From Rome, Crichton proceeded to Venice, in which place he appears to have been reduced to much distress; but whether this arose from any mental depression, from bodily indisposition, or from embarrassment of circumstances, is not clearly expressed. The reality of his distress he has stated in a poem, the principal design of which was, to obtain a favourable reception in the city; and more particularly so, with Aldus Manutius, a celebrated critic. On presenting his verses, Manutius was struck with an agreeable surprise, at the comprehensiveness of thought, the display of intellect, and the brilliancy of genius, which they exhibited. And, upon conversing with the author, he was so filled with admiration on finding him intimately acquainted with almost every subject, that he introduced him to the acquaintance of the principal men of learning and note in Venice.
Thus recommended, he contracted an intimate friendship with Manutius, Massa, Speronius, Donatus, and various others, to whom he presented several poems, in commendation of the university and city. Three of these odes are still preserved. After some time he was introduced to the Doge and Senate,in whose presence he delivered a speech, fraught with so much beauty and eloquence, and accompanied with such gracefulness of person and manners, that he received the thanks of that illustrious body; and nothing was talked about for some time, through the city, but thisrara avis in terris,—this prodigy in nature. In this city, also, he held various disputations, on theology, philosophy, and mathematics, with the most eminent professors, and before vast concourses of people. The talents which he displayed on these occasions, gave such publicity to his reputation, that multitudes repaired to Venice from distant parts, that they might have an opportunity of seeing and hearing a man, whose abilities were considered as almost super-human.
Adorned with all the laurels of literature which Venice could bestow, Crichton next removed to Padua, the university of which was, at this time, in high repute. On the day after his arrival, there was a general meeting of all the learned men which this place could boast; but on what occasion they were convened, we are not informed. The fame of Crichton, however, gained him an admission into this learned assembly, whom he immediately addressed in an extemporary poem, in praise of the city, of the university, and of the company that had honoured him with their presence. Having finished this introductory address to the admiration of all present, he disputed during six hours with the most celebrated professors, on various subjects of learning. It was during this debate, that he exposed the errors of Aristotle and his commentators, with so much solidity, acuteness, and modesty, that the admirers of this philosopher were astonished at his acquirements, and even filled with profound admiration. Before they separated, he delivered, extempore, an oration in praise of Ignorance, which he conducted with so much ingenuity, managed with such exquisite skill, and expressed with so much elegance, that his hearers were almost overwhelmed with amazement. This display of his learning and talents took place on the 14th of March, 1581, in the house of Jacobus Aloysius Cornelius.
As several persons of considerable rank, who were absent on the above memorable day, expressed their regret on this occasion, Crichton appointed another, to meet any opponents who might be disposed to encounter him; merely to comply with their earnest solicitations, and to afford them gratification. Whether this meeting ever took place, seems rather uncertain. Manutius asserts, that some circumstances occurred which prevented it; but Imperialis observes, from information communicated by his father, who was present on the occasion, that Crichton was formidably opposed by Archangelus Mercenarius, a famous philosopher, but that the youngforeigner was finally victorious, and obtained the plaudits of the auditors, and the approbation even of his antagonist.
But this tide of popular applause was not without its corresponding eddy. Mortified at being foiled by this youthful stranger, many, even among the learned, envied both his fame and merit, and did not hesitate to resort to artifices, which, they imagined, would lessen his reputation. Crichton was not ignorant of these contrivances; and, conscious of his own transcendent abilities and attainments, he resolved to give all who were inclined to detract from his merit, a convincing proof of his decided superiority. He therefore caused a paper to be fixed on the gates of St. John’s and St. Paul’s churches, in which he offered to prove, before the University, that both Aristotle and his followers had fallen into almost innumerable errors; and that the latter had failed in explaining the philosophy of their master, and had erred in their application of his principles to theological subjects. He engaged, likewise, to refute the theories of several mathematical professors; offered to dispute with any one on all the sciences; and promised to answer whatever might be proposed to him, or objected against what he should advance. All this he engaged to do, either in the common logical way, or by numbers and mathematical figures; or, in case his antagonists should prefer it, in no less than one hundred sorts of verses.
The men who had been secretly contriving how to undermine his reputation, beheld this challenge with strange emotions. From the presumption which it displayed, they flattered themselves with an easy conquest; but from the talents which Crichton had on all former occasions manifested, and his being constantly victorious, they became intimidated, and hesitated to accept the summons they had provoked. They had, however, proceeded too far to retreat; and therefore nothing remained but for them to collect their forces, and meet him, agreeably to his proposal. Manutius informs us, that the meeting took place at the time appointed; that the disputations continued for three days; and that Crichton, during the whole contest, supported his credit, and maintained his propositions with so much spirit and energy, and apparently with so little fatigue, that he obtained, from an unusual concourse of people, such acclamations and praises as were scarcely ever before received by man.
Nor were the bodily powers, activity, and skill, of this astonishing man less conspicuous, than those energies by which his mind was distinguished. Of these, also, he has given some surprising proofs in his various exploits.
It happened much about this time, that a famous gladiator, who, in his travels, had foiled the most able fencers in Europe,and lately killed three men who had entered the lists against him, took up his residence in Mantua. The duke, under whose promised protection he had taken shelter, on finding that he had afforded an asylum to a troublesome inmate, by whom the inhabitants were much annoyed, did not hesitate to manifest his regret: but having pledged his word, which he could neither recall nor violate, no way remained to release the public from this sanctioned pest, but that of finding some person who would dare to meet him in single combat.
Crichton having been informed of the fact, in connection with its various circumstances, voluntarily offered his services, not only to drive the murderer from Mantua, but to prevent his remaining in any part of Italy. He therefore made a proposal to fight him for fifteen hundred pistoles. The duke, though anxious to be delivered from his troublesome intruder, was unwilling that the valuable life of Crichton should be placed in competition with that of such a barbarous adventurer. But having been informed that he was as capable of appearing in feats of arms, as in scientific disquisitions, he gave his consent, that he should undertake to meet the combatant. Affairs being arranged, and the day appointed, the whole court assembled to witness the issue of this singular conflict. In the commencement of this encounter, Crichton stood wholly on the defensive; while his antagonist assailed him with such eagerness and fury, that in a short time he became exhausted. This Crichton soon perceived; and availing himself of the opportunity, attacked him in return, with so much skill and resolution, that he was unable to withstand the assault. The weapons with which they fought were rapiers, then but newly brought into use; but so far had Crichton made himself master of this instrument of death, that he ran his antagonist through the body three times, and saw him fall dead at his feet. The spectators, on perceiving this victory, uttered thunders of applause, making the earth resound with their united acclamations. And although many present were much skilled in the use of arms, they united in declaring, that they had never seen art grace nature, or nature second the precepts of art, in so lively a manner as the events of this day had exhibited before their eyes. Crichton in the meanwhile, to prove that his generosity was equal to his skill and courage, distributed the fifteen hundred pistoles which he had won by his valour, among the widows of the three men who had lost their lives in fighting with the gladiator whom he had slain.
