(Continuing the narrative that began here.)

Part 13.

Letter the Twelfth: Sir George Purvis to Miss Amelia Purvis.

My dear Sister,——

I write to fill the Interval, infinite and interminable, between the cold grey Dawn and the first Stirrings of the House: Which is to say, of Doctor Albertus; as for the antient Housekeeper, she rarely appears, nor do I perceive very much Evidence of her Work. Doctor Albertus (so he tells me) reserves these early Hours for his Workshop, wherein he fabricates those mechanicall Toys, or clockwork Contrivances, which the justified Fame of the Automaton has rendered the most desirable Objects in London.

My Sleep was uninterrupted last Night: No Spirits came to rouse me from my Rest, and I do believe that Doctor Albertus was correct in saying, That the Spirits were to be sought in my own febrile Imagination, and not in the House. There is something a little shameful in so easily succumbing to the Inchantments of an antient Pile of Stones and Mortar; and I am resolved no longer to allow Fancy to rule Reason, nor to fear that which I know to be naught but Phantomes spawned from my own Mind.

I shall leave you now, as I hear the heavy Steps of Doctor Albertus without; and my excuse for this abbreviated Letter shall be, That I wish to have more Experience of that remarkable Automaton, so that I may write of it to my dearest Sister. A longer Letter will follow; until which Time, you may believe me

Yours, &c.

–

Letter the Thirteenth: Miss Honoria Wells to Miss Amelia Purvis.

My dearest Amelia,——

I write to ask whether you have heard from our beloved George of late; for I have not heard of him, since some five Weeks ago: Which is a longer Interval than he has yet allowed to pass between Letters. I have moreover had some Correspondence from London, which tells me, That George has not been seen there this Week, and that he has retired into the Country, tho’ which Part of it my Correspondent could not say. I am not by Nature suspicious, but a Fear has crept over me, that some Ill may have befallen George. For well I recollect, that Pirates have abducted Men even in the Heart of the City, as we learn from the exemplary Romance of Inezella, whose Abramo was taken from Sevil by Turks and sold for the Price of a Lemon. ’Tis true, that in the ample Leisure I have, my Thoughts have more Freedom than perhaps is conducive to my Repose: For I invent a thousand imaginary Mishaps, each more dreadful than the last, and see my George abducted, or imprisoned, or murthered; or even, as in the Tale of Rozina, wandering the Earth, with no recollection even of his own Name. But tho’ I perswade myself that there is nothing rational in my Fear, yet my Fear is not thereby extinguished. Wherefore I beg you for whatever News you may have, and subscribe myself

Your trembling but ever-faithful Friend,

Honoria.

–

Continue to Part 14.

(Continuing the narrative that began here.)

Part 12.

–

Letter the Eleventh: Sir George Purvis to Miss Amelia Purvis.

My dear Sister,——

I am yet at Grimthorne. As I expressed my firm Resolution to depart the Place in my previous Letter, it would be but reasonable that you should expect some Explanation for my Change of Heart. I have none, except to say, That Doctor Albertus has great Powers of Perswasion, and that, having listened to his reasoned Arguments, I felt more than a little Shame at having so easily given Rein to my Imagination. —But I ought to be truthful in writing to my own Sister: Reason has less Part in my remaining here, than my own Fascination with the Automaton herself: For she is a Phaenomenon unlike any other Thing, or Person,—you see I know not how to speak of her,—that I have encountered, and the mere Observation of her is, in a manner of speaking, an Education in Natural Philosophy.

When Doctor Albertus met me in the Morning, I began, as I told you I would, to express my Intention to Depart; at first, desiring to avoid Offense, without giving my particular Reason; but at length, under his Inquiries, telling him of the Incident in the Night-time, which I have narrated in my previous Letter. At this he laughed, (and you must know, my dear Amelia, that the man’s Laugh is like a Bellow,) and told me, That he was not surprized to hear me say I had seen Spirits, for that he did verily believe that the Abbey was haunted.

I own I had not expected to hear him express such a Belief, and told him as much; whereupon he reply’d, “O but thou misunderstandest me, Sir George; I do not believe that Ghosts or Spirits have any Existence of their own.”

“But is not that what we mean,” I asked him, “when we say that a House is haunted by spirits?”

