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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
which resemble the heads of certain clumsily-carved walking-sticks,
or tobacco-stoppers, in which a fixed smile relaxes (by the mere
comicality of its brisk and vulgar self-satisfaction) the muscles of the
beholders. Mr. W. seemed to smile eternally at himself, and the smile
was so contagious, that few could look at him without laughing.
It is also necessary towards understanding what is to follow, that I
should touch a little on the progress of this great man to the
mercantile eminence which he afterwards (whether by means of the
Cat or not) attained.
It is known that the Kings of England have a private, or rather a
notoriously public, mark, whereby they distinguish their property,
known to the initiated as the King's Broad Arrow, but vulgarly called
the King's Broad R. This mark is held up by all "dealers in marine
stores" of these our days to their children as the Scylla of their
voyage through life. They are taught never to purloin (if there be
any other within reach) any timber, thick stuff, or plank, or iron or
copper bolts, belaying-pins, gudgeons, stauncheons, fastenings or
sheathing, or any other article having on or about it the King's Broad
Arrow by "stamp, brand, or otherwise," and carefully to abstain (as
far as possible) from meddling with any cordage of three inches and
upwards wrought with a white thread the contrary way (which
thread is improperly called the rogue's yarn) or any canvas wrought
or unwrought with a blue streak in the middle; or any bewper
wrought with one or more streaks of raised white tape, as they
believe in and fear the 22 Charles II., cap. 5; the 9 and 10 William
III., cap. 41; 9 George I., cap. 8; 17 George II., cap. 40; 39 and 40
George III., cap. 89, sects. 5 and 6 most especially.[32]
Unfortunately, Mr. Whittington early in life formed an intimacy with
a man whose name was Joshua, who, for want of proper tuition, had
fallen foul, not exactly of the above-named statutes (inasmuch as
they were enacted long after his demise, and were therefore, strictly
speaking, not applicable to him) but of sundry others, partly
confirmed and partly repealed by the 31 of Elizabeth, cap. 4, which
unfortunately affected him, since he was detected in the fact of
adapting to his own use sundry marked articles appertaining to our
then liege sovereign, Edward I. This Joshua was of a very low origin,
and was ironically called Joshua the son of none, never having an
ostensible father or mother; to which untoward circumstance may be
charitably attributed the errors into which he was occasionally
betrayed. The first notion of property which a child receives, is from
being told, I am your parent; you are my son; this is your milk; that
is his bread. The poor innocent who does not receive this early
instruction is naturally deficient in this particular; whence it happens
that such persons are generally found rather lax in their principles of
meum and tuum to the end of their lives; which, however, by an
equal dispensation of Providence, are usually shortened by a special
interposition of the law.
Matthew's affection, we are led to believe, was less for this man's
qualities than for his property; and with that characteristic prudence
injuriously called cunning, he resolved to live on good terms with
him, so that, although he should never run the risk of engaging
actively in the acquirement of capital, he might (knowing how bare
of branches Joshua's family tree was) at some future period get
possession of whatever this receiver-general might have
accumulated: indeed, while quite a lad he continually used to say
when shewing Joshua's cellars full of iron to any acquaintance—"I
consider that one day or other these will all be mine, Sir;" and so
eventually they were.
It was in allusion to these hoards, and the means and times by
which they were collected, that in the quaint biblical facetiousness of
that age it used to be observed, that if Joshua of old had known
how to do his business by night, as well as his modern namesake,
he need not have desired the sun to stand still; a witticism which
Speed records with great delight.
It is after this era in Matthew's life that all the writers are puzzled;
it has been ascertained that he was apprenticed to a trade, but what
that trade was, or what affinity it bore to the traffic he subsequently
carried on, nobody has yet decided. The incident which drove him
from his master's house was, as is generally allowed, a beating (or
more technically speaking a basting) which the kitchen wench gave
him as a punishment for purloining a sop in the pan, a mode of
acquiring, to which his admiration of Joshua's proceedings had
probably given him a turn.
It is also added, that Whittington had a sneaking kindness, or
what is politely called a tendre for the housemaid of the family, who
espoused his cause in this very quarrel, and that he never ceased to
retain a feeling of gratitude towards one of his fellow-servants
commensurate with his just animosity towards the other.
There is a probability on the face of this fact, which is opposed to
the story of his attachment to Miss Alice Fitzwarren, his master's
daughter. Affections or antipathies formed in youth, and nurtured
through life, always manifest themselves in the more marked
peculiarities of age, and certain it is that Mr. Whittington when in
very different circumstances, maintained his rooted dislike to a Cook,
while his favourite remembrance of the housemaid's kindness
evinced itself in the respect he openly professed for a Broom,
(however cracked or crazy it might be) wherever he saw one.
Having thus selected such preliminary observations as were
necessary by way of introduction in the nature of prolegomena, I
now approach with equal awe and interest to the main point, which
is, as I said before, to ascertain what the Cat was by which
Whittington made himself to be so well remembered, and which is
inseparable from him in history and imagination. Who thinks of
Whittington without thinking of a Cat? Who with any love of sacred
antiquity can see a Cat without thinking of Whittington?
An English author records a speech made by a very erudite
orientalist and profound scholar, at a meeting of the Society of
Antiquarians, which was preserved in the minutes of that society,
through the generous care of Mr. S. Foote, and which I am enabled
to lay before my readers, by the favour of Sir Richard Phillips, who,
for the trifling sum of fifteen shillings, obliged me with the works of
that eminent Grecian, for so I presume he was, from his having
acquired the surname of Aristophanes.
"Permit me," says the orator, "to clear up some doubts relative to
a material and interesting point of the English History. Let others toil
to illumine the dark annals of Greece and Rome; my searches are
sacred only to the service of Britain.
"That Whittington lived, no doubt can be made; that he was Lord
Mayor of London, is equally true; but—as to his Cat—that,
gentlemen, is the Gordian knot to untie—and here, gentlemen, be it
permitted to me to define what a Cat is—a Cat is a domestic,
whiskered, four-footed animal, whose employment is catching of
mice; but let a Cat have been ever so subtle, ever so successful, to
what could her captures amount?—no tanner could curry the skin of
a mouse—no family could make a meal of the meat—consequently,
no Cat could give Whittington his wealth—from whence does the
error proceed? Be that my care to point out.
"The commerce this wealthy merchant carried on, was chiefly
confined to our coasts—for this purpose, he constructed a vessel,
which, from its aptness and lightness, he christened a Cat; nay,
gentlemen, to this day—all our coals are imported from Newcastle in
nothing but Cats—from thence it appears that it was not the
whiskered, four-footed—mouse-killing Cat—but the coasting, sailing,
carrying Cat—that, gentlemen, was Whittington's Cat."
Vide opera omnia Sam. Foot. Tit. Nabob.——
I cannot, however, consent in this instance to judge "ex pede
Herculem." However ingenious this learned gentleman's view of the
case may be, we are upon one particular decidedly at issue; and I
think I shall be able to shew, that Whittington not only did not derive
his wealth from the renowned Cat, but that the Cat was the ultimate
cause of his ruin.
One writer, (Ibbotson on Quadrupeds, vol. viii. p. 381,) says, that
"Shee was no other than a female of highe ranke and singular kinde
harte, who for that shee had a feline dysposition myghtelie affected
Masterre Whyttingtone"—"which mistake in the orthography," says
my learned friend Backhouse (who seldom errs), "feline being put
for feeling—has deluded many into the belief, that it was in truth a
four-footed, whiskered, mouse-catching Cat." This ingenious
conjecture is supported by the other obvious errors of the same
nature in loc. citat. and not a little validated by a curious ballad of
the times, which is to be found at this moment in the British
Museum (Messalina 2.) and of which I subjoin a copy:—

