Extraordinary Popular Delusions And The Madness Of Crowds
By Charles MacKay
1841
Copyright 2001 by Litrix Reading Room
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"Il est bon de connaitre les delires de l'esprit humain. Chaque people a ses folies plus ou
moins grossieres." - MILLOT
Contents
VOL I. -- NATIONAL DELUSIONS
THE MISSISSIPPI SCHEME
THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE
THE TULIPOMANIA.
RELICS.
MODERN PROPHECIES.
POPULAR ADMIRATION FOR GREAT THIEVES.
INFLUENCE OF POLITICS AND RELIGION ON THE HAIR AND BEARD.
DUELS AND ORDEALS
THE LOVE OF THE MARVELLOUS AND THE DISBELIEF OF THE TRUE.
POPULAR FOLLIES IN GREAT CITIES
THE O.P. MANIA.
THE THUGS, or PHANSIGARS.
VOL. II - PECULIAR FOLLIES
THE CRUSADES
THE WITCH MANIA.
THE SLOW POISONERS.
HAUNTED HOUSES.
VOL. III -- BOOK I: Philosophical Delusions
THE ALCHYMISTS
GEBER.
ALFARABI.
AVICENNA.
ALBERTUS MAGNUS and THOMAS AQUINA.
ARTEPHIUS.
ALAIN DE LISLE.
ARNOLD DE VILLENEUVE.
PIETRO D'APONE.
RAYMOND LULLI.
ROGER BACON.
Pope John XXII.
Jean De Meung
NICHOLAS FLAMEL.
GEORGE RIPLEY.
BASIL VALENTINE.
BERNARD of TREVES.
TRITHEMIUS.
THE MARECHAL DE RAYS.
JACQUES COEUR.
PART II.
AUGURELLO.
CORNELIUS AGRIPPA.
PARACELSUS.
GEORGE AGRICOLA.
DENIS ZACHAIRE.
DR. DEE and EDWARD KELLY.
THE COSMOPOLITE.
SENDIVOGIUS.
THE ROSICRUCIANS.
JACOB BOHMEN.
MORMIUS.
BORRI.
INFERIOR ALCHYMISTS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
JEAN DELISLE.
ALBERT ALUYS.
THE COUNT DE ST. GERMAIN
CAGLIOSTRO
PRESENT STATE OF ALCHYMY.
VOL. III -- BOOK II: FORTUNE TELLING
VOL. III -- BOOK III: THE MAGNETISERS
The Magnetisers - 1
The Magnetisers - 2
The Magnetisers - 3
The Magnetisers - 4
The Magnetisers - 5
The Magnetisers - 6
VOL. I -- NATIONAL DELUSIONS.
N'en deplaise a ces fous nommes sages de Grece;
En ce monde il n'est point de parfaite sagesse;
Tous les hommes sont fous, et malgre tous leurs soins,
Ne different entre eux que du plus ou du moins.
-- BOILEAU.
In reading the history of nations, we find that, like individuals, they have their whims and
their peculiarities; their seasons of excitement and recklessness, when they care not what
they do. We find that whole communities suddenly fix their minds upon one object, and
go mad in its pursuit; that millions of people become simultaneously impressed with one
delusion, and run after it, till their attention is caught by some new folly more captivating
than the first. We see one nation suddenly seized, from its highest to its lowest members,
with a fierce desire of military glory; another as suddenly becoming crazed upon a
religious scruple, and neither of them recovering its senses until it has shed rivers of
blood and sowed a harvest of groans and tears, to be reaped by its posterity. At an early
age in the annals of Europe its population lost their wits about the Sepulchre of Jesus, and
crowded in frenzied multitudes to the Holy Land: another age went mad for fear of the
Devil, and offered up hundreds of thousands of victims to the delusion of witchcraft. At
another time, the many became crazed on the subject of the Philosopher's Stone, and
committed follies till then unheard of in the pursuit. It was once thought a venial offence
in very many countries of Europe to destroy an enemy by slow poison. Persons who
would have revolted at the idea of stabbing a man to the heart, drugged his pottage
without scruple. Ladies of gentle birth and manners caught the contagion of murder, until
poisoning, under their auspices, became quite fashionable. Some delusions, though
notorious to all the world, have subsisted for ages, flourishing as widely among civilized
and polished nations as among the early barbarians with whom they originated, -- that of
duelling, for instance, and the belief in omens and divination of the future, which seem to
defy the progress of knowledge to eradicate entirely from the popular mind. Money,
again, has often been a cause of the delusion of multitudes. Sober nations have all at once
become desperate gamblers, and risked almost their existence upon the turn of a piece of
paper. To trace the history of the most prominent of these delusions is the object of the
present pages. Men, it has been well said, think in herds; it will be seen that they go mad
in herds, while they only recover their senses slowly, and one by one.
In the present state of civilization, society has often shown itself very prone to run a
career of folly from the last-mentioned cases. This infatuation has seized upon whole
nations in a most extraordinary manner. France, with her Mississippi madness, set the
first great example, and was very soon imitated by England with her South Sea Bubble.
At an earlier period, Holland made herself still more ridiculous in the eyes of the world,
by the frenzy which came over her people for the love of Tulips. Melancholy as all these
delusions were in their ultimate results, their history is most amusing. A more ludicrous
and yet painful spectacle, than that which Holland presented in the years 1635 and 1636,
or France in 1719 and 1720, can hardly be imagined. Taking them in the order of their
importance, we shall commence our history with John Law and the famous Mississippi
scheme of the years above mentioned.
.
THE MISSISSIPPI SCHEME
Some in clandestine companies combine;
Erect new stocks to trade beyond the line;
With air and empty names beguile the town,
And raise new credits first, then cry 'em down;
Divide the empty nothing into shares, And set the crowd together by the ears.
-- Defoe.
The personal character and career of one man are so intimately connected with the great
scheme of the years 1719 and 1720, that a history of the Mississippi madness can have no
fitter introduction than a sketch of the life of its great author, John Law. Historians are
divided in opinion as to whether they should designate him a knave or a madman. Both
epithets were unsparingly applied to him in his lifetime, and while the unhappy
consequences of his projects were still deeply felt. Posterity, however, has found reason
to doubt the justice of the accusation, and to confess that John Law was neither knave nor
madman, but one more deceived than deceiving; more sinned against than sinning. He
was thoroughly acquainted with the philosophy and true principles of credit. He
understood the monetary question better than any man of his day; and if his system fell
with a crash so tremendous, it was not so much his fault as that of the people amongst
whom he had erected it. He did not calculate upon the avaricious frenzy of a whole
nation; he did not see that confidence, like mistrust, could be increased, almost ad
infinitum, and that hope was as extravagant as fear. How was he to foretell that the
French people, like the man in the fable, would kill, in their frantic eagerness, the fine
goose he had brought to lay them so many golden eggs? His fate was like that which may
be supposed to have overtaken the first adventurous boatman who rowed from Erie to
Ontario. Broad and smooth was the river on which he embarked; rapid and pleasant was
his progress; and who was to stay him in his career? Alas for him! the cataract was nigh.
He saw, when it was too late, that the tide which wafted him so joyously along was a tide
of destruction; and when he endeavoured to retrace his way, he found that the current was
too strong for his weak efforts to stem, and that he drew nearer every instant to the
tremendous falls. Down he went over the sharp rocks, and the waters with him. He was
dashed to pieces with his bark, but the waters, maddened and turned to foam by the rough
descent, only boiled and bubbled for a time, and then flowed on again as smoothly as
ever. Just so it was with Law and the French people. He was the boatman and they were
the waters.
John Law was born at Edinburgh in the year 1671. His father was the younger son of an
ancient family in Fife, and carried on the business of a goldsmith and banker. He amassed
considerable wealth in his trade, sufficient to enable him to gratify the wish, so common
among his countrymen, of adding a territorial designation to his name. He purchased with
this view the estates of Lauriston and Randleston, on the Frith of Forth on the borders of
West and Mid Lothian, and was thenceforth known as Law of Lauriston. The subject of
our memoir, being the eldest son, was received into his father's counting-house at the age
of fourteen, and for three years laboured hard to acquire an insight into the principles of
banking, as then carried on in Scotland. He had always manifested great love for the
study of numbers, and his proficiency in the mathematics was considered extraordinary in
one of his tender years. At the age of seventeen he was tall, strong, and well made; and
his face, although deeply scarred with the small-pox, was agreeable in its expression, and
full of intelligence. At this time he began to neglect his business, and becoming vain of
his person, indulged in considerable extravagance of attire. He was a great favourite with
the ladies, by whom he was called Beau Law, while the other sex, despising his foppery,
nicknamed him Jessamy John. At the death of his father, which happened in 1688, he
withdrew entirely from the desk, which had become so irksome, and being possessed of
the revenues of the paternal estate of Lauriston, he proceeded to London, to see the
world.
He was now very young, very vain, good-looking, tolerably rich, and quite uncontrolled.
It is no wonder that, on his arrival in the capital, he should launch out into extravagance.
He soon became a regular frequenter of the gaming-houses, and by pursuing a certain
plan, based upon some abstruse calculation of chances, he contrived to gain considerable
sums. All the gamblers envied him his luck, and many made it a point to watch his play,
and stake their money on the same chances. In affairs of gallantry he was equally
fortunate; ladies of the first rank smiled graciously upon the handsome Scotchman -- the
young, the rich, the witty, and the obliging. But all these successes only paved the way
for reverses. After he had been for nine years exposed to the dangerous attractions of the
gay life he was leading, he became an irrecoverable gambler. As his love of play
increased in violence, it diminished in prudence. Great losses were only to be repaired by
still greater ventures, and one unhappy day he lost more than he could repay without
mortgaging his family estate. To that step he was driven at last. At the same time his
gallantry brought him into trouble. A love affair, or slight flirtation, with a lady of the
name of Villiers [Miss Elizabeth Villiers, afterwards Countess of Orkney] exposed him to
the resentment of a Mr. Wilson, by whom he was challenged to fight a duel. Law
accepted, and had the ill fortune to shoot his antagonist dead upon the spot. He was
arrested the same day, and brought to trial for murder by the relatives of Mr. Wilson. He
was afterwards found guilty, and sentenced to death. The sentence was commuted to a
fine, upon the ground that the offence only amounted to manslaughter. An appeal being
lodged by a brother of the deceased, Law was detained in the King's Bench, whence, by
some means or other, which he never explained, he contrived to escape; and an action
being instituted against the sheriffs, he was advertised in the Gazette, and a reward
offered for his apprehension. He was described as "Captain John Law, a Scotchman, aged
twenty-six; a very tall, black, lean man; well shaped, above six feet high, with large
pockholes in his face; big nosed, and speaking broad and loud." As this was rather a
caricature than a description of him, it has been supposed that it was drawn up with a
view to favour his escape. He succeeded in reaching the Continent, where he travelled for
three years, and devoted much of his attention to the monetary and banking affairs of the
countries through which he passed. He stayed a few months in Amsterdam, and
speculated to some extent in the funds. His mornings were devoted to the study of finance
and the principles of trade, and his evenings to the gaming-house. It is generally believed
that he returned to Edinburgh in the year 1700. It is certain that he published in that city
his "Proposals and Reasons for constituting a Council of Trade." This pamphlet did not
excite much attention.
In a short time afterwards he published a project for establishing what he called a Landbank [The wits of the day called it a sand-bank, which would wreck the vessel of the
state.], the notes issued by which were never to exceed the value of the entire lands of the
state, upon ordinary interest, or were to be equal in value to the land, with the right to
enter into possession at a certain time. The project excited a good deal of discussion in
the Scottish parliament, and a motion for the establishment of such a bank was brought
forward by a neutral party, called the Squadrone, whom Law had interested in his favour.
The Parliament ultimately passed a resolution to the effect, that, to establish any kind of
paper credit, so as to force it to pass, was an improper expedient for the nation.
Upon the failure of this project, and of his efforts to procure a pardon for the murder of
Mr. Wilson, Law withdrew to the Continent, and resumed his old habits of gaming. For
fourteen years he continued to roam about, in Flanders, Holland, Germany, Hungary,
Italy, and France. He soon became intimately acquainted with the extent of the trade and
resources of each, and daily more confirmed in his opinion that no country could prosper
without a paper currency. During the whole of this time he appears to have chiefly
supported himself by successful play. At every gambling-house of note in the capitals of
Europe, he was known and appreciated as one better skilled in the intricacies of chance
than any other man of the day. It is stated in the "Biographie Universelle" that he was
expelled, first from Venice, and afterwards from Genoa, by the magistrates, who thought
him a visitor too dangerous for the youth of those cities. During his residence in Paris he
rendered himself obnoxious to D'Argenson, the lieutenant-general of the police, by whom
he was ordered to quit the capital. This did not take place, however, before he had made
the acquaintance in the saloons, of the Duke de Vendome, the Prince de Conti, and of the
gay Duke of Orleans, the latter of whom was destined afterwards to exercise so much
influence over his fate. The Duke of Orleans was pleased with the vivacity and good
sense of the Scottish adventurer, while the latter was no less pleased with the wit and
amiability of a prince who promised to become his patron. They were often thrown into
each other's society, and Law seized every opportunity to instil his financial doctrines
into the mind of one whose proximity to the throne pointed him out as destined, at no
very distant date, to play an important part in the government.
Shortly before the death of Louis XIV, or, as some say, in 1708, Law proposed a scheme
of finance to Desmarets, the Comptroller. Louis is reported to have inquired whether the
projector were a Catholic, and, on being answered in the negative, to have declined
having anything to do with him. [This anecdote, which is related in the correspondence of
Madame de Baviere, Duchess of Orleans, and mother of the Regent, is discredited by
Lord John Russell, in his "History of the principal States of Europe, from the Peace of
Utrecht;" for what reason he does not inform us. There is no doubt that Law proposed his
scheme to Desmarets, and that Louis refused to hear of it. The reason given for the
refusal is quite consistent with the character of that bigoted and tyrannical monarch.]
It was after this repulse that he visited Italy. His mind being still occupied with schemes
of finance, he proposed to Victor Amadeus, Duke of Savoy, to establish his land-bank in
that country. The Duke replied that his dominions were too circumscribed for the
execution of so great a project, and that he was by far too poor a potentate to be ruined.
He advised him, however, to try the King of France once more; for he was sure, if he
knew anything of the French character, that the people would be delighted with a plan,
not only so new, but so plausible.
Louis XIV died in 1715, and the heir to the throne being an infant only seven years of
age, the Duke of Orleans assumed the reins of government, as Regent, during his
minority. Law now found himself in a more favourable position. The tide in his affairs
had come, which, taken at the flood, was to waft him on to fortune. The Regent was his
friend, already acquainted with his theory and pretensions, and inclined, moreover, to aid
him in any efforts to restore the wounded credit of France, bowed down to the earth by
the extravagance of the long reign of Louis XIV.
Hardly was that monarch laid in his grave ere the popular hatred, suppressed so long,
burst forth against his memory. He who, during his life, had been flattered with an excess
of adulation, to which history scarcely offers a parallel, was now cursed as a tyrant, a
bigot, and a plunderer. His statues were pelted and disfigured; his effigies torn down,
amid the execrations of the populace, and his name rendered synonymous with
selfishness and oppression. The glory of his arms was forgotten, and nothing was
remembered but his reverses, his extravagance, and his cruelty.
The finances of the country were in a state of the utmost disorder. A profuse and corrupt
monarch, whose profuseness and corruption were imitated by almost every functionary,
from the highest to the lowest grade, had brought France to the verge of ruin. The
national debt amounted to 3000 millions of livres, the revenue to 145 millions, and the
expenditure to 142 millions per annum; leaving only three millions to pay the interest
upon 3000 millions. The first care of the Regent was to discover a remedy for an evil of
such magnitude, and a council was early summoned to take the matter into consideration.
The Duke de St. Simon was of opinion that nothing could save the country from
revolution but a remedy at once bold and dangerous. He advised the Regent to convoke
the States-General, and declare a national bankruptcy. The Duke de Noailles, a man of
accommodating principles, an accomplished courtier, and totally averse from giving
himself any trouble or annoyance that ingenuity could escape from, opposed the project
of St. Simon with all his influence. He represented the expedient as alike dishonest and
ruinous. The Regent was of the same opinion, and this desperate remedy fell to the
ground.
The measures ultimately adopted, though they promised fair, only aggravated the evil.
The first, and most dishonest measure, was of no advantage to the state. A recoinage was
ordered, by which the currency was depreciated one-fifth; those who took a thousand
pieces of gold or silver to the mint received back an amount of coin of the same nominal
value, but only four-fifths of the weight of metal. By this contrivance the treasury gained
seventy-two millions of livres, and all the commercial operations of the country were
disordered. A trifling diminution of the taxes silenced the clamours of the people, and for
the slight present advantage the great prospective evil was forgotten.
A chamber of justice was next instituted, to inquire into the malversations of the loancontractors and the farmers of the revenues. Tax collectors are never very popular in any
country, but those of France at this period deserved all the odium with which they were
loaded. As soon as these farmers-general, with all their hosts of subordinate agents, called
maltotiers [From maltote, an oppressive tax.], were called to account for their misdeeds,
the most extravagant joy took possession of the nation. The Chamber of Justice, instituted
chiefly for this purpose, was endowed with very extensive powers. It was composed of
the presidents and councils of the parliament, the judges of the Courts of Aid and of
Requests, and the officers of the Chamber of Account, under the general presidence of
the minister of finance. Informers were encouraged to give evidence against the offenders
by the promise of one-fifth part of the fines and confiscations. A tenth of all concealed
effects belonging to the guilty was promised to such as should furnish the means of
discovering them.
The promulgation of the edict constituting this court caused a degree of consternation
among those principally concerned which can only be accounted for on the supposition
that their peculation had been enormous. But they met with no sympathy. The
proceedings against them justified their terror. The Bastile was soon unable to contain the
prisoners that were sent to it, and the gaols all over the country teemed with guilty or
suspected persons. An order was issued to all innkeepers and postmasters to refuse horses
to such as endeavoured to seek safety in flight; and all persons were forbidden, under
heavy fines, to harbour them or favour their evasion. Some were condemned to the
pillory, others to the gallies, and the least guilty to fine and imprisonment. One only,
Samuel Bernard, a rich banker, and farmer-general of a province remote from the capital,
was sentenced to death. So great had been the illegal profits of this man, -- looked upon
as the tyrant and oppressor of his district, -- that he offered six millions of livres, or
250,000 pounds sterling, to be allowed to escape.
His bribe was refused, and he suffered the penalty of death. Others, perhaps more guilty,
were more fortunate. Confiscation, owing to the concealment of their treasures by the
delinquents, often produced less money than a fine. The severity of the government
relaxed, and fines, under the denomination of taxes, were indiscriminately levied upon all
offenders. But so corrupt was every department of the administration, that the country
benefited but little by the sums which thus flowed into the treasury. Courtiers, and
courtiers' wives and mistresses, came in for the chief share of the spoils. One contractor
had been taxed in proportion to his wealth and guilt, at the sum of twelve millions of
livres. The Count * * *, a man of some weight in the government, called upon him, and
offered to procure a remission of the fine, if he would give him a hundred thousand
crowns. "Vous etes trop tard, mon ami," replied the financier; "I have already made a
bargain with your wife for fifty thousand." [This anecdote is related by M. de la Hode, in
his Life of Philippe of Orleans. It would have looked more authentic if he had given the
names of the dishonest contractor and the still more dishonest minister. But M. de la
Hode's book is liable to the same objection as most of the French memoirs of that and of
subsequent periods. It is sufficient with most of them that an anecdote be ben trovato; the
veto is but matter of secondary consideration.]
About a hundred and eighty millions of livres were levied in this manner, of which eighty
were applied in payment of the debts contracted by the government. The remainder found
its way into the pockets of the courtiers. Madame de Maintenon, writing on this subject,
says, "We hear every day of some new grant of the Regent; the people murmur very
much at this mode of employing the money taken from the peculators." The people, who,
after the first burst of their resentment is over, generally express a sympathy for the weak,
were indignant that so much severity should be used to so little purpose. They did not see
the justice of robbing one set of rogues to fatten another. In a few months all the more
guilty had been brought to punishment, and the chamber of justice looked for victims in
humbler walks of life. Charges of fraud and extortion were brought against tradesmen of
good character, in consequence of the great inducements held out to common informers.
They were compelled to lay open their affairs before this tribunal in order to establish
their innocence. The voice of complaint resounded from every side, and at the expiration
of a year the government found it advisable to discontinue further proceedings. The
chamber of justice was suppressed, and a general amnesty granted to all against whom no
charges had yet been preferred.
In the midst of this financial confusion Law appeared upon the scene. No man felt more
deeply than the Regent the deplorable state of the country, but no man could be more
averse from putting his shoulders manfully to the wheel. He disliked business; he signed
official documents without proper examination, and trusted to others what he should have
undertaken himself. The cares inseparable from his high office were burdensome to him;
he saw that something was necessary to be done, but he lacked the energy to do it, and
had not virtue enough to sacrifice his case and his pleasures in the attempt. No wonder
that, with this character, he listened favourably to the mighty projects, so easy of
execution, of the clever adventurer whom he had formerly known, and whose talents he
appreciated.
When Law presented himself at court, he was most cordially received. He offered two
memorials to the Regent, in which he set forth the evils that had befallen France, owing
to an insufficient currency, at different times depreciated. He asserted that a metallic
currency, unaided by a paper money, was wholly inadequate to the wants of a
commercial country, and particularly cited the examples of Great Britain and Holland to
show the advantages of paper. He used many sound arguments on the subject of credit,
and proposed, as a means of restoring that of France, then at so low an ebb among the
nations, that he should be allowed to set up a bank, which should have the management
of the royal revenues, and issue notes, both on that and on landed security. He further
proposed that this bank should be administered in the King's name, but subject to the
control of commissioners, to be named by the States-General.
While these memorials were under consideration, Law translated into French his essay on
money and trade, and used every means to extend through the nation his renown as a
financier. He soon became talked of. The confidants of the Regent spread abroad his
praise, and every one expected great things of Monsieur Lass. [The French pronounced
his name in this manner to avoid the ungallic sound, aw. After the failure of his scheme,
the wags said the nation was lasse de lui, and proposed that he should in future be known
by the name of Monsieur Helas!]
On the 5th of May, 1716, a royal edict was published, by which Law was authorised, in
conjunction with his brother, to establish a bank, under the name of Law and Company,
the notes of which should be received in payment of the taxes. The capital was fixed at
six millions of livres, in twelve thousand shares of five hundred livres each, purchasable
one-fourth in specie and the remainder in billets d'etat. It was not thought expedient to
grant him the whole of the privileges prayed for in his memorials until experience should
have shown their safety and advantage.
Law was now on the high road to fortune. The study of thirty years was brought to guide
him in the management of his bank. He made all his notes payable at sight, and in the
coin current at the time they were issued. This last was a master-stroke of policy, and
immediately rendered his notes more valuable than the precious metals. The latter were
constantly liable to depreciation by the unwise tampering of the government. A thousand
livres of silver might be worth their nominal value one day and be reduced one-sixth the
next, but a note of Law's bank retained its original value. He publicly declared at the
same time that a banker deserved death if he made issues without having sufficient
security to answer all demands. The consequence was, that his notes advanced rapidly in
public estimation, and were received at one per cent. more than specie. It was not long
before the trade of the country felt the benefit. Languishing commerce began to lift up her
head; the taxes were paid with greater regularity and less murmuring, and a degree of
confidence was established that could not fail, if it continued, to become still more
advantageous. In the course of a year Law's notes rose to fifteen per cent. premium, while
the billets d'etat, or notes issued by the government, as security for the debts contracted
by the extravagant Louis XIV, were at a discount of no less than seventy-eight and a half
per cent. The comparison was too great in favour of Law not to attract the attention of the
whole kingdom, and his credit extended itself day by day. Branches of his bank were
almost simultaneously established at Lyons, Rochelle, Tours, Amiens, and Orleans.
The Regent appears to have been utterly astonished at his success, and gradually to have
conceived the idea, that paper, which could so aid a metallic currency, could entirely
supersede it. Upon this fundamental error he afterwards acted. In the mean time, Law
commenced the famous project which has handed his name down to posterity. He
proposed to the Regent, who could refuse him nothing, to establish a company, that
should have the exclusive privilege of trading to the great river Mississippi and the
province of Louisiana, on its western bank. The country was supposed to abound in the
precious metals, and the company, supported by the profits of their exclusive commerce,
were to be the sole farmers of the taxes, and sole coiners of money. Letters patent were
issued, incorporating the company, in August 1717. The capital was divided into two
hundred thousand shares of five hundred livres each, the whole of which might be paid in
billets d'etat, at their nominal value, although worth no more than 160 livres in the
market.
It was now that the frenzy of speculating began to seize upon the nation. Law's bank had
effected so much good, that any promises for the future which he thought proper to make
were readily believed. The Regent every day conferred new privileges upon the fortunate
projector. The bank obtained the monopoly of the sale of tobacco; the sole right of
refinage of gold and silver, and was finally erected into the Royal Bank of France. Amid
the intoxication of success, both Law and the Regent forgot the maxim so loudly
proclaimed by the former, that a banker deserved death who made issues of paper without
the necessary funds to provide for them. As soon as the bank, from a private, became a
public institution, the Regent caused a fabrication of notes to the amount of one thousand
millions of livres. This was the first departure from sound principles, and one for which
Law is not justly blameable. While the affairs of the bank were under his control, the
issues had never exceeded sixty millions. Whether Law opposed the inordinate increase
is not known, but as it took place as soon as the bank was made a royal establishment, it
is but fair to lay the blame of the change of system upon the Regent.
Law found that he lived under a despotic government, but he was not yet aware of the
pernicious influence which such a government could exercise upon so delicate a
framework as that of credit. He discovered it afterwards to his cost, but in the mean time
suffered himself to be impelled by the Regent into courses which his own reason must
have disapproved. With a weakness most culpable, he lent his aid in inundating the
country with paper money, which, based upon no solid foundation, was sure to fall,
sooner or later. The extraordinary present fortune dazzled his eyes, and prevented him
from seeing the evil day that would burst over his head, when once, from any cause or
other, the alarm was sounded. The Parliament were from the first jealous of his influence
as a foreigner, and had, besides, their misgivings as to the safety of his projects. As his
influence extended, their animosity increased. D'Aguesseau, the Chancellor, was
unceremoniously dismissed by the Regent for his opposition to the vast increase of paper
money, and the constant depreciation of the gold and silver coin of the realm. This only
served to augment the enmity of the Parliament, and when D'Argenson, a man devoted to
the interests of the Regent, was appointed to the vacant chancellorship, and made at the
same time minister of finance, they became more violent than ever. The first measure of
the new minister caused a further depreciation of the coin. In order to extinguish the
billets d'etat, it was ordered that persons bringing to the mint four thousand livres in
specie and one thousand livres in billets d'etat, should receive back coin to the amount of
five thousand livres. D'Argenson plumed himself mightily upon thus creating five
thousand new and smaller livres out of the four thousand old and larger ones, being too
ignorant of the true principles of trade and credit to be aware of the immense injury he
was inflicting upon both.
The Parliament saw at once the impolicy and danger of such a system, and made repeated
remonstrances to the Regent. The latter refused to entertain their petitions, when the
Parliament, by a bold, and very unusual stretch of authority, commanded that no money
should be received in payment but that of the old standard. The Regent summoned a lit de
justice, and annulled the decree. The Parliament resisted, and issued another. Again the
Regent exercised his privilege, and annulled it, till the Parliament, stung to fiercer
opposition, passed another decree, dated August 12th, 1718, by which they forbade the
bank of Law to have any concern, either direct or indirect, in the administration of the
revenue; and prohibited all foreigners, under heavy penalties, from interfering, either in
their own names, or in that of others, in the management of the finances of the state. The
Parliament considered Law to be the author of all the evil, and some of the counsellors, in
the virulence of their enmity, proposed that he should be brought to trial, and, if found
guilty, be hung at the gates of the Palais de Justice.
Law, in great alarm, fled to the Palais Royal, and threw himself on the protection of the
Regent, praying that measures might be taken to reduce the Parliament to obedience. The
Regent had nothing so much at heart, both on that account and because of the disputes
that had arisen relative to the legitimation of the Duke of Maine and the Count of
Thoulouse, the sons of the late King. The Parliament was ultimately overawed by the
arrest of their president and two of the counsellors, who were sent to distant prisons.
Thus the first cloud upon Law's prospects blew over: freed from apprehension of personal
danger, he devoted his attention to his famous Mississippi project, the shares of which
were rapidly rising, in spite of the Parliament. At the commencement of the year 1719 an
edict was published, granting to the Mississippi Company the exclusive privilege of
trading to the East Indies, China, and the South Seas, and to all the possessions of the
French East India Company, established by Colbert. The Company, in consequence of
this great increase of their business, assumed, as more appropriate, the title of Company
of the Indies, and created fifty thousand new shares. The prospects now held out by Law
were most magnificent. He promised a yearly dividend of two hundred livres upon each
share of five hundred, which, as the shares were paid for in billets d'etat, at their nominal
value, but worth only 100 livres, was at the rate of about 120 per cent. profit.
The public enthusiasm, which had been so long rising, could not resist a vision so
splendid. At least three hundred thousand applications were made for the fifty thousand
new shares, and Law's house in the Rue de Quincampoix was beset from morning to
night by the eager applicants. As it was impossible to satisfy them all, it was several
weeks before a list of the fortunate new stockholders could be made out, during which
time the public impatience rose to a pitch of frenzy. Dukes, marquises, counts, with their
duchesses, marchionesses, and countesses, waited in the streets for hours every day
before Mr. Law's door to know the result. At last, to avoid the jostling of the plebeian
crowd, which, to the number of thousands, filled the whole thoroughfare, they took
apartments in the adjoining houses, that they might be continually near the temple
whence the new Plutus was diffusing wealth. Every day the value of the old shares
increased, and the fresh applications, induced by the golden dreams of the whole nation,
became so numerous that it was deemed advisable to create no less than three hundred
thousand new shares, at five thousand livres each, in order that the Regent might take
advantage of the popular enthusiasm to pay off the national debt. For this purpose, the
sum of fifteen hundred millions of livres was necessary. Such was the eagerness of the
nation, that thrice the sum would have been subscribed if the government had authorised
it.
Law was now at the zenith of his prosperity, and the people were rapidly approaching the
zenith of their infatuation. The highest and the lowest classes were alike filled with a
vision of boundless wealth. There was not a person of note among the aristocracy, with
the exception of the Duke of St. Simon and Marshal Villars, who was not engaged in
buying or selling stock. People of every age and sex, and condition in life, speculated in
the rise and fall of the Mississippi bonds. The Rue de Quincampoix was the grand resort
of the jobbers, and it being a narrow, inconvenient street, accidents continually occurred
in it, from the tremendous pressure of the crowd. Houses in it, worth, in ordinary times, a
thousand livres of yearly rent, yielded as much as twelve or sixteen thousand. A cobbler,
who had a stall in it, gained about two hundred livres a day by letting it out, and
furnishing writing materials to brokers and their clients. The story goes, that a humpbacked man who stood in the street gained considerable sums by lending his hump as a
writing-desk to the eager speculators! The great concourse of persons who assembled to
do business brought a still greater concourse of spectators. These again drew all the
thieves and immoral characters of Paris to the spot, and constant riots and disturbances
took place. At nightfall, it was often found necessary to send a troop of soldiers to clear
the street.
Law, finding the inconvenience of his residence, removed to the Place Vendome, whither
the crowd of agioteurs followed him. That spacious square soon became as thronged as
the Rue de Quincampoix : from morning to night it presented the appearance of a fair.
Booths and tents were erected for the transaction of business and the sale of refreshments,
and gamblers with their roulette tables stationed themselves in the very middle of the
place, and reaped a golden, or rather a paper, harvest from the throng. The Boulevards
and public gardens were forsaken; parties of pleasure took their walks in preference in the
Place Vendome, which became the fashionable lounge of the idle, as well as the general
rendezvous of the busy. The noise was so great all day, that the Chancellor, whose court
was situated in the square, complained to the Regent and the municipality, that he could
not hear the advocates. Law, when applied to, expressed his willingness to aid in the
removal of the nuisance, and for this purpose entered into a treaty with the Prince de
Carignan for the Hotel de Soissons, which had a garden of several acres in the rear. A
bargain was concluded, by which Law became the purchaser of the hotel, at an enormous
price, the Prince reserving to himself the magnificent gardens as a new source of profit.
They contained some fine statues and several fountains, and were altogether laid out with
much taste. As soon as Law was installed in his new abode, an edict was published,
forbidding all persons to buy or sell stock anywhere but in the gardens of the Hotel de
Soissons. In the midst among the trees, about five hundred small tents and pavilions were
erected, for the convenience of the stock-jobbers. Their various colours, the gay ribands
and banners which floated from them, the busy crowds which passed continually in and
out--the incessant hum of voices, the noise, the music, and the strange mixture of
business and pleasure on the countenances of the throng, all combined to give the place
an air of enchantment that quite enraptured the Parisians. The Prince de Carignan made
enormous profits while the delusion lasted. Each tent was let at the rate of five hundred
livres a month; and, as there were at least five hundred of them, his monthly revenue
from this source alone must have amounted to 250,000 livres, or upwards of 10,000
pounds sterling.
The honest old soldier, Marshal Villars, was so vexed to see the folly which had smitten
his countrymen, that he never could speak with temper on the subject. Passing one day
through the Place Vendome in his carriage, the choleric gentleman was so annoyed at the
infatuation of the people, that he abruptly ordered his coachman to stop, and, putting his
head out of the carriage window, harangued them for full half an hour on their
"disgusting avarice." This was not a very wise proceeding on his part. Hisses and shouts
of laughter resounded from every side, and jokes without number were aimed at him.
There being at last strong symptoms that something more tangible was flying through the
air in the direction of his head, Marshal was glad to drive on. He never again repeated the
experiment.
Two sober, quiet, and philosophic men of letters, M. de la Motte and the Abbe Terrason,
congratulated each other, that they, at least, were free from this strange infatuation. A few
days afterwards, as the worthy Abbe was coming out of the Hotel de Soissons, whither he
had gone to buy shares in the Mississippi, whom should he see but his friend La Motte
entering for the same purpose. "Ha!" said the Abbe, smiling, "is that you?" "Yes," said La
Motte, pushing past him as fast as he was able; "and can that be you?" The next time the
two scholars met, they talked of philosophy, of science, and of religion, but neither had
courage for a long time to breathe one syllable about the Mississippi. At last, when it was
mentioned, they agreed that a man ought never to swear against his doing any one thing,
and that there was no sort of extravagance of which even a wise man was not capable.
During this time, Law, the new Plutus, had become all at once the most important
personage of the state. The ante-chambers of the Regent were forsaken by the courtiers.
Peers, judges, and bishops thronged to the Hotel de Soissons; officers of the army and
navy, ladies of title and fashion, and every one to whom hereditary rank or public employ
gave a claim to precedence, were to be found waiting in his ante-chambers to beg for a
portion of his India stock. Law was so pestered that he was unable to see one-tenth part of
the applicants, and every manoeuvre that ingenuity could suggest was employed to gain
access to him. Peers, whose dignity would have been outraged if the Regent had made
them wait half an hour for an interview, were content to wait six hours for the chance of
seeing Monsieur Law. Enormous fees were paid to his servants, if they would merely
announce their names. Ladies of rank employed the blandishments of their smiles for the
same object; but many of them came day after day for a fortnight before they could
obtain an audience. When Law accepted an invitation, he was sometimes so surrounded
by ladies, all asking to have their names put down in his lists as shareholders in the new
stock, that, in spite of his well-known and habitual gallantry, he was obliged to tear
himself away par force. The most ludicrous stratagems were employed to have an
opportunity of speaking to him. One lady, who had striven in vain during several days,
gave up in despair all attempts to see him at his own house, but ordered her coachman to
keep a strict watch whenever she was out in her carriage, and if he saw Mr. Law coming,
to drive against a post, and upset her. The coachman promised obedience, and for three
days the lady was driven incessantly through the town, praying inwardly for the
opportunity to be overturned. At last she espied Mr. Law, and, pulling the string, called
out to the coachman, "Upset us now! for God's sake, upset us now!" The coachman drove
against a post, the lady screamed, the coach was overturned, and Law, who had seen the
accident, hastened to the spot to render assistance. The cunning dame was led into the
Hotel de Soissons, where she soon thought it advisable to recover from her fright, and,
after apologizing to Mr. Law, confessed her stratagem. Law smiled, and entered the lady
in his books as the purchaser of a quantity of India stock. Another story is told of a
Madame de Boucha, who, knowing that Mr. Law was at dinner at a certain house,
proceeded thither in her carriage, and gave the alarm of fire. The company started from
table, and Law among the rest; but, seeing one lady making all haste into the house
towards him, while everybody else was scampering away, he suspected the trick, and ran
off in another direction.
Many other anecdotes are related, which even, though they may be a little exaggerated,
are nevertheless worth preserving, as showing the spirit of that singular period. [The
curious reader may find an anecdote of the eagerness of the French ladies to retain Law in
their company, which will make him blush or smile according as he happens to be very
modest or the reverse. It is related in the Letters of Madame Charlotte Elizabeth de
Baviere, Duchess of Orleans, vol. ii. p. 274.] The Regent was one day mentioning, in the
presence of D'Argenson, the Abbe Dubois, and some other persons, that he was desirous
of deputing some lady, of the rank at least of a Duchess, to attend upon his daughter at
Modena; "but," added he, "I do not exactly know where to find one." "No!" replied one,
in affected surprise; "I can tell you where to find every Duchess in France :--you have
only to go to Mr. Law's; you will see them every one in his ante-chamber."
M. de Chirac, a celebrated physician, had bought stock at an unlucky period, and was
very anxious to sell out. Stock, however continued to fall for two or three days, much to
his alarm. His mind was filled with the subject, when he was suddenly called upon to
attend a lady, who imagined herself unwell. He arrived, was shown up stairs, and felt the
lady's pulse. "It falls! it falls! good God! it falls continually!" said he, musingly, while the
lady looked up in his face, all anxiety for his opinion. "Oh! M. de Chirac," said she,
starting to her feet, and ringing the bell for assistance; "I am dying! I am dying! it falls! it
falls! it falls!" "What falls?" inquired the doctor, in amazement. "My pulse! my pulse!"
said the lady; "I must be dying." "Calm your apprehensions, my dear Madam," said M. de
Chirac; "I was speaking of the stocks. The truth is, I have been a great loser, and my mind
is so disturbed, I hardly know what I have been saying."
The price of shares sometimes rose ten or twenty per cent. in the course of a few hours,
and many persons in the humbler walks of life, who had risen poor in the morning, went
to bed in affluence. An extensive holder of stock, being taken ill, sent his servant to sell
two hundred and fifty shares, at eight thousand livres each, the price at which they were
then quoted. The servant went, and, on his arrival in the Jardin de Soissons, found that in
the interval the price had risen to ten thousand livres. The difference of two thousand
livres on the two hundred and fifty shares, amounting to 500,000 livres, or 2O,000
pounds sterling, he very coolly transferred to his own use, and, giving the remainder to
his master, set out the same evening for another country. Law's coachman in a very short
time made money enough to set up a carriage of his own, and requested permission to
leave his service. Law, who esteemed the man, begged of him as a favour, that he would
endeavour, before he went, to find a substitute as good as himself. The coachman
consented, and in the evening brought two of his former comrades, telling Mr. Law to
choose between them, and he would take the other. Cookmaids and footmen were now
and then as lucky, and, in the full-blown pride of their easily-acquired wealth, made the
most ridiculous mistakes. Preserving the language and manners of their old, with the
finery of their new station, they afforded continual subjects for the pity of the sensible,
the contempt of the sober, and the laughter of everybody. But the folly and meanness of
the higher ranks of society were still more disgusting. One instance alone, related by the
Duke de St. Simon, will show the unworthy avarice which infected the whole of society.
A man of the name of Andre, without character or education, had, by a series of welltimed speculations in Mississippi bonds, gained enormous wealth, in an incredibly short
space of time. As St. Simon expresses it, "he had amassed mountains of gold." As he
became rich, he grew ashamed of the lowness of his birth, and anxious above all things to
be allied to nobility. He had a daughter, an infant only three years of age, and he opened a
negotiation with the aristocratic and needy family of D'Oyse, that this child should, upon
certain conditions, marry a member of that house. The Marquis d'Oyse, to his shame,
consented, and promised to marry her himself on her attaining the age of twelve, if the
father would pay him down the sum of a hundred thousand crowns, and twenty thousand
livres every year, until the celebration of the marriage. The Marquis was himself in his
thirty-third year. This scandalous bargain was duly signed and sealed, the stockjobber
furthermore agreeing to settle upon his daughter, on the marriage-day, a fortune of
several millions. The Duke of Brancas, the head of the family, was present throughout the
negotiation, and shared in all the profits. St. Simon, who treats the matter with the levity
becoming what he thought so good a joke, adds, "that people did not spare their
animadversions on this beautiful marriage," and further informs us, "that the project fell
to the ground some months afterwards by the overthrow of Law, and the ruin of the
ambitious Monsieur Andre." It would appear, however, that the noble family never had
the honesty to return the hundred thousand crowns.
Amid events like these, which, humiliating though they be, partake largely of the
ludicrous, others occurred of a more serious nature. Robberies in the streets were of daily
occurrence, in consequence of the immense sums, in paper, which people carried about
with them. Assassinations were also frequent. One case in particular fixed the attention of
the whole of France, not only on account of the enormity of the offence, but of the rank
and high connexions of the criminal.
The Count d'Horn, a younger brother of the Prince d'Horn, and related to the noble
families of D'Aremberg, De Ligne, and De Montmorency, was a young man of dissipated
character, extravagant to a degree, and unprincipled as he was extravagant. In connexion
with two other young men as reckless as himself, named Mille, a Piedmontese captain,
and one Destampes, or Lestang, a Fleming, he formed a design to rob a very rich broker,
who was known, unfortunately for himself, to carry great sums about his person. The
Count pretended a desire to purchase of him a number of shares in the Company of the
Indies, and for that purpose appointed to meet him in a cabaret, or low public-house, in
the neighbourhood of the Place Vendome. The unsuspecting broker was punctual to his
appointment; so were the Count d'Horn and his two associates, whom he introduced as
his particular friends. After a few moments' conversation, the Count d'Horn suddenly
sprang upon his victim, and stabbed him three times in the breast with a poniard. The
man fell heavily to the ground, and, while the Count was employed in rifling his portfolio
of bonds in the Mississippi and Indian schemes to the amount of one hundred thousand
crowns, Mille, the Piedmontese, stabbed the unfortunate broker again and again, to make
sure of his death. But the broker did not fall without a struggle, and his cries brought the
people of the cabaret to his assistance. Lestang, the other assassin, who had been set to
keep watch at a staircase, sprang from a window and escaped; but Mille and the Count
d'Horn were seized in the very act.
This crime, committed in open day, and in so public a place as a cabaret, filled Paris with
consternation. The trial of the assassins commenced on the following day, and the
evidence being so clear, they were both found guilty and condemned to be broken alive
on the wheel. The noble relatives of the Count d'Horn absolutely blocked up the antechambers of the Regent, praying for mercy on the misguided youth, and alleging that he
was insane. The Regent avoided them as long as possible, being determined that, in a
case so atrocious, justice should take its course; but the importunity of these influential
suitors was not to be overcome so silently, and they at last forced themselves into the
presence of the Regent, and prayed him to save their house the shame of a public
execution. They hinted that the Princes d'Horn were allied to the illustrious family of
Orleans, and added that the Regent himself would be disgraced if a kinsman of his should
die by the hands of a common executioner. The Regent, to his credit, was proof against
all their solicitations, and replied to their last argument in the words of Corneille,- "Le
crime fait la honte, et non pas l'echafaud:" adding, that whatever shame there might be in
the punishment he would very willingly share with the other relatives. Day after day they
renewed their entreaties, but always with the same result. At last they thought that if they
could interest the Duke de St. Simon in their layout, a man for whom the Regent felt
sincere esteem, they might succeed in their object. The Duke, a thorough aristocrat, was
as shocked as they were, that a noble assassin should die by the same death as a plebeian
felon, and represented to the Regent the impolicy of making enemies of so numerous,
wealthy, and powerful a family. He urged, too, that in Germany, where the family of
D'Aremberg had large possessions, it was the law, that no relative of a person broken on
the wheel could succeed to any public office or employ until a whole generation had
passed away. For this reason he thought the punishment of the guilty Count might be
transmuted into beheading, which was considered all over Europe as much less infamous.
The Regent was moved by this argument, and was about to consent, when Law, who felt
peculiarly interested in the fate of the murdered man, confirmed him in his former
resolution, to let the law take its course.
The relatives of D'Horn were now reduced to the last extremity. The Prince de Robec
Montmorency, despairing of other methods, found means to penetrate into the dungeon of
the criminal, and offering him a cup of poison, implored him to save them from disgrace.
The Count d'Horn turned away his head, and refused to take it. Montmorency pressed
him once more, and losing all patience at his continued refusal, turned on his heel, and
exclaiming, "Die, then, as thou wilt, mean-spirited wretch! thou art fit only to perish by
the hands of the hangman!" left him to his fate.
D'Horn himself petitioned the Regent that he might be beheaded, but Law, who exercised
more influence over his mind than any other person, with the exception of the notorious
Abbe Dubois, his tutor, insisted that he could not in justice succumb to the self-interested
views of the D'Horns. The Regent had from the first been of the same opinion, and within
six days after the commission of their crime, D'Horn and Mille were broken on the wheel
in the Place de Greve. The other assassin, Lestang, was never apprehended.
This prompt and severe justice was highly pleasing to the populace of Paris; even M. de
Quincampoix, as they called Law, came in for a share of their approbation for having
induced the Regent to show no favour to a patrician. But the number of robberies and
assassinations did not diminish. No sympathy was shown for rich jobbers when they were
plundered: the general laxity of public morals, conspicuous enough before, was rendered
still more so by its rapid pervasion of the middle classes, who had hitherto remained
comparatively pure, between the open vices of the class above and the hidden crimes of
the class below them. The pernicious love of gambling diffused itself through society,
and bore all public, and nearly all private, virtue before it.
For a time, while confidence lasted, an impetus was given to trade, which could not fail
to be beneficial. In Paris, especially, the good results were felt. Strangers flocked into the
capital from every part, bent, not only upon making money, but on spending it. The
Duchess of Orleans, mother of the Regent, computes the increase of the population
during this time, from the great influx of strangers from all parts of the world, at 305,000
souls. The housekeepers were obliged to make up beds in garrets, kitchens, and even
stables, for the accommodation of lodgers; and the town was so full of carriages and
vehicles of every description, that they were obliged in the principal streets to drive at a
foot-pace for fear of accidents. The looms of the country worked with unusual activity, to
supply rich laces, silks, broad-cloth, and velvets, which being paid for in abundant paper,
increased in price four-fold. Provisions shared the general advance; bread, meat, and
vegetables were sold at prices greater than had ever before been known; while the wages
of labour rose in exactly the same proportion. The artisan, who formerly gained fifteen
sous per diem, now gained sixty. New houses were built in every direction; an illusory
prosperity shone over the land, and so dazzled the eyes of the whole nation that none
could see the dark cloud on the horizon, announcing the storm that was too rapidly
approaching.
Law himself, the magician whose wand had wrought so surprising a change, shared, of
course, in the general prosperity. His wife and daughter were courted by the highest
nobility, and their alliance sought by the heirs of ducal and princely houses. He bought
two splendid estates in different parts of France, and entered into a negotiation with the
family of the Duke de Sully for the purchase of the Marquisate of Rosny. His religion
being an obstacle to his advancement, the Regent promised, if he would publicly conform
to the Catholic faith, to make him comptroller-general of the finances. Law, who had no
more real religion than any other professed gambler, readily agreed, and was confirmed
by the Abbe de Tencin in the cathedral of Melun, in presence of a great crowd of
spectators. [The following squib was circulated on the occasion :-- "Foin de ton zele
seraphique, Malheureux Abbe de Tencin, Depuis que Law est Catholique, Tout le
royaume est Capucin
Thus, somewhat weakly and paraphrastically rendered by Justansond, in his translation of
the "Memoirs of Louis XV:"-- "Tencin, a curse on thy seraphic zeal, Which by
persuasion hath contrived the means To make the Scotchman at our altars kneel, Since
which we all are poor as Capucines?] On the following day he was elected honorary
churchwarden of the parish of St. Roch, upon which occasion he made it a present of the
sum of five hundred thousand livres. His charities, always magnificent, were not always
so ostentatious. He gave away great sums privately, and no tale of real distress ever
reached his ears in vain.
At this time, he was by far the most influential person of the state. The Duke of Orleans
had so much confidence in his sagacity, and the success of his plans, that he always
consulted him upon every matter of moment. He was by no means unduly elevated by his
prosperity, but remained the same simple, affable, sensible man that he had shown
himself in adversity. His gallantry, which was always delightful to the fair objects of it,
was of a nature, so kind, so gentlemanly, and so respectful, that not even a lover could
have taken offence at it. If upon any occasion he showed any symptoms of haughtiness, it
was to the cringing nobles, who lavished their adulation upon him till it became fulsome.
He often took pleasure in seeing how long he could make them dance attendance upon
him for a single favour. To such of his own countrymen as by chance visited Paris, and
sought an interview with him, he was, on the contrary, all politeness and attention. When
Archibald Campbell, Earl of Islay, and afterwards Duke of Argyle, called upon him in the
Place Vendome, he had to pass through an ante-chamber crowded with persons of the
first distinction, all anxious to see the great financier, and have their names put down as
first on the list of some new subscription. Law himself was quietly sitting in his library,
writing a letter to the gardener at his paternal estate of Lauriston about the planting of
some cabbages! The Earl stayed for a considerable time, played a game of piquet with his
countryman, and left him, charmed with his ease, good sense, and good breeding.
Among the nobles who, by means of the public credulity at this time, gained sums
sufficient to repair their ruined fortunes, may be mentioned the names of the Dukes de
Bourbon, de Guiche, de la Force [The Duke de la Force gained considerable sums, not
only by jobbing in the stocks, but in dealing in porcelain, spices, &c. It was debated for a
length of time in the Parliament of Paris whether he had not, in his quality of spicemerchant, forfeited his rank in the peerage. It was decided in the negative. A caricature of
him was made, dressed as a street porter, carrying a large bale of spices on his back, with
the inscription, "Admirez La Force."], de Chaulnes, and d'Antin; the Marechal d'Estrees,
the Princes de Rohan, de Poix, and de Leon. The Duke de Bourbon, son of Louis XIV by
Madame de Montespan, was peculiarly fortunate in his speculations in Mississippi paper.
He rebuilt the royal residence of Chantilly in a style of unwonted magnificence, and,
being passionately fond of horses, he erected a range of stables, which were long
renowned throughout Europe, and imported a hundred and fifty of the finest racers from
England, to improve the breed in France. He bought a large extent of country in Picardy,
and became possessed of nearly all the valuable lands lying between the Oise and the
Somme.
When fortunes such as these were gained, it is no wonder that Law should have been
almost worshipped by the mercurial population. Never was monarch more flattered than
he was. All the small poets and litterateurs of the day poured floods of adulation upon
him. According to them he was the saviour of the country, the tutelary divinity of France;
wit was in all his words, goodness in all his looks, and wisdom in all his actions. So great
a crowd followed his carriage whenever he went abroad, that the Regent sent him a troop
of horse as his permanent escort, to clear the streets before him.
It was remarked at this time, that Paris had never before been so full of objects of
elegance and luxury. Statues, pictures, and tapestries were imported in great quantities
from foreign countries, and found a ready market. All those pretty trifles in the way of
furniture and ornament which the French excel in manufacturing, were no longer the
exclusive play-things of the aristocracy, but were to be found in abundance in the houses
of traders and the middle classes in general. Jewellery of the most costly description was
brought to Paris as the most favourable mart. Among the rest, the famous diamond,
bought by the Regent, and called by his name, and which long adorned the crown of
France. It was purchased for the sum of two millions of livres, under circumstances
which show that the Regent was not so great a gainer as some of his subjects, by the
impetus which trade had received. When the diamond was first offered to him, he refused
to buy it, although he desired, above all things, to possess it, alleging as his reason, that
his duty to the country he governed would not allow him to spend so large a sum of the
public money for a mere jewel. This valid and honourable excuse threw all the ladies of
the court into alarm, and nothing was heard for some days but expressions of regret, that
so rare a gem should be allowed to go out of France; no private individual being rich
enough to buy it. The Regent was continually importuned about it; but all in vain, until
the Duke de St. Simon, who, with all his ability, was something of a twaddler, undertook
the weighty business. His entreaties, being seconded by Law, the good-natured Regent
gave his consent, leaving to Law's ingenuity to find the means to pay for it. The owner
took security for the payment of the sum of two millions of livres within a stated period,
receiving, in the mean time, the interest of five per cent. upon that amount, and being
allowed, besides, all the valuable clippings of the gem. St. Simon, in his Memoirs,
relates, with no little complacency, his share in this transaction. After describing the
diamond to be as large as a greengage, of a form nearly round, perfectly white, and
without flaw, and weighing more than five hundred grains, he concludes with a chuckle,
by telling the world, "that he takes great credit to himself for having induced the Regent
to make so illustrious a purchase." In other words, he was proud that he had induced him
to sacrifice his duty, and buy a bauble for himself, at an extravagant price, out of the
public money.
Thus the system continued to flourish till the commencement of the year 1720. The
warnings of the Parliament, that too great a creation of paper money would, sooner or
later, bring the country to bankruptcy, were disregarded. The Regent, who knew nothing
whatever of the philosophy of finance, thought that a system which had produced such
good effects could never be carried to excess. If five hundred millions of paper had been
of such advantage, five hundred millions additional would be of still greater advantage.
This was the grand error of the Regent, and which Law did not attempt to dispel. The
extraordinary avidity of the people kept up the delusion; and the higher the price of
Indian and Mississippi stock, the more billets de banque were issued to keep pace with it.
The edifice thus reared might not unaptly be compared to the gorgeous palace erected by
Potemkin, that princely barbarian of Russia, to surprise and please his imperial mistress:
huge blocks of ice were piled one upon another; ionic pillars, of chastest workmanship, in
ice, formed a noble portico; and a dome, of the same material, shone in the sun, which
had just strength enough to gild, but not to melt it. It glittered afar, like a palace of
crystals and diamonds; but there came one warm breeze from the south, and the stately
building dissolved away, till none were able even to gather up the fragments. So with
Law and his paper system. No sooner did the breath of popular mistrust blow steadily
upon it, than it fell to ruins, and none could raise it up again.
The first slight alarm that was occasioned was early in 1720. The Prince de Conti,
offended that Law should have denied him fresh shares in India stock, at his own price,
sent to his bank to demand payment in specie of so enormous a quantity of notes, that
three waggons were required for its transport. Law complained to the Regent, and urged
on his attention the mischief that would be done, if such an example found many
imitators. The Regent was but too well aware of it, and, sending for the Prince de Conti,
ordered him, under penalty of his high displeasure, to refund to the Bank two-thirds of
the specie which he had withdrawn from it. The Prince was forced to obey the despotic
mandate. Happily for Law's credit, De Conti was an unpopular man: everybody
condemned his meanness and cupidity, and agreed that Law had been hardly treated. It is
strange, however, that so narrow an escape should not have made both Law and the
Regent more anxious to restrict their issues. Others were soon found who imitated, from
motives of distrust, the example which had been set by De Conti in revenge. The more
acute stockjobbers imagined justly that prices could not continue to rise for ever.
Bourdon and La Richardiere, renowned for their extensive operations in the funds,
quietly and in small quantities at a time, converted their notes into specie, and sent it
away to foreign countries. They also bought as much as they could conveniently carry of
plate and expensive jewellery, and sent it secretly away to England or to Holland.
Vermalet, a jobber, who sniffed the coming storm, procured gold and silver coin to the
amount of nearly a million of livres, which he packed in a farmer's cart, and covered over
with hay and cow-dung. He then disguised himself in the dirty smock-frock, or blouse, of
a peasant, and drove his precious load in safety into Belgium. From thence he soon found
means to transport it to Amsterdam.
Hitherto no difficulty had been experienced by any class in procuring specie for their
wants. But this system could not long be carried on without causing a scarcity. The voice
of complaint was heard on every side, and inquiries being instituted, the cause was soon
discovered. The council debated long on the remedies to be taken, and Law, being called
on for his advice, was of opinion, that an edict should be published, depreciating the
value of coin five per cent. below that of paper. The edict was published accordingly; but,
failing of its intended effect, was followed by another, in which the depreciation was
increased to ten per cent. The payments of the bank were at the same time restricted to
one hundred livres in gold, and ten in silver. All these measures were nugatory to restore
confidence in the paper, though the restriction of cash payments within limits so
extremely narrow kept up the credit of the Bank.
Notwithstanding every effort to the contrary, the precious metals continued to be
conveyed to England and Holland. The little coin that was left in the country was
carefully treasured, or hidden until the scarcity became so great, that the operations of
trade could no longer be carried on. In this emergency, Law hazarded the bold
experiment of forbidding the use of specie altogether. In February 1720 an edict was
published, which, instead of restoring the credit of the paper, as was intended, destroyed
it irrecoverably, and drove the country to the very brink of revolution. By this famous
edict it was forbidden to any person whatever to have more than five hundred livres (20
pounds sterling) of coin in his possession, under pain of a heavy fine, and confiscation of
the sums found. It was also forbidden to buy up jewellery, plate, and precious stones, and
informers were encouraged to make search for offenders, by the promise of one-half the
amount they might discover. The whole country sent up a cry of distress at this unheardof tyranny. The most odious persecution daily took place. The privacy of families was
violated by the intrusion of informers and their agents. The most virtuous and honest
were denounced for the crime of having been seen with a louis d'or in their possession.
Servants betrayed their masters, one citizen became a spy upon his neighbour, and arrests
and confiscations so multiplied, that the courts found a difficulty in getting through the
immense increase of business thus occasioned. It was sufficient for an informer to say
that he suspected any person of concealing money in his house, and immediately a
search-warrant was granted. Lord Stair, the English ambassador, said, that it was now
impossible to doubt of the sincerity of Law's conversion to the Catholic religion; he had
established the inquisition, after having given abundant evidence of his faith in
transubstantiation, by turning so much gold into paper.
Every epithet that popular hatred could suggest was showered upon the Regent and the
unhappy Law. Coin, to any amount above five hundred livres, was an illegal tender, and
nobody would take paper if he could help it. No one knew to-day what his notes would be
worth to-morrow. "Never," says Duclos, in his Secret Memoirs of the Regency, "was
seen a more capricious government-never was a more frantic tyranny exercised by hands
less firm. It is inconceivable to those who were witnesses of the horrors of those times,
and who look back upon them now as on a dream, that a sudden revolution did not break
out--that Law and the Regent did not perish by a tragical death. They were both held in
horror, but the people confined themselves to complaints; a sombre and timid despair, a
stupid consternation, had seized upon all, and men's minds were too vile even to be
capable of a courageous crime." It would appear that, at one time, a movement of the
people was organised. Seditious writings were posted up against the walls, and were sent,
in hand-bills, to the houses of the most conspicuous people. One of them, given in the
"Memoires de la Regence," was to the following effect :--" Sir and Madam,--This is to
give you notice that a St. Bartholomew's Day will be enacted again on Saturday and
Sunday, if affairs do not alter. You are desired not to stir out, nor you, nor your servants.
God preserve you from the flames! Give notice to your neighbours. Dated Saturday, May
25th, 1720." The immense number of spies with which the city was infested rendered the
people mistrustful of one another, and beyond some trifling disturbances made in the
evening by an insignificant group, which was soon dispersed, the peace of the capital was
not compromised.
The value of shares in the Louisiana, or Mississippi stock, had fallen very rapidly, and
few indeed were found to believe the tales that had once been told of the immense wealth
of that region. A last effort was therefore tried to restore the public confidence in the
Mississippi project. For this purpose, a general conscription of all the poor wretches in
Paris was made by order of government. Upwards of six thousand of the very refuse of
the population were impressed, as if in time of war, and were provided with clothes and
tools to be embarked for New Orleans, to work in the gold mines alleged to abound there.
They were paraded day after day through the streets with their pikes and shovels, and
then sent off in small detachments to the out-ports to be shipped for America. Two-thirds
of them never reached their destination, but dispersed themselves over the country, sold
their tools for what they could get, and returned to their old course of life. In less than
three weeks afterwards, one-half of them were to be found again in Paris. The
manoeuvre, however, caused a trifling advance in Mississippi stock. Many persons of
superabundant gullibility believed that operations had begun in earnest in the new
Golconda, and that gold and silver ingots would again be found in France.
In a constitutional monarchy some surer means would have been found for the restoration
of public credit. In England, at a subsequent period, when a similar delusion had brought
on similar distress, how different were the measures taken to repair the evil; but in
France, unfortunately, the remedy was left to the authors of the mischief. The arbitrary
will of the Regent, which endeavoured to extricate the country, only plunged it deeper
into the mire. All payments were ordered to be made in paper, and between the 1st of
February and the end of May, notes were fabricated to the amount of upwards of 1500
millions of livres, or 60,000,000 pounds sterling. But the alarm once sounded, no art
could make the people feel the slightest confidence in paper which was not exchangeable
into metal. M. Lambert, the President of the Parliament of Paris, told the Regent to his
face that he would rather have a hundred thousand livres in gold or silver than five
millions in the notes of his bank. When such was the general feeling, the superabundant
issues of paper but increased the evil, by rendering still more enormous the disparity
between the amount of specie and notes in circulation. Coin, which it was the object of
the Regent to depreciate, rose in value on every fresh attempt to diminish it. In February,
it was judged advisable that the Royal Bank should be incorporated with the Company of
the Indies. An edict to that effect was published and registered by the Parliament. The
state remained the guarantee for the notes of the bank, and no more were to be issued
without an order in council. All the profits of the bank, since the time it had been taken
out of Law's hands and made a national institution, were given over by the Regent to the
Company of the Indies. This measure had the effect of raising for a short time the value
of the Louisiana and other shares of the company, but it failed in placing public credit on
any permanent basis.
A council of state was held in the beginning of May, at which Law, D'Argenson (his
colleague in the administration of the finances), and all the ministers were present. It was
then computed that the total amount of notes in circulation was 2600 millions of livres,
while the coin in the country was not quite equal to half that amount. It was evident to the
majority of the council that some plan must be adopted to equalise the currency. Some
proposed that the notes should be reduced to the value of the specie, while others
proposed that the nominal value of the specie should be raised till it was on an equality
with the paper. Law is said to have opposed both these projects, but failing in suggesting
any other, it was agreed that the notes should be depreciated one-half. On the 21st of
May, an edict was accordingly issued, by which it was decreed that the shares of the
Company of the Indies, and the notes of the bank, should gradually diminish in value, till
at the end of a year they should only pass current for one half of their nominal worth. The
Parliament refused to register the edict--the greatest outcry was excited, and the state of
the country became so alarming, that, as the only means of preserving tranquillity, the
council of the regency was obliged to stultify its own proceedings, by publishing within
seven days another edict, restoring the notes to their original value.
On the same day (the 27th of May) the bank stopped payment in specie. Law and
D'Argenson were both dismissed from the ministry. The weak, vacillating, and cowardly
Regent threw the blame of all the mischief upon Law, who, upon presenting himself at
the Palais Royal, was refused admitance. At nightfall, however, he was sent for, and
admitted into the palace by a secret door,[Duclos, Memoires Secrets de la Regence.]
when the Regent endeavoured to console him, and made all manner of excuses for the
severity with which in public he had been compelled to treat him. So capricious was his
conduct, that, two days afterwards, he took him publicly to the opera, where he sat in the
royal box, alongside of the Regent, who treated him with marked consideration in face of
all the people. But such was the hatred against Law that the experiment had well nigh
proved fatal to him. The mob assailed his carriage with stones just as he was entering his
own door; and if the coachman had not made a sudden jerk into the court-yard, and the
domestics closed the gate immediately, he would, in all probability, have been dragged
out and torn to pieces. On the following day, his wife and daughter were also assailed by
the mob as they were returning in their carriage from the races. When the Regent was
informed of these occurrences he sent Law a strong detachment of Swiss guards, who
were stationed night and day in the court of his residence. The public indignation at last
increased so much, that Law, finding his own house, even with this guard, insecure, took
refuge in the Palais Royal, in the apartments of the Regent.
The Chancellor, D'Aguesseau, who had been dismissed in 1718 for his opposition to the
projects of Law, was now recalled to aid in the restoration of credit. The Regent
acknowledged too late, that he had treated with unjustifiable harshness and mistrust one
of the ablest, and perhaps the sole honest public man of that corrupt period. He had
retired ever since his disgrace to his country-house at Fresnes, where, in the midst of
severe but delightful philosophic studies, he had forgotten the intrigues of an unworthy
court. Law himself, and the Chevalier de Conflans, a gentleman of the Regent's
household, were despatched in a post-chaise, with orders to bring the ex-chancellor to
Paris along with them. D'Aguesseau consented to render what assistance he could,
contrary to the advice of his friends, who did not approve that he should accept any recall
to office of which Law was the bearer. On his arrival in Paris, five counsellors of the
Parliament were admitted to confer with the Commissary of Finance, and on the 1st of
June an order was published, abolishing the law which made it criminal to amass coin to
the amount of more than five hundred livres. Every one was permitted to have as much
specie as he pleased. In order that the bank-notes might be withdrawn, twenty-five
millions of new notes were created, on the security of the revenues of the city of Paris, at
two-and-a-half per cent. The bank-notes withdrawn were publicly burned in front of the
Hotel de Ville. The new notes were principally of the value of ten livres each; and on the
10th of June the bank was re-opened, with a sufficiency of silver coin to give in change
for them.
These measures were productive of considerable advantage. All the population of Paris
hastened to the bank, to get coin for their small notes; and silver becoming scarce, they
were paid in copper. Very few complained that this was too heavy, although poor fellows
might be continually seen toiling and sweating along the streets, laden with more than
they could comfortably carry, in the shape of change for fifty livres. The crowds around
the bank were so great, that hardly a day passed that some one was not pressed to death.
On the 9th of July, the multitude was so dense and clamorous that the guards stationed at
the entrance of the Mazarin Gardens closed the gate, and refused to admit any more. The
crowd became incensed, and flung stones through the railings upon the soldiers. The
latter, incensed in their turn, threatened to fire upon the people. At that instant one of
them was hit by a stone, and, taking up his piece, he fired into the crowd. One man fell
dead immediately, and another was severely wounded. It was every instant expected that
a general attack would have been commenced upon the bank; but the gates of the
Mazarin Gardens being opened to the crowd, who saw a whole troop of soldiers, with
their bayonets fixed, ready to receive them, they contented themselves by giving vent to
their indignation in groans and hisses.
Eight days afterwards the concourse of people was so tremendous, that fifteen persons
were squeezed to death at the doors of the bank. The people were so indignant that they
took three of the bodies on stretchers before them, and proceeded, to the number of seven
or eight thousand, to the gardens of the Palais Royal, that they might show the Regent the
misfortunes that he and Law had brought upon the country. Law's coachman, who was
sitting on the box of his master's carriage, in the court-yard of the palace, happened to
have more zeal than discretion, and, not liking that the mob should abuse his master, he
said, loud enough to be overheard by several persons, that they were all blackguards, and
deserved to be hanged. The mob immediately set upon him, and, thinking that Law was
in the carriage, broke it to pieces. The imprudent coachman narrowly escaped with his
life. No further mischief was done; a body of troops making their appearance, the crowd
quietly dispersed, after an assurance had been given by the Regent that the three bodies
they had brought to show him should be decently buried at his own expense. The
Parliament was sitting at the time of this uproar, and the President took upon himself to
go out and see what was the matter. On his return he informed the councillors, that Law's
carriage had been broken by the mob. All the members rose simultaneously, and
expressed their joy by a loud shout, while one man, more zealous in his hatred than the
rest, exclaimed, "And Law himself, is he torn to pieces ?" [The Duchess of Orleans gives
a different version of this story; but whichever be the true one, the manifestation of such
feeling in a legislative assembly was not very creditable. She says, that the President was
so transported with joy, that he was seized with a rhyming fit, and, returning into the hall,
exclaimed to the members :-"Messieurs ! Messieurs ! bonne nouvelle ! Le carfosse de Lass est reduit en canelle !"]
Much undoubtedly depended on the credit of the Company of the Indies, which was
answerable for so great a sum to the nation. It was, therefore, suggested in the council of
the ministry, that any privileges which could be granted to enable it to fulfil its
engagements, would be productive of the best results. With this end in view, it was
proposed that the exclusive privilege of all maritime commerce should be secured to it,
and an edict to that effect was published. But it was unfortunately forgotten that by such a
measure all the merchants of the country would be ruined. The idea of such an immense
privilege was generally scouted by the nation, and petition on petition was presented to
the Parliament, that they would refuse to register the decree. They refused accordingly,
and the Regent, remarking that they did nothing but fan the flame of sedition, exiled them
to Blois. At the intercession of D'Aguesseau, the place of banishment was changed to
Pontoise, and thither accordingly the councillors repaired, determined to set the Regent at
defiance. They made every arrangement for rendering their temporary exile as agreeable
as possible. The President gave the most elegant suppers, to which he invited all the
gayest and wittiest company of Paris. Every night there was a concert and ball for the
ladies. The usually grave and solemn judges and councillors joined in cards and other
diversions, leading for several weeks a life of the most extravagant pleasure, for no other
purpose than to show the Regent of how little consequence they deemed their
banishment, and that when they willed it, they could make Pontoise a pleasanter
residence than Paris.
Of all the nations in the world the French are the most renowned for singing over their
grievances. Of that country it has been remarked with some truth, that its whole history
may be traced in its songs. When Law, by the utter failure of his best-laid plans, rendered
himself obnoxious, satire of course seized hold upon him, and, while caricatures of his
person appeared in all the shops, the streets resounded with songs, in which neither he
nor the Regent was spared. Many of these songs were far from decent; and one of them in
particular counselled the application of all his notes to the most ignoble use to which
paper can be applied. But the following, preserved in the letters of the Duchess of
Orleans, was the best and the most popular, and was to be heard for months in all the
carrefours of Paris. The application of the chorus is happy enough :-Aussitot que Lass arriva Dans notre bonne ville, Monsieur le Regent publia Que Lass
serait utile Pour retablir la nation. La faridondaine! la faridondon. Mais il nous a tous
enrich!, Biribi! A la facon de Barbari, Mort ami!
Ce parpaillot, pour attirer Tout l'argent de la France, Songea d'abord a s'assurer De notre
confiance. Il fit son abjuration. La faridondaine! la faridondon! Mais le fourbe s'est
converti, Biribi! A la facon de Barbari, Mon ami!
Lass, le fils aine de Satan Nous met tous a l'aumone, Il nous a pris tout notre argent Et
n'en rend a personne. Mais le Regent, humain et bon, La faridondaine! la faridondon!
Nous rendra ce qu'on nous a pris, Biribi! A la facon de Barbari, Mon ami!
The following smart epigram is of the same date:-Lundi, j'achetai des actions; Mardi, je gagnai des millions; Mercredi, j'arrangeai mon
menage, Jeudi, je pris un equipage, Vendredi, je m'en fus au bal, Et Samedi, a l'Hopital.
Among the caricatures that were abundantly published, and that showed as plainly as
graver matters, that the nation had awakened to a sense of its folly, was one, a fac-simile
of which is preserved in the "Memoires de la Regence." It was thus described by its
author: "The 'Goddess of Shares,' in her triumphal car, driven by the Goddess of Folly.
Those who are drawing the car are impersonations of the Mississippi, with his wooden
leg, the South Sea, the Bank of England, the Company of the West of Senegal, and of
various assurances. Lest the car should not roll fast enough, the agents of these
companies, known by their long fox-tails and their cunning looks, turn round the spokes
of the wheels, upon which are marked the names of the several stocks, and their value,
sometimes high and sometimes low, according to the turns of the wheel. Upon the ground
are the merchandise, day-books and ledgers of legitimate commerce, crushed under the
chariot of Folly. Behind is an immense crowd of persons, of all ages, sexes, and
conditions, clamoring after Fortune, and fighting with each other to get a portion of the
shares which she distributes so bountifully among them. In the clouds sits a demon,
blowing bubbles of soap, which are also the objects of the admiration and cupidity of the
crowd, who jump upon one another's backs to reach them ere they burst. Right in the
pathway of the car, and blocking up the passage, stands a large building, with three doors,
through one of which it must pass, if it proceeds further, and all the crowd along with it.
Over the first door are the words, "Hopital des Foux," over the second, "Hopital des
Malades," and over the third, "Hopital des Gueux." Another caricature represented Law
sitting in a large cauldron, boiling over the flames of popular madness, surrounded by an
impetuous multitude, who were pouring all their gold and silver into it, and receiving
gladly in exchange the bits of paper which he distributed among them by handsfull.
While this excitement lasted, Law took good care not to expose himself unguarded in the
streets. Shut up in the apartments of the Regent, he was secure from all attack, and,
whenever he ventured abroad, it was either incognito, or in one of the Royal carriages,
with a powerful escort. An amusing anecdote is recorded of the detestation in which he
was held by the people, and the ill treatment he would have met, had he fallen into their
hands. A gentleman, of the name of Boursel, was passing in his carriage down the Rue St.
Antoine, when his further progress was stayed by a hackneycoach that had blocked up the
road. M. Boursel's servant called impatiently to the hackneycoachman to get out of the
way, and, on his refusal, struck him a blow on the face. A crowd was soon drawn
together by the disturbance, and M. Boursel got out of the carriage to restore order. The
hackney-coachman, imagining that he had now another assailant, bethought him of an
expedient to rid himself of both, and called out as loudly as he was able, "Help! help!
murder! murder! Here are Law and his servant going to kill me! Help! help!" At this cry,
the people came out of their shops, armed with sticks and other weapons, while the mob
gathered stones to inflict summary vengeance upon the supposed financier. Happily for
M. Boursel and his servant, the door of the church of the Jesuits stood wide open, and,
seeing the fearful odds against them, they rushed towards it with all speed. They reached
the altar, pursued by the people, and would have been ill treated even there, if, finding the
door open leading to the sacristy, they had not sprang through, and closed it after them.
The mob were then persuaded to leave the church by the alarmed and indignant priests;
and, finding M. Boursel's carriage still in the streets, they vented their ill-will against it,
and did it considerable damage.
The twenty-five millions secured on the municipal revenues of the city of Paris, bearing
so low an interest as two and a half per cent., were not very popular among the large
holders of Mississippi stock. The conversion of the securities was, therefore, a work of
considerable difficulty; for many preferred to retain the falling paper of Law's Company,
in the hope that a favourable turn might take place. On the 15th of August, with a view to
hasten the conversion, an edict was passed, declaring that all notes for sums between one
thousand and ten thousand livres; should not pass current, except for the purchase of
annuities and bank accounts, or for the payment of instalments still due on the shares of
the company.
In October following another edict was passed, depriving these notes of all value
whatever after the month of November next ensuing. The management of the mint, the
farming of the revenue, and all the other advantages and privileges of the India, or
Mississippi Company, were taken from them, and they were reduced to a mere private
company. This was the deathblow to the whole system, which had now got into the hands
of its enemies. Law had lost all influence in the Council of Finance, and the company,
being despoiled of its immunities, could no longer hold out the shadow of a prospect of
being able to fulfil its engagements. All those suspected of illegal profits at the time the
public delusion was at its height, were sought out and amerced in heavy fines. It was
previously ordered that a list of the original proprietors should be made out, and that such
persons as still retained their shares should place them in deposit with the company, and
that those who had neglected to complete the shares for which they had put down their
names, should now purchase them of the company, at the rate of 13,500 livres for each
share of 500 livres. Rather than submit to pay this enormous sum for stock which was
actually at a discount, the shareholders packed up all their portable effects, and
endeavoured to find a refuge in foreign countries. Orders were immediately issued to the
authorities at the ports and frontiers, to apprehend all travellers who sought to leave the
kingdom, and keep them in custody, until it was ascertained whether they had any plate
or jewellery with them, or were concerned in the late stock-jobbing. Against such few as
escaped, the punishment of death was recorded, while the most arbitrary proceedings
were instituted against those who remained.
Law himself, in a moment of despair, determined to leave a country where his life was no
longer secure. He at first only demanded permission to retire from Paris to one of his
country-seats; a permission which the Regent cheerfully granted. The latter was much
affected at the unhappy turn affairs had taken, but his faith continued unmoved in the
truth and efficacy of Law's financial system. His eyes were opened to his own errors, and
during the few remaining years of his life, he constantly longed for an opportunity of
again establishing the system upon a securer basis. At Law's last interview with the
Prince, he is reported to have said--" I confess that I have committed many faults; I
committed them because I am a man, and all men are liable to error; but I declare to you
most solemnly that none of them proceeded from wicked or dishonest motives, and that
nothing of the kind will be found in the whole course of my conduct."
Two or three days after his departure the Regent sent him a very kind letter, permitting
him to leave the kingdom whenever he pleased, and stating that he had ordered his
passports to be made ready. He at the same time offered him any sum of money he might
require. Law respectfully declined the money, and set out for Brussels in a postchaise
belonging to Madame de Prie, the mistress of the Duke of Bourbon, escorted by six
horse-guards. From thence he proceeded to Venice, where he remained for some months,
the object of the greatest curiosity to the people, who believed him to be the possessor of
enormous wealth. No opinion, however, could be more erroneous. With more generosity
than could have been expected from a man who during the greatest part of his life had
been a professed gambler, he had refused to enrich himself at the expense of a ruined
nation. During the height of the popular frenzy for Mississippi stock, he had never
doubted of the final success of his projects, in making France the richest and most
powerful nation of Europe. He invested all his gains in the purchase of landed property in
France - a sure proof of his own belief in the stability of his schemes. He had hoarded no
plate or jewellery, and sent no money, like the dishonest jobbers, to foreign countries. His
all, with the exception of one diamond, worth about five or six thousand pounds sterling,
was invested in the French soil; and when he left that country, he left it almost a beggar.
This fact alone ought to rescue his memory from the charge of knavery, so often and so
unjustly brought against him.
As soon as his departure was known, all his estates and his valuable library were
confiscated. Among the rest, an annuity of 200,000 livres, (8000 pounds sterling,) on the
lives of his wife and children, which had been purchased for five millions of livres, was
forfeited, notwithstanding that a special edict, drawn up for the purpose in the days of his
prosperity, had expressly declared that it should never be confiscated for any cause
whatever. Great discontent existed among the people that Law had been suffered to
escape. The mob and the Parliament would have been pleased to have seen him hanged.
The few who had not suffered by the commercial revolution, rejoiced that the quack had
left the country; but all those (and they were by far the most numerous class) whose
fortunes were implicated, regretted that his intimate knowledge of the distress of the
country, and of the causes that had led to it, had not been rendered more available in
discovering a remedy.
At a meeting of the Council of Finance, and the general council of the Regency,
documents were laid upon the table, from which it appeared that the amount of notes in
circulation was 2700 millions. The Regent was called upon to explain how it happened
that there was a discrepancy between the dates at which these issues were made, and
those of the edicts by which they were authorised. He might have safely taken the whole
blame upon himself, but he preferred that an absent man should bear a share of it, and he
therefore stated that Law, upon his own authority, had issued 1200 millions of notes at
different times, and that he (the Regent) seeing that the thing had been irrevocably done,
had screened Law, by antedating the decrees of the council, which authorised the
augmentation. It would have been more to his credit if he had told the whole truth while
he was about it, and acknowledged that it was mainly through his extravagance and
impatience that Law had been induced to overstep the bounds of safe speculation. It was
also ascertained that the national debt, on the 1st of January, 1721, amounted to upwards
of $100 millions of livres, or more than 124,000,000 pounds sterling, the interest upon
which was 3,196,000 pounds. A commission, or visa, was forthwith appointed to
examine into all the securities of the state creditors, who were to be divided into five
classes, the first four comprising those who had purchased their securities with real
effects, and the latter comprising those who could give no proofs that the transactions
they had entered into were real and bona fide. The securities of the latter were ordered to
be destroyed, while those of the first four classes were subjected to a most rigid and
jealous scrutiny. The result of the labours of the visa was a report, in which they
counselled the reduction of the interest upon these securities to fifty-six millions of livres.
They justified this advice by a statement of the various acts of peculation and extortion
which they had discovered, and an edict to that effect was accordingly published and duly
registered by the parliaments of the kingdom.
Another tribunal was afterwards established, under the title of the Chambre de l'Arsenal,
which took cognizance of all the malversations committed in the financial departments of
the government during the late unhappy period. A Master of Requests, named Falhonet,
together with the Abbe Clement, and two clerks in their employ, had been concerned in
divers acts of peculation, to the amount of upwards of a million of livres. The first two
were sentenced to be beheaded, and the latter to be hanged; but their punishment was
afterwards commuted into imprisonment for life in the Bastile. Numerous other acts of
dishonesty were discovered, and punished by fine and imprisonment.
D'Argenson shared with Law and the Regent the unpopularity which had alighted upon
all those concerned in the Mississippi madness. He was dismissed from his post of
Chancellor, to make room for D'Aguesseau; but he retained the title of Keeper of the
Seals, and was allowed to attend the councils whenever he pleased. He thought it better,
however, to withdraw from Paris, and live for a time a life of seclusion at his countryseat. But he was not formed for retirement, and becoming moody and discontented, he
aggravated a disease under which he had long laboured, and died in less than a
twelvemonth. The populace of of Paris so detested him, that they carried their hatred even
to his grave. As his funeral procession passed to the church of St. Nicholas du
Chardonneret, the burying-place of his family, it was beset by a riotous mob, and his two
sons, who were following as chief-mourners, were obliged to drive as fast as they were
able down a by-street to escape personal violence.
As regards Law, he for some time entertained a hope that he should be recalled to France,
to aid in establishing its credit upon a firmer basis. The death of the Regent, in 1723, who
expired suddenly, as he was sitting by the fireside conversing with his mistress, the
Duchess de Phalaris, deprived him of that hope, and he was reduced to lead his former
life of gambling. He was more than once obliged to pawn his diamond, the sole remnant
of his vast wealth, but successful play generally enabled him to redeem it. Being
persecuted by his creditors at Rome, he proceeded to Copenhagen, where he received
permission from the English ministry to reside in his native country, his pardon for the
murder of Mr. Wilson having been sent over to him in 1719. He was brought over in the
admiral's ship, a circumstance which gave occasion for a short debate in the House of
Lords. Earl Coningsby complained that a man, who had renounced both his country and
his religion, should have been treated with such honour, and expressed his belief that his
presence in England, at a time when the people were so bewildered by the nefarious
practices of the South Sea directors, would be attended with no little danger. He gave
notice of a motion on the subject; but it was allowed to drop, no other member of the
House having the slightest participation in his lordship's fears. Law remained for about
four years in England, and then proceeded to Venice, where he died in 1729, in very
embarrassed circumstances. The following epitaph was written at the time :-"Ci git cet Ecossais celebre, Ce calculateur sans egal, Qui, par les regles de l'algebre, A
mis la France a l'Hopital."
His brother, William Law, who had been concerned with him in the administration both
of the Bank and the Louisiana Company, was imprisoned in the Bastile for alleged
malversation, but no guilt was ever proved against him. He was liberated after fifteen
months, and became the founder of a family, which is still known in France under the
title of Marquises of Lauriston.
In the next chapter will be found an account of the madness which infected the people of
England at the same time, and under very similar circumstances, but which, thanks to the
energies and good sense of a constitutional government, was attended with results far less
disastrous than those which were seen in France.
THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE
At length corruption, like a general flood,
Did deluge all, and avarice creeping on,
Spread, like a low-born mist, and hid the sun.
Statesmen and patriots plied alike the stocks,
Peeress and butler shared alike the box;
And judges jobbed, and bishops bit the town,
And mighty dukes packed cards for half-a-crown:
Britain was sunk in lucre's sordid charms.
--Pope.
The South Sea Company was originated by the celebrated Harley, Earl of Oxford, in the
year 1711, with the view of restoring public credit, which had suffered by the dismissal
of the Whig ministry, and of providing for the discharge of the army and navy
debentures, and other parts of the floating debt, amounting to nearly ten millions sterling.
A company of merchants, at that time without a name, took this debt upon themselves,
and the government agreed to secure them, for a certain period, the interest of six per
cent. To provide for this interest, amounting to 600,000 pounds per annum, the duties
upon wines, vinegar, India goods, wrought silks, tobacco, whale-fins, and some other
articles, were rendered permanent. The monopoly of the trade to the South Seas was
granted, and the company, being incorporated by Act of Parliament, assumed the title by
which it has ever since been known. The minister took great credit to himself for his
share in this transaction, and the scheme was always called by his flatterers "the Earl of
Oxford's masterpiece."
Even at this early period of its history, the most visionary ideas were formed by the
company and the public of the immense riches of the eastern coast of South America.
Everybody had heard of the gold and silver mines of Peru and Mexico; every one
believed them to be inexhaustible, and that it was only necessary to send the
manufactures of England to the coast, to be repaid a hundredfold in gold and silver ingots
by the natives. A report, industriously spread, that Spain was willing to concede four
ports, on the coasts of Chili and Peru, for the purposes of traffic, increased the general
confidence; and for many years the South Sea Company's stock was in high favour.
Philip V of Spain, however, never had any intention of admitting the English to a free
trade in the ports of Spanish America. Negotiations were set on foot, but their only result
was the assiento contract, or the privilege of supplying the colonies with negroes for
thirty years, and of sending once a year a vessel, limited both as to tonnage and value of
cargo, to trade with Mexico, Peru, or Chili. The latter permission was only granted upon
the hard condition, that the King of Spain should enjoy one-fourth of the profits, and a tax
of five per cent. on the remainder. This was a great disappointment to the Earl of Oxford
and his party, who were reminded much oftener than they found agreeable of the
"Parturiunt montes, nascitur ridiculus mus,"
But the public confidence in the South Sea Company was not shaken. The Earl of Oxford
declared, that Spain would permit two ships, in addition to the annual ship, to carry out
merchandise during the first year; and a list was published, in which all the ports and
harbours of these coasts were pompously set forth as open to the trade of Great Britain.
The first voyage of the annual ship was not made till the year 1717, and in the following
year the trade was suppressed by the rupture with Spain.
The King's speech, at the opening of the session of 1717, made pointed allusion to the
state of public credit, and recommended that proper measures should be taken to reduce
the national debt. The two great monetary corporations, the South Sea Company and the
Bank of England, made proposals to Parliament on the 20th of May ensuing. The South
Sea Company prayed that their capital stock of ten millions might be increased to twelve,
by subscription or otherwise, and offered to accept five per cent. instead of six upon the
whole amount. The Bank made proposals equally advantageous. The House debated for
some time, and finally three acts were passed, called the South Sea Act, the Bank Act,
and the General Fund Act. By the first, the proposals of the South Sea Company were
accepted, and that body held itself ready to advance the sum of two millions towards
discharging the principal and interest of the debt due by the state for the four lottery funds
of the ninth and tenth years of Queen Anne. By the second act, the Bank received a lower
rate of interest for the sum of 1,775,027 pounds 15 shillings due to it by the state, and
agreed to deliver up to be cancelled as many Exchequer bills as amounted to two millions
sterling, and to accept of an annuity of one hundred thousand pounds, being after the rate
of five per cent, the whole redeemable at one year's notice. They were further required to
be ready to advance, in case of need, a sum not exceeding 2,500,000 pounds upon the
same terms of five per cent interest, redeemable by Parliament. The General Fund Act
recited the various deficiencies, which were to be made good by the aids derived from the
foregoing sources.
The name of the South Sea Company was thus continually before the public. Though
their trade with the South American States produced little or no augmentation of their
revenues, they continued to flourish as a monetary corporation. Their stock was in high
request, and the directors, buoyed up with success, began to think of new means for
extending their influence. The Mississippi scheme of John Law, which so dazzled and
captivated the French people, inspired them with an idea that they could carry on the
same game in England. The anticipated failure of his plans did not divert them from their
intention. Wise in their own conceit, they imagined they could avoid his faults, carry on
their schemes for ever, and stretch the cord of credit to its extremest tension, without
causing it to snap asunder.
It was while Law's plan was at its greatest height of popularity, while people were
crowding in thousands to the Rue Quincampoix, and ruining themselves with frantic
eagerness, that the South Sea directors laid before Parliament their famous plan for
paying off the national debt. Visions of boundless wealth floated before the fascinated
eyes of the people in the two most celebrated countries of Europe. The English
commenced their career of extravagance somewhat later than the French; but as soon as
the delirium seized them, they were determined not to be outdone. Upon the 22nd of
January 1720, the House of Commons resolved itself into a Committee of the whole
House, to take into consideration that part of the King's speech at the opening of the
session which related to the public debts, and the proposal of the South Sea Company
towards the redemption and sinking of the same. The proposal set forth at great length,
and under several heads, the debts of the state, amounting to 30,981,712 pounds, which
the Company were anxious to take upon themselves, upon consideration of five per cent.
per annum, secured to them until Midsummer 1727; after which time, the whole was to
become redeemable at the pleasure of the legislature, and the interest to be reduced to
four per cent. The proposal was received with great favour; but the Bank of England had
many friends in the House of Commons, who were desirous that that body should share
in the advantages that were likely to accrue. On behalf of this corporation it was
represented, that they had performed great and eminent services to the state, in the most
difficult times, and deserved, at least, that if any advantage was to be made by public
bargains of this nature, they should be preferred before a company that had never done
any thing for the nation. The further consideration of the matter was accordingly
postponed for five days. In the mean time, a plan was drawn up by the Governors of the
Bank. The South Sea Company, afraid that the Bank might offer still more advantageous
terms to the government than themselves, reconsidered their former proposal, and made
some alterations in it, which they hoped would render it more acceptable. The principal
change was a stipulation that the government might redeem these debts at the expiration
of four years, instead of seven, as at first suggested. The Bank resolved not to be
outbidden in this singular auction, and the Governors also reconsidered their first
proposal, and sent in a new one.
Thus, each corporation having made two proposals, the House began to deliberate. Mr.
Robert Walpole was the chief speaker in favour of the Bank, and Mr. Aislabie, the
Chancellor of the Exchequer, the principal advocate on behalf of the South Sea
Company. It was resolved, on the 2nd of February, that the proposals of the latter were
most advantageous to the country. They were accordingly received, and leave was given
to bring in a bill to that effect.
Exchange Alley was in a fever of excitement. The Company's stock, which had been at a
hundred and thirty the previous day, gradually rose to three hundred, and continued to
rise with the most astonishing rapidity during the whole time that the bill in its several
stages was under discussion. Mr. Walpole was almost the only statesman in the House
who spoke out boldly against it. He warned them, in eloquent and solemn language, of
the evils that would ensue. It countenanced, he said, "the dangerous practice of
stockjobbing, and would divert the genius of the nation from trade and industry. It would
hold out a dangerous lure to decoy the unwary to their ruin, by making them part with the
earnings of their labour for a prospect of imaginary wealth. The great principle of the
project was an evil of first-rate magnitude; it was to raise artificially the value of the
stock, by exciting and keeping up a general infatuation, and by promising dividends out
of funds which could never be adequate to the purpose. In a prophetic spirit he added,
that if the plan succeeded, the directors would become masters of the government, form a
new and absolute aristocracy in the kingdom, and control the resolutions of the
legislature. If it failed, which he was convinced it would, the result would bring general
discontent and ruin upon the country. Such would be the delusion, that when the evil day
came, as come it would, the people would start up, as from a dream, and ask themselves
if these things could have been true. All his eloquence was in vain. He was looked upon
as a false prophet, or compared to the hoarse raven, croaking omens of evil. His friends,
however, compared him to Cassandra, predicting evils which would only be believed
when they came home to men's hearths, and stared them in the face at their own boards.
Although, in former times, the House had listened with the utmost attention to every
word that fell from his lips, the benches became deserted when it was known that he
would speak on the South Sea question.
The bill was two months in its progress through the House of Commons. During this time
every exertion was made by the directors and their friends, and more especially by the
Chairman, the noted Sir John Blunt, to raise the price of the stock. The most extravagant
rumours were in circulation. Treaties between England and Spain were spoken of,
whereby the latter was to grant a free trade to all her colonies; and the rich produce of the
mines of Potosi-la-Paz was to be brought to England until silver should become almost as
plentiful as iron. For cotton and woollen goods, with which we could supply them in
abundance, the dwellers in Mexico were to empty their golden mines. The company of
merchants trading to the South Seas would be the richest the world ever saw, and every
hundred pounds invested in it would produce hundreds per annum to the stockholder. At
last the stock was raised by these means to near four hundred; but, after fluctuating a
good deal, settled at three hundred and thirty, at which price it remained when the bill
passed the Commons by a majority of 172 against 55.
In the House of Lords the bill was hurried through all its stages with unexampled
rapidity. On the 4th of April it was read a first time; on the 5th, it was read a second time;
on the 6th, it was committed; and on the 7th, was read a third time, and passed.
Several peers spoke warmly against the scheme; but their warnings fell upon dull, cold
ears. A speculating frenzy had seized them as well as the plebeians. Lord North and Grey
said the bill was unjust in its nature, and might prove fatal in its consequences, being
calculated to enrich the few and impoverish the many. The Duke of Wharton followed;
but, as he only retailed at second-hand the arguments so eloquently stated by Walpole in
the Lower House, he was not listened to with even the same attention that had been
bestowed upon Lord North and Grey. Earl Cowper followed on the same side, and
compared the bill to the famous horse of the siege of Troy. Like that, it was ushered in
and received with great pomp and acclamations of joy, but bore within it treachery and
destruction. The Earl of Sunderland endeavoured to answer all objections; and, on the
question being put, there appeared only seventeen peers against, and eighty-three in
favour of the project. The very same day on which it passed the Lords, it received the
Royal assent, and became the law of the land.
It seemed at that time as if the whole nation had turned stockjobbers. Exchange Alley was
every day blocked up by crowds, and Cornhill was impassable for the number of
carriages. Everybody came to purchase stock. "Every fool aspired to be a knave." In the
words of a ballad, published at the time, and sung about the streets, ["A South Sea Ballad;
or, Merry Remarks upon Exchange Alley Bubbles. To a new tune, called ' The Grand
Elixir; or, the Philosopher's Stone Discovered.'"]
Then stars and garters did appear Among the meaner rabble; To buy and sell, to see and
hear, The Jews and Gentiles squabble.
The greatest ladies thither came, And plied in chariots daily, Or pawned their jewels for a
sum To venture in the Alley.
The inordinate thirst of gain that had afflicted all ranks of society, was not to be slaked
even in the South Sea. Other schemes, of the most extravagant kind, were started. The
share-lists were speedily filled up, and an enormous traffic carried on in shares, while, of
course, every means were resorted to, to raise them to an artificial value in the market.
Contrary to all expectation, South Sea stock fell when the bill received the Royal assent.
On the 7th of April the shares were quoted at three hundred and ten, and. on the
following day, at two hundred and ninety. Already the directors had tasted the profits of
their scheme, and it was not likely that they should quietly allow the stock to find its
natural level, without an effort to raise it. Immediately their busy emissaries were set to
work. Every person interested in the success of the project endeavoured to draw a knot of
listeners around him, to whom he expatiated on the treasures of the South American seas.
Exchange Alley was crowded with attentive groups. One rumour alone, asserted with the
utmost confidence, had an immediate effect upon the stock. It was said, that Earl
Stanhope had received overtures in France from the Spanish Government to exchange
Gibraltar and Port Mahon for some places on the coast of Peru, for the security and
enlargement of the trade in the South Seas. Instead of one annual ship trading to those
ports, and allowing the King of Spain twenty-five per cent. out of the profits, the
Company might build and charter as many ships as they pleased, and pay no per centage
whatever to any foreign potentate.
Visions of ingots danced before their eyes,
and stock rose rapidly. On the 12th of April, five days after the bill had become law, the
directors opened their books for a subscription of a million, at the rate of 300 pounds for
every 100 pounds capital. Such was the concourse of persons, of all ranks, that this first
subscription was found to amount to above two millions of original stock. It was to be
paid at five payments, of 60 pounds each for every 100 pounds. In a few days the stock
advanced to three hundred and forty, and the subscriptions were sold for double the price
of the first payment. To raise the stock still higher, it was declared, in a general court of
directors, on the 21st of April, that the midsummer dividend should be ten per cent., and
that all subscriptions should be entitled to the same. These resolutions answering the end
designed, the directors, to improve the infatuation of the monied men, opened their books
for a second subscription of a million, at four hundred per cent. Such was the frantic
eagerness of people of every class to speculate in these funds, that in the course of a few
hours no less than a million and a half was subscribed at that rate.
In the mean time, innumerable joint-stock companies started up everywhere. They soon
received the name of Bubbles, the most appropriate that imagination could devise. The
populace are often most happy in the nicknames they employ. None could be more apt
than that of Bubbles. Some of them lasted for a week, or a fortnight, and were no more
heard of, while others could not even live out that short span of existence. Every evening
produced new schemes, and every morning new projects. The highest of the aristocracy
were as eager in this hot pursuit of gain as the most plodding jobber in Cornhill. The
Prince of Wales became governor of one company, and is said to have cleared 40,000
pounds by his speculations. [Coxe's Walpole, Correspondence between Mr. Secretary
Craggs and Earl Stanhope.] The Duke of Bridgewater started a scheme for the
improvement of London and Westminster, and the Duke of Chandos another. There were
nearly a hundred different projects, each more extravagant and deceptive than the other.
To use the words of the "Political State," they were "set on foot and promoted by crafty
knaves, then pursued by multitudes of covetous fools, and at last appeared to be, in effect,
what their vulgar appellation denoted them to be -- bubbles and mere cheats." It was
computed that near one million and a half sterling was won and lost by these
unwarrantable practices, to the impoverishment of many a fool, and the enriching of
many a rogue.
Some of these schemes were plausible enough, and, had they been undertaken at a time
when the public mind was unexcited, might have been pursued with advantage to all
concerned. But they were established merely with the view of raising the shares in the
market. The projectors took the first opportunity of a rise to sell out, and next morning
the scheme was at an end. Maitland, in his History of London, gravely informs us, that
one of the projects which received great encouragement, was for the establishment of a
company "to make deal-boards out of saw-dust." This is, no doubt, intended as a joke; but
there is abundance of evidence to show that dozens of schemes hardly a whir more
reasonable, lived their little day, ruining hundreds ere they fell. One of them was for a
wheel for perpetual motion -- capital, one million; another was "for encouraging the
breed of horses in England, and improving of glebe and church lands, and repairing and
rebuilding parsonage and vicarage houses." Why the clergy, who were so mainly
interested in the latter clause, should have taken so much interest in the first, is only to be
explained on the supposition that the scheme was projected by a knot of the foxhunting
parsons, once so common in England. The shares of this company were rapidly
subscribed for. But the most absurd and preposterous of all, and which showed, more
completely than any other, the utter madness of the people, was one, started by an
unknown adventurer, entitled "company for carrying on an undertaking of great
advantage, but nobody to know what it is." Were not the fact stated by scores of credible
witnesses, it would be impossible to believe that any person could have been duped by
such a project. The man of genius who essayed this bold and successful inroad upon
public credulity, merely stated in his prospectus that the required capital was half a
million, in five thousand shares of 100 pounds each, deposit 2 pounds per share. Each
subscriber, paying his deposit, would be entitled to 100 pounds per annum per share.
How this immense profit was to be obtained, he did not condescend to inform them at
that time, but promised, that in a month full particulars should be duly announced, and a
call made for the remaining 98 pounds of the subscription. Next morning, at nine o'clock,
this great man opened an office in Cornhill. Crowds of people beset his door, and when
he shut up at three o'clock, he found that no less than one thousand shares had been
subscribed for, and the deposits paid. He was thus, in five hours, the winner of 2,000
pounds. He was philosopher enough to be contented with his venture, and set off the
same evening for the Continent. He was never heard of again.
Well might Swift exclaim, comparing Change Alley to a gulf in the South Sea,-Subscribers here by thousands float, And jostle one another down, Each paddling in his
leaky boat, And here they fish for gold, and drown.
Now buried in the depths below, Now mounted up to heaven again, They reel and stagger
to and fro, At their wit's end, like drunken men
Meantime, secure on Garraway cliffs, A savage race, by shipwrecks fed, Lie waiting for
the foundered skiffs, And strip the bodies of the dead.
Another fraud that was very successful, was that of the "Globe Permits," as they were
called. They were nothing more than square pieces of playing cards, on which was the
impression of a seal, in wax, bearing the sign of the Globe Tavern, in the neighbourhood
of Exchange Alley, with the inscription of "Sail Cloth Permits." The possessors enjoyed
no other advantage from them than permission to subscribe, at some future time, to a new
sail-cloth manufactory, projected by one who was then known to be a man of fortune, but
who was afterwards involved in the peculation and punishment of the South Sea
directors. These permits sold for as much as sixty guineas in the Alley.
Persons of distinction, of both sexes, were deeply engaged in all these bubbles, those of
the male sex going to taverns and coffee-houses to meet their brokers, and the ladies
resorting for the same purpose to the shops of milliners and haberdashers. But it did not
follow that all these people believed in the feasibility of the schemes to which they
subscribed; it was enough for their purpose that their shares would, by stock-jobbing arts,
be soon raised to a premium, when they got rid of them with all expedition to the really
credulous. So great was the confusion of the crowd in the alley, that shares in the same
bubble were known to have been sold at the same instant ten per cent. higher at one end
of the alley than at the other. Sensible men beheld the extraordinary infatuation of the
people with sorrow and alarm. There were some, both in and out of Parliament, who
foresaw clearly the ruin that was impending. Mr. Walpole did not cease his gloomy
forebodings. His fears were shared by all the thinking few, and impressed most forcibly
upon the government. On the 11th of June, the day the Parliament rose, the King
published a proclamation, declaring that all these unlawful projects should be deemed
public nuisances, and prosecuted accordingly, and forbidding any broker, under a penalty
of five hundred pounds, from buying or selling any shares in them. Notwithstanding this
proclamation, roguish speculators still carried them on, and the deluded people still
encouraged them. On the 12th of July, an order of the Lords Justices assembled in privy
council was published, dismissing all the petitions that had been presented for patents and
charters, and dissolving all the bubble companies. The following copy of their lordships'
order, containing a list of all these nefarious projects, will not be deemed uninteresting at
the present day, when there is but too much tendency in the public mind to indulge in
similar practices :"At the Council Chamber, Whitehall, the 12th day of July, 1720. Present, their
Excellencies the Lords Justices in Council.
"Their Excellencies, the Lords Justices in council, taking into consideration the many
inconveniences arising to the public from several projects set on foot for raising of joint
stock for various purposes, and that a great many of his Majesty's subjects have been
drawn in to part with their money on pretence of assurances that their petitions for patents
and charters, to enable them to carry on the same, would be granted: to prevent such
impositions, their Excellencies, this day, ordered the said several petitions, together with
such reports from the Board of Trade, and from his Majesty's Attorney and Solicitor
General, as had been obtained thereon, to be laid before them, and after mature
consideration thereof, were pleased, by advice of his Majesty's Privy Council, to order
that the said petitions be dismissed, which are as follow :-"1. Petition of several persons, praying letters patent for carrying on a fishing trade, by
the name of the Grand Fishery of Great Britain.
"2. Petition of the Company of the Royal Fishery of England, praying letters patent for
such further powers as will effectually contribute to carry on the said fishery.
"3. Petition of George James, on behalf of himself and divers persons of distinction
concerned in a national fishery; praying letters patent of incorporation to enable them to
carry on the same.
"4. Petition of several merchants, traders, and others, whose names are thereunto
subscribed, praying to be incorporated for reviving and carrying on a whale fishery to
Greenland and elsewhere.
"5. Petition of Sir John Lambert, and others thereto subscribing, on behalf of themselves
and a great number of merchants, praying to be incorporated for carrying on a Greenland
trade, and particularly a whale fishery in Davis's Straits.
"6. Another petition for a Greenland trade.
"7. Petition of several merchants, gentlemen, and citizens, praying to be incorporated. for
buying and building of ships to let or freight.
"8. Petition of Samuel Antrim and others, praying for letters patent for sowing hemp and
flax.
"9. Petition of several merchants, masters of ships, sail-makers, and manufacturers of
sail-cloth, praying a charter of incorporation, to enable them to carry on and promote the
said manufactory by a joint stock.