“Indeed, I have no Doubt but that it is the common Sense of the Word; but thou and I, Sir George, who have more Philosophy in us than the vulgar Peasant, must not limit our Thoughts by the vulgar Speech of Peasants; we must define our Terms with Care, arriving at such Definitions as are most appropriate to the Subjects of our Discourse. Now, when I say that the Abbey is haunted, I mean that it produces such Associations of Perceptions as will readily lead the Mind to imagine Spirits, and many other Things stranger still. Look about thee, Sir George: Behold the Relick of a darkened Age, when Men sought not Philosophy, but referred every Action of Nature to the Activity, either of a Demon, or of an Angel, according as the Occurrence tended to their Detriment, or to their Benefit. This was a House of Monks; which is to say, That it was a Garden, in which the Flowers of Ignorance were as carefully tended, as we might cultivate a rare Tulip. And indeed the greater Mass of Mankind lives yet in that Age of Darkness, meeting the Phaenomena of Nature, not with Philosophy, but with Superstition. And we, who worship at the Altar of Knowledge, and disdain vulgar Superstition, are yet Men, the Children of our Age, and of that Age of popish Ignorance which built this House, and which is not yet so far removed from us, but that we can reach back a few Generations, and touch it: That Darkness, which prevailed in the Days of the Monks, yet dwells within us in a dormant State, ready to be awakened, as the Seed awakes in the Spring. Now, when we plant that Seed of Darkness and Ignorance in such Ground as this, which is (as I have observed already) nothing less than a Garden built for the Cultivation of such Ignorance,—who, Sir George, who can doubt, but that it will sprout, and flourish, and be nearly as fruitfull as it was when the popish Monks of this Place made it their sole Occupation to cultivate Ignorance, and root out Knowledge? Nay, without the constant Working and Exercise of the rational Faculty, the Darkness may overshadow us, and the pure Light of Reason be extinguished, in such a Place as this. But I chuse rather to stand against the Darkness, and overcome it, and strengthen my Reason, as a Soldier is strengthened by Battle; nor do I believe that thou, Sir George, art made of such pliant Stuff, that thou wilt not prevail, when once thou hast set thy Reason against the Unreason of thy Fancies.”

With such Words as these the Doctor attempted to perswade me to regard the Events of the Night as Fancies, and no more; and I owned myself nearly conquered by his Arguments. But the Conquest was completed at Breakfast; for once more we had the Automaton herself to serve us. I find this Creature infinitely delightful: For in her the Attractions of Beauty (for her Face and Form are Works of the greatest Artistry, and worthy of one of our most admired Sculptors) are joined to the superior Enticements of Curiosity. Her Movements are halting and awkward, to be sure; but her Actions betray so much of Intelligence, that I can the more readily believe it, when Doctor Albertus calls her a new Soul, and the Mother of a Race of living Machines. Surely we have too constrained a Notion of Reason, if we deny it to such a Creature as this; and the Purity of her Soul, if I may speak as Doctor Albertus does, makes her a worthy Object of Contemplation, and the Occasion of many fruitfull Conversations with the eminent Doctor, in which I have learned much of his Philosophy. This consideration it was, then, which removed my last Doubts, and determined me to stay at Grimthorne Abbey: For to leave the Abbey, was to leave the Automaton, and my Opportunity of observing that Creature, or Object, which has made a Captive of every Conversation in London.

To-night, then, I am again in the Room at Grimthorne, the Room which swallows Tapers, and in which every fleeting Fancy in the Night-time takes Form as a Spirit or Ghost; and I own that, as I scribble these few final Lines to you, I question in my Heart why I did not leave this Place as I had intended. Yet I am here, and my Eyes are heavy; Sleep, which fled me last Night, beckons me now. If there are Spirits in this House, I shall beg them to let me rest to-night, and promise to give them more Attention the next Night. I shall write you again on the Morrow: Until which Time,

I remain, &c.

–

Continue to Part 13.

(Continuing the narrative that began here.)

Part 11.

–

Letter the Tenth: Sir George Purvis to Miss Amelia Purvis

My dear Sister,——

O blessed Dawn! Tho’ she shewed not her rosy Fingers, but her dull gray Face alone, yet never was I so delighted to greet her! I have passed such a Night as I hope never to pass again.

Yesterday I spent partly in Conversation with Doctor Albertus, and partly in reading alone from the eminent Doctor’s curious Library: For the Doctor left me much on my Own, having (he said) certain Tasks to complete which would not bear Neglect.

These Conversations touched on every Matter, and I should have taken much Delight in recording them for you. I have not long to write, however; I am resolved to see Doctor Albertus as soon as he stirs, and bring him News, which may be as unpleasant for him to hear, as it is for me to deliver. I write to explain my sudden Change of Plans.

When I retired in the Evening, I thought myself better equipped to face the Prospect of another Night in the Abbey: For I had procured a prodigious Supply of Tapers,and moreover had had the Opportunity to grow accustomed to the Place. I brought with me a witty Play from the Library of Doctor Albertus, entitled, Love’s Triumph Delayed; or, the Lost Inheritance, which lightened the Gloom of the Chamber as I read it, and indeed I fell asleep with the Book upon my Chest.

For some time I slept soundly, untroubled by the Dreams and Night-mares of the previous Night; but at a certain Hour I began to imagine, once again, that I heard the Sound of Clockworks, an infinite Number of ’em, drawing nearer and nearer, till the very Bed shook with their Approach. Still my weariness kept me in Slumber, or rather on the very Edge of Waking; but as I fancy’d the Sound receding, I shook off Sleep, and started up, the Book falling on the Floor beside me as I did.