ANN EXCEEDINGE, EXACTE, AND EXCELLENTE GOODE BALLADE, WRITTEN BY MEE GEOFFRY LYDGATE,
UPONNE MASTERRE WHYTTINGTONE HYS CATTE.
Yee Cytyzens of Lundun toune,
Ande Wyves so faire and fatte,
Beholde a gueste of high renoune!
Grete Whyttingtone hys Catte!

Ye kynge hathe ynn hys towre off state

Beares, lyones and alle thatte;
But hee hathe notte a beste soe grate
Ass Whyttingtone hys Catte!

This Catte dothe notte a catte appear,

Beeynge toe bigge forre thatte,
But herre attendaunts alle doe weare
Some tokyn off a Catte;

Ye one hathe whyskerres, thick ass burrs,

Moste comelye toe looke atte:—
Anoder weares a gowne of furrs,
Ye lyverye off ye Catte!

Shee dothe notte creepe along ye floores,

But standes or else lyes flatte:
Whyles they must gambole onne all fours
Whoe wyshe to please ye Catte!

A conynge monkeye off ye lawe,

Ass bye ye fyre he satte,
Toe pick hiys nuts oute, used ye pawe
Off Whyttingtone hys Catte!

But Whyttingtone discovered playne

Whatte this vyle ape was atte;
Whoe fayledde thus hys nuttes toe gayne,
And onely synged ye Catte.

Thenne Whyttingtone ynn gorgeous state,

Syttynge wythoute his hatte,
Broughte toe hys house atte Grovner-gate
Thys moste yllustrious Catte.

She ys so graciouse and soe tame

Alle menne may strooke and patte;
But yt ys sayde, norre mayde norre dame,
Have dared toe see thatte Catte
 Have dared toe see thatte Catte.

Fulle hugelye gladde she seemeth, whenne

They brynge herre a grete ratte,
But styll moe gladde atte katchynge menne
Ys Whyttingtone hys Catte.

A Catte, they saye, maye watche a kynge;

Ye apotheme ys patte;
Ye converse is a differente thynge:
Noe kynge maye watche thys Catte.

Thenne take, eache manne, hys scarlate goune,

Ande eke hys velvette hatte,
And humblye wellcome yntoe toune
Grete Whyttingtone his Catte.

This undoubtedly original and authentic document will be of vast

use in elucidating many of our difficulties, as I shall hereafter
abundantly observe; it is here only quoted in the order of proofs, as
supporting Mr. Backhouse's most acute conjecture; which is also
greatly strengthened by that profound scholar Mr. Hallam, in his
"History of the Middle Ages," who, however, gives a different and
more classical ground for the vulgar error——"This great Lady," he
says, "was Catta; that is, a German, one of the people called Catti,
who inhabited that part of the ancient Germania now called the
Duchy of Brunswick."
In opposition to all these opinions, Doctor Snodgrass (whose
copious history of the interior of Africa, and genealogy of the kings
of Gambia, sufficiently, as the modest Mr. Bowdich[33] justly
observes, stamp his merits) inclines to think that a person of
Matthew's original habits never could have been thrown into the
society of any lady of high rank, who had a regard for her character
or respectability. He treats the hypothesis of the Cattean Lady with
great contempt, considers the authority of the ballad as trivial and
obscure; and maintains with all that power of argument, so
characteristic of his works, that it was a bona-fide Cat, on which
Whittington's hopes at one particular period were placed, but which
had no connexion whatever with his pecuniary affairs, and which
hopes were moreover in the sequel frustrated.
A more ancient writer still ("Prendergast on Sorcery") makes an
assertion which at once confirms and refutes all that has been
advanced by my two learned friends, for he distinctly states, that,
that which rendered Whittington famous, was both a Cat and an
illustrious Lady. Not, indeed, at the same time; but that, being
endowed with magical potency, she was competent to assume both
forms at pleasure, displaying either the savage temper of the
quadruped, or the winning softness of her lovely sex, as best suited
her purpose.
The same author says, that while under the appearance of a
human being she was capable of performing what in those days
passed for miracles; at one time metamorphosing menials and
washer-women into Lords and Ladies; causing unknown and
portentous stars to appear, and changing by "arte magicale" white
into black, and black into white. He also more fully explains in the
same way, the strange facts alluded to in the ballad, of her putting
off at pleasure the form of a cat, and transforming the several feline
attributes and appearances to her followers; giving to one
supernatural whiskers; to another, a covering of fur; to a third, eyes
that can see best in the dark; to a fourth, the faculty of falling on his
legs, whatever may happen, and so forth.
We now live in an incredulous age, and it is not for me to decide
whether magical interferences with the ordinary course of nature are
to be believed or not. I would rather refer the curious reader to the
Dæmonologia of the royal and erudite James; for my part, I neither
wholly reject, nor wholly admit, the multitudinous affirmative
evidences, which all histories of all countries, in all ages, afford on
this subject; but I may be allowed to say in support of Prendergast's
hypothesis, that this change of form has, it appears, been by no
means uncommon. Le Père Jacques d'Autun says, "Baram Roi de
Bulgaire prenoit par ses prestiges la figure d'un loup ou d'un autre
animal;" and Job Fincel mentions that, "on attrapa un jour un loup
garou qui courait dans les Rues de Padoue: on lui coupa ses pates
de loup et il reprit au même instant la forme d'homme—mais avec
les bras et les pieds coupés." These are staggering authorities![34]
I must regret that Prendergast has not explained the origin, so
obscurely hinted at in the ballad, of Whittington's connexion with the
Cat; but it is at the same time a satisfaction to think, that by the use
of the words "would," "could," and "should,"—"likely," "possibly,"
"probably," and "naturally," "fancy," "research," "inquiry," and "no
doubt," (the use of which is so admirably displayed by Mr. Godwin,) I
may be enabled to throw some light—lucem dare ex fumo—on
several dark parts of this difficult subject.
It can easily be imagined that Whittington, who, with a truly
philanthropic disposition, possessed a mind scantily cultivated, would
naturally have a turn for the marvellous—indeed, the preternatural
interference of the bells of Bow steeple (of which a published life of
our hero says, there were then but six),[35] with his destiny and the
good fortune resulting from their suggestion, may naturally be
supposed to have favoured his predisposition for the miraculous; and
therefore when he heard from various sources the stories which
were related of the wonderful enchantress in foreign parts, he was
animated and delighted, and having more taste for female beauty
than knowledge of his native language, was persuaded she was not
only the most ill-used personage, but the most lovely woman on
earth, from hearing that,—

