Part 80

Three pieces of artillery being brought forward to beat down the draw-bridge, the governor demolished the little bridge of passage on the left hand, at the entrance of the fortress; but three persons, named Hely, Hulin, and Maillard, leaped on the bridge, and demanding that the inmost gate should be instantly opened, the besieged obeyed, and the besiegers pushed forward to make good their entrance. The garrison still persisted in a vain resistance. The people massacred all who came in their way, and the victorious standard was soon hoisted from the highest tower. In the mean time, the principal draw-bridge having been let down, a great crowd rushed in at once, and every one looked out for the governor. Arné, a grenadier, singled him out, seized, and disarmed him, and delivered him up to M. Hulin and Hely. The people tore from his coat the badge of honour; numerous hands were lifted against him; and De Launay threw himself into the arms of M. Templement, and conjured him to protect him from the rage of the populace.

The deputy governor, major, and the captain of the gunners, were now united in one group. The horrid dungeons of the fortress were thrown open, never more to be closed; unhappy victims, with hoary locks and emaciated bodies, were astonished at beholding the light, on their release, and shouts of joy and victory resounded through the remotest cells of the Bastile.

The victors formed a kind of march, and while some uttered acclamations of triumph, others vented their passions in threats of revenge against the vanquished. The city militia mixing with the patriotic guards, crowns of laurel, garlands, and ribands, were offered to them by the spectators. The conquerors, proceeding to the _Hotel de Ville_, were scarcely arrived at the square before that edifice, _La Place de Greve_, when the multitude called aloud for sudden vengeance on the objects of their resentment. The governor and the other officers were impetuously torn from the hands of their conquerors, and De Launay, with several other victims, perished beneath the weapons of an infuriated populace.

Thus fell the Bastile, after a siege of only three hours. Tumultuous joy prevailed throughout Paris, and the city was illuminated in the evening. By the most experienced military engineers under Louis XIV., it had been deemed impregnable.

The Bastile consisted of eight strong towers. It was surrounded with a _fossé_ one hundred and twenty yards wide, and on the summit of the towers there was a platform, connected by terraces, whereon prisoners were sometimes permitted to walk, attended by a guard. Thirteen pieces of cannon mounted on this platform were fired on days of public rejoicing. There were five sorts of chambers in the Bastile. The dungeons under these towers exhaled noxious vapours and stench, and were frequented by rats, lizards, toads, and other loathsome reptiles. In the angle of each dungeon, was a camp-bedstead, of planks resting on bars of iron fixed in the wall. These cells were dark and hideous, without windows or apertures, to admit either fresh air or light. They were secured by double doors of seven inches thick, the interior one covered with iron-plates, and fastened by strong bolts and heavy locks. The most horrible receptacles were the dungeons, wherein the iron cages were fixed. These cages, the disgrace of human nature, were eight feet high, by six feet wide, and formed of strong beams, strengthened further by iron plates. As this building is amply described in several works, further particulars of it may here cease.

Cowper, after an eloquent passage upon the blessings of liberty to man, says, “The author hopes that he shall not be censured for unnecessary warmth upon so interesting a subject. He is aware that it is become almost fashionable, to stigmatize such sentiments as no better than empty declamation; but it is an ill symptom, and peculiar to modern times.” He then rolls a flood of indignation against the Bastile. The dreadful fortress was at that time standing. His imagination of human endurance under the horrors of confinement in its cells, beautifully illustrates his compassionate feelings. He says,--