Pleased with this bloody performance, the duke of Mantua is said immediately to have chosen Crichton as preceptor to his son Vincentio di Gonzaga, who is represented as a youth of a turbulent disposition, and a dissolute life. This appointmentwas pleasing to the court, and highly flattering to the vanity of the victor; who, to testify his gratitude, and to contribute to their diversion, is said to have framed a comedy, in which he exposed to ridicule, the foibles, weaknesses, and defects of the several employments in which men were engaged. The composition was regarded as one of the most ingenious satires that was ever made upon mankind. In the performance of this comedy, Crichton is represented as sustaining no less than fifteen characters in his own person. Among the rest, he acted the divine, the philosopher, the lawyer, the mathematician, the physician, and the soldier, with such an inimitable grace, that every time he appeared on the theatre, he seemed to be a different person.
But it was not long after he had sustained these various characters, in the comedy which he had composed for public entertainment, before he became the subject of a dreadful tragedy, which furnished a melancholy occasion for lamentation.
It happened one night, during the time of carnival, as he was walking along the streets of Mantua, playing upon his guitar, that he was attacked by six persons in masks. He immediately drew his weapon to defend himself; and soon convinced his assailants, that they had something more than an ordinary person with whom to contend. In this conflict, when they found they were unable to stand their ground, their leader, being disarmed, pulled off his mask, and begged his life, telling him that he was prince Gonzaga his pupil. Crichton, on making this discovery, fell upon his knees, and expressed much concern for his mistake; alleging that what he had done was only in his own defence, and that if Gonzaga had any design upon his life, he was always master of it. Having said this, he took his sword, and holding it by the point, presented the handle to the prince, who instantly received it, and, with a degree of barbarous meanness, that will always be associated with his name, immediately stabbed Crichton to the heart.
On the causes which led to this brutal action, various conjectures have been started. Some have imagined, that it arose from the mortification of being foiled, disarmed, and discovered, and being obliged to beg for his life. Others have supposed, that it was nothing more than the effect of a drunken frolic, in which the passions assumed the dominion over reason. And others have intimated, that it was the effect of jealousy, Gonzaga being suspicious that Crichton was more in favour than himself, with a lady whom he passionately loved. In one point, however, all who have recorded these transactions mutually agree, namely, that Crichton lost his life in this rencontre; but whether the meeting waspremeditated on the part of the prince and his associates, or purely as accidental as it was on that of Crichton, we have no means of ascertaining. The time when this disastrous event took place, is said, by the generality of his biographers, to have been early in July 1583; but Lord Buchan thinks it to have happened one year earlier. The difference is still greater with regard to his age, when he was thus assassinated. The common accounts declare, that he was killed in his thirty-second year; but Imperialis asserts, that he was only in his twenty-second; and in this he is confirmed by the testimony of Lord Buchan. His death was universally lamented, the people of Mantua mourned for him three-quarters of a year, and his picture appeared in the chambers and houses of every Italian.
The fame of Crichton, like that of an actor, was chiefly confined to those who had witnessed his achievements. He wrote little, but he performed much. The latter was soon forgotten; or so blended with fiction, that it became doubtful. He blazed like a meteor for a moment; his coruscations dazzled the eyes of the beholder; but when he vanished, the impression which he had made was no where to be found. Yet, we must again repeat, he was certainly one of the most accomplished men, who, in that age, had ever appeared.
To those who feel the aspirings of genius, he furnishes an example of the heights to which it can ascend. And to those who are less gifted by nature, his unsettled life, and his melancholy end, may at least teach acquiescence in the humbler gifts which Providence has assigned them.—SeeBritish Nepos, p. 101.
In favour of Crichton’s moral character, we fear that little can be said. His warmest admirers have furnished us with the means of making this reflection. They have occasionally palliated dissipation; but unfortunately, while softening his vices into youthful foibles, they have recorded facts, to which posterity have given names. On the vanity, which in too many instances marked his life, and the unhappy manner in which it was terminated, no comment can be deemed necessary. In his whole history, all those, “who in the confidence of superior capacities or attainments disregard the common maxims of life, shall be reminded, that nothing will supply the want of prudence; and that negligence and irregularity, long continued, will make knowledge useless, wit ridiculous, and genius contemptible.”—Johnson’s Life of Savage.
Miss Margaret M‘Avoy.—Some time in the year 1815, an extraordinary phenomenon appeared at Liverpool, in the person of Miss M‘Avoy, a young lady about fifteen years of age, reputed to be totally blind; but whose exquisite nervoussensibility enabled her to distinguish, by the power of touch, a variety of objects, which, to all other persons, were perceptible only through the medium of vision. The circumstances connected with this case, taken in all their bearings, are such, that it may be justly doubted if any thing more extraordinary has ever occurred in the physiological history of our species.
The following interesting narrative is an abridged copy of what appeared in the Liverpool Mercury, at the time when her astonishing powers excited a considerable degree of public attention. The article is signed by Mr. Egerton Smith, the proprietor of the above paper, and his relation is founded on personal observations.
“Some time in September, 1816, I accompanied Dr. Renwick, on a professional visit he paid to Miss M‘Avoy, at her residence in St. Paul’s-square, on the east side. She was then between sixteen and seventeen years of age, of a pleasing and ingenuous countenance, and apparently of an amiable and artless disposition. Her mother informed me, that in the preceding June, her daughter had been attacked with hydrocephalus, or water in the head, together with paralytic affection on one side, and a complication of other disorders, which I forbear to enumerate, because I am wholly ignorant of that part of the subject. According to her own statement, corroborated by that of her mother, the hydrocephalus preceded, and in their opinion produced, the blindness of gutta serena, under which she is supposed to labour, but which has been called in question, I understand, by some of the professional men who have visited her.
“Her mother, however, declared, that the light of the sun produced not the slightest sensible effect upon her eyes; and some of the professional gentlemen who happened to be present at one of my repeated visits, declared, that though some slight contraction of the pupil was perceptible upon the approach of a lighted candle to the eye, it was by no means such as uniformly occurs when the visual organs perform their regular functions.
“At my first interview, I learned from herself, what I had indeed previously been told by others, that she had recently acquired the faculty of distinguishing not only the colours of cloth and stained glass, but that she could actually decipher the forms of words in a printed book; and, indeed, could read, if the phrase may be permitted, with tolerable facility. To put these pretensions to the test, she permitted a shawl to be passed across the eyes in double folds, in such a way that all present were convinced they could not under similar circumstances discern day from night. In this state a book was placed before her, and opened indiscriminately; when, to ourextreme surprise, she began to trace the words with her finger, and to repeat them correctly. She appeared to recognize a short monosyllable by the simple contact of one finger; but in ascertaining a long word, she placed the fore-finger of her left hand on the beginning, whilst with that of her right hand she proceeded from the other extremity of the word; and when the two fingers, by having traversed over all the letters, came in contact with each other, she invariably and precisely ascertained the word. By my watch I found that she read about thirty words in half a minute; and it very naturally occurred to us, that if, notwithstanding her supposed blindness, and the double bandage over her eyes, she could still see, she would have read much more rapidly, if her motive had been to excite our astonishment. And here it may not be amiss to state, that there does not appear to be any adequate motive for practising a delusion upon the public. Her situation in life is respectable; and her mother disavows any intention of ever exhibiting her daughter as a means of pecuniary remuneration. Fifteen months have now elapsed since the period at which she laid claim to the extraordinary faculty which has given rise to so much curiosity, astonishment, and perplexity; during which time the reputation of so wonderful a circumstance has subjected her to the fatigue and inconvenience of daily and almost hourly visits.
