I hasten to the conclusion of my melancholy story. I began to write soon
after the period to which I have now conducted it. This was another
resource that my mind, ever eager in inventing means to escape from my
misery, suggested. In my haste to withdraw myself from the retreat in
Wales, where first the certainty of Mr. Falkland's menaces was confirmed
to me, I left behind me the apparatus of my etymological enquiries, and
the papers I had written upon the subject. I have never been able to
persuade myself to resume this pursuit. It is always discouraging, to
begin over again a laborious task, and exert one's self to recover a
position we had already occupied. I knew not how soon or how abruptly I
might be driven from any new situation; the appendages of the study in
which I had engaged were too cumbrous for this state of dependence and
uncertainty; they only served to give new sharpness to the enmity of my
foe, and new poignancy to my hourly-renewing distress.
But what was of greatest importance, and made the deepest impression
upon my mind, was my separation from the family of Laura. Fool that I
was, to imagine that there was any room for me in the abodes of
friendship and tranquillity! It was now first, that I felt, with the
most intolerable acuteness, how completely I was cut off from the whole
human