THE FALLEN ALDERMAN
Let me return to the wretched man who had caused this trouble. I learned
that, although his two fellow-prisoners declared openly that Mr.
Merridew's power was gone and that he would never again have the power
to hang anybody, some of his credit was still maintained: he pretended
that the books--of which he spoke often and with pride, were still kept
up, and that every man's life and liberty were in his hands: and many
poor rogues, thinking to curry favour, waited upon him daily, bringing
him presents of wine, tobacco and (secretly) rum, so that he was able to
be drunk and to forget his anxieties for the greater part of the day.
The two rebels against his authority, the Bishop and the Captain,
carried themselves bravely: there is, indeed, in the profession of the
rogue something of the soldier, in that they both brave dangers without
fear. The battle field is covered with the dead and wounded: but there
are plenty left standing unhurt: every soldier thinks he will escape:
the rogue's field of honour is covered with whipping-posts, stocks,
pillory, and gallows. It is far more dangerous than the field of battle.
Yet every rogue hopes to escape, and carries himself accordingly.
Perhaps it is better so. One would not wish such a crew to be whining
and snivelling and pretending repentance and imploring pity.
One day I met, coming out of the prison, one whose face and appearance I
knew. He was old and bent, and in rags: his woollen stockings were in
holes: the elbows of his coat were gone: his hat was too limp to
preserve its shape: his buttons were off his coat--he wore the old jasey
with a broken pigtail. I touched him on the shoulder.
'You are Mr. Probus's clerk?' I said.
'If I am, Sir,' he replied, 'is that a crime?'
'No--no--no. But you remember me? You bade me once go throw myself into
the river with a stone about my neck.'
'Ay--ay,' he replied. 'Yes, I remember you now. I did, I did. Was it
good advice, young man?'
'It was, doubtless, very good advice. But I did not take it. What are
you doing here?'
'I come to look after my master,' he replied simply.
'Your master? He has kept you in rags and wretchedness. He has given you
a starvation wage.'
'Yet he is my master. I have eaten his bread, though it was bitter. I
come every day to look after him.'
'Has he no friends? No wife or children to do this for him?'
'His friends were his money bags till he lost them. They were his wife
and children as well.'
'Has he no relations--cousins--nephews?'
'Perhaps--he has driven them all away long ago.'
'You are his friend at least.'
'I am his clerk,' he repeated. 'Sir, since my master found that all his
money had been thrown away and lost, he has not been himself. He has
been mad with rage and grief. That is why he hatched that unfortunate
plot. I was in Court and heard it. Ah! he was not himself, Sir, I assure
you. Common tricks he practised daily, because he knew how far he could
go. But not such a big job as this conspiracy. In his sober senses he
would not have been so mad. Have you seen him, Sir? Have you observed
the change in him? 'Twould bring tears to a flint. He moans and laments
all day long.'
'Yes, I have seen him.'
'Sir, he thinks about nothing else. Sir, I verily believe that he does
not know even that he is in Newgate. All the money he had in the world
is gone--lent to Mr. Matthew and lost by Mr. Matthew. Terrible!
Terrible!'
'Was there not some lent to the man Merridew?'
'A trifle, Sir: a few hundreds only. No: it is all gone. My master and I
must become beggars and go together into the workhouse.' He shook his
poor old head and went his way.
Now this man had received the treatment of a dog. How long he had been
with Probus: what was his previous history I never knew: it matters not:
he had received the treatment of a dog and the wages of a galley slave:
yet he was faithful and stood by his master--the only living thing who
did--in his adversity as in his prosperity.
I next heard from Mr. Ramage that the Counting House was closed and the
gates of the Quay locked: that Matthew had run away. Then that the
unfortunate Alderman, partner in the House, had been arrested for debt
and was taken to the Fleet Prison. After this, that Matthew had been
arrested: that he was bankrupt: that he had been taken to the same
prison: and that the whole amount of the liabilities was now so great
that this meant certain imprisonment for life. By the custom of London,
too, a creditor may, before the day of payment, arrest his debtor and
oblige him to find sureties to pay the money on the day it shall become
due. By this custom the whole of Jenny's liabilities became the cause of
new detainers, so that I believe the total amount for which Matthew was
imprisoned was not far short of £150,000. I conveyed this intelligence
to my mistress.
'Misfortune,' she said, gravely, 'is falling upon all of us. Thou alone
wilt survive--the triumph of virtue. Go, however, take the man
something, or he will starve. Give it him from me, Will. Tell him--tell
him'--She considered for a little. 'Tell him--as soon as I can
forget, I will forgive. Not that he cares whether he is forgiven
or not. A man, Will, I very truly believe, may be anything he
pleases--drunkard--murderer--highwayman: yet something may still survive
in him of human kindness. There will still be a place, perhaps, for
compassion or for love. But for a gambler there is no compassion left.
He is more hardened than the worst villain in this wretched place: he
has neither sense, nor pity, nor affection, nor anything. He is all
gambler.'
'I will give him your money, Jenny. But not your message.'
She smiled sadly. 'Go, Will. The money will solace him as long as it
lasts. Perhaps a quarter of an hour.'
I repaired without delay to the Fleet Prison. Those who walk up and down
the Fleet market know of the open window in the wall and the grating,
behind which stands a man holding a tin box which he rattles to attract
attention while he repeats his parrot cry, 'Pity the Poor Prisoners!
