
The lady, rejoicing in powerful friends and advisers, defied the
Bishop and all his works. She was excommunicated, and her son summoned
to appear before the Bishop for the offence of harbouring and
concealing her; but Dame Alice's friends retaliated by throwing the
Bishop into prison for several days. He revenged himself by placing
the whole diocese under an interdict, and again summoning William
Outlawe to appear on a certain day; but before the day arrived, he in
his turn was cited before the Lord Justice, to answer for having
imposed an interdict on his diocese, and to defend himself against
accusations submitted by the seneschal. The Bishop pleaded that it was
unsafe for him to travel; but the plea was not allowed, and, to save
himself from further molestation, he recalled the interdict.
The quarrel was not yet fought out. On the Monday following the octave
of Easter, the seneschal, Arnold de la Poer, held his judicial court
in the Assize Hall at Kilkenny. Thither repaired the Bishop, and,
though refused admission, he forced his way in, robed in full
pontificals, carrying in his hand the Host in pyx of gold, and
attended by a numerous train of friars and clergy. But he was received
with a storm of insults and reproaches, which compelled him to retire.
Upon his repeated protests, however, and at the intercession of some
influential personages, his return was permitted. Being ordered to
take his stand at the criminal's bar, he exclaimed that Christ had
never been treated so before, since He stood at the bar before Pontius
Pilate; and he loudly called upon the seneschal to order the arrest of
the persons accused of sorcery, and their deliverance into his hands.
When the seneschal abruptly refused, he opened the book of the
decretals, and saith, 'You, Sir Arnold, are a knight, and instructed
in letters, and that you may not have the excuse of ignorance, we are
prepared to prove by these decretals that you and your officials are
bound to obey our order in this matter, under heavy penalties.'
'Go to the church with your decretals,' replied the seneschal, 'and
preach there, for none of us here will listen to you.'
In the Bishop's character there must have been a fine strain of
perseverance, for all these rebuffs failed to baffle him, and he
actually succeeded, after a succession of disappointments and a
constant renewal of difficulties, in obtaining permission to bring the
alleged offenders to trial. Most of them suffered imprisonment; but
Dame Alice escaped him, being secretly conveyed to England. Of all
concerned in the affair, only one was punished: Petronella of Meath,
who was selected as a scapegoat, probably because she had neither
friends nor means of defence.
By order of the Bishop she was six times flogged, after which the poor
tortured victim made a confession, in which she declared not only her
own guilt, but that of everybody against whom the Bishop had
proceeded. She affirmed that in all Britain, nay, indeed, in the whole
world, was no one more skilled in magical practices than Dame Alice
Kyteler. She was brought to admit the truth--though in her heart she
must have known its absolute falsehood[41]--of the episcopal
indictment, and pretended that she had been present at the sacrifices
to the Evil One--that she had assisted in making the unguents with the
unsavoury materials already mentioned, and that with these unguents
different effects were produced upon different persons--the faces of
certain ladies, for instance, being made to appear horned like goats;
that she had been present at the nocturnal revelries, and, with her
mistress's assistance, had frequently pronounced sentence of
excommunication against her own husband, with all due magical rites;
that she had attended Dame Alice in her assignations with the demon,
Robert Artisson, and had seen acts of an immorality so foul that I
dare not allude to it pass between them. Having been coerced and
tortured into this amazingly wild and fictitious confession, the poor
woman was declared guilty, sentenced, and burned alive, the first
victim of the witchcraft delusion in Ireland.
* * * * *
It is worthy of observation that the mind of the public was roused to
a much stronger feeling of hostility against witchcraft than against
magic. Alchemists, astrologers, fortune-tellers, diviners, and the
like, might incur suspicion, and sometimes punishment; but, on the
whole, they were treated with tolerance, and even with distinction.
For this inequality of treatment two or three reasons suggest
themselves. In the crime of witchcraft the central feature was the
compact with the demon, and it was natural that men should resent an
act which entailed the eternal loss of the soul. Again, witchcraft,
much more frequently than magic, was the instrument of personal
ill-feeling, and was more generally directed against the lower
classes. The magician seldom used his power except when liberally paid
by an employer; the witch, it was thought, exercised her skill for the
gratification of her own malice. However this may be, an imputation of
witchcraft became, in the fifteenth century, a formidable affair,
ensuring the death or ruin of the unfortunate individual against whom
it was made. There was no little difficulty in defending one's self;
and in truth, once made, it clung to its victim like a Nessus's shirt,
and with a result as deadly.
