The Printer's Devil (4 page)

Roger then showed me a substance like unto pitch in a jar the which he told me was called
Mummy
and sold by pothecaries as a specific.

—It is hot in the second degree, he saith, and good against all bruisings, spitting of blood, and divers other diseases. There are two kinds on it, the one is digged out of the graves in Arabia and Syria of those bodies that were embalmed, and is called
Arabian Mummy,
and that is what this is. The second kind is only an equal mixture of the Jews lime and bitumen, and is of no use at all.

Strangest of all, in a large jar (that which they do call a Jordan, which is to say not a chamber-pot) a most hideous thing: I cannot describe it for it had no shape, and it stank like unto a midden, and gave off much heat.

—Tis an homunculus, Roger says to me, an it grows it will become a mannikin and be my servant. And more he told me too, about its making from shit and semen and other bodily excretions. I thought that it never looked like anything living, but I said naught to Roger. I had much misjudged the man; that he studied was plain to see; I remained sceptical about his powers; however he made for me a most persuasive demonstation that
cuicunque in arte sua credendum est}

Taking from his workbench some powders and a phial of viscous liquid he mixed all together and anointed his face with a portion of the resulting unguent, a dab on each chap and one on his front, and one more at his throat. Amazed I beheld his features change, not as one might suppose a melting and re-forming as of tallow heated, but a little disturbance of the air like unto that which one may see above a road in summertime.

In but an instant I beheld standing before me the semblance of a handsome lord, as unlike Roger as could be: no more the scowling visage but a face as comely as any man might wish, an he were vain about his appearance, which I am not.

—Just so will I woo Ann Pakeman, quoth a voice which was not Roger’s neither; I could not speak a word being confounded and stricken utterly dumb.

—What thinkest thou, Fabian? asked he.

—Tis wondrous strange, I replied.

—No, he said, it is strange and wondrous too, and laughed. Wouldst thou go with me, he said.

—Whither, I asked.

—Why, to speak with Mistress Ann, when I go thither. I will have need of aid, an my plan progress as it should.

So doth our understanding of the world increase, as we apprise new things; so did I learn that Roger Southwell is a very mage, and that such magic as he hath shewn me is a thing any man can accomplish an he but have the knowledge and the cunning and the will withall.

¹
You can trust a man when it comes to his own art

So doth the art of ringing increase, and mayhap will ever continue,
parvus et parvus
.
²
Philosophers say, No number is infinite, because it can be numbered; for infinite is a quantity that cannot be taken or assigned, but there is
(infinitum quoad nos
³
)
as they term it, that is, infinite in respect of our apprehension.

Now I do not remember how may sennights passed after I apprised of Roger Southwell’s intent that he put his plan into hand; there was a great moil in the city and the churches all filled of folk affrighted of the Puritan-laws.

By which time there were certain of us young men who pledged ourselves to his cause, as it were, acolytes as you might say; nor will I deny it although it sheweth me in a bad light. I can but say I was young (as were we all) and youth and lust do not combine to make sober gentlemen.

We had not been denied the details of Roger’s wooing of Mistress Ann; how he had captivated her in his strange guise (and did he have other means at his disposal, conjectured I, thinking of love-philtres and such like); how she had been much enamoured of his semblance, not knowing that it was merely a seeming brought about by the art of magic; how she knew him under the name of Walter Kyd of Grayes Inn (being so bemused by his arts as not to wonder what such an one might be at, a-wooing the daughter of a printer); much of her sighs he hath told us, and of how she spake of even his name as beloved, though as we knew it was no name of his.

On such sand is faith built, by men who think it be a rock.

However he had not yet had from this dell her maidenhead; until one night he did consider that she was so far in affection for him that she would be sure to go away from her father his house with Roger. To this end Roger hath told off his acolytes (the which include myself) to accompany him, in a guise which he himself hath crafted.