"She was a Charmer, and could almost read

The thoughts of people"——[36]

Prendergast indeed goes so far as to hint, that Whittington

himself, from the rapid acquirement of his wealth, lay under the
imputation of sorcery, and that he aimed at the attainment of some
secrets from the Enchantress to carry on his schemes, which was the
chief cause of his devotion to her. The same author says, that he
was taxed with concocting a liquor made from noxious weeds and
deadly herbs, with which he was enabled to steal away men's
senses, and lead them according to his will; but I must be allowed to
doubt the truth of this charge,—it seems to be a vulgar revival of the
old story of Circe. Looking at the events of his life, there appears to
me abundant proof that Matthew was no conjuror.
That Prendergast may have been a victim to superstition I will not
deny—that he wrote in the full belief of the lady's preternatural
powers is evident; but it is only justice to his historical veracity to
say, that in all his commendations of her merits, he falls far short of
a French author, the Marquis de St. Cas, who was one of the
favourites of Margaret de Valois, the repudiated wife of Henry the
IVth, and who wrote a History of a Cat, which has hitherto been
mistakenly supposed to be a covert defence of the scandalous life of
that lascivious princess; but which, as it now appears, is a sober and
discreet history of Whittington's Cat.
One singular and interesting fact to be ascertained from this work,
which, let us observe, was not written above two hundred years
after the time, and is therefore entitled to great credit on the score
of tradition, is, that the French most indubitably allude to the
Enchantress we are now treating of, in their celebrated history of
The White Cat, which indeed to me appears little other than a
version of Whittington's adventures, the English origin of which, that
vain and disingenuous people have as carefully suppressed as they
since have that of the guillotine—wash-hand basons—the steam
engine—snaffle bridles, and the telegraph.[37]
In the Marquis's book may be found recorded the exaggerated
accounts of the Enchantress, which were zealously circulated in her
own times by the French, and which inflamed and animated
Matthew; St. Cas most gallantly repeats (as if he believed) all the
praises which his forefathers had lavished upon her, and pictures her
as the most fascinating being on earth, so condescending in her
manners that the lowest orders of society were more readily
admitted to her confidence and acquaintance than those of noble
birth and superior qualifications, and of a disposition so forgiving,
that if she could anyhow light upon men (no matter who) who had
been the creatures and favoured followers of any person or family
who from time immemorial had been the bitterest enemies of her
house and the country she most loved, these were the particular
objects of her care and protection—for those were all her powers
exerted, the magic of all her charms displayed. This predilection for
the destroyers of her relations, the Marquis adduces as one of the
most amiable traits of "La belle Sorcière."
And here again we are presented with a confirmation of Mr.
Backhouse's hypothesis, that all the vulgar mistaken notions about
this great lady are occasioned by errors of the press; for in the first
edition of St. Cas (Lyons, 1609) the word sorcière is printed
souricière, which means, as the learned reader well knows, "a
mouse-catcher."
Perhaps, however, the printer may not be wholly to blame on this
point, inasmuch as the Marquis himself distinctly alludes to her
having assumed the form of a Cat, which he seems to consider a
state of honour—"The Cat," says he, "is a privileged animal;" and
then proceeds to narrate the following story in support of his
assertion:—
"Mahomet avoit beaucoup d'égards pour son Chat.—Ce vénérable
animal s'était un jour couché sur la manche pendante de la veste du
Prophète, et semblait y mediter si profondément que Mahomet
pressé de se rendre à la Prière, et n'osant le tirer de son extase,
coupa la manche de sa veste. A son retour, il trouva son chat qui
revenait de son assoupissement extatique, et que s'appercevant de
l'attention de son maître à la vue de la manche coupée, se leva,
pour lui faire la revérénce, dressa la queue, et plia le dos en arc,
pour lui témoigner plus de respect. Mahomet qui comprit à merveille
ce que cela signifiait, assura au saint homme de chat une place dans
son Paradis. Ensuite lui passant trois fois la main sur le dos, il lui
imprima, par cet attouchement, la vertu de ne jamais tomber que
sur ses pates."
 Hence the Marquis argues, that his favourite Enchantress did by
no means degrade or bemean herself by the abandonment of her
character as a woman, if it were to answer any sufficient purpose
she assumed that of a Cat.
The accounts which tradition brought down to the Marquis's time,
and has even to our own, would naturally have spread from mouth
to mouth all through Europe, at the time when facts so surprising
occurred; and Whittington was one of those men who are disposed
to believe every thing they do not rightly comprehend, the
consequence of which disposition was his almost boundless credulity,
and after inflaming his mind with the descriptions of the
Enchantress, and the implied restraint under which she laboured, he
resolved (from what motive nobody has completely succeeded in
discovering) to induce her to visit England.
It is concluded, that a desire for notoriety had no weight with him
in this resolution, for never did any man of his time shrink from the
applause of the vulgar with such delicate sensibility as Whittington.
Hearing his own name spoken aloud in the streets, caused him the
greatest uneasiness, and he was moved to anger if any wandering
minstrels who were singing his praises, chanced to pass near his
residence.
This is stated by Ibbotson (before quoted), and is highly
satisfactory, inasmuch as the general impression upon the minds of
all those versed in the history, was that most of the little songs of
which he was the hero were written either in his house or at least at
his suggestion. The friend who favoured me with the copy of the
ballad quoted above has furnished me with two stanzas of another,
which he found in the same volume, and which proves that
Ibbotson's account of Matthew's modesty is perfectly just, for his
indifference about, not to say dislike to, popularity (as it is called)
was so strong, that such of his partisans as chose to celebrate him in
poetry were, in compliance with his scrupulous wishes, compelled to
designate him by the initials of his name.
 Serche Englonde round, naye all the Erthe,
Itte myghtelie would trouble you
To find a manne so ryche in worthe,
As honest Matthewe W.