Its value as a political 'move' was shown in the persecution of the
Knights Templars, and, in our own history, in Cardinal Beaufort's
intrigue against Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, who governed England as
Protector during the minority of Henry VI.
The Cardinal struck at the Duke through his beautiful wife, Eleanor
Cobham. In July, 1441, two ecclesiastics, Roger Bolingbroke, and
Thomas Southwell, a canon of St. Stephen's Chapel, were arrested on a
charge of high treason; 'for it was said that the said Master Roger
should labour to consume the King's person by way of necromancy; and
that the said Master Thomas should say masses upon certain instruments
with the which the said Master Roger should use his said craft of
necromancy.' Bolingbroke was a scholar, an adept in natural science,
and an ardent student of astronomy: William of Worcester describes him
as one of the most famous clerks of the world. One Sunday, after
having undergone rigorous examination, he was conveyed to St. Paul's
Cross, where he was mounted 'on a high stage above all men's heads in
Paul's Churchyard, whiles the sermon endured, holding a sword in his
right hand and a sceptre in his left, arrayed in a marvellous array,
wherein he was wont to sit when he wrought his necromancy.'
The Duchess of Gloucester, meanwhile, perceiving that her ruin was
intended, fled to sanctuary at Westminster. Before the King's Council
Bolingbroke was brought to confess that he had plied his magical trade
at the Duchess's instigation, 'to know what should fall of her, and
to what estate she should come.' In other words, he had cast her
horoscope, a proceeding common enough in those days, and one which had
no treasonable complexion. The Cardinal's party, however, seized upon
Bolingbroke's confession, and made such use of it that the unfortunate
lady was cited to appear before an ecclesiastical tribunal composed of
Chicheley, Archbishop of Canterbury, Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of
Winchester, Cardinal Kemp, Archbishop of York, and Ayscough, Bishop of
Salisbury, on July 2, 'to answer to divers articles of necromancy, of
witchcraft or sorcery, of heresy, and of treason.' Bolingbroke was
brought forward as a witness, and repeated that the Duchess 'first
stirred him to labour in his necromancy.'
After this, he and Southwell were indicted as principals of treason,
and the Duchess as accessory, though, if his story were true, their
positions should have been reversed. At the same time, a woman named
Margery Goodman, and known as the 'Witch of Eye,' was burned at
Smithfield because in former days she had given potions and philtres
to Eleanor Cobham, to enable her to secure the Duke of Gloucester's
affections. Roger Bolingbroke was hung, drawn, and quartered,
according to the barbarous custom of the age; Southwell escaped a
similar fate by dying in the Tower before the day appointed for his
trial. The charge of high treason brought against them rested entirely
on the allegation that, at the Duchess's request, they had made a
waxen image to resemble the King, and had placed it before a fire,
that, as it gradually melted, so might the King gradually languish
away and die. As for the Duchess, she was sentenced to do penance,
which she fulfilled 'right meekly, so that the more part of the people
had her in great compassion,' on Monday, November 13, 1441, walking
barefoot, with a lighted taper in her hand, from Temple Bar to St.
Paul's, where she offered the taper at the high altar. She repeated
the penance on the Wednesday and Friday following, walking to St.
Paul's by different routes, and on each occasion was accompanied by
the Lord Mayor, the sheriffs, and the various guilds, and by a
multitude of people, whom the repute of her beauty and her sorrows had
attracted, so that what was intended for a humiliation became really a
triumph. She was afterwards imprisoned in Chester Castle, and thence
transferred to the Isle of Man.
