Dealings With The Dead Volume I Part 6

Allwick's headaches arose from the deleterious influence of the fumes of hot grease, acting through the olfactory nerves, upon the pineal gland.

He even expressed a fear, that insanity might supervene, and he furnished an account of an eminent tallow-chandler in London, who went raving mad, and leaping into his own vat of boiling grease, was drawn out, no better than a great candle. It was a perfect _coup de grace_, when Mrs. Allwick drove candles from her dwelling, and subst.i.tuted oil. The chandlery adjoined their residence, in Sc.r.a.p Court; and it must be admitted, that, with the wind at south, the odor was not particularly savory. Mrs. Allwick was what the world would style a smart woman, and she was in the habit of calling her husband a very _wicked_ man and their mansion the most uncla.s.sical villa, though in the very midst of _grease_!

It is quite superfluous to say, the point was finally carried--the chandlery was sold--a country house was purchased, not on the lake, but in a sweet spot. There was some little embarra.s.sment about the name, but two wild gooseberry bushes having been discovered, within half a mile, it was resolved, in council, to call it Mount Gooseberry. Since the going forth of Adam from Eden, in misery and shame, never was there such an exodus, as that of poor Allwick from the chandlery. I have not time to describe it. I am glad I have not. It was too much. Even Mrs. Allwick began to doubt the perfect wisdom of her plan. But the die was cast. On they went to their El Dorado. It was a pleasant spot. It was "a bonnie day in June." The birds were in ecstacies--so was Mrs. Allwick--so were the children--the sun shone--the stream ran beautifully by--the leaves still glistened in the morning dew--there was a sprinkling of lambs on the hills--old Cato was at the door, to welcome them, and Carlo most affectionately covered the white frocks of the children with mud. "Was there ever anything like this?" exclaimed the delighted wife. "Isn't it a perfect pink, papa?"

cried the children. In answer to all this, the _jecur ulcerosum_ of poor Allwick sent forth a deep groan, that shook the very walls of his tabernacle.

The mind of man is a mill, and will grind chaff if nothing more substantial be supplied; and, peradventure, the upper will grind the nether millstone to destruction. For a brief s.p.a.ce, Mr. Allwick found employment. Fences were to be completed--trees and bushes were to be set out--the furniture was to be arranged--but all this was soon over, and there was my good old friend, Simon Allwick, the busiest man alive, with nothing to do! Never was there a heart, in the bosom of a tallow-chandler, so perfectly "untravelled." Poor fellow, he went "up stairs and down stairs, and in my lady's chamber," but all to no other purpose, than to confirm him, in a sentiment of profound respect, for that homely proverb, _it is hard for an old dog to learn new tricks_.

"Where is your father?" said Mrs. Allwick to the children, after breakfast, one awful hot morning, near the end of June. The children went in pursuit--there he was--he had sought to occupy his thoughts, by watching the gambols of some half a dozen Byfield c.o.kies--there he was--he had rested his arms upon the rail of the fence, and had been looking into the sty--his chin had dropped upon his hands--he had fallen asleep! He was mortified and nettled, at being found thus, and continued in a moody condition, through the day. On the following morning, he went to the city, and remained till night. His spirits were greatly improved, on his return; and to some felicitations from his wife and family, he replied--"My dear, I feel better, certainly; and I have made an arrangement, which, I think, will enable me to get along pretty comfortably--I have seen Mr. Smith, to whom I sold the chandlery, and have extended the term of payment. He still dips on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and has agreed to set a kettle of fat and some sticks for me, in the little closet, near the back door, that I may slip in, and amuse myself, on dipping days."

I ought to have been warned, by this example; but I had quite forgotten it. It is very agreeable to be thus welcomed back to the performance of my former duties. No one, but he, who is deprived of some long-cherished occupation, can truly comprehend the pleasure of occasionally handling a corpse.

No. XXIII.

