Originally published in Terrific Register (Sherwood, Jones, and Co.; 1825) vol.2.
On the summit of St. Vincent's rocks, in the neighbourhood of Clifton, looking on the Avon, as it rolls its lazy course towards the Bristol channel, stands an edifice, known by the name of "Cooke's Folly." It consists of a single round tower, and appears at a distance rather as the remnant of some extensive building than a complete and perfect edifice, as it now exists. It was built more than two centuries ago by a man named Maurice Cooke—not indeed as a strong hold from the arms of a mortal enemy, but as a refuge from the evils of destiny. He was the proprietor of extensive estates in the neighbourhood; and while his lady was pregnant with her first child, as she was walking in their domain, she encountered a strange-looking gipsy, who, pestering her for alms received but a small sum. The man turned over the coin in his hand and implored a larger gift. "That," said the lady, "will buy you food for the present."
"Lady," said the man, "it is not food for this wretched body that I require; the herbs of the field and the waters of the ditch are good enough for that. I ask your alms for higher purposes. Do not distrust me if my bearing be prouder than my garments; do not doubt the strength of my sunken eye, when I tell you that I can read the skies as they relate the fates of men. Not more familiar is the horn-book to the scholar than are the heavens to my knowledge."
"What, art thou an astrologer?"
"Aye, lady! my fathers were so before me, even in the times when our people had a home amidst the pyramids of the mighty—in the times when you are told the mightier prophets of the Israelites put the soothsayers of Egypt to confusion: idle tales! but if true, all reckless now. Judah's scattered sons are now destitute as ourselves; but they bend and bow to the laws and ways of other lands, we remain in the stern stedfastness of our own."
"If, then, I give you more money, how will it be applied?"
"That is not a courteous question, but I'll answer it. The most cunning craftsman cannot work without his tools, and some of mine are broken, which I seek to repair—another crown will be enough."
The lady put the required sum into his hand, and, at the same time, intimated her desire of having a specimen of his art. "Oh! to what purpose should that be? Why, why seek to know the course of futurity? Destiny runs on in a sweeping and resistless tide. Inquire not what rocks await your bark; the knowledge cannot avail you, for caution is useless against stern necessity."
"Truly, you are not likely to get rich by your trade, if you thus deter customers."
"It is not for wealth I labour. I am alone on earth, and have none to love. I will not mix with the world, lest I should learn to hate. The present is nothing to me. It is in communion with the spirits that have lived in the times that have lived in the times that are past, and with the stars, those historians of the time to come, that I feel aught of joy. Fools sometimes demand the exertions of my powers, and sometimes I gratify their childish curiosity."
"Notwithstanding I lie under the imputation of folly, I beg that you will predict unto me the fate of the child which I shall bear."
"Well, you have obliged me, and I will comply. Note the precise moment at which it enters the world, and soon after you shall see me again."
Within a week the birth of an heir awoke the clamourous joy of the vassals, and summoned the strange gipsy to ascertain the necessary points. These learnt, he returned home; and the next day presented Sir Maurice with a scroll, containing the following words:
"Twenty times shall Avon's tide
In chains of glistening ice be tied—
Twenty times the woods of Leigh
Shall wave their branches merrily,
In Spring burst forth in mantle gay,
And dance in summer's scorching ray:
Twenty times shall autumn's frown
Wither all the green to brown—
And still the child of yesterday
Shall laugh the happy hours away.
That period past, another sun
Shall not his annual journey run,
Before a secret silent foe
Shall strike that boy a deadly blow.
Such and sure his fate shall be:
Seek not to change his destiny."
The knight read it; and in that age, when astrology was considered a science as unerring as holy Prophecies, it would have been little less than infidelity to have doubted the of the prediction. Sir Maurice, however, was wise enough to withhold the paper from his lady, and, in answer to her inquiries, continually asserted that the gipsy was an impostor, and that the object of his assuming the character of an astrologer was merely to increase her alms. The child grew in health and beauty; and as we are the more strongly attached to pleasures in proportion to the brevity of their continuance, so did the melancholy fate of his son more firmly fix him in the heart of Sir Maurice.
Often did the wondering lady observe the countenance of her husband with surprise, as watching the endearing sportiveness of the boy, his countenance, at first brightened by the smile of paternal love, gradually darkened to the deepest grief, until, unable to suppress his tears, he would cover the child with caresses, and rush from the room. To all inquiries Sir Maurice was silent, or returned evasive answers. We shall pass over the infancy of young Walter, and resume the narrative of the period in which he entered his twentieth year.
His mother was now dead, and had left two other children, both girls, who, however, shared little of their father's love, which was almost exclusively fixed on Walter, and appeared to increase in strength as the fatal time grew near.