"10. Petition of Thomas Boyd, and several hundred merchants, owners and masters of
ships, sailmakers, weavers, and other traders, praying a charter of incorporation,
empowering them to borrow money for purchasing lands, in order to the manufacturing
sail-cloth and fine Holland.
"11. Petition on behalf of several persons interested in a patent granted by the late King
William and Queen Mary, for the making of linen and sail-cloth, praying that no charter
may be granted to any persons whatsoever for making sail-cloth, but that the privilege
now enjoyed by them may be confirmed, and likewise an additional power to carry on the
cotton and cotton-silk manufactures.
"12. Petition of several citizens, merchants, and traders in London, and others,
subscribers to a British stock, for a general insurance from fire in any part of England,
praying to be incorporated for carrying on the said undertaking.
"13. Petition of several of his Majesty's loyal snbjects of the city of London, and other
parts of Great Britain, praying to be incorporated, for carrying on a general insurance
from losses by fire within the kingdom of England.
"14. Petition of Thomas Burges, and others his Majesty's subjects thereto subscribing, in
behalf of themselves and others, subscribers to a fund of 1,200,000 pounds, for carrying
on a trade to his Majesty's German dominions, praying to be incorporated, by the name of
the Harburg Company.
"15. Petition of Edward Jones, a dealer in timber, on behalf of himself and others, praying
to be incorporated for the importation of timber from Germany.
"16. Petition of several merchants of London, praying a charter of incorporation for
carrying on a salt-work.
"17. Petition of Captain Macphedris, of London, merchant, on behalf of himself and
several merchants, clothiers, hatters, dyers, and other traders, praying a charter of
incorporation, empowering them to raise a sufficient sum of money to purchase lands for
planting and rearing a wood called madder, for the use of dyers.
"18. Petition of Joseph Galendo, of London, snuff-maker, praying a patent for his
invention to prepare and cure Virginia tobacco for snuff in Virginia, and making it into
the same in all his Majesty's dominions."
LIST OF BUBBLES.
The following Bubble Companies were by the same order declared to be illegal, and
abolished accordingly :-1. For the importation of Swedish iron.
2. For supplying London with sea-coal. Capital, three millions.
3. For building and rebuilding houses throughout all England. Capital, three millions.
4. For making of muslin.
5. For carrying on and improving the British alum works.
6. For effectually settling the island of Blanco and Sal Tartagus.
7. For supplying the town of Deal with fresh water.
8. For the importation of Flanders lace.
9. For improvement of lands in Great Britain. Capital, four millions.
10. For encouraging the breed of horses in England, and improving of glebe and church
lands, and for repairing and rebuilding parsonage and vicarage houses.
11. For making of iron and steel in Great Britain.
12. For improving the land in the county of Flint. Capital, one million.
13. For purchasing lands to build on. Capital, two millions.
14. For trading in hair.
15. For erecting salt-works in Holy Island. Capital, two millions.
16. For buying and selling estates, and lending money on mortgage.
17. For carrying on an undertaking of great advantage, but nobody to know what it is.
18. For paving the streets of London. Capital, two millions.
19. For furnishing funerals to any part of Great Britain.
20. For buying and selling lands and lending money at interest. Capital, five millions.
21. For carrying on the Royal Fishery of Great Britain. Capital, ten millions.
22. For assuring of seamen's wages.
23. For erecting loan-offices for the assistance and encouragement of the industrious.
Capital, two millions.
24. For purchasing and improving leasable lands. Capital, four millions.
25. For importing pitch and tar, and other naval stores, from North Britain and America.
26. For the clothing, felt, and pantile trade.
27. For purchasing and improving a manor and royalty in Essex.
28. For insuring of horses. Capital, two millions.
29. For exporting the woollen manufacture, and importing copper, brass, and iron.
Capital, four millions.
30. For a grand dispensary. Capital, three millions.
31. For erecting mills and purchasing lead mines. Capital, two millions.
32. For improving the art of making soap.
33. For a settlement on the island of Santa Cruz.
34. For sinking pits and smelting lead ore in Derbyshire.
35. For making glass bottles and other glass.
36. For a wheel for perpetual motion. Capital, one million.
37. For improving of gardens.
38. For insuring and increasing children's fortunes.
39. For entering and loading goods at the custom-house, and for negotiating business for
merchants.
40. For carrying on a woollen manufacture in the north of England.
41. For importing walnut-trees from Virginia. Capital, two millions.
42. For making Manchester stuffs of thread and cotton.
43. For making Joppa and Castile soap.
44. For improving the wrought-iron and steel manufactures of this kingdom. Capital, four
millions.
45. For dealing in lace, Hollands, cambrics, lawns, &c. Capital, two millions.
46. For trading in and improving certain commodities of the produce of this kingdom,
&c. Capital, three millions.
47. For supplying the London markets with cattle.
48. For making looking-glasses, coach glasses, &c. Capital, two millions.
49. For working the tin and lead mines in Cornwall and Derbyshire.
50. For making rape-oil.
51. For importing beaver fur. Capital, two millions.
52. For making pasteboard and packing-paper.
53. For importing of oils and other materials used in the woollen manufacture.
54. For improving and increasing the silk manufactures.
55. For lending money on stock, annuities, tallies, &c.
56. For paying pensions to widows and others, at a small discount. Capital, two millions.
57. For improving malt liquors. Capital, four millions.
58. For a grand American fishery.
59. For purchasing and improving the fenny lands in Lincolnshire. Capital, two millions.
60. For improving the paper manufacture of Great Britain.
61. The Bottomry Company.
62. For drying malt by hot air.
63. For carrying on a trade in the river Oronooko.
64. For the more effectual making of baize, in Colchester and other parts of Great Britain.
65. For buying of naval stores, supplying the victualling, and paying the wages of the
workmen.
66. For employing poor artificers, and furnishing merchants and others with watches.
67. For improvement of tillage and the breed of cattle.
68. Another for the improvement of our breed of horses.
69. Another for a horse-insurance.
70. For carrying on the corn trade of Great Britain.
71. For insuring to all masters and mistresses the losses they may sustain by servants.
Capital, three millions.
72. For erecting houses or hospitals, for taking in and maintaining illegitimate children.
Capital, two millions.
73. For bleaching coarse sugars, without the use of fire or loss of substance.
74. For building turnpikes and wharfs in Great Britain.
75. For insuring from thefts and robberies.
76. For extracting silver from lead.
77. For making China and Delft ware. Capital, one million.
78. For importing tobacco, and exporting it again to Sweden and the north of Europe.
Capital, four millions.
79. For making iron with pit coal.
80. For furnishing the cities of London and Westminster with hay and straw. Capital,
three millions.
81. For a sail and packing cloth manufactory in Ireland.
82. For taking up ballast.
83. For buying and fitting out ships to suppress pirates.
84. For the importation of timber from Wales. Capital, two millions.
85. For rock-salt.
86. For the transmutation of quicksilver into a malleable fine metal.
Besides these bubbles, many others sprang up daily, in spite of the condemnation of the
Government and the ridicule of the still sane portion of the public. The print-shops
teemed with caricatures, and the newspapers with epigrams and satires, upon the
prevalent folly. An ingenious card-maker published a pack of South Sea playing-cards,
which are now extremely rare, each card containing, besides the usual figures, of a very
small size, in one corner, a caricature of a bubble company, with appropriate verses
underneath. One of the most famous bubbles was "Puckle's Machine Company," for
discharging round and square cannon-balls and bullets, and making a total revolution in
the art of war. Its pretensions to public favour were thus summed up, on the eight of
spades :-A rare invention to destroy the crowd Of fools at home, instead of fools abroad. Fear not,
my friends, this terrible machine, They're only wounded who have shares therein.
The nine of hearts was a caricature of the English Copper and Brass Company, with the
following epigram :-The headlong fool that wants to be a swopper Of gold and silver coin for English copper,
May, in Change Alley, prove himself an ass, And give rich metal for adulterate brass.
The eight of diamonds celebrated the Company for the Colonization of Acadia, with this
doggrel :-He that is rich and wants to fool away A good round sum in North America, Let him
subscribe himself a headlong sharer, And asses' ears shall honour him or bearer.
And in a similar style every card of the pack exposed some knavish scheme, and ridiculed
the persons who were its dupes. It was computed that the total amount of the sums
proposed for carrying on these projects was upwards of three hundred millions sterling, a
sum so immense that it exceeded the value of all the lands in England at twenty years'
purchase.
It is time, however, to return to the great South Sea gulf, that swallowed the fortunes of
so many thousands of the avaricious and the credulous. On the 29th of May, the stock had
risen as high as five hundred, and about two-thirds of the government annuitants had
exchanged the securities of the state for those of the South Sea Company. During the
whole of the month of May the stock continued to rise, and on the 28th it was quoted at
five hundred and fifty. In four days after this it took a prodigious leap, rising suddenly
from five hundred and fifty to eight hundred and ninety. It was now the general opinion
that the stock could rise no higher, and many persons took that opportunity of selling out,
with a view of realising their profits. Many noblemen and persons in the train of the
King, and about to accompany him to Hanover, were also anxious to sell out. So many
sellers, and so few buyers, appeared in the Alley on the 3rd of June, that the stock fell at
once from eight hundred and ninety to six hundred and forty. The directors were alarmed,
and gave their agents orders to buy. Their efforts succeeded. Towards evening confidence
was restored, and the stock advanced to seven hundred and fifty. It continued at this
price, with some slight fluctuation, until the company closed their books on the 22nd of
June.
It would be needless and uninteresting to detail the various arts employed by the directors
to keep up the price of stock. It will be sufficient to state that it finally rose to one
thousand per cent. It was quoted at this price in the commencement of August. The
bubble was then full-blown, and began to quiver and shake, preparatory to its bursting.
Many of the government annuitants expressed dissatisfaction against the directors. They
accused them of partiality in making out the lists for shares in each subscription. Further
uneasiness was occasioned by its being generally known that Sir John Blunt, the
chairman, and some others, had sold out. During the whole of the month of August the
stock fell, and on the 2nd of September it was quoted at seven hundred only.
The state of things now became alarming. To prevent, if possible, the utter extinction of
public confidence in their proceedings, the directors summoned a general court of the
whole corporation, to meet in Merchant Tailors' Hall, on the 8th of September. By nine
o'clock in the morning, the room was filled to suffocation; Cheapside was blocked up by
a crowd unable to gain admittance, and the greatest excitement prevailed. The directors
and their friends mustered in great. numbers. Sir John Fellowes, the sub-governor, was
called to the chair. He acquainted the assembly with the cause of their meeting, read to
them the several resolutions of the court of directors, and gave them an account of their
proceedings; of the taking in the redeemable and unredeemable funds, and of the
subscriptions in money. Mr. Secretary Craggs then made a short speech, wherein he
commended the conduct of the directors, and urged that nothing could more effectually
contribute to the bringing this scheme to perfection than union among themselves. He
concluded with a motion for thanking the court of directors for their prudent and skilful
management, and for desiring them to proceed in such manner as they should think most
proper for the interest and advantage of the corporation. Mr. Hungerford, who had
rendered himself very conspicuous in the House of Commons for his zeal in behalf of the
South Sea Company, and who was shrewdly suspected to have been a considerable gainer
by knowing the right time to sell out, was very magniloquent on this occasion. He said
that he had seen the rise and fall, the decay and resurrection of many communities of this
nature, but that, in his opinion, none had ever performed such wonderful things in so
short a time as the South Sea Company. They had done more than the crown, the pulpit,
or the bench could do. They had reconciled all parties in one common interest; they had
laid asleep, if not wholly extinguished, all the domestic jars and animosities of the nation.
By the rise of their stock, monied men had vastly increased their fortunes; countrygentlemen had seen the value of their lands doubled and trebled in their hands. They had
at the same time done good to the Church, not a few of the reverend clergy having got
great sums by the project. In short, they had enriched the whole nation, and he hoped they
had not forgotten themselves. There was some hissing at the latter part of this speech,
which for the extravagance of its eulogy was not far removed from satire; but the
directors and their friends, and all the winners in the room, applauded vehemently. The
Duke of Portland spoke in a similar strain, and expressed his great wonder why anybody
should be dissatisfied: of course, he was a winner by his speculations, and in a condition
similar to that of the fat alderman in Joe Miller's Jests, who, whenever he had eaten a
good dinner, folded his hands upon his paunch, and expressed his doubts whether there
could be a hungry man in the world.
Several resolutions were passed at this meeting, but they had no effect upon the public.
Upon the very same evening the stock fell to six hundred and forty, and on the morrow to
five hundred and forty. Day after day it continued to fall, until it was as low as four
hundred. In a letter dated September 13th, from Mr. Broderick, M.P. to Lord Chancellor
Middleton, and published in Coxo's Walpole, the former says,--"Various are the
conjectures why the South Sea directors have suffered the cloud to break so early. I made
no doubt but they would do so when they found it to their advantage. They have stretched
credit so far beyond what it would bear, that specie proves insufficient to support it. Their
most considerable men have drawn out, securing themselves by the losses of the deluded,
thoughtless numbers, whose understandings have been overruled by avarice and the hope
of making mountains out of mole-hills. Thousands of families will be reduced to beggary.
The consternation is inexpressible-- the rage beyond description, and the case altogether
so desperate that I do not see any plan or scheme so much as thought of for averting the
blow, so that I cannot pretend to guess what is next to be done." Ten days afterwards, the
stock still falling, he writes,--" The Company have yet come to no determination, for they
are in such a wood that they know not which way to turn. By several gentlemen lately
come to town, I perceive the very name of a South-Sea-man grows abominable in every
country. A great many goldsmiths are already run off, and more will daily. I question
whether one-third, nay, one-fourth, of them can stand it. From the very beginning, I
founded my judgment of the whole affair upon the unquestionable maxim, that ten
millions (which is more than our running cash) could not circulate two hundred millions,
beyond which our paper credit extended. That, therefore, whenever that should become
doubtful, be the cause what it would, our noble state machine must inevitably fall to the
ground."
On the 12th of September, at the earnest solicitation of Mr. Secretary Craggs, several
conferences were held between the directors of the South Sea and the directors of the
Bank. A report which was circulated, that the latter had agreed to circulate six millions of
the South Sea Company's bonds, caused the stock to rise to six hundred and seventy; but
in the afternoon, as soon as the report was known to be groundless, the stock fell again to
five hundred and eighty; the next day to five hundred and seventy, and so gradually to
four hundred. [Gay (the poet), in that disastrous year, had a present from young Craggs of
some South Sea stock, and once supposed himself to be master of twenty thousand
pounds. His friends persuaded him to sell his share, but he dreamed of dignity and
splendour, and could not bear to obstruct his own fortune. He was then importuned to sell
as much as would purchase a hundred a year for life, "which," says Fenton, "will make
you sure of a clean shirt and a shoulder of mutton every day." This counsel was rejected;
the profit and principal were lost, and Gay sunk under the calamity so low that his life
became in danger.--Johnson's Lives of the Poets.]
The ministry were seriously alarmed at the aspect of affairs. The directors could not
appear in the streets without being insulted; dangerous riots were every moment
apprehended. Despatches were sent off to the King at Hanover, praying his immediate
return. Mr. Walpole, who was staying at his country-seat, was sent for, that he might
employ his known influence with the directors of the Bank of England to induce them to
accept the proposal made by the South Sea Company for circulating a number of their
bonds.
The Bank was very unwilling to mix itself up with the affairs of the Company; it dreaded
being involved in calamities which it could not relieve, and received all overtures with
visible reluctance. But the universal voice of the nation called upon it to come to the
rescue. Every person of note in commercial politics was called in to advise in the
emergency. A rough draft of a contract drawn up by Mr. Walpole was ultimately adopted
as the basis of further negotiations, and the public alarm abated a little.
On the following day, the 20th of September, a general court of the South Sea Company
was held at Merchant Tailors' Hall, in which resolutions were carried, empowering the
directors to agree with the Bank of England, or any other persons, to circulate the
Company's bonds, or make any other agreement with the Bank which they should think
proper. One of the speakers, a Mr. Pulteney, said it was most surprising to see the
extraordinary panic which had seized upon the people. Men were running to and fro in
alarm and terror, their imaginations filled with some great calamity, the form and
dimensions of which nobody knew.
"Black it stood as night-- Fierce as ten furies--terrible as hell."
At a general court of the Bank of England held two days afterwards, the governor
informed them of the several meetings that had been held on the affairs of the South Sea
Company, adding that the directors had not yet thought fit to come to any decision upon
the matter. A resolution was then proposed, and carried without a dissentient voice,
empowering the directors to agree with those of the South Sea to circulate their bonds, to
what sum, and upon what terms, and for what time, they might think proper.
Thus both parties were at liberty to act as they might judge best for the public interest.
Books were opened at the Bank for a subscription of three millions for the support of
public credit, on the usual terms of 15 pounds per cent. deposit, per cent. premium, and 5
pounds. per cent. interest. So great was the concourse of people in the early part of the
morning, all eagerly bringing their money, that it was thought the subscription would be
filled that day; but before noon, the tide turned. In spite of all that could be done to
prevent it, the South Sea Company's stock fell rapidly. Their bonds were in such
discredit, that a run commenced upon the most eminent goldsmiths and bankers, some of
whom having lent out great sums upon South Sea stock were obliged to shut up their
shops and abscond. The Sword-blade Company, who had hitherto been the chief cashiers
of the South Sea Company, stopped payment. This being looked upon as but the
beginning of evil, occasioned a great run upon the Bank, who were now obliged to pay
out money much faster than they had received it upon the subscription in the morning.
The day succeeding was a holiday (the 29th of September), and the Bank had a little
breathing time. They bore up against the storm; but their former rivals, the South Sea
Company, were wrecked upon it. Their stock fell to one hundred and fifty, and gradually,
after various fluctuations, to one hundred and thirty-five.
The Bank, finding they were not able to restore public confidence, and stem the tide of
ruin, without running the risk of being swept away with those they intended to save,
declined to carry out the agreement into which they had partially entered. They were
under no obligation whatever to continue; for the so called Bank contract was nothing
more than the rough draught of an agreement, in which blanks had been left for several
important particulars, and which contained no penalty for their secession. "And thus," to
use the words of the Parliamentary History, "were seen, in the space of eight months, the
rise, progress, and fall of that mighty fabric, which, being wound up by mysterious
springs to a wonderful height, had fixed the eyes and expectations of all Europe, but
whose foundation, being fraud, illusion, credulity, and infatuation, fell to the ground as
soon as the artful management of its directors was discovered."
In the hey-day of its blood, during the progress of this dangerous delusion, the manners
of the nation became sensibly corrupted. The Parliamentary inquiry, set on foot to
discover the delinquents, disclosed scenes of infamy, disgraceful alike to the morals of
the offenders and the intellects of the people among whom they had arisen. It is a deeply
interesting study to investigate all the evils that were the result. Nations, like individuals,
cannot become desperate gamblers with impunity. Punishment is sure to overtake them
sooner or later. A celebrated writer [Smollett.] is quite wrong, when he says, "that such
an era as this is the most unfavourable for a historian; that no reader of sentiment and
imagination can be entertained or interested by a detail of transactions such as these,
which admit of no warmth, no colouring, no embellishment; a detail of which only serves
to exhibit an inanimate picture of tasteless vice and mean degeneracy." On the contrary,
and Smollett might have discovered it, if he had been in the humour--the subject is
capable of inspiring as much interest as even a novelist can desire. Is there no warmth in
the despair of a plundered people?--no life and animation in the picture which might be
drawn of the woes of hundreds of impoverished and ruined families? of the wealthy of
yesterday become the beggars of to-day? of the powerful and influential changed into
exiles and outcasts, and the voice of self-reproach and imprecation resounding from
every corner of the land? Is it a dull or uninstructive picture to see a whole people
shaking suddenly off the trammels of reason, and running wild after a golden vision,
refusing obstinately to believe that it is not real, till, like a deluded hind running after an
ignis fatuus, they are plunged into a quagmire ? But in this false spirit has history too
often been written. The intrigues of unworthy courtiers to gain the favour of still more
unworthy kings; or the records of murderous battles and sieges have been dilated on, and
told over and over again, with all the eloquence of style and all the charms of fancy;
while the circumstances which have most deeply affected the morals and welfare of the
people, have been passed over with but slight notice as dry and dull, and capable of
neither warmth nor colouring.
During the progress of this famous bubble, England presented a singular spectacle. The
public mind was in a state of unwholesome fermentation. Men were no longer satisfied
with the slow but sure profits of cautious industry. The hope of boundless wealth for the
morrow made them heedless and extravagant for to-day. A luxury, till then unheard-of,
was introduced, bringing in its train a corresponding laxity of morals. The overbearing
insolence of ignorant men, who had arisen to sudden wealth by successful gambling,
made men of true gentility of mind and manners, blush that gold should have power to
raise the unworthy in the scale of society. The haughtiness of some of these "cyphering
cits," as they were termed by Sir Richard Steele, was remembered against them in the day
of their adversity. In the Parliamentary inquiry, many of the directors suffered more for
their insolence than for their peculation. One of them, who, in the full-blown pride of an
ignorant rich man, had said that he would feed his horse upon gold, was reduced almost
to bread and water for himself; every haughty look, every overbearing speech, was set
down, and repaid them a hundredfold in poverty and humiliation.
The state of matters all over the country was so alarming, that George I shortened his
intended stay in Hanover, and returned in all haste to England. He arrived on the 11th of
November, and Parliament was summoned to meet on the 8th of December. In the mean
time, public meetings were held in every considerable town of the empire, at which
petitions were adopted, praying the vengeance of the Legislature upon the South Sea
directors, who, by their fraudulent practices, had brought the nation to the brink of ruin.
Nobody seemed to imagine that the nation itself was as culpable as the South Sea
Company. Nobody blamed the credulity and avarice of the people,--the degrading lust of
gain, which had swallowed up every nobler quality in the national character, or the
infatuation which had made the multitude run their heads with such frantic eagerness into
the net held out for them by scheming projectors. These things were never mentioned.
The people were a simple, honest, hard-working people, ruined by a gang of robbers, who
were to be hanged, drawn, and quartered without mercy.
This was the almost unanimous feeling of the country. The two Houses of Parliament
were not more reasonable. Before the guilt of the South Sea directors was known,
punishment was the only cry. The King, in his speech from the throne, expressed his hope
that they would remember that all their prudence, temper, and resolution were necessary
to find out and apply the proper remedy for their misfortunes. In the debate on the answer
to the address, several speakers indulged in the most violent invectives against the
directors of the South Sea project. The Lord Molesworth was particularly vehement. "It
had been said by some, that there was no law to punish the directors of the South Sea
Company, who were justly looked upon as the authors of the present misfortunes of the
state. In his opinion they ought, upon this occasion, to follow the example of the ancient
Romans, who, having no law against parricide, because their legislators supposed no son
could be so unnaturally wicked as to embrue his hands in his father's blood, made a law
to punish this heinous crime as soon as it was committed. They adjudged the guilty
wretch to be sown in a sack, and thrown alive into the Tyber. He looked upon the
contrivers and executors of the villanous South Sea scheme as the parricides of their
country, and should be satisfied to see them tied in like manner in sacks, and thrown into
the Thames." Other members spoke with as much want of temper and discretion. Mr.
Walpole was more moderate. He recommended that their first care should be to restore
public credit. "If the city of London were on fire, all wise men would aid in extinguishing
the flames, and preventing the spread of the conflagration before they inquired after the
incendiaries. Public credit had received a dangerous wound, and lay bleeding, and they
ought to apply a speedy remedy to it. It was time enough to punish the assassin
afterwards." On the 9th of December an address, in answer to his Majesty's speech, was
agreed upon, after an amendment, which was carried without a division, that words
should be added expressive of the determination of the House not only to seek a remedy
for the national distresses, but to punish the authors of them.
The inquiry proceeded rapidly. The directors were ordered to lay before the House a full
account of all their proceedings. Resolutions were passed to the effect that the calamity
was mainly owing to the vile arts of stockjobbers, and that nothing could tend more to the
re-establishment of public credit than a law to prevent this infamous practice. Mr.
Walpole then rose, and said, that "as he had previously hinted, he had spent some time
upon a scheme for restoring public credit, but that, the execution of it depending upon a
position which had been laid down as fundamental, he thought it proper, before he
opened out his scheme, to be informed whether he might rely upon that foundation. It
was, whether the subscription of public debts and encumbrances, money subscriptions,
and other contracts, made with the South Sea Company should remain in the present
state?" This question occasioned an animated debate. It was finally agreed, by a majority
of 259 against 117, that all these contracts should remain in their present state, unless
altered for the relief of the proprietors by a general court of the South Sea Company, or
set aside by due course of law. On the following day Mr. Walpole laid before a
committee of the whole House his scheme for the restoration of public credit, which was,
in substance, to ingraft nine millions of South Sea stock into the Bank of England, and
the same sum into the East India Company, upon certain conditions. The plan was
favourably received by the House. After some few objections, it was ordered that
proposals should be received from the two great corporations. They were both unwilling
to lend their aid, and the plan met with a warm but fruitless opposition at the general
courts summoned for the purpose of deliberating upon it. They, however, ultimately
agreed upon the terms on which they would consent to circulate the South Sea bonds, and
their report, being presented to the committee, a bill was brought in, under the
superintendence of Mr. Walpole, and safely carried through both Houses of Parliament.
A bill was at the same time brought in, for restraining the South Sea directors, governor,
sub-governor, treasurer, cashier, and clerks from leaving the kingdom for a twelvemonth,
and for discovering their estates and effects, and preventing them from transporting or
alienating the same. All the most influential members of the House supported the bill.
Mr. Shippen, seeing Mr. Secretary Craggs in his place, and believing the injurious
rumours that were afloat of that minister's conduct in the South Sea business, determined
to touch him to the quick. He said, he was glad to see a British House of Commons
resuming its pristine vigour and spirit, and acting with so much unanimity for the public
good. It was necessary to secure the persons and estates of the South Sea directors and
their officers; "but," he added, looking fixedly at Mr. Craggs as he spoke, "there were
other men in high station, whom, in time, he would not be afraid to name, who were no
less guilty than the directors." Mr. Craggs arose in great wrath, and said, that if the
innuendo were directed against him, he was ready to give satisfaction to any man who
questioned him, either in the House or out of it. Loud cries of order immediately arose on
every side. In the midst of the uproar Lord Molesworth got up, and expressed his wonder
at the boldness of Mr. Craggs in challenging the whole House of Commons. He, Lord
Molesworth, though somewhat old, past sixty, would answer Mr. Craggs whatever he had
to say in the House, and he trusted there were plenty of young men beside him, who
would not be afraid to look Mr. Craggs in the face, out of the House. The cries of order
again resounded from every side; the members arose simultaneously; everybody seemed
to be vociferating at once. The Speaker in vain called order. The confusion lasted several
minutes, during which Lord Molesworth and Mr. Craggs were almost the only members
who kept their seats. At last the call for Mr. Craggs became so violent that he thought
proper to submit to the universal feeling of the House, and explain his unparliamentary
expression. He said, that by giving satisfaction to the impugners of his conduct in that
House, he did not mean that he would fight, but that he would explain his conduct. Here
the matter ended, and the House proceeded to debate in what manner they should conduct
their inquiry into the affairs of the South Sea Company, whether in a grand or a select
committee. Ultimately, a Secret Committee of thirteen was appointed, with power to send
for persons, papers, and records.
The Lords were as zealous and as hasty as the Commons. The Bishop of Rochester said
the scheme had been like a pestilence. The Duke of Wharton said the House ought to
show no respect of persons; that, for his part, he would give up the dearest friend he had,
if he had been engaged in the project. The nation had been plundered in a most shameful
and flagrant manner, and he would go as far as anybody in the punishment of the
offenders. Lord Stanhope said, that every farthing possessed by the criminals, whether
directors or not directors, ought to be confiscated, to make good the public losses.
During all this time the public excitement was extreme. We learn, front Coxe's Walpole,
that the very name of a South Sea director was thought to be synonymous. with every
species of fraud and villany. Petitions from counties, cities, and boroughs, in all parts of
the kingdom, were presented, crying for the justice due to an injured nation and the
punishment of the villanous peculators. Those moderate men, who would not go to
extreme lengths, even in the punishment of the guilty, were accused of being
accomplices, were exposed to repeated insults and virulent invectives, and devoted, both
in anonymous letters and public writings, to the speedy vengeance of an injured people.
The accusations against Mr. Aislabie, Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Mr. Craggs,
another member of the ministry, were so loud, that the House of Lords resolved to
proceed at once into the investigation concerning them. It was ordered, on the 21st of
January, that all brokers concerned in the South Sea scheme should lay before the House
an account of the stock or subscriptions bought or sold by them for any of the officers of
the Treasury or Exchequer, or in trust for any of them, since Michaelmas 1719. When this
account was delivered, it appeared that large quantities of stock had been transferred to
the use of Mr. Aislabie. Five of the South Sea directors, ineluding Mr. Edward Gibbon,
the grandfather of the celebrated historian, were ordered into the custody of the black rod.
Upon a motion made by Earl Stanhope, it was unanimously resolved, that the taking in or
giving credit for stock without a valuable consideration actually paid or sufficiently
secured; or the purchasing stock by any director or agent of the South Sea Company, for
the use or benefit of any member of the administration, or any member of either House of
Parliament, during such time as the South Sea Bill was yet pending in Parliament, was a
notorious and dangerous corruption. Another resolution was passed a few days
afterwards, to the effect that several of the directors and officers of the Company having,
in a clandestine manner, sold their own stock to the Company, had been guilty of a
notorious fraud and breach of trust, and had thereby mainly caused the unhappy turn of
affairs that had so much affected public credit. Mr. Aislabie resigned his office as
Chancellor of the Exchequer, and absented himself from Parliament until the formal
inquiry into his individual guilt was brought under the consideration of the Legislature.
In the mean time, Knight, the treasurer of the Company, and who was intrusted with all
the dangerous secrets of the dishonest directors, packed up his books and documents, and
made his escape from the country. He embarked in disguise, in a small boat on the river,
and proceeding to a vessel hired for the purpose, was safely conveyed to Calais. The
Committee of Secrecy informed the House of the circumstance, when it was resolved
unanimously that two addresses should be presented to the King; the first praying that he
would issue a proclamation, offering a reward for the apprehension of Knight; and the
second, that he would give immediate orders to stop the ports, and to take effectual care
of the coasts, to prevent the said Knight, or any other officers of the South Sea Company,
from escaping out of the kingdom. The ink was hardly dry upon these addresses before
they were carried to the King by Mr. Methuen, deputed by the House for that purpose.
The same evening a royal proclamation was issued, offering a reward of two thousand
pounds for the apprehension of Knight. The Commons ordered the doors of the House to
be locked, and the keys to be placed upon the table. General Ross, one of the members of
the Committee of Secrecy, acquainted them that they had already discovered a train of
the deepest villany and fraud that Hell had ever contrived to ruin a nation, which in due
time they would lay before the House. In the mean time, in order to a further discovery,
the Committee thought it highly necessary to secure the persons of some of the directors
and principal South Sea officers, and to seize their papers. A motion to this effect having
been made, was carried unanimously. Sir Robert Chaplin, Sir Theodore Janssen, Mr.
Sawbridge, and Mr. F. Eyles, members of the House, and directors of the South Sea
Company, were summoned to appear in their places, and answer for their corrupt
practices. Sir Theodore Janssen and Mr. Sawbridge answered to their names, and
endeavoured to exculpate themselves. The House heard them patiently, and then ordered
them to withdraw. A motion was then made, and carried nemine contradicente, that they
had been guilty of a notorious breach of trust--had occasioned much loss to great
numbers of his Majesty's subjects, and had highly prejudiced the public credit. It was
then ordered that, for their offence, they should be expelled the House, and taken into the
custody of the sergeant-at-arms. Sir Robert Chaplin and Mr. Eyles, attending in their
places four days afterwards, were also expelled the House. It was resolved at the same
time to address the King, to give directions to his ministers at foreign courts to make
application for Knight, that he might be delivered up to the English authorities, in ease he
took refuge in any of their dominions. The King at once agreed, and messengers were
despatched to all parts of the Continent the same night.
Among the directors taken into custody, was Sir John Blunt, the man whom popular
opinion has generally accused of having been the original author and father of the
scheme. This man, we are informed by Pope, in his epistle to Allen, Lord Bathurst, was a
dissenter, of a most religious deportment, and professed to be a great believer. He
constantly declaimed against the luxury and corruption of the age, the partiality of
parliaments, and the misery of party spirit. He was particularly eloquent against avarice
in great and noble persons. He was originally a scrivener, and afterwards became, not
only a director, but the most active manager of the South Sea Company. Whether it was
during his career in this capacity that he first began to declaim against the avarice of the
great, we are not informed. He certainly must have seen enough of it to justify his
severest anathema; but if the preacher had himself been free from the vice he condemned,
his declamations would have had a better effect. He was brought up in custody to the bar
of the House of Lords, and underwent a long examination. He refused to answer several
important questions. He said he had been examined already by a committee of the House
of Commons, and as he did not remember his answers, and might contradict himself, he
refused to answer before another tribunal. This declaration, in itself an indirect proof of
guilt, occasioned some commotion in the House. He was again asked peremptorily
whether he had ever sold any portion of the stock to any member of the administration, or
any member of either House of Parliament, to facilitate the passing of the hill. He again
declined to answer. He was anxious, he said, to treat the House with all possible respect,
but he thought it hard to be compelled to accuse himself. After several ineffectual
attempts to refresh his memory, he was directed to withdraw. A violent discussion ensued
between the friends and opponents of the ministry. It was asserted that the administration
were no strangers to the convenient taciturnity of Sir John Blunt. The Duke of Wharton
made a reflection upon the Earl Stanhope, which the latter warmly resented. He spoke
under great excitement, and with such vehemence as to cause a sudden determination of
blood to the head. He felt himself so ill that he was obliged to leave the House and retire
to his chamber. He was cupped immediately, and also let blood on the following
morning, but with slight relief. The fatal result was not anticipated. Towards evening he
became drowsy, and turning himself on his face, expired. The sudden death of this
statesman caused great grief to the nation. George I was exceedingly affected, and shut
himself up for some hours in his closet, inconsolable for his loss.
Knight, the treasurer of the company, was apprehended at Tirlemont, near Liege, by one
of the secretaries of Mr. Leathes, the British resident at Brussels, and lodged in the citadel
of Antwerp. Repeated applications were made to the court of Austria to deliver him up,
but in vain. Knight threw himself upon the protection of the states of Brabant, and
demanded to be tried in that country. It was a privilege granted to the states of Brabant by
one of the articles of the Joyeuse Entree, that every criminal apprehended in that country
should be tried in that country. The states insisted on their privilege, and refused to
deliver Knight to the British authorities. The latter did not cease their solicitations; but in
the mean time, Knight escaped from the citadel.
On the 16th of February the Committee of Secrecy made their first report to the House.
They stated that their inquiry had been attended with numerous difficulties and
embarrassments; every one they had examined had endeavoured, as far as in him lay, to
defeat the ends of justice. In some of the books produced before them, false and fictitious
entries had been made; in others, there were entries of money, with blanks for the name
of the stockholders. There were frequent erasures and alterations, and in some of the
books leaves were torn out. They also found that some books of great importance had
been destroyed altogether, and that some had been taken away or secreted. At the very
entrance into their inquiry, they had observed that the matters referred to them were of
great variety and extent. Many persons had been intrusted with various parts in the
execution of the law, and under colour thereof had acted in an unwarrantable manner, in
disposing of the properties of many thousands of persons, amounting to many millions of
money. They discovered that, before the South Sea Act was passed, there was an entry in
the Company's books of the sum of 1,259,325 pounds, upon account of stock stated to
have been sold to the amount of 574,500 pounds. This stock was all fictitious, and had
been disposed of with a view to promote the passing of the bill. It was noted as sold at
various days, and at various prices, from 150 to 325 per cent. Being surprised to see so
large an account disposed of, at a time when the Company were not empowered to
increase their capital, the committee determined to investigate most carefully the whole
transaction. The governor, sub-governor, and several directors were brought before them,
and examined rigidly. They found that, at the time these entries were made, the Company
was not in possession of such a quantity of stock, having in their own right only a small
quantity, not exceeding thirty thousand pounds at the utmost. Pursuing the inquiry, they
found that this amount of stock, was to be esteemed as taken in or holden by the
Company, for the benefit of the pretended purchasers, although no mutual agreement was
made for its delivery or acceptance at any certain time. No money was paid down, nor
any deposit or security whatever given to the Company by the supposed purchasers; so
that if the stock had fallen, as might have been expected, had the act not passed, they
would have sustained no loss. If, on the contrary, the price of stock advanced (as it
actually did by the success of the scheme), the difference by the advanced price was to be
made good to them. Accordingly, after the passing of the act, the account of stock was
made up and adjusted with Mr. Knight, and the pretended purchasers were paid the
difference out of the Company's cash. This fictitious stock, which had been chiefly at the
disposal of Sir John Blunt, Mr. Gibbon, and Mr. Knight, was distributed among several
members of the government and their connexions, by way of bribe, to facilitate the
passing of the bill. To the Earl of Sunderland was assigned 50,000 pounds of this stock;
to the Duchess of Kendal 10,000 pounds; to the Countess of Platen 10,000 pounds; to her
two nieces 10,000 pounds; to Mr. Secretary Craggs 30,000 pounds; to Mr. Charles
Stanhope (one of the Secretaries of the Treasury) 10,000 pounds; to the Swordblade
Company 50,000 pounds. It also appeared that Mr. Stanhope had received the enormous
sum of 250,000 pounds as the difference in the price of some stock, through the hands of
Turner, Caswall, and Co., but that his name had been partly erased from their books, and
altered to Stangape. Aislabie, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, had made profits still
more abominable. He had an account with the same firm, who were also South Sea
directors, to the amount of 794,451 pounds. He had, besides, advised the Company to
make their second subscription one million and a half, instead of a million, by their own
authority, and without any warrant. The third subscription had been conducted in a
manner as disgraceful. Mr. Aislabie's name was down for 70,000 pounds; Mr. Craggs,
senior, for 659,000 pounds; the Earl of Sunderland's for 160,000 pounds; and Mr.
Stanhope for 47,000 pounds. This report was succeeded by six others, less important. At
the end of the last, the committee declared that the absence of Knight, who had been
principally intrusted, prevented them from carrying on their inquiries.
The first report was ordered to be printed, and taken into consideration on the next day
but one succeeding. After a very angry and animated debate, a series of resolutions were
agreed to, condemnatory of the conduct of the directors, of the members of the
Parliament and of the administration concerned with them; and declaring that they ought,
each and all, to make satisfaction out of their own estates for the injury they had done the
public. Their practices were declared to be corrupt, infamous, and dangerous; and a bill
was ordered to be brought in for the relief of the unhappy sufferers.
Mr. Charles Stanhope was the first person brought to account for his share in these
transactions. He urged in his defence that, for some years past, he had lodged all the
money he was possessed of in Mr. Knight's hands, and whatever stock Mr. Knight had
taken in for him, he had paid a valuable consideration for it. As to the stock that had been
bought for him by Turner, Caswall, and Co. he knew nothing about it. Whatever had been
done in that matter was done without his authority, and he could not be responsible for it.
Turner and Co. took the latter charge upon themselves, but it was notorious to every
unbiassed and unprejudiced person that Mr. Stanhope was a gainer of the 250,000 pounds
which lay in the hands of that firm to his credit. He was, however, acquitted by a majority
of three only. The greatest exertions were made to screen him. Lord Stanhope, the son of
the Earl of Chesterfield, went round to the wavering members, using all the eloquence he
was possessed of to induce them either to vote for the acquittal or to absent themselves
from the house. Many weak-headed country-gentlemen were led astray by his
persuasions, and the result was as already stated. The acquittal caused the greatest
discontent throughout the country. Mobs of a menacing character assembled in different
parts of London; fears of riots were generally entertained, especially as the examination
of a still greater delinquent was expected by many to have a similar termination. Mr.
Aislabie, whose high office and deep responsibilities should have kept him honest, even
had native principle been insufficient, was very justly regarded as perhaps the greatest
criminal of all. His case was entered into on the day succeeding the acquittal of Mr.
Starthope. Great excitement prevailed, and the lobbies and avenues of the house were
beset by crowds, impatient to know the result. The debate lasted the whole day. Mr.
Aislabie found few friends: his guilt was so apparent and so heinous that nobody had
courage to stand up in his favour. It was finally resolved, without a dissentient voice, that
Mr. Aislabie had encouraged and promoted the destructive execution of the South Sea
scheme with a view to his own exorbitant profit, and had combined with the directors in
their pernicious practices to the ruin of the public trade and credit of the kingdom: that he
should for his offences be ignominiously expelled from the House of Commons, and
committed a close prisoner to the Tower of London; that he should be restrained from
going out of the kingdom for a whole year, or till the end of the next session of
Parliament; and that he should make out a correct account of all his estate, in order that it
might be applied to the relief of those who had suffered by his malpractices.
This verdict caused the greatest joy. Though it was delivered at half-past twelve at night,
it soon spread over the city. Several persons illuminated their houses in token of their joy.
On the following day, when Mr. Aislabie was conveyed to the Tower, the mob assembled
on Tower-hill with the intention of hooting and pelting him. Not succeeding in this, they
kindled a large bonfire, and danced around it in the exuberance of their delight. Several
bonfires were made in other places; London presented the appearance of a holiday, and
people congratulated one another as if they had just escaped from some great calamity.
The rage upon the acquittal of Mr. Stanhope had grown to such a height that none could
tell where it would have ended, had Mr. Aislabie met with the like indulgence.
To increase the public satisfaction, Sir George Caswall, of the firm of Turner, Caswall, &
Co. was expelled the House on the following day, and ordered to refund the sum of
250,000 pounds.
That part of the report of the Committee of Secrecy which related to the Earl of
Sunderland was next taken into consideration. Every effort was made to clear his
Lordship from the imputation. As the case against him rested chiefly on the evidence
extorted from Sir John Blunt, great pains were taken to make it appear that Sir John's
word was not to be believed, especially in a matter affecting the honour of a peer and
privy councillor. All the friends of the ministry rallied around the Earl, it being generally
reported that a verdict of guilty against him would bring a Tory ministry into power. He
was eventually acquitted, by a majority of 233 against 172; but the country was
convinced of his guilt. The greatest indignation was everywhere expressed, and menacing
mobs again assembled in London. Happily no disturbances took place.
This was the day on which Mr. Craggs, the elder, expired. The morrow had been
appointed for the consideration of his case. It was very generally believed that he had
poisoned himself. It appeared, however, that grief for the loss of his son, one of the
Secretaries of the Treasury, who had died five weeks previously of the small-pox, preyed
much on his mind. For this son, dearly beloved, he had been amassing vast heaps of
riches: he had been getting money, but not honestly; and he for whose sake he had
bartered his honour and sullied his fame, was now no more. The dread of further
exposure increased his trouble of mind, and ultimately brought on an apoplectic fit, in
which he expired. He left a fortune of a million and a half, which was afterwards
confiscated for the benefit of the sufferers by the unhappy delusion he had been so
mainly instrumental in raising.
One by one the case of every director of the Company was taken into consideration. A
sum amounting to two millions and fourteen thousand pounds was confiscated from their
estates towards repairing the mischief they had done, each man being allowed a certain
residue, in proportion to his conduct and circumstances, with which he might begin the
world anew. Sir John Blunt was only allowed 5,000 pounds out of his fortune of upwards
of 183,000 pounds; Sir John Fellows was allowed 10,000 pounds out of 243,000 pounds;
Sir Theodore Janssen, 50,000 pounds out of 243,000 pounds; Mr. Edward Gibbon,
10,000 pounds out of 106,000 pounds.; Sir John Lambert, 5000 pounds out of 72,000
pounds. Others, less deeply involved, were treated with greater liberality. Gibbon, the
historian, whose grandfather was the Mr. Edward Gibbon so severely mulcted, has given,
in the Memoirs of his Life and Writings, an interesting account of the proceedings in
Parliament at this time. He owns that he is not an unprejudiced witness; but, as all the
writers from which it is possible to extract any notice of the proceedings of these
disastrous years, were prejudiced on the other side, the statements of the great historian
become of additional value. If only on the principle of audi alteram partem, his opinion is
entitled to consideration. "In the year 1716," he says, "my grandfather was elected one of
the directors of the South Sea Company, and his books exhibited the proof that before his
acceptance of that fatal office, he had acquired an independent fortune of 60,000 pounds.
But his fortune was overwhelmed in the shipwreck of the year twenty, and the labours of
thirty years were blasted in a single day. Of the use or abuse of the South Sea scheme, of
the guilt or innocence of my grandfather and his brother directors, I am neither a
competent nor a disinterested judge. Yet the equity of modern times must condemn the
violent and arbitrary proceedings, which would have disgraced the cause of justice, and
rendered injustice still more odious. No sooner had the nation awakened from its golden
dream, than a popular, and even a Parliamentary clamour, demanded its victims; but it
was acknowledged on all sides, that the directors, however guilty, could not be touched
by any known laws of the land. The intemperate notions of Lord Molesworth were not
literally acted on; but a bill of pains and penalties was introduced -- a retro-active statute,
to punish the offences which did not exist at the time they were committed. The
Legislature restrained the persons of the directors, imposed an exorbitant security for
their appearance, and marked their character with a previous note of ignominy. They
were compelled to deliver, upon oath, the strict value of their estates, and were disabled
from making any transfer or alienation of any part of their property. Against a bill of
pains and penalties, it is the common right of every subject to be heard by his counsel at
the bar. They prayed to be heard. Their prayer was refused, and their oppressors, who
required no evidence, would listen to no defence. It had been at first proposed, that one
eighth of their respective estates should be allowed for the future support of the directors;
but it was speciously urged, that in the various shades of opulence and guilt, such a
proportion would be too light for many, and for some might possibly be too heavy. The
character and conduct of each man were separately weighed; but, instead of the calm
solemnity of a judicial inquiry, the fortune and honour of thirty-three Englishmen were
made the topics of hasty conversation, the sport of a lawless majority; and the basest
member of the committee, by a malicious word, or a silent vote, might indulge his
general spleen or personal animosity. Injury was aggravated by insult, and insult was
embittered by pleasantry. Allowances of 20 pounds or 1 shilling were facetiously moved.
A vague report that a director had formerly been concerned in another project, by which
some unknown persons had lost their money, was admitted as a proof of his actual guilt.
One man was ruined because he had dropped a foolish speech, that his horses should feed
upon gold; another, because he was grown so proud, that one day, at the Treasury, he had
refused a civil answer to persons much above him. All were condemned, absent and
unheard, in arbitrary fines and forfeitures, which swept away the greatest part of their
substance. Such bold oppression can scarcely be shielded by the omnipotence of
Parliament. My grandfather could not expect to be treated with more lenity than his
companions. His Tory principles and connexions rendered him obnoxious to the ruling
powers. His name was reported in a suspicious secret. His well-known abilities could not
plead the excuse of ignorance or error. In the first proceedings against the South Sea
directors, Mr. Gibbon was one of the first taken into custody, and in the final sentence the
measure of his fine proclaimed him eminently guilty. The total estimate, which he
delivered on oath to the House of Commons, amounted to 106,543 pounds 5 shillings 6
pence, exclusive of antecedent settlements. Two different allowances of 15,000 pounds
and of 10,000 pounds were moved for Mr. Gibbon; but, on the question being put, it was
carried without a division for the smaller sum. On these ruins, with the skill and credit of
which Parliament had not been able to despoil him, my grandfather, at a mature age,
erected the edifice of a new fortune. The labours of sixteen years were amply rewarded;
and I have reason to believe that the second structure was not much inferior to the first."
The next consideration of the Legislature, after the punishment of the directors, was to
restore public credit. The scheme of Walpole had been found insufficient, and had fallen
into disrepute. A computation was made of the whole capital stock of the South Sea
Company at the end of the year 1720. It was found to amount to thirty-seven millions
eight hundred thousand pounds, of which the stock allotted to all the proprietors only
amounted to twenty-four millions five hundred thousand pounds. The remainder of
thirteen millions three hundred thousand pounds belonged to the Company in their
corporate capacity, and was the profit they had made by the national delusion. Upwards
of eight millions of this were taken from the Company, and divided among the
proprietors and subscribers generally, making a dividend of about 33 pounds 6 shillings 8
pence per cent. This was a great relief. It was further ordered, that such persons as had
borrowed money from the South Sea Company upon stock actually transferred and
pledged at the time of borrowing to or for the use of the Company, should be free from
all demands, upon payment of ten per cent. of the sums so borrowed. They had lent about
eleven millions in this manner, at a time when prices were unnaturally raised; and they
now received back one million one hundred thousand, when prices had sunk to their
ordinary level.
But it was a long time before public credit was thoroughly restored. Enterprise, like
Icarus, had soared too high, and melted the wax of her wings; like Icarus, she had fallen
into a sea, and learned, while floundering in its waves, that her proper element was the
solid ground. She has never since attempted so high a flight.
In times of great commercial prosperity there has been a tendency to over-speculation on
several occasions since then. The success of one project generally produces others of a
similar kind. Popular imitativeness will always, in a trading nation, seize hold of such
successes, and drag a community too anxious for profits into an abyss from which
extrication is difficult. Bubble companies, of a kind similar to those engendered by the
South Sea project, lived their little day in the famous year of the panic, 1825. On that
occasion, as in 1720, knavery gathered a rich harvest from cupidity, but both suffered
when the day of reckoning came. The schemes of the year 1836 threatened, at one time,
results as disastrous; but they were happily averted before it was too late. The South Sea
project thus remains, and, it is to be hoped, always will remain, the greatest example in
British history, of the infatuation of the people for commercial gambling. From the bitter
experience of that period, posterity may learn how dangerous it is to let speculation riot
unrestrained, and to hope for enormous profits from inadequate causes. Degrading as
were the circumstances, there is wisdom to be gained from the lesson which they teach.
THE TULIPOMANIA.
Quis furor o cives! -- Lucan.
The tulip,--so named, it is said, from a Turkish word, signifying a turban,-- was
introduced into western Europe about the middle of the sixteenth century. Conrad Gesner,
who claims the merit of having brought it into repute,--little dreaming of the
extraordinary commotion it was to make in the world,--says that he first saw it in the year
1559, in a garden at Augsburg, belonging to the learned Counsellor Herwart, a man very
famous in his day for his collection of rare exotics. The bulbs were sent to this gentleman
by a friend at Constantinople, where the flower had long been a favourite. In the course
of ten or eleven years after this period, tulips were much sought after by the wealthy,
especially in Holland and Germany. Rich people at Amsterdam sent for the bulbs direct
to Constantinople, and paid the most extravagant prices for them. The first roots planted
in England were brought from Vienna in 1600. Until the year 1634 the tulip annually
increased in reputation, until it was deemed a proof of bad taste in any man of fortune to
be without a collection of them. Many learned men, including Pompeius de Angelis and
the celebrated Lipsius of Leyden, the author of the treatise "De Constantia," were
passionately fond of tulips. The rage for possessing them soon caught the middle classes
of society, and merchants and shopkeepers, even of moderate means, began to vie with
each other in the rarity of these flowers and the preposterous prices .they paid for them. A
trader at Harlaem was known to pay one-half of his fortune for a single root--not with the
design of selling it again at a profit, but to keep in his own conservatory for the
admiration of his acquaintance.
One would suppose that there must have been some great virtue in this flower to have
made it so valuable in the eyes of so prudent a people as the Dutch; but it has neither the
beauty nor the perfume of the rose--hardly the beauty of the "sweet, sweet-pea;" neither is
it as enduring as either. Cowley, it is true, is loud in its praise. He says-"The tulip next appeared, all over gay, But wanton, full of pride, and full of play; The
world can't show a dye but here has place; Nay, by new mixtures, she can change her
face; Purple and gold are both beneath her care- The richest needlework she loves to
wear; Her only study is to please the eye, And to outshine the rest in finery."
This, though not very poetical, is the description of a poet. Beckmann, in his History of
Inventions, paints it with more fidelity, and in prose more pleasing than Cowley's poetry.
He says, "There are few plants which acquire, through accident, weakness, or disease, so
many variegations as the tulip. When uncultivated, and in its natural state, it is almost of
one colour, has large leaves, and an extraordinarily long stem. When it has been
weakened by cultivation, it becomes more agreeable in the eyes of the florist. The petals
are then paler, smaller, and more diversified in hue; and the leaves acquire a softer green
colour. Thus this masterpiece of culture, the more beautiful it turns, grows so much the
weaker, so that, with the greatest skill and most careful attention, it can scarcely be
transplanted, or even kept alive."
Many persons grow insensibly attached to that which gives them a great deal of trouble,
as a mother often loves her sick and ever-ailing child better than her more healthy
offspring. Upon the same principle we must account for the unmerited encomia lavished
upon these fragile blossoms. In 1634, the rage among the Dutch to possess them was so
great that the ordinary industry of the country was neglected, and the population, even to
its lowest dregs, embarked in the tulip trade. As the mania increased, prices augmented,
until, in the year 1635, many persons were known to invest a fortune of 100,000 florins in
the purchase of forty roots. It then became necessary to sell them by their weight in
perits, a small weight less than a grain. A tulip of the species called Admiral Liefken,
weighing 400 perits, was worth 4400 florins; an Admiral Von der Eyk, weighing 446
perits, was worth 1260 florins; a shilder of 106 perits was worth 1615 florins; a viceroy
of 400 perits, 3000 florins, and, most precious of all, a Semper Augustus, weighing 200
perits, was thought to be very cheap at 5500 florins. The latter was much sought after,
and even an inferior bulb might command a price of 2000 florins. It is related that, at one
time, early in 1636, there were only two roots of this description to be had in all Holland,
and those not of the best. One was in the possession of a dealer in Amsterdam, and the
other in Harlaem. So anxious were the speculators to obtain them that one person offered
the fee-simple of twelve acres of building ground for the Harlaem tulip. That of
Amsterdam was bought for 4600 florins, a new carriage, two grey horses, and a complete
suit of harness. Munting, an industrious author of that day, who wrote a folio volume of
one thousand pages upon the tulipomania, has preserved the following list of the various
articles, and their value, which were delivered for one single root of the rare species
called the viceroy :-- florins. Two lasts of wheat.............. 448 Four lasts of rye...............
558 Four fat oxen................... 480 Eight fat swine................. 240 Twelve fat
sheep................ 120 Two hogsheads of wine........... 70 Four tuns of beer............... 32 Two
tons of butter.............. 192 One thousand lbs. of cheese..... 120 A complete
bed.................. 100 A suit of clothes............... 8O A silver drinking cup........... 6O ----2500 ----People who had been absent from Holland, and whose chance it was to return when this
folly was at its maximum, were sometimes led into awkward dilemmas by their
ignorance. There is an amusing instance of the kind related in Blainville's Travels. A
wealthy merchant, who prided himself not a little on his rare tulips, received upon one
occasion a very valuable consignment of merchandise from the Levant. Intelligence of its
arrival was brought him by a sailor, who presented himself for that purpose at the
counting-house, among bales of goods of every description. The merchant, to reward him
for his news, munificently made him a present of a fine red herring for his breakfast. The
sailor had, it appears, a great partiality for onions, and seeing a bulb very like an onion
lying upon the counter of this liberal trader, and thinking it, no doubt, very much out of
its place among silks and velvets, he slily seized an opportunity and slipped it into his
pocket, as a relish for his herring. He got clear off with his prize, and proceeded to the
quay to eat his breakfast. Hardly was his back turned when the merchant missed his
valuable Semper Augustus, worth three thousand florins, or about 280 pounds sterling.
The whole establishment was instantly in an uproar; search was everywhere made for the
precious root, but it was not to be found. Great was the merchant's distress of mind. The
search was renewed, but again without success. At last some one thought of the sailor.
The unhappy merchant sprang into the street at the bare suggestion. His alarmed
household followed him. The sailor, simple soul! had not thought of concealment. He
was found quietly sitting on a coil of ropes, masticating the last morsel of his "onion."
Little did he dream that he had been eating a breakfast whose cost might have regaled a
whole ship's crew for a twelvemonth; or, as the plundered merchant himself expressed it,
"might have sumptuously feasted the Prince of Orange and the whole court of the
Stadtholder." Anthony caused pearls to be dissolved in wine to drink the health of
Cleopatra; Sir Richard Whittington was as foolishly magnificent in an entertainment to
King Henry V; and Sir Thomas Gresham drank a diamond, dissolved in wine, to the
health of Queen Elizabeth, when she opened the Royal Exchange: but the breakfast of
this roguish Dutchman was as splendid as either. He had an advantage, too, over his
wasteful predecessors: their gems did not improve the taste or the wholesomeness of their
wine, while his tulip was quite delicious with his red herring. The most unfortunate part
of the business for him was, that he remained in prison for some months, on a charge of
felony, preferred against him by the merchant.
Another story is told of an English traveller, which is scarcely less ludicrous. This
gentleman, an amateur botanist, happened to see a tulip-root lying in the conservatory of
a wealthy Dutchman. Being ignorant of its quality, he took out his penknife, and peeled
off its coats, with the view of making experiments upon it. When it was by this means
reduced to half its original size, he cut it into two equal sections, making all the time
many learned remarks on the singular appearances of the unknown bulb. Suddenly the
owner pounced upon him, and, with fury in his eyes, asked him if he knew what he had
been doing? "Peeling a most extraordinary onion," replied the philosopher. "Hundert
tausend duyvel," said the Dutchman; "it's an Admiral Van der E. yck." "Thank you,"
replied the traveller, taking out his note-book to make a memorandum of the same; "are
these admirals common in your country?" "Death and the devil," said the Dutchman,
seizing the astonished man of science by the collar; "come before the syndic, and you
shall see." In spite of his remonstrances, the traveller was led through the streets,
followed by a mob of persons. When brought into the presence of the magistrate, he
learned, to his consternation, that the root upon which he had been experimentalizing was
worth four thousand florins; and, notwithstanding all he could urge in extenuation, he
was lodged in prison until he found securities for the payment of this sum.
The demand for tulips of a rare species increased so much in the year 1636, that regular
marts for their sale were established on the Stock Exchange of Amsterdam, in Rotterdam,
Harlaem, Leyden, Alkmar, Hoorn, and other towns. Symptoms of gambling now became,
for the first time, apparent. The stockjobbers, ever on the alert for a new speculation,
dealt largely in tulips, making use of all the means they so well knew how to employ, to
cause fluctuations in prices. At first, as in all these gambling mania, confidence was at its
height, and everybody gained. The tulip-jobbers speculated in the rise and fall of the tulip
stocks, and made large profits by buying when prices fell, and selling out when they rose.
Many individuals grew suddenly rich. A golden bait hung temptingly out before the
people, and, one after the other, they rushed to the tulip marts, like flies around a
honeypot. Every one imagined that the passion for tulips would last for ever, and that the
wealthy from every part of the world would send to Holland, and pay whatever prices
were asked for them. The riches of Europe would be concentrated on the shores of the
Zuyder Zee, and poverty banished from the favoured clime of Holland. Nobles, citizens,
farmers, mechanics, seamen, footmen, maidservants, even chimney-sweeps and old
clotheswomen, dabbled in tulips. People of all grades converted their property into cash,
and invested it in flowers. Houses and lands were offered for sale at ruinously low prices,
or assigned in payment of bargains made at the tulip-mart. Foreigners became smitten
with the same frenzy, and money poured into Holland from all directions. The prices of
the necessaries of life rose again by degrees; houses and lands, horses and carriages, and
luxuries of every sort, rose in value with them, and for some months Holland seemed the
very antechamber of Plutus. The operations of the trade became so extensive and so
intricate, that it was found necessary to draw up a code of laws for the guidance of the
dealers. Notaries and clerks were also appointed, who devoted themselves exclusively to
the interests of the trade. The designation of public notary was hardly known in some
towns, that of tulip notary usurping its place. In the smaller towns, where there was no
exchange, the principal tavern was usually selected as the "showplace," where high and
low traded in tulips, and confirmed their bargains over sumptuous entertainments. These
dinners were sometimes attended by two or three hundred persons, and large vases of
tulips, in full bloom, were placed at regular intervals upon the tables and sideboards, for
their gratification during the repast.
At last, however, the more prudent began to see that this folly could not last for ever.
Rich people no longer bought the flowers to keep them in their gardens, but to sell them
again at cent. per cent. profit. It was seen that somebody must lose fearfully in the end.
As this conviction spread, prices fell, and never rose again. Confidence was destroyed,
and a universal panic seized upon the dealers. A had agreed to purchase ten Sempers
Augustines from B, at four thousand florins each, at six weeks after the signing of the
contract. B was ready with the flowers at the appointed time; but the price had fallen to
three or four hundred florins, and A refused either to pay the difference or receive the
tulips. Defaulters were announced day after day in all the towns of Holland. Hundreds
who, a few months previously, had begun to doubt that there was such a thing as poverty
in the land, suddenly found themselves the possessors of a few bulbs, which nobody
would buy, even though they offered them at one quarter of the sums they had paid for
them. The cry of distress resounded everywhere, and each man accused his neighbour.
The few who had contrived to enrich themselves hid their wealth from the knowledge of
their fellow-citizens, and invested it in the English or other funds. Many who, for a brief
season, had emerged from the humbler walks of life, were cast back into their original
obscurity. Substantial merchants were reduced almost to beggary, and many a
representative of a noble line saw the fortunes of his house ruined beyond redemption.
When the first alarm subsided, the tulip-holders in the several towns held public meetings
to devise what measures were best to be taken to restore public credit. It was generally
agreed, that deputies should be sent from all parts to Amsterdam, to consult with the
government upon some remedy for the evil. The Government at first refused to interfere,
but advised the tulip-holders to agree to some plan among themselves. Several meetings
were held for this purpose; but no measure could be devised likely to give satisfaction to
the deluded people, or repair even a slight portion of the mischief that had been done. The
language of complaint and reproach was in everybody's mouth, and all the meetings were
of the most stormy character. At last, however, after much bickering and ill-will, it was
agreed, at Amsterdam, by the assembled deputies, that all contracts made in the height of
the mania, or prior to the month of November 1636, should be declared null and void,
and that, in those made after that date, purchasers should be freed from their
engagements, on paying ten per cent. to the vendor. This decision gave no satisfaction.
The vendors who had their tulips on hand were, of course, discontented, and those who
had pledged themselves to purchase, thought themselves hardly treated. Tulips which
had, at one time, been worth six thousand florins, were now to be procured for five
hundred; so that the composition of ten per cent. was one hundred florins more than the
actual value. Actions for breach of contract were threatened in all the courts of the
country; but the latter refused to take cognizance of gambling transactions.
The matter was finally referred to the Provincial Council at the Hague, and it was
confidently expected that the wisdom of this body would invent some measure by which
credit should be restored. Expectation was on the stretch for its decision, but it never
came. The members continued to deliberate week after week, and at last, after thinking
about it for three months, declared that they could offer no final decision until they had
more information. They advised, however, that, in the mean time, every vendor should, in
the presence of witnesses, offer the tulips in natura to the purchaser for the sums agreed
upon. If the latter refused to take them, they might be put up for sale by public auction,
and the original contractor held responsible for the difference between the actual and the
stipulated price. This was exactly the plan recommended by the deputies, and which was
already shown to be of no avail. There was no court in Holland which would enforce
payment. The question was raised in Amsterdam, but the judges unanimously refused to
interfere, on the ground that debts contracted in gambling were no debts in law.
Thus the matter rested. To find a remedy was beyond the power of the government.
Those who were unlucky enough to have had stores of tulips on hand at the time of the
sudden reaction were left to bear their ruin as philosophically as they could; those who
had made profits were allowed to keep them; but the commerce of the country suffered a
severe shock, from which it was many years ere it recovered.
The example of the Dutch was imitated to some extent in England. In the year 1636 tulips
were publicly sold in the Exchange of London, and the jobbers exerted themselves to the
utmost to raise them to the fictitious value they had acquired in Amsterdam. In Paris also
the jobbers strove to create a tulipomania. In both cities they only partially succeeded.
However, the force of example brought the flowers into great favour, and amongst a
certain class of people tulips have ever since been prized more highly than any other
flowers of the field. The Dutch are still notorious for their partiality to them, and continue
to pay higher prices for them than any other people. As the rich Englishman boasts of his
fine race-horses or his old pictures, so does the wealthy Dutchman vaunt him of his
tulips.
In England, in our day, strange as it may appear, a tulip will produce more money than an
oak. If one could be found, rara in tetris, and black as the black swan alluded to by
Juvenal, its price would equal that of a dozen acres of standing corn. In Scotland, towards
the close of the seventeenth century, the highest price for tulips, according to the
authority of a writer in the supplement to the third edition of the "Encyclopedia
Britannica," was ten guineas. Their value appears to have diminished from that time till
the year 1769, when the two most valuable species in England were the Don Quevedo
and the Valentinier, the former of which was worth two guineas and the latter two
guineas and a half. These prices appear to have been the minimum. In the year 1800, a
common price was fifteen guineas for a single bulb. In 1835, so foolish were the fanciers,
that a bulb of the species called the Miss Fanny Kemble was sold by public auction in
London for seventy-five pounds. Still more astonishing was the price of a tulip in the
possession of a gardener in the King's Road, Chelsea. In his catalogues, it was labelled at
two hundred guineas! Thus a flower, which for beauty and perfume was surpassed by the
abundant roses of the garden,--a nosegay of which might be purchased for a penny,--was
priced at a sum which would have provided an industrious labourer and his family with
food, and clothes, and lodging for six years! Should chickweed and groundsel ever come
into fashion, the wealthy would, no doubt, vie with each other in adorning their gardens
with them, and paying the most extravagant prices for them. In so doing, they would
hardly be more foolish than the admirers of tulips. The common prices for these flowers
at the present time vary from five to fifteen guineas, according to the rarity of the species.
RELICS.
A fouth o' auld knick-knackets,
Rusty airn caps and jinglin' jackets,
Wad haud the Lothians three, in tackets,
A towmond guid;
An' parritch pats, and auld saut backets,
Afore the flood.
-- Burns.
The love for relics is one which will never be eradicated as long as feeling and affection
are denizens of the heart. It is a love which is most easily excited in the best and kindliest
natures, and which few are callous enough to scoff at. Who would not treasure the lock of
hair that once adorned the brow of the faithful wife, now cold in death, or that hung down
the neck of a beloved infant, now sleeping under the sward? Not one. They are homerelics, whose sacred worth is intelligible to all; spoils rescued from the devouring grave,
which, to the affectionate, are beyond all price. How dear to a forlorn survivor the book
over whose pages he has pored with one departed! How much greater its value, if that
hand, now cold, had written a thought, an opinion, or a name, upon the leaf! Besides
these sweet, domestic relics, there are others, which no one can condemn; relics
sanctified by that admiration of greatness and goodness which is akin to love; such as the
copy of Montaigne's Florio, with the name of Shakspeare upon the leaf, written by the
poet of all time himself; the chair preserved at Antwerp, in which Rubens sat when he
painted the immortal "Descent from the Cross;" or the telescope, preserved in the
Museum of Florence, which aided Galileo in his sublime discoveries. Who would not
look with veneration upon the undoubted arrow of William Tell--the swords of Wallace
or of Hampden--or the Bible whose leaves were turned by some stern old father of the
faith?
Thus the principle of reliquism is hallowed and enshrined by love. But from this germ of
purity how numerous the progeny of errors and superstitions! Men, in their admiration of
the great, and of all that appertained to them, have forgotten that goodness is a
component part of true greatness, and have made fools of themselves for the jaw-bone of
a saint, the toe-nail of an apostle, the handkerchief a king blew his nose in, or the rope
that hanged a criminal. Desiring to rescue some slight token from the graves of their
predecessors, they have confounded the famous and the infamous, the renowned and the
notorious. Great saints, great sinners; great philosophers, great quacks; great conquerors,
great murderers; great ministers, great thieves; each and all have had their admirers,
ready to ransack earth, from the equator to either pole, to find a relic of them.
The reliquism of modern times dates its origin from the centuries immediately preceding
the Crusades. The first pilgrims to the Holy Land brought back to Europe thousands of
apocryphal relics, in the purchase of which they had expended all their store. The greatest
favourite was the wood of the true cross, which, like the oil of the widow, never
diminished. It is generally asserted, in the traditions of the Romish Church, that the
Empress Helen, the mother of Constantine the Great, first discovered the veritable "true
cross" in her pilgrimage to Jerusalem. The Emperor Theodosius made a present of the
greater part of it to St. Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, by whom it was studded with precious
stones, and deposited in the principal church of that city. It was carried away by the
Huns, by whom it was burnt, after they had extracted the valuable jewels it contained.
Fragments, purporting to have been cut from it were, in the eleventh and twelfth
centuries, to be found in almost every church in Europe, and would, if collected together
in one place, have been almost sufficient to have built a cathedral. Happy was the sinner
who could get a sight of one of them; happier he who possessed one! To obtain them the
greatest dangers were cheerfully braved. They were thought to preserve from all evils,
and to cure the most inveterate diseases. Annual pilgrimages were made to the shrines
that contained them, and considerable revenues collected from the devotees.
Next in renown were those precious relics, the tears of the Saviour. By whom and in what
manner they were preserved, the pilgrims did not often inquire. Their genuineness was
vouched by the Christians of the Holy Land, and that was sufficient. Tears of the Virgin
Mary, and tears of St. Peter, were also to be had, carefully enclosed in little caskets,
which the pious might wear in their bosoms. After the tears the next most precious relics
were drops of the blood of Jesus and the martyrs. Hair and toe-nails were also in great
repute, and were sold at extravagant prices. Thousands of pilgrims annually visited
Palestine in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, to purchase pretended relics for the home
market. The majority of them had no other means of subsistence than the profits thus
obtained. Many a nail, cut from the filthy foot of some unscrupulous ecclesiastic, was
sold at a diamond's price, within six months after its severance from its parent toe, upon
the supposition that it had once belonged to a saint. Peter's toes were uncommonly
prolific, for there were nails enough in Europe, at the time of the Council of Clermont, to
have filled a sack, all of which were devoutly believed to have grown on the sacred feet
of that great apostle. Some of them are still shown in the cathedral of Aix-la-Chapelle.
The pious come from a distance of a hundred German miles to feast their eyes upon
them.
At Port Royal, in Paris, is kept with great care a thorn, which the priests of that seminary
assert to be one of the identical thorns that bound the holy head of the Son of God. How it
came there, and by whom it was preserved, has never been explained. This is the famous
thorn, celebrated in the long dissensions of the Jansenists and the Molenists, and which
worked the miraculous cure upon Mademoiselle Perrier: by merely kissing it, she was
cured of a disease of the eyes of long standing. [Voltaire, Siecle de Louis XIV.]
What traveller is unacquainted with the Santa Scala, or Holy Stairs, at Rome? They were
brought from Jerusalem along with the true cross, by the Empress Helen, and were taken
from the house which, according to popular tradition, was inhabited by Pontius Pilate.
They are said to be the steps which Jesus ascended and descended when brought into the
presence of the Roman governor. They are held in the greatest veneration at Rome: it is
sacrilegious to walk upon them. The knees of the faithful must alone touch them in
ascending or descending, and that only after they have reverentially kissed them.
Europe still swarms with these religious relics. There is hardly a Roman Catholic church
in Spain, Portugal, Italy, France, or Belgium, without one or more of them. Even the
poorly endowed churches of the villages boast the possession of miraculous thigh-bones
of the innumerable saints of the Romish calendar. Aix-la-Chapelle is proud of the
veritable chasse, or thigh-bone of Charlemagne, which cures lameness. Halle has a
thighbone of the Virgin Mary; Spain has seven or eight, all said to be undoubted relics.
Brussels at one time preserved, and perhaps does now, the teeth of St. Gudule. The
faithful, who suffered from the tooth-ache, had only to pray, look at them, and be cured.
Some of these holy bones have been buried in different parts of the Continent. After a
certain lapse of time, water is said to ooze from them, which soon forms a spring, and
cures all the diseases of the faithful. At a church in Halle, there is a famous thigh-bone,
which cures barrenness in women. Of this bone, which is under the special
superintendence of the Virgin, a pleasant story is related by the incredulous. There
resided at Ghent a couple who were blessed with all the riches of this world, but whose
happiness was sore troubled by the want of children. Great was the grief of the lady, who
was both beautiful and loving, and many her lamentations to her husband. The latter,
annoyed by her unceasing sorrow, advised her to make a pilgrimage to the celebrated
chasse of the Virgin. She went, was absent a week, and returned with a face all radiant
with joy and pleasure. Her lamentations ceased, and, in nine months afterwards, she
brought forth a son. But, oh! the instability of human joys! The babe, so long desired and
so greatly beloved, survived but a few months. Two years passed over the heads of the
disconsolate couple, and no second child appeared to cheer their fire-side. A third year
passed away with the same result, and the lady once more began to weep. "Cheer up, my
love," said her husband, "and go to the holy chasse, at Halle; perhaps the Virgin will
again listen to your prayers." The lady took courage at the thought, wiped away her tears,
and proceeded on the morrow towards Halle. She was absent only three days, and
returned home sad, weeping, and sorrow-stricken. "What is the matter?" said her
husband; "is the Virgin unwilling to listen to your prayers ?" "The Virgin is willing
enough," said the disconsolate wife, "and will do what she can for me; but I shall never
have any more children! The priest! the priest!--He is gone from Halle, and nobody
knows where to find him!"
It is curious to remark the avidity manifested in all ages, and in all countries, to obtain
possession of some relic of any persons who have been much spoken of, even for their
crimes. When William Longbeard, leader of the populace of London, in the reign of
Richard I, was hanged at Smithfield, the utmost eagerness was shown to obtain a hair
from his head, or a shred from his garments. Women came from Essex, Kent, Suffolk,
Sussex, and all the surrounding counties, to collect the mould at the foot of his gallows. A
hair of his beard was believed to preserve from evil spirits, and a piece of his clothes
from aches and pains.
In more modern days, a similar avidity was shown to obtain a relic of the luckless
Masaniello, the fisherman of Naples. After he had been raised by mob favour to a height
of power more despotic than monarch ever wielded, he was shot by the same populace in
the streets, as if he had been a mad dog. His headless trunk was dragged through the mire
for several hours, and cast at night-fall into the city ditch. On the morrow the tide of
popular feeling turned once more in his favour. His corpse was sought, arrayed in royal
robes, and buried magnificently by torch-light in the cathedral, ten thousand armed men,
and as many mourners, attending at the ceremony. The fisherman's dress which he had
worn was rent into shreds by the crowd, to be preserved as relics; the door of his hut was
pulled off its hinges by a mob of women, and eagerly cut up into small pieces, to be made
into images, caskets, and other mementos. The scanty furniture of his poor abode became
of more value than the adornments of a palace; the ground he had walked upon was
considered sacred, and, being collected in small phials, was sold at its weight in gold, and
worn in the bosom as an amulet.
Almost as extraordinary was the frenzy manifested by the populace of Paris on the
execution of the atrocious Marchioness de Brinvilliers. There were grounds for the
popular wonder in the case of Masaniello, who was unstained with personal crimes. But
the career of Madame de Brinvilliers was of a nature to excite no other feelings than
disgust and abhorrence. She was convicted of poisoning several persons, and sentenced to
be burned in the Place de Greve, and to have her ashes scattered to the winds. On the day
of her execution, the populace, struck by her gracefulness and beauty, inveighed against
the severity of her sentence. Their pity soon increased to admiration, and, ere evening,
she was considered a saint. Her ashes were industriously collected, even the charred
wood, which had aided to consume her, was eagerly purchased by the populace. Her
ashes were thought to preserve from witchcraft.
In England many persons have a singular love for the relics of thieves and murderers, or
other great criminals. The ropes with which they have been hanged are very often bought
by collectors at a guinea per foot. Great sums were paid for the rope which hanged Dr.
Dodd, and for those more recently which did justice upon Mr. Fauntleroy for forgery, and
on Thurtell for the murder of Mr. Weare. The murder of Maria Marten, by Corder, in the
year 1828, excited the greatest interest all over the country. People came from Wales and
Scotland, and even from Ireland, to visit the barn where the body of the murdered woman
was buried. Every one of them was anxious to carry away some memorial of his visit.
Pieces of the barn-door, tiles from the roof, and, above all, the clothes of the poor victim,
were eagerly sought after. A lock of her hair was sold for two guineas, and the purchaser
thought himself fortunate in getting it so cheaply.
So great was the concourse of people to visit the house in Camberwell Lane, where
Greenacre murdered Hannah Brown, in 1837, that it was found necessary to station a
strong detachment of police on the spot. The crowd was so eager to obtain a relic of the
house of this atrocious criminal, that the police were obliged to employ force to prevent
the tables and chairs, and even the doors, from being carried away.
In earlier times, a singular superstition was attached to the hand of a criminal who had
suffered execution. It was thought that by merely rubbing the dead hand on the body, the
patient afflicted with the king's evil would be instantly cured. The executioner at
Newgate, sixty or seventy years ago, derived no inconsiderable revenue from this foolish
practice. The possession of the hand was thought to be of still greater efficacy in the cure
of diseases and the prevention of misfortunes. In the time of Charles II as much as ten
guineas was thought a small price for one of these disgusting relics.
When the maniac, Thom, or Courtenay, was shot, in the spring of 1838, the relic-hunters
were immediately in motion to obtain a memento of so extraordinary an individual. His
long, black beard and hair, which were cut off by the surgeons, fell into the hands of his
disciples, by whom they are treasured with the utmost reverence. A lock of his hair
commands a great price, not only amongst his followers, but among the more wealthy
inhabitants of Canterbury and its neighbourhood. The tree against which he fell when he
was shot, has already been stripped of all its bark by the curious, and bids fair to be
entirely demolished within a twelvemonth. A letter, with his signature to it, is paid for in
gold coins; and his favourite horse promises to become as celebrated as his master.
Parties of ladies and gentlemen have come to Boughton from a distance of a hundred and
fifty miles, to visit the scene of that fatal affray, and stroke on the back the horse of the
"mad Knight of Malta." If a strict watch had not been kept over his grave for months, the
body would have been disinterred, and the bones carried away as memorials.
Among the Chinese no relics are more valued than the boots which have been worn by an
upright magistrate. In Davis's interesting Description of the Empire of China, we are
informed, that whenever a judge of unusual integrity resigns his situation, the people all
congregate to do him honour. If he leaves the city where he has presided, the crowd
accompany him from his residence to the gates, where his boots are drawn off with great
ceremony, to be preserved in the hall of justice. Their place is immediately supplied by a
new pair, which, in their turn, are drawn off to make room for others before he has worn
them five minutes, it being considered sufficient to consecrate them that he should have
merely drawn them on.
Among the most favourite relics of modern times, in Europe, are Shakspeare's mulberrytree, Napoleon's willow, and the table at Waterloo, on which the Emperor wrote his
despatches. Snuffboxes of Shakspeare's mulberry-tree, are comparatively rare, though
there are doubtless more of them in the market than were ever made of the wood planted
by the great bard. Many a piece of alien wood passes under this name. The same may be
said of Napoleon's table at Waterloo. The original has long since been destroyed, and a
round dozen of counterfeits along with it. Many preserve the simple stick of wood; others
have them cut into brooches and every variety of ornament; but by far the greater number
prefer them as snuff-boxes. In France they are made into bonbonnieres, and are much
esteemed by the many thousands whose cheeks still glow, and whose eyes still sparkle at
the name of Napoleon.
Bullets from the field of Waterloo, and buttons from the coats of the soldiers who fell in
the fight, are still favourite relics in Europe. But the same ingenuity which found new
tables after the old one was destroyed, has cast new bullets for the curious. Many a one
who thinks himself the possessor of a bullet which aided in giving peace to the world on
that memorable day, is the owner of a dump, first extracted from the ore a dozen years
afterwards. Let all lovers of genuine relics look well to their money before they part with
it to the ciceroni that swarm in the village of Waterloo.
Few travellers stop at the lonely isle of St. Helena, without cutting a twig from the willow
that droops over the grave of Napoleon. Many of them have since been planted in
different parts of Europe, and have grown into trees as large as their parent. Relichunters, who are unable to procure a twig of the original, are content with one from these.
Several of them are growing in the neighbourhood of London, more prized by their
cultivators than any other tree in their gardens. But in relics, as in everything else, there is
the use and the abuse. The undoubted relics of great men, or great events, will always
possess attractions for the thinking and refined. There are few who would not join with
Cowley in the extravagant wish introduced in his lines "written while sitting in a chair
made of the remains of the ship in which Sir Francis Drake sailed round the world:"-And I myself, who now love quiet too, Almost as much as any chair can do, Would yet a
journey take An old wheel of that chariot to see, Which Phaeton so rashly brake.
MODERN PROPHECIES.
As epidemic terror of the end of the world has several times spread over the nations. The
most remarkable was that which seized Christendom about the middle of the tenth
century. Numbers of fanatics appeared in France, Germany, and Italy at that time,
preaching that the thousand years prophesied in the Apocalypse as the term of the world's
duration, were about to expire, and that the Son of Man would appear in the clouds to
judge the godly and the ungodly. The delusion appears to have been discouraged by the
church, but it nevertheless spread rapidly among the people. [See Gibbon and Voltaire for
further notice of this subject.]
The scene of the last judgment was expected to be at Jerusalem. In the year 999, the
number of pilgrims proceeding eastward, to await the coming of the Lord in that city, was
so great that they were compared to a desolating army. Most of them sold their goods and
possessions before they quitted Europe, and lived upon the proceeds in the Holy Land.
Buildings of every sort were suffered to fall into ruins. It was thought useless to repair
them, when the end of the world was so near. Many noble edifices were deliberately
pulled down. Even churches, usually so well maintained, shared the general neglect.
Knights, citizens, and serfs, travelled eastwards in company, taking with them their wives
and children, singing psalms as they went, and looking with fearful eyes upon the sky,
which they expected each minute to open, to let the Son of God descend in his glory.
During the thousandth year the number of pilgrims increased. Most of them were smitten
with terror as with a plague. Every phenomenon of nature filled them with alarm. A
thunder-storm sent them all upon their knees in mid-march. It was the opinion that
thunder was the voice of God, announcing the day of judgment. Numbers expected the
earth to open, and give up its dead at the sound. Every meteor in the sky seen at
Jerusalem brought the whole Christian population into the streets to weep and pray. The
pilgrims on the road were in the same alarm :-Lorsque, pendant la nuit, un globe de lumiere S'echappa quelquefois de la voute des
cieux, Et traca dans sa chute un long sillon de feux, La troupe suspendit sa marche
solitaire. [Charlemagne. Pomme Epique, par Lucien Buonaparte.]
Fanatic preachers kept up the flame of terror. Every shooting star furnished occasion for a
sermon, in which the sublimity of the approaching judgment was the principal topic.
The appearance of comets has been often thought to foretell the speedy dissolution of this
world. Part of this belief still exists; but the comet is no longer looked upon as the sign,
but the agent of destruction. So lately as in the year 1832 the greatest alarm spread over
the Continent of Europe, especially in Germany, lest the comet, whose appearance was
then foretold by astronomers, should destroy the earth. The danger of our globe was
gravely discussed. Many persons refrained from undertaking or concluding any business
during that year, in consequence solely of their apprehension that this terrible comet
would dash us and our world to atoms.
During seasons of great pestilence men have often believed the prophecies of crazed
fanatics, that the end of the world was come. Credulity is always greatest in times of
calamity. Prophecies of all sorts are rife on such occasions, and are readily believed,
whether for good or evil. During the great plague, which ravaged all Europe, between the
years 1345 and 1350, it was generally considered that the end of the world was at hand.
Pretended prophets were to be found in all the principal cities of Germany, France, and
Italy, predicting that within ten years the trump of the Archangel would sound, and the
Saviour appear in the clouds to call the earth to judgment.
No little consternation was created in London in 1736 by the prophecy of the famous
Whiston, that the world would be destroyed in that year, on the 13th of October. Crowds
of people went out on the appointed day to Islington, Hampstead, and the fields
intervening, to see the destruction of London, which was to be the "beginning of the end."
A satirical account of this folly is given in Swift's Miscellanies, vol. iii. entitled, "A True
and Faithful Narrative of what passed in London on a Rumour of the Day of Judgment."
An authentic narrative of this delusion would be interesting; but this solemn witticism of
Pope and Gay is not to be depended upon.
In the year 1761 the citizens of London were again frightened out of their wits by two
shocks of an earthquake, and the prophecy of a third, which was to destroy them
altogether. The first shock was felt on the 8th of February, and threw down several
chimneys in the neighbourhood of Limehouse and Poplar; the second happened on the
8th of March, and was chiefly felt in the north of London, and towards Hampstead and
Highgate. It soon became the subject of general remark, that there was exactly an interval
of a month between the shocks; and a crack-brained fellow, named Bell, a soldier in the
Life Guards, was so impressed with the idea that there would be a third in another month,
that he lost his senses altogether, and ran about the streets predicting the destruction of
London on the 5th of April. Most people thought that the first would have been a more
appropriate day; but there were not wanting thousands who confidently believed the
prediction, and took measures to transport themselves and families from the scene of the
impending calamity. As the awful day approached, the excitement became intense, and
great numbers of credulous people resorted to all the villages within a circuit of twenty
miles, awaiting the doom of London. Islington, Highgate, Hampstead, Harrow, and
Blackheath, were crowded with panic-stricken fugitives, who paid exorbitant prices for
accommodation to the housekeepers of these secure retreats. Such as could not afford to
pay for lodgings at any of those places, remained in London until two or three days
before the time, and then encamped in the surrounding fields, awaiting the tremendous
shock which was to lay their high city all level with the dust. As happened during a
similar panic in the time of Henry VIII, the fear became contagious, and hundreds who
had laughed at the prediction a week before, packed up their goods, when they saw others
doing so, and hastened away. The river was thought to be a place of great security, and all
the merchant vessels in the port were filled with people, who passed the night between
the 4th and 5th on board, expecting every instant to see St. Paul's totter, and the towers of
Westminster Abbey rock in the wind and fall amid a cloud of dust. The greater part of the
fugitives returned on the following day, convinced that the prophet was a false one; but
many judged it more prudent to allow a week to elapse before they trusted their dear
limbs in London. Bell lost all credit in a short time, and was looked upon even by the
most credulous as a mere madman. He tried some other prophecies, but nobody was
deceived by them; and, in a few months afterwards, he was confined in a lunatic asylum.
A panic terror of the end of the world seized the good people of Leeds and its
neighbourhood in the year 1806. It arose from the following circumstances. A hen, in a
village close by, laid eggs, on which were inscribed, in legible characters, the words
"Christ is coming." Great numbers visited the spot, and examined these wondrous eggs,
convinced that the day of judgment was near at hand. Like sailors in a storm, expecting
every instant to go to the bottom, the believers suddenly became religious, prayed
violently, and flattered themselves that they repented them of their evil courses. But a
plain tale soon put them down, and quenched their religion entirely. Some gentlemen,
hearing of the matter, went one fine morning, and caught the poor hen in the act of laying
one of her miraculous eggs. They soon ascertained beyond doubt that the egg had been
inscribed with some corrosive ink, and cruelly forced up again into the bird's body. At
this explanation, those who had prayed, now laughed, and the world wagged as merrily as
of yore.
At the time of the plague in Milan, in 1630, of which so affecting a description has been
left us by Ripamonte, in his interesting work "De Peste Mediolani", the people, in their
distress, listened with avidity to the predictions of astrologers and other impostors. It is
singular enough that the plague was foretold a year before it broke out. A large comet
appearing in 1628, the opinions of astrologers were divided with regard to it. Some
insisted that it was a forerunner of a bloody war; others maintained that it predicted a
great famine; but the greater number, founding their judgment upon its pale colour,
thought it portended a pestilence. The fulfilment of their prediction brought them into
great repute while the plague was raging.
Other prophecies were current, which were asserted to have been delivered hundreds of
years previously. They had a most pernicious effect upon the mind of the vulgar, as they
induced a belief in fatalism. By taking away the hope of recovery - that greatest balm in
every malady - they increased threefold the ravages of the disease. One singular
prediction almost drove the unhappy people mad. An ancient couplet, preserved for ages
by tradition, foretold, that in the year 1630 the devil would poison all Milan. Early one
morning in April, and before the pestilence had reached its height, the passengers were
surprised to see that all the doors in the principal streets of the city were marked with a
curious daub, or spot, as if a sponge, filled with the purulent matter of the plague-sores,
had been pressed against them. The whole population were speedily in movement to
remark the strange appearance, and the greatest alarm spread rapidly. Every means was
taken to discover the perpetrators, but in vain. At last the ancient prophecy was
remembered, and prayers were offered up in all the churches that the machinations of the
Evil One might be defeated. Many persons were of opinion that the emissaries of foreign
powers were employed to spread infectious poison over the city; but by far the greater
number were convinced that the powers of hell had conspired against them, and that the
infection was spread by supernatural agencies. In the mean time the plague increased
fearfully. Distrust and alarm took possession of every mind. Everything was believed to
have been poisoned by the devil; the waters of the wells, the standing corn in the fields,
and the fruit upon the trees. It was believed that all objects of touch were poisoned; the
walls of the houses, the pavement of the streets, and the very handles of the doors. The
populace were raised to a pitch of ungovernable fury. A strict watch was kept for the
devil's emissaries, and any man who wanted to be rid of an enemy, had only to say that
he had seen him besmearing a door with ointment; his fate was certain death at the hands
of the mob. An old man, upwards of eighty years of age, a daily frequenter of the church
of St. Antonio, was seen, on rising from his knees, to wipe with the skirt of his cloak the
stool on which he was about to sit down. A cry was raised immediately that he was
besmearing the seat with poison. A mob of women, by whom the church was crowded,
seized hold of the feeble old man, and dragged him out by the hair of his head, with
horrid oaths and imprecations. He was trailed in this manner through the mire to the
house of the municipal judge, that he might be put to the rack, and forced to discover his
accomplices; but he expired on the way. Many other victims were sacrificed to the
popular fury. One Mora, who appears to have been half a chemist and half a barber, was
accused of being in league with the devil to poison Milan. His house was surrounded, and
a number of chemical preparations were found. The poor man asserted, that they were
intended as preservatives against infection; but some physicians, to whom they were
submitted, declared they were poison. Mora was put to the rack, where he for a long time
asserted his innocence. He confessed at last, when his courage was worn down by torture,
that he was in league with the devil and foreign powers to poison the whole city; that he
had anointed the doors, and infected the fountains of water. He named several persons as
his accomplices, who were apprehended and put to a similar torture. They were all found
guilty, and executed. Mora's house was rased to the ground, and a column erected on the
spot, with an inscription to commemorate his guilt.
While the public mind was filled with these marvellous occurrences, the plague
continued to increase. The crowds that were brought together to witness the executions,
spread the infection among one another. But the fury of their passions, and the extent of
their credulity, kept pace with the violence of the plague; every wonderful and
preposterous story was believed. One, in particular, occupied them to the exclusion, for a
long time, of every other. The Devil himself had been seen. He had taken a house in
Milan, in which he prepared his poisonous unguents, and furnished them to his emissaries
for distribution. One man had brooded over such tales till he became firmly convinced
that the wild flights of his own fancy were realities. He stationed himself in the marketplace of Milan, and related the following story to the crowds that gathered round him. He
was standing, he said, at the door of the cathedral, late in the evening, and when there
was nobody nigh, he saw a dark-coloured chariot, drawn by six milk-white horses, stop
close beside him. The chariot was followed by a numerous train of domestics in dark
liveries, mounted on dark-coloured steeds. In the chariot there sat a tall stranger of a
majestic aspect; his long black hair floated in the wind--fire flashed from his large black
eyes, and a curl of ineffable scorn dwelt upon his lips. The look of the stranger was so
sublime that he was awed, and trembled with fear when he gazed upon him. His
complexion was much darker than that of any man he had ever seen, and the atmosphere
around him was hot and suffocating. He perceived immediately that he was a being of
another world. The stranger, seeing his trepidation, asked him blandly, yet majestically,
to mount beside him. He had no power to refuse, and before he was well aware that he
had moved, he found himself in the chariot. Onwards they went, with the rapidity of the
wind, the stranger speaking no word, until they stopped before a door in the high-street of
Milan. There was a crowd of people in the street, but, to his great surprise, no one seemed
to notice the extraordinary equipage and its numerous train. From this he concluded that
they were invisible. The house at which they stopped appeared to be a shop, but the
interior was like a vast half-ruined palace. He went with his mysterious guide through
several large and dimly-lighted rooms. In one of them, surrounded by huge pillars of
marble, a senate of ghosts was assembled, debating on the progress of the plague. Other
parts of the building were enveloped in the thickest darkness, illumined at intervals by
flashes of lightning, which allowed him to distinguish a number of gibing and chattering
skeletons, running about and pursuing each other, or playing at leap-frog over one
another's backs. At the rear of the mansion was a wild, uncultivated plot of ground, in the
midst of which arose a black rock. Down its sides rushed with fearful noise a torrent of
poisonous water, which, insinuating itself through the soil, penetrated to all the springs of
the city, and rendered them unfit for use. After he had been shown all this, the stranger
led him into another large chamber, filled with gold and precious stones, all of which he
offered him if he would kneel down and worship him, and consent to smear the doors and
houses of Milan with a pestiferous salve which he held out to him. tie now knew him to
be the Devil, and in that moment of temptation, prayed to God to give him strength to
resist. His prayer was heard - he refused the bribe. The stranger scowled horribly upon
him - a loud clap of thunder burst over his head - the vivid lightning flashed in his eyes,
and the next moment he found himself standing alone at the porch of the cathedral. He
repeated this strange tale day after day, without any variation, and all the populace were
firm believers in its truth. Repeated search was made to discover the mysterious house,
but all in vain. The man pointed out several as resembling it, which were searched by the
police; but the Demon of the Pestilence was not to be found, nor the hall of ghosts, nor
the poisonous fountain. But the minds of the people were so impressed with the idea that
scores of witnesses, half crazed by disease, came forward to swear that they also had seen
the diabolical stranger, and had heard his chariot, drawn by the milk-white steeds,
rumbling over the streets at midnight with a sound louder than thunder.
The number of persons who confessed that they were employed by the Devil to distribute
poison is almost incredible. An epidemic frenzy was abroad, which seemed to be as
contagious as the plague. Imagination was as disordered as the body, and day after day
persons came voluntarily forward to accuse themselves. They generally had the marks of
disease upon them, and some died in the act of confession.
During the great plague of London, in 1665, the people listened with similar avidity to
the predictions of quacks and fanatics. Defoe says, that at that time the people were more
addicted to prophecies and astronomical conjurations, dreams, and old wives' tales than
ever they were before or since. Almanacs, and their predictions, frightened them terribly.
Even the year before the plague broke out, they were greatly alarmed by the comet which
then appeared, and anticipated that famine, pestilence, or fire would follow. Enthusiasts,
while yet the disease had made but little progress, ran about the streets, predicting that in
a few days London would be destroyed.
A still more singular instance of the faith in predictions occurred in London in the year
1524. The city swarmed at that time with fortune-tellers and astrologers, who were
consulted daily by people of every class in society on the secrets of futurity. As early as
the month of June 1523, several of them concurred in predicting that, on the 1st day of
February, 1524, the waters of the Thames would swell to such a height as to overflow the
whole city of London, and wash away ten thousand houses. The prophecy met implicit
belief. It was reiterated with the utmost confidence month after month, until so much
alarm was excited that many families packed up their goods, and removed into Kent and
Essex. As the time drew nigh, the number of these emigrants increased. In January,
droves of workmen might be seen, followed by their wives and children, trudging on foot
to the villages within fifteen or twenty miles, to await the catastrophe. People of a higher
class were also to be seen, in waggons and other vehicles, bound on a similar errand. By
the middle of January, at least twenty thousand persons had quitted the doomed city,
leaving nothing but the bare walls of their homes to be swept away by the impending
floods. Many of the richer sort took up their abode on the heights of Highgate,
Hampstead, and Blackheath; and some erected tents as far away as Waltham Abbey, on
the north, and Croydon, on the south of the Thames. Bolton, the prior of St.
Bartholomew's, was so alarmed that he erected, at very great expense, a sort of fortress at
Harrow-on-the-Hill, which he stocked with provisions for two months. On the 24th of
January, a week before the awful day which was to see the destruction of London, he
removed thither, with the brethren and officers of the priory and all his household. A
number of boats were conveyed in waggons to his fortress, furnished abundantly with
expert rowers, in case the flood, reaching so high as Harrow, should force them to go
further for a resting-place. Many wealthy citizens prayed to share his retreat, but the
Prior, with a prudent forethought, admitted only his personal friends, and those who
brought stores of eatables for the blockade.
At last the morn, big with the fate of London, appeared in the east. The wondering
crowds were astir at an early hour to watch the rising of the waters. The inundation, it
was predicted, would be gradual, not sudden; so that they expected to have plenty of time
to escape, as soon as they saw the bosom of old Thames heave beyond the usual mark.
But the majority were too much alarmed to trust to this, and thought themselves safer ten
or twenty miles off. The Thames, unmindful of the foolish crowds upon its banks, flowed
on quietly as of yore. The tide ebbed at its usual hour, flowed to its usual height, and then
ebbed again, just as if twenty astrologers had not pledged their words to the contrary.
Blank were their faces as evening approached, and as blank grew the faces of the citizens
to think that they had made such fools of themselves. At last night set in, and the
obstinate river would not lift its waters to sweep away even one house out of the ten
thousand. Still, however, the people were afraid to go to sleep. Many hundreds remained
up till dawn of the next day, lest the deluge should come upon them like a thief in the
night.
On the morrow, it was seriously discussed whether it would not be advisable to duck the
false prophets in the river. Luckily for them, they thought of an expedient which allayed
the popular fury. They asserted that, by an error (a very slight one) of a little figure, they
had fixed the date of this awful inundation a whole century too early. The stars were right
after all, and they, erring mortals, were wrong. The present generation of cockneys was
safe, and London 'would be washed away, not in 1524, but in 1624. At this
announcement, Bolton, the prior, dismantled his fortress, and the weary emigrants came
back.
An eye-witness of the great fire of London, in an account preserved among the Harleian
MSS. in the British Museum, and recently published in the Transactions of the Royal
Society of Antiquaries, relates another instance of the credulity of the Londoners. The
writer, who accompanied the Duke of York day by day through the district included
between the Fleet-bridge and the Thames, states that, in their efforts to check the progress
of the flames, they were much impeded by the superstition of the people. Mother Shipton,
in one of her prophecies, had said that London would be reduced to ashes, and they
refused to make any efforts to prevent it. [This prophecy seems to have been that set forth
at length in the popular Life of Mother Shipton :-"When fate to England shall restore A king to reign as heretofore, Great death in London
shall be though, And many houses be laid low."]
A son of the noted Sir Kenelm Digby, who was also a pretender to the gifts of prophecy,
persuaded them that no power on earth could prevent the fulfilment of the prediction; for
it was written in the great book of fate that London was to be destroyed. Hundreds of
persons, who might have rendered valuable assistance, and saved whole parishes from
devastation, folded their arms and looked on. As many more gave themselves up, with
the less compunction, to plunder a city which they could not save.
The prophecies of Mother Shipton are still believed in many of the rural districts of
England. In cottages and servants' halls her reputation is great; and she rules, the most
popular of British prophets, among all the uneducated, or half-educated, portions of the
community. She is generally supposed to have been born at Knaresborough, in the reign
of Henry VII, and to have sold her soul to the Devil for the power of foretelling future
events. Though during her lifetime she was looked upon as a witch, she yet escaped the
witch's fate, and died peaceably in her bed at an extreme old age, near Clifton in
Yorkshire. A stone is said to have been erected to her memory in the church-yard of that
place, with the following epitaph :-"Here lies she who never lied; Whose skill often has been tried: Her prophecies shall still
survive, And ever keep her name alive."
"Never a day passed," says her traditionary biography, "wherein she did not relate
something remarkable, and that required the most serious consideration. People flocked
to her from far and near, her fame was so great. They went to her of all sorts, both old
and young, rich and poor, especially young maidens, to be resolved of their doubts
relating to things to come; and all returned wonderfully satisfied in the explanations she
gave to their questions." Among the rest, went the Abbot of Beverley, to whom she
foretold the suppression of the monasteries by Henry VIII; his marriage with Anne
Boleyn; the fires for heretics in Smithfield, and the execution of Mary Queen of Scots.
She also foretold the accession of James I, adding that, with him,
"From the cold North, Every evil should come forth."
On a subsequent visit she uttered another prophecy, which, in the opinion of her
believers, still remains unfulfilled, but may be expected to be realised during the present
century:-- "The time shall come when seas of blood Shall mingle with a greater flood.
Great noise there shall be heard--great shouts and cries, And seas shall thunder louder
than the skies; Then shall three lions fight with three, and bring Joy to a people, honour to
a king. That fiery year as soon as o'er, Peace shall then be as before; Plenty shall
everywhere be found, And men with swords shall plough the ground.'
But the most famous of all her prophecies is one relating to London. Thousands of
persons still shudder to think of the woes that are to burst over this unhappy realm, when
London and Highgate are joined by one continuous line of houses. This junction, which,
if the rage for building lasts much longer, in the same proportion as heretofore, bids fair
to be soon accomplished, was predicted by her shortly before her death. Revolutions -the fall of mighty monarchs, and the shedding of much blood are to signalise that event.
The very angels, afflicted by our woes, are to turn aside their heads, and weep for hapless
Britain.
But great as is the fame of Mother Shipton, she ranks but second in the list of British
prophets. Merlin, the mighty Merlin, stands alone in his high pre-eminence -- the first and
greatest. As old Drayton sings, in his Poly-olbion :-"Of Merlin and his skill what region doth not hear? The world shall still be full of Merlin
every year. A thousand lingering years his prophecies have run, And scarcely shall have
end till time itself be done."
Spenser, in his divine poem, has given us a powerfid description of this renowned seer-".......who had in magic more insight Than ever him before, or after, living wight.
"For he by words could call out of the sky Both sun and moon, and make them him obey;
The land to sea, and sea to mainland dry, And darksome night he eke could turn to day-Huge hosts of men he could, alone, dismay. And hosts of men and meanest things could
frame, Whenso him list his enemies to fray, That to this day, for terror of his name, The
fiends do quake, when any him to them does name.
"And soothe men say that he was not the sonne, Of mortal sire or other living wighte, But
wondrously begotten and begoune By false illusion of a guileful sprite, On a faire ladye
nun."
In these verses the poet has preserved the popular belief with regard to Merlin, who is
generally supposed to have been a contemporary of Vortigern. Opinion is divided as to
whether he were a real personage, or a mere impersonation, formed by the poetic fancy of
a credulous people. It seems most probable that such a man did exist, and that, possessing
knowledge as much above the comprehension of his age, as that possessed by Friar
Bacon was beyond the reach of his, he was endowed by the wondering crowd with the
supernatural attributes that Spenser has enumerated.
Geoffrey of Monmouth translated Merlin's poetical odes, or prophecies, into Latin prose,
and he was much reverenced, not only by Geoffrey, but by most of,the old annalists. In a
"Life of Merlin, with his Prophecies and Predictions. interpreted and made good by our
English Annals," by Thomas Heywood, published in the reign of Charles I, we find
several of these pretended prophecies. They seem, however, to have been all written by
Heywood himself. They are in terms too plain and positive to allow any one to doubt for
a moment of their having been composed ex post facto. Speaking of Richard I, he says :-"The Lion's heart will 'gainst the Saracen rise, And purchase from him many a glorious
prize; The rose and lily shall at first unite, But, parting of the prey prove opposite. * * * *
But while abroad these great acts shall be done; All things at home shall to disorder run.
Cooped up and caged then shall the Lion be, But, after sufferance, ransomed and set
free."
The sapient Thomas Heywood gravely goes on to inform us, that all these things actually
came to pass. Upon Richard III he is equally luminous. He says :-"A hunch-backed monster, who with teeth is born, The mockery of art and nature's scorn;
Who from the womb preposterously is hurled, And, with feet forward, thrust into the
world, Shall, from the lower earth on which he stood, Wade, every step he mounts, kneedeep in blood. He shall to th' height of all his hopes aspire, And, clothed in state, his ugly
shape admire; But, when he thinks himself most safe to stand, >From foreign parts a
native whelp shall land."
Another of these prophecies after the event tells us that Henry VIII should take the power
from Rome, "and bring it home unto his British bower;" that he should "root out from the
land all the razored skulls;" and that he should neither spare "man in his rage nor woman
in his lust;" and that, in the time of his next successor but one, "there should come in the
fagot and the stake." Master Heywood closes Merlin's prophecies at his own day, and
does not give even a glimpse of what was to befall England after his decease. Many other
prophecies, besides those quoted by him, were, he says, dispersed abroad, in his day,
under the name of Merlin; but he gives his readers a taste of one only, and that is the
following :-"When hempe is ripe and ready to pull, Then Englishman beware thy skull."