Few things can be imagined, more thoroughly revolting and absurd, than the vengeance of the living, rioting among the ashes of the dead--rudely rolling the stone away from the door of the sepulchre--entering the narrow houses of the unresisting, _vi et armis_, with the pickaxe and the crowbar--and scattering to the winds the poor senseless remains of those, who were consigned to their resting-places, with all the honors of a former age. This, were it not awful, would be eminently ridiculous. For the execution of such posthumous revenge the French nation has the precedence of every other, civilized and savage. Frenchmen, if not, through all time, from the days of Pharamond to the present, remarkably zealous of good works, are clearly a peculiar people.

The history of the world furnishes no parallel to that preposterous crusade, carried on by that people, in 1794, against the dead bodies of kings and princes, saints and martyrs. This war, upon dead men's bones, was not projected and executed, by the rabble, on the impulse of the moment. A formal, deliberate decree of the Convention commanded, that the tombs should be destroyed, and they were destroyed, and their contents scattered to the winds, accordingly. Talk not of all that is furious and fantastical, in the conduct of monkeys and maniacs--a nation of chimpanzees would have acted with more dignity and discretion. A colony of grinning baboons, as Shakspeare calls them, bent upon liberty, equality, and fraternity, might have dethroned some tyrannical ourang outang, who had carried matters with too high a hand, and extorted too many cocoa nuts, for the support of his civil list; but, after having cut off his head, it is not to be believed, that they would have gone about, scratching up the ashes of his ancestors, and wreaking their vengeance upon those unoffending relics.

This miserable onslaught upon the dead began, immediately after December 20, 1794. The new wors.h.i.+p commenced on that day, and the G.o.ddess of reason then, for the first time, presented herself to the people, in the person of the celebrated actress, Mademoiselle Maillard. St. Genevieve, the patroness of the city of Paris, died in 512, and her remains were subsequently transferred to the church, which bears her name, and which was erected, by Clovis, in 517. The executive agents of the National Convention commenced their legalized fooleries, upon the ashes of this poor old saint. These French gentlemen--the politest nation upon earth--without the slightest regard for decency, or sanctification, or common sense, dug up Madame Genevieve's coffin, and, to aggravate the indignity, dragged the old lady's remains to the place of public execution, the _Place de Greve_; and, having burnt them there, scattered the ashes to the winds. The gates of bronze, presented by Charlemagne to the church of St. Denis, were broken to pieces. Pepin, the sire of Charlemagne and son of Charles Martel, was buried there, in 768. Nothing remained of Pepin but a handful of dust, which was served in a similar manner. It is stated by Lamartine, that the heads of Marshal Turenne, Duguesclin, Louis XII., and Francis I., were rolled about the pavement; sceptres, crowns, and crosiers were trampled under foot; and the shouts of the operatives were heard, when the blows of the axe broke through some regal coffin, and the royal bones were thrown out, to be treated with senseless insult.

Hugh Capet, Philip the bold, and Philip, the handsome, were buried beneath the choir. The ruthless hands of these modern vandals tore from the corpses those garments of the grave, in which they had reposed for centuries, and threw the relics upon beds of quicklime.

Henry IV. fell by the hands of Ravaillac, the a.s.sa.s.sin, May 14, 1610. His body, was carefully embalmed, by Italians. When taken from the coffin, the lineaments of the face fully corresponded with the numerous representations, transmitted by the hands of painters and statuaries. That cherished and perfumed beard expanded, as if it had just then received the last manipulation of the friseur. The marks were perfectly visible, upon the breast, indicating the first and second thrust of Ravaillac's stilletto. The popularity of this monarch protected his remains, though for a brief s.p.a.ce. He was frank, brave, and humane. For two days, all that remained of this idol of the people--was exhibited to public view.

