Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions - Chapters 11-12



      Chapter 11 - 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 twenty-first 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, lunar-caustic, 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 ill-calculated 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 contumacy101* induced him, at length, to
plead "Not guilty," and take his trial in due course of law.

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 fortune-teller. 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, ladies put poisonbottles on their dressing-tables as
openly, and used them with as little scruple upon others, as
modern dames use Eau de Cologne or lavender-water upon themselves.
So powerful is the influence of fashion, it can even cause murder
to be regarded as a venial peccadillo.

In the memoirs of the last Duke of Guise, who made a Quixotic
attempt, in 1648, to seize upon the government of Naples, we find
some curious particulars relative to the popular feeling with
regard to poisoning. A man, named Gennaro Annese, who, after the
short and extraordinary career of Masaniello the fisherman, had
established himself as a sort of captain-general of the populace,
rendered himself so obnoxious to the Duke of Guise that the
adherents of the latter determined to murder him. The captain of
the guard, as the Duke himself very coolly informs us, was
requested to undertake this office. It was suggested to him that
the poniard would be the most effectual instrument, but the man
turned up his eyes with pious horror at the proposition. He was
ready to poison Gennaro Annese whenever he might be called upon to
do so; but to poniard him, he said, would be disgraceful, and
unbecoming an officer of the guards! At last poison was agreed
upon, and Augustino Molla, an attorney in the Duke's confidence,
brought the bottle containing the liquid to show it to his master.
The following is the Duke's own account:—

"Augustino came to me at night, and told me: ‘I have brought you
something which will free you from Gennaro. He deserves death, and
it is no great matter after what fashion justice is done upon him.
Look at this vial, full of clear and beautiful water: in four
days' time, it will punish all his treasons. The captain of the
guard has undertaken to give it him; and as it has no taste at
all, Gennaro will suspect nothing.'"

The Duke further informs us that the dose was duly administered;
but that Gennaro, fortunately for himself, ate nothing for dinner
that day but cabbage dressed with oil, which acting as an
antidote, caused him to vomit profusely, and saved his life. He
was exceedingly ill for five days, but never suspected that he had
been poisoned.

In process of time, poison vending became a profitable trade.
Eleven years after this period, it was carried on at Rome to such
an extent that the sluggish government was roused to interference.
Beckmann, in his History of Inventions," and Lebret, in his
"Magazin zum Gebrauche der Staaten Kirche Geschichte," or Magazine
of Materials for a History of a State Church, relates that, in the
year 1659, it was made known to Pope Alexander VII. that great
numbers of young women had avowed in the confessional that they
had poisoned their husbands with slow poisons. The Catholic
clergy, who in general hold the secrets of the confessional so
sacred, were shocked and alarmed at the extraordinary prevalence
of the crime. Although they refrained from revealing the names of
the penitents, they conceived themselves bound to apprise the head
of the church of the enormities that were practised. It was also
the subject of general conversation in Rome that young widows were
unusually abundant. It was remarked, too, that if any couple lived
unhappily together, the husband soon took ill and died. The papal
authorities, when once they began to inquire, soon learned that a
society of young wives had been formed, and met nightly, for some
mysterious purpose, at the house of an old woman named Hieronyma
Spara. This hag was a reputed witch and fortune-teller, and acted
as president of the young viragos, several of whom, it was
afterwards ascertained, belonged to the first families of Rome.

In order to have positive evidence of the practices of this female
conclave, a lady was employed by the Government to seek an
interview with them. She dressed herself out in the most
magnificent style; and having been amply provided with money, she
found but little difficulty, when she had stated her object, of
procuring an audience of La Spara and her sisterhood. She
pretended to be in extreme distress of mind on account of the
infidelities and ill-treatment of her husband, and implored La
Spara to furnish her with a few drops of the wonderful elixir, the
efficacy of which in sending cruel husbands to "their last long
sleep" was so much vaunted by the ladies of Rome. La Spara fell
into the snare, and sold her some of her "drops," at a price
commensurate with the supposed wealth of the purchaser.

The liquor thus obtained was subjected to an analysis, and found
to be, as was suspected, a slow poison - clear, tasteless, and
limpid, like that spoken of by the Duke of Guise. Upon this
evidence the house was surrounded by the police, and La Spara and
her companions taken into custody. La Spara, who is described as
having been a little, ugly, old woman, was put to the torture, but
obstinately refused to confess her guilt. Another of the women,
named La Gratiosa, had less firmness, and laid bare all the
secrets of the infernal sisterhood. Taking a confession, extorted
by anguish on the rack, at its true value (nothing at all), there
is still sufficient evidence to warrant posterity in the belief of
their guilt. They were found guilty, and condemned, according to
their degrees of culpability, to various punishments. La Spara,
Gratiosa, and three young women, who had poisoned their husbands,
were hanged together at Rome. Upwards of thirty women were whipped
publicly through the streets; and several, whose high rank
screened them from more degrading punishment, were banished from
the country, and mulcted in heavy fines. In a few months
afterwards, nine women more were hanged for poisoning; and another
bevy, including many young and beautiful girls, were whipped half
naked through the streets of Rome.

This severity did not put a stop to the practice, and jealous
women and avaricious men, anxious to step into the inheritance of
fathers, uncles, or brothers, resorted to poison. As it was quite
free from taste, colour, and smell, it was administered without
exciting suspicion. The skilful vendors compounded it of different
degrees of strength, so that the poisoners had only to say whether
they wanted their victims to die in a week, a month, or six
months, and they were suited with corresponding doses. The vendors
were chiefly women, of whom the most celebrated was a hag, named
Tophania, who was in this way accessory to the death of upwards of
six hundred persons. This woman appears to have been a dealer in
poisons from her girlhood, and resided first at Palermo and then
at Naples. That entertaining traveller, Father Lebat, has given,
in his Letters from Italy, many curious particulars relating to
her. When he was at Civita Vecchia, in 1719, the Viceroy of Naples
discovered that poison was extensively sold in the latter city,
and that it went by the name of aqueta, or little-water. On making
further inquiry, he ascertained that Tophania (who was by this
time near seventy years of age, and who seems to have begun her
evil courses very soon after the execution of La Spara) sent large
quantities of it to all parts of Italy in small vials, with the
inscription "Manna of St. Nicholas of Barri."

The tomb of St. Nicholas of Barri was celebrated throughout Italy.
A miraculous oil was said to ooze from it, which cured nearly all
the maladies that flesh is heir to, provided the recipient made
use of it with the due degree of faith. La Tophania artfully gave
this name to her poison to elude the vigilance of the custom-house
officers, who, in common with everybody else, had a pious respect
for St. Nicholas de Barri and his wonderful oil.

The poison was similar to that manufactured by La Spara. Hahnemann
the physician, and father of the homoepathic doctrine, writing
upon this subject, says it was compounded of arsenical neutral
salts, occasioning in the victim a gradual loss of appetite,
faintness, gnawing pains in the stomach, loss of strength, and
wasting of the lungs. The Abbé Gagliardi says that a few drops of
it were generally poured into tea, chocolate, or soup, and its
effects were slow, and almost imperceptible. Garelli, physician to
the Emperor of Austria, in a letter to Hoffmann, says it was
crystallized arsenic, dissolved in a large quantity of water by
decoction, with the addition (for some unexplained purpose) of the
herb cymbalaria. The Neapolitans called it Aqua Toffnina; and it
became notorious all over Europe under the name of Aqua Tophania.

Although this woman carried on her infamous traffic so
extensively, it was extremely difficult to meet with her. She
lived in continual dread of discovery. She constantly changed her
name and residence; and pretending to be a person of great
godliness, resided in monasteries for months together. Whenever
she was more than usually apprehensive of detection, she sought
ecclesiastical protection. She was soon apprised of the search
made for her by the Viceroy of Naples, and, according to her
practice, took refuge in a monastery. Either the search after her
was not very rigid, or her measures were exceedingly well taken;
for she contrived to elude the vigilance of the authorities for
several years. What is still more extraordinary, as showing the
ramifications of her system, her trade was still carried on to as
great an extent as before. Lebat informs us that she had so great
a sympathy for poor wives who hated their husbands and wanted to
get rid of them, but could not afford to buy her wonderful aqua,
that she made them presents of it.

She was not allowed, however, to play at this game for ever; she
was at length discovered in a nunnery, and her retreat cut off.
The Viceroy made several representations to the superior to
deliver her up, but without effect. The abbess, supported by the
archbishop of the diocese, constantly refused. The public
curiosity was in consequence so much excited at the additional
importance thus thrust upon the criminal, that thousands of
persons visited the nunnery in order to catch a glimpse of her.

The patience of the Viceroy appears to have been exhausted by
these delays. Being a man of sense, and not a very zealous
Catholic, he determined that even the Church should not shield a
criminal so atrocious. Setting the privileges of the nunnery at
defiance, he sent a troop of soldiers, who broke over the walls
and carried her away vi et armis. The Archbishop, Cardinal
Pignatelli, was highly indignant, and threatened to excommunicate
and lay the whole city under interdict. All the inferior clergy,
animated by the esprit du corps, took up the question, and so
worked upon the superstitious and bigoted people, that they were
ready to rise in a mass to storm the palace of the Viceroy and
rescue the prisoner.