“According to her own statement, her powers of touch vary very materially with circumstances; when her hands are cold, she declares that the faculty is altogether lost; and that it is exhausted, also, by long and unremitting efforts; that she considers the hours of from ten till twelve, of each alternate day, the most favourable for her performance. Her pulse, during the experiments, has varied from 110 to 130 degrees.
“One circumstance, which has created much doubt and suspicion, must not be concealed; which is, that if any substance, for instance, a book or a shawl, be interposed between her eyes and the object she is investigating, she is much embarrassed, and frequently entirely baffled. She explains this by saying, that it is necessary there should be an uninterrupted communication between her finger and her breath. I leave it to others to draw their own conclusions upon this point; as my object is not to establish any theory, or give currency to any mystery, but to relate the simple facts. I am, therefore, compelled to express my conviction, that she can neither ascertain colours, nor the words of a book, in total darkness; and, as many persons very naturally will ask, why has not such a test been proposed? the reply must be, that as the young lady is not the subject of a public exhibition, and as an introduction to her is merely a matter of favour, it might not be very courteous or delicate, under suchcircumstances, to make any proposal which seemed to imply a suspicion that she was an impostor.
“There are persons, however, who, giving her implicit credit for the reality of the extraordinary powers to which she lays claim, will contend that it is altogether unfair to propose the test of total darkness. Proceeding upon their belief that she actually ascertains colour, &c. by the finger, or that the visual organ is transferred to the touch, still they say that light is essentially necessary to produce that effect upon the surface of the body felt, which enables her to distinguish one shade from another; they add, that as there is no such thing as colour in total darkness, it is perfectly ridiculous to expect that she should ascertain the various shades without the presence of that light which alone produces those shades. It is, according to their mode of considering the subject, as absurd as to expect an effect without a cause.
“It has already been stated, that, with the double bandage over her eyes, she read several lines of a book indiscriminately opened; as it was possible that the letters of a printed book might leave some slight impression sensible to an exquisite touch, I took from my pocket-book an engraved French assignat, which was hot-pressed, and smooth as glass; she read the smallest lines contained in this with the same facility as the printed book. A letter received by that day’s post was produced, the direction and post-mark of which she immediately and correctly deciphered. She also named the colour of the separate parts of the dresses of the persons in company, as well as various shades of stained glass which were purposely brought.
“What I had seen at my first interview was so extremely astonishing, and so far surpassed any thing I had ever known or read of the powers ascribed to persons deprived of sight, that I could only account for it on the supposition that she was not blind, and that she had some secret mode of discerning an object, notwithstanding the bandage, through which I myself could not distinguish night from day, when it was applied to my own eyes. I therefore made the best apology I could for visiting her house again the same evening, having previously prepared myself with several tests, which I begged permission to submit to her examination, when the candle was withdrawn. Not the slightest objection was offered to my proposal, and the candle was extinguished: her mother stationed herself before the fire, which was extremely low, and afforded so little light that I could not have read one word of moderate-sized print, if it had been brought almost in contact with the bars of the grate. I then took from my pocket a small book, the type of which was very little larger than that of an ordinary newspaper; observing at the time,that I was afraid the print was too minute; to which she replied, that her fingers were in excellent order, and that she had no doubt she could be able to make it out.
“The candle, as was before observed, had been extinguished; and her mother and myself were so stationed, that had there been any light afforded by the fire, we must have completely intercepted it. Miss M‘Avoy sat in the furthest part of the room, with her back towards the grate, in such a situation that I could barely discern even the leaves of the book which lay open before her; the title of which she proceeded to read with complete success, with the exception of one very minute word. I then presented to her a small piece of smooth writing paper, which was ruled with horizontal faint blue lines, with a pen and black ink; there were also perpendicular red lines, between which were scored black lines: all these, with their direction and order, she determined without any apparent difficulty. She also told correctly the colour of a variety of species of cloth, procured immediately before at a draper’s shop. All the experiments hitherto described, as well as those which follow, were performed by Miss M. with the bandage before her eyes; and as the shawl, which was usually applied to this purpose, produced considerable warmth and inconvenience, a pair of what, in the optician’s shops, are called goggles, had been provided, which so completely excluded the light, that no person who tried them could discern the difference between day and night, when they were fitted to the face. As these goggles have been generally used when Miss M. has exhibited her surprising talent, it is necessary that the reader should have a correct idea of them. They are intended to be worn by travellers, to guard the eyes against the wind or the dust, and consist of two glasses, sometimes green, fitted into a bandage of leather, which is passed horizontally across the face, and is tied with ribands round the back of the head. The goggles provided for Miss M. instead of glasses, were fitted up with opake pasteboard, lined with paper, and not an aperture was left through which a single ray of light could penetrate.
“Mr. Nichol, a scientific gentleman, who was delivering a course of philosophical lectures in Liverpool, having heard of this extraordinary property, applied to me to obtain an introduction to Miss M‘Avoy, and I accompanied him to her house, along with Mr. James Smith, printer, of Liverpool. At this interview, the experiments I have already detailed were repeated with complete success, whilst the goggles were applied. One part of the performance was so truly astonishing, that I should almost hesitate to relate it, if those two gentlemen had not been present to vouch for the truth. I had furnished myself with a set of stained landscape glasses,usually termed Claude Lorrain glasses. They were seven in number, contained in a frame. She ascertained the precise shade of each correctly; one glass, however, appeared to embarrass her, and after considerable scrutiny, she said it was not black, nor dark blue, nor dark brown, but she thought it was a very deep crimson. We did not know whether her conjecture was correct or not, as we could not ourselves ascertain the shade. By reflected light it appeared to us to be perfectly black; nor was the flame of the fire, which was stirred for the occasion, visible through it in the faintest degree. We had abandoned all expectation of determining this point, when the sun suddenly emerged from behind the clouds; and by that test, and that alone, were we enabled to discover that she was correct, as we could just discern the solar image of a very deep crimson. It has been said, and with some plausibility, that this must have been a bold guess on her part; if not, it will puzzle our physiologists to explain how a person reputed to be blind, with an opake bandage also over her eyes, could declare the colour of a glass, which persons in full enjoyment of their eyesight, and without any such obstacles, could not discern by any other light than that of the meridian sun! At this meeting, we were informed that Miss M‘Avoy had recently found out that this extraordinary faculty was not confined to her fingers; and that she could also distinguish the colour of an object which was brought into contact with the back of her hands. This was immediately made the subject of experiment by Mr. Nichol, who successively applied several objects which he had with him to that part of the hand; in placing which he used so much precaution, that I could not see them myself, although my eyes were fixed upon his hands. She was completely successful also upon this occasion.”