He's notte thee manne to doe you wronge,

Nor wyth false speeeches bubble you.
Whyle Beef grows fatte, and Beer grows strong
Long lyfe to Matthewe W.

With this proof of his retiring disposition we are the more puzzled
in looking at his conduct with respect to the Great Lady, because
really, if we had not such powerful evidence as Ibbotson and others
have adduced, one could hardly fancy any other incitement to her
introduction into the country, than an officious desire to be meddling
with things which did not at all concern him, for the mere sake of
creating a sensation, of withdrawing the attention of his countrymen
from the pursuit of their occupations, to the idle speculation of star-
gazing and conjuring, and, in short, of making himself at any rate
the Hero of a Story, by which his name might go down to posterity.
In this he has certainly succeeded; but the price he has paid for
notoriety appears (considering how he disliked it) to have been
rather high.
One circumstance has been mentioned, as having probably given
his disposition a turn, which is this: the Countess of Mountfort, or as
she is called, Jane of Flanders, had visited England about five or six
years before the period at which Whittington undertook his
renowned expedition. This extraordinary woman, roused by the
captivity of a husband to whom she was faithfully attached, had
quitted the confined circle of domestic life, to which she was an
ornament, and risked everything in the cause of her beloved Count:
her party, however (spite of her personal success), declining on
every side, she came to London, to solicit succours from the King of
England, and to the reception she met with from the populace, and
the praises bestowed on Sir Walter Manny, who suggested her
appeal to the British Court, is by very many persons attributed the
anxiety of Whittington to introduce his Cat or lady to the notice of
the people.
But a much more probable account is suggested by the old ballad,
and indeed countenanced by other authorities, namely, that a certain
knavish lawyer who had, by some means, now unknown, and
probably at no time very avowable, got about the Cat, and became
intimately connected with all her secrets and mysteries whatever
they were, had contrived to get the Cat into a bag, and so far from
letting her out of the bag, as she and her followers no doubt
expected, he is supposed to have formed the base design of selling
the Cat to her enemies.
This account would naturally rouse the indignation of a man, even
less high-minded than the illustrious Whittington, who combining,
like many modern citizens, generosity with an eye to profit, justly
considered that if the Cat were worth anything, he might as well
have the gain as the lawyer; and with this magnanimous intention
he resolved to get possession of the Cat. Not very much, it would
appear, knowing or caring, in the blindness of his enthusiasm,
whether she was a Cat or a witch; a great lady, or the devil.
What she really was, appeared afterwards, when the bag came to
be opened.[38]
The zealous desire of possessing at all events this demi-human
personage, made Whittington quite careless of the consequences of
his blind bargain. He anticipated advantages to himself from
exhibiting her, which (probably from the apprehension of being
laughed at) he never ventured to mention to his nearest friends; a
gentle hint on the subject thrown out to his better and bigger half,
was received by her with all the rapture one might expect an
obscure person to express at the prospect of becoming notorious;
for though certain it is that Matthew's views and desires throughout
the whole business were untinctured by the smallest wish for éclat
or distinction, we are not prepared to say that his wife might not
have cast a longing eye towards the Enchantress's banquets and
gaieties, of which such splendid accounts had been given, or that
her ambition (for these sort of people are ambitious in their sphere)
might not have led her to hope that by the aid of the great lady's
magic, her daughter (who had been some time on hand) might
attain such an accession either of real property or personal
attraction, as might get her respectably established in life.
For the means of carrying his plan into execution quietly and
securely, Matthew had recourse to a stratagem, which, although,
under the circumstances, perfectly fair, to him was eminently
distressing, for the exquisite sensibility with which he shrunk from
anything like disguise—equivocation—mis-statement, or deviation
from the plain fact, had obtained for him the appellation of honest
Whittington; and to maintain his claim to that honourable distinction,
was the constant effort of his life.
The stratagem which he adopted is stated to have been this:—It
will be recollected, that at the period of which we treat, the staple of
wool, leather, and lead was fixed at Calais whither all foreigners
were specially invited to traffic, and whence no English merchant
was permitted to export English goods. The intercourse between this
port and Dover at the first institution of this mart was frequent and
general. Thither went Whittington as on a mercantile speculation.
In the various histories of our hero considerable confusion appears
to have arisen at this point. The majority of the innumerable
authorities which I have quoted in my large work, I think bear me
out in declaring that Whittington actually saw his commodity before
he brought it to England, and that it assumed the appearance of a
woman in order to deceive him.
The difficulty of deciding arises from the improbability that a great
lady should so suddenly have abandoned the guidance of her
counsellors, who (as they were paid for it) were bound to give her
proper advice, and put herself under the care of a "feu Lord Maire;"
but that difficulty is met by the consideration that Matthew's
eloquence was very celebrated in his day, and that, as his mind was
set upon bringing over the prodigy, he doubtlessly exerted its whole
force and energy in representing to her the respectability which
would infallibly attach itself to her through the rest of her life, from
the circumstance of her having been brought into the capital of
England under the immediate protection of a man renowned as he
was both in his mercantile and political character, and whose
important station in the country was so well suited to the
introduction of such a personage.
Add to his arguments, his conduct on the occasion; and our
surprise at her complying with his wishes will be materially
diminished. Could a woman of sense and feeling refuse to throw
herself into the care of the man, who, with that wonderful intrepidity
and almost incredible presence of mind, which obtained for him the
appellation of the brave Whittington, ventured his existence for
upwards of three hours and a half upon the water, and undertook a
voyage of nearly thirty-two miles (starting late in the evening), in a
vessel of not more than one hundred and seventy tons burthen, for
her sake! an enterprise which, though in these enlightened days we
might be inclined to ridicule, was in those times considered the most
surprisingly valorous feat ever compassed by an Alderman.[39]
As for the Cat, whatever shape she took (and there can be little
doubt, as my readers will hereafter see, which form she really did
assume), she suffered not much from the effects of the water
carriage. She had been a great traveller in her time, and, amongst
other good company into which she had fallen during her
progresses, had been admitted into the Serail at Algiers, where,
according to an old poem, it appears, she

