Hawksmoor

But let us drop this Matter and look into the Begi

So I must take every Part in order: I had it in my Thought to give you this Preface to my Church in Spittle-Fields, for it is a long way which has no Destination, and in this instance it leads us to the Sepulture or Labyrinth which I will build beside that sovereign Church. I have by me the Relation of Kott's Hole (or House under Ground, as it is call'd), newly discovered in a peece of Ground within Two Miles of Cirencester commonly known by the Name of Col ton's Field. Two Labourers were digging a Gravell-pit at the foot of a Hill (which they had now sunk four yards deep) when they observ'd the Ground on that side next the Hill to be loose, and presently discovered an Entrance into the Belly of the Hill, which appearing very strange to them, and rather the work of Art than Nature, they got a Lanthorn and ventured in. There they entred a most dreadfull Passage, not above a yard in breadth and foure feet in height, and as Hot as a Stove. It had a Grave-like Smell and was half-full of Rubbidge; there were also here Tablets upon the Wall, which they no sooner touch'd to feel their Substance but they crumbled into Dust: from thence they saw a Passage into a square Room, which when they entered they saw athwart the Roome, at the upper end, the Sceleton of a Boy or small Man; in terrour the Labourers hastily quitted this dark Apartment, which they had no sooner done and reached the upper Air when the Hill sunk down again.

And it came into my Mind on reading this Account that this was the Site of the Mysteries, as Mirabilis had once related them to me: here the Boy who is to be Sacrificed is confin'd to the Chamber beneath the Earth and a large Stone rolled across its Face; here he sits in Darknesse for seven dayes and seven nights, by which time he is presum'd to have been led past the Gates of Death, and then on the eighth Day his Corse is led out of the Cave with much rejoycing: that Chamber is known itself as a Holy Place, which is inshrined to the Lord of Death.

Thus when I spoke to Walter of our new Sepulture, or Enclosure, my Thoughts were burryed far beneath: my own House under Ground will be dark indeed, and a true Labyrinth for those who may be placed there. It will not be so empty as Kott's Hole neither: there are no Grave-stones nor Vaults there but it is beside the Pitte, now quite overlaid and forgotten, where my Parents had been discharg'd and so many Hundred (I should say Thousand) Corses also. It is a vast Mound of Death and Nastinesse, and my Church will take great Profit from it: this Mirabilis once describ'd to me, viz a Corn when it dies and rots in the Ground, it springs again and lives, so, said he, when there are many Persons dead, only being buryed and laid in the Earth, there is an Assembling of Powers. If I put my Ear to the Ground I hear them lie promiscuously one with another, and their small Voices echo in my Church: they are my Pillars and my Foundation.

Walter, I cried, leave off your Dozing and take up your Pe

I have us'd the ma

Thus do I veil my Intention with Cant, like a cozening Rogue, and use this temporary Scaffold of Words to counterfeit my Purpose. As for the Chamber it self: it will be sollid only in those parts that beare weight, and will be so contrived within-side to form a very intricate Labyrinth. I have placed Cavities in the thicknesse of the Walls where I will put these Signes -Nergal, that is Light of the Grave, Ashima, that is Fault, Nibhas, that is Vision, and Tartak, that is Chained. These true Beliefs and Mysteries are not be inscribed in easy Figures since the Mobb, being in Ignorance, will teare them down in their Feare. But if Violence does not happen, and it remaines hurried from vulgar Eyes, this Labyrinth will endure 1000 yeares.

And now hear, as my Work rose from the Burriall Ground, how the Dead do call out to the Living: it is the Custom in our Nation to have the Mason's son lay the heighest and last stone on the top of the Tower its Lanthorn. This Boy, Thomas, the son of Mr Hill, was a sprightly Spark in his tenth or eleventh year and perfectly well made: his Face was fair and varnished over by a blooming, and the Hair of his Head was thick and reclin'd far below his Shoulders. He was in great good Humour on the Morning of his Ascent and saw it as a merry Enter prize, climbing out upon the wooden Scaffold and nimbly advancing his Steps to the Tower. The Labourers and the Mason, his Father, look'd up at him and call'd out How do you Tom? and One step further! and such like Observations, while I stood silent by my small Pyram mide just lately made. But there was a sudden Gust of Wind and the Boy, now close to the Lanthorn, seemed to lose Heart as the Clowds scudded above his Head. He gazed steadily at me for an Instant and I cryed, Go on! Go on!; and at this Moment, just as he was coming up to the spiry Turret, the timbers of the Scaffold, being insecurely plac'd or rotten, cracked asunder and the Boy missed his Footing and fell from the Tower. He did not cry out but his Face seem'd to carry an Expression of Surprize: Curved lines are more beautiful than Straight, I thought to my self, as he fell away from the main Fabrick and was like to have dropped ripe at my own Feet.

The Mason his Father calling for Help rushed in the direction of the Pyramidde, where now Thomas lay, and the-Work men followed amaz'd. But he had expir'd at once. There was a contusion in his Head which I could not forebear from Noticing as I bent over the Body: the Blood ran out of his Mouth as out of a Bowl, and carne pouring upon the Ground. All those around stood stiff like a Figure, motionless and speechless, and I could hardly refrain from smiling at the Sight; but I hid my self with a woeful Countenance and advanc'd up to the Father who was ready to sink down with Grief (indeed the Death of his Son work'd hard upon his Bowels, and dragg'd him by degrees after him to the Grave). A littel Crowd of People was looking on with their What is the Matter? and Is he quite dead? and Poor creature, but I waved them away. Then I held fast to Mr Hill, and stayed silent to help Compose him: He has fled out of his Prison, said I at last, but he looked on me strangely and I stopp'd my self. The Mason was now quite stupid with Sorrow; he was alwaies a sullen and dogged Fellow but in his Grief he sett upon God and Heaven at a very foull rate, which pleased me mightily. I kept my Silence but this Reflection was rowling about my Mind as I gazed at the little Corse: He is pretty in Death because he did not feare it. Then the Father made to unbuckle his son's shooes, for I know not what Purpose, but I led him away and spoke to him gently.