The paragraph which follows is from the Liverpool Advertiser:—
“As the extraordinary powers attributed to Miss Margaret M‘Avoy, of this town, have lately attracted the attention of the public in an uncommon degree, permit me to send you a fact, which has lately occurred, and which must silence the scepticism of the most incredulous:—Two ladies of this town, whose habits of rigid veracity and cautious inquiry are well known, and whose names are left with the publishers, in order to satisfy any doubts which may arise, went to the house of this phenomenon, impelled by that curiosity which has now become general. Fortunately, Miss M‘Avoy’s marvellous powers, which are known to be sometimes fluctuating and capricious, were that day in the highest perfection, and the following experiment was actually tried:—One of these visitors stood behind the young lady’s chair, andpressed down her eyelids with both hands so closely, that it was a physical impossibility for a single ray of light to enter. I may here remark, that no method of closing the eyes, by any sort of covering that can be devised, is half so effectual as this, for obvious reasons. The other lady then took up a printed book of sermons, which was lying in the apartment, and which appeared to have just come from the bookseller’s, as the leaves were not yet cut open; she opened it in a place where the leaves were united, and placed it before Miss M‘Avoy, (her eyes still closed as above described,) who read several lines in it, without hesitation. The lady then took a written note out of her pocket, which had been received that morning, and Miss M. also read that, without any other difficulty than what arose from the badness of the hand-writing. This experiment, which can be ascertained on oath, seems so decisive as to the power possessed by Miss M. of reading by the touch alone, that I am not aware of any possible way in which it can be controverted.”
At the time when the case of this young lady came before the public, her claims to extraordinary powers were examined with the utmost scrutiny, both by those who admitted, and those who doubted her abilities. In every experiment that was made, the former were confirmed in their opinion; and the latter, while they withheld their assent, were constrained to acknowledge themselves overwhelmed with an accumulation of facts, for which they were unable to account.
An old English ’Squire.—The following character of the Honourable William Hastings, of the Woodlands, in Hampshire, was copied in the year 1737, from a manuscript of Anthony Ashley Cooper, the first earl of Shaftsbury, by W. Cowper, Esq. then clerk of parliament.
In the year 1638, lived Mr. Hastings, by his quality, son, brother, and uncle, to the earls of Huntingdon. He was, peradventure, an original in our age, or rather the copy of our ancient nobility in hunting, not in warlike times.
He was low, very strong, and very active; of a reddish flaxen hair. His clothes always of green cloth, and never all worth, when new, five pounds.
His house was perfectly of the old fashion: in the midst of a large park well stocked with deer, and near the house, rabbits to serve his kitchen; many fishponds; great store of wood and timber; a bowling-green in it, long, but narrow, full of high ridges, it being never levelled since it was ploughed; they used round sand-bowls; and it had a large banqueting-house like a stand, built in a tree.
He kept all manner of sport hounds, that ran buck, fox, hare, otter, and badger; and hawks, long and short wingedHe had all sorts of nets for fish. He had a walk in the New Forest and the manor of Christ Church; this last supplied him with red deer, sea and river fish; and indeed all his neighbours’ lands and royalties were free to him, who bestowed all his time on these sports, but what he borrowed to caress his neighbours’ wives and daughters. This made him very popular, always speaking kindly to the husband, brother, or father, who was, besides, always welcome to his house. There he would find beef, pudding, and small beer in great plenty; a house not so neatly kept as to shame him, or his dusty shoes; the great hall strewed with marrow-bones, and full of hawks’ perches, hounds, spaniels, and terriers; the upper side of the hall hung with the fox-skins of this and the last year’s killing, with here and there a pole-cat intermixed; and gamekeepers’ and hunters’ poles in great abundance.
The parlour was a large long room, curiously furnished:—on a great hearth paved with bricks lay some terriers, and the choicest hounds and spaniels; usually two of the great chairs had litters of young cats in them, which were not to be disturbed, he having always three or four attending him at dinner, and a little round white stick of fourteen inches long lying by his trencher, that he might defend such meat as he had no mind to part with to them. The windows, which were very large, served for places to lay his arrows, cross-bows, stone-bows, and other such like accoutrements: the corners of the room were full of the best-chosen hunting and hawking poles. An oyster table stood at the lower end, of constant use twice a day, all the year round, for he never failed to eat oysters before dinner and supper through all seasons; with these the neighbouring town of Poole supplied him.
The upper part of the room had two small tables and a desk, on the one side of which was a Church Bible, and on the other the Book of Martyrs. On the tables were hawks’ hoops, bells, and such like, two or three old green hats, with their crowns thrust in so as to hold ten or a dozen eggs; which were of a pheasant kind of poultry he took much care of and fed himself. Tables, dice, cards, and boxes, were not wanting. In the holes of the desk were store of tobacco-pipes that had been used.
On one side of this end of the room was a door of the closet, wherein stood the strong beer and the wine, which never came thence but in single glasses, that being the rule of the house exactly observed, for he never exceeded in drink, or permitted others to transgress.
On the other side was a door into an old chapel, not used for devotion; the pulpit, as the safest place, was never wanting of a cold chine of beef, venison pasty, gammon of bacon, or great apple pie, with thick crust extremely baked.
His table cost him not much, though it was well provided. His sports supplied all but beef and mutton, except Fridays, when he had the best salt fish, as well as other fish, he could get. This was the day his neighbours of first quality most visited him. He never wanted a London pudding, and always sung it in with “My pert eyes therein a.” He drank a glass or two of wine at meals; very often syrup of gillyflowers in his sack; and had always a tun glass, without feet, standing by him, holding a pint of small beer, which he often stirred with rosemary.
He was good-natured, but soon angry, calling his servants bastards, and cuckoldy knaves; in one of which he often spoke truth to his own knowledge, and sometimes in both, though of the same man. He lived to be an hundred, never lost his eyesight, but always wrote and read without spectacles, and got on horseback without help. Until past fourscore, he rode to the death of a stag as well as any one.
Joan of Arc, commonly called the Maid of Orleans.—This celebrated heroine was the daughter of a peasant of Domremi, near Vaucouleurs, on the borders of Lorrain, and born about the beginning of the fifteenth century. At the age of twenty-seven years, she was servant in a small inn, where she was accustomed to tend horses, and to perform other menial offices which commonly fall to the share of men-servants. About this time, king Charles VII. was reduced to the most distressed condition by the English; but the siege of Orleans, which was bravely defended by the garrison and inhabitants, in some measure retarded their progress. Joan partook of the feelings of sympathy with the besieged, that very generally prevailed, and determined to make some effort for relieving her sovereign in his present distresses. Whilst she was indulging these feelings, her enthusiasm led her to fancy that she saw visions and heard voices exhorting her to re-establish the throne of France, and to expel the foreign invaders. Under the strong impulse of passion and imagined inspiration, she obtained admission to Baudricourt, the governor of Vaucouleurs, who after being informed of her inspiration and intentions, treated her for some time with neglect; but, in consequence of her renewed and importunate solicitations, he gave orders that she should be conducted to the French court, which then resided at Chinon. It is pretended that Joan, immediately on her admission, knew the king, though she had never seen his face before, and though he purposely kept himself in the crowd of courtiers, and laid aside every thing in his apparel that might seem to distinguish him; and that she offered, in the name of the supreme Creator, to raise the siege of Orleans, and to conduct him toRheims, to be there crowned and anointed. In order to remove his doubts of her mission, it is said, that she disclosed a secret, known only to himself, and which she must have derived from heavenly inspiration. She also demanded, as the instrument of her future victories, a particular sword which was kept in the church of St. Catharine of Fierbois, and which, though she had never seen it, she described by all its marks, and by the place in which it had long lain neglected. Her intrepid and determined mode of address excited attention, and gained confidence; and she was referred to matrons for proofs of her virginity, and to doctors of the church for evidence of her inspiration: their report being favourable, she was sent to the parliament at Poictiers; but they, considering her as insane, demanded from her a miracle. Her reply was, that she would soon exhibit one at Orleans.