Shame to manhood, and opprobrious more To France than all her losses and defeats, Old or of later date, by sea or land, Her house of bondage, worse than that of old Which God aveng’d on Pharaoh--the Bastile. Ye horrid tow’rs, th’ abode of broken hearts; Ye dungeons and ye cages of despair, That monarchs have supplied from age to age With music, such as suits their sov’reign ears, The sighs and groans of miserable men! There’s not an English heart, that would not leap, To hear that ye were fall’n at last; to know That ev’n our enemies, so oft employ’d In forging chains for us, themselves were free. For he, who values liberty, confines His zeal for her predominance within No narrow bounds; her cause engages him Wherever pleaded. ’Tis the cause of man. There dwell the most forlorn of human kind, Immur’d though unaccus’d, condemn’d untried, Cruelly spar’d, and hopeless of escape. There, like the visionary emblem seen By him of Babylon, life stands a stump, And, filleted about with hoops of brass, Still lives, though all his pleasant boughs are gone. To count the hour-bell, and expect no change; And ever, as the sullen sound is heard, Still to reflect, that, though a joyless note To him, whose moments all have one dull pace, Ten thousand rovers in the world at large Account it music; that it summons some To theatre, or jocund feast, or ball: The wearied hireling finds it a release From labour; and the lover, who has chid Its long delay, feels ev’ry welcome stroke Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delight-- To fly for refuge from distracting thought To such amusements, as ingenious woe Contrives, hard-fighting, and without her tools-- To read engraven on the mouldy walls, In stagg’ring types, his predecessor’s tale A sad memorial, and subjoin his own-- To turn purveyor to an overgorg’d And bloated spider, till the pamper’d pest Is made familiar, watches his approach, Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend-- To wear out time in numb’ring to and fro The studs, that thick emboss his iron door; Then downward and then upward, then aslant And then alternate; with a sickly hope By dint of change to give his tasteless task Some relish; till the sum, exactly found In all directions, he begins again-- Oh, comfortless existence! hemm’d around With woes, which who that suffers would not kneel And beg for exile, or the pangs of death. That man should thus encroach on fellow man, Abridge him of his just and native rights, Eradicate him, tear him from his hold Upon th’ endearments of domestic life And social, nip his fruitfulness and use, And doom him for perhaps a heedless word To barrenness, and solitude, and tears, Moves indignation, makes the name of king (Of king whom such prerogative can please) As dreadful as the Manichean god, Ador’d through fear, strong only to destroy.

_Witchcraft._

In July, 1825, a man was “swam for a wizard,” at Wickham-Skeith, in Suffolk, in the presence of some hundreds of people! In that parish lives Isaac Stebbings, a little spare man about sixty-seven years old, who obtains a livelihood as a huckster; and hard by his cottage lives a thatcher, whose wife is afflicted in mind. In the same parish there happens to be a farmer whose mind is occasionally disturbed. Some one or other put forth the surmise, that these two afflicted persons were bewitched, and Stebbings was spoken of as the “worker of the mischief.” Story grew on story; accumulated hearsays were accepted, as “proof undeniable.” Among other things it was said, that the friends of the afflicted woman had recourse to some means recorded in the annals of witchcraft for detecting the devil’s agent; and that whilst the operation was going on at night, Stebbings came dancing up to the door. In his denial of this circumstance, Stebbings admitted that he did once call at his neighbour’s with mackarel for sale at four o’clock in the morning, before the family were up, and this admission was taken to be as much as he was likely to make. Besides this, the village shoemaker persisted that one morning, as Stebbings passed two or three times before his house, he could not “make” his wax--the ingredients would neither melt nor mix. Dubbed a wizard beyond all doubt, poor Stebbings, ignorant as his neighbours, and teased beyond bearing, proposed at length of himself, the _good_ old-fashioned ordeal of “sink or swim.” The proposal was readily caught at, and on the following Saturday, at two o’clock, in a large pond, called the _Grimmer_, on Wickham-green, four men walked into the water with him, and the constable of the parish engaged to attend and keep the peace! The sides of the pond were crowded with spectators--men, women, and children. Stebbings had on his breeches and shirt; and when the men had walked with him into the water breast-high, they lifted him up and laid him flat upon his back on the water. Stebbings moved neither hand nor foot, and continued in that position for ten minutes. This was the first trial, and the spectators called out “give him another.” Another trial was accordingly given, for the same length of time, and with the same result. “Try him again, and dip him under the the water,” was then the cry. They did so: one of the four men pressed his chest, and down went his head, whilst up came his heels; in a word, he was like a piece of cork in the water. These trials kept the poor old fellow three-quarters of an hour in the pond, and he came out “more dead than alive.” Still, some were not satisfied. Another man, they said, of his age and size, ought to be swam with him. Stebbings agreed even to this, for he was determined to get rid of the imputation, or die. The following Saturday was appointed for the purpose, and a man called Tom Wilden, of Bacton parish, hard by, was named for his companion. The story now got more wind, and hundreds of people from all the neighbouring parishes attended to witness the second ordeal. But, in the interval, the clergyman of the parish, and the two churchwardens, had interfered, and the swimmers were kept away, to the no small vexation and disappointment of the deluded multitude. It is gravely told, that at the very time Stebbings was swam, the afflicted farmer alluded to above was unusually perturbed; he cried out, “I can see the imps all about me; I must frighten them away with my voice;” and his delusion and his noise, as Stebbings did not sink, are put down to his account. To complete the affair, a respectable farmer in a neighbouring parish went, it is said, to some “cunning man,” and learnt to a certainty that Stebbings was a wizard. The sum of 3_l._ was paid for this intelligence, and for the assurance that Stebbings should be “killed by inches.”