The exhumed king was placed at the foot of the altar, and a countless mult.i.tude pa.s.sed, in mute procession, around these favored relics. This gave umbrage to Javogues, a member of the Convention. He denounced this partiality, and railed against the memory of Henri le Grand. The mult.i.tude, impressible by the slightest impulse, hurled the dead monarch into the common fosse of quicklime and corruption; execrating, under the influence of a few feverish words, from the lips of a republican savage, the memory and the remains of one, cherished by their predecessors, for nearly three hundred years. A similar fate awaited his son and grandson, Louis XIII. and XIV. The vault of the Bourbons was thoroughly ransacked, in the same spirit of desolation. Queens, dauphinesses, and princesses, says the historian of the Girondists, were carried away, in armsful, by the laborers, to be cast into the trench, and consumed by quicklime. In the vault of Charles V., surnamed the wise, besides the corpse were found, a hand of justice and a golden crown. In the coffin of his wife, Jeanne of Bourbon, were her spindles and marriage rings. These relics were thrown into the ditch--the corpses--not the articles of gold, however debased by their juxtaposition. Of the French gentlemen it may be affirmed, as of Madame Gilpin--

"Though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind."

An economy, perfectly grotesque, mingled with an unmanly desecration. Even the lead was sc.r.a.ped together from these coffins, and converted into b.a.l.l.s. In the vault of the Valois no bodies were discovered. The people were very desirous of showing some tokens of their wrath, upon the poor carca.s.s of Louis XI., but it could not be found. Abbes, heroes, ministers of state were indiscriminately cast into the fosse. Upon the exhumation of Dagobert I., and his queen, Matilde, who had been buried twelve hundred years, her skeleton was found without a head. Such is said to have been the case with several other skeletons of the queens of France.

In one of the upper lofts of the cabinet of Natural History of the Jardin des Plantes, among stuffed beasts and birds, surrounded by mixed and manifold rubbish, and covered with dust, there lay a case or package, unexamined and unnoticed, for nine long years. This envelope contained the mortal remains of a Marechal of France, the hero of an hundred battles,--of no other than Henry de la Tour, Viscount de Turenne. He was killed by a cannon ball, July 27, 1675, at the age of 64. All France lamented the death of this great man. The admiration of all Europe followed him to the grave. Courage, modesty, generosity, science have embalmed his memory. The king, Louis le Grand, ordered a solemn service to be performed, for the Marechal de Turenne, in the Cathedral church at Paris, as for the first prince of the blood, and that his remains should be interred in the abbey of St. Denis, the burial-place of the royal personages of France, where the cardinal, his nephew, raised a splendid mausoleum to his memory. So much for glory--and what then? In 1794, the remains of this great man were upon the point of being cast into the common fosse, by the agents of the Convention, when some, less rabid than the rest, smuggled them away; and, for security, conveyed them to the lumber room of the cabinet of Natural History of the Jardin des Plantes.

Having reposed, nine years in state, peradventure between a dilapidated kangaroo and a cast-off opossum--these remains of the great Turenne were, at length, committed, in a quiet way, to the military tomb of the Invalids.

No. XXIV.

Burning dead saints, is a more pardonable matter, than burning living martyrs--the combustion of St. Genevieve's dry bones, than the fiery trial of Latimer and Ridley--the fantastical decree of the French Convention, than the cruel discipline of b.l.o.o.d.y Mary. Dark days were they, and full of evil, those years of bitterness and blood, from 1553 to Nov. 17, 1558, when, by a strange coincidence, this hybrid queen, whose sire was a British tyrant, and whose dam a Spanish bigot, expired on the same day with the Cardinal, Reginald Pole. From the remarkable proximity of the events arose a suspicion of poison, of which the public mind has long since been disabused.

In this age of greater intelligence and religious freedom, the outrages, perpetrated, in the very city of London, within five brief years, are credible, only on the strength of well authenticated history. According to Bishop Burnet, two hundred and eighty-four persons were burnt at the stake, during four years of this merciless and miserable reign. Lord Burleigh makes the number of those, who died, in that reign, by imprisonment, torments, famine, and fire, to be near four hundred. Weever, in his Funeral Monuments, page 116, quotes the historian Speed, as saying, "In the heat of those flames, were burnt to ashes five bishops, one-and-twenty divines, eight gentlemen, eighty-four artificers, an hundred husbandmen, servants, and laborers, twenty-six wives, twenty widows, nine virgins, two boys, and two infants; one of them whipped to death by Bonner, and the other, springing out of the mother's womb from the stake, as she burned, thrown again into the fire." Here, in pa.s.sing, suffer me to express my deep reverence for John Weever. I know of no book, so interesting to the craft, as his Funeral Monuments, a work of infinite labor and research. Weever died in 1632, and lies in St. James, Clerkenwell. His epitaph may be found in Strype's Survey:

Lancas.h.i.+re gave me birth, And Cambridge education; Middles.e.x gave me death, And this church my humation; And Christ to me hath given A place with him in heaven.

The structure of these lines will remind the cla.s.sical reader of Virgil's epitaph:

Mantua me genuit: Calabri rapuere; tenet nunc Parthenope; cecini pascua, rura, duces.

The short and sharp reign of Mary Tudor was remarkable for burning Protestant Christians and wax candles. That fountain of fun, pure and undefiled, that prince of wags, Theodore Hook, was offered, very young, for admission at the University; and, when the chancellor opened the book, and gravely inquired if he was ready to sign the thirty-nine articles, "Yes, sir," replied the young puppy, "forty, if you please." Now, in contemplation of the enormous consumption of wax, especially upon the occasion of funeral obsequies, during Mary's reign, it would seem that a belief, in its vital importance, might have formed an additional article, in the Romish creed.

I have never thought well of grafting religion upon the selfishness of man's nature. Nominal converts, it is true, are readily made, in that way.

In Catholic countries, wax chandlers are Romanists, to a man. I always considered the attempt, a few years since, to convert the inhabitants of Nantucket to Puseyism, by a practical appeal to their self interest, however ingeniously contrived, a very wicked thing. And I greatly lauded the good old bishop of this diocese, for rebuking those very silly priests, who promoted a senseless and extravagant consumption of one of the great staples of that island, by burning candles in the day time. He made good use of his mitre as an extinguisher.

On a somewhat similar principle, I have always objected to every attempt to augment the revenues of a state by taxing corpses--not upon the acknowledged principle, that taxation without representation is inadmissible--but because the whole system is a most miserable mingling of _sacra profanis_. I may not be understood by all, in this remark: I refer to those acts of Parliament, which, for the purposes of levying a tax, or promoting some particular branch of industry, have attempted to regulate a man's apparel, and the fitting up of his narrow house, after he is dead.

The compulsory employment of flannel, by British statute, is an example of this legislative interference.

Nothing is more common, in Strype's Ecclesiastical Memorials, than entries, such as these: "1557, May 3. The Lord Shandois was buried with heralds, an herse of wax, four banners of images, and other appendages of funeral honor." "On the 5th, the Lady Chamberlain was buried with a fair herse of wax." "May 28, in the forenoon, was buried Mrs. Gates, widow, late wife, as it seems, to Sir John Gates, executed the first year of this queen's reign. She gave seventeen fine black gowns, and fourteen of broad russet for poor men. There were carried two white branches, ten staff torches, and four great tapers." "July 10th the Lady Tresham was buried at Peterborough, with four banners, and an herse of wax, and torches." "1558, September 14th, was buried Sir Andrew Judd, skinner, merchant of Muscovy, and late Mayor of London, with ten dozen of escutcheons, garnished with angels, and an herse of wax." What is an herse of wax? This will be quite unintelligible to those, who have supposed that word to import nothing else than the vehicle, in which the dead are carried to the grave. Herse also signifies a temporary monument, erected upon, or near, the place of sepulture, and on which the corpse was laid, for a time, in state; and a herse of wax was a structure of this kind, surrounded with wax tapers.

This will be made manifest, by some additional extracts from the same author: "1557. The 16th day of July, died the lady Anne, of Cleves, at Chelsey, sometime wife and queen unto King Henry VIII., but never crowned.