Now I was awake; and the wilfull Draughts having not yet won their inevitable Victory against the Tapers, there was still some Illumination in the Chamber. All was as I remembered it, at least in those Parts of the Room that were not hid in impenetrable Shadow. Yet the Memory of that infernal Cacophony would not leave me, and in the near Darkness I half believed that I had verily heard such a Noise, and that it was not a mere Dream or Fancy. So lively was the Impression it had left that I determined either to lay it to Rest as a Dream, or to discover the Cause of it, if it were a waking Perception.

Throwing the Blankets aside, I set my Feet on the icy stone Floor; and, without pausing to cover my Night-gown, I grasped the nearest Candle and opened the Door to the Hall.

All was Silence, and the only Illumination in the long Hall came from the Candle I held in my Hand: But my eye caught a Movement at the Edge of the Candle-light. Now you must swear, that you will think no less of me, when I tell you that my Heart stopped in my Breast, and that I was frozen to the Spot with Terror: For what I saw, tho’ it was nearly too dark to see anything, was the ghostly Figure of a Woman, dressed all in white, receding from me with silent Steps, if indeed her Feet moved at all, until she vanished in the impenetrable Blackness.

A certain Part of me would have pursued this Spirit, or whatever she might have been; but my Feet would not move, and I stood in the same Place for a Quarter of an Hour until the dripping Wax from the Taper burned my Hand. Then at last I was roused from my Petrification, and I retreated to my Chamber, where you may be assured I spent a sleepless Night.

I am, in most Circumstances, as brave as any other Man; but there is something about this House that would strike Fear into the Heart of Achilles. I have never in my Life been so grateful for the rosy-fingered Dawn as I was this Morning, and I am resolved to tell Doctor Albertus that I must no longer impose upon his Hospitality. This is the Reason for my Letter, with which I inform you that I shall return to London at the earliest Opportunity:

Where I shall have the Honor to remain, &c

–

Continue to Part 12.

(Continuing the narrative that began here.)

Part 10.

–

Letter the Ninth: Sir George Purvis to Miss Amelia Purvis.

My dear Sister,——

I have spent my first Night at Grimthorne Abbey; and that it was not also my last, is the strongest possible Testament to the Respect I feel for Doctor Albertus.

This House is not a Place most Men would chuse to live in. The whole Country round about seems blasted by some malignant Power. Nothing grows save some Scraps of Grass interrupted by bare Stones, so that the Land is fit only for grazing a few miserable Sheep. The Sky as I arrived yesterday was overcast with a Sheet of undifferentiated grey Clouds; and so it is to-day as well, so that I begin to believe the Land is never struck by unfiltered Sun-light.

My first View of the Abbey was not of the House, but of the Tower of the antient Abbey Church adjacent. This Church is a ruin, but the Walls still stand to a considerable Height; and the Tower, intact but for the Top of it, can be seen from an Eminence in the Road at least a League away. No Trees impede the View, and more of the House discovered itself as I approached. On the Outside it appears to be very little altered from the Time of the Popish Monks. It must, however, have been better kept when it was a religious House: For the weighty Gothick Pile must require a full Complement of Laborers to keep it from falling into Dilapidation, and it is apparent that but little Labor has been expended on it for many Years.

The Warmth of the Welcome I received from Doctor Albertus could not entirely dispel the Cold which penetrates every Corner of the Edifice. Doctor Albertus lives an eremitical Life indeed when he is in the Country: For, aside from one ancient Housekeeper, he appears to have no other Servants; and as there are, in my Observation, no Houses for a Mile round about, he must receive very few Visitors. Such Solitude must be conducive to his Work, but he shewed evident Delight at having a Companion for the Evening.

Our Supper was modest Fare, but it was the Manner of Service that was remarkable: For the Automaton herself served us, nor could we have asked for any more attentive Domestick. Her Movements were as halting and awkward as ever; but not a Dish was dropped. Doctor Albertus remarked, That in Times to Come, every Household might well be served by such Domesticks, which require neither Food nor Drink, and which expect no Pay for their Labor.

“From Time immemorial, Sir George (quoth he), Men have served Men, at certain Times willingly, but far more often unwillingly. And in very Truth there is little Difference between the two Cases. Mistake it not: A Man is a Slave, whether he serve in Perpetuity, or whether he serve for a Term; whether he be compelled, or whether he be paid; for just so long as he serves another, he is a Slave, and he must either resent the Slavery, or be something less than a Man.

“Now, as long as there is Labor to be done, so long must there be Laborers; but why must the Laborers be Men? Must the Sweat of our Brows ever be the Price of our Subsistence? Would it not be a much better Thing, if the Race of Men were freed from all degrading Work?”

“Yet the vast Numbers of Laborers (I reply’d) must have some Occupation, must they not? For without their accustomed Labor, would they not be Idle? And would not such Idleness be their Ruin?”

