Death is rarely more unwelcome to any, than to those, who reasonably suppose the perils of the deep to be fairly passed, and who are permitted, after a long sojourn in other lands, to look once again upon their own—so near withal, that their eyes are gladdened, by the recognition of familiar landmarks; and who, in the silent chancel of their miscalculating hearts, thank God, that they areat home at last—and yet, in the very midst of life and joy, they are in death!
There has ever seemed to me to be something exceedingly impressive, in the death of that eminent patriot, Josiah Quincy. He died when the bark, which bore him homeward was in sight of land—the headlands of Gloucester, April 26, 1775—
——Dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos.
Few men, of our own country, have accomplished more, or acquired a more honorable celebrity, at the early age of thirty-one.
His was a death in the common course of nature. I more especially allude, at this moment, to death as it occurs, from shipwreck, on one’s own shores, when the voyage is apparently at an end, and the voyagers are anticipating an almost immediate reunion with their friends.
The frequency of these occurrences revives, at the present moment, the sentiment of Horace, delivered some eighteen centuries ago—
Illi robur et æs triplexCirca pectus erat, qui fragilem truciCommisit pelago ratemPrimus.——————
We are oblivious of perils past. The tax on commerce, levied by the whirlwind, and by recklessness, and ignorance, far exceeds the common calculation of those, who know little, experimentally, of the perils of the deep; and who go not down upon the sea in ships. Precisely fifty years ago, it was estimated, at Lloyd’s, that one ship per diem, three hundred and sixty-five ships, annually, were lost, in the open sea, and on lee shores. And, in Lloyd’s Lists, for 1830, it was stated, that six hundred and seventy-seven British vessels were lost, during that year.
Whether or not it be attributable to that natural eagerness, which increases, as the object of our heart’s desire draws near, and is apt to abate somewhat of our ordinary vigilance—certain it is, that calamities of this nature are of no unfrequent occurrence, near the termination of a voyage, and when we have almost arrived at the haven, where we would be.
About ten years ago, while enjoying the hospitality of some Southern friends, I became acquainted with a lady, the varying expression of whose features arrested my attention, and excited my surprise. Whenever her countenance was lighted up, by a smile, it was for an instant only; and an expression of solemnity, and even of sadness, immediately succeeded; as the darkness of an autumnal sky follows the feeble flashes of electric light.
I sought an explanation of this peculiarity, from an old friend, who knew this lady well, Mr. Doddridge Crocker, formerly a merchant of this city, and then a resident of Charleston.
He informed me, that, many years before, he had been a passenger, in company with this lady and her father, together with other citizens of Charleston, for New York, on board the Rose in Bloom. They had a prosperous voyage, until they came in sight of the Highlands. The passengers proceeded to make their toilets; and arrangements were in progress, for going speedily on shore. The ship was under a press of canvas, with a strong breeze. The wind shifted its direction suddenly, and soon became a gale. The Rose in Bloom was capsized, and lost. The lady, said Mr. Crocker, to whom you refer, and her father, amid the terrible confusion, which ensued, clung to some floating article, whose buoyancy, it soon became apparent, was not sufficient to support them both. The filial and paternal contest may be easily conceived, each entreating the other, to retain the only means of preservation. At length, the father abandoned his hold, and struck out for a floating spar, at some little distance. His struggles were ineffectual—he sunk, before his daughter’s eyes! We were, ere long, rescued from our imminent peril. The impression, left upon her mind, was left there forever.
The reader may possibly surmise, that my leading remarks have a particular reference to the recent shipwreck of the Elizabeth, upon the coast of New York. This catastrophe, which is imputed to ignorance and miscalculation, involves the loss of aninteresting and intelligent young gentleman, Mr. Horace Sumner, of this city, and of the Marquis and Marchioness Ossoli, and their child. One of these sufferers I have known, in earlier days. Under the quiet, unpresuming roof of her worthy father, Mr. Timothy Fuller, I have met his daughter Margaret. Few then would have anticipated her melancholy fate, and fewer still, that she would become an Italian marchioness!
Let me devote the remaining space, in the present article, to those unmitigated wretches, with hearts of flint, who rioted and revelled, amid the sufferings of their fellow-beings. An opportunity will now be afforded, to stamp this hellish practice, with all the force of the law, and whatever there may be of indignant severity, in public sentiment.
Luring vessels on shore, by arranging false lights, and robbing wrecks are crimes of great antiquity. But I had no suspicion, that even the latter practice was carried on, so systematically, and so boldly, as it appears to have been, at the present day, in the State of New York. The names of the places, where these atrocities were committed, Fire Island, Patchogue, Islip, Babylon have something of a Cornish sound, undoubtedly.
Of old, in all the northern regions of Europe, and especially, along the coasts of the Baltic Sea, a wreck was deemed “a Providence;” and laws were in force, authorizing the inhabitants to fall on, and plunder at discretion, or, in the language, then employed—“in naufragorum miseria et calamitate, tanquam vultures, ad prædam currere.” Of the earlier periods of our own history, tales have been told, which, though almost beyond belief, would not have been related, if they had not been somewhere, upon the outskirts or frontiers of probability. Thus many—many—very many years ago, tradition intimates, that a worthy clergyman of Truro was interrupted, in the middle of his discourse, by one of his deacons, who caused the whole congregation to riseen masse, by seizing his hat and crying aloud—“a wreck!” whereupon the good man is reported, while putting up his notes, and opening the pulpit door, to have exclaimed—“Stay—stay, my Christian friends, let us all have a fair start.”
More than five hundred years ago, in the 13th of Edward III., laws were passed, in England, for the punishment of such offenders. These laws were amended and confirmed, in the 12th of Anne, and 4th of George I., 26th of George II., and 8th ofElizabeth. By the statute of 26 George II., ch. 19, plundering a vessel, in distress, or wrecked, and putting out false lights, to deceive, were made capital felonies. By the civil law, stealing even a plank from a vessel, in distress, or wrecked, made the offender liable, for the entire ship and cargo. The early Neapolitan constitutions and the laws of the Wisigoths inflicted the severest punishment, not only upon such as plundered a wreck, but upon all, who were convicted of neglecting to aid a vessel in distress, when in their power to render comfort and assistance.
By the laws of the United States—I refer to the act of March 3, 1825—persons who plunder vessels in distress; and all, who obstruct the escape of the sufferers; the exhibitors of false lights and extinguishers of true ones, with intent to produce shipwreck, are punishable, by fine, not exceeding five thousand dollars, and imprisonment and hard labor, not exceeding ten years. The extreme mildness of this law has always struck me with amazement; for, among the offenders, described in the statute, are those, “who shall wilfully obstruct the escape of any person, endeavoring to save his or her life,” &c.
Since men went down upon the sea in ships, there has rarely occurred, in our own country, a case of deeper atrocity, than the present; and, it is to be hoped, that the tribunals of New York will exhibit a forcible example of mercy to the whole community, by a prompt and condign punishment of these heartless wretches.
