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:—