It's not to be supposed that he took no precaution against the predicted event. Sometimes hope suggested that a mistake might have been made-in the horoscope, or, that the astrologer might have overlooked some sign which made it conditional; and in unison with the latter idea he determined to erect a strong building, where, during this year in which his doom was to be consummated, Walter might remain in solitude.—He accordingly gave directions for raising a single tower, peculiarly formed to prevent ingress, except by permission of its inhabitants. The purpose of the strange building, however, he kept secret; and his neighbours, after various strange conjectures, gave it the name of "Cooke's Folly." Walter himself was kept entirely ignorant on the subject, and all his inquiries were answered with tears. At length, the tower was completed, and furnished with all things necessary for convenience and comfort; and on the eve of Walter's completing his twentieth year, Sir Maurice shewed him the gipsy's scroll, and intreated him to make use of the retreat prepared for him till the year expired.
Walter at first treated the matter lightly, laughed at the prophecy, and declared he would not lose a year's liberty if all the astrologers in the world were to croak their ridiculous prophecies against him. Seeing, however, his father so earnestly bent on the matter, his resolution began to give way, and at length he consented to the arrangement. At six the following morning, therefore, Walter entered the tower, which he fastened within as strongly as iron bars would admit, and which was secured outside in a manner equally firm. He took possession of his voluntary prison with melancholy feelings, rather occasioned by the loss of present pleasure than the fear of future pain. He sighed as he looked upon the wide domain before him, and thought how sad it would be to hear the joyous horn summoning his companions to the chase, and find himself prevented from attending it; to hear the winter wind howling round his tower, and rushing between the rocks beneath him, and miss the cheerful song and merry jest, which were wont to make even the blast a merry sound.
Certainly his time passed as pleasantly as circumstances permitted. He drew up in a basket, at his meal-hours, every luxury which the season produced. His father and sisters daily conversed with him from below, for a considerable time; and the morris-dancers often raised his laughter by their grotesque movements. Weeks and months passed, and Walter still was well and cheerful. His own and his sisters' hopes grew more lively, but Sir Maurice's anxiety increased. The day drew near which was to restore his son to his arms in confident security, or to fulfil the prediction which left him without an heir to his name and honours. On the preceding afternoon Walter continually endeavoured to cheer his parent, by speaking of what he would do on the morrow, desired his sisters to send round to all their friends, that he might stretch his limbs once more in the merry dance, and continued to talk of the future with such confidence, that even Sir Maurice caught a spark of hope from the fiery spirit of the youth.
As the night drew on, and the sisters were about to leave him, promising to wake him at six by a song, in answer to the usual inquiry if he wanted any thing more that night, "Nothing," said he; "and yet the night feels chilly, and I have little fuel left, send me one more faggot." This was sent him, and, as he drew it up, "This," said he, "is the last time I shall have to dip for my wants, like old women for their water; thank God! for it is wearisome work for the arm." Sir Maurice still lingered under the window in conversation with his son, who at length complained of being cold and drowsy. "Mark!" said he as he closed the window, "mark, father, Mars, the star which rules my fate, looks smilingly to-night—all will be well."
Sir Maurice looked up—a dark cloud-spot suddenly covered the planet, and he shuddered at the omen. The anxious father could not leave the place. Sleep, he knew, it was in vain to court; and he therefore determined to remain on the spot. The reflections that occupied his mind were continually varied:—at one time he painted to himself the proud career of his high-spirited boy, known and admired among the mighty of his time; a moment after he saw the prediction verified, and the child of his love lying in the tomb. Who can conceive his feelings as hour dragged after hour, while he walked to and fro, watching the blaze of the fire in the tower as it blazed and sunk again—now pacing the court with hasty steps, and now praying fervently for the preservation of his son!—The hour came. The cathedral-bell struck heavy on the father's heart, which was not to be lightened by the cheerful voices of his daughters, who came running full of hope to the foot of the tower. They looked up, but Walter was not there;—they called his name—but he answered not.
"Nay," said the youngest, "this is only a jest; he thinks to frighten us, but I know he is safe." A servant had brought a ladder, which he ascended, and looked in at the window. Sir Maurice stood immoveable and silent—he looked up, and the man answered the anxious expression of his eyes. "He is asleep," said he.
"He is dead!" murmured the father.
The servant broke a pane of the window, and opening the casement, entered the room. The father, changing his gloomy stedfastness for frenzied anxiety, rushed up the ladder. The servant had thrown aside the curtains and clothes, and displayed to the eyes of Sir Maurice his son lying deal—a serpent twined round his arm—and his throat covered with blood—The reptile had crept from the faggut last sent him, and fulfilled the prophecy.
Note: Text reformatted for legibility.