The World's Greatest Books - Volume 4 Part 35

"Margaret has recovered her sight. She and Will are to be married, and he's bringing her out here to Canada; and Job Legh talks of coming, too--not to see you, Mary, but to try and pick up a few specimens of Canadian insects."

"Dear Job Legh!" said Mary, softly.

WILLIAM G.o.dWIN

Caleb Williams

William G.o.dwin, the son of a dissenting parson, was a man of remarkable gifts and the father of the poet Sh.e.l.ley's second wife, Mary Wollstonecraft Sh.e.l.ley (see Vol. VII). Born at Wisbeach, England, March 3, 1756, he served for five years, 1778-83, as a Nonconformist minister, and then going to London, joined the leading Whig circle of the day, and turned his attention to political writings. His "Political Justice,"

though little read to-day, had a great number of readers and considerable influence a hundred years ago. "Things as They Are, or the Adventures of Caleb Williams," published in 1794, has a philosophical significance, suggested by the falseness of the common code of morality, which is apt to be overlooked by many readers in the strong interest of the tale. It is one of the few books of that period which may still be said to live. It is quite the best of his novels. "It raised G.o.dwin's reputation to a pinnacle," according to contemporary criticism, though some of his other novels, notably "Fleetwood," have been preferred for their descriptive writing. He was an exceedingly industrious writer; essays, biography, political philosophy, and history all coming from his pen; but in spite of this and of his many distinguished friendships, G.o.dwin was always in difficulties, which he bore with the becoming grace of a philosopher. He died on April 7, 1836.

_I.--Mr. Falkland's Secret_

My life has for several years been a theatre of calamity. My fairest prospects have been blasted. My enemy has shown himself inaccessible to entreaties and untired in persecution. I was born of humble parents, in a remote county of England. Their occupations were such as usually fall to the lot of peasants, and they had no portion to give me. I was taught the rudiments of no science, except reading, writing, and arithmetic.

But I had an inquisitive mind, and neglected no means of information from conversation or books.

The residence of my parents was within the manor of Ferdinando Falkland, a country squire of considerable opulence. At an early age I attracted the favourable notice of Mr. Collins, this gentleman's steward, who used to call in occasionally at my father's.

In the summer of the year----, Mr. Falkland visited his estate in our county after an absence of several months. This was a period of misfortune to me. I was then eighteen years of age. My father lay dead in our cottage, and I had lost my mother some years before. In this forlorn situation I received a message from the squire, ordering me to repair to the manor house.

My reception was as gracious and encouraging as I could possibly desire.

Mr. Falkland questioned me respecting my learning, and my conceptions of men and things, and listened to my answers with condescension and approbation. He then informed me that he was in want of a secretary, and that if I approved of the employment he would take me into his house.

I felt highly flattered by the proposal, and found my employment--which included the duties of librarian as well as those of a secretary--easy and agreeable.

Mr. Falkland's mode of living was in the utmost degree recluse and solitary. His features were scarcely ever relaxed in a smile, and the distemper which afflicted him with incessant gloom had its paroxysms.

None of the domestics, except myself and Mr. Collins approached Mr.

Falkland but at stated seasons and then only for a very short interval.

Once after I had seen my patron in a strange fit of intolerable anguish, I could not help confiding in Mr. Collins that I feared Mr. Falkland had some secret trouble, and in answer to my communication Mr. Collins told me the story of Tyrrel's murder.

Barnabas Tyrrel had been a neighbouring squire insupportably brutish and arrogant, tyrannical to his inferiors, and insolent to his equals. From the first he hated Falkland, whose dignity and courtesy were a constant rebuke to the other's boorish ill-humours, and rejected with scorn all proposals for civil intercourse.

The crisis came when Tyrrel, who had been expelled from the rural a.s.sembly which met every week at the market-town, forced his way in. He was intoxicated, and at once attacked Falkland, knocking him down, and then kicking his prostrate enemy before anyone had time to interfere.

To Mr. Falkland disgrace was worse than death. This complication of ignominy, base, humiliating, and public, stung him to the very soul, and filled his mind with horror and uproar. One other event closed that memorable evening. Mr. Tyrrel was found dead in the street, having been murdered a few yards from the a.s.sembly-house.

From that day Falkland was a changed man. His cheerfulness and tranquillity gave way to gloomy and unsociable melancholy, and, filled with the ideas of chivalry, the humiliating and dishonourable situation in which he had been placed could never be forgotten. To add to his misfortunes, it was presently whispered that he was no other than the murderer of his antagonist, and even the magistrates at length decided that the matter must be investigated, and requested Falkland to appear before them.