The fiendish spirit, which, of old, animated the Buccaneers of the Tortugas, will probably never entirely die out from the heart of man, till the period of millennial purgation. It is impossible to conceive of anything, in a population of hyænas, more selfish, cold, and cruel, than the conduct of that abandoned class, of whose existence we have abundant evidence; to whom no music is so sweet, as that of the midnight hurricane; and who have, immemorially, obtained the appellation ofmoon-cursers, because they delight in that darkness, which is suited to their infernal profession.
The laws of England have been unable to accomplish the extinction of these miscreants. The Cornish coast, exposed, as it is, to marine disaster, has ever been famous, for this species of crime and cruelty. It is chiefly confined to a few parishes, on the craggy shore, between Mount’s Bay and the Lizard. “When a wreck takes place,” says Mr. Haydn, page 559,following the words of Phillips, “thousands assemble with hatchets, axes, crowbars, &c., and many women and children fight, by habit, for the plunder, utterly regardless of the sufferers.”
For the honor of human nature I trust, that many, very many years have gone by, since any such atrocities were practised, upon the sea-coast of New England. The late Dr. Holbrook, of Milton, related an incident, which occurred, during the last war with Great Britain, extending not beyond mere pilfering; and which, in the case of one individual, at least, had rather an amusing termination.
A vessel was wrecked, on Nantasket beach; and, her cargo was broken up, and scattered along the shore. On the following day, Dr. Holbrook was hastily summoned, to visit a patient, who was thought to be dying. He was thoroughly exhausted, and had vomited, through the whole day, a substance, in no degree offensive, but, on the contrary, exceedingly aromatic and agreeable. Nevertheless, he was sinking from exhaustion. Dr. Holbrook could not prevail upon the patient to admit, that he had partaken of any other, than his customary diet. His wife stated, that he had been absent the preceding night, and had not told her, in what manner he had been engaged.
At last, the doctor gravely informed him, that it was folly to practise such deception; that, unless a physician knew the nature of the poison, he could not easily prescribe an antidote; and, that, if he persisted in his folly, death might be the consequence.
At this, the fellow, who, with others, had been pilfering from the wreck, became thoroughly frightened; and, with an expression of great terror, confessed, that he feared he hadeaten rather too heartily of nutmegs.
In the Transcript of August 14, I notice an editorial criticism, upon the recent employment of the wordcatafalque. In primitive strictness, I believe that criticism to be perfectly correct; and that, in its original signification,catafalquecannot be understood to mean afuneral car.
In thegrand Dictionaire, by Fleming & Tibbins,catafalqueis thus defined—“decoration funebre qu’on eleve au milieu d’une église pour y placer le cercueil ou le representation d’un mort a qui l’on veut rendre les plus grands honneurs.”
Herse is defined, by the same lexicographers, “un cercueil, une biere, voiture pour porter un mort au tombeau, un char funebre, corbillard, pierre tumulaire provisoire.”
Thus, whilecatafalqueseems to signify an ornamental structure, erected in the middle of a church, to support the coffin or the effigy of the dead, whom it is intended to honor—herse, at the present day, is understood to mean a coffin, a bier, a carriage to bear the dead to the tomb, a funeral car, a van, a temporary mausoleum or gravestone.
Herse, whose etymology, according to Johnson, is unknown, imported, three hundred years ago, a temporary structure, in honor of the dead; such also is the meaning of the wordcatafalque; of this, there cannot be the slightest doubt. In this sense, herse was employed by Shakspeare, in his Henry IV.:
“To add to your lamentsWherewith you now bedew King Henry’s herse,” &c.
Johnson furnishes two definitions of the word, herse—1. A carriage, in which the dead are conveyed to the grave. 2. A temporary monument, set over a grave. It is quite certain, however, that theherse, whether justly styleda monument, or not, wasnotusually “set over the grave,” but more frequently, like thecatafalque, agreeably to the definition given above—au milieu d’une eglise.
No writer, probably, refers to theherse, so frequently, as old John Strype, in his Memorials; and, in no instance, I believe, in the sense of acarorvehicle, or as a structure, “set over the grave.”
Strype’s Memorials are the records of a Roman Catholic age, or of a period, during which, the usages of the Romish Church, in England, had not entirely worn out their welcome with the people—the reigns of Henry VIII., Edward VI., Bloody Mary, and Elizabeth. For, even during the reigns of Edward VI., and of Elizabeth, not a few of those pompous practices, which grew up, in the times of their respective predecessors, still clung upon the imaginations of the populace, and were reluctantly surrendered.
The church is the theatre of the Romish ecclesiastic. The service is an attractive spectacle. If the world were struckblind, who does not perceive, that the principal supports of Romanism would be instantly taken away! It has been the practice of all churches, that deal somewhat extensively, in forms and ceremonies, to demand of their members, with a greater or less degree of peremptoriness, that certain acts shall be publicly performed—au milieu d’une eglise. Thus the ceremony of marriage—the baptism of infants—the churching of women—and the burial of the dead furnish occasion, for throwing open the temple, and exhibiting its showy furniture to the multitude; and of verifying a pleasing saying of the late eminent, and excellent Archbishop of Bordeaux, while Bishop of Boston—“If we cannot catch them, in one way, we catch them in another.”
Nothing has ever been a more prolific source of capital to the Romish church, in former ages, than funereal parade,au milieu d’une eglise. Strype, with very few exceptions, speaks of theherseas a “herse of wax.” To this I have alluded in an earlier number. It may require a brief explanation here. Wax candles, of divers colors and forms, were attached to theherse, and the wax chandler of those days was in great request, and often rose to wealth and distinction.
The reader will readily perceive, that theherse, of those early times, was identical with thecatafalque, if he will give his attention to the following statements—“1554, on the 5th of October were the obsequies of the said Duke of Norfolk celebrated at St. Mary Overy’s: an herse being made with timber, and hanged with black, with his arms, and four goodly candlesticks gilded, and as many great tapers standing about it, all the choir hung in black,” &c. Mem. vol. iii., part 1, ch. 25. Here is nocar, but a temporary structure,au milieu d’une eglise—not “set over the grave”—the choir hung in black, &.
To show how Strype distinguished between theherseand acarfor conveyance, the reader may turn to the Memorials, vol. iii., part 1, page 471, where, after describing the ceremonies, in the church, at the funeral of the Bishop of Winchester, Strype adds—“at the gate, the corpse was put into awagonwith four horses, all covered with black,” &c. This is our modernherse, but was not so called by Strype.
“1557.—On the 5th of May was the Lady Chamberlin buried, with a fair hearse of wax.” The following is sufficiently explicit—“1557, the same day (July 29) began the hearse, atWestminster, for the Lady Anne of Cleves, consisting of carpenters’ work of seven principals; being as goodly a hearse, as had been seen.” Vol iii. p. 11.
“1557.—On the 3d of August, the body of the Lady Anne of Cleves was brought from Chelsy, where her house was, unto Westminster, to be buried; with all the children of Westminster, and many priests and clerks.” Father Strype did not probably intend to say they were all to be buried together.