"Passed herre tyme amydst ye throng,

As happie as ye deye was long."[40]

Nevertheless, Whittington, after he had been in her society for a

short time, began to doubt (as well he might) her supernatural
powers. He argued, from a knowledge of the sex's little weaknesses,
that if she had had the ability to have assumed any form she had
chosen, she doubtlessly would have adopted a more agreeable one
than that which she actually appeared under; but then, on the other
hand, he contended with himself, that by as much as her real claims
upon notice and attention were weak and groundless, by so much
must her magic be potent, for that unless the Devil himself had
taken possession of the rabble (at her instigation) they never could
have seen anything to admire or respect about her.
Still, however, with that good taste so perceptible in all his
conduct, Matthew, in order to keep up the dignity of his
Enchantress, and to induce spectators to respect her, never ventured
to approach her without the most marked actions of humility, never
would be covered in her presence, nor treat her with less deference
than though she had been a queen.[41]
The more Matthew began to doubt her powers, and to suspect he
had been in some sort duped, the more he raved about the excellent
qualities of his great Lady—Penthesilea, with all her "magna virtutis
documenta" at her back, was not fit to be named in the same day
with her. Berenice, Camilla, Zenobia, Valasca the Bohemian, or
Amelasunta, queen of the Ostrogoths, had neither fortitude, nor
temperance, nor chastity, nor any good qualities to put in
competition with hers. And as for the modern ladies, your Laura
Bossis or Victoria Accarambonis, or even the renowned Donna Maria
Pacheco, Bianca Hedwig, Lady of Duke Henry the beardy of Ligniz,
they would have been considered the small fry, the mere white-bait
of the sex, compared with Whittington's Enchantress.[42] Matthew
daily grew more and more uneasy about his charge: instead of
aspiring to dignity, or performing any of those astonishing feats
which he expected, she appeared addicted to vulgar habits and
coarse pleasures, attracted no respectable admirers, and passed her
time in obscure corners, choosing either woods or barns for her
lurking-places, to which she was followed only by the very lowest of
the rabble.
It was a matter of delicacy with Matthew not to hint that he
should be glad to see some proof of her powers, for by the murmurs
which he heard, in bettermost life, he apprehended that the
Legislature would interfere, in order to put a stop to her imposition.
Matthew now stood in a very awkward situation: he had brought
an unwelcome object into England, contrary to the advice of all
those about her, and in direct opposition to the feelings of all the
respectable part of the community, and had, in fact, drawn himself
into the disagreeable certainty of being wrong under all
circumstances.
If she really were what he boasted her to be, he was amenable to
the laws, which, as Blackstone says, both before and since the
Conquest, have been equally severe, ranking the crime of sorcery
and of those who consult sorcerers in the same class with heresy,
and condemning both to the flames. If she were not, he had foisted
a deception upon the mob, which they never would forgive.
This he knew, and therefore felt his full share of agreeable
sensations arising from the alternative, which presented itself of
being burned alive in one case, and universally laughed at in the
other; not but that it must be allowed that Mr. W. possessed
amongst other characteristics of fortitude, a surprisingly stoical
callousness to ridicule.
His apprehensions about the interference of the Legislature were
by no means groundless. It was evidently necessary to open the
eyes of the country to the flagrant imposition which was carrying on,
and to which poor Whittington most innocently and unintentionally
had made himself a party. The brave man, however, began to feel a
few fears, which had hitherto been strangers to his great heart:
testimonies of his enchantress's charlatanerie were forthcoming from
every quarter, of which she was perfectly aware, but advised
Matthew to put a good face upon the matter and brave it out,
assuring him, that if it came to evidence, she could produce a great
many more witnesses of her innocence than her opponents could
bring forward of her guilt.
 This mode of exculpation has been recorded by a very popular
writer of much later days.[43] He relates an anecdote where a
murder was clearly proved against a prisoner by the concurrent
testimony of seven witnesses: when the culprit was called on for his
defence, he complained of want of evidence against him; for, said
he, "My Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury, you lay great stress upon
the production of seven persons who swear that they saw me
commit the crime. If that be all, I will produce you seven times as
many who will swear that they did not see me do it." Much on a par
with this was the favourable evidence on which this eminent piece of
injured innocence relied for exculpation.[44]
The most singular part of the story is, that with all Matthew's well-
known intelligence, good sense, prudence, amiability, and virtue, his
zeal got the better of his consistency. He and his friends who most
warmly espoused the cause of the great impostor, were those who
from time immemorial had upheld the democracy of the constitution,