These particulars in _The Times_ newspaper of July 19, 1825, extracted from the _Suffolk Chronicle_, prove the deplorable ignorance of certain human beings in England. It is to be hoped, that such persons are not allowed to bring up their offspring in the same darkness. Little can be done towards civilizing adults of this description, but their infants may be reared as intelligent members of society.

~Dog Days.~

“Now Sirius rages.”

_To the Editor of the Every-day Book._

Sir,

I am one of those unfortunate creatures, who, at this season of the year, are exposed to the effects of an illiberal prejudice. Warrants are issued out in form, and whole scores of us are taken up and executed annually, under an obsolete statute, on what is called suspicion of lunacy. It is very hard that a sober, sensible dog, cannot go quietly through a village about his business, without having his motions watched, or some impertinent fellow observing that there is an “odd look about his eyes.” My pulse, for instance, at this present writing, is as temperate as yours, Mr. Editor, and my head as little rambling, but I hardly dare to show my face out of doors for fear of these scrutinizers. If I look up in a stranger’s face, he thinks I am going to bite him. If I go with my eyes fixed upon the ground, they say I have got the mopes, which is but a short stage from the disorder. If I wag my tail, I am too lively; if I do not wag it, I am sulky--either of which appearances passes alike for a prognostic. If I pass a dirty puddle without drinking, sentence is infallibly pronounced upon me. I am perfectly swilled with the quantity of ditch-water I am forced to swallow in a day, to clear me from imputations--a worse cruelty than the water ordeal of your old Saxon ancestors. If I snap at a bone, I am furious; if I refuse it, I have got the sullens, and that is a bad symptom. I dare not bark outright, for fear of being adjudged to rave. It was but yesterday, that I indulged in a little innocent _yelp_ only, on occasion of a cart-wheel going over my leg, and the populace was up in arms, as if I had betrayed some marks of flightiness in my conversation.

Really our case is one which calls for the interference of the chancellor. He should see, as in cases of other lunatics, that commissions are only issued out against proper objects; and not a whole race be proscribed, because some dreaming Chaldean, two thousand years ago, fancied a canine resemblance in some star or other, that was supposed to predominate over addle brains, with as little justice as Mercury was held to be influential over rogues and swindlers; no compliment I am sure to either star or planet. Pray attend to my complaint, Mr. Editor, and speak a good word for us this hot weather.

Your faithful, though sad dog,

POMPEY.

This “sad dog” is a “sensible dog,” and must know, that England is by no means favourable to him or his fellow-creatures. Dogs here are mostly the property of persons who by “training,” and “working,” and “fighting” them, drive many of them mad, and render every dog at this season an object of fear. They have, at present, the right to do wrong to dogs, and the liberty of making them as brutal as themselves. If a few of these dog-masters were tied up, as an example to others, dogs might have rights and liberties. The condition of the lower animals will improve with the subjugation of the passions in the master-animal, man.

ARCHITECTURE OF THE NEW CHURCHES.