* * * * *
The charge of sorcery which Richard III. brought against Lord
Hastings, accusing him of having wasted his left arm, though from his
birth it had been fleshless, dry, and withered, is made the basis of
an effective scene in Shakespeare's 'Richard III.' His brother's
widow, Queen Elizabeth Woodville, was included in the charge, and Jane
Shore was named as her accomplice. This frail beauty was brought
before the Council, and accused of having 'endeavoured the ruin and
destruction of the Protector in several ways,' and particularly 'by
witchcraft had decayed his body, and with the Lord Hastings had
contrived to assassinate him.' The indictment, however, was not
sustained, and her offence was reduced to that of lewd living.
Whereupon she was handed over to the Bishop of London to do public
penance for her sin on Sunday morning in St. Paul's Cathedral church.
Clothed in a white sheet, with a wax taper in her hand, and a cross
borne before her, she was led in procession from the episcopal palace
to the cathedral, where she made open confession of her fault. The
moral effect of this exhibition seems to have been considerably marred
by the beauty of the penitent, which produced upon the multitude an
impression similar to that which the bared bosom of Phryne produced
upon her judges in the days of old.
In 1480 Pope Innocent VIII. issued a Bull enjoining the detection,
trial, and punishment (by burning) of witches. This was the first
formal recognition of witchcraft by the head of the Church. In England
the first Act of Parliament levelled at it was passed in 1541. Ten
years later two more statutes were enacted, one relating to false
prophecies, and the other to conjuration, witchcraft and sorcery. But
in no one of these was witchcraft condemned _qua_ witchcraft; they
were directed against those who, by means of spells, incantations, or
compacts with the devil, threatened the lives and properties of their
neighbours. When, in 1561, Sir Edward Waldegrave, one of Mary Stuart's
councillors, was arrested by order of Secretary Cecil as 'a
mass-monger,' the Bishop of London, to whom he was remitted, felt no
disposition to inflict a heavy penalty for hearing or saying of mass;
but, on inquiry, he discovered that the officiating priest had been
concerned in concocting 'a love-philtre,' and he then decided that
sorcery would afford a safer ground for process. He applied,
therefore, to Chief Justice Catlin, to learn what might be the law in
such cases, and was astonished when he was told that no legal
provision had been made for them. Previously they came before the
Church Courts; but these had been deprived of their powers by the
Reformation, and the only precedent he could find for moving in the
matter belonged to the reign of Edward III., and was thus entered on
the roll:
'Ung homme fut prinse en Southwark avec ung teste et ung
visaige dung homme morte avec ung lyvre de sorcerie en son
male et fut amesné en banke du Roy devant Knyvet Justice,
mais nulle indictment fut vers lui, por qui les clerkes luy
fierement jurement que jamais ne feroit sorcerie en après, et
fut delyvon del prison, et le teste et les lyvres furent
arses a Totehyll a les costages du prisonnier.' (That is: A
man was taken in Southwark, with a dead man's skull and a
book of sorcery in his wallet, and was brought up at the
King's Bench before Knyvet Justice; but no indictment was
laid against him, for that the clerks made him swear he would
meddle no more with sorcery, and the head and the books were
burnt at Tothill Fields at the prisoner's charge.)
But in the following year Parliament passed an Act which defined
witchcraft as a capital crime, whether it was or was not exerted to
the injury of the lives, limbs, and possessions of the lieges.
Thenceforward the persecution of witches took its place among English
institutions. During the latter years of Elizabeth's reign several
instances occurred. Thus, on July 25, 1589, three witches were burnt
at Chelmsford. The popular mind was gradually familiarized with the
idea of witchcraft, and led to concentrate its attention on the
individual marks, or characteristics, which were supposed to indicate
its professors. Even among the higher classes a belief in its
existence became very general, and it is startling to find a man like
the learned and pious Bishop Jewell, in a sermon before Queen
Elizabeth, saying: 'It may please your Grace to understand that
witches and sorcerers within these last four years are marvellously
increased within this your Grace's realm. Your Grace's subjects pine
away even unto the death; their colour fadeth; their flesh rotteth;
their speech is benumbed; their senses are bereft! I pray God they may
never practise further than upon the subject!' (1598).