“Then the gray Amis of Paul’s, and three crosses, and the monks of Westminster, and my Lord Bishop of London, and Lord Abbot of Westminster, rode together next the monks. Then the two secretaries, Sir Edmund Peckham and Sir Robert Freston, cofferer to the Queen of England, my Lord Admiral and Mr. Darcy, of Essex, and many knights and gentlemen. And before her corpse, her servants, her banner of arms. Then her gentlemen and her head officers; and then her chariot, with eight banners of arms, consisting of divers arms, and four banners of images of white taffeta, wrought with gold, and her arms. And so they passed by St. James’s, and thence to Charing Cross, with an hundred torches burning, her servants bearing them. And the twelve beadmen of Westminster had new black gowns, bearing twelve torches burning. There were four white branches with arms; then ladies and gentlewomen, all in black with their horses; eight heralds of arms, in black, with their horses, &c., &c. At the church door all did alight; and there the Lord Bishop of London and the Lord Abbot, in their copes, did receive the good lady, censing her. Men bore her under a canopy of black velvet, with four black stavesand so brought her into the hearse, and there tarried dirge, remaining there all night, with lights burning.” Ibid. “On the 22d was the hearse of the Lady Anne of Cleves, lately set up in Westminster Abbey, taken down, which the monks, by night, had spoiled of all the velvet cloth, arms, banners, pensils, majesty, and valance and all,—the which was never seen afore so done.” Ibid. page 15.
Hence it is manifest, that theherse, in the time of Strype, was identical with thecatafalqueof the present day. Nevertheless,herseandcatafalqueare as clearly not convertible terms, since the latter word can never be correctly applied to a funeral car.
Two and twenty pages of original record are devoted, by Strype, to an account of the “ceremonies and funeral solemnities, paid to the corpse of King Henry VIII.” These pages areextremely interesting, and full of curious detail. They also furnish additional evidence, thatthe hersewas then understood to mean all, that is now meant bythe catafalque. The works of Strype are not in the hands of very many; and the reader will not be displeased to know, in what manner they dealt with the dead body of an English King, some three hundred years ago. A few extracts are all, that my limits will allow:—
“After the corps was cold, and seen by the Lords of the Privy Council and others of the nobility of the realm, as appertained, commandment was given to the apothecaries, chirurgeons, wax-chandlers, and others, to do their duties in spurging, cleansing, bowelling, cering, embalming, furnishing, and dressing with spices the said corpse; and also for wrapping the same in cerecloth of many folds over the fine cloth of rains and velvet, surely bound and trammel’d with cords of silk: which was done and executed of them accordingly, as to the dignity of such a mighty prince it appertaineth; and a writing in great and small letters annexed against the breast, containing his name and style, the day and year of his death, in like manner. And after this don, then was the plumber and carpenter appointed to case him in lead, and to chest him. Which being don, the said chest was covered about with blew velvet, and a cross set upon the same.”
“And the corps being thus ordained, the entrails and bowels were honorably buried in the chappel,” &c. Mem., vol. 2, p. 289.
“Then was the corps in the chest had into the midds of the privy chamber, and set upon tressels, with a rich pall of cloth of gold, and a cross thereon, with all manner of lights thereto requisite.” Ibid.
“In the said chappel was ordained a goodly, formal herse, with four-score square tapers; every light containing two foot in length, poising in the whole eighteen hundred weight of wax, garnished about with pensils and escutcheons, banners and bannerols of descents. And, at the four corners, four banners of saints, beaten in fine gold upon damask, with a majesty thereover,” &c., &c. Ibid. 290.
“The second day of the month of February, being Wednesday and Candlemas day, betwixt eight and nine of the clock at night, the herse being lighted, and all other things appointed and prepared, the said most royal corps was reverendly taken and removed from the chambers, &c., and so brought to the chappel,&c., and there it was honorably set and placed within the said herse under a pall of rich cloth of tissue, garnished with escutheons, and a rich cloth of gold, set with precious stones.” Ibid. 292.
“And the herse, standing in the midst of said choir, was of a wonderful state and proportion; that is to say formed in the compass of eight panes and thirteen principals, double storied, of thirty-five foot high, curiously wrot, painted and gilded, having in it a wonderful sort of lights, amounting, in price, of wax, to the sum of four thousand pound weight, and garnished underneath with a rich majesty, and a doome double vallanced: on the which, on either side, was written the King’s word, in beaten gold, upon silk, and his arms of descents. And the whole herse was richly fringed with double fringes of black silk and gold on either side, both within and without very gorgeous and valiant to behold.” Ibid. 295.
It does not appear, that, in those days anysingleEnglish word was employed, to express thevehicle, which we call ahearse, at the present day, unless the wordbiermay suffice: and this, like the Romanferetrum, which I take to be much like our common graveyard article with legs, will scarcely answer the description of a four-wheeled car. I infer, that theferetrumwas a thing, which might be taken up, and set down, from the wordpositoin Ovid’s Fasti, iv., 851—
Osculaque applicuit posito suprema feretro.
Theferetrumand thecapulus, among the Romans, were designed mainly, for the poor. Citizens of any note were borne, as was our own practice, not very many years ago, on the shoulders of their friends.
Thefuneral carof Henry VIII. was a noble affair:—
“There was ordained for the corps a sumptuous and valuable chariot of four wheels, very long and large, with four pillars, overlaid with cloth of gold at the four corners, bearing a pillow of rich cloth of gold and tissue, fringed with a goodly deep fringe of blew silk and gold; and underneath that, turned towards the chariot, was a marvellous excellent cloth of majesty, having in it a doom artificially wrought, in fine gold upon oyl: and at the nether part of the said Chariot was hanged with blew velvet down to the ground, between the wheels, and at other parts ofthe chariot, enclosed in like manner with blew velvet.” Ibid. 295.
“The next day early, the 14 February, the chariot was brought to the court hall door; and the corps with great reverence brought from theherseto the same, by mitred prelats and others, temporal lords.” Ibid. 598.
Then, over the area of thirteen remaining pages, the record contains the minute particulars of the monarch’s obsequies, which, though full of interest, are no farther to our present purpose.
Bull—I speak not of Ole, but of John—Bull, when the teazle of opposition has elevated the nap of his temper, is a pestilent fellow: whatever the amount—and there is enough—of the milk of human kindness within him, there is, then, but one way, known among men, of getting it out, and that is, by giving Bull a bloody nose; whereupon he comes to his senses directly, and to a just appreciation of himself and his neighbors. True indeed it is, Bull is remarkably oblivious; and it sometimes becomes necessary to give him another, which is invariably followed, by the same happy result.
Qui hæret in corticewill never come at the milk of a cocoa nut. It is necessary to strip off its rough coat, and punch sundry holes in itswooden walls, and give it a regular cracking. It is precisely so with Bull. When the fit is upon him, Bull is terrible. He is the very Bull of Crete—the Bull of Claudian, in his rape of Proserpine—
Dictæus quatiens mugitibus urbesTaurus—————————Bull is a prodigious fellow;Nations tremble at his bellow.