We met five accomplices, Roger, myself, and three other ringers of our acquaintance, Thomas Audley (a clerk in the office of the Audit of Excise), Hugh Bishop, of Spittle-fields, and Matthew Boys, a writer of music and airs sore idle under the rule of the Puritan-folk (though they say the Usurper doth joy in church music there’s little enow of employment in that trade); none of us were amazed by Roger’s transformation, having all now been made acquainted of it.

More to concern us was our own: for Roger gave to each of us a talisman to wear and a small phial containing a portion of his efficacious unguent, and bade us each to touch his face with it in that certain way which he hath shewn us when he did give the word, that Ann or her father (if he should chance to wake) might not know us; although they were like to know only myself, apprentice to Master Pakeman these vii weeks.

So that night we found ourselves with Roger Southwell outside the house of my master, and Roger bade us anoint our faces with his potion. I put two fingers of my left hand into the pot and felt the substance for the first time: cold and thick it was, an it were a pease-pudding, and vile to the touch; nevertheless I applied it to my face, having no wish to be recognised by my master. Although it is truly said,
Audentes fortuna invat;
^A
and in truth I did feel bold, and fortunate too.

The touch of the unguent called to my mind that time when first I saw Roger use it: as then I saw, so nowfelt a tingling and blurring of my sight; when it was done I felt no different, but the face I saw reflected in a nearby window was not my own. Mayhap we three were so forspoken by our bully-Roger that we no longer saw any strangeness in such a transformation.

²
little by little

³
infinite as far as we understand

⁴
Fortune favours the daring (
Virgil, The
A
neid
)

That night was so strange and dream-like an one as I can remember: I must needs set it down ere it fade from my memory. Eager was the air; and Roger passed like unto a shadow into the courtyard of my master’s house, under the light of the stars so pale and cold, and the planets that he doth conjure, and the pale sliver of the moon in her newness, and stood as a player in the theatre transfixed. (Although the canting faithful-broth-ers closed the playhouses when that I was but a child so I do not speak from mine own observation. However they would fain have also closed down the brothels and we do all behold how far they did succeed in this endeavour.).

—Mistress Ann, he called in a voice so soft as I thought she was not like to hear. Mistress Ann, it is Walter Kyd come with my friends to fetch you away.

Then above us there opened a casement and Ann Pakeman leaned out, a lanthorn beside her so that although it was a dark night I could see her very clear; her abron locks unbound, her pale Arms and neck; And I was quite stupefied with an heat of mine own.

—Come, whispered Roger. Come to me, mine own love, and we’ll go hence.

And then I would swear my heart did stop, for the door below did open and the voice of Master Pakeman called out, Who’s there?

But Roger smil’d in the darkness, and cast towards him a sprinkling of liquid that sparkled in the starlight as it were very stars itself.

—See and hear naught but what I desire, Roger rounded in the night’s ear, so soft as a man bespeaking his lover.

—Who’s there? cried Master Pakeman again.

—Hush, old man, Pantalone, calls Roger (and in sooth he might have been Old Iniquity), our errand is not with thee but with thy neighbour.

—Samuel Salter? enquires Master Pakeman, and I saw the cleverness of this Roger Southwell, for my master hath no love for Master Salter and would rejoice to see him discomfited. Whatever glamour Roger had cast was having its effect for it seemed Master Pakeman was confused and knew not that twas his own house which was assailed.

—Do you but rest silent, quoth Roger, and let us go about our business.

—Nay, sirra, quoth Master Pakeman, do you have designs gainst Master Salter I must know them, for they may lie with mine own.

And I saw Roger’s silent smile of triumph. Seest the house of Samuel Salter, he said in a voice the softness of silk; pointing the while at the house of Daniel Pakeman.

—Aye, says that bemused worthy.

—Tis my intent, quoth Roger, to steal the man’s wife and thus discomfort him.

—Twill do so, replied my master. But you will need accomplices.

In spite of my new semblance my bowels were in turmoil, for Roger then did gesture to the place where we three stood. Without a second glance, Master Pakeman addressed us thus.

—Welcome, gentles, mine aid is yours in this adventure.

All this time Ann had observed us from above; and I was more certain than before that Roger had magicked her, for she seemed unsurprised.