* * * * *
The witches in 'Macbeth'--those weird sisters who met at midnight upon
the blasted heath, and in their caldron brewed so deadly a
'hell-broth'--partake of the dignity of the poet's genius, and belong
to the vast ideal world of his imagination. No such midnight hags
crossed the paths of ordinary mortals. The Elizabethan witch, who
scared her neighbours in town and village, and flourished on their
combined ignorance and superstition, appears, however, in 'The Merry
Wives of Windsor,' where Master Ford describes 'the fat woman of
Brentford' as 'a witch, a quean, an old cozening quean!' He adds:
'Have I not forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does she? We
are simple men; we do not know what's brought to pass under the
profession of fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, by the
figure; and such daubery as this is beyond our element.' Most of
Master Ford's contemporaries, I fear, were, in this matter, 'simple
men.' Even persons of rank and learning, of position and refinement,
were as credulous as their poorer, more ignorant, and more vulgar
neighbours; were just as ready to believe that an untaught village
crone had made a compact with the devil, and bartered her soul for the
right of straddling across a broom or changing herself into a black
cat!
* * * * *
Near Warboise, in Huntingdonshire, in 1593, lived two gentlemen of
good estate--Mr. Throgmorton and Sir Samuel Cromwell. The former had
five daughters, of whom the eldest, Joan, was possessed with a lively
imagination, which busied itself constantly with ghosts and witches.
On one occasion, when she passed the cottage of an old and infirm
woman, known as Mother Samuel, the good dame, with a black cap on her
head, was sitting at her door knitting. Mistress Joan exclaimed that
she was a witch, hurried home, went into convulsions, and declared
that Mother Samuel had bewitched her. In due course, her sisters
followed her example, and they too laid the blame of their fits on
Mother Samuel. The parents, not less infatuated than the children,
lent ready ears to their wild tales, and carried them to Lady
Cromwell, who, as a friend of Mrs. Throgmorton, took the matter up
right earnestly, and resolved that the supposed witch should be put to
the ordeal. Sir Samuel was by no means unwilling; and the children,
encouraged by this prompt credulity, let loose their fertile
inventions. They declared that Mother Samuel sent a legion of evil
spirits to torment them incessantly. Strange to say, these spirits had
made known their names, which, though grotesque, had nothing of a
demoniac character about them--'First Smack,' 'Second Smack,' 'Third
Smack,' 'Blue,' 'Catch,' 'Hardname,' and 'Pluck'--names invented, of
course, by the young people themselves.
At length the aggrieved Throgmorton, summoning all his courage,
repaired to Mother Samuel's humble residence, seized upon the unhappy
old crone, and dragged her into his own grounds, where Lady Cromwell
and Mrs. Throgmorton and her children thrust long pins into her body
to see if they could draw blood. With unmeasured violence, Lady
Cromwell tore the old woman's cap from her head, and plucked out a
handful of her gray hair, which she gave to Mrs. Throgmorton to burn,
as a charm that would protect her from all further evil practices.
Smarting under these injuries, the poor old woman, in a moment of
passion, invoked a curse upon her torturers--a curse afterwards
remembered against her, though at the time she was allowed to depart.
For more than a year her life was made miserable by the incessant
persecution inflicted upon her by the two hostile families, who, on
their part, declared that her demons brought upon them all kinds of
physical ills, prevented their ewes and cows from bearing, and turned
the milk sour in the dairy-pans. It so happened that Lady Cromwell was
seized with a sudden illness, of which she died, and though some
fifteen months had elapsed since the utterance of the curse, on poor
Mother Samuel was placed the responsibility. Sir Samuel Cromwell,
therefore, felt called upon to punish her for her ill-doing.
By this time the old woman, partly through listening to the incessant
repetition of the charges against her, and partly, perhaps, from a
weak delight in the notoriety she had attained, had come to believe,
or to think she believed, that she was really the witch everybody
declared her to be--just as a young versifier is sometimes deluded
into a conviction of his poetic genius through unwisely crediting the
eulogies of an admiring circle of friends and relatives. On one
occasion, she was forcibly conveyed into Mrs. Throgmorton's house when
Joan was in one of her frequently-recurring fits, and ordered to
exorcise the demon that was troubling the maid, with the formula: 'As
I am a witch, and the causer of Lady Cromwell's death, I charge thee,
fiend, to come out of her!' The poor creature did as she was told, and
confessed, besides, that her husband and her daughter were her
associates in witchcraft, and that all three had sold their souls to
the devil. On this confession the whole family were arrested, and sent
to Huntingdon Gaol. Soon afterwards they were tried before Mr. Justice
Fenner, and put to the torture.