“But thou art idle, Sir George (quoth he), art thou not? Thine Idleness has not been thy Ruin. On the Contrary, that same Idleness has been the Cause or Occasion of thine Accomplishments. Do not mistake me: I do not suppose that the uneducated Millions of Laborers shall be idle’d at once, and left to find their own Way; for thou know’st, and I know, that they would waste themselves in squalid Amusements, and descend into Filth, and Crime, and Immorality. But their Children are as malleable as yours will be, Sir George: They are, in a Manner of Speaking, blank Tables, on which can be writ whatsoever we desire. You received a Form of Education, which depended on your Idleness; by which I mean your freedom from the Necessity of menial Labor, which if course is no Idleness at all, but rather the Occasion of your Accomplishments, which occupy your Time as entirely as the Labors of the meanest Farm-hand occupy his.

“Now, suppose for the Moment, That these Children of Laborers should be educated, not in manual Labor, but as you were educated, in Art, and Letters, and Philosophy, and all those Things which elevate us above the Class of Laborers. Would they not be like us? And with a million more Men of Learning, a million Philosophers, would not the Earth be a more rational Place? Let the Labor be done by Machines whose Purpose is Labor; and let Men be free’d to be Men; which is to say, Creatures capable of Improvement, and the most noble Thoughts, given only that they should be exempt from menial Labor.”

In such Wise we discoursed for the greater Part of an Hour; but as much as I desired to hear the Opinions of the eminent Doctor, I betrayed all the Signs of that Fatigue, which is natural after so long a Journey over such uncultivated Country. Doctor Albertus, perceiving as much, postponed our Conversation until the Morrow, and shewed me to my Room, leaving me quite alone, as it appeared, in one entire Wing of the House.

My Room in the Abbey was cold, with unpredictable Draughts, and a Damp no Fire could dispel; and tho’ I was prodigal with Doctor Albertus’ Candles, yet the Irregularity of the Room defy’d their Light. No Matter where I placed the Tapers, most of the Room seemed doomed to languish in Shadow. The Ceiling was so high that no Light reached it, save that a few Scraps of antient Gilding dimly reflected the Flames, like Stars in the Firmament. It seemed to all Appearances that the Walls ascended infinitely into the nocturnal Heavens. In such Circumstances, ’twas no small Feat to sleep at all; but, on the other Hand, Wakefulness was an intolerable Burden. At last I fell into a fitfull Slumber, filled with strange Visions and Night-mares.

Most of these Fancies were forgot the Moment I woke: But one of ’em stuck with me, and even now, in the Light of Day, or the perpetual Gloom that passes for Day at Grimthorne, I am half perswaded that it was not a fanciful Night-mare at all. In the Stygian Blackness of my Chamber, I heard a Sound which I could not at once put a Name to. It seemed to draw nearer, and as it grew louder methought it was the sound of Clockworks clacking and hissing and grinding, as tho’ all the Clockworks in the World had come together and wound themselves up.

This morning the grey Light has slowly entered the Chamber, and dispelled the nocturnal Visions; and as I write, the unreasonable Terrors of the Night have vanished, and I am of a far more sanguine Disposition. You will forgive me, dearest Amelia, for the Length of this Letter; for my Excuse, I can only say, That your Companionship, even in Imagination, makes the Gloom more bearable;

Wherefore I remain, &c.

–

Continue to Part 11.

(Continuing the narrative that began here.)

Part 9.

–

–

Proceed to Part 10.

(Continuing the narrative that began here.)

Part 8.

–

Letter the Eighth: Sir George Purvis to Miss Amelia Purvis.

My dear Sister,——

’Tis a Marvel indeed how quickly Gossip penetrates from one End of the Country to the Other, and I do verily question whether you will not already have heard whatever News I might convey to you before my Letter reaches you. You are aware, as I know, that the Automaton has occupied the Tongues of the Gossips, and the Pens of the Wits, from one End of London to the other: But it appears that the Reach of her Influence extends far beyond the Town. I say so, for that I have had the Privilege of welcoming the eminent Doctor Albertus and his Automaton as Guests in my own Drawing-room, where a Number of my Acquaintances, and their Acquaintances, and the Acquaintances of those Acquaintances, assembled to observe the Demonstration; so that I feared the Walls might burst like an old Sack with the unaccustomed Pressure of so many Guests. In Conversation with one of whom, I learned that he had travelled from York expressly to see the Automaton, who, he informs me, is as well known in the North, as she is in the Metropolis. Such is the Swiftness of Rumor, who is not without Reason represented with Wings in the antique Writers.

The Mania for the Automaton has only grown in the Days since I wrote you, and I am given to understand, That a Ballad-opera, whose Subject is Doctor Albertus thinly veiled under another Name, will be acted at one of the Theaters. Such is the Extent of the popular Fascination with this new Phenomenon.