—How to get her down? asks Master Pakeman. For know you that Samuel Salter bars his doors against the coming of the night.

—We have a ladder, replies Roger, do you steady it and I will climb to the lady’s chamber.

Now my very skin was crawling as if ants and spiders were running over’t. I looked full in the face of Master Pakeman, and saw nothing but what I ever did see, a man of middle years, hair grisard; excepting,
mirabile dictu
,
⁵
that he did not in one whit recognise me.

Up the ladder then goes Roger and returns with Ann Pakeman while that her own father steadies their descent, grinning the while like unto a fool. And presently Roger departs with Ann, and I and Thos Audley and Hugh Bishop and Matthew Boys to our own beds; glad I am not to live in Master Pakeman’s house as do most prentices with their masters.

On the morrow, some sort of confused election of parliament called by 0. Cromwell (pretended Protector); up betimes and to my master’s workshop, where all is in turmoil and making as much noise as a bear-garden.

—What goes on, I asked Bartholomew Knox, the first man I saw, that you are all stirred up like unto a nest of ants?

—Calamities and maledictions, Fabian, quoth he; someone hath stolen Master Pakeman’s daughter away.

I clothed myself in surprise; but Knox knows no more, and how should he so?

—There looks to be no work done this day, he says, do you go home presently.

But I said nay: Why my indenture doth not permit that, and you know it well, Master Knox, having been prentice yourself in your time.

—Tis true, says he; keep yourself apart then, and do you not vex Master Pakeman further.

I was pleased enow to follow this good advice for much of the work of the prentice printer is unpleasant and tedious; inking the form with the ball (the which is a leathern pad stuffed with wool and nailed to a wooden handle) is none the less more pleasant than cleansing the same, when that they become clogged with ink; the which is done with urine, and the pelts then stripped off must be trod on until that the ink is worked out.

The boy Humphrey however was performing his morning task of collecting the drips and drops of tallow from the candles, not a whit distressed by all the perturbation around him.

It was as I was musing on all this that Master Pakeman himself came up to me, and on his face a very thunderstorm.

—Where is journeyman Roger, Fabian? he asks me in a tone deceptively mild. Dost thou know? For I know that you both do ring bells together.

—I know not, Master Pakeman, I told him truthfully (although I have a good idea where Roger is gone, yet I do not
know
).

—Didst thou see him at all yesternight?

And then I must needs bear false witness to my master and say Nay; Not since he went away from here.

—Well then, quoth he, mayhap he will come hence.

—In good time, says I, making terrible bold.

At which my master makes a sour face and replies, Ay, in his
own
good time.

⁵
wonderful to relate

Into this turmoil suddenly arrived Roger Southwell himself, and on his arm a woman cloaked so her face was covered. As when you do drop a stone into a pool and ripples spread outwards, so then a silence spread in the room. Master Pakeman turned to see Roger, and I could detect no trace of art nor magic about the man; nor was he in his customary black humour.

—Master, says he, here’s your daughter Ann rescued safe from her captor; and we all stood amazed as she took down the cloak from her face.

—How camest thou here, and in such company? demands Master Pakeman. And art thou truly unharmed? I shall want your tale, Master Southwell, and twill go hard with you an you cannot explain how this came to pass.

—Tis simple enough, says Roger, quiet and modest like unto an humble man, for I have seen your daughter stolen, and have rescued her.

—How can this be? quoth my Master; Ann, does he speak truth?

And she replied, so soft that I must needs strain to hear, Ay, father.

—I will hear more of this, says her Father, but not here among all these flapping ears. Do you, Bartholomew, set the boys and prentices to their tasks; and you, Roger, with us to my room.

I had the tale of what befell there later from Roger, who was in a fine humour about it all. For he had spun a fine tale to Master Pakeman: coming out of an inn, the
Swan,
that he frequents, said he, he saw a maid struggling with a man who seemed like to do her ridiculous harm, and being a most chivalrous youth, determined to interrupt; To which end he seized the man by the shoulder and swung him round, only to cry out in surprise as he recognised Ann Pakeman, his master’s daughter.