There seems to have existed a strange, political hallucination, in regard to Bull and Jonathan. We are clearly, all of us, of one and the same family—a Bull-begotten people; and have a great deal of pleasure, in believing, that old madam Bull was the mother of us all. A goodly number of highly respectable Bulls came over the water, of old, and were well contented withthe green pastures of the New World. They differed, upon some points, from the Bulls they had left behind. They did not believe, that there was a power or right, to bellow louder than the rest, vested in any particular Bull, which power came down from Bull to Bull, in unbroken succession, from the Bull of Bashan. Such a belief, in their opinion, would have been a terrible Bull. Well; all at once, the trans-atlantic Bulls began to call the cis-atlantic Bulls—Jonathans. A very good name it was—a great deal better thanBulls. There could be no objection to the name, in the abstract.
But, unfortunately, it was bestowed, as a diminutive, and in derision; and the old Bulls, ere long, began to beat their flanks with their tails, and paw up the earth, and look unutterable things, about Jonathan’s cowardice; and they came over the water in droves, and began to roar awfully; and tore up the earth, under our very noses: and, after doing all, in our power to spare the world the miserable spectacle of a conflict, among Bulls, that were brothers, of the whole blood, we went to work,ex necessitate, with hoofs and horns; and tossed up such a terrible dust, at Lexington, and Concord, and Bunker’s Hill, and Long Island, and White Plains, and upon the Lakes, and at Sheensborough, and Albany, and Brandywine, and Saratoga, and Bennington, and Germantown, and Rhode Island, and Briar’s Creek, and Camden, and Broad River, and Guilford, and Hobkirk’s Hill, and the Eutaw Springs, and York Town, and at fifty places beside, that the old Bulls were perfectly astonished; and so very severely gored withal, that their roaring sunk, at last, into something like Snug’s, when he became fearful of frightening the ladies. The old Bulls—those that survived—wentback again, like Sawney, out of the peach orchard; and the mammoth Bull, in London, publicly acknowledged, that we were as independent a set of Bulls, as ever he saw, or heard of.
No man, in his senses, marvels, that a contemptuous, and supercilious sentiment, towards us, in our days of small things, should have been indulged, by the vulgar and unphilosophical, among the English people. It is matter for surprise, nevertheless, that so much ignorance of the American character should have existed, in the higher ranks of British society—such disparaging estimates of men andmateriel, on this side the water—such mistaken conceptions—such a general belief of almost universal pusillanimity, among men, who were not a whit the lessEnglishmen, than their revilers; as though there were something, particularly enervating, in breathing the bracing air of America, and listening to the thorough bass of the wild waters, breaking on our original walls of granite; and in struggling, with our horny hands, along the precipices, for bread—such an awful miscalculation of probabilities, as resulted at last, in the loss to King George of thirteen inestimable jewels, of the fairest water.
The impressions, entertained of the Americans, by the English people, or a great majority of them, about that period, were truly amusing. It is scarcely worth while to comment on the abuse of us, by the early reviewers, and the taunting inquiry, long—long ago, what American had ever produced an epic?—Unluckily, Joel did, at last.—This question, thus early and impudently propounded, was quite as sensible, as it might be, to ask men, who, by dint of industry and thrift, are just getting plain shirts to their backs—who among them ever had lace ruffles? We have improved since that time; andhalmost hevery man in the ole population can hutter imself hin werry decent Henglish.
Josiah Quincy,thenjunior, father of the late President of Harvard University, has noted some curious facts, in his journal, as reported by Gordon, i. 438. In a conversation between him and Col. Barré, who, though he opposed the Stamp Act, in 1765, supported the Boston Port Bill, in 1774. Col. Barré said to Mr. Quincy—“About fourteen or fifteen years ago, I was through a considerable part of your country; for, in the expedition against Canada, my business caused me to pass by land, through Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, and Albany; and, when I returned again to this country, I was often speaking of America, and could not help speaking well of its climate, soil, and inhabitants; for you must know, sir, America was always a favorite with me. But, will you believe it, sir, yet I assure you it is true, more than two thirds of this island, at this time, thought the Americans were all negroes.” Mr. Quincy replied that he did not in the least doubt it, for, if he was to judge by the late acts of Parliament, he should suppose, that a great majority of the people of Great Britain still thought so, for he found that their representatives still treated them as such.
The ministry had decided, that “the punishment of a few ofthe worst sort of traitors, such as Hancock and his crew, might be sufficient to teach the rest their duty, in future.”—“Some men of rank in the army,” says Gordon, i. 457, “treated all idea of resistance, by the Americans, with the utmost contempt. They are neither soldiers, nor ever can be made so, being naturally of a pusillanimous disposition, and utterly incapable of any sort of order or discipline; and by their laziness, uncleanliness, and radical defect of constitution, they are disabled from going through the service of a campaign. Many ludicrous stories, to that purport, were told, greatly to the entertainment of the house.”
Jonathan turned out, at the end of the Bull baiting, to have been neither a fool nor a coward: and the American Congress received a memorable compliment from Lord Chatham—“For genuine sagacity, for singular moderation, for manly spirit, for sublime sentiments, and simplicity of language, for everything respectable and honorable, the Congress of Philadelphia shines unrivalled.”
In the war of 1812, Bull was the very identical Bull, that he had been before: Frenchmen were frogs; Yankees were cowards—there was nobody that could fight, on the land or the sea, but Bull.
“It has always,” says that wittiest, and, I fear, wickedest of wags, William Cobbett, while addressing Lord Liverpool, “been the misfortune of England, that her rulers and her people have spoken and have thought contemptuously of the Americans. Was there a man in the country, who did not despise the American navy? Was there a public writer beside myself, who did not doom that navy to destruction in a month? Did not all parties exceedingly relish the description given, in a very august assembly, of ‘half a dozen of fir frigates, with bits of striped bunting tied to their mast heads’! Did not the Guerriere sail up and down the American coast, with her name, written on her flag, challenging those fir frigates? Did not the whole nation, with one voice exclaim at the affair of theLittle Belt—‘Only let Rogers comewithin reachof one of ourfrigates!’ If such was the opinion of the whole nation, with what justice is the Board of Admiralty blamed, for not sending out the means of combatting this extraordinary sort of foe? and for issuing a privilege to our frigates to run away from one of thosefir things with a bit of striped bunting atits mast head? The result of the former war, while it enlightened nobody, added to the vindictiveness of hundreds of thousands; so that we have entered into this war with all our old stock of contempt, and a vastly increased stock of rancor. To think that the American republic is to be a great power is unsupportable. Of the effect of this contempt I know nobody, who has so much reason to repent, as the officers of his Majesty’s navy. If they had triumphed, it would only have been over half a dozenfir things, with bits of bunting at their mast heads. They were sure to gain no reputation in the contest; and, if they failed, what was their lot? The worst of it is, they themselves did, in some measure, contribute to their own ill fate: for, of all men living, none spoke of poor Jonathan with so much contempt. There are some people, who are for taking the American commodores at their word, and ascribing their victories to the immediate intervention of Providence. Both Perry and McDonough begin their despatches by saying—“Almighty God has given us a victory.”