This prophecy, which, one would think, ought to have put him in mind of the gallows, the
not unusual fate of false prophets, and perchance his own, he explains thus:-- "In this
word HEMPE be five letters. Now, by reckoning the five successive princes from Henry
VIII, this prophecy is easily explained: H signifieth King Henry before named; E,
Edward, his son, the sixth of that name; M, Mary, who succeeded him; P, Philip of Spain,
who, by marrying Queen Mary, participated with her in the English diadem; and, lastly, E
signifieth Queen Elizabeth, after whose death there was a great feare that some troubles
might have arisen about the crown." As this did not happen, Heywood,. who was a sly
rogue in a small way, gets out of the scrape by saying, "Yet proved this augury true,
though not according to the former expectation; for, after the peaceful inauguration of
King James, there was great mortality, not in London only, but through the whole
kingdom, and from which the nation was not quite clean in seven years after."
This is not unlike the subterfuge of Peter of Pontefract, who had prophesied the death and
deposition of King John, and who was hanged by that monarch for his pains. A very
graphic and amusing account of this pretended prophet is given by Grafton, in his
Chronicles of England. There is so much homely vigour about the style of the old
annalist, that it would be a pity to give the story in other words than his own. [Chronicles
of England, by Richard Grafton; London, 1568, p. 106.] "In the meanwhile," says he, "the
priestes within England had provided them a false and counterfeated prophet, called Peter
Wakefielde, a Yorkshire man, who was an hermite, an idle gadder about, and a pratlyng
marchant. Now to bring this Peter in credite, and the kyng out of all credite with his
people, diverse vaine persons bruted dayly among the commons of the realme, that
Christe had twice appered unto him in the shape of a childe, betwene the prieste's handes,
once at Yorke, another tyme at Pomfret; and that he had breathed upon him thrice,
saying, 'Peace, peace, peace,' and teachyng many things, which he anon declared to the
bishops, and bid the people amend their naughtie living. Being rapt also in spirite, they
sayde he behelde the joyes of heaven and sorowes of hell, for scant were there three in
the realme, sayde he, that lived Christainly.
"This counterfeated soothsayer prophecied of King John, that he should reigne no longer
than the Ascension-day next followyng, which was in the yere of our Lord 1211, and was
the thirteenth yere from his coronation; and this, he said, he had by revelation. Then it
was of him demanded, whether he should be slaine or be deposed, or should voluntarily
give over the crowne? He aunswered, that he could not tell; but of this he was sure (he
sayd), that neither he nor any of his stock or lineage should reigne after that day.
"The king hering of this, laughed much at it, and made but a scoff thereat. 'Tush!' saith
he, 'it is but an ideot knave, and such an one as lacketh his right wittes.' But when this
foolish prophet had so escaped the daunger of the Kinge's displeasure, and that he made
no more of it, he gate him abroad, and prated thereof at large, as he was a very idle
vagabond, and used to trattle and talke more than ynough, so that they which loved the
King caused him anon after to be apprehended as a malefactor, and to be throwen in
prison, the King not yet knowing thereof.
"Anone after the fame of this phantasticall prophet went all the realme over, and his name
was knowen everywhere, as foolishnesse is much regarded of the people, where wisdome
is not in place; specially because he was then imprisoned for the matter, the rumour was
the larger, their wonderynges were the wantoner, their practises the foolisher, their busye
talkes and other idle doinges the greater. Continually from thence, as the rude manner of
people is, olde gossyps tales went abroade, new tales were invented, fables were added to
fables, and lyes grew upon lyes. So that every daye newe slanders were laide upon the
King, and not one of them true. Rumors arose, blasphemyes were sprede, the enemyes
rejoyced, and treasons by the priestes were mainteyned; and what lykewise was surmised,
or other subtiltye practised, all was then lathered upon this foolish prophet, as 'thus saith
Peter Wakefield;' 'thus hath he prophecied;' ' and thus it shall come to pass;' yea, many
times, when he thought nothing lesse. And when the Ascension-day was come, which
was prophecyed of before, King John commanded his royal tent to be spread in the open
fielde, passing that day with his noble counseyle and men of honour, in the greatest
solemnitie that ever he did before; solacing himself with musickale instrumentes and
songs, most in sight among his trustie friendes. When that day was paste in all prosperitie
and myrth, his enemyes being confused, turned all into an allegorical understanding to
make the prophecie good, and sayde, "he is no longer King, for the Pope reigneth, and
not he." [King John was labouring under a sentence of excommunication at the time.]
"Then was the King by his council perswaded that this false prophet had troubled the
realme, perverted the heartes of the people, and raysed the commons against him; for his
wordes went over the sea, by the help of his prelates, and came to the French King's care,
and gave to him a great encouragement to invade the lande. He had not else done it so
sodeinely. But he was most lowly deceived, as all they are and shall be that put their trust
in such dark drowsye dreames of hipocrites. The King therefore commanded that he
should be hanged up, and his sonne also with him, lest any more false prophets should
arise of that race."
Heywood, who was a great stickler for the truth of all sorts of prophecies, gives a much
more favourable account of this Peter of Pomfret, or Pontefract, whose fate he would, in
all probability, have shared, if he had had the misfortune to have flourished in the same
age. He says, that Peter, who was not only a prophet, but a bard, predicted divers of King
John's disasters, which fell out accordingly. On being taxed for a lying prophet in having
predicted that the King would be deposed before .he entered into the fifteenth year of his
reign, he answered him boldly, that all he had said was justifiable and true; for that,
having given up his crown to the Pope, and paying him an annual tribute, the Pope
reigned, and not he. Heywood thought this explanation to be perfectly satisfactory, and
the prophet's faith for ever established.
But to return to Merlin. Of him even to this day it may be said, in the words which Burns
has applied to another notorious personage,
"Great was his power and great his fame; Far kenned and noted is his name ?
His reputation is by no means confined to the land of his birth, but extends through most
of the nations of Europe. A very curious volume of his Life, Prophecies, and Miracles,
written, it is supposed, by Robert de Bosron, was printed at Paris in 1498, which states,
that the Devil himself was his father, and that he spoke the instant he was born, and
assured his mother, a very virtuous young woman, that she should not die in child-bed
with him, as her ill-natured neighbours had predicted. The judge of the district, hearing of
so marvellous an occurrence, summoned both mother and child to appear before him; and
they went accordingly the same day. To put the wisdom of the young prophet most
effectually to the test, the judge asked him if he knew his own father? To which the infant
Merlin replied, in a clear, sonorous voice, "Yes, my father is the Devil; and I have his
power, and know all things, past, present, and to come." His worship clapped his hands in
astonishment, and took the prudent resolution of not molesting so awful a child, or its
mother either.
Early tradition attributes the building of Stonehenge to the power of Merlin. It was
believed that those mighty stones were whirled through the air, at his command, from
Ireland to Salisbury Plain, and that he arranged them in the form in which they now
stand, to commemorate for ever the unhappy fate of three hundred British chiefs, who
were massacred on that spot by the Saxons.
At Abergwylly, near Caermarthen, is still shown the cave of the prophet and the scene of
his incantations. How beautiful is the description of it given by Spenser in his "Faerie
Queene." The lines need no apology for their repetition here, and any sketch of the great
prophet of Britain would be incomplete without them :-"There the wise Merlin, whilom wont (they say), To make his wonne low underneath the
ground, In a deep delve far from the view of day, That of no living wight he mote be
found, Whenso he counselled with his sprites encompassed round.
"And if thou ever happen that same way To travel, go to see that dreadful place; It is a
hideous, hollow cave, they say, Under a rock that lies a little space >From the swift
Barry, tumbling down apace Amongst the woody hills of Dynevoure; But dare thou not, I
charge, in any case, To enter into that same baleful bower, For fear the cruel fiendes
should thee unwares devour!
"But, standing high aloft, low lay thine care, And there such ghastly noise of iron chaines,
And brazen caudrons thou shalt rombling heare, Which thousand sprites, with longenduring paines, Doe tosse, that it will stun thy feeble braines; And often times great
groans and grievous stownds, When too huge toile and labour them constraines; And
often times loud strokes and ringing sounds >From under that deep rock most horribly
rebounds.
"The cause, they say, is this. A little while Before that Merlin died, he did intend A
brazen wall in compass, to compile About Cayr Merdin, and did it commend Unto these
sprites to bring to perfect end; During which work the Lady of the Lake, Whom long he
loved, for him in haste did send, Who thereby forced his workmen to forsake, Them
bound till his return their labour not to slake.
"In the mean time, through that false ladie's traine, He was surprised, and buried under
biere, Ne ever to his work returned again; Natheless these fiendes may not their work
forbeare, So greatly his commandement they fear, But there doe toile and travaile day and
night, Until that brazen wall they up doe reare." [Faerie Queene, b. 3. c. 3. s. 6--13.]
Amongst other English prophets, a belief in whose power has not been entirely effaced
by the light of advancing knowledge, is Robert Nixon, the Cheshire idiot, a contemporary
of Mother Shipton. The popular accounts of this man say, that he was born of poor
parents, not far from Vale Royal, on the edge of the forest of Delamere. He was brought
up to the plough, but was so ignorant and stupid, that nothing could be made of him.
Everybody thought him irretrievably insane, and paid no attention to the strange,
unconnected discourses which he held. Many of his prophecies are believed to have been
lost in this manner. But they were not always destined to be wasted upon dull and
inattentive ears. An incident occurred which brought him into notice, and established his
fame as a prophet of the first calibre. He was ploughing in a field when he suddenly
stopped from his labour, and, with a wild look and strange gestures, exclaimed, "Now,
Dick! now, Harry! O, ill done, Dick! O, well done, Harry! Harry has gained the day!" His
fellow labourers in the field did not know what to make of this rhapsody; but the next day
cleared up the mystery. News was brought by a messenger, in hot haste, that at the very
instant when Nixon had thus ejaculated, Richard III had been slain at the battle of
Bosworth, and Henry VII proclaimed King of England.
It was not long before the fame of the new prophet reached the ears of the King, who
expressed a wish to see and converse with him. A messenger was accordingly despatched
to bring him to court; but long before he reached Cheshire, Nixon knew and dreaded the
honours that awaited him. Indeed it was said, that at the very instant the King expressed
the wish, Nixon was, by supernatural means, made acquainted with it, and that he ran
about the town of Over in great distress of mind, calling out, like a madman, that Henry
had sent for him, and that he must go to court, and be clammed; that is, starved to death.
These expressions excited no little wonder; but, on the third day, the messenger arrived,
and carried him to court, leaving on the minds of the good people of Cheshire an
impression that their prophet was one of the greatest ever born. On his arrival King Henry
appeared to be troubled exceedingly at the loss of a valuable diamond, and asked Nixon if
he could inform him where it was to be found. Henry had hidden the diamond himself,
with a view to test the prophet's skill. Great, therefore, was his surprise when Nixon
answered him in the words of the old proverb, "Those who hide can find." From that time
forth the King implicitly believed that he had the gift of prophecy, and ordered all his
words to be taken down.
During all the time of his residence at court he was in constant fear of being starved to
death, and repeatedly told the King that such would be his fate, if he were not allowed to
depart, and return into his own country. Henry would not suffer it, but gave strict orders
to all his officers and cooks to give him as much to eat as he wanted. He lived so well,
that for some time he seemed to be thriving like a nobleman's steward, and growing as fat
as an alderman. One day the king went out hunting, when Nixon ran to the palace gate,
and entreated on his knees that he might not be left behind to be starved. The King
laughed, and, calling an officer, told him to take especial care of the prophet during his
absence, and rode away to the forest. After his departure, the servants of the palace began
to jeer at and insult Nixon, whom they imagined to be much better treated than he
deserved. Nixon complained to the officer, who, to prevent him from being further
molested, locked him up in the King's own closet, and brought him regularly his four
meals a day. But it so happened that a messenger arrived from the King to this officer,
requiring his immediate presence at Winchester, on a matter of life and death. So great
was his haste to obey the King's command, that he mounted on the horse behind the
messenger, and rode off, without bestowing a thought upon poor Nixon. He did not return
till three days afterwards, when, remembering the prophet for the first time, he went to
the King's closet, and found him lying upon the floor, starved to death, as he had
predicted.
Among the prophecies of his which are believed to have been fulfilled, are the following,
which relate to the times of the Pretender :-"A great man shall come into England, But the son of a King Shall take from him the
victory."
" Crows shall drink the blood of many nobles, And the North shall rise against the
South." "The cock of the North shall be made to flee, And his feather be plucked for his
pride, That he shall almost curse the day that he was born,"
All these, say his admirers, are as clear as the sun at noon-day. The first denotes the
defeat of Prince Charles Edward, at the battle of Culloden, by the Duke of Cumberland;
the second, the execution of Lords Derwentwater, Balmerino, and Lovat; and the third,
the retreat of the Pretender from the shores of Britain. Among the prophecies that still
remain to be accomplished, are the following :-"Between seven, eight, and nine, In England wonders shall be seen; Between nine and
thirteen All sorrow shall be done!"
"Through our own money and our men Shall a dreadful war begin. Between the sickle
and the suck All England shall have a pluck,"
"Foreign nations shall invade England with snow on their helmets, and shall bring plague,
famine, and murder in the skirts of their garments."
"The town of Nantwich shall be swept away by a flood"
Of the two first of these no explanation has yet been attempted; but some event or other
will doubtless be twisted into such a shape as will fit them. The third, relative to the
invasion of England by a nation with snow on their helmets, is supposed by the old
women to foretell most clearly the coming war with Russia. As to the last, there are not a
few in the town mentioned who devoutly believe that such will be its fate. Happily for
their peace of mind, the prophet said nothing of the year that was to witness the awful
calamity; so that they think it as likely to be two centuries hence as now.
The popular biographers of Nixon conclude their account of him by saying, that "his
prophecies are by some persons thought fables; yet by what has come to pass, it is now
thought, and very plainly appears, that most of them have proved, or will prove, true; for
which we, on all occasions, ought not only to exert our utmost might to repel by force our
enemies, but to refrain from our abandoned and wicked course of life, and to make our
continual prayer to God for protection and safety." To this, though a non sequitur, every
one will cry Amen!
Besides the prophets, there have been the almanack makers, Lilly, Poor Robin, Partridge,
and Francis Moore, physician, in England, and Matthew Laensbergh, in France and
Belgium. But great as were their pretensions, they were modesty itself in comparison
with Merlin, Shipton, and Nixon, who fixed their minds upon higher things than the
weather, and who were not so restrained in their flights of fancy as to prophesy for only
one year at a time. After such prophets as they, the almanack makers hardly deserve to be
mentioned; no, not even the renowned Partridge, whose wonderful prognostications set
all England agog in 1708, and whose death, at a time when he was still alive and kicking,
was so pleasantly and satisfactorily proved by Isaac Bickerstaff. The anti-climax would
be too palpable, and they and their doings must be left uncommemorated.
POPULAR ADMIRATION FOR GREAT THIEVES.
Jack: Where shall we find such another set of practical philosophers who, to a man, are
above the fear of death?
Wat: Sound men and true!
Robin: Of tried courage and indefatigable industry!
Ned. Who is there here that would not die for his friend?
Harry: Who is there here that would betray him for his interest?
Mat: Show me a gang of courtiers that could say as much!
-- Dialogue of thieves in the Beggars' Opera.
Whether it be that the multitude, feeling the pangs of poverty, sympathise with the daring
and ingenious depredators who take away the rich man's superfluity, or whether it be the
interest that mankind in general feel for the records of perilous adventures, it is certain
that the populace of all countries look with admiration upon great and successful thieves.
Perhaps both these causes combine to invest their career with charms in the popular eye.
Almost every country in Europe has its traditional thief, whose exploits are recorded with
all the graces of poetry, and whose trespasses "are cited up in rhymes, And sung by
children in succeeding times." [Shakspeare's Rape of Lucretia.]
Those travellers who have made national manners and characteristics their peculiar study,
have often observed and remarked upon this feeling. The learned Abbe le Blanc, who
resided for some time in England at the commencement of the eighteenth century, says,
in his amusing letters on the English and French nations, that he continually met with
Englishmen who were not less vain in boasting of the success of their highwaymen than
of the bravery of their troops. Tales of their address, their cunning, or their generosity,
were in the mouths of everybody, and a noted thief was a kind of hero in high repute. He
adds that the mob, in all countries, being easily moved, look in general with concern upon
criminals going to the gallows; but an English mob looked upon such scenes with
'extraordinary interest: they delighted to see them go through their last trials with
resolution, and applauded those who were insensible enough to die as they had lived,
braving the justice both of God and men: such, he might have added, as the noted robber
Macpherson, of whom the old ballad says-"Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauntingly gaed he: He played a spring, and danced it
round Beneath the gallows tree."
Among these traditional thieves the most noted in England, or perhaps in any country, is
Robin Hood, a name which popular affection has encircled with a peculiar halo. "He
robbed the rich to give to the poor;" and his reward has been an immortality of fame, a
tithe of which would be thought more than sufficient to recompense a benefactor of his
species. Romance and poetry have been emulous to make him all their own; and the
forest of Sherwood, in which he roamed with his merry men, armed with their long bows,
and clad in Lincoln green, has become the resort of pilgrims, and a classic spot sacred to
his memory. The few virtues he had, which would have ensured him no praise if he had
been an honest man, have been blazoned forth by popular renown during seven
successive centuries, and will never be forgotten while the English tongue endures. His
charity to the poor, and his gallantry and respect for women, have made him the preeminent thief of all the world.
Among English thieves of a later date, who has not heard of Claude Duval, Dick Turpin,
Jonathan Wild, and Jack Sheppard, those knights of the road and of the town, whose
peculiar chivalry formed at once the dread and the delight of England during the
eighteenth century ? Turpin's fame is unknown to no portion of the male population of
England after they have attained the age of ten. His wondrous ride from London to York
has endeared him to the imagination of millions; his cruelty in placing an old woman
upon a fire, to force her to tell him where she had hidden her money, is regarded as a
good joke; and his proud bearing upon the scaffold is looked upon as a virtuous action.
The Abbe le Blanc, writing in 1737, says he was continually entertained with stories of
Turpin -- how, when he robbed gentlemen, he would generously leave them enough to
continue their journey, and exact a pledge from them never to inform against him, and
how scrupulous such gentlemen were in keeping their word. He was one day told a story
with which the relator was he the highest degree delighted. Turpin, or some other noted
robber, stopped a man whom he knew to be very rich, with the usual salutation --" Your
money or your life!" but not finding more than five or six guineas about him, he took the
liberty of entreating him, in the most affable manner, never to come out so ill provided;
adding that, if he fell in with him, and he had no more than such a paltry sum, he would
give him a good licking. Another story, told by one of Turpin's admirers, was of a
robbery he had committed upon a Mr. C. near Cambridge. He took from this gentleman
his watch, his snuff-box, and all his money but two shillings, and, before he left him,
required his word of honour that he would not cause him to be pursued or brought before
a justice. The promise being given, they both parted very courteously. They afterwards
met at Newmarket, and renewed their acquaintance. Mr. C. kept his word religiously; he
not only refrained from giving Turpin into custody, but made a boast that he had fairly
won some of his money back again in an honest way. Turpin offered to bet with him on
some favourite horse, and Mr. C. accepted the wager with as good a grace as he could
have done from the best gentleman in England. Turpin lost his bet and paid it
immediately, and was so smitten with the generous behaviour of Mr. C. that he told him
how deeply he regretted that the trifling affair which had happened between them did not
permit them to drink together. The narrator of this anecdote was quite proud that England
was the birthplace of such a highwayman.
[The Abbe, in the second volume, in the letter No. 79, dressed to Monsieur de Buffon,
gives the following curious particulars of the robbers of 1757, which are not without
interest at this day, if it were only to show the vast improvement which has taken place
since that period :-- "It is usual, in travelling, to put ten or a dozen guineas in a separate
pocket, as a tribute to the first that comes to demand them: the right of passport, which
custom has established here in favour of the robbers, who are almost the only highway
surveyors in England, has made this necessary; and accordingly the English call these
fellows the 'Gentlemen of the Road,' the government letting them exercise their
jurisdiction upon travellers without giving them any great molestation. To say the truth,
they content themselves with only taking the money of those who obey without
disputing; but notwithstanding their boasted humanity, the lives of those who endeavour
to get away are not always safe. They are very strict and severe in levying their impost;
and if a man has not wherewithal to pay them, he may run the chance of getting himself
knocked on the head for his poverty.
"About fifteen years ago, these robbers, with the view of maintaining their rights, fixed
up papers at the doors of rich people about London, expressly forbidding all persons, of
whatsoever quality or condition, from going out of town without ten guineas and a watch
about them, on pain of death. In bad times, when there is little or nothing to be got on the
roads, these fellows assemble in gangs, to raise contributions even in London itself; and
the watchmen seldom trouble themselves to interfere with them in their vocation."]
Not less familiar to the people of England is the career of Jack Sheppard, as brutal a
ruffian as ever disgraced his country, but who has claims upon the popular admiration
which are very generally acknowledged. He did not, like Robin Hood, plunder the rich to
relieve the poor, nor rob with an uncouth sort of courtesy, like Turpin; but he escaped
from Newgate with the fetters on his limbs. This achievement, more than once repeated,
has encircled his felon brow with the wreath of immortality, and made him quite a pattern
thief among the populace. He was no more than twenty-three years of age at the time of
his execution, and he died much pitied by the crowd. His adventures were the sole topics
of conversation for months; the print-shops were filled with his effigies, and a fine
painting of him was made by Sir Richard Thornhill. The following complimentary verses
to the artist appeared in the "British Journal" of November 28th, 1724.
"Thornhill! 'tis thine to gild with fame Th' obscure, and raise the humble name; To make
the form elude the grave, And Sheppard from oblivion save!
Apelles Alexander drew-- Cesar is to Aurelius due; Cromwell in Lilly's works doth shine,
And Sheppard, Thornhill, lives in thine!"
So high was Jack's fame that a pantomime entertainment, called "Harlequin Jack
Sheppard," was devised by one Thurmond, and brought out with great success at Drury
Lane Theatre. All the scenes were painted from nature, including the public-house that
the robber frequented in Claremarket, and the condemned cell from which he had made
his escape in Newgate.
The Rev. Mr. Villette, the editor of the "Annals of Newgate," published in 1754, relates a
curious sermon which, he says, a friend of his heard delivered by a street-preacher about
the time of Jack's execution. The orator, after animadverting on the great care men took
of their bodies, and the little care they bestowed upon their souls, continued as follows,
by way of exemplifying the position:-- "We have a remarkable instance of this in a
notorious malefactor, well known by the name of Jack Sheppard. What amazing
difficulties has he overcome! what astonishing things has he performed! and all for the
sake of a stinking, miserable carcass; hardly worth the hanging! How dexterously did he
pick the chain of his padlock with a crooked nail! how manfully he burst his fetters
asunder! -- climb up the chimney! -- wrench out an iron bar! -- break his way through a
stone wall! -- make the strong door of a dark entry fly before him, till he got upon the
leads of the prison! then, fixing a blanket to the wall with a spike, he stole out of the
chapel. How intrepidly did he descend to the top of the turner's house! -- how cautiously
pass down the stair, and make his escape to the street door!
"Oh! that ye were all like Jack Sheppard! Mistake me not, my brethren; I don't mean in a
carnal, but in a spiritual sense, for I propose to spiritualise these things. What a shame it
would be if we should not think it worth our while to take as much pains, and employ as
many deep thoughts, to save our souls as he has done to preserve his body!
"Let me exhort ye, then, to open the locks of your hearts with the nail of repentance!
Burst asunder the fetters of your beloved lusts! -- mount the chimney of hope! -- take
from thence the bar of good resolution! -- break through the stone wall of despair, and all
the strongholds in the dark entry of the valley of the shadow of death! Raise yourselves to
the leads of divine meditation! -- fix the blanket of faith with the spike of the church! let
yourselves down to the turner's house of re signation, and descend the stairs of humility!
So shall you come to the door of deliverance from the prison of iniquity, and escape the
clutches of that old executioner the Devil!"
But popular as the name of Jack Sheppard was immediately after he had suffered the last
penalty of his crimes, it was as nothing compared to the vast renown which he has
acquired in these latter days, after the lapse of a century and a quarter. Poets too often, are
not fully appreciated till they have been dead a hundred years, and thieves, it would
appear, share the disadvantage. But posterity is grateful if our contemporaries are not;
and Jack Sheppard, faintly praised in his own day, shines out in ours the hero of heroes,
preeminent above all his fellows. Thornhill made but one picture of the illustrious robber,
but Cruikshank has made dozens, and the art of the engraver has multiplied them into
thousands and tens of thousands, until the populace of England have become as familiar
with Jack's features as they are with their own. Jack, the romantic, is the hero of three
goodly volumes, and the delight of the circulating libraries; and the theatres have been
smitten with the universal enthusiasm. Managers have set their playmongers at work, and
Jack's story has been reproduced in the shape of drama, melodrama, and farce, at half a
dozen places of entertainment at once. Never was such a display of popular regard for a
hero as was exhibited in London in 1840 for the renowned Jack Sheppard: robbery
acquired additional lustre in the popular eye, and not only Englishmen, but foreigners,
caught the contagion; and one of the latter, fired by the example, robbed and murdered a
venerable, unoffending, and too confiding nobleman, whom it was his especial duty to
have obeyed and protected. But he was a coward and a wretch; -- it was a solitary crime - he had not made a daring escape from dungeon walls, or ridden from London to York,
and he died amid the execrations of the people, affording a melancholy exemplification
of the trite remark, that every man is not great who is desirous of being so.
Jonathan Wild, whose name has been immortalised by Fielding, was no favourite with
the people. He had none of the virtues which, combined with crimes, make up the
character of the great thief. He was a pitiful fellow, who informed against his comrades,
and was afraid of death. This meanness was not to be forgiven by the crowd, and they
pelted him with dirt and stones on his way to Tyburn, and expressed their contempt by
every possible means. How different was their conduct to Turpin and Jack Sheppard, who
died in their neatest attire, with nosegays in their button-holes, and with the courage that
a crowd expects! It was anticipated that the body of Turpin would have been delivered up
to the surgeons for dissection, and the people seeing some men very busily employed in
removing it, suddenly set upon them, rescued the body, bore it about the town in triumph,
and then buried it in a very deep grave, filled with quick-lime, to hasten the progress of
decomposition. They would not suffer the corpse of their hero, of the man who had
ridden from London to York in four-and-twenty hours to be mangled by the rude hands
of unmannerly surgeons.
The death of Claude Duval would appear to have been no less triumphant. Claude was a
gentlemanly thief. According to Butler, in the famous ode to his memory, he
"Taught the wild Arabs of the road To rob in a more gentle mode; Take prizes more
obligingly than those Who never had breen bred filous; And how to hang in a more
graceful fashion Than e'er was known before to the dull English nation."
In fact, he was the pink of politeness, and his gallantry to the fair sex was proverbial.
When he was caught at last, pent in "stone walls and chains and iron grates," -- their grief
was in proportion to his rare merits and his great fame. Butler says, that to his dungeon
"-- came ladies from all parts, To offer up close prisoners their hearts, Which he received
as tribute due-- * * * * Never did bold knight, to relieve Distressed dames, such dreadful
feats achieve, As feeble damsels, for his sake, Would have been proud to undertake, And,
bravely ambitious to redeem The world's loss and their own, Strove who should have the
honour to lay down, And change a life with him."
Among the noted thieves of France, there is none to compare with the famous Aimerigot
Tetenoire, who flourished in the reign of Charles VI. This fellow was at the head of four
or five hundred men, and possessed two very strong castles in Limousin and Auvergne.
There was a good deal of the feudal baron about him, although he possessed no revenues
but such as the road afforded him. At his death he left a singular will. "I give and
bequeath," said the robber, "one thousand five hundred francs to St. George's Chapel, for
such repairs as it may need. To my sweet girl who so tenderly loved me, I give two
thousand five hundred; and the surplus I give to my companions. I hope they will all live
as brothers, and divide it amicably among them. If they cannot agree, and the devil of
contention gets among them, it is no fault of mine; and I advise them to get a good strong,
sharp axe, and break open my strong box. Let them scramble for what it contains, and the
Devil seize the hindmost." The people of Auvergne still recount with admiration the
daring feats of this brigand.
Of later years, the French thieves have been such unmitigated scoundrels as to have left
but little room for popular admiration. The famous Cartouche, whose name has become
synonymous with ruffian in their language, had none of the generosity, courtesy, and
devoted bravery which are so requisite to make a robber-hero. He was born at Paris,
towards the end of the seventeenth century, and broken alive on the wheel in November
1727. He was, however, sufficiently popular to have been pitied at his death, and
afterwards to have formed the subject of a much admired drama, which bore his name,
and was played with great success in all the theatres of France during the years 1734, 5,
and 6. In our own day the French have been more fortunate in a robber; Vidocq bids fair
to rival the fame of Turpin and Jack Sheppard. Already he has become the hero of many
an apocryphal tale -- already his compatriots boast of his manifold achievements, and
express their doubts whether any other country in Europe could produce a thief so clever,
so accomplished, so gentlemanly, as Vidocq.
Germany has its Schinderhannes, Hungary its Schubry, and Italy and Spain a whole host
of brigands, whose names and exploits are familiar as household words in the mouths of
the children and populace of those countries. The Italian banditti are renowned over the
world; and many of them are not only very religious (after a fashion), but very charitable.
Charity from such a source is so unexpected, that the people dote upon them for it. One
of them, when he fell into the hands of the police, exclaimed, as they led him away, "Ho
fatto pitt carita!" -- " I have given away more in charity than any three convents in these
provinces." And the fellow spoke truth.
In Lombardy, the people cherish the memory of two notorious robbers, who flourished
about two centuries ago under the Spanish government. Their story, according to
Macfarlane, is contained in a little book well known to all the children of the province,
and read by them with much more gusto than their Bibles.
Schinderhannes, the robber of the Rhine, is a great favourite on the banks of the river
which he so long kept in awe. Many amusing stories are related by the peasantry of the
scurvy tricks he played off upon rich Jews, or too-presuming officers of justice -- of his
princely generosity, and undaunted courage. In short, they are proud of him, and would
no more consent to have the memory of his achievements dissociated from their river
than they would to have the rock of Ehrenbreitstein blown to atoms by gunpowder.
There is another robber-hero, of whose character and exploits the people of Germany
speak admiringly. Mausch Nadel was captain of a considerable band that infested the
Rhine, Switzerland, Alsatia, and Lorraine during the years 1824, 5, and 6. Like Jack
Sheppard, he endeared himself to the populace by his most hazardous escape from prison.
Being confined, at Bremen, in a dungeon, on the third story of the prison of that town, he
contrived to let himself down without exciting the vigilance of the sentinels, and to swim
across the Weser, though heavily laden with irons. When about half way over, he was
espied by a sentinel, who fired at him, and shot him in the calf of the leg: but the
undaunted robber struck out manfully, reached the shore, and was out of sight before the
officers of justice could get ready their boats to follow him. He was captured again in
1826, tried at Mayence, and sentenced to death. He was a tall, strong, handsome man, and
his fate, villain as he was, excited much sympathy all over Germany. The ladies
especially were loud in their regret that nothing could be done to save a hero so goodlooking, and of adventures so romantic, from the knife of the headsman.
Mr. Macfarlane, in speaking of Italian banditti, remarks, that the abuses of the Catholic
religion, with its confessions and absolutions, have tended to promote crime of this
description. But, he adds, more truly, that priests and monks have not done half the
mischief which has been perpetrated by ballad-mongers and story-tellers. If he had said
play-wrights also, the list would have been complete. In fact, the theatre, which can only
expect to prosper, in a pecuniary sense, by pandering to the tastes of the people,
continually recurs to the annals of thieves and banditti for its most favourite heroes.
These theatrical robbers; with their picturesque attire, wild haunts, jolly, reckless, devilmay-care manners, take a wonderful hold upon the imagination, and, whatever their
advocates may say to the contrary, exercise a very pernicious influence upon public
morals. In the Memoirs of the Duke of Guise upon the Revolution of Naples in 1647 and
1648, it is stated, that the manners, dress, and mode of life of the Neapolitan banditti were
rendered so captivating upon the stage, that the authorities found it absolutely necessary
to forbid the representation of dramas in which they figured, and even to prohibit their
costume at the masquerades. So numerous were the banditti at this time, that the Duke
found no difficulty in raising an army of. them, to aid him in his endeavours to seize on
the throne of Naples. He thus describes them; [See also "Foreign Quarterly Review," vol.
iv. p. 398.]
"They were three thousand five hundred men, of whom the oldest came short of five and
forty years, and the youngest was above twenty. They were all tall and well made, with
long black hair, for the most part curled, coats of black Spanish leather, with sleeves of
velvet, or cloth of gold, cloth breeches with gold lace, most of them scarlet; girdles of
velvet, laced with gold, with two pistols on each side; a cutlass hanging at a belt, suitably
trimmed, three fingers broad and two feet long; a hawking-bag at their girdle, and a
powder-flask hung about their neck with a great silk riband. Some of them carried
firelocks, and others blunder-busses; they had all good shoes, with silk stockings, and
every one a cap of cloth of gold, or cloth of silver, of different colours, on his head,
which was very delightful to the eye."
"The Beggars' Opera," in our own country, is another instance of the admiration that
thieves excite upon the stage. Of the extraordinary success of this piece, when first
produced, the following account is given in the notes to "The Dunciad," and quoted by
Johnson in his "Lives of the Poets." "This piece was received with greater applause than
was ever known. Besides being acted in London sixty-three days without interruption,
and renewed the next season with equal applause, it spread into all the great towns of
England; was played in many places to the thirtieth and fortieth time; at Bath and Bristol,
&c. fifty. It made its progress into Wales, Scotland, and Ireland, where it was performed
twenty-four days successively. The ladies carried about with them the favourite songs of
it in fans, and houses were furnished with it in screens. The fame of it was not confined to
the author only. The person who acted Polly, till then obscure, became all at once the
favourite of the town; [Lavinia Fenton, afterwards Duchess of Bolton.] her pictures were
engraved and sold in great numbers; her life written, books of letters and verses to her
published, and pamphlets made even of her sayings and jests. Furthermore, it drove out
of England, for that season, the Italian Opera, which had carried all before it for ten
years." Dr. Johnson, in his Life of the Author, says, that Herring, afterwards Archbishop
of Canterbury, censured the opera, as giving encouragement, not only to vice, but to
crimes, by making the highwayman the hero, and dismissing him at last unpunished; and
adds, that it was even said, that after the exhibition the gangs of robbers were evidently
multiplied. The Doctor doubts the assertion, giving as his reason that highwaymen and
housebreakers seldom frequent the playhouse, and that it was not possible for any one to
imagine that he might rob with safety, because he saw Macheath reprieved upon the
stage. But if Johnson had wished to be convinced, he might very easily have discovered
that highwaymen and housebreakers did frequent the theatre, and that nothing was more
probable than that a laughable representation of successful villany should induce the
young and the already vicious to imitate it. Besides, there is the weighty authority of Sir
John Fielding, the chief magistrate of Bow Street, who asserted positively, and proved his
assertion by the records of his office, that the number of thieves was greatly increased at
the time when that opera was so popular.
We have another instance of the same result much nearer our own times. Schiller's
"Rauber," that wonderful play, written by a green youth, perverted the taste and
imagination of all the young men in Germany. An accomplished critic of our own
country (Hazlitt), speaking of this play, says it was the first he ever read, and such was
the effect it produced on him, that "it stunned him, like a blow." After the lapse of fiveand-twenty years he could not forget it; it was still, to use his own words, "an old dweller
in the chambers of his brain," and he had not even then recovered enough from it, to
describe how it was. The high-minded, metaphysical thief, its hero, was so warmly
admired, that several raw students, longing to imitate a character they thought so noble,
actually abandoned their homes and their colleges, and betook themselves to the forests
and wilds to levy contributions upon travellers. They thought they would, like Moor,
plunder the rich, and deliver eloquent soliloquies to the setting sun or the rising moon;
relieve the poor when they met them, and drink flasks of Rhenish with their free
companions in rugged mountain passes, or in tents in the thicknesses of the forests. But a
little experience wonderfully cooled their courage; they found that real, every-day
robbers were very unlike the conventional banditti of the stage, and that three months in
prison, with bread and water for their fare, and damp straw to lie upon, was very well to
read about by their own fire sides, but not very agreeable to undergo in their own proper
persons.
Lord Byron, with his soliloquising, high-souled thieves, has, in a slight degree, perverted
the taste of the greenhorns and incipient rhymesters of his country. As yet, however, they
have shown more good sense than their fellows of Germany, and have not taken to the
woods or the highways. Much as they admire Conrad the Corsair, they will not go to sea,
and hoist the black flag in emulation of him. By words only, and not by deeds, they
testify their admiration, and deluge the periodicals and music shops of the hand with
verses describing pirates' and bandits' brides, and robber adventures of every kind.
But it is the play-wright who does most harm; and Byron has fewer sins of this nature to
answer for than Gay or Schiller, and the modern dramatizers of Jack Sheppard. With the
aid of scenery, fine dresses, and music, and the very false notions they convey, they
vitiate the public taste, not knowing,
"----------- vulgaires rimeurs Quelle force ont les arts pour demolir les moeurs."
In the penny theatres that abound in the poor and populous districts of London, and which
are chiefly frequented by striplings of idle and dissolute habits, tales of thieves and
murderers are more admired, and draw more crowded audiences, than any other species
of representation. There the footpad, the burglar, and the highwayman are portrayed in
unnatural colours, and give pleasant lessons in crime to their delighted listeners. There
the deepest tragedy and the broadest farce are represented in the career of the murderer
and the thief, and are applauded in proportion to their depth and their breadth. There,
whenever a crime of unusual atrocity is committed, it is brought out afresh, with all its
disgusting incidents copied from the life, for the amusement of those who will one day
become its imitators.
With the mere reader the case is widely different; and most people have a partiality for
knowing the adventures of noted rogues. Even in fiction they are delightful: witness the
eventful story of Gil Blas de Santillane, and of that great rascal Don Guzman d'Alfarache.
Here there is no fear of imitation. Poets, too, without doing mischief, may sing of such
heroes when they please, wakening our sympathies for the sad fate of Gilderoy, or
Macpherson the Dauntless; or celebrating in undying verse the wrongs and the revenge of
the great thief of Scotland, Rob Roy. If, by the music of their sweet rhymes, they can
convince the world that such heroes are but mistaken philosophers, born a few ages too
late, and having both a theoretical and practical love for
"The good old rule, the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, That they
should keep who can,"
the world may, perhaps, become wiser, and consent to some better distribution of its good
things, by means of which thieves may become reconciled to the age, and the age to
them. The probability, however, seems to be, that the charmers will charm in vain, charm
they ever so wisely.
INFLUENCE OF POLITICS AND RELIGION ON THE HAIR AND BEARD.
Speak with respect and honour
Both of the beard and the beard's owner.
-- HUDIBRAS,
The famous declaration of St. Paul, "that long hair was a shame unto a man" has been
made the pretext for many singular enactments, both of civil and ecclesiastical
governments. The fashion of the hair and the cut of the beard were state questions in
France and England from the establishment of Christianity until the fifteenth century.
We find, too, that in much earlier times men were not permitted to do as they liked with
their own hair. Alexander the Great thought that the beards of his soldiery afforded
convenient handles for the enemy to lay hold of, preparatory to cutting off their heads;
and, with the view of depriving them of this advantage, he ordered the whole of his army
to be closely shaven. His notions of courtesy towards an enemy were quite different from
those entertained by the North American Indians, amongst whom it is held a point of
honour to allow one "chivalrous lock" to grow, that the foe, in taking the scalp, may have
something to catch hold of.
At one time, long hair was the symbol of sovereignty in Europe. We learn from Gregory
of Tours that, among the successors of Clovis, it was the exclusive privilege of the royal
family to have their hair long, and curled. The nobles, equal to kings in power, would not
show any inferiority in this respect, and wore not only their hair, but their beards, of an
enormous length. This fashion lasted, with but slight changes, till the time of Louis the
Debonnaire, but his successors, up to Hugh Capet, wore their hair short, by way of
distinction. Even the serfs had set all regulation at defiance, and allowed their locks and
beards to grow.
At the time of the invasion of England by William the Conqueror, the Normans wore
their hair very short. Harold, in his progress towards Hastings, sent forward spies to view
the strength and number of the enemy. They reported, amongst other things, on their
return, that "the host did almost seem to be priests, because they had all their face and
both their lips shaven." The fashion among the English at the time was to wear the hair
long upon the head and the upper lip, but to shave the chin. When the haughty victors had
divided the broad lands of the Saxon thanes and franklins among them, when tyranny of
every kind was employed to make the English feel that they were indeed a subdued and
broken nation, the latter encouraged the growth of their hair, that they might resemble as
little as possible their cropped and shaven masters.
This fashion was exceedingly displeasing to the clergy, and prevailed to a considerable
extent in France and Germany. Towards the end of the eleventh century, it was decreed
by the Pope, and zealously supported by the ecclesiastical authorities all over Europe,
that such persons as wore long hair should be excommunicated while living, and not be
prayed for when dead. William of Malmesbury relates, that the famous St. Wulstan,
Bishop of Worcester, was peculiarly indignant whenever he saw a man with long hair. He
declaimed against the practice as one highly immoral, criminal, and beastly. He
continually carried a small knife in his pocket, and whenever anybody, offending in this
respect, knelt before him to receive his blessing, he would whip it out slily, and cut off a
handful, and then, throwing it in his face, tell him to cut off all the rest, or he would go to
hell.
But fashion, which at times it is possible to move with a wisp, stands firm against a lever;
and men preferred to run the risk of damnation to parting with the superfluity of their
hair. In the time of Henry I, Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, found it necessary to
republish the famous decree of excommunication and outlawry against the offenders; but,
as the court itself had begun to patronize curls, the fulminations of the church were
unavailing. Henry I and his nobles wore their hair in long ringlets down their backs and
shoulders, and became a scandalum magnatum in the eyes of the godly. One Serlo, the
King's chaplain, was so grieved in spirit at the impiety of his master, that he preached a
sermon from the well-known text of St. Paul, before the assembled court, in which he
drew so dreadful a picture of the torments that awaited them in the other world, that
several of them burst into tears, and wrung their hair, as if they would have pulled it out
by the roots. Henry himself was observed to weep. The priest, seeing the impression he
had made, determined to strike while the iron was hot, and, pulling a pair of scissors from
his pocket, cut the king's hair in presence of them all. Several of the principal courtiers
consented to do the like, and, for a short time, long hair appeared to be going out of
fashion. But the courtiers thought, after the first glow of their penitence had been cooled
by reflection, that the clerical Dalilah had shorn them of their strength, and, in less than
six months, they were as great sinners as ever.
Anselm, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who had been a monk of Bec, in Normandy, and
who had signalized himself at Rouen by his fierce opposition to long hair, was still
anxious to work a reformation in this matter. But his pertinacity was far from pleasing to
the King, who had finally made up his mind to wear ringlets. There were other disputes,
of a more serious nature, between them; so that when the Archbishop died, the King was
so glad to be rid of him, that he allowed the see to remain vacant for five years. Still the
cause had other advocates, and every pulpit in the land resounded with anathemas against
that disobedient and long-haired generation. But all was of no avail. Stowe, in writing of
this period, asserts, on the authority of some more ancient chronicler, "that men,
forgetting their birth, transformed themselves, by the length of their haires, into the
semblance of woman kind;" and that when their hair decayed from age, or other causes,
"they knit about their heads certain rolls and braidings of false hair." At last accident
turned the tide of fashion. A knight of the court, who was exceedingly proud of his
beauteous locks, dreamed one night that, as he lay in bed, the devil sprang upon him, and
endeavoured to choke him with his own hair. He started in affright, and actually found
that he had a great quantity of hair in his mouth. Sorely stricken in conscience, and
looking upon the dream as a warning from Heaven, he set about the work of reformation,
and cut off his luxuriant tresses the same night. The story was soon bruited abroad; of
course it was made the most of by the clergy, and the knight, being a man of influence
and consideration, and the acknowledged leader of the fashion, his example, aided by
priestly exhortations, was very generally imitated. Men appeared almost as decent as St.
Wulstan himself could have wished, the dream of a dandy having proved more
efficacious than the entreaties of a saint. But, as Stowe informs us, "scarcely was one
year past, when all that thought themselves courtiers fell into the former vice, and
contended with women in their long haires." Henry, the King, appears to have been quite
uninfluenced by the dreams of others, for even his own would not induce him a second
time to undergo a cropping from priestly shears. It is said, that he was much troubled at
this time by disagreeable visions. Having offended the church in this and other respects,
he could get no sound refreshing sleep, and used to imagine that he saw all the bishops,
abbots, and monks of every degree, standing around his bed-side, and threatening to
belabour him with their pastoral staves; which sight, we are told, so frightened him, that
he often started naked out of his bed, and attacked the phantoms sword in hand.
Grimbalde, his physician, who, like most of his fraternity at that day, was an ecclesiastic,
never hinted that his dreams were the result of a bad digestion, but told him to shave his
head, be reconciled to the Church, and reform himself with alms and prayer. But he
would not take this good advice, and it was not until he had been nearly drowned a year
afterwards, in a violent storm at sea, that he repented of his evil ways, cut his hair short,
and paid proper deference to the wishes of the clergy.
In France, the thunders of the Vatican with regard to long curly hair were hardly more
respected than in England. Louis VII. however, was more obedient than his brother-king,
and cropped himself as closely as a monk, to the great sorrow of all the gallants of his
court. His Queen, the gay, haughty, and pleasure-seeking Eleanor of Guienne, never
admired him in this trim, and continually reproached him with imitating, not only the
headdress, but the asceticism of the monks. From this cause, a coldness arose between
them. The lady proving at last unfaithful to her shaven and indifferent lord, they were
divorced, and the Kings of France lost the rich provinces of Guienne and Poitou, which
were her dowry. She soon after bestowed her hand and her possessions upon Henry Duke
of Normandy, afterwards Henry II of England, and thus gave the English sovereigns that
strong footing in France which was for so many centuries the cause of such long and
bloody wars between the nations.
When the Crusades had drawn all the smart young fellows into Palestine, the clergy did
not find it so difficult to convince the staid burghers who remained in Europe, of the
enormity of long hair. During the absence of Richard Coeur de Lion, his English subjects
not only cut their hair close, but shaved their faces. William Fitzosbert, or Long-beard,
the great demagogue of that day, reintroduced among the people who claimed to be of
Saxon origin the fashion of long hair. He did this with the view of making them as unlike
as possible to the citizens and the Normans. He wore his own beard hanging down to his
waist, from whence the name by which he is best known to posterity.
The Church never showed itself so great an enemy to the beard as to long hair on the
head. It generally allowed fashion to take its own course, both with regard to the chin and
the upper lip. This fashion varied continually; for we find that, in little more than a
century after the time of Richard I, when beards were short, that they had again become
so long as to be mentioned in the famous epigram made by the Scots who visited London
in 1327, when David, son of Robert Bruce, was married to Joan, the sister of King
Edward. This epigram, which was stuck on the church-door of St. Peter Stangate, ran as
follows-"Long beards heartlesse, Painted hoods witlesse, Gray coats gracelesse, Make England
thriftlesse."
When the Emperor Charles V. ascended the throne of Spain, he had no beard. It was not
to be expected that the obsequious parasites who always surround a monarch, could
presume to look more virile than their master. Immediately all the courtiers appeared
beardless, with the exception of such few grave old men as had outgrown the influence of
fashion, and who had determined to die bearded as they had lived. Sober people in
general saw this revolution with sorrow and alarm, and thought that every manly virtue
would be banished with the beard. It became at the time a common saying,-"Desde que no hay barba, no hay mas alma." We have no longer souls since we have lost
our beards.
In France, also, the beard fell into disrepute after the death of Henry IV, from the mere
reason that his successor was too young to have one. Some of the more immediate friends
of the great Bearnais, and his minister Sully among the rest, refused to part with their
beards, notwithstanding the jeers of the new generation.
Who does not remember the division of England into the two great parties of Roundheads
and Cavaliers? In those days, every species of vice and iniquity was thought by the
Puritans to lurk in the long curly tresses of the Monarchists, while the latter imagined that
their opponents were as destitute of wit, of wisdom, and of virtue, as they were of hair. A
man's locks were the symbol of his creed, both in politics and religion. The more
abundant the hair, the more scant the faith; and the balder the head, the more sincere the
piety.
But among all the instances of the interference of governments with men's hair, the most
extraordinary, not only for its daring, but for its success is that of Peter the Great, in
1705. By this time, fashion had condemned the beard in every other country in Europe,
and with a voice more potent than Popes or Emperors, had banished it from civilized
society. But this only made the Russians cling more fondly to their ancient ornament, as a
mark to distinguish them from foreigners, whom they hated. Peter, however resolved that
they should be shaven. If he had been a man deeply read in history, he might have
hesitated before he attempted so despotic an attack upon the time-hallowed customs and
prejudices of his countrymen; but he was not. He did not know or consider the danger of
the innovation; he only listened to the promptings of his own indomitable will, and his
fiat went forth, that not only the army, but all ranks of citizens, from the nobles to the
serfs, should shave their beards. A certain time was given, that people might get over the
first throes of their repugnance, after which every man who chose to retain his beard was
to pay a tax of one hundred roubles. The priests and the serfs were put on a lower footing,
and allowed to retain theirs upon payment of a copeck every time they passed the gate of
a city. Great discontent existed in consequence, but the dreadful fate of the Strelitzes was
too recent to be forgotten, and thousands who had the will had not the courage to revolt.
As is well remarked by a writer in the "Encyclopedia Britannica," they thought it wiser to
cut off their beards than to run the risk of incensing a man who would make no scruple in
cutting off their heads. Wiser, too, than the popes and bishops of a former age, he did not
threaten them with eternal damnation, but made them pay in hard cash the penalty of their
disobedience. For many years, a very considerable revenue was collected from this
source. The collectors gave in receipt for its payment a small copper coin, struck
expressly for the purpose, and called the "borodovaia," or "the bearded." On one side it
bore the figure of a nose, mouth, and moustachios, with a long bushy beard, surmounted
by the words," Deuyee Vyeatee," "money received;" the whole encircled by a wreath, and
stamped with the black eagle of Russia. On the reverse, it bore the date of the year. Every
man who chose to wear a beard was obliged to produce this receipt on his entry into a
town. Those who were refractory, and refused to pay the tax, were thrown into prison.
Since that day, the rulers of modern Europe have endeavoured to persuade, rather than to
force, in all matters pertaining to fashion. The Vatican troubles itself no more about
beards or ringlets, and men may become hairy as bears, if such is their fancy, without fear
of excommunication or deprivation of their political rights. Folly has taken a new start,
and cultivates the moustachio.
Even upon this point governments will not let men alone. Religion as yet has not meddled
with it; but perhaps it will; and politics already influence it considerably. Before the
revolution of 1830, neither the French nor Belgian citizens were remarkable for their
moustachios; but, after that event, there was hardly a shopkeeper either in Paris or
Brussels whose upper lip did not suddenly become hairy with real or mock moustachios.
During a temporary triumph gained by the Dutch soldiers over the citizens of Louvain, in
October 1830, it became a standing joke against the patriots, that they shaved their faces
clean immediately; and the wits of the Dutch army asserted, that they had gathered
moustachios enough from the denuded lips of the Belgians to stuff mattresses for all the
sick and wounded in their hospital.
The last folly of this kind is still more recent. In the German newspapers, of August 1838,
appeared an ordonnance, signed by the King of Bavaria, forbidding civilians, on any
pretence whatever, to wear moustachios, and commanding the police and other
authorities to arrest, and cause to be shaved, the offending parties. "Strange to say," adds
"Le Droit," the journal from which this account is taken, "moustachios disappeared
immediately, like leaves from the trees in autumn; everybody made haste to obey the
royal order, and not one person was arrested.
The King of Bavaria, a rhymester of some celebrity, has taken a good many poetical
licences in his time. His licence in this matter appears neither poetical nor reasonable. It
is to be hoped that he will not take it into his royal head to make his subjects shave theirs;
nothing but that is wanting to complete their degradation.
DUELS AND ORDEALS
There was an ancient sage philosopher,
Who swore the world, as he could prove,
Was mad of fighting.
-- Hudibras
Most writers, in accounting for the origin of duelling, derive it from the warlike habits of
those barbarous nations who overran Europe in the early centuries of the Christian era,
and who knew no mode so effectual for settling their differences as the point of the
sword. In fact, duelling, taken in its primitive and broadest sense, means nothing more
than combatting, and is the universal resort of all wild animals, including man, to gain or
defend their possessions, or avenge their insults. Two dogs who tear each other for a
bone, or two bantams fighting on a dunghill for the love of some beautiful hen, or two
fools on Wimbledon Common, shooting at each other to satisfy the laws of offended
honour, stand on the same footing in this respect, and are, each and all, mere duellists. As
civilization advanced, the best informed men naturally grew ashamed of such a mode of
adjusting disputes, and the promulgation of some sort of laws for obtaining redress for
injuries was the consequence. Still there were many cases in which the allegations of an
accuser could not be rebutted by any positive proof on the part of the accused; and in all
these, which must have been exceedingly numerous in the early stages of European
society, the combat was resorted to. From its decision there was no appeal. God was
supposed to nerve the arm of the combatant whose cause was just, and to grant him the
victory over his opponent. As Montesquieu well remarks, ["Esprit des Loix," liv. xxviii.
chap. xvii.] this belief was not unnatural among a people just emerging from barbarism.
Their manners being wholly warlike, the man deficient in courage, the prime virtue of his
fellows, was not unreasonably suspected of other vices besides cowardice, which is
generally found to be co-existent with treachery. He, therefore, who showed himself most
valiant in the encounter, was absolved by public opinion from any crime with which he
might be charged. As a necessary consequence, society would have been reduced to its
original elements, if the men of thought, as distinguished from the men of action, had not
devised some means for taming the unruly passions of their fellows. With this view,
governments commenced by restricting within the narrowest possible limits the cases in
which it was lawful to prove or deny guilt by the single combat. By the law of
Gondebaldus, King of the Burgundians, passed in the year 501, the proof by combat was
allowed in all legal proceedings, in lieu of swearing. In the time of Charlemagne, the
Burgundian practice had spread over the empire of the Francs, and not only the suitors for
justice, but the witnesses, and even the judges, were obliged to defend their cause, their
evidence, or their decision, at the point of the sword. Louis the Debonnaire, his successor,
endeavoured to remedy the growing evil, by permitting the duel only in appeals of felony,
in civil cases, or issue joined in a writ of right, and in cases of the court of chivalry, or
attacks upon a man's knighthood. None were exempt from these trials, but women, the
sick and the maimed, and persons under fifteen or above sixty years of age. Ecclesiastics
were allowed to produce champions in their stead. This practice, in the course of time,
extended to all trials of civil and criminal cases, which had to be decided by battle.
The clergy, whose dominion was an intellectual one, never approved of a system of
jurisprudence which tended so much to bring all things under the rule of the strongest
arm. From the first they set their faces against duelling, and endeavoured, as far as the
prejudices of their age would allow them, to curb the warlike spirit, so alien from the
principles of religion. In the Council of Valentia, and afterwards in the Council of Trent,
they excommunicated all persons engaged in duelling, and not only them, but even the
assistants and spectators, declaring the custom to be hellish and detestable, and
introduced by the Devil for the destruction both of body and soul. They added, also, that
princes who connived at duels, should be deprived of all temporal power, jurisdiction,
and dominion over the places where they had permitted them to be fought. It will be seen
hereafter that this clause only encouraged the practice which it was intended to prevent.
But it was the blasphemous error of these early ages to expect that the Almighty,
whenever he was called upon, would work a miracle in favour of a person unjustly
accused. The priesthood, in condemning the duel, did not condemn the principle on
which it was founded. They still encouraged the popular belief of Divine interference in
all the disputes or differences that might arise among nations or individuals. It was the
very same principle that regulated the ordeals, which, with all their influence, they
supported against the duel. By the former, the power of deciding the guilt or innocence
was vested wholly in their hands, while, by the latter, they enjoyed no power or privilege
at all. It is not to be wondered at, that for this reason, if for no other, they should have
endeavoured to settle all differences by the peaceful mode. While that prevailed, they
were as they wished to be, the first party in the state; but while the strong arm of
individual prowess was allowed to be the judge in all doubtful cases, their power and
influence became secondary to those of nobility.
Thus, it was not the mere hatred of bloodshed which induced them to launch the
thunderbolts excommunication against the combatants; it a desire to retain the power,
which, to do them justice, they were, in those times, the persons best qualified to wield.
The germs of knowledge and civilization lay within the bounds of their order; for they
were the representatives of the intellectual, as the nobility were of the physical power of
man. To centralize this power in the Church, and make it the judge of the last resort in all
appeals, both in civil and criminal cases, they instituted five modes of trial, the
management of which lay wholly in their hands. These were the oath upon the
Evangelists; the ordeal of the cross, and the fire ordeal, for persons in the higher ranks;
the water ordeal, for the humbler classes; and, lastly, the Corsned, or bread and cheese
ordeal, for members of their own body.
The oath upon the Evangelists was taken in the following manner: the accused who was
received to this proof, says Paul Hay, Count du Chastelet, in his Memoirs of Bertrand du
Guesclin, swore upon a copy of the New Testament, and on the relics of the holy martyrs,
or on their tombs, that he was innocent of the crime imputed to him. He was also obliged
to find twelve persons, of acknowledged probity, who should take oath at the same time,
that they believed him innocent. This mode of trial led to very great abuses, especially in
cases of disputed inheritance, where the hardest swearer was certain of the victory. This
abuse was one of the principal causes which led to the preference given to the trial by
battle. It is not all surprising that a feudal baron, or captain of the early ages, should have
preferred the chances of a fair fight with his opponent, to a mode by which firm perjury
would always be successful.
The trial by, or judgment of, the cross, which Charlemagne begged his sons to have
recourse to, in case of disputes arising between them, was performed thus:-- When a
person accused of any crime had declared his innocence upon oath, and appealed to the
cross for its judgment in his favour, he was brought into the church, before the altar. The
priests previously prepared two sticks exactly like one another, upon one of which was
carved a figure of the cross. They were both wrapped up with great care and many
ceremonies, in a quantity of fine wool, and laid upon the altar, or on the relics of the
saints. A solemn prayer was then offered up to God, that he would be pleased to discover,
by the judgment of his holy cross, whether the accused person were innocent or guilty. A
priest then approached the altar, and took up one of the sticks, and the assistants
unswathed it reverently. If it was marked with the cross, the accused person was
innocent; if unmarked, he was guilty. It would be unjust to assert, that the judgments thus
delivered were, in all cases, erroneous; and it would be absurd to believe that they were
left altogether to chance. Many true judgments were doubtless given, and, in all
probability, most conscientiously; for we cannot but believe that the priests endeavoured
beforehand to convince themselves by secret inquiry and a strict examination of the
circumstances, whether the appellant were innocent or guilty, and that they took up the
crossed or uncrossed stick accordingly. Although, to all other observers, the sticks, as
enfolded in the wool, might appear exactly similar, those who enwrapped them could,
without any difficulty, distinguish the one from the other.
By the fire-ordeal the power of deciding was just as unequivocally left in their hands. It
was generally believed that fire would not burn the innocent, and the clergy, of course,
took care that the innocent, or such as it was their pleasure or interest to declare so,
should be so warned before undergoing the ordeal, as to preserve themselves without any
difficulty from the fire. One mode of ordeal was to place red-hot ploughshares on the
ground at certain distances, and then, blindfolding the accused person, make him walk
barefooted over them. If he stepped regularly in the vacant spaces, avoiding the fire, he
was adjudged innocent; if he burned himself, he was declared guilty. As none but the
clergy interfered with the arrangement of the ploughshares, they could always calculate
beforehand the result of the ordeal. To find a person guilty, they had only to place them at
irregular distances, and the accused was sure to tread upon one of them. When Emma, the
wife of King Ethelred, and mother of Edward the Confessor, was accused of a guilty
familiarity with Alwyn, Bishop of Winchester, she cleared her character in this manner.
The reputation, not only of their order, but of a queen, being at stake, a verdict of guilty
was not to be apprehended from any ploughshares which priests had the heating of. This
ordeal was called the Judicium Dei, and sometimes the Vulgaris Purgatio, and might also
be tried by several other methods. One was to hold in the hand, unhurt, a piece of red-hot
iron, of the weight of one, two, or three pounds. When we read not only that men with
hard hands, but women of softer and more delicate skin, could do this with impunity, we
must be convinced that the hands were previously rubbed with some preservative, or that
the apparently hot iron was merely cold iron painted red. Another mode was to plunge the
naked arm into a caldron of boiling water. The priests then enveloped it in several folds
of linen and flannel, and kept the patient confined within the church, and under their
exclusive care, for three days. If, at the end of that time, the arm appeared without a scar,
the innocence of the accused person was firmly established. [Very similar to this is the
fire-ordeal of the modern Hindoos,. which is thus described in Forbes's "Oriental
Memoirs," vol. i. c. xi.--" When a man, accused of a capital crime, chooses to undergo the
ordeal trial, he is closely confined for several days; his right hand and arm are covered
with thick wax-cloth, tied up and sealed, in the presence of proper officers, to prevent
deceit. In the English districts the covering was always sealed with the Company's arms,
and the prisoner placed under an European guard. At the time fixed for the ordeal, a
caldron of oil is placed over a fire; when it boils, a piece of money is dropped into the
vessel; the prisoner's arm is unsealed, and washed in the presence of his judges and
accusers. During this part of the ceremony, the attendant Brahmins supplicate the Deity.
On receiving their benediction, the accused plunges his hand into the boiling fluid, and
takes out the coin. The arm is afterwards again Sealed up until the time appointed for a
re-examination. The seal is then broken: if no blemish appears, the prisoner is declared
innocent; if the contrary, he suffers the punishment due to his crime." * * * On this trial
the accused thus addresses the element before plunging his hand into the boiling oil:-"Thou, O fire! pervadest all things. O cause of purity! who givest evidence of virtue and
of sin, declare the truth in this my hand!" If no juggling were practised, the decisions by
this ordeal would be all the same way; but, as some are by this means declared guilty, and
others innocent, it is clear that the Brahmins, like the Christian priests of the middle ages,
practise some deception in saving those whom they wish to be thought guiltless.]
As regards the water-ordeal, the same trouble was not taken. It was a trial only for the
poor and humble, and, whether they sank or swam, was thought of very little
consequence. Like the witches of more modern times, the accused were thrown into a
pond or river; if they sank, and were drowned, their surviving friends had the consolation
of knowing that they were innocent; if they swam, they were guilty. In either case society
was rid of them.
But of all the ordeals, that which the clergy reserved for themselves was the one least
likely to cause any member of their corps to be declared guilty. The most culpable
monster in existence came off clear when tried by this method. It was called the Corsned,
and was thus performed. A piece of barley bread and a piece of cheese were laid upon the
altar, and the accused priest, in his full canonicals, and surrounded by all the pompous
adjuncts of Roman ceremony, pronounced certain conjurations, and prayed with great
fervency for several minutes. The burden of his prayer was, that if he were guilty of the
crime laid to his charge, God would send his angel Gabriel to stop his throat, that he
might not be able to swallow the bread and cheese. There is no instance upon record of a
priest having been choked in this manner. [An ordeal very like this is still practised in
India. Consecrated rice is the article chosen, instead of bread and cheese. Instances are
not rare in which, through the force of imagination, guilty persons are not able to swallow
a single grain. Conscious of their crime, and fearful of the punishment of Heaven, they
feel a suffocating sensation in their throat when they attempt it, and they fall on their
knees, and confess all that is laid to their charge. The same thing, no doubt, would have
happened with the bread and cheese of the Roman church, if it had been applied to any
others but ecclesiastics. The latter had too much wisdom to be caught in a trap of their
own setting.]
When, under Pope Gregory VII, it was debated whether the Gregorian chant should be
introduced into Castile, instead of the Musarabic, given by St. Isidore, of Seville, to the
churches of that kingdom, very much ill feeling was excited. The churches refused to
receive the novelty, and it was proposed that the affair should be decided by a battle
between two champions, one chosen from each side. The clergy would not consent to a
mode of settlement which they considered impious, but had no objection to try the merits
of each chant by the fire ordeal. A great fire was accordingly made, and a book of the
Gregorian and one of the Musarabic chant were thrown into it, that the flames might
decide which was most agreeable to God by refusing to burn it. Cardinal Baronius, who
says he was an eye-witness of the miracle, relates, that the book of the Gregorian chant
was no sooner laid upon the fire, than it leaped out uninjured, visibly, and with a great
noise. Every one present thought that the saints had decided in favour of Pope Gregory.
After a slight interval, the fire was extinguished; but, wonderful to relate! the other book
of St. Isidore was found covered with ashes, but not injured in the slightest degree. The
flames had not even warmed it. Upon this it was resolved, that both were alike agreeable
to God, and that they should be used by turns in all the churches of Seville? [Histoire de
Messire Bertrand du Guesclin, par Paul Hay du Chastelet. Livre i. chap. xix.]
If the ordeals had been confined to questions like this, the laity would have had little or
no objection to them; but when they were introduced as decisive in all the disputes that
might arise between man and man, the opposition of all those whose prime virtue was
personal bravery, was necessarily excited. In fact, the nobility, from a very early period,
began to look with jealous eyes upon them. They were not slow to perceive their true
purport, which was no other than to make the Church the last court of appeal in all cases,
both civil and criminal: and not only did the nobility prefer the ancient mode of single
combat from this cause, in itself a sufficient one, but they clung to it because an acquittal
gained by those displays of courage and address which the battle afforded, was more
creditable in the eyes of their compeers, than one which it required but little or none of
either to accomplish. To these causes may be added another, which was, perhaps, more
potent than either, in raising the credit of the judicial combat at the expense of the ordeal.
The noble institution of chivalry was beginning to take root, and, notwithstanding the
clamours of the clergy, war was made the sole business of life, and the only elegant
pursuit of the aristocracy. The fine spirit of honour was introduced, any attack upon
which was only to be avenged in the lists, within sight of applauding crowds, whose
verdict of approbation was far more gratifying than the cold and formal acquittal of the
ordeal. Lothaire, the son of Louis I, abolished that by fire and the trial of the cross within
his dominions; but in England they were allowed so late as the time of Henry III, in the
early part of whose reign they were prohibited by an order of council. In the mean time,
the Crusades had brought the institution of chivalry to the full height of perfection. The
chivalric spirit soon achieved the downfall of the ordeal system, and established the
judicial combat on a basis too firm to be shaken. It is true that with the fall of chivalry, as
an institution, fell the tournament, and the encounter in the lists; but the duel, their
offspring, has survived to this day, defying the efforts of sages and philosophers to
eradicate it. Among all the errors bequeathed to us by a barbarous age, it has proved the
most pertinacious. It has put variance between men's reason and their honour; put the
man of sense on a level with the fool, and made thousands who condemn it submit to it,
or practise it. Those who are curious to see the manner in which these combats were
regulated, may consult the learned Montesquieu, where they will find a copious summary
of the code of ancient duelling. ["Esprit des Loix," livre xxviii. chap. xxv.] Truly does he
remark, in speaking of the clearness and excellence of the arrangements, that, as there
were many wise matters which were conducted in a very foolish manner, so there were
many foolish matters conducted very wisely. No greater exemplification of it could be
given, than the wise and religious rules of the absurd and blasphemous trial by battle.
In the ages that intervened between the Crusades and the new era that was opened out by
the invention of gunpowder and printing, a more rational system of legislation took root.
The inhabitants of cities, engaged in the pursuits of trade and industry, were content to
acquiesce in the decisions of their judges and magistrates whenever any differences arose
among them. Unlike the class above them, their habits and manners did not lead them to
seek the battle-field on every slight occasion. A dispute as to the price of a sack of corn, a
bale of broad-cloth, or a cow, could be more satisfactorily adjusted before the mayor or
bailiff of their district. Even the martial knights and nobles, quarrelsome as they were,
began to see that the trial by battle would lose its dignity and splendour if too frequently
resorted to. Governments also shared this opinion, and on several occasions restricted the
cases in which it was legal to proceed to this extremity. In France, before the time of
Louis IX, duels were permitted only in cases of Lese Majesty, Rape, Incendiarism,
Assassination, and Burglary. Louis IX, by taking off all restriction, made them legal in
civil eases. This was not found to work well, and, in 1303, Philip the Fair judged it
necessary to confine them, in criminal matters, to state offences, rape, and incendiarism;
and in civil cases, to questions of disputed inheritance. Knighthood was allowed to be the
best judge of its own honour, and might defend or avenge it as often as occasion arose.
Among the earliest duels upon record, is a very singular one that took place in the reign
of Louis II (A.D. 878). Ingelgerius, Count of Gastinois, was one morning discovered by
his Countess dead in bed at her side. Gontran, a relation of the Count, accused the
Countess of having murdered her husband, to whom, he asserted, she had long been
unfaithful, and challenged her to produce a champion to do battle in her behalf, that he
might establish her guilt by killing him.[Memoires de Brantome touchant les Duels.] All
the friends and relatives of the Countess believed in her innocence; but Gontran was so
stout and bold and renowned a warrior, that no one dared to meet him, for which, as
Brantome quaintly says, "Mauvais et poltrons parens estaient." The unhappy Countess
began to despair, when a champion suddenly appeared in the person of Ingelgerius,
Count of Anjou, a boy of sixteen years of age, who had been held by the Countess on the
baptismal font, and received her husband's name. He tenderly loved his godmother, and
offered to do battle in her cause against any and every opponent. The King endeavoured
to persuade the generous boy from his enterprise, urging the great strength, tried skill,
and invincible courage of the challenger; but he persisted in his resolution, to the great
sorrow of all the court, who said it was a cruel thing to permit so brave and beautiful a
child to rush to such butchery and death.
When the lists were prepared, the Countess duly acknowledged her champion, and the
combatants commenced the onset. Gontran rode so fiercely at his antagonist, and hit him
on the shield with such impetuosity, that he lost his own balance and rolled to the ground.
The young Count, as Gontran fell, passed his lance through his body, and then
dismounting, cut off his head, which, Brantome says, "he presented to the King, who
received it most graciously, and was very joyful, as much so as if any one had made him
a present of a city." The innocence of the Countess was then proclaimed with great
rejoicings; and she kissed her godson, and wept over his neck with joy, in the presence of
all the assembly.
When the Earl of Essex was accused, by Robert de Montfort, before King Henry II, in
1162, of having traitorously suffered the royal standard of England to fall from his hands
in a skirmish with the Welsh, at Coleshill, five years previously, the latter offered to
prove the truth of the charge by single combat. The Earl of Essex accepted the challenge,
and the lists were prepared near Reading. An immense concourse of persons assembled to
witness the battle. Essex at first fought stoutly, but, losing his temper and self-command,
he gave an advantage to his opponent, which soon decided the struggle. He was
unhorsed, and so severely wounded, that all present thought he was dead. At the
solicitation of his relatives, the monks of the Abbey of Reading were allowed to remove
the body for interment, and Montfort was declared the victor. Essex, however, was not
dead, but stunned only, and, under the care of the monks, recovered in a few weeks from
his bodily injuries. The wounds of his mind were not so easily healed. Though a loyal and
brave subject, the whole realm believed him a traitor and a coward because he had been
vanquished. He could not brook to return to the world deprived of the good opinion of his
fellows; he, therefore, made himself a monk, and passed the remainder of his days within
the walls of the Abbey.
Du Chastelet relates a singular duel that was proposed in Spain.[Histoire de Messire
Bertrand du Guesclin, livre i. chap. xix.] A Christian gentleman of Seville sent a
challenge to a Moorish cavalier, offering to prove against him, with whatever weapons he
might choose, that the religion of Jesus Christ was holy and divine, and that of Mahomet
impious and damnable. The Spanish prelates did not choose that Christianity should be
com promised within their jurisdiction by the result of any such combat, and they
commanded the knight, under pain of excommunication, to withdraw the challenge.
The same author relates, that under Otho I a question arose among jurisconsults, viz.
whether grandchildren, who had lost their father, should share equally with their uncles in
the property of their grandfather, at the death of the latter. The difficulty of this question
was found so insurmountable, that none of the lawyers of that day could resolve it. It was
at last decreed, that it should be decided by single combat. Two champions were
accordingly chosen; one for, and the other against, the claims of the little ones. After a
long struggle, the champion of the uncles was unhorsed and slain; and it was, therefore,
decided, that the right of the grandchildren was established, and that they should enjoy
the same portion of their grandfather's possessions that their father would have done had
he been alive.
Upon pretexts, just as frivolous as these, duels continued to be fought in most of the
countries of Europe during the whole of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. A
memorable instance of the slightness of the pretext on which a man could be forced to
fight a duel to the death, occurs in the Memoirs of the brave Constable, Du Guesclin. The
advantage he had obtained, in a skirmish before Rennes, against William Brembre, an
English captain, so preyed on the spirits of William Troussel, the chosen friend and
companion of the latter, that nothing would satisfy him but a mortal combat with the
Constable. The Duke of Lancaster, to whom Troussel applied for permission to fight the
great Frenchman, forbade the battle, as not warranted by the circumstances. Troussel
nevertheless burned with a fierce desire to cross his weapon with Du Guesclin, and
sought every occasion to pick a quarrel with him. Having so good a will for it, of course
he found a way. A relative of his had been taken prisoner by the Constable, in whose
hands he remained till he was able to pay his ransom. Troussel resolved to make a quarrel
out of this, and despatched a messenger to Du Guesclin, demanding the release of his
prisoner, and offering a bond, at a distant date, for the payment of the ransom. Du
Guesclin, who had received intimation of the hostile purposes of the Englishman, sent
back word, that he would not accept his bond, neither would he release his prisoner, until
the full amount of his ransom was paid. As soon as this answer was received, Troussel
sent a challenge to the Constable, demanding reparation for the injury he had done his
honour, by refusing his bond, and offering a mortal combat, to be fought three strokes
with the lance, three with the sword, and three with the dagger. Du Guesclin, although ill
in bed with the ague, accepted the challenge, and gave notice to the Marshal
d'Andreghem, the King's Lieutenant-General in Lower Normandy, that he might fix the
day and the place of combat. The Marshal made all necessary arrangements, upon
condition that he who was beaten should pay a hundred florins of gold to feast the nobles
and gentlemen who were witnesses of the encounter.
The Duke of Lancaster was very angry with his captain, and told him, that it would be a
shame to his knighthood and his nation, if he forced on a combat with the brave Du
Guesclin, at a time when he was enfeebled by disease and stretched on the couch of
suffering. Upon these representations, Troussel, ashamed of himself, sent notice to Du
Guesclin that he was willing to postpone the duel until such time as he should be
perfectly recovered. Du Guesclin replied, that he could not think of postponing the
combat, after all the nobility had received notice of it; that he had sufficient strength left,
not only to meet, but to conquer such an opponent as he was; and that, if he did not make
his appearance in the lists at the time appointed, he would publish him everywhere as a
man unworthy to be called a knight, or to wear an honourable sword by his side. Troussel
carried this haughty message to the Duke of Lancaster, who immediately gave permission
for the battle.
On the day appointed, the two combatants appeared in the lists, in the presence of several
thousand spectators. Du Guesclin was attended by the flower of the French nobility,
including the Marshal de Beaumanoir, Olivier de Mauny, Bertrand de Saint Pern, and the
Viscount de la Belliere, while the Englishman appeared with no more than the customary
retinue of two seconds, two squires, two coutilliers, or daggermen, and two trumpeters.
The first onset was unfavourable to the Constable: he received so heavy a blow on his
shield-arm, that he fell forward to the left, upon his horse's neck, and, being weakened by
his fever, was nearly thrown to the ground. All his friends thought he could never recover
himself, and began to deplore his ill fortune; but Du Guesclin collected his energies for a
decisive effort, and, at the second charge, aimed a blow at the shoulder of his enemy,
which felled him to the earth, mortally wounded. He then sprang from his horse, sword in
hand, with the intention of cutting off the head of his fallen foe, when the Marshal
D'Andreghem threw a golden wand into the arena, as a signal that hostilities should
cease. Du Guesclin was proclaimed the victor, amid the joyous acclamations of the
crowd, and retiring, left the field to the meaner combatants, who were afterwards to make
sport for the people. Four English and as many French squires fought for some time with
pointless lances, when the French, gaining the advantage, the sports were declared at an
end.
In the time of Charles VI, about the beginning of the fifteenth century, a famous duel was
ordered by the Parliament of Paris. The Sieur de Carrouges being absent in the Holy
Land, his lady was violated by the Sieur Legris. Carrouges, on his return, challenged
Legris to mortal combat, for the twofold crime of violation and slander, inasmuch as he
had denied his guilt, by asserting that the lady was a willing party. The lady's
asseverations of innocence were held to be no evidence by the Parliament, and the duel
was commanded with all the ceremonies. "On the day appointed," says Brantome,
[Memoires de Brantome touchant les Duels.] "the lady came to witness the spectacle in
her chariot; but the King made her descend, judging her unworthy, because she was
criminal in his eyes till her innocence was proved, and caused her to stand upon a
scaffold to await the mercy of God and this judgment by the battle. After a short struggle,
the Sieur de Carrouges overthrew his enemy, and made him confess both the rape and the
slander. He was then taken to the gallows and hanged in the presence of the multitude;
while the innocence of the lady was proclaimed by the heralds, and recognized by her
husband, the King, and all the spectators."
Numerous battles, of a similar description, constantly took place, until the unfortunate
issue of one encounter of the kind led the French King, Henry II, to declare solemnly,
that he would never again permit any such encounter, whether it related to a civil or
criminal case, or the honour of a gentleman.
This memorable combat was fought in the year 1547. Francois de Vivonne, Lord of La
Chataigneraie, and Guy de Chabot, Lord of Jarnac, had been friends from their early
youth, and were noted at the court of Francis I for the gallantry of their bearing and the
magnificence of their retinue. Chataigneraie, who knew that his friend's means were not
very ample, asked him one day, in confidence, how it was that he contrived to be so well
provided? Jarnac replied, that his father had married a young and beautiful woman, who,
loving the son far better than the sire, supplied him with as much money as he desired. La
Chataigneraie betrayed the base secret to the Dauphin, the Dauphin to the King, the King
to his courtiers, and the courtiers to all their acquaintance. In a short time it reached the
ears of the old Lord de Jarnac, who immediately sent for his son, and demanded to know
in what manner the report had originated, and whether he had been vile enough not only
to carry on such a connexion, but to boast of it? De Jarnac indignantly denied that he had
ever said so, or given reason to the world to say so, and requested his father to
accompany him to court, and confront him with his accuser, that he might see the manner
in which he would confound him. They went accordingly, and the younger De Jarnac,
entering a room where the Dauphin, La Chataigneraie, and several courtiers were present,
exclaimed aloud, "That whoever had asserted, that he maintained a criminal connexion
with his mother-in-law, was a liar and a coward!" Every eye was turned to the Dauphin
and La Chataigneraie, when the latter stood forward, and asserted, that De Jarnac had
himself avowed that such was the fact, and he would extort from his lips another
confession of it. A case like this could not be met or rebutted by any legal proof, and the
royal council ordered that it should be decided by single combat. The King, however, set
his face against the duel [Although Francis showed himself in this case an enemy to
duelling, yet, in his own case, he had not the same objection. Every reader of history must
remember his answer to the challenge of the Emperor Charles V. The Emperor wrote that
he had failed in his word, and that he would sustain their quarrel single-handed against
him. Francis replied, that he lied -- qu'il en avait menti par la gorge, and that he was ready
to meet him in single combat whenever and wherever he pleased.] and forbade them both,
under pain of his high displeasure, to proceed any further in the matter. But Francis died
in the following year, and the Dauphin, now Henry II, who was himself compromised,
resolved that the combat should take place. The lists were prepared in the court-yard of
the chateau of St. Germain-en-Laye, and the 10th of July 1547 was appointed for the
encounter. The cartels of the combatants, which are preserved in the "Memoires de
Castelnau," were as follow:-"Cartel of Francois de Vivonne, Lord of La Chataigneraie.
"Sire,
"Having learned that Guy Chabot de Jarnac, being lately at Compeigne, asserted, that
whoever had said that he boasted of having criminal intercourse with his mother-in-law,
was wicked and a wretch,-- I, Sire, with your good-will and pleasure, do answer, that he
has wickedly lied, and will lie as many times as he denies having said that which I affirm
he did say; for I repeat, that he told me several times, and boasted of it, that he had slept
with his mother-in-law.
"Francois de Vivonne."
To this cartel De Jarnac replied :-"Sire,
"With your good will and permission, I say, that Francois de Vivonne has lied in the
imputation which he has cast upon me, and of which I spoke to you at Compeigne. I,
therefore, entreat you, Sire, most humbly, that you be pleased to grant us a fair field, that
we may fight this battle to the death.
"Guy Chabot."
The preparations were conducted on a scale of the greatest magnificence, the King having
intimated his intention of being present. La Chataigneraie made sure of the victory, and
invited the King and a hundred and fifty of the principal personages of the court to sup
with him in the evening, after the battle, in a splendid tent, which he had prepared at the
extremity of the lists. De Jarnac was not so confident, though perhaps more desperate. At
noon, on the day appointed, the combatants met, and each took the customary oath, that
he bore no charms or amulets about him, or made use of any magic, to aid him against his
antagonist. They then attacked each other, sword in hand. La Chataigneraie was a strong,
robust man, and over confident; De Jarnac was nimble, supple, and prepared for the
worst. The combat lasted for some time doubtful, until De Jarnac, overpowered by the
heavy blows of his opponent, covered his head with his shield, and, stooping down,
endeavoured to make amends by his agility for his deficiency of strength. In this
crouching posture he aimed two blows at the left thigh of La Chataigneraie, who had left
it uncovered, that the motion of his leg might not be impeded. Each blow was successful,
and, amid the astonishment of all the spectators, and to the great regret of the King, La
Chataigneraie rolled over upon the sand. He seized his dagger, and made a last effort to
strike De Jarnac; but he was unable to support himself, and fell powerless into the arms
of the assistants. The officers now interfered, and De Jarnac being declared the victor, fell
down upon his knees, uncovered his head, and, clasping his hands together, exclaimed:-"O Domine, non sum dignus!" La Chataigneraie was so mortified by the result of the
encounter, that he resolutely refused to have his wounds dressed. He tore off the
bandages which the surgeons applied, and expired two days afterwards. Ever since that
time, any sly and unforeseen attack has been called by the French a coup de Jarnac.
Henry was so grieved at the loss of his favourite, that he made the solemn oath already
alluded to, that he would never again, so long as he lived, permit a due]. Some writers
have asserted, and among others, Mezeraie, that he issued a royal edict forbidding them.
This has been doubted by others, and, as there appears no registry of the edict in any of
the courts, it seems most probable that it was never issued. This opinion is strengthened
by the fact, that two years afterwards, the council ordered another duel to be fought, with
similar forms, but with less magnificence, on account of the inferior rank of the
combatants. It is not anywhere stated, that Henry interfered to prevent it, notwithstanding
his solemn oath; but that, on the contrary, he encouraged it, and appointed the Marshal de
la Marque to see that it was conducted according to the rules of chivalry. The disputants
were Fendille and D'Aguerre, two gentlemen of the household, who, quarrelling in the
King's chamber, had proceeded from words to blows. The council, being informed of the
matter, decreed that it could only be decided in the lists. Marshal de la Marque, with the
King's permission, appointed the city of Sedan as the place of combat. Fendille, who was
a bad swordsman, was anxious to avoid an encounter with D'Aguerre, who was one of the
most expert men of the age; but the council authoritatively commanded that he should
fight, or be degraded from all his honours. D'Aguerre appeared in the field attended by
Francois de Vendome, Count de Chartres, while Fendille was accompanied by the Duke
de Nevers. Fendille appears to have been not only an inexpert swordsman, but a thorough
coward; one who, like Cowley, might have heaped curses on the man,
"-------(Death's factor sure), who brought Dire swords into this peaceful world."
On the very first encounter he was thrown from his horse, and, confessing on the ground
all that his victor required of him, slunk away ignominiously from the arena.
One is tempted to look upon the death of Henry II as a judgment upon him for his perjury
in the matter of duelling. In a grand tournament instituted on the occasion of the marriage
of his daughter, he broke several lances in encounters with some of the bravest knights of
the time. Ambitious of still further renown, he would not rest satisfied until he had also
engaged the young Count de Montgomeri. He received a wound in the eye from the lance
of this antagonist, and died from its effects shortly afterwards, in the forty-first year of his
age.
In the succeeding reigns of Francis II, Charles IX, and Henry III, the practice of duelling
increased to an alarming extent. Duels were not rare in the other countries of Europe at
the same period; but in France they were so frequent, that historians, in speaking of that
age, designate it as "l'epoque de la fureur des duels." The Parliament of Paris
endeavoured, as far as in its power lay, to discourage the practice. By a decree dated the
26th of June 1559, it declared all persons who should be present at duels, or aiding and
abetting in them, to be rebels to the King, transgressors of the law, and disturbers of the
public peace.
When Henry III was assassinated at St. Cloud, in 1589, a young gentleman, named L'isle
Marivaut, who had been much beloved by him, took his death so much to heart, that he
resolved not to survive him. Not thinking suicide an honourable death, and wishing, as he
said, to die gloriously in revenging his King and master, he publicly expressed his
readiness to fight anybody to the death who should assert that Henry's assassination was
not a great misfortune to the community. Another youth, of a fiery temper and tried
courage, named Marolles, took him at his word, and the day and place of the combat
were forthwith appointed. When the hour had come, and all were ready, Marolles turned
to his second, and asked whether his opponent had a casque or helmet only, or whether he
wore a sallade, or headpiece. Being answered a helmet only, he said gaily, "So much the
better; for, sir, my second, you shall repute me the wickedest man in all the world, if I do
not thrust my lance right through the the middle of his head and kill him." Truth to say,
he did so at the very first onset, and the unhappy L'isle Marivaut expired without a groan.
Brantome, who relates this story, adds, that the victor might have done as he pleased with
the body, cut off the head, dragged it out of the camp, or exposed it upon an ass, but that,
being a wise and very courteous gentleman, he left it to the relatives of the deceased to be
honourably buried, contenting himself with the glory of his triumph, by which he gained
no little renown and honour among the ladies of Paris.
On the accession of Henry IV that monarch pretended to set his face against duelling; but
such was the influence of early education and the prejudices of society upon him, that he
never could find it in his heart to punish a man for this offence. He thought it tended to
foster a warlike spirit among his people. When the chivalrous Crequi demanded his
permission to fight Don Philippe de Savoire, he is reported to have said, "Go, and if I
were not a King, I would be your second." It is no wonder that when such were known to
be the King's disposition, his edicts attracted but small attention. A calculation was made
by M. de Lomenie, in the year 1607, that since the accession of Henry, in 1589, no less
than four thousand French gentlemen had lost their lives in these conflicts, which, for the
eighteen years, would have been at the rate of four or five in a week, or eighteen per
month! Sully, who reports this fact in his Memoirs, does not throw the slightest doubt
upon its exactness, and adds, that it was chiefly owing to the facility and ill-advised
good-nature of his royal master that the bad example had so empoisoned the court, the
city, and the whole country. This wise minister devoted much of his time and attention to
the subject; for the rage, he says, was such as to cause him a thousand pangs, and the
King also. There was hardly a man moving in what was called good society, who had not
been engaged in a duel either as principal or second; and if there were such a man, his
chief desire was to free himself from the imputation of non-duelling, by picking a quarrel
with somebody. Sully constantly wrote letters to the King, in which he prayed him to
renew the edicts against this barbarous custom, to aggravate the punishment against
offenders, and never, in any instance, to grant a pardon, even to a person who had
wounded another in a duel, much less to any one who had taken away life. He also
advised, that some sort of tribunal, or court of honour, should be established, to take
cognizance of injurious and slanderous language, and of all such matters as usually led to
duels; and that the justice to be administered by this court should be sufficiently prompt
and severe to appease the complainant, and make the offender repent of his aggression.
Henry, being so warmly pressed by his friend and minister, called together an
extraordinary council in the gallery of the palace of Fontainebleau, to take the matter into
consideration. When all the members were assembled, his Majesty requested that some
person conversant with the subject would make a report to him on the origin, progress,
and different forms of the duel. Sully complacently remarks, that none of the counsllors
gave the King any great reason to felicitate them on their erudition. In fact, they all
remained silent. Sully held his peace with the rest; but he looked so knowing, that the
King turned towards him, and said:-- " Great master! by your face I conjecture that you
know more of this matter than you would have us believe. I pray you, and indeed I
command, that you tell us what you think and what you know." The coy minister refused,
as he says, out of mere politeness to his more ignorant colleagues; but, being again
pressed by the King, he entered into a history of duelling both in ancient and modern
times. He has not preserved this history in his Memoirs; and, as none of the ministers or
counsellors present thought proper to do so, the world is deprived of a discourse which
was, no doubt, a learned and remarkable one. The result was, that a royal edict was
issued, which Sully lost no time in transmitting to the most distant provinces, with a
distinct notification to all parties concerned that the King was in earnest, and would exert
the full rigour of the law in punishment of the offenders. Sully himself does not inform us
what were the provisions of the new law; but Father Matthias has been more explicit, and
from him we learn, that the Marshals of France were created judges of a court of chivalry,
for the hearing of all causes wherein the honour of a noble or gentleman was concerned,
and that such as resorted to duelling should be punished by death and confiscation of
property, and that the seconds and assistants should lose their rank, dignity, or offices,
and be banished from the court of their sovereign. [Le Pere Matthias, tome ii. livre iv.]
But so strong a hold had the education and prejudice of his age upon the mind of the
King, that though his reason condemned, his sympathies approved the duel.
Notwithstanding this threatened severity, the number of duels did not diminish, and the
wise Sully had still to lament the prevalence of an evil which menaced society with utter
disorganization. In the succeeding reign the practice prevailed, if possible, to a still
greater extent, until the Cardinal de Richelieu, better able to grapple with it than Sully
had been, made some severe examples in the very highest classes. Lord Herbert, the
English ambassador at the court of Louis XIII repeats, in his letters, an observation that
had been previously made in the reign of Henry IV, that it was rare to find a Frenchman
moving in good society who had not killed his man in a duel. The Abbe Millot says of
this period, that the duel madness made the most terrible ravages. Men had actually a
frenzy for combatting. Caprice and vanity, as well as the excitement of passion, imposed
the necessity of fighting. Friends were obliged to enter into the quarrels of their friends,
or be themselves called out for their refusal, and revenge became hereditary in many
families. It was reckoned that in twenty years eight thousand letters of pardon had been
issued to persons who had killed others in single combat. ["Elemens de l'Histoire de
France, vol. iii. p. 219.]
Other writers confirm this statement. Amelot de Houssaye, in his Memoirs, says, upon
this subject, that duels were so common in the first years of the reign of Louis XIII, that
the ordinary conversation of persons when they met in the morning was, "Do you know
who fought yesterday?" and after dinner, "Do you know who fought this morning?" The
most infamous duellist at that period was De Bouteville. It was not at all necessary to
quarrel with this assassin to be forced to fight a duel with him. When he heard that any
one was very brave, he would go to him, and say, "People tell me that you are brave; you
and I must fight together!" Every morning the most notorious bravos and duellists used to
assemble at his house, to take a breakfast of bread and wine, and practise fencing. M. de
Valencay, who was afterwards elevated to the rank of a cardinal, ranked very high in the
estimation of De Bouteville and his gang. Hardly a day passed but what he was engaged
in some duel or other, either as principal or second; and he once challenged De Bouteville
himself, his best friend, because De Bouteville had fought a duel without inviting him to
become his second. This quarrel was only appeased on the promise of De Bouteville that,
in his next encounter, he would not fail to avail himself of his services. For that purpose
he went out the same day, and picked a quarrel with the Marquis des Portes. M. de
Valencay, according to agreement, had the pleasure of serving as his second, and of
running through the body M. de Cavois, the second of the Marquis des Portes, a man who
had never done him any injury, and whom he afterwards acknowledged he had never
seen before.
Cardinal Richelieu devoted much attention to this lamentable state of public morals, and
seems to have concurred with his great predecessor, Sully, that nothing but the most
rigorous severity could put a stop to the evil. The subject indeed was painfully forced
upon him by his enemies. The Marquis de Themines, to whom Richelieu, then Bishop of
Lucon, had given offence by some representations he had made to Mary of Medicis,
determined, since he could not challenge an ecclesiastic, to challenge his brother. An
opportunity was soon found. Themines, accosting the Marquis de Richelieu, complained,
in an insulting tone, that the Bishop of Lucon had broken his faith. The Marquis resented
both the manner and matter of his speech, and readily accepted a challenge. They met in
the Rue d'Angouleme, and the unfortunate Richelieu was stabbed to the heart, and
instantly expired. >From that moment the Bishop became the steady foe of the practice of
duelling. Reason and the impulse of brotherly love alike combined to make him detest it,
and when his power in France was firmly established, he set vigorously about repressing
it. In his "Testament Politique," he has collected his thoughts upon the subject, in the
chapter entitled "Des moyens d'arreter les Duels." In spite of the edicts that he published,
the members of the nobility persisted in fighting upon the most trivial and absurd
pretences. At last Richelieu made a terrible example. The infamous De Bouteville
challenged and fought the Marquis de Beuoron; and, although the duel itself was not fatal
to either, its consequences were fatal to both. High as they were, Richelieu resolved that
the law should reach them, and they were both tried, found guilty, and beheaded. Thus
did society get rid of one of the most bloodthirsty scoundrels that ever polluted it.
In 1632 two noblemen fought a duel, in which they were both killed. The officers of
justice had notice of the breach of the law, and arrived at the scene of combat before the
friends of the parties had time to remove the bodies. In conformity with the Cardinal's
severe code upon the subject, the bodies were ignominiously stripped, and hanged upon a
gallows, with their heads downwards, for several hours, within sight of all the people.
[Mercure de France, vol. xiii.] This severity sobered the frenzy of the nation for a time;
but it was soon forgotten. Men's minds were too deeply imbued with a false notion of
honour to be brought to a right way of thinking: by such examples, however striking,
Richelieu was unable to persuade them to walk in the right path, though he could punish
them for choosing the wrong one. He had, with all his acuteness, miscalculated the spirit
of duelling. It was not death that a duellist feared: it was shame, and the contempt of his
fellows. As Addison remarked more than eighty years afterwards, "Death was not
sufficient to deter men who made it their glory to despise it; but if every one who fought
a duel were to stand in the pillory, it would quickly diminish the number of those
imaginary men of honour, and put an end to so absurd a practice." Richelieu never
thought of this.
Sully says, that in his time the Germans were also much addicted to duelling. There were
three places where it was legal to fight; Witzburg, in Franconia, and Uspach and Halle, in
Swabia. Thither, of course, vast numbers repaired, and murdered each other under
sanction of the law. At an earlier period, in Germany, it was held highly disgraceful to
refuse to fight. Any one who surrendered to his adversary for a simple wound that did not
disable him, was reputed infamous, and could neither cut his beard, bear arms, mount on
horseback, or hold any Office in the state. He who fell in a duel was buried with great
pomp and splendour.
In the year 1652, just after Louis XIV had attained his majority, a desperate duel was
fought between the Dukes de Beaufort and De Nemours, each attended by four
gentlemen. Although brothers-in-law, they had long been enemies, and their constant
dissensions had introduced much disorganization among the troops which they severally
commanded. Each had long sought an opportunity for combat, which at last arose on a
misunderstanding relative to the places they were to occupy at the council board. They
fought with pistols, and, at the first discharge, the Duke de Nemours was shot through the
body, and almost instantly expired. Upon this the Marquis de Villars, who seconded
Nemours, challenged Hericourt, the second of the Duke de Beaufort, a man whom he had
never before seen; and the challenge being accepted, they fought even more desperately
than their principals. This combat, being with swords, lasted longer than the first, and was
more exciting to the six remaining gentlemen who stayed to witness it. The result was
fatal to Hericourt, who fell pierced to the heart by the sword of De Villars. Anything
more savage than this can hardly be imagined. Voltaire says such duels were frequent,
and the compiler of the "Dictionnaire d'Anecdotes" informs us, that the number of
seconds was not fixed. As many as ten, or twelve, or twenty, were not unfrequent, and
they often fought together after their principals were disabled. The highest mark of
friendship one man could manifest towards another, was to choose him for his second;
and many gentlemen were so desirous of serving in this capacity, that they endeavoured
to raise every slight misunderstanding into a quarrel, that they might have the pleasure of
being engaged in it. The Count de Bussy Rabutin relates an instance of this in his
Memoirs. He says, that as he was one evening coming out of the theatre, a gentleman,
named Bruc, whom he had not before known, stopped him very politely, and, drawing
him aside, asked him if it was true that the Count de Thianges had called him (Bruc) a
drunkard? Bussy replied, that he really did not know, for he saw the Count very seldom.
"Oh! he is your uncle!" replied Bruc; "and, as I cannot have satisfaction from him,
because he lives so far off in the country, I apply to you." "I see what you are at," replied
Bussy, "and, since you wish to put me in my uncle's place, I answer, that whoever
asserted that he called you a drunkard, told a lie !" "My brother said so," replied Bruc,
"and he is a child." "Horsewhip him, then, for his falsehood," returned De Bussy. "I will
not have my brother called a liar," returned Bruc, determined to quarrel with him; "so
draw, and defend yourself!" They both drew their swords in the public street, but were
separated by the spectators. They agreed, however, to fight on a future occasion, and with
all regular forms of the duello. A few days afterwards, a gentleman, whom De Bussy had
never before seen, and whom he did not know, even by name, called upon him, and asked
if he might have the privilege of serving as his second. He added, that he neither knew
him nor Bruc, except by reputation, but, having made up his mind to be second to one of
them, he had decided upon accompanying De Bussy as the braver man of the two. De
Bussy thanked him very sincerely for his politeness, but begged to be excused, as he had
already engaged four seconds to accompany him, and he was afraid that if he took any
more, the affair would become a battle instead of a duel.
When such quarrels as these were looked upon as mere matters of course, the state of
society must have been indeed awful. Louis XIV very early saw the evil, and as early
determined to remedy it. It was not, however, till the year 1679, when he instituted the
"Chambre Ardente," for the trial of the slow poisoners and pretenders to sorcery, that he
published any edict against duelling. In that year his famous edict was promulgated, in
which he reiterated and confirmed the severe enactments of his predecessors, Henry IV
and Louis XIII, and expressed his determination never to pardon any offender. By this
celebrated ordinance a supreme court of honour was established, composed of the
Marshals of France. They were bound, on taking the office, to give to every one who
brought a well-founded complaint before them, such reparation as would satisfy the
justice of the case. Should any gentleman against whom complaint was made refuse to
obey the mandate of the court of honour, he might be punished by fine and imprisonment;
and when that was not possible, by reason of his absenting himself from the kingdom, his
estates might be confiscated till his return.
Every man who sent a challenge, be the cause of offence what it might, was deprived of
all redress from the court of honour--suspended three years from the exercise of any
office in the state--was further imprisoned for two years, and sentenced to pay a fine of
half his yearly income. He who accepted a challenge, was subject to the same
punishment. Any servant, or other person, who knowingly became the bearer of a
challenge, was, if found guilty, sentenced to stand in the pillory and be publicly whipped
for the first offence, and for the second, sent for three years to the galleys.
Any person who actually fought, was to be held guilty of murder, even though death did
not ensue, and was to be punished accordingly. Persons in the higher ranks of life were to
be beheaded, and those of the middle class hanged upon a gallows, and their bodies
refused Christian burial.
At the same time that Louis published this severe edict, he exacted a promise from his
principal nobility that they would never engage in a duel on any pretence whatever. He
never swerved from his resolution to pursue all duellists with the utmost rigour, and
many were executed in various parts of the country. A slight abatement of the evil was
the consequence, and in the course of a few years one duel was not fought where twelve
had been fought previously. A medal was struck to commemorate the circumstance, by
the express command of the King. So much had he this object at heart, that, in his will, he
particularly recommended to his successor the care of his edict against duelling, and
warned him against any ill-judged lenity to those who disobeyed it. A singular law
formerly existed in Malta with regard to duelling. By this law it was permitted, but only
upon condition that the parties should fight in one particular street. If they presumed to
settle their quarrel elsewhere, they were held guilty of murder, and punished accordingly.
What was also very singular, they were bound, under heavy penalties, to put up their
swords when requested to do so by a priest, a knight, or a woman. It does not appear,
however, that the ladies or the knights exercised this mild and beneficent privilege to any
great extent; the former were too often themselves the cause of duels, and the latter
sympathised too much in the wounded honour of the combatants to attempt to separate
them. The priests alone were the great peacemakers. Brydone says, that a cross was
always painted on the wall opposite to the spot where a knight had been killed, and that in
the "street of duels" he counted about twenty of them. [Brydone's " Tour in Malta."
1772.]
In England the private duel was also practised to a scandalous extent, towards the end of
the sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth centuries. The judicial combat now began
to be more rare, but several instances of it are mentioned in history. One was instituted in
the reign of Elizabeth, and another so late as the time of Charles I. Sir Henry Spelman
gives an account of that which took place in Elizabeth's reign, which is curious, perhaps
the more so when we consider that it was perfectly legal, and that similar combats
remained so till the year 1819. A proceeding having been instituted in the Court of
Common Pleas for the recovery of certain manorial rights in the county of Kent, the
defendant offered to prove by single combat his right to retain possession. The plaintiff
accepted the challenge, and the Court having no power to stay the proceedings, agreed to
the champions who were to fight in lieu of the principals. The Queen commanded the
parties to compromise; but it being represented to Her Majesty that they were justified by
law in the course they were pursuing, she allowed them to proceed. On the day appointed,
the Justices of the Common Pleas, and all the council engaged in the cause, appeared as
umpires of the combat, at a place in Tothill-fields, where the lists had been prepared. The
champions were ready for the encounter, and the plaintiff and defendant were publicly
called to come forward and acknowledge them. The defendant answered to his name, and
recognised his champion with the due formalities, but the plaintiff did not appear.
Without his presence and authority the combat could not take place; and his absence
being considered an abandonment of his claim, he was declared to be nonsuited, and
barred for ever from renewing his suit before any other tribunal whatever.
The Queen appears to have disapproved personally of this mode of settling a disputed
claim, but her judges and legal advisers made no attempt to alter the barbarous law. The
practice of private duelling excited more indignation, from its being of every-day
occurrence. In the time of James I the English were so infected with the French madness,
that Bacon, when he was Attorney-general, lent the aid of his powerful eloquence to
effect a reformation of the evil. Informations were exhibited in the Star Chamber against
two persons, named Priest and Wright, for being engaged, as principal and second, in a
duel, on which occasion he delivered a charge that was so highly approved of by the
Lords of the Council, that they ordered it to be printed and circulated over the country, as
a thing "very meet and worthy to be remembered and made known unto the world." He
began by considering the nature and greatness of the mischief of duelling. "It troubleth
peace -- it disfurnisheth war -- it bringeth calamity upon private men, peril upon the state,
and contempt upon the law. Touching the causes of it," he observed, "that the first motive
of it, no doubt, is a false and erroneous imagination of honour and credit; but then, the
seed of this mischief being such, it is nourished by vain discourses and green and unripe
conceits. Hereunto may be added, that men have almost lost the true notion and
understanding of fortitude and valour. For fortitude distinguisheth of the grounds of
quarrel whether they be just; and not only so, but whether they be worthy, and setteth a
better price upon men's lives than to bestow them idly. Nay, it is weakness and disesteem
of a man's self to put a man's life upon such liedger performances. A man's life is not to
be trifled with: it is to be offered up and sacrificed to honourable services, public merits,
good causes, and noble adventures. It is in expense of blood as it is in expense of money.
It is no liberality to make a profusion of money upon every vain occasion, neither is it
fortitude to make effusion of blood, except the cause of it be worth." [See "Life and
Character of Lord Bacon," by Thomas Martin, Barrister-at-law.]
The most remarkable event connected with duelling in this reign was that between Lord
Sanquir, a Scotch nobleman, and one Turner, a fencing-master. In a trial of skill between
them, his lordship's eye was accidentally thrust out by the point of Turner's sword. Turner
expressed great regret at the circumstance, and Lord Sanquir bore his loss with as much
philosophy as he was master of, and forgave his antagonist. Three years afterwards, Lord
Sanquir was at Paris, where he was a constant visitor at the court of Henry IV. One day,
in the course of conversation, the affable monarch inquired how he had lost his eye.
