Peter Ackroyd - Hawksmoor

It is not my Stomach, I replied and he laugh'd out loud, while the Messenger looked on bemus'd.

Come then, says he, we will cross the River and see about this Affair.

And so we walked straight to the Wharf at White-hall, where we hired an Oarsman to take us over. And even tho' the River-men set up their usual cacophony of Billingsgate abuse, Sir Chris, was lost in the Anticipation of his Work: Anatomy, says he as the Oaths fly about him, is a noble Art -You shitten skulled son of a Turd that has Spit your Brains in my Face, who was begot in Buggery, born in a House of Office, delivered at the Fundament -just as, Nick, the Body it self is a perfect peece of Work from the Hand of the Omniscient Architect -You Brandy-Faced Bawdy Son of a Brimstone Whore. Sir Chris, listens for a moment to the River-men and then speaks once more: Do you know that I have shown the Geometric Mechanics of Rowing -Piss up my arse, Buggar onie -to be a Vectis on a moving or cèdent Fulcrum -Every time you Conjobble with your Mother may she beget a Bellyfull of Crab lice. And then he smiles upon our Oarsman saying, He is a good Gentleman; and the Oarsman on hearing this shouts out to us: Well, Sirs, can you riddle me a riddle?

Oh yes, says Sir Chris., is it a Rhyme?

And then the man sings: Riddle my Riddle, my ree, And tell me what my Riddle shall be.

Long, white and slender,

Tickles Maids where they are tender

Lyes where Hair grows,

And hath long Slit under the Nose.

Why, cries Sir Chris., this is a Bodkin! And the Oarsman, looking sourly upon him, says You are right, Sir. And Sir Chris., lying back and smiling, trails his Finger in the Water until we reached the other Side.

We coach'd it at once to the Gate-house (being only about a Mile from where we landed) and thereupon the Coroner took us into a small Chamber where the naked Body of the Woman was to be seen.

Sir Chris, rapidly surveyed the Corse: She must have been a fine woman when she was dressed, he muttered as he started work upon her with his Surgeon's Tools. The Romans held it unlawfull to look on the Entrails, says he as he cuts into the Skin, but now Anataomy is a free and generall Practice. You see here, Nick, (shewing me the Inside of the Corse as he spoke), you see the Valve at the entrance of the gut Colon, and here the Milkie Veins and the Lymphatick Vessels (he looked up, his Hands dangling and bloody, and I heard a Roaring in my Ears); so we have discover'd the art of Transfusion of the Blood from one living Animal to another. It is of use, he continued, in Pleurisies, Cancers, Leprosies, Ulcers, Small Pox, Dotage, and all such Distempers.

There was a lady, I said when Sir Chris, had paused, who seeing Hoggs and other Creatures cut up and their Bowels taken out, tormented her self with the Thought that she also carried about with her in her own Body such stinking Filth, as she call'd it, inclosed.

Upon which she conceeved a sudden Abhorrence, and hated her own Body so that she did not know what Course to take to free her self from Uncleanness.

Meer Phrensy, Sir Chris, replied. See here, the Body is still fresh and what is this Corrupcion you mention but the Union and Dissolution of little Bodies or Particles: have you no Sense, Nick? I kept my Peace but I thought to myself: The meerest Rake-hell has a finer Philosophie.

The Coroner now returned into the Room, having gone out for Air, and asked Sir Chris, his Judgment on this poor, poor Girl (as he put it).

It was not self-murther, he replied, and I am induced to believe that she was knocked down with a Blow on her left Ear, from the large Settlement of Blood there (and he pointed to the Head with his little Hammer): after she was fell'd to the Ground by the Blow it is probable, with the Gripe of a strong Hand, that she was throttled, and this to be understood from the Stagnation on both sides of her Neck under her Ears; and from the Settlement of Blood on her Breast, he went on, I am inclined to believe that the person who throttled her rested his Arm on her Breast to gripe the stronger. She is not long Dead, he continu 'd, for although she was found floating upon the Thames, I find no Water in the Stomach, Intestines, Abdomens, Lungs, or cavity of the Thorax.