For Reasons which I shall reveal to you presently, I anticipate writing you a great deal on the Subject of the Automaton. I will not, therefore, narrate in Detail the Demonstration of the Automaton given to my Guests, for it was much like the previous Exhibition; but I must own that I almost pitied the poor Creature. Reason tells me that she is Clockwork and no more; but a Machine that so much resembles a human Female, must of Necessity evoke that Sympathy, which any Man of good Will feels for a Member of his own Race. To be exhibited as a Curiosity in a Room filled with such a Multitude, must necessarily be grievous to any Creature of a sensible Nature; and, tho’ Reason tells me that the Automaton has no such Sensibility, yet Reason is not always my Master.

Such Sympathy as I felt, was augmented in the Hour after the Departure of my Guests. It was very late, for the Guests were much pleased with the Entertainment; and many of them placed Orders with Doctor Albertus for such clockwork Contrivances as they desired him to manufacture, so that I suppose he must have left a much richer Man than he arrived. When the last Guest had departed, Doctor Albertus remained, and was pleased to give me the Privilege of a private Demonstration. At this Time I was able to examine the Automaton in more Detail, and I must tell you, That her Resemblance to a Woman, tho’ far from perfect, is yet much to be admired, and shews the Hand of an Artist of unusual Skill. Her Movement, however, is awkward in the Extreme; and Doctor Albertus frankly admits that there is much Work to be done before she resembles a living Being in that Regard. Yet the halting Uncertainty of her Steps, and the graceless Motions of her Arms and Head, have a certain Charm of their own; and it pleased me immensely when Doctor Albertus directed his Creation to perform a Courtesy to me, and she obeyed forthwith, tho’ it nearly ended in a Tumble which doubtless would have been detrimental to the Mechanism.

It is not to be wondered at that Doctor Albertus was as much pleased with the Success of the Demonstration as the Guests were, and in Gratitude he has asked me to pay him a Visit at his Country-house. As I have no pressing business in London, I have accepted his kind Invitation, and in a few Days will depart for Grimthorne Abbey, where the eminent Doctor has taken up Residence, and has established his Manufactory of Clockworks. It is a Privilege to be admitted into the Confidence of such a Man as the Doctor; and you may trust that I shall not neglect my promised Duty to you. Expect, my dear Amelia, that I shall be sending Letters as frequently from Grimthorne as from London;

For I shall ever remain, &c.

–

Continue to Part 9.

(Continuing the narrative that began here.)

Part 7.

–

Letter the Seventh: Miss Honoria Wells to Sir George Purvis.

My own beloved George,——

Imprisoned here like the illustrious Rozabel among the Barbary Pirates, tho’ without the daily Necessity of defending my Honor, I cannot but suppose that this Dulness of which you complain in London must be a poor weakling Dulness, hardly worthy of the Name, when measured against the hard and unyielding Dulness which keeps me an unwilling Captive here. Yet Rozabel found her Alphonzo at last; and so I trust that my George in Time shall come to set me free, and make me exchange the unwilling Slavery from which I long to escape, for that willing Submission from which I shall never desire to be released.

Thus I remain, &c.

–

A Poem by Mr. M——, written on the Occasion of seeing a Demonstration of the celebrated Automaton by Doctor Albertus.

O Women! ye have borne the Wits’ Abuse,
And Libels without Number or Excuse;
What Gibes and Innuendoes most impure
With Patience more than Job’s do ye endure!
But now, to Arms! Let all arise as one:
To Arms! To Arms, or ye are all undone!
A greater Threat upon the Field is seen:
The Enemy not Man, but a Machine!
For once, tho’ Wits pretended to despise
The Lure of cherry Lips, or glist’ning Eyes,
The Touch of Fingers delicately slim,—
Man needed Woman, more than she did him.
But now the Beaux all suddenly have spurn’d
Their celebrated Beauties, and have turn’d
Their rapt Attention to a clockwork Toy,
With Transports of unfathomable Joy.
Let Barriers of Rank be thrust aside;
Let Queen with common Hussy be ally’d;
Let ev’ry Art of Woman be employ’d
To win back the Esteem you once enjoy’d.
Make such Adjustments to your Face and Gown
As will turn back the Eyes of Beaux in Town;
Let over-scrupled Virtue be no Bar:
With delicate Allurements win the War.
For should ye lose this Battle, then I fear
The Ruin of the Race of Man is near.

–

Continue to Part 8.

(Continuing the narrative that began here.)

Part 6.

Letter the Sixth: Miss Honoria Wells to Miss Amelia Purvis.

Dearest Amelia,——

A Letter from you is always a Delight, but how much more so when it brings News of my beloved George! —I ought to say, our beloved George: For never did a Sister love a Brother with a purer Affection than that which you feel for George, as I know by sundry incontrovertible Evidences. Nay, even the noble Eniazira, tho’ she would have died for her Apollonio, was never your Match in this Regard.