These were serious difficulties; but the Viceroy was not a man to
be daunted. Indeed, he seems to have acted throughout with a rare
union of astuteness, coolness, and energy. To avoid the evil
consequences of the threatened excommunication, he placed a guard
round the palace of the Archbishop, judging that the latter would
not be so foolish as to launch out an anathema which would cause
the city to be starved, and himself in it. The marketpeople would
not have dared to come to the city with provisions, so long as it
remained under the ban. There would have been too much
inconvenience to himself and his ghostly brethren in such a
measure; and, as the Viceroy anticipated, the good Cardinal
reserved his thunders for some other occasion.

Still there was the populace. To quiet their clamour and avert the
impending insurrection, the agents of the government adroitly
mingled with the people, and spread abroad a report that Tophania
had poisoned all the wells and fountains of the city. This was
enough. The popular feeling turned against her immediately. Those
who, but a moment before, had looked upon her as a saint, now
reviled her as a devil, and were as eager for her punishment as
they had before been for her escape. Tophania was then put to the
torture. She confessed the long catalogue of her crimes, and named
all the persons who had employed her. She was shortly afterwards
strangled, and her corpse thrown over the wall into the garden of
the convent, from whence she had been taken. This appears to have
been done to conciliate the clergy, by allowing them, at least,
the burial of one who had taken refuge within their precincts.

After her death the mania for poisoning seems to have abated; but
we have yet to see what hold it took upon the French people at a
somewhat earlier period. So rooted had it become in France between
the years 1670 and 1680, that Madame de Sévigné, in one of her
letters, expresses her fear that Frenchman and poisoner would
become synonymous terms.

As in Italy, the first notice the government received of the
prevalence of this crime was given by the clergy, to whom females
of high rank, and some among the middle and lower classes, had
avowed in the confessional that they had poisoned their husbands.
In consequence of these disclosures, two Italians, named Exili and
Glaser, were arrested, and thrown into the Bastille, on the charge
of compounding and selling the drugs used for these murders.
Glaser died in prison, but Exili remained without trial for
several months; and there, shortly afterwards, he made the
acquaintance of another prisoner, named Sainte Croix, by whose
example the crime was still further disseminated among the French
people.

The most notorious of the poisoners that derived their pernicious
knowledge from this man was Madame de Brinvilliers, a young woman
connected both by birth and marriage with some of the noblest
families of France. She seems, from her very earliest years, to
have been heartless and depraved; and, if we may believe her own
confession, was steeped in wickedness ere she had well entered her
teens. She was, however, beautiful and accomplished; and, in the
eye of the world, seemed exemplary and kind. Guyot de Pitaval, in
the Causes Célèbres, and Madame de Sévigné, in her Letters,
represent her as mild and agreeable in her manners, and offering
no traces on her countenance of the evil soul within. She was
married in 1651 to the Marquis de Brinvilliers, with whom she
lived unhappily for some years. He was a loose dissipated
character, and was the means of introducing Sainte Croix to his
wife, a man who cast a blight upon her life, and dragged her on
from crime to crime till her offences became so great that the
mind shudders to dwell upon them. For this man she conceived a
guilty passion, to gratify which she plunged at once into the gulf
of sin. She was drawn to its most loathsome depths ere retribution
overtook her.

She had as yet shown a fair outside to the world, and found but
little difficulty in effecting a legal separation from her
husband, who had not the art to conceal his vices. The proceeding
gave great offence to her family. She appears, after this, to have
thrown off the mask completely, and carried on her intrigues so
openly with her lover, Sainte Croix, that her father, M. D'Aubray,
scandalised at her conduct, procured a lettre de cachet, and had
him imprisoned in the Bastille for a twelvemonth.

Sainte Croix, who had been in Italy, was a dabbler in poisons. He
knew something of the secrets of the detestable La Spara, and
improved himself in them from the instructions of Exili, with whom
he speedily contracted a sort of friendship. By him he was shown
how to prepare, not only the liquid poisons employed in Italy, but
that known as succession powder, which afterwards became so
celebrated in France. Like his mistress, he appeared amiable,
witty, and intelligent, and showed no signs to the world of the
two fierce passions, revenge and avarice, which were gnawing at
his heart. Both these passions were to be sated on the unfortunate
family of D'Aubray; his revenge, because they had imprisoned him;
and his avarice, because they were rich. Reckless and extravagant,
he was always in want of money, and he had no one to supply him
but Madame de Brinvilliers, whose own portion was far from
sufficient to satisfy his need. Groaning to think that any
impediment should stand between him and wealth, he conceived the
horrid idea of poisoning M. D'Aubray her father, and her two
brothers, that she might inherit the property. Three murders were
nothing to such a villain. He communicated his plan to Madame de
Brinvilliers; and she, without the slightest scruple, agreed to
aid him: he undertook to compound the poisons, and she to
administer them. The zeal and alacrity with which she set to work
seem hardly credible. Sainte Croix found her an apt scholar; and
she soon became as expert as himself in the manufacture of
poisons. To try the strength of the first doses, she used to
administer them to dogs, rabbits, and pigeons. Afterwards, wishing
to be more certain of their effects, she went round to the
hospitals, and administered them to the sick poor in the soups
which she brought in apparent charity.102* None of the poisons
were intended to kill at the first dose; so that she could try
them once upon an individual without fear of murder. She tried the
same atrocious experiment upon the guests at her father's table,
by poisoning a pigeon-pie! To be more certain still, she next
poisoned herself! When convinced by this desperate essay of the
potency of the draught, she procured an antidote from Sainte
Croix, and all doubts being removed, commenced operations upon her
grey-headed father. She administered the first dose with her own
hands, in his chocolate. The poison worked well. The old man was
taken ill, and his daughter, apparently full of tenderness and
anxiety, watched by his bedside. The next day she gave him some
broth, which she recommended as highly nourishing. This also was
poisoned. In this manner she gradually wore out his frame, and in
less than ten days he was a corpse! His death seemed so much the
result of disease, that no suspicions were excited.

When the two brothers arrived from the provinces to render the
last sad duties to their sire, they found their sister as grieved,
to all outward appearance, as even filial affection could desire:
but the young men only came to perish. They stood between Sainte
Croix and the already half-clutched go]d, and their doom was
sealed. A man, named La Chaussée, was hired by Sainte Croix to aid
in administering the poisons; and, in less than six weeks' time,
they had both gone to their long home.

Suspicion was now excited; but so cautiously had all been done,
that it found no one upon whom to attach itself. The Marquise had
a sister, and she was entitled, by the death of her relatives, to
half the property. Less than the whole would not satisfy Sainte
Croix, and he determined that she should die the same death as her
father and brothers. She was too distrustful, however; and, by
quitting Paris, she escaped the destruction that was lurking for
her.

The Marquise had undertaken these murders to please her lover. She
was now anxious to perpetrate another on her own account. She
wished to marry Sainte Croix; but, though separated from her
husband, she was not divorced. She thought it would be easier to
poison him than to apply to the tribunals for a divorce, which
might, perhaps, be refused. But Salute Croix had no longer any
love for his guilty instrument. Bad men do not admire others who
are as bad as themselves. Though a villain himself, he had no
desire to marry one, and was not at all anxious for the death of
the Marquis. He seemed, however, to enter into the plot, and
supplied her with poison for her husband: but he took care to
provide a remedy. La Brinvilliers poisoned him one day, and Sainte
Croix gave him an antidote the next. In this manner he was
buffetted about between them for some time, and finally escaped
with a ruined constitution and a broken heart.

But the day of retribution was at hand, and a terrible mischance
brought the murders to light. The nature of the poisons compounded
by Salute Croix was so deadly, that, when working in his
laboratory, he was obliged to wear a mask, to preserve himself
from suffocation. One day, the mask slipped off, and the miserable
wretch perished in his crimes. His corpse was found, on the
following morning, in the obscure lodging where he had fitted up
his laboratory. As he appeared to be without friends or relatives,
the police took possession of his effects. Among other things was
found a small box, to which was affixed the following singular
document:—

"I humbly beg, that those into whose hands this box may fall, will
do me the favour to deliver it into the hands only of the
Marchioness de Brinvilliers, who resides in the Rue Neuve St.
Paul, as everything it contains concerns her, and belongs to her
alone; and as, besides, there is nothing in it that can be of use
to any person but her. In case she shall be dead before me, it is
my wish that it be burned, with everything it contains, without
opening or altering anything. In order that no one may plead
ignorance, I swear by the God that I adore, and by all that is
held most sacred, that I assert nothing but the truth: and if my
intentions, just and reasonable as they are, be thwarted in this
point by any persons, I charge their consciences with it, both in
this world and that which is to come, in order that I may unload
mine. I protest that this is my last will. Done at Paris, the 25th
of May, 1672.

(Signed) Sainte Croix."


This earnest solicitation, instead of insuring respect as was
intended, excited curiosity. The box was opened, and found to
contain some papers, and several vials and powders. The latter
were handed to a chemist for analysis, and the documents were
retained by the police, and opened. Among them was found a
promissory note of the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, for thirty
thousand francs, to the order of Sainte Croix. The other papers
were of greater importance, as they implicated both her and her
servant, La Chaussée, in the recent murders. As soon as she was
informed of the death of Sainte Croix, she made an attempt to gain
possession of his papers and the box; but, being refused, she saw
that there was no time to be lost, and immediately quitted. Next
morning the police were on her trail; but she succeeded in
escaping to England. La Chaussée was not so fortunate. Altogether
ignorant of the fatal mischance which had brought his villanies to
light, he did not dream of danger. He was arrested and brought to
trial: being put to the torture, he confessed that he had
administered poison to the Messieurs d'Aubray, and that he had
received a hundred pistoles, and the promise of an annuity for
life, from Sainte Croix and Madame de Brinvilliers, for the job.
He was condemned to be broken alive on the wheel, and the
Marchioness was, by default, sentenced to be beheaded. He was
executed accordingly, in March 1673, on the Place de Greve, in
Paris.