Her corpse was cered the night following." "On the 29th began the herse at Westminster, for the Lady Anne of Cleves, consisting of carpenters' work of seven princ.i.p.als, being as goodly an herse as had been seen." "On the 3d of August the body of the Lady Anne of Cleves was brought from Chelsey, where her house was, unto Westminster, to be buried--men bore her, under a canopy of black velvet, with four black staves, and so brought her into the herse, and there tarried _Dirge_, remaining there all night, with lights burning." "On the 16th day of August the herse of the King of Denmark was begun to be set up, in a four-square house. August 18, was the King of Denmark's herse in St. Paul's finished with wax, the like to which was never seen in England, in regard to the fas.h.i.+on of square tapers." And on the 23d, also was the King of Denmark's herse, at St. Paul's, "taken down by the wax chandlers and carpenters, to whom this work pertained, by order of Mr. Garter, and certain of the Lord Treasurer's servants." These herses were, doubtless, very attractive in their way. "Aug. 31, 1557. The young Dutchess of Norfolk being lately deceased, her herse began to be set up on the 28th, in St. Clements, without Temple bar, and was this day finished with banners, pensils, wax, and escutcheons."

The office of an undertaker, in those days, was no sinecure. He was an _arbiter elegantiarum_. A funeral was a festival then. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you die, was the common phylactery.

"The funeral baked meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables."

Baked meats shall be the subject of my next.

No. XXV.

Pliny, xviii. 30, refers to a practice among the Romans, very similar to that, in use among certain unenlightened nations, of depositing articles of diet upon tombs and graves, such as beans, lettuces, eggs, bread, and the like, for the use of ghosts. The stomachs of Roman ghosts were not supposed to be strong enough for flesh meat. Hence the lines of Juvenal, v. 85:

Sed tibi dimidio constrictus cammarus ovo Ponitur, exigua feralis caena patella.

The _silicernium_ or _caena funebris_ was a very different, and more solid affair. At first blush--to use a common and sensible expression--there seems no respectable keeping, between the art of burying the dead, and that of feasting the living. Depositing those, whom we love, in their graves, is certainly the very last relish for an appet.i.te. Something of this was undoubtedly done, of old, under the promptings of Epicurean philosophy--upon the _dum vivimus vivamus_ principle--and, in that spirit which teaches the soldier, when he turns from the grave, to change the mournful, for the merry strain. The desire of equalling or excelling others, in the magnificence of funereal parade, has ever been a powerful motive. The eyes of others destroy us, said Franklin, and not our own.

Grief for the departed, and sympathy with the bereaved, were not deemed sufficient, to insure an imposing parade. Games and festivals were therefore provided, for the people. Among other attractions, ma.s.ses of uncooked meat were bestowed upon all comers. This was the _visceratio_ of the Romans. This word seems to have a different import; _viscera_, however, signifies all beneath the skin, as may be seen by consulting Serv. in Virg., aen. i., 211. Suetonius Caes. 39, and Cicero de Officiis ii.

16, refer to this practice. It was by no means very common, but frequently adopted by those, who could afford the expense, and were desirous of the display.

Marcus Flavius had committed an infamous crime. He was popular, and the aediles of the people had fixed a day for his absolution. Under pretence of celebrating his mother's funeral, he gave a _visceratio_ to the people: Populo visceratio data, a M. Flavio, in funere matris. Erant, qui, per speciem honorandae parentis, meritam mercedem populo solutam interpretarentur; quod eum, die dicta ab aedilibus, crimine stupratae matris familae absolvisset. Liv. viii. 22. A note upon this pa.s.sage, in Lemaire's edition, fully explains the nature of this practice.

This was a very different affair from the _silicernium_, or feast for the friends, after the funeral. Upon such occasions, the Falernian flowed, and boars were roasted whole. The reader, by opening his Livy, x.x.xix. 46, will find an account of the funeral of P. Licinius: a _visceratio_ was given to the people; one hundred and twenty gladiators fought in the arena; the funeral games lasted three days; and then followed a splendid entertainment. On that occasion, a tempest drove the company into the forum; this occurred, in the year U. C. 569. Through all time, the practice has prevailed, more or less, of providing entertainments, for those, who gather on such occasions. In villages, especially, and within my own recollection, the funeral has been delayed, to enable distant friends to arrive in season; and the interval has been employed, in the preparation of creature comforts, not only for such as attended, and observed the ceremonial of an hour, but for such, as came to the bereaved, like the comforters of the man of Uz, "every one from his place, and sat down with him, seven days and seven nights." Animal provision must surely be required, to sustain such protracted lamentation.