had rung the changes upon all the virtuous attributes of low life,
"Honest Poverty," and "The Sovereignty of the People;" but, strange
to say, in their excessive zeal for their new idol, these equalizing
politicians decided unanimously, that all the witnesses who were to
prove her misdeeds, were perjured villains and infamous rogues,
even before they had said a syllable on the subject, because,
forsooth, they were poor and shabbily clothed, as if a line coat were
essential to truth and justice, or that a poor man could not speak
truth.
Now really to me their poverty (if one may judge by the accounts
which have been handed down of them,) appears one of the
strongest proofs of their honesty; for, had they been tampered with
as Whittington insinuated, it is not improbable that some part of
their earnings would have been expended in the purchase of such
habits as might at least have protected them from insult in the
streets.
There was one objection to their evidence, which, inasmuch as it
is patriotic, is honourable—they were foreigners, and therefore not
to be believed.——Now, touching the justice of this sweeping
decision much may be said; and it is by no means unpleasing to see
that even in these days there is still a national prejudice against
foreign habits and manners; the looseness of conduct, and general
want of delicacy of the continental nations, are at variance with the
pure and better regulated habits of our countrymen and
countrywomen; and in Whittington's days it clearly appears that
morality had so firmly established itself in England, that a foreigner
was not to be credited on oath.
In the instance of this nondescript lady, this feeling certainly had
not so much weight as it might have had in many others, nor was
the expression of it over-gallant, considering that she herself was a
foreigner and educated, if St. Cas and other authors are to be
believed, in one of the most licentious schools of continental
incontinence.
One strong argument against the credibility of these persons was
the general venality of all the natives of the country they came from,
which was so flagrant that a man might be bought for five shillings
to swear any thing. The witnesses which the Cat lady intended, it
appears, to produce in her defence, were all from the same nation—
this objection, unfortunately for her, tells both ways.
Be that as it may, it appears pretty evident, that at the period to
which I am now alluding Whittington, whether voluntarily or not I
cannot pretend to determine, was separated from the object of all
his hopes and fears;—indeed, how the separation between them
was brought about has puzzled all who have hitherto considered the
subject: some writers suppose that she never had any superior or
supernatural powers, but that she was altogether an impostor,
others positively maintain (particularly one) that she was a person of
prudence, wisdom, delicacy, and virtue.[45]
Those who deny her existence at any time in human shape are by
no means few; amongst their number is, as we have seen, my
excellent friend Doctor Snodgrass: these aver with every appearance
of truth, that she was neither more nor less than a domestic cat, but
that she was stolen from Whittington by the monks of the monastery
"Sancti Stephani apud Westmonasteriensis," for the purpose of
catching certain great rats which infested their chapel and the
adjoining house, and that the poor Alderman cut a very ridiculous
figure when deprived of his favourite raree-show.
Some, on the other hand, incline to believe that Mr. Whittington
got sick of his bargain, and assert that what with caterwauling and
bringing crowds of followers into the gutters of his residence, she
turned out to be so troublesome an inmate, that he got rid of her as
soon as he could, and prevailed on an old maid in the
neighbourhood to take care of her.[46]
For me, however, till now, has been reserved the important, the
enviable task of unravelling all the mysteries in which this subject
has been hitherto involved. To me it is granted to reconcile all
contending opinions, and to simplify all the difficulties which have
baffled my predecessors in the attainment of truth. I am enabled, as
I firmly believe, beyond the power of contradiction, to declare to the
world who the Cat was, and what she was. I am competent to
display in its true colours the character of Mr. Matthew Whittington,
to illustrate and make clear his views, his motives, and the other
eight points which I have before noticed to be in dispute, even to
the cause and nature of his death, an event hitherto equally obscure
with his birth.
Gifted as I am with this power to illuminate the literary world, is it
not natural that I should feel anxious to make use of it for their
advantage? One consideration alone checks me in my desire to
afford the purchasers of this Tentamen all the information I possess;
that consideration I trust I shall not be censured for attending to. I
confess it is a prudential one, inasmuch as were I in this small
specimen to give my readers all the details, narratives, and general
information I possess, I am apprehensive that the work itself would
not meet with that encouragement which is at present promised,
and which alone can repay me for the labour of years, and that
ceaseless anxiety which an undertaking so diffusely elaborate
naturally has entailed upon its author.
M I S C E L LA N I E S, I N V E R S E A N D
PROSE.
 MISCELLANIES.