La Brinvilliers appears to have resided for nearly three years in
England. Early in 1676, thinking that the rigour of pursuit was
over, and that she might venture to return to the Continent, she
proceeded secretly to Liege. Notwithstanding her care, the French
authorities were soon apprised of her return; and arrangements
were promptly made with the municipality of that city, to permit
the agents of the French police to arrest her within the limits of
their jurisdiction. Desgrais, an officer of the maréchaussée,
accordingly left Paris for that purpose. On his arrival in Liege,
he found that she had sought shelter within the walls of a
convent. Here the arm of the law, long as it is said to be, could
not reach her: but Desgrais was not a man to be baffled, and he
resorted to stratagem to accomplish what force could not. Having
disguised himself as a priest, he sought admission to the convent,
and obtained an interview with La Brinvilliers. He said, that
being a Frenchman, and passing through Liege, he could not leave
that city without paying a visit to a lady whose beauty and
misfortunes were so celebrated. Her vanity was flattered by the
compliment. Desgrais saw, to use a vulgar but forcible expression,
"that he had got on the blind side of her;" and he adroitly
continued to pour out the language of love and admiration, till
the deluded Marchioness was thrown completely off her guard. She
agreed, without much solicitation, to meet him outside the walls
of the convent, where their amorous intrigue might be carried on
more conveniently than within. Faithful to her appointment with
her supposed new lover, she came, and found herself, not in the
embrace of a gallant, but in the custody of a policeman.

Her trial was not long delayed. The proofs against her were
abundant. The dying declaration of La Chaussée would have been
alone enough to convict her; but besides that, there were the
mysterious document attached to the box of St. Croix; her flight
from France; and, stronger and more damning proof than all, a
paper, in her own handwriting, found among the effects of St.
Croix, in which she detailed to him the misdeeds of her life, and
spoke of the murder of her father and brothers, in terms that left
no doubt of her guilt. During the trial, all Paris was in
commotion. La Brinvilliers was the only subject of conversation.
All the details of her crimes were published, and greedily
devoured; and the idea of secret poisoning was first put into the
heads of hundreds, who afterwards became guilty of it.

On the 16th of July 1676, the Superior Criminal Court of Paris
pronounced a verdict of guilty against her, for the murder of her
father and brothers, and the attempt upon the life of her sister.
She was condemned to be drawn on a hurdle, with her feet bare, a
rope about her neck, and a burning torch in her hand, to the great
entrance of the cathedral of Notre Dame; where she was to make the
amende honorable, in sight of all the people; to be taken from
thence to the Place de Greve, and there to be beheaded. Her body
was afterwards to be burned, and her ashes scattered to the winds.

After her sentence, she made a full confession of her guilt. She
seems to have looked upon death without fear; but it was
recklessness, not courage, that supported her. Madame de Sevigne
says, that when on the hurdle, on her way to the scaffold, she
entreated her confessor to exert his influence with the
executioner to place himself next to her, that his body might hide
from her view "that scoundrel, Desgrais, who had entrapped her."
She also asked the ladies, who had been drawn to their windows to
witness the procession, what they were looking at? adding, "a
pretty sight you have come to see, truly!" She laughed when on the
scaffold, dying as she had lived, impenitent and heartless. On the
morrow, the populace came in crowds to collect her ashes, to
preserve them as relics. She was regarded as a martyred saint, and
her ashes were supposed to be endowed, by Divine grace, with the
power of curing all diseases. Popular folly has often canonised
persons whose pretensions to sanctity were extremely equivocal;
but the disgusting folly of the multitude, in this instance, has
never been surpassed.

Before her death, proceedings were instituted against M. de
Penautier, treasurer of the province of Languedoc, and
Receiver-general for the clergy, who was accused by a lady, named
St. Laurent, of having poisoned her husband, the late
Receiver-general, in order to obtain his appointment. The
circumstances of this case were never divulged, and the greatest
influence was exerted to prevent it from going to trial. He was
known to have been intimate with Sainte Croix and Madame de
Brinvilliers, and was thought to have procured his poisons from
them. The latter, however, refused to say anything which might
implicate him. The inquiry was eventually stifled, after Penautier
had been several months in the Bastille.

The Cardinal de Bonzy was accused by the gossips of the day of
being an accomplice of Penautier. The Cardinal's estates were
burthened with the payment of several heavy annuities; but, about
the time that poisoning became so fashionable, all the annuitants
died off, one after the other. The Cardinal, in talking of these
annuitants, afterwards used to say, "Thanks to my star, I have
outlived them all!" A wit, seeing him and Penautier riding in the
same carriage, cried out, in allusion to this expression, "There
go the Cardinal de Bonzy and his star!

It was now that the mania for poisoning began to take hold of the
popular mind. From this time until the year 1682, the prisons of
France teemed with persons accused of this crime; and it is very
singular, that other offences decreased in a similar proportion.
We have already seen the extent to which it was carried in Italy.
It was, if possible, surpassed in France. The diabolical ease with
which these murders could be effected, by means of these scentless
and tasteless poisons, enticed the evil-minded. Jealousy, revenge,
avarice, even petty spite, alike resorted to them. Those who would
have been deterred, by fear of detection, from using the pistol or
the dagger, or even strong doses of poison, which kill at once,
employed slow poisons without dread. The corrupt Government of the
day, although it could wink at the atrocities of a wealthy and
influential courtier, like Penautier, was scandalised to see the
crime spreading among the people. Disgrace was, in fact, entailed,
in the eyes of Europe, upon the name of Frenchman. Louis XIV, to
put a stop to the evil, instituted what was called the Chambre
Ardente, or Burning Chamber, with extensive powers, for the trial
and punishment of the prisoners.

Two women, especially, made themselves notorious at this time, and
were instrumental to the deaths of hundreds of individuals. They
both resided in Paris, and were named Lavoisin and Lavigoreux.
Like Spars and Tophania, of whom they were imitators, they chiefly
sold their poisons to women who wanted to get rid of their
husbands; and, in some few instances, to husbands who wanted to
get rid of their wives. Their ostensible occupation was that of
midwives. They also pretended to be fortune-tellers, and were
visited by persons of every class of society. The rich and poor
thronged alike to their mansardes, to learn the secrets of the
future. Their prophecies were principally of death. They foretold
to women the approaching dissolution of husbands, and to needy
heirs, the end of rich relatives, who had made them, as Byron
expresses it, "wait too, too long already." They generally took
care to be instrumental in fulfilling their own predictions. They
used to tell their wretched employers, that some sign of the
approaching death would take place in the house, such as the
breaking of glass or china; and they paid servants considerable
fees to cause a breakage, as if by accident, exactly at the
appointed time. Their occupation as midwives made them acquainted
with the secrets of many families, which they afterwards turned to
dreadful account.

It is not known how long they had carried on this awful trade
before they were discovered. Detection finally overtook them at
the close of the year 1679. They were both tried, found guilty,
and burned alive on the Place de Greve, on the 22nd of February,
1680, after their hands had been bored through with a red-hot
iron, and then cut off. Their numerous accomplices in Paris and in
the provinces were also discovered and brought to trial. According
to some authors, thirty, and to others, fifty of them, chiefly
women, were hanged in the principal cities.

Lavoisin kept a list of the visiters who came to her house to
purchase poisons. This paper was seized by the police on her
arrest, and examined by the tribunals. Among the names were found
those of the Marshal de Luxembourg, the Countess de Soissons, and
the Duchess de Bouillon. The Marshal seems only to have been
guilty of a piece of discreditable folly in visiting a woman of
this description, but the popular voice at the time imputed to him
something more than folly. The author of the Memoirs of the
Affairs of Europe since the Peace of Utrecht, says, "The miserable
gang who dealt in poison and prophecy alleged that he had sold
himself to the devil, and that a young girl of the name of Dupin
had been poisoned by his means. Among other stories, they said he
had made a contract with the devil, in order to marry his son to
the daughter of the Marquis of Louvois. To this atrocious and
absurd accusation the Marshal, who had surrendered himself at the
Bastille on the first accusation against him, replied with the
mingled sentiment of pride and innocence, ‘When Mathieu de
Montmorenci, my ancestor, married the widow of Louis le Gros, he
did not have recourse to the devil, but to the States-General, in
order to obtain for the minor king the support of the house of
Montmorenci.' This brave man was imprisoned in a cell six feet and
a half long, and his trial, which was interrupted for several
weeks, lasted altogether fourteen months. No judgment was
pronounced upon him."

