To facilitate his admittance into the Jesuit’s company, he dressed himself as a scholar, and, waiting a favorable opportunity, went up to him very confidently, and addressed him as follows: “May it please your reverence, I am a poor scholar, who have been several years travelling over strange countries, to learn experience in the sciences, principally to serve mine own country, for whose advantage I am determined to apply my knowledge, if I may be favored with the patronage of a man so eminent as yourself.” “And what may this knowledge of yours be?” replied the father, very much pleased. “If you will communicate any thing to me that may be beneficial to France, I assure you, no proper encouragement shall be wanting on my side.” Du Vall, upon this, growing bolder, proceeded: “Sir, I have spent most of my time in the study of alchymy, or the transmutation of metals, and have profited so much at Rome and Venice, from great men learned in that science, that I can change several metals into gold, by the help of a philosophical powder which I can prepare very speedily.”
The father confessor was more elated with this communication than all the discoveries he had obtained in the way of his profession, and his knowledge even of his royal penitent’s most private secrets gave him less delight than the prospect of immense riches which now burst upon his avaricious mind. “Friend,” said he, “such a thing as this will be serviceable to the whole state, and particularly grateful to the king, who, as his affairs go at present, stands in great need of such a curious invention. But you must let me see some proof of your skill, before I credit what you say, so far as to communicate it to his majesty, who will sufficiently reward you, if what you promise be demonstrated.” Upon this, the confessor conducted Du Vall to his house, and furnished him with money to erect a laboratory, and to purchase such other materials as were requisite, in order to proceed in this invaluable operation, charging him to keep the secret from every living soul. Utensils being fixed, and every thing in readiness, the Jesuit came to witness the wonderful operation. Du Vall took several metals and minerals of the basest sort, and put them in a crucible, his reverence viewing every one as he put them in. Our alchymist had prepared a hollow tube, into which he conveyed several sprigs of real gold; with this seeming stick he stirred the operation, which, with its heat, melted the gold, and the tube at the same time, so that it sank imperceptibly into the vessel. When the excessive fire had consumed all the different materials which he had put in, the gold remained pure, to the quantity of an ounce and a half. This the Jesuit ordered to be examined, and, ascertaining that it was actually pure gold, he became devoted to Du Vall, and, blinded with the prospect of future advantage, credited every thing our impostor said, furnishing him with whatever he demanded, in hopes of being made master of this extraordinary secret. Thus were our alchymist and Jesuit, according to the old saying, as “great as two pickpockets.” Du Vall was a professed robber; and what is a court favorite but a picker of the people’s pockets? So that it was two sharpers endeavoring to outsharp one another. The confessor was as candid as Du Vall could wish; he showed him all his treasures, and several rich jewels which he had received from the king; hoping, by these obligations, to incline him to discover his wonderful secrets with more alacrity. In short, he became so importunate, that Du Vall was apprehensive of too minute an inquiry, if he denied the request any longer: he therefore appointed a day when the whole was to be disclosed. In the mean time, he took an opportunity of stealing into the chamber where the riches were deposited, and where his reverence generally slept after dinner; finding him in deep repose, he gently bound him, then took his keys, and unhoarded as much of his wealth as he could carry off unsuspected; after which, he quickly took leave of him and France.
It is uncertain how long Du Vall continued his depredations after his return to England; but we are informed, that in a fit of intoxication he was detected at the Hole-in-the-Wall, in Chandos street, committed to Newgate, convicted, condemned, and executed at Tyburn, in the twenty-seventh year of his age, on the 1st of January 1669: and so much had his gallantries and handsome figure rendered him the favorite of the fair sex, that many a bright eye was dimmed at his funeral; his corpse was bedewed with the tears of beauty, and his actions and death were celebrated by the immortal author of the inimitable Hudibras. He was buried with many flambeaux, amidst a numerous train of mourners, (most of them ladies,) in the middle aisle of the church in Covent Garden.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] We find, by reference to an old Life of Du Vall, published in 1670, that Domfront was a place by no means unlikely to have produced our adventurer. Indeed, it appears that common honesty was a most uncommon ingredient in the moral economy of the place, as the following curious extract from the work in question will abundantly testify:—
“In the days of Charles IX. the curate of Domfront, (for so the French name him whom we call parson, and vicar,) out of his own head began a strange innovation and oppression in that parish; that is, he absolutely denied to baptize any of their children, if they would not, at the same time, pay him his funeral fees: and what was worse, he would give them no reason for this alteration, but only promised to enter bond for himself and successors, that hereafter, all persons paying so at their christening should be buried gratis. What think ye the poor people did in this case? They did not pull his surplice over his ears, nor tear his mass-book, nor throw crickets at his head: no, they humbly desired him to alter his resolutions, and amicably reasoned with him; but he, being a capricious fellow, gave them no other answer, but ‘What I have done, I have done; take your remedy where you can find it; it is not for men of my coat to give an account of my actions to the laity;’ which was a surly and quarrelsome answer, and unbefitting a priest. Yet this did not provoke his parishioners to speak one ill word against his person or function, or to do any illegal act. They only took the regular way of complaining of him to his ordinary, the archbishop of Rouen. Upon summons, he appears: the archbishop takes him up roundly, tells him he deserves deprivation, if that can be proved which is objected against him, and asked him what he had to say for himself. After his due reverence, he answers, that he acknowledges the fact, to save the time of examining witnesses; but desires his grace to hear his reasons, and then do unto him as he shall see cause. ‘I have,’ says he, ‘been curate of this parish seven years; in that time I have, one year with another, baptized a hundred children, and buried not one. At first I rejoiced at my good fortune to be placed in so good an air; but, looking into the register-book, I found, for a hundred years back, near the same number yearly baptized, and no one above five years old buried; and which did more amaze me, I find the number of communicants to be no greater now than they were then. This seemed to me a great mystery; but, upon farther inquiry, I found out the true cause of it; for all that were born at Domfront were hanged at Rouen. I did this to keep my parishioners from hanging, encouraging them to die at home, the burial duties being already paid.’
“The archbishop demanded of the parishioners whether this was true or not. They answered, that too many of them came to that unlucky end at Rouen. ‘Well, then,’ says he, ‘I approve of what the curate has done, and will cause my secretary, in perpetuam rei memoriam, to make an act of it;’ which act the curate carried home with him, and the parish cheerfully submitted to it, and have found much good by it; for within less than twenty years, there died fifteen of natural deaths, and now there die three or four yearly.”
SAWNEY BEANE.
The following narrative presents such a picture of human barbarity, that, were it not attested by the most unquestionable historical evidence, it would be rejected as altogether fabulous and incredible.
Sawney Beane was born in the county of East Lothian, about eight miles east of Edinburgh, in the reign of James I. of Scotland. His father was a hedger and ditcher, and brought up his son to the same laborious employment. Naturally idle and vicious, he abandoned that place in company with a young woman equally idle and profligate, and retired to the deserts of Galloway, where they took up their habitation by the sea-side. The place which Sawney and his wife selected for their dwelling was a cave of about a mile in length, and of considerable breadth, so near the sea, that the tide often penetrated into the cave above two hundred yards. The entry had many intricate windings and turnings, leading to the extremity of the subterraneous dwelling, which was literally “the habitation of horrid cruelty.”