Peter Ackroyd - Hawksmoor

But some good Gentlemen of the present Age might ask me, Where is your Proof? And I answer: regard my Churches and the way their Shaddowes fall upon the Ground; look up at them, also, and see if you are not brought into Confusion. And I say further: if every thing for which the Learned are not able to give satisfactory Account shall be condemned as False and Impossible, then the World itself will seem a meer Romance. Let this suffice also: the Existence of Spirits cannot be found by Mathematick demonstrations, but we must rely upon Humane reports unless we will make void and annihilate the Histories of all passed things. But those who dare not say, There is no God!, content themselves by saying that Daemons are but Bugs and Chimaeras. I dispute not with such Persons: when a Man is of short sight he will be so in the midst of Prodigies or Miracles, and will mistake the Candle of his Reason for the Noonday Sunne. He will see nothing but Extension, Divisibility, Solidity, Mobility: he forgets his frail Mortality, and goes groaping in the Dark.

And o God it is Dark still: Certainly you slept very sound, says Nat, and I have already done all my little Jobs and the Floor is so clean, Master, there is no Place to Spit and all the while I was by my leathern Bucket you were murmuring Words in your Sleep Nat, I said, Nat I thought I had just lit a Candle and laid me down for an Instant.

No, Master, it is already Seven.

And the Night has passed?

It has gone like an Arrow tho' it is but an ill Morning and the Post-Master's Boy, who I contemn, has given us this.

And Nat puts down a little Pacquet which had inscribed upon it: To Mr Dyer, left at the Post-House in Leester-Fields. He stands next to me and peers at it, but a strange Trembling seiz'd me: Go on your way, Master Eliot, I said, and bring me some Beef and Eggs. When he left the Room I opened the Pacquet and there found a small Paper sent by a Hand unknown to me, which was written in large plain Letters thus: I have sin yr work in Gods name.1 am hear this fortnighet, and you shall hear from me as soon as I com into Whytehill. I ham with all my art your frind and the best frind in the world if Iget my service for all is due and my mouth quiet. As I read this Message which seem'd to Threaten me, my Bowels mov'd and I ran from my Bed to the Stool-pan; I sat there and looked about fearfully, as if the very Walls menac'd me, and I was near Shitting away my Life. Then I heard Nat come up the Stairs and I call'd out to him, I am at Stool: leave the Beef by the Door! Which he quickly did, and walk'd down again to the Kitchin.

This letter was not so cunningly writ that I could not puzzle out its Meaning: by some foul Chance, my Company at Black Step Lane had been discover'd, and with it my own earnest Business beside the Churches. I was now fix'd indeed and in an Instant become once more the Child crouched in an Ash-pit, in too much Agonie of Mind to cry out against the World. I rose from my Pot and laid my self down upon the Bed, as like to call for a Shroud as for a Pair of Breeches. I knew all the Acts were against me: In the 39 of Eliz 4 it was enacted that all Persons using any subtile Craft, or telling Destinies or Fortunes, should be taken and deemed Rogues, Vagabonds, sturdy Beggars, and shall be stripped naked from the Middle upwards and whipp'd till his or her Body be bloody. But that was as Nothing; I could be indicted on the Statute Primo Jacobi cap 12: that to feed, imploy or reward any evil Spirits is a Felony -that I did thus quondam malum Spiritum negotiare. It was further enacted that any Person or Persons using Witchcraft, Sorcery and all their Aiders, Abettors and Counsellors, being convicted and attainted of the same Offences, shall suffer Pain of Death as a Felon without Benefit of Clergy. This did stick in my Mind (as they say), and as I lie upon this Bed I rise up and enter the Stone Room of Newgate and I am stapled fast down to the Floor; now I am re- mov'd to the Bar of the Court of the King's Bench and Sir Chris, is come to bear Witnesse against me; now I am dragg'd to the Carte and I laugh at the Mobbe around me; and now my Hands are being tyed and the Cap is draped over my Face; and as I am dying I am pull'd by the Legs.

Thus my Fear crept through the Passages of my Senses: it presented itself in Figures, it adhered to Sounds, introduced Odours and infused it self in Savours. And I said softly to my self, Oh no, my Sentence is just.

But then my sanguine Humour came up again, and I bit my Hand till the Blood came from it: I know my own Strength, says I, for it has been tried and, if I foresee Storms, it is fit I should prevent them. Why should I shrink before an ignorant and covetous Rogue? When I find who wrote this, I will utterly destroy him.

And then this became the Thread of my Thoughts which led me through a Labyrinth of Fear: this insipid Letter, says I, is ill writ by Désigne to lead me out of the right way of my Suspicions. Thus the Fellow writes Whytehill when the meerest Squab knows it is Whitehall.

And who are those that watch me or speak against me but only those in the Office? And who would know of my Désignes but only those who steal into my Closet or question Walter Pyne about my Work? And who has set Walter against me and, as it may be, follow'd me? And yes, yes Indeed there is one who haunts Walter and gives him brave Words -one Yorick Hayes, the Measuring Surveyour, and one who if I were remov'd from the Office flatters himself that he would leap up into my Place. It may be he who writes: I shall Watch him, and Track him, and Crack him like a Crab-louse. The Thought of how I might get him out of the Way fill'd me with a Delight which ran in my Blood and set me walking about my Chamber.

And as I walked I conceeved a Bait of my own to catch this Sprat, this Homunculouse, and I wrote back thus: I understand not your Meaning by your Writing, explain yourself in your next and lett me know. I did not sign my Name but put upon the Cover: Mr Hayes.

Then I placed the Letter in the Waistband of my Drawers and call'd out for Nat, who came running into me.

You have not touch'd your Beef, says he, and you have drank Nothing neither: I say to Mrs Best that I know not what to do with you, and you are like the little Shrinking Man of the Fable who Enough, Nat.

You are in the right, says he and Yawns.

And then I went on: Nat, if you see any mean-faced, covetous idle Fellows lingering in this Quarter, and any such who cause you Uneasinesse, watch them and tell me. He looked at me surpriz'd and said nothing further but yawned again. Then, with a little Whistling under my Breath, I dress'd my self. Here was a Bold one indeed, but as I walk'd to the Office, my Feares returned. Each Passer-by who looked on me struck me with a fresh Terrour: I was a perfect Mystery to my self and was affected by so many various Passions that I scarce knew which way I travell'd. I entered Scotland-yard like a Guilty thing and, wheeling about to see that I was unobserv'd, I left my Letter to Mr Hayes in the Passage where the Rogue was assured of Discovering it.

Then, once again in my own Closet and among my own Planns and Papers, I took Heart and press'd forward with the Negociacions concerning my Work. Quickly I wrote to the Commission thus: The Church of Wapping Stepney moves forward. The Walls are now coming up to a height of fifteen or sixteen feet everywhere; the Mason has had a good Quantity of Portland Stone, although he has not made that Advance with the Work as might be expected. The Frost has pritty much affected some of the Brickwork that was done about the beginning of November: some must be taken out and new laid. But I am content. I am also inclosing Scetches of a very spacious and curious Peece of Painting to be placed at the West End of the Church -being the Figure of Time, with Wings display'd. Under the Feet of Time lyeth the Pourtrait of a Sceleton about 8 Foot in Length, under which is Glory in the form of an Equilateral Triangle within a spacious Circle.