Hawksmoor (11 page)

There is an old rhyme, Nick, says he, which goes thus: This Fame saies, Merlyn to perfection brought But Fame said more than ever Merlyn wrought.

And he lean'd forward with a Smile.

You are sitting on the Altar Stone, I said; and he jumped up quickly like one bitten. Do you see, I continu'd, how it is of a harder Stone and designed to resist Fire?

I see no Scorch marks, he replied: but then he wandred among the other Stones as I recall'd another merry Verse: Will you wake him?

No, not I,

For if I do

He's sure to Cry.

When we were not close about each other I could talk freely again: For these are all places of Sacrifice, I call'A out, and these Stones are the Image of God raised in Terrour!

And Sir Chris, replied in a loud Voice: The Mind of Man is naturally subject to Apprehensions!

Upon this I told him that Peter della Valle, in his late Travels to the Indies, writes that at Ahmedabad there is a famous Temple wherein there is no other Image but a little column of Stone -named Mahadeu which in their language signifies the Great God. And that there are such structures in Africa, being Temples dedicated to Moloch. Even the Egyptian name Obelisk, I said, means consecrated Stone.

And he answer'à: Ah Master Dyer, as the Prophets say, the old Men shall dream Dreames and the young Men shall see Visions and you are young still.

The skie was getting wonderful Dark with a strong Winde which swirled around the Edifice: Do you see, I said, how the Architraves are so strangely set upon the heads of the Upright stones that they seem to hang in the Air? But the winde took my words away from him as he crouched with his Rule and Crayon. Geometry, he called out, is the Key to this Majesty: if the Proportions are right, I calculate that the inner part is an Exagonall Figure raised upon the Bases of four Equilateral!

Triangles! I went up to him saying, Some believe they are Men metamorphosised into Stone, but he payed no Heed to me and stood with his Head flung back as he continu'd: And you see, Nick, there is an Exactness of Placing them in regard to the Heavens, for they are so arranged as to estimate the positions of the Planets and the fixed Starres. From which I believe they had magneticall compass Boxes.

Then the Rain fell in great Drops, and we sheltered beneath the Lintel of one great Stone as it turned from gray to blew and green with the Moisture. And when I lean'd my Back against that Stone I felt in the Fabrick the Labour and Agonie of those who erected it, the power of Him who enthrall'd them, and the marks of Eternity which had been placed there. I could hear the Cryes and Voices of those long since gone but I shut my Ears to them and, to keep away Phrensy, stared at the Moss which grew over the Stone. Consider this, I told Sir Chris., the Memphitic pyramid has stood about three thousand and two hundred years, which is not as long as this Edifice: but it was twenty years in building, with three hundred and sixty thousand men continually working upon it. How many laboured here, and for how long? And then I went on after a Pause: the Base of the pyramidde is the exact size and shape of Lincolns-Inn-Fields, and I have some times in my Mind's Eye a Pyrammide rising above the stinking Streets of London. The sky had cleared as I spoke, the clowds rowled away, and as the Sun struck the Ground I looked towards Sir Chris. But he seemed altered in Feature: he had heard nothing of my Matter but sat leaning his Head back upon the Stone, pale as a Cloth and disconsolate to a strange Degree. I lay no Stress upon the Thing called a Dream, he said, but I just now had a Vision of my Son dead.

It was Evening now, and as the sloping Rays of the Sunne shone on the ground beyond the Stones, we could easily distinguish the sepulchral Tumuli which lie in great Numbers around there; and this Phrase occurred to me as I looked upon them: the Banks where wild Time blows. At the sight of the Shaddowes which Stone-henge now cast upon the short Grass, Sir Chris, cleared up his Countenance: Well you see Nick, says he, how these are Shaddowes on a known Elevation to show the equal Hours of the Day. It is easy to frame the Pillars that every Day at such a Time the Shaddowes will seem to return, he continued, and I am glad to say that Logarithms is a wholly British art.

And out pops his Pocket-Book again as we made our Path towards our Horses which were quietly munching upon the Grass. I shall subjoyn as a Corollary to the foregoing Remarks that Sir Chris, his Son died of a Convulsive Fitt in a foreign Land, the which News we did not receive until several Months after the Events here related.