Sanquir, who prided himself on being the most expert swordsman of the age, blushed as
he replied that it was inflicted by the sword of a fencing-master. Henry, forgetting his
assumed character of an antiduellist, carelessly, and as a mere matter of course, inquired
whether the man lived? Nothing more was said, but the query sank deep into the proud
heart of the Scotch baron, who returned shortly afterwards to England, burning for
revenge. His first intent was to challenge the fencing-master to single combat, but, on
further consideration, he deemed it inconsistent with his dignity to meet him as an equal
in fair and open fight. He therefore hired two bravos, who set upon the fencing-master,
and murdered him in his own house at Whitefriars. The assassins were taken and
executed, and a reward of one thousand pounds offered for the apprehension of their
employer. Lord Sanquir concealed himself for several days, and then surrendered to take
his trial, in the hope (happily false) that Justice would belie her name, and be lenient to a
murderer because he was a nobleman, who, on a false point of honour, had thought fit to
take revenge into his own hands. The most powerful intercessions were employed in his
favour, but James, to his credit, was deaf to them all. Bacon, in his character of Attorneygeneral, prosecuted the prisoner to conviction; and he died the felon's death, on the 29th
of June, 1612, on a gibbet erected in front of the gate of Westminster Hall.
With regard to the public duel, or trial by battle, demanded under the sanction of the law,
to terminate a quarrel which the ordinary course of justice could with difficulty decide,
Bacon was equally opposed to it, and thought that in no case should it be granted. He
suggested that there should be declared a constant and settled resolution in the state to
abolish it altogether; that care should be taken that the evil be no more cockered, nor the
humour of it fed, but that all persons found guilty should be rigorously punished by the
Star Chamber, and these of eminent quality banished from the court.
In the succeeding reign, when Donald Mackay, the first Lord Reay, accused David
Ramsay of treason, in being concerned with the Marquis of Hamilton in a design upon
the crown of Scotland, he was challenged by the latter to make good his assertion by
single combat. [See "History of the House and Clan of Mackay."] It had been at first the
intention of the government to try the case by the common law, but Ramsay thought he
would stand a better chance of escape by recurring to the old and almost exploded
custom, but which was still the right of every man in appeals of treason. Lord Reay
readily accepted the challenge, and both were confined in the Tower until they found
security that they would appear on a certain day, appointed by the court, to determine the
question. The management of the affair was delegated to the Marischal Court of
Westminster, and the Earl of Lindsay was created Lord Constable of England for the
purpose. Shortly before the day appointed, Ramsay confessed in substance all that Lord
Reay had laid to his charge, upon which Charles I put a stop to the proceedings.
But in England, about this period, sterner disputes arose among men than those mere
individual matters which generate duels. The men of the Commonwealth encouraged no
practice of the kind, and the subdued aristocracy carried their habits and prejudices
elsewhere, and fought their duels at foreign courts. Cromwell's Parliament, however, -although the evil at that time was not so crying, -- published an order, in 1654, for the
prevention of duels, and the punishment of all con cerned in them. Charles II, on his
restoration, also issued a proclamation upon the subject. In his reign an infamous duel
was fought -- infamous, not only from its own circumstances, but from the lenity that was
shown to the principal offenders.
The worthless Duke of Buckingham, having debauched the Countess of Shrewsbury, was
challenged by her husband to mortal combat, in January 1668. Charles II endeavoured to
prevent the duel, not from any regard to public morality, but from fear for the life of his
favourite. He gave commands to the Duke of Albemarle to confine Buckingham to his
house, or take some other measures to prevent him flora fighting. Albemarle neglected
the order, thinking that the King himself might prevent the combat by some surer means.
The meeting took place at Barn Elms, the injured Shrewsbury being attended by Sir John
Talbot, his relative, and Lord Bernard Howard, son of the Earl of Arundel. Buckingham
was accompanied by two of his dependants, Captain Holmes and Sir John Jenkins.
According to the barbarous custom of the age, not only the principals, but the seconds,
engaged each other. Jenkins was pierced to the heart, and left dead upon the field, and Sir
John Talbot severely wounded in both arms. Buckingham himself escaping with slight
wounds, ran his unfortunate antagonist through the body, and then left the field with the
wretched woman, the cause of all the mischief, who, in the dress of a page, awaited the
issue of the conflict in a neighbouring wood, holding her paramour's horse to avoid
suspicion. Great influence was exerted to save the guilty parties from punishment, and
the master, as base as the favourite, made little difficulty in granting a free pardon to all
concerned. In a royal proclamation issued shortly afterwards, Charles II formally
pardoned the murderers, but declared his intention never to extend, in future, any mercy
to such offenders. It would be hard after this to say who was the most infamous, the King,
the favourite, or the courtezan.
In the reign of Queen Anne, repeated complaints were made of the prevalence of
duelling. Addison, Swift, Steele, and other writers, employed their powerful pens in
reprobation of it. Steele especially, in the "Tatler" and "Guardian," exposed its impiety
and absurdity, and endeavoured, both by argument and by ridicule, to bring his
countrymen to a right way of thinking. [See "Spectator," Nos. 84. 97, and 99; and
"Tatler," Nos. 25, 26, 29, 31, 38, and 39; and "Guardian," No. 20.] His comedy of "The
Conscious Lovers" contains an admirable exposure of the abuse of the word honour,
which led men into an error so lamentable. Swift, writing upon the subject, remarked that
he could see no harm in rogues and fools shooting each other. Addison and Steele took
higher ground, and the latter, in the "Guardian," summed up nearly all that could be said
upon the subject in the following impressive words: -- "A Christian and a gentleman are
made inconsistent appellations of the same person. You are not to expect eternal life if
you do not forgive injuries, and your mortal life is rendered uncomfortable if you are not
ready to commit a murder in resentment of an affront; for good sense, as well as religion,
is so utterly banished the world that men glory in their very passions, and pursue trifles
with the utmost vengeance, so little do they know that to forgive is the most arduous
pitch human nature can arrive at. A coward has often fought -- a coward has often
conquered, but a coward never forgave." Steele also published a pamphlet, in which he
gave a detailed account of the edict of Louis XIV, and the measures taken by that
monarch to cure his subjects of their murderous folly.
On the 8th of May, 1711, Sir Cholmely Deering, M.P. for the county of Kent, was slain
in a duel by Mr. Richard Thornhill, also a member of the House of Commons. Three days
afterwards, Sir Peter King brought the subject under the notice of the Legislature, and
after dwelling at considerable length on the alarming increase of the practice, obtained
leave to bring in a bill for the prevention and punishment of duelling. It was read a first
time that day, and ordered for a second reading in the ensuing week.
About the same time the attention of the Upper House of Parliament was also drawn to
the subject in the most painful manner. Two of its most noted members would have
fought, had it not been that Queen Anne received notice of their intention, and exacted a
pledge that they would desist; while a few months afterwards, two other of its members
lost their lives in one of the most remarkable duels upon record. The first affair, which
happily terminated without a meeting, was between the Duke of Marlborough and the
Earl Pawlet. The latter, and fatal encounter, was between the Duke of Hamilton and Lord
Mohun.
The first arose out of a debate in the Lords upon the conduct of the Duke of Ormond, in
refusing to hazard a general engagement with the enemy, in which Earl Pawlet remarked
that nobody could doubt the courage of the Duke of Ormond. "He was not like a certain
general, who led troops to the slaughter, to cause great numbers of officers to be knocked
on the head in a battle, or against stone walls, in order to fill his pockets by disposing of
their commissions." Every one felt that the remark was aimed at the Duke of
Marlborough, but he remained silent, though evidently suffering in mind. Soon after the
House broke up, the Earl Pawlet received a visit from Lord Mohun, who told him that the
Duke of Marlborough was anxious to come to an explanation with him relative to some
expressions he had made use of in that day's debate, and therefore prayed him to "go and
take a little air in the country." Earl Pawlet did not affect to misunderstand the hint, but
asked him in plain terms whether he brought a challenge from the Duke. Lord Mohun
said his message needed no explanation, and that he (Lord Mohun) would accompany the
Duke of Marlborough. He then took his leave, and Earl Pawlet returned home and told
his lady that he was going out to fight a duel with the Duke of Marlborough. His lady,
alarmed for her lord's safety, gave notice of his intention to the Earl of Dartmouth, who
immediately, in the Queen's name, sent to the Duke of Marlborough, and commanded
him not to stir abroad. He also caused Earl Pawlet's house to be guarded by two sentinels;
and having taken these precautions, informed the Queen of the whole affair. Her Majesty
sent at once for the Duke, expressed her abhorrence of the custom of duelling, and
required his word of honour that he would proceed no further. The Duke pledged his
word accordingly, and the affair terminated.
The lamentable duel between the Duke of Hamilton and Lord Mohun took place in
November 1712, and sprang from the following circumstances. A lawsuit had been
pending for eleven years between these two noblemen, and they looked upon each other
in consequence with a certain degree of coldness. They met together on the 13th of
November in the chambers of Mr. Orlebar, a Master in Chancery, when, in the course of
conversation, the Duke of Hamilton reflected upon the conduct of one of the witnesses in
the cause, saying that he was a person who had neither truth nor justice in him. Lord
Mohun, somewhat nettled at this remark, applied to a witness favourable to his side,
made answer hastily, that Mr. Whiteworth, the person alluded to, had quite as much truth
and justice in him as the Duke of Hamilton. The Duke made no reply, and no one present
imagined that he took offence at what was said; and when he went out, of the room, he
made a low and courteous salute to the Lord Mohun. In the evening, General Macartney
called twice upon the Duke with a challenge from Lord Mohun, and failing in seeing him,
sought him a third time at a tavern, where he found him, and delivered his message. The
Duke accepted the challenge, and the day after the morrow, which was Sunday, the 15th
of November, at seven in the morning, was appointed for the meeting.
At that hour they assembled in Hyde Park, the Duke being attended by his relative,
Colonel Hamilton, and the Lord Mohun by General Macartney. They jumped over a ditch
into a place called the Nursery, and prepared for the combat. The Duke of Hamilton,
turning to General Macartney, said, "Sir, you are the cause of this, let the event be what it
will." Lord Mohun did not wish that the seconds should engage, but the Duke insisted
that "Macartney should have a share in the dance." All being ready, the two principals
took up their positions, and fought with swords so desperately that, after a short time,
they both fell down, mortally wounded. The Lord Mohun expired upon the spot, and the
Duke of Hamilton in the arms of his servants as they were carrying him to his coach.
This unhappy termination caused the greatest excitement, not only in the metropolis, but
all over the country. The Tories, grieved at the loss of the Duke of Hamilton, charged the
fatal combat on the Whig party, whose leader, the Duke of Marlborough, had so recently
set the example of political duels. They. called Lord Mohun the bully of the Whig
faction, (he had already killed three men in duels, and been twice tried for murder), and
asserted openly, that the quarrel was concocted between him and General Macartney to
rob the country of the services of the Duke of Hamilton by murdering him. It was also
asserted, that the wound of which the Duke died was not inflicted by Lord Mohun, but by
Macartney; and every means was used to propagate this belief. Colonel Hamilton, against
whom and Macartney the coroner's jury had returned a verdict of wilful murder,
surrendered a few days afterwards, and was examined before a privy council sitting at the
house of Lord Dartmouth. He then deposed, that seeing Lord Mohun fall, and the Duke
upon him, he ran to the Duke's assistance, and that he might with the more ease help him,
he flung down both their swords, and, as he was raising the Duke up, he saw Macartney,
make a push at him. Upon this deposition a royal proclamation was immediately issued,
offering a reward of 500 pounds for the apprehension of Macartney, to which the
Duchess of Hamilton afterwards added a reward of 300 pounds.
Upon the further examination of Colonel Hamilton, it was found that reliance could not
be placed on all his statements, and that he contradicted himself in several important
particulars. He was arraigned at the Old Bailey for the murder of Lord Mohun, the whole
political circles of London being in a fever of excitement for the result. All the Tory party
prayed for his acquittal, and a Tory mob surrounded the doors and all the avenues leading
to the court of justice for many hours before the trial began. The examination of
witnesses lasted seven hours. The criminal still persisted in accusing General Macartney
of the murder of the Duke of Hamilton, but, in other respects, say the newspapers of the
day, prevaricated foully. He was found guilty of manslaughter. This favourable verdict
was received with universal applause, "not only from the court and all the gentlemen
present, but the common people showed a mighty satisfaction, which they testified by
loud and repeated huzzas." ["Post Boy," December l3th, 1712.]
As the popular delirium subsided, and men began to reason coolly upon the subject, they
disbelieved the assertions of Colonel Hamilton, that Macartney had stabbed the Duke,
although it was universally admitted that he had been much too busy and presuming.
Hamilton was shunned by all his former companions, and his life rendered so irksome to
him, that he sold out of the Guards, and retired to private life, in which he died heartbroken four years afterwards.
General Macartney surrendered about the same time, and was tried for murder in the
Court of King's Bench. He was, however, found guilty of manslaughter only.
At the opening of the session of Parliament of 1713, the Queen made pointed allusion in
her speech to the frequency of duelling, and recommended to the Legislature to devise
some speedy and effectual remedy for it. A bill to that effect was brought forward, but
thrown out on the second reading, to the very great regret of all the sensible portion of the
community.
A famous duel was fought in 1765 between Lord Byron and Mr. Chaworth. The dispute
arose at a club-dinner, and was relative to which of the two had the largest quantity of
game on his estates. Infuriated by wine and passion, they retired instantly into an
adjoining room, and fought with swords across a table, by the feeble glimmer of a tallowcandle. Mr. Chaworth, who was the more expert swordsman of the two, received a mortal
wound, and shortly afterwards expired. Lord Byron was brought to trial for the murder
before the House of Lords; and it appearing clearly, that the duel was not premeditated,
but fought at once, and in the heat of passion, he was found guilty of manslaughter only,
and ordered to be discharged upon payment of his fees. This was a very bad example for
the country, and duelling of course fell into no disrepute after such a verdict.
In France, more severity was exercised. In the year 1769, the Parliament of Grenoble
took cognizance of the delinquency of the Sieur Duchelas, one of its members, who
challenged and killed in a duel a captain of the Flemish legion. The servant of Duchelas
officiated as second, and was arraigned with his master for the murder of the captain.
They were both found guilty. Duchelas was broken alive on the wheel, and the servant
condemned to the galleys for life.
A barbarous and fiercely-contested duel was fought in November 1778, between two
foreign adventurers, at Bath, named Count Rice and the Vicomte du Barri. Some dispute
arose relative to a gambling transaction, in the course of which Du Barri contradicted an
assertion of the other, by saying, "That is not true!" Count Rice immediately asked him if
he knew the very disagreeable meaning of the words he had employed. Du Barri said he
was perfectly well aware of their meaning, and that Rice might interpret them just as he
pleased. A challenge was immediately given and accepted. Seconds were sent for, who,
arriving with but little delay, the whole party, though it was not long after midnight,
proceeded to a place called Claverton Down, where they remained with a surgeon until
daylight. They then prepared for the encounter, each being armed with two pistols and a
sword. The ground having been marked out by the seconds, Du Barri fired first, and
wounded his opponent in the thigh. Count Rice then levelled his pistol, and shot Du Barri
mortally in the breast. So angry were the combatants, that they refused to desist; both
stepped back a few paces, and then rushing forward, discharged their second pistols at
each other. Neither shot took effect, and both throwing away their pistols, prepared to
finish the sanguinary struggle by the sword. They took their places, and were advancing
towards each other, when the Vicomte du Barri suddenly staggered, grew pale, and,
falling to the ground, exclaimed, "Je vous demande ma vie." His opponent had but just
time to answer, that he granted it, when the unfortunate Du Barri turned upon the grass,
and expired with a heavy groan. The survivor of this savage conflict was then removed to
his lodgings, where he lay for some weeks in a dangerous state. The coroner's jury, in the
mean while, sat upon the body of Du Barri, and disgraced themselves by returning a
verdict of manslaughter only. Count Rice, upon his recovery, was indicted for the murder
notwithstanding this verdict. On his trial he entered into a long defence of his conduct,
pleading the fairness of the duel, and its unpremeditated nature; and, at the same time,
expressing his deep regret for the unfortunate death of Du Barri, with whom for many
years he had been bound in ties of the strictest friendship. These considerations appear to
have weighed with the jury, and this fierce duellist was again found guilty of
manslaughter only, and escaped with a merely nominal punishment.
A duel, less remarkable from its circumstances, but more so from the rank of the parties,
took place in 1789. The combatants on this occasion were the Duke of York and Colonel
Lenox, the nephew and heir of the Duke of Richmond. The cause of offence was given by
the Duke of York, who had said, in presence of several officers of the Guards, that words
had been used to Colonel Lenox at Daubigny's to which no gentleman ought to have
submitted. Colonel Lenox went up to the Duke on parade, and asked him publicly
whether he had made such an assertion. The Duke of York, without answering his
question, coldly ordered him to his post. When parade was over, he took an opportunity
of saying publicly in the orderly room before Colonel Lenox, that he desired no
protection from his rank as a prince and his station as commanding officer; adding that,
when he was off duty, he wore a plain brown coat like a private gentleman, and was
ready as such to give satisfaction. Colonel Lenox desired nothing better than satisfaction;
that is to say, to run the chance of shooting the Duke through the body, or being himself
shot. He accordingly challenged his Royal Highness, and they met on Wimbledon
Common. Colonel Lenox fired first, and the ball whizzed past the head of his opponent,
so near to it as to graze his projecting curl. The Duke refused to return the fire, and the
seconds interfering, the affair terminated.
Colonel Lenox was very shortly afterwards engaged in another duel arising out of this. A
Mr. Swift wrote a pamphlet in reference to the dispute between him and the Duke of
York, at some expressions in which he took so much offence, as to imagine that nothing
but a shot at the writer could atone for them. They met on the Uxbridge Road, but no
damage was done to either party.
The Irish were for a long time renowned for their love of duelling. The slightest offence
which it is possible to imagine that one man could offer to another, was sufficient to
provoke a challenge. Sir Jonah Barrington relates, in his Memoirs, that, previous to the
Union, during the time of a disputed election in Dublin, it was no unusual thing for threeand-twenty duels to be fought in a day. Even in times of less excitement, they were so
common as to be deemed unworthy of note by the regular chroniclers of events, except in
cases where one or both of the combatants were killed.
In those days, in Ireland, it was not only the man of the military, but of every profession,
who had to work his way to eminence with the sword or the pistol. Each political party
had its regular corps of bullies, or fire-eaters, as they were called, who qualified
themselves for being the pests of society by spending all their spare time in firing at
targets. They boasted that they could hit an opponent in any part of his body they pleased,
and made up their minds before the encounter began whether they should kill him,
disable, or disfigure him for life -- lay him on a bed of suffering for a twelve-month, or
merely graze a limb.
The evil had reached an alarming height, when, in the year 1808, an opportunity was
afforded to King George III of showing in a striking manner his detestation of the
practice, and of setting an example to the Irish that such murders were not to be
committed with impunity. A dispute arose, in the month of June 1807, between Major
Campbell and Captain Boyd, officers of the 21st regiment, stationed in Ireland, about the
proper manner of giving the word of command on parade. Hot words ensued on this
slight occasion, and the result was a challenge from Campbell to Boyd. They retired into
the mess-room shortly afterwards, and each stationed himself at a corner, the distance
obliquely being but seven paces. Here, without friends or seconds being present, they
fired at each other, and Captain Boyd fell mortally wounded between the fourth and fifth
ribs. A surgeon who came in shortly, found him sitting in a chair, vomiting and suffering
great agony. He was led into another room, Major Campbell following, in great distress
and perturbation of mind. Boyd survived but eighteen hours; and just before his death,
said, in reply to a question from his opponent, that the duel was not fair, and added, "You
hurried me, Campbell -- you're a bad man." --- "Good God!" replied Campbell, "will you
mention before these gentlemen, was not everything fair? Did you not say that you were
ready?" Boyd answered faintly, "Oh, no! you know I wanted you to wait and have
friends." On being again asked whether all was fair, the dying man faintly murmured
"Yes:" but in a minute after, he said, "You're a bad man!" Campbell was now in great
agitation, and wringing his hands convulsively, he exclaimed, "Oh, Boyd! you are the
happiest man of the two! Do you forgive me?" Boyd replied, "I forgive you -- I feel for
you, as I know you do for me." He shortly afterwards expired, and Major Campbell made
his escape from Ireland, and lived for some months with his family under an assumed
name, in the neighbourhood of Chelsea. He was, however, apprehended, and brought to
trial at Armagh, in August 1808. He said while in prison, that, if found guilty of murder,
he should suffer as an example to duellists in Ireland; but he endeavoured to buoy himself
up, with the hope that the jury would only convict him of manslaughter. It was proved in
evidence upon the trial, that the duel was not fought immediately after the offence was
given, but that Major Campbell went home and drank tea with his family, before he
sought Boyd for the fatal encounter. The jury returned a verdict of wilful murder against
him, but recommended him to mercy on the ground that the duel had been a fair one. He
was condemned to die on the Monday following, but was afterwards respited for a few
days longer. In the mean time the greatest exertions were made in his behalf. His
unfortunate wife went upon her knees before the Prince of Wales, to move him to use his
influence with the King, in favour of her unhappy husband. Everything a fond wife and a
courageous woman could do, she tried, to gain the royal clemency; but George III was
inflexible, in consequence of the representations of the Irish Viceroy that an example was
necessary. The law was therefore allowed to take its course, and the victim of a false
spirit of honour died the death of a felon.
The most inveterate duellists of the present day are the students in the Universities of
Germany. They fight on the most frivolous pretences, and settle with swords and pistols
the schoolboy disputes which in other countries are arranged by the more harmless
medium of the fisticuffs. It was at one time the custom among these savage youths to
prefer the sword combat, for the facility it gave them of cutting off the noses of their
opponents. To disfigure them in this manner was an object of ambition, and the German
duellists reckoned the number of these disgusting trophies which they had borne away,
with as much satisfaction as a successful general the provinces he had reduced or the
cities he had taken.
But it would be wearisome to enter into the minute detail of all the duels of modern
times. If an examination were made into the general causes which produced them, it
would be found that in every case they had been either of the most trivial or the most
unworthy nature. Parliamentary duels were at one time very common, and amongst the
names of those who have soiled a great reputation by conforming to the practice, may be
mentioned those of Warren Hastings, Sir Philip Francis, Wilkes, Pitt, Fox, Grattan,
Curran, Tierney, and Canning. So difficult is it even for the superior mind to free itself
from the trammels with which foolish opinion has enswathed it -- not one of these
celebrated persons who did not in his secret soul condemn the folly to which he lent
himself. The bonds of reason, though iron-strong, are easily burst through; but those of
folly, though lithe and frail as the rushes by a stream, defy the stoutest heart to snap them
asunder. Colonel Thomas, an officer of the Guards, who was killed in a duel, added the
following clause to his will the night before he died: -- "In the first place, I commit my
soul to Almighty God, in hope of his mercy and pardon for the irreligious step I now (in
compliance with the unwarrantable customs of this wicked world) put myself under the
necessity of taking." How many have been in the same state of mind as this wise, foolish
man! He knew his error, and abhorred it, but could not resist it, for fear of the opinion of
the prejudiced and unthinking. No other could have blamed him for refusing to fight a
duel.
The list of duels that have sprung from the most degrading causes might be stretched out
to an almost indefinite extent. Sterne's father fought a duel about a goose; and the great
Raleigh about a tavern bill. [Raleigh, at one period of his life, appeared to be an
inveterate duellist, and it was said of him that he had been engaged in more encounters of
the kind than any man of note among his contemporaries. More than one fellow-creature
he had deprived of life; but he lived long enough to be convinced of the sinfulness of his
conduct, and made a solemn vow never to fight another duel. The following anecdote of
his forbearance is well known, but it will bear repetition :-- A dispute arose in a coffeehouse between him and a young man on some trivial point, and the latter, losing his
temper, impertinently spat in the face of the veteran. Sir Walter, instead of running him
through the body, as many would have done, or challenging him to mortal combat, coolly
took out his handkerchief, wiped his face, and said, "Young man, if I could as easily wipe
from my conscience the stain of killing you, as I can this spittle from my face, you should
not live another minute." The young man immediately begged his pardon.] Scores of
duels (many of them fatal) have been fought from disputes at cards, or a place at a
theatre, while hundreds of challenges, given and accepted over-night, in a fit of
drunkenness, have been fought out the next morning to the death of one or both of the
antagonists.
Two of the most notorious duels of modern times had their origin in causes no more
worthy than the quarrel of a dog and the favour of a prostitute: that between Macnamara
and Montgomery arising from the former; and that between Best and Lord Camelford,
from the latter. The dog of Montgomery attacked a dog belonging to Macnamara, and
each master interfering in behalf of his own animal, high words ensued. The result was
the giving and accepting a challenge to mortal combat. The parties met on the following
day, when Montgomery was shot dead, and his antagonist severely wounded. This affair
created a great sensation at the time, and Heaviside, the surgeon who attended at the fatal
field to render his assistance, if necessary, was arrested as an accessory to the murder,
and committed to Newgate.
In the duel between Best and Lord Camelford, two pistols were used which were
considered to be the best in England. One of them was thought slightly superior to the
other, and it was agreed that the belligerents should toss up a piece of money to decide
the choice of weapons. Best gained it, and, at the first discharge, Lord Camelford fell,
mortally wounded. But little sympathy was expressed for his fate; he was a confirmed
duellist, had been engaged in many meetings of the kind, and the blood of more than one
fellow-creature lay at his door. As he had sowed, so did he reap; and the violent man met
an appropriate death.
It now only remains to notice the means that have been taken to stay the prevalence of
this madness of false honour in the various countries of the civilized world. The efforts of
the governments of France and England have already been mentioned, and their want of
success is but too well known. The same efforts have been attended with the same results
elsewhere. In despotic countries, where the will of the monarch has been strongly
expressed and vigorously supported, a diminution of the evil has for a while resulted, but
only to be increased again, when death relaxed the iron grasp, and a successor appeared
of less decided opinions upon the subject. This was the case in Prussia under the great
Frederick, of whose aversion to duelling a popular anecdote is recorded. It is stated of
him that he permitted duelling in his army, but only upon the condition that the
combatants should fight in presence of a whole battalion of infantry, drawn up on
purpose, to see fair play. The latter received strict orders, when one of the belligerents
fell, to shoot the other immediately. It is added, that the known determination of the King
effectually put a stop to the practice.
The Emperor Joseph II of Austria was as firm as Frederick, although the measures he
adopted were not so singular. The following letter explains his views on the subject:-"To GENERAL * * * * *
"MY GENERAL,
"You will immediately arrest the Count of K. and Captain W. The Count is young,
passionate, and influenced by wrong notions of birth and a false spirit of honour. Captain
W. is an old soldier, who will adjust every dispute with the sword and pistol, and who has
received the challenge of the young Count with unbecoming warmth.
"I will suffer no duelling in my army. I despise the principles of those who attempt to
justify the practice, and who would run each other through the body in cold blood.
"When I have officers who bravely expose themselves to every danger in facing the
enemy -- who at all times exhibit courage, valour, and resolution in attack and defence, I
esteem them highly. The coolness with which they meet death on such occasions is
serviceable to their country, and at the same time redounds to their own honour; but
should there be men amongst them who are ready to sacrifice everything to their
vengeance and hatred, I despise them. I consider such a man as no better than a Roman
gladiator.
"Order a court-martial to try the two officers. Investigate the subject of their dispute with
that impartiality which I demand from every judge; and he that is guilty, let him be a
sacrifice to his fate and the laws.
"Such a barbarous custom, which suits the age of the Tamerlanes and Bajazets, and
which has often had such melancholy effects on single families, I will have suppressed
and punished, even if it should deprive me of one half of my officers. There are still men
who know how to unite the character of a hero with that of a good subject; and he only
can be so who respects the laws. " JOSEPH." "August 1771."
[Vide the Letters of Joseph II to distinguished Princes and Statesmen, published for the
first time in England in "The Pamphleteer" for 1821. They were originally published in
Germany a few years previously, and throw a great light upon the character of that
monarch and the events of his reign.]
In the United States of America the code varies considerably. In one or two of the still
wild and simple States of the Far West, where no duel has yet been fought, there is no
specific law upon the subject beyond that in the Decalogue, which says, "Thou shalt do
no murder." But duelling everywhere follows the steps of modern civilization, and by the
time the backwoodsman is transformed into the citizen, he has imbibed the false notions
of honour which are prevalent in Europe, and around him, and is ready, like his
progenitors, to settle his differences with the pistol. In the majority of the States the
punishment for challenging, fighting, or acting as second, is solitary imprisonment and
hard labour for any period less than a year, and disqualification for serving any public
office for twenty years. In Vermont the punishment is total disqualification for office,
deprivation of the rights of citizenship, and a fine; in fatal cases, the same punishment as
that of murderers. In Rhode Island, the combatant, though death does not ensue, is liable
to be carted to the gallows, with a rope about his neck, and to sit in this trim for an hour,
exposed to the peltings of the mob. He may be further imprisoned for a year, at the option
of the magistrate. In Connecticut the punishment is total disqualification for office or
employ, and a fine, varying from one hundred to a thousand dollars. The laws of Illinois
require certain officers of the state to make oath, previous to their instalment, that they
have never been, nor ever will be, concerned in a duel. ["Encyclopedia Americana," art.
Duelling.]
Amongst the edicts against duelling promulgated at various times in Europe, may be
mentioned that of Augustus King of Poland, in 1712, which decreed the punishment of
death against principals and seconds, and minor punishments against the bearers of a
challenge. An edict was also published at Munich, in 1773, according to which both
principals and seconds, even in duels where no one was either killed or wounded, should
be hanged, and their bodies buried at the foot of the gallows. The King of Naples issued
an ordinance against duelling in 1838, in which the punishment of death is decreed
against all concerned in a fatal duel. The bodies of those killed, and of those who may be
executed in consequence, are to be buried in unconsecrated ground, and without any
religious ceremony; nor is any monument to be erected on the spot. The punishment for
duels in which either, or both, are wounded, and for those in which no damage whatever
is done, varies according to the case, and consists of fine, imprisonment, loss of rank and
honours, and incapacity for filling any public situation. Bearers of challenges may also be
punished with fine and imprisonment.
It might be imagined that enactments so severe all over the civilized world would finally
eradicate a custom, the prevalence of which every wise and good man must deplore. But
the frowns of the law never yet have taught, and never will teach, men to desist from this
practice, as long as it is felt that the lawgiver sympathises with it in his heart. The stern
judge upon the bench may say to the unfortunate wight who has been called a liar by
some unmannerly opponent, "If you challenge him, you meditate murder, and are guilty
of murder !" but the same judge, divested of his robes of state, and mixing in the world
with other men, would say, "If you do not challenge him, if you do not run the risk of
making yourself a murderer, you will be looked upon as a mean-spirited wretch, unfit to
associate with your fellows, and deserving nothing but their scorn and their contempt!" It
is society, and not the duellist, who is to blame. Female influence, too, which is so
powerful in leading men either to good or to evil, takes, in this case, the evil part. Mere
animal bravery has, unfortunately, such charms in the female eye, that a successful
duellist is but too often regarded as a sort of hero; and the man who refuses to fight,
though of truer courage, is thought a poltroon, who may be trampled on. Mr. Graves, a
member of the American Legislature, who, early in 1838, killed a Mr. Cilley in a duel,
truly and eloquently said, on the floor of the House of Representatives, when lamenting
the unfortunate issue of that encounter, that society was more to blame than he was.
"Public opinion," said the repentant orator, "is practically the paramount law of the land.
Every other law, both human and divine, ceases to be observed; yea, withers and perishes
in contact with it. It was this paramount law of this nation, and of this House, that forced
me, under the penalty of dishonour, to subject myself to the code, which impelled me
unwillingly into this tragical affair. Upon the heads of this nation, and at the doors of this
House, rests the blood with which my unfortunate hands have been stained!"
As long as society is in this mood; as long as it thinks that the man who refuses to resent
an insult, deserved that insult, and should be scouted accordingly, so long, it is to be
feared, will duelling exist, however severe the laws may be. Men must have redress for
injuries inflicted, and when those injuries are of such a nature that no tribunal will take
cognizance of them, the injured will take the law into their own hands, and right
themselves in the opinion of their fellows, at the hazard of their lives. Much as the sage
may affect to despise the opinion of the world, there are few who would not rather expose
their lives a hundred times than be condemned to live on, in society, but not of it -- a byword of reproach to all who know their history, and a mark for scorn to point his finger
at.
The only practicable means for diminishing the force of a custom which is the disgrace of
civilization, seems to be the establishment of a court of honour, which should take
cognizance of all those delicate and almost intangible offences which yet wound so
deeply. The court established by Louis XIV might be taken as a model. No man now
fights a duel when a fit apology has been offered, and it should be the duty of this court to
weigh dispassionately the complaint of every man injured in his honour, either by word
or deed, and to force the offender to make a public apology. If he refused the apology, he
would be the breaker of a second law; an offender against a high court, as well as against
the man he had injured, and might be punished with fine and imprisonment, the latter to
last until he saw the error of his conduct, and made the concession which the court
demanded.
If, after the establishment of this tribunal, men should be found of a nature so
bloodthirsty as not to be satisfied with its peaceful decisions, and should resort to the old
and barbarous mode of an appeal to the pistol, some means might be found of dealing
with them. To hang them as murderers would be of no avail; for to such men death would
have few terrors. Shame alone would bring them to reason. The following code, it is
humbly suggested to all future legislators upon the subject, would, in conjunction with
the establishment of a court of honour, do much towards eradicating this blot from
society. Every man who fought a duel, even though he did not wound his opponent,
should be tried, and, upon proof of the fact, be sentenced to have his right hand cut off.
The world would then know his true character as long as he lived. If his habits of duelling
were so inveterate, and he should learn to fire a pistol with his left hand, he should, upon
conviction of a second offence, lose that hand also. This law, which should allow no
commutation of the punishment, under any circumstances, would lend strength and
authority to the court of honour. In the course of a few years duelling would be ranked
amongst exploded follies, and men would begin to wonder that a custom so barbarous
and so impious had ever existed amongst them.
THE LOVE OF THE MARVELLOUS AND THE DISBELIEF OF THE TRUE.
"Well, son John," said the old woman, "and what wonderful things did you meet with all
the time you were at sea?" - " Oh! mother," replied John, "I saw many strange things." -" Tell us all about them," replied his mother, "for I long to hear your adventures." -- "
Well, then," said John, "as we were sailing over the Line, what do you think we saw?" "I can't imagine," replied his mother. -- " Well, we saw a fish rise out of the sea, and fly
over our ship!" "Oh! John! John! what a liar you are!" said his mother, shaking her head,
and smiling incredulously. "True as death? said John; "and we saw still more wonderful
things than that." -- " Let us hear them," said his mother, shaking her head again; "and tell
the truth, John, if you can." -- " Believe it, or believe it not, as you please," replied her
son; "but as we were sailing up the Red Sea, our captain thought he should like some fish
for dinner; so he told us to throw our nets, and catch some." -- " Well," inquired his
mother, seeing that he paused in his story. "Well," rejoined her son, "we did throw them,
and, at the very first haul, we brought up a chariot-wheel, made all of gold, and inlaid
with diamonds!" "Lord bless us!" said his mother, "and what did the captain say ?" -- "
Why, he said it was one of the wheels of Pharaoh's chariot, that had lain in the Red Sea
ever since that wicked King was drowned, with all his host, while pursuing the
Israelites." -- " Well, well," said his mother, lifting up her hands in admiration; "now,
that's very possible, and I think the captain was a very sensible man. Tell me such stories
as that, and I'll believe you; but never talk to me of such things as flying fish! No, no,
John, such stories won't go down with me, I can assure you!"
Such old women as the sailor's mother, in the above well-known anecdote, are by no
means rare in the world. Every age and country has produced them. They have been
found in high places, and have sat down among the learned of the earth. Instances must
be familiar to every reader in which the same person was willing, with greedy credulity,
to swallow the most extravagant fiction, and yet refuse credence to a philosophical fact.
The same Greeks who believed readily that Jupiter wooed Leda in the form of a swan,
denied stoutly that there were any physical causes for storms and thunder, and treated as
impious those who attempted to account for them on true philosophical principles.
The reasons that thus lead mankind to believe the marvellously false, and to disbelieve
the marvellously true, may be easily gathered. Of all the offspring of Time, Error is the
most ancient, and is so old and familiar an acquaintance, that Truth, when discovered,
comes upon most of us like an intruder, and meets the intruder's welcome. We all pay an
involuntary homage to antiquity -- a "blind homage," as Bacon calls it in his "Novum
Organum," which tends greatly to the obstruction of truth. To the great majority of mortal
eyes, Time sanctifies everything that he does not destroy. The mere fact of anything
being spared by the great foe makes it a favourite with us, who are sure to fall his victims.
To call a prejudice "time-hallowed," is to open a way for it into hearts where it never
before penetrated. Some peculiar custom may disgrace the people amongst whom it
flourishes; yet men of a little wisdom refuse to aid in its extirpation, merely because it is
old. Thus it is with human belief, and thus it is we bring shame upon our own intellect.
To this cause may be added another, also mentioned by Lord Bacon -- a misdirected zeal
in matters of religion, which induces so many to decry a newly-discovered truth, because
the Divine records contain no allusion to it, or because, at first sight, it appears to
militate, not against religion, but against some obscure passage which has never been
fairly interpreted. The old woman in the story could not believe that there was such a
creature as a flying-fish, because her Bible did not tell her so, but she believed that her
son had drawn up the golden and bejewelled wheel from the Red Sea, because her Bible
informed her that Pharaoh was drowned there.
Upon a similar principle the monks of the inquisition believed that the devil appeared
visibly among men, that St. Anthony pulled his nose with a pair of red-hot pincers, and
that the relics of the saints worked miracles; yet they would not believe Galileo, when he
proved that the earth turned round the sun.
Keppler, when he asserted the same fact, could gain no bread, and little credence; but
when he pretended to tell fortunes and cast nativities, the whole town flocked to him, and
paid him enormous fees for his falsehood.
When Roger Bacon invented the telescope and the magic-lantern, no one believed that
the unaided ingenuity of man could have done it; but when some wiseacres asserted that
the devil had appeared to him, and given him the knowledge which he turned to such
account, no one was bold enough to assert that it was improbable. His hint that saltpetre,
sulphur, and charcoal, mixed in certain proportions, would produce effects similar to
thunder and lightning, was disregarded or disbelieved; but the legend of the brazen head
which delivered oracles, was credited for many ages.
[Godwin, in his "Lives of the Necromancers," gives the following version of this legend.
Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay entertained the project of enclosing England with a wall,
so as to render it inaccessible to any invader. They accordingly raised the devil, as the
person best able to inform them how this was to be done. The devil advised them to make
a brazen head, with all the internal structure and organs of a human head. The
construction would cost them much time, and they must wait with patience till the faculty
of speech descended upon it. Finally, however, it would become an oracle, and, if the
question were propounded to it, would teach them the solution of their problem. The
friars spent seven years in bringing the subject to perfection, and waited day after day in
expectation that it would utter articulate sounds. At length nature became exhausted in
them, and they lay down to sleep, having first given it strictly in charge to a servant of
theirs, clownish in nature, but of strict fidelity, that he should awaken them the moment
the image began to speak. That period arrived. The head uttered sounds, but such as the
clown judged unworthy of notice. "Time is!" it said. No notice was taken, and a long
pause ensued. "Time was!" -- a similar pause, and no notice. "Time is passed!" The
moment these words were uttered, a tremendous storm ensued, with thunder and
lightning, and the head was shivered into a thousand pieces. Thus the experiment of Friar
Bacon and Friar Bungay came to nothing.]
Solomon De Cans, who, in the time of Cardinal Richelieu, conceived the idea of a steamengine, was shut up in the Bastille as a madman, because the idea of such an
extraordinary instrument was too preposterous for the wise age that believed in all the
absurdities of witchcraft.
When Harvey first proved the circulation of the blood, every tongue was let loose against
him. The thing was too obviously an imposition, and an attempt to deceive that public
who believed that a king's touch had power to cure the scrofula. That a dead criminal's
hand, rubbed against a wen, would cure it, was reasonable enough; but that the blood
flowed through the veins was beyond all probability.
In our own day, a similar fate awaited the beneficent discovery of Dr. Jenner. That
vaccination could abate the virulence of, or preserve from, the smallpox, was quite
incredible; none but a cheat and a quack could assert it: but that the introduction of the
vaccine matter into the human frame could endow men with the qualities of a cow, was
quite probable. Many of the poorer people actually dreaded that their children would
grow hairy and horned as cattle, if they suffered them to be vaccinated.
The Jesuit, Father Labat, the shrewd and learned traveller in South America, relates an
experiment which he made upon the credulity of some native Peruvians. Holding a
powerful lens in his hand, and concentrating the rays of the sun upon the naked arm of an
admiring savage, he soon made him roar with pain. All the tribe looked on, first with
wonder, and then with indignation and wonder both combined. In vain the philosopher
attempted to explain the cause of the phenomenon - in vain he offered to convince them
that there was nothing devilish in the experiment - he was thought to be in league with
the infernal gods to draw down the fire from Heaven, and was looked upon, himself, as
an awful and supernatural being. Many attempts were made to gain possession of the
lens, with the view of destroying it, and thereby robbing the Western stranger of the
means of bringing upon them the vengeance of his deities.
Very similar was the conduct of that inquiring Brahmin, which is related by Forbes in his
Oriental Memoirs. The Brahmin had a mind better cultivated than his fellows; he was
smitten with a love for the knowledge of Europe -- read English books -- pored over the
pages of the Encyclopedia, and profited by various philosophical instruments; but on
religious questions the Brahmin was firm to the faith of his caste and the doctrine of the
Metempsychosis. Lest he might sacrilegiously devour his progenitors, he abstained from
all animal food; and thinking that he ate nothing which enjoyed life, he supported
himself, like his brethren, upon fruits and vegetables. All the knowledge that did not run
counter to this belief, he sought after with avidity, and bade fair to become the wisest of
his race. In an evil hour, his English friend and instructor exhibited a very powerful solar
microscope, by means of which he showed him that every drop of water that he drank
teemed with life -- that every fruit was like a world, covered with innumerable
animalculae, each of which was fitted by its organization for the sphere in which it
moved, and had its wants, and the capability of supplying them as completely as visible
animals millions of times its bulk. The English philosopher expected that his Hindoo
friend would be enraptured at the vast field of knowledge thus suddenly opened out to
him, but he was deceived. The Brahmin from that time became an altered man -thoughtful, gloomy, reserved, and discontented. He applied repeatedly to his friend that
he would make him a present of the microscope; but as it was the only one of its kind in
India, and the owner set a value upon it for other reasons, he constantly refused the
request, but offered him the loan of it for any period he might require. But nothing short
of an unconditional gift of the instrument would satisfy the Brahmin, who became at last
so importunate that the patience of the Englishman was exhausted, and he gave it him. A
gleam of joy shot across the care-worn features of the Hindoo as he clutched it, and
bounding with an exulting leap into the garden, he seized a large stone, and dashed the
instrument into a thousand pieces. When called upon to explain his extraordinary
conduct, he said to his friend, "Oh that I had remained in that happy state of ignorance
wherein you first found me! Yet will I confess that, as my knowledge increased, so did
my pleasure, until I beheld the last wonders of the microscope; from that moment I have
been tormented by doubt and perplexed by mystery: my mind, overwhelmed by chaotic
confusion, knows not where to rest, nor how to extricate itself from such a maze. I am
miserable, and must continue to be so, until I enter on another stage of existence. I am a
solitary individual among fifty millions of people, all educated in the same belief with
myself -- all happy in their ignorance! So may they ever remain! I shall keep the secret
within my own bosom, where it will corrode my peace and break my rest. But I shall
have some satisfaction in knowing that I alone feel those pangs which, had I not
destroyed the instrument, might have been extensively communicated, and rendered
thousands miserable! Forgive me, my valuable friend! and oh, convey no more
implements of knowledge and destruction!"
Many a learned man may smile at the ignorance of the Peruvian and the Hindoo,
unconscious that he himself is just as ignorant and as prejudiced. Who does not
remember the outcry against the science of geology, which has hardly yet subsided? Its
professors were impiously and absurdly accused of designing to "hurl the Creator from
his throne." They were charged with sapping the foundations of religion, and of propping
atheism by the aid of a pretended science.
The very same principle which leads to the rejection of the true, leads to the
encouragement of the false. Thus we may account for the success which has attended
great impostors, at times when the truth, though not half so wondrous as their
impositions, has been disregarded. as extravagant and preposterous. The man who wishes
to cheat the people, must needs found his operations upon some prejudice or belief that
already exists. Thus the philosophic pretenders who told fortunes by the stars cured all
diseases by one nostrum, and preserved from evil by charms and amulets, ran with the
current of popular belief. Errors that were consecrated by time and long familiarity, they
heightened and embellished, and succeeded to their hearts' content; but the preacher of
truth had a foundation to make as well as a superstructure, a difficulty which did not exist
for the preacher of error. Columbus preached a new world, but was met with distrust and
incredulity; had he preached with as much zeal and earnestness the discovery of some
valley in the old one, where diamonds hung upon the trees, or a herb grew that cured all
the ills incidental to humanity, he would have found a warm and hearty welcome -- might
have sold dried cabbage leaves for his wonderful herb, and made his fortune.
In fact, it will be found in the history of every generation and race of men, that whenever
a choice of belief between the "Wondrously False" and the "Wondrously True" is given
to ignorance or prejudice, that their choice will be fixed upon the first, for the reason that
it is most akin to their own nature. The great majority of mankind, and even of the wisest
among us, are still in the condition of the sailor's mother -- believing and disbelieving on
the same grounds that she did -- protesting against the flying fish, but cherishing the
golden wheels. Thousands there are amongst us, who, rather than pin their faith in the one
fish, would believe not only in the wheel of go]d, but the chariot - not only in the chariot,
but in the horses and the driver.
POPULAR FOLLIES IN GREAT CITIES
La faridondaine -- la faridondon, Vive la faridondaine!
BERANGER.
The popular humours of a great city are a never-failing source of amusement to the man
whose sympathies are hospitable enough to embrace all his kind, and who, refined though
he may be himself, will not sneer at the humble wit or grotesque peculiarities of the
boozing mechanic, the squalid beggar, the vicious urchin, and all the motley group of the
idle, the reckless, and the imitative that swarm in the alleys and broadways of a
metropolis. He who walks through a great city to find subjects for weeping, may, God
knows, find plenty at every corner to wring his heart; but let such a man walk on his
course, and enjoy his grief alone -- we are not of those who would accompany him. The
miseries of us poor earthdwellers gain no alleviation from the sympathy of those who
merely hunt them out to be pathetic over them. The weeping philosopher too often
impairs his eyesight by his woe, and becomes unable from his tears to see the remedies
for the evils which he deplores. Thus it will often be found that the man of no tears is the
truest philanthropist, as he is the best physician who wears a cheerful face, even in the
worst of cases.
So many pens have been employed to point out the miseries, and so many to condemn the
crimes and vices, and more serious follies of the multitude, that our's shall not increase
the number, at least in this chapter. Our present task shall be less ungracious, and
wandering through the busy haunts of great cities, we shall seek only for amusement, and
note as we pass a few of the harmless follies and whimsies of the poor.
And, first of all, walk where we will, we cannot help hearing from every side a phrase
repeated with delight, and received with laughter, by men with hard hands and dirty faces
-- by saucy butcher lads and errand-boys -- by loose women -- by hackney coachmen,
cabriolet drivers, and idle fellows who loiter at the corners of streets. Not one utters this
phrase without producing a laugh from all within hearing. It seems applicable to every
circumstance, and is the universal answer to every question; in short, it is the favourite
slang phrase of the day, a phrase that, while its brief season of popularity lasts, throws a
dash of fun and frolicsomeness over the existence of squalid poverty and ill-requited
labour, and gives them reason to laugh as well as their more fortunate fellows in a higher
stage of society.
London is peculiarly fertile in this sort of phrases, which spring up suddenly, no one
knows exactly in what spot, and pervade the whole population in a few hours, no one
knows how. Many years ago the favourite phrase (for, though but a monosyllable, it was
a phrase in itself) was Quoz. This odd word took the fancy of the multitude in an
extraordinary degree, and very soon acquired an almost boundless meaning. When vulgar
wit wished to mark its incredulity and raise a laugh at the same time, there was no
resource so sure as this popular piece of slang. When a man was asked a favour which he
did not choose to grant, he marked his sense of the suitor's unparalleled presumption by
exclaiming Quoz! When a mischievous urchin wished to annoy a passenger, and create
mirth for his chums, he looked him in the face, and cried out Quoz! and the exclamation
never failed in its object. When a disputant was desirous of throwing a doubt upon the
veracity of his opponent, and getting summarily rid of an argument which he could not
overturn, he uttered the word Quoz, with a contemptuous curl of his lip and an impatient
shrug of his shoulders. The universal monosyllable conveyed all his meaning, and not
only told his opponent that he lied, but that he erred egregiously if he thought that any
one was such a nincompoop as to believe him. Every alehouse resounded with Quoz;
every street corner was noisy with it, and every wall for miles around was chalked with it.
But, like all other earthly things, Quoz had its season, and passed away as suddenly as it
arose, never again to be the pet and the idol of the populace. A new claimant drove it
from its place, and held undisputed sway till, in its turn, it was hurled from its preeminence, and a successor appointed in its stead.
"What a shocking bad hat!" was the phrase that was next in vogue. No sooner had it
become universal, than thousands of idle but sharp eyes were on the watch for the
passenger whose hat showed any signs, however slight, of ancient service. Immediately
the cry arose, and, like the what-whoop of the Indians, was repeated by a hundred
discordant throats. He was a wise man who, finding himself under these circumstances
"the observed of all observers," bore his honours meekly. He who showed symptoms of
ill-feeling at the imputations cast upon his hat, only brought upon himself redoubled
notice. The mob soon perceive whether a man is irritable, and, if of their own class, they
love to make sport of him. When such a man, and with such a hat, passed in those days
through a crowded neighbourhood, he might think himself fortunate if his annoyances
were confined to the shouts and cries of the populace. The obnoxious hat was often
snatched from his head, and thrown into the gutter by some practical joker, and then
raised, covered with mud, upon the end of a stick, for the admiration of the spectators,
who held their sides with laughter, and exclaimed in the pauses of their mirth, "Oh! what
a shocking bad hat! .... What a shocking bad hat!" Many a nervous, poor man, whose
purse could but ill spare the outlay, doubtless purchased a new hat before the time, in
order to avoid exposure in this manner.
The origin of this singular saying, which made fun for the metropolis for months, is not
involved in the same obscurity as that which shrouds the origin of Quoz and some others.
There had been a hotly-contested election for the borough of Southwark, and one of the
candidates was an eminent hatter. This gentleman, in canvassing the electors, adopted a
somewhat professional mode of conciliating their good-will, and of bribing them without
letting them perceive that they were bribed. Whenever he called upon or met a voter
whose hat was not of the best material, or, being so, had seen its best days, he invariably
said, "What a shocking bad hat you have got; call at my warehouse, and you shall have a
new one!" Upon the day of election this circumstance was remembered, and his
opponents made the most of it, by inciting the crowd to keep up an incessant cry of
"What a shocking bad hat!" all the time the honourable candidate was addressing them.
From Southwark the phrase spread over all London, and reigned, for a time, the supreme
slang of the season.
Hookey Walker, derived from the chorus of a popular ballad, was also high in favour at
one time, and served, like its predecessor, Quoz, to answer all questions. In the course of
time the latter word alone became the favourite, and was uttered with a peculiar drawl
upon the first syllable, and a sharp turn upon the last. If a lively servant girl was
importuned for a kiss by a fellow she did not care about, she cocked her little nose, and
cried "Walker!" If a dustman asked his friend for the loan of a shilling, and his friend was
either unable or unwilling to accommodate him, the probable answer he would receive
was "Walker!" If a drunken man was reeling along the streets, and a boy pulled his coattails, or a man knocked his hat over his eyes to make fun of him, the joke was always
accompanied by the same exclamation. This lasted for two or three months, and
"Walker!" walked off the stage, never more to be revived for the entertainment of that or
any future generation.
The next phrase was a most preposterous one. Who invented it, how it arose, or where it
was first heard, are alike unknown. Nothing about it is certain, but that for months it was
the slang par excellence of the Londoners, and afforded them a vast gratification. "There
he goes with his eye out!" or "There she goes with her eye out!" as the sex of the party
alluded to might be, was in the mouth of everybody who knew the town. The sober part
of the community were as much puzzled by this unaccountable saying as the vulgar were
delighted with it. The wise thought it very foolish, but the many thought it very funny,
and the idle amused themselves by chalking it upon walls, or scribbling it upon
monuments. But, "all that's bright must fade," even in slang. The people grew tired of
their hobby, and "There he goes with his eye out!" was heard no more in its accustomed
haunts.
Another very odd phrase came into repute in a brief space afterwards, in the form of the
impertinent and not universally apposite query, "Has your mother sold her mangle?" But
its popularity was not of that boisterous and cordial kind which ensures a long
continuance of favour. What tended to impede its progress was, that it could not be well
applied to the older portions of society. It consequently ran but a brief career, and then
sank into oblivion. Its successor enjoyed a more extended fame, and laid its foundations
so deep, that years and changing fashions have not sufficed to eradicate it. This phrase
was "Flare up!" and it is, even now, a colloquialism in common use. It took its rise in the
time of the Reform riots, when Bristol was nearly half burned by the infuriated populace.
The flames were said to have flared up in the devoted city. Whether there was anything
peculiarly captivating in the sound, or in the idea of these words, is hard to say; but
whatever was the reason, it tickled the mob-fancy mightily, and drove all other slang out
of the field before it. Nothing was to be heard all over London but "flare up!" It answered
all questions, settled all disputes, was applied to all persons, all things, and all
circumstances, and became suddenly the most comprehensive phrase in the English
language. The man who had overstepped the bounds of decorum in his speech was said to
have flared up; he who had paid visits too repeated to the gin-shop, and got damaged in
consequence, had flared up. To put one's-self into a passion; to stroll out on a nocturnal
frolic, and alarm a neighbourhood, or to create a disturbance in any shape, was to flare
up. A lovers' quarrel was a fare up; so was a boxing-match between two blackguards in
the streets, and the preachers of sedition and revolution recommended the English nation
to flare up, like the French. So great a favourite was the word, that people loved to repeat
it for its very sound. They delighted apparently in hearing their own organs articulate it;
and labouring men, when none who could respond to the call were within hearing, would
often startle the aristocratic echoes of the West by the well-known slang phrase of the
East. Even in the dead hours of the night, the ears of those who watched late, or who
could not sleep, were saluted with the same sound. The drunkard reeling home showed
that he was still a man and a citizen, by calling "flare up" in the pauses of his hiccough.
Drink had deprived him of the power of arranging all other ideas; his intellect was sunk
to the level of the brute's; but he clung to humanity by the one last link of the popular cry.
While he could vociferate that sound, he had rights as an Englishman, and would not
sleep in a gutter, like a dog! Onwards he went, disturbing quiet streets and comfortable
people by his whoop, till exhausted nature could support him no more, and he rolled
powerless into the road. When, in due time afterwards, the policeman stumbled upon him
as he lay, that guardian of the peace turned the full light of his lantern on his face, and
exclaimed, "Here's a poor devil who's been flaring up!" Then came the stretcher, on
which the victim of deep potations was carried to the watchhouse, and pitched into a dirty
cell, among a score of wretches about as far gone as himself, who saluted their new
comrade by a loud, long shout of flare up!
So universal was this phrase, and so enduring seemed its popularity, that a speculator,
who knew not the evanescence of slang, established a weekly newspaper under its name.
But he was like the man who built his house upon the sand; his foundation gave way
under him, and the phrase and the newspaper were washed into the mighty sea of the
things that were. The people grew at last weary of the monotony, and "flare up" became
vulgar even among them. Gradually it was left to little boys who did not know the world,
and in process of time sank altogether into neglect. It is now heard no more as a piece of
popular slang; but the words are still used to signify any sudden outburst either of fire,
disturbance, or ill-nature.
The next phrase that enjoyed the favour of the million was less concise, and seems to
have been originally aimed against precocious youths who gave themselves the airs of
manhood before their time. "Does your mother know you're out?" was the provoking
query addressed to young men of more than reasonable swagger, who smoked cigars in
the streets, and wore false whiskers to look irresistible. We have seen many a conceited
fellow who could not suffer a woman to pass him without staring her out of countenance,
reduced at once into his natural insignificance by the mere utterance of this phrase.
Apprentice lads and shopmen in their Sunday clothes held the words in abhorrence, and
looked fierce when they were applied to them. Altogether the phrase had a very salutary
effect, and in a thousand instances showed young Vanity, that it was not half so pretty
and engaging as it thought itself. What rendered it so provoking was the doubt it implied
as to the capability of self-guidance possessed by the individual to whom it was
addressed. "Does your mother know you're out?" was a query of mock concern and
solicitude, implying regret and concern that one so young and inexperienced in the ways
of a great city should be allowed to wander abroad without the guidance of a parent.
Hence the great wrath of those who verged on manhood, but had not reached it, whenever
they were made the subject of it. Even older heads did not like it; and the heir of a ducal
house, and inheritor of a warrior's name, to whom they were applied by a cabriolet driver,
who was ignorant of his rank, was so indignant at the affront, that he summoned the
offender before the magisterial bench. The fellow had wished to impose upon his
Lordship by asking double the fare he was entitled to, and when his Lordship resisted the
demand, he was insultingly asked "if his mother knew he was out?" All the drivers on the
stand joined in the query, and his Lordship was fain to escape their laughter by walking
away with as much haste as his dignity would allow. The man pleaded ignorance that his
customer was a Lord, but offended justice fined him for his mistake.
When this phrase had numbered its appointed days, it died away, like its predecessors,
and "Who are you?" reigned in its stead. This new favourite, like a mushroom, seems to
have sprung up in a night, or, like a frog in Cheapside, to have come down in a sudden
shower. One day it was unheard, unknown, uninvented; the next it pervaded London;
every alley resounded with it; every highway was musical with it,
"And street to street, and lane to lane flung back The one unvarying cry."
The phrase was uttered quickly, and with a sharp sound upon the first and last words,
leaving the middle one little more than an aspiration. Like all its compeers which had
been extensively popular, it was applicable to almost every variety of circumstance. The
lovers of a plain answer to a plain question did not like it at all. Insolence made use of it
to give offence; ignorance, to avoid exposing itself; and waggery, to create laughter.
Every new comer into an alehouse tap-room was asked unceremoniously, "Who are
you?" and if he looked foolish, scratched his head, and did not know what to reply, shouts
of boisterous merriment resounded on every side. An authoritative disputant was not
unfrequently put down, and presumption of every kind checked by the same query. When
its popularity was at its height, a gentleman, feeling the hand of a thief in his pocket,
turned suddenly round, and caught him in the act, exclaiming, "Who are you?" The mob
which gathered round applauded to the very echo, and thought it the most capital joke
they had ever heard -- the very acme of wit -- the very essence of humour. Another
circumstance, of a similar kind, gave an additional fillip to the phrase, and infused new
life and vigour into it, just as it was dying away. The scene occurred in the chief criminal
court of the kingdom. A prisoner stood at the bar; the offence with which he had been
charged was clearly proved against him; his counsel had been heard, not in his defence,
but in extenuation, insisting upon his previous good life and character, as reasons for the
lenity of the court. "And where are your witnesses?" inquired the learned judge who
presided. "Please you, my Lord, I knows the prisoner at the bar, and a more honester
feller never breathed," said a rough voice in the gallery. The officers of the court looked
aghast, and the strangers tittered with ill-suppressed laughter. "Who are you?" said the
Judge, looking suddenly up, but with imperturbable gravity. The court was convulsed; the
titter broke out into a laugh, and it was several minutes before silence and decorum could
be restored. When the Ushers recovered their self-possession, they made diligent search
for the profane transgressor; but he was not to be found. Nobody knew him; nobody had
seen him. After a while the business of the court again proceeded. The next prisoner
brought up for trial augured favourably of his prospects when he learned that the solemn
lips of the representative of justice had uttered the popular phrase as if he felt and
appreciated it. There was no fear that such a judge would use undue severity; his heart
was with the people; he understood their language and their manners, and would make
allowances for the temptations which drove them into crime. So thought many of the
prisoners, if we may infer it from the fact, that the learned judge suddenly acquired an
immense increase of popularity. The praise of his wit was in every mouth, and "Who are
you?" renewed its lease, and remained in possession of public favour for another term in
consequence.
But it must not be supposed that there were no interregni between the dominion of one
slang phrase and another. They did not arise in one long line of unbroken succession, but
shared with song the possession of popular favour. Thus, when the people were in the
mood for music, slang advanced its claims to no purpose, and, when they were inclined
for slang, the sweet voice of music wooed them in vain. About twenty years ago London
resounded with one chorus, with the love of which everybody seemed to be smitten. Girls
and boys, young men and old, maidens and wives, and widows, were all alike musical.
There was an absolute mania for singing, and the worst of it was, that, like good Father
Philip, in the romance of "The Monastery," they seemed utterly unable to change their
tune. "Cherry ripe!" "Cherry ripe!" was the universal cry of all the idle in the town. Every
unmelodious voice gave utterance to it; every crazy fiddle, every cracked flute, every
wheezy pipe, every street organ was heard in the same strain, until studious and quiet
men stopped their ears in desperation, or fled miles away into the fields or woodlands, to
be at peace. This plague lasted for a twelvemonth, until the very name of cherries became
an abomination in the land. At last the excitement wore itself away, and the tide of favour
set in a new direction. Whether it was another song or a slang phrase, is difficult to
determine at this distance of time; but certain it is, that very shortly afterwards, people
went mad upon a dramatic subject, and nothing was to be heard of but "Tom and Jerry."
Verbal wit had amused the multitude long enough, and they became more practical in
their recreation. Every youth on the town was seized with the fierce desire of
distinguishing himself, by knocking down the "charlies," being locked up all night in a
watchhouse, or kicking up a row among loose women and blackguard men in the low
dens of St. Giles's. Imitative boys vied with their elders in similar exploits, until this
unworthy passion, for such it was, had lasted, like other follies, its appointed time, and
the town became merry after another fashion. It was next thought the height of vulgar wit
to answer all questions by placing the point of the thumb upon the tip of the nose, and
twirling the fingers in the air. If one man wished to insult or annoy another, he had only
to make use of this cabalistic sign in his face, and his object was accomplished. At every
street corner where a group was assem- bled, the spectator who was curious enough to
observe their movements, would be sure to see the fingers of some of them at their noses,
either as a mark of incredulity, surprise, refusal, or mockery, before he had watched two
minutes. There is some remnant of this absurd custom to be seen to this day; but it is
thought low, even among the vulgar.
About six years ago, London became again most preposterously musical. The vox populi
wore itself hoarse by singing the praises of "The Sea, the Sea!" If a stranger (and a
philosopher) had walked through London, and listened to the universal chorus, he might
have constructed a very pretty theory upon the love of the English for the sea-service, and
our acknowledged superiority over all other nations upon that element. "No wonder," he
might have said, "that this people is invincible upon the ocean. The love of it mixes with
their daily thoughts: they celebrate it even in the market-place: their street-minstrels
excite charity by it; and high and low, young and old, male and female, chant Io paeans in
its praise. Love is not honoured in the national songs of this warlike race -- Bacchus is no
god to them; they are men of sterner mould, and think only of 'the Sea, the Sea!' and the
means of conquering upon it."
Such would, doubtless, have been his impression if he had taken the evidence only of his
ears. Alas! in those days for the refined ears that were musical! great was their torture
when discord, with its thousand diversities of tone, struck up this appalling anthem -there was no escape from it. The migratory minstrels of Savoy caught the strain, and
pealed it down the long vistas of quiet streets, till their innermost and snuggest
apartments re-echoed with the sound. Men were obliged to endure this crying evil for full
six months, wearied to desperation, and made sea-sick on the dry land.
Several other songs sprang up in due succession afterwards, but none of them, with the
exception of one, entitled "All round my Hat," enjoyed any extraordinary share of favour,
until an American actor introduced a vile song called "Jim Crow." The singer sang his
verses in appropriate costume, with grotesque gesticulations, and a sudden whirl of his
body at the close of each verse. It took the taste of the town immediately, and for months
the ears of orderly people were stunned by the senseless chorus"Turn about and wheel about, And do just so-- Turn about and wheel about, And jump,
Jim Crow!"
Street-minstrels blackened their faces in order to give proper effect to the verses; and
fatherless urchins, who had to choose between thieving and singing for their livelihood,
took the latter course, as likely to be the more profitable, as long as the public taste
remained in that direction. The uncouth dance, its accompaniment, might be seen in its
full perfection on market nights in any great thoroughfare; and the words of the song
might be heard, piercing above all the din and buzz of the ever-moving multitude. He, the
calm observer, who during the hey-day popularity of this doggrel,
"Sate beside the public way, Thick strewn with summer dust, and saw the stream Of
people there was hurrying to and fro, Numerous as gnats upon the evening gleam,"
might have exclaimed with Shelley, whose fine lines we quote, that
"The million, with fierce song and maniac dance, Did rage around."
The philosophic theorist we have already supposed soliloquising upon the English
character, and forming his opinion of it from their exceeding love for a sea-song, might,
if he had again dropped suddenly into London, have formed another very plausible theory
to account for our unremitting efforts for the abolition of the Slave Trade. "Benevolent
people!" he might have said, "how unbounded are your sympathies! Your unhappy
brethren of Africa, differing from you only in the colour of their skins, are so dear to you,
and you begrudge so little the twenty millions you have paid on their behalf, that you
love to have a memento of them continually in your sight. Jim Crow is the representative
of that injured race, and as such is the idol of your populace! See how they all sing his
praises! -- how they imitate his peculiarities! -- how they repeat his name in their
moments of leisure and relaxation! They even carve images of him to adorn their hearths,
that his cause and his sufferings may never be forgotten ! Oh, philanthropic England! -oh, vanguard of civilization!"
Such are a few of the peculiarities of the London multitude, when no riot, no execution,
no murder, no balloon, disturbs the even current of their thoughts. These are the
whimseys of the mass - the harmless follies by which they unconsciously endeavour to
lighten the load of care which presses upon their existence. The wise man, even though
he smile at them, will not altogether withhold his sympathy, and will say, "Let them
enjoy their slang phrases and their choruses if they will; and if they cannot be happy, at
least let them be merry." To the Englishman, as well as to the Frenchman of whom
Beranger sings, there may be some comfort in so small a thing as a song, and we may,
own with him that
"Au peuple attriste Ce qui rendra la gaite, C'est la GAUDRIOLE! O gue! C'est la
GAUDRIOLE!"
THE O.P. MANIA.
And these things bred a great combustion in the town. Wagstaffe's "Apparition of Mother
Haggis."
The acrimonious warfare carried on for a length of time by the playgoers of London
against the proprietors of Covent-Garden Theatre, is one of the most singular instances
upon record of the small folly which will sometimes pervade a multitude of intelligent
men. Carried on at first from mere obstinacy by a few, and afterwards for mingled
obstinacy and frolic by a greater number, it increased at last to such a height, that the
sober dwellers in the provinces held up their hands in astonishment, and wondered that
the people of London should be such fools. As much firmness and perseverance
displayed in a better cause, might have achieved important triumphs; and we cannot but
feel regret, in recording this matter, that so much good and wholesome energy should
have been thrown away on so unworthy an object. But we will begin with the beginning,
and trace the O. P. mania from its source.
On the night of the 20th of September, 1808, the old theatre of Covent-Garden was
totally destroyed by fire. Preparations were immediately made for the erection of a more
splendid edifice, and the managers, Harris and the celebrated John Philip Kemble,
announced that the new theatre should be without a rival in Europe. In less than three
months, the rubbish of the old building was cleared away, and the foundation-stone of the
new one laid with all due ceremony by the Duke of Sussex. With so much celerity were
the works carried on that, in nine months more, the edifice was completed, both without
and within. The opening night was announced for the 18th of September 1809, within
two days of a twelvemonth since the destruction of the original building.
But the undertaking had proved more expensive than the Committee anticipated. To
render the pit entrance more commodious, it had been deemed advisable to remove a low
public-house that stood in the way. This turned out a matter of no little difficulty, for the
proprietor was a man well skilled in driving a hard bargain. The more eager the
Committee showed themselves to come to terms with him for his miserable pot-house,
the more grasping he became in his demands for compensation. They were ultimately
obliged to pay him an exorbitant sum. Added to this, the interior decorations were on the
most costly scale; and Mrs. Siddons, and other members of the Kemble family, together
with the celebrated Italian singer, Madame Catalani, had been engaged at very high
salaries. As the night of opening drew near, the Committee found that they had gone a
little beyond their means; and they issued a notice, stating that, in consequence of the
great expense they had been at in building the theatre, and the large salaries they had
agreed to pay, to secure the services of the most eminent actors, they were under the
necessity of fixing the prices of admission at seven shillings to the boxes and four
shillings to the pit, instead of six shillings and three and sixpence, as heretofore.
This announcement created the greatest dissatisfaction. The boxes might have borne the
oppression, but the dignity of the pit was wounded. A war-cry was raised immediately.
For some weeks previous to the opening, a continual clatter was kept up in clubs and
coffee-rooms, against what was considered a most unconstitutional aggression on the
rights of play-going man. The newspapers assiduously kept up the excitement, and
represented, day after day, to the managers the impolicy of the proposed advance. The
bitter politics of the time were disregarded, and Kemble and Covent-Garden became as
great sources of interest as Napoleon and France. Public attention was the more fixed
upon the proceedings at Covent-Garden, since it was the only patent theatre then in
existence, Drury-Lane theatre having also been destroyed by fire in the month of
February previous. But great as was the indignation of the lovers of the drama at that
time, no one could have anticipated the extraordinary lengths to which opposition would
be carried.
First Night, September 20th. -- The performances announced were the tragedy of
"Macbeth" and the afterpiece of "The Quaker." The house was excessively crowded (the
pit especially) with persons who had gone for no other purpose than to make a
disturbance. They soon discovered another grievance to add to the list. The whole of the
lower, and three-fourths of the upper tier of boxes, were let out for the season; so that
those who had paid at the door for a seat in the boxes, were obliged to mount to a level
with the gallery. Here they were stowed into boxes which, from their size and shape,
received the contemptuous, and not inappropriate designation of pigeon-holes. This was
considered in the light of a new aggression upon established rights; and long before the
curtain drew up, the managers might have heard in their green-room the indignant shouts
of "Down with the pigeon-holes!" -- " Old prices for ever!" Amid this din the curtain
rose, and Mr. Kemble stood forward to deliver a poetical address in honour of the
occasion. The riot now began in earnest; not a word of the address was audible, from the
stamping and groaning of the people in the pit. This continued, almost without
intermission, through the five acts of the tragedy. Now and then, the sublime acting of
Mrs. Siddons, as "the awful woman," hushed the noisy multitude into silence, in spite of
themselves: but it was only for a moment; the recollection of their fancied wrongs made
them ashamed of their admiration, and they shouted and hooted again more vigorously
than before. The comedy of Munden in the afterpiece met with no better reception; not a
word was listened to, and the curtain fell amid still increasing uproar and shouts of "Old
prices!" Some magistrates, who happened to be present, zealously came to the rescue,
and appeared on the stage with copies of the Riot Act. This ill-judged proceeding made
the matter worse. The men of the pit were exasperated by the indignity, and strained their
lungs to express how deeply they felt it. Thus remained the war till long after midnight,
when the belligerents withdrew from sheer exhaustion.
Second Night. -- The crowd was not so great; all those who had gone on the previous
evening to listen to the performances, now stayed away, and the rioters had it nearly all to
themselves. With the latter, "the play was not the thing," and Macheath and Polly sang in
"The Beggar's Opera" in vain. The actors and the public appeared to have changed sides - the audience acted, and the actors listened. A new feature of this night's proceedings
was the introduction of placards. Several were displayed from the pit and boxes,
inscribed in large letters with the words, "Old prices." With a view of striking terror, the
constables who had been plentifully introduced into the house, attacked the placardbearers, and succeeded, after several severe battles, in dragging off a few of them to the
neighbouring watch-house, in Bow Street. Confusion now became worse and worse
confounded. The pitites screamed themselves hoarse; while, to increase the uproar, some
mischievous frequenters of the upper regions squeaked through dozens of cat-calls, till
the combined noise was enough to blister every tympanum in the house.
Third Night.--The appearance of several gentlemen in the morning at the bar of the Bow
Street police office, to answer for their riotous conduct, had been indignantly commented
upon during the day. All augured ill for the quiet of the night. The performances
announced were "Richard the Third" and "The Poor Soldier," but the popularity of the
tragedy could not obtain it a hearing. The pitites seemed to be drawn into closer union by
the attacks made upon them, and to act more in concert than on the previous nights. The
placards were, also, more numerous; not only the pit, but the boxes and galleries
exhibited them. Among the most conspicuous, was one inscribed, "John Bull against John
Kemble. -- Who'll win?" Another bore "King George for ever! but no King Kemble." A
third was levelled against Madame Catalani, whose large salary was supposed to be one
of the causes of the increased prices, and was inscribed "No foreigners to tax us -- we're
taxed enough already." This last was a double-barrelled one, expressing both dramatic
and political discontent, and was received with loud cheers by the pitites.
The tragedy and afterpiece were concluded full two hours before their regular time; and
the cries for Mr. Kemble became so loud, that the manager thought proper to obey the
summons. Amid all these scenes of uproar he preserved his equanimity, and was never
once betrayed into any expression of petulance or anger. With some difficulty he
obtained a hearing. He entered into a detail of the affairs of the theatre, assuring the
audience at the same time of the solicitude of the proprietors to accommodate themselves
to the public wish. This was received with some applause, as it was thought at first to
manifest a willingness to come back to the old prices, and the pit eagerly waited for the
next sentence, that was to confirm their hopes. That sentence was never uttered, for Mr.
Kemble, folding his arms majestically, added, in his deep tragic voice, "Ladies and
Gentlemen, I wait here to know what you want!" Immediately the uproar was renewed,
and became so tremendous and so deafening, that the manager, seeing the uselessness of
further parley, made his bow and retired.
A gentleman then rose in the boxes and requested a hearing. He obtained it without
difficulty. He began by inveighing in severe terms against the pretended ignorance of Mr.
Kemble, in asking them so offensively what they wanted, and concluded by exhorting the
people never to cease their opposition until they brought down the prices to their old
level. The speaker, whose name was understood to be Leigh, then requested a cheer for
the actors, to show that no disrespect was intended them. The cheer was given
immediately.
A barrister of the name of Smythe then rose to crave another hearing for Mr. Kemble.
The manager stood forth again, calm, unmoved, and severe. "Ladies and gentlemen," said
he, "I wait here to know your wishes." Mr. Leigh, who took upon himself, "for that night
only," the character of popular leader, said, the only reply he could give was one in three
words, "the old prices." Hereat the shouts of applause again rose, till the building rang.
Still serene amid the storm, the manager endeavoured to enter into explanations. The men
of the pit would hear nothing of the sort. They wanted entire and absolute acquiescence.
Less would not satisfy them; and, as Mr. Kemble only wished to explain, they would not
hear a word. He finally withdrew amid a noise to which Babel must have been
comparatively silent.
Fourth night. -- The rioters were more obstinate than ever. The noises were increased by
the addition of whistles, bugle-horns, and watchmen's rattles, sniffling, snorting, and
clattering from all parts of the house. Human lungs were taxed to the uttermost, and the
stamping on the floor raised such a dust as to render all objects but dimly visible. In
placards, too, there was greater variety. The loose wits of the town had all day been
straining their ingenuity to invent new ones. Among them were, "Come forth, O Kemble!
come forth and tremble!" "Foolish John Kemble, we'll make you tremble!" and "No cats!
no Catalani! English actors for ever!"
Those who wish to oppose a mob successfully, should never lose their temper. It is a
proof of weakness which masses of people at once perceive, and never fail to take
advantage of. Thus, when the managers unwisely resolved to fight the mob with their
own weapons, it only increased the opposition it was intended to allay. A dozen pugilists,
commanded by a notorious boxer of the day, were introduced into the pit, to use the
argumentum ad hominem to the rioters. Continual scuffles ensued: but the invincible
resolution of the playgoers would not allow them to quail; it rather aroused them to
renewed opposition, and a determination never to submit or yield. It also strengthened
their cause, by affording them further ground of complaint against the managers.
The performances announced on the bills were the opera of "Love in a Village," and
"Who wins?" but the bills had it all to themselves, for neither actors nor public were
much burthened with them. The latter, indeed, afforded some sport. The title was too apt
to the occasion to escape notice, and shouts of "Who wins? who wins?" displaced for a
time the accustomed cry of old prices.
After the fall of the curtain, Mr. Leigh, with another gentleman, again spoke, complaining
bitterly of the introduction of the prize-fighters, and exhorting the public never to give in.
Mr. Kemble was again called forward; but when he came, the full tide of discord ran so
strongly against him that, being totally unable to stem it, he withdrew. Each man seemed
to shout as if he had been a Stentor; and when his lungs were wearied, took to his feet and
stamped, till all the black coats in his vicinity became grey with dust. At last the audience
were tired out, and the theatre was closed before eleven o'clock.
Fifth night. -- The play was Coleman's amusing comedy of" John Bull." There was no
diminution of the uproar. Every note on the diapason of discord was run through. The
prize-fighters, or hitites as they were called, mustered in considerable numbers, and the
battles between them and the pitites were fierce and many. It was now, for the first time,
that the letters O.P. came into general use as an abbreviation of the accustomed
watchword of old prices. Several placards were thus inscribed; and, as brevity is so
desirable in shouting, the mob adopted the emendation. As usual, the manager was called
for. After some delay he came forward, and was listened to with considerable patience.
He repeated, in respectful terms, the great loss that would be occasioned to the
proprietors by a return to the old prices, and offered to submit a statement of their
accounts to the eminent lawyers, Sir Vicary Gibbs and Sir Thomas Plumer; the eminent
merchants, Sir Francis Baring and Mr. Angerstein; and Mr. Whitmore, the Governor of
the Bank of England. By their decision as to the possibility of carrying on the theatre at
the old prices, he would consent to be governed, and he hoped the public would do the
same. This reasonable proposition was scouted immediately. Not even the high and
reputable names he had mentioned were thought to afford any guarantee for impartiality.
The pitites were too wrong-headed to abate one iota of their pretensions; and they had
been too much insulted by the prize-fighters in the manager's pay, to show any
consideration for him, or agree to any terms he might propose. They wanted full
acquiescence, and nothing less. Thus the conference broke off, and the manager retired
amid a storm of hisses.
An Irish gentleman, named O'Reilly, then stood up in one of the boxes. With true Irish
gallantry, he came to the rescue of an ill-used lady. He said he was disgusted at the
attacks made upon Madame Catalani, the finest singer in the world, and a lady
inestimable in private life. It was unjust, unmanly, and un-English to make the innocent
suffer for the guilty; and he hoped this blot would be no longer allowed to stain a fair
cause. As to the quarrel with the manager, he recommended them to persevere. They
were not only wronged by his increased prices, but insulted by his boxers, and he hoped,
that before they had done with him, they would teach him a lesson he would not soon
forget. The gallant Hibernian soon became a favourite, and sat down amid loud cheers.
Sixth night. - No signs of a cessation of hostilities on the one side, or of a return to the old
prices on the other. The playgoers seemed to grow more united as the managers grew
more obstinate. The actors had by far the best time of it; for they were spared nearly all
the labour of their parts, and merely strutted on the stage to see how matters went on, and
then strutted off again. Notwithstanding the remonstrance of Mr. O'Reilly on the previous
night, numerous placards reflecting upon Madame Catalani were exhibited. One was
inscribed with the following doggrel :"Seventeen thousand a-year goes pat, To Kemble, his sister, and Madame Cat."
On another was displayed, in large letters, "No compromise, old prices, and native
talent!" Some of these were stuck against the front of the boxes, and others were hoisted
from the pit on long poles. The following specimens will suffice to show the spirit of
them; wit they had none, or humour either, although when they were successively
exhibited, they elicited roars of laughter:-"John Kemble alone is the cause of this riot; When he lowers his prices, John Bull will be
quiet."
"John Kemble be damn'd, We will not be cramm'd."
"Squire Kemble Begins to tremble."
The curtain fell as early as nine o'clock, when there being loud calls for Mr. Kemble, he
stood forward. He announced that Madame Catalani, against whom so unjustifiable a
prejudice had been excited, had thrown up her engagement rather than stand in the way of
any accommodation of existing differences. This announcement was received with great
applause. Mr. Kemble then went on to vindicate himself and co-proprietors from the
charge of despising public opinion. No assertion, he assured them, could be more unjust.
They were sincerely anxious to bring these unhappy differences to a close, and he
thought he had acted in the most fair and reasonable manner in offering to submit the
accounts to an impartial committee, whose decision, and the grounds for it, should be
fully promulgated. This speech was received with cheering, but interrupted at the close
by some individuals, who objected to any committee of the manager's nomination. This
led to a renewal of the uproar, and it was some time before silence could be obtained.
When, at last, he was able to make himself heard, he gave notice, that until the decision
of the committee had been drawn up, the theatre should remain closed. Immediately
every person in the pit stood up, and a long shout of triumph resounded through the
house, which was heard at the extremity of Bow Street. As if this result had been
anticipated, a placard was at the same moment hoisted, inscribed, "Here lies the body of
NEW PRICE, an ugly brat and base born, who expired on the 23rd of September 1809,
aged six days. -- Requiescat in pace!"
Mr. Kemble then retired, and the pitites flung up their hats in the air, or sprang over the
benches, shouting and hallooing in the exuberance of their joy; and thus ended the first
act of this popular farce.
The committee ultimately chosen differed from that first named, Alderman Sir Charles
Price, Bart. and Mr. Silvester, the Recorder of London, being substituted for Sir Francis
Baring and Sir Vicary Gibbs. In a few days they had examined the multitudinous
documents of the theatre, and agreed to a report which was published in all the
newspapers, and otherwise distributed. They stated the average profits of the six
preceding years at 6 and 3/8 per cent, being only 1 and 3/8 per cent. beyond the legal
interest of money, to recompense the proprietors for all their care and enterprise. Under
the new prices they would receive 3 and 1/2 per cent. profit; but if they returned to the
old prices, they would suffer a loss of fifteen shillings per cent. upon their capital. Under
these circumstances, they could do no other than recommend the proprietors to continue
the new prices.
This report gave no satisfaction. It certainly convinced the reasonable, but they,
unfortunately, were in a minority of one to ten. The managers, disregarding the outcry
that it excited, advertised the recommencement of the performances for Wednesday the
4th of October following. They endeavoured to pack the house with their friends, but the
sturdy O.P. men were on the alert, and congregated in the pit in great numbers. The play
was "The Beggar's Opera," but, as on former occasions, it was wholly inaudible. The
noises were systematically arranged, and the actors, seeing how useless it was to struggle
against the popular feeling, hurried over their parts as quickly as they could, and the
curtain fell shortly after nine o'clock. Once more the manager essayed the difficult task of
convincing madness by appealing to reason. As soon as the din of the rattles and posthorns would permit him to speak, he said, he would throw himself on the fairness of the
most enlightened metropolis in the world. He was sure, however strongly they might feel
upon the subject, they would not be accessory to the ruin of the theatre, by insisting upon
a return to the former prices. Notwithstanding the little sop he had thrown out to feed the
vanity of this roaring Cerberus, the only answer he received was a renewal of the noise,
intermingled with shouts of "Hoax! hoax! imposition!" Mr. O'Reilly, the gallant friend of
Madame Catalani, afterwards addressed the pit, and said no reliance could be placed on
the report of the committee. The profits of the theatre were evidently great: they had
saved the heavy salary of Madame Catalani; and by shutting out the public from all the
boxes but the pigeon-holes, they made large sums. The first and second tiers were let at
high rents to notorious courtesans, several of whom he then saw in the house; and it was
clear that the managers preferred a large revenue from this impure source to the
reasonable profits they would receive from respectable people. Loud cheers greeted this
speech; every eye was turned towards the boxes, and the few ladies in them immediately
withdrew. At the same moment, some inveterate pitite hoisted a large placard, on which
was inscribed,
"We lads of the pit Will never submit."
Several others were introduced. One of them was a caricature likeness of Mr. Kemble,
asking, "What do you want?" with a pitite replying, "The old prices, and no pigeonholes!" Others merely bore the drawing of a large key, in allusion to a notorious house in
the neighbourhood, the denizens of which were said to be great frequenters of the private
boxes. These appeared to give the managers more annoyance than all the rest, and the
prize-fighters made vigorous attacks upon the holders of them. Several persons were, on
this night, and indeed nearly every night, taken into custody, and locked up in the
watchhouse. On their appearance the following morning, they were generally held to bail
in considerable sums to keep the peace. This proceeding greatly augmented the animosity
of the pit.
It would be useless to detail the scenes of confusion which followed night after night. For
about three weeks the war continued with unabated fury. Its characteristics were nearly
always the same. Invention was racked to discover new noises, and it was thought a
happy idea when one fellow got into the gallery with a dustman's bell, and rang it
furiously. Dogs were also brought into the boxes, to add their sweet voices to the general
uproar. The animals seemed to join in it con amore, and one night a large mastiff growled
and barked so loudly, as to draw down upon his exertions three cheers from the gratified
pitites.
So strong did the popular enthusiasm run in favour of the row, that well-dressed ladies
appeared in the boxes with the letters O. P. on their bonnets. O. P. hats for the gentlemen
were still more common, and some were so zealous in the cause, as to sport waistcoats
with an O embroidered upon one flap and a P on the other. O.P. toothpicks were also in
fashion; and gentlemen and ladies carried O.P. handkerchiefs, which they waved
triumphantly whenever the row was unusually deafening. The latter suggested the idea of
O. P. flags, which were occasionally unfurled from the gallery to the length of a dozen
feet. Sometimes the first part of the night's performances were listened to with
comparative patience, a majority of the manager's friends being in possession of the
house. But as soon as the half-price commenced, the row began again in all its pristine
glory. At the fall of the curtain it soon became customary to sing "God save the King,"
the whole of the O.P.'s joining in loyal chorus. Sometimes this was followed by "Rule
Britannia;" and, on two or three occasions, by a parody of the national anthem, which
excited great laughter. A verse may not be uninteresting as a specimen.
"O Johnny Bull, be true, Confound the prices new, And make them fall! Curse Kemble's
politics, Frustrate his knavish tricks, On thee our hopes we fix, T' upset them all !"
This done, they scrambled over the benches, got up sham fights in the pit, or danced the
famous O.P. dance. The latter may as well be described here: half a dozen, or a dozen
fellows formed in a ring, and stamped alternately with the right and left foot, calling out
at regular intervals, O. P. - O. P. with a drawling and monotonous sound. This uniformly
lasted till the lights were put out, when the rioters withdrew, generally in gangs of ten or
twenty, to defend themselves from sudden attacks on the part of the constables.
An idea seemed about this time to break in upon them, that notwithstanding the
annoyance they caused the manager, they were aiding to fill his coffers. This was hinted
at in some of the newspapers, and the consequence was, that many stayed away to punish
him, if possible, under the silent system. But this did not last long. The love of mischief
was as great an incentive to many of them as enmity to the new prices. Accidental
circumstances also contributed to disturb the temporary calm. At the Westminster
quarter-sessions, on the 27th of October, bills of indictment were preferred against fortyone persons for creating a disturbance and interrupting the performances of the theatre.
The grand jury ignored twenty-seven of the bills, left two undecided, and found true bills
against twelve. The latter exercised their right of traverse till the ensuing sessions. The
preferment of these bills had the effect of re-awakening the subsiding excitement.
Another circumstance about the same time gave a still greater impetus to it, and furnished
the rioters with a chief, round whom they were eager to rally. Mr. Clifford, a barrister,
appeared in the pit on the night of the 31st of October, with the letters O. P. on his hat.
Being a man of some note, he was pounced upon by the constables, and led off to Bow
Street police office, where Brandon, the box-keeper, charged him with riotous and
disorderly conduct. This was exactly what Clifford wanted. He told the presiding
magistrate, a Mr. Read, that he had purposely displayed the letters on his hat, in order that
the question of right might be determined before a competent tribunal. He denied that he
had committed any offence, and seemed to manifest so intimate an acquaintance with the
law upon the subject, that the magistrate, convinced by his reasoning, ordered his
immediate dismissal, and stated that he had been taken into custody without the slightest
grounds. The result was made known in the theatre a few minutes afterwards, where Mr.
Clifford, on his appearance victorious, was received with reiterated huzzas. On his
leaving the house, he was greeted by a mob of five or six hundred persons, who had
congregated outside to do him honour as he passed. >From that night the riots may be
said to have recommenced, and "Clifford and O. P." became the rallying cry of the party.
The officious box-keeper became at the same time the object of the popular dislike, and
the contempt with which the genius and fine qualities of Mr. Kemble would not permit
them to regard him, was fastened upon his underling. So much ill-feeling was directed
towards the latter, that at this time a return to the old prices, unaccompanied by his
dismissal, would not have made the manager's peace with the pitites.
In the course of the few succeeding weeks, during which the riots continued with
undiminished fury, O. P. medals were struck, and worn in great numbers in the theatre. A
few of the ultra-zealous even wore them in the streets. A new fashion also came into
favour for hats, waistcoats, and handkerchiefs, on which the mark, instead of the separate
letters O and P, was a large O, with a small P in the middle of it.
The managers, seeing that Mr. Clifford was so identified with the rioters, determined to
make him responsible. An action was accordingly brought against him and other
defendants in the Court of King's Bench. On the 20th of November, the Attorney-general
moved, before Lord Ellenborough, for a rule to show cause why a criminal information
should not be filed against Clifford for unlawfully conspiring with certain others to
intimidate the proprietors of Covent-Garden Theatre, and force them, to their loss and
detriment, to lower their prices of admission. The rule was granted, and an early day
fixed for the trial. In the mean time, these proceedings kept up the acerbity of the O. P.s,
and every night at the fall of the curtain, three groans were given for John Kemble and
three cheers for John Bull.
It was during this year that the national Jubilee was celebrated, in honour of tile fiftieth
year of the reign of George III. When the riots had reached their fiftieth night, the O. P.s
also determined to have a jubilee. All their previous efforts in the way of roaring, great as
they were, were this night outdone, and would have continued long after "the wee short
hour," had not the managers wisely put the extinguisher upon them and the lights about
eleven o'clock.
Pending the criminal prosecution against himself, Mr. Clifford brought an action for false
imprisonment against Brandon. The cause was fixed for trial in the Court of Common
Pleas, on the 5th of December, before Lord Chief-Justice Mansfield. From an early hour
in the morning all the avenues leading to the court were thronged with an eager
multitude; all London was in anxiety for the resuit. So dense was the crowd, that counsel
found the greatest difficulty in making their way into court. Mr. Sergeant Best was
retained on the part of the plaintiff, and Mr. Sergeant Shepherd for the defence. The
defendant put two pleas upon the record; first, that he was not guilty, and secondly, that
he was justified. Sergeant Best, in stating the plaintiff's case, blamed the managers for all
the disturbances that had taken place, and contended that his client, in affixing the letters
O. P. to his hat, was not guilty of any offence. Even if he had joined in the noises, which
he had not, his so doing would not subject him to the penalties for rioting. Several
witnesses were then called to prove the capture of Mr. Clifford, the hearing of the case
before the magistrate at Bow Street, and his ultimate dismissal. Sergeant Shepherd was
heard at great length on the other side, and contended that his client was perfectly
justified in taking into custody a man who was inciting others to commit a breach of the
peace.
The Lord Chief-Justice summed up, with an evident bias in favour of the defendant. He
said an undue apprehension of the rights of an audience had got abroad. Even supposing
the object of the rioters to be fair and legal, they were not authorized to carry it by unfair
means. In order to constitute a riot, it was not necessary that personal violence should be
committed, and it seemed to him that the defendant had not acted in an improper manner
in giving into custody a person who, by the display of a symbol, was encouraging others
to commit a riot.
The jury retired to consider their verdict. The crowd without and within the court awaited
the result in feverish suspense. Half an hour elapsed, when the jury returned with a
verdict for the plaintiff -- Damages, five pounds. The satisfaction of the spectators was
evident upon their countenances, that of the judge expressed the contrary feeling. Turning
to the foreman of the jury, his Lordship asked upon which of the two points referred to
them, namely, the broad question, whether a riot had been committed, and, if committed,
whether the plaintiff had participated in it, they had found their verdict?
The foreman stated, that they were all of opinion generally that the plaintiff had been
illegally arrested. This vague answer did not satisfy his Lordship, and he repeated his
question. He could not, however, obtain a more satisfactory reply. Evidently vexed at
what he deemed the obtuseness or partiality of the jury, he turned to the bar, and said, that
a spirit of a mischievous and destructive nature was abroad, which, if not repressed,
threatened awful consequences. The country would be lost, he said, and the government
overturned, if such a spirit were encouraged; it was impossible it could end in good.
Time, the destroyer and fulfiller of predictions, has proved that his Lordship was a false
prophet. The harmless O. P. war has been productive of no such dire results.
It was to be expected that after this triumph, the war in the pit would rage with redoubled
acrimony. A riot beginning at half-price would not satisfy the excited feelings of the O.
P.s on the night of such a victory. Long before the curtain drew up, the house was filled
with them, and several placards were exhibited, which the constables and friends of the
managers strove, as usual, to tear into shreds. One of them, which met this fate, was
inscribed, "Success to O.P.! A British jury for ever!" It was soon replaced by another of a
similar purport. It is needless to detail the uproar that ensued; the jumping, the fighting,
the roaring, and the howling. For nine nights more the same system was continued; but
the end was at hand.
On the 14th a grand dinner was given at the Crown and Anchor tavern, to celebrate the
victory of Mr. Clifford. "The reprobators of managerial insolence," as they called
themselves, attended in considerable numbers; and Mr. Clifford was voted to the chair.
The cloth had been removed, and a few speeches made, when the company were
surprised by a message that their arch-enemy himself solicited the honour of an audience.
It was some time ere they could believe that Mr. Kemble had ventured to such a place.
After some parley the manager was admitted, and a conference was held. A treaty was
ultimately signed and sealed, which put an end to the long-contested wars of O.P., and
restored peace to the drama.
All this time the disturbance proceeded at the theatre with its usual spirit. It was now the
sixty-sixth night of its continuance, and the rioters were still untired -- still determined to
resist to the last. In the midst of it a gentleman arrived from the Crown and Anchor, and
announced to the pit that Mr. Kemble had attended the dinner, and had yielded at last to
the demand of the public. He stated, that it had been agreed upon between him and the
Committee for defending the persons under prosecution, that the boxes should remain at
the advanced price; that the pit should be reduced to three shillings and sixpence; that the
private boxes should be done away with; and that all prosecutions, on both sides, should
be immediately stayed. This announcement was received with deafening cheers. As soon
as the first burst of enthusiasm was over, the O. P.s became anxious for a confirmation of
the intelligence, and commenced a loud call for Mr. Kemble. He had not then returned
from the Crown and Anchor; but of this the pitites were not aware, and for nearly half an
hour they kept up a most excruciating din. At length the great actor made his appearance,
in his walking dress, with his cane in hand, as he had left the tavern. It was a long time
before he could obtain silence. He. apologized in the most respectful terms for appearing
before them in such unbecoming costume, which was caused solely by his ignorance that
he should have to appear before them that night. After announcing, as well as occasional
interruptions would allow, the terms that had been agreed upon, he added, "In order that
no trace or recollection of the past differences, which had unhappily prevailed so long,
should remain, he was instructed by the proprietors to say, that they most sincerely
lamented the course that had been pursued, and engaged that, on their parts, all legal
proceedings should forthwith be put a stop to." The cheering which greeted this speech
was interrupted at the close by loud cries from the pit of "Dismiss Brandon," while one or
two exclaimed, "We want old prices generally, -- six shillings for the boxes." After an
ineffectual attempt to address them again upon this point, Mr. Kemble made respectful
and repeated obeisances, and withdrew. The noises still continued, until Munden stood
forward, leading by the hand the humbled box-keeper, contrition in his looks, and in his
hands a written apology, which he endeavoured to read. The uproar was increased
threefold by his presence, and, amid cries of "We won't hear him!" "Where's his master?"
he was obliged to retire. Mr. Harris, the son of Kemble's co-manager, afterwards
endeavoured to propitiate the audience in his favour; but it was of no avail; nothing less
than his dismissal would satisfy the offended majesty of the pit. Amid this uproar the
curtain finally fell, and the O. P. dance was danced for the last time within the walls of
Covent Garden.
On the following night it was announced that Brandon had resigned his situation. This
turned the tide of popular ill-will. The performances were "The Wheel of Fortune," and
an afterpiece. The house was crowded to excess; a desire to be pleased was manifest on
every countenance, and when Mr. Kemble, who took his favourite character of
Penruddock, appeared upon the stage, he was greeted with the most vehement applause.
The noises ceased entirely, and the symbols of opposition disappeared. The audience,
hushed into attention, gave vent to no sounds but those of admiration for the genius of the
actor. When, in the course of his part, he repeated the words, "So! I am in London again
!" the aptness of the expression to the circumstances of the night, was felt by all present,
and acknowledged by a round of boisterous and thrice repeated cheering. It was a
triumphant scene for Mr. Kemble after his long annoyances. He had achieved a double
victory. He had, not only as a manager, soothed the obstinate opposition of the playgoers, but as an actor he had forced from one of the largest audiences he had ever beheld,
approbation more cordial and unanimous than he had ever enjoyed before. The popular
favour not only turned towards him; it embraced everybody connected with the theatre,
except the poor victim, Brandon. Most of the favourite actors were called before the
curtain to make their bow, and receive the acclamations of the pit. At the close of the
performances, a few individuals, implacable and stubborn, got up a feeble cry of "Old
prices for the boxes;" but they were quickly silenced by the reiterated cheers of the
majority, or by cries of "Turn them out!" A placard, the last of its race, was at the same
time exhibited in the front of the pit, bearing, in large letters, the words "We are
satisfied."
Thus ended the famous wars of O. P., which, for a period of nearly three months, had
kept the metropolis in an uproar. And after all, what was the grand result? As if the whole
proceeding had been a parody upon the more destructive, but scarcely more sensible wars
recorded in history, it was commenced in injustice, carried on in bitterness of spirit, and
ended, like the labour of the mountain, in a mouse. The abatement of sixpence in the
price of admission to the pit, and the dismissal of an unfortunate servant, whose only
fault was too much zeal in the service of his employers, -- such were the grand victories
of the O. P.'s.
THE THUGS, or PHANSIGARS.
Orribili favelle -- parole di dolor.--DANTE.
Among the black deeds which Superstition has imposed as duties upon her wretched
votaries, none are more horrible than the practices of the murderers, who, under the name
of Thugs, or Phansigars, have so long been the scourge of India. For ages they have
pursued their dark and dreadful calling, moulding assassination into a science, or
extolling it as a virtue, worthy only to be practised by a race favoured of Heaven. Of late
years this atrocious delusion has excited much attention, both in this country and in India;
an attention which, it is to be hoped, will speedily lead to the uprooting of a doctrine so
revolting and anti-human. Although the British Government has extended over Hindostan
for so long a period, it does not appear that Europeans even suspected the existence of
this mysterious sect until the commencement of the present century. In the year 1807, a
gang of Thugs, laden with the plunder of murdered travellers, was accidentally
discovered. The inquiries then set on foot revealed to the astonished Government a
system of iniquity unparalleled in the history of man. Subsequent investigation extended
the knowledge; and by throwing light upon the peculiar habits of the murderers,
explained the reason why their crimes had remained so long undiscovered. In the
following pages will be found an epitome of all the information which has reached
Europe concerning them, derived principally from Dr. Sherwood's treatise upon the
subject, published in 1816, and the still more valuable and more recent work of Mr.
Sleeman, entitled the "Ramaseeana; or, Vocabulary of the peculiar Language of the
Thugs."
The followers of this sect are called Thugs, or T'hugs, and their profession Thuggee. In
the south of India they are called Phansigars: the former word signifying "a deceiver;"
and the latter, "a strangler." They are both singularly appropriate. The profession of
Thuggee is hereditary, and embraces, it is supposed, in every part of India, a body of at
least ten thousand individuals, trained to murder from their childhood; carrying it on in
secret and in silence, yet glorying in it, and holding the practice of it higher than any
earthly honour. During the winter months, they usually follow some reputable calling, to
elude suspicion; and in the summer, they set out in gangs over all the roads of India, to
plunder and destroy. These gangs generally contain from ten to forty Thugs, and
sometimes as many as two hundred. Each strangler is provided with a noose, to despatch
the unfortunate victim, as the Thugs make it a point never to cause death by any other
means. When the gangs are very large, they divide into smaller bodies; and each taking a
different route, they arrive at the same general place of rendezvous to divide the spoil.
They sometimes travel in the disguise of respectable traders; sometimes as sepoys or
native soldiers; and at others, as government officers. If they chance to fall in with an
unprotected wayfarer, his fate is certain. One Thug approaches him from behind, and
throws the end of a sash round his neck; the other end is seized by a second at the same
instant, crossed behind the neck, and drawn tightly, while with their other hand the two
Thugs thrust his head forward to expedite the strangulation: a third Thug seizes the
traveller by the legs at the same moment, and he is thrown to the ground, a corpse before
he reaches it.
But solitary travellers are not the prey they are anxious to seek. A wealthy caravan of
forty or fifty individuals has not unfrequently been destroyed by them; not one soul being
permitted to escape. Indeed, there is hardly an instance upon record of any one's escape
from their hands, so surely are their measures taken, and so well do they calculate
beforehand all the risks and difficulties of the undertaking. Each individual of the gang
has his peculiar duty allotted to him. Upon-approaching a town, or serai, two or three,
known as the Soothaes, or "inveiglers," are sent in advance to ascertain if any travellers
are there; to learn, if possible, the amount of money or merchandize they carry with them,
their hours of starting in the morning, or any other particulars that may be of use. If they
can, they enter into conversation with them, pretend to be travelling to the same place,
and propose, for mutual security, to travel with them. This intelligence is duly
communicated to the remainder of the gang. The. place usually chosen for the murder is
some lonely part of the road in the vicinity of a jungle, and the time, just before dusk. At
given signals, understood only by themselves, the scouts of the party station themselves
in the front, in the rear, and on each side, to guard against surprise. A strangler and
assistant strangler, called Bhurtote and Shamshea, place themselves, the one on the right,
and the other on the left of the victim, without exciting his suspicion. At another signal
the noose is twisted, drawn tightly by a strong hand at each extremity, and the traveller,
in a few seconds, hurried into eternity. Ten, twelve, twenty, and in some instances, sixty
persons have been thus despatched at the same moment. Should any victim, by a rare
chance, escape their hands, he falls into those of the scouts who are stationed within
hearing, who run upon him and soon overpower him.
Their next care is to dispose of the bodies. So cautious are they to prevent detection, that
they usually break all the joints to hasten decomposition. They then cut open the body to
prevent it swelling in the grave and causing fissures in the soil above, by which means
the jackals might be attracted to the spot, and thereby lead to discovery. When obliged to
bury the body in a frequented district, they kindle a fire over the grave to obliterate the
traces of the newly turned earth. Sometimes the grave-diggers of the party, whose office,
like that of all the rest, is hereditary, are despatched to make the graves in the morning at
some distant spot, by which it is known the travellers will pass. The stranglers, in the
mean time, journey quietly with their victims, conversing with them in the most friendly
manner. Towards nightfall they approach the spot selected for their murder; the signal is
given, and they fall into the graves that have been ready for them since day-break. On one
occasion, related by Captain Sleeman, a party of fifty-nine people, consisting of fifty-two
men and seven women, were thus simultaneously strangled, and thrown into the graves
prepared for them in the morning. Some of these travellers were on horseback and well
armed, but the Thugs, who appear to have been upwards of two hundred in a gang, had
provided against all risk of failure. The only one left alive of all that numerous party, was
an infant four years old, who was afterwards initiated into all the mysteries of Thuggee.