Accordingly, she was at length completely armed, mounted on horseback in the presence of the multitude, and sent, amidst the loudest acclamations, to join the army destined to the relief of Orleans. Upon joining the army, consisting of 10,000 men, she ordered all the soldiers to confess themselves before they set out on the enterprise; she banished from the camp all women of bad fame; she displayed in her hands a consecrated banner, representing the Supreme Being as grasping the globe of earth, and surrounded with flower-de-luces; and after thus communicating to the soldiers a great degree of that enthusiasm by which she herself was actuated, she advanced towards Orleans. The English besiegers were overawed by her orders and menaces, dictated in the name of the Almighty Creator; and she entered Orleans arrayed in her military garb, and displaying her consecrated standard, and was received by all the inhabitants as a celestial deliverer. The convoy approached without finding any resistance on the part of the besiegers; the waggons and troops passed without interruption between the redoubts of the English; and a dead silence and astonishment reigned among those troops, formerly so elated with victory, and so fierce for the combat.
Joan, having thus far succeeded, ordered the garrison, at the same time encouraging them with the promise of heavenly assistance, first, to attack the English redoubts, in which measure they were successful; and then to fall upon the main body of the English in their entrenchments. In one of these latter attacks the French were repulsed, but the intrepid maid led them back to the charge, and overpowered the English. In one of these attacks, she was wounded in the neck with an arrow; but retreating behind the assailants, she pulled it out with her own hands, had the wound quicklydressed, and hastened back to head the troops, and to plant her victorious banner on the ramparts of the enemy. In consequence of these successes, attended with a loss to the English of more than 6000 men, their courage and confidence gave way to amazement and despair. The French, in order to magnify the wonder of all these prosperous events, represent the maid as not only active in combat, but as performing the office of general; directing the troops, conducting the military operations, and swaying the deliberations in all the councils of war. But whatever the policy of the French court might suggest for maintaining this opinion among the multitude, it is much more probable, that this inexperienced country girl was prompted in all her measures by the wiser commanders.
Having raised the siege of Orleans, Joan now insisted that she should proceed to the accomplishment of the second part of her promise, which was that of crowning the king at Rheims. The king, accompanied by the victorious maid, marched at the head of 12,000 men towards Rheims, receiving the submission of the towns through which he passed; till at length arriving near Rheims, a deputation met him with the keys of the city, and he was admitted into it with transport. Here the ceremony of his coronation was performed with the holy oil of Clovis; and the maid stood by his side in complete armour, and displayed her sacred banner. When the ceremony was finished, she threw herself at the king’s feet, embraced his knees, and with a flood of tears she congratulated him on this singular and marvellous event. Charles testified his gratitude by ennobling the family of Joan, giving it the name ofdu Lys, probably in allusion to the lilies of her banner, and assigning to her a suitable estate in land. Having accomplished both the objects which she had proposed, the maid of Orleans expressed her wish to return to her former condition, and to the occupation and course of life which became her sex: but the French general Dunois, urged her continuance with the army, till the English should be completely expelled, and her predictions fully accomplished.
Overpowered by his advice, she threw herself into the town of Compeigne, which was then besieged by the duke of Burgundy and the English; where, on a sally, having twice driven the enemy from their entrenchments, and finding their number increasing, she ordered a retreat; but was deserted by her friends, surrounded by the enemy, and taken prisoner by the Burgundians. Instead of treating Joan as a prisoner of war, with the courtesy and good usage, to which, as such, she was entitled, and which civilized nations practise towards enemies on occasions of this kind, she was purchased fromthe captors by the regent duke of Bedford, and a criminal prosecution was instituted against her on the charges of sorcery, impiety, idolatry, and magic. The clergy in his interest, and even the university of Paris, concurred in the accusation. An ecclesiastical commission was held at Rouen for her trial, and the maid, clothed in her former military apparel, but loaded with irons, was produced before this tribunal. Her trial lasted four months; and in the course of that time, many captious interrogatories were put to her, which she answered with firmness and dignity.
Upon being asked, whether she would submit to the church the truth of her pretended visions, revelations, and intercourse with departed saints? she replied, that she would submit them to God, the fountain of truth: and when she was charged with being a heretic, and denying the authority of the church, she appealed to the pope; but her appeal was rejected. When she was asked, why she put her trust in her standard, which had been consecrated by magical incantations? she answered, that she put her trust in the Supreme Being alone, whose image was impressed upon it. When it was demanded, why she carried in her hand that standard at the unction and coronation of Charles at Rheims? she replied, that the person who had shared the danger was entitled to share the glory. When she was accused of going to war, she scrupled not to declare, that her sole purpose was to defeat the English, and to expel them the kingdom. In the issue, however, she was condemned for all the crimes of which she had been accused, aggravated by heresy; her revelations were declared to be inventions of the devil to delude the people; and she was sentenced to be delivered over to the secular arm. At length her resolution failed her; and through dread of the punishment to which she was sentenced, she declared that she was willing to recant; and, accordingly, she acknowledged the illusion of those revelations which the church had rejected; and she promised never more to maintain them. Upon this, her sentence was mitigated; and she was condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and to be fed during life on bread and water. But with this vengeance her enemies were not satisfied. In order to justify the severest measures against her, they insidiously placed in her apartment a suit of men’s apparel; upon the sight of this garb, in which she had acquired so much renown, and assumed, as she once believed, by the appointment of heaven, her former ideas and passions revived, and she ventured in her solitude to put on the forbidden dress. In this apparel she was detected; it was regarded as a relapse into heresy; her recantation became void; her partial pardon was revoked; and she was to be burned in the market-place of Rouen. In June, 1431, this barbarous sentence, muchmore ignominious to those who inflicted it than to her who was the object of it, was executed.
“This admirable heroine, to whom the more generous superstition of the ancients would have erected altars, was, on pretence of heresy and magic, delivered over alive to the flames, and expiated, by that dreadful punishment, the signal services which she had rendered to her prince and to her native country.” She met her fate with resolution, and the English themselves beheld the scene with tears. The king made no effort for avenging her cause; he merely procured a revision of the process, and a restoration of her memory ten years afterwards by the pope, in an act which styled her a “Martyr to her religion, her country, and her king.” Her countrymen, more prompt in the tribute of their respect, propagated many tales relating to her execution; and some of them would not even allow her to be dead, but professed to expect her speedy return to conduct them again to victory.