I know also that George loves you after the same Manner. He has told me as much. Even if he had not told me, you would have Proof enough in his Letters to you;—for I must tell you, my dear, that he writes to you more often than he writes to me. Of course, his Letters to me are full of the sublimest Expressions of Devotion; for when he writes to me, all the small Matters of daily Life are banished from his Mind, and he thinks only of our immortal Love.

But you, who are already more than a Sister to me,—you, dearest Amelia, are almost my only Source of Intelligence from the World at Large. You have visited me more than once, but you could not possibly form any Notion of how dull it is here without you! My Mother seldom leaves her Chamber, tho’ she keeps the Servants as busy as if she were planning an Expedition to conquer the Indies. My Father is content with his Pipe, and might sit immobile in his Chair the Remainder of his Life, did not my Mother require his Assistance ever and anon. And there is no one else!—for even the Servants might be good for some Companionship, but my Mother employs them to such an Extent that they have no Time for me. I do not exaggerate, dear Amelia, when I tell you that there are many Mornings when I must perforce dress myself, my Mother’s Demands having occupied the Attention of every Domestick in the House.

Aside from the Letters I receive from you and from George—far more frequent than I have any Right to expect, but alas! far too infrequent to disperse the gloomy Loneliness of my Solitude—aside from those Letters, I say, my Books are my only Delight,—the Books in which I study the exemplary Adventures of illustrious Women, whose Lives have been narrated for us in Folio by the incomparable M. de Scudery and many other Historians, so that we shall not be left without Guidance when our own Lives overwhelm us with Difficulties.

Such Folios as these, as I have said, are my sole Companions, save that on fine Days, I often take a long Walk in the Fields, and sit by the Brook, where I read from the Book of Nature as well as the Book in my Hands. All my Skirts are in Tatters from these Expeditions, and I must be a startling Sight if anybody came to see me; but nobody comes, and nobody sees, so I put off having them mended, knowing that I should most probably have to do the Mending myself, the Servants being occupied with my Mother’s insistent Whimsies. A Girl in a tattered Skirt, with a Book in her Hands, sitting solitary in a Field: That is what you would see if you came to-day, or to-morrow, or Monday next. I verily believe the Farmers round about take me for a Mad-woman.

If I am mad, however, I am no more so than any Citizen of London: For as George informs you, and you have informed me, the whole Town has gone mad for a clockwork Facsimile of a Woman. Had I not heard the Intelligence from so trustworthy a Source, I might have thought it a Jest, or a Rumor unfounded. It is plain, however, that you speak the Truth. Indeed, the Thing is so ridiculous, that I doubt whether you could have invented it.

Shall I tell you what I think? It seems to me that the clockwork Female is a Sensation, because it can be displayed without that Degree of Decency to which even the most notorious Denizens of Drury-lane are subject. This Grecian Drapery of which we hear: Would even Mrs. H—— dare to appear on stage so draped, or rather un-draped? What is barely decent on a Statue, is obscene on a living Woman. But altho’ this Automaton partakes of the Nature of a Statue, in that it is not endowed with Life, yet it moves, and walks, and appears to a certain Degree to be animate: Wherefore it is more than a Statue, and approaches unto a living Female in Appearance. ’Tis a Machine, and therefore not subject to the Laws of Decency; but in the Imagination ’tis a Woman indecently draped. I own that I felt a Pang of Jealousy when I read George’s Description of the Thing, tho’ I must dismiss my Jealousy as absurd.

You were entirely correct, however, in supposing that these Letters might relieve the Dulness of my Existence here: For which I thank you, my dear Sister, with more Gratitude than I can express; and I can only beg more of ’em. For believe me when I say that I think my very Life may depend on that Relief, just as the renowned Orzivieta gained the Vigor to endure her Imprisonment only through the Missives from her Arturo, which her faithful Maidservant contrived to convey to her by Sling. With a deep Sense of Obligation, therefore, I acknowledge myself

Your indebted Servant,

Honoria.

–

Continue to Part 7.

(Continuing the narrative that began here.)

Part 5.

The Interlocutor,

No. 78.

That ’tis both good, and profitable, to enquire into the Secrets of Nature, and to discover and reduce to Order the Laws by which she operates, is a Point so universally admitted in our Age, as to require no Argument here: But in descending from the general Principle to the particular Case, we may often find some Difficulty in distinguishing between rational Enquiry, which is laudable, and groundless Speculation, which is no more than philosophick Gossip. We have in London now, and have had this Fortnight, the eminent Doctor Albertus;—“eminent” he styles himself, tho’ ’tis to be doubted whether his Name had been heard at all in this Country a Month ago. His clockwork Contrivances have entertained us a great deal, and we acknowledge without Hesitation, that few have equalled, and none surpassed him, in the Art of imparting Motion to lifeless Matter. But the eminent Doctor is not content with mechanical Demonstrations, for he would teach us Theology as well, as if his Skill in assembling Gears and Ratchetts had made him a Kind of younger Brother to the Creator.