The Countess of Soissons fled to Brussels, rather than undergo the
risk of a trial; and was never able to clear herself from the
stigma that attached to her, of having made an attempt to poison
the Queen of Spain by doses of succession powder. The Duchess of
Bouillon was arrested, and tried by the Chambre Ardente. It would
appear, however, that she had nothing to do with the slow poisons,
but had merely endeavoured to pry into the secrets of futurity,
and gratify her curiosity with a sight of the devil. One of the
presidents of the Chambre, La Reynie, an ugly little old man, very
seriously asked her whether she had really seen the devil; to
which the lady replied, looking him full in the face, "Oh yes! I
see him now. He is in the form of a little ugly old man,
exceedingly illnatured, and is dressed in the robes of a
counsellor of State." M. la Reynie prudently refrained from asking
any more questions of a lady with so sharp and ready a tongue. The
Duchess was imprisoned for several months in the Bastile; and
nothing being proved against her, she was released at the
intercession of her powerful friends. The severe punishment of
criminals of this note might have helped to abate the fever of
imitation among the vulgar;˜their comparative impunity had a
contrary tendency. The escape of Penautier, and the wealthy
Cardinal de Bonzy his employer, had the most pernicious effect.
For two years longer the crime continued to rage, and was not
finally suppressed till the stake had blazed, or the noose
dangled, for upwards of a hundred individuals.103*



      Chapter 12 - Haunted Houses

  Here's a knocking indeed! . . . . knock! knock! knock
. . . . Who's there, i' the name o' Beelzebub? . . . .
Who's there, i' the devil's name? Knock! knock! knock!—
Never at quiet?—Macbeth.

Who has not either seen or heard of some house, shut up and
uninhabitable, fallen into decay, and looking dusty and dreary,
from which, at midnight, strange sounds have been heard to
issue—aerial knockings—the rattling of chains, and the groaning of
perturbed spirits?—a house that people have thought it unsafe to
pass after dark, and which has remained for years without a
tenant, and which no tenant would occupy, even were he paid to do
so? There are hundreds of such houses in England at the present
day; hundreds in France, Germany, and almost every country of
Europe, which are marked with the mark of fear—places for the
timid to avoid, and the pious to bless themselves at, and ask
protection from, as they pass—the abodes of ghosts and evil
spirits. There are many such houses in London; and if any vain
boaster of the march of intellect would but take the trouble to
find them out and count them, he would be convinced that intellect
must yet make some enormous strides before such old superstitions
can be eradicated.

The idea that such houses exist is a remnant of the witch creed,
which merits separate notice from its comparative harmlessness,
and from its being not so much a madness as a folly of the people.
Unlike other notions that sprang from the belief in witchcraft,
and which we have already dwelt upon at sufficient length, it has
sent no wretches to the stake or the gibbet, and but a few to the
pillory only.

Many houses have been condemned as haunted, and avoided by the
weak and credulous, from circumstances the most trifling in
themselves, and which only wanted a vigorous mind to clear up, at
once, and dissipate all alarm. A house in Aix-la-Chapelle, a large
desolate-looking building, remained uninhabited for five years, on
account of the mysterious knockings that there were heard within
it at all hours of the day and night. Nobody could account for the
noises; and the fear became at last so excessive, that the persons
who inhabited the houses on either side relinquished their
tenancy, and went to reside in other quarters of the town, where
there was less chance of interruption from evil spirits. From
being so long without an inhabitant the house at last grew so
ruinous, so dingy, and so miserable in its outward appearance, and
so like the place that ghosts might be supposed to haunt, that few
persons cared to go past it after sunset. The knocking that was
heard in one of the upper rooms was not very loud, but it was very
regular. The gossips of the neighbourhood asserted that they often
heard groans from the cellars, and saw lights moved about from one
window to another immediately after the midnight bell had tolled.
Spectres in white habiliments were reported to have gibed and
chattered from the windows; but all these stories could bear no
investigation. The knocking, however, was a fact which no one
could dispute, and several ineffectual attempts were made by the
proprietor to discover the cause. The rooms were sprinkled with
holy water—the evil spirits were commanded in due form, by a
priest, to depart thence to the Red Sea; but the knockings still
continued, in spite of all that could be done in that way.
Accident at last discovered the cause, and restored tranquillity
to the neighbourhood. The proprietor, who suffered not only in his
mind but in his pocket, had sold the building at a ruinously small
price, to get rid of all future annoyance. The new proprietor was
standing in a room on the first floor when he heard the door
driven to at the bottom with a considerable noise, and then fly
open immediately, about two inches and no more. He stood still a
minute and watched, and the same thing occurred a second and a
third time. He examined the door attentively, and all the mystery
was unravelled. The latch of the door was broken so that it could
not be fastened, and it swung chiefly upon the bottom hinge.
Immediately opposite was a window, in which one pane of glass was
broken; and when the wind was in a certain quarter, the draught of
air was so strong that it blew the door to with some violence.
There being no latch, it swung open again; and when there was a
fresh gust, was again blown to. The new proprietor lost no time in
sending for a glazier, and the mysterious noises ceased for ever.
The house was replastered and repainted, and once more regained
its lost good name. It was not before two or three years, however,
that it was thoroughly established in popular favour; and many
persons, even then, would always avoid passing it, if they could
reach their destination by any other street.

A similar story is narrated by Sir Walter Scott, in his Letters on
Demonology and Witchcraft, the hero of which was a gentleman of
birth and distinction, well known in the political world. Shortly
after he succeeded to his title and estates, there was a rumour
among the servants concerning a strange noise that used to be
heard at night in the family mansion, and the cause of which no
one could ascertain. The gentleman resolved to discover it
himself, and to watch for that purpose with a domestic who had
grown old in the family, and who, like the rest, had whispered
strange things about the knocking having begun immediately upon
the death of his old master. These two watched until the noise was
heard, and at last traced it to a small store-room, used as a
place for keeping provisions of various kinds for the family, and
of which the old butler had the key. They entered this place, and
remained for some time, without hearing the noises which they had
traced thither. At length the sound was heard, but much lower than
it seemed to be while they were further off, and their
imaginations were more excited. They then discovered the cause
without difficulty. A rat, caught in an old-fashioned trap, had
occasioned the noise by its efforts to escape, in which it was
able to raise the trap-door of its prison to a certain height, but
was then obliged to drop it. The noise of the fall resounding
through the house had occasioned the mysterious rumours, which,
but for the investigation of the proprietor, would, in all
probability, have acquired so bad a name for the dwelling that no
servants would have inhabited it. The circumstance was told to Sir
Walter Scott by the gentleman to whom it happened.

But, in general, houses that have acquired this character, have
been more indebted for it, to the roguery of living men, than to
accidents like these. Six monks played off a clever trick of the
kind upon that worthy King, Louis, whose piety has procured him,
in the annals of his own country, the designation of "the Saint."
Having heard his confessor speak in terms of warm eulogy of the
goodness and learning of the monks of the order of Saint Bruno, he
expressed his wish to establish a community of them near Paris.
Bernard de la Tour, the superior, sent six of the brethren, and
the King gave them a handsome house to live in, in the village of
Chantilly. It so happened that, from their windows, they had a
very fine view of the ancient palace of Vauvert, which had been
built for a royal residence by King Robert, but deserted for many
years. The worthy monks thought the palace would just suit them,
but their modesty was so excessive that they were ashamed to ask
the King for a grant of it in due form. This difficulty was not to
be overcome, and the monks set their ingenuity to work to discover
another plan. The palace of Vauvert had never laboured under any
imputation upon its character until they became its neighbours;
but, somehow or other, it almost immediately afterwards began to
acquire a bad name. Frightful shrieks were heard to proceed from
it at night˜blue, red, and green lights were suddenly observed to
glimmer from the windows, and as suddenly to disappear: the
clanking of chains was heard, and the howling as of persons in
great pain. These disturbances continued for several months, to
the great terror of all the country round, and even of the pious
King Louis, to whom, at Paris, all the rumours were regularly
carried, with whole heaps of additions, that accumulated on the
way. At last a great spectre, clothed all in pea-green, with a
long white beard and a serpent's tail, took his station regularly
at midnight in the principal window of the palace, and howled
fearfully and shook his fists at the passengers. The six monks of
Chantilly, to whom all these things were duly narrated, were
exceedingly wroth that the devil should play such antics right
opposite their dwelling, and hinted to the commissioners, sent
down by Saint Louis to investigate the matter, that, if they were
allowed to inhabit the palace, they would very soon make a
clearance of the evil spirits. The King was quite charmed with
their piety, and expressed to them how grateful he felt for their
disinterestedness. A deed was forthwith drawn up˜the royal
sign-manual was affixed to it, and the palace of Vauvert became
the property of the monks of Saint Bruno. The deed is dated in
1269. [Garinet. Histoire de la Magie en France, page 157.]The
disturbances ceased immediately˜the lights disappeared, and the
green ghost (so said the monks) was laid at rest for ever under
the waves of the Red Sea.104*

In the year 1580, one Gilles Blacre had taken the lease of a house
in the suburbs of Tours, but repenting him of his bargain with the
landlord, Peter Piquet, he endeavoured to prevail upon him to
cancel the agreement. Peter, however, was satisfied with his
tenant and his terms, and would listen to no compromise. Very
shortly afterwards, the rumour was spread all over Tours that the
house of Gilles Blacre was haunted. Gilles himself asserted that
he verily believed his house to be the general rendezvous of all
the witches and evil spirits of France. The noise they made was
awful, and quite prevented him from sleeping. They knocked against
the wall—howled in the chimneys—broke his window-glass—scattered
his pots and pans all over his kitchen, and set his chairs and
tables a dancing the whole night through. Crowds of persons
assembled around the house to hear the mysterious noises; and the
bricks were observed to detach themselves from the wall and fall
into the streets upon the heads of those who had not said their
paternoster before they came out in the morning. These things
having continued for some time, Gilles Blacre made his complaint
to the Civil Court of Tours, and Peter Piquet was summoned to show
cause why the lease should not be annulled. Poor Peter could make
no defence, and the court unanimously agreed that no lease could
hold good under such circumstances, and annulled it accordingly,
condemning the unlucky owner to all the expenses of the suit.
Peter appealed to the Parliament of Paris; and, after a long
examination, the Parliament confirmed the lease. "Not," said the
judge, "because it bas not been fully and satisfactorily proved
that the house is troubled by evil spirits, but that there was an
informality in the proceedings before the Civil Court of Tours,
that rendered its decision null and of no effect."