Of the character and conduct of this singular heroine, the most probable opinion is, that of her being an honest and deluded enthusiast, of whose fancies and passions the principal persons in the interest of Charles availed themselves for deluding and rousing into exertion the passions of the people, at a crisis of peculiar importance; in which the maid of Orleans was instrumental in giving a decisive turn to the contest between the French and English. The exploits of Joan of Arc have been celebrated both in prose and verse. Of the latter, the serious poem of Chapelain has been much less successful than the burlesque and licentious one of Voltaire; but the injury done by it to her memory has been in some degree repaired in England, by Southey’s sublime and spirited poem of “Joan of Arc,” which exhibits her in the brightest colours of virtue and heroism.
Pope Joan.—Among the numerous individuals who have figured on the great theatre of public life, few characters have ever been more distinguished than this celebrated lady, who, by a singular compound of dexterity, secrecy, and address, contrived to reach the pontificate. Many doubts have, indeed, been entertained of the authenticity of the tale; but it is well known, that prior to the Reformation it was sanctioned by universal belief.
It is said, that about the middle of the ninth century, a woman named Joan, born at Mentz, and who had received an excellent education, conceiving a violent passion for a young monk named Fulda, resolved to desert her family and friends, to assume the male habit, and gain admittance into the monastery. The plan succeeded; and having long indulged in their amours undisturbed and unsuspected, they elopedtogether, and travelled into most of the countries of Europe, availing themselves of every opportunity for increasing their knowledge, by engaging the assistance of the best masters in the different cities through which they passed. On the death of her lover, Joan repaired to Rome, still in the dress of a man; where her address and engaging manners raising her into notice, she commenced the duties of professor, and persons of the highest rank and most considerable talents enlisted in the number of her disciples. At length, on the death of pope Leo X. in 855, she was unanimously elected his successor to the pontifical throne. So prudently did she conduct herself, and with so much ability did she perform the duties of her station, that the people had reason to congratulate themselves on their choice. At length she confided her secret to a domestic whom she took to her bed, the consequence of which was her pregnancy, and she was taken in labour at one of the most solemn processions, delivered of a child in the street, and died on the spot. It is likewise said, that to perpetuate the memory of such an extraordinary adventure, a statue was erected on the place where it happened; that in abhorrence of the crime, the pope and clergy, in their subsequent annual processions from the Vatican to the Lateran, have turned off from that street; and that, to prevent a similar imposition, a custom was introduced of examining each pope previously to his consecration, in order to ascertain his sex. Such are the particulars of a story that seems not to have been called in question till the time of Luther, but which the best informed historians usually abandon as fictitious. “Till the Reformation, (says Gibbon,) the tale was repeated and believed without offence, and Joan’s female statue long occupied her place among the popes in the cathedral of Sienna. She has been annihilated by two learned Protestants, Blondel and Bayle, but their brethren were scandalized by this equitable and generous criticism. Spanheim and L’Enfant attempted to save this poor engine of controversy; and even Mosheim condescends to cherish some doubt and suspicion.”
History of the memorableSir Richard Whittington, three times Lord Mayor of London; in the years 1397, 1406. 1419.—
The obscurity of the origin of this remarkable character, has given occasion to many fabulous accounts, but our readers may rely upon the following being the result of careful research, from the best authorities. Whittington came to London, from Shropshire, about the year 1368, in the reign of king Edward III. and in his way he chiefly lived upon the charity of well-disposed persons. On his arrival in town, he made an application to the prior of the hospital of St. John’s, Clerkenwell,where he was kindly relieved; and being handy and willing, was soon put into an inferior post in the house. How long he remained here, is, I believe, no where mentioned; but to the piety of this charitable foundation he was certainly indebted for his first support in London. His next reception was in the family of Mr. Fitzwarren, a rich merchant, whose house was in the Minories, near the Tower. Here he undoubtedly acted as under scullion, for his keep only.
In this situation he met with many crosses and difficulties; for the servants made sport of him; and particularly the ill-natured cook, who was of a morose temper, used him very ill, and not unfrequently, with a sturdy arm, laid the ladle across his shoulders: so that, to keep in the family, he had many a sore bout to put up with; but his patience carried it off, and at last he became accustomed to her choleric disposition.
This was not the only misfortune he laboured under; for lying in a place for a long time unfrequented, such abundance of rats and mice had bred there, that they were almost ready at times to dispute the possession of the place with him, and full as troublesome by night as the cook was by day, so that he knew not what to think of his condition, or how to mend it. After many disquieting thoughts, he at last comforted himself with the hopes that the cook might soon marry, or die, or quit her service; and as for the rats and mice, a cat would be an effectual remedy against them.
Soon after, a merchant came to dinner, and it raining exceedingly, he staid all night; whose shoes Whittington having cleaned, and presented at his chamber door, he gave him a penny. This stock he improved, for going along the street of an errand, he saw a woman with a cat under her arm, and desired to know the price of it: the woman praised it for a good mouser, and told him, sixpence; but he declaring that a penny was all his stock, she let him have it.
He took the cat home, and kept her in a box all day, lest the cook should kill her if she came into the kitchen, and at night he set her to work for her living. Puss delivered him from one plague; but the other remained, though not for many years.
It was the custom with the worthy merchant, Mr. Hugh Fitzwarren, that God might give him a greater blessing for his endeavours, to call all his servants together when he sent out a ship, and cause every one to venture something in it, to try their fortunes.
Now all but Whittington appeared, and brought things according to their abilities; but his young mistress being by, and supposing that poverty made him decline coming, she ordered him to be called, on which he made several excuses:however, being constrained to come, he hoped they would not jeer a poor simpleton for being in expectation of turning merchant, since all that he could lay claim to as his own, was but a poor cat, which he had bought for one penny, which he had given to him for cleaning shoes, and had much befriended him in keeping the rats and mice from him. Upon this, the young lady proffered to lay something down for him, but her father told her the custom; it must be his own which must be ventured; and then ordered him to bring his cat, which he did, but with great reluctance, fancying nothing would come of it; and with tears delivered it to the master of the ship, which was called the Unicorn, and had fallen down to Blackwall, in order to proceed on her voyage.
On their arrival in the Mole of Algiers, they heard that the plague was raging in the country, having been but a few years before brought from China, viz. in 1346, at which period it was first noticed to rage in Africa, from whence it soon proceeded to Europe, overspreading the northern countries. This news did not deter the captain from sending to trade on shore, where, at first, they found but little encouragement, the people of the country appearing very shy to every offer. The news of the arrival of a vessel soon reached the notice of the Dey, who immediately ordered the captain and officers to wait upon his highness with presents; for then, as well as now, nothing could be done without first bribing him. After this ceremony was over, trade went on pretty briskly, at the conclusion of which, his Moorish majesty gave a grand entertainment, which, according to custom, was served upon carpets, interwoven with gold, silver, and purple silk. This feast was no sooner served up with the various dishes, but the scent brought together a number of rats and mice, who unmercifully fell on all that came in their way.
These audacious and destructive vermin did not shew any symptoms of fear upon the approach of the company, but, on the contrary, kept to it as if they only were invited. This made the captain and his people very much wonder; who, interrogating the Algerines, were informed, a very great price would be given by his highness, the Dey, for a cure, and a riddance of these vermin, which were grown so numerously offensive, that not only his table, but his private apartments, and bed, were so infested, that he was forced to be constantly watched for fear of being devoured.