Mr. Falkland attended, and easily convinced the magistrates of his innocence, pointing out that his one desire was to have called out the man who had insulted him so horribly, and to have fought him to the death. He was not only acquitted, but a public demonstration of sympathy was arranged at once to show the esteem in which he was held.

A few weeks, and the real murderer was discovered. This was a man named Hawkins, who, with his son, had been reduced from an honest livelihood to beggary and ruin by Tyrrel. On circ.u.mstantial evidence, Hawkins and his son were condemned and executed.

This was the story Mr. Collins told me in order that I might understand Mr. Falkland's unhappy state. In reality it only added to my embarra.s.sment.

Was it possible, after all, that Mr. Falkland should be the murderer? It was but a pa.s.sing thought, and yet what was the meaning of Mr.

Falkland's agonies of mind? I could not accept Mr. Collins's view that Mr. Falkland was so much the slave and fool of honour that the shame of Tyrrel's savage a.s.sault alone had driven him to this melancholy and solitude, and compelled the violent outbursts of pa.s.sion.

_II.--I Learn the Secret_

My suspicions would not be set at rest. No spark of malignity was harboured in my soul. I reverenced the sublime mind of Mr. Falkland, but I had a mistaken curiosity to find out the truth of Tyrrel's murder.

Often it seemed that Mr. Falkland was about to speak to me, but the movement always ended in silence.

At last one day he sent for me to his room, and after making me swear never to disclose his confidence, and warning me that he had observed my suspicions, told me that he was the murderer of Tyrrel and the a.s.sa.s.sin of the two Hawkins.

"This it is to be a gentleman, a man of honour!" Falkland went on, in extreme distress. "My virtue, my honesty, my everlasting peace of mind, all sacrificed that I may preserve my good name. And I am as much the fool of fame as ever. Though I be the blackest of villains, I will leave behind me a spotless and ill.u.s.trious name. Why is it that I am compelled to this confidence? From the love of fame. I had no alternative but to make you my confidant or my victim, and perhaps my next murder would not have been so fortunate. I do not want to shed more blood. It is better to trust you with the whole truth, under every seal of secrecy, than to live in perpetual fear of your penetration. But look what you have done with your foolishly inquisitive humour. You shall continue in my service, and I will benefit you in respect of fortune; but I shall always hate you. If ever an unguarded word escape from your lips, you may expect to pay for it with your death, or worse. By everything that is sacred, preserve your faith!"

Such was the secret I had been so desirous to know.

"It is a wretched prospect," I said to myself, "that he holds up to me.

But I will never become an informer. I will never injure my patron; and therefore he will not be my enemy."

It was no long time after this that Mr. Forester--Mr. Falkland's half-brother--came to stay in the house while his own residence was being got ready for him, and there being little in common between the two, Mr. Forester being of a peculiarly sociable disposition, our visitor chose to make me his companion. No sooner was this growing intimacy observed than Mr. Falkland warned me that it was not agreeable to him, and that he would not have it.

"Young man, take warning!" he said to me one day when we were alone.

"You little suspect the extent of my power. You might as well think of escaping from the power of the omnipresent G.o.d as from mine."

My whole soul now revolted against the treatment I endured, and yet I could not utter a word. I resolved to quit Mr. Falkland's service, and when Mr. Forester had retired to his own house, I wrote a letter to Mr.

Falkland to that effect.

"You shall never quit it with your life," was his reply. "If you attempt it, you shall never cease to rue your folly as long as you exist. Do not imagine I am afraid of you! I wear an armour against which all your weapons are impotent. Do you not know, miserable wretch, that I have sworn to preserve my reputation, whatever it cost? I have dug a pit for you, and whichever way you move it is ready to swallow you."

This speech was the dictate of frenzy, and it created in me a similar frenzy. It determined me to do the very thing against which I was thus solemnly warned, and fly from my patron's house.

No sooner, however, had I set off, and travelled some miles, than a horseman overtook me, and handed me a letter from Mr. Forester. I opened the letter, and read as follows:

"Williams:--My brother Falkland has sent the bearer in pursuit of you.

He expects that, if found, you will return with him. I expect it, too.

If you are a villain and a rascal, you will perhaps endeavour to fly; if your conscience tells you you are innocent, you will, out of all doubt, come back. If you come, I pledge myself that if you clear your reputation, you shall not only be free to go wherever you please, but shall receive every a.s.sistance in my power to give.

"Valentine Forester."

To a mind like mine, such a letter was enough to draw me from one end of the earth to the other. I could not recall anything out of which the shadow of a criminal accusation could be extorted, and I returned with willingness and impatience. I knew the stern inflexibility of Mr.

Falkland's mind, but I also knew his virtuous and magnanimous principles. I could not believe my innocence could be confounded with guilt.

_III.--My Persecutions and Sufferings_