Now, the Interlocutor himself, out of Materials no more elevated than a Pot of Ink and a few Scraps of Paper, assembles a lofty Universe of Thought three Days out of every Week, and therefore might claim equal if not closer Kinship with the Author of the greater Universe. But he refrains: For he considers such Pride not only blasphemous, but unbecoming a Gentleman.

Doctor Albertus shews us a clockwork Hound, and we applaud his Skill. He shews us a clockwork Woman, and we marvel at his Ingenuity. When he styles her the new Eve, however, and raises a lofty Tower of philosophical Speculation upon so soft a Foundation, we think he is a better Mechanick than he is a Philosopher, and ought to confine his Efforts to those Endeavors in which he is an acknowledged Master, leaving Divinity to the Divines.

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Continue to Part 6.

(Continuing the narrative that began here.)

Part 4.

Letter the Fifth: Sir George Purvis to Miss Amelia Purvis.

My dear Sister,—

As I have promised to send you an Account of my Interview with the celebrated Doctor Albertus, I am sitting down to write this Evening while the Memory of our Conversation is still bright. A brief Talk with the celebrated Doctor is a veritable University of speculative Reasoning; and tho’ his Arguments all bear the Stamp of that Singularity which defines the Man, yet when he speaks I own myself half convinced, tho’ now I can think of a thousand Objections to his Assertions.

Certainly I must rank Punctuality among his Virtues: For he arrived and was announced at the appointed Hour, just as the Clock struck. As soon as our Greetings had been exchanged, Doctor Albertus presented me with a small Gift in a wooden Box, which he declared was owed to me for the Aid I had rendered him last night at my lady Neville’s. I opened the Lid, and beheld a small Serpent, one of the eminent Doctor’s remarkable Clockworks. I could not resist the Experiment, and winding the Mechanism, placed it on the Table, where it slithered after the Manner proper to Serpents in a most amusing Way. I gave him my profuse Thanks, but Doctor Albertus repeated that it was merely my Desert, and but the Least he could render me for my timely Aid.

As soon as the Tea was laid before us, Doctor Albertus began the Discussion with a few Compliments on my Understanding, which were more flattering than deserved. I rejoined with my own compliments on his mechanical Skill, and on the wonderfull mechanical Devices of which he was the Author. In recording our Conversation, which is still in a Manner ringing in my Ears, I shall make an attempt to record his Words exactly, but without those Interruptions incidental to common Speech.

“Indeed (quoth Doctor Albertus) I have made many Improvements in Mechanicks, for which I hope Men to come shall be in my Debt, as I am in the Debt of the Philosophers who came before me. But I may say to thee (for I feel instinctively that with thee I may speak freely), That I expect much more than a Demonstration of mechanical Principles to proceed from my Labor in building my Automaton. When I spoke to thy Friends last Night, I gave them a Hint of mine Aim, which is the Creation of a new Form of Life. I believe that my Mission is the Restoration of our Earth, and the Cleansing of it from Sin and Death. It is my Destiny, perhaps not to complete the Task, but at least to begin it, and leave the Completion of it to a later and perhaps greater Philosopher.”

“I had thought (I reply’d) that the Task had been accomplished for all Men by our Savior.”

“O but I speak of the Earth of the Present, and not of the Time to Come, of which no Man can form an accurate Impression, and which may be said to be more Rumor than Fact. Now, thou must empty thy Mind of Prejudice, for I know thee, Sir George, to be a Man of singular Understanding, and I would not have thee bound by the Authorities of a thousand Years ago, and neglect the Improvements which our present Age has made in Philosophy. Think not that the Antients were wise, because antient: For in very Truth it is we who are antient, and not they. They lived in the Youth of the World; we in its Maturity. They had but their own Wisdom to guide them; we have theirs, and our own, and the Wisdom of all the Centuries between.”

“But surely there must be an Exception made for Religion, whose Truths are eternal, and not subject to that Improvement which has marked the Progress of natural Philosophy.”

When I spoke thus, Doctor Albertus smiled, and leaned forward as if to impart some great Confidence. “Religion (he said) is but that Branch of Philosophy which investigates the Divine. Wherefore there is a Development in Religion as there is in the other Branches of Philosophy: For as we understand more of the Nature of God, the provisional Postulates of the Past must be modified or abandoned, just as the Wisdom of Aristotle, in spite of the Labor which it cost that great Philosopher, has given Way to the superior Wisdom of Newton, whose Discoveries have shewn us as it were the Mind of God himself.”

“And it is your Belief, then, that the Conquest of Sin, which has so far infected every Generation of Men, may in some Manner be effected by the Construction of a Clockwork?”

“Not merely a Clockwork (quoth Doctor Albertus) but rather a new Species of Soul.”

At this Remark I am sure I smiled, but Doctor Albertus continued.

“I call that an Old Soul, which is generated according to Nature, and therefore carries the indelible Taint of our primordial Sin. And I call that a New Soul, which is not generated according to Nature, and therefore has no part in original Sin.