This information put the English company immediately in mind of poor Dick Whittington’s cat, which had done them such notable service on the passage; and wishing to serve the youth, they thought this the best time to come forward with the industrious animal. Accordingly, she was brought on shore the next day, when her presence suddenly kept offmost of the vermin; a few only of the boldest daring to venture forward, all of whom she dispatched with wonderful celerity. This pleased his Algerine highness so much, that he immediately made very advantageous proposals to the factor of the ship for the possession of this surprising and useful animal. At first our people seemed very reluctant to part with it; but his liberality soon overcame every objection; and her purchase amounted, in various commodities, to several thousands of pounds. During the time the English remained here, her industry in destroying those noxious vermin so completely pleased the Moorish chief, that, at our people’s departure, he again loaded them with rich presents.
The cook, who little thought how advantageous Whittington’s cat would prove, had kept up such a continual alarm of noise and reproach at the poor youth’s unfortunate penury, that he grew weary of enduring it, and not the least expecting what followed, he resolved rather to try his fortune again in the wide world, than lead any longer such a disagreeable life. For this step he might be blamed, as, had he complained to his master, who was a kind gentleman, the difference would have been set to rights, and he, not like a Jonas, cast out. With this resolution, however, he set out early on Allhallows morning, resolving to go into the country, and get into a more agreeable service.
As he went over Finsbury Moor, since called Moor-fields, his mind began to fail; he hesitated, and halted several times: he grew pensive, and his resolution left him. In this solitary manner he wandered on until he reached Holloway, where he sat down upon a large stone, which remains there to be seen to this day. Here he began to ruminate in earnest upon his ill-luck in not pleasing the cook; and in the depth of his meditation, he suddenly heard Bow bells strike out for a peal. This changed his attention; for, as he listened, on a sudden, he fancied they called him back again to his master. The more he hearkened, the more he became confirmed in this notion of his recall, conceiting the bells expressed the following distich:—
“RETURN AGAIN, WHITTINGTON,THRICE LORD MAYOR OF LONDON.”
This proved a happy thought for him; and it made so great an impression on his fancy, that, finding it early, and thinking he might yet get back before the family were stirring, he instantly turned upon his heel, and reaching home in less time than he went out, he got in unperceived to his usual daily drudgery.
Things were in this situation when the news arrived of the success of the voyage; and that night he was installed withthe appellation of Mr. by his master, who informed him, that his ship had just arrived at Blackwall, being the richest vessel of her burden that had ever floated into an English port. His master concluded his discourse with a pious admonition to all his servants, after which they all joined in a thanksgiving to the Almighty for such a prosperous voyage.
The cook was among the first to change her demeanor towards Whittington, calling him Sir, and inviting him to such and such relishes as the kitchen afforded.
When the bill of lading was presented to the merchant, the principal part was found to belong to Mr. Whittington, amongst which was a cabinet of rich jewels, the last present of the Dey. This was the first thing brought to Mr. Fitzwarren’s house, it being deemed too valuable to remain on board.
When the servants’ goods for their ventures were all brought up to be divided, Mr. Whittington’s was too bulky to be unpacked before them; but the pearls and jewels alone were estimated at several thousand pounds.
The humility of Mr. Whittington’s mind arising from a strong sense of his duty to society in general, prevented his temper from exhilarating into arrogance, petulance, or superciliousness: though suddenly grown rich, and become equal to the first merchants in the city, pride had no share in the change of his circumstances. On the contrary, at first, he could hardly be prevailed upon to let the scullery alone; but Mr. Fitzwarren took much pains with him, and introduced him to the first characters in town, not omitting the court, as well as the clergy and military, who at that time were reckoned the most agreeable connections.
King Edward the Third being then at war with the French, and preparing for the siege of Rochelle, solicited all the privileged orders in the kingdom for a subsidy to carry on his expedition. The loyalty of the city of London induced them to offer a large gift in their corporate capacity. In this scheme Mr. Whittington joined, and paid in £10,000, an astonishing sum in those days from an individual; but the military ardour of the country has always been remarkable; hence it is not wonderful that an enterprising and fortunate young man should come forward with so large a sum, when it is considered that history has almost left us in the dark as to the remuneration expected. Be this as it may, history places it in the 46th year of the king’s reign, A. D. 1372.
What contributed much at this time in favour of Whittington, was the absence of the Lombard merchants, who withdrew themselves from London, on account of the oppression of the king, which became excessive towards the latter end of his reign, for continual draughts to support his ambition in France.These, and the Jews abroad, conducted at that time the whole financial commerce of the city of London; but Mr. Whittington, upon their departure, came in for a considerable share of it.
We are now regularly come to the last year of king Edward’s reign, the fifty-second, when the Lords and Commons granted the king a poll-tax, at four-pence a head, for every man and woman passing the age of fourteen years, beggars excepted. The clergy at the same time granted twelve-pence for every person beneficed; and of all other religious persons, four-pence by the poll, the four orders of Friars Mendicants only excepted. Here it is worth observing, that the king demanding of the city of London to advance him £4000, upon this poll, and the Mayor, Adam Staple, proving backward in performing the same, he was by the king turned out of that office, and Sir Richard Whittington put into his place, to finish the year; and this is the first mention of his being knighted, and of his great importance in the city at that time, being only about ten years after his arrival there, in circumstances so widely different.
According to Stow, Sir Richard Whittington was a great dealer in wool, leather, cloth, and pearls, which were universally worn at that time by the ladies. In 1377, the first year of king Richard II. he was called by summons to the parliament that met at London, which commenced at Michaelmas, and lasted till the feast of St. Andrew, when it was dissolved by the mutinous conduct of the Londoners, and adjourned to Northampton the following year, where was passed the noted poll-tax, the collecting of which occasioned and created the rebellion of Wat Tyler and Jack Straw.
In 1395, the eighteenth of this king’s reign, Edmund, duke of York, the king’s uncle, held a parliament at London, the king being absent in Ireland; and relating to the citizens the great streights the king was reduced to in Ireland, they granted him a tenth upon their personal estates; first protesting that they were not in rigour of right obliged to it, but that they did it out of affection. The mission to this parliament, we are particularly informed by Sir Robert Cotton, from Leland’s papers, was managed by the uprightness and good judgment of Sir Richard Whittington.
Thus he grew in riches and fame the most considerable of the citizens, greatly beloved by all, especially the poor, several hundreds of whom he publicly or secretly assisted or supplied.
About this time it was that he married his master’s daughter, Miss Fitzwarren; and at their wedding were present, among other noble characters, the Lord Mayor, Aldermen &c. &c.
According to the pretorian banner, once existing in Guildhall, but since destroyed by the fire which consumed the city archives, Whittington served his first mayoralty in 1397. He was now near forty years of age, of a goodly form, and chosen into the office by his fellow citizens, whose approbation of his conduct, after his having once before filled the office, when king Edward put him in, is a sound and substantial proof that he was a good, loyal, and patriotic man.
