William Godwin, the son of a dissenting parson, was a man of
remarkable gifts and the father of the poet Shelley's second
wife, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (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 Godwin'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, Godwin 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
assembly 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 assembly-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 circumstantial 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
embarrassment.
Was it possible, after all, that Mr. Falkland should be the murderer? It
was but a passing 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 assault alone had driven him to this melancholy and
solitude, and compelled the violent outbursts of passion.
_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 assassin
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 illustrious 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 God 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 assistance 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_
Mr. Falkland accused me of having stolen money and jewels from him, and
when my boxes, which I had left behind, were opened, a watch and certain
jewels were found in one of them.
My amazement yielded to indignation and horror. I protested my innocence
I declared that Mr. Falkland knew I was innocent, and that while I was
wholly unable to account for the articles found in my possession, I
firmly believed that their being there was of Mr. Falkland's
contrivance.
Mr. Falkland now expressed his willingness to proceed no further against
me, and, since I had been brought to public shame, to let me depart
wherever I pleased. I was unworthy of his resentment, he said, and he
could afford to smile at my malice.
Mr. Forester, however, said this was impossible, and, as a magistrate,
he thereupon committed me to prison to await my trial. Not one of the
servants who had been present at my examination expressed any compassion
for me. The robbery appeared to them atrocious, and they were indignant
at my recrimination on their excellent master.
When I had been about a month in prison the assizes were held, but my
case was not brought forward, and I was suffered to stand over six
months longer.
I noticed a change in my jailer's behaviour at this time. He offered to
make better provision for my comfort, and as I had no doubt he was
instigated by Mr. Falkland, I answered that he might tell his employer I
would accept no favours from a man that held a halter about my neck.
Then the idea of an escape occurred to me, and as I had some proficiency
in carpentry, I decided to obtain tools by proposing to make some chairs
for the jailer. My offer was accepted, and I gradually accumulated tools
of various sorts--gimlets, chisels, etc.
In the middle of the night, my plans being now thoroughly digested, I
set about making my escape. I had to get the first door from its hinges,
and though this was attended with considerable difficulty, I was
successful. The second door being fastened on the inside, all I had to
do was to push back the bolts and unscrew the box of the lock.
Thus far I had proceeded with the happiest success; but close on the
other side there was a kennel with a large mastiff dog, of which I had
not the smallest previous knowledge. However, I managed to soothe the
animal, and go to the wall. Before I had gained half the ascent, a voice
at the garden door cried out, "Halloa! Who is there?" At this the dog
began to bark violently, and a second man came out. Alarmed at my
situation, I descended on the other side too quickly, and in my fall
nearly dislocated my ankle.
In the meantime, the two warders came through a door in the wall, of
which I had not been aware, and were at the place where I had descended,
in no time. The pain in my ankle was so intense that I could scarcely
stand, and I suffered myself to be retaken.
The condition in which I was now placed was totally different from that
which had preceded this attempt. I was chained all day in my dungeon, my
manual labors were at an end, my cell was searched every night, and
every kind of tool carefully kept from me.
Nevertheless, an active mind, which has once been forced into any
particular train, can scarcely give it up as hopeless. One day I chanced
to observe a nail trodden into the mud floor at no great distance from
me. I seized upon this new treasure, and found that I could unlock with
it the padlock that fastened me to the staple in the floor. By this
means I had the pitiful consolation of being able to range, without
constraint, the miserable coop in which I was confined. It became my
constant practice to liberate myself at night; but security breeds
negligence. One morning I overslept myself, and the turnkey, to his
surprise, found me disengaged.
Again my apartment was changed. I was now put in the strong-room, an
underground dungeon, and handcuffs were added to my fetters.
It was at this time that Thomas, Mr. Falkland's footman, and an old
acquaintance of mine, visited me. He was of the better order of
servants, and my condition shocked him. He returned again in the
afternoon.
"Well, Master Williams," he said, "you have been very wicked, to be
sure, and I thought it would have done me good to see you hanged. I know
I am doing wrong; but if they hang me, too, I cannot help it. For
Christ's sake, get out of this place; I cannot bear the thought of it."
With that, he slipped into my hand a chisel, a file, and a saw. I
received the implements with great joy, and thrust them into my bosom.
I waited for bright moonlight; it was necessary that I should work in
the night, and between nine and seven.
It was ten o'clock when I first took off my handcuffs. I then filed
through my fetters, and next performed the same service to the three
iron bars that secured my window. All this was the work of more than two
hours. But, even with the bars removed, the space was by no means wide
enough to admit the passing of my body. Therefore, I had to loosen the
brickwork, and this I did partly with the chisel, and partly with one of
the iron bars. When the space was sufficient for my purpose, I crept
through the opening and stepped upon a shed outside.