MR. WARD'S ALLEGORICAL PICTURE OF WATERLOO. [47]

We have the highest respect for the arts and for artists; we are
perfectly aware of the numerous qualifications requisite for a painter
—we know and feel the difficulty, and duly consider the quantity of
talent necessary to the painting even of a bad picture. The years of
probationary labour expended before even the palette comes into
use, the days and nights of watching, and toil after it is assumed,
and the variety of chemical, mechanical, and scientific knowledge
which must be brought to bear upon a subject before the idea of the
painter can be transferred to the canvas.
These feelings, and this respect for the art, and professors of
painting, make us slow to censure; and, although we have long had
our eyes upon some of the public exhibitions of the season, we have
refrained from commenting upon them till the common curiosity of
the town had repaid, in some measure, the care and anxiety of
those in whose studies they had their origin.
Mr. Haydon, a sonnet-writing Cockney, ranking high in the
administration of the smoky kingdom of Cockaigne, distinguished
himself last year, by exhibiting a picture of the "Entry into
Jerusalem," which, like Tom Thumb's Cow, was "larger than the
largest size." Elated with the success of this immense performance,
(of which one group only was at all finished,) Mr. Haydon, this year,
put forth a work representing "the Agony in the Garden:" the divine
subject saved the silly artist, and we were upon that account silent;
else, for Mr. Haydon, who wears his shirt collars open, and curls his
hair in long ringlets, because Rafaele did so, and who, if it did not
provokingly turn down over his mouth, would turn up his nose at the
Royal Academy, indeed we should have felt very little tenderness.
But with respect to Mr. Ward's allegorical picture of Waterloo, we
had different feelings—the picture had good principle about it, and
the weeks, months, and years which have been bestowed upon it
demanded some recompense; the idlers of Piccadilly did not feel the
occasional disbursement of a shilling. In pleasant society Ward's
exhibition-room was as good a place wherein to "laugh a sultry hour
away" as any other; and anxious that Mr. Ward, after having
expended so much time, canvas, and colour, should get something
by it, we have patiently let him draw his reward from the pockets of
those good easy folks, who read newspaper puffs and believe them;
and who go and vow all over London that a picture is wonderful and
sublime, merely because the painter, at the trifling charge of seven
shillings and sixpence, has thought proper to tell them that it is so,
in the public journals.
But when we find that this picture was painted for the directors of
the British Institution, founded "for the express purpose of
encouraging the Fine Arts," and is about to be engraved and
disseminated throughout the country, as a specimen of the works
taken under the especial care of that Institution; it really becomes a
duty to save the nation from a charge of bad taste so heavy as must
arise out of the patronage of such a ludicrous daub.
This may be a picture painted for the Institution at their desire,
and the execution of it is no proof of their want of judgment,
because they desired to have such a picture, and they have got it,
and we have thereby no proof of their approbation; but since they
have got themselves into a scrape, they certainly should not allow a
print to be made from it, even if they suffer the painting to remain in
existence.
If it be possible to imagine one thing upon earth more irresistibly
ridiculous than another, it is the composition of this enormous thing
—the size of it is thirty-five feet by twenty-one—in the centre
appears the Duke of Wellington in a pearl car—under his feet are
legs and arms, and heads in glorious confusion—before him rides a
pretty little naked boy upon a lion—over him in the clouds are a
group of young gentlemen with wings, representing the Duke's
victories, who look like Mrs. Wilkinson's Preparatory Academy turned
out for a bathe; and amongst these pretty little dears are Peace and
Plenty, and a great angel overshadowing the whole party.
But this very absurd jumble (at which, through a little hole,
Blucher and Platoff are looking with some surprise,) is by no means
the most ludicrous part of the affair—in the clouds are two persons,
called by Mr. Ward, Ignorance and Error, (one of whom has a dirty
handkerchief tied over his eyes,) beneath whom are dogs' heads
with wings—a tipsy-looking cock-eyed owl trampling a heavy stone
Osiris into the earth—a little calf without a head—a red night-cap—a
watchman's rattle—an old crow—Paine's "Rights of Man"—Voltaire's
works, a sick harpy—a devil sucking his fingers—a hobby-horse's
head, and a heap of chains—here is the allegory—all of which we
shall attempt to explain in Mr. Ward's own words, for he is an author
as well as a painter, and, absurd as are the productions of his pencil,
the nonsense of his pen is, of the two, the most exquisite.
In the foreground of the picture is a skeleton evidently afflicted
with the head-ache, before whom runs a little wide-mouthed
waddling frog with a long tail, and beyond these a group which
defies description.
The horses (particularly the near wheeler) have a very droll and
cunning expression about the eye; but the four persons leading
them, whether considered as to their drawing or colouring, are
beneath all criticism: a pupil of six months' standing ought to have
been flogged for doing anything so bad.
In short, the whole thing in its kind closely resembles the
overgrown transparencies painted to be stuck up at Vauxhall, or the
Cumberland Gardens, or for public rejoicings, and ought, as soon as
it has answered its purpose like those, be obliterated, and the stuff
worked up for something else.
 In a book published upon this performance, Mr. Ward modestly
says, that he is not ambitious to be considered an author, and adds,
that there exists some insuperable objection to his ever being one;
but still, he professes to attempt in his own simple style an
explanation of his own ideas. He feels quite confident of public
favour and indulgence, and then gives us his view of the thing:—as a
specimen of this said style, we shall quote his notions about envy—
its beauty, we confess, is evident—its simplicity we are afraid is
somewhat questionable.
"Where shall we find a safe retreat for envied greatness, from the miry
breath or slander's feverish tongue; dark in the bosom of the ocean's
fathomless abyss, on the cloud-cleaving Atlas, or at the extremity of east
or west. High on the gilded dome, or palace pinnacle, should merit's
fairest hard-earned honours shine, once seated there, the sickly eye of
speckled Jealousy, or Envy's snaky tribe, with iron nerve, and cold in
blood, well scan the mark, and the envenomed javelin cast, with secret
but unerring aim, and what is to screen him from the foul attack? The
shield of Worth intrinsic, bound about with truth, and conscious
innocence, and where that lives, all other covering only tends to hide its
blushing beauties from the rising sun, and dim the face of day.
"So the firm oak's deep roots, eccentric, winding through the heaving
earth, fast bound and chasmed deep, with many a widening gap, by
blazing Sol's mid ray, at summer's sultry noon, opposes strength to
strength; or round the impervious rocks, in weighty balance to its broad
branch, and highly-lifted head, up to the mountain's summit, shrinks not
from the prospect of the blackening storm, and while it sends its sweeping
arms around over the circling numerous acres, shadowing under its
expanded greatness, fears not the threatening blast, nor for protection
looks to man. Too great to need a screen; it were children's play to throw
a mantle over its full broad majesty, to try to save its foliage luxuriant
from the rude element. The attempt would be as weedy muslin's cobweb
insipidity; its flimsy partial covering would only hide its full matured
richness; and the first breeze of whirlwind's opening rising tempest, tear
from the disdainful surface to streaming raggedness the feeble effort, and
open to the eye the golden fruit, freshening by the tempest, and glittering
in the storm."
We know very little of human nature, if Mr. Ward, in spite of his
disclaiming any wish to be considered as an author, does not think
all this very fine. By way of simply explaining his allegory, it is
particularly useful;—of Mr. Ward's view of the necessity of such
explanation we may assure ourselves by his very apposite allusion to
Milton, Walter Scott, Homer, and Burn (as he calls him). This
paragraph we must quote:—
"It is contended by some, that a picture should be made up only of
such materials as are capable of telling its own story; such confinement
would shut out the human mind from a depth of pursuit in every branch
of art. Poetry requires prose fully to explain its meaning, and to create an
interest; for who would be without the notes in Walter Scott's 'Lay of the
Last Minstrel,' or a glossary to the poems of Burn, the argument to Milton
or Homer? If then it be necessary to make use of language to explain
poetry, should not the same medium be used to explain personification? It
has been thought necessary on the stage to send a person between the
acts as a comment on the past, and a preface to the future, and can we, I
ask, understand what is going on even in nature, by dumb show? If we
see a crowd of people assembled in the streets, do we expect that the
action and expression should inform us the cause of their congregating in
an unusual manner? Experience proves more than volumes of argument.
We ask 'what does all this mean?'"
To which we most candidly reply, we really do not know.
Mr. Ward then proceeds in the following manner:—
"Wellington has his hand upon the tri-coloured cross, on the shield of
Britannia, expressive of the Christian's emblem, and the three colours of
which it is composed are the colours answerable to the three principles in
Trinity!!!

Red is the first fiery principle in the Godhead;

Blue the second in the Saviour, or Mediator;
White the third in the Dove of Peace."