Sir Richard’s second mayoralty occurred in 1406, in the reign of Henry IV. His third and last service of mayor happened in 1419, in Henry the Fifth’s time, in which situation he behaved with his usual prudence. Though age had now taken off much of his activity, yet he was the most vigilant magistrate of his time. Soon after Henry’s conquest of France, Sir Richard entertained him and his queen at Guildhall, in such grand style, that he was pleased to say, “Never prince had such a subject;” and conferred upon some of the aldermen the honour of knighthood.
At this entertainment, the king particularly praised the fire, which was made of choice wood, mixed with mace, cloves, and all other spices; on which Sir Richard said, he would endeavour to make one still more agreeable to his majesty, and immediately tore, and threw into the fire, the king’s bond for 10,000 marks, due to the company of Mercers; 12,500 to the Chamber of London; 21,000 to the Mercers, Staplers, Goldsmiths, Haberdashers, Vintners, Brewers, and Bakers; 3,000 marks each. “All these, (said Sir Richard,) with divers others sent for the payment of your soldiers in France, I have taken in and discharged, to the amount of £60,000 sterling. Can your majesty desire to see such another sight?” The king and nobles were struck dumb with surprise at his wealth and liberality.
Sir Richard spent the remainder of his days in honourable retirement at home, in his house in Grub-street, beloved by the rich and the poor. By his wife he left two sons, some of whose posterity are still worthy citizens. He built many charitable houses, founded a church in Vintry ward, and dedicated it to St. Michael. Here he built a handsome vault, for the sepulchre of his father and mother-in-law, and the remainder of the Fitzwarren family, and where himself and wife lay afterwards.
This Richard Whittington was (in this church) three times buried; first by his executors, under a fair monument; then in the reign of Edward VI. the parson of that church, thinking some great riches (as he said) to be buried with him, caused his monument to be broken, his body to be spoiled of his leaden sheet, and again the second time to be buried; and in the reign of queen Mary, the parishioners were forced to takehim up to wrap him in lead, as afore, to bury him a third time, and to place his monument, or the like, over him again; which remained, and so he rested, till the great fire of London violated his resting-place again.
This church of St. Michael Pater-noster in the Vintry, the Capital House, and site thereof, called Whittington College, alias Whittington, and one garden belonging to the same, of the yearly value of four pounds, six shillings, and eight-pence, was sold to Armagill Waad, clerk of the council, in the second of Edward VI. for ninety-two pounds two shillings.
In 1413, he founded an alms-house and college in the Vintry, which was afterwards suppressed by order of council in king Edward the Sixth’s time: but his alms-houses on College-hill remain; these are under the direction of the Mercer’s company, who allow each pensioner 3s. 10d. per week.
Sir Richard built the gate and prison of Newgate as it formerly stood; gave large sums to Bartholomew’s Hospital; founded a Library in Grey Friars; endowed Christ’s Hospital with a considerable sum; built Guildhall chapel, and the east end of the Hall.
Dame Alice, his wife, died in the 63d year of her age; after which he never re-married, though he outlived her near twenty years. At last he died like the patriarch, full of age and honour, leaving a good name to posterity; and the following epitaph was cut on the upper stone of his vault, and continued perfect till destroyed by the fire of London:—
M. S.Beneath this stone lies Whittington,Sir Richard rightly nam’d;Who three times Lord Mayor serv’d in London,In which he ne’er was blam’d.He rose from Indigence to Wealth,By Industry and that,For lo! he scorn’d to gain by stealth,What he got by a Cat.Let none who reads this verse despairOf Providence’s ways:Who trust in him, he’ll make his care,And prosper all their days.Then sing a requiem to departed merit,And rest in peace till death demands his spirit.
The Travelling Faquirs.
The following curious circumstance in natural history is related by a gentleman of veracity, learning, and abilities, who filled a considerable post in the Company’s Service in India.—
TheTravelling Faquirsin this country are a kind of superstitious devotees, who pretend to great zeal in religion, but are, in fact, the most vicious and profligate wretches in the world. They wander about the country here, as the gipsies do with you; and having some little smattering of physic, music, or other arts, they introduce themselves by these means wherever they go. One of them called a few days ago at my house, who had a beautiful large snake in a basket, which he made rise up and dance about to the tune of a pipe on which he played.
It happened that my out-house and farm-yard had for some time been infested with snakes, which had killed me several turkeys, geese, ducks, fowls, and even a cow and a bullock. My servants asked this man whether he could pipe these snakes out of their holes, and catch them? He answered them in the affirmative, and they carried him instantly to the place where one of the snakes had been seen. He began piping, and in a short time the snake came dancing to him: the fellow caught him by the nape of the neck, and brought him to me. As I was incredulous, I did not go to see this first operation; but as he took this beast so expeditiously, and I still suspected some trick, I desired him to go and catch another, and went with him myself to observe his motions. He began by abusing the snake, and ordering him to come out of his hole instantly, and not be angry, otherwise he would cut his throat and suck his blood. I cannot swear that the snake heard and understood this elegant invocation. He then began piping with all his might, lest the snake should be deaf; he had not piped above five minutes, when an amazing large cobra capella (the most venomous kind of serpent) popped his head out of a hole in the room. When the man saw his nose, he approached nearer to him, and piped more vehemently, till the snake was more than half out, and ready to make a dart at him; he then piped only with one hand, and advanced the other under the snake as it was raising itself to make the spring. When the snake darted at his body, he made a snatch at his tail, which he caught very dexterously, and held the creature very fast, without the least apprehension of being bit, until my servants dispatched it. I had often heard this story of snakes being charmed out of their holes by music; but never believed it, till I had thisocular demonstration of the fact. In the space of an hour the Faquir caught five very venomous snakes close about my house.[26]
Incubus, or Nightmare.
This strange affection or complaint, which is more generally known by the termNightmare, than by that ofIncubus, has obtained a considerable degree of notice in the world, from the singular manner in which it seizes its victims. The term Incubus is derived from the Latinincubare, signifying tositorlie upon, which very forcibly expresses the nature of the disease. Hence, many have thought, and they even continue to think, that some incomprehensible creature, being, or agent, actually sits or lies upon them while sleeping, from which they suffer acute torment and oppression, bordering on suffocation. Many also have even affirmed, that while they have been lying perfectly awake, they have perceived this nightly tormentor creeping slowly over their feet, and have watched its advances until it has taken its seat on the breast, and inflicted those severe sufferings which no language can fully describe. But we shall consider the nightmare rather as a disease, than the creature of imagination.
This disorder seizes persons while sleeping, who imagine that they feel an extraordinary compression or weight about the breast and stomach, which they cannot by any effort shake off. In this agony they sigh, groan, and utter indistinct sounds; sometimes they cry out, but more frequently they attempt to speak, or to move in vain. These feelings give rise to various frightful suggestions of the imagination: the patient fancies himself to be struggling with strong men or devils, or to be in a house on fire, or in danger of being drowned in the sea or some river; and in attempting to run away from danger, or climb up a hill, he fancies he falls back as much after every step as he had advanced before. At length the sensations of oppression become intolerable, and the patient awakes; but the terror excited by the frightful ideas attending the nightmare, leaves often a palpitation of the heart, with great anxiety and languor, and sometimes a tingling of the ears, and a tremor over the whole body.