The prison wall, which now had to be scaled, was of considerable height,
and there was no resource for me but that of making a breach in its
lower part. For six hours I worked at this with incredible labour, and
at last I had made a passage. But the day was breaking, and in ten
minutes' time the keepers would probably enter my apartment and see the
devastation I had left.
I decided to avoid the town as much as possible, and depended upon the
open country for protection; and so I passed along the lane beyond the
wall.
I was free of my prison, but I was destitute, and had not a shilling in
the world.
_IV.--The Doom of Falkland_
Mr. Falkland's implacable animosity pursued me beyond the prison. A
hundred guineas was at once offered for my recapture, and though I
evaded arrest for some months, a man named Gines, who had at one time
been a member of a gang of robbers, undertook to lay hold of me, and
tracked me to my place of hiding in London. By this time the hawkers
were actually selling papers in the streets containing "The most
Wonderful and Surprising History and Miraculous Adventures of Caleb
Williams," for a halfpenny, and I had the temerity to purchase one. In
this I was informed how I, Caleb Williams, "first robbed, and then
brought false accusations against my master"; how I attempted at divers
times to break out of prison, and at last succeeded "in the most
wonderful and incredible manner"; and how I had travelled the kingdom in
disguise, and was now lying concealed in London, with a hundred guineas
reward for my discovery.
It seemed then that there was no end to my persecution, and I thought of
death as my only release. That very night the landlord of my humble
lodgings brought Gines to the house, and gave me up to the authorities.
And now the result of all my labour to get out of prison and evade my
pursuers had brought me back to my starting-place! Never was a human
creature so hunted by enemies. What hope was there they would ever cease
their persecution.
My long-cherished reverence for Mr. Falkland was changed to something
like abhorrence. I determined to bring the real criminal to justice.
Accordingly, when I was taken before the magistrates at Bow Street, I
declared that Mr. Falkland was a murderer, and that I was entirely
innocent.
But the magistrates simply told me they had nothing to do with such
statements, and that I seemed a most impudent rascal to trump up such
things against my master.
I was conducted back to the very prison from which I had escaped, and my
situation seemed more irremediable than ever. How great, therefore, was
my astonishment, at the assizes when my case was called, to find neither
Mr. Falkland, nor Mr. Forester, nor any individual to appear against me.
I, who had come to the bar with the sentence of death already ringing in
my ears, to be told I was free to go whithersoever I pleased!
I was not, however, yet free of Mr. Falkland. I was kidnapped by Gines
and an accomplice, and carried to an inn, and here Mr. Falkland
commanded me to sign a paper declaring that the charge I had alleged
against him at Bow Street was false, malicious, and groundless. On my
refusal, he told me that he would exercise a power that should grind me
to atoms.
The impression of that memorable meeting on my understanding is
indelible. The deathlike weakness and decay of Mr. Falkland, his misery
and rage, his haggard, emaciated, and fleshless visage, are still before
me.
There was to be no peace or happiness for me. Wherever I went, sooner or
later, Gines found me, and any new acquaintances turned from me with
loathing after they had read the handbills containing my "Wonderful and
Surprising History." This man followed me from place to place, blasting
my reputation.
I now formed my resolution and carried it into execution. At all costs I
would free myself from this overpowering tyranny.
I set out for the chief town of the county in which Mr. Falkland lived,
and there laid a formal charge of murder before the principal
magistrate.
After an interval of three days, I met Mr. Falkland in the presence of
the magistrate. It was now the appearance of a ghost before me. He was
brought in in a chair, unable to stand, fatigued and almost destroyed by
the journey he had just taken.
Until that moment my breast was steeled to pity; it was now too late to
draw back.
I told my story plainly, declared the nobility of Mr. Falkland's
character, and admitted that my own proceedings now seemed to me a
dreadful mistake.
When I had finished, Mr. Falkland rose from his seat, and, to my
infinite astonishment, threw himself into my arms.
"Williams," said he, "you have conquered. All that I most ardently
desired is for ever frustrated. I have spent a life of the basest
cruelty to cover one act of momentary passion. And now"--turning to the
magistrate--"do with me as you please. I am prepared to suffer all the
vengeance of the law."
He survived this dreadful scene but three days, and I feel, and always
shall feel, that I have been his murderer. I began these memoirs to
vindicate my character. I have now no character that I wish to
vindicate.
* * * * *