If they cannot find a convenient opportunity for disposing of the bodies, they carry them
for many miles, until they come to a spot secure from intrusion, and to a soil adapted to
receive them. If fear of putrefaction admonishes them to use despatch, they set up a large
screen or tent, as other travellers do, and bury the body within the enclosure, pretending,
if inquiries are made, that their women are within. But this only happens when they fall in
with a victim unexpectedly. In murders which they have planned previously, the finding
of a place of sepulture is never left to hazard.
Travellers who have the misfortune to lodge in the same choultry or hostelry, as the
Thugs, are often murdered during the night. It is either against their creed to destroy a
sleeper, or they find a difficulty in placing the noose round the neck of a person in a
recumbent position. When this is the case, the slumberer is suddenly aroused by the alarm
of a snake or a scorpion. He starts to his feet, and finds the fatal sash around his neck. -He never escapes.
In addition to these Thugs who frequent the highways, there are others, who infest the
rivers, and are called Pungoos. They do not differ in creed, but only in a few of their
customs, from their brethren on shore. They go up and down the rivers in their own boats,
pretending to be travellers of consequence, or pilgrims, proceeding to, or returning from
Benares, Allahabad, or other sacred places. The boatmen, who are also Thugs, are not
different in appearance from the ordinary boatmen on the river. The artifices used to
entice victims on board are precisely similar to those employed by the highway Thugs.
They send out their "inveiglers" to scrape acquaintance with travellers, and find out the
direction in which they are journeying. They always pretend to be bound for the same
place, and vaunt the superior accommodation of the boat by which they are going. The
travellers fall into the snare, are led to the Thug captain, who very often, to allay
suspicion, demurs to take them, but eventually agrees for a moderate sum. The boat
strikes off into the middle of the stream; the victims are amused and kept in conversation
for hours by their insidious foes, until three taps are given on the deck above. This is a
signal from the Thugs on the look-out that the coast is clear. In an instant the fatal noose
is ready, and the travellers are no more. The bodies are then thrown, warm and
palpitating, into the river, from a hole in the side of the boat, contrived expressly for the
purpose.
A river Thug, who was apprehended, turned approver, to save his own life, and gave the
following evidence relative to the practices of his fraternity: -- "We embarked at
Rajmahul. The travellers sat on one side of the boat, and the Thugs on the other; while we
three (himself and two "stranglers,") were placed in the stern, the Thugs on our left, and
the travellers on our right. Some of the Thugs, dressed as boatmen, were above deck, and
others walking along the bank of the river, and pulling the boat by the joon, or rope, and
all, at the same time, on the look-out. We came up with a gentleman's pinnace and two
baggage-boats, and were obliged to stop, and let them go on. The travellers seemed
anxious; but were quieted by being told that the men at the rope were tired, and must take
some refreshment. They pulled out something, and began to eat; and when the pinnace
had got on a good way, they resumed their work, and our boat proceeded. It was now
afternoon; and, when a signal was given above, that all was clear, the five Thugs who sat
opposite the travellers sprang in upon them, and, with the aid of others, strangled them.
Having done this, they broke their spinal bones, and then threw them out of a hole made
at the side, into the river, and kept on their course; the boat being all this time pulled
along by the men on the bank."
That such atrocities as these should have been carried on for nearly two centuries without
exciting the attention of the British Government, seems incredible. But our wonder will
be diminished when we reflect upon the extreme caution of the Thugs, and the ordinary
dangers of travelling in India. The Thugs never murder a man near his own home, and
they never dispose of their booty near the scene of the murder. They also pay, in common
with other and less atrocious robbers, a portion of their gains to the Polygars, or native
authorities of the districts in which they reside, to secure protection. The friends and
relatives of the victims, perhaps a thousand miles off, never surmise their fate till a period
has elapsed when all inquiry would be fruitless, or, at least, extremely difficult. They
have no clue to the assassins, and very often impute to the wild beasts of the jungles the
slaughter committed by that wilder beast, man.
There are several gradations through which every member of the fraternity must regularly
pass before he arrives at the high office of a Bhurtote, or strangler. He is first employed
as a scout -- then as a sexton -- then as a Shumseea, or holder of hands, and lastly as a
Bhurtote. When a man who is not of Thug lineage, or who has not been brought up from
his infancy among them, wishes to become a strangler, he solicits the oldest, and most
pious and experienced Thug, to take him under his protection and make him his disciple;
and under his guidance he is regularly initiated. When he has acquired sufficient
experience in the lower ranks of the profession, he applies to his Gooroo, or preceptor, to
give the finishing grace to his education, and make a strangler of him. An opportunity is
found when a solitary traveller is to be murdered; and the tyro, with his preceptor, having
seen that the proposed victim is asleep, and in safe keeping till their return, proceed to a
neighbouring field and perform several religious ceremonies, accompanied by three or
four of the oldest and steadiest members of the gang. The Gooroo first offers up a prayer
to the goddess, saying, "Oh, Kalee! Kun-kalee! Bhud-kalee! Oh, Kalee! Maha-kalee!
Calkutta Walee! if it seems fit to thee that the traveller now at our lodging should die by
the hands of this thy slave, vouchsafe us thy good omen." They then sit down and watch
for the good omen; and if they receive it within half an hour, conclude that their goddess
is favourable to the claims of the new candidate for admission. If they have a bad omen,
or no omen at all, some other Thug must put the traveller to death, and the aspirant must
wait a more favourable opportunity, purifying himself in the mean time by prayer and
humiliation for the favour of the goddess. If the good omen has been obtained, they
return to their quarters; and the Gooroo takes a handkerchief and, turning his face to the
west, ties a knot at one end of it, inserting a rupee, or other piece of silver. This knot is
called the goor khat, or holy knot, and no man who has not been properly ordained is
allowed to tie it. The aspirant receives it reverently in his right hand from his Gooroo, and
stands over the sleeping victim, with a Shumseea, or holder of hands, at his side. The
traveller is aroused, the handkerchief is passed around his neck, and, at a signal from the
Gooroo, is drawn tight till the victim is strangled; the Shumseea holding his hands to
prevent his making any resistance. The work being now completed, the Bhurtote (no
longer an aspirant, but an admitted member) bows down reverently in the dust before his
Gooroo, and touches his feet with both his hands, and afterwards performs the same
respect to his relatives and friends who have assembled to witness the solemn ceremony.
He then waits for another favourable omen, when he unties the knot and takes out the
rupee, which he gives to his Gooroo, with any other silver which he may have about him.
The Gooroo adds some of his own money, with which he purchases what they call goor,
or consecrated sugar, when a solemn sacrifice is performed, to which all the gang are
invited. The relationship between the Gooroo and his disciple is accounted the most holy
that can be formed, and subsists to the latest period of life. A Thug may betray his father,
but never his Gooroo.
Dark and forbidding as is the picture already drawn, it will become still darker and more
repulsive, when we consider the motives which prompt these men to systematic murder.
Horrible as their practices would be, if love of plunder alone incited them, it is infinitely
more horrible to reflect that the idea of duty and religion is joined to the hope of gain, in
making them the scourges of their fellows. If plunder were their sole object, there would
be reason to hope, that when a member of the brotherhood grew rich, he would rest from
his infernal toils; but the dismal superstition which he cherishes tells him never to desist.
He was sent into the world to be a slayer of men, and he religiously works out his destiny.
As religiously he educates his children to pursue the same career, instilling into their
minds, at the earliest age, that Thuggee is the noblest profession a man can follow, and
that the dark goddess they worship will always provide rich travellers for her zealous
devotees.
The following is the wild and startling legend upon which the Thugs found the divine
origin of their sect. They believe that, in the earliest ages of the world, a gigantic demon
infested the earth, and devoured mankind as soon as they were created. He was of so tall
a stature, that when he strode through the most unfathomable depths of the great sea, the
waves, even in tempest, could not reach above his middle. His insatiable appetite for
human flesh almost unpeopled the world, until Bhawanee, Kalee, or Davee, the goddess
of the Thugs, determined to save mankind by the destruction of the monster. Nerving
herself for the encounter, she armed herself with an immense sword; and, meeting with
the demon, she ran him through the body. His blood flowed in torrents as he fell dead at
her feet; but from every drop there sprang up another monster, as rapacious and as
terrible as the first. Again the goddess upraised her massive sword, and hewed down the
hellish brood by hundreds; but the more she slew, the more numerous they became.
Every drop of their blood generated a demon; and, although the goddess endeavoured to
lap up the blood ere it sprang into life, they increased upon her so rapidly, that the labour
of killing became too great for endurance. The perspiration rolled down her arms in large
drops, and she was compelled to think of some other mode of exterminating them. In this
emergency, she created two men out of the perspiration of her body, to whom she
confided the holy task of delivering the earth from the monsters. To each of the men she
gave a handkerchief, and showed them how to kill without shedding blood. From her they
learned to tie the fatal noose; and they became, under her tuition, such expert stranglers,
that, in a very short space of time, the race of demons became extinct.
When there were no more to slay, the two men sought the great goddess, in order to
return the handkerchiefs. The grateful Bhawanee desired that they would retain them, as
memorials of their heroic deeds; and in order that they might never lose the dexterity that
they had acquired in using them, she commanded that, from thenceforward, they should
strangle men. These were the two first Thugs, and from them the whole race have
descended. To the early Thugs the goddess was more direct in her favours, than she has
been to their successors. At first, she undertook to bury the bodies of all the men they
slew and plundered, upon the condition that they should never look back to see what she
was doing. The command was religiously observed for many ages, and the Thugs relied
with implicit faith upon the promise of Bhawanee; but as men became more corrupt, the
ungovernable curiosity of a young Thug offended the goddess, and led to the withdrawal
of a portion of her favour. This youth, burning with a desire to see how she made her
graves, looked back, and beheld her in the act, not of burying, but of devouring, the body
of a man just strangled. Half of the still palpitating remains was dangling over her lips.
She was so highly displeased that she condemned the Thugs, from that time forward, to
bury their victims themselves. Another account states that the goddess was merely
tossing the body in the air; and that, being naked, her anger was aggravated by the gaze
of mortal eyes upon her charms. Before taking a final leave of her devotees, she
presented them with one of her teeth for a pickaxe, one of her ribs for a knife, and the
hem of her garment for a noose. She has not since appeared to human eyes.
The original tooth having been lost in the lapse of ages, new pickaxes have been
constructed, with great care and many ceremonies, by each considerable gang of Thugs,
to be used in making the graves of strangled travellers. The pickaxe is looked upon with
the utmost veneration by the tribe. A short account of the process of making it, and the
rites performed, may be interesting, as showing still further their gloomy superstition. In
the first place, it is necessary to fix upon a lucky day. The chief Thug then instructs a
smith to forge the holy instrument: no other eye is permitted to see the operation. The
smith must engage in no other occupation until it is completed, and the chief Thug never
quits his side during the process. When the instrument is formed, it becomes necessary to
consecrate it to the especial service of Bhawnee. Another lucky day is chosen for this
ceremony, care being had in the mean time that the shadow of no earthly thing fall upon
the pickaxe, as its efficacy would be for ever destroyed. A learned Thug then sits down;
and turning his face to the west, receives the pickaxe in a brass dish. After muttering
some incantation, he throws it into a pit already prepared for it, where it is washed in
clear water. It is then taken out, and washed again three times; the first time in sugar and
water, the second in sour milk, and the third in spirits. It is then dried, and marked from
the head to the point with seven red spots. This is the first part of the ceremony: the
second consists in its purification by fire. The pickaxe is again placed upon the brass
dish, along with a cocoa-nut, some sugar, cloves, white sandal-wood, and other articles.
A fire of the mango tree, mixed with dried cow-dung, is then kindled; and the officiating
Thug, taking the pickaxe with both hands, passes it seven times through the flames.
It now remains to be ascertained whether the goddess is favourable to her followers. For
this purpose, the cocoa-nut is taken from the dish and placed upon the ground. The
officiating Thug, turning to the spectators, and holding the axe uplifted, asks, "Shall I
strike?" Assent being given, he strikes the nut with the but-end of the axe, exclaiming,
"All hail! mighty Davee! great mother of us all!" The spectators respond, "All hail!
mighty Davee! and prosper thy children, the Thugs!"
If the nut is severed at the first blow, the goddess is favourable; if not, she is
unpropitious: all their labour is thrown away, and the ceremony must be repeated upon
some more fitting occasion. But if the sign be favourable, the axe is tied carefully in a
white cloth and turned towards the west, all the spectators prostrating themselves before
it. It is then buried in the earth, with its point turned in the direction the gang wishes to
take on their approaching expedition. If the goddess desires to warn them that they will
be unsuccessful, or that they have not chosen the right track, the Thugs believe that the
point of the axe will veer round, and point to the better way. During an expedition, it is
entrusted to the most prudent and exemplary Thug of the party: it is his care to hold it
fast. If by any chance he should let it fall, consternation spreads through the gang: the
goddess is thought to be offended; the enterprise is at once abandoned; and the Thugs
return home in humiliation and sorrow, to sacrifice to their gloomy deity, and win back
her estranged favour. So great is the reverence in which they hold the sacred axe, that a
Thug will never break an oath that he has taken upon it. He fears that, should he perjure
himself, his neck would be so twisted by the offended Bhawanee as to make his face turn
to his back; and that, in the course of a few days, he would expire in the most
excruciating agonies.
The Thugs are diligent observers of signs and omens. No expedition is ever undertaken
before the auspices are solemnly taken. Upon this subject Captain Sleeman says, "Even
the most sensible approvers, who have been with me for many years, as well Hindoos as
Mussulmans, believe that their good or ill success depended upon the skill with which the
omens were discovered and interpreted, and the strictness with which they were observed
and obeyed. One of the old Sindouse stock told me, in presence of twelve others, from
Hydrabad, Behar, the Dooah, Oude, Rajpootana, and Bundelcund, that, had they not
attended to these omens, they never could have thrived as they did. In ordinary cases of
murder, other men seldom escaped punishment, while they and their families had, for ten
generations, thrived, although they had murdered hundreds of people. 'This,' said the
Thug,' could never have been the case had we not attended to omens, and had not omens
been intended for us. There were always signs around us to guide us to rich booty, and
warn us of danger, had we been always wise enough to discern them and religious
enough to attend to them.' Every Thug present concurred with him from his soul."
A Thug, of polished manners and great eloquence, being asked by a native gentleman, in
the presence of Captain Sleeman, whether he never felt compunction in murdering
innocent people, replied with a smile that he did not. "Does any man," said he, "feel
compunction in following his trade? and are not all our trades assigned us by
Providence?" He was then asked how many people he had killed with his own hands in
the course of his life? "I have killed none," was the reply. "What! and have you not been
describing a number of murders in which you were concerned?" "True; but do you
suppose that I committed them? Is any man killed by man's killing? Is it not the hand of
God that kills, and are we not the mere instruments in the hands of God?"
Upon another occasion, Sahib, an approver, being asked if he had never felt any pity or
compunction at murdering old men or young children, or persons with whom he had sat
and conversed, and who had told him, perchance, of their private affairs -- their hopes
and their fears, their wives and their little ones? replied unhesi- tatingly that he never did.
From the time that the omens were favourable, the Thugs considered all the travellers
they met as victims thrown into their hands by their divinity to be killed. The Thugs were
the mere instruments in the hands of Bhawanee to destroy them. "If we did not kill them,"
said Sahib, "the goddess would never again be propitious to us, and we and our families
would be involved in misery and want. If we see or hear a bad omen, it is the order of the
goddess not to kill the travellers we are in pursuit of, and we dare not disobey."
As soon as an expedition has been planned, the goddess is consulted. On the day chosen
for starting, which is never during the unlucky months of July, September, and
December, nor on a Wednesday or Thursday; the chief Thug of the party fills a brass jug
with water, which he carries in his right hand by his side. With his left, he holds upon his
breast the sacred pickaxe, wrapped carefully in a white cloth, along with five knots of
turmeric, two copper, and one silver coin. He then moves slowly on, followed by the
whole of the gang, to some field or retired place, where halting, with his countenance
turned in the direction they wish to pursue, he lifts up his eyes to heaven, saying, "Great
goddess! universal mother! if this, our meditated expedition, be fitting in thy sight,
vouchsafe to help us, and give us the signs of thy approbation." All the Thugs present
solemnly repeat the prayer after their leader, and wait in silence for the omen. If within
half an hour they see Pilhaoo, or good omen on the left, it signifies that the goddess has
taken them by the left hand to lead them on; if they see the Thibaoo, or omen on the right,
it signifies that she has taken them by the right hand also. The leader then places the
brazen pitcher on the ground and sits down beside it, with his face turned in the same
direction for seven hours, during which time his followers make all the necessary
preparations for the journey. If, during this interval, no unfavourable signs are observed,
the expedition advances slowly, until it arrives at the bank of the nearest stream, when
they all sit down and eat of the goor, or consecrated sugar. Any evil omens that are
perceived after this ceremony may be averted by sacrifices; but any evil omens before,
would at once put an end to the expedition.
Among the evil omens are the following: -- If the brazen pitcher drops from the hand of
the Jemadar or leader, it threatens great evil either to him or to the gang -- sometimes to
both. If they meet a funeral procession, a blind man, a lame man, an oil-vender, a
carpenter, a potter, or a dancing-master, the expedition will be dangerous. In like manner
it is unlucky to sneeze, to meet a woman with an empty pail, a couple of jackals, or a
hare. The crossing of their path by the latter is considered peculiarly inauspicious. Its cry
at night on the left is sometimes a good omen, but if they hear it on the right it is very
bad; a warning sent to them from Bhawanee that there is danger if they kill. Should they
disregard this warning, and led on by the hope of gain, strangle any traveller, they would
either find no booty on him, or such booty as would eventually lead to the ruin and
dispersion of the gang. Bhawanee would be wroth with her children; and causing them to
perish in the jungle, would send the hares to drink water out of their skulls.
The good omens are quite as numerous as the evil. It promises a fortunate expedition, if,
on the first day, they pass through a village where there is a fair. It is also deemed
fortunate, if they hear wailing for the dead in any village but their own. To meet a woman
with a pitcher full of water upon her head, bodes a prosperous journey and a safe return.
The omen is still more favourable if she be in a state of pregnancy. It is said of the Thugs
of the Jumaldehee and Lodaha tribes, that they always make the youngest Thug of the
party kick the body of the first person they strangle, five times on the back, thinking that
it will bring them good luck. This practice, however, is not general. If they hear an ass
bray on the left at the commencement of an expedition, and an another soon afterwards
on the right, they believe that they shall be supereminently successful, that they shall
strangle a multitude of travellers, and find great booty.
After every murder a solemn sacrifice, called the Tuponee, is performed by all the gang.
The goor, or consecrated sugar, is placed upon a large cloth or blanket, which is spread
upon the grass. Beside it is deposited the sacred pickaxe, and a piece of silver for an
offering. The Jemadar, or chief of the party, together with all the oldest and most prudent
Thugs, take their places upon the cloth, and turn their faces to the west. Those inferior
Thugs who cannot find room upon the privileged cloth, sit round as close to it as possible.
A pit is then dug, into which the Jemadar pours a small quantity of the goor, praying at
the same time that the goddess will always reward her followers with abundant spoils. All
the Thugs repeat the prayer after him. He then sprinkles water upon the pickaxe, and puts
a little of the goor upon the head of every one who has obtained a seat beside him on the
cloth. A short pause ensues, when the signal for strangling is given, as if a murder were
actually about to be committed, and each Thug eats his goor in solemn silence. So
powerful is the impression made upon their imagination by this ceremony, that it almost
drives them frantic with enthusiasm. Captain Sleeman relates, that when he reproached a
Thug for his share in a murder of great atrocity, and asked him whether he never felt pity;
the man replied, "We all feel pity sometimes; but the goor of the Tuponee changes our
nature; it would change the nature of a horse. Let any man once taste of that goor, and he
will be a Thug, though he know all the trades and have all the wealth in the world. I never
was in want of food; my mother's family was opulent, and her relations high in office. I
have been high in office myself, and became so great a favourite wherever I went that I
was sure of promotion; yet I was always miserable when absent from my gang, and
obliged to return to Thuggee. My father made me taste of that fatal goor, when I was yet
a mere boy; and if I were to live a thousand years I should never be.able to follow any
other trade."
The possession of wealth, station in society, and the esteem of his fellows, could not keep
this man from murder. From his extraordinary confession we may judge of the extreme
difficulty of exterminating a sect who are impelled to their horrid practises, not only by
the motives of self-interest which govern mankind in general, but by a fanaticism which
fills up the measure of their whole existence. Even severity seems thrown away upon the
followers of this brutalizing creed. To them, punishment is no example; they have no
sympathy for a brother Thug who is hung at his own door by the British Government, nor
have they any dread of his fate. Their invariable idea is, that their goddess only suffers
those Thugs to fall into the hands of the law, who have contravened the peculiar
observances of Thuggee, and who have neglected the omens she sent them for their
guidance.
To their neglect of the warnings of the goddess they attribute all the reverses which have
of late years befallen their sect. It is expressly forbidden, in the creed of the old Thugs, to
murder women or cripples. The modern Thugs have become unscrupulous upon this
point, murdering women, and even children, with unrelenting barbarity. Captain Sleeman
reports several conversations upon this subject, which he held at different times with
Thugs, who had been taken prisoners, or who had turned approvers. One of them, named
Zolfukar, said, in reply to the Captain, who accused him of murdering women, "Yes, and
was not the greater part of Feringeea's and my gang seized, after we had murdered the
two women and the little girl, at Manora, in 1830? and were we not ourselves both seized
soon after? How could we survive things like that? Our ancestors never did such things."
Lalmun, another Thug, in reply to a similar question, said, "Most of our misfortunes have
come upon us for the murder of women. We all knew that they would come upon us
some day, for this and other great sins. We were often admonished, but we did not take
warning; and we deserve our fates." In speaking of the supposed protection which their
goddess had extended to them in former times, Zolfukar said: -- "Ah! we had some
regard for religion then! We have lost it since. All kinds of men have been made Thugs,
and all classes of people murdered, without distinction; and little attention has been paid
to omens. How, after this, could we think to escape? * * * * Davee never forsook us till
we neglected her!"
It might be imagined that men who spoke in this manner of the anger of the goddess, and
who, even in custody, showed so much veneration for their unhappy calling, would
hesitate before they turned informers, and laid bare the secrets and exposed the haunts of
their fellows: -- among the more civilized ruffians of Europe, we often find the one
chivalrous trait of character, which makes them scorn a reward that must be earned by the
blood of their accomplices: but in India there is no honour among thieves. When the
approvers are asked, if they, who still believe in the power of the terrible goddess Davee,
are not afraid to incur her displeasure by informing of their fellows, they reply, that
Davee has done her worst in abandoning them. She can inflict no severer punishment,
and therefore gives herself no further concern about her degenerate children. This
cowardly doctrine is, however, of advantage to the Government that seeks to put an end
to the sect, and has thrown a light upon their practices, which could never have been
obtained from other sources.
Another branch of the Thug abomination has more recently been discovered by the
indefatigable Captain Sleeman. The followers of this sect are called MEGPUNNAS, and
they murder travellers, not to rob them of their wealth, but of their children, whom they
afterwards sell into slavery. They entertain the same religious opinions as the Thugs, and
have carried on their hideous practices, and entertained their dismal superstition, for
about a dozen years with impunity. The report of Captain Sleeman states, that the crime
prevails almost exclusively in Delhi and the native principalities, or Rajpootana of Ulwar
and Bhurtpore; and that it first spread extensively after the siege of Bhurtpore in 1826.
The original Thugs never or rarely travel with their wives; but the Megpunnas invariably
take their families with them, the women and children being used to inveigle the victims.
Poor travellers are always chosen by the Megpunnas as the objects of their murderous
traffic. The females and children are sent on in advance to make acquaintance with
emigrants or beggars on the road, travelling with their families, whom they entice to pass
the night in some secluded place, where they are afterwards set upon by the men, and
strangled. The women take care of the children. Such of them as are beautiful are sold at
a high price to the brothels of Delhi, or other large cities; while the boys and ill-favoured
girls are sold for servants at a more moderate rate. These murders are perpetrated perhaps
five hundred miles from the homes of the unfortunate victims; and the children thus
obtained, deprived of all their relatives, are never inquired after. Even should any of their
kin be alive, they are too far off and too poor to institute inquiries. One of the members,
on being questioned, said the Megpunnas made more money than the other Thugs; it was
more profitable to kill poor people for the sake of their children, than rich people for their
wealth. Megpunnaism is supposed by its votaries to be, like Thuggee, under the
immediate protection of the great goddess Davee, or Kalee, whose favour is to be
obtained before the commencement of every expedition, and whose omens, whether of
good or evil, are to be diligently sought on all occasions. The first apostle to whom she
communicated her commands for the formation of the new sect, and the rules and
ordinances by which it was to be guided, was called Kheama Jemadar. He was considered
so holy a man, that the Thugs and Megpunnas considered it an extreme felicity to gaze
upon and touch him. At the moment of his arrest by the British authorities, a fire was
raging in the village, and the inhabitants gathered round him and implored him to
intercede with his god, that the flames might be extinguished. The Megpunna, says the
tradition, stretched forth his hand to heaven, prayed, and the fire ceased immediately.
There now only remain to be considered the exertions that have been made to remove
from the face of India this purulent and disgusting sore. From the year 1807 until 1826,
the proceedings against Thuggee were not carried on with any extraordinary degree of
vigour; but, in the latter year, the Government seems to have begun to act upon a settled
determination to destroy it altogether. From 1826 to 1855, both included, there were
committed to prison, in the various Presidencies, 1562 persons accused of this crime. Of
these, 328 were hanged; 999 transported; 77 imprisoned for life; 71 imprisoned for
shorter periods; 21 held to bail; and only 21 acquitted. Of the remainder, 31 died in
prison, before they were brought to trial, 11 escaped, and 49 turned approvers.
One Feringeea, a Thug leader of great notoreity, was delivered up to justice in the year
1830, in consequence of the reward of five hundred rupees offered for his apprehension
by the Government. He was brought before Captain Sleeman, at Sangir, in the December
of that year, and offered, if his life were spared, to give such information as would lead to
the arrest of several extensive gangs which had carried on their murderous practices
undetected for several years. He mentioned the place of rendezvous, for the following
February, of some well organized gangs, who were to proceed into Guzerat and
Candeish. Captain Sleeman appeared to doubt his information; but accompanied the Thug
to a mango grove, two stages from Sangir, on the road to Seronage. They reached this
place in the evening, and in the morning Feringeea pointed out three places in which he
and his gang had, at different intervals, buried the bodies of three parties of travellers
whom they had murdered. The sward had grown over all the spots, and not the slightest
traces were to be seen that it had ever been disturbed. Under the sod of Captain Sleeman's
tent were found the bodies of the first party, consisting of a pundit and his six attendants,
murdered in 1818. Another party of five, murdered in 1824, were under the ground at the
place where the Captain's horses had been tied up for the night; and four Brahmin carriers
of the Ganges water, with a woman, were buried under his sleeping tent. Before the
ground was moved, Captain Sleeman expressed some doubts; but Feringeea, after
looking at the position of some neighbouring trees, said be would risk his life on the
accuracy of his remembrance. The workmen dug five feet without discovering the bodies;
but they were at length found a little beyond that depth, exactly as the Thug had
described them. With this proof of his knowledge of the haunts of his brethren, Feringeea
was promised his liberty and pardon if he would aid in bringing to justice the many large
gangs to which he had belonged, and which were still prowling over the country. They
were arrested in the February following, at the place of rendezvous pointed out by the
approver, and most of them condemned and executed.
So far we learn from Captain Sleeman, who only brought down his tables to the close of
the year 1835. A writer in the "Foreign Quarterly Review" furnishes an additional list of
241 persons, committed to prison in 1836, for being concerned in the murder and robbery
of 474 individuals. Of these criminals, 91 were sentenced to death, and 22 to
imprisonment for life, leaving 306, who were sentenced to transportation for life, or
shorter periods of imprisonment, or who turned approvers, or died in gaol. Not one of the
whole number was acquitted.
Great as is this amount of criminals who have been brought to justice, it is to be feared
that many years must elapse before an evil so deeply rooted can be eradicated. The
difficulty is increased by the utter hopelessness of reformation as regards the survivors.
Their numbers are still calculated to amount to ten thousand persons, who, taking the
average of three murders annually for each, as calculated by Captain Sleeman and other
writers, murder every year thirty thousand of their fellow creatures. This average is said
to be under the mark; but even if we were to take it at only a third of this calculation,
what a frightful list it would be! When religion teaches men to go astray, they go far
astray indeed!
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
VOL. II - PECULIAR FOLLIES
THE CRUSADES
They heard, and up they sprung upon the wing
Innumerable. As when the potent rod
Of Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day,
Waved round the coast, up call'd a pitchy cloud
Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind
That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung
Like night, and darken'd all the realm of Nile,
So numberless were they.
All in a moment through the gloom were seen
Ten thousand banners rise into the air,
With orient colours waving. With them rose
A forest huge of spears; and thronging helms
Appear'd, and serried shields, in thick array,
Of depth immeasurable.
-- Paradise Lost.
Every age has its peculiar folly -- some scheme, project, or phantasy into which it
plunges, spurred on either by the love of gain, the necessity of excitement, or the mere
force of imitation. Failing in these, it has some madness, to which it is goaded by political
or religious causes, or both combined. Every one of these causes influenced the Crusades,
and conspired to render them the most extraordinary instance upon record of the extent to
which popular enthusiasm can be carried. History in her solemn page informs us, that the
crusaders were but ignorant and savage men, that their motives were those of bigotry
unmitigated, and that their pathway was one of blood and tears. Romance, on the other
hand, dilates upon their piety and heroism and pourtrays in her most glowing and
impassioned hues their virtue and magnanimity, the imperishable honour they acquired
for themselves, and the great services they rendered to Christianity. In the following
pages we shall ransack the stores of both, to discover the true spirit that animated the
motley multitude who took up arms in the service of the Cross, leaving history to vouch
for facts, but not disdaining the aid of contemporary poetry and romance to throw light
upon feelings, motives, and opinions.
In order to understand thoroughly the state of public feeling in Europe at the time when
Peter the Hermit preached the holy war, it will be necessary to go back for many years
anterior to that event. We must make acquaintance with the pilgrims of the eighth, ninth,
and tenth centuries, and learn the tales they told of the dangers they had passed, and the
wonders they had seen. Pilgrimages to the Holy Land seem at first to have been
undertaken by converted Jews, and by Christian devotees of lively imagination, pining
with a natural curiosity to visit the scenes which of all others were most interesting in
their eyes. The pious and the impious alike flocked to Jerusalem, -- the one class to feast
their sight on the scenes hallowed by the life and sufferings of their Lord, and the other,
because it soon became a generally received opinion, that such a pilgrimage was
sufficient to rub off the long score of sins, however atrocious. Another and very
numerous class of pilgrims were the idle and roving, who visited Palestine then as the
moderns visit Italy or Switzerland now, because it was the fashion, and because they
might please their vanity by retailing, on their return, the adventures they had met with.
But the really pious formed the great majority. Every year their numbers increased, until
at last they became so numerous as to be called the "armies of the Lord." Full of
enthusiasm, they set the danger and difficulty of the way at defiance, and lingered with
holy rapture on every scene described in the Evangelists. To them it was bliss indeed to
drink the clear waters of the Jordan, or be baptized in the same stream where John had
baptized the Saviour. They wandered with awe and pleasure in the purlieus of the
Temple, on the solemn Mount of Olives, or the awful Calvary, where a God had bled for
sinful men. To these pilgrims every object was precious. Relics were eagerly sought
after; flagons of water from Jordan, or paniers of mould from the hill of the Crucifixion,
were brought home, and sold at extravagant prices to churches and monasteries. More
apocryphical relics, such as the wood of the true cross, the tears of the Virgin Mary, the
hems of her garments, the toe-nails and hair of the Apostles -- even the tents that Paul had
helped to manufacture -- were exhibited for sale by the knavish in Palestine, and brought
back to Europe "with wondrous cost and care." A grove of a hundred oaks would not
have furnished all the wood sold in little morsels as remnants of the true cross; and the
tears of Mary, if collected together, would have filled a cistern.
For upwards of two hundred years the pilgrims met with no impediment in Palestine. The
enlightened Haroun Al Reschid, and his more immediate successors, encouraged the
stream which brought so much wealth into Syria, and treated the wayfarers with the
utmost courtesy. The race of Fatemite caliphs, -- who, although in other respects as
tolerant, were more distressed for money, or more unscrupulous in obtaining it, than their
predecessors of the house of Abbas, -- imposed a tax of a bezant for each pilgrim that
entered Jerusalem. This was a serious hardship upon the poorer sort, who had begged
their weary way across Europe, and arrived at the bourne of all their hopes without a
coin. A great outcry was immediately raised, but still the tax was rigorously levied. The
pilgrims unable to pay were compelled to remain at the gate of the holy city until some
rich devotee arriving with his train, paid the tax and let them in. Robert of Normandy,
father of William the Conqueror, who, in common with many other nobles of the highest
rank, undertook the pilgrimage, found on his arrival scores of pilgrims at the gate,
anxiously expecting his coming to pay the tax for them. Upon no occasion was such a
boon refused.
The sums drawn from this source were a mine of wealth to the Moslem governors of
Palestine, imposed as the tax had been at a time when pilgrimages had become more
numerous than ever. A strange idea had taken possession of the popular mind at the close
of the tenth and commencement of the eleventh century. It was universally believed that
the end of the world was at hand; that the thousand years of the Apocalypse were near
completion, and that Jesus Christ would descend upon Jerusalem to judge mankind. All
Christendom was in commotion. A panic terror seized upon the weak, the credulous, and
the guilty, who in those days formed more than nineteen twentieths of the population.
Forsaking their homes, kindred, and occupation, they crowded to Jerusalem to await the
coming of the Lord, lightened, as they imagined, of a load of sin by their weary
pilgrimage. To increase the panic, the stars were observed to fall from heaven,
earthquakes to shake the land, and violent hurricanes to blow down the forests. All these,
and more especially the meteoric phenomena, were looked upon as the forerunners of the
approaching judgments. Not a meteor shot athwart the horizon that did not fill a district
with alarm, and send away to Jerusalem a score of pilgrims, with staff in hand and wallet
on their back, praying as they went for the remission of their sins. Men, women, and even
children, trudged in droves to the holy city, in expectation of the day when the heavens
would open, and the Son of God descend in his glory. This extraordinary delusion, while
it augmented the numbers, increased also the hardships of the pilgrims. Beggars became
so numerous on all the highways between the west of Europe and Constantinople that the
monks, the great alms-givers upon these occasions, would have brought starvation within
sight of their own doors, if they had not economized their resources, and left the devotees
to shift for themselves as they could. Hundreds of them were glad to subsist upon the
berries that ripened by the road, who, before this great flux, might have shared the bread
and flesh of the monasteries.
But this was not the greatest of their difficulties. On their arrival in Jerusalem they found
that a sterner race had obtained possession of the Holy Land. The caliphs of Bagdad had
been succeeded by the harsh Turks of the race of Seljook, who looked upon the pilgrims
with contempt and aversion. The Turks of the eleventh century were more ferocious and
less scrupulous than the Saracens of the tenth. They were annoyed at the immense
number of pilgrims who overran the country, and still more so because they showed no
intention of quitting it. The hourly expectation of the last judgment kept them waiting;
and the Turks, apprehensive of being at last driven from the soil by the swarms that were
still arriving, heaped up difficulties in their way. Persecution of every kind awaited them.
They were plundered, and beaten with stripes, and kept in suspense for months at the
gates of Jerusalem, unable to pay the golden bezant that was to facilitate their entrance.
When the first epidemic terror of the day of judgment began to subside, a few pilgrims
ventured to return to Europe, their hearts big with indignation at the insults they had
suffered. Everywhere as they passed they related to a sympathizing auditory the wrongs
of Christendom. Strange to say, even these recitals increased the mania for pilgrimage.
The greater the dangers of the way, the more chance that sins of deep dye would be
atoned for. Difficulty and suffering only heightened the merit, and fresh hordes issued
from every town and village, to win favour in the sight of Heaven by a visit to the holy
sepulchre. Thus did things continue during the whole of the eleventh century.
The train that was to explode so fearfully was now laid, and there wanted but the hand to
apply the torch. At last the man appeared upon the scene. Like all who have ever
achieved so great an end, Peter the hermit was exactly suited to the age; neither behind it,
nor in advance of it; but acute enough to penetrate its mystery ere it was discovered by
any other. Enthusiastic, chivalrous, bigoted, and, if not insane, not far removed from
insanity, he was the very prototype of the time. True enthusiasm is always persevering
and always eloquent, and these two qualities were united in no common degree in the
person of this extraordinary preacher. He was a monk of Amiens, and ere he assumed the
hood had served as a soldier. He is represented as having been ill favoured and low in
stature, but with an eye of surpassing brightness and intelligence. Having been seized
with the mania of the age, he visited Jerusalem, and remained there till his blood boiled to
see the cruel persecution heaped upon the devotees. On his return home he shook the
world by the eloquent story of their wrongs.
Before entering into any further details of the astounding results of his preaching, it will
be advisable to cast a glance at the state of the mind of Europe, that we may understand
all the better the causes of his success. First of all, there was the priesthood, which,
exercising as it did the most conspicuous influence upon the fortunes of society, claims
the largest share of attention. Religion was the ruling idea of that day, and the only
civiliser capable of taming such wolves as then constituted the flock of the faithful. The
clergy were all in all; and though they kept the popular mind in the most slavish
subjection with regard to religious matters, they furnished it with the means of defence
against all other oppression except their own. In the ecclesiastical ranks were
concentrated all the true piety, all the learning, all the wisdom of the time; and, as a
natural consequence, a great portion of power, which their very wisdom perpetually
incited them to extend. The people knew nothing of kings and nobles, except in the way
of injuries inflicted. The first ruled for, or more properly speaking against, the barons,
and the barons only existed to brave the power of the kings, or to trample with their iron
heels upon the neck of prostrate democracy. The latter had no friend but the clergy, and
these, though they necessarily instilled the superstition from which they themselves were
not exempt, yet taught the cheering doctrine that all men were equal in the sight of
heaven. Thus, while Feudalism told them they had no rights in this world, Religion told
them they had every right in the next. With this consolation they were for the time
content, for political ideas had as yet taken no root. When the clergy, for other reasons,
recommended the Crusade, the people joined in it with enthusiasm. The subject of
Palestine filled all minds; the pilgrims' tales of two centuries warmed every imagination;
and when their friends, their guides, and their instructors preached a war so much in
accordance with their own prejudices and modes of thinking, the enthusiasm rose into a
frenzy.
But while religion inspired the masses, another agent was at work upon the nobility.
These were fierce and lawless; tainted with every vice, endowed with no virtue, and
redeemed by one good quality alone, that of courage. The only religion they felt was the
religion of fear. That and their overboiling turbulence alike combined to guide them to
the Holy Land. Most of them had sins enough to answer for. They lived with their hand
against every man; and with no law but their own passions. They set at defiance the
secular power of the clergy, but their hearts quailed at the awful denunciations of the
pulpit with regard to the life to come. War was the business and the delight of their
existence; and when they were promised remission of all their sins upon the easy
condition of following their favourite bent, is it to be wondered at that they rushed with
enthusiasm to the onslaught, and became as zealous in the service of the Cross as the
great majority of the people, who were swayed by more purely religious motives?
Fanaticism and the love of battle alike impelled them to the war, while the kings and
princes of Europe had still another motive for encouraging their zeal. Policy opened their
eyes to the great advantages which would accrue to themselves, by the absence of so
many restless, intriguing, and blood-thirsty men, whose insolence it required more than
the small power of royalty to restrain within due bounds. Thus every motive was
favourable to the Crusades. Every class of society was alike incited to join or encourage
the war; kings and the clergy by policy, the nobles by turbulence and the love of
dominion, and the people by religious zeal and the concentrated enthusiasm of two
centuries, skilfully directed by their only instructors.
It was in Palestine itself that Peter the Hermit first conceived the grand idea of rousing
the powers of Christendom to rescue the Christians of the East from the thraldom of the
Mussulmans, and the sepulchre of Jesus from the rude hands of the infidel. The subject
engrossed his whole mind. Even in the visions of the night he was full of it. One dream
made such an impression upon him, that he devoutly believed the Saviour of the world
himself appeared before him, and promised him aid and protection in his holy
undertaking. If his zeal had ever wavered before, this was sufficient to fix it for ever.
Peter, after he had performed all the penances and duties of his pilgrimage, demanded an
interview with Simeon, the Patriarch of the Greek Church at Jerusalem. Though the latter
was a heretic in Peter's eyes, yet he was still a Christian, and felt as acutely as himself for
the persecutions heaped by the Turks upon the followers of Jesus. The good prelate
entered fully into his views, and, at his suggestion, wrote letters to the Pope, and to the
most influential monarchs of Christendom, detailing the sorrows of the faithful, and
urging them to take up arms in their defence. Peter was not a laggard in the work. Taking
an affectionate farewell of the Patriarch, he returned in all haste to Italy. Pope Urban II.
occupied the apostolic chair. It was at that time far from being an easy seat. His
predecessor, Gregory, had bequeathed him a host of disputes with the Emperor Henry IV.
of Germany, and he had made Philip I. of France his enemy by his strenuous opposition
to an adulterous connexion formed by that monarch. So many dangers encompassed him
about, that the Vatican was no secure abode, and he had taken refuge in Apulia, under the
protection of the renowned Robert Guiscard. Thither Peter appears to have followed him,
though in what spot their meeting took place is not stated with any precision by ancient
chroniclers or modern historians. Urban received him most kindly; read, with tears in his
eyes, the epistle from the Patriarch Simeon, and listened to the eloquent story of the
Hermit with an attention which showed how deeply he sympathised with the woes of the
Christian church. Enthusiasm is contagious, and the Pope appears to have caught it
instantly from one whose zeal was so unbounded. Giving the Hermit full powers, he sent
him abroad to preach the holy war to all the nations and potentates of Christendom. The
Hermit preached, and countless thousands answered to his call. France, Germany, and
Italy started at his voice, and prepared for the deliverance of Zion. One of the early
historians of the Crusade, who was himself an eye-witness of the rapture of Europe,
[Guibert de Nogent] describes the personal appearance of the Hermit at this time. He
says, that there appeared to be something of divine in every thing which he said or did.
The people so highly reverenced him, that they plucked hairs from the mane of his mule,
that they might keep them as relics. While preaching, he wore in general a woollen tunic,
with a dark-coloured mantle, which fell down to his heels. His arms and feet were bare,
and he ate neither flesh nor bread, supporting himself chiefly upon fish and wine. "He set
out," says the chronicler, "from whence I know not; but we saw him passing through the
towns and villages, preaching every where, and the people surrounding him in crowds,
loading him with offerings, and celebrating his sanctity with such great praises that I
never remember to have seen such honours bestowed upon any one." Thus he went on,
untired, inflexible, and full of devotion, communicating his own madness to his hearers,
until Europe was stirred from its very depths.
While the Hermit was appealing with such signal success to the people, the Pope
appealed with as much success to those who were to become the chiefs and leaders of the
expedition. His first step was to call a council at Placentia, in the autumn of the year
1095. Here, in the assembly of the clergy, the Pope debated the grand scheme, and gave
audience to emissaries who had been sent from Constantinople by the Emperor of the
East to detail the progress made by the Turks in their design of establishing themselves in
Europe. The clergy were of course unanimous in support of the Crusade, and the council
separated, each individual member of it being empowered to preach it to his people.
But Italy could not be expected to furnish all the aid required; and the Pope crossed the
Alps to inspire the fierce and powerful nobility and chivalrous population of Gaul. His
boldness in entering the territory, and placing himself in the power of his foe, King Philip
of France, is not the least surprising feature of his mission. Some have imagined that cool
policy alone actuated him, while others assert, that it was mere zeal, as warm and as blind
as that of Peter the Hermit. The latter opinion seems to be the true one. Society did not
calculate the consequences of what it was doing. Every man seemed to act from impulse
only; and the Pope, in throwing himself into the heart of France, acted as much from
impulse as the thousands who responded to his call. A council was eventually summoned
to meet him at Clermont, in Auvergne, to consider the state of the church, reform abuses,
and, above all, make preparations for the war. It was in the midst of an extremely cold
winter, and the ground was covered with snow. During seven days the council sat with
closed doors, while immense crowds from all parts of France flocked into the town, in
expectation that the Pope himself would address the people. All the towns and villages
for miles around were filled with the multitude; even the fields were encumbered with
people, who, unable to procure lodging, pitched their tents under the trees and by the
way-side. All the neighbourhood presented the appearance of a vast camp.
During the seven days' deliberation, a sentence of excommunication was passed upon
King Philip for adultery with Bertrade de Montfort, Countess of Anjou, and for
disobedience to the supreme authority of the apostolic see. This bold step impressed the
people with reverence for so stern a church, which in the discharge of its duty showed
itself no respecter of persons. Their love and their fear were alike increased, and they
were prepared to listen with more intense devotion to the preaching of so righteous and
inflexible a pastor. The great square before the cathedral church of Clermont became
every instant more densely crowded as the hour drew nigh when the Pope was to address
the populace. Issuing from the church in his frill canonicals, surrounded by his cardinals
and bishops in all the splendour of Romish ecclesiastical costume, the Pope stood before
the populace on a high scaffolding erected for the occasion, and covered with scarlet
cloth. A brilliant array of bishops and cardinals surrounded him; and among them,
humbler in rank, but more important in the world's eye, the Hermit Peter, dressed in his
simple and austere habiliments. Historians differ as to whether or not Peter addressed the
crowd, but as all agree that he was present, it seems reasonable to suppose that he spoke.
But it was the oration of the Pope that was most important. As he lifted up his hands to
ensure attention, every voice immediately became still. He began by detailing the
miseries endured by their brethren in the Holy Land; how the plains of Palestine were
desolated by the outrageous heathen, who with the sword and the firebrand carried
wailing into the dwellings and flames into the possessions of the faithful; how Christian
wives and daughters were defiled by pagan lust; how the altars of the true God were
desecrated, and the relics of the saints trodden under foot. "You," continued the eloquent
pontiff, (and Urban the Second was one of the most eloquent men of the day,) "you, who
hear me, and who have received the true faith, and been endowed by God with power,
and strength, and greatness of soul, -- whose ancestors have been the prop of
Christendom, and whose kings have put a barrier against the progress of the infidel, -- I
call upon you to wipe off these impurities from the face of the earth, and lift your
oppressed fellow-christians from the depths into which they have been trampled. The
sepulchre of Christ is possessed by the heathen, the sacred places dishonoured by their
vileness. Oh, brave knights and faithful people! offspring of invincible fathers! ye will
not degenerate from your ancient renown. Ye will not be restrained from embarking in
this great cause by the tender ties of wife or little ones, but will remember the words of
the Saviour of the world himself, 'Whosoever loves father and mother more than me is
not worthy of me. Whosoever shall abandon for my name's sake his house, or his
brethren, or his sisters, or his father, or his mother, or his wife, or his children, or his
lands, shall receive a hundredfold, and shall inherit eternal life.'"
The warmth of the pontiff communicated itself to the crowd, and the enthusiasm of the
people broke out several times ere he concluded his address. He went on to pourtray, not
only the spiritual but the temporal advantages, that should accrue to those who took up
arms in the service of the Cross. Palestine was, he said, a land flowing with milk and
honey, and precious in the sight of God, as the scene of the grand events which had saved
mankind. That land, he promised, should be divided among them. Moreover, they should
have full pardon for all their offences, either against God or man. "Go, then," he added,
"in expiation of your sins; and go assured, that after this world shall have passed away,
imperishable glory shall be yours in the world which is to come." The enthusiasm was no
longer to be restrained, and loud shouts interrupted the speaker; the people exclaiming as
if with one voice, "Dieu le veult! Dieu le veult!" With great presence of mind Urban took
advantage of the outburst, and as soon as silence was obtained, continued: "Dear
brethren, to-day is shown forth in you that which the Lord has said by his evangelist,
'When two or three are gathered together in my name, there will I be in the midst of them
to bless them.' If the Lord God had not been in your souls, you would not all have
pronounced the same words; or rather God himself pronounced them by your lips, for it
was He that put them in your hearts. Be they, then, your war-cry in the combat, for those
words came forth from God. Let the army of the Lord when it rushes upon His enemies
shout but that one cry, 'Dieu le veult! Dieu le veult!' Let whoever is inclined to devote
himself to this holy cause make it a solemn engagement, and bear the cross of the Lord
either on his breast or his brow till he set out, and let him who is ready to begin his march
place the holy emblem on his shoulders, in memory of that precept of our Saviour, 'He
who does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.'"
The news of this council spread to the remotest parts of Europe in an incredibly short
space of time. Long before the fleetest horseman could have brought the intelligence it
was known by the people in distant provinces, a fact which was considered as nothing
less than supernatural. But the subject was in everybody's mouth, and the minds of men
were prepared for the result. The enthusiastic only asserted what they wished, and the
event tallied with their prediction. This was, however, quite enough in those days for a
miracle, and as a miracle every one regarded it. For several months after the council of
Clermont, France and Germany presented a singular spectacle. The pious, the fanatic, the
needy, the dissolute, the young and the old, even women and children, and the halt and
lame, enrolled themselves by hundreds. In every village the clergy were busied in
keeping up the excitement, promising eternal rewards to those who assumed the red
cross, and fulminating the most awful denunciations against all the worldly-minded who
refused or even hesitated. Every debtor who joined the crusade was freed by the papal
edict from the claims of his creditors; outlaws of every grade were made equal with the
honest upon the same conditions. The property of those who went was placed under the
protection of the church, and St. Paul and St. Peter themselves were believed to descend
from their high abode, to watch over the chattels of the absent pilgrims. Signs and
portents were seen in the air to increase the fervour of the multitude. An aurora-borealis
of unusual brilliancy appeared, and thousands of the crusaders came out to gaze upon it,
prostrating themselves upon the earth in adoration. It was thought to be a sure prognostic
of the interposition of the Most High; and a representation of his armies fighting with and
overthrowing the infidels. Reports of wonders were everywhere rife. A monk had seen
two gigantic warriors on horseback, the one representing a Christian and the other a Turk,
fighting in the sky with flaming swords, the Christian of course overcoming the Paynim.
Myriads of stars were said to have fallen from heaven, each representing the fall of a
Pagan foe. It was believed at the same time that the Emperor Charlemagne would rise
from the grave, and lead on to victory the embattled armies of the Lord. A singular
feature of the popular madness was the enthusiasm of the women. Everywhere they
encouraged their lovers and husbands to forsake all things for the holy war. Many of
them burned the sign of the cross upon their breasts and arms, and coloured the wound
with a red dye, as a lasting memorial of their zeal. Others, still more zealous, impressed
the mark by the same means upon the tender limbs of young children and infants at the
breast.
Guibert de Nogent tells of a monk who made a large incision upon his forehead in the
form of a cross, which he coloured with some powerful ingredient, telling the people that
an angel had done it when he was asleep. This monk appears to have been more of a
rogue than a fool, for he contrived to fare more sumptuously than any of his brother
pilgrims, upon the strength of his sanctity. The crusaders everywhere gave him presents
of food and money, and he became quite fat ere he arrived at Jerusalem, notwithstanding
the fatigues of the way. If he had acknowledged in the first place that he had made the
wound himself, he would not have been thought more holy than his fellows; but the story
of the angel was a clincher.
All those who had property of any description rushed to the mart to change it into hard
cash. Lands and houses could be had for a quarter of their value, while arms and
accoutrements of war rose in the same proportion. Corn, which had been excessively dear
in anticipation of a year of scarcity, suddenly became plentiful; and such was the
diminution in the value of provisions, that seven sheep were sold for five deniers.[Guibert
de Nogent] The nobles mortgaged their estates for mere trifles to Jews and unbelievers,
or conferred charters of immunity upon the towns and communes within their fiefs, for
sums which, a few years previously, they would have rejected with disdain. The farmer
endeavoured to sell his plough, and the artisan his tools, to purchase a sword for the
deliverance of Jerusalem. Women disposed of their trinkets for the same purpose. During
the spring and summer of this year (1096) the roads teemed with crusaders, all hastening
to the towns and villages appointed as the rendezvous of the district. Some were on
horseback, some in carts, and some came down the rivers in boats and rafts, bringing
their wives and children, all eager to go to Jerusalem. Very few knew where Jerusalem
was. Some thought it fifty thousand miles away, while others imagined that it was but a
month's journey, while at sight of every town or castle, the children exclaimed, "Is that
Jerusalem ? Is that the city ?"[Guibert de Nogent] Parties of knights and nobles might be
seen travelling eastward, and amusing themselves as they went with the knightly
diversion of hawking to lighten the fatigues of the way.
Guibert de Nogent, who did not write from hearsay, but from actual observation, says, the
enthusiasm was so contagious, that when any one heard the orders of the Pontiff, he went
instantly to solicit his neighbours and friends to join with him in "the way of God," for so
they called the proposed expedition. The Counts Palatine were full of the desire to
undertake the journey, and all the inferior knights were animated with the same zeal.
Even the poor caught the flame so ardently, that no one paused to think of the inadequacy
of his means, or to consider whether he ought to yield up his house and his vine and his
fields. Each one set about selling his property, at as low a price as if he had been held in
some horrible captivity, and sought to pay his ransom without loss of time. Those who
had not determined upon the journey, joked and laughed at those who were thus
disposing of their goods at such ruinous prices, prophesying that the expedition would be
miserable and their return worse. But they held this language only for a day. The next,
they were suddenly seized with the same frenzy as the rest. Those who had been loudest
in their jeers gave up all their property for a few crowns, and set out with those they had
so laughed at a few hours before. In most cases the laugh was turned against them, for
when it became known that a man was hesitating, his more zealous neighbouts sent him a
present of a knitting needle or a distaff, to show their contempt of him. There was no
resisting this, so that the fear of ridicule contributed its fair contingent to the armies of the
Lord.
Another effect of the crusade was, the religious obedience with which it inspired the
people and the nobility for that singular institution "The Truce of God." At the
commencement of the eleventh century, the clergy of France, sympathizing for the woes
of the people, but unable to diminish them, by repressing the rapacity and insolence of
the feudal chiefs, endeavoured to promote universal good-will by the promulgation of the
famous "Peace of God." All who conformed to it bound themselves by oath not to take
revenge for any injury, not to enjoy the fruits of property usurped from others, nor to use
deadly weapons; in reward of which they would receive remission of all their sins.
However benevolent the intention of this "Peace," it led to nothing but perjury, and
violence reigned as uncontrolled as before. In the year 1041 another attempt was made to
soften the angry passions of the semi-barbarous chiefs, and the "Truce of God" was
solemnly proclaimed. The truce lasted from the Wednesday evening to the Monday
morning of every week, in which interval it was strictly forbidden to recur to violence on
any pretext, or to seek revenge for any injury. It was impossible to civilize men by these
means; few even promised to become peaceable for so unconscionable a period as five
days a week; or, if they did, they made ample amends on the two days left open to them.
The truce was afterwards shortened from the Saturday evening to the Monday morning;
but little or no diminution of violence and bloodshed was the consequence. At the council
of Clermont, Urban II. again solemnly pro- claimed the truce. So strong was the religious
feeling, that every one hastened to obey. All minor passions disappeared before the grand
passion of crusading; the noble ceased to oppress, the robber to plunder, and the people to
complain; but one idea was in all hearts, and there seemed to be no room for any other.
The encampments of these heterogeneous multitudes offered a singular aspect. Those
vassals who ranged themselves under the banners of their lord, erected tents around his
castle; while those who undertook the war on their own account, constructed booths and
huts in the neighbourhood of the towns or villages, preparatory to their joining some
popular leader of the expedition. The meadows of France were covered with tents. As the
belligerents were to have remission of all their sins on their arrival in Palestine, hundreds
of them gave themselves up to the most unbounded licentiousness: the courtezan, with
the red cross upon her shoulders, plied her shameless trade with sensual pilgrims, without
scruple on either side: the lover of good cheer gave loose rein to his appetite, and
drunkenness and debauchery flourished. Their zeal in the service of the Lord was to wipe
out all faults and follies, and they had the same surety of salvation as the rigid anchorite.
This reasoning had charms for the ignorant, and the sounds of lewd revelry and the voice
of prayer rose at the same instant from the camp.
It is now time to speak of the leaders of the expedition. Great multitudes ranged
themselves under the command of Peter the Hermit, whom, as the originator, they
considered the most appropriate leader of the war. Others joined the banner of a bold
adventurer, whom history has dignified with no other name than that of Gautier sans
Avoir, or Walter the Pennyless, but who is represented as having been of noble family,
and well skilled in the art of war. A third multitude from Germany flocked around the
standard of a monk, named Gottschalk, of whom nothing is known, except that he was a
fanatic of the deepest dye. All these bands, which together are said to have amounted to
three hundred thousand men, women, and children, were composed of the vilest rascality
of Europe. Without discipline, principle, or true courage, they rushed through the nations
like a pestilence, spreading terror and death wherever they went. The first multitude that
set forth was led by Walter the Pennyless early in the spring of 1096, within a very few
months after the Council of Clermont. Each man of that irregular host aspired to be his
own master: like their nominal leader, each was poor to penury, and trusted for
subsistence on his journey to the chances of the road. Rolling through Germany like a
tide, they entered Hungary, where, at first, they were received with some degree of
kindness by the people. The latter had not yet caught sufficient of the fire of enthusiasm
to join the crusade themselves, but were willing enough to forward the cause by aiding
those embarked in it. Unfortunately, this good understanding did not last long. The
swarm were not contented with food for their necessities, but craved for luxuries also:
they attacked and plundered the dwellings of the country people, and thought nothing of
murder where resistance was offered. On their arrival before Semlin, the outraged
Hungarians collected in large numbers, and, attacking the rear of the crusading host, slew
a great many of the stragglers, and, taking away their arms and crosses, affixed them as
trophies to the walls of the city. Walter appears to have been in no mood or condition to
make reprisals; for his army, destructive as a plague of locusts when plunder urged them
on, were useless against any regular attack from a determined enemy. Their rear
continued to be thus harassed by the wrathful Hungarians until they were fairly out of
their territory. On his entrance into Bulgaria, Walter met with no better fate; the cities and
towns refused to let him pass; the villages denied him provisions; and the citizens and
country people uniting, slaughtered his followers by hundreds. The progress of the army
was more like a retreat than an advance; but as it was impossible to stand still, Walter
continued his course till he arrived at Constantinople, with a force which famine and the
sword had diminished to one-third of its original number.
The greater multitude, led by the enthusiastic Hermit, followed close upon his heels, with
a bulky train of baggage, and women and children, sufficient to form a host of
themselves. If it were possible to find a rabble more vile than the army of Walter the
Pennyless it was that led by Peter the Hermit. Being better provided with means, they
were not reduced to the necessity of pillage in their progress through Hungary; and had
they taken any other route than that which led through Semlin, might perhaps have
traversed the country without molestation. On their arrival before that city, their fury was
raised at seeing the arms and red crosses of their predecessors hanging as trophies over
the gates. Their pent-up ferocity exploded at the sight. The city was tumultuously
attacked, and the besiegers entering, not by dint of bravery, but of superior numbers, it
was given up to all the horrors which follow when Victory, Brutality, and Licentiousness
are linked together. Every evil passion was allowed to revel with impunity, and revenge,
lust, and avarice, -- each had its hundred victims in unhappy Semlin. Any maniac can
kindle a conflagration, but it requires many wise men to put it out. Peter the Hermit had
blown the popular fury into a flame, but to cool it again was beyond his power. His
followers rioted unrestrained, until the fear of retaliation warned them to desist. When the
King of Hungary was informed of the disasters of Semlin, he marched with a sufficient
force to chastise the Hermit, who at the news broke up his camp and retreated towards the
Morava, a broad and rapid stream that joins the Danube a few miles to the eastward of
Belgrade. Here a party of indignant Bulgarians awaited him, and so harassed him as to
make the passage of the river a task both of difficulty and danger. Great numbers of his
infatuated followers perished in the waters, and many fell under the swords of the
Bulgarians. The ancient chronicles do not mention the amount of the Hermit's loss at this
passage, but represent it in general terms as very great.
At Nissa the Duke of Bulgaria fortified himself, in fear of an assault; but Peter, having
learned a little wisdom from experience, thought it best to avoid hostilities. He passed
three nights in quietness under the walls, and the duke, not wishing to exasperate
unnecessarily so fierce and rapacious a host, allowed the townspeople to supply them
with provisions. Peter took his departure peaceably on the following morning, but some
German vagabonds falling behind the main body of the army, set fire to the mills and
house of a Bulgarian, with whom, it appears, they had had some dispute on the previous
evening. The citizens of Nissa, who had throughout mistrusted the crusaders, and were
prepared for the worst, sallied out immediately, and took signal vengeance. The spoilers
were cut to pieces, and the townspeople pursuing the Hermit, captured all the women and
children who had lagged in the rear, and a great quantity of baggage. Peter hereupon
turned round and marched back to Nissa, to demand explanation of the Duke of Bulgaria.
The latter fairly stated the provocation given, and the Hermit could urge nothing in
palliation of so gross an outrage. A negotiation was entered into which promised to be
successful, and the Bulgarians were about to deliver up the women and children when a
party of undisciplined crusaders, acting solely upon their own suggestion, endeavoured to
scale the walls and seize upon the town. Peter in vain exerted his authority; the confusion
became general, and after a short but desperate battle, the crusaders threw down their
arms and fled in all directions. Their vast host was completely routed, the slaughter being
so great among them as to be counted, not by hundreds, but by thousands.
It is said that the Hermit fled from this fatal field to a forest a few miles from Nissa,
abandoned by every human creature. It would be curious to know whether, after so dire a
reverse,
. . . . . . . . . . "His enpierced breast Sharp sorrow did in thousand pieces rive,"
or whether his fiery zeal still rose superior to calamity, and pictured the eventual triumph
of his cause. He, so lately the leader of a hundred thousand men, was now a solitary
skulker in the forests, liable at every instant to be discovered by some pursuing
Bulgarian, and cut off in mid career. Chance at last brought him within sight of an
eminence where two or three of his bravest knights had collected five hundred of the
stragglers. These gladly received the Hermit, and a consultation having taken place, it
was resolved to gather together the scattered remnants of the army. Fires were lighted on
the hill, and scouts sent out in all directions for the fugitives. Horns were sounded at
intervals to make known that friends were near, and before nightfall the Hermit saw
himself at the head of seven thousand men. During the succeeding day he was joined by
twenty thousand more, and with this miserable remnant of his force he pursued his route
towards Constantinople. The bones of the rest mouldered in the forests of Bulgaria.
On his arrival at Constantinople, where he found Walter the Pennyless awaiting him, he
was hospitably received by the Emperor Alexius. It might have been expected that the
sad reverses they had undergone would have taught his followers common prudence; but,
unhappily for them, their turbulence and love of plunder were not to be restrained.
Although they were surrounded by friends, by whom all their wants were liberally
supplied, they could not refrain from rapine. In vain the Hermit exhorted them to
tranquillity; he possessed no more power over them, in subduing their passions, than the
obscurest soldier of the host, They set fire to several public buildings in Constantinople,
out of pure mischief, and stripped the lead from the roofs of the churches, which, they
afterwards sold for old metal in the purlieus of the city. From this time may be dated the
aversion which the Emperor Alexius entertained for the crusaders, and which was
afterwards manifested in all his actions, even when he had to deal with the chivalrous and
more honourable armies which arrived after the Hermit. He seems to have imagined that
the Turks themselves were enemies less formidable to his power than these outpourings
of the refuse of Europe: he soon found a pretext to hurry them into Asia Minor. Peter
crossed the Bosphorus with Walter, hut the excesses of his followers were such, that,
despairing of accomplishing any good end by remaining at their head, he left them to
themselves, and returned to Constantinople, on the pretext of making arrangements with
the government of Alexius for a proper supply of provisions. The crusaders, forgetting
that they were in the enemy's country, and that union, above all things, was desirable,
gave themselves up to dissensions. Violent disputes arose between the Lombards and
Normans, commanded by Walter the Pennyless, and the Franks and Germans, led out by
Peter. The latter separated themselves from the former, and, choosing for their leader one
Reinaldo, or Reinhold, marched forward, and took possession of the fortress of
Exorogorgon. The Sultan Solimaun was on the alert, with a superior force. A party of
crusaders, which had been detached from the fort, and stationed at a little distance as an
ambuscade, were surprised and cut to pieces, and Exorogorgon invested on all sides. The
siege was protracted for eight days, during which the Christians suffered the most acute
agony from the want of water. It is hard to say how long the hope of succour or the
energy of despair would have enabled them to hold out: their treacherous leader cut the
matter short by renouncing the Christian faith, and delivering up the fort into the hands of
the Sultan. He was followed by two or three of his officers; all the rest, refusing to
become Mahometans, were ruthlessly put to the sword. Thus perished the last wretched
remnant of the vast multitude which had traversed Europe with Peter the Hermit.
Walter the Pennyless and his multitude met as miserable a fate. On the news of the
disasters of Exorogorgon, they demanded to be led instantly against the Turks. Walter,
who only wanted good soldiers to have made a good general, was cooler of head, and saw
all the dangers of such a step. His force was wholly insufficient to make any decisive
movement in a country where the enemy was so much superior, and where, in case of
defeat, he had no secure position to fall back upon; and he therefore expressed his
opinion against advancing until the arrival of reinforcements. This prudent counsel found
no favour: the army loudly expressed their dissatisfaction at their chief, and prepared to
march forward without him. Upon this, the brave Walter put himself at their head, and
rushed to destruction. Proceeding towards Nice, the modern Isnik, he was intercepted by
the army of the Sultan: a fierce battle ensued in which the Turks made fearful havoc; out
of twenty-five thousand Christians, twenty-two thousand were slain, and among them
Gautier himself, who fell pierced by seven mortal wounds. The remaining three thousand
retreated upon Civitot, where they intrenched themselves.
Disgusted as was Peter the Hermit at the excesses of the multitude, who, at his call, had
forsaken Europe, his heart was moved with grief and pity at their misfortunes. All his
former zeal revived: casting himself at the feet of the Emperor Alexius, he implored him,
with tears in his eyes, to send relief to the few survivors at Civitot. The Emperor
consented, and a force was sent, which arrived just in time to save them from destruction.
The Turks had beleaguered the place, and the crusaders were reduced to the last
extremity. Negotiations were entered into, and the last three thousand were conducted in
safety to Constantinople. Alexius had suffered too much by their former excesses to be
very desirous of retaining them in his capital: he therefore caused them all to be
disarmed, and, furnishing each with a sum of money, he sent them back to their own
country. While these events were taking place, fresh hordes were issuing from the woods
and wilds of Germany, all bent for the Holy Land. They were commanded by a fanatical
priest, named Gottschalk, who, like Gautier and Peter the Hermit, took his way through
Hungary. History is extremely meagre in her details of the conduct and fate of this host,
which amounted to at least one hundred thousand men. Robbery and murder seem to
have journeyed with them, and the poor Hungarians were rendered almost desperate by
their numbers and rapacity. Karloman, the king of the country, made a bold effort to get
rid of them; for the resentment of his people had arrived at such a height, that nothing
short of the total extermination of the crusaders would satisfy them. Gottschalk had to
pay the penalty, not only for the ravages of his own bands, but for those of the swarms
that had come before him. He and his army were induced, by some means or other, to lay
down their arms: the savage Hungarians, seeing them thus defenceless, set upon them,
and slaughtered them in great numbers. How many escaped their arrows, we are not
informed; but not one of them reached Palestine.
Other swarms, under nameless leaders, issued from Germany and France, more brutal
and more frantic than any that had preceded them. Their fanaticism surpassed by far the
wildest freaks of the followers of the Hermit. In bands, varying in numbers from one to
five thousand, they traversed the country in all directions, bent upon plunder and
massacre. They wore the symbol of the crusade upon their shoulders, but inveighed
against the folly of proceeding to the Holy Land to destroy the Turks, while they left
behind them so many Jews, the still more inveterate enemies of Christ. They swore fierce
vengeance against this unhappy race, and murdered all the Hebrews they could lay their
hands on, first subjecting them to the most horrible mutilation. According to the
testimony of Albert Aquensis, they lived among each other in the most shameless
profligacy, and their vice was only exceeded by their superstition. Whenever they were in
search of Jews, they were preceded by a goose and goat, which they believed to be holy,
and animated with divine power to discover the retreats of the unbelievers. In Germany
alone they slaughtered more than a thousand Jews, notwithstanding all the efforts of the
clergy to save them. So dreadful was the cruelty of their tormentors, that great numbers
of Jews committed self-destruction to avoid falling into their hands.
Again it fell to the lot of the Hungarians to deliver Europe from these pests. When there
were no more Jews to murder, the bands collected in one body, and took the old route to
the Holy Land, a route stained with the blood of three hundred thousand who had gone
before, and destined also to receive theirs. The number of these swarms has never been
stated; but so many of them perished in Hungary, that contemporary writers, despairing
of giving any adequate idea of their multitudes, state that the fields were actually heaped
with their corpses, and that for miles in its course the waters of the Danube were dyed
with their blood. It was at Mersburg, on the Danube, that the greatest slaughter took
place, -- a slaughter so great as to amount almost to extermination. The Hungarians for a
while disputed the passage of the river, but the crusaders forced their way across, and
attacking the city with the blind courage of madness, succeeded in making a breach in the
walls. At this moment of victory an unaccountable fear came over them. Throwing down
their arms they fled panic-stricken, no one knew why, and no one knew whither. The
Hungarians followed, sword in hand, and cut them down without remorse, and in such
numbers, that the stream of the Danube is said to have been choked up by their unburied
bodies.
This was the worst paroxysm of the madness of Europe; and this passed, her chivalry
stepped upon the scene. Men of cool heads, mature plans, and invincible courage stood
forward to lead and direct the grand movement of Europe upon Asia. It is upon these men
that romance has lavished her most admiring epithets, leaving to the condemnation of
history the vileness and brutality of those who went before. Of these leaders the most
distinguished were Godfrey of Bouillon Duke of Lorraine, and Raymond Count of
Toulouse. Four other chiefs of the royal blood of Europe also assumed the Cross, and led
each his army to the Holy Land: Hugh, Count of Vermandois, brother of the King of
France; Robert, Duke of Normandy, the elder brother of William Rufus; Robert Count of
Flanders, and Boemund Prince of Tarentum, eldest son of the celebrated Robert
Guiscard. These men were all tinged with the fanaticism of the age, but none of them
acted entirely from religious motives. They were neither utterly reckless like Gautier sans
Avoir, crazy like Peter the Hermit, nor brutal like Gottschalk the Monk, but possessed
each of these qualities in a milder form; their valour being tempered by caution, their
religious zeal by worldly views, and their ferocity by the spirit of chivalry. They saw
whither led the torrent of the public will; and it being neither their wish nor their interest
to stem it, they allowed themselves to be carried with it, in the hope that it would lead
them at last to a haven of aggrandizement. Around them congregated many minor chiefs,
the flower of the nobility of France and Italy, with some few from Germany, England,
and Spain. It was wisely conjectured that armies so numerous would find a difficulty in
procuring provisions if they all journeyed by the same road. They, therefore, resolved to
separate, Godfrey de Bouillon proceeding through Hungary and Bulgaria, the Count of
Toulouse through Lombardy and Dalmatia, and the other leaders through Apulia to
Constantinople, where the several divisions were to reunite. The forces under these
leaders have been variously estimated. The Princess Anna Comnena talks of them as
having been as numerous as the sands on the sea-shore, or the stars in the firmament.
Fulcher of Chartres is more satisfactory, and exaggerates less magnificently, when he
states, that all the divisions, when they had sat down before Nice in Bithynia, amounted
to one hundred thousand horsemen, and six hundred thousand men on foot, exclusive of
the priests, women and children. Gibbon is of opinion that this amount is exaggerated;
but thinks the actual numbers did not fall very far short of the calculation. The Princess
Anna afterwards gives the number of those under Godfrey of Bouillon as eighty thousand
foot and horse; and supposing that each of the other chiefs led an army as numerous, the
total would be near half a million. This must be over rather than under the mark, as the
army of Godfrey of Bouillon was confessedly the largest when it set out, and suffered
less by the way than any other.
The Count of Vermandois was the first who set foot on the Grecian territory. On his
arrival at Durazzo he was received with every mark of respect and courtesy by the agents
of the Emperor, and his followers were abundantly supplied with provisions. Suddenly
however, and without cause assigned, the Count was arrested by order of the Emperor
Alexius, and conveyed a close prisoner to Constantinople. Various motives have been
assigned by different authors as having induced the Emperor to this treacherous and
imprudent proceeding. By every writer he has been condemned for so flagrant a breach of
hospitality and justice. The most probable reason for his conduct appears to be that
suggested by Guibert of Nogent, who states that Alexius, fearful of the designs of the
crusaders upon his throne, resorted to this extremity in order afterwards to force the
Count to take the oath of allegiance to him, as the price of his liberation. The example of
a prince so eminent as the brother of the King of France, would, he thought, be readily
followed by the other chiefs of the Crusade. In the result he was wofully disappointed, as
every man deserves to be who commits positive evil that doubtful good may ensue. But
this line of policy accorded well enough with the narrowmindedness of the Emperor,
who, in the enervating atmosphere of his highly civilized and luxurious court, dreaded the
influx of the hardy and ambitious warriors of the West, and strove to nibble away by
unworthy means, the power which he had not energy enough to confront. If danger to
himself had existed from the residence of the chiefs in his dominions, he might easily
have averted it, by the simple means of placing himself at the head of the European
movement, and directing its energies to their avowed object, the conquest of the Holy
Land. But the Emperor, instead of being, as he might have been, the lord and leader of
the Crusades, which he had himself aided in no inconsiderable degree to suscitate by his
embassies to the Pope, became the slave of men who hated and despised him. No doubt
the barbarous excesses of the followers of Gautier and Peter the Hermit made him look
upon the whole body of them with disgust, but it was the disgust of a little mind, which is
glad of any excuse to palliate or justify its own irresolution and love of ease.
Godfrey of Bouillon traversed Hungary in the most quiet and orderly manner. On his
arrival at Mersburg he found the country strewed with the mangled corpses of the Jewkillers, and demanded of the King of Hungary for what reason his people had set upon
them. The latter detailed the atrocities they had committed, and made it so evident to
Godfrey that the Hungarians had only acted in self-defence, that the high-minded leader
declared himself satisfied and passed on, without giving or receiving molestation. On his
arrival at Philippopoli, he was informed for the first time of the imprisonment of the
Count of Vermandois. He immediately sent messengers to the Emperor, demanding the
Count's release, and threatening, in case of refusal, to lay waste the country with fire and
sword. After waiting a day at Philippopoli he marched on to Adrianople, where he was
met by his messengers returning with the Emperor's refusal. Godfrey, the bravest and
most determined of the leaders of the Crusade, was not a man to swerve from his word,
and the country was given up to pillage. Alexius here committed another blunder. No
sooner did he learn from dire experience that the crusader was not an utterer of idle
threats, than he consented to the release of the prisoner. As he had been unjust in the first
instance, he became cowardly in the second, and taught his enemies (for so the crusaders
were forced to consider themselves) a lesson which they took care to remember to his
cost, that they could hope nothing from his sense of justice, but every thing from his
fears. Godfrey remained encamped for several weeks in the neighbourhood of
Constantinople, to the great annoyance of Alexius, who sought by every means to extort
from him the homage he had extorted from Vermandois. Sometimes he acted as if at open
and declared war with the crusaders, and sent his troops against them. Sometimes he
refused to supply them with food, and ordered the markets to be shut against them, while
at other times he was all for peace and goodwill, and sent costly presents to Godfrey. The
honest, straightforward crusader was at last so wearied by his false kindness, and so
pestered by his attacks, that, allowing his indignation to get the better of his judgment, he
gave up the country around Constantinople to be plundered by his soldiers. For six days
the flames of the farm-houses around struck terror into the heart of Alexius, but as
Godfrey anticipated they convinced him of his error. Fearing that Constantinople itself
would be the next object of attack, he sent messengers to demand an interview with
Godfrey, offering at the same time to leave his son as a hostage for his good faith.
Godfrey agreed to meet him, and, whether to put an end to these useless dissensions, or
for some other unexplained reason, he rendered homage to Alexius as his liege lord. He
was thereupon loaded with honours, and, according to a singular custom of that age,
underwent the ceremony of the "adoption of honour," as son to the Emperor. Godfrey,
and his brother Baudouin de Bouillon, conducted themselves with proper courtesy on this
occasion, but were not able to restrain the insolence of their followers, who did not
conceive themselves bound to keep any terms with a man so insincere as he had shown
himself. One barbarous chieftain, Count Robert of Paris, carried his insolence so far as to
seat himself upon the throne, an insult which Alexius merely resented with a sneer, but
which did not induce him to look with less mistrust upon the hordes that were still
advancing.
It is impossible, notwithstanding his treachery, to avoid feeling some compassion for the
Emperor, whose life at this time was rendered one long scene of misery by the
presumption of the crusaders, and his not altogether groundless fears of the evil they
might inflict upon him, should any untoward circumstance force the current of their
ambition to the conquest of his empire. His daughter, Anna Comnena, feelingly deplores
his state of life at this time, and a learned German, [M. Wilken's Geschichte der
Kreuzzuge.] in a recent work, describes it, on the authority of the Princess, in the
following manner:-"To avoid all occasion of offence to the Crusaders, Alexius complied with all their
whims, and their (on many occasions) unreasonable demands, even at the expense of
great bodily exertion, at a time when he was suffering severely under the gout, which
eventually brought him to his grave. No crusader who desired an interview with him was
refused access: he listened with the utmost patience to the long-winded harangues which
their loquacity or zeal continually wearied him with: he endured, without expressing any
impatience, the unbecoming and haughty language which they permitted themselves to
employ towards him, and severely reprimanded his officers when they undertook to
defend the dignity of the Imperial station from these rude assaults; for he trembled with
apprehension at the slightest disputes, lest they might become the occasion of greater
evil. Though the Counts often appeared before him with trains altogether unsuitable to
their dignity and to his -- sometimes with an entire troop, which completely filled the
Royal apartment -- the Emperor held his peace. He listened to them at all hours; he often
seated himself on his throne at day-break to attend to their wishes and requests, and the
evening twilight saw him still in the same place. Very frequently he could not snatch time
to refresh himself with meat and drink. During many nights he could not obtain any
repose, and was obliged to indulge in an unrefreshing sleep upon his throne, with his
head resting on his hands. Even this slumber was continually disturbed by the appearance
and harangues of some newly-arrived rude knights. When all the courtiers, wearied out
by the efforts of the day and by night-watching, could no longer keep themselves on their
feet, and sank down exhausted -- some upon benches and others on the floor -- Alexius
still rallied his strength to listen with seeming attention to the wearisome chatter of the
Latins, that they might have no occasion or pretext for discontent. In such a state of fear
and anxiety, how could Alexius comport himself with dignity and like an Emperor ?"
Alexius, however, had himself to blame, in a great measure, for the indignities he
suffered: owing to his insincerity, the crusaders mistrusted him so much, that it became at
last a common saying, that the Turks and Saracens were not such inveterate foes to the
Western or Latin Christians as the Emperor Alexius and the Greeks.[Wilken] It would be
needless in this sketch, which does not profess to be so much a history of the Crusades as
of the madness of Europe, from which they sprang, to detail the various acts of bribery
and intimidation, cajolery and hostility, by which Alexius contrived to make each of the
leaders in succession, as they arrived, take the oath of allegiance to him as their Suzerain.
One way or another he exacted from each the barren homage on which he had set his
heart, and they were then allowed to proceed into Asia Minor. One only, Raymond de St.
Gilles, Count of Toulouse, obstinately refused the homage.
Their residence in Constantinople was productive of no good to the armies of the Cross.
Bickerings and contentions on the one hand, and the influence of a depraved and
luxurious court on the other, destroyed the elasticity of their spirits, and cooled the first
ardour of their enthusiasm. At one time the army of the Count of Toulouse was on the
point of disbanding itself; and, had not their leader energetically removed them across the
Bosphorus, this would have been the result. Once in Asia, their spirits in some degree
revived, and the presence of danger and difficulty nerved them to the work they had
undertaken. The first operation of the war was the siege of Nice, to gain possession of
which all their efforts were directed.
Godfrey of Bouillon and the Count of Vermandois were joined under its walls by each
host in succession, as it left Constantinople. Among the celebrated crusaders who fought
at this siege, we find, besides the leaders already mentioned, the brave and generous
Tancred, whose name and fame have been immortalized in the Gerusalemme Liberata,
the valorous Bishop of Puy, Baldwin, afterwards King of Jerusalem, and Peter the
Hermit, now an almost solitary soldier, shorn of all the power and influence he had
formerly possessed. Kilij Aslaun, the Sultan of Roum, and chief of the Seljukian Turks,
whose deeds, surrounded by the false halo of romance, are familiar to the readers of
Tasso, under the name of Soliman, marched to defend this city, but was defeated after
several obstinate engagements, in which the Christians showed a degree of heroism that
quite astonished him. The Turkish chief had expected to find a wild undisciplined
multitude, like that under Peter the Hermit, without leaders capable of enforcing
obedience; instead of which he found the most experienced leaders of the age at the head
of armies that had just fanaticism enough to be ferocious, but not enough to render them
ungovernable. In these engagements, many hundreds fell on both sides; and on both sides
the most revolting barbarity was practised: the crusaders cut off the heads of the fallen
Mussulmans, and sent them in paniers to Constantinople, as trophies of their victory.
After the temporary defeat of Kilij Aslaun, the siege of Nice was carried on with
redoubled vigour. The Turks defended themselves with the greatest obstinacy, and
discharged showers of poisoned arrows upon the crusaders. When any unfortunate wretch
was killed under the walls, they let down iron hooks from above, and drew the body up,
which, after stripping and mutilating, they threw back again at the besiegers. The latter
were well supplied with provisions, and for six-and-thirty days the siege continued
without any relaxation of the efforts on either side. Many tales are told of the almost
superhuman heroism of the Christian leaders -- how one man put a thousand to flight; and
how the arrows of the faithful never missed their mark. One anecdote of Godfrey of
Bouillon, related by Albert of Aix, is worth recording, not only as showing the high
opinion entertained of his valour, but as showing the contagious credulity of the armies -a credulity which as often led them to the very verge of defeat, as it incited them to
victory. One Turk, of gigantic stature, took his station day by day on the battlements of
Nice, and, bearing an enormous bow, committed great havoc among the Christian host.
Not a shaft he sped, but bore death upon its point; and, although the Crusaders aimed
repeatedly at his breast, and he stood in the most exposed position, their arrows fell
harmless at his feet. He seemed to be invulnerable to attack; and a report was soon spread
abroad, that he was no other than the Arch Fiend himself, and that mortal hand could not
prevail against him. Godfrey of Bouillon, who had no faith in the supernatural character
of the Mussulman, determined, if possible, to put an end to the dismay which was rapidly
paralyzing the exertions of his best soldiers. Taking a huge cross-bow, he stood forward
in front of the army, to try the steadiness of his hand against the much-dreaded archer: the
shaft was aimed directly at his heart, and took fatal effect. The Moslem fell amid the
groans of the besieged, and the shouts of Deus adjuva! Deus adjuva! the war-cry of the
besiegers.
At last the crusaders imagined that they had overcome all obstacles, and were preparing
to take possession of the city, when to their great astonishment they saw the flag of the
Emperor Alexius flying from the battlements. An emissary of the Emperor, named
Faticius or Tatin, had contrived to gain admission with a body of Greek troops at a point
which the crusaders had left unprotected, and had persuaded the Turks to surrender to
him rather than to the crusading forces. The greatest indignation prevailed in the army
when this stratagem was discovered, and the soldiers were, with the utmost difficulty,
prevented from renewing the attack and besieging the Greek emissary.
The army, however, continued its march, and by some means or other was broken into
two divisions; some historians say accidentally, [Fulcher of Chartres. -- Guibert de
Nogent. -- Vital.] while others affirm by mutual consent, and for the convenience of
obtaining provisions on the way. [William of Tyre. -- Mills. -- Wilken, &c.] The one
division was composed of the forces under Bohemund, Tancred, and the Duke of
Normandy; while the other, which took a route at some distance on the right, was
commanded by Godfrey of Bouillon and the other chiefs. The Sultan of Roum, who, after
his losses at Nice, had been silently making great efforts to crush the crusaders at one
blow, collected in a very short time all the multitudinous tribes that owed him allegiance,
and with an army which, according to a moderate calculation, amounted to two hundred
thousand men, chiefly cavalry, he fell upon the first division of the Christian host in the
valley of Dorylaeum. It was early in the morning of the 1st of July 1097, when the
crusaders saw the first companies of the Turkish horsemen pouring down upon them
from the hills. Bohemund had hardly time to set himself in order, and transport his sick
and helpless to the rear, when the overwhelming force of the Orientals was upon him.
The Christian army, composed principally of men on foot, gave way on all sides, and the
hoofs of the Turkish steeds, and the poisoned arrows of their bowmen, mowed them
down by hundreds. After having lost the flower of their chivalry, the Christians retreated
upon their baggage, when a dreadful slaughter took place. Neither women nor children,
nor the sick, were spared. Just as they were reduced to the last extremity, Godfrey of
Bouillon and the Count of Toulouse made their appearance on the field, and turned the
tide of battle. After an obstinate engagement the Turks fled, and their rich camp fell into
the bands of the enemy. The loss of the crusaders amounted to about four thousand men,
with several chiefs of renown, among whom were Count Robert of Paris and William the
brother of Tancred. The loss of the Turks, which did not exceed this number, taught them
to pursue a different mode of warfare. The Sultan was far from being defeated. With his
still gigantic army, he laid waste all the country on either side of the crusaders. The latter,
who were unaware of the tactics of the enemy, found plenty of provisions in the Turkish
camp; but so far from economizing these resources, they gave themselves up for several
days to the most unbounded extravagance. They soon paid dearly for their heedlessness.
In the ravaged country of Phrygia, through which they advanced towards Antiochetta,
they suffered dreadfully for want of food for themselves and pasture for their cattle.
Above them was a scorching sun, almost sufficient of itself to dry up the freshness of the
land, a task which the firebrands of the Sultan had but too surely effected, and water was
not to be had after the first day of their march. The pilgrims died at the rate of five
hundred a-day. The horses of the knights perished on the road, and the baggage which
they had aided to transport, was either placed upon dogs, sheep, and swine, or abandoned
altogether. In some of the calamities that afterwards befell them, the Christians gave
themselves up to the most reckless profligacy; but upon this occasion, the dissensions
which prosperity had engendered, were all forgotten. Religion, often disregarded, arose in
the stern presence of misfortune, and cheered them as they died by the promises of
eternal felicity.
At length they reached Antiochetta, where they found water in abundance, and pastures
for their expiring cattle. Plenty once more surrounded them, and here they pitched their
tents. Untaught by the bitter experience of famine, they again gave themselves up to
luxury and waste.
On the 18th of October they sat down before the strong city of Antioch, the siege of
which, and the events to which it gave rise, are among the most extraordinary incidents of
the Crusade. The city, which is situated on an eminence, and washed by the river
Orontes, is naturally a very strong position, and the Turkish garrison were well supplied
with provisions to endure a long siege. In this respect the Christians were also fortunate,
but, unluckily for themselves, unwise. Their force amounted to three hundred thousand
fighting men; and we are informed by Raymond d'Argilles, that they had so much
provision, that they threw away the greater part of every animal they killed, being so
dainty, that they would only eat particular parts of the beast. So insane was their
extravagance, that in less than ten days famine began to stare them in the face. After
making a fruitless attempt to gain possession of the city by a coup de main, they, starving
themselves, sat down to starve out the enemy. But with want came a cooling of
enthusiasm. The chiefs began to grow weary of the expedition. Baldwin had previously
detached himself from the main body of the army, and, proceeding to Edessa, had
intrigued himself into the supreme power in that little principality. The other leaders were
animated with less zeal than heretofore. Stephen of Chartres and Hugh of Vermandois
began to waver, unable to endure the privations which their own folly and profusion had
brought upon them. Even Peter the Hermit became sick at heart ere all was over. When
the famine had become so urgent that they were reduced to eat human flesh in the
extremity of their hunger, Bohemund and Robert of Flanders set forth on an expedition to
procure a supply. They were in a slight degree successful; but the relief they brought was
not economized, and in two days they were as destitute as before. Faticius, the Greek
commander and representative of Alexius, deserted with his division under pretence of
seeking for food, and his example was followed by various bodies of crusaders.
Misery was rife among those who remained, and they strove to alleviate it by a diligent
attention to signs and omens. These, with extraordinary visions seen by the enthusiastic,
alternately cheered and depressed them according as they foretold the triumph or pictured
the reverses of the Cross. At one time a violent hurricane arose, levelling great trees with
the ground, and blowing down the tents of the Christian leaders. At another time an
earthquake shook the camp, and was thought to prognosticate some great impending evil
to the cause of Christendom. But a comet which appeared shortly afterwards, raised them
from the despondency into which they had fallen; their lively imaginations making it
assume the form of a flaming cross leading them on to victory. Famine was not the least
of the evils they endured. Unwholesome food, and the impure air from the neighbouring
marshes, engendered pestilential diseases, which carried them off more rapidly than the
arrows of the enemy. A thousand of them died in a day, and it became at last a matter of
extreme difficulty to afford them burial. To add to their misery, each man grew
suspicious of his neighbour; for the camp was infested by Turkish spies, who conveyed
daily to the besieged intelligence of the movements and distresses of the enemy. With a
ferocity, engendered by despair, Bohemund caused two spies, whom he had detected, to
be roasted alive in presence of the army, and within sight of the battlements of Antioch.
But even this example failed to reduce their numbers, and the Turks continued to be as
well informed as the Christians themselves of all that was passing in the camp.
The news of the arrival of a reinforcement of soldiers from Europe, with an abundant
stock of provisions, came to cheer them when reduced to the last extremity. The welcome
succour landed at St. Simeon, the port of Antioch, and about six miles from that city.
Thitherwards the famishing crusaders proceeded in tumultuous bands, followed by
Bohemund and the Count of Toulouse, with strong detachments of their retainers and
vassals, to escort the supplies in safety to the camp. The garrison of Antioch, forewarned
of this arrival, was on the alert, and a corps of Turkish archers was despatched to lie in
ambuscade among the mountains and intercept their return. Bohemund, laden with
provisions, was encountered in the rocky passes by the Turkish host. Great numbers of
his followers were slain, and he himself had just time to escape to the camp with the news
of his defeat. Godfrey of Bouillon, the Duke of Normandy, and the other leaders had
heard the rumour of this battle, and were at that instant preparing for the rescue. The
army was immediately in motion, animated both by zeal and by hunger, and marched so
rapidly as to intercept the victorious Turks before they had time to reach Antioch with
their spoil. A fierce battle ensued, which lasted from noon till the going down of the sun.
The Christians gained and maintained the advantage, each man fighting as if upon
himself alone had depended the fortune of the day. Hundreds of Turks perished in the
Orontes, and more than two thousand were left dead upon the field of battle. All the
provision was recaptured and brought in safety to the camp, whither the crusaders
returned singing Allelulia! or shouting Deus adjuva! Deus adjuva!
This relief lasted for some days, and, had it been duly economized, would have lasted
much longer; but the chiefs had no authority, and were unable to exercise any control
over its distribution. Famine again approached with rapid strides, and Stephen Count of
Blois, not liking the prospect, withdrew from the camp, with four thousand of his
retainers, and established himself at Alexandretta. The moral influence of this desertion
was highly prejudicial upon those who remained; and Bohemund, the most impatient and
ambitious of the chiefs, foresaw that, unless speedily checked, it would lead to the utter
failure of the expedition. It was necessary to act decisively; the army murmured at the
length of the siege, and the Sultan was collecting his forces to crush them. Against the
efforts of the crusaders Antioch might have held out for months; but treason within
effected that, which courage without might have striven for in vain.
Baghasihan, the Turkish Prince or Emir of Antioch, had under his command an Armenian
of the name of Phirouz, whom he had intrusted with the defence of a tower on that part of
the city wall which overlooked the passes of the mountains. Bohemund, by means of a
spy who had embraced the Christian religion, and to whom he had given his own name at
baptism, kept up a daily communication with this captain, and made him the most
magnificent promises of reward, if he would deliver up his post to the Christian knights.
Whether the proposal was first made by Bohemund or by the Armenian is uncertain, but
that a good understanding soon existed between them, is undoubted; and a night was
fixed for the execution of the project. Bohemund communicated the scheme to Godfrey
and the Count of Toulouse, with the stipulation that, if the city were won, he, as the soul
of the enterprise, should enjoy the dignity of Prince of Antioch. The other leaders
hesitated: ambition and jealousy prompted them to refuse their aid in furthering the views
of the intriguer. More mature consideration decided them to acquiesce, and seven
hundred of the bravest knights were chosen for the expedition, the real object of which,
for fear of spies, was kept a profound secret from the rest of the army. When all was
ready, a report was promulgated, that the seven hundred were intended to form an
ambuscade for a division of the Sultan's army, which was stated to be approaching.
Every thing favoured the treacherous project of the Armenian captain, who, on his
solitary watchtower, received due intimation of the approach of the crusaders. The night
was dark and stormy; not a star was visible above, and the wind howled so furiously as to
overpower all other sounds: the rain fell in torrents, and the watchers on the towers
adjoining to that of Phirouz could not hear the tramp of the armed knights for the wind,
nor see them for the obscurity of the night and the dismalness of the weather. When
within shot of the walls, Bohemund sent forward an interpreter to confer with the
Armenian. The latter urged them to make haste, and seize the favourable interval, as
armed men, with lighted torches, patrolled the battlements every half hour, and at that
instant they had just passed. The chiefs were instantly at the foot of the wall: Phirouz let
down a rope; Bohemund attached it to the end of a ladder of hides, which was then raised
by the Armenian, and held while the knights mounted. A momentary fear came over the
spirits of the adventurers, and every one hesitated. At last Bohemund, [Vide William of
Tyre.] encouraged by Phirouz from above, ascended a few steps on the ladder, and was
followed by Godfrey, Count Robert of Flanders, and a number of other knights. As they
advanced, others pressed forward, until their weight became too great for the ladder,
which, breaking, precipitated about a dozen of them to the ground, where they fell one
upon the other, making a great clatter with their heavy coats of mail. For a moment they
thought that all was lost; but the wind made so loud a howling as it swept in fierce gusts
through the mountain gorges -- and the Orontes, swollen by the rain, rushed so noisily
along -- that the guards heard nothing. The ladder was easily repaired, and the knights
ascended two at a time, and reached the platform in safety, When sixty of them had thus
ascended, the torch of the coming patrol was seen to gleam at the angle of the wall.
Hiding themselves behind a buttress, they awaited his coming in breathless silence. As
soon as he arrived at arm's length, he was suddenly seized, and, before he could open his
lips to raise an alarm, the silence of death closed them up for ever. They next descended
rapidly the spiral staircase of the tower, and, opening the portal, admitted the whole of
their companions. Raymond of Toulouse, who, cognizant of the whole plan, had been left
behind with the main body of the army, heard at this instant the signal horn, which
announced that an entry had been effected, and, leading on his legions, the town was
attacked from within and without.
Imagination cannot conceive a scene more dreadful than that presented by the devoted
city of Antioch on that night of horror. The crusaders fought with a blind fury, which
fanaticism and suffering alike incited. Men, women, and children were indiscriminately
slaughtered till the streets ran in gore. Darkness increased the destruction, for when
morning dawned the crusaders found themselves with their swords at the breasts of their
fellow-soldiers, whom they had mistaken for foes. The Turkish commander fled, first to
the citadel, and that becoming insecure, to the mountains, whither he was pursued and
slain, his grey head brought back to Antioch as a trophy. At daylight the massacre ceased,
and the crusaders gave themselves up to plunder. They found gold, and jewels, and silks,
and velvets in abundance, but, of provisions, which were of more importance to them,
they found but little of any kind. Corn was excessively scarce, and they discovered to
their sorrow that in this respect the besieged had been but little better off than the
besiegers.
Before they had time to instal themselves in their new position, and take the necessary
measures for procuring a supply, the city was invested by the Turks. The Sultan of Persia
had raised an immense army, which he intrusted to the command of Kerbogha, the Emir
of Mosul, with instructions to sweep the Christian locusts from the face of the land. The
Emir effected junction with Kilij Aslaun, and the two armies surrounded the city.
Discouragement took complete possession of the Christian host, and numbers of them
contrived to elude the vigilance of the besiegers, and escape to Count Stephen of Blots at
Alexandretta, to whom they related the most exaggerated tales of the misery they had
endured, and the utter hopelessness of continuing the war. Stephen forthwith broke up his
camp and retreated towards Constantinople. On his way he was met by the Emperor
Alexius, at the head of a considerable force, hastening to take possession of the conquests
made by the Christians in Asia. As soon as he heard of their woeful plight, he turned
back, and proceeded with the Count of Blots to Constantinople, leaving the remnant of
the crusaders to shift for themselves.
The news of this defection increased the discouragement at Antioch. All the useless
horses of the army had been slain and eaten, and dogs, cats, and rats were sold at
enormous prices. Even vermin were becoming scarce. With increasing famine came a
pestilence, so that in a short time but sixty thousand remained of the three hundred
thousand that had originally invested Antioch. But this bitter extremity, while it
annihilated the energy of the host, only served to knit the leaders more firmly together;
and Bohemund, Godfrey, and Tancred swore never to desert the cause as long as life
lasted. The former strove in vain to reanimate the courage of his followers. They were
weary and sick at heart, and his menaces and promises were alike thrown away. Some of
them had shut themselves up in the houses, and refused to come forth. Bohemund, to
drive them to their duty, set fire to the whole quarter, and many of them perished in the
flames, while the rest of the army looked on with the utmost indifference. Bohemund,
animated himself by a worldly spirit, did not know the true character of the crusaders, nor
understand the religious madness which had brought them in such shoals from Europe. A
priest, more clear-sighted, devised a scheme which restored all their confidence, and
inspired them with a courage so wonderful as to make the poor sixty thousand emaciated,
sick, and starving zealots, put to flight the well-fed and six times as numerous legions of
the Sultan of Persia.
This priest, a native of Provence, was named Peter Barthelemy, and whether he were a
knave or an enthusiast, or both; a principal, or a tool in the hands of others, will ever
remain a matter of doubt. Certain it is, however, that he was the means of raising the
siege of Antioch, and causing the eventual triumph of the armies of the Cross. When the
strength of the crusaders was completely broken by their sufferings, and hope had fled
from every bosom, Peter came to Count Raymond of Toulouse, and demanded an
interview on matters of serious moment. He was immediately admitted. He said that,
some weeks previously, at the time the Christians were besieging Antioch, he was
reposing alone in his tent, when he was startled by the shock of the earthquake, which
had so alarmed the whole host. Through violent terror of the shock he could only
ejaculate, God help me! when turning round he saw two men standing before him, whom
he at once recognized by the halo of glory around them as beings of another world. One
of them appeared to be an aged man, with reddish hair sprinkled with grey, black eyes,
and a long flowing grey beard. The other was younger, larger, and handsomer, and had
something more divine in his aspect. The elderly man alone spoke, and informed him that
he was the Holy Apostle St. Andrew, and desired him to seek out the Count Raymond,
the Bishop of Puy, and Raymond of Altopulto, and ask them why the Bishop did not
exhort the people, and sign them with the cross which he bore. The Apostle then took
him, naked in his shirt as he was, and transported him through the air into the heart of the
city of Antioch, where he led him into the church of St. Peter, at that time a Saracen
mosque. The Apostle made him stop by the pillar close to the steps by which they ascend
on the south side to the altar, where hung two lamps, which gave out a light brighter than
that of the noonday sun; the younger man, whom he did not at that time know, standing
afar off, near the steps of the altar. The Apostle then descended into the ground and
brought up a lance, which he gave into his hand, telling him that it was the very lance that
had opened the side whence had flowed the salvation of the world. With tears of joy he
held the holy lance, and implored the Apostle to allow him to take it away and deliver it
into the hands of Count Raymond. The Apostle refused, and buried the lance again in the
ground, commanding him, when the city was won from the infidels, to go with twelve
chosen men, and dig it up again in the same place. The Apostle then transported him back
to his tent, and the two vanished from his sight. He had neglected, he said, to deliver this
message, afraid that his wonderful tale would not obtain credence from men of such high
rank. After some days he again saw the holy vision, as he was gone out of the camp to
look for food. This time the divine eyes of the younger looked reproachfully upon him.
He implored the Apostle to choose some one else more fitted for the mission, but the
Apostle refused, and smote him with a disorder of the eyes, as a punishment for his
disobedience. With an obstinacy unaccountable even to himself, he had still delayed. A
third time the Apostle and his companion had appeared to him, as he was in a tent with
his master William at St. Simeon. On that occasion St. Andrew told him to bear his
command to the Count of Toulouse not to bathe in the waters of the Jordan when he came
to it, but to cross over in a boat, clad in a shirt and breeches of linen, which he should
sprinkle with the sacred waters of the river. These clothes he was afterwards to preserve
along with the holy lance. His master William, although he could not see the saint,
distinctly heard the voice giving orders to that effect. Again he neglected to execute the
commission, and again the saints appeared to him, when he was at the port of Mamistra,
about to sail for Cyprus, and St. Andrew threatened him with eternal perdition if he
refused longer. Upon this he made up his mind to divulge all that had been revealed to
him.
The Count of Toulouse, who, in all probability, concocted this precious tale with the
priest, appeared struck with the recital, and sent immediately for the Bishop of Puy and
Raymond of Altapulto. The Bishop at once expressed his disbelief of the whole story, and
refused to have anything to do in the matter. The Count of Toulouse, on the contrary, saw
abundant motives, if not for believing, for pretending to believe; and, in the end, he so
impressed upon the mind of the Bishop the advantage that might be derived from it, in
working up the popular mind to its former excitement, that the latter reluctantly agreed to
make search in due form for the holy weapon. The day after the morrow was fixed upon
for the ceremony, and, in the mean time, Peter was consigned to the care of Raymond, the
Count's chaplain, in order that no profane curiosity might have an opportunity of crossexamining him, and putting him to a nonplus.
Twelve devout men were forthwith chosen for the undertaking, among whom were the
Count of Toulouse and his chaplain. They began digging at sunrise, and continued
unwearied till near sunset, without finding the lance; -- they might have dug till this day
with no better success, had not Peter himself sprung into the pit, praying to God to bring
the lance to light, for the strengthening and victory of his people. Those who hide know
where to find; and so it was with Peter, for both he and the lance found their way into the
hole at the same time. On a sudden, he and Raymond, the chaplain, beheld its point in the
earth, and Raymond, drawing it forth, kissed it with tears of joy, in sight of the multitude
which had assembled in the church. It was immediately enveloped in a rich purple cloth,
already prepared to receive it, and exhibited in this state to the faithful, who made the
building resound with their shouts of gladness.
Peter had another vision the same night, and became from that day forth "dreamer of
dreams," in general, to the army. He stated on the following day, that the Apostle Andrew
and "the youth with the divine aspect" appeared to him again, and directed that the Count
of Toulouse, as a reward for his persevering piety, should carry the Holy Lance at the
head of the army, and that the day on which it was found should be observed as a solemn
festival throughout Christendom. St. Andrew showed him, at the same time, the holes in
the feet and hands of his benign companion; and he became convinced that he stood in
the awful presence of THE REDEEMER.
Peter gained so much credit by his visions that dreaming became contagious. Other
monks beside himself were visited by the saints, who promised victory to the host if it
would valiantly hold out to the last, and crowns of eternal glory to those who fell in the
fight. Two deserters, wearied of the fatigues and privations of the war, who had stealthily
left the camp, suddenly returned, and seeking Bohemund, told him that they had been met
by two apparitions, who, with great anger, had commanded them to return. The one of
them said, that he recognized his brother, who had been killed in battle some months
before, and that he had a halo of glory around his head. The other, still more hardy,
asserted that the apparition which had spoken to him was the Saviour himself, who had
promised eternal happiness as his reward if he returned to his duty, but the pains of
eternal fire if he rejected the cross. No one thought of disbelieving these men. The
courage of the army immediately revived; despondency gave way to hope; every arm
grew strong again, and the pangs of hunger were for a time disregarded. The enthusiasm
which had led them from Europe burned forth once more as brightly as ever, and they
demanded, with loud cries, to be led against the enemy. The leaders were not unwilling.