This ingenious explanation of the mysteries of the Union Jack

must be highly satisfactory to every thinking Englishman: there is,
indeed, but one drawback to the holy pleasure we feel at Mr. Ward's
sublime discovery, which is, that the Revolutionary flag of France
was composed of the same three colours.
The enlightened artist then informs us—speaking of Britannia,
"that the twisted lock of hair laying in front upon her bosom, and
over the right arm, is emblematic of"—what do you suppose,
reader?—"of the spirit of justice."
"Justice, stern and unrelenting, whose sword is forward, and whose
plaited hair is answerable to that sword, and makes in the person of
Justice the number three, as expressive of the Trinity, or the whole of
Godhead manifested in the awful administration of justice. That sword is
serpentine, as expressive of flame, Deity in its principle of fire."
This is "finely confused, and very alarming;" but observe:—
"With the other hand she points through the medium of the Trident to
the Trinity in Unity, commanding him to look up to Providence as alone
able to give success to his efforts."
This puzzles us; pointing through the medium of "the Trident"
appears to us to be something like looking at the Sun through the
medium of a toasting-fork; but we may be wrong.
Mr. Ward then continues:—
"The cat and broken spear are emblems of rebellion and anarchy."—P.
11.
"The British Lion is majestically observing the effects of his own
operations; his countenance shows no symptom of the reign of passion—
anger is alone signified by the movement of his tail."
For this illustration of natural history Mr. Ward appears to be
indebted to Mathews, who, in his "At Home," told a capital story of a
showman and one of the noble beasts in question, in which, while
his head is in the lion's mouth, he anxiously inquires of a by-stander,
"Doth he wag his tail?" That bit of waggery being indicative (as Mr.
Ward has comically painted it) of the ire of lions generally.
Mr. Ward, as matter of information, tells us, page 19, that "the
palm-tree grows to the height of five hundred feet, and bears the
date and cocoa-nut." What date the trees Mr. Ward alludes to might
have borne we cannot say; but certain it is, that modern palms have
left off growing to the height of five hundred feet; which,
considering it to be about three times the height of the Monument,
and one hundred feet more than the height of St. Paul's, is not so
very surprising.
 The following information, conveyed in page 20, is likely to be
very interesting from its importance:—
"Juvenile antagonists in the streets dare not strike an unfair blow, take
the other by the hair, or maltreat him when fallen upon the ground. In
such case, he not only loses his battle, but also—his character!!!"
At page 22 we have, perhaps, the most finished description of
docking a horse that ever was put to paper; it is somewhat lengthy,
but it will repay the lover of the sublime for his trouble in reading it:
—
"Can any thing be so far from true taste, as to round the ears of a dog,
or to cut them off; whatever may be the beauty, breed, or character, to
cut off the thumb, or fifth toe, and call it a Dew claw, and consider it of no
use! To chop off the tail of a waggon-horse, so necessary and useful to
that class of creature; above all, to separate every joint of the tail, with all
the misery attending upon it, in order to reverse the order of Nature, and
make that turn up which ought to turn down, all equally show the want of
taste, as the want of humanity? Who has ever witnessed the operation
last alluded to, if not, pause; and in your imagination, behold a nobly-
formed, and finely-tempered creature, led from the stable in all the pride
of health, and all the playful confidence of being led out, and held by his
master and his friend, view the hobbles fastened to his legs, his feet
drawn to a point, and himself cast to the earth, so contrary to his
expectations and his hopes; observe the commencement, and the
lingering process; behold the wreathing of the lovely and as useful animal;
how does his heaving breast manifest his astonishment, while his greatly
oppressed and labouring heart beats high with resentment, at being thus
tampered. His quivering flesh sends through every pore streams of sweat;
his open nostrils are bursting with agony of body and spirit, while his
strained eye-balls flash as with the fixed glare of expiring nature. Heard
you that groan? poor animal. They have began the deed of barbarism! he
faintly shrieks, 'tis as the piteous cry of the timid hare, when sinking under
the deadly gripe of the fierce, agile, and ravenous greyhound. How he
grinds his teeth, and bores his tightly-twitched and twisted lip, and
smoking nostril, into the thick litter, or grovelling, rubs his aching forehead
into the loose sand; now the sudden and convulsive effort! what a
struggle! every nerve, sinew, tendon, stretched to its full bearing, with
fearful energy! Oh! that he could now disencumber his fettered limbs, and
spring from his tormentors. Those limbs, that would joyfully bound over
the broad plain, or patient bear the cumbrous load, nor utter one
complaint in the deep toil; or drag with unwearied submission, harnessed,
 galled, and parched with thirst, the lumbering machine to the very borders
of his opening tomb. He groans again, the struggle's over, and he again
lays down; while the hoarse breathing and his panting sides, prove that all
his energies, his mighty energies, have failed: and the work goes on, still
continues, and now another and another gash, and now the iron hook, to
tear out from among the separated complicated bones, the tenacious
ligament that binds the strong vertebræ; and lastly the burning steel to
staunch the streaming blood. Tedious process!—but at length it ceases,
and the noble, towering, majestic steed is led back, tottering, trembling,
reeling, and dejected, to repose apparently in peace; but ah! another
torment, the cord, the weight, the pulley, day o'er day, and week after
week, to keep the lips of the gaping, throbbing, aching wounds asunder,
to close no more for ever. Enough! enough! our country's shame, for
cruelty is not our natural character, our country's vice."
We by no means intend to ridicule Mr. Ward's humanity; but, we
confess, as throwing lights upon an allegorical picture of the Duke of
Wellington's triumphs, we do not consider the passage quite as
much to the purpose as it might be.
At page 29, Mr. Ward states (and with every appearance of
believing it) that "Cicero was once a lisping infant, and Sampson, at
one period, could not go alone;"—to which assertions we must beg
to add, for Mr. Ward's satisfaction, that "Rome was not built in a
day."
In his simple style, at page 30, Mr. Ward, speaking of ignorance,
says,—
"Loose veins of thought, imaginative intellects, evaporation. As the
school-boy's frothy bubble, rising from the turbid elements" soap and
water, "its inflated globule exhibits in proud mimicry the Rainbow's gaily
painted hues, and calls rude mirth to dance upon its glittering surface,
when suddenly it bursts, and all is gone!"
We shall conclude our extracts from this explanatory pamphlet
with the following:—
"Shapeless Forms of Death.—Perhaps no part of picturesque
representation is so difficult as this. The poet here has much the
advantage. Ossian may, by a language all understand, throw the
imagination into a delirium, and there leave it bewildered and wandering,
in all the confusion of material immateriality; but in painting it is necessary
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