_For the Every-Day Book._

Taking into consideration the competition excited amongst architects by the public advertizing for designs for the new churches, it might reasonably have been expected that greater specimens of genius would have been elicited, and more variety displayed in the elevations than we at present see. From whatever cause it arises, whether from the interference of individual partiality, or the predominating influence of a bad taste, it is certain that a tameness of design is too generally apparent in these buildings.

Mr. Grey Bennett, speaking of the church in Langham-place, in the house of commons said, “that it was deplorable, a horrible object, and never had he seen so shameful a disgrace to the metropolis. It was like a flat candlestick with an extinguisher on it. He saw a great number of churches building, of all of which it might be said, that one was worse than the other; it seemed as if an adventurous spirit of architecture prevailed, and that its professors had resolved to follow nothing that had ever appeared before, and to invent nothing new that was not purely absurd. No man who knew what architecture was, would have put up the edifices he alluded to, and which disgusted every body, while it made every body wonder who could be the asses that planned, and the fools that built them.”[210] These remarks are upon the whole, perhaps, too severe and sweeping. The greatest fault in the new churches is the want of variety, the eye is tired with the repetition of the same design, and looks with eagerness for something to relieve the general monotony. We have before us so many examples of good church-building, that the spectator is more fastidious in his judgment upon any new specimen, and is led to judge of its merits by comparison with some favourite design, rather than by an examination of its intrinsic beauties or defects: in this view the new churches have not been fairly treated.

Much has been written on the style of architecture most proper for churches. The balance of argument is in favour of the gothic. Architects would decide for the Grecian, but their judgments are so biassed by education, that very few who look at the subject professionally, are likely to form an opinion upon it of any value. If the beauty of a building consists in its appropriateness to the objects for which it is intended, then the gothic style will ever bear away the palm when put into competition with the Greek or Roman architecture for ecclesiastical edifices.

By gothic architecture it should here be understood, that the fashionable mode of building, correctly styled “_modern_ gothic,” is not referred to. So widely different is it from the correct and beautiful architecture which it professes to imitate, that it may with great justness be called a new order. The late Mr. Carter, than whom, no man ever entered into the spirit of gothic architecture with more attention, or ever understood its properties and beauties more soundly, very justly called this splendid invention of modern genius, the “fantastic order;” the correctness of the cognomen is now so far acknowledged, that even architects are giving up this their favourite child, and endeavouring to assume a greater justness of detail, and form a closer imitation of the genuine style. From the reports of the commissioners for building new churches, it appears that the gothic style is adopted in the majority of those churches built in the country; in the environs of the metropolis but in a very few instances. This is to be lamented; it would have been more desirable had the gothic churches been allowed to have borne a proportion to the others, at least of one in three. It has been often urged, that the rejection of this style arises from the expensiveness of its details.--To show at once how little weight there is in this objection, let any one contrast the splendid gothic church lately erected at Chelsea, rich in crockets and mullions, with its stone roof, and pinnacled tower, against the frigid ionic temple built for the parish of St. Pancras. The estimate of the first is, perhaps, little more than a third of the cost of the latter building; the dimensions are at least equal; and which of these buildings displays the most ornament? In the one much money is consumed in delicate mouldings and rich friezes; delicate, minute, and scarcely seen embellishments, which the smoke and damp of a London atmosphere will soon fill with dirt, while it will corrode the composition in which they are worked. In the other, though the gothic detail is marked with a want of coldness, yet what ornament is introduced shows to advantage, and is more calculated to endure than the other. The gothic style in detail is bold and conspicuous, and a little money laid out in embellishment with judgment goes a long way--witness the beautiful chapel at Mile-end, which proves beyond all dispute, that even an ornamented gothic building can be erected at a very limited expense. The architect was the late Mr. Walters, and had he built nothing more than this chapel, he would be entitled to have ranked high in his profession. Another edifice in the gothic style may be worth notice as affording a striking contrast to that last mentioned, this is a church now building in Somers-town. Its only characteristics are meanness and poverty; the style resembles that of a Chinese summer-house, without its lightness; it is clumsy where solidity is required, and possesses not one redeeming quality to atone for the many absurdities it contains.