In a battle lay their only chance of salvation; and although Godfrey, Bohemund, and
Tancred received the story of the lance with much suspicion, they were too wise to throw
discredit upon an imposture which bade fair to open the gates of victory.
Peter the Hermit was previously sent to the camp of Kerbogha to propose that the quarrel
between the two religions should be decided by a chosen number of the bravest soldiers
of each army. Kerbogha turned from him with a look of contempt, and said he could
agree to no proposals from a set of such miserable beggars and robbers. With this
uncourteous answer Peter returned to Antioch. Preparations were immediately
commenced for an attack upon the enemy: the latter continued to be perfectly well
informed of all the proceedings of the Christian camp. The citadel of Antioch, which
remained in their possession, overlooked the town, and the commander of the fortress
could distinctly see all that was passing within. On the morning of the 28th of June 1098
a black flag, hoisted from its highest tower, announced to the besieging army that the
Christians were about to sally forth.
The Moslem leaders knew the sad inroads that famine and disease had made upon the
numbers of the foe: they knew that not above two hundred of the knights had horses to
ride upon, and that the foot soldiers were sick and emaciated; but they did not know the
almost incredible valour which superstition had infused into their hearts. The story of the
lance they treated with the most supreme contempt, and, secure of an easy victory, they
gave themselves no trouble in preparing for the onslaught. It is related that Kerbogha was
playing a game at chess, when the black flag on the citadel gave warning of the enemy's
approach, and that, with true oriental coolness, he insisted upon finishing the game ere he
bestowed any of his attention upon a foe so unworthy. The defeat of his advanced post of
two thousand men aroused him from his apathy.
The crusaders, after this first victory, advanced joyfully towards the mountains, hoping to
draw the Turks to a place where their cavalry would be unable to manoeuvre. Their
spirits were light and their courage high, as led on by the Duke of Normandy, Count
Robert of Flanders, and Hugh of Vermandois, they came within sight of the splendid
camp of the enemy. Godfrey of Bouillon and Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, followed
immediately after these leaders, the latter clad in complete armour, and bearing the Holy
Lance within sight of the whole army: Bohemund and Tancred brought up the rear.
Kerbogha, aware at last that his enemy was not so despicable, took vigorous measures to
remedy his mistake, and, preparing himself to meet the Christians in front, he despatched
the Sultan Soliman, of Roum, to attack them in the rear. To conceal this movement, he set
fire to the dried weeds and grass with which the ground was covered, and Soliman, taking
a wide circuit with his cavalry, succeeded, under cover of the smoke, in making good his
position in the rear. The battle raged furiously in front; the arrows of the Turks fell thick
as hail, and their well-trained squadrons trod the crusaders under their hoofs like stubble.
Still the affray was doubtful; for the Christians had the advantage of the ground, and were
rapidly gaining upon the enemy, when the overwhelming forces of Soliman arrived in the
rear. Godfrey and Tancred flew to the rescue of Bohemund, spreading dismay in the
Turkish ranks by their fierce impetuosity. The Bishop of Puy was left almost alone with
the Provencals to oppose the legions commanded by Kerbogha in person; but the
presence of the Holy Lance made a hero of the meanest soldier in his train. Still,
however, the numbers of the enemy seemed interminable. The Christians, attacked on
every side, began at last to give way, and the Turks made sure of victory.
At this moment a cry was raised in the Christian host that the saints were fighting on their
side. The battle-field was clear of the smoke from the burning weeds, which had curled
away, and hung in white clouds of fantastic shape on the brow of the distant mountains.
Some imaginative zealot, seeing this dimly through the dust of the battle, called out to his
fellows, to look at the army of saints, clothed in white, and riding upon white horses, that
were pouring over the hills to the rescue. All eyes were immediately turned to the distant
smoke; faith was in every heart; and the old battle-cry, God wills it! God wills it!
resounded through the field, as every soldier, believing that God was visibly sending His
armies to his aid, fought with an energy unfelt before. A panic seized the Persian and
Turkish hosts, and they gave way in all directions. In vain Kerbogha tried to rally them.
Fear is more contagious than enthusiasm, and they fled over the mountains like deer
pursued by the hounds. The two leaders, seeing the uselessness of further efforts, fled
with the rest; and that immense army was scattered over Palestine, leaving nearly seventy
thousand of its dead upon the field of battle.
Their magnificent camp fell into the hands of the enemy, with its rich stores of corn, and
its droves of sheep and oxen. Jewels, gold, and rich velvets in abundance were distributed
among the army. Tancred followed the fugitives over the hills, and reaped as much
plunder as those who had remained in the camp. The way, as they fled, was covered with
valuables, and horses of the finest breed of Arabia became so plentiful, that every knight
of the Christians was provided with a steed. The crusaders, in this battle, acknowledge to
have lost nearly ten thousand men.
Their return to Antioch was one of joy indeed: the citadel was surrendered at once, and
many of the Turkish garrison embraced the Christian faith, and the rest were suffered to
depart. A solemn thanksgiving was offered up by the Bishop of Puy, in which the whole
army joined, and the Holy Lance was visited by every soldier.
The enthusiasm lasted for some days, and the army loudly demanded to be led forward to
Jerusalem, the grand goal of all their wishes: but none of their leaders was anxious to
move; -- the more prudent among them, such as Godfrey and Tancred, for reasons of
expediency; and the more ambitious, such as the Count of Toulouse and Bohemund, for
reasons of self-interest. Violent dissensions sprang up again between all the chiefs.
Raymond of Toulouse, who was left at Antioch to guard the town, had summoned the
citadel to surrender, as soon as he saw that there was no fear of any attack upon the part
of the Persians; and the other chiefs found, upon their return, his banner waving on its
walls. This had given great offence to Bohemund, who had stipulated the principality of
Antioch as his reward for winning the town in the first instance. Godfrey and Tancred
supported his claim, and, after a great deal of bickering, the flag of Raymond was
lowered from the tower, and that of Bohemund hoisted in its stead, who assumed from
that time the title of Prince of Antioch. Raymond, however, persisted in retaining
possession of one of the city gates and its adjacent towers, which he held for several
months, to the great annoyance of Bohemund and the scandal of the army. The Count
became in consequence extremely unpopular, although his ambition was not a whit more
unreasonable than that of Bohemund himself, nor of Baldwin, who had taken up his
quarters at Edessa, where he exercised the functions of a petty sovereign.
The fate of Peter Barthelemy deserves to be recorded. Honours and consideration had
come thick upon him after the affair of the lance, and he consequently felt bound in
conscience to continue the dreams which had made him a personage of so much
importance. The mischief of it was, that like many other liars he had a very bad memory,
and he contrived to make his dreams contradict each other in the most palpable manner.
St. John one night appeared to him, and told one tale, while, a week after, St. Paul told a
totally different story, and held out hopes quite incompatible with those of his apostolic
brother. The credulity of that age had a wide maw, and Peter's visions must have been
absurd and outrageous indeed, when the very men who had believed in the lance refused
to swallow any more of his wonders. Bohemund at last, for the purpose of annoying the
Count of Toulouse, challenged poor Peter to prove the truth of his story of the lance by
the fiery ordeal. Peter could not refuse a trial so common in that age, and being besides
encouraged by the Count and his chaplain, Raymond, an early day was appointed for the
ceremony. The previous night was spent in prayer and fasting, according to custom, and
Peter came forth in the morning bearing the lance in his hand, and walked boldly up to
the fire. The whole army gathered round, impatient for the result, many thousands still
believing that the lance was genuine and Peter a holy man. Prayers having been said by
Raymond d'Agilles, Peter walked into the flames, and had got nearly through, when pain
caused him to lose his presence of mind: the heat too affected his eyes, and, in his
anguish, he turned round unwittingly, and passed through the fire again, instead of
stepping out of it, as he should have done. The result was, that he was burned so severely,
that he never recovered, and, after lingering for some days, he expired in great agony.
Most of the soldiers were suffering either from wounds, disease, or weariness, and it was
resolved by Godfrey, -- the tacitly acknowledged chief of the enterprize, -- that the army
should have time to refresh itself ere they advanced upon Jerusalem. It was now July, and
he proposed that they should pass the hot months of August and September within the
walls of Antioch, and march forward in October with renewed vigour, and numbers
increased by fresh arrivals from Europe. This advice was finally adopted, although the
enthusiasts of the army continued to murmur at the delay. In the mean time the Count of
Vermandois was sent upon an embassy to the Emperor Alexius at Constantinople, to
reproach him for his base desertion of the cause, and urge him to send the reinforcements
he had promised. The Count faithfully executed his mission, (of which, by the way,
Alexius took no notice whatever,) and remained for some time at Constantinople, till his
zeal, never very violent, totally evaporated. He then returned to France, sick of the
Crusade, and determined to intermeddle with it no more.
The chiefs, though they had determined to stay at Antioch for two months, could not
remain quiet for so long a time. They would, in all probability, have fallen upon each
other, had there been no Turks in Palestine upon whom they might vent their impetuosity.
Godfrey proceeded to Edessa, to aid his brother Baldwin in expelling the Saracens from
his principality, and the other leaders carried on separate hostilities against them as
caprice or ambition dictated. At length the impatience of the army to be led against
Jerusalem became so great that the chiefs could no longer delay, and Raymond, Tancred,
and Robert of Normandy marched forward with their divisions, and laid siege to the
small but strong town of Marah. With their usual improvidence, they had not food
enough to last a beleaguering army for a week. They suffered great privations in
consequence, till Bohemund came to their aid and took the town by storm. In connexion
with this siege, the chronicler, Raymond d'Agilles, (the same Raymond, the chaplain,
who figured in the affair of the Holy Lance,) relates a legend, in the truth of which he
devoutly believed, and upon which Tasso has founded one of the most beautiful passages
of his poem. It is worth preserving, as showing the spirit of the age and the source of the
extraordinary courage manifested by the crusaders on occasions of extreme difficulty.
"One day," says Raymond, "Anselme de Ribeaumont beheld young Engelram, the son of
the Count de St. Paul, who had been killed at Marsh, enter his tent. 'How is it,' said
Anselme to him, 'that you, whom I saw lying dead on the field of battle, are full of life ?' - 'You must know,' replied Engelram, 'that those who fight for Jesus Christ never die.' -- '
But whence,' resumed Anselme, 'comes that strange brightness that surrounds you ?'
Upon this Engelram pointed to the sky, where Anselme saw a palace of diamond and
crystal. 'It is thence,' said he, 'that I derive the beauty which surprises you. My dwelling is
there; a still finer one is prepared for you, and you shall soon come to inhabit it. Farewell!
we shall meet again to-morrow.' With these words Engelram returned to heaven.
Anselme, struck by the vision, sent the next morning for the priests, received the
sacrament; and although full of health, took a last farewell of all his friends, telling them
that he was about to leave this world. A few hours afterwards, the enemy having made a
sortie, Anselme went out against them sword in hand, and was struck on the forehead by
a stone from a Turkish sling, which sent him to heaven, to the beautiful palace that was
prepared for him."
New disputes arose between the Prince of Antioch and the Count of Toulouse with regard
to the capture of this town, which were with the utmost difficulty appeased by the other
chiefs. Delays also took place in the progress of the army, especially before Arches, and
the soldiery were so exasperated that they were on the point of choosing new leaders to
conduct them to Jerusalem. Godfrey, upon this, set fire to his camp at Arches, and
marched forward. He was immediately joined by hundreds of the Provencals of the Count
of Toulouse. The latter, seeing the turn affairs were taking, hastened after them, and the
whole host proceeded towards the holy city, so long desired amid sorrow, and suffering,
and danger. At Emmaus they were met by a deputation from the Christians of Bethlehem,
praying for immediate aid against the oppression of the infidels. The very name of
Bethlehem, the birthplace of the Saviour, was music to their ears, and many of them wept
with joy to think they were approaching a spot so hallowed. Albert of Aix informs us that
their hearts were so touched that sleep was banished from the camp, and that, instead of
waiting till the morning's dawn to recommence their march, they set out shortly after
midnight, full of hope and enthusiasm. For upwards of four hours the mail-clad legions
tramped steadfastly forward in the dark, and when the sun arose in unclouded splendour,
the towers and pinnacles of Jerusalem gleamed upon their sight. All the tender feelings of
their nature were touched; no longer brutal fanatics, but meek and humble pilgrims, they
knelt down upon the sod, and with tears in their eyes, exclaimed to one another,
"Jerusalem ! Jerusalem!" Some of them kissed the holy ground, others stretched
themselves at full length upon it, in order that their bodies might come in contact with the
greatest possible extent of it, and others prayed aloud. The women and children who had
followed the camp from Europe, and shared in all its dangers, fatigues, and privations,
were more boisterous in their joy; the former from long-nourished enthusiasm, and the
latter from mere imitation, [Guibert de Nogent relates a curious instance of the
imitativeness of these juvenile crusaders. He says that, during the siege of Antioch, the
Christian and Saracen boys used to issue forth every evening from the town and camp in
great numbers under the command of captains chosen from among themselves. Armed
with sticks instead of swords, and stones instead of arrows, they ranged themselves in
battle order, and shouting each the war-cry of their country, fought with the utmost
desperation. Some of them lost their eyes, and many became cripples for life from the
injuries they received on these occasions.] and prayed, and wept, and laughed till they
almost put the more sober to the blush.
The first ebullition of their gladness having subsided, the army marched forward, and
invested the city on all sides. The assault was almost immediately begun; but after the
Christians had lost some of their bravest knights, that mode of attack was abandoned, and
the army commenced its preparations for a regular siege. Mangonels, moveable towers,
and battering rams, together with a machine called a sow, made of wood, and covered
with raw hides, inside of which miners worked to undermine the walls, were forthwith
constructed; and to restore the courage and discipline of the army, which had suffered
from the unworthy dissensions of the chiefs, the latter held out the hand of friendship to
each other, and Tancred and the Count of Toulouse embraced in sight of the whole camp.
The clergy aided the cause with their powerful voice, and preached union and goodwill to
the highest and the lowest. A solemn procession was also ordered round the city, in
which the entire army joined, prayers being offered up at every spot which gospel records
had taught them to consider as peculiarly sacred.
The Saracens upon the ramparts beheld all these manifestations without alarm. To
incense the Christians, whom they despised, they constructed rude crosses, and fixed
them upon the walls, and spat upon and pelted them with dirt and stones. This insult to
the symbol of their faith raised the wrath of the crusaders to that height that bravery
became ferocity and enthusiasm madness. When all the engines of war were completed
the attack was recommenced, and every soldier of the Christian army fought with a
vigour which the sense of private wrong invariably inspires. Every man had been
personally outraged, and the knights worked at the battering-rams with as much readiness
as the meanest soldiers. The Saracen arrows and balls of fire fell thick and fast among
them, but the tremendous rams still heaved against the walls, while the best marksmen of
the host were busily employed in the several floors of the moveable towers in dealing
death among the Turks upon the battlements. Godfrey, Raymond, Tancred, and Robert of
Normandy, each upon his tower, fought for hours with unwearied energy, often repulsed,
but ever ready to renew the struggle. The Turks, no longer despising the enemy, defended
themselves with the utmost skill and bravery till darkness brought a cessation of
hostilities. Short was the sleep that night in the. Christian camp. The priests offered up
solemn prayers in the midst of the attentive soldiery for the triumph of the Cross in this
last great struggle, and as soon as morning dawned every one was in readiness for the
affray. The women and children lent their aid, the latter running unconcerned to and fro
while the arrows fell fast around them, bearing water to the thirsty combatants. The saints
were believed to be aiding their efforts, and the army, impressed with this idea,
surmounted difficulties under which a force thrice as numerous, but without their faith,
would have quailed and been defeated. Raymond of Toulouse at last forced his way into
the city by escalade, while at the very same moment Tancred and Robert of Normandy
succeeded in bursting open one of the gates. The Turks flew to repair the mischief, and
Godfrey of Bouillon, seeing the battlements comparatively deserted, let down the
drawbridge of his moveable tower, and sprang forward, followed by all the knights of his
train. In an instant after, the banner of the Cross floated upon the walls of Jerusalem. The
crusaders, raising once more their redoubtable war-cry, rushed on from every side, and
the city was taken. The battle raged in the streets for several hours, and the Christians,
remembering their insulted faith, gave no quarter to young or old, male or female, sick or
strong. Not one of the leaders thought himself at liberty to issue orders for staying the
carnage, and if he had, he would not have been obeyed. The Saracens fled in great
numbers to the mosque of Soliman, but they had not time to fortify themselves within it
ere the Christians were upon them. Ten thousand persons are said to have perished in that
building alone.
Peter the Hermit, who had remained so long under the veil of neglect, was repaid that day
for all his zeal and all his sufferings. As soon as the battle was over, the Christians of
Jerusalem issued forth from their hiding-places to welcome their deliverers. They
instantly recognized the Hermit as the pilgrim who, years before, had spoken to them so
eloquently of the wrongs and insults they had endured, and promised to stir up the princes
and people of Europe in their behalf. They clung to the skirts of his garments in the
fervour of their gratitude, and vowed to remember him for ever in their prayers. Many of
them shed tears about his neck, and attributed the deliverance of Jerusalem solely to his
courage and perseverance. Peter afterwards held some ecclesiastical office in the Holy
City, but what it was, or what was his ultimate fate, history has forgotten to inform us.
Some say that he returned to France and founded a monastery, but the story does not rest
upon sufficient authority.
The grand object for which the popular swarms of Europe had forsaken their homes was
now accomplished. The Moslem mosques of Jerusalem were converted into churches for
a purer faith, and the mount of Calvary and the sepulchre of Christ were profaned no
longer by the presence or the power of the infidel. Popular frenzy had fulfilled its
mission, and, as a natural consequence, it began to subside from that time forth. The news
of the capture of Jerusalem brought numbers of pilgrims from Europe, and, among others,
Stephen Count of Chartres and Hugh of Vermandois, to atone for their desertion; but
nothing like the former enthusiasm existed among the nations.
Thus then ends the history of the first Crusade. For the better understanding of the
second, it will be necessary to describe the interval between them, and to enter into a
slight sketch of the history of Jerusalem under its Latin kings, the long and fruitless wars
they continued to wage with the unvanquished Saracens, and the poor and miserable
results which sprang from so vast an expenditure of zeal, and so deplorable a waste of
human life.
The necessity of having some recognized chief was soon felt by the crusaders, and
Godfrey de Bouillon, less ambitious than Bohemund, or Raymond of Toulouse, gave his
cold consent to wield a sceptre which the latter chiefs would have clutched with
eagerness. He was hardly invested with the royal mantle before the Saracens menaced his
capital. With much vigour and judgment he exerted himself to follow up the advantages
he had gained, and marching out to meet the enemy before they had time to besiege him
in Jerusalem, he gave them battle at Ascalon, and defeated them with great loss. He did
not, however, live long to enjoy his new dignity, being seized with a fatal illness when he
had only reigned nine months. To him succeeded his brother, Baldwin of Edessa. The
latter monarch did much to improve the condition of Jerusalem and to extend its territory,
but was not able to make a firm footing for his successors. For fifty years, in which the
history of Jerusalem is full of interest to the historical student, the crusaders were
exposed to fierce and constant hostilities, often gaining battles and territory, and as often
losing them, but becoming every day weaker and more divided, while the Saracens
became stronger and more united to harass and root them out. The battles of this period
were of the most chivalrous character, and deeds of heroism were done by the handful of
brave knights that remained in Syria, which have hardly their parallel in the annals of
war. In the course of time, however, the Christians could not avoid feeling some respect
for the courage, and admiration for the polished manners and advanced civilization of the
Saracens, so much superior to the rudeness and semi-barbarism of Europe at that day.
Difference of faith did not prevent them from forming alliances with the dark-eyed
maidens of the East. One of the first to set the example of taking a Paynim spouse was
King Baldwin himself, and these connexions in time became, not only frequent, but
almost universal, among such of the knights as had resolved to spend their lives in
Palestine. These Eastern ladies were obliged, however, to submit to the ceremony of
baptism before they could be received to the arms of a Christian lord. These, and their
offspring, naturally looked upon the Saracens with less hatred than did the zealots who
conquered Jerusalem, and who thought it a sin deserving the wrath of God to spare an
unbeliever. We find, in consequence, that the most obstinate battles waged during the
reigns of the later Kings of Jerusalem were fought by the new and raw levies who from
time to time arrived from Europe, lured by the hope of glory, or spurred by fanaticism.
The latter broke without scruple the truces established between the original settlers and
the Saracens, and drew down severe retaliation upon many thousands of their brethren in
the faith, whose prudence was stronger than their zeal, and whose chief desire was to live
in peace.
Things remained in this unsatisfactory state till the close of the year 1145, when Edessa,
the strong frontier town of the Christian kingdom, fell into the bauds of the Saracens. The
latter were commanded by Zenghi, a powerful and enterprising monarch, and, after his
death, by his son Nourheddin, as powerful and enterprising as his father. An unsuccessful
attempt was made by the Count of Edessa to regain the fortress, but Nourheddin, with a
large army, came to the rescue, and after defeating the Count with great slaughter,
marched into Edessa and caused its fortifications to be rased to the ground, that the town
might never more be a bulwark of defence for the kingdom of Jerusalem. The road to the
capital was now open, and consternation seized the hearts of the Christians. Nourheddin,
it was known, was only waiting for a favourable opportunity to advance upon Jerusalem,
and the armies of the Cross, weakened and divided, were not in a condition to make any
available resistance. The clergy were filled with grief and alarm, and wrote repeated
letters to the Pope and the sovereigns of Europe, urging the expediency of a new Crusade
for the relief of Jerusalem. By far the greater number of the priests of Palestine were
natives of France, and these naturally looked first to their own country. The solicitations
they sent to Louis the Seventh were urgent and oft repeated, and the chivalry of France
began to talk once more of arming in the defence of the birthplace of Jesus. The kings of
Europe, whose interest it had not been to take any part in the first Crusade, began to
bestir themselves in this; and a man appeared, eloquent as Peter the Hermit, to arouse the
people as he had done.
We find, however, that the enthusiasm of the second did not equal that of the first
Crusade: in fact, the mania had reached its climax in the time of Peter the Hermit, and
decreased regularly from that period. The third Crusade was less general than the second,
and the fourth than the third, and so on, until the public enthusiasm was quite extinct, and
Jerusalem returned at last to the dominion of its old masters without a convulsion in
Christendom. Various reasons have been assigned for this; and one very generally put
forward is, that Europe was wearied with continued struggles, and had become sick of
"precipitating itself upon Asia." M. Guizot, in his admirable lectures upon European
civilization, successfully combats this opinion, and offers one of his own, which is far
more satisfactory. He says, in his eighth lecture, "It has been often repeated, that Europe
was tired of continually invading Asia. This expression appears to me exceedingly
incorrect. It is not possible that human beings can be wearied with what they have not
done -- that the labours of their forefathers can fatigue them. Weariness is a personal, not
an inherited feeling. The men of the thirteenth century were not fatigued by the Crusades
of the twelfth. They were influenced by another cause. A great change had taken place in
ideas, sentiments, and social conditions. The same desires and the same wants were no
longer felt. The same things were no longer believed. The people refused to believe what
their ancestors were persuaded of."
This is, in fact, the secret of the change; and its truth becomes more apparent as we
advance in the history of the Crusades, and compare the state of the public mind at the
different periods when Godfrey of Bouillon, Louis VII. and Richard I. were chiefs and
leaders of the movement. The Crusades themselves were the means of operating a great
change in national ideas, and advancing the civilization of Europe. In the time of
Godfrey, the nobles were all-powerful and all-oppressive, and equally obnoxious to kings
and people. During their absence along with that portion of the community the deepest
sunk in ignorance and superstition, both kings and people fortified themselves against the
renewal of aristocratic tyranny, and in proportion as they became free, became civliized.
It was during this period that in France, the grand centre of the crusading madness, the
communes began to acquire strength, and the monarch to possess a tangible and not a
merely theoretic authority. Order and comfort began to take root, and, when the second
Crusade was preached, men were in consequence much less willing to abandon their
homes than they had been during the first. Such pilgrims as had returned from the Holy
Land came back with minds more liberal and expanded than when they set out. They had
come in contact with a people more civilized than themselves; they had seen something
more of the world, and had lost some portion, however small, of the prejudice and bigotry
of ignorance. The institution of chivalry had also exercised its humanizing influence, and
coming bright and fresh through the ordeal of the Crusades, had softened the character
and improved the hearts of the aristocratic order. The Trouveres and Troubadours,
singing of love and war in strains pleasing to every class of society, helped to root out the
gloomy superstitions which, at the first Crusade, filled the minds of all those who were
able to think. Men became in consequence less exclusively under the mental thraldom of
the priesthood, and lost much of the credulity which formerly distinguished them.
The Crusades appear never to have excited so much attention in England as on the
continent of Europe; not because the people were less fanatical than their neighbours, but
because they were occupied in matters of graver interest. The English were suffering too
severely from the recent successful invasion of their soil, to have much sympathy to
bestow upon the distresses of people so far away as the Christians of Palestine; and we
find that they took no part in the first Crusade, and very little in the second. Even then
those who engaged in it were chiefly Norman knights and their vassals, and not the Saxon
franklins and population, who no doubt thought, in their sorrow, as many wise men have
thought since, that charity should begin at home.
Germany was productive of more zeal in the cause, and her raw, uncivilized hordes
continued to issue forth under the banners of the Cross in numbers apparently
undiminished, when the enthusiasm had long been on the wane in other countries. They
were sunk at that time in a deeper slough of barbarism than the livelier nations around
them, and took, in consequence, a longer period to free themselves from their prejudices.
In fact, the second Crusade drew its chief supplies of men from that quarter, where alone
the expedition can be said to have retained any portion of popularity.
Such was the state of the mind of Europe when Pope Eugenius, moved by the reiterated
entreaties of the Christians of Syria, commissioned St. Bernard to preach a new crusade.
St. Bernard was a man eminently qualified for the mission. He was endowed with an
eloquence of the highest order, could move an auditory to tears, or laughter, or fury, as it
pleased him, and had led a life of such rigid and self-denying virtue, that not even
calumny could lift her finger and point it at him. He had renounced high prospects in the
church, and contented himself with the simple abbacy of Clairvaux, in order that he might
have the leisure he desired, to raise his powerful voice against abuses wherever he found
them. Vice met in him an austere and uncompromising reprover; no man was too high for
his reproach, and none too low for his sympathy. He was just as well suited for his age as
Peter the Hermit had been for the age preceding. He appealed more to the reason, his
predecessor to the passions; Peter the Hermit collected a mob, while St. Bernard collected
an army. Both were endowed with equal zeal and perseverance, springing, in the one,
from impulse, and in the other from conviction, and a desire to increase the influence of
the church, that great body of which he was a pillar and an ornament.
One of the first converts he made was in himself a host. Louis VII. was both superstitious
and tyrannical, and, in a fit of remorse for the infamous slaughter he had authorised at the
sacking of Vitry, he made a vow to undertake the journey to the Holy Land. [The sacking
of Vitry reflects indelible disgrace upon Louis VII. His predecessors had been long
engaged in resistance to the outrageous powers assumed by the Popes, and Louis
continued the same policy. The ecclesiastical chapter of Bourges, having elected an
Archbishop without his consent, he proclaimed the election to be invalid, and took severe
and prompt measures against the refractory clergy. Thibault, Count de Champagne, took
up arms in defence of the Papal authority, and intrenched himself in the town of Vitry.
Louis was immediately in the field to chastise the rebel, and he besieged the town with so
much vigour, that the Count was forced to surrender. Upwards of thirteen hundred of the
inhabitants, fully one half of whom were women and children, took refuge in the church;
and, when the gates of the city were opened, and all resistance had ceased, Louis
inhumanly gave orders to set fire to the church, and a thousand persons perished in the
flames.] He was in this disposition when St. Bernard began to preach, and wanted but
little persuasion to embark in the cause. His example had great influence upon the
nobility, who, impoverished as many of them were by the sacrifices made by their fathers
in the holy wars, were anxious to repair their ruined fortunes by conquests on a foreign
shore. These took the field with such vassals as they could command, and, in a very short
time, an army was raised amounting to two hundred thousand men. At Vezelai the
monarch received the cross from the hands of St. Bernard, on a platform elevated in sight
of all the people. Several nobles, three bishops, and his Queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine,
were present at this ceremony, and enrolled themselves under the banners of the Cross,
St. Bernard cutting up his red sacerdotal vestments, and making crosses of them, to be
sewn on the shoulders of the people. An exhortation from the Pope was read to the
multitude, granting remission of their sins to all who should join the Crusade, and
directing that no man on that holy pilgrimage should encumber himself with heavy
baggage and vain superfluities, and that the nobles should not travel with dogs or falcons,
to lead them from the direct road, as had happened to so many during the first Crusade.
The command of the army was offered to St. Bernard; but he wisely refused to accept a
station for which his habits had unqualified him. After consecrating Louis with great
solemnity, at St. Denis, as chief of the expedition, he continued his course through the
country, stirring up the people wherever he went. So high an opinion was entertained of
his sanctity, that he was thought to be animated by the spirit of prophecy, and to be gifted
with the power of working miracles. Many women, excited by his eloquence, and
encouraged by his predictions, forsook their husbands and children, and, clothing
themselves in male attire, hastened to the war. St. Bernard himself wrote a letter to the
Pope, detailing his success, and stating, that in several towns there did not remain a single
male inhabitant capable of bearing arms, and that everywhere castles and towns were to
be seen filled with women weeping for their absent husbands. But in spite of this
apparent enthusiasm, the numbers who really took up arms were inconsiderable, and not
to be compared to the swarms of the first Crusade. A levy of no more than two hundred
thousand men, which was the utmost the number amounted to, could hardly have
depopulated a country like France to the extent mentioned by St. Bernard. His description
of the state of the country appears, therefore, to have been much more poetical than true.
Suger, the able minister of Louis, endeavoured to dissuade him from undertaking so long
a journey at a time when his own dominions so much needed his presence. But the king
was pricked in his conscience by the cruelties of Vitry, and was anxious to make the only
reparation which the religion of that day considered sufficient. He was desirous moreover
of testifying to the world, that though he could brave the temporal power of the church
when it encroached upon his prerogatives, he could render all due obedience to its
spiritual decrees whenever it suited his interest or tallied with his prejudices to so do.
Suger, therefore, implored in vain, and Louis received the pilgrim's staff at St. Denis, and
made all preparations for his pilgrimage.
In the mean time St. Bernard passed into Germany, where similar success attended his
preaching. The renown of his sanctity had gone before him, and he found everywhere an
admiring audience. Thousands of people, who could not understand a word he said,
flocked around him to catch a glimpse of so holy a man; and the knights enrolled
themselves in great numbers in the service of the Cross, each receiving from his hands
the symbol of the cause. But the people were not led away as in the days of Gottschalk.
We do not find that they rose in such tremendous masses of two and three hundred
thousand men, swarming over the country like a plague of locusts. Still the enthusiasm
was very great. The extraordinary tales that were told and believed of the miracles
worked by the preacher brought the country people from far and near. Devils were said to
vanish at his sight, and diseases of the most malignant nature to be cured by his touch.
[Philip, Archdeacon of the cathedral of Liege, wrote a detailed account of all the miracles
performed by St. Bernard during thirty-four days of his mission. They averaged about ten
per day. The disciples of St. Bernard complained bitterly that the people flocked around
their master in such numbers, that they could not see half the miracles he performed. But
they willingly trusted the eyes of others, as far as faith in the miracles went, and seemed
to vie with each other whose credulity should be greatest.] The Emperor Conrad caught at
last the contagion from his subjects, and declared his intention to follow the Cross.
The preparations were carried on so vigorously under the orders of Conrad, that in less
than three months he found himself at the head of an army containing at least one
hundred and fifty thousand effective men, besides a great number of women who
followed their husbands and lovers to the war. One troop of them rode in the attitude and
armour of men: their chief wore gilt spurs and buskins, and thence acquired the epithet of
the golden-footed lady. Conrad was ready to set out long before the French Monarch, and
in the month of June 1147, he arrived before Constantinople, having passed through
Hungary and Bulgaria without offence to the inhabitants.
Manuel Comnenus, the Greek Emperor, successor not only to the throne, but to the policy
of Alexius, looked with alarm upon the new levies who had come to eat up his capital and
imperil its tranquillity. Too weak to refuse them a passage through his dominions, too
distrustful of them to make them welcome when they came, and too little assured of the
advantages likely to result to himself from the war, to feign a friendship which he did not
feel, the Greek Emperor gave offence at the very outset. His subjects, in the pride of
superior civilization, called the Germans barbarians, while the latter, who, if semibarbarous, were at least honest and straight-forward, retorted upon the Greeks by calling
them double-faced knaves and traitors. Disputes continually arose between them, and
Conrad, who had preserved so much good order among his followers during their
passage, was unable to restrain their indignation when they arrived at Constantinople. For
some offence or other which the Greeks had given them, but which is rather hinted at
than stated by the scanty historians of the day, the Germans broke into the magnificent
pleasure garden of the Emperor, where he had a valuable collection of tame animals, for
which the grounds had been laid out in woods, caverns, groves, and streams, that each
might follow in captivity his natural habits. The enraged Germans, meriting the name of
barbarians that had been bestowed upon them, laid waste this pleasant retreat, and killed
or let loose the valuable animals it contained. Manuel, who is said to have beheld the
devastation from his palace windows without power or courage to prevent it, was
completely disgusted with his guests, and resolved, like his predecessor Alexius, to get
rid of them on the first opportunity. He sent a message to Conrad respectfully desiring an
interview, but the German refused to trust himself within the walls of Constantinople.
The Greek Emperor, on his part, thought it compatible neither with his dignity nor his
safety to seek the German, and several days were spent in insincere negotiations. Manuel
at length agreed to furnish the crusading army with guides to conduct it through Asia
Minor; and Conrad passed over the Hellespont with his forces, the advanced guard being
commanded by himself, and the rear by the warlike Bishop of Freysinghen.
Historians are almost unanimous in their belief that the wily Greek gave instructions to
his guides to lead the army of the German Emperor into dangers and difficulties. It is
certain, that instead of guiding them through such districts of Asia Minor as afforded
water and provisions, they led them into the wilds of Cappadocia, where neither was to
be procured, and where they were suddenly attacked by the Sultaun of the Seljukian
Turks, at the head of an immense force. The guides, whose treachery is apparent from
this fact alone, fled at the first sight of the Turkish army, and the Christians were left to
wage unequal warfare with their enemy, entangled and bewildered in desert wilds.
Toiling in their heavy mail, the Germans could make but little effective resistance to the
attacks of the Turkish light horse, who were down upon them one instant, and out of sight
the next. Now in the front and now in the rear, the agile foe showered his arrows upon
them, enticing them into swamps and hollows, from which they could only extricate
themselves after long struggles and great losses. The Germans, confounded by this mode
of warfare, lost all conception of the direction they were pursuing, and went back instead
of forward. Suffering at the same time for want of provisions, they fell an easy prey to
their pursuers. Count Bernhard, one of the bravest leaders of the German expedition, was
surrounded, with his whole division, not one of whom escaped the Turkish arrows. The
Emperor himself had nearly fallen a victim, and was twice severely wounded. So
persevering was the enemy, and so little able were the Germans to make even a show of
resistance, that when Conrad at last reached the city of Nice, he found that, instead of
being at the head of an imposing force of one hundred thousand foot and seventy
thousand horse, he had but fifty or sixty thousand men, and these in the most worn and
wearied condition.
Totally ignorant of the treachery of the Greek Emperor, although he had been warned to
beware of it, Louis VII. proceeded, at the head of his army, through Worms and Ratisbon,
towards Constantinople. At Ratisbon he was met by a deputation from Manuel, bearing
letters so full of hyperbole and flattery, that Louis is reported to have blushed when they
were read to him by the Bishop of Langres. The object of the deputation was to obtain
from the French King a promise to pass through the Grecian territories in a peaceable and
friendly manner, and to yield to the Greek Emperor any conquest he might make in Asia
Minor. The first part of the proposition was immediately acceded to, but no notice was
taken of the second and more unreasonable. Louis marched on, and, passing through
Hungary, pitched his tents in the outskirts of Constantinople.
On his arrival, Manuel sent him a friendly invitation to enter the city, at the head of a
small train. Louis at once accepted it, and was met by the Emperor at the porch of his
palace. The fairest promises were made; every art that flattery could suggest was resorted
to, and every argument employed, to induce him to yield his future conquests to the
Greek. Louis obstinately refused to pledge himself, and returned to his army, convinced
that the Emperor was a man not to be trusted. Negotiations were, however, continued for
several days, to the great dissatisfaction of the French army. The news that arrived of a
treaty entered into between Manuel and the Turkish Sultan changed their dissatisfaction
into fury, and the leaders demanded to be led against Constantinople, swearing that they
would raze the treacherous city to the ground. Louis did not feel inclined to accede to this
proposal, and, breaking up his camp, he crossed over into Asia.
Here he heard, for the first time, of the mishaps of the German Emperor, whom he found
in a woeful plight under the walls of Nice. The two monarchs united their forces, and
marched together along the sea-coast to Ephesus; but Conrad, jealous, it would appear, of
the superior numbers of the French, and not liking to sink into a vassal, for the time
being, of his rival, withdrew abruptly with the remnant of his legions, and returned to
Constantinople. Manuel was all smiles and courtesy. He condoled with the German so
feelingly upon his losses, and cursed the stupidity or treachery of the guides with such
apparent heartiness, that Conrad was half inclined to believe in his sincerity.
Louis, marching onward in the direction of Jerusalem, came up with the enemy on the
banks of the Meander. The Turks contested the passage of the river, but the French bribed
a peasant to point out a ford lower down: crossing the river without difficulty, they
attacked the Turks with much vigour, and put them to flight. Whether the Turks were
really defeated, or merely pretended to be so, is doubtful; but the latter supposition seems
to be the true one. It is probable that it was part of a concerted plan to draw the invaders
onwards to more unfavourable ground, where their destruction might be more certain. If
such were the scheme, it succeeded to the heart's wish of its projectors. The crusaders, on
the third day after their victory, arrived at a steep mountain-pass, on the summit of which
the Turkish host lay concealed so artfully, that not the slightest vestige of their presence
could be perceived. "With labouring steps and slow," they toiled up the steep ascent,
when suddenly a tremendous fragment of rock came bounding down the precipices with
an awful crash, bearing dismay and death before it. At the same instant the Turkish
archers started from their hiding-places, and discharged a shower of arrows upon the foot
soldiers, who fell by hundreds at a time. The arrows rebounded harmlessly against the
iron mail of the knights, which the Turks observing, took aim at their steeds, and horse
and rider fell down the steep into the rapid torrent which rushed below. Louis, who
commanded the rear-guard, received the first intimation of the onslaught from the sight of
his wounded and flying soldiers, and, not knowing the numbers of the enemy, he pushed
vigorously forward to stay, by his presence, the panic which had taken possession of his
army. All his efforts were in vain. Immense stones continued to be hurled upon them as
they advanced, bearing men and horse before them; and those who succeeded in forcing
their way to the top, were met hand-to-hand by the Turks, and cast down headlong upon
their companions. Louis himself fought with the energy of desperation, but had great
difficulty to avoid falling into the enemy's hands. He escaped at last under cover of the
night, with the remnant of his forces, and took up his position before Attalia. Here he
restored the discipline and the courage of his disorganized and disheartened followers,
and debated with his captains the plan that was to be pursued. After suffering severely
both from disease and famine, it was resolved that they should march to Antioch, which
still remained an independent principality under the successors of Bohemund of
Tarentum. At this time the sovereignty was vested in the person of Raymond, the uncle of
Eleanor of Aquitaine. This Prince, presuming upon his relationship to the French Queen,
endeavoured to withdraw Louis from the grand object of the Crusade -- the defence of the
kingdom of Jerusalem, and secure his co-operation in extending the limits and the power
of his principality of Antioch. The Prince of Tripoli formed a similar design, but Louis
rejected the offers of both, and marched after a short delay to Jerusalem. The Emperor
Conrad was there before him, having left Constantinople with promises of assistance
from Manuel Comnenus; assistance which never arrived, and was never intended.
A great council of the Christian princes of Palestine and the leaders of the Crusade was
then summoned, to discuss the future operations of the war. It was ultimately determined
that it would further the cause of the Cross in a greater degree if the united armies,
instead of proceeding to Edessa, laid siege to the city of Damascus, and drove the
Saracens from that strong position. This was a bold scheme, and, had it been boldly
followed out, would have insured, in all probability, the success of the war. But the
Christian leaders never learned from experience the necessity of union, that very soul of
great enterprises. Though they all agreed upon the policy of the plan, yet every one had
his own notions as to the means of executing it. The Princes of Antioch and Tripoli were
jealous of each other, and of the King of Jerusalem. The Emperor Conrad was jealous of
the King of France, and the King of France was disgusted with them all. But he had come
out to Palestine in accordance with a solemn vow; his religion, though it may be called
bigotry, was sincere; and he determined to remain to the very last moment that a chance
was left, of effecting any good for the cause he had set his heart on.
The siege of Damascus was accordingly commenced, and with so much ability and
vigour that the Christians gained a considerable advantage at the very outset. For weeks
the siege was pressed, till the shattered fortifications and diminishing resistance of the
besieged gave evidence that the city could not hold out much longer. At that moment the
insane jealousy of the leaders led to dissensions that soon caused the utter failure, not
only of the siege, but of the Crusade. A modern cookery-book, in giving a recipe for
cooking a hare, says, "first catch your hare, and then kill it;" a maxim of indisputable
wisdom. The Christian chiefs on this occasion had not so much sagacity, for they began a
violent dispute among themselves for the possession of a city which was still
unconquered. There being already a Prince of Antioch and a Prince of Tripoli, twenty
claimants started for the principality of Damascus, and a grand council of the leaders was
held to determine the individual on whom the honour should devolve. Many valuable
days were wasted in this discussion, the enemy in the mean while gaining strength from
their inactivity. It was at length, after a stormy deliberation, agreed that Count Robert of
Flanders, who had twice visited the Holy Land, should be invested with the dignity. The
other claimants refused to recognise him, or to co-operate in the siege, until a more
equitable arrangement had been made. Suspicion filled the camp; the most sinister
rumours of intrigues and treachery were set afloat; and the discontented candidates
withdrew at last to the other side of the city, and commenced operations on their own
account, without a probability of success. They were soon joined by the rest of the army.
The consequence was that the weakest side of the city, and that on which they had
already made considerable progress in the work of demolition, was left uncovered. The
enemy was prompt to profit by the mistake, and received an abundant supply of
provisions, and refortified the walls, before the crusaders came to their senses again.
When this desirable event happened, it was too late. Saph Eddin, the powerful Emir of
Mousoul, was in the neighbourhood, at the head of a large army, advancing by forced
marches to the relief of the city. The siege was abruptly abandoned, and the foolish
crusaders returned to Jerusalem, having done nothing to weaken the enemy, but every
thing to weaken themselves.
The freshness of enthusiasm had now completely subsided; -- even the meanest soldiers
were sick at heart. Conrad, from whose fierce zeal at the outset so much might have been
expected, was wearied with reverses, and returned to Europe with the poor remnant of his
host. Louis lingered a short time longer, for very shame, but the pressing solicitations of
his minister Suger induced him to return to France. Thus ended the second Crusade. Its
history is but a chronicle of defeats. It left the kingdom of Jerusalem in a worse state than
when it quitted Europe, and gained nothing but disgrace for its leaders and
discouragement for all concerned.
St. Bernard, who had prophesied a result so different, fell after this into some disrepute,
and experienced, like many other prophets, the fate of being without honour in his own
country. What made the matter worse, he could not obtain it in any other. Still, however,
there were not wanting zealous advocates to stand forward in his behalf, and stem the tide
of incredulity, which, unopposed, would have carried away his reputation. The Bishop of
Freysinghen declared that prophets were not always able to prophesy, and that the vices
of the crusaders drew down the wrath of Heaven upon them. But the most ingenious
excuse ever made for St. Bernard is to be found in his life by Geoffroi de Clairvaux,
where he pertinaciously insists that the Crusade was not unfortunate. St. Bernard, he says,
had prophesied a happy result, and that result could not be considered other than happy
which had peopled heaven with so glorious an army of martyrs. Geoffroi was a cunning
pleader, and, no doubt, convinced a few of the zealous; but plain people, who were not
wanting even in those days, retained their own opinion, or, what amounts to the same
thing, "were convinced against their will."
We now come to the consideration of the third Crusade, and of the causes which rendered
it necessary. The epidemic frenzy, which had been cooling ever since the issue of the first
expedition, was now extinct, or very nearly so, and the nations of Europe looked with
cold indifference upon the armaments of their princes. But chivalry had flourished in its
natural element of war, and was now in all its glory. It continued to supply armies for the
Holy Land when the popular ranks refused to deliver up their able-bodied swarms.
Poetry, which, more than religion, inspired the third Crusade, was then but "caviare to the
million," who had other matters, of sterner import, to claim all their attention. But the
knights and their retainers listened with delight to the martial and amatory strains of the
minstrels, minnesangers, trouveres, and troubadours, and burned to win favour in ladies'
eyes by showing prowess in Holy Land. The third was truly the romantic era of the
Crusades. Men fought then, not so much for the sepulchre of Jesus, and the maintenance
of a Christian kingdom in the East, as to gain glory for themselves in the best, and almost
only field, where glory could be obtained. They fought, not as zealots, but as soldiers; not
for religion, but for honour; not for the crown of martyrdom, but for the favour of the
lovely.
It is not necessary to enter into a detail of the events by which Saladin attained the
sovereignty of the East, or how, after a succession of engagements, he planted the
Moslem banner once more upon the battlements of Jerusalem. The Christian knights and
population, including the grand orders of St. John, the Hospitallers, and the Templars,
were sunk in an abyss of vice, and torn by unworthy jealousies and dissensions, were
unable to resist the well-trained armies which the wise and mighty Saladin brought
forward to crush them. But the news of their fall created a painful sensation among the
chivalry of Europe, whose noblest members were linked to the dwellers in Palestine by
many ties, both of blood and friendship. The news of the great battle of Tiberias, in which
Saladin defeated the Christian host with terrible slaughter, arrived first in Europe, and
was followed in quick succession by that of the capture of Jerusalem, Antioch, Tripoli,
and other cities. Dismay seized upon the clergy. The Pope (Urban III.) was so affected by
the news that he pined away for grief, and was scarcely seen to smile again, until he sank
into the sleep of death. [James of Vitry -- William de Nangis.] His successor, Gregory
VIII. felt the loss as acutely, but had better strength to bear it, and instructed all the clergy
of the Christian world to stir up the people to arms for the recovery of the Holy
Sepulchre. William, Archbishop of Tyre, a humble follower in the path of Peter the
Hermit, left Palestine to preach to the Kings of Europe the miseries he had witnessed, and
to incite them to the rescue. The renowned Frederick Barbarossa, the Emperor of
Germany, speedily collected an army, and passing over into Syria with less delay than
had ever before awaited a crusading force, defeated the Saracens, and took possession of
the city of Iconium. He was unfortunately cut off in the middle of his successful career,
by imprudently bathing in the Cydnus [The desire of comparing two great men has
tempted many writers to drown Frederick in the river Cydnus, in which Alexander so
imprudently bathed (Q. Curt. lib. iii. c. 4, 5.): but, from the march of the Emperor, I rather
judge that his Saleph is the Calycadnus, a stream of less fame, but of a longer course. -Gibbon] while he was overheated, and the Duke of Suabia took the command of the
expedition. The latter did not prove so able a general, and met with nothing but reverses,
although he was enabled to maintain a footing at Antioch until assistance arrived from
Europe.
Henry II. of England and Philip Augustus of France, at the head of their chivalry,
supported the Crusade with all their influence, until wars and dissensions nearer home
estranged them from it for a time. The two kings met at Gisors in Normandy in the month
of January 1188, accompanied by a brilliant train of knights and warriors. William of
Tyre was present, and expounded the cause of the Cross with considerable eloquence,
and the whole assembly bound themselves by oath to proceed to Jerusalem. It was agreed
at the same time that a tax, called Saladin's tithe, and consisting of the tenth part of all
possessions, whether landed or personal, should be enforced over Christendom, upon
every one who was either unable or unwilling to assume the Cross. The lord of every
feof, whether lay or ecclesiastical, was charged to raise the tithe within his own
jurisdiction; and any one who refused to pay his quota, became by that act the bondsman
and absolute property of his lord. At the same time the greatest indulgence was shown to
those who assumed the Cross; no man was at liberty to stay them by process of any kind,
whether for debt, or robbery, or murder. The King of France, at the breaking up of the
conference, summoned a parliament at Paris, where these resolutions were solemnly
confirmed, while Henry II. did the same for his Norman possessions at Rouen, and for
England at Geddington, in Northamptonshire. To use the words of an ancient chronicler,
[Stowe.] "he held a parliament about the voyage into the Holy Land, and troubled the
whole land with the paying of tithes towards it."
But it was not England only that was "troubled" by the tax. The people of France also
looked upon it with no pleasant feelings, and appear from that time forth to have changed
their indifference for the Crusade into aversion. Even the clergy, who were exceedingly
willing that other people should contribute half, or even all their goods in furtherance of
their favourite scheme, were not at all anxious to contribute a single sous themselves.
Millot ["Elemens de l'Histoire de France."] relates that several of them cried out against
the impost. Among the rest the clergy of Rheims were called upon to pay their quota, but
sent a deputation to the King, begging him to be contented with the aid of their prayers,
as they were too poor to contribute in any other shape. Philip Augustus knew better, and
by way of giving them a lesson, employed three nobles of the vicinity to lay waste the
church lands. The clergy, informed of the outrage, applied to the King for redress. "I will
aid you with my prayers," said the Monarch condescendingly," and will intreat those
gentlemen to let the church alone." He did as he had promised, but in such a manner, that
the nobles, who appreciated the joke, continued their devastations as before. Again the
clergy applied to the King. "What would you have of me?" he replied, in answer to their
remonstrances: "You gave me your prayers in my necessity, and I have given you mine in
yours." The clergy understood the argument, and thought it the wiser course to pay their
quota of Saladin's tithe without further parley.
This anecdote shows the unpopularity of the Crusade. If the clergy disliked to contribute,
it is no wonder that the people felt still greater antipathy. But the chivalry of Europe was
eager for the affray: the tithe was rigorously collected, and armies from England, France,
Burgundy, Italy, Flanders, and Germany, were soon in the field; The two kings who were
to have led it, were, however, drawn into broils by an aggression of Richard; Duke of
Guienne, better known as Richard Coeur de Lion, upon the territory of the Count of
Toulouse, and the proposed journey to Palestine was delayed. War continued to rage
between France and England, and with so little probability of a speedy termination, that
many of the nobles, bound to the Crusade, left the two Monarchs to settle their
differences at their leisure, and proceeded to Palestine without them.
Death at last stepped in and removed Henry II. from the hostility of his foes, and the
treachery and ingratitude of his children. His son Richard immediately concluded an
alliance with Philip Augustus, and the two young, valiant, and impetuous Monarchs,
united all their energies to forward the Crusade. They met with a numerous and brilliant
retinue at Nonancourt in Normandy, where, in sight of their assembled chivalry, they
embraced as brothers, and swore to live as friends and true allies, until a period of forty
days after their return from the Holy Land. With a view of purging their camp from the
follies and vices which had proved so ruinous to preceding expeditions, they drew up a
code of laws for the government of the army. Gambling had been carried to a great
extent, and had proved the fruitful source of quarrels and bloodshed, and one of their
laws prohibited any person in the army, beneath the degree of a knight, from playing at
any game for money. [Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes."] Knights and clergymen might play
for money, but no one was permitted to lose or gain more than twenty shillings in a day,
under a penalty of one hundred shillings. The personal attendants of the Monarchs were
also allowed to play to the same extent. The penalty in their case for infraction was that
they should be whipped naked through the army for the space of three days. Any
crusader, who struck another and drew blood, was ordered to have his hand cut off; and
whoever slew a brother crusader was condemned to be tied alive to the corpse of his
victim and buried with him. No young women were allowed to follow the army, to the
great sorrow of many vicious and of many virtuous dames, who had not courage to elude
the decree by dressing in male attire. But many high-minded and affectionate maidens
and matrons, bearing the sword or the spear, followed their husbands and lovers to the
war in spite of King Richard, and in defiance of danger. The only women allowed to
accompany the army in their own habiliments, were washerwomen, of fifty years
complete, and any others of the fair sex who had reached the same age.
These rules having been promulgated, the two monarchs marched together to Lyons,
where they separated, agreeing to meet again at Messina. Philip proceeded across the
Alps to Genoa, where he took ship, and was conveyed in safety to the place of
rendezvous. Richard turned in the direction of Marseilles, where he also took ship for
Messina. His impetuous disposition hurried him into many squabbles by the way, and his
knights and followers, for the most part as brave and as foolish as himself, imitated him
very zealously in this particular. At Messina the Sicilians charged the most exorbitant
prices for every necessary of life. Richard's army in vain remonstrated. From words they
came to blows, and, as a last resource, plundered the Sicilians, since they could not trade
with them. Continual battles were the consequence, in one of which Lebrun, the favourite
attendant of Richard, lost his life. The peasantry from far and near came flocking to the
aid of the townspeople, and the battle soon became general. Richard, irritated at the loss
of his favourite, and incited by a report that Tancred, the King of Sicily, was fighting at
the head of his own people, joined the melee with his boldest knights, and, beating back
the Sicilians, attacked the city, sword in hand, stormed the battlements, tore down the flag
of Sicily, and planted his own in its stead. This collision gave great offence to the King of
France, who became from that time jealous of Richard, and apprehensive that his design
was not so much to re-establish the Christian Kingdom of Jerusalem, as to make
conquests for himself. He, however, exerted his influence to restore peace between the
English and Sicilians, and shortly afterwards set sail for Acre, with distrust of his ally
germinating in his heart.
Richard remained behind for some weeks, in a state of inactivity quite unaccountable in
one of his temperament. He appears to have had no more squabbles with the Sicilians, but
to have lived an easy luxurious life, forgetting, in the lap of pleasure, the objects for
which he had quitted his own dominions and the dangerous laxity he was introducing into
his army. The superstition of his soldiers recalled him at length to a sense of his duty: a
comet was seen for several successive nights, which was thought to menace them with
the vengeance of Heaven for their delay. Shooting stars gave them similar warning; and a
fanatic, of the name of Joachim, with his drawn sword in his hand, and his long hair
streaming wildly over his shoulders, went through the camp, howling all night long, and
predicting plague, famine, and every other calamity, if they did not set out immediately.
Richard did not deem it prudent to neglect the intimations; and, after doing humble
penance for his remissness, he set sail for Acre.
A violent storm dispersed his fleet, but he arrived safely at Rhodes with the principal part
of the armament. Here he learned that three of his ships had been stranded on the rocky
coasts of Cyprus, and that the ruler of the island, Isaac Comnenus, had permitted his
people to pillage the unfortunate crews, and had refused shelter to his betrothed bride, the
Princess Berengaria, and his sister, who, in one of the vessels, had been driven by stress
of weather into the port of Limisso. The fiery monarch swore to be revenged, and,
collecting all his vessels, sailed back to Limisso. Isaac Comnenus refused to apologize or
explain, and Richard, in no mood to be trifled with, landed on the island, routed with
great loss the forces sent to oppose him, and laid the whole country under contribution.
On his arrival at Acre, he found the whole of the chivalry of Europe there before him.
Guy of Lusignan, the King of Jerusalem, had long before collected the bold Knights of
the Temple, the Hospital, and St. John, and had laid siege to Acre, which was resolutely
defended by the Sultan Saladin, with an army magnificent both for its numbers and its
discipline. For nearly two years the crusaders had pushed the siege, and made efforts
almost superhuman to dislodge the enemy. Various battles had taken place in the open
fields with no decisive advantage to either party, and Guy of Lusignan had begun to
despair of taking that strong position without aid from Europe. His joy was extreme on
the arrival of Philip with all his chivalry, and he only awaited the coming of Coeur de
Lion to make one last decisive attack upon the town. When the fleet of England was first
seen approaching the shores of Syria, a universal shout arose from the Christian camp;
and when Richard landed with his train, one louder still pierced to the very mountains of
the south, where Saladin lay with all his army.
It may be remarked as characteristic of this Crusade, that the Christians and the Moslems
no longer looked upon each other as barbarians, to whom mercy was a crime. Each host
entertained the highest admiration for the bravery and magnanimity of the other, and in
their occasional truces met upon the most friendly terms. The Moslem warriors were full
of courtesy to the Christian knights, and had no other regret than to think that such fine
fellows were not Mahomedans. The Christians, with a feeling precisely similar, extolled
to the skies the nobleness of the Saracens, and sighed to think that such generosity and
valour should be sullied by disbelief in the Gospel of Jesus. But when the strife began, all
these feelings disappeared, and the struggle became mortal.
The jealousy excited in the mind of Philip by the events of Messina still rankled, and the
two monarchs refused to act in concert. Instead of making a joint attack upon the town,
the French monarch assailed it alone, and was repulsed. Richard did the same, and with
the same result. Philip tried to seduce the soldiers of Richard from their allegiance by the
offer of three gold pieces per month to every knight who would forsake the banners of
England for those of France. Richard met the bribe by another, and promised four pieces
to every French knight who should join the Lion of England. In this unworthy rivalry
their time was wasted, to the great detriment of the discipline and efficiency of their
followers. Some good was nevertheless effected; for the mere presence of two such
armies prevented the besieged city from receiving supplies, and the inhabitants were
reduced by famine to the most woeful straits. Saladin did not deem it prudent to risk a
general engagement by coming to their relief, but preferred to wait till dissension had
weakened his enemy, and made him an easy prey. Perhaps if he had been aware of the
real extent of the extremity in Acre, he would have changed his plan; but, cut off from the
town, he did not know their misery till it was too late. After a short truce the city
capitulated upon terms so severe that Saladin afterwards refused to ratify them. The chief
conditions were, that the precious wood of the true cross, captured by the Moslems in
Jerusalem, should be restored; that a sum of two hundred thousand gold pieces should be
paid; and that all the Christian prisoners in Acre should be released, together with two
hundred knights and a thousand soldiers, detained in captivity by Saladin. The eastern
monarch, as may be well conceived, did not set much store on the wood of the cross, but
was nevertheless anxious to keep it, as he knew its possession by the Christians would do
more than a victory to restore their courage. He refused, therefore, to deliver it up, or to
accede to any of the conditions; and Richard, as he had previously threatened,
barbarously ordered all the Saracen prisoners in his power to be put to death.
The possession of the city only caused new and unhappy dissensions between the
Christian leaders. The Archduke of Austria unjustifiably hoisted his flag on one of the
towers of Acre, which Richard no sooner saw than he tore it down with his own hands,
and trampled it under his feet. Philip, though he did not sympathise with the Archduke,
was piqued at the assumption of Richard, and the breach between the two monarchs
became wider than ever. A foolish dispute arose at the same time between Guy of
Lusignan and Conrad of Montferrat for the crown of Jerusalem. The inferior knights were
not slow to imitate the pernicious example, and jealousy, distrust, and ill-will reigned in
the Christian camp. In the midst of this confusion the King of France suddenly
announced his intention to return to his own country. Richard was filled with indignation,
and exclaimed, "Eternal shame light on him, and on all France, if, for any cause, he leave
this work unfinished!" But Philip was not to be stayed. His health had suffered by his
residence in the East, and, ambitious of playing a first part, he preferred to play none at
all, than to play second to King Richard. Leaving a small detachment of Burgundians
behind, he returned to France with the remainder of his army; and Coeur de Lion, without
feeling, in the multitude of his rivals, that he had lost the greatest, became painfully
convinced that the right arm of the enterprize was lopped off.
After his departure, Richard re-fortified Acre, restored the Christian worship in the
churches, and, leaving a Christian garrison to protect it, marched along the sea-coast
towards Ascalon. Saladin was on the alert, and sent his light horse to attack the rear of the
Christian army, while he himself, miscalculating their weakness since the defection of
Philip, endeavoured to force them to a general engagement. The rival armies met near
Azotus. A fierce battle ensued, in which Saladin was defeated and put to flight, and the
road to Jerusalem left free for the crusaders.
Again discord exerted its baleful influence, and prevented Richard from following up his
victory. His opinion was constantly opposed by the other leaders, all jealous of his
bravery and influence; and the army, instead of marching to Jerusalem, or even to
Ascalon, as was first intended, proceeded to Jaffa, and remained in idleness until Saladin
was again in a condition to wage war against them.
Many months were spent in fruitless hostilities and as fruitless negotiations. Richard's
wish was to recapture Jerusalem; but there were difficulties in the way, which even his
bold spirit could not conquer. His own intolerable pride was not the least cause of the
evil; for it estranged many a generous spirit, who would have been willing to co-operate
with him in all cordiality. At length it was agreed to march to the Holy City; but the
progress made was so slow and painful, that the soldiers murmured, and the leaders
meditated retreat. The weather was hot and dry, and there was little water to be procured.
Saladin had choked up the wells and cisterns on the route, and the army had not zeal
enough to push forward amid such privation. At Bethlehem a council was held, to debate
whether they should retreat or advance. Retreat was decided upon, and immediately
commenced. It is said, that Richard was first led to a hill, whence he could obtain a sight
of the towers of Jerusalem, and that he was so affected at being so near it, and so unable
to relieve it, that he hid his face behind his shield, and sobbed aloud.
The army separated into two divisions, the smaller falling back upon Jaffa, and the larger,
commanded by Richard and the Duke of Burgundy, returning to Acre. Before the English
monarch had made all his preparations for his return to Europe, a messenger reached
Acre with the intelligence that Jaffa was besieged by Saladin, and that, unless relieved
immediately, the city would be taken. The French, under the Duke of Burgundy, were so
wearied with the war, that they refused to aid their brethren in Jaffa. Richard, blushing
with shame at their pusillanimity, called his English to the rescue, and arrived just in time
to save the city. His very name put the Saracens to flight, so great was their dread of his
prowess. Saladin regarded him with the warmest admiration, and when Richard, after his
victory, demanded peace, willingly acceded. A truce was concluded for three years and
eight months, during which Christian pilgrims were to enjoy the liberty of visiting
Jerusalem without hindrance or payment of any tax. The crusaders were allowed to retain
the cities of Tyre and Jaffa, with the country intervening. Saladin, with a princely
generosity, invited many of the Christians to visit Jerusalem; and several of the leaders
took advantage of his offer to feast their eyes upon a spot which all considered so sacred.
Many of them were entertained for days in the Sultan's own palace, from which they
returned with their tongues laden with the praises of the noble infidel. Richard and
Saladin never met, though the impression that they did will remain on many minds, who
have been dazzled by the glorious fiction of Sir Walter Scott. But each admired the
prowess and nobleness of soul of his rival, and agreed to terms far less onerous than
either would have accepted, had this mutual admiration not existed.[Richard left a high
reputation in Palestine. So much terror did his name occasion, that the women of Syria
used it to frighten their children for ages afterwards. Every disobedient brat became still
when told that King Richard was coming. Even men shared the panic that his name
created; and a hundred years afterwards, whenever a horse shied at any object in the way,
his rider would exclaim, "What! dost thou think King Richard is in the bush?"]
The King of England no longer delayed his departure, for messengers from his own
country brought imperative news that his presence was required to defeat the intrigues
that were fomenting against his crown. His long imprisonment in the Austrian dominions
and final ransom are too well known to be dwelt upon. And thus ended the third Crusade,
less destructive of human life than the two first, but quite as useless.
The flame of popular enthusiasm now burned pale indeed, and all the efforts of popes and
potentates were insufficient to rekindle it. At last, after flickering unsteadily, like a lamp
expiring in the socket, it burned up brightly for one final instant, and was extinguished
for ever.
The fourth Crusade, as connected with popular feeling, requires little or no notice. At the
death of Saladin, which happened a year after the conclusion of his truce with Richard of
England, his vast empire fell to pieces. His brother Saif Eddin, or Saphaddin, seized upon
Syria, in the possession of which he was troubled by the sons of Saladin. When this
intelligence reached Europe, the Pope, Celestine III. judged the moment favourable for
preaching a new Crusade. But every nation in Europe was unwilling and cold towards it.
The people had no ardour, and Kings were occupied with more weighty matters at home.
The only Monarch of Europe who encouraged it was the Emperor Henry of Germany,
under whose auspices the Dukes of Saxony and Bavaria took the field at the head of a
considerable force. They landed in Palestine, and found anything but a welcome from the
Christian inhabitants. Under the mild sway of Saladin, they had enjoyed repose and
toleration, and both were endangered by the arrival of the Germans. They looked upon
them in consequence as over-officious intruders, and gave them no encouragement in the
warfare against Saphaddin. The result of this Crusade was even more disastrous than the
last -- for the Germans contrived not only to embitter the Saracens against the Christians
of Judea, but to lose the strong city of Jaffa, and cause the destruction of nine-tenths of
the army with which they had quitted Europe. And so ended the fourth Crusade.
The fifth was more important, and had a result which its projectors never dreamed of -no less than the sacking of Constantinople, and the placing of a French dynasty upon the
imperial throne of the eastern Caesars. Each succeeding Pope, however much he may
have differed from his predecessors on other points, zealously agreed in one, that of
maintaining by every possible means the papal ascendancy. No scheme was so likely to
aid in this endeavour as the Crusades. As long as they could persuade the kings and
nobles of Europe to fight and die in Syria, their own sway was secured over the minds of
men at home. Such being their object, they never inquired whether a Crusade was or was
not likely to be successful, whether the time were well or ill chosen, or whether men and
money could be procured in sufficient abundance. Pope Innocent III. would have been
proud if he could have bent the refractory Monarchs of England and France into so much
submission. But John and Philip Augustus were both engaged. Both had deeply offended
the church, and had been laid under her ban, and both were occupied in important
reforms at home; Philip in bestowing immunities upon his subjects, and John in having
them forced from him. The emissaries of the Pope therefore plied them in vain; -- but as
in the first and second Crusades, the eloquence of a powerful preacher incited the
nobility, and through them a certain portion of the people, Foulque, Bishop of Neuilly, an
ambitious and enterprizing prelate, entered fully into the views of the Court of Rome, and
preached the Crusade wherever he could find an audience. Chance favoured him to a
degree he did not himself expect, for he had in general found but few proselytes, and
those few but cold in the cause. Theobald, Count of Champagne, had instituted a grand
tournament, to which he had invited all the nobles from far and near. Upwards of two
thousand knights were present with their retainers, besides a vast concourse of people to
witness the sports. In the midst of the festivities Foulque arrived upon the spot, and
conceiving the opportunity to be a favourable one, he addressed the multitude in eloquent
language, and passionately called upon them to enrol themselves for the new Crusade.
The Count de Champagne, young, ardent, and easily excited, received the cross at his
hands. The enthusiasm spread rapidly. Charles Count of Blois followed the example, and
of the two thousand knights present, scarcely one hundred and fifty refused. The popular
phrensy seemed on the point of breaking out as in the days of yore. The Count of
Flanders, the Count of Bar, the Duke of Burgundy, and the Marquis of Montferrat,
brought all their vassals to swell the train, and in a very short space of time an effective
army was on foot and ready to march to Palestine.
The dangers of an overland journey were too well understood, and the crusaders
endeavoured to make a contract with some of the Italian states to convey them over in
their vessels. Dandolo, the aged Doge of Venice, offered them the galleys of the
Republic; but the crusaders, on their arrival in that city, found themselves too poor to pay
even half the sum demanded. Every means was tried to raise money; the crusaders melted
down their plate, and ladies gave up their trinkets. Contributions were solicited from the
faithful, but came in so slowly, as to make it evident to all concerned, that the faithful of
Europe were outnumbered by the prudent. As a last resource, Dandolo offered to convey
them to Palestine at the expense of the Republic, if they would previously aid in the
recapture of the city of Zara, which had been seized from the Venetians a short time
previously by the King of Hungary. The crusaders consented, much to the displeasure of
the Pope, who threatened excommunication upon all who should be turned aside from the
voyage to Jerusalem. But notwithstanding the fulminations of the church, the expedition
never reached Palestine. The siege of Zara was speedily undertaken. After a long and
brave defence, the city surrendered at discretion, and the crusaders were free, if they had
so chosen it, to use their swords against the Saracens. But the ambition of the chiefs had
been directed, by unforeseen circumstances, elsewhere.
After the death of Manuel Comnenus, the Greek empire had fallen a prey to intestine
divisions. His son Alexius II. had succeeded him, but was murdered after a very short
reign by his uncle Andronicus, who seized upon the throne. His reign also was but of
short duration. Isaac Angelus, a member of the same family, took up arms against the
usurper, and having defeated and captured him in a pitched battle, had him put to death.
He also mounted the throne only to be cast down from it. His brother Alexius deposed
him, and to incapacitate him from reigning, put out his eyes, and shut him up in a
dungeon. Neither was Alexius III. allowed to remain in peaceable possession of the
throne; the son of the unhappy Isaac, whose name also was Alexius, fled from
Constantinople, and hearing that the crusaders had undertaken the siege of Zara, made
them the most magnificent offers if they would afterwards aid him in deposing his uncle.
His offers were, that if by their means he was re-established in his father's dominions, he
would place the Greek church under the authority of the Pope of Rome, lend the whole
force of the Greek Empire to the conquest of Palestine, and distribute two hundred
thousand marks of silver among the crusading army. The offer was accepted, with a
proviso on the part of some of the leaders, that they should be free to abandon the design,
if it met with the disapproval of the Pope. But this was not to be feared. The submission
of the schismatic Greeks to the See of Rome was a greater bribe to the Pontiff, than the
utter annihilation of the Saracen power in Palestine would have been.
The crusaders were soon in movement for the imperial city. Their operations were
skilfully and courageously directed, and spread such dismay as to paralyse the efforts of
the usurper to retain possession of his throne. After a vain resistance, he abandoned the
city to its fate, and fled no one knew whither. The aged and blind Isaac was taken from
his dungeon by his subjects, and placed upon the throne ere the crusaders were apprized
of the flight of his rival. His son Alexius IV. was afterwards associated with him in the
sovereignty.
But the conditions of the treaty gave offence to the Grecian people, whose prelates
refused to place themselves under the dominion of the See of Rome. Alexius at first
endeavoured to persuade his subjects to submission, and prayed the crusaders to remain
in Constantinople until they had fortified him in the possession of a throne which was yet
far from secure. He soon became unpopular with his subjects; and breaking faith with
regard to the subsidies, he offended the crusaders. War was at length declared upon him
by both parties; by his people for his tyranny, and by his former friends for his treachery.
He was seized in his palace by his own guards and thrown into prison, while the
crusaders were making ready to besiege his capital. The Greeks immediately proceeded
to the election of a new Monarch; and looking about for a man with courage, energy, and
perseverance, they fixed upon Alexius Ducas, who, with almost every bad quality, was
possessed of the virtues they needed. He ascended the throne under the name of
Murzuphlis. One of his first acts was to rid himself of his youngest predecessor -- a
broken heart had already removed the blind old Isaac -- no longer a stumbling block in
his way -- and the young Alexius was soon after put to death in his prison.
War to the knife was now declared between the Greeks and the Franks, and early in the
spring of the year 1204, preparations were commenced for an assault upon
Constantinople. The French and Venetians entered into a treaty for the division of the
spoils among their soldiery, for so confident were they of success, that failure never once
entered into their calculations. This confidence led them on to victory, while the Greeks,
cowardly as treacherous people always are, were paralysed by a foreboding of evil. It has
been a matter of astonishment to all historians, that Murzuphlis, with the reputation for
courage which he had acquired, and the immense resources at his disposal, took no better
measures to repel the onset of the crusaders. Their numbers were as a mere handful in
comparison with those which he could have brought against them; and if they had the
hopes of plunder to lead them on, the Greeks had their homes to fight for, and their very
existence as a nation to protect. After an impetuous assault, repulsed for one day, but
renewed with double impetuosity on another, the crusaders lashed their vessels against
the walls, slew every man who opposed them, and, with little loss to themselves, entered
the city. Murzuphlis fled, and Constantinople was given over to be pillaged by the
victors. The wealth they found was enormous. In money alone there was sufficient to
distribute twenty marks of silver to each knight, ten to each squire or servant at arms, and
five to each archer. Jewels, velvets, silks, and every luxury of attire, with rare wines and
fruits, and valuable merchandise of every description, also fell into their hands, and were
bought by the trading Venetians, and the proceeds distributed among the army. Two
thousand persons were put to the sword; but had there been less plunder to take up the
attention of the victors, the slaughter would in all probability have been much greater.
In many of the bloody wars which defile the page of history, we find that soldiers, utterly
reckless of the works of God, will destroy his masterpiece, man, with unsparing brutality,
but linger with respect around the beautiful works of art. They will slaughter women and
children, but spare a picture; will hew down the sick, the helpless, and the hoary-headed,
but refrain from injuring a fine piece of sculpture. The Latins, on their entrance into
Constantinople, respected neither the works of God nor man, but vented their brutal
ferocity upon the one and satisfied their avarice upon the other. Many beautiful bronze
statues, above all price as works of art, were broken into pieces to be sold as old metal.
The finely-chiselled marble, which could be put to no such vile uses, was also destroyed,
with a recklessness; if possible, still more atrocious. [The following is a list of some of
the works of art thus destroyed, from Nicetas, a contemporary Greek author: -- 1st. A
colossal Juno, from the forum of Constantine, the head of which was so large that four
horses could scarcely draw it from the place where it stood to the palace. 2d. The statue
of Paris presenting the apple to Venus. 3d. An immense bronze pyramid, crowned by a
female figure, which turned with the wind. 4th. The colossal statue of Bellerophon, in
bronze, which was broken down and cast into the furnace. Under the inner nail of the
horse's hind foot on the left side, was found a seal wrapped in a woollen cloth. 5th. A
figure of Hercules, by Lysimachus, of such vast dimensions that the thumb was equal in
circumference to the waist of a man. 6th. The Ass and his driver, cast by order of
Augustus after the battle of Actium, in commemoration of his having discovered the
position of Antony through the means of an ass-driver. 7th. The Wolf suckling the twins
of Rome. 8th. The Gladiator in combat with a lion. 9th. The Hippopotamus. 10th. The
Sphinxes. 11th. An eagle fighting with a serpent. 12th. A beautiful statue of Helen. 13th.
A group, with a monster somewhat resembling a bull, engaged in deadly conflict with a
serpent; and many other works of art, too numerous to mention.]
The carnage being over, and the spoil distributed, six persons were chosen from among
the Franks and six from among the Venetians, who were to meet and elect an Emperor,
previously binding themselves by oath to select the individual best qualified among the
candidates. The choice wavered between Baldwin, Count of Flanders, and Boniface,
Marquis of Montferrat, but fell eventually upon the former. He was straightway robed in
the imperial purple, and became the founder of a new dynasty. He did not live long to
enjoy his power, or to consolidate it for his successors, who, in their turn, were soon
swept away. In less than sixty years the rule of the Franks at Constantinople was brought
to as sudden and disastrous a termination as the reign of Murzuphlis: and this was the
grand result of the fifth Crusade.
Pope Innocent III, although he had looked with no very unfavourable eye upon these
proceedings, regretted that nothing had been done for the relief of the Holy Land; still,
upon every convenient occasion, he enforced the necessity of a new Crusade. Until the
year 1213, his exhortations had no other effect than to keep the subject in the mind of
Europe. Every spring and summer, detachments of pilgrims continued to set out for
Palestine to the aid of their brethren, but not in sufficient numbers to be of much service.
These periodical passages were called the passagiuum Martii, or the passage of March,
and the passagium Johannis, or the passage of the festival of St. John. These did not
consist entirely of soldiers, armed against the Saracen, but of pilgrims led by devotion,
and in performance of their vows, bearing nothing with them but their staff and their
wallet. Early in the spring of 1213 a more extraordinary body of crusaders was raised in
France and Germany. An immense number of boys and girls, amounting, according to
some accounts, to thirty thousand, were incited by the persuasion of two monks to
undertake the journey to Palestine. They were, no doubt, composed of the idle and
deserted children who generally swarm in great cities, nurtured in vice and daring, and
ready for anything. The object of the monks seems to have been the atrocious one of
inveigling them into slave ships, on pretence of sending them to Syria, and selling them
for slaves on the coast of Africa. [See Jacob de Voragine and Albericus.] Great numbers
of these poor victims were shipped at Marseilles; but the vessels, with the exception of
two or three, were wrecked on the shores of Italy, and every soul perished. The remainder
arrived safely in Africa, and were bought up as slaves, and sent off into the interior of the
country. Another detachment arrived at Genoa; but the accomplices in this horrid plot
having taken no measures at that port, expecting them all at Marseilles, they were
induced to return to their homes by the Genoese.
Fuller, in his quaint history of the "Holy Warre," says that this Crusade was done by the
instinct of the devil; and he adds a reason, which may provoke mirth now, but which was
put forth by the worthy historian in all soberness and sincerity. He says, "the devil, being
cloyed with the murdering of men, desired a cordial of children's blood to comfort his
weak stomach;" as epicures, when tired of mutton, resort to lamb for a change.
It appears from other authors that the preaching of the vile monks had such an effect upon
these deluded children that they ran about the country, exclaiming, "O, Lord Jesus,
restore thy cross to us!" and that neither bolts nor bars, the fear of fathers, nor the love of
mothers, was sufficient to restrain them from journeying to Jerusalem.
The details of these strange proceedings are exceedingly meagre and confused, and none
of the contemporary writers who mention the subject have thought it worth while to state
the names of the monks who originated the scheme, or the fate they met for their
wickedness. Two merchants of Marseilles, who were to have shared in the profits, were,
it is said, brought to justice for some other crime, and suffered death; but we are not
informed whether they divulged any circumstances relating to this matter.
Pope Innocent III does not seem to have been aware that the causes of this juvenile
Crusade were such as have been stated, for, upon being informed that numbers of them
had taken the Cross, and were marching to the Holy Land, he exclaimed, "These children
are awake, while we sleep!" He imagined, apparently, that the mind of Europe was still
bent on the recovery of Palestine, and that the zeal of these children implied a sort of
reproach upon his own lukewarmness. Very soon afterwards, he bestirred himself with
more activity, and sent an encyclical letter to the clergy of Christendom, urging them to
preach a new Crusade. As usual, a number of adventurous nobles, who had nothing else
to do, enrolled themselves with their retainers. At a council of Lateran, which was held
while these bands were collecting, Innocent announced that he himself would take the
Cross, and lead the armies of Christ to the defence of his sepulchre. In all probability he
would have done so, for he was zealous enough; but death stepped in, and destroyed his
project ere it was ripe. His successor encouraged the Crusade, though he refused to
accompany it; and the armament continued in France, England, and Germany. No leaders
of any importance joined it from the former countries. Andrew, King of Hungary, was the
only monarch who had leisure or inclination to leave his dominions. The Dukes of
Austria and Bavaria joined him with a considerable army of Germans, and marching to
Spalatro, took ship for Cyprus, and from thence to Acre.
The whole conduct of the King of Hungary was marked by pusillanimity and irresolution.
He found himself in the Holy Land at the head of a very efficient army; the Saracens
were taken by surprise, and were for some weeks unprepared to offer any resistance to his
arms. He defeated the first body sent to oppose him, and marched towards Mount Tabor,
with the intention of seizing upon an important fortress which the Saracens had recently
constructed. He arrived without impediment at the Mount, and might have easily taken it;
but a sudden fit of cowardice came over him, and he returned to Acre without striking a
blow. He very soon afterwards abandoned the enterprise altogether, and returned to his
own country.
Tardy reinforcements arrived at intervals from Europe; and the Duke of Austria, now the
chief leader of the expedition, had still sufficient forces at his command to trouble the
Saracens very seriously. It was resolved by him, in council with the other chiefs, that the
whole energy of the Crusade should be directed upon Egypt, the seat of the Saracen
power in its relationship to Palestine, and from whence were drawn the continual levies
that were brought against them by the Sultan. Damietta, which commanded the river Nile,
and was one of the most important cities of Egypt, was chosen as the first point of attack.
The siege was forthwith commenced, and carried on with considerable energy, until the
crusaders gained possession of a tower, which projected into the middle of the stream,
and was looked upon as the very key of the city.
While congratulating themselves upon this success, and wasting in revelry the time which
should have been employed in pushing the advantage, they received the news of the death
of the wise Sultan Saphaddin. His two sons, Camhel and Cohreddin, divided his empire
between them. Syria and Palestine fell to the share of Cohreddin, while Egypt was
consigned to the other brother, who had for some time exercised the functions of
Lieutenant of that country. Being unpopular among the Egyptians, they revolted against
him, giving the crusaders a finer opportunity for making a conquest than they had ever
enjoyed before. But, quarrelsome and licentious as they had been from time immemorial,
they did not see that the favourable moment had come; or, seeing, could not profit by it.
While they were revelling or fighting among themselves, under the walls of Damietta, the
revolt was put down, and Camhel firmly established on the throne of Egypt. In
conjunction with his brother, Cohreddin, his next care was to drive the Christians from
Damietta, and, for upwards of three months, they bent all their efforts to throw in supplies
to the besieged, or draw on the besiegers to a general engagement. In neither were they
successful; and the famine in Damietta became so dreadful, that vermin of every
description were thought luxuries, and sold for exorbitant prices. A dead dog became
more valuable than a live ox in time of prosperity. Unwholesome food brought on
disease, and the city could hold out no longer, for absolute want of men to defend the
walls.
Cohreddin and Camhel were alike interested in the preservation of so important a
position, and, convinced of the certain fate of the city, they opened a conference with the
crusading chiefs, offering to yield the whole of Palestine to the Christians, upon the sole
condition of the evacuation of Egypt. With a blindness and wrong-headedness almost
incredible, these advantageous terms were refused, chiefly through the persuasion of
Cardinal Pelagius, an ignorant and obstinate fanatic, who urged upon the Duke of Austria
and the French and English leaders, that infidels never kept their word; that their offers
were deceptive, and merely intended to betray. The conferences were brought to an
abrupt termination by the crusaders, and a last attack made upon the walls of Damietta.
The besieged made but slight resistance, for they had no hope, and the Christians entered
the city, and found, out of seventy thousand people, but three thousand remaining: so
fearful had been the ravages of the twin fiends, plague and famine.
Several months were spent in Damietta. The climate either weakened the frames or
obscured the understandings of the Christians; for, after their conquest, they lost all
energy, and abandoned themselves more unscrupulously than ever to riot and
debauchery. John of Brienne, who, by right of his wife, was the nominal sovereign of
Jerusalem, was so disgusted with the pusillanimity, arrogance, and dissensions of the
chiefs, that he withdrew entirely from them, and retired to Acre. Large bodies also
returned to Europe, and Cardinal Pelagius was left at liberty to blast the whole enterprise
whenever it pleased him. He managed to conciliate John of Brienne, and marched
forward with these combined forces to attack Cairo. It was only when he had approached
within a few hours' march of that city, that he discovered the inadequacy of his army. He
turned back immediately, but the Nile had risen since his departure; the sluices were
opened, and there was no means of reaching Damietta. In this strait, he sued for the peace
he had formerly spurned, and, happily for himself, found the generous brothers, Camhel
and Cohreddin, still willing to grant it. Damietta was soon afterwards given up, and the
Cardinal returned to Europe. John of Brienne retired to Acre, to mourn the loss of his
kingdom, embittered against the folly of his pretended friends, who had ruined where
they should have aided him. And thus ended the sixth Crusade.
The seventh was more successful. Frederic II, Emperor of Germany, had often vowed to
lead his armies to the defence of Palestine, but was as often deterred from the journey by
matters of more pressing importance. Cohreddin was a mild and enlightened monarch,
and the Christians of Syria enjoyed repose and toleration under his rule: but John of
Brienne was not willing to lose his kingdom without an effort; and the Popes in Europe
were ever willing to embroil the nations for the sake of extending their own power. No
monarch of that age was capable of rendering more effective assistance than Frederic of
Germany. To inspire him with more zeal, it was proposed that he should wed the young
Princess, Violante, daughter of John of Brienne, and heiress of the kingdom of Jerusalem.
Frederic consented with joy and eagerness. The Princess was brought from Acre to Rome
without delay, and her marriage celebrated on a scale of great magnificence. Her father,
John of Brienne, abdicated all his rights in favour of his son-in-law, and Jerusalem had
once more a king, who had not only the will, but the power, to enforce his claims.
Preparations for the new crusade were immediately commenced, and in the course of six
months the Emperor was at the head of a well-disciplined army of sixty thousand men.
Matthew Paris informs us, that an army of the same amount was gathered in England; and
most of the writers upon the Crusades adopt his statement. When John of Brienne was in
England, before his daughter's marriage with the Emperor was thought of, praying for the
aid of Henry III. and his nobles to recover his lost kingdom, he did not meet with much
encouragement. Grafton, in his Chronicle, says, "he departed again without any great
comfort." But when a man of more influence in European politics appeared upon the
scene, the English nobles were as ready to sacrifice themselves in the cause as they had
been in the time of Coeur de Lion.
The army of Frederic encamped at Brundusium; but a pestilential disease having made its
appearance among them, their departure was delayed for several months. In the mean
time the Empress Violante died in child-bed. John of Brienne, who had already repented
of his abdication, and was besides incensed against Frederic for many acts of neglect and
insult, no sooner saw the only tie which bound them, severed by the death of his
daughter, than he began to bestir himself, and make interest with the Pope to undo what
he had done, and regain the honorary crown he had renounced. Pope Gregory the Ninth, a
man of a proud, unconciliating, and revengeful character, owed the Emperor a grudge for
many an act of disobedience to his authority, and encouraged the overtures of John of
Brienne more than he should have done. Frederic, however, despised them both, and, as
soon as his army was convalescent, set sail for Acre. He had not been many days at sea,
when he was himself attacked with the malady, and obliged to return to Otranto, the
nearest port. Gregory, who had by this time decided in the interest of John of Brienne,
excommunicated the Emperor for returning from so holy an expedition on any pretext
whatever. Frederic at first treated the excommunication with supreme contempt; but
when he got well, he gave his Holiness to understand that he was not to be outraged with
impunity, and sent some of his troops to ravage the Papal territories. This, however, only
made the matter worse, and Gregory despatched messengers to Palestine, forbidding the
faithful, under severe pains and penalties, to hold any intercourse with the
excommunicated Emperor. Thus between them both, the scheme which they had so much
at heart bade fair to be as effectually ruined as even the Saracens could have wished.
Frederic still continued his zeal in the Crusade, for he was now King of Jerusalem, and
fought for himself, and not for Christendom, or its representative, Pope Gregory. Hearing
that John of Brienne was preparing to leave Europe, he lost no time in taking his own
departure, and arrived safely at Acre. It was here that he first experienced the evil effects
of excommunication. The Christians of Palestine refused to aid him in any way, and
looked with distrust, if not with abhorrence, upon him. The Templars, Hospitallers, and
other knights, shared at first the general feeling; but they were not men to yield a blind
obedience to a distant potentate, especially when it compromised their own interests.
When, therefore, Frederic prepared to march upon Jerusalem without them, they joined
his banners to a man.
It is said, that previous to quitting Europe, the German Emperor had commenced a
negotiation with the Sultan Camhel for the restoration of the Holy Land, and that Camhel,
who was jealous of the ambition of his brother Cohreddin, was willing to stipulate to that
effect, on condition of being secured by Frederic in the possession of the more important
territory of Egypt. But before the crusaders reached Palestine, Camhel was relieved from
all fears by the death of his brother. He nevertheless did not think it worth while to
contest with the crusaders the barren corner of the earth which had already been dyed
with so much Christian and Saracen blood, and proposed a truce of three years, only
stipulating, in addition, that the Moslems should be allowed to worship freely in the
Temple of Jerusalem. This happy termination did not satisfy the bigoted Christians of
Palestine. The tolerance they fought for themselves, they were not willing to extend to
others, and they complained bitterly of the privilege of free worship allowed to their
opponents. Unmerited good fortune had made them insolent, and they contested the right
of the Emperor to become a party to any treaty, as long as he remained under the
ecclesiastical ban. Frederic was disgusted with his new subjects; but, as the Templars and
Hospitallers remained true to him, he marched to Jerusalem to be crowned. All the
churches were shut against him, and he could not even find a priest to officiate at his
coronation. He had despised the Papal authority too long to quail at it now, when it was
so unjustifiably exerted, and, as there was nobody to crown him, he very wisely crowned
himself. He took the royal diadem from the altar with his own hands, and boldly and
proudly placed it on his brow. No shouts of an applauding populace made the welkin
ring, no hymns of praise and triumph resounded from the ministers of religion; but a
thousand swords started from their scabbards, to testify that their owners would defend
the new monarch to the death.
It was hardly to be expected that he would renounce for any long period the dominion of
his native land for the uneasy crown and barren soil of Palestine. He had seen quite
enough of his new subjects before he was six months among them, and more important
interests called him home. John of Brienne, openly leagued with Pope Gregory against
him, was actually employed in ravaging his territories at the head of a papal army. This
intelligence decided his return. As a preliminary step, he made those who had contemned
his authority feel, to their sorrow, that he was their master. He then set sail, loaded with
the curses of Palestine. And thus ended the seventh Crusade, which, in spite of every
obstacle and disadvantage, had been productive of more real service to the Holy Land
than any that had gone before; a result solely attributable to the bravery of Frederic and
the generosity of the Sultan Camhel.
Soon after the Emperor's departure a new claimant started for the throne of Jerusalem, in
the person of Alice, Queen of Cyprus, and half-sister of the Mary who, by her marriage,
had transferred her right to John of Brienne. The grand military orders, however, clung to
Frederic, and Alice was obliged to withdraw.
So peaceful a termination to the Crusade did not give unmixed pleasure in Europe. The
chivalry of France and England were unable to rest, and long before the conclusion of the
truce, were collecting their armies for an eighth expedition. In Palestine, also, the
contentment was far from universal. Many petty Mahomedan states in the immediate
vicinity were not parties to the truce, and harassed the frontier towns incessantly. The
Templars, ever turbulent, waged bitter war with the Sultan of Aleppo, and in the end were
almost exterminated. So great was the slaughter among them that Europe resounded with
the sad story of their fate, and many a noble knight took arms to prevent the total
destruction of an order associated with so many high and inspiring remembrances.
Camhel, seeing the preparations that were making, thought that his generosity had been
sufficiently shown, and the very day the truce was at an end assumed the offensive, and
marching forward to Jerusalem took possession of it, after routing the scanty forces of the
Christians. Before this intelligence reached Europe a large body of crusaders was on the
march, headed by the King of Navarre, the Duke of Burgundy, the Count de Bretagne,
and other leaders. On their arrival, they learned that Jerusalem had been taken, but that
the Sultan was dead, and his kingdom torn by rival claimants to the supreme power. The
dissensions of their foes ought to have made them united, but, as in all previous Crusades,
each feudal chief was master of his own host, and acted upon his own responsibility, and
without reference to any general plan. The consequence was that nothing could be done.
A temporary advantage was gained by one leader, who had no means of improving it,
while another was defeated, without means of retrieving himself. Thus the war lingered
till the battle of Gaza, when the King of Navarre was defeated with great loss, and
compelled to save himself from total destruction by entering into a hard and oppressive
treaty with the Emir of Karac.
At this crisis aid arrived from England, commanded by Richard Earl of Cornwall, the
namesake of Coeur de Lion, and inheritor of his valour. His army was strong, and full of
hope. They had confidence in themselves and in their leader, and looked like men
accustomed to victory. Their coming changed the aspect of affairs. The new Sultan of
Egypt was at war with the Sultan of Damascus, and had not forces to oppose two enemies
so powerful. He therefore sent messengers to meet the English Earl, offering an exchange
of prisoners and the complete cession of the Holy Land. Richard, who had not come to
fight for the mere sake of fighting, agreed at once to terms so advantageous, and became
the deliverer of Palestine without striking a blow. The Sultan of Egypt then turned his
whole force against his Moslem enemies, and the Earl of Cornwall returned to Europe.
Thus ended the eighth Crusade, the most beneficial of all. Christendom had no further
pretence for sending her fierce levies to the East. To all appearance, the holy wars were at
an end: the Christians had entire possession of Jerusalem, Tripoli, Antioch, Edessa, Acre,
Jaffa, and, in fact, of nearly all Judea; and, could they have been at peace among
themselves, they might have overcome, without great difficulty, the jealousy and hostility
of their neighhours. A circumstance, as unforeseen as it was disastrous, blasted this fair
prospect, and reillumed, for the last time, the fervour and fury of the Crusades.
Gengis Khan and his successors had swept over Asia like a tropical storm, overturning in
their progress the landmarks of ages. Kingdom after kingdom was cast down as they
issued, innumerable, from the far recesses of the North and East, and, among others, the
empire of Korasmin was overrun by these all-conquering hordes. The Korasmins, a
fierce, uncivilized race, thus driven from their homes, spread themselves, in their turn,
over the south of Asia with fire and sword, in search of a resting place. In their impetuous
course they directed themselves towards Egypt, whose Sultan, unable to withstand the
swarm that had cast their longing eyes on the fertile valleys of the Nile, endeavoured to
turn them from their course. For this purpose, he sent emissaries to Barbaquan, their
leader, inviting them to settle in Palestine; and the offer being accepted by the wild horde,
they entered the country before the Christians received the slightest intimation of their
coming. It was as sudden as it was overwhelming. Onwards, like the simoom, they came,
burning and slaying, and were at the walls of Jerusalem before the inhabitants had time to
look round them. They spared neither life nor property; they slew women and children,
and priests at the altar, and profaned even the graves of those who had slept for ages.
They tore down every vestige of the Christian faith, and committed horrors unparalleled
in the history of warfare. About seven thousand of the inhabitants of Jerusalem sought
safety in retreat; but before they were out of sight, the banner of the Cross was hoisted
upon the walls by the savage foe to decoy them back. The artifice was but too successful.
The poor fugitives imagined that help had arrived from another direction, and turned back
to regain their homes. Nearly the whole of them were massacred, and the streets of
Jerusalem ran with blood.
The Templars, Hospitallers, and Teutonic knights forgot their long and bitter animosities,
and joined hand in hand to rout out this desolating foe. They intrenched themselves in
Jaffa with all the chivalry of Palestine that yet remained, and endeavoured to engage the
Sultans of Emissa and Damascus to assist them against the common enemy. The aid
obtained from the Moslems amounted at first to only four thousand men, but with these
reinforcements Walter of Brienne, the Lord of Jaffa, resolved to give battle to the
Korasrains. The conflict was as deadly as despair on the one side, and unmitigated
ferocity on the other, could make it. It lasted with varying fortune for two days, when the
Sultan of Emissa fled to his fortifications, and Walter of Brienne fell into the enemy's
hands. The brave knight was suspended by the arms to a cross in sight of the walls of
Jaffa, and the Korasminian leader declared that he should remain in that position until the
city surrendered. Walter raised his feeble voice, not to advise surrender, but to command
his soldiers to hold out to the last. But his gallantry was unavailing. So great had been the
slaughter, that out of the grand array of knights, there now remained but sixteen
Hospitallers, thirty-three Templars, and three Teutonic cavaliers. These with the sad
remnant of the army fled to Acre, and the Korasmins were masters of Palestine.
The Sultans of Syria preferred the Christians to this fierce horde for their neighbours.
Even the Sultan of Egypt began to regret the aid he had given to such barbarous foes, and
united with those of Emissa and Damascus to root them from the land. The Korasmins
amounted to but twenty thousand men, and were unable to resist the determined hostility
which encompassed them on every side. The Sultans defeated them in several
engagements, and the peasantry rose up in masses to take vengeance upon them.
Gradually their numbers were diminished. No mercy was shown them in defeat.
Barbaquan, their leader, was slain, and after five years of desperate struggles they were
finally extirpated, and Palestine became once more the territory of the Mussulmans.
A short time previous to this devastating irruption, Louis IX. fell sick in Paris, and
dreamed in the delirium of his fever that he saw the Christian and Moslem hosts fighting
before Jerusalem, and the Christians defeated with great slaughter. The dream made a
great impression on his superstitious mind, and he made a solemn vow that if ever he
recovered his health, he would take a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. When the news of the
misfortunes of Palestine, and the awful massacres at Jerusalem and Jaffa, arrived in
Europe, St. Louis remembered him of his dream. More persuaded than ever, that it was
an intimation direct from Heaven, he prepared to take the Cross at the head of his armies,
and march to the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre. From that moment he doffed the
royal mantle of purple and ermine, and dressed in the sober serge becoming a pilgrim. All
his thoughts were directed to the fulfilment of his design, and although his kingdom
could but ill spare him, he made every preparation to leave it. Pope Innocent IV.
applauded his zeal and afforded him every assistance. He wrote to Henry III. of England
to forward the cause in his dominions, and called upon the clergy and laity all over
Europe to contribute towards it. William Longsword, the celebrated Earl of Salisbury,
took the Cross at the head of a great number of valiant knights and soldiers. But the
fanaticism of the people was not to be awakened either in France or England. Great
armies were raised, but the masses no longer sympathized. Taxation had been the great
cooler of zeal. It was no longer a disgrace even to a knight if he refused to take the Cross.
Rutebeuf, a French minstrel, who flourished about this time (1250), composed a dialogue
between a crusader and a non-crusader, which the reader will find translated in "Way's
Fabliaux." The crusader uses every argument to persuade the non-crusader to take up
arms, and forsake every thing, in the holy cause; but it is evident from the greater force of
the arguments used by the noncrusader, that he was the favourite of the minstrel. To a
most urgent solicitation of his friend, the crusader, he replies,
"I read thee right, thou boldest good To this same land I straight should hie, And win it
back with mickle blood, Nor gaine one foot of soil thereby. While here dejected and
forlorn, My wife and babes are left to mourn; My goodly mansion rudely marred, All
trusted to my dogs to guard. But I, fair comrade, well I wot An ancient saw, of pregnant
wit, Doth bid us keep what we have got, And troth I mean to follow it."
This being the general feeling, it is not to be wondered at that Louis IX. was occupied
fully three years in organizing his forces, and in making the necessary preparations for
his departure. When all was ready he set sail for Cyprus, accompanied by his Queen, his
two brothers, the Counts d'Anjou and d'Artois, and a long train of the noblest chivalry of
France. His third brother, the Count de Poitiers, remained behind to collect another corps
of crusaders, and followed him in a few months afterwards. The army united at Cyprus,
and amounted to fifty thousand men, exclusive of the English crusaders under William
Longsword. Again, a pestilential disease made its appearance, to which many hundreds
fell victims. It was in consequence found necessary to remain in Cyprus until the spring.
Louis then embarked for Egypt with his whole host; but a violent tempest separated his
fleet, and he arrived before Damietta with only a few thousand men. They were, however,
impetuous and full of hope; and although the Sultan Melick Shah was drawn up on the
shore with a force infinitely superior, it was resolved to attempt a landing without waiting
the arrival of the rest of the army. Louis himself in wild impatience sprang from his boat,
and waded on shore; while his army, inspired by his enthusiastic bravery, followed,
shouting the old war-cry of the first crusaders, Dieu le veut! Dieu le veut! A panic seized
the Turks. A body of their cavalry attempted to bear down upon the crusaders, but the
knights fixed their large shields deep in the sands of the shore. and rested their lances
upon them, so that they projected above, and formed a barrier so imposing, that the
Turks, afraid to breast it, turned round and fairly took to flight. At the moment of this
panic, a false report was spread in the Saracen host, that the Sultan had been slain. The
confusion immediately became general -- the deroute was complete: Damietta itself was
abandoned, and the same night the victorious crusaders fixed their headquarters in that
city. The soldiers who had been separated from their chief by the tempest, arrived shortly
afterwards; and Louis was in a position to justify the hope, not only of the conquest of
Palestine, but of Egypt itself.
But too much confidence proved the bane of his army. They thought, as they had
accomplished so much, that nothing more remained to be done, and gave themselves up
to ease and luxury. When, by the command of Louis, they marched towards Cairo, they
were no longer the same men; success, instead of inspiring, had unnerved them;
debauchery had brought on disease, and disease was aggravated by the heat of a climate
to which none of them were accustomed. Their progress towards Massoura, on the road
to Cairo, was checked by the Thanisian canal, on the banks of which the Saracens were
drawn up to dispute the passage. Louis gave orders that a bridge should be thrown across;
and the operations commenced under cover of two cat-castles, or high moveable towers.
The Saracens soon destroyed them by throwing quantities of Greek fire, the artillery of
that day, upon them, and Louis was forced to think of some other means of effecting his
design. A peasant agreed, for a considerable bribe, to point out a ford where the army
might wade across, and the Count d'Artois was despatched with fourteen hundred men to
attempt it, while Louis remained to face the Saracens with the main body of the army.
The Count d'Artois got safely over, and defeated the detachment that had been sent to
oppose his landing. Flushed with the victory, the brave Count forgot the inferiority of his
numbers, and pursued the panic-stricken enemy into Massoura. He was now completely
cut off from the aid of his brother-crusaders, which the Moslems perceiving, took
courage and returned upon him, with a force swollen by the garrison of Massoura, and by
reinforcements from the surrounding districts. The battle now became hand to hand. The
Christians fought with the energy of desperate men, but the continually increasing
numbers of the foe surrounded them completely, and cut off all hope, either of victory or
escape. The Count d'Artois was among the foremost of the slain, and when Louis arrived
to the rescue, the brave advance-guard was nearly cut to pieces. Of the fourteen hundred
but three hundred remained. The fury of the battle was now increased threefold. The
French King and his troops performed prodigies of valour, and the Saracens, under the
command of the Emir Ceccidun, fought as if they were determined to exterminate, in one
last decisive effort, the new European swarm that had settled upon their coast. At the fall
of the evening dews the Christians were masters of the field of Massoura, and flattered
themselves that they were the victors. Self-love would not suffer them to confess that the
Saracens had withdrawn, and not retreated; but their leaders were too wofully convinced
that that fatal field had completed the disorganization of the Christian army, and that all
hopes of future conquest were at an end.
Impressed with this truth, the crusaders sued for peace. The Sultan insisted upon the
immediate evacuation of Damietta, and that Louis himself should be delivered as hostage
for the fulfilment of the condition. His army at once refused, and the negotiations were
broken off. It was now resolved to attempt a retreat; but the agile Saracens, now in the
front and now in the rear, rendered it a matter of extreme difficulty, and cut off the
stragglers in great numbers. Hundreds of them were drowned in the Nile; and sickness
and famine worked sad ravage upon those who escaped all other casualties. Louis himself
was so weakened by disease, fatigue, and discouragement that he was hardly able to sit
upon his horse. In the confusion of the flight he was separated from his attendants, and
left a total stranger upon the sands of Egypt, sick, weary, and almost friendless. One
knight, Geffry de Sergines, alone attended him, and led him to a miserable hut in a small
village, where for several days he lay in the hourly expectation of death. He was at last
discovered and taken prisoner by the Saracens, who treated him with all the honour due
to his rank and all the pity due to his misfortunes. Under their care his health rapidly
improved, and the next consideration was that of his ransom.
The Saracens demanded, besides money, the cession of Acre, Tripoli, and other cities of
Palestine. Louis unhesitatingly refused, and conducted himself with so much pride and
courage that the Sultan declared he was the proudest infidel he had ever beheld. After a
good deal of haggling, the Sultan agreed to waive these conditions, and a treaty was
finally concluded. The city of Damietta was restored; a truce of ten years agreed upon,
and ten thousand golden bezants paid for the release of Louis and the liberation of all the
captives. Louis then withdrew to Jaffa, and spent two years in putting that city, and
Cesarea, with the other possessions of the Christians in Palestine, into a proper state of
defence. He then returned to his own country, with great reputation as a saint, but very
little as a soldier.
Matthew Paris informs us that, in the year 1250, while Louis was in Egypt, "thousands of
the English were resolved to go to the holy war, had not the King strictly guarded his
ports and kept his people from running out of doors." When the news arrived of the
reverses and captivity of the French King, their ardour cooled; and the Crusade was sung
of only, but not spoken of.
In France, a very different feeling was the result. The news of the King's capture spread
consternation through the country. A fanatic monk of Citeaux suddenly appeared in the
villages, preaching to the people, and announcing that the Holy Virgin, accompanied by a
whole army of saints and martyrs, had appeared to him, and commanded him to stir up
the shepherds and farm labourers to the defence of the Cross. To them only was his
discourse addressed, and his eloquence was such that thousands flocked around him,
ready to follow wherever he should lead. The pastures and the corn-fields were deserted,
and the shepherds, or pastoureaux, as they were termed, became at last so numerous as to
amount to upwards of fifty thousand, -- Millot says one hundred thousand men. [Elemens
de l'Histoire de France.] The Queen Blanche, who governed as Regent during the absence
of the King, encouraged at first the armies of the pastoureaux; but they soon gave way to
such vile excesses that the peaceably disposed were driven to resistance. Robbery,
murder, and violation marked their path; and all good men, assisted by the government,
united in putting them down. They were finally dispersed, but not before three thousand
of them had been massacred. Many authors say that the slaughter was still greater.