In her agony the old woman confessed anything that was required of
her--she was a witch, she had bewitched the Throgmortons, she had
caused the death of Lady Cromwell. Her husband and her daughter,
stronger-minded, resolutely asserted their innocence. Ignorance,
however, would not be denied its victims; all three were sentenced to
be hanged, and to have their bodies burned. The daughter, who was
young and comely, was regarded compassionately by many persons, and
advised to gain at least a respite by pleading pregnancy. She
indignantly refused to sacrifice her good name. They might falsely
call her a witch, she exclaimed, but they should not be able to say
that she had acknowledged herself to be a harlot. Her old mother,
however, caught at the idea, and openly asserted that she was with
child, the court breaking out into loud laughter, in which she
fatuously joined. The three victims suffered on April 7, 1595.
Out of the confiscated property of the Samuels, Sir Samuel Cromwell,
as lord of the manor, received a sum of £40, which he converted into
an annual rent-charge of 40s. for the endowment of an annual sermon or
lecture on the iniquity of witchcraft, to be delivered by a D.D. or
B.D. of Queen's College, Cambridge. This strange memorial of a
shameful and ignorant superstition was discontinued early in the
eighteenth century.
* * * * *
In 1594, Ferdinando, Earl of Derby, died in and from the firm
conviction that he was mortally bewitched, though he had no knowledge
of the person who had so bewitched him.
* * * * *
About the same time there lived in an obscure part of Lancashire, not
far from Pendle, two families of the names of Dundike and Chattox
respectively, who both pretended to enjoy supernatural privileges,
and were therefore as bitterly antagonistic as if they had belonged to
different political factions. Their neighbours, however, seem to have
believed in the superior claims of the head of the Dundike family,
Mother Dundike, who pretended that she had enjoyed her unhallowed
powers for half a century. The year in which occurred the incidents I
am about to describe was, so to speak, her jubilee.
Mother Dundike must have been a woman of lively imagination, if we may
form conclusions from her graphic account of the circumstances
attending her initiation into the great army of 'the devil's own.' One
day, when returning from a begging expedition, she was accosted by a
boy, dressed in a parti-coloured garment of black and white, who
proved to be a demon, or evil spirit, and promised her that, in return
for the gift of her soul, she should have anything and everything she
desired. On inquiring his name, she was told it was Tib; and here I
may note that the 'princes and potentates' of the nether world seem to
have had a great predilection for monosyllabic names, and names of a
vulgar and commonplace character. The upshot of the conversation
between Tib and the woman was the surrender of her soul on the liberal
conditions promised, and for the next five or six years the said devil
frequently appeared unto her 'about daylight-gate' (near evening), and
asked what she would have or do. With wonderful unselfishness she
replied, 'Nothing.' Towards the end of the sixth year, on a quiet
Sabbath morning, while she lay asleep, Tib came in the shape of a
brown dog, forced himself to her knee, and, as she wore no other
garment than a smock, succeeded in drawing blood. Awaking suddenly,
she exclaimed, 'Jesu, save my child!' but had not the power to say,
'Jesu, save _me_!' Whereupon the brown dog vanished, and for a space
of eight weeks she was 'almost stark mad.'
The matter-of-fact style which distinguishes Mother Dundike's
confession may also be traced in the statements of her children and
grandchildren, who all speak as if witchcraft were an everyday
reality, and as if evil spirits in various common disguises went to
and fro in the land with edifying regularity. Let us turn to the
evidence, if such it may be called, of Alison Device, a girl of about
thirteen or fourteen years of age. Incriminating her grandmother
without scruple, she declared that when they were on the tramp, the
old woman frequently persuaded her to allow a devil or 'familiar' to
suck at some part of her body, after which she might have and do what
she would--though, strange to say, neither she nor anyone else ever
availed themselves of their powers to improve their material
condition, but lingered on in poverty and privation. James Device, one
of Mother Dundike's grandsons, said that on Shrove Tuesday she bade
him go to church to receive the sacrament--not, however, to eat the
consecrated bread, but to bring it away, and deliver it to 'such a
Thing' as should meet him on his way homeward. But he disobeyed the
injunction, and ate the sacred bread. On his way home, when about
fifty yards from the church, he was met by a 'Thing in the shape of a
hare,' which asked him whether he had brought the bread according to
his grandmother's directions. He answered that he had not; and
therefore the Thing threatened to rend him in pieces, but he got rid
of it by calling upon God.