“For I do not suppose that the Soul is a Kind of Object, which, tho’ immaterial, may be distinguished from the other Parts of a Man, as a Finger is distinct from an Eye. No: By Soul I mean, the harmonious Working of all the Parts together; nor do I believe that there is any other Thing that may be termed a Soul.

“Sin (quoth Doctor Albertus) is the Thing that limits the Old Soul. We may well speak of original Sin: For that Article of christian Doctrine is confirmed by the most cursory Observation of the human Race. That a Tendency toward Sin is implanted in us all at Birth, seems the only rational Means of accounting for History, which is Naught but a Record of Men’s Sins writ across the Face of the terrestrial Globe. Wars, and Tyrannies, and ruinous Famines while the Rich eat their Fill, and Murders, and Adulteries, and Persecutions, and Slaughters without Number: This is the Sum of our History, and thus is the Tale of our Race told in Epitome.

“Now, the Automaton is a New Soul, generated without Sin, and not susceptible to that Temptation, or irresistible Drive toward Evil, which is the common Lot of all Mankind. Altho’ its Operations are simple, they are entirely Rational. Anger, Lust, Envy, and what have you, do not enter into the Calculation of its Actions. I have already shewn what Misery our Sin leads us into; now consider for a Moment what a Paradise our World might be, if it were once freed from Sin. ’Twould be Eden incorrupt, Sir George. Now, the Automaton is generated without Sin, and feels no Pain; and tho’ I own it is primitive, and undeveloped, yet the Principles of its Construction are capable of infinite Refinement. But a short Time–the Blink of an Eye in our long History–and Automata may be produced whose Capabilities as far exceed those of the present Automaton as our Capabilities exceed those of a Mouse.”

“Yet Men (I objected) must build these Automata, and Men are subject to Sin; wherefore there must still be Sin in the World, as long as the Dominion of Man shall last.”

“But why (quoth Doctor Albertus) ought we to suppose that Man’s Dominion over the Earth is to be perpetual? Might we not instead be merely Stewards or Custodians for the true Masters of the Globe, holding it in Trust during the Minority of the Proprietors? Nay, perhaps the entire Purpose of our Existence is to act as Midwives, assisting at the Birth of the true Rulers of the Terrestrial Sphere.

“I have built the present Automaton with mine own Hands; the next Automaton likewise will be the Product of Man’s Labor; and so, without Doubt, the Automaton after that. But a Time will come, when Automata shall manipulate Objects with more Dexterity than Men are capable of, and then the Automata shall build the Automata. In Short, the Race of Automata shall perpetuate itself, whether we will or no; and living Machines shall be fruitfull, and multiply, and fill the Earth.”

“But surely (said I) that would make us Slaves to these Automata, if indeed they did not destroy us altogether.”

“Nay (quoth Doctor Albertus), it is not the Extinction or Enslavement of our Race that I see when I gaze into the Future of Mankind. On the contrary, I see naught but Liberty. There are some among us destined to be Monarchs, but how many are they? Each Country admits of but one Monarch, for that is the very Meaning of the Word. The Rest of us, and thou and I, Sir George, are in that Number;–the Rest of us, I say, are destined not to rule, but to be ruled; and in such Circumstances, our Happiness depends upon the Virtue of the Ruler. Now, who would not chuse rather to be guided by Reason, than to be subject to arbitrary Tyranny? Therefore I proclaim the Manumission of the Race of Man: For now we are Slaves to the Whims of Tyrants; but soon, when the Automata take their Place as Heirs of the whole Earth, we shall be guided only by Reason, and live under Rulers which cannot hate, or persecute, or lie, or sin in any Way.

“But if we shall be ruled by Automata, why should we not also be served by Automata? Machines have always served Men, tho’ in a limited and primitive Capacity; but what great Accomplishments lie within our Grasp, when we shall have Machines of greater Capability to serve us!–Machines that shall build, or dig, or plough the Earth; Machines that shall row our Ships faster than the Wind, or push our Carriages; Machines that shall fly through the Air like Birds, and carry us away with ’em on Wings like those Daedalus once dreamed of. Famine shall be unknown; the most impossible and artistic Constructions shall be put up in a week; the most distant Climes shall be brought near, and the most distant Peoples made our proximate Neighbors. In short, the Want, Misery, Ugliness, and Hatred of our current Existence shall give way to an Age of Plenty, Happiness, Beauty, and Peace.”

Here I shall leave off my Writing: For if I recorded every Word that dropped from the Mouth of the celebrated Doctor, I should weary myself with the Writing of them, if not you with the Reading. But you shall hear more: For I have asked Doctor Albertus to bring his Automaton here for the Evening Thursday next, when the Doctor and his Creation shall be introduced to a number of Friends and Acquaintances of mine. I promise you a full Account of that Evening; in the Interim,

I remain, &c.

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Continue to Part 5.