A similar cause was tried before the Parliament of Bordeaux, in
the year 1605, relative to a house in that city which was sorely
troubled by evil spirits. The Parliament appointed certain
ecclesiastics to examine and report to them, and on their report
in the affirmative that the house was haunted, the lease was
annulled, and the tenant absolved from all payment of rent and
taxes.105*

One of the best stories of a haunted house is that of the royal
palace of Woodstock, in the year 1649, when the commissioners sent
from London by the Long Parliament to take possession of it, and
efface all the emblems of royalty about it, were fairly driven out
by their fear of the devil and the annoyances they suffered from a
roguish cavalier, who played the imp to admiration. The
commissioners, dreading at that time no devil, arrived at
Woodstock on the 13th of October, 1649. They took up their
lodgings in the late King's apartments-turned the beautiful
bedrooms and withdrawing-rooms into kitchens and sculleries—the
council-hall into a brew-house, and made the dining-room a place
to keep firewood in. They pulled down all the insignia of royal
state, and treated with the utmost indignity everything that
recalled to their memory the name or the majesty of Charles
Stuart. One Giles Sharp accompanied them in the capacity of clerk,
and seconded their efforts, apparently with the greatest zeal. He
aided them to uproot a noble old tree, merely because it was
called the King's Oak, and tossed the fragments into the
dining-room to make cheerful fires for the commissioners. During
the first two days, they heard some strange noises about the
house, but they paid no great attention to them. On the third,
however, they began to suspect they had got into bad company; for
they heard, as they thought, a supernatural dog under their bed,
which gnawed their bedclothes. On the next day, the chairs and
tables began to dance, apparently of their own accord. On the
fifth day, something came into the bedchamber and walked up and
down, and fetching the warming-pan out of the withdrawing-room,
made so much noise with it that they thought five church-bells
were ringing in their ears. On the sixth day, the plates and
dishes were thrown up and down the dining-room. On the seventh,
they penetrated into the bedroom in company with several logs of
wood, and usurped the soft pillows intended for the commissioners.
On the eighth and ninth nights, there was a cessation of
hostilities; but on the tenth, the bricks in the chimneys became
locomotive, and rattled and danced about the floors, and round the
heads of the commissioners, all the night long. On the eleventh,
the demon ran away with their breeches, and on the twelfth filled
their beds so full of pewter-platters that they could not get into
them. On the thirteenth night, the glass became unaccountably
seized with a fit of cracking, and fell into shivers in all parts
of the house. On the fourteenth, there was a noise as if forty
pieces of artillery had been fired off, and a shower of
pebble-stones, which so alarmed the commissioners that, "struck
with great horror, they cried out to one another for help."

They first of all tried the efficacy of prayers to drive away the
evil spirits; but these proving unavailing, they began seriously
to reflect whether it would not be much better to leave the place
altogether to the devils that inhabited it. They ultimately
resolved, however, to try it a little longer; and having craved
forgiveness of all their sins, betook themselves to bed. That
night they slept in tolerable comfort, but it was merely a trick
of their tormentor to lull them into false security. When, on the
succeeding night, they heard no noises, they began to flatter
themselves that the devil was driven out, and prepared accordingly
to take up their quarters for the whole winter in the palace.
These symptoms on their part became the signal for renewed uproar
among the fiends. On the 1st of November, they heard something
walking with a slow and solemn pace up and down the
withdrawing-room, and immediately afterwards a shower of stones,
bricks, mortar, and broken glass pelted about their ears. On the
2nd the steps were again heard in the withdrawing-room, sounding
to their fancy very much like the treading of an enormous bear,
which continued for about a quarter of an hour. This noise having
ceased, a large warming-pan was thrown violently upon the table,
followed by a number of stones and the jawbone of a horse. Some of
the boldest walked valiantly into the withdrawing-room, armed with
swords, and pistols; but could discover nothing. They were afraid
that night to go to sleep, and sat up, making fires in every room,
and burning candles and lamps in great abundance; thinking that,
as the fiends loved darkness, they would not disturb a company
surrounded with so much light. They were deceived, however:
buckets of water came down the chimneys and extinguished the
fires, and the candles were blown out, they knew not how. Some of
the servants who had betaken themselves to bed were drenched with
putrid ditch-water as they lay, and arose in great fright,
muttering incoherent prayers, and exposing to the wondering eyes
of the commissioners their linen all dripping with green moisture,
and their knuckles red with the blows they had at the same time
received from some invisible tormentors. While they were still
speaking, there was a noise like the loudest thunder, or the
firing of a whole park of artillery, upon which they all fell down
upon their knees and implored the protection of the Almighty. One
of the commissioners then arose, the others still kneeling, and
asked in a courageous voice, and in the name of God, who was
there, and what they had done that they should be troubled in that
manner. No answer was returned, and the noises ceased for a while.
At length, however, as the commissioners said, "the devil came
again, and brought with it seven devils worse than itself." Being
again in darkness, they lighted a candle and placed it in the
doorway, that it might throw a light upon the two chambers at
once; but it was suddenly blown out, and one commissioner said
that he had "seen the similitude of a horse's hoof striking the
candle and candlestick into the middle of the chamber, and
afterwards making three scrapes on the snuff to put it out." Upon
this, the same person was so bold as to draw his sword; but he
asserted positively that he had hardly withdrawn it from the
scabbard before an invisible hand seized hold of it and tugged
with him for it, and prevailing, struck him so violent a blow with
the pommel that he was quite stunned. Then the noises began again;
upon which, with one accord, they all retired into the
presence-chamber, where they passed the night, praying and singing
psalms.

They were by this time convinced that it was useless to struggle
any longer with the powers of evil, that seemed determined to make
Woodstock their own. These things happened on the Saturday night;
and, being repeated on the Sunday, they determined to leave the
place immediately, and return to London. By Tuesday morning early,
all their preparations were completed; and, shaking the dust off
their feet, and devoting Woodstock and all its inhabitants to the
infernal gods, they finally took their departure.106*

Many years elapsed before the true cause of these disturbances was
discovered. It was ascertained, at the Restoration, that the whole
was the work of Giles Sharp, the trusty clerk of the
commissioners. This man, whose real name was Joseph Collins, was a
concealed royalist, and had passed his early life within the
bowers of Woodstock; so that he knew every hole and corner of the
place, and the numerous trap-doors and secret passages that
abounded in the building. The commissioners, never suspecting the
true state of his opinions, but believing him to be revolutionary
to the back-bone, placed the utmost reliance upon him; a
confidence which he abused in the manner above detailed, to his
own great amusement, and that of the few cavaliers whom he let
into the secret.

Quite as extraordinary and as cleverly managed was the trick
played off at Tedworth, in 1661, at the house of Mr. Mompesson,
and which is so circumstantially narrated by the Rev. Joseph
Glanvil, under the title of The Demon of Tedworth, and appended,
among other proofs of witchcraft, to his noted work, called
Sadducismus Triumphatus. About the middle of April, in the year
above mentioned, Mr. Mompesson, having returned to his house, at
Tedworth, from a journey he had taken to London, was informed by
his wife, that during his absence they had been troubled with the
most extraordinary noises. Three nights afterwards he heard the
noise himself; and it appeared to him to be that of "a great
knocking at his doors, and on the outside of his walls." He
immediately arose, dressed himself, took down a pair of pistols,
and walked valiantly forth to discover the disturber, under the
impression that it must be a robber: but, as he went, the noise
seemed to travel before or behind him; and, when he arrived at the
door from which he thought it proceeded, he saw nothing, but still
heard "a strange hollow sound." He puzzled his brains for a long
time, and searched every corner of the house; but, discovering
nothing, he went to bed again. He was no sooner snug under the
clothes, than the noise began again more furiously than ever,
sounding very much like a "thumping and drumming on the top of his
house, and then by degrees going off into the air."