Some few days later, hard by the new church in Pendle, a Thing
appeared to him like to a brown dog, asked him for his soul, and
promised in return that he should be avenged on his enemies. The
virtuous youth replied, somewhat equivocatingly, that his soul was not
his to give, but belonged to his Saviour Jesus Christ; as much as was
his to give, however, he was contented to dispose of. Two or three
days later James Device had occasion to go to Cave Hall, where a Mrs.
Towneley angrily accused him of having stolen some of her turf, and
drove him from her door with violence. When the devil next
appeared--this time like a _black_ dog--he found James Device in the
right temper for a deed of wickedness. He was instructed to make an
image of clay like Mrs. Towneley; which he did, and dried it the same
night by the fire, and daily for a week crumbled away the said image,
and two days after it was all gone Mrs. Towneley died! In the
following Lent, one John Duckworth, of the Launde, promised him an old
shirt; but when young Device went to his house for the gift, he was
denied, and sent away with contumely. The spirit 'Dandy' then appeared
to him, and exclaimed: 'Thou didst touch the man Duckworth,' which he,
James Device, denied; but the spirit persisted: 'Yes; thou _didst_
touch him, and therefore he is in my power.' Device then agreed with
the demon that the said Duckworth should meet with the same fate as
Mrs. Towneley, and in the following week he died.
* * * * *
It is a curious fact that the old woman Chattox, the head of the rival
faction of practitioners in witchcraft, accused Mother Dundike of
having inveigled her into the ranks of the devil's servants. This was
about 1597 or 1598. To Mrs. Chattox the Evil One appeared--as he has
appeared to too many of her sex--in the shape of a man. Time,
midnight; place, Elizabeth Dundike's tumble-down cottage. He asked, as
usual, for her soul, which she at first refused, but afterwards, at
Mother Dundike's advice and solicitation, agreed to part with.
'Whereupon the said wicked spirit then said unto her, that he must
have one part of her body for him to suck upon; the which she denied
then to grant unto him; and withal asked him, what part of her body he
would have for that use; who said, he would have a place of her right
side, near to her ribs, for him to suck upon; whereunto she assented.
And she further said that, at the same time, there was a Thing in the
likeness of a spotted bitch, that came with the said spirit unto the
said Dundike, which did then speak unto her in Anne Chattox's hearing,
and said, that she should have gold, silver, and worldly wealth at her
will; and at the same time she saith there was victuals, viz., flesh,
butter, cheese, bread, and drink, and bid them eat enough. And after
their eating, the devil called Fancy, and the other spirit calling
himself Tib carried the remnant away. And she saith, that although
they did eat, they were never the fuller nor better for the same; and
that at their said banquet the said spirits gave them light to see
what they did, although they had neither fire nor candle-light; and
that there be both she-spirits and (he-)devils.'
In a later chapter I shall have occasion to refer to the confessions
of the various persons implicated in this 'Great Oyer' of witchcraft.
What comes out very strongly in them is the hostility which existed
between the Chattoxes and the Dundikes, and their respective
adherents. In Pendle Forest there were evidently two distinct parties,
one of which sought the favour and sustained the pretensions of Mother
Dundike, the other being not less steadfast in allegiance to Mother
Chattox. As to these two beldams, it is clear enough that they
encouraged the popular credulity, resorted to many ingenious
expedients for the purpose of supporting their influence, and
unscrupulously employed that influence in furtherance of their
personal aims. They knowingly played at a sham game of commerce with
the devil, and enjoyed the fear and awe with which their neighbours
looked up to them. It flattered their vanity; and perhaps they played
the game so long as to deceive themselves. 'Human passions are always
to a certain degree infectious. Perceiving the hatred of their
neighbours, they began to think that they were worthy objects of
detestation and terror, that their imprecations had a real effect,
and their curses killed. The brown horrors of the forest were
favourable to visions, and they sometimes almost believed that they
met the foe of mankind in the night.' To the delusions of the
imagination, especially when suggested by pride and vanity, there are
no means of putting a limit; and it is quite possible that in time
these women gave credence to their own absurd inventions, and saw a
demon or familiar spirit in every hare or black or brown dog that
accidentally crossed their path.