The ten years' truce concluded in 1264, and St. Louis was urged by two powerful motives
to undertake a second expedition for the relief of Palestine. These were fanaticism on the
one hand, and a desire of retrieving his military fame on the other, which had suffered
more than his parasites liked to remind him of. The Pope, of course, encouraged his
design, and once more the chivalry of Europe began to bestir themselves. In 1268,
Edward, the heir of the English monarchy, announced his determination to join the
Crusade; and the Pope (Clement IV.) wrote to the prelates and clergy to aid the cause by
their persuasions and their revenues. In England, they agreed to contribute a tenth of their
possessions; and by a parliamentary order, a twentieth was taken from the corn and
moveables of all the laity at Michaelmas.
In spite of the remonstrances of the few clearheaded statesmen who surrounded him,
urging the ruin that might in consequence fall upon his then prosperous kingdom, Louis
made every preparation for his departure. The warlike nobility were nothing loth, and in
the spring of 1270, the King set sail with an army of sixty thousand men. He was driven
by stress of weather into Sardinia, and while there, a change in his plans took place.
Instead of proceeding to Acre, as he originally intended, he shaped his course for Tunis,
on the African coast. The King of Tunis had some time previously expressed himself
favourably disposed towards the Christians and their religion, and Louis, it appears, had
hopes of converting him, and securing his aid against the Sultan of Egypt. "What honour
would be mine," he used to say, "if I could become godfather to this Mussulman King."
Filled with this idea he landed in Africa, near the site of the city of Carthage, but found
that he had reckoned without his host. The King of Tunis had no thoughts of renouncing
his religion, nor intention of aiding the Crusaders in any way. On the contrary, he
opposed their landing with all the forces that could be collected on so sudden an
emergency. The French, however, made good their first position, and defeated the
Moslems with considerable loss. They also gained some advantage over the
reinforcements that were sent to oppose them; but an infectious flux appeared in the
army, and put a stop to all future victories. The soldiers died at the rate of a hundred in a
day. The enemy, at the same time, made as great havoc as the plague. St. Louis himself
was one of the first attacked by the disease. His constitution had been weakened by
fatigues, and even before he left France he was unable to bear the full weight of his
armour. It was soon evident to his sorrowing soldiers that their beloved monarch could
not long survive. He lingered for some days, and died in Carthage, in the fifty-sixth year
of his age, deeply regretted by his army and his subjects, and leaving behind him one of
the most singular reputations in history. He is the model-king of ecclesiastical writers, in
whose eyes his very defects became virtues, because they were manifested in furtherance
of their cause. More unprejudiced historians, while they condemn his fanaticism, admit
that he was endowed with many high and rare qualities; that he was in no one point
behind his age, and, in many, in advance of it.
His brother, Charles of Anjou, in consequence of a revolution in Sicily, had become King
of that country. Before he heard of the death of Louis, he had sailed from Messina with
large reinforcements. On his landing near Carthage, he advanced at the head of his army,
amid the martial music of drums and trumpets. He was soon informed how inopportune
was his rejoicing, and shed tears before his whole army, such as no warrior would have
been ashamed to shed. A peace was speedily agreed upon with the King of Tunis, and the
armies of France and Sicily returned to their homes.
So little favour had the Crusade found in England, that even the exertions of the heir to
the throne had only collected a small force of fifteen hundred men. With these few Prince
Edward sailed from Dover to Bourdeaux, in the expectation that he would find the French
King in that city. St. Louis, however, had left a few weeks previously; upon which
Edward followed him to Sardinia, and afterwards to Tunis. Before his arrival in Africa,
St. Louis was no more, and peace had been concluded between France and Tunis. He
determined, however, not to relinquish the Crusade. Returning to Sicily, he passed the
winter in that country, and endeavoured to augment his little army. In the spring he set
sail for Palestine, and arrived in safety at Acre. The Christians were torn, as usual, by
mutual jealousies and animosities. The two great military orders were as virulent and as
intractable as ever; opposed to each other, and to all the world. The arrival of Edward had
the effect of causing them to lay aside their unworthy contention, and of uniting heart to
heart, in one last effort for the deliverance of their adopted country. A force of six
thousand effective warriors was soon formed to join those of the English prince, and
preparations were made for the renewal of hostilities. The Sultan, Bibars or Bendocdar,
[Mills, in his history, gives the name of this chief as Al Malek al Dhaker Rokneddin
Abulfeth Bibars al Ali al Bundokdari al Salehi."] a fierce Mamluke, who had been placed
on the throne by a bloody revolution, was at war with all his neighbours, and unable, for
that reason, to concentrate his whole strength against them. Edward took advantage of
this; and marching boldly forward to Nazareth, defeated the Turks and gained possession
of that city. This was the whole amount of his successes. The hot weather engendered
disease among his troops, and he himself, the life and soul of the expedition, fell sick
among the first. He had been ill for some time, and was slowly recovering, when a
messenger desired to speak with him on important matters, and to deliver some
despatches into his own hand. While the Prince was occupied in examining them, the
traitorous messenger drew a dagger from his belt, and stabbed him in the breast. The
wound fortunately was not deep, and Edward had gained a portion of his strength. He
struggled with the assassin, and put him to death with his own dagger, at the same time
calling loudly for assistance. [The reader will recognise the incident which Sir Walter
Scott has introduced into his beautiful romance, "The Talisman," and which, with the
licence claimed by poets and romancers, he represents as having befallen King Richard
I.] His attendants came at his call, and found him bleeding profusely, and ascertained on
inspection that the dagger was poisoned. Means were instantly taken to purify the wound;
and an antidote was sent by the Grand Master of the Templars which removed all danger
from the effects of the poison. Camden, in his history, has adopted the more popular, and
certainly more beautiful, version of this story, which says that the Princess Eleonora, in
her love for her gallant husband, sucked the poison from his wound at the risk of her own
life: to use the words of old Fuller, "It is a pity so pretty a story should not be true; and
that so sovereign a remedy as a woman's tongue, anointed with the virtue of loving
affection," should not have performed the good deed.
Edward suspected, and doubtless not without reason, that the assassin was employed by
the Sultan of Egypt. But it amounted to suspicion only; and by the sudden death of the
assassin, the principal clue to the discovery of the truth was lost for ever. Edward, on his
recovery, prepared to resume the offensive; but the Sultan, embarrassed by the defence of
interests which, for the time being, he considered of more importance, made offers of
peace to the crusaders. This proof of weakness on the part of the enemy was calculated to
render a man of Edward's temperament more anxious to prosecute the war; but he had
also other interests to defend. News arrived in Palestine of the death of his father, King
Henry III; and his presence being necessary in England, he agreed to the terms of the
Sultan. These were, that the Christians should be allowed to retain their possessions in the
Holy Land, and that a truce of ten years should be proclaimed. Edward then set sail for
England; and thus ended the last Crusade.
The after-fate of the Holy Land may be told in a few words. The Christians, unmindful of
their past sufferings and of the jealous neighbours they had to deal with, first broke the
truce by plundering some Egyptian traders near Margat. The Sultan immediately
revenged the outrage by taking possession of Margat, and war once more raged between
the nations. Margat made a gallant defence, but no reinforcements arrived from Europe to
prevent its fall. Tripoli was the next, and other cities in succession, until at last Acre was
the only city of Palestine that remained in possession of the Christians.
The Grand Master of the Templars collected together his small and devoted band; and
with the trifling aid afforded by the King of Cyprus, prepared to defend to the death the
last possession of his order. Europe was deaf to his cry for aid, the numbers of the foe
were overwhelming, and devoted bravery was of no avail. In that disastrous siege the
Christians were all but exterminated. The King of Cyprus fled when he saw that
resistance was vain, and the Grand Master fell at the head of his knights, pierced with a
hundred wounds. Seven Templars, and as many Hospitallets, alone escaped from the
dreadful carnage. The victorious Moslems then set fire to the city, and the rule of the
Christians in Palestine was brought to a close for ever.
This intelligence spread alarm and sorrow among the clergy of Europe, who endeavoured
to rouse once more the energy and enthusiasm of the nations, in the cause of the Holy
Land: but the popular mania had run its career; the spark of zeal had burned its appointed
time, and was never again to be re-illumined. Here and there a solitary knight announced
his determination to take up arms, and now and then a king gave cold encouragement to
the scheme; but it dropped almost as soon as spoken of, to be renewed again, still more
feebly, at some longer interval.
Now what was the grand result of all these struggles? Europe expended millions of her
treasures, and the blood of two millions of her children; and a handful of quarrelsome
knights retained possession of Palestine for about one hundred years! Even had
Christendom retained it to this day, the advantage, if confined to that, would have been
too dearly purchased. But notwithstanding the fanaticism that originated, and the folly
that conducted them, the Crusades were not productive of unmitigated evil. The feudal
chiefs became better members of society, by coming in contact, in Asia, with a
civilization superior to their own; the people secured some small instalments of their
rights; kings, no longer at war with their nobility, had time to pass some good laws; the
human mind learned some little wisdom from hard experience, and, casting off the slough
of superstition in which the Roman clergy had so long enveloped it, became prepared to
receive the seeds of the approaching Reformation. Thus did the all-wise Disposer of
events bring good out of evil, and advance the civilization and ultimate happiness of the
nations of the West, by means of the very fanaticism that had led them against the East.
But the whole subject is one of absorbing interest; and if carried fully out in all its
bearings, would consume more space than the plan of this work will allow. The
philosophic student will draw his own conclusions; and he can have no better field for the
exercise of his powers than this European madness; its advantages and disadvantages; its
causes and results.
THE WITCH MANIA.
What wrath of gods, or wicked influence
Of tears, conspiring wretched men t' afflict,
Hath pour'd on earth this noyous pestilence,
That mortal minds doth inwardly infect
With love of blindness and of ignorance? -- Spencer's Tears of the Muses.
Countrymen: "Hang her! -- beat her! -- kill her!"
Justice: "How now? Forbear this violence!"
Mother Sawyer: "A crew of villains -- a knot of bloody hangmen! set to torment me! -- I
know not why."
Justice: "Alas! neighbour Banks, are you a ringleader in mischief? Fie I to abuse an aged
woman!"
Banks: "Woman! -- a she hell-cat, a witch! To prove her one, we no sooner set fire on the
thatch of her house, but in she came running, as if the Devil had sent her in a barrel of
gunpowder."
-- Ford's Witch of Edmonton.
The belief that disembodied spirits may be permitted to revisit this world, has its
foundation upon that sublime hope of immortality, which is at once the chief solace and
greatest triumph of our reason. Even if revelation did not teach us, we feel that we have
that within us which shall never die; and all our experience of this life but makes us cling
the more fondly to that one repaying hope. But in the early days of "little knowledge,"
this grand belief became the source of a whole train of superstitions, which, in their turn,
became the fount from whence flowed a deluge of blood and horror. Europe, for a period
of two centuries and a half, brooded upon the idea, not only that parted spirits walked the
earth to meddle in the affairs of men, but that men had power to summon evil spirits to
their aid to work woe upon their fellows. An epidemic terror seized upon the nations; no
man thought himself secure, either in his person or possessions, from the machinations of
the devil and his agents. Every calamity that befell him, he attributed to a witch. If a
storm arose and blew down his barn, it was witchcraft; if his cattle died of a murrain-if
disease fastened upon his limbs, or death entered suddenly, and snatched a beloved face
from his hearth -- they were not visitations of Providence, but the works of some
neighbouring hag, whose wretchedness or insanity caused the ignorant to raise their
finger, and point at her as a witch. The word was upon everybody's tongue -- France,
ItaLy, Germany, England, Scotland, and the far North, successively ran mad upon this
subject, and for a long series of years, furnished their tribunals with so many trials for
witchcraft that other crimes were seldom or never spoken of. Thousands upon thousands
of unhappy persons fell victims to this cruel and absurd delusion. In many cities of
Germany, as will be shown more fully in its due place hereafter, the average number of
executions for this pretended crime, was six hundred annually, or two every day, if we
leave out the Sundays, when, it is to be supposed, that even this madness refrained from
its work.
A misunderstanding of the famous text of the Mosaic law, "Thou shalt not suffer a witch
to live," no doubt led many conscientious men astray, whose superstition, warm enough
before, wanted but a little corroboration to blaze out with desolating fury. In all ages of
the world men have tried to hold converse with superior beings; and to pierce, by their
means, the secrets of futurity. In the time of Moses, it is evident that there were
impostors, who trafficked upon the credulity of mankind, and insulted the supreme
majesty of the true God by pretending to the power of divination. Hence the law which
Moses, by Divine command, promulgated against these criminals; but it did not follow,
as the superstitious monomaniacs of the middle ages imagined, that the Bible established
the existence of the power of divination by its edicts against those who pretended to it.
From the best authorities, it appears that the Hebrew word, which has been rendered,
venefica, and witch, means a poisoner and divineress -- a dabbler in spells, or fortuneteller. The modern witch was a very different character, and joined to her pretended
power of foretelling future events that of working evil upon the life, limbs, and
possessions of mankind. This power was only to be acquired by an express compact,
signed in blood, with the devil himself, by which the wizard or witch renounced baptism,
and sold his or her immortal soul to the evil one, without any saving clause of
redemption.
There are so many wondrous appearances in nature, for which science and philosophy
cannot, even now, account, that it is not surprising that, when natural laws were still less
understood, men should have attributed to supernatural agency every appearance which
they could not otherwise explain. The merest tyro now understands various phenomena
which the wisest of old could not fathom. The schoolboy knows why, upon high
mountains, there should, on certain occasions, appear three or four suns in the firmament
at once; and why the figure of a traveller upon one eminence should be reproduced,
inverted, and of a gigantic stature, upon another. We all know the strange pranks which
imagination can play in certain diseases -- that the hypochondriac can see visions and
spectres, and that there have been cases in which men were perfectly persuaded that they
were teapots. Science has lifted up the veil, and rolled away all the fantastic horrors in
which our forefathers shrouded these and similar cases. The man who now imagines
himself a wolf, is sent to the hospital, instead of to the stake, as in the days of the witch
mania; and earth, air, and sea are unpeopled of the grotesque spirits that were once
believed to haunt them.
Before entering further into the history of Witchcraft, it may be as well if we consider the
absurd impersonation of the evil principle formed by the monks in their legends. We
must make acquaintance with the primum mobile, and understand what sort of a
personage it was, who gave the witches, in exchange for their souls, the power to torment
their fellow-creatures. The popular notion of the devil was, that he was a large, illformed, hairy sprite, with horns, a long tail, cloven feet, and dragon's wings. In this shape
he was constantly brought on the stage by the monks in their early "miracles" and
"mysteries." In these representations he was an important personage, and answered the
purpose of the clown in the modern pantomime. The great fun for the people was to see
him well belaboured by the saints with clubs or cudgels, and to hear him howl with pain
as he limped off, maimed by the blow of some vigorous anchorite. St. Dunstan generally
served him the glorious trick for which he is renowned -- catching hold of his nose with a
pair of red-hot pincers, till
"Rocks and distant dells resounded with his cries."
Some of the saints spat in his face, to his very great annoyance; and others chopped
pieces off his tail, which, however, always grew on again. This was paying him in his
own coin, and amused the populace mightily; for they all remembered the scurvy tricks
he had played them and their forefathers. It was believed that he endeavoured to trip
people up, by laying his long invisible tail in their way, and giving it a sudden whisk
when their legs were over it; -- that he used to get drunk, and swear like a trooper, and be
so mischievous in his cups as to raise tempests and earthquakes, to destroy the fruits of
the earth and the barns and homesteads of true believers; -- that he used to run invisible
spits into people by way of amusing himself in the long winter evenings, and to proceed
to taverns and regale himself with the best, offering in payment pieces of gold which, on
the dawn of the following morning, invariably turned into slates. Sometimes, disguised as
a large drake, he used to lurk among the bulrushes, and frighten the weary traveller out of
his wits by his awful quack. The reader will remember the lines of Burns in his address to
the "De'il," which so well express the popular notion on this point -"Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi' sklentin light,
Wi' you, mysel, I got a fright
Ayont the lough;
Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight
Wi' waving sough.
"The cudgel in my nieve did shake,
Each bristled hair stood like a stake,
When wi' an eldritch stour, 'quaick! quaick!'
Among the springs
Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake,
On whistling wings."
In all the stories circulated and believed about him, he was represented as an ugly, petty,
mischievous spirit, who rejoiced in playing off all manner of fantastic tricks upon poor
humanity. Milton seems to have been the first who succeeded in giving any but a
ludicrous description of him. The sublime pride which is the quintessence of evil, was
unconceived before his time. All other limners made him merely grotesque, but Milton
made him awful. In this the monks showed themselves but miserable romancers; for their
object undoubtedly was to represent the fiend as terrible as possible: but there was
nothing grand about their Satan; on the contrary, he was a low mean devil, whom it was
easy to circumvent and fine fun to play tricks with. But, as is well and eloquently
remarked by a modern writer, [See article on Demonology, in the sixth volume of the
"Foreign Quarterly Review."] the subject has also its serious side. An Indian deity, with
its wild distorted shape and grotesque attitude, appears merely ridiculous when separated
from its accessories and viewed by daylight in a museum; but restore it to the darkness of
its own hideous temple, bring back to our recollection the victims that have bled upon its
altar, or been crushed beneath its ear, and our sense of the ridiculous subsides into
aversion and horror. So, while the superstitious dreams of former times are regarded as
mere speculative insanities, we may be for a moment amused with the wild incoherences
of the patients; but, when we reflect, that out of these hideous misconceptions of the
principle of evil arose the belief in witchcraft -- that this was no dead faith, but one
operating on the whole being of society, urging on the wisest and the mildest to deeds of
murder, or cruelties scarcely less than murder -- that the learned and the beautiful, young
and old, male and female, were devoted by its influence to the stake and the scaffold -every feeling disappears, except that of astonishment that such things could be, and
humiliation at the thought that the delusion was as lasting as it was universal.
Besides this chief personage, there was an infinite number of inferior demons, who
played conspicuous parts in the creed of witchcraft. The pages of Bekker, Leloyer, Bodin,
Delrio, and De Lancre abound with descriptions of the qualities of these imps and the
functions which were assigned them. From these authors, three of whom were
commissioners for the trial of witches, and who wrote from the confessions made by the
supposed criminals and the evidence delivered against them, and from the more recent
work of M. Jules Garinet, the following summary of the creed has been, with great pains,
extracted. The student who is desirous of knowing more, is referred to the works in
question; he will find enough in every leaf to make his blood curdle with shame and
horror: but the purity of these pages shall not be soiled by anything so ineffably
humiliating and disgusting as a complete exposition of them; what is here culled will be a
sufficient sample of the popular belief, and the reader would but lose time who should
seek in the writings of the Demonologists for more ample details. He will gain nothing by
lifting the veil which covers their unutterable obscenities, unless, like Sterne, he wishes to
gather fresh evidence of "what a beast man is." In that case, he will find plenty there to
convince him that the beast would be libelled by the comparison.
It was thought that the earth swarmed with millions of demons of both sexes, many of
whom, like the human race, traced their lineage up to Adam, who, after the fall, was led
astray by devils, assuming the forms of beautiful women to deceive him. These demons
"increased and multiplied," among themselves, with the most extraordinary rapidity.
Their bodies were of the thin air, and they could pass though the hardest substances with
the greatest ease. They had no fixed residence or abiding place, but were tossed to and fro
in the immensity of space. When thrown together in great multitudes, they excited
whirlwinds in the air and tempests in the waters, and took delight in destroying the beauty
of nature and the monuments of the industry of man. Although they increased among
themselves like ordinary creatures, their numbers were daily augmented by the souls of
wicked men -- of children still-born -- of women who died in childbed, and of persons
killed in duels. The whole air was supposed to be full of them, and many unfortunate men
and women drew them by thousands into their mouths and nostrils at every inspiration;
and the demons, lodging in their bowels or other parts of their bodies, tormented them
with pains and diseases of every kind, and sent them frightful dreams. St. Gregory of
Nice relates a story of a nun who forgot to say her benedicite, and make the sign of the
cross, before she sat down to supper, and who, in consequence, swallowed a demon
concealed among the leaves of a lettuce. Most persons said the number of these demons
was so great that they could not be counted, but Wierus asserted that they amounted to no
more than seven millions, four hundred and five thousand, nine hundred, and twenty-six;
and that they were divided into seventy-two companies or battalions, to each of which
there was a prince or captain. They could assume any shape they pleased. When they
were male, they were called incubi; and when female, succubi. They sometimes made
themselves hideous; and at other times, they assumed shapes of such transcendant
loveliness, that mortal eyes never saw beauty to compete with theirs.
Although the devil and his legions could appear to mankind at any time, it was generally
understood that he preferred the night between Friday and Saturday. If Satan himself
appeared in human shape, he was never perfectly, and in all respects, like a man. He was
either too black or too white -- too large or too small, or some of his limbs were out of
proportion to the rest of his body. Most commonly his feet were deformed; and he was
obliged to curl up and conceal his tall in some part of his habiliments; for, take what
shape he would, he could not get rid of that encumbrance. He sometimes changed himself
into a tree or a river; and upon one occasion he transformed himself into a barrister, as we
learn from Wierus, book iv, chapter ix. In the reign of Philippe le Bel, he appeared to a
monk in the shape of a dark man, riding a tall black horse -- then as a friar -- afterwards
as an ass, and finally as a coach-wheel. Instances are not rare in which both he and his
inferior demons have taken the form of handsome young men; and, successfully
concealing their tails, have married beautiful young women, who have had children by
them. Such children were easily recognizable by their continual shrieking -- by their
requiring five nurses to suckle them, and by their never growing fat.
All these demons were at the command of any individual, who would give up his
immortal soul to the prince of evil for the privilege of enjoying their services for a stated
period. The wizard or witch could send them to execute the most difficult missions:
whatever the witch commanded was performed, except it was a good action, in which
case the order was disobeyed, and evil worked upon herself instead.
At intervals, according to the pleasure of Satan, there was a general meeting of the
demons and all the witches. This meeting was called the Sabbath, from its taking place on
the Saturday or immediately after midnight on Fridays. These Sabbaths were sometimes
held for one district, sometimes for another, and once at least, every year, it was held on
the Brocken, or among other high mountains, as a general sabbath of the fiends for the
whole of Christendom.
The devil generally chose a place where four roads met, as the scene of this assembly, or
if that was not convenient, the neighbourhood of a lake. Upon this spot nothing would
ever afterwards grow, as the hot feet of the demons and witches burnt the principle of
fecundity from the earth, and rendered it barren for ever. When orders had been once
issued for the meeting of the Sabbath, all the wizards and witches who failed to attend it
were lashed by demons with a rod made of serpents or scorpions, as a punishment for
their inattention or want of punctuality.
In France and England, the witches were supposed to ride uniformly upon broomsticks;
but in Italy and Spain, the devil himself, in the shape of a goat, used to transport them on
his back, which lengthened or shortened according to the number of witches he was
desirous of accommodating. No witch, when proceeding to the Sabbath, could get out by
a door or window, were she to try ever so much. Their general mode of ingress was by
the keyhole, and of egress, by the chimney, up which they flew, broom and all, with the
greatest ease. To prevent the absence of the witches from being noticed by their
neighbours, some inferior demon was commanded to assume their shapes and lie in their
beds, feigning illness, until the Sabbath was over.
When all the wizards and witches had arrived at the place of rendezvous, the infernal
ceremonies of the Sabbath began. Satan, having assumed his favourite shape of a large
he-goat, with a face in front and another in his haunches, took his seat upon a throne; and
all present, in succession, paid their respects to him, and kissed him in his face behind.
This done, he appointed a master of the ceremonies, in company with whom he made a
personal examination of all the wizards and witches, to see whether they had the secret
mark about them by which they were stamped as the devil's own. This mark was always
insensible to pain. Those who had not yet been marked, received the mark from the
master of the ceremonies; the devil at the same time bestowing nicknames upon them.
This done, they all began to sing and. dance in the most furious manner, until some one
arrived who was anxious to be admitted into their society. They were then silent for a
while, until the new-comer had denied his salvation, kissed the devil, spat upon the Bible,
and sworn obedience to him in all things. They then began dancing again with all their
might, and singing these words,
"Alegremos, Alegremos! Que gente va tenemos!"
In the course of an hour or two, they generally became wearied of this violent exercise,
and then they all sat down and recounted the evil deeds they had done since their last
meeting. Those who had not been malicious and mischievous enough towards their
fellow-creatures, received personal chastisement from Satan himself, who flogged them
with thorns or scorpions till they were covered with blood, and unable to sit or stand.
When this ceremony was concluded, they were all amused by a dance of toads.
Thousands of these creatures sprang out of the earth; and standing on their hind-legs,
danced, while the devil played the bagpipes or the trumpet. These toads were all endowed
with the faculty of speech, and entreated the witches to reward them with the flesh of
unbaptized babes for their exertions to give them pleasure. The witches promised
compliance. The devil bade them remember to keep their word; and then stamping his
foot, caused all the toads to sink into the earth in an instant. The place being thus cleared,
preparation was made for the banquet, where all manner of disgusting things were served
up and greedily devoured by the demons and witches; although the latter were sometimes
regaled with choice meats and expensive wines from golden plates and crystal goblets;
but they were never thus favoured unless they had done an extraordinary number of evil
deeds since the last period of meeting.
After the feast, they began dancing again; but such as had no relish for any more exercise
in that way, amused themselves by mocking the holy sacrament of baptism. For this
purpose, the toads were again called up, and sprinkled with filthy water; the devil making
the sign of the cross, and all the witches calling out, "In nomine Patrica, Aragueaco
Petrica, agora! agora! Valentia, jouando goure gaits goustia!" which meant, "In the name
of Patrick, Petrick of Aragon, -- now, now, all our ills are over!"
When the devil wished to be particularly amused, he made the witches strip off their
clothes and dance before him, each with a cat tied round her neck, and another dangling
from her body in form of a tail. When the cock crew, they all disappeared, and the
Sabbath was ended.
This is a summary of the belief which prevailed for many centuries nearly all over
Europe, and which is far from eradicated even at this day. It was varied in some respects
in several countries, but the main points were the same in France, Germany, Great
Britain, Italy, Spain, and the far North of Europe.
The early annals of France abound with stories of supposed sorcery, but it was not until
the time of Charlemagne that the crime acquired any great importance. "This monarch,"
says M. Jules Garinet, ["Histoire de la Magie en France. Rois de la seconde race," page
29.] "had several times given orders that all necromancers, astrologers, and witches
should be driven from his states; but as the number of criminals augmented daily, he
found it necessary at last to resort to severer measures. In consequence, he published
several edicts, which may be found at length in the 'Capitulaire de Baluse.' By these,
every sort of magic, enchantment, and witchcraft was forbidden; and the punishment of
death decreed against those who in any way evoked the devil -- compounded lovephilters -- afflicted either man or woman with barrenness -- troubled the atmosphere -excited tempests -- destroyed the fruits of the earth -- dried up the milk of cows, or
tormented their fellow-creatures with sores and diseases. All persons found guilty of
exercising these execrable arts, were to be executed immediately upon conviction, that
the earth might be rid of the burthen and curse of their presence; and those even who
consulted them might also be punished with death. [M. Michaud, in his "History of the
Crusades," M. Guinguene, in his "Literary History of Italy," and some other critics, have
objected to Tasso's poem, that he has attributed to the Crusaders a belief in magic, which
did not exist at that time. If these critics had referred to the Edicts of Charlemagne, they
would have seen that Tasso was right, and that a disposition too eager to spy out
imperfections in a great work was leading themselves into error.]
After this time, prosecutions for witchcraft are continually mentioned, especially by the
French historians. It was a crime imputed with so much ease, and repelled with so much
difficulty, that the powerful, whenever they wanted to ruin the weak, and could fix no
other imputation upon them, had only to accuse them of witchcraft to ensure their
destruction. Instances, in which this crime was made the pretext for the most violent
persecution, both of individuals and of communities, whose real offences were purely
political or religious, must be familiar to every reader. The extermination of the
Stedinger, in 1234; of the Templars, from 1307 to 1313; the execution of Joan of Arc, in
1429; and the unhappy scenes of Arras, in 1459; are the most prominent. The first of
these is perhaps the least known, but is not among the least remarkable. The following
account, from Dr. Kortum's interesting history ["Entstehungsgeschichte der
freistadlischen Bunde im Mittelalter, von Dr. F. Kortum." 1827.] of the republican
confederacies of the Middle Ages, will show the horrible convenience of imputations of
witchcraft, when royal or priestly wolves wanted a pretext for a quarrel with the sheep.
The Frieslanders, inhabiting the district from the Weser to the Zuydersee, had long been
celebrated for their attachment to freedom, and their successful struggles in its defence.
As early as the eleventh century, they had formed a general confederacy against the
encroachments of the Normans and the Saxons, which was divided into seven seelands,
holding annually a diet under a large oaktree at Aurich, near the Upstalboom. Here they
managed their own affairs, without the control of the clergy and ambitious nobles who
surrounded them, to the great scandal of the latter. They already had true notions of a
representative government. The deputies of the people levied the necessary taxes,
deliberated on the affairs of the community, and performed, in their simple and
patriarchal manner; nearly all the functions of the representative assemblies of the present
day. Finally, the Archbishop of Bremen, together with the Count of Oldenburg and other
neighbouring potentates, formed a league against that section of the Frieslanders, known
by the name of the Stedinger, and succeeded, after harassing them, and sowing
dissensions among them for many years, in bringing them under the yoke. But the
Stedinger, devotedly attached to their ancient laws, by which they had attained a degree
of civil and religious liberty very uncommon in that age, did not submit without a violent
struggle. They arose in insurrection, in the year 1204, in defence of the ancient customs
of their country -- refused to pay taxes to the feudal chiefs, or tithes to the clergy, who
had forced themselves into their peaceful retreats, and drove out many of their
oppressors. For a period of eight-and-twenty years the brave Stedinger continued the
struggle single-handed against the forces of the Archbishops of Bremen and the Counts
of Oldenburg, and destroyed, in the year 1232, the strong castle of Slutterberg, near
Delmenhorst, built by the latter nobleman as a position from which he could send out his
marauders to plunder and destroy the possessions of the peasantry.
The invincible courage of these poor people proving too strong for their oppressors to
cope with by the ordinary means of warfare, the Archbishop of Bremen applied to Pope
Gregory IX. for his spiritual aid against them. That prelate entered cordially into the
cause, and launching forth his anathema against the Stedinger as heretics and witches,
encouraged all true believers to assist in their extermination. A large body of thieves and
fanatics broke into their country in the year 1233, killing and burning wherever they
went, and not sparing either women or children, the sick or the aged, in their rage. The
Stedinger, however, rallied in great force, routed their invaders, and killed in battle their
leader, Count Burckhardt of Oldenburg, with many inferior chieftains.
Again the pope was applied to, and a crusade against the Stedinger was preached in all
that part of Germany. The pope wrote to all the bishops and leaders of the faithful an
exhortation to arm, to root out from the land those abominable witches and wizards. "The
Stedinger," said his Holiness, "seduced by the devil, have abjured all the laws of God and
man; slandered the Church -- insulted the holy sacraments -- consulted witches to raise
evil spirits -- shed blood like water -- taken the lives of priests, and concocted an infernal
scheme to propagate the worship of the devil, whom they adore under the name of
Asmodi. The devil appears to them in different shapes; sometimes as a goose or a duck,
and at others in the figure of a pale, black-eyed youth, with a melancholy aspect, whose
embrace fills their hearts with eternal hatred against the holy church of Christ. This devil
presides at their Sabbaths, when they all kiss him and dance around him. He then
envelopes them in total darkness, and they all, male and female, give themselves up to the
grossest and most disgusting debauchery."
In consequence of these letters of the pope, the Emperor of Germany, Frederic II, also
pronounced his ban against them. The Bishops of Ratzebourg, Lubeck, Osnabruek,
Munster, and Minden took up arms to exterminate them, aided by the Duke of Brabant,
the Counts of Holland, of Cloves, of the Mark, of Oldenburg, of Egmond, of Diest, and
many other powerful nobles. An army of forty thousand men was soon collected, which
marched, under the command of the Duke of Brabant, into the country of the Stedinger.
The latter mustered vigorously in defence of their lives and liberties, but could raise no
greater force, including every man capable of bearing arms, than eleven thousand men to
cope against the overwhelming numbers of their foe. They fought with the energy of
despair, but all in vain. Eight thousand of them were slain on the field of battle; the whole
race was exterminated; and the enraged conquerors scoured the country in all directions - slew the women and children and old men -- drove away the cattle -- fired the woods
and cottages, and made a total waste of the land.
Just as absurd and effectual was the charge brought against the Templars in 1307, when
they had rendered themselves obnoxious to the potentates and prelacy of Christendom.
Their wealth, their power, their pride, and their insolence had raised up enemies on every
side; and every sort of accusation was made against them, but failed to work their
overthrow, until the terrible cry of witchcraft was let loose upon them. This effected its
object, and the Templars were extirpated. They were accused of having sold their souls to
the devil, and of celebrating all the infernal mysteries of the witches' Sabbath. It was
pretended that, when they admitted a novice into their order, they forced him to renounce
his salvation and curse Jesus Christ; that they then made him submit to many unholy and
disgusting ceremonies, and forced him to kiss the Superior on the cheek, the navel, and
the breech; and spit three times upon a crucifix. That all the members were forbidden to
have connexion with women, but might give themselves up without restraint to every
species of unmentionable debauchery. That when, by any mischance, a Templar infringed
this order, and a child was born, the whole order met, and tossed it about like a
shuttlecock from one to the other until it expired; that they then roasted it by a slow fire,
and with the fat which trickled from it anointed the hair and beard of a large image of the
devil. It was also said that, when one of the knights died, his body was burnt into a
powder, and then mixed with wine and drunk by every member of the order. Philip IV,
who, to exercise his own implacable hatred, invented, in all probability, the greater part
of these charges, issued orders for the immediate arrest of all the Templars in his
dominions. The pope afterwards took up the cause with almost as much fervour as the
King of France; and in every part of Europe, the Templars were thrown into prison and
their goods and estates confiscated. Hundreds of them, when put to the rack, confessed
even the most preposterous of the charges against them, and by so doing, increased the
popular clamour and the hopes of their enemies. It is true that, when removed from the
rack, they denied all they had previously confessed; but this circumstance only increased
the outcry, and was numbered as an additional crime against them. They were considered
in a worse light than before, and condemned forthwith to the flames, as relapsed heretics.
Fifty-nine of these unfortunate victims were all burned together by a slow fire in a field in
the suburbs of Paris, protesting to the very last moment of their lives, their innocence of
the crimes imputed to them, and refusing to accept of pardon upon condition of
acknowledging themselves guilty. Similar scenes were enacted in the provinces; and for
four years, hardly a month passed without witnessing the execution of one or more of
these unhappy men. Finally, in 1313, the last scene of this tragedy closed by the burning
of the Grand-Master, Jacques de Molay, and his companion, Guy, the Commander of
Normandy. Anything more atrocious it is impossible to conceive; disgraceful alike to the
monarch who originated, the pope who supported, and the age which tolerated the
monstrous iniquity. That the malice of a few could invent such a charge, is a humiliating
thought for the lover of his species; but that millions of mankind should credit it, is still
more so.
The execution of Joan of Arc is the next most notorious example which history affords
us, of the imputation of witchcraft against a political enemy. Instances of similar
persecution, in which this crime was made the pretext for the gratification of political or
religious hatred, might be multiplied to a great extent. But it is better to proceed at once
to the consideration of the bull of Pope Innocent, the torch that set fire to the longlaid
train, and caused so fearful an explosion over the Christian world. It will be necessary,
however, to go back for some years anterior to that event, the better to understand the
motives that influenced the Church in the promulgation of that fearful document.
Towards the close of the fourteenth and beginning of the fifteenth century, many witches
were burned in different parts of Europe. As a natural consequence of the severe
persecution, the crime, or the pretenders to it, increased. Those who found themselves
accused and threatened with the penalties, if they happened to be persons of a bad and
malicious disposition, wished they had the power imputed to them, that they might be
revenged upon their persecutors. Numerous instances are upon record of half-crazed
persons being found muttering the spells which were supposed to raise the evil one.
When religion and law alike recognized the crime, it is no wonder that the weak in reason
and the strong in imagination, especially when they were of a nervous temperament,
fancied themselves endued with the terrible powers of which all the world was speaking.
The belief of their neighbours did not lag behind their own, and execution was the speedy
consequence.
As the fear of witchcraft increased, the Catholic clergy strove to fix the imputation of it
upon those religious sects, the pioneers of the Reformation, who began about this time to
be formidable to the Church of Rome. If a charge of heresy could not ensure their
destruction, that of sorcery and witchcraft never failed. In the year 1459, a devoted
congregation of the Waldenses, at Arras, who used to repair at night to worship God in
their own manner in solitary places, fell victims to an accusation of sorcery. It was
rumored in Arras that in the desert places to which they retired, the devil appeared before
them in human form, and read from a large book his laws and ordinances, to which they
all promised obedience; that he then distributed money and food among them, to bind
them to his service, which done, they gave themselves up to every species of lewdness
and debauchery. Upon these rumours, several creditable persons in Arras were seized and
imprisoned, together with a number of decrepit and idiotic old women. The rack, that
convenient instrument for making the accused confess anything, was of course put in
requisition. Monstrelet, in his Chronicle, says that they were tortured until some of them
admitted the truth of the whole accusations, and said besides, that they had seen and
recognized, in their nocturnal assemblies, many persons of rank; many prelates,
seigneurs, governors of bailliages, and mayors of cities, being such names as the
examiners had themselves suggested to the victims. Several who had been thus informed
against, were thrown into prison, and so horribly tortured, that reason fled, and, in their
ravings of pain, they also confessed their midnight meetings with the devil, and the oaths
they had taken to serve him. Upon these confessions judgment was pronounced: the poor
old women, as usual in such cases, were hanged and burned in the market-place; the more
wealthy delinquents were allowed to escape, upon payment of large sums. It was soon
after universally recognized that these trials had been conducted in the most odious
manner, and that the judges had motives of private vengeance against many of the more
influential persons who had been implicated. The Parliament of Paris afterwards declared
the sentence illegal, and the judges iniquitous; but its arret was too late to be of service
even to those who had paid the fine, or to punish the authorities who had misconducted
themselves; for it was not delivered until thirty-two years after the executions had taken
place.
In the mean time, accusations of witchcraft spread rapidly in France, Italy, and Germany.
Strange to say, that although in the first instance chiefly directed against heretics, the
latter were as firm believers in the crime as even the Catholics themselves. In after times
we also find that the Lutherans and Calvinists became greater witchburners than ever the
Romanists had been: so deeply was the prejudice rooted. Every other point of belief was
in dispute, but that was considered by every sect to be as well established as the
authenticity of the Scriptures, or the existence of a God.
But at this early period of the epidemic the persecutions were directed by the heads of the
Catholic Church. The spread of heresy betokened, it was thought, the coming of
Antichrist. Florimond, in his work concerning the Antichrist, lets us fully into the secret
of these prosecutions. He says, "All who have afforded us some signs of the approach of
Antichrist agree that the increase of sorcery and witchcraft is to distinguish the
melancholy period of his advent; and was ever age so afflicted as ours? The seats
destined for criminals in our courts of justice are blackened with persons accused of this
guilt. There are not judges enough to try them. Our dungeons are gorged with them. No
day passes that we do not render our tribunals bloody by the dooms which we pronounce,
or in which we do not return to our homes, discountenanted and terrified at the horrible
confessions which we have heard. And the devil is accounted so good a master, that we
cannot commit so great a number of his slaves to the flames, but what there shall arise
from their ashes a sufficient number to supply their place."
Florimond here spoke the general opinion of the Church of Rome; but it never suggested
itself to the mind of any person engaged in these trials, that if it were indeed a devil, who
raised up so many new witches to fill the places of those consumed, it was no other than
one in their own employ -- the devil of persecution. But so it was. The more they burned,
the more they found to burn; until it became a common prayer with women in the
humbler walks of life, that they might never live to grow old. It was sufficient to be aged,
poor, and ill-tempered, to ensure death at the stake or the scaffold.
In the year 1487 there was a severe storm in Switzerland, which laid waste the country
for four miles around Constance. Two wretched old women, whom the popular voice had
long accused of witchcraft, were arrested on the preposterous charge of having raised the
tempest. The rack was displayed, and the two poor creatures extended upon it. In reply to
various leading questions from their tormentors, they owned, in their agony, that they
were in the constant habit of meeting the devil, that they had sold their souls to him, and
that at their command he had raised the tempest. Upon this insane and blasphemous
charge they were condemned to die. In the criminal registers of Constance there stands
against the name of each the simple but significant phrase, "convicta et combusta."
This case and hundreds of others were duly reported to the ecclesiastical powers. There
happened at that time to be a Pontiff at the head of the Church who had given much of his
attention to the subject of witchcraft, and who, with the intent of rooting out the crime,
did more to increase it than any other man that ever lived. John Baptist Cibo, elected to
the Papacy in 1485, under the designation of Innocent VIII, was sincerely alarmed at the
number of witches, and launched forth his terrible manifesto against them. In his
celebrated bull of 1488, he called the nations of Europe to the rescue of the church of
Christ upon earth, emperilled by the arts of Satan, and set forth the horrors that had
reached his ears; how that numbers of both sexes had intercourse with the infernal fiends;
how by their sorceries they afflicted both man and beast; how they blighted the marriage
bed, destroyed the births of women and the increase of cattle; and how they blasted the
corn on the ground, the grapes of the vineyard, the fruits of the trees, and the herbs of the
field. In order that criminals so atrocious might no longer pollute the earth, he appointed
inquisitors in every country, armed with the apostolic power to convict and punish.
It was now that the Witch Mania, properly so called, may be said to have fairly
commenced. Immediately a class of men sprang up in Europe, who made it the sole
business of their lives to discover and burn the witches. Sprenger, in Germany, was the
most celebrated of these national scourges. In his notorious work, the "Malleus
Maleficarum," he laid down a regular form of trial, and appointed a course of
examination by which the inquisitors in other countries might best discover the guilty.
The questions, which were always enforced by torture, were of the most absurd and
disgusting nature. The inquisitors were required to ask the suspected whether they had
midnight meetings with the devil? whether they attended the witch's sabbath on the
Brocken? whether they had their familiar spirits? whether they could raise whirlwinds
and call down the lightning? and whether they had sexual intercourse with Satan?
Straightway the inquisitors set to work; Cumarius, in Italy, burned forty-one poor women
in one province alone, and Sprenger, in Germany, burned a number which can never be
ascertained correctly, but which, it is agreed on all hands, amounted to more than five
hundred in a year. The great resemblance between the confessions of the unhappy victims
was regarded as a new proof of the existence of the crime. But this is not astonishing. The
same questions from the "Malleus Maleficarum," were put to them all, and torture never
failed to educe the answer required by the inquisitor. Numbers of people whose
imaginations were filled with these horrors, went further in the way of confession than
even their tormenters anticipated, in the hope that they would thereby be saved from the
rack, and put out of their misery at once. Some confessed that they had had children by
the devil; but no one, who had ever been a mother, gave utterance to such a frantic
imagining, even in the extremity of her anguish. The childless only confessed it, and were
burned instanter as unworthy to live.
For fear the zeal of the enemies of Satan should cool, successive Popes appointed new
commissions. One was appointed by Alexander VI, in 1494; another by Leo X, in 1521,
and a third by Adrian VI, in 1522. They were all armed with the same powers to hunt out
and destroy, and executed their fearful functions but too rigidly. In Geneva alone five
hundred persons were burned in the years 1515 and 1516, under the title of Protestant
witches. It would appear that their chief crime was heresy, and their witchcraft merely an
aggravation. Bartolomeo de Spina has a list still more fearful. He informs us that, in the
year 1524, no less than a thousand persons suffered death for witchcraft in the district of
Como, and that for several years afterwards the average number of victims exceeded a
hundred annually. One inquisitor, Remigius, took great credit to himself for having,
during fifteen years, convicted and burned nine hundred.
In France, about the year 1520, fires for the execution of witches blazed in almost every
town. Danaeus, in his "Dialogues of Witches," says they were so numerous that it would
he next to impossible to tell the number of them. So deep was the thraldom of the human
mind, that the friends and relatives of the accused parties looked on and approved. The
wife or sister of a murderer might sympathise in his fate, but the wives and husbands of
sorcerers and witches had no pity. The truth is that pity was dangerous, for it was thought
no one could have compassion on the sufferings of a witch who was not a dabbler in the
art: to have wept for a witch would have insured the stake. In some districts, however, the
exasperation of the people broke out, in spite of superstition. The inquisitor of a rural
township in Piedmont burned the victims so plentifully, and so fast, that there was not a
family in the place which did not lose a member. The people at last arose, and the
inquisitor was but too happy to escape from the country with whole limbs. The
Archbishop of the diocese proceeded afterwards to the trial of such as the inquisitor had
left in prison.
Some of the charges were so utterly preposterous that the poor wretches were at once
liberated; others met a harder, but the usual fate. Some of them were accused of having
joined the witches' dance at midnight under a blasted oak, where they had been seen by
creditable people. The husbands of several of these women (two of whom were young
and beautiful) swore positively that at the time stated their wives were comfortably asleep
in their arms; but it was all in vain. Their word was taken, but the Archbishop told them
they had been deceived by the devil and their own senses. It was true they might have had
the semblance of their wives in their beds, but the originals were far away, at the devil's
dance under the oak. The honest fellows were confounded, and their wives burned
forthwith.
In the year 1561, five poor women of Verneuil were accused of transforming themselves
into cats, and in that shape attending the sabbath of the fiends -- prowling around Satan,
who presided over them in the form of a goat, and dancing, to amuse him, upon his back.
They were found guilty, and burned. [Bodin, page 95. Garinet, page 125. "Anti-demon de
Serclier," page 346.]
In 1564, three wizards and a witch appeared before the Presidents Salvert and D'Avanton:
they confessed, when extended on the rack, that they anointed the sheep-pens with
infernal unguents to kill the sheep -- that they attended the sabbath, where they saw a
great black goat, which spoke to them, and made them kiss him, each holding a lighted
candle in his hand while he performed the ceremony. They were all executed at Poitiers.
In 1571, the celebrated sorcerer, Trois Echelles, was burned in the Place de Greve, in
Paris. He confessed, in the presence of Charles IX, and of the Marshals de Montmorency,
De Retz, and the Sieur du Mazille, physician to the King, that he could perform the most
wonderful things by the aid of a devil to whom he had sold himself. He described at great
length the saturnalia of the fiends -- the sacrifices which they offered up -- the
debaucheries they committed with the young and handsome witches, and the various
modes of preparing the infernal unguent for blighting cattle. He said he had upwards of
twelve hundred accomplices in the crime of witchcraft in various parts of France, whom
he named to the King, and many of whom were afterwards arrested and suffered
execution.
At Dole, two years afterwards, Gilles Garnier, a native of Lyons, was indicted for being a
loupgarou, or man-wolf, and for prowling in that shape about the country at night to
devour little children. The indictment against him, as read by Henri Camus, doctor of
laws and counsellor of the King, was to the effect that he, Gilles Garnier, had seized upon
a little girl, twelve years of age, whom he drew into a vineyard and there killed, partly
with his teeth and partly with his hands, seeming like wolf's paws -- that from thence he
trailed her bleeding body along the ground with his teeth into the wood of La Serre,
where he ate the greatest portion of her at one meal, and carried the remainder home to
his wife; that, upon another occasion, eight days before the festival of All Saints, he was
seen to seize another child in his teeth, and would have devoured her had she not been
rescued by the country-people -- and that the said child died a few days afterwards of the
injuries he had inflicted; that fifteen days after the same festival of All Saints, being again
in the shape of a wolf, he devoured a boy thirteen years of age, having previously torn off
his leg and thigh with his teeth, and hid them away for his breakfast on the morrow. He
was, furthermore, indicted for giving way to the same diabolical and unnatural
propensities even in his shape of a man, and that he had strangled a boy in a wood with
the intention of eating him, which crime he would have effected if he had not been seen
by the neighhours and prevented.
Gilles Garnier was put to the rack, after fifty witnesses had deposed against him: he
confessed everything that was laid to his charge. He was, thereupon, brought back into
the presence of his judges, when Dr. Camus, in the name of the Parliament of Dole,
pronounced the following sentence:-"Seeing that Gilles Garnier has, by the testimony of credible witnesses, and by his own
spontaneous confession, been proved guilty of the abominable crimes of lycanthropy and
witchcraft, this court condemns him, the said Gilles, to be this day taken in a cart from
this spot to the place of execution, accompanied by the executioner (maitre executeur de
la haute justice), where he, by the said executioner, shall be tied to a stake and burned
alive, and that his ashes be then scattered to the winds. The Court further condemns him,
the said Gilles, to the costs of this prosecution."
"Given at Dole, this 18th day of January, 1573."
In 1578, the Parliament of Paris was occupied for several days with the trial of a man,
named Jacques Roller. He, also, was found guilty of being a loup-garou, and in that shape
devouring a little boy. He was burnt alive in the Place de Greve.
In 1579, so much alarm was excited in the neighbourhood of Melun by the increase of
witches and loup-garous, that a council was held to devise some measures to stay the evil.
A decree was passed, that all witches, and consulters with witches, should be punished
with death; and not only those, but fortune-tellers and conjurors of every kind. The
Parliament of Rouen took up the same question in the following year, and decreed that
the possession of a grimoire, or book of spells, was sufficient evidence of witchcraft; and
that all persons on whom such books were found should be burned alive. Three councils
were held in different parts of France in the year 1583, all in relation to the same subject.
The Parliament of Bourdeaux issued strict injunctions to all curates and clergy whatever,
to use redoubled efforts to root out the crime of witchcraft. The Parliament of Tours was
equally peremptory, and feared the judgments of an offended God, if all these dealers
with the devil were not swept from the face of the land. The Parliament of Rheims was
particularly severe against the noueurs d'aiguillette, or "tyers of the knot;" people of both
sexes, who took pleasure in preventing the consummation of marriage, that they might
counteract the command of God to our first parents, to increase and multiply. This
Parliament held it to be sinful to wear amulets to preserve from witchcraft; and that this
practice might not be continued within its jurisdiction, drew up a form of exorcism,
which would more effectually defeat the agents of the devil, and put them to flight.
A case of witchcraft, which created a great sensation in its day, occurred in 1588, at a
village in the mountains of Auvergne, about two leagues from Apchon. A gentleman of
that place being at his window, there passed a friend of his who had been out hunting,
and who was then returning to his own house. The gentleman asked his friend what sport
he had had; upon which the latter informed him that he had been attacked in the plain by
a large and savage wolf, which he had shot at, without wounding; and that he had then
drawn out his hunting-knife and cut off the animal's fore-paw, as it sprang upon his neck
to devour him. The huntsman, upon this, put his hand into his bag to pull out the paw, but
was shocked to find that it was a woman's hand, with a wedding-ring on the finger. The
gentleman immediately recognized his wife's ring, "which," says the indictment against
her, "made him begin to suspect some evil of her." He immediately went in search of her,
and found her sitting by the fire in the kitchen, with her arm hidden underneath her apron.
He tore off her apron with great vehemence, and found that she had no hand, and that the
stump was even then bleeding. She was given into custody, and burned at Riom in
presence of some thousands of spectators. [Tablier. See also Boguet, "Discours sur les
Sorciers;" and M. Jules Garinet, "Histoire de la Magie," page 150.]
In the midst of these executions, rare were the gleams of mercy; few instances are upon
record of any acquittal taking place when the charge was witchcraft. The discharge of
fourteen persons by the Parliament of Paris, in the year 1589, is almost a solitary example
of a return to reason. Fourteen persons, condemned to death for witchcraft, appealed
against the judgment to the Parliament of Paris, which for political reasons had been
exiled to Tours. The Parliament named four commissioners, Pierre Pigray, the King's
surgeon, and Messieurs Leroi, Renard, and Falaiseau, the King's physicians, to visit and
examine these witches, and see whether they had the mark of the devil upon them.
Pigray, who relates the circumstance in his work on Surgery, book vii, chapter the tenth,
says the visit was made in presence of two counsellors of the court. The witches were all
stripped naked, and the physicians examined their bodies very diligently, pricking them
in all the marks they could find, to see whether they were insensible to pain, which was
always considered a certain proof of guilt. They were, however, very sensible of the
pricking, and some of them called out very lustily when the pins were driven into them.
"We found them," continues Pierre Pigray, "to be very poor, stupid people, and some of
them insane; many of them were quite indifferent about life, and one or two of them
desired death as a relief for their sufferings. Our opinion was, that they stood more in
need of medicine than of punishment, and so we reported to the Parliament. Their case
was, thereupon, taken into further consideration, and the Parliament, after mature counsel
amongst all the members, ordered the poor creatures to be sent to their homes, without
inflicting any punishment upon them."
Such was the dreadful state of Italy, Germany, and France, during the sixteenth century,
which was far from being the worst crisis of the popular madness with regard to
witchcraft. Let us see what was the state of England during the same period. The
Reformation, which in its progress had rooted out so many errors, stopped short at this,
the greatest error of all. Luther and Calvin were as firm believers in witchcraft as Pope
Innocent himself, and their followers showed themselves more zealous persecutors than
the Romanists. Dr. Hutchinson, in his work on Witchcraft, asserts that the mania
manifested itself later in England, and raged with less virulence than on the Continent.
The first assertion only is true; but though the persecution began later both in England
and Scotland, its progress was as fearful as elsewhere.
It was not until more than fifty years after the issuing of the Bull of Innocent VIII. that
the Legislature of England thought fit to make any more severe enactments against
sorcery than those already in operation. The statute of 1541 was the first that specified the
particular crime of witchcraft. At a much earlier period, many persons had suffered death
for sorcery in addition to other offences; but no executions took place for attending the
witches' sabbath, raising tempests, afflicting cattle with barrenness, and all the fantastic
trumpery of the Continent. Two statutes were passed in 1551; the first, relating to false
prophecies, caused mainly, no doubt, by the impositions of Elizabeth Barton, the Holy
Maid of Kent, in 1534, and the second against conjuration, witchcraft, and sorcery. But
even this enactment did not consider witchcraft as penal in itself, and only condemned to
death those who by means of spells, incantations, or contracts with the devil, attempted
the lives of their neighbours. The statute of Elizabeth, in 1562, at last recognized
witchcraft as a crime of the highest magnitude, whether exerted or not to the injury of the
lives, limbs, and possessions of the community. From that date, the persecution may be
fairly said to have commenced in England. It reached its climax in the early part of the
seventeenth century, which was the hottest period of the mania all over Europe.
A few cases of witch persecution in the sixteenth century will enable the reader to form a
more accurate idea of the progress of this great error than if he plunged at once into that
busy period of its history when Matthew Hopkins and his coadjutors exercised their
infernal calling. Several instances occur in England during the latter years of the reign of
Elizabeth. At this time the public mind had become pretty familiar with the details of the
crime. Bishop Jewell, in his sermons before Her Majesty, used constantly to conclude
them by a fervent prayer that she might be preserved from witches. Upon one occasion,
in 1598, his words were, "It may please your Grace to understand that witches and
sorcerers, within these last four years, are marvellously increased within this your Grace's
realm. Your Grace's subjects pine away even unto the death; their colour fadeth -- their
flesh rotteth -- their speech is benumbed-- their senses are bereft! I pray God they may
never practise further than upon the subject!"
By degrees, an epidemic terror of witchcraft spread into the villages. In proportion as the
doctrines of the Puritans took root this dread increased, and, of course, brought
persecution in its train. The Church of England has claimed, and is entitled to the merit,
of having been less influenced in these matters than any other sect of Christians; but still
they were tainted with the superstition of the age. One of the most flagrant instances of
cruelty and delusion upon record was consummated under the authority of the Church,
and commemorated till a very late period by an annual lecture at the University of
Cambridge.
This is the celebrated case of the Witches of Warbois, who were executed about thirtytwo years after the passing of the statute of Elizabeth. Although in the interval but few
trials are recorded, there is, unfortunately, but too much evidence to show the extreme
length to which the popular prejudice was carried. Many women lost their lives in every
part of England without being brought to trial at all, from the injuries received at the
hands of the people. The number of these can never be ascertained.
The case of the Witches of Warbois merits to be detailed at length, not only from the
importance attached to it for so many years by the learned of the University, but from the
singular absurdity of the evidence upon which men, sensible in all other respects, could
condemn their fellow-creatures to the scaffold.
The principal actors in this strange drama were the families of Sir Samuel Cromwell and
a Mr. Throgmorton, both gentlemen of landed property near Warbois, in the county of
Huntingdon. Mr. Throgmorton had several daughters, the eldest of whom, Mistress Joan,
was an imaginative and melancholy girl, whose head was filled with stories of ghosts and
witches. Upon one occasion she chanced to pass the cottage of one Mrs. or, as she was
called, Mother Samuel, a very aged, a very poor, and a very ugly woman. Mother Samuel
was sitting at her door knitting, with a black cap upon her head, when this silly young
lady passed, and taking her eyes from her work she looked steadfastly at her. Mistress
Joan immediately fancied that she felt sudden pains in all her limbs, and from that day
forth, never ceased to tell her sisters, and everybody about her, that Mother Samuel had
bewitched her. The other children took up the cry, and actually frightened themselves
into fits whenever they passed within sight of this terrible old woman.
Mr. and Mrs. Throgmorton, not a whir wiser than their children, believed all the absurd
tales they had been told; and Lady Cromwell, a gossip of Mrs. Throgmorton, made
herself very active in the business, and determined to bring the witch to the ordeal. The
sapient Sir Samuel joined in the scheme; and the children thus encouraged gave loose
reins to their imaginations, which seem to have been of the liveliest. They soon invented
a whole host of evil spirits, and names for them besides, which, they said, were sent by
Mother Samuel to torment them continually. Seven spirits especially, they said, were
raised from hell by this wicked woman to throw them into fits; and as the children were
actually subject to fits, their mother and her commeres gave the more credit to the story.
The names of these spirits were, "First Smack," "Second Smack," "Third Smack," "Blue,"
"Catch," "Hardname," and "Pluck."
Throgmorton, the father, was so pestered by these idle fancies, and yet so well inclined to
believe them, that he marched valiantly forth to the hut where Mother Samuel resided
with her husband and daughter, and dragged her forcibly into his own grounds. Lady
Cromwell, Mrs. Throgmorton, and the girls were in waiting, armed with long pins to
prick the witch, and see if they could draw blood from her. Lady Cromwell, who seems
to have been the most violent of the party, tore the old woman's cap off her head, and
plucking out a handful of her grey hair, gave it to Mrs. Throgmorton to burn, as a charm
which would preserve them all from her future machinations. It was no wonder that the
poor creature, subjected to this rough usage, should give vent to an involuntary curse
upon her tormentors. She did so, and her curse was never forgotten. Her hair, however,
was supposed to be a grand specific, and she was allowed to depart, half dead with terror
and ill usage. For more than a year, the families of Cromwell and Throgmorton continued
to persecute her, and to assert that her imps afflicted them with pains and fits, turned the
milk sour in their pans, and prevented their cows and ewes from bearing. In the midst of
these fooleries, Lady Cromwell was taken ill and died. It was then remembered that her
death had taken place exactly a year and a quarter since she was cursed by Mother
Samuel, and that on several occasions she had dreamed of the witch and a black cat, the
latter being of course the arch-enemy of mankind himself.
Sir Samuel Cromwell now conceived himself bound to take more energetic measures
against the sorceress, since he had lost his wife by her means. The year and a quarter and
the black cat were proofs positive. All the neighbours had taken up the cry of witchcraft
against Mother Samuel; and her personal appearance, unfortunately for her, the very ideal
of what a witch ought to be, increased the popular suspicion. It would appear that at last
the poor woman believed, even to her own disadvantage, that she was what everybody
represented her to be. Being forcibly brought into Mr. Throgmorton's house, when his
daughter Joan was in one of her customary fits, she was commanded by him and Sir
Samuel Cromwell to expel the devil from the young lady. She was told to repeat her
exorcism, and to add, "as I am a witch, and the causer of Lady Cromwell's death, I charge
thee, fiend, to come out of her!" She did as was required of her, and moreover confessed
that her husband and daughter were leagued with her in witchcraft, and had, like her, sold
their souls to the devil. The whole family were immediately arrested, and sent to
Huntingdon to prison.
The trial was instituted shortly afterwards before Mr. Justice Fenner, when all the crazy
girls of Mr. Throgmorton's family gave evidence against Mother Samuel and her family.
They were all three put to the torture. The old woman confessed in her anguish that she
was a witch -- that she had cast her spells upon the young ladies, and that she had caused
the death of Lady Cromwell. The father and daughter, stronger in mind than their
unfortunate wife and parent, refused to confess anything, and asserted their innocence to
the last. They were all three condemned to be hanged, and their bodies burned. The
daughter, who was young and good-looking, excited the pity of many persons, and she
was advised to plead pregnancy, that she might gain at ]east a respite from death. The
poor girl refused proudly, on the ground that she would not be accounted both a witch
and a strumpet. Her half-witted old mother caught at the idea of a few weeks' longer life,
and asserted that she was pregnant. The court was convulsed with laughter, in which the
wretched victim herself joined, and this was accounted an additional proof that she was a
witch. The whole family were executed on the 7th of April, 1593.
Sir Samuel Cromwell, as lord of the manor, received the sum of 40 pounds out of the
confiscated property of the Samuels, which he turned into a rent-charge of 40 shillings
yearly, for the endowment of an annual sermon or lecture upon the enormity of
witchcraft, and this case in particular, to be preached by a doctor or bachelor of divinity
of Queen's College, Cambridge. I have not been able to ascertain the exact date at which
this annual lecture was discontinued, but it appears to have been preached so late as 1718,
when Dr. Hutchinson published his work upon witchcraft.
To carry on in proper chronological order the history of the witch delusion in the British
isles, it will be necessary to examine into what was taking place in Scotland during all
that part of the sixteenth century anterior to the accession of James VI. to the crown of
England. We naturally expect that the Scotch, -- a people renowned from the earliest
times for their powers of imagination, -- should be more deeply imbued with this gloomy
superstition than their neighhours of the South. The nature of their soil and climate
tended to encourage the dreams of early ignorance. Ghosts, goblins, wraiths, kelpies, and
a whole host of spiritual beings, were familiar to the dwellers by the misty glens of the
Highlands and the romantic streams of the Lowlands. Their deeds, whether of good or ill,
were enshrined in song, and took a greater hold upon the imagination because "verse had
sanctified them." But it was not till the religious reformers began the practice of straining
Scripture to the severest extremes, that the arm of the law was called upon to punish
witchcraft as a crime per se. What Pope Innocent VIII. had done for Germany and
France, the preachers of the Reformation did for the Scottish people. Witchcraft, instead
of being a mere article of faith, became enrolled in the statute book; and all good subjects
and true Christians were called upon to take arms against it. The ninth Parliament of
Queen Mary passed an act in 1563, which decreed the punishment of death against
witches and consulters with witches, and immediately the whole bulk of the people were
smitten with an epidemic fear of the devil and his mortal agents. Persons in the highest
ranks of life shared and encouraged the delusion of the vulgar. Many were themselves
accused of witchcraft; and noble ladies were shown to have dabbled in mystic arts, and
proved to the world that, if they were not witches, it was not for want of the will.
Among the dames who became notorious for endeavouring to effect their wicked ends by
the devil's aid, may be mentioned the celebrated Lady Buccleugh, of Branxholme,
familiar to all the readers of Sir Walter Scott; the Countess of Lothian, the Countess of
Angus, the Countess of Athol, Lady Kerr, the Countess of Huntley, Euphemia Macalzean
(the daughter of Lord Cliftonhall), and Lady Fowlis. Among the celebrated of the other
sex who were accused of wizzardism was Sir Lewis Ballantyne, the Lord Justice Clerk
for Scotland, who, if we may believe Scot of Scotstarvet, "dealt by curiosity with a
warlock called Richard Grahame," and prayed him to raise the devil. The warlock
consented, and raised him in propria persona, in the yard of his house in the Canongate,
"at sight of whom the Lord Justice Clerk was so terrified that he took sickness and
thereof died." By such idle reports as these did the envious ruin the reputation of those
they hated, though it would appear in this case that Sir Lewis had been fool enough to
make the attempt of which he was accused, and that the success of the experiment was
the only apocryphal part of the story.
The enemies of John Knox invented a similar tale, which found ready credence among
the Roman Catholics; glad to attach any stigma to that grand scourge of the vices of their
church. It was reported that he and his secretary went into the churchyard of St. Andrew's
with the intent to raise "some sanctes;" but that, by a mistake in their conjurations, they
raised the great fiend himself, instead of the saints they wished to consult. The popular
rumour added that Knox's secretary was so frightened at the great horns, goggle eyes, and
long tail of Satan, that he went mad, and shortly afterwards died. Knox himself was built
of sterner stuff, and was not to be frightened.
The first name that occurs in the records of the High Court of Justiciary of persons tried
or executed for witchcraft is that of Janet Bowman, in 1572, nine years after the passing
of the act of Mary. No particulars of her crimes are given, and against her name there
only stand the words, "convict and brynt." It is not, however, to be inferred that, in this
interval, no trials or executions took place; for it appears on the authority of documents of
unquestioned authenticity in the Advocates' Library at Edinburgh, [Foreign Quarterly
Review, vol. vi. page 41.] that the Privy Council made a practice of granting
commissions to resident gentlemen and ministers, in every part of Scotland, to examine,
try, and execute witches within their own parishes. No records of those who suffered
from the sentence of these tribunals have been preserved; but if popular tradition may be
believed, even to the amount of one-fourth of its assertions, their number was fearful.
After the year 1572, the entries of executions for witchcraft in the records of the High
Court become more frequent, but do not average more than one per annum; another proof
that trials for this offence were in general entrusted to the local magistracy. The latter
appear to have ordered witches to the stake with as little compunction, and after as
summary a mode, as modern justices of the peace order a poacher to the stocks.
As James VI. advanced in manhood, he took great interest in the witch trials. One of
them especially, that of Gellie Duncan, Dr. Fian, and their accomplices, in the year 1591,
engrossed his whole attention, and no doubt suggested in some degree, the famous work
on Demonology which he wrote shortly afterwards. As these witches had made an
attempt upon his own life, it is not surprising, with his habits, that he should have
watched the case closely, or become strengthened in his prejudice and superstition by its
singular details. No other trial that could be selected would give so fair an idea of the
delusions of the Scottish people as this. Whether we consider the number of victims, the
absurdity of the evidence, and the real villany of some of the persons implicated, it is
equally extraordinary.
Gellie Duncan, the prime witch in these proceedings, was servant to the Deputy Bailiff of
Tranent, a small town in Hadingtonshire, about ten miles from Edinburgh. Though
neither old nor ugly (as witches usually were), but young and good-looking, her
neighbours, from some suspicious parts of her behaviour, had long considered her a
witch. She had, it appears, some pretensions to the healing art. Some cures which she
effected were so sudden, that the worthy Bailiff, her master, who, like his neighbours,
mistrusted her, considered them no less than miraculous. In order to discover the truth, he
put her to the torture; but she obstinately refused to confess that she had dealings with the
devil. It was the popular belief that no witch would confess as long as the mark which
Satan had put upon her remained undiscovered upon her body. Somebody present
reminded the torturing Bailie of this fact, and on examination, the devil's mark was found
upon the throat of poor Gellie. She was put to the torture again, and her fortitude giving
way under the extremity of her anguish, she confessed that she was indeed a witch -- that
she had sold her soul to the devil, and effected all her cures by his aid. This was
something new in the witch creed, according to which, the devil delighted more in laying
diseases on, than in taking them off; but Gellie Duncan fared no better on that account.
The torture was still applied, until she had named all her accomplices, among whom were
one Cunningham, a reputed wizard, known by the name of Dr. Fian, a grave and matronlike witch, named Agnes Sampson, Euphemia Macalzean, the daughter of Lord
Cliftonhall, already mentioned, and nearly forty other persons, some of whom were the
wives of respectable individuals in the city of Edinburgh. Every one of these persons was
arrested, and the whole realm of Scotland thrown into commotion by the extraordinary
nature of the disclosures which were anticipated.
About two years previous to this time, James had suddenly left his kingdom, and
proceeded gallantly to Denmark, to fetch over his bride, the Princess of Denmark, who
had been detained by contrary weather in the harbour of Upslo. After remaining for some
months in Copenhagen, he set sail with his young bride, and arrived safely in Leith, on
the 1st of May 1590, having experienced a most boisterous passage, and been nearly
wrecked. As soon as the arrest of Gellie Duncan and Fian became known in Scotland, it
was reported by everybody who pretended to be well-informed that these witches and
their associates had, by the devil's means, raised the storms which had endangered the
lives of the King and Queen. Gellie, in her torture, had confessed that such was the fact,
and the whole kingdom waited aghast and open-mouthed for the corroboration about to
be furnished by the trial.
Agnes Sampson, the "grave and matron-like" witch implicated by Gellie Duncan, was put
to the horrible torture of the pilliewinkis. She laid bare all the secrets of the sisterhood
before she had suffered an hour, and confessed that Gellie Duncan, Dr. Fian, Marion
Lineup, Euphemia Macalzean, herself, and upwards of two hundred witches and
warlocks, used to assemble at midnight in the kirk of North Berwick, where they met the
devil; that they had plotted there to attempt the King's life; that they were incited to this
by the old fiend himself, who had asserted with a thundering oath that James was the
greatest enemy he ever had, and that there would be no peace for the devil's children
upon earth until he were got rid of; that the devil upon these occasions always liked to
have a little music, and that Gellie Duncan used to play a reel before him on a trump or
Jew's harp, to which all the witches danced.
James was highly flattered at the idea that the devil should have said that he was the
greatest enemy he ever had. He sent for Gellie Duncan to the palace, and made her play
before him the same reel which she had played at the witches' dance in the kirk.
Dr. Fian, or rather Cunningham, a petty schoolmaster at Tranent, was put to the torture
among the rest. He was a man who had led an infamous life, was a compounder of and
dealer in poisons, and a pretender to magic. Though not guilty of the preposterous crimes
laid to his charge, there is no doubt that he was a sorcerer in will, though not in deed, and
that he deserved all the misery he endured. When put on the rack, he would confess
nothing, and held out so long unmoved, that the severe torture of the boots was resolved
upon. He endured this till exhausted nature could bear no longer, when Insensibility
kindly stepped in to his aid. When it was seen that he was utterly powerless, and that his
tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, he was released. Restoratives were administered;
and during the first faint gleam of returning consciousness, he was prevailed upon to sign,
ere he well knew what he was about, a full confession, in strict accordance with those of
Gellie Duncan and Agnes Sampson. He was then remanded to his prison, from which,
after two days, he managed, somehow or other, to escape. He was soon recaptured, and
brought before the Court of Justiciary, James himself being present. Fian now denied all
the circumstances of the written confession which he had signed; whereupon the King,
enraged at his "stubborn wilfulness," ordered him once more to the torture. His finger
nails were riven out with pincers, and long needles thrust up to the eye into the quick; but
still he did not wince. He was then consigned again to the boots, in which, to quote a
pamphlet published at the time, [News from Scotland, declaring the damnable life of Dr.
Fian.] he continued "so long, and abode so many blows in them, that his legs were
crushed and beaten together as small as might be, and the bones and flesh so bruised, that
the blood and marrow spouted forth in great abundance, whereby they were made
unserviceable for ever."
The astonishing similarity of the confessions of all the persons implicated in these
proceedings has often been remarked. It would appear that they actually endeavoured to
cause the King's death by their spells and sorceries. Fian, who was acquainted with all the
usual tricks of his profession, deceived them with pretended apparitions, so that many of
them were really convinced that they had seen the devil. The sum of their confessions
was to the following effect:Satan, who was, of course, a great foe of the reformed religion, was alarmed that King
James should marry a Protestant princess. To avert the consequences to the realms of
evil, he had determined to put an end to the King and his bride by raising a storm on their
voyage home. Satan, first of all, sent a thick mist over the waters, in the hope that the
King's vessel might be stranded on the coast amid the darkness. This failing, Dr. Fian,
who, from his superior scholarship, was advanced to the dignity of the devil's secretary,
was commanded to summon all the witches to meet their master, each one sailing on a
sieve on the high seas.
On All-hallowmas Eve, they assembled to the number of upwards of two hundred,
including Gellie Duncan, Agnes Sampson, Euphemia Macalzean, one Barbara Napier,
and several warlocks; and each embarking in a riddle, or sieve, they sailed "over the
ocean very substantially." After cruising about for some time, they met with the fiend,
bearing in his claws a cat, which had been previously drawn nine times through the fire.
This he delivered to one of the warlocks, telling him to cast it into the sea, and cry
"Hola!" This was done with all solemnity, and immediately the ocean became convulsed
-- the waters hissed loudly, and the waves rose mountains high,
"Twisting their arms to the dun-coloured heaven."
The witches sailed gallantly through the tempest they had raised, and landing on the coast
of Scotland, took their sieves in their hands, and marched on in procession to the haunted
kirk of North Berwick, where the devil had resolved to hold a preaching. Gellie Duncan,
the musician of the party, tripped on before, playing on her Jew's harp, and singing,
"Cummer, go ye before, Cummer, go ye; Gif ye will not go before, Cummer, let me!"
Arrived at the kirk, they paced around it withershins, that is, in reverse of the apparent
motion of the sun. Dr. Fian then blew into the key-hole of the door, which opened
immediately, and all the witches entered. As it was pitch dark, Fian blew with his mouth
upon the candles, which immediately lighted, and the devil was seen occupying the
pulpit. He was attired in a black gown and hat, and the witches saluted him, by crying,
"All hail, master!" His body was hard, like iron; his face terrible; his nose, like the beak
of an eagle; he had great burning eyes; his hands and legs were hairy; and he had long
claws upon his hands and feet, and spake with an exceedingly gruff voice. Before
commencing his sermon, he called over the names of his congregation, demanding
whether they had been good servants, and what success had attended their operations
against the life of the King and his bride.
Gray Meill, a crazy old warlock, who acted as beadle or doorkeeper, was silly enough to
answer, "that nothing ailed the King yet, God be thanked;" upon which the devil, in a
rage, stepped down from the pulpit, and boxed his ears for him. He then remounted, and
commenced the preaching, commanding them to be dutiful servants to him, and do all the
evil they could. Euphemia Macalzean and Agnes Sampson, bolder than the rest, asked
him whether he had brought the image or picture of King James, that they might, by
pricking it, cause pains and diseases to fall upon him. "The father of lies" spoke truth for
once, and confessed that he had forgotten it; upon which Euphemia Macalzean upbraided
him loudly for his carelessness. The devil, however, took it all in good part, although
Agnes Sampson and several other women let loose their tongues at him immediately.
When they had done scolding, he invited them all to a grand entertainment. A newly
buried corpse was dug up, and divided among them, which was all they had in the way of
edibles. He was more liberal in the matter of drink, and gave them so much excellent
wine that they soon became jolly. Gellie Duncan then played the old tune upon her
trump, and the devil himself led off the dance with Euphemia Mac alzean. Thus they kept
up the sport till the cock crew.
Agnes Sampson, the wise woman of Keith, as she was called, added some other
particulars in her confession. She stated, that on a previous occasion, she had raised an
awful tempest in the sea, by throwing a cat into it, with four joints of men tied to its feet.
She said also, that on their grand attempt to drown King James, they did not meet with
the devil after cruising about, but that he had accompanied them from the first, and that
she had seen him dimly in the distance, rolling himself before them over the great waves,
in shape and size not unlike a huge haystack. They met with a foreign ship richly laden
with wines and other good things, which they boarded, and sunk after they had drunk all
the wine, and made themselves quite merry.
Some of these disclosures were too much even for the abundant faith of King James, and
he more than once exclaimed, that the witches were like their master, "extreme lyars."
But they confessed many other things of a less preposterous nature, and of which they
were, no doubt, really guilty. Agnes Sampson said she was to have taken the King's life
by anointing his linen with a strong poison. Gellie Duncan used to threaten her
neighbours by saying she would send the devil after them; and many persons of weaker
minds than usual were frightened into fits by her, and rendered subject to them for the
remainder of their lives. Dr. Finn also made no scruple in aiding and abetting murder, and
would rid any person of an enemy by means of poison, who could pay him his fee for it.
Euphemia Macalzean also was far from being pure. There is no doubt that she meditated
the King's death, and used such means to compass it as the superstition of the age
directed. She was a devoted partizan of Bothwell, who was accused by many of the
witches as having consulted them on the period of the King's death. They were all found
guilty, and sentenced to be hanged and burned. Barbara Napier, though found guilty upon
other counts, was acquitted upon the charge of having been present at the great witchmeeting in Berwick kirk. The King was highly displeased, and threatened to have the jury
indicted for a wilful error upon an assize. They accordingly reconsidered their verdict,
and threw themselves upon the King's mercy for the fault they had committed. James was
satisfied, and Barbara Napier was hanged along with Gellie Duncan, Agnes Sampson, Dr.
Fian, and five-and-twenty others. Euphemia Macalzean met a harder fate. Her connexion
with the bold and obnoxious Bothwell, and her share in poisoning one or two individuals
who had stood in her way, were thought deserving of the severest punishment the law
could inflict. Instead of the ordinary sentence, directing the criminal to be first strangled
and then burned, the wretched woman was doomed "to be bound to a stake, and burned in
ashes, quick to the death." This cruel sentence was executed on the 25th of June 1591.
These trials had the most pernicious consequences all over Scotland. The lairds and
ministers in their districts, armed with due power from the privy council, tried and
condemned old women after the most summary fashion. Those who still clung to the
ancient faith of Rome were the severest sufferers, as it was thought, after the disclosures
of the fierce enmity borne by the devil towards a Protestant King and his Protestant wife,
that all the Catholics were leagued with the powers of evil to work woe on the realm of
Scotland. Upon a very moderate calculation, it is presumed that from the passing of the
act of Queen Mary till the accession of James to the throne of England, a period of thirtynine years, the average number of executions for witchcraft in Scotland was two hundred
annually, or upwards of seventeen thousand altogether. For the first nine years the
number was not one quarter so great; but towards the years 1590 to 1593, the number
must have been more than four hundred. The case last cited was one of an extraordinary
character. The general aspect of the trials will be better seen from that of Isabel Gowdie,
which, as it would be both wearisome and disgusting to go through them all, is cited as a
fair specimen, although it took place at a date somewhat later than the reign of James.
This woman, wearied of her life by the persecutions of her neighbours, voluntarily gave
herself up to justice, and made a confession, embodying the whole witch-creed of the
period. She was undoubtedly a monomaniac of the most extraordinary kind. She said that
she deserved to be stretched upon an iron rack, and that her crimes could never be atoned
for, even if she were to be drawn asunder by wild horses. She named a long list of her
associates, including nearly fifty women and a few warlocks. They dug up the graves of
unchristened infants, whose limbs were serviceable in their enchantments. When they
wanted to destroy the crops of an enemy, they yoked toads to his plough, and on the
following night Satan himself ploughed the land with his team, and blasted it for the
season. The witches had power to assume almost any shape; but they generally chose
either that of a cat or a hare, oftenest the latter. Isabel said, that on one occasion, when
she was in this disguise, she was sore pressed by a pack of hounds, and had a very narrow
escape with her life. She reached her own door at last, feeling the hot breath of the
pursuing dogs at her haunches. She managed, however, to hide herself behind a chest,
and got time to pronounce the magic words that could alone restore her to her proper
shape. They were :-"Hare! hare! God send thee care! I am in a hare's likeness now; But I shall be a woman
e'en now! Hare! hare! God send thee care!"
If witches, when in this shape, were bitten by the dogs, they always retained the marks in
their human form; but she had never heard that any witch had been bitten to death. When
the devil appointed any general meeting of the witches, the custom was that they should
proceed through the air mounted on broomsticks, or on corn or bean-straws, pronouncing
as they went:-"Horse and partook, horse and go, Horse and pellats, ho! ho! ho!"
They generally left behind them a broom, or a three-legged stool, which, when placed in
their beds and duly charmed, assumed the human shape till their return. This was done
that the neighhours might not know when they were absent.
She added, that the devil furnished his favourite witches with servant imps to attend upon
them. These imps were called "The Roaring Lion," "Thief of Hell," "Wait-upon-Herself,"
"Ranting Roarer," "Care-for-Naught," &c. and were known by their liveries, which were
generally yellow, sad-dun, sea-green, pea-green, or grass-green. Satan never called the
witches by the names they had received at baptism; neither were they allowed, in his
presence, so to designate each other. Such a breach of the infernal etiquette assuredly
drew down his most severe displeasure. But as some designation was necessary, he rebaptized them in their own blood by the names of "Able-and-Stout," "Over-the-dikewith-it," "Raise-the-wind," "Pickle-nearest-the-wind," "Batter-them-down-Maggy,"
"Blow-Kale," and such like. The devil himself was not very particular what name they
called him so that it was not "Black John." If any witch was unthinking enough to utter
these words, he would rush out upon her, and beat and buffet her unmercifully, or tear her
flesh with a wool-card. Other names he did not care about; and once gave instructions to
a noted warlock that whenever he wanted his aid, he was to strike the ground three times
and exclaim, "Rise up, foul thief!"
Upon this confession many persons were executed. So strong was the popular feeling,
that no one once accused of witchcraft was acquitted; at least, acquittals did not average
one in a hundred trials. Witch-finding, or witch-pricking became a trade, and a set of
mercenary vagabonds roamed about the country, provided with long pins to run into the
flesh of supposed criminals. It was no unusual thing then, nor is it now, that in aged
persons there should be some spot on the body totally devoid of feeling. It was the object
of the witchpricker to discover this spot, and the unhappy wight who did not bleed when
pricked upon it, was doomed to the death. If not immediately cast into prison, her life was
rendered miserable by the persecution of her neighbours. It is recorded of many poor
women, that the annoyances they endured in this way were so excessive, that they
preferred death. Sir George Mackenzie, the Lord Advocate, at the time when witch-trials
were so frequent, and himself a devout believer in the crime, relates, in his "Criminal
Law," first published in 1678, some remarkable instances of it. He says, "I went, when I
was a justice-depute, to examine some women who had confessed judicially: and one of
them, who was a silly creature, told me, under secrecy, that she had not confessed
because she was guilty, but being a poor creature who wrought for her meat, and being
defamed for a witch, she knew she should starve; for no person thereafter would either
give her meat or lodging, and that all men would beat her and set dogs at her; and that,
therefore, she desired to be out of the world; whereupon she wept most bitterly, and upon
her knees called God to witness to what she said." Sir George, though not wholly
elevated above the prejudices of his age upon this subject, was clearsighted enough to see
the danger to society of the undue encouragement given to the witch-prosecutions. He
was convinced that three-fourths of them were unjust and unfounded. He says, in the
work already quoted, that the persons who were in general accused of this crime, were
poor ignorant men and women, who did not understand the nature of the accusation, and
who mistook their own superstitious fears for witchcraft. One poor wretch, a weaver,
confessed that he was a warlock, and, being asked why, he replied, because "he had seen
the devil dancing, like a fly, about the candle!" A simple woman, who, because she was
called a witch, believed that she was, asked the judge upon the bench, whether a person
might be a witch and not know it? Sir George adds, that all the supposed criminals were
subjected to severe torture in prison from their gaolers, who thought they did God good
service by vexing and tormenting them; "and I know," says this humane and enlightened
magistrate, "that this usage was the ground of all their confession; and albeit, the poor
miscreants cannot prove this usage, the actors in it being the only witnesses, yet the judge
should be jealous of it, as that which did at first elicit the confession, and for fear of
which they dare not retract it." Another author, ["Satan's Invisible World discovered," by
the Rev. G. Sinclair.] also a firm believer in witchcraft, gives a still more lamentable
instance of a woman who preferred execution as a witch to live on under the imputation.
This woman, who knew that three others were to be strangled and burned on an early day,
sent for the minister of the parish, and confessed that she had sold her soul to Satan.
"Whereupon being called before the judges, she was condemned to die with the rest.
Being carried forth to the place of execution, she remained silent during the first, second,
and third prayer, and then, perceiving that there remained no more but to rise and go to
the stake, she lifted up her body, and, with a loud voice, cried out, "Now all you that see
me this day, know that I am now to die as a witch, by my own confession, and I free all
men, especially the ministers and magistrates, of the guilt of my blood. I take it wholly
upon myself. My blood be upon my own head. And, as I must make answer to the God of
heaven presently, I declare I am as free of witchcraft as any child. But, being delated by a
malicious woman, and put in prison under the name of a witch, disowned by my husband
and friends, and seeing no ground of hope of ever coming out again, I made up that
confession to destroy my own life, being weary of it, and choosing rather to die than to
live." As a proof of the singular obstinacy and blindness of the believers in witches, it
may be stated, that the minister who relates this story only saw in the dying speech of the
unhappy woman an additional proof that she was a witch. True indeed is it, that "none are
so blind as those who will not see."
It is time, however, to return to James VI, who is fairly entitled to share with Pope
Innocent, Sprenger, Bodinus, and Matthew Hopkins the glory or the odium of being at
the same time a chief enemy and chief encourager of witchcraft. Towards the close of the
sixteenth century, many learned men, both on the Continent and in the isles of Britain,
had endeavoured to disabuse the public mind on this subject. The most celebrated were
Wierus in Germany, Pietro d'Apone in Italy, and Reginald Scot in England. Their works
excited the attention of the zealous James, who, mindful of the involuntary compliment
which his merits had extorted from the devil, was ambitious to deserve it by still
continuing "his greatest enemie." In the year 1597 he published, in Edinburgh, his famous
treatise on Demonology. Its design may be gathered from the following passage in the
introduction. "The fearful abounding," says the King, "at this time, and in this country, of
these detestable slaves of the devil, the witches, or enchanters, hath moved me, beloved
reader, to despatch in post this following treatise of mine, not in any wise, as I protest, to
serve for a show of mine own learning and ingene (ingenuity), but only (moved of
conscience) to press thereby, so far as I can, to resolve the doubting hearts of many; both
that such assaults of Satan are most certainly practised, and that the instrument thereof
merits most severely to be punished, against the damnable opinions of two, principally in
our age, whereof the one, called Scot, an Englishman, is not ashamed, in public print, to
deny that there can be such thing as witchcraft, and so maintains the old error of the
Sadducees, in denying of spirits. The other, called Wierus, a German physician, sets out a
public apology for all these crafts-folks, whereby procuring for them impunity, he plainly
betrays himself to have been one of that profession." In other parts of this treatise, which
the author had put into the form of a dialogue to "make it more pleasant and facile," he
says, "Witches ought to be put to death, according to the law of God, the civil and
imperial law, and the municipal law of all Christian nations: yea, to spare the life, and not
strike whom God bids strike, and so severely punish in so odious a treason against God,
is not only unlawful, but doubtless as great a sin in the magistrate, as was Saul's sparing
Agag." He says also, that the crime is so abominable, that it may be proved by evidence
which would not be received against any other offenders, -- young children, who knew
not the nature of an oath, and persons of an infamous character, being sufficient witnesses
against them; but lest the innocent should be accused of a crime so difficult to be
acquitted of, he recommends that in all cases the ordeal should be resorted to. He says,
"Two good helps may be used: the one is, the finding of their mark, and the trying the
insensibleness thereof; the other is their floating on the water; for, as in a secret murther,
if the dead carcass be at any time thereafter handled by the murtherer, it will gush out of
blood, as if the blood were crying to Heaven for revenge of the murtherer, (God having
appointed that secret supernatural sign for trial of that secret unnatural crime); so that it
appears that God hath appointed (for a supernatural sign of the monstrous impiety of
witches) that the water shall refuse to receive them in her bosom, that have shaken off
them the sacred water of baptism, and wilfully refused the benefit thereof; no, not so
much as their eyes are able to shed tears (threaten and torture them as you please), while
first they repent (God not permitting them to dissemble their obstinacy in so horrible a
crime). Albeit, the womenkind especially, be able otherwise to shed tears at every light
occasion, when they will; yea, although it were dissembling, like the crocodiles."
When such doctrines as these were openly promulgated by the highest authority in the
realm, and who, in promulgating them, flattered, but did not force the public opinion, it is
not surprising that the sad delusion should have increased and multiplied, until the race of
wizards and witches replenished the earth. The reputation which he lost by being afraid
of a naked sword, he more than regained by his courage in combating the devil. The Kirk
showed itself a most zealous coadjutor, especially during those halcyon days when it was
not at issue with the King upon other matters of doctrine and prerogative.
On his accession to the throne of England, in 1603, James came amongst a people who
had heard with admiration of his glorious deeds against the witches. He himself left no
part of his ancient prejudices behind him, and his advent was the signal for the
persecution to burst forth in England with a fury equal to that in Scotland. It had
languished a little during the latter years of the reign of Elizabeth; but the very first
Parliament of King James brought forward the subject. James was flattered by their
promptitude, and the act passed in 1604. On the second reading in the House of Lords,
the bill passed into a committee, in which were twelve bishops. By it was enacted, "That
if any person shall use, practise, or exercise any conjuration of any wicked or evil spirit,
or shall consult, covenant with, or feed any such spirit, the first offence to be
imprisonment for a year and standing in the pillory once a quarter; the second offence to
be death."
The minor punishment seems but rarely to have been inflicted. Every record that has been
preserved, mentions that the witches were hanged and burned, or burned without the
previous strangling, "alive and quick." During the whole of James's reign, amid the civil
wars of his successor, the sway of the Long Parliament, the usurpation of Cromwell, and
the reign of Charles II, there was no abatement of the persecution. If at any time it raged
with less virulence, it was when Cromwell and the Independents were masters. Dr.
Zachary Grey, the editor of an edition of "Hudibras," informs us, in a note to that work,
that he himself perused a list of three thousand witches who were executed in the time of
the Long Parliament alone. During the first eighty years of the seventeenth century, the
number executed has been estimated at five hundred annually, making the frightful total
of forty thousand. Some of these cases deserve to be cited. The great majority resemble
closely those already mentioned, but two or three of them let in a new light upon the
popular superstition.
Every one has heard of the "Lancashire witches," a phrase now used to compliment the
ladies of that county for their bewitching beauty; but it is not every one who has heard the
story in which it originated. A villainous boy, named Robinson, was the chief actor in the
tragedy. He confessed, many years afterwards, that he had been suborned by his father
and other persons to give false evidence against the unhappy witches whom he brought to
the stake. The time of this famous trial was about the year 1634. This boy Robinson,
whose father was a wood-cutter, residing on the borders of Pendle Forest, in Lancashire,
spread abroad many rumours against one Mother Dickenson, whom he accused of being a
witch. These rumours coming to the ears of the local magistracy, the boy was sent for,
and strictly examined. He told the following extraordinary story, without hesitation or
prevarication, and apparently in so open and honest a manner, that no one who heard him
doubted the truth of it: -- He said, that as he was roaming about in one of the glades of the
forest, amusing himself by gathering blackberries, he saw two greyhounds before him,
which he thought at the time belonged to some gentleman of the neighbourhood. Being
fond of sport, he proposed to have a course, and a hare being started, he incited the
hounds to run. Neither of them would stir. Angry at the beasts, he seized hold of a switch,
with which he was about to punish them, when one of them suddenly started up in the
form of a woman, and the other, of a little boy. He at once recognised the woman to be
the witch Mother Dickenson. She offered him some money to induce him to sell his soul
to the devil; but he refused. Upon this she took a bridle out of her pocket, and, shaking it
over the head of the other little boy, he was instantly turned into a horse. Mother
Dickenson then seized him in her arms, sprang upon the horse; and, placing him before
her, rode with the swiftness of the wind over forests, fields, bogs, and rivers, until they
came to a large barn. The witch alighted at the door; and taking him by the hand, led him
inside. There he saw seven old women, pulling at seven halters which hung from the roof.
As they pulled, large pieces of meat, lumps of butter, loaves of bread, basins of milk, hot
puddings, black puddings, and other rural dainties, fell from the halters on to the floor.
While engaged in this charm they made such ugly faces, and looked so fiendish, that he
was quite frightened. After they had pulled, in this manner enough for an ample feast,
they set-to, and showed, whatever might be said of the way in which their supper was
procured, that their epicurism was a little more refined than that of the Scottish witches,
who, according to Gellie Duncan's confession, feasted upon dead men's flesh in the old
kirk of Berwick. The boy added, that as soon as supper was ready, many other witches
came to partake of it, several of whom he named. In consequence of this story, many
persons were arrested, and the boy Robinson was led about from church to church, in
order that he might point out to the officers, by whom he was accompanied, the hags he
had seen in the barn. Altogether about twenty persons were thrown into prison; eight of
them were condemned to die, including Mother Dickenson, upon this evidence alone, and
executed accordingly. Among the wretches who concocted this notable story, not one was
ever brought to justice for his perjury; and Robinson, the father, gained considerable
sums by threatening persons who were rich enough to buy off exposure.
Among the ill weeds which flourished amid the long dissensions of the civil war,
Matthew Hopkins, the witch-finder, stands eminent in his sphere. This vulgar fellow
resided, in the year 1644, at the town of Manningtree, in Essex, and made himself very
conspicuous in discovering the devil's marks upon several unhappy witches. The credit he
gained by his skill in this instance seems to have inspired him to renewed exertions. In
the course of a very short time, whenever a witch was spoken of in Essex, Matthew
Hopkins was sure to be present, aiding the judges with his knowledge of "such cattle," as
he called them. As his reputation increased, he assumed the title of "Witchfinder
General," and travelled through the counties of Norfolk, Essex, Huntingdon, and Sussex,
for the sole purpose of finding out witches. In one year he brought sixty poor creatures to
the stake. The test he commonly adopted was that of swimming, so highly recommended
by King James in his "Demonologie." The hands and feet of the suspected persons were
tied together crosswise, the thumb of the right hand to the toe of the left foot, and vice
versa. They were then wrapped up in a large sheet or blanket, and laid upon their backs in
a pond or river. If they sank, their friends and relatives had the poor consolation of
knowing they were innocent, but there was an end of them: if they floated, which, when
laid carefully on the water was generally the case, there was also an end of them; for they
were deemed guilty of witchcraft, and burned accordingly.
Another test was to make them repeat the Lord's prayer and creed. It was affirmed that no
witch could do so correctly. If she missed a word, or even pronounced one incoherently,
which in her trepidation, it was most probable she would, she was accounted guilty. It
was thought that witches could not weep more than three tears, and those only from the
left eye. Thus the conscious innocence of many persons, which gave them fortitude to
bear unmerited torture without flinching, was construed by their unmerciful tormentors
into proofs of guilt. In some districts the test resorted to was to weigh the culprit against
the church Bible. If the suspected witch proved heavier than the Bible, she was set at
liberty. This mode was far too humane for the witch-finders by profession. Hopkins
always maintained that the most legitimate modes were pricking and swimming.
Hopkins used to travel through his counties like a man of consideration, attended by his
two assistants, always putting up at the chief inn of the place, and always at the cost of
the authorities. His charges were twenty shillings a town, his expenses of living while
there, and his carriage thither and back. This he claimed whether he found witches or not.
If he found any, he claimed twenty shillings a head in addition when they were brought to
execution. For about three years he carried on this infamous trade, success making him so
insolent and rapacious, that high and low became his enemies. The Rev. Mr. Gaul, a
clergyman of Houghton, in Huntingdonshire, wrote a pamphlet impugning his
pretensions, and accusing him of being a common nuisance. Hopkins replied in an angry
letter to the functionaries of Houghton, stating his intention to visit their town; but
desiring to know whether it afforded many such sticklers for witchcraft as Mr. Gaul, and
whether they were willing to receive and entertain him with the customary hospitality, if
he so far honoured them. He added, by way of threat, that in case he did not receive a
satisfactory reply, "He would waive their shire altogether, and betake himself to such
places where he might do and punish, not only without control, but with thanks and
recompence." The authorities of Houghton were not much alarmed at his awful threat of
letting them alone. They very wisely took no notice either of him or his letter.
Mr. Gaul describes in his pamphlet one of the modes employed by Hopkins, which was
sure to swell his revenues very considerably. It was a proof even more atrocious than the
swimming. He says, that the "Witch-finder General" used to take the suspected witch and
place her in the middle of a room, upon a stool or table, cross-legged, or in some other
uneasy posture. If she refused to sit in this manner, she was bound with strong cords.
Hopkins then placed persons to watch her for four-and-twenty hours, during which time
she was to be kept without meat or drink. It was supposed that one of her imps would
come during that interval, and suck her blood. As the imp might come in the shape of a
wasp, a moth, a fly, or other insect, a hole was made in the door or window to let it enter.
The watchers were ordered to keep a sharp look-out, and endeavour to kill any insect that
appeared in the room. If any fly escaped, and they could not kill it, the woman was guilty;
the fly was her imp, and she was sentenced to be burned, and twenty shillings went into
the pockets of Master Hopkins. In this manner he made one old woman confess, because
four flies had appeared in the room, that she was attended by four imps, named
"Ilemazar," "Pye-wackett," "Peck-in-the-crown," and "Grizel-Greedigut."
It is consoling to think that this impostor perished in his own snare. Mr. Gaul's exposure
and his own rapacity weakened his influence among the magistrates; and the populace,
who began to find that not even the most virtuous and innocent were secure from his
persecution, looked upon him with undisguised aversion. He was beset by a mob, at a
village in Suffolk, and accused of being himself a wizard. An old reproach was brought
against him, that he had, by means of sorcery, cheated the devil out of a certain
memorandum-book, in which he, Satan, had entered the names of all the witches in
England. "Thus," said the populace, "you find out witches, not by God's aid, but by the
devil's." In vain he denied his guilt. The populace longed to put him to his own test. He
was speedily stripped, and his thumbs and toes tied together. He was then placed in a
blanket, and cast into a pond. Some say that he floated; and that he was taken out, tried,
and executed upon no other proof of his guilt. Others assert that he was drowned. This
much is positive, that there was an end of him. As no judicial entry of his trial and
execution is to be found in any register, it appears most probable that he expired by the
hands of the mob. Butler has immortalized this scamp in the following lines of his
"Hudibras:""Hath not this present Parliament
A lieger to the devil sent,
Fully empower'd to treat about
Finding revolted witches out?
And has he not within a year
Hang'd threescore of them in one shire?
Some only for not being drown'd,
And some for sitting above ground
Whole days and nights upon their breeches,
And feeling pain, were hang'd for witches;
And some for putting knavish tricks
Upon green geese or turkey chicks;
Or pigs that suddenly deceased
Of griefs unnatural, as he guess'd;
Who proved himself at length a witch,
And made a rod for his own breech."
In Scotland also witch-finding became a trade. They were known under the designation
of "common prickers," and, like Hopkins, received a fee for each witch they discovered.
At the trial of Janet Peaston, in 1646, the magistrates of Dalkeith "caused John Kincaid,
of Tranent, the common pricker, to exercise his craft upon her. He found two marks of
the devil's making; for she could not feel the pin when it was put into either of the said
marks, nor did the marks bleed when the pin was taken out again. When she was asked
where she thought the pins were put in her, she pointed to a part of her body distant from
the real place. They were pins of three inches in length." [Pitcairn's "Records of
Justiciary."]
These common prickers became at last so numerous, that they were considered nuisances.
The judges refused to take their evidence, and in 1678 the privy council of Scotland
condescended to hear the complaint of an honest woman, who had been indecently
exposed by one of them, and expressed their opinion that common prickers were common
cheats.
But such an opinion was not formed in high places before hundreds of innocent persons
had fallen victims. The Parliaments had encouraged the delusion both in England and
Scotland; and, by arming these fellows with a sort of authority, had in a manner forced
the magistrates and ministers to receive their evidence. The fate of one poor old
gentleman, who fell a victim to the arts of Hopkins in 1646, deserves to be recorded. Mr.
Louis, a venerable clergyman, upwards of seventy years of age, and who had been rector
of Framlingham, in Suffolk, for fifty years, excited suspicion that he was a wizard. Being
a violent royalist, he was likely to meet with no sympathy at that time; and even his own
parishioners, whom he had served so long and so faithfully, turned their backs upon him
as soon as he was accused. Placed under the hands of Hopkins, who knew so well how to
bring the refractory to confession, the old man, the light of whose intellect had become
somewhat dimmed from age, confessed that he was a wizard. He said he had two imps,
that continually excited him to do evil; and that one day, when he was walking on the
sea-coast, one of them prompted him to express a wish that a ship, whose sails were just
visible in the distance, might sink. He consented, and saw the vessel sink before his eyes.
He was, upon this confession, tried and condemned. On his trial the flame of reason
burned up as brightly as ever. He denied all that had been alleged against him, and crossexamined Hopkins with great tact and severity. After his condemnation, he begged that
the funeral service of the church might be read for him. The request was refused, and he
repeated it for himself from memory, as he was led to the scaffold.
A poor woman in Scotland was executed upon evidence even less strong than this. John
Bain, a common pricker, swore that, as he passed her door, he heard her talking to the
devil. She said in defence, that it was a foolish practice she had of talking to herself, and
several of her neighbours corroborated her statement; but the evidence of the pricker was
received. He swore that none ever talked to themselves who were not witches. The devil's
mark being found upon her, the additional testimony of her guilt was deemed conclusive,
and she was "convict and brynt."
From the year 1652 to 1682, these trials diminished annually in number, and acquittals
were by no means so rare as they had been. To doubt in witchcraft was no longer
dangerous. Before country justices, condemnations on the most absurd evidence still
continued, but when the judges of the land had to charge the jury, they took a more
humane and philosophical view. By degrees, the educated classes (comprised, in those
days, within very narrow limits), openly expressed their unbelief of modern witchcraft,
although they were not bold enough to deny its existence altogether. Between them and
the believers in the old doctrine fierce arguments ensued, and the sceptics were
designated Sadducees. To convince them, the learned and Reverend Joseph Glanvil wrote
his well-known work, "Sadducismus Triumphatus," and "The Collection of Relations;"
the first part intended as a philosophical inquiry into witchcraft, and the power of the
devil "to assume a mortal shape;" the latter containing what he considered a multitude of
well-authenticated modern instances.
But though progress was made, it was slow. In 1664, the venerable Sir Matthew Hale
condemned two women, named Amy Duny and Rose Cullender, to the stake at St.
Edmondsbury, upon evidence the most ridiculous. These two old women, whose ugliness
gave their neighbours the first idea that they were witches, went to a shop to purchase
herrings, and were refused. Indignant at the prejudice against them, they were not sparing
of their abuse. Shortly afterward, the daughter of the herring-dealer fell sick, and a cry
was raised that she was bewitched by the old women who had been refused the herrings.
This girl was subject to epileptic fits. To discover the guilt of Amy Duny and Rose
Cullender, the girl's eyes were blinded closely with a shawl, and the witches were
commanded to touch her. They did so, and she was immediately seized with a fit. Upon
this evidence they were sent to prison. The girl was afterwards touched by an indifferent
person, and the force of her imagination was so great, that, thinking it was again the
witches, she fell down in a violent fit as before. This, however, was not received in
favour of the accused.
The following extract, from the published reports of the trial, will show the sort of
evidence which was received:-"Samuel Pacey, of Leystoff, (a good, sober man,) being sworn, said that, on Thursday the
10th of October last, his younger daughter, Deborah, about nine years old, was suddenly
taken so lame that she could not stand on her legs, and so continued till the 17th of the
same month, when the child desired to be carried to a bank on the east side of the house,
looking towards the sea; and, while she was sitting there, Amy Duny came to this
examinant's house to buy some herrings, but was denied. Then she came twice more, but,
being as often denied, she went away discontented and grumbling. At this instant of time,
the child was taken with terrible fits, complaining of a pain in her stomach, as if she was
pricked with pins, shrieking out with a voice like a whelp, and thus continued till the 30th
of the same month. This examinant further saith, that Amy Duny, having long had the
reputation of a witch, and his child having, in the intervals of her fits, constantly cried out
on her, as the cause of her disorder, saying, that the said Amy did appear to her and fright
her, he himself did suspect the said Amy to be a witch, and charged her with being the
cause of his child's illness, and set her in the stocks. Two days after, his daughter
Elizabeth was taken with such strange fits, that they could not force open her mouth
without a tap; and the younger child being in the same condition, they used to her the
same remedy. Both children grievously complained that Amy Duny and another woman,
whose habit and looks they described, did appear to them, and torment them, and would
cry out, 'There stands Amy Duny! There stands Rose Cullender!' the other person who
afflicted them. Their fits were not alike. Sometimes they were lame on the right side;
sometimes on the left; and sometimes so sore, that they could not bear to be touched.