These things continued for several nights, when it came to the
recollection of Mr. Mompesson that some time before, he had given
orders for the arrest and imprisonment of a wandering drummer, who
went about the country with a large drum, disturbing quiet people
and soliciting alms, and that he had detained the man's drum, and
that, probably, the drummer was a wizard, and had sent evil
spirits to haunt his house, to be revenged of him. He became
strengthened in his opinion every day, especially when the noises
assumed, to his fancy, a resemblance to the beating of a drum,
"like that at the breaking up of a guard." Mrs. Mompesson being
brought to bed, the devil, or the drummer, very kindly and
considerately refrained from making the usual riot; but, as soon
as she recovered strength, began again "in a ruder manner than
before, following and vexing the young children, and beating their
bedsteads with so much violence that every one expected they would
fall in pieces." For an hour together, as the worthy Mr. Mompesson
repeated to his wondering neighbours, this infernal drummer "would
beat ‘Roundheads and Cuckolds," the ‘Tat-too,' and several other
points of war, as cleverly as any soldier." When this had lasted
long enough, he changed his tactics, and scratched with his iron
talons under the children's bed. "On the 5th of November," says
the Rev. Joseph Glanvil, "it made a mighty noise; and a servant,
observing two boards in the children's room seeming to move, he
bid it give him one of them. Upon which the board came (nothing
moving it, that he saw), within a yard of him. The man added,
‘Nay, let me have it in my hand ;' upon which the spirit, devil,
or drummer pushed it towards him so close, that he might touch it.
"This," continues Glanvil, "was in the day-time, and was seen by a
whole room full of people. That morning it left a sulphureous
smell behind it, which was very offensive. At night the minister,
one Mr. Cragg, and several of the neighhours, came to the house,
on a visit. Mr. Cragg went to prayers with them, kneeling at the
children's bedside, where it then became very troublesome and
loud. During prayer time, the spirit withdrew into the cock-loft,
but returned as soon as prayers were done; and then, in sight of
the company, the chairs walked about the room of themselves, the
children's shoes were hurled over their heads, and every loose
thing moved about the chamber. At the same time, a bed-staff was
thrown at the minister, which hit him on the leg, but so
favourably, that a lock of wool could not have fallen more
softly." On another occasion, the blacksmith of the village, a
fellow who cared neither for ghost nor devil, slept with John, the
footman, that he also might hear the disturbances, and be cured of
his incredulity, when there "came a noise in the room, as if one
had been shoeing a horse, and somewhat came, as it were, with a
pair of pincers," snipping and snapping at the poor blacksmith's
nose the greater part of the night. Next day it came, panting like
a dog out of breath; upon which some woman present took a
bed-staff to knock at it, "which was caught suddenly out of her
hand, and thrown away; and company coming up, the room was
presently filled with a bloomy noisome smell, and was very hot,
though without fire, in a very sharp and severe winter. It
continued in the bed, panting and scratching for an hour and a
half, and then went into the next room, where it knocked a little,
and seemed to rattle a chain."

The rumour of these wonderful occurrences soon spread all over the
country, and people from far and near flocked to the haunted house
of Tedworth, to believe or doubt, as their natures led them, but
all filled with intense curiosity. It appears, too, that the fame
of these events reached the royal ear, and that some gentlemen
were sent by the King to investigate the circumstances, and draw
up a report of what they saw or heard. Whether the royal
commissioners were more sensible men than the neighbours of Mr.
Mompesson, and required more clear and positive evidence than
they, or whether the powers with which they were armed to punish
anybody who might be found carrying on this deception, frightened
the evil-doers, is not certain; but Glanvil himself reluctantly
confesses, that all the time they were in the house, the noises
ceased, and nothing was heard or seen. "However," says he, "as to
the quiet of the house when the courtiers were there, the
intermission may have been accidental, or perhaps the demon was
not willing to give so public a testimony of those transactions
which might possibly convince those who, he had rather, should
continue in unbelief of his existence."

As soon as the royal commissioners took their departure, the
infernal drummer re-commenced his antics, and hundreds of persons
were daily present to hear and wonder. Mr. Mompesson's servant was
so fortunate as not only to hear, but to see this pertinacious
demon; for it came and stood at the foot of his bed. "The exact
shape and proportion of it he could not discover; but he saw a
great body, with two red and glaring eyes, which, for some time,
were fixed steadily on him, and at length disappeared."
Innumerable were the antics it played. Once it purred like a cat;
beat the children's legs black and blue; put a long spike into Mr.
Mompesson's bed, and a knife into his mother's; filled the
porrengers with ashes; hid a Bible under the grate; and turned the
money black in people's pockets. "One night," said Mr. Mompesson,
in a letter to Mr. Glanvil, "there were seven or eight of these
devils in the shape of men, who, as soon as a gun was fired, would
shuffle away into an arbour;" a circumstance which might have
convinced Mr. Mompesson of the mortal nature of his persecutors,
if he had not been of the number of those worse than blind, who
shut their eyes and refuse to see.

In the mean time the drummer, the supposed cause of all the
mischief, passed his time in Gloucester gaol, whither he had been
committed as a rogue and a vagabond. Being visited one day by some
person from the neighbourhood of Tedworth, he asked what was the
news in Wiltshire, and whether people did not talk a great deal
about a drumming in a gentleman's house there? The visiter
replied, that he heard of nothing else; upon which the drummer
observed, "I have done it; I have thus plagued him; and he shall
never be quiet until he hath made me satisfaction for taking away
my drum." No doubt the fellow, who seems to have been a gipsy,
spoke the truth, and that the gang of which he was a member knew
more about the noises at Mr. Mompesson's house than anybody else.
Upon these words, however, he was brought to trial at Salisbury,
for witchcraft; and, being found guilty, was sentenced to
transportation; a sentence which, for its leniency, excited no
little wonder in that age, when such an accusation, whether proved
or not, generally insured the stake or the gibbet. Glanvil says,
that the noises ceased immediately the drummer was sent beyond the
seas; but that, some how or other, he managed to return from
transportation; "by raising storms and affrighting the seamen, it
was said;" when the disturbances were forthwith renewed, and
continued at intervals for several years. Certainly, if the
confederates of this roving gipsy were so pertinacious in
tormenting poor weak Mr. Mompesson, their pertinacity is a most
extraordinary instance of what revenge is capable of. It was
believed by many, at the time, that Mr. Mompesson himself was
privy to the whole matter, and permitted and encouraged these
tricks in his house for the sake of notoriety; but it seems more
probable that the gipsies were the real delinquents, and that Mr.
Mompesson was as much alarmed and bewildered as his credulous
neighhours, whose excited imaginations conjured up no small
portion of these stories,
"Which rolled, and as they rolled, grew larger every hour."

Many instances, of a similar kind, during the seventeenth century,
might be gleaned from Glanvil and other writers of that period;
but they do not differ sufficiently from these to justify a detail
of them. The most famous of all haunted houses acquired its
notoriety much nearer our own time; and the circumstances
connected with it are so curious, and afford so fair a specimen of
the easy credulity even of well-informed and sensible people, as
to merit a little notice in this chapter. The Cock Lane Ghost, as
it was called, kept London in commotion for a considerable time,
and was the theme of conversation among the learned and the
illiterate, and in every circle, from that of the prince to that
of the peasant.

At the commencement of the year 1760, there resided in Cock Lane,
near West Smithfield, in the house of one Parsons, the parish
clerk of St. Sepulchre's, a stockbroker, named Kent. The wife of
this gentleman had died in child-bed during the previous year, and
his sister-in-law, Miss Fanny, had arrived from Norfolk to keep
his house for him. They soon conceived a mutual affection, and
each of them made a will in the other's favour. They lived some
months in the house of Parsons, who, being a needy man, borrowed
money of his lodger. Some difference arose betwixt them, and Mr.
Kent left the house, and instituted legal proceedings against the
parish clerk for the recovery of his money.

While this matter was yet pending, Miss Fanny was suddenly taken
ill of the small-pox; and, notwithstanding every care and
attention, she died in a few days, and was buried in a vault under
Clerkenwell church. Parsons now began to hint that the poor lady
had come unfairly by her death, and that Mr. Kent was accessory to
it, from his too great eagerness to enter into possession of the
property she had bequeathed him. Nothing further was said for
nearly two years; but it would appear that Parsons was of so
revengeful a character, that he had never forgotten or forgiven
his differences with Mr. Kent, and the indignity of having been
sued for the borrowed money. The strong passions of pride and
avarice were silently at work during all that interval, hatching
schemes of revenge, but dismissing them one after the other as
impracticable, until, at last, a notable one suggested itself.
About the beginning of the year 1772, the alarm was spread over
all the neighbourhood of Cock Lane, that the house of Parsons was
haunted by the ghost of poor Fanny,107* and that the daughter of
Parsons, a girl about twelve years of age, had several times seen
and conversed with the spirit, who had, moreover, informed her,
that she had not died of the smallpox, as was currently reported,
but of poison, administered by Mr. Kent. Parsons, who originated,
took good care to countenance these reports; and, in answer to
numerous inquiries, said his house was every night, and had been
for two years, in fact, ever since the death of Fanny, troubled by
a loud knocking at the doors and in the walls. Having thus
prepared the ignorant and credulous neighhours to believe or
exaggerate for themselves what he had told them, he sent for a
gentleman of a higher class in life, to come and witness these
extraordinary occurrences. The gentleman came accordingly, and
found the daughter of Parsons, to whom the spirit alone appeared,
and whom alone it answered, in bed, trembling violently, having
just seen the ghost, and been again informed that she had died
from poison. A loud knocking was also heard from every part of the
chamber, which so mystified the not very clear understanding of
the visiter, that he departed, afraid to doubt and ashamed to
believe, but with a promise to bring the clergyman of the parish
and several other gentlemen on the following day, to report upon
the mystery.