Pity the Poor Prisoners!' This humiliation is imposed upon those of the
Common side: they must beg or they must starve. What was my surprise and
shame--who could believe that one of my family should fall so low?--to
recognise in the prisoner behind these bars, my cousin Matthew! None
other. His face was pale--it had always been pale: now it was white: his
hand shook: he was unshaven and uncombed: I pretended not to notice him.
I entered the prison and was told that he was holding the plate, but
would be free in half an hour. So I waited in the yard until he came
out, being relieved of his task. I now saw that he was in rags. How can
a man dressed as a substantial merchant fall into rags in a few days?
There was but one answer. The gambler can get rid of everything:
Matthew had played for his clothes and lost.
I accosted him. At sight of me he fell into a paroxysm of rage. He
reviled and cursed me. I had been the cause of all his misfortunes: he
wept and sobbed, being weak for want of food and cold. So I let him go
on until he stopped and sank exhausted upon the bench.
Then I told him that I had come to him from his wife. He began again to
curse and to swear. It was Jenny now who was the cause of all his
troubles: it was Jenny who refused to obey him: her liabilities alone
had prevented him from weathering the storm: he should certainly have
weathered the storm: and so on--foolish recrimination that meant
nothing.
I made no answer until he had again exhausted his strength, but not his
bitterness.
'Matthew,' I said, 'the woman against whom you have been railing sends
you money. Here it is. Use it for living and not for gambling,' The
money I gave him was five guineas.
The moment he had it in his hand he hurried away as fast as he could go.
I thought he ran away in order to conceal his agitation or shame at
receiving these coals of fire. Not so, it was in order to find out
someone who would sit down to play with him. Oh! It was a madness.
I watched him. He ran to the kitchen and bought some food. He swallowed
it eagerly. Then he bent his steps to the coffee-room. I followed and
looked in. He was already at a table opposite another man, and in his
hands was a pack of cards. In a few hours or a few minutes--it mattered
not which--Jenny's present of five guineas would be gone, and the man
would be destitute again. Poor wretch! One forgave him all considering
this madness that had fallen upon him.
'But,' said Jenny, 'he was bad before he was mad. He was bad when he
married me: he is only worse: nothing more is the matter with him.'
But my uncle, the Alderman, also involved in the bankruptcy, had been
carried to the same place, while his great house on Clapham Common, with
all his plate and fine furniture, had been sold for the benefit of the
creditors. Matthew had ruined all. I went to see him. He was on the
Masters', not the common side. It was a most melancholy spectacle. For
my own part I bore the poor man no kind of malice. He had but believed
things told him concerning me. He gave me his hand.
'Nephew,' he said, his voice breaking, 'this is but a poor place for an
Alderman: yet it is to be my portion for the brief remainder of my days.
What would my brother--your father--have said if he had known? But he
could not even suspect: no one could suspect--'
'Nay, Sir,' I said, 'I hope that your creditors will give you a speedy
release.'
'I doubt it, Will. They are incensed--and justly so--at their treatment
by--by--Matthew. They reproach me with not knowing what was doing--why,
Will, I trusted my son'--he sobbed--'my son--Absalom, my son--the steady
sober son, for whom I have thanked God so often: Will, he made me
believe evil things of thee: he accused thee of such profligacy as we
dare not speak of in the City: profligacy such as young men of Quality
may practise but not young men of the City. I dared not tell my brother
all that he told me.'
'Indeed, Sir, I know how he persuaded not only you but my father as
well--to my injury. In the end it was my own act and deed that drove me
forth, because I would not give up my music.'
'If not that, then something else would have served his purpose. Alas!
Will. Here come your cousins. Heed them not. They are bitter with me.
Heed them not.'
The girls, whom I had not seen since my father's funeral, marched along
with disdainful airs pulling their hoops aside, as once before, to
prevent the contamination of a touch. They reddened when they saw me,
but not with friendliness.
'Oh!' said one, 'he comes to gloat over our misfortunes.'
'Ah! No doubt they make him happy.'
'Cousins,' I said, 'I am in no mood to rejoice over anything except my
own escape from grievous peril. The hand of the Lord is heavy upon this
family. We are all afflicted. As for your brother Matthew, it is best to
call him mad.'
'Who hath driven him mad?' asked Amelia, the elder. 'The revengeful
spirit of his cousin!'
This was their burden. Women may be the most unreasonable of all
creatures. These girls could not believe that their brother was guilty:
the bankruptcy of the House: the stories of his gambling: his marriage
with an actress: his evidence in the Court: were all set down as
instigated, suggested, encouraged, or invented, by his wicked cousin,
Will. It matters not: I have no doubt that the legend had grown in their
minds until it was an article of their creed: if they ever mention the
Prodigal Son--who is now far away--it is to deplore the wicked wiles by
which he ruined their martyred Saint: their brother Matthew.
'It is of no use,' I said to my uncle, 'to protest, to ask what my
cousins mean, or how I could have injured Matthew, had I desired. I may
tell you, Sir, that I learned only a short time ago that Matthew was a
gambler: that the affairs of the House were desperate: and that an
attempt was to be made upon my life--an attempt of which Matthew was
cognizant--even if he did not formally consent. So, Sir, I take my
leave.'
They actually did not know that Matthew was within the same
walls.--Father and son: the father on the Masters' side, dignified at
least with the carriage of fallen authority: the son a ragged, shambling
creature, with no air at all save that of decay and ruin. Unfortunate
indeed was our House: dismal indeed was its fall: shameful was its end.