She did not drown her self for Shame neither, since her Uterus is perfectly free and empty.

I survey'd the woman's Face, flinching as if my own Body had felt the Blows she endured, and then I saw what she had seen: Well Madam, says her Murtherer, I was walking here as I generally do, will you not walk with me a little? And I saw the first Blow and suffer'd the first Agonie of her Pain. He has taken a white Cloath from his Breeches, looks at it, then throws it upon the Ground and his Hand goes around my Throat: You need not be afraid, he whispers, for you will be sure to get what you Want. And now I feel the Torrents of my own Blood surging in my Head.

And so ends your first Anatomy lesson, says Sir Chris, to me, but be pleased to wait now till I have washed my self.

Sir Chris, was always strowling abroad to seek out fresh Wonders, so filling his Head that it had become a pure Cabinet of Curiosities. On one Day he comes in after our Work is complete: Shall we see the sixteen-foot Worm brought from a young Gentleman and now lying in a Bottle at the House of Mr Moor, he asks, or shall we visit the Demoniack new clapp'd up in Bedlam? I advised him that the Worm was smaller than the Prodigy reported, having my self gone to observe it two days before; and, since there is nothing finer in an idle Hour than to make merry among the Lunaticks, I agreed to take that Course and walk with him that Way. We were admitted thro' the iron Gate of Bedlam and, having given Sixpence, turned in thro' another Barricado into the Gallery of the Men's Apartments where there was such a ratling of Chains and drumming of Doors that it made a body's Head ache. The Noise and Roaring, the Swearing and Clamour, the Stench and Nasrinesse, and all the Croud of afflicted Things to be seen there, joyn'd together to make the Place seem a very Emblem of Hell and a kind of Entrance into it.

We walked through with Linnen pressed against our Nostrils, and Sir Chris, gave his bright Glances all around at this assembly of derang'd Creatures. Some of the Mad who peeped through their Wickets were indeed known to him, for he had set them down in his Pocket-book before, and when one magoty-brained Fellow called out Masters, Masters! Sir Chris, murmured to me, Do not turn back but go on a little and see the Conclusion to his Cries. For there were others who, on hearing him, went back to hear what he had to say and, when they came close to his Wicket, he provided them all with a plentifull Bowl of Piss which he cast very successfully amongst them, singing out: I never give Victuals but I give Drink and you're welcome, Gentlemen. He is a merry Fellow, said Sir Chris, with a laugh. Then as we passed down this Passage we were knocked against certain Women of the Town, who gave us Eye-language, since there were many Corners and Closets in Bedlam where they would stop and wait for Custom: indeed it was known as a sure Market for Lechers and Loiterers, for tho' they came in Single they went out by Pairs. This is a Showing-room for Whores, I said.

And what better place for Lust, Sir Chris, replied, than among those whose Wits have fled?

The Singing and Ranting now grew so loud that Sir Chris, said no more to me but motioned me towards the Gate which led into the Gallery of the Women's Apartments. Here we discovered some more unhappy Objects, viz. a Woman who stood with her Back against the Wall crying Come John, Come John, Come John (I believe that to be her Son who is dead, Sir Chris, told me) while another was tearing her Straw in peece-meal, swearing and blaspheming and biting her Grate.

There was yet another talking very merrily at her peeping Hole, but when we came near her she was saying Bread was good with Cheese, and Cheese was good with Bread, and Bread and Cheese were good together. Sir Chris, bent down to listen to her and said Quite so, quite so, before the Stink sent us away from her Cell. We went back into the Mens Apartments where there were others raving of Ships that may fly and silvered Creatures upon the Moon: Their Stories seem to have neither Head nor Tayl to them, Sir Chris, told me, but there is a Grammar in them if I could but Puzzle it out.