And now these Scenes return to me again and, tho' here in my Office, I am gone backward through Time and can see the Countenance of Sir Chris, as once it was in the shaddowe of Stone-henge. Truly Time is a vast Denful of Horrour, round about which a Serpent winds and in the winding bites itself by the Tail. Now, now is the Hour, every Hour, every part of an Hour, every Moment, which in its end does begin again and never ceases to end: a beginning continuing, always ending.

I have that Sentence now, says Walter turning to face me.

I glanced up, rubbing my Eyes: Then read it back to me, you, you But he interrupts with his Recitation: The great Tower at the West End of the Church at Limehouse is advancing, tho' the Masons have been in want of Portland Stone, which has somewhat hindered its Progress.

That is finely Put, said I smiling at him, but go one Inch further with this: There is nothing else in hand save the Clearing of the Earth and Rubbidge from under the Vaults. Your honourable Servant, Nicholas Dyer.

That is All?

That is All.

To explain this Matter, and to wind up Time so that I am returned to my present State: Beside my Church at Limehouse there had antiently been a great Fen or Morass which had been a burying-place of Saxon times, with Graves lined with chalk-stones and beneath them earlier Tombs. Here my work men have found Urns and Ivory Pins once fasten'd to wooden Shrouds, and beside them Ashes and Skulls. This was indeed a massive Necropolis but it has Power still withinne it, for the ancient Dead emit a certain Material Vertue that will come to inhere in the Fabrick of this new Edifice. By day my House of Lime will catch and intangle all those who come near to it; by Night it will be one vast Mound of Shaddowe and Mistinesse, the effect of many Ages before History. And yet I had hot and present Work on hand, for I was in want of the Sacrifice to consecrate this Place: the Observations of Mirabilis upon the Rites, which I explained further back, are pertinent to this Matter; but this onely by the way.

I have built my Church in Hang-Mans-Acre, by Rope-Makers-Field and Vyrgyn-Yard, near which Ground lay a Congregation of Rogues or Vagabonds who lived by the common Sewer which runs into the Thames. This Settlement of Sturdy Beggars or Strowling Men (whose Clothes smell as rankly as Newgate or Tyburn as their Countenances speak of Decay and Sicknesse) was a source of Contentment to me, for these counterfeit Aegyptians (as they are call'd) are Instances of Vengeance and 111 Fortune, the Church being their Theatre where they may become Objects for our Meditation. It is common in speaking to them to give them the title of Honest Men for they are indeed the Children of the Gods, and their Catch goes thus: Hang Sorrow and cast away Care For the Devil is bound to find us!

They are so hardened in this sort of Misery that they seek no other Life: from Beggaring they proceed to Theft, and from Theft to the Gallows. They know all the Arts of their dismal Trade, and tune their Voices to that Pitch which will raise Compassion with their God bless you Master and May Heaven reward you Master; Do you have a half-penny, a farthing, a broken Crust, they cry, to bestow upon him that is ready to Perish?

When I was a Street-boy and slept in Holes and Corners I became acquainted with the miserable Shifts of this Life: in our great City there are whole Fraternities of them living together, for even these forlorn Wretches subsist with a sort of Order and Government among themselves.

They are indeed as perfect a Corporation as any Company in England -one scowrs one Street (as I observ'd at the time) and another another, none interloping on the Province, or Walk as they call it, that does not belong to them. They are a Society in Miniature, and will nurse up a brood of Beggars from Generation to Generation even until the World's end. And thus their place is by my Church: they are the Pattern of Humane life, for others are but one Step away from their Condition, and they acknowledge that the beginning and end of all Flesh is but Torment and Shaddowe. They are in the Pitte also, where they see the true Face of God which is like unto their own.

I had gone to Limehouse in the afternoon to Survey for my self the south-western corner of the Foundacions which was afflicted by too much Dampnesse; I was musing upon this Matter, taking a Path towards the River, when I came close against the Settlement of Beggars which consisted of as many Ragged Regiments as ever I saw mustered together. I walked a little away from them, to get the Stink from my Nostrils, when I encountered by the side of a muddy Ditch a sad and meagre Fellow who kept his Head upon his Breast. When 1 stood beside him, my shaddowe stretching across his Face, he looked up at me and muttered as if by Rote, Good your Worship cast an Eye of Pity upon a poor decay'd Tradesman. He was reduced to the utmost Extremity, wearing nothing but old Shreds and Patches like a Stall in Rag-Fair.

What was your Trade? I asked him.

I was a Printer in Bristol, Master.