On the following night he returned, bringing with him three
clergymen, and about twenty other persons, including two negroes,
when, upon a consultation with Parsons, they resolved to sit up
the whole night, and await the ghost's arrival. It was then
explained by Parsons, that although the ghost would never render
itself visible to anybody but his daughter, it had no objection to
answer the questions that might be put to it, by any person
present, and that it expressed an affirmation by one knock, a
negative by two, and its displeasure by a kind of scratching. The
child was then put into bed along with her sister, and the
clergymen examined the bed and bed-clothes to satisfy themselves
that no trick was played, by knocking upon any substance concealed
among the clothes. As on the previous night, the bed was observed
to shake violently.

After some hours, during which they all waited with exemplary
patience, the mysterious knocking was heard in the wall, and the
child declared that she saw the ghost of poor Fanny. The following
questions were then gravely put by the clergyman, through the
medium of one Mary Frazer, the servant of Parsons, and to whom it
was said the deceased lady had been much attached. The answers
were in the usual fashion, by a knock or knocks:

"Do you make this disturbance on account of the ill usage you
received from Mr. Kent ?"—"Yes."

"Were you brought to an untimely end by poison ?"—"Yes."

"How was the poison administered, in beer or in purl ?"—"In purl."

"How long was that before your death?"—"About three hours."

"Can your former servant, Carrots, give any information about the
poison?"—"Yes."

"Are you Kent's wife's sister ?"—"Yes."

"Were you married to Kent after your sister's death?"—"No."

"Was anybody else, besides Kent, concerned in your murder?"—"No."

"Can you, if you like, appear visibly to anyone?"—"Yes."

"Will you do so?"—"Yes."

"Can you go out of this house?"—"Yes."

"Is it your intention to follow this child about
everywhere?"—"Yes."

"Are you pleased in being asked these questions?"—"Yes."

"Does it case your troubled soul?"—"Yes."

[Here there was heard a mysterious noise, which some wiseacre
present compared to the fluttering of wings.]

"How long before your death did you tell your servant, Carrots,
that you were poisoned?—An hour?"—"Yes."

[Carrots, who was present, was appealed to; but she stated
positively that such was not the fact, as the deceased was quite
speechless an hour before her death. This shook the faith of some
of the spectators, but the examination was allowed to continue.]

"How long did Carrots live with you?"—"Three or four days."

[Carrots was again appealed to, and said that this was true.]

"If Mr. Kent is arrested for this murder, will he confess?"—"Yes."

"Would your soul be at rest if he were hanged for it?"—"Yes."

"Will he be hanged for it?"—"Yes."

"How long a time first?"—"Three years."

"How many clergymen are there in this room?"—"Three."

"How many negroes?"—"Two."

"Is this watch (held up by one of the clergymen) white?"—"No."

"Is it yellow?"—"No."

"Is it blue?"—"No."

"Is it black?"—"Yes."

[The watch was in a black shagreen case.]

"At what time this morning will you take your departure?"

The answer to this question was four knocks, very distinctly heard
by every person present; and accordingly, at four o'clock
precisely, the ghost took its departure to the Wheatsheaf
public-house, close by, where it frightened mine host and his lady
almost out of their wits by knocking in the ceiling right above
their bed.

The rumour of these occurrences very soon spread over London, and
every day Cock Lane was rendered impassable by the crowds of
people who assembled around the house of the parish clerk, in
expectation of either seeing the ghost or of hearing the
mysterious knocks. It was at last found necessary, so clamorous
were they for admission within the haunted precincts, to admit
those only who would pay a certain fee, an arrangement which was
very convenient to the needy and money-loving Mr. Parsons. Indeed,
things had taken a turn greatly to his satisfaction; he not only
had his revenge, but he made a profit out of it. The ghost, in
consequence, played its antics every night, to the great amusement
of many hundreds of people and the great perplexity of a still
greater number.

Unhappily, however, for the parish clerk, the ghost was induced to
make some promises which were the means of utterly destroying its
reputation. It promised, in answer to the questions of the
Reverend Mr. Aldritch of Clerkenwell, that it would not only
follow the little Miss Parsons wherever she went, but would also
attend him, or any other gentleman, into the vault under St.
John's Church, where the body of the murdered woman was deposited,
and would there give notice of its presence by a distinct knock
upon the coffin. As a preliminary, the girl was conveyed to the
house of Mr. Aldritch near the church, where a large party of
ladies and gentlemen, eminent for their acquirements, their rank,
or their wealth, had assembled. About ten o'clock on the night of
the 1st of February, the girl having been brought from Cock Lane
in a coach, was put to bed by several ladies in the house of Mr.
Aldritch; a strict examination having been previously made that
nothing was hidden in the bedclothes. While the gentlemen,. in an
adjoining chamber, were deliberating whether they should proceed
in a body to the vault, they were summoned into the bedroom by the
ladies, who affirmed, in great alarm, that the ghost was come, and
that they heard the knocks and scratches. The gentlemen entered
accordingly, with a determination to suffer no deception. The
little girl, on being asked whether she saw the ghost, replied,
"No; but she felt it on her back like a mouse." She was then
required to put her hands out of bed, and they being held by some
of the ladies, the spirit was summoned in the usual manner to
answer, if it were in the room. The question was several times put
with great solemnity; but the customary knock was not heard in
reply in the walls, neither was there any scratching. The ghost
was then asked to render itself visible, but it did not choose to
grant the request. It was next solicited to give some token of its
presence by a sound of any sort, or by touching the hand or cheek
of any lady or gentleman in the room; but even with this request
the ghost would not comply.

There was now a considerable pause, and one of the clergymen went
downstairs to interrogate the father of the girl, who was waiting
the result of the experiment. He positively denied that there was
any deception, and even went so far as to say that he himself,
upon one occasion, had seen and conversed with the awful ghost.
This having been communicated to the company, it was unanimously
resolved to give the ghost another trial; and the clergyman called
out in a loud voice to the supposed spirit that the gentleman to
whom it had promised to appear in the vault, was about to repair
to that place, where he claimed the fulfilment of its promise. At
one hour after midnight they all proceeded to the church, and the
gentleman in question, with another, entered the vault alone, and
took up their position alongside of the coffin of poor Fanny. The
ghost was then summoned to appear, but it appeared not; it was
summoned to knock, but it knocked not; it was summoned to scratch,
but it scratched not; and the two retired from the vault, with the
firm belief that the whole business was a deception practised by
Parsons and his daughter. There were others, however, who did not
wish to jump so hastily to a conclusion, and who suggested that
they were, perhaps, trifling with this awful and supernatural
being, which, being offended with them for their presumption,
would not condescend to answer them. Again, after a serious
consultation, it was agreed on all hands that, if the ghost
answered anybody at all, it would answer Mr. Kent, the supposed
murderer; and he was accordingly requested to go down into the
vault. He went with several others, and summoned the ghost to
answer whether he had indeed poisoned her. There being no answer,
the question was put by Mr. Aldritch, who conjured it, if it were
indeed a spirit, to end their doubts-make a sign of its presence,
and point out the guilty person. There being still no answer for
the space of half an hour, during which time all these boobies
waited with the most praiseworthy perseverance, they returned to
the house of Mr. Aldritch, and ordered the girl to get up and
dress herself. She was strictly examined, but persisted in her
statement that she used no deception, and that the ghost had
really appeared to her.

So many persons had, by their openly expressed belief of the
reality of the visitation, identified themselves with it, that
Parsons and his family were far from being the only persons
interested in the continuance of the delusion. The result of the
experiment convinced most people; but these were not to be
convinced by any evidence, however positive, and they, therefore,
spread abroad the rumour, that the ghost had not appeared in the
vault because Mr. Kent had taken care beforehand to have the
coffin removed. That gentleman, whose position was a very painful
one, immediately procured competent witnesses, in whose presence
the vault was entered and the coffin of poor Fanny opened. Their
deposition was then published; and Mr. Kent indicted Parsons and
his wife, his daughter, Mary Frazer the servant, the Reverend Mr.
Moor, and a tradesman, two of the most prominent patrons of the
deception, for a conspiracy. The trial came on in the Court of
King's Bench, on the 10th of July, before Lord Chief-Justice
Mansfield, when, after an investigation which lasted twelve hours,
the whole of the conspirators were found guilty. The Reverend Mr.
Moor and his friend were severely reprimanded in open court, and
recommended to make some pecuniary compensation to the prosecutor
for the aspersions they had been instrumental in throwing upon his
character. Parsons was sentenced to stand three times in the
pillory, and to be imprisoned for two years: his wife to one
year's, and his servant to six months' imprisonment in the
Bridewell. A printer, who had been employed by them to publish an
account of the proceedings for their profit, was also fined fifty
pounds, and discharged.

The precise manner in which the deception was carried on has never
been explained. The knocking in the wall appears to have been the
work of Parsons' wife, while the scratching part of the business
was left to the little girl. That any contrivance so clumsy could
have deceived anybody, cannot fail to excite our wonder. But thus
it always is. If two or three persons can only be found to take
the lead in any absurdity, however great, there is sure to be
plenty of imitators. Like sheep in a field, if one clears the
stile, the rest will follow.