In the age, when Shakspeare wrote, and for several ages before and after, "baked meats," at funerals, were very common. So far, from contenting themselves with the preparation of some simple aliment, for such as were an hungered, the appet.i.tes of all were solicited, by a parade of the rarest liquors and the choicest viands. Tables were spread, in the most ample manner, and the transition was immediate from the tomb to the festal board. The _requiescat in pace_ was scarcely uttered, before the blessing was craved, on the baked meats. It matters little, from what period of history we select our ill.u.s.trations of this truth. Suppose we take our examples from the reign, preceding that, in which Shakspeare was born; comprehend some other incidents in our collection; and rely, for our authority, on good old John Strype, who was himself born in 1643. There is no higher authority. I will present a few specimens from his Ecclesiastical Memorials: "1557, May 5. Was the Lady Chamberlain buried.

At the ma.s.s preached Dr. Chadsey. A great dole of money given at the church, and after, a great dinner. May 29, was buried Mrs. Gates; after ma.s.s a great dinner. June 7, began a stage play at the Grey Friars of the pa.s.sion of Christ. June 10.--This day Sir John, a chantry priest, hung himself with his own girdle. The same day was the storehouse in Portsmouth burnt, much beer and victual destroyed. A judgment, perhaps, for burning so many innocent persons. June 29.--This same day was the second year's mind (i. e. yearly _obit_) of good master Lewyn, ironmonger; at his dirge were all the livery. After, they retired to the widow's place, where they had a cake and wine; and besides the parish, all comers treated." Aug.

3.--After giving a long account of the funeral of Ann of Cleves, Strype adds, "and so they went in order to dinner." After reciting the particulars of the King of Denmark's funeral, in London, Aug. 18, 1557, he adds: "After the dirge, all the heralds and all the Lords went into the Bishop of London's place, and drank. The next day was the morrow-ma.s.s, and a goodly sermon preached, and after, to my Lord of London's to dinner."

The account of the funeral of Thomas Halley is ent.i.tled to be presented entire: "On the 24th of this month, August, Mr. Thomas Halley, clarentieux, king-at-arms, was buried, in St. Giles's parish, without Cripplegate, with coat, armor, and pennon of arms, and scutcheons of his arms, and two white branches, twelve staff torches, and four great tapers, and a crown. And, after dirge, the heralds repaired unto Greenhill, the waxchandler, a man of note (being waxchandler to Cardinal Pole) living hard by; where they had spice-bread and cheese, and wine, great plenty.

The morrow-ma.s.s was also celebrated, and sermon preached; and after followed a great dinner, whereat were all the heralds, together with the paris.h.i.+oners. There was a supper also, as well as a dinner." After a long account of the funeral of the Countess of Arundel, Oct. 5, 1557, follow the customary words--"and, after, all departed to my Lord's place to dinner." "Nov. 12, Mr. Maynard, merchant, was buried; and after, the company departed to his house, at Poplar, to a great dinner." "Oct. 19, died the Lord Bray; and so he went by water to Chelsea to be buried, &c.

&c. Many priests and clerks attended. They all came back to this Lord's place, at Blackfriars, to dinner." At the funeral of Richard Capet, Feb.

1, "All return to dinner." "On the 16th, Mr. Pynohe, fishmonger, and a brother of Jesus, was buried. All being performed at the church, the company retired to his house to drink." On the 24th, "a great dinner,"

after the funeral of Sir George Bowers. This testimony is inexhaustible.

After the funeral of Lady White, March 2, Strype says "there was as great a dinner as had been seen." I will close with two examples. "Aug. 3, 1588.