For awhile the witches created a reign of terror in the forest. But
the interlacing animosities which gradually sprang up between its
inhabitants were the fertile source of so much disorder that, at
length, a county magistrate of more than ordinary energy, Roger
Nowell, Esq., described as a very honest and religious gentleman,
conceived the idea that, by suppressing them, he should do the State
good service. Accordingly he ordered the arrest of Dundike and
Chattox, Alison Device, and Anne Redfern, and each, in the hope of
saving her life, having made a full confession, he committed them to
Lancaster Castle, on April 2, 1612, to take their trials at the next
assizes.
No attempt was made, however, to search Malkin Tower. This lonely ruin
was regarded with superstitious dread by the peasantry, who durst
never approach it, on account of the strange unearthly noises and the
weird creatures that haunted its wild recesses. James Device, when
examined afterwards by Nowell, deposed that about a month before his
arrest, as he was going towards his mother's house in the twilight, he
met a brown dog coming from it, and, of course, a brown dog was the
disguise of an evil spirit. About two or three nights after, he heard
a great number of children shrieking and crying pitifully in the same
uncanny neighbourhood; and at a later date his ears were shocked by a
loud yelling, 'like unto a great number of cats.' We have heard the
same sounds ourselves, at night, in places which did not profess to be
haunted! It is very possible that Dame Dundike, who was obviously a
crafty old woman, with much knowledge of human nature, had something
to do with these noises and appearances, for it was to her interest to
maintain the eerie reputation of the Tower, and prevent the intrusion
of inquisitive visitors. With all her little secrets, it was natural
enough she should say, '_Procul este, profani_,' while she would
necessarily seize every opportunity of extending and strengthening her
authority.
It was the general belief that the Malkin Tower was the place where
the witches annually kept their Sabbath on Good Friday, and in 1612,
after Dame Dundike's arrest, they met there as usual, in exceptionally
large numbers, and, after the usual feasting, conferred together on
'the situation'--to use a slang phrase of the present day. Elizabeth
Device presided, and asked their advice as to the best method of
obtaining her mother's release. There must have been some daring
spirits among those old women; for it was proposed--so runs the
record--to kill Lovel, the gaoler of Lancaster Castle, and another
man of the name of Lister, accomplish an informal 'gaol-delivery,' and
blow up the prison! Even with the help of their familiars, they would
have found this a difficult and dangerous enterprise, and we do not
wonder that the proposal met with general disfavour.
Seldom, if ever, do conspirators meet without a traitor in their
midst; and on this occasion there was a traitor in Malkin Tower in the
person of Janet Device, the youngest daughter of Alison Device, and
grand-daughter of the unfortunate old woman who was lying ill and weak
in Lancaster Gaol. A girl of only nine years of age, she was an
experienced liar and thoroughly unscrupulous; and having been bribed
by Justice Nowell, she informed against the persons present at this
meeting, and secured their arrest. The number of prisoners at
Lancaster was increased to twelve, among whom were Elizabeth Device,
her son James, and Alice Nutter, of Rough Lea, a lady of good family
and fair estate. There is good reason to believe that the last-named
was in no way implicated in the doings of the so-called witches, but
that she was introduced by Janet Device to gratify the greed of some
of her relatives--who, in the event of her death, would inherit her
property--and the ill-feeling of Justice Nowell, whom she had worsted
in a dispute about the boundary of their respective lands. The charges
against her were trivial, and amounted to no more than that she had
been present at the Malkin Tower convention, and had joined with
Mother Dundike and Elizabeth Device in bewitching to death an old man
named Mitton. The only witnesses against her were Janet and Elizabeth
Device, neither of whom was worthy of credence.