About ten years afterwards, London was again alarmed by the story
of a haunted house. Stockwell, near Vauxhall, the scene of the
antics of this new ghost, became almost as celebrated in the
annals of superstition as Cock Lane. Mrs. Golding, an elderly
lady, who resided alone with her servant, Anne Robinson, was
sorely surprised on the evening of Twelfth-Day, 1772, to observe a
most extraordinary commotion among her crockery. Cups and saucers
rattled down the chimney—pots and pans were whirled down stairs,
or through the windows; and hams, cheeses, and loaves of bread
disported themselves upon the floor as if the devil were in them.
This, at least, was the conclusion that Mrs. Golding came to; and
being greatly alarmed, she invited some of her neighbours to stay
with her, and protect her from the evil one. Their presence,
however, did not put a stop to the insurrection of china, and
every room in the house was in a short time strewed with the
fragments. The chairs and tables joined, at last, in the tumults,
and things looked altogether so serious and inexplicable, that the
neighbours, dreading that the house itself would next be seized
with a fit of motion, and tumble about their ears, left poor Mrs.
Golding to bear the brunt of it by herself. The ghost in this case
was solemnly remonstrated with, and urged to take its departure;
but the demolition continuing as great as before, Mrs. Golding
finally made up her mind to quit the house altogether. She took
refuge with Anne Robinson in the house of a neighbour; but his
glass and crockery being immediately subjected to the same
persecution, he was reluctantly compelled to give her notice to
quit. The old lady thus forced back to her own house, endured the
disturbance for some days longer, when suspecting that Anne
Robinson was the cause of all the mischief, she dismissed her from
her service. The extraordinary appearances immediately ceased, and
were never afterwards renewed; a fact which is of itself
sufficient to point out the real disturber. A long time
afterwards, Anne Robinson confessed the whole matter to the
Reverend Mr. Bray field. This gentleman confided the story to Mr.
Hone, who has published an explanation of the mystery. Anne, it
appears, was anxious to have a clear house, to carry on an
intrigue with her lover, and resorted to this trick to effect her
purpose. She placed the china on the shelves in such a manner that
it fell on the slightest motion, and attached horse-hairs to other
articles, so that she could jerk them down from an adjoining room
without being perceived by any one. She was exceedingly dexterous
at this sort of work, and would have proved a formidable rival to
many a juggler by profession. A full explanation of the whole
affair may be found in the Every-day Book.

The latest instance of the popular panic occasioned by a house
supposed to be haunted, occurred in Scotland, in the winter of the
year 1838. On the 5th of December, the inmates of the farm-house
of Baldarroch, in the district of Banchory, Aberdeenshire, were
alarmed by observing a great number of sticks, pebble-stones, and
clods of earth flying about their yard and premises. They
endeavoured, but in vain, to discover who was the delinquent; and
the shower of stones continuing for five days in succession, they
came at last to the conclusion that the devil and his imps were
alone the cause of it. The rumour soon spread over all that part
of the country, and hundreds of persons came from far and near to
witness the antics of the devils of Baldarroch. After the fifth
day, the shower of clods and stones ceased on the outside of the
premises, and the scene shifted to the interior. Spoons, knives,
plates, mustard-pots, rolling-pins, and flat-irons appeared
suddenly endued with the power of self-motion, and were whirled
from room to room, and rattled down the chimneys in a manner which
nobody could account for. The lid of a mustard-pot was put into a
cupboard by the servant-girl in the presence of scores of people,
and in a few minutes afterwards came bouncing down the chimney to
the consternation of everybody. There was also a tremendous
knocking at the doors and on the roof, and pieces of stick and
pebble-stones rattled against the windows and broke them. The
whole neighbourhood was a scene of alarm; and not only the vulgar,
but persons of education, respectable farmers, within a circle of
twenty miles, expressed their belief in the supernatural character
of these events, and offered up devout prayers to be preserved
from the machinations of the Evil One. The note of fear being once
sounded, the visiters, as is generally the case in all tales of
wonder, strove with each other who should witness the most
extraordinary occurrences; and within a week, it was generally
believed in the parishes of Banchory-Ternan, Drumoak, Durris,
Kincardine-O'Neil, and all the circumjacent districts of Mearns
and Aberdeenshire, that the devil had been seen in the act of
hammering upon the house-top of Baldarroch. One old man asserted
positively that, one night, after having been to see the strange
gambols of the knives and mustard-pots, he met the phantom of a
great black man, "who wheeled round his head with a whizzing
noise, making a wind about his ears that almost blew his bonnet
off," and that he was haunted by him in this manner for three
miles. It was also affirmed and believed, that all horses and dogs
that approached this enchanted ground, were immediately
affected—that a gentleman, slow of faith, had been cured of his
incredulity by meeting the butter-churn jumping in at the door as
he himself was going out—that the roofs of houses had been torn
off, and that several ricks in the corn-yard had danced a
quadrille together, to the sound of the devil's bagpipes
re-echoing from the mountain-tops. The women in the family of the
persecuted farmer of Baldarroch also kept their tongues in
perpetual motion; swelling with their strange stories the tide of
popular wonder. The good wife herself, and all her servants, said
that, whenever they went to bed, they were attacked with stones
and other missiles, some of which came below the blankets and
gently tapped their toes. One evening, a shoe suddenly darted
across a garret where some labourers were sitting, and one of the
men, who attempted to catch it, swore positively that it was so
hot and heavy he was unable to hold it. It was also said that the
bearbeater (a sort of mortar used to bruise barley in)—an object
of such weight that it requires several men to move
it—spontaneously left the barn and flew over the house-top,
alighting at the feet of one of the servant maids, and hitting
her, but without hurting her in the least, or even causing her any
alarm; it being a fact well known to her, that all objects thus
thrown about by the devil lost their specific gravity, and could
harm nobody, even though they fell upon a person's head.

Among the persons drawn to Baldarroch by these occurrences were
the heritor, the minister, and all the elders of the Kirk, under
whose superintendence an investigation was immediately commenced.
Their proceedings were not promulgated for some days; and, in the
mean time, rumour continued to travel through all the Highlands,
magnifying each mysterious incident the further it got from home.
It was said, that when the goodwife put her potato-pot on the
fire, each potato, as the water boiled, changed into a demon, and
grinned horribly at her as she lifted the lid; that not only
chairs and tables, but carrots and turnips, skipped along the
floor in the merriest manner imaginable; that shoes and boots went
through all the evolutions of the Highland fling without any
visible wearers directing their motions; and that a piece of meat
detached itself from the hook on which it hung in the pantry, and
placed itself before the fire, whence all the efforts of the
people of the house were unable to remove it until it was
thoroughly roasted; and that it then flew up the chimney with a
tremendous bang. At Baldarroch itself the belief was not quite so
extravagant; but the farmer was so convinced that the devil and
his imps were alone the cause of all the disturbance, that he
travelled a distance of forty miles to an old conjuror, named
Willie Foreman, to induce him, for a handsome fee, to remove the
enchantment from his property. There were, of course, some
sensible and educated people, who, after stripping the stories
circulated of their exaggeration, attributed all the rest to one
or other of two causes; first, that some gipsies, or strolling
mendicants, hidden in the neighbouring plantation, were amusing
themselves by working on the credulity of the country people; or,
secondly, that the inmates of Baldarroch carried on this deception
themselves, for some reason or other, which was not very clear to
anybody. The last opinion gained but few believers, as the farmer
and his family were much respected; and so many persons had, in
the most open manner, expressed their belief in the supernatural
agency, that they did not like to stultify themselves by
confessing that they had been deceived.

At last, after a fortnight's continuance of the noises, the whole
trick was discovered. The two servant lasses were strictly
examined, and then committed to prison. It appeared that they were
alone at the bottom of the whole affair, and that the
extraordinary alarm and credulity of their master and mistress, in
the first instance, and of the neighbours and country people
afterwards, made their task comparatively easy. A little common
dexterity was all they had used; and, being themselves
unsuspected, they swelled the alarm by the wonderful stories they
invented. It was they who loosened the bricks in the chimneys, and
placed the dishes in such a manner on the shelves, that they fell
on the slightest motion. In short, they played the same tricks as
those used by the servant girl at Stockwell, with the same
results, and for the same purpose—the gratification of a love of
mischief. They were no sooner secured in the county gaol than the
noises ceased, and most people were convinced that human agency
alone had worked all the wonder. Some few of the most devoutly
superstitious still held out in their first belief, and refused to
listen to any explanation.

These tales of haunted houses, especially those of the last and
present century, however they may make us blush for popular folly,
are yet gratifying in their results; for they show that society
has made a vast improvement. Had Parsons and his wife, and the
other contrivers of the Cock Lane deception, lived two hundred
years earlier, they would not, perhaps, have found a greater
number of dupes, but they would have been hanged as witches,
instead of being imprisoned as vagabonds. The ingenious Anne
Robinson and the sly lasses of Baldarroch would, doubtless, have
met a similar fate. Thus it is pleasant to reflect, that though
there may be as much folly and credulity in the world as ever, in
one class of society, there is more wisdom and mercy in another
than ever were known before. Lawgivers, by blotting from the
statute-book the absurd or sanguinary enactments of their
predecessors, have made one step towards teaching the people. It
is to be hoped that the day is not far distant when lawgivers will
teach the people by some more direct means, and prevent the
recurrence of delusions like these, and many worse, which might be
cited, by securing to every child born within their dominions an
education in accordance with the advancing state of civilization.
If ghosts and witches are not yet altogether exploded, it is the
fault, not so much of the ignorant people, as of the law and the
government that have neglected to enlighten them.