And you fell into Debts, and were forced to Break?

Alas, said he, the Disease that afflicts me is far different from what you conceeve of it, and is such as you cannot see: my State is one of fearful Guiltinesse from which I can never Break.

I was much taken with his Words, for he had come like a Bird into my Lime-House, and I sat my self down beside him. For a halfpenny, he continued, I might read you the Book of my Life? And I assented. He was a little man and had a high quavering way of Talk: his Eyes could not look at me and stared every where but in my Face. And as I sat with my Hand beneath my Chin he narrated his History in short, plain Words as if he had been reduced to the State of a meer Child through his Miseries (and this Thought came to me as he spoke: need the Sacrifice be a Child, and not one who has become a Child?).

This was his Wandring Life as he related it to me: He had set up in Trade in Bristol, but pritty soon he became attach'd to Brandy and Strong-water and let his Affairs slide; he remained continually at the Tavern where he was either drunk or ingaged in a quarrell, and left all his Business to his Wife who could not drive the Trade. Thus he became Insolvent and his Creditors, hearing of this, pressed upon him at so hard a Rate that he was in great fear of being taken by the Sergeant to the Kings-Bench: tho' he knew of no Warrant to apprehend him, nevertheless it was put into his Mind to flee (so great are the Bugbears that our own Guiltinesse creates); which course he took, leaving his Wife and Children who, bound to his Estate, were summarily brought into the Hazard. And have you seen them since that Time? I asked him. No, he replied, I see them only in my Mind's Eye and thus they haunt me.

He was a poor Wretch indeed, and a perfect Figure of that Necessity which puts a man to venture upon all manner of dangerous Actions, suggests strange Imaginations and desperate Resolutions, the product of which is only Disorder, Confusion, Shame and Ruin. As the Great rise by degrees of Greatnesse to the Pitch of Glory, so the Miserable sink to the Depth of their Misery by a continued Series of Disasters. Yet it cannot be denied but most Men owe not only their Learning to their Plenty, but likewise their Vertue and their Honesty: for how many Thousands are there in the World, in great Reputation for their Sober and Just dealings with Mankind, who if they were put to their Shifts would soon lose their Reputations and turn Rogues and Scoundrels? And yet we punish Poverty as if it were a Crime, and honour Wealth as if it were a Vertue. And so goes on the Circle of Things: Poverty begets Sin and Sin begets Punishment. As the Rhyme has it: When once the tottering House begins to shrink, Upon it comes all the Weight by strange Instinct.

Thus it was with this sick Monkey before me, waiting to be tied to the Tree. I turned my Face upon him after this Recital of his Woes and whisper'd, How are you called? I am called Ned.

Well, go on, my Ned. And so, Master, I became this poor Dunghil you see before you.

And why did you come here? I am here I know not how, unless there be some Lodestone in that new Church yonder. In Bath I was brought to the Brink of Eternity; in Salisbury I was consum'd to a meer Sceleton; in Guildford I was given up for a Dead Man. Now I am here in Lime- house, and before this in the unlucky Isle of Dogs.

And how are you? I am mighty weary and sore in my Feet, and could wish the Earth might swallow me, Master.

And where will you go, if it be not under the Earth? Where can I go? If I leave here, I must come back.

Why do you look so Fearfully on me, Ned? I have a Swimming in the Head, Master. Last night I dreamed of riding and eating Cream.

You are very much a Child. I have become so. Well, it is too late to be sorry.

Do you mean there is no Hope? No, not any Hope now. I have no means of continuing.

And will you make an End of it? What End do I have but the Gallows?

Well, if I were in your case I would prefer self-murther to a Hanging.

At this he passionately flew out and said, How can you? But I put my Finger to his Cheek, to still its Motion, and his Storm soon blew over. He was mine, and as I spoke my Eyes were brisk and sparkling.

Better that you choose your own Occasion, and not be the Top whipp'd by 111 Fortune. Well, Master, I understand you and I know what you would have me do.

I speak nothing, but let you speak. And I know nothing, but what I suppose you would have me know. And yet I cannot do it.

You cannot fear Death for the pain of it, since you have endured more Pain in Life than you shall find in Death. But then what of the World to come, Master?

You are past believing in the Old Wives Tales of Divines and Sermonisers, Ned. Your Body is all of you, and when that's done there's an End of it. And it is the End I have been seeking for this Poor Life. I am no thing now. I am undone.