Sometimes they were perfectly well in other respects, but they could not hear; at other
times, they could not see. Sometimes they lost their speech for one, two, and once for
eight, days together. At times they had swooning fits, and, when they could speak, were
taken with a fit of coughing, and vomited phlegm and crooked pins; and once a great
twopenny nail, with above forty pins; which nail he, the examinant, saw vomited up, with
many of the pins. The nail and pins were produced in the court. Thus the children
continued for two months, during which time the examinant often made them read in the
New Testament, and observed, when they came to the words Lord Jesus, or Christ, they
could not pronounce them, but fell into a fit. When they came to the word Satan, or devil,
they would point, and say, 'This bites, but makes me speak right well.' Finding his
children thus tormented without hopes of recovery, he sent them to his sister, Margaret
Arnold, at Yarmouth, being willing to try whether change of air would help them.
"Margaret Arnold was the next witness. Being sworn, she said, that about the 30th of
November, Elizabeth and Deborah Pacey came to her house, with her brother, who told
her what had happened, and that he thought his children bewitched. She, this examinant,
did not much regard it, supposing the children had played tricks, and put the pins into
their mouths themselves. She, therefore, took all the pins from their clothes, sewing them
with thread instead of pinning them. But, notwithstanding, they raised, at times, at least
thirty pins, in her presence, and had terrible fits; in which fits they would cry out upon
Amy Duny and Rose Cullender, saying, that they saw them and heard them threatening,
as before; that they saw things, like mice, running about the house; and one of them
catched one, and threw it into the fire, which made a noise, like a rat. Another time the
younger child, being out of doors, a thing like a bee would have forced itself into her
mouth, at which the child ran screaming into the house, and before this examinant could
come at her, fell into a fit, and vomited a twopenny nail, with a broad head. After that,
this examinant asked the child how she came by this nail, when she answered, 'The bee
brought the nail, and forced it into my mouth.' At other times, the eldest child told this
examinant that she saw flies bring her crooked pins. She would then fall into a fit, and
vomit such pins. One time the said child said she saw a mouse, and crept under the table
to look for it; and afterwards, the child seemed to put something into her apron, saying,
'She had caught it.' She then ran to the fire, and threw it in, on which there did appear to
this examinant something like a flash of gunpowder, although she does own she saw
nothing in the child's hand. Once the child, being speechless, but otherwise very sensible,
ran up and down the house, crying, 'Hush! hush!' as if she had seen poultry; but this
examinant saw nothing. At last the child catched at something, and threw it into the fire.
Afterwards, when the child could speak, this examinant asked her what she saw at the
time? She answered, that she saw a duck. Another time the youngest child said, after a fit,
that Amy Duny had been with her, and tempted her to drown herself, or cut her throat, or
otherwise destroy herself. Another time they both cried out upon Amy Duny and Rose
Cullender, saying, 'Why don't you come yourselves? Why do you send your imps to
torment us?'"
The celebrated Sir Thomas Brown, the author of "Vulgar Errors," was also examined as a
witness upon the trial. Being desired to give his opinion of the three persons in court, he
said, he was clearly of opinion that they were bewitched. He said, there had lately been a
discovery of witches in Denmark, who used the same way of tormenting persons, by
conveying crooked pins, needles, and nails into their bodies. That he thought, in such
cases, the devil acted upon human bodies by natural means, namely, by exciting and
stirring up the superabundant humours, he did afflict them in a more surprising manner
by the same diseases their bodies were usually subject to; that these fits might be natural,
only raised to a great degree by the subtlety of the devil, co-operating with the malice of
these witches.
The evidence being concluded, Sir Matthew Hale addressed the jury. He said, he would
waive repeating the evidence, to prevent any mistake, and told the jury, there were two
things they had to inquire into. First, Whether or not these children were bewitched;
secondly, Whether these women did bewitch them. He said, he did not in the least doubt
there were witches; first, Because the Scriptures affirmed it; secondly, Because the
wisdom of all nations, particularly our own, had provided laws against witchcraft, which
implied their belief of such a crime. He desired them strictly to observe the evidence, and
begged of God to direct their hearts in the weighty concern they had in hand, since, to
condemn the innocent and let the guilty go free, are both an abomination to the Lord.
The jury then retired, and, in about half an hour, returned a verdict of guilty upon all the
indictments, being thirteen in number. The next morning the children came with their
father to the lodgings of Sir Matthew Hale, very well, and quite restored to their usual
health. Mr. Pacey, being asked at what time their health began to improve, replied, that
they were quite well in half an hour after the conviction of the prisoners.
Many attempts were made to induce the unfortunate women to confess their guilt; but in
vain, and they were both hanged.
Eleven trials were instituted before Chief-Justice Holt for witchcraft between the years
1694 and 1701. The evidence was of the usual character; but Holt appealed so
successfully in each case to the common sense of the jury, that they were every one
acquitted. A general feeling seemed to pervade the country that blood enough had been
shed upon these absurd charges. Now and then, the flame of persecution burnt up in a
remote district; but these instances were no longer looked upon as mere matters of
course. They appear, on the contrary, to have excited much attention; a sure proof, if no
other were to be obtained, that they were becoming unfrequent.
A case of witchcraft was tried in 1711, before Lord Chief Justice Powell; in which,
however, the jury persisted in a verdict of guilty, though the evidence was of the usual
absurd and contradictory character, and the enlightened judge did all in his power to
bring them to a right conclusion. The accused person was one Jane Wenham, better
known as the Witch of Walkerne; and the persons who were alleged to have suffered
from her witchcraft were two young women, named Thorne and Street. A witness, named
Mr. Arthur Chauncy, deposed, that he had seen Ann Thorne in several of her fits, and that
she always recovered upon prayers being said, or if Jane Wenham came to her. He
related, that he had pricked the prisoner several times in the arms, but could never fetch
any blood from her; that he had seen her vomit pins, when there were none in her clothes
or within her reach; and that he had preserved several of them, which he was ready to
produce. The judge, however, told him that was needless, as he supposed they were
crooked pins.
Mr. Francis Bragge, another witness, deposed, that strange "cakes" of bewitched feathers
having been taken from Ann Thorne's pillow, he was anxious to see them. He went into a
room where some of these feathers were, and took two of the cakes, and compared them
together. They were both of a circular figure, something larger than a crown piece; and he
observed that the small feathers were placed in a nice and curious order, at equal
distances from each other, making so many radii of the circle, in the centre of which the
quill ends of the feathers met. He counted the number of these feathers, and found them
to be exactly thirty-two in each cake. He afterwards endeavoured to pull off two or three
of them, and observed that they were all fastened together by a sort of viscous matter,
which would stretch seven or eight times in a thread before it broke. Having taken off
several of these feathers, he removed the viscous matter with his fingers, and found under
it, in the centre, some short hairs, black and grey, matted together, which he verily
believed to be cat's hair. He also said, that Jane Wenham confessed to him that she had
bewitched the pillow, and had practised witchcraft for sixteen years.
The judge interrupted the witness at this stage, and said, he should very much like to see
an enchanted feather, and seemed to wonder when he was told that none of these strange
cakes had been preserved. His Lordship asked the witness why he did not keep one or
two of them, and was informed that they had all been burnt, in order to relieve the
bewitched person of the pains she suffered, which could not be so well effected by any
other means.
A man, named Thomas Ireland, deposed, that hearing several times a great noise of cats
crying and screaming about his house, he went out and frightened them away, and they
all ran towards the cottage of Jane Wenham. One of them he swore positively had a face
very like Jane Wenham's. Another man, named Burville, gave similar evidence, and
swore that he had often seen a cat with Jane Wenham's face. Upon one occasion he was
in Ann Thorne's chamber, when several cats came in, and among them the cat above
stated. This witness would have favoured the court with a much longer statement, but was
stopped by the judge, who said he had heard quite enough.
The prisoner, in her defence, said nothing, but that "she was a clear woman." The learned
judge then summed up, leaving it to the jury to determine whether such evidence as they
had heard was sufficient to take away the prisoner's life upon the indictment. After a long
deliberation they brought in their verdict, that she was guilty upon the evidence. The
Judge then asked them whether they found her guilty upon the indictment of conversing
with the devil in the shape of a cat? The sapient foreman very gravely answered, "We
find her guilty of that." The learned judge then very reluctantly proceeded to pass
sentence of death; but, by his persevering exertions, a pardon was at last obtained, and the
wretched old woman was set at liberty. In the year 1716, a woman and her daughter, - the
latter only nine years of age, -- were hanged at Huntingdon for selling their souls to the
devil, and raising a storm by pulling off their stockings and making a lather of soap. This
appears to have been the last judicial execution in England. From that time to the year
1736, the populace raised at intervals the old cry, and more than once endangered the
lives of poor women by dragging them through ponds on suspicion; but the philosophy of
those who, from their position, sooner or later give the tone to the opinions and morals of
the poor, was silently working a cure for the evil. The fear of witches ceased to be
epidemic, and became individual, lingering only in minds lettered by inveterate prejudice
or brutalizing superstition. In the year 1736, the penal statute of James I. was finally
blotted from the statutebook, and suffered no longer to disgrace the advancing
intelligence of the country. Pretenders to witchcraft, fortune-tellers, conjurors, and all
their train, were liable only to the common punishment of rogues and impostors -imprisonment and the pillory.
In Scotland, the delusion also assumed the same phases, and was gradually extinguished
in the light of civilization. As in England the progress of improvement was slow. Up to
the year 1665, little or no diminution of the mania was perceptible. In 1643, the General
Assembly recommended that the Privy Council should institute a standing commission,
composed of any "understanding gentlemen or magistrates," to try the witches, who were
stated to have increased enormously of late years. In 1649, an act was passed,
confirmatory of the original statute of Queen Mary, explaining some points of the latter
which were doubtful, and enacting severe penalties, not only against witches themselves,
but against all who covenanted with them, or sought by their means to pry into the secrets
of futurity, or cause any evil to the life, lands, or limbs of their neighbours. For the next
ten years, the popular madness upon this subject was perhaps more furious than ever;
upwards of four thousand persons suffered for the crime during that interval. This was the
consequence of the act of parliament and the unparalleled severity of the magistrates; the
latter frequently complained that for two witches they burned one day, there were ten to
burn the next: they never thought that they themselves were the cause of the increase. In a
single circuit, held at Glasgow, Ayr, and Stirling, in 1659, seventeen unhappy creatures
were burned by judicial sentence for trafficking with Satan. In one day, (November 7,
1661,) the Privy Council issued no less than fourteen commissions for trials in the
provinces. Next year, the violence of the persecution seems to have abated. From 1662 to
1668, although "the understanding gentlemen and magistrates" already mentioned,
continued to try and condemn, the High Court of Justiciary had but one offender of this
class to deal with, and she was acquitted. James Welsh, a common pricker, was ordered
to be publicly whipped through the streets of Edinburgh for falsely accusing a woman of
witchcraft; a fact which alone proves that the superior court sifted the evidence in these
cases with much more care and severity than it had done a few years previously. The
enlightened Sir George Mackenzie, styled by Dryden "the noble wit of Scotland,"
laboured hard to introduce this rule into court -- that the confessions of the witches
should be held of little worth, and that the evidence of the prickers and other interested
persons should be received with distrust and jealousy. This was reversing the old
practice, and saved many innocent lives. Though a firm believer both in ancient and
modern witchcraft, he could not shut his eyes to the atrocities daily committed under the
name of justice. In his work on the Criminal Law of Scotland, published in 1678, he says,
"From the horridness of this crime, I do conclude that, of all others, it requires the
clearest relevancy and most convincing probature; and I condemn, next to the wretches
themselves, those cruel and too forward judges who burn persons by thousands as guilty
of this crime." In the same year, Sir John Clerk plumply refused to serve as a
commissioner on trials for witchcraft, alleging, by way of excuse, "that he was not
himself good conjuror enough to be duly qualified." The views entertained by Sir George
Mackenzie were so favourably received by the Lords of Session that he was deputed, in
1680, to report to them on the cases of a number of poor women who were then in prison
awaiting their trial. Sir George stated that there was no evidence against them whatever
but their own confessions, which were absurd and contradictory, and drawn from them by
severe torture. They were immediately discharged.
For the next sixteen years, the Lords of Session were unoccupied with trials for
witchcraft; not one is entered upon the record: but in 1697, a case occurred, which
equalled in absurdity any of those that signalized the dark reign of King James. A girl,
named Christiana Shaw, eleven years of age, the daughter of John Shaw of Bargarran,
was subject to fits, and being of a spiteful temper, she accused her maid-servant, with
whom she had frequent quarrels, of bewitching her. Her story, unfortunately, was
believed. Encouraged to tell all the persecutions of the devil which the maid had sent to
torment her, she in the end concocted a romance that involved twenty-one persons. There
was no other evidence against them but the fancies of this lying child, and the confessions
which pain had extorted from them; but upon this no less than five women were
condemned, before Lord Blantyre and the rest of the Commissioners, appointed specially
by the Privy Council to try this case. They were burned on the Green at Paisley. The
warlock of the party, one John Reed, who was also condemned, hanged himself in prison.
It was the general belief in Paisley that the devil had strangled him, lest he should have
revealed in his last moments too many of the unholy secrets of witchcraft. This trial
excited considerable disgust in Scotland. The Rev. Mr. Bell, a contemporary writer,
observed that, in this business, "persons of more goodness and esteem than most of their
calumniators were defamed for witches." He adds, that the persons chiefly to blame were
"certain ministers of too much forwardness and absurd credulity, and some topping
professors in and about Glasgow." [Preface to "Law's Memorials," edited by Sharpe.]
After this trial, there again occurs a lapse of seven years, when the subject was painfully
forced upon public attention by the brutal cruelty of the mob at Pittenween. Two women
were accused of having bewitched a strolling beggar, who was subject to fits, or who
pretended to be so, for the purpose of exciting commiseration. They were cast into prison,
and tortured until they confessed. One of them, named Janet Cornfoot, contrived to
escape, but was brought back to Pittenween next day by a party of soldiers. On her
approach to the town, she was, unfortunately, met by a furious mob, composed
principally of fishermen and their wives, who seized upon her with the intention of
swimming her. They forced her away to the sea shore, and tying a rope around her body,
secured the end of it to the mast of a fishing-boat lying alongside. In this manner they
ducked her several times. When she was half dead, a sailor in the boat cut away the rope,
and the mob dragged her through the sea to the beach. Here, as she lay quite insensible, a
brawny ruffian took down the door of his hut, close by, and placed it on her back. The
mob gathered large stones from the beach, and piled them upon her till the wretched
woman was pressed to death. No magistrate made the slightest attempt to interfere, and
the soldiers looked on, delighted spectators. A great outcry was raised against this
culpable remissness, but no judicial inquiry was set on foot. This happened in 1704.
The next case we hear of is that of Elspeth Rule, found guilty of witchcraft before Lord
Anstruther at the Dumfries circuit, in 1708. She was sentenced to be marked in the cheek
with a redhot iron, and banished the realm of Scotland for life.
Again there is a long interval. In 1718, the remote county of Caithness, where the
delusion remained in all its pristine vigour for years after it had ceased elsewhere, was
startled from its propriety by the cry of witchcraft. A silly fellow, named William
Montgomery, a carpenter, had a mortal antipathy to cats, and, somehow or other, these
animals generally chose his back-yard as the scene of their catterwaulings. He puzzled his
brains for a long time to know why he, above all his neighbours, should be so pestered; at
last he came to the sage conclusion that his tormentors were no cats, but witches. In this
opinion he was supported by his maid-servant, who swore a round oath that she had often
heard the aforesaid cats talking together in human voices. The next time the unlucky
tabbies assembled in his back-yard, the valiant carpenter was on the alert. Arming
himself with an axe, a dirk, and a broadsword, he rushed out among them: one of them he
wounded in the back, a second in the hip, and the leg of a third he maimed with his axe;
but he could not capture any of them. A few days afterwards, two old women of the
parish died, and it was said that, when their bodies were laid out, there appeared upon the
back of one the mark as of a recent wound, and a similar scar upon the hip of the other.
The carpenter and his maid were convinced that they were the very cats, and the whole
county repeated the same story. Every one was upon the look-out for proofs
corroborative: a very remarkable one was soon discovered. Nanny Gilbert, a wretched old
creature of upwards of seventy years of age, was found in bed with her leg broken; as she
was ugly enough for a witch, it was asserted that she, also, was one of the cats that had
fared so ill at the hands of the carpenter. The latter, when informed of the popular
suspicion, asserted that he distinctly remembered to have struck one of the cats a blow
with the back of his broadsword, which ought to have broken her leg. Nanny was
immediately dragged from her bed, and thrown into prison. Before she was put to the
torture, she explained, in a very natural and intelligible manner, how she had broken her
limb; but this account did not give satisfaction: the professional persuasions of the
torturer made her tell a different tale, and she confessed that she was indeed a witch, and
had been wounded by Montgomery on the night stated - that the two old women recently
deceased were witches also, besides about a score of others whom she named. The poor
creature suffered so much by the removal from her own home, and the tortures inflicted
upon her, that she died the next day in prison. Happily for the persons she had named in
her confession, Dundas of Arniston, at that time the King's Advocate-general, wrote to
the Sheriff-depute, one Captain Ross of Littledean, cautioning him not to proceed to trial,
the "thing being of too great difficulty, and beyond the jurisdiction of an inferior court."
Dundas himself examined the precognition with great care, and was so convinced of the
utter folly of the whole case that he quashed all further proceedings.
We find this same Sheriff-depute of Caithness very active four years afterwards in
another trial for witchcraft. In spite of the warning he had received, that all such cases
were to be tried in future by the superior courts, he condemned to death an old woman at
Dornoch, upon the charge of bewitching the cows and pigs of her neighbours. This poor
creature was insane, and actually laughed and clapped her hands at sight of "the bonnie
fire" that was to consume her. She had a daughter, who was lame both of her hands and
feet, and one of the charges brought against her was, that she had used this daughter as a
pony in her excursions to join the devil's sabbath, and that the devil himself had shod her,
and produced lameness.
This was the last execution that took place in Scotland for witchcraft. The penal statutes
were repealed in 1756, and, as in England, whipping, the pillory, or imprisonment, were
declared the future punishments of all pretenders to magic or witchcraft.
Still, for many years after this, the superstition lingered both in England and Scotland,
and in some districts is far from being extinct even at this day. But before we proceed to
trace it any further than to its legal extinction, we have yet to see the frightful havoc it
made in continental Europe from the commencement of the seventeenth to the middle of
the eighteenth century. France, Germany, and Switzerland were the countries which
suffered most from the epidemic. The number of victims in these countries during the
sixteenth century has already been mentioned; but, at the early part of the seventeenth,
the numbers are so great, especially in Germany, that were they not to be found in the
official records of the tribunals, it would be almost impossible to believe that mankind
could ever have been so maddened and deluded. To use the words of the learned and
indefatigable Horst, [Zauber Bibliothek. Theil 5.] "the world seemed to be like a large
madhouse for witches and devils to play their antics in." Satan was believed to be at
everybody's call, to raise the whirlwind, draw down the lightning, blight the productions
of the earth, or destroy the health and paralyse the limbs of man. This belief, so insulting
to the majesty and beneficence of the Creator, was shared by the most pious ministers of
religion. Those who in their morning and evening prayers acknowledged the one true
God, and praised him for the blessings of the seed time and the harvest, were convinced
that frail humanity could enter into a compact with the spirits of hell to subvert his laws
and thwart all his merciful intentions. Successive popes, from Innocent VIII. downwards,
promulgated this degrading doctrine, which spread so rapidly that society seemed to be
divided into two great factions, the bewitching and the bewitched.
The commissioners named by Innocent VIII. to prosecute the witch-trials in Germany,
were Jacob Sprenger, so notorious for his work on demonology, entitled the "Malleus
Maleficarum," or "Hammer to knock down Witches," Henry Institor a learned
jurisconsult, and the Bishop of Strasburgh. Barnberg, Treves, Cologne, Paderborn, and
Wurzburg, were the chief seats of the commissioners, who, during their lives alone,
condemned to the stake, on a very moderate calculation, upwards of three thousand
victims. The number of witches so increased, that new commissioners were continually
appointed in Germany, France, and Switzerland. In Spain and Portugal the Inquisition
alone took cognizance of the crime. It is impossible to search the records of those dark,
but now happily nonexisting tribunals; but the mind recoils with affright even to form a
guess of the multitudes who perished.
The mode of trial in the other countries is more easily ascertained. Sprenger, in Germany,
and Bodinus and Delrio, in France, have left but too ample a record of the atrocities
committed in the much-abused names of justice and religion. Bodinus, of great repute
and authority in the seventeenth century, says, "The trial of this offence must not be
conducted like other crimes. Whoever adheres to the ordinary course of justice perverts
the spirit of the law, both Divine and human. He who is accused of sorcery should never
be acquitted unless the malice of the prosecutor be clearer than the sun; for it is so
difficult to bring full proof of this secret crime, that out of a million of witches not one
would be convicted if the usual course were followed!" Henri Boguet, a witch-finder,
who styled himself "The Grand Judge of Witches for the Territory of St. Claude," drew
up a code for the guidance of all persons engaged in the witch-trials, consisting of
seventy articles, quite as cruel as the code of Bodinus. In this document he affirms, that a
mere suspicion of witchcraft justifies the immediate arrest and torture of the suspected
person. If the prisoner muttered, looked on the ground, and did not shed any tears, all
these were proofs positive of guilt! In all cases of witchcraft, the evidence of the child
ought to be taken against its parent; and persons of notoriously bad character, although
not to be believed upon their oaths on the ordinary occasions of dispute that might arise
between man and man, were to be believed, if they swore that any person had bewitched
them! Who, when he hears that this diabolical doctrine was the universally received
opinion of the ecclesiastical and civil authorities, can wonder that thousands upon
thousands of unhappy persons should be brought to the stake? that Cologne should for
many years burn its three hundred witches annually? the district of Barnberg its four
hundred? Nuremberg, Geneva, Paris, Toulouse, Lyons, and other cities, their two
hundred?
A few of these trials may be cited, taking them in the order of priority, as they occurred in
different parts of the Continent. In 1595 an old woman residing in a village near
Constance, angry at not being invited to share the sports of the country people on a day of
public rejoicing, was heard to mutter something to herself, and was afterwards seen to
proceed through the fields towards a hill, where she was lost sight of. A violent
thunderstorm arose about two hours afterwards, which wet the dancers to the skin, and
did considerable damage to the plantations. This woman, suspected before of witchcraft,
was seized and imprisoned, and accused of having raised the storm, by filling a hole with
wine, and stirring it about with a stick. She was tortured till she confessed, and was
burned alive the next evening.
About the same time two sorcerers in Toulouse were accused of having dragged a
crucifix about the streets at midnight, stopping at times to spit upon and kick it, and
uttering at intervals an exorcism to raise the devil. The next day a hail-storm did
considerable damage to the crops, and a girl, the daughter of a shoemaker in the town,
remembered to have heard in the night the execrations of the wizards. Her story led to
their arrest. The usual means to produce confession were resorted to. The wizards owned
that they could raise tempests whenever they pleased, and named several persons who
possessed similar powers. They were hanged, and then burned in the market-place, and
seven of the persons they had mentioned shared the same fate.
Hoppo and Stadlin, two noted wizards of Germany, were executed in 1599. They
implicated twenty or thirty witches, who went about causing women to miscarry,
bringing down the lightning of heaven, and making maidens bring forth toads. To this
latter fact several girls were found to swear most positively! Stadlin confessed that he had
killed seven infants in the womb of one woman.
Bodinus highly praises the exertions of a witchfinder, named Nider, in France, who
prosecuted so many that he could not calculate them. Some of these witches could, by a
single word, cause people to fall down dead; others made women go with child three
years instead of nine months; while others, by certain invocations and ceremonies, could
turn the faces of their enemies upside down, or twist them round to their backs. Although
no witness was ever procured who saw persons in this horrible state, the witches
confessed that they had the power, and exercised it. Nothing more was wanting to insure
the stake.
At Amsterdam a crazy girl confessed that she could cause sterility in cattle, and bewitch
pigs and poultry by merely repeating the magic words Turius und Shurius Inturius! She
was hanged and burned. Another woman in the same city, named Kornelis Van
Purmerund, was arrested in consequence of some disclosures the former had made. A
witness came forward and swore that she one day looked through the window of her hut,
and saw Kornelis sitting before a fire muttering something to the devil. She was sure it
was to the devil, because she heard him answer her. Shortly afterwards twelve black cats
ascended out of the floor, and danced on their hind legs around the witch for the space of
about half an hour. They then vanished with a horrid noise, and leaving a disagreeable
smell behind them. She also was hanged and burned.
At Bamberg, in Bavaria, the executions from the year 1610 to 1640 were at the rate of
about a hundred annually. One woman, suspected of witchcraft, was seized because,
having immoderately praised the beauty of a child, it had shortly afterwards fallen ill and
died. She confessed upon the rack that the devil had given her the power to work evil
upon those she hated, by speaking words in their praise. If she said with unwonted
fervour, "What a strong man!" "What a lovely woman !" "What a sweet child!" the devil
understood her, and afflicted them with diseases immediately. It is quite unnecessary to
state the end of this poor creature. Many women were executed for causing strange
substances to lodge in the bodies of those who offended them. Bits of wood, nails, hair,
eggshells, bits of glass, shreds of linen and woollen cloth, pebbles, and even hot cinders
and knives, were the articles generally chosen. These were believed to remain in the body
till the witches confessed or were executed, when they were voided from the bowels, or
by the mouth, nostrils, or ears. Modern physicians have often had cases of a similar
description under their care, where girls have swallowed needles, which have been
voided on the arms, legs, and other parts of the body. But the science of that day could
not account for these phenomena otherwise than by the power of the devil; and every
needle swallowed by a servant maid cost an old woman her life. Nay, if no more than one
suffered in consequence, the district might think itself fortunate. The commissioners
seldom stopped short at one victim. The revelations of the rack in most cases implicated
half a score.
Of all the records of the witch-trials preserved for the wonder of succeeding ages, that of
Wurzburg, from 1627 to 1629, is the most frightful. Hauber, who has preserved this list
in his "Acta et Scripta Magica," says, in a note at the end, that it is far from complete, and
that there were a great many other burnings too numerous to specify. This record, which
relates to the city only, and not to the province of Wurzburg, contains the names of one
hundred and fifty-seven persons, who were burned in two years in twenty-nine burnings,
averaging from five to six at a time. The list comprises three play-actors, four innkeepers,
three common councilmen of Wurzburg, fourteen vicars of the cathedral, the
burgomaster's lady, an apothecary's wife and daughter, two choristers of the cathedral,
Gobel Babelin the prettiest girl in the town, and the wife, the two little sons, and the
daughter of the councillor Stolzenberg. Rich and poor, young and old, suffered alike. At
the seventh of these recorded burnings, the victims are described as a wandering boy,
twelve years of age, and four strange men and women, found sleeping in the marketplace. Thirty-two of the whole number appear to have been vagrants, of both sexes, who,
failing to give a satisfactory account of themselves, were accused and found guilty of
witchcraft. The number of children on the list is horrible to think upon. The thirteenth and
fourteenth burnings comprised four persons, who are stated to have been a little maiden
nine years of age, a maiden still less, her sister, their mother, and their aunt, a pretty
young woman of twenty-four. At the eighteenth burning the victims were two boys of
twelve, and a girl of fifteen; at the nineteenth, the young heir of the noble house of
Rotenhahn, aged nine, and two other boys, one aged ten, and the other twelve. Among
other entries appear the names of Baunach, the fattest, and Steinacher, the richest burgher
in Wurzburg. What tended to keep up the delusion in this unhappy city, and indeed all
over Europe, was the number of hypochondriac and diseased persons who came
voluntarily forward, and made confession of witchcraft. Several of the victims in the
foregoing list, had only themselves to blame for their fate. Many again, including the
apothecary's wife and daughter already mentioned, pretended to sorcery, and sold
poisons, or attempted by means of charms and incantations to raise the devil. But
throughout all this fearful period the delusion of the criminals was as great as that of the
judges. Depraved persons who, in ordinary times, would have been thieves or murderers,
added the desire of sorcery to their depravity, sometimes with the hope of acquiring
power over their fellows, and sometimes with the hope of securing impunity in this world
by the protection of Satan. One of the persons executed at the first burning, a prostitute,
was heard repeating the exorcism, which was supposed to have the power of raising the
arch enemy in the form of a goat. This precious specimen of human folly has been
preserved by Horst, in his "Zauberbibliothek." It ran as follows, and was to be repeated
slowly, with many ceremonies and waivings of the hand:-"Lalle, Bachera, Magotte, Baphia, Dajam, Vagoth Heneche Ammi Nagaz, Adomator
Raphael Immanuel Christus, Tetragrammaton Agra Jod Loi. Konig! Konig!"
The two last words were uttered quickly, and with a sort of scream, and were supposed to
be highly agreeable to Satan, who loved to be called a king. If he did not appear
immediately, it was necessary to repeat a further exorcism. The one in greatest repute was
as follows, and was to be read backwards, with the exception of the last two words
"Anion, Lalle, Sabolos, Sado, Pater, Aziel Adonai Sado Vagoth Agra, Jod, Baphra!
Komm! Komm!"
When the witch wanted to get rid of the devil, who was sometimes in the habit of
prolonging his visits to an unconscionable length, she had only to repeat the following,
also backwards, when he generally disappeared, leaving behind him a suffocating smell: "Zellianelle Heotti Bonus Vagotha Plisos sother osech unicus Beelzebub Dax! Komm!
Komm!"
This nonsensical jargon soon became known to all the idle and foolish boys of Germany.
Many an unhappy urchin, who in a youthful frolic had repeated it, paid for his folly the
penalty of his life. Three, whose ages varied from ten to fifteen, were burned alive at
Wurzburg for no other offence. Of course every other boy in the city became still more
convinced of the power of the charm. One boy confessed that he would willingly have
sold himself to the devil, if he could have raised him, for a good dinner and cakes every
day of his life, and a pony to ride upon. This luxurious youngster, instead of being
horsewhipped for his folly, was hanged and burned.
The small district of Lindheim was, if possible, even more notorious than Wurzburg for
the number of its witch-burnings. In the year 1633 a famous witch, named Pomp Anna,
who could cause her foes to fall sick by merely looking at them, was discovered and
burned, along with three of her companions. Every year in this parish, consisting at most
of a thousand persons, the average number of executions was five. Between the years
1660 and 1664, the number consumed was thirty. If the executions all over Germany had
been in this frightful proportion, hardly a family could have escaped losing one of its
members.
In 1627 a ballad entitled the "Druten Zeitung," or the "Witches Gazette," was very
popular in Germany. It detailed, according to the titlepage of a copy printed at Smalcald
in 1627, "an account of the remarkable events which took place in Franconia, Bamberg,
and Wurzburg, with those wretches who from avarice or ambition have sold themselves
to the devil, and how they had their reward at last: set to music, and to be sung to the tune
of Dorothea." The sufferings of the witches at the stake are explained in it with great
minuteness, the poet waxing extremely witty when he describes the horrible contortions
of pain upon their countenances, and the shrieks that rent the air when any one of more
than common guilt was burned alive. A trick resorted to in order to force one witch to
confess, is told in this doggrel as an excellent joke. As she obstinately refused to own that
she was in league with the powers of evil, the commissioners suggested that the hangman
should dress himself in a bear's skin, with the horns, tail, and all the et ceteras, and in this
form penetrate into her dungeon. The woman, in the darkness of her cell, could not detect
the imposture, aided as it was by her own superstitious fears. She thought she was
actually in the presence of the prince of hell; and when she was told to keep up her
courage, and that she should be relieved from the power of her enemies, she fell on her
knees before the supposed devil, and swore to dedicate herself hereafter body and soul to
his service. Germany is, perhaps, the only country in Europe where the delusion was so
great as to have made such detestable verses as these the favourites of the people:-"Man shickt ein Henkersknecht Zu ihr in Gefangniss n'unter,
Den man hat kleidet recht, Mir einer Barnhaute,
Als wenns der Teufel war; Als ihm die Drut anschaute
Meints ihr Buhl kam daher.
"Sie sprach zu ihm behende,
Wie lasst du mich so lang In der Obrigkeit Hande?
Hilf mir aus ihren Zwang, Wie du mir hast verheissen,
Ich bin ja eben dein, Thu mich aus der Angst entreissen
O liebster Buhle mein?
[They sent a hangman's assistant down to her in her prison; they clothed him properly in
a bear's skin, as if he were the devil. Him, when the witch saw, she thought he was her
familiar. She said to him quickly, "Why hast thou left me so long in the magistrate's
hands? Help me out of their power, as thou hast promised, and I will be thine alone. Help
me from this anguish, O thou dearest devil (or lover), mine?]
This rare poet adds, that in making such an appeal to the hangman, the witch never
imagined the roast that was to be made of her, and puts in, by way of parenthesis, "was
not that fine fun!" "Was das war fur ein Spiel!" As feathers thrown into the air show how
the wind blows, so this trumpery ballad serves to show the current of popular feeling at
the time of its composition.
All readers of history are familiar with the celebrated trial of the Marechale d'Ancre, who
was executed in Paris in the year 1617. Although witchcraft was one of the accusations
brought against her, the real crime for which she suffered was her ascendency over the
mind of Mary of Medicis, and the consequent influence she exercised indirectly over the
unworthy King, Louis XIII. Her coachman gave evidence that she had sacrificed a cock
at midnight, in one of the churches, and others swore they had seen her go secretly into
the house of a noted witch, named Isabella. When asked by what means she had acquired
so extraordinary an influence over the mind of the Queen Mother, she replied boldly, that
she exercised no other power over her, than that which a strong mind can always exercise
over the weak. She died with great firmness.
In two years afterwards scenes far more horrible than any that had yet taken place in
France were enacted at Labourt, at the foot of the Pyrenees. The Parliament of
Bourdeaux, scandalised at the number of witches who were said to infest Labourt and its
neighbourhood, deputed one of its own members, the noted Pierre de l'Ancre, and its
President, Espaignel, to inquire into the matter, with full powers to punish the offenders.
They arrived at Labourt in May 1619. De l'Ancre wrote a book, setting forth all his great
deeds, in this battle against the powers of evil. It is full of obscenity and absurdity; but
the facts may be relied on as far as they relate to the number of trials and executions, and
the strange confessions which torture forced from the unhappy criminals.
De l'Ancre states as a reason why so many witches were to be found at Labourt, that the
country was mountainous and sterile! He discovered many of them from their partiality to
smoking tobacco. It may be inferred from this, that he was of the opinion of King James,
that tobacco was the "devil's weed." When the commission first sat, the number of
persons brought to trial was about forty a day. The acquittals did not average so many as
five per cent. All the witches confessed that they had been present at the great
Domdaniel, or Sabbath. At these saturnalia the devil sat upon a large gilded throne,
sometimes in the form of a goat; sometimes as a gentleman, dressed all in black, with
boots, spurs, and sword; and very often as a shapeless mass, resembling the trunk of a
blasted tree, seen indistinctly amid the darkness. They generally proceeded to the
Domdaniel, riding on spits, pitchforks, or broomsticks, and, on their arrival, indulged
with the fiends in every species of debauchery. Upon one occasion they had had the
audacity to celebrate this festival in the very heart of the city of Bourdeaux. The throne of
the arch fiend was placed in the middle of the Place de Gallienne, and the whole space
was covered with the multitude of witches and wizards, who flocked to it from far and
near; some arriving even from distant Scotland.
After two hundred poor wretches had been hanged and burned, there seemed no
diminution in the number of criminals to be tried. Many of the latter were asked upon the
rack what Satan had said, when he found that the commissioners were proceeding with
such severity? The general reply was, that he did not seem to care much about it. Some of
them asserted, that they had boldly reproached him for suffering the execution of their
friends, saying, "Out upon thee, false ,fiend! thy promise was, that they should not die!
Look! how thou hast kept thy word! They have been burned, and are a heap of ashes!"
Upon these occasions he was never offended. He would give orders that the sports of the
Domdaniel should cease, and producing illusory fires that did not burn, he encouraged
them to walk through, assuring them that the fires lighted by the executioner gave no
more pain than those. They would then ask him, where their friends were, since they had
not suffered; to which the "Father of Lies" invariably replied, that they were happy in a
far country, and could see and hear all that was then passing; and that, if they called by
name those they wished to converse with, they might hear their voices in reply. Satan
then imitated the voices of the defunct witches so successfully, that they were all
deceived. Having answered all objections, the orgies recommenced, and lasted till the
cock crew.
De l'Ancre was also very zealous in the trial of unhappy monomaniacs for the crime of
lycanthropy. Several who were arrested confessed, without being tortured, that they were
weir-wolves, and that, at night, they rushed out among the flocks and herds, killing and
devouring. One young man at Besancon, with the full consciousness of the awful fate that
awaited him, voluntarily gave himself up to the commissioner Espaignel, and confessed
that he was the servant of a strong fiend, who was known by the name of "Lord of the
Forests." By his power, he was transformed into the likeness of a wolf. The "Lord of the
Forests" assumed the same shape, but was much larger, fiercer, and stronger. They
prowled about the pastures together at midnight, strangling the watch-dogs that defended
the folds, and killing more sheep than they could devour. He felt, he said, a fierce
pleasure in these excursions, and howled in excess of joy as he tore with his fangs the
warm flesh of the sheep asunder. This youth was not alone in this horrid confession;
many others voluntarily owned that they were weir-wolves, and many more were forced
by torture to make the same avowal. Such criminals were thought to be too atrocious to
be hanged first, and then burned: they were generally sentenced to be burned alive, and
their ashes to be scattered to the winds. Grave and learned doctors of divinity openly
sustained the possibility of these transformations, relying mainly upon the history of
Nebuchadnezzar. They could not imagine why, if he had been an ox, modern men could
not become wolves, by Divine permission and the power of the devil. They also
contended that, if men should confess, it was evidence enough, if there had been no other.
Delrio mentions that one gentleman accused of lycanthropy was put to the torture no less
than twenty times, but still he would not confess. An intoxicating draught was then given
him, and under its influence he confessed that he was a weir-wolf. Delrio cites this to
show the extreme equity of the commissioners. They never burned anybody till he
confessed; and if one course of torture would not suffice, their patience was not
exhausted, and they tried him again and again, even to the twentieth time! Well may we
exclaim, when such atrocities have been committed in the name of religion,
"Quel lion, quel tigre egale en cruaute, Une injuste fureur qu'arme la piete?"
The trial of the unhappy Urbain Grandier, the curate of Loudun, for bewitching a number
of girls in the convent of the Ursulines in that town, was, like that of the Marechale
d'Ancre, an accusation resorted to by his enemies to ruin one against whom no other
charge could be brought so readily. This noted affair, which kept France in commotion
for months, and the true character of which was known even at that time, merits no more
than a passing notice in this place. It did not spring from the epidemic dread of sorcery
then so prevalent, but was carried on by wretched intriguers, who had sworn to have the
life of their foe. Such a charge could not be refuted in 1634: the accused could not, as
Bodinus expresses it, "make the malice of the prosecutors more clear than the sun;" and
his own denial, however intelligible, honest, and straightforward, was held as nothing in
refutation of the testimony of the crazy women who imagined themselves bewitched. The
more absurd and contradictory their assertions, the stronger the argument employed by
his enemies that the devil was in them. He was burned alive, under circumstances of great
cruelty. [A very graphic account of the execution of this unfortunate gentleman is to be
found in the excellent romance of M. Alfred de Vigny, entitled "Cinq Mars ;" but if the
reader wishes for a full and accurate detail of all the circumstances of one of the most
extraordinary trials upon record, he is referred to a work published anonymously, at
Amsterdam, in 1693, entitled "Histoire des Diables de Loudun, ou de la Possession des
Religieuses Ursulines, et de la Condemnation et du Supplice d'Urbain Grandier."]
A singular instance of the epidemic fear of witchcraft occurred at Lille, in 1639. A pious,
but not very sane lady, named Antoinette Bourignon, founded a school, or hospice, in that
city. One day, on entering the school-room, she imagined that she saw a great number of
little black angels flying about the heads of the children. In great alarm, she told her
pupils of what she had seen, warning them to beware of the devil, whose imps were
hovering about them. The foolish woman continued daily to repeat the same story, and
Satan and his power became the only subject of conversation, not only between the girls
themselves, but between them and their instructors. One of them at this time ran away
from the school. On being brought back and interrogated, she said she had not run away,
but had been carried away by the devil -- she was a witch, and had been one since the age
of seven. Some other little girls in the school went into fits at this announcement, and, on
their recovery, confessed that they also were witches. At last, the whole of them, to the
number of fifty, worked upon each other's imaginations to such a degree that they also
confessed that they were witches -- that they attended the Domdaniel, or meeting of the
fiends -- that they could ride through the air on broom-sticks, feast on infants' flesh, or
creep through a key-hole.
The citizens of Lille were astounded at these disclosures. The clergy hastened to
investigate the matter; many of them, to their credit, openly expressed their opinion that
the whole affair was an imposture: not so the majority -- they strenuously insisted that the
confessions of the children were valid, and that it was necessary to make an example by
burning them all for witches. The poor parents, alarmed for their offspring, implored the
examining Capuchins with tears in their eyes to save their young lives, insisting that they
were bewitched, and not bewitching. This opinion also gained ground in the town.
Antoinette Bourignon, who had put these absurd notions into the heads of the children,
was accused of witchcraft, and examined before the council. The circumstances of the
case seemed so unfavourable towards her that she would not stay for a second
examination. Disguising herself as she best could, she hastened out of Lille and escaped
pursuit. If she had remained four hours longer, she would have been burned by judicial
sentence, as a witch and a heretic. It is to be hoped that, wherever she went, she learned
the danger of tampering with youthful minds, and was never again entrusted with the
management of children.
The Duke of Brunswick and the Elector of Menz were struck with the great cruelty
exercised in the torture of suspected persons, and convinced at the same time that no
righteous judge would consider a confession extorted by pain, and contradictory in itself,
as sufficient evidence to justify the execution of any accused person. It is related of the
Duke of Brunswick that he invited two learned Jesuits to his house, who were known to
entertain strong opinions upon the subject of witchcraft, with a view of showing them the
cruelty and absurdity of such practises. A woman lay in the dungeon of the city accused
of witchcraft, and the Duke, having given previous instructions to the officiating
torturers, went with the two Jesuits to hear her confession. By a series of artful leading
questions, the poor creature, in the extremity of her anguish, was induced to confess that
she had often attended the sabbath of the fiends upon the Brocken -- that she had seen
two Jesuits there, who had made themselves notorious, even among witches, for their
abominations -- that she had seen them assume the form of goats, wolves, and other
animals; and that many noted witches had borne them five, six, and seven children at a
birth, who had heads like toads and legs like spiders. Being asked if the Jesuits were far
from her, she replied that they were in the room beside her. The Duke of Brunswick led
his astounded friends away, and explained the stratagem. This was convincing proof to
both of them that thousands of persons had suffered unjustly; they knew their own
innocence, and shuddered to think what their fate might have been, if an enemy, instead
of a friend, had put such a confession into the mouth of a criminal. One of these Jesuits
was Frederick Spee, the author of the "Cautio Criminalis," published in 1631. This work,
exposing the horrors of the witch trials, had a most salutary effect in Germany:
Schonbrunn, Archbishop and Elector of Menz, abolished the torture entirely within his
dominions, and his example was imitated by the Duke of Brunswick and other potentates.
The number of supposed witches immediately diminished, and the violence of the mania
began to subside. The Elector of Brandenburg issued a rescript, in 1654, with respect to
the case of Anna of Ellerbrock, a supposed witch, forbidding the use of torture, and
stigmatizing the swimming of witches as an unjust, cruel, and deceitful test.
This was the beginning of the dawn after the long-protracted darkness. The tribunals no
longer condemned witches to execution by hundreds in a year. Wurzburg, the grand
theatre of the burnings, burned but one, where, forty years previously, it had burned three
score. From 1660 to 1670, the electoral chambers in all parts of Germany constantly
commuted the sentence of death passed by the provincial tribunals into imprisonment for
life, or burning on the cheek.
A truer philosophy had gradually disabused the public mind. Learned men freed
themselves from the trammels of a debasing superstition, and governments, both civil and
ecclesiastical, repressed the popular delusion they had so long encouraged. The
Parliament of Normandy condemned a number of women to death, in the year 1670, on
the old charge of riding on broomsticks to the Domdaniel; but Louis XIV. commuted the
sentence into banishment for life. The Parliament remonstrated, and sent the King the
following remarkable request. The reader will, perhaps, be glad to see this document at
length. It is of importance, as the last effort of a legislative assembly to uphold this great
error; and the arguments they used, and the instances they quoted, are in the highest
degree curious. It reflects honour upon the memory of Louis XIV. that he was not swayed
by it.
"REQUEST OF THE PARLIAMENT OF ROUEN TO THE KING, IN 1670.
"SIRE,
"EMBOLDENED by the authority which your Majesty has committed into our hands in
the province of Normandy, to try and punish offences, and more particularly those
offences of the nature of witchcraft, which tend to the destruction of religion and the ruin
of nations, we, your Parliament, remonstrate humbly with your Majesty upon certain
cases of this kind which have been lately brought before us. We cannot permit the letter
addressed by your Majesty's command to the Attorney-General of this district, for the
reprieve of certain persons condemned to death for witchcraft, and for the staying of
proceedings in several other cases, to remain unnoticed, and without remarking upon the
consequences which may ensue. There is also a letter from your Secretary of State,
declaring your Majesty's intention to commute the punishment of these criminals into one
of perpetual banishment, and to submit to the opinion of the Procureur-General, and of
the most learned members of the Parliament of Paris, whether, in the matter of witchcraft,
the jurisprudence of the Parliament of Rouen is to be followed in preference to that of the
Parliament of Paris, and of the other parliaments of the kingdom which judge differently.
"Although by the ordinances of the Kings your predecessors, Parliaments have been
forbidden to pay any attention to lettres de cachet; we, nevertheless, from the knowledge
which we have, in common with the whole kingdom, of the care bestowed by your
Majesty for the good of your subjects, and from the submission and obedience to your
commandments which we have always manifested, have stayed all proceedings, in
conformity to your orders; hoping that your Majesty, considering the importance of the
crime of witchcraft, and the consequences likely to ensue from its impunity, will be
graciously pleased to grant us once more your permission to continue the trials, and
execute judgment upon those found guilty. And as, since we received the letter of your
Secretary of State, we have also been made acquainted with the determination of your
Majesty, not only to commute the sentence of death passed upon these witches into one
of perpetual banishment from the province, but to re-establish them in the possession of
their goods and chattels, and of their good fame and character, your Parliament have
thought it their duty, on occasion of these crimes, the greatest which men can commit, to
make you acquainted with the general and uniform feelings of the people of this province
with regard to them; it being, moreover, a question in which are concerned the glory of
God and the relief of your suffering subjects, who groan under their fears from the threats
and menaces of this sort of persons, and who feel the effects of them every day in the
mortal and extraordinary maladies which attack them, and the surprising damage and loss
of their possessions.
"Your Majesty knows well that there is no crime so opposed to the commands of God as
witchcraft, which destroys the very foundation of religion, and draws strange
abominations after it. It is for this reason, Sire, that the Scriptures pronounce the
punishment of death against offenders, and that the church and the holy fathers have
fulminated their anathemas, and that canonical decisions have one and all decreed the
most severe punishments, to deter from this crime; and that the Church of France,
animated by the piety of the Kings your predecessors, has expressed so great a horror at
it, that, not judging the punishment of perpetual imprisonment, the highest it has the
power to inflict, sufficiently severe, it has left such criminals to be dealt with by the
secular power.
"It has been the general feeling of all nations that such criminals ought to be condemned
to death, and all the ancients were of the same opinion. The law of the "Twelve Tables,"
which was the principal of the Roman laws, ordains the same punishment. All
jurisconsults agreed in it, as well as the constitutions of the Emperors, and more
especially those of Constantine and Theodosius, who, enlightened by the Gospel, not
only renewed the same punishment, but also deprived, expressly, all persons found guilty
of witchcraft of the right of appeal, and declared them to be unworthy of a prince's mercy.
And Charles VIII, Sire, inspired by the same sentiments, passed that beautiful and severe
ordinance (cette belle et severe ordonnance), which enjoined the judges to punish witches
according to the exigencies of the case, under a penalty of being themselves fined or
imprisoned, or dismissed from their office; and decreed, at the same time, that all persons
who refused to denounce a witch, should be punished as accomplices; and that all, on the
contrary, who gave evidence against one, should be rewarded.
"From these considerations, Sire, and in the execution of so holy an ordinance, your
parliaments, by their decrees, proportion their punishments to the guilt of the offenders:
and your Parliament of Normandy has never, until the present time, found that its practice
was different from that of other courts; for all the books which treat upon this matter cite
an infinite number of decrees condemning witches to be burnt, or broken on the wheel, or
to other punishments. The following are examples: -- In the time of Chilperic, as may be
seen in Gregory of Tours, b. vi, c. 35 of his History of France: all the decrees of the
Parliament of Paris passed according to, and in conformity with, this ancient
jurisprudence of the kingdom, cited by Imbert, in his "Judicial Practice;" all those cited
by Monstrelet, in 1459, against the witches of Artois; the decrees of the same Parliament,
of the l3th of October 1573, against Mary Le Fief, native of Saumur; of the 21st of
October 1596, against the Sieur de Beaumont, who pleaded, in his defence, that he had
only sought the aid of the devil for the purpose of unbewitching the afflicted and of
curing diseases; of the 4th of July 1606, against Francis du Bose; of the 20th of July
1582, against Abel de la Rue, native of Coulommiers; of the 2nd of October 1593, against
Rousseau and his daughter; of 1608, against another Rousseau and one Peley, for
witchcraft and adoration of the devil at the Sabbath, under the figure of a he-goat, as
confessed by them; the decree of 4th of February 1615, against Leclerc, who appealed
from the sentence of the Parliament of Orleans, and who was condemned for having
attended the Sabbath, and confessed, as well as two of his accomplices, who died in
prison, that he had adored the devil, renounced his baptism and his faith in God, danced
the witches' dance, and offered up unholy sacrifices; the decrees of the 6th of May 1616,
against a man named Leger, on a similar accusation; the pardon granted by Charles IX to
Trois Echelles, upon condition of revealing his accomplices, but afterwards revoked for
renewed sorcery on his part; the decree of the Parliament of Paris, cited by Mornac in
1595; the judgments passed in consequence of the commission given by Henry IV to the
Sieur de Lancre, councillor of the Parliament of Bourdeaux; of the 20th of March 1619,
against Etienne Audibert; those passed by the Chamber of Nerac, on the 26th of June
1620, against several witches; those passed by the Parliament of Toulouse in 1577, as
cited by Gregory Tolosanus, against four hundred persons accused of this crime, and who
were all marked with the sign of the devil. Besides all these, we might recall to your
Majesty's recollection the various decrees of the Parliament of Provence, especially in the
case of Gaufredy in 1611; the decrees of the Parliament of Dijon, and those of the
Parliament of Rennes, following the example of the condemnation of the Marshal de
Rays, who was burned in 1441, for the crime of witchcraft, in presence of the Duke of
Brittany; -- all these examples, Sire, prove that the accusation of witchcraft has always
been punished with death by the Parliaments of your kingdom, and justify the uniformity
of their practice.
"These, Sire, are the motives upon which your Parliament of Normandy has acted in
decreeing the punishment of death against the persons lately brought before it for this
crime. If it has happened that, on any occasion, these parliaments, and the Parliament of
Normandy among the rest, have condemned the guilty to a less punishment than that of
death, it was for the reason that their guilt was not of the deepest dye; your Majesty, and
the Kings your predecessors, having left full liberty to the various tribunals to whom they
delegated the administration of justice, to decree such punishment as was warranted by
the evidence brought before them.
"After so many authorities, and punishments ordained by human and divine laws, we
humbly supplicate your Majesty to reflect once more upon the extraordinary results
which proceed from the malevolence of this sort of people -- on the deaths from unknown
diseases, which are often the consequences of their menaces -- on the loss of the goods
and chattels of your subjects -- on the proofs of guilt continually afforded by the
insensibility of the marks upon the accused -- on the sudden transportation of bodies from
one place to another -- on the sacrifices and nocturnal assemblies, and other facts,
corroborated by the testimony of ancient and modern authors, and verified by so many
eye-witnesses, composed partly of accomplices, and partly of people who had no interest
in the trials beyond the love of truth, and confirmed, moreover, by the confessions of the
accused parties themselves; and that, Sire, with so much agreement and conformity
between the different cases, that the most ignorant persons convicted of this crime have
spoken to the same circumstances, and in nearly the same words, as the most celebrated
authors who have written about it, all of which may be easily proved to your Majesty's
satisfaction by the records of various trials before your parliaments.
"These, Sire, are truths so intimately bound up with the principles of our religion, that,
extraordinary although they be, no person has been able to this time to call them in
question. If some have cited, in opposition to these truths, the pretended canon of the
Council of Ancyre, and a passage from St. Augustin, in a treatise upon the 'Spirit and the
Soul', it has been without foundation; and it would be easy to convince your Majesty that
neither the one nor the other ought to be accounted of any authority; and, besides that, the
canon, in this sense, would be contrary to the opinion of all succeeding councils of the
church, Cardinal Baronius, and all learned commentators, agree that it is not to be found
in any old edition. In effect, in those editions wherein it is found, it is in another
language, and is in direct contradiction to the twenty-third canon of the same council,
which condemns sorcery, according to all preceding constitutions. Even supposing that
this canon was really promulgated by the Council of Ancyre, we must observe that it was
issued in the second century, when the principal attention of the Church was directed to
the destruction of paganism. For this reason, it condemns that class of women who said
they could pass through the air, and over immense regions, with Diana and Herodias, and
enjoins all preachers to teach the falsehood of such an opinion, in order to deter people
from the worship of these false divinities; but it does not question the power of the devil
over the human body, which is, in fact, proved by the Holy Gospel of Jesus Christ
himself. And with regard, Sire, to the pretended passage of St. Augustin, everybody
knows that it was not written by him, because the writer, whoever he was, cites Boetius,
who died more than eighty years after the time of St. Augustin. Besides, there is still
more convincing proof in the fact, that the same father establishes the truth of witchcraft
in all his writings, and more particularly in his 'City of God;' and in his first volume,
question the 25th, wherein he states that sorcery is a communion between man and the
devil, which all good Christians ought to look upon with horror.
"Taking all these things into consideration, Sire, the officers of your Parliament hope,
from the justice of your Majesty, that you will be graciously pleased to receive the
humble remonstrances they have taken the liberty to make. They are compelled, for the
acquittal of their own consciences and in discharge of their duty, to make known to your
Majesty, that the decrees they passed against the sorcerers and witches brought before
them, were passed after a mature deliberation on the part of all the judges present, and
that nothing has been done therein which is not conformable to the universal
jurisprudence of the kingdom, and for the general welfare of your Majesty's subjects, of
whom there is not one who can say that he is secure from the malevolence of such
criminals. We therefore supplicate your Majesty to suffer us to carry into effect the
sentences we passed, and to proceed with the trial of the other persons accused of the
same crime; and that the piety of your Majesty will not suffer to be introduced during
your reign an opinion contrary to the principles of that holy religion for which you have
always employed so gloriously both your cares and your arms."
Louis, as we have already mentioned, paid no attention to this appeal. The lives of the old
women were spared, and prosecutions for mere witchcraft, unconnected with other
offences, were discontinued throughout France. In 1680 an act was passed for the
punishment, not of witches, but of pretenders to witchcraft, fortune-tellers, divineresses,
and poisoners.
Thus the light broke in upon Germany, France, England, and Scotland about the same
time, gradually growing clearer and clearer till the middle of the eighteenth century,
when witchcraft was finally reckoned amongst exploded doctrines, and the belief in it
confined to the uttermost vulgar. Twice, however, did the madness burst forth again as
furious, while it lasted, as ever it had been. The first time in Sweden, in 1669, and the
second in Germany, so late as 1749. Both these instances merit particular mention. The
first is one of the most extraordinary upon record, and for atrocity and absurdity is
unsurpassed in the annals of any nation.
It having been reported to the King of Sweden that the little village of Mohra, in the
province of Dalecarlia, was troubled exceedingly with witches, he appointed a
commission of clergy and laymen to trace the rumour to its source, with full powers to
punish the guilty. On the 12th of August 1669, the commissioners arrived in the
bewitched village, to the great joy of the credulous inhabitants. On the following day the
whole population, amounting to three thousand persons, assembled in the church. A
sermon was preached, "declaring the miserable case of those people that suffered
themselves to be deluded by the devil," and fervent prayer was offered up that God would
remove the scourge from among them.
The whole assembly then adjourned to the rector's house, filling all the street before it,
when the King's commission was read, charging every person who knew anything of the
witchery, to come forward and declare the truth. A passion of tears seized upon the
multitude; men, women, and children began to weep and sob, and all promised to divulge
what they had heard or knew. In this frame of mind they were dismissed to their homes.
On the following day they were again called together, when the depositions of several
persons were taken publicly before them all. The result was that seventy persons,
including fifteen children, were taken into custody. Numbers also were arrested in the
neighbouring district of Elfdale. Being put to the torture, they all confessed their guilt.
They said they used to go to a gravel-pit that lay hard by the cross-way, where they put a
vest upon their heads, and danced "round and round and round about." They then went to
the cross-way, and called three times upon the devil; the first time in a low still voice; the
second, somewhat louder; and the third, very loudly, with these words, "Antecessor,
come, and carry us to Blockula!" This invocation never failed to bring him to their view.
He generally appeared as a little old man, in a grey coat, with red and blue stockings,
with exceedingly long garters. He had besides a very high-crowned hat, with bands of
many-coloured linen enfolded about it, and a long red beard, that hung down to his
middle.
The first question he put to them was, whether they would serve him soul and body? On
their answering in the affirmative, he told them to make ready for the journey to
Blockula. It was necessary to procure, in the first place, "some scrapings of altars and
filings of church clocks." Antecessor then gave them a horn, with some salve in it,
wherewith they anointed themselves. These preparations ended, he brought beasts for
them to ride upon, horses, asses, goats, and monkeys; and, giving them a saddle, a
hammer, and a nail, uttered the word of command, and away they went. Nothing stopped
them. They flew over churches, high walls, rocks, and mountains, until they came to the
green meadow where Blockula was situated. Upon these occasions they carried as many
children with them as they could; for the devil, they said, "did plague and whip them if
they did not procure him children, insomuch that they had no peace or quiet for him."
Many parents corroborated a part of this evidence, stating that their children had
repeatedly told them that they had been carried away in the night to Blockula, where the
devil had beaten them black and blue. They had seen the marks in the morning, but they
soon disappeared. One little girl was examined, who swore positively that she was carried
through the air by the witches, and when at a great height she uttered the holy name of
Jesus. She immediately fell to the ground, and made a great hole in her side. "The devil,
however, picked her up, healed her side, and carried her away to Blockula." She added,
and her mother confirmed her statement, that she had till that day "an exceeding great
pain in her side." This was a clencher, and the nail of conviction was driven home to the
hearts of the judges.
The place called Blockula, whither they were carried, was a large house, with a gate to it,
"in a delicate meadow, whereof they could see no end." There was a very long table in it,
at which the witches sat down; and in other rooms "there were very lovely and delicate
beds for them to sleep upon."
After a number of ceremonies had been performed, by which they bound themselves,
body and soul, to the service of Antecessor, they sat down to a feast, composed of broth,
made of colworts and bacon, oatmeal, bread and butter, milk and cheese. The devil
always took the chair, and sometimes played to them on the harp or the fiddle, while they
were eating. After dinner they danced in a ring, sometimes naked, and sometimes in their
clothes, cursing and swearing all the time. Some of the women added particulars too
horrible and too obscene for repetition.
Once the devil pretended to be dead, that he might see whether his people regretted him.
They instantly set up a loud wail, and wept three tears each for him, at which he was so
pleased, that he jumped up among them, and hugged in his arms those who had been
most obstreperous in their sorrow.
Such were the principal details given by the children, and corroborated by the confessions
of the full-grown witches. Anything more absurd was never before stated in a court of
justice. Many of the accused contradicted themselves most palpably; but the
commissioners gave no heed to discrepancies. One of them, the parson of the district,
stated, in the course of the inquiry, that on a particular night, which he mentioned, he had
been afflicted with a headach so agonizing, that he could not account for it otherwise than
by supposing he was bewitched. In fact, he thought a score of witches must have been
dancing on the crown of his head. This announcement excited great horror among the
pious dames of the auditory, who loudly expressed their wonder that the devil should
have power to hurt so good a man. One poor witch, who lay in the very jaws of death,
confessed that she knew too well the cause of the minister's headach. The devil had sent
her with a sledge hammer and a large nail, to drive into the good man's skull. She had
hammered at it for some time, but the skull was so enormously thick, that she made no
impression upon it. Every hand was held up in astonishment. The pious minister blessed
God that his skull was so solid, and he became renowned for his thick head all the days of
his life. Whether the witch intended a joke does not appear, but she was looked upon as a
criminal more than usually atrocious. Seventy persons were condemned to death on these
so awful yet so ridiculous confessions. Twenty-three of them were burned together, in
one fire, in the village of Mohra, in the presence of thousands of delighted spectators. On
the following day fifteen children were murdered in the same manner; offered up in
sacrifice to the bloody Moloch of superstition. The remaining thirty-two were executed at
the neighbouring town of Fahluna. Besides these, fifty-six children were found guilty of
witchcraft in a minor degree, and sentenced to various punishments, such as running the
gauntlet, imprisonment, and public whipping once a week for a twelvemonth.
Long after the occurrence of this case, it was cited as one of the most convincing proofs
upon record of the prevalence of witchcraft. When men wish to construct or support a
theory, how they torture facts into their service! The lying whimsies of a few sick
children, encouraged by foolish parents, and drawn out by superstitious neighbours, were
sufficient to set a country in a flame. If, instead of commissioners as deeply sunk in the
slough of ignorance as the people they were sent amongst, there had been deputed a few
men firm in courage and clear in understanding, how different would have been the
result! Some of the poor children who were burned would have been sent to an infirmary;
others would have been well flogged; the credulity of the parents would have been
laughed at, and the lives of seventy persons spared. The belief in witchcraft remains in
Sweden to this day; but, happily, the annals of that country present no more such
instances of lamentable aberration of intellect as the one just cited.
In New England, about the same time, the colonists were scared by similar stories of the
antics of the devil. All at once a fear seized upon the multitude, and supposed criminals
were arrested day after day in such numbers, that the prisons were found too small to
contain them. A girl, named Goodwin, the daughter of a mason, who was hypochondriac
and subject to fits, imagined that an old Irishwoman, named Glover, had bewitched her.
Her two brothers, in whose constitutions there was apparently a predisposition to similar
fits, went off in the same way, crying out that the devil and Dame Glover were
tormenting them. At times their joints were so stiff that they could not be moved, while at
others, said the neighbours, they were so flexible, that the bones appeared softened into
sinews. The supposed witch was seized, and, as she could not repeat the Lord's Prayer
without making a mistake in it, she was condemned and executed.
But the popular excitement was not allayed. One victim was not enough: the people
waited agape for new disclosures. Suddenly two hysteric girls in another family fell into
fits daily, and the cry of witchcraft resounded from one end of the colony to the other.
The feeling of suffocation in the throat, so common in cases of hysteria, was said by the
patients to be caused by the devil himself, who had stuck balls in the windpipe to choke
them. They felt the pricking of thorns in every part of the body, and one of them vomited
needles. The case of these girls, who were the daughter and niece of a Mr. Parris, the
minister of a Calvinist chapel, excited so much attention, that all the weak women in the
colony began to fancy themselves similarly afflicted. The more they brooded on it, the
more convinced they became. The contagion of this mental disease was as great as if it
had been a pestilence. One after the other the women fainted away, asserting, on their
recovery, that they had seen the spectres of witches. Where there were three or four girls
in a family, they so worked, each upon the diseased imagination of the other, that they
fell into fits five or six times in a day. Some related that the devil himself appeared to
them, bearing in his hand a parchment roll, and promising that if they would sign an
agreement transferring to him their immortal souls, they should be immediately relieved
from fits and all the ills of the flesh. Others asserted that they saw witches only, who
made them similar promises, threatening that they should never be free from aches and
pains till they had agreed to become the devil's. When they refused, the witches pinched,
or bit, or pricked them with long pins and needles. More than two hundred persons
named by these mischievous visionaries, were thrown into prison. They were of all ages
and conditions of life, and many of them of exemplary character. No less than nineteen
were condemned and executed before reason returned to the minds of the colonists. The
most horrible part of this lamentable history is, that among the victims there was a little
child only five years old. Some women swore that they had seen it repeatedly in company
with the devil, and that it had bitten them often with its little teeth, for refusing to sign a
compact with the Evil One. It can hardly increase our feelings of disgust and abhorrence
when we learn that this insane community actually tried and executed a dog for the same
offence!
One man, named Cory, stoutly refused to plead to the preposterous indictment against
him. As was the practice in such eases, he was pressed to death. It is told of the Sheriff of
New England, who superintended the execution, that when this unhappy man thrust out
his tongue in his mortal agony, he seized hold of a cane, and crammed it back again into
the mouth. If ever there were a fiend in human form, it was this Sheriff; a man, who, if
the truth were known, perhaps plumed himself upon his piety -- thought he was doing
God good service, and
"Hoped to merit heaven by making earth a hell!"
Arguing still in the firm belief of witchcraft, the bereaved people began to inquire, when
they saw their dearest friends snatched away from them by these wide-spreading
accusations, whether the whole proceedings were not carried on by the agency of the
devil. Might not the great enemy have put false testimony into the mouths of the
witnesses, or might not the witnesses be witches themselves? Every man who was in
danger of losing his wife, his child, or his sister, embraced this doctrine with avidity. The
revulsion was as sudden as the first frenzy. All at once, the colonists were convinced of
their error. The judges put a stop to the prosecutions, even of those who had confessed
their guilt. The latter were no sooner at liberty than they retracted all they had said, and
the greater number hardly remembered the avowals which agony had extorted from them.
Eight persons, who had been tried and condemned, were set free; and gradually girls
ceased to have fits and to talk of the persecutions of the devil. The judge who had
condemned the first criminal executed on this charge, was so smitten with sorrow and
humiliation at his folly, that he set apart the anniversary of that day as one of solemn
penitence and fasting. He still clung to the belief in witchcraft; no new light had broken
in upon him on that subject, but, happily for the community, the delusion had taken a
merciful turn. The whole colony shared the feeling; the jurors on the different trials
openly expressed their penitence in the churches; and those who had suffered were
regarded as the victims, and not the accomplices of Satan.
It is related that the Indian tribes in New England were sorely puzzled at the infatuation
of the settlers, and thought them either a race inferior to, or more sinful than the French
colonists in the vicinity, amongst whom, as they remarked, "the Great Spirit sent no
witches."
Returning again to the continent of Europe, we find that, after the year 1680, men became
still wiser upon this subject. For twenty years the populace were left to their belief, but
governments in general gave it no aliment in the shape of executions. The edict of Louis
XIV. gave a blow to the superstition, from which it never recovered. The last execution in
the Protestant cantons of Switzerland was at Geneva, in 1652. The various potentates of
Germany, although they could not stay the trials, invariably commuted the sentence into
imprisonment, in all cases where the pretended witch was accused of pure witchcraft,
unconnected with any other crime. In the year 1701, Thomasius, the learned professor at
the University of Halle, delivered his inaugural thesis, "De Crimine Magiae," which
struck another blow at the falling monster of popular error. But a faith so strong as that in
witchcraft was not to be eradicated at once: the arguments of learned men did not
penetrate to the villages and hamlets, but still they achieved great things; they rendered
the belief an unworking faith, and prevented the supply of victims, on which for so many
ages it had battened and grown strong.
Once more the delusion broke out; like a wild beast wounded to the death, it collected all
its remaining energies for the final convulsion, which was to show how mighty it had
once been. Germany, which had nursed the frightful error in its cradle, tended it on its
death-bed, and Wurzburg, the scene of so many murders on the same pretext, was
destined to be the scene of the last. That it might lose no portion of its bad renown, the
last murder was as atrocious as the first. This case offers a great resemblance to that of
the witches of Mohra and New England, except in the number of its victims. It happened
so late as the year 1749, to the astonishment and disgust of the rest of Europe.
A number of young women in a convent at Wurzburg fancied themselves bewitched; they
felt, like all hysteric subjects, a sense of suffocation in the throat. They went into fits
repeatedly; and one of them, who had swallowed needles, evacuated them at abscesses,
which formed in different parts of the body. The cry of sorcery was raised, and a young
woman, named Maria Renata Sanger, was arrested on the charge of having leagued with
the devil, to bewitch five of the young ladies. It was sworn on the trial that Maria had
been frequently seen to clamber over the convent walls in the shape of a pig -- that,
proceeding to the cellar, she used to drink the best wine till she was intoxicated; and then
start suddenly up in her own form. Other girls asserted that she used to prowl about the
roof like a cat, and often penetrate into their chamber, and frighten them by her dreadful
howlings. It was also said that she had been seen in the shape of a hare, milking the cows
dry in the meadows belonging to the convent; that she used to perform as an actress on
the boards of Drury Lane theatre in London, and, on the very same night, return upon a
broomstick to Wurzburg, and afflict the young ladies with pains in all their limbs. Upon
this evidence she was condemned, and burned alive in the market-place of Wurzburg.
Here ends this frightful catalogue of murder and superstition. Since that day, the belief in
witchcraft has fled from the populous abodes of men, and taken refuge in remote villages
and districts too wild, rugged, and inhospitable to afford a resting-place for the foot of
civilization. Rude fishers and uneducated labourers still attribute every phenomenon of
nature which they cannot account for, to the devil and witches. Catalepsy, that wondrous
disease, is still thought by ignorant gossips to be the work of Satan; and hypochondriacs,
uninformed by science of the nature of their malady, devoutly believe in the reality of
their visions. The reader would hardly credit the extent of the delusion upon this subject
in the very heart of England at this day. Many an old woman leads a life of misery from
the unfeeling insults of her neighbours, who raise the scornful finger and hooting voice at
her, because in her decrepitude she is ugly, spiteful, perhaps insane, and realizes in her
personal appearance the description preserved by tradition of the witches of yore. Even in
the neighbourhood of great towns the taint remains of this once widely-spread contagion.
If no victims fall beneath it, the enlightenment of the law is all that prevents a recurrence
of scenes as horrid as those of the seventeeth century. Hundreds upon hundreds of
witnesses could be found to swear to absurdities as great as those asserted by the
infamous Matthew Hopkins.
In the Annual Register for 1760, an instance of the belief in witchcraft is related, which
shows how superstition lingers. A dispute arose in the little village of Glen, in
Leicestershire, between two old women, each of whom vehemently accused the other of
witchcraft. The quarrel at last ran so high that a challenge ensued, and they both agreed to
be tried by the ordeal of swimming. They accordingly stripped to their shifts -- procured
some men, who tied their thumbs and great toes together, cross-wise, and then, with a
cart-rope about their middle, suffered themselves to be thrown into a pool of water. One
of them sank immediately, but the other continued struggling a short time upon the
surface of the water, which the mob deeming an infallible sign of her guilt, pulled her
out, and insisted that she should immediately impeach all her accomplices in the craft.
She accordingly told them that, in the neighbouring village of Burton, there were several
old women as "much witches as she was." Happily for her, this negative information was
deemed sufficient, and a student in astrology, or "white-witch," coming up at the time,
the mob, by his direction, proceeded forthwith to Burton in search of all the delinquents.
After a little consultation on their arrival, they went to the old woman's house on whom
they had fixed the strongest suspicion. The poor old creature on their approach locked the
outer door, and from the window of an upstairs room asked what they wanted. They
informed her that she was charged with being guilty of witchcraft, and that they were
come to duck her; remonstrating with her at the same time upon the necessity of
submission to the ordeal, that, if she were innocent, all the world might know it. Upon her
persisting in a positive refusal to come down, they broke open the door and carried her
out by force, to a deep gravel-pit full of water. They tied her thumbs and toes together
and threw her into the water, where they kept her for several minutes, drawing her out
and in two or three times by the rope round her middle. Not being able to satisfy
themselves whether she were a witch or no, they at last let her go, or, more properly
speaking, they left her on the bank to walk home by herself, if she ever recovered. Next
day, they tried the same experiment upon another woman, and afterwards upon a third;
but, fortunately, neither of the victims lost her life from this brutality. Many of the
ringleaders in the outrage were apprehended during the week, and tried before the justices
at quarter-sessions. Two of them were sentenced to stand in the pillory and to be
imprisoned for a month; and as many as twenty more were fined in small sums for the
assault, and bound over to keep the peace for a twelvemonth.
"So late as the year 1785," says Arnot, in his collection and abridgment of Criminal
Trials in Scotland, "it was the custom among the sect of Seceders to read from the pulpit
an annual confession of sins, national and personal; amongst the former of which was
particularly mentioned the 'Repeal by Parliament of the penal statute against witches,
contrary to the express laws of God.'"
Many houses are still to be found in England with the horse-shoe (the grand preservative
against witchcraft) nailed against the threshold. If any over-wise philosopher should
attempt to remove them, the chances are that he would have more broken bones than
thanks for his interference. Let any man walk into Cross-street, Hatton-Garden, and from
thence into Bleeding-heart Yard, and learn the tales still told and believed of one house in
that neighbourhood, and he will ask himself in astonishment if such things can be in the
nineteenth century. The witchcraft of Lady Hatton, the wife of the famous Sir
Christopher, so renowned for his elegant dancing in the days of Elizabeth, is as devoutly
believed as the Gospels. The room is to be seen where the devil seized her after the
expiration of the contract he had made with her, and bore her away bodily to the pit of
Tophet: the pump against which he dashed her is still pointed out, and the spot where her
heart was found, after he had torn it out of her bosom with his iron claws, has received
the name of Bleeding-heart Yard, in confirmation of the story. Whether the horse-shoe
still remains upon the door of the haunted house, to keep away other witches, is
uncertain; but there it was, twelve or thirteen years ago. The writer resided at that time in
the house alluded to, and well remembers that more than one old woman begged for
admittance repeatedly, to satisfy themselves that it was in its proper place. One poor
creature, apparently insane, and clothed in rags, came to the door with a tremendous
double-knock, as loud as that of a fashionable footman, and walked straight along the
passage to the horse-shoe. Great was the wonderment of the inmates, especially when the
woman spat upon the horse-shoe, and expressed her sorrow that she could do no harm
while it remained there. After spitting upon, and kicking it again and again, she coolly
turned round and left the house, without saying a word to anybody. This poor creature
perhaps intended a joke, but the probability is that she imagined herself a witch. In
Saffron Hill, where she resided, her ignorant neighbours gave her that character, and
looked upon her with no little fear and aversion.
More than one example of the popular belief in witchcraft occurred in the neighbourhood
of Hastings so lately as the year 1830. An aged woman, who resided in the Rope-walk of
that town, was so repulsive in her appearance, that she was invariably accused of being a
witch by all the ignorant people who knew her. She was bent completely double; and
though very old, her eye was unusually bright and malignant. She wore a red cloak, and
supported herself on a crutch: she was, to all outward appearance, the very beau ideal of a
witch. So dear is power to the human heart, that this old woman actually encouraged the
popular superstition: she took no pains to remove the ill impression, but seemed to
delight that she, old and miserable as she was, could keep in awe so many happier and
stronger fellow-creatures. Timid girls crouched with fear when they met her, and many
would go a mile out of their way to avoid her. Like the witches of the olden time, she was
not sparing of her curses against those who offended her. The child of a woman who
resided within two doors of her, was afflicted with lameness, and the mother constantly
asserted that the old woman had bewitched her. All the neighbours credited the tale. It
was believed, too, that she could assume the form of a cat. Many a harmless puss has
been hunted almost to the death by mobs of men and boys, upon the supposition that the
animal would start up before them in the true shape of Mother * * * * *.
In the same town there resided a fisherman, -- who is, probably, still alive, and whose
name, for that reason, we forbear to mention, -- who was the object of unceasing
persecution, because it was said that he had sold himself to the devil. It was currently
reported that he could creep through a keyhole, and that he had made a witch of his
daughter, in order that he might have the more power over his fellows. It was also
believed that he could sit on the points of pins and needles, and feel no pain. His brotherfishermen put him to this test whenever they had an opportunity. In the alehouses which
he frequented, they often placed long needles in the cushions of the chairs, in such a
manner that he could not fail to pierce himself when he sat down. The result of these
experiments tended to confirm their faith in his supernatural powers. It was asserted that
he never flinched. Such was the popular feeling in the fashionable town of Hastings only
seven years ago; very probably it is the same now.
In the north of England, the superstition lingers to an almost inconceivable extent.
Lancashire abounds with witch-doctors, a set of quacks, who pretend to cure diseases
inflicted by the devil. The practices of these worthies may be judged of by the following
case, reported in the "Hertford Reformer," of the 23rd of June, 1838. The witch-doctor
alluded to is better known by the name of the cunning man, and has a large practice in the
counties of Lincoln and Nottingham. According to the writer in "The Reformer," the
dupe, whose name is not mentioned, had been for about two years afflicted with a painful
abscess, and had been prescribed for without relief by more than one medical gentleman.
He was urged by some of his friends, not only in his own village, but in neighbouring
ones, to consult the witch-doctor, as they were convinced he was under some evil
influence. He agreed, and sent his wife to the cunning man, who lived in New Saint
Swithin's, in Lincoln. She was informed by this ignorant impostor that her husband's
disorder was an infliction of the devil, occasioned by his next-door neighbours, who had
made use of certain charms for that purpose. From the description he gave of the process,
it appears to be the same as that employed by Dr. Fian and Gellie Duncan, to work woe
upon King James. He stated that the neighbours, instigated by a witch, whom he pointed
out, took some wax, and moulded it before the fire into the form of her husband, as near
as they could represent him; they then pierced the image with pins on all sides -- repeated
the Lord's Prayer backwards, and offered prayers to the devil that he would fix his stings
into the person whom that figure represented, in like manner as they pierced it with pins.
To counteract the effects of this diabolical process, the witch-doctor prescribed a certain
medicine, and a charm to be worn next the body, on that part where the disease
principally lay. The patient was to repeat the 109th and 119th Psalms every day, or the
cure would not be effectual. The fee which he claimed for this advice was a guinea.
So efficacious is faith in the cure of any malady, that the patient actually felt much better
after a three weeks' course of this prescription. The notable charm which the quack had
given was afterwards opened, and found to be a piece of parchment, covered with some
cabalistic characters and signs of the planets.
The next-door neighbours were in great alarm that the witch-doctor would, on the
solicitation of the recovering patient, employ some means to punish them for their
pretended witchcraft. To escape the infliction, they feed another cunning man, in
Nottinghamshire, who told them of a similar charm, which would preserve them from all
the malice of their enemies. The writer concludes by saying that, "the doctor, not long
after he had been thus consulted, wrote to say that he had discovered that his patient was
not afflicted by Satan, as he had imagined, but by God, and would continue, more or less,
in the same state till his life's end."
An impostor carried on a similar trade in the neighbourhood of Tunbridge Wells, about
the year 1830. He had been in practice for several years, and charged enormous fees for
his advice. This fellow pretended to be the seventh son of a seventh son, and to be
endowed in consequence with miraculous powers for the cure of all diseases, but
especially of those resulting from witchcraft. It was not only the poor who employed him,
but ladies who rode in their carriages. He was often sent for from a distance of sixty or
seventy miles by these people, who paid all his expenses to and fro, besides rewarding
him handsomely. He was about eighty years of age, and his extremely venerable
appearance aided his imposition in no slight degree. His name was Okey, or Oakley.
In France, the superstition at this day is even more prevalent than it is in England.
Garinet, in his history of Magic and Sorcery in that country, cites upwards of twenty
instances which occurred between the years 1805 and 1818. In the latter year, no less
than three tribunals were occupied with trials originating in this humiliating belief: we
shall cite only one of them. Julian Desbourdes, aged fifty-three, a mason, and inhabitant
of the village of Thilouze, near Bordeaux, was taken suddenly ill, in the month of January
1818. As he did not know how to account for his malady, he suspected at last that he was
bewitched. He communicated this suspicion to his son-in-law, Bridier, and they both
went to consult a sort of idiot, named Baudouin, who passed for a conjuror, or whitewitch. This man told them that Desbourdes was certainly bewitched, and offered to
accompany them to the house of an old man, named Renard, who, he said, was
undoubtedly the criminal. On the night of the 23rd of January all three proceeded
stealthily to the dwelling of Renard, and accused him of afflicting persons with diseases,
by the aid of the devil. Desbourdes fell on his knees, and earnestly entreated to be
restored to his former health, promising that he would take no measures against him for
the evil he had done. The old man denied in the strongest terms that he was a wizard; and
when Desbourdes still pressed him to remove the spell from him, he said he knew
nothing about the spell, and refused to remove it. The idiot Baudouin, the white-witch,
now interfered, and told his companions that no relief for the malady could ever be
procured until the old man confessed his guilt. To force him to confession they lighted
some sticks of sulphur, which they had brought with them for the purpose, and placed
them under the old man's nose. In a few moments, he fell down suffocated and apparently
lifeless. They were all greatly alarmed; and thinking that they had killed the. man, they
carried him out and threw him into a neighbouring pond, hoping to make it appear that he
had fallen in accidentally. The pond, however, was not very deep, and the coolness of the
water reviving the old man, he opened his eyes and sat up. Desbourdes and Bridier, who
were still waiting on the bank, were now more alarmed than before, lest he should
recover and inform against them. They, therefore, waded into the pond -- seized their
victim by the hair of the head -- beat him severely, and then held him under water till he
was drowned.
They were all three apprehended on the charge of murder a few days afterwards.
Desbourdes and Bridier were found guilty of aggravated manslaughter only, and
sentenced to be burnt on the back, and to work in the galleys for life. The white-witch
Baudouin was acquitted, on the ground of insanity.
M. Garinet further informs us that France, at the time he wrote (1818), was overrun by a
race of fellows, who made a trade of casting out devils and finding out witches. He adds,
also, that many of the priests in the rural districts encouraged the superstition of their
parishioners, by resorting frequently to exorcisms, whenever any foolish persons took it
into their heads that a spell had been thrown over them. He recommended, as a remedy
for the evil, that all these exorcists, whether lay or clerical, should be sent to the galleys,
and that the number of witches would then very sensibly diminish.
Many other instances of this lingering belief might be cited both in France and Great
Britain, and indeed in every other country in Europe. So deeply rooted are some errors
that ages cannot remove them. The poisonous tree that once overshadowed the land, may
be cut down by the sturdy efforts of sages and philosophers -- the sun may shine clearly
upon spots where venemous things once nestled in security and shade; but still the
entangled roots are stretched beneath the surface, and may be found by those who dig.
Another king, like James I, might make them vegetate again; and, more mischievous still,
another pope, like Innocent VIII, might raise the decaying roots to strength and verdure.
Still, it is consoling to think, that the delirium has passed away; that the raging madness
has given place to a milder folly; and that we may now count by units the votaries of a
superstition which, in former ages, numbered its victims by tens of thousands, and its
votaries by millions.
THE SLOW POISONERS.
Pescara. -- The like was never read of.
Stephano. -- In my judgment,
To all that shall but hear it, 't will appear
A most impossible fable.
Pescara. -- Troth, I'll tell you,
And briefly as I can, by what degrees
They fell into this madness.
-- Duke of Milan.
The atrocious system of poisoning, by poisons so slow in their operation, as to make the
victim appear, to ordinary observers, as if dying from a gradual decay of nature, has been
practised in all ages. Those who are curious in the matter may refer to Beckmann on
Secret Poisons, in his "History of Inventions," in which he has collected several instances
of it from the Greek and Roman writers. Early in the sixteenth century the crime seems to
have gradually increased, till, in the seventeenth, it spread over Europe like a pestilence.
It was often exercised by pretended witches and sorcerers, and finally became a branch of
education amongst all who laid any claim to magical and supernatural arts. In the twentyfirst year of Henry VIII. an act was passed, rendering it high-treason: those found guilty
of it, were to be boiled to death.
One of the first in point of date, and hardly second to any in point of atrocity, is the
murder by this means of Sir Thomas Overbury, which disgraced the court of James I, in
the year 1613. A slight sketch of it will be a fitting introduction to the history of the
poisoning mania, which was so prevalent in France and Italy fifty years later.
Robert Kerr, a Scottish youth, was early taken notice of by James I, and loaded with
honours, for no other reason that the world could ever discover than the beauty of his
person. James, even in his own day, was suspected of being addicted to the most
abominable of all offences, and the more we examine his history now, the stronger the
suspicion becomes. However that may be, the handsome Kerr, lending his smooth cheek,
even in public, to the disgusting kisses of his royal master, rose rapidly in favour. In the
year 1613, he was made Lord High Treasurer of Scotland, and created an English peer,
by the style and title of Viscount Rochester. Still further honours were in store for him.
In this rapid promotion he had not been without a friend. Sir Thomas Overbury, the
King's secretary-who appears, from some threats in his own letters, to have been no better
than a pander to the vices of the King, and privy to his dangerous secrets -- exerted all his
backstair influence to forward the promotion of Kerr, by whom he was, doubtless, repaid
in some way or other. Overbury did not confine his friendship to this, if friendship ever
could exist between two such men, but acted the part of an entremetteur, and assisted
Rochester to carry on an adulterous intrigue with the Lady Frances Howard, the wife of
the Earl of Essex. This woman was a person of violent passions, and lost to all sense of
shame. Her husband was in her way, and to be freed from him, she instituted proceedings
for a divorce, on grounds which a woman of any modesty or delicacy of feeling would
die rather than avow. Her scandalous suit was successful, and was no sooner decided than
preparations, on a scale of the greatest magnificence, were made for her marriage with
Lord Rochester.
Sir Thomas Overbury, who had willingly assisted his patron to intrigue with the Countess
of Essex, seems to have imagined that his marriage with so vile a woman might retard his
advancement; he accordingly employed all his influence to dissuade him from it. But
Rochester was bent on the match, and his passions were as violent as those of the
Countess. On one occasion, when Overbury and the Viscount were walking in the gallery
of Whitehall, Overbury was overheard to say, "Well, my Lord, if you do marry that base
woman, you will utterly ruin your honour and yourself. You shall never do it with my
advice or consent; and, if you do, you had best look to stand fast." Rochester flung from
him in a rage, exclaiming with an oath, "I will be even with you for this." These words
were the death-warrant of the unfortunate Overbury. He had mortally wounded the pride
of Rochester in insinuating that by his (Overbury's) means he might be lowered in the
King's favour; and he had endeavoured to curb the burning passions of a heartless,
dissolute, and reckless man.
Overbury's imprudent remonstrances were reported to the Countess; and from that
moment, she also vowed the most deadly vengeance against him. With a fiendish
hypocrisy, however, they both concealed their intentions, and Overbury, at the
solicitation of Rochester, was appointed ambassador to the court of Russia. This apparent
favour was but the first step in a deep and deadly plot. Rochester, pretending to be
warmly attached to the interests of Overbury, advised him to refuse the embassy, which,
he said, was but a trick to get him out of the way. He promised, at the same time, to stand
between him and any evil consequences which might result from his refusal. Overbury
fell into the snare, and declined the embassy. James, offended, immediately ordered his
committal to the Tower.
He was now in safe custody, and his enemies had opportunity to commence the work of
vengeance. The first thing Rochester did was to procure, by his influence at court, the
dismissal of the Lieutenant of the Tower, and the appointment of Sir Jervis Elwes, one of
his creatures, to the vacant post. This man was but one instrument, and another being
necessary, was found in Richard Weston, a fellow who had formerly been shopman to a
druggist. He was installed in the office of under-keeper, and as such had the direct
custody of Overbury. So far, all was favourable to the designs of the conspirators.
In the mean time, the insidious Rochester wrote the most friendly letters to Overbury,
requesting him to bear his ill-fortune patiently, and promising that his imprisonment
should not be of long duration; for that his friends were exerting themselves to soften the
King's displeasure. Still pretending the extreme of sympathy for him, he followed up the
letters by presents of pastry and other delicacies, which could not be procured in the
Tower. These articles were all poisoned. Occasionally, presents of a similar description
were sent to Sir Jervis Elwes, with the understanding that these articles were not
poisoned, when they were unaccompanied by letters: of these the unfortunate prisoner
never tasted. A woman, named Turner, who had formerly kept a house of ill fame, and
who had more than once lent it to further the guilty intercourse of Rochester and Lady
Essex, was the agent employed to procure the poisons. They were prepared by Dr.
Forman, a pretended fortune-teller of Lambeth, assisted by an apothecary named
Franklin. Both these persons knew for what purposes the poisons were needed, and
employed their skill in mixing them in the pastry and other edibles, in such small
quantities as gradually to wear out the constitution of their victim. Mrs. Turner regularly
furnished the poisoned articles to the under-keeper, who placed them before Overbury.
Not only his food, but his drink was poisoned. Arsenic was mixed with the salt he ate,
and cantharides with the pepper. All this time, his health declined sensibly. Every day he
grew weaker and weaker; and with a sickly appetite, craved for sweets and jellies.
Rochester continued to condole with him, and anticipated all his wants in this respect,
sending him abundance of pastry, and occasionally partridges and other game, and young
pigs. With the sauce for the game, Mrs. Turner mixed a quantity of cantharides, and
poisoned the pork with lunar-caustic. As stated on the trial, Overbury took in this manner
poison enough to have poisoned twenty men; but his constitution was strong, and he still
lingered. Frank]in, the apothecary, confessed that he prepared with Dr. Forman seven
different sorts of poisons; viz. aquafortis, arsenic, mercury, powder of diamonds, lunarcaustic, great spiders, and cantharides. Overbury held out so long that Rochester became
impatient, and in a letter to Lady Essex, expressed his wonder that things were not sooner
despatched. Orders were immediately sent by Lady Essex to the keeper to finish with the
victim at once. Overbury had not been all this time without suspicion of treachery,
although he appears to have had no idea of poison. He merely suspected that it was
intended to confine him for life, and to set the King still more bitterly against him. In one
of his letters, he threatened Rochester that, unless he were speedily liberated, he would
expose his villany to the world. He says, "You and I, ere it be long, will come to a public
trial of another nature." * * * "Drive me not to extremities, lest I should say something
that both you and I should repent." * * * "Whether I live or die, your shame shall never
die, but ever remain to the world, to make you the most odious man living." * * * "I
wonder much you should neglect him to whom such secrets of all kinds have passed." * *
* "Be these the fruits of common secrets, common dangers?"
All these remonstrances, and hints as to the dangerous secrets in his keeping, were illcalculated to serve him with a man so reckless as Lord Rochester: they were more likely
to cause him to be sacrificed than to be saved. Rochester appears to have acted as if he
thought so. He doubtless employed the murderer's reasoning that "dead men tell no tales,"
when, after receiving letters of this description, he complained to his paramour of the
delay. Weston was spurred on to consummate the atrocity; and the patience of all parties
being exhausted, a dose of corrosive sublimate was administered to him, in October 1613,
which put an end to his sufferings, after he had been for six months in their hands. On the
very day of his death, and before his body was cold, he was wrapped up carelessly in a
sheet, and buried without any funeral ceremony in a pit within the precincts of the Tower.
Sir Anthony Weldon, in his "Court and Character of James I," gives a somewhat different
account of the closing scene of this tragedy. He says, "Franklin and Weston came into
Overbury's chamber, and found him in infinite torment, with contention between the
strength of nature and the working of the poison; and it being very like that nature had
gotten the better in this contention, by the thrusting out of boils, blotches, and blains,
they, fearing it might come to light by the judgment of physicians, the foul play that had
been offered him, consented to stifle him with the bedclothes, which accordingly was
performed; and so ended his miserable life, with the assurance of the conspirators that he
died by the poison; none thinking otherwise than these two murderers."
The sudden death -- the indecent haste of the funeral, and the non-holding of an inquest
upon the body, strengthened the suspicions that were afloat. Rumour, instead of
whispering, began to speak out; and the relatives of the deceased openly expressed their
belief that their kinsman had been murdered. But Rochester was still all powerful at
court, and no one dared to utter a word to his discredit. Shortly afterwards, his marriage
with the Countess of Essex was celebrated with the utmost splendour, the King himself
being present at the ceremony.
It would seem that Overbury's knowledge of James's character was deeper than Rochester
had given him credit for, and that he had been a true prophet when he predicted that his
marriage would eventually estrange James from his minion. At this time, however,
Rochester stood higher than ever in the royal favour; but it did not last long - conscience,
that busy monitor, was at work. The tongue of rumour was never still; and Rochester,
who had long been a guilty, became at last a wretched man. His cheeks lost their colour -his eyes grew dim; and he became moody, careless, and melancholy. The King seeing
him thus, took at length no pleasure in his society, and began to look about for another
favourite. George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, was the man to his mind; quick-witted,
handsome, and unscrupulous. The two latter qualities alone were sufficient to recommend
him to James I. In proportion as the influence of Rochester declined, that of Buckingham
increased. A falling favourite has no friends; and Rumour wagged her tongue against
Rochester louder and more pertinaciously than ever. A new favourite, too, generally
endeavours to hasten by a kick the fall of the old one; and Buckingham, anxious to work
the complete ruin of his forerunner in the King's good graces, encouraged the relatives of
Sir Thomas Overbury to prosecute their inquiries into the strange death of their kinsman.
James was rigorous enough in the punishment of offences when he was not himself
involved. He piqued himself, moreover, on his dexterity in unravelling mysteries. The
affair of Sir Thomas Overbury found him congenial occupation. He set to work by
ordering the arrest of Sir Jervis Elwes. James, at this early stage of the proceedings, does
not seem to have been aware that Rochester was so deeply implicated. Struck with horror
at the atrocious system of slow poisoning, the King sent for all the Judges. According to
Sir Anthony Weldon, he knelt down in the midst of them, and said, "My Lords the
Judges, it is lately come to my hearing that you have now in examination a business of
poisoning. Lord! in what a miserable condition shall this kingdom be (the only famous
nation for hospitality in the world) if our tables should become such a snare, as that none
could eat without danger of life, and that Italian custom should be introduced among us!
Therefore, my Lords, I charge you, as you will answer it at that great and dreadful day of
judgment, that you examine it strictly, without layout, affection, or partiality. And if you
shall spare any guilty of this crime, God's curse light on you and your posterity! and if I
spare any that are guilty, God's curse light on me and my posterity for ever!"
The imprecation fell but too surely upon the devoted house of Stuart. The solemn oath
was broken, and God's curse did light upon him and his posterity!
The next person arrested after Sir Jervis Elwes, was Weston, the under-keeper; then
Franklin and Mrs. Turner; and, lastly, the Earl and Countess of Somerset, to which
dignity Rochester had been advanced since the death of Overbury.
Weston was first brought to trial. Public curiosity was on the stretch. Nothing else was
talked of, and the court on the day of trial was crowded to suffocation. The "State Trials"
report, that Lord Chief Justice Coke "laid open to the jury the baseness and cowardliness
of poisoners, who attempt that secretly against which there is no means of preservation or
defence for a man's life; and how rare it was to hear of any poisoning in England, so
detestable it was to our nation. But the devil had taught divers to be cunning in it, so that
they can poison in what distance of space they please, by consuming the nativum
calidum, or humidum radicale, in one month, two or three, or more, as they list, which
they four manner of ways do execute; viz. haustu, gustu, odore, and contactu."
When the indictment was read over, Weston made no other reply than, "Lord have mercy
upon me! Lord have mercy upon me!" On being asked how he would be tried, he refused
to throw himself upon a jury of his country, and declared, that he would be tried by God
alone. In this he persisted for some time. The fear of the dreadful punishment for
contumacy induced him, at length, to plead "Not guilty," and take his trial in due course
of law.
[The punishment for the contumacious was expressed by the words onere, frigore, et
fame. By the first was meant that the culprit should be extended on his back on the
ground, and weights placed over his body, gradually increased, until he expired.
Sometimes the punishment was not extended to this length, and the victim, being allowed
to recover, underwent the second portion, the frigore, which consisted in his standing
naked in the open air, for a certain space, in the sight of all the people. The third, or fame,
was more dreadful, the statute saying, "That he was to be preserved with the coarsest
bread that could be got, and water out of the next sink or puddle, to the place of
execution; and that day he had water he should have no bread, and that day he had bread,
he should have no water;" and in this torment he was to linger as long as nature would
hold out.]
All the circumstances against him were fully proved, and he was found guilty and
executed at Tyburn. Mrs. Turner, Franklin, and Sir Jervis Elwes were also brought to
trial, found guilty, and executed between the 19th of October and the 4th of December
1615; but the grand trial of the Earl and Countess of Somerset did not take place till the
month of May following.
On the trial of Sir Jervis Elwes, circumstances had transpired, showing a guilty
knowledge of the poisoning on the part of the Earl of Northampton the uncle of Lady
Somerset, and the chief falconer Sir Thomas Monson. The former was dead; but Sir
Thomas Monson was arrested, and brought to trial. It appeared, however, that he was too
dangerous a man to be brought to the scaffold. He knew too many of the odious secrets of
James I, and his dying speech might contain disclosures which would compromise the
King. To conceal old guilt it was necessary to incur new: the trial of Sir Thomas Monson
was brought to an abrupt conclusion, and himself set at liberty!
Already James had broken his oath. He now began to fear that he had been rash in
engaging so zealously to bring the poisoners to punishment. That Somerset would be
declared guilty there was no doubt, and that he looked for pardon and impunity was
equally evident to the King. Somerset, while in the Tower, asserted confidently, that
James would not dare to bring him to trial. In this he was mistaken; but James was in an
agony. What the secret was between them will now never be known with certainty; but it
may be surmised. Some have imagined it to be the vice to which the King was addicted;
while others have asserted, that it related to the death of Prince Henry, a virtuous young
man, who had held Somerset in especial abhorrence. The Prince died early, unlamented
by his father, and, as public opinion whispered at the time, poisoned by Somerset.
Probably, some crime or other lay heavy upon the soul of the King; and Somerset, his
accomplice, could not be brought to public execution with safety. Hence the dreadful
tortures of James, when he discovered that his favourite was so deeply implicated in the
murder of Overbury. Every means was taken by the agonized King to bring the prisoner
into what was called a safe frame of mind. He was secretly advised to plead guilty, and
trust to the clemency of the King. The same advice was conveyed to the Countess. Bacon
was instructed by the King to draw up a paper of all the points of "mercy and favour" to
Somerset which might result from the evidence; and Somerset was again recommended
to plead guilty, and promised that no evil should ensue to him.
The Countess was first tried. She trembled and shed tears during the reading of the
indictment, and, in a low voice, pleaded guilty. On being asked why sentence of death
should not be passed against her, she replied meekly, "I can much aggravate, but nothing
extenuate my fault. I desire mercy, and that the lords will intercede for me with the
King." Sentence of death was passed upon her.
Next day the Earl was brought to trial. He appears to have mistrusted the promises of
James, and he pleaded not guilty. With a self-possession and confidence, which he felt,
probably, from his knowledge of the King's character, he rigorously cross-examined the
witnesses, and made a stubborn defence. After a trial which lasted eleven hours, he was
found guilty, and condemned to the felon's death.
Whatever may have been the secrets between the criminal and the King, the latter,
notwithstanding his terrific oath, was afraid to sign the death-warrant. It might,
perchance, have been his own. The Earl and Countess were committed to the Tower,
where they remained for nearly five years. At the end of this period, to the surprise and
scandal of the community, and the disgrace of its chief magistrate, they both received the
royal pardon, but were ordered to reside at a distance from the court. Having been found
guilty of felony, the estates of the Earl had become forfeited; but James granted him out
of their revenues an income of 4,000 pounds per annum! Shamelessness could go no
further.
Of the after life of these criminals nothing is known, except that the love they had
formerly borne each other was changed into aversion, and that they lived under the same
roof for months together without the interchange of a word.
The exposure of their atrocities did not put a stop to the practice of poisoning. On the
contrary, as we shall see hereafter, it engendered that insane imitation which is so strange
a feature of the human character. James himself is supposed, with great probability, to
have fallen a victim to it. In the notes to "Harris's Life and Writings of James I," there is a
good deal of information on the subject. The guilt of Buckingham, although not fully
established, rests upon circumstances of suspicion stronger than have been sufficient to
lead hundreds to the scaffold. His motives for committing the crime are stated to have
been a desire of revenge for the coldness with which the King, in the latter years of his
reign, began to regard him; his fear that James intended to degrade him; and his hope that
the great influence he possessed over the mind of the heir-apparent would last through a
new reign, if the old one were brought to a close.
In the second volume of the "Harleian Miscellany," there is a tract, entitled the
"Forerunner of Revenge," written by George Eglisham, doctor of medicine, and one of
the physicians to King James. Harris, in quoting it, says that it is full of rancour and
prejudice. It is evidently exaggerated; but forms, nevertheless, a link in the chain of
evidence. Eglisham says: -- "The King being sick of an ague, the Duke took this
opportunity, when all the King's doctors of physic were at dinner, and offered to him a
white powder to take, the which he a long time refused; but, overcome with his flattering
importunity, he took it in wine, and immediately became worse and worse, falling into
many swoonings and pains, and violent fluxes of the belly, so tormented, that his Majesty
cried out aloud of this white powder, 'Would to God I had never taken it?" He then tells
us "Of the Countess of Buckingham (the Duke's mother) applying the plaister to the
King's heart and breast, whereupon he grew faint and short-breathed, and in agony. That
the physicians exclaimed, that the King was poisoned; that Buckingham commanded
them out of the room, and committed one of them close prisoner to his own chamber, and
another to be removed from court; and that, after his Majesty's death, his body and head
swelled above measure; his hair, with the skin of his head, stuck to his pillow, and his
nails became loose on his fingers and toes." Clarendon, who, by the way, was a partisan
of the Duke's, gives a totally different account of James's death. He says, "It was
occasioned by an ague (after a short indisposition by the gout)which, meeting many
humours in a fat unwieldy body of fifty-eight years old, in four or five fits carried him out
of the world. After whose death many scandalous and libellous discourses were raised,
without the least colour or ground; as appeared upon the strictest and most malicious
examination that could be made, long after, in a time of licence, when nobody was afraid
of offending majesty, and when prosecuting the highest reproaches and contumelies
against the royal family was held very meritorious." Notwithstanding this confident
declaration, the world will hardly be persuaded that there was not some truth in the
rumours that were abroad. The inquiries which were instituted were not strict, as he
asserts, and all the unconstitutional influence of the powerful favourite was exerted to
defeat them. In the celebrated accusations brought against Buckingham by the Earl of
Bristol, the poisoning of King James was placed last on the list, and the pages of history
bear evidence of the summary mode in which they were, for the time, got rid of.
The man from whom Buckingham is said to have procured his poisons was one Dr.
Lamb, a conjuror and empiric, who, besides dealing in poisons, pretended to be a fortuneteller. The popular fury, which broke with comparative harmlessness against his patron,
was directed against this man, until he could not appear with safety in the streets of
London. His fate was melancholy. Walking one day in Cheapside, disguised, as he
thought, from all observers, he was recognized by some idle boys, who began to hoot and
pelt him with rubbish, calling out, "The poisoner! the poisoner! Down with the wizard!
down with him!" A mob very soon collected, and the Doctor took to his heels and ran for
his life. He was pursued and seized in Wood Street, and from thence dragged by the hair
through the mire to St. Paul's Cross; the mob beating him with sticks and stones, and
calling out, "Kill the wizard! kill the poisoner!"
Charles I, on hearing of the riot, rode from Whitehall to quell it; but he arrived too late to
save the victim. Every bone in his body was broken, and he was quite dead. Charles was
excessively indignant, and fined the city six hundred pounds for its inability to deliver up
the ringleaders to justice.
But it was in Italy that poisoning was most prevalent. From a very early period, it seems
to have been looked upon in that country as a perfectly justifiable means of getting rid of
an enemy. The Italians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries poisoned their
opponents with as little compunction as an Englishman of the present day brings an
action at law against any one who has done him an injury. The writings of contemporary
authors inform us that, when La Spara and La Tophania carried on their infernal trade