Blind old Mother Dundike escaped the terrible penalty of an
unrighteous law by dying in prison before the day of trial. But
justice must have been well satisfied with its tale of victims.
Foremost among them was Mother Chattox, the head of the anti-Dundike
faction--'a very old, withered, spent, and decrepit creature,' whose
sight was almost gone, and whose lips chattered with the meaningless
babble of senility. When judgment was pronounced upon her, she uttered
a wild, incoherent prayer for Divine mercy, and besought the judge to
have pity upon Anne Redfern, her daughter. The next person for trial
was Elizabeth Device, who is described as having been branded 'with a
preposterous mark in nature, even from her birth, which was her left
eye standing lower than the other; the one looking down, the other
looking up; so strangely deformed that the best that were present in
that honourable assembly and great audience did affirm they had not
often seen the like.' When this woman discovered that the principal
witness against her was her own child, she broke out into such a storm
of curses and reproaches that the proceedings came to a sudden stop,
and she had to be removed from the court before her daughter could
summon up courage to repeat the fictions she had learned or concocted.
The woman was, of course, found guilty, as were also James and Alison
Device, Alice Nutter, Anne Redfern, Katherine Hewit, John and Jane
Balcock, all of Pendle, and Isabel Roby, of Windle, most of whom
strenuously asserted their innocence to the last. On August 13, the
day after their trial, they were burnt 'at the common place of
execution, near to Lancaster'--the unhappy victims of the ignorance,
superstition, and barbarity of the age.
Janet Device, as King's evidence, obtained a pardon, though she
acknowledged to have taken part in the practices of her parents, and
confessed to having learned from her mother two prayers, one to cure
the bewitched, and the other to get drink. The former, which is
obviously a _pasticcio_ of the old Roman Catholic hymns and
traditional rhymes, runs as follows:
'Upon Good Friday, I will fast while I may
Untill I heare them knell
Our Lord's owne bell.
Lord in His messe
With His twelve Apostles good,
What hath He in His hand?
Ligh in leath wand:
What hath He in His other hand?
Heaven's door key.
Open, open, Heaven's door keys!
Stark, stark, hell door.
Let Criznen child
Goe to its mother mild;
What is yonder that crests a light so farrndly?
Thine owne deare Sonne that's nailed to the Tree.
He is naild sore by the heart and hand,
And holy harne panne.
Well is that man
That Fryday spell can,
His child to learne;
A crosse of blew and another of red,
As good Lord was to the Roode.
Gabriel laid him downe to sleepe
Upon the ground of holy weepe;
Good Lord came walking by.
Sleep'st thou, wak'st thou, Gabriel?
No, Lord, I am sted with sticks and stake
That I can neither sleepe nor wake:
Rise up, Gabriel, and goe with me,
The stick nor the stake shall never dure thee.
Sweet Jesus, our Lord. Amen!'
The other prayer consisted only of the Latin phrase: 'Crucifixus hoc
signum vitam æternam. Amen.'[42]
FOOTNOTES:
[40] So in Duclerq's 'Memoires' ('Collect. du Panthéon'), p. 141, we
read of a case at Arras, in which the sorcerers were accused of using
such an ointment: 'D'ung oignement que le diable leur avoit baillé,
ils oindoient une vergue de bois bien petite, et leurs palmes et leurs
mains, puis mectoient celle virguelte entre leurs jambes, et tantost
ils s'en volvient où ils voullvient estre, purdesseures bonnes villes,
bois et cams; et les portoit le diable au lieu où ils debvoient faire
leur assemblée.'
[41] That is, of sacrificing to the Evil One, of meeting the demon
Robert Artisson, and so on; though it is quite possible that strange
unguents were made and administered to different persons, and that
Dame Alice and her companions played at being sorcerers. Some of the
so-called witches, as we shall see, encouraged the deception on
account of the influence it gave them.
[42] Thomas Pott's 'Wonderful Discoverie of Witches in the Countie of
Lancashire' (1615), reprinted by the Chetham Society, 1845.