This is keen political satire; and it is well, that it should come to neighbor Bull’s ears, from the mouth of an Englishman. It is more gracefully administered thus. That it was entirely deserved, no one will doubt, who has any recollection of Bull’s unmeasured and unmitigated impudence, during the war of 1812, in its earlier stages. May God of his infinite mercy grant, that Peace Societies may have these matters, hereafter, very much their own way; though I have a little misgiving, I confess, as to the expediency of any sudden, or very general conversion of swords into ploughshares, or spears into pruning hooks.
Modus in rebus—an admirable proverb, upon all common occasions—is inapplicable, of course, to musical matters. No doubt of it. The luxury of sweet sounds cannot be too dearly bought; and, for its procurement, mankind may go stark mad, without any diminution of their respectability.
Such I infer to be the popular philosophy of today—while it is called today. The moderns have been greatly perplexed, bythe legends, which have come down to us, respecting the melody of swans. Thecarmina cycnorumof Ovid, and theCantantes sublime ferent ad sidera cycni, of Virgil, are perfectly incomprehensible by us. Cicero also, in his Tusculan Questions, i. 74, says, they die,cum cantu et voluptate. Martial, xiii. 77, asserts the matter, very positively—
Dulcia defecta modulatur carmina linguaCantator cycnus funeris ipse sui.
I no more believe in the power of a living or a dying swan to make melody of any kind, than I believe in the antiquated hum-bug of immediate emancipation. Pliny had no confidence in the story, and expresses himself to that effect, x. 23,Olorum morte narratur flebilis cantus (falso, ut arbitror) aliquot experimentis.
No mortal has done more than Shakspeare, among the moderns, to perpetuate this pleasant fancy—no bard, when weary of Pegasus, and preferring a drive to a ride, has harnessed his cygnets more frequently—or compelled them to sing more sweetly, in a dying hour. A single example may suffice. When prince Henry is told, that his father, King John, sang, during his dying frenzy, he says—
“Tis strange, that death should sing—I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death:And, from the organ pipe of frailty, singsHis soul and body to their lasting rest.”
One brief example more—Emilia, after the murder of her mistress—
“Hark! canst thou hear me? I will play the swan;And die in music.”
In all this there lurks not one particle of sober prose—one syllable of truth. The most learned refutation of it may be found, in the Pseudodoxia of Sir Thomas Browne, ii. 517, Lond. 1835.
In the “Memoires de l’Académie des Inscriptions,” M. Morin discusses the question very agreeably, why swans, that sang so delightfully, of old, sing so miserably, at the present day. Tame swans, he observes, are mutes: but the wild swan exerts its vocal powers, after a fashion of its own. He introduces the observations of the Abbé Arnaud, upon the performances of a couple of wild swans, which had located, upon the lagoons of Chantilly.“One can hardly say,” says the Abbé, “that the swans of Chantilly sing—they cry; but their cries are truly and constantly modulated. Their voice is not sweet; on the contrary, it is shrill, piercing, and rather disagreeable; I could compare it to nothing better than the sound of a clarionet, winded by a person unacquainted with the instrument.” Nothing surely savors less of melody than this. So thought Buffon—“Des sons bruyans de clarion, mais dont les tons aigus et peu diversifiés sont néanmoins tres—éloignés de la tendre mélodie et de la variété douce et brilliante du ramage de nos oiseaux chanteurs.” Nat. Hist. des Oisaux, ix. 25.
In his exposition of this error, imposed upon mankind, by the poets, Buffon expresses himself with singular beauty, in the concluding paragraph—“Nulle fiction en Histoire Naturelle, nulle fable chez les Anciens n’a ete plus célébrée, plus répétée, plus accréditee; elle s’étoit emparée de l’imagination vive et sensible des Grecs; poëtes, orateurs, philosophes méme l’ont adoptée, comme une verité trop agreable pour vouloir en douter. Il faut bien leur pardonner leurs fables; elles étoient aimables et touchantes; elles valoient bien de tristes, d’arides verités c’etoient de doux emblémes pour les ames sensibles. Les cygnes, sans doute, ne chantent point leur mort; mais toujours, en parlant du dernier essor et de derniers élans d’un beau génie pret á s’éteindre, on rappellera avec sentiment cette expression touchante—c’est le chant du cygne!” Ibid. 28.
It is not surprising, that these celebrated naturalists, Buffon and Morin, who discourse, so eloquently, of Grecian and Roman swans, should say nothing of Swedish nightingales, for, between their time and the present, numerous additions have been made to the catalogue of songsters.
The very thing, which the barber, Arkwright did, for all the spinning Jennies, in Lancashire, some seventy years ago, has been done by Jenny Lind, for all the singing Jennies upon earth, beside herself—they are cast into the shade.
She came here with an irresistible prestige. A singing woman has been a proverb, since the world began; and, of course, long before Ulysses dropped in, upon the island of Ogygia, and listened to Calypso; or fell into serious difficulty, among the Sirens. A singing woman, a Siren, has been frequently accounted, and with great propriety, a singing bird of evil omen. How grateful then must it be, to know, that, while lending their ears and theireyes to this incomparable songstress, our wives, our daughters, and our sisters have before them a pure, and virtuous, and gentle, and generous creature, as free, as poor, human nature can well be free, from life’s alloy, and very much as she was, when created—a little lower than the angels.
Among other mythological matters, Pausanias relates, that the three Sirens, instigated by Juno, challenged the Muses to a trial of skill in singing. They were beaten, of course, for the Muses, being nine in number, there were three upon one. The victors, as the story goes, proceeded very deliberately, to pluck the golden feathers, from the wings of the vanquished, and converted them into crowns, for their own brows.
Now, it cannot be denied, that Jenny has vanquished us all, and made the golden feathers fly abundantly. But this is not Jenny’s fault; for, whatever the wisdom or the folly, the affair was our own entirely. If, for the sake of distinction, any one has seen fit to pluck every golden feather from his back, and appear, like the featherless biped of Diogenes, and give the golden feathers to Jenny, to make her a crown; we have substantial facts, upon which to predict, that Jenny will make a better use of those golden feathers, than to fool them away, for a song. If Jenny plucks golden feathers, from the backs of the rich, she finds bare spots enough, for a large part of them all, upon the backs of the poor: and, as for the crown, for Jenny’s brows, if she goes onward, as she has begun, investing her treasurein Heaven, and selecting the Lord for her paymaster,therewill be her coronation; and her crown a crown of Glory. And, when she comes to lie down and die, let the two last lines of Johnson’s imperishable epitaph, on Philips, be inscribed upon her tomb—
“Rest undisturb’d, beneath this marble shrine,Till angels wake thee, with a note like thine.”
Orpheus was changed into a swan; Philomela into a nightingale; and Jenny, in due time, will be changed into an angel. Indeed, it is the opinion of some competent judges, that the metamorphosis has already commenced.
Music is such a delightful, soothing thing, that one grieves, to think its professors and amateurs are frequently so excessively irritable.
The disputes, between Handel and Senesino, and their respective partisans, disturbed all London, and finally broke up theAcademy of Music, after it had been established, for nine years. The quarrels of Handel and Buononcini are said to have occasioned duels, among the amateurs; and the nation was filled, by these musical geniuses, with discord and uproar. Good humor was, in some degree, restored, by the following epigram, so often ascribed to Swift, the two last lines of which, however, are alone to be found in the editions of his works, by Nicholls, and Scott:
“Some say, that signor Buononcini,Compar’d with Handel, is a ninny;Others aver to him, that HandelDoes not deserve to hold a candle;Strange, all this difference should be,’Twixt tweedle dum and tweedle dee.”
This epigram cannot be attributed to that contempt for music, which is sometimes occasioned, by a constitutional inability to appreciate its effect, upon the great mass of mankind. It undoubtedly sprang from a desire to put an end, by the power of ridicule, to these unmusical disturbances of the public peace.
Swift’s musical pun, upon the accidental destruction of a fine Cremona fiddle, which was thrown down by a lady’s mantua, has always been highly and deservedly commended; and recently, upon the very best authority, pronounced the finest specimen extant of this species of wit—“Perhaps,” says Sir Walter Scott, in his life of Swift, speaking of his puns, i. 467, “the application of the line of Virgil to the lady, who threw down with her mantua a Cremona fiddle, is the best ever made—
“Mantua væ miseræ nimium vicina Cremonæ!”
In every nation, and in every age, the power of music has been acknowledged by mankind. Now and then, the negative idiosyncracies of certain persons place this particular department of pleasure, beyond the sphere of their comprehension, as effectually as utter blindness denies the power of enjoying the finest specimens of the painter’s art. Occasionally, some pious divine, absolutely drunk with over-potent draughts of orthodoxy, like the friar, before Boccaccio, shakes his holy finger at this wicked world, and warns them to beware of the singing woman!
The vocal power of music is ascribed to the angels in Heaven; and my own personal knowledge has assured me, that it affords a melancholy solace, to the slave in bonds.
I passed the winter of 1840-41 with an invalid daughter, in the island of St. Croix. With a party of some six or eight, wedevoted one delightful, moonlight evening, to a ride, on horseback, among the sugar-loaf summits of that beautiful speck amid the main. We were ascending the hills, in the neighborhood of the Annelly plantation—the moon was at full, that night; and the Caribbean Sea, far and wide, shone like a boundless prairie of burnished silver. As we were slowly winding our way, to the summit, one of our party called the attention of the rest to the sounds of music, coming from the slave cabins, at a distance. As we advanced, slowly and silently, towards the spot, the male and female voices were readily distinguished.
We drew near, unperceived, and, checking our horses, listened, for several minutes, to the wild, simple notes of these children of bondage. “There is melody in this”—said one of our party aloud, and all was hushed, in an instant. We rode down to the cabins, and begged them to continue their song—but our solicitations were in vain—even the offer of sundry five stiver pieces, which operate, like a charm, upon many occasions, with theunclesand theaunties, was ineffectual then. “No massa—b’lieve no sing any more”—were the only replies, and we went upon our way.
As we descended the Annelly hills, on the opposite side, after leaving the negroes and their cabins, at some distance, we halted and listened—they had recommenced—the same wild music was floating upon the breeze.
As we rode slowly along, my daughter asked me, if I could account for their reluctance to comply with our request. I told her, I could not. “Perhaps,” said she, “they have a reason, somewhat like the reason of those, who sat down, by the waters of Babylon, and wept, and who could not sing one of the songs of Zion, in a strange land.”
It might have been thus. “They that carried us away captive, required of us a song! They, that wasted us, required of us mirth!”
While pursuing his free inquiry into the origin of evil, I doubt, if Soame Jenyns had as much pleasure, as Sir JosephBanks enjoyed, in his famous investigation, if fleas were the prototypes of lobsters.
These inquiries are immeasurably pleasant. When a boy, I well remember my cogitations, what became of the old moons; and how joyously I accepted the solution of my nurse, who had quite a turn for judicial astrology, that they were unquestionably cut up, for stars.
It is truly delightful to look into these occult matters—rerum cognoscere causas. There are subjects of deep interest, which lie somewhat nearer the surface of the earth—the origin of certain usages and undertakings, and the authorship of certain long-lived works, which appear to be made of a species of literary everlasting, but whose original proprietors have never been discovered. I have great respect, for those antiquarians, whose researches have unlocked so many of these long hidden mysteries; and, however bare-headed I may be, when the venerated names of Speed, or Strype, or Stow, or Rushworth, or Wood, or Holinshed occurs to my memory, I have an involuntary tendency to take off my hat.
It was, doubtless, in allusion to their grotesque and uncouth versification, that the Earl of Rochester prepared his well-known epigram—
“Sternhold and Hopkins had great qualms,When they translated David’s Psalms.”
This version, which held its ground, for a century and a half, and, as Chalmers says, slowly gave place to the translation, by Tate and Brady, had an origin, of which, I presume, few individuals are apprized.
Thomas Sternhold lived to translate fifty-one only of the Psalms; and the first edition was published in 1549, with this title—“All such Psalms of David as Thomas Sterneholde, late groome of the king’s majestye’s robes did in his lyfetime drawe into Englyshe metre.”
About this period, the larger cities of the kingdom had become inundated with obscene and blasphemous songs, to such a degree, that some powerful expedient seemed to be required, for the removal of this insufferable grievance. Accordingly, the felicitous idea occurred to Mr. Thomas Sternhold, of substituting the Psalms of David, as versified by himself, for the bacchanalian songs, then in use, throughout the realm. He anticipated a practical illustration of the command of St. James—“Is any merry let him sing Psalms.”
Ostensibly prepared for the use of the churches, the moving consideration, for this version, with Mr. Sternhold, was such as I have shown it to be. The motive is plainly stated, in the title-page—“Set forth and allowed to be sung in churches of the people together, before and after evening prayer, as also before and after sermon; and moreover, in private houses, for their godly solace and comfort, laying apart all ungodly songs and ballads, which tend only to the nourishment of vice and the corrupting of youth.”
Wood, in his Athenæ Oxonienses, i. 183, Lond: 1813, says of Sternhold—“Being a most zealous reformer and a very strict liver, he became so scandalized, at the amorous and obscene songs used in the court, that he, forsooth turned into English metre fifty-one of David’s Psalms, and caused musical notes to be set to them, thinking thereby, that the courtiers would sing them, instead of their sonnets, but did not, only some few excepted.”
How cheerfully would I go, undieted, for a long summer’s day, to know who was the author of “Jonny Armstrong’s Last Good Night;” and for a much longer term, to ascertain the writer of Chevy Chase, of which Ben Jonson used to say, he had rather have been the author of it, than of all his works. The words of Sir Philip Sidney, in his Discourse on Poetry, are quoted, by Addison, in No. 70 of the Spectator—“I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart more moved than with a trumpet.” The ballad of Chevy Chase was founded upon the battle of Otterburn, which was fought in 1388, and of which a brief account will be found in the fourteenth chapter of Sir Walter’s first series of the Grandfathers Tales.
The author of those songs for children, which have been lisped, by the tongues of millions, shall never be forgotten, while dogs delight to bark and bite—but who was the author of Hush-a-bye baby—Now we go up, up, up—Cock Robin—or Dickory Dock, no human tongue can tell!
Poor André, we know, was the author of the Cow Chace; but the composer of our national air is utterly unknown. Who would not give more of thesiller, to know to whose immortal mind we are indebted for Yankee Doodle, than to ascertain the authorship of the Letters of Junius?
Both France and England have been more fortunate, inrespect to the origin and authorship of their most popular, national songs. Speaking of Barbaroux and the Marseillois, Sir Walter Scott, in his Life of Napoleon, observes—“Besides the advantage of this enthusiastic leader, the Marseillois marched to the air of the finest hymn, to which Liberty or the Revolution had yet given birth.”
I am aware that something like doubt or obscurity hangs over the reputed authorship of the Hymn of the Marseillais. But in respect to the national air of Great Britain—God save the King—the authorship appears to be more satisfactorily, if not perfectly, indicated.
It is certainly worthy of note, that this celebrated air, in whichJohn Bullhas taken so much delight, ever since it came into existence, is by some persons supposed to have been the production ofJohn Bullhimself, a celebrated composer of his day. An engraving of him may be found, in the History of Music, by Hawkins. There is an original painting of him, by J. W. Childe, in the Music School, at Oxford, which was engraved by Illman, with the words below—“John Bull, Mus. Doct. Cantab. Instaur. Oxon. MDXCII.” A portrait of Dr. Bull will also be found, in Richard Clarke’sAccount of the National Anthem, God save the King, 8vo. Lond. 1822.
The account of Bull, by Wood, in his Fasti, i. 235, Lond. 1815, is somewhat amusing—“1586, July 9.—John Bull, who had practised the fac. of music for 14 years, was then admitted batch, of music. This person, who had a most prodigious hand on the organ, and was famous, throughout the religious world, for his church music, had been trained up under an excellent master, named Blitheman, organist of Qu. Elizabeth’s chappel, who died much lamented, in 1591. This Blitheman perceiving that he had a natural geny to the faculty, spared neither time nor labor to advance it to the utmost. So that in short time, he being more than master of it, which he showed by his most admirable compositions, played and sung in many churches beyond the seas, as well as at home, he took occasion to go incognito, into France and Germany. At length, hearing of a famous musician, belonging to a certain cathedral, (at St. Omers, as I have heard,) he applied himself, as a novice, to learn something of his faculty, and to see and admire his works. This musician, after some discourse had passed between them, conducted Bull to a vestry, or music school, joyning to thecathedral, and shew’d him a lesson, or song of forty parts, and then made a vaunting challenge to any person in the world to add one more part to them, supposing it to be so compleat and full, that it was impossible for any mortal man to correct or add to it. Bull thereupon desiring the use of ink and rul’d paper (such as we call musical paper) prayed the musician to lock him up in the said school for 2 or 3 hours; which being done, not without great disdain by the musician, Bull, in that time or less, added forty more parts to the said lesson or song. The musician thereupon being called in, he viewed it, try’d it and retry’d it. At length he burst out into great ecstacy, and swore by the great God, that he that added those 40 parts must either be the Devil or Dr. Bull, &c. Whereupon Bull making himself known, the musician fell down and adored him.”
Of music it may be said, as of most other matters—the fashion of these things passeth away. So great was the fame of Bull in his day, and such tempting offers of preferment were made him, by the Emperor, and by the Kings of France and Spain, that Queen Elizabeth commanded him home. It is stated, in the Biographical History of England, ii. 167, that the famous Dr. Pepusch preferred some of the lessons in Bull’s Partheniæ, to the productions of most of the composers of that time. Yet Dr. Burney says of these lessons—“They may be heard, by a lover of music, with as little emotion as the clapper of a sawmill, or the rumbling of a post-chaise.”
Musicians are a sensitive and jealous generation. “Handel,” says Chalmers, “despised the pedantry of Pepusch; and Pepusch, in return, refused to join, in the general chorus of Handel’s praise.”
Handel, when a stripling at Hamburgh, laid claim to the first harpsichord, against a master, greatly his superior, in point of years, and the matter, upon trial, was decided in Handel’s favor, which so incensed the other, that he drew, and made a thrust, at his young rival, whose life, according to Dr. Burney’s version, was saved, by a fortunate contact, between the point of the rapier and a metal button.
The principles, which govern, in all mutual admiration societies, are deeply laid in the nature of man. If Handel had borne the pedantry of Dr. Pepusch, with forbearance, or common civility, the Doctor would have, doubtless, afforded Handel the advantage of his highest commendation.
The managers of musical matters act wisely, in tendering, to every conductor of a public journal, the
Melle soporatam et medicatis frugibus offam—
But I fear they are not always as cautious and discriminating, as the occasion appears to demand. How very different would have been the fate of the poor strolling player, whom Goldsmith so pleasantly describes, had he taken a little more pains—only a little—to propitiate “the lady, who had been nine months in London!”
The managers, upon such occasions, should never omit the most careful espionage, into the musical pretensions of every member of the press—I speak of their pretensions, and not of their actual knowledge—that, in the present connection, is of little importance: and, when they discover one of this powerful brotherhood, who, in musical matters, would be thought to know more than his neighbors, however mistaken he may be—let them pay him particular attention—let them procure him an excellent seat—once—twice perhaps—express a hope, that he is well accommodated—and occasionally, during the performance, be sure to catch his eye, as if with a “fearful longing after immortality,” such as tomorrow’s leader may possibly confer on the candidate for fame. How often the omission to observe these simple rules has been followed, by faint praise, and invidious discriminations!
My great grandmother used to say, that she never desired to be told, that anything was broken, in her household; for, though she had been a housekeeper, for fifty years, nothing was ever broken, in her family, that had not been cracked before. I have the very same feeling in regard to the majority of all inventions and discoveries; for some ingenious fellow invariably presents himself, who, as it turns out, had verified the suggestion already.
I never found my mind in a very feverish condition, while pursuing the inquiry, whether the art of medicine was first invented, by Hermes, Isis, or Osiris; nor while examining the arguments,ingenious though they are, of Clemens Alexandrinus, to prove, that Moses was a very respectable apothecary.
I have ever supposed, that Necessity, the mother of invention, was the inventress of the blessed art; and that the origin was somewhat on this wise:—before the transgression, all went on well—there were neither aches nor ails—the apple certainly disagreed with Adam—he sought relief, by hunting for an antidote; and finding great comfort, in chewing such carminative herbs, as catmint and pennyroyal, he prescribed them to the sharer of his joys and sorrows. It is quite likely, that, with no family, and a great deal of time upon her hands, while walking in her garden, as poppies were not forbidden, Eve, to satisfy her curiosity, might have sucked their narcotic juice; and thus acquired a knowledge of opiates, so useful, ever since the fall.
Physicking was, at first, a very general affair. Whether benevolence, or the desire of a little reputation lies at the bottom, there has ever existed, among mankind, a pungent, irresistible desire to physick one another. It is to be regretted, that Irenæus, who was just the man for it, had not given a few years of his life to ascertain, if Eve, during the parturition of Cain, or Abel, received any alleviation, from slippery elm. Plato, Theoctet. p. 149, says, the midwives of Athens did great, good service, on these occasions, with certain drugs and charms.
In the beginning, so little was to be known, upon this subject, it is not wonderful, that almost every man should have known that little. Thus, according to Homer, Od. iv., 320, every Egyptian was a doctor:—
“From Pæon sprung, their patron god impartsTo all the Pharian race his healing arts.”
Herodotus, who was born, about 484, B. C., in Book II. of his history, sec. 84, speaks distinctly of the fact, that the Egyptiandoctorswere not physicians, in the general sense, but confined their practice, respectively, to particular diseases. The passage may be thus translated—Now, in truth, the art of medicine with them was so distributed, that their physicians managed particular disorders, and not diseases generally; thus, though all were referred to the physicians, some were doctors for the eyes, some for the head, some for the teeth, some for the belly, and some for the occult diseases.
The first mention of physicians, in Holy Writ, is in Genesis, 50, 2—“And Joseph commanded his servants, the physicians,to embalm his father: and the physicians embalmed Israel.”Physicians, to this extent, were mechanical operators; and the celebrated physicians of Greece, Chiron, Machaon, Podalirius, Pœon, and even Æsculapius, weresurgeons. Their art, as Pliny says, did not go beyond curing a green wound. The cure of internal, or complicated, disorders was beyond their province. Celsus says, that Podalirius and Machaon, the physicians, who went with Agamemnon, to the wars of Troy, were never employed, to cure the plague, or internal maladies, nor anything but external injuries.
No physician was required to manage external applications, in certain cases of common occurrence. In Kings II. xx. 7, Hezekiah appears to have thought himself extremely sick; when Isaiah applied a poultice of figs to his boil, and he soon was upon his legs again. This seems to have been accounted a remarkable cure, in those days, for Isaiah thought it worth repeating, xxxviii. 21. Job does not appear to have resorted to fig poultices, nor to any remedies, whatever: and, while Hezekiah behaved like a great baby, and wept bitterly, Job toughed it out, like a man; and, instead of mourning and murmuring, under the torment, not of one, but of countless boils, he poured forth torrents of incomparable eloquence, all the while, on various topics.
Job’s affliction, being viewed in the light of a direct judgment, it was deemed quite outrageous, by many, to stave off the wrath of Heaven, by interposing fig poultices, or remedies of any kind. Thus it appears, that Asa suffered severely with the gout; and there is a sharp fling against him, Chron. II. xvi. 12, on account of his want of faith—“Yet in his disease he sought not to the Lord, but to the physicians.”
This seems to be in accordance, with the opinion of those modern Fathers, who consider the use of ether or chloroform, in obstetric cases, a point blank insult to the majesty of Heaven, because of the primeval fiat—in sorrow shalt thou bring forth children.
The race of Cyclops entertained a similar sentiment of submission, in sickness, according to Homer, Od. IX. 485. WhenOudeis(Anglice Noman) which always seemed to me an undignified pun, for an Epic, had put out the eye of Polyphemus, his roaring collected the neighboring giants. They inquired, outside the portal, what was the matter; and he replied, thatOudeis—Noman—was killing him; upon which they reply—
“IfNomanhurts thee, but the power divineInflict disease, it fits thee to resign.To Jove or to thy father Neptune pray,The Cyclops cried, and instant strode away.”
The theory was, that God worked upon mortals, by the agency of a great number and variety of evil spirits, or devils; and that the employment of remedial means was therefore neither more nor less, than withstanding the Almighty. Hence arose the custom, being supposed less offensive, in the sight of Heaven, of resorting to charms and incantations; and of employing diviners and magicians; and, as old Sir Robert Walpole is reported to have said, that every man has his price; so it was supposed to be the case, with those devils, who were engaged, in the system of tormenting mankind. Instead therefore of turning directly to the Lord, the sufferers were much in the habit of making their propitiatory suit, directly, to some false god, or influential demon. Of this we have an example, in Kings II. i. 2, et seq. Ahaziah, King of Israel, went up into his garret, probably, in the dark, and fell through the scuttle. He was severely bruised, and sent a messenger, post haste, to Ekron, to consult the false god, Baalzebub. Elisha, who, though a prophet, had no reputation, as a physician, was consulted by Hazael and by Naaman, about their distempers.
Enchantments, talismans, music, phylacteries were in use, among the Hebrews, and formed no small part of theirmateria medica. Charms were used, as preventives against the bites of serpents. “Who,” says Ecclesiasticus xii. 13, “will pity a charmer, that is bitten with a serpent?” This seems not to have availed, against the deaf adder, “which,” Psalm lviii. 5, “will not hearken to the voice of charmers, charming never so wisely.” And Jeremiah, viii. 17, declares, that the Lord will send cockatrices and serpents, that will not be charmed, upon any terms whatever.
Some verses are preserved, by Cato, De Re Rustica, art. 160, which were used, in reducing a dislocated member. Dr. Johnson has informed us, though without naming his authority, thatABRACADABRAwas a superstitious charm, against agues.
It is quite amusing, while reading Sir Thomas Browne’s remarks on quackery, in his Pseudodoxia, ch. xi. to see how readily he admits satanic agency, himself. Take the following passage—“When Gracchus was slain, the same day the chickensrefused to come out of the coop; and Claudius Pulcher underwent the like success, when he commanded the tripudiary augurations; they died, not because the pullets would not feed, but because the devil foresaw their death, and contrived that abstinence in them.”
Sir Thomas was a wise and safe counsellor, in all cases, in which there was no chance for the devil to operate; but whenever there was a loop hole, according to the belief in those days, for diabolical influence to creep through, no man was more inclined to give the devil his due, than Sir Thomas.
In this chapter, designed to be purely philosophical, he says of satan—“He deludeth us also by philters, ligatures, charms, ungrounded amulets, characters, and many superstitious ways, in the cure of common diseases, seconding herein the expectation of men with events of his own contriving, which, while some, unwilling to fall directly upon magic, impute unto the power of imagination, or the efficacy of hidden causes, he obtains a bloody advantage.” This description of the devil and of his manœuvres so precisely fits the empiric, and all his proceedings, that I should suspect Sir Thomas of the unusual sin of perpetrating a pleasantry; and, under the devil’seffigies, presenting the image of a charlatan; were it not, for the knowledge we have of this great and good man’s credulity, and his firm belief in satanic realities; and, that, in part upon his own testimony, two miserable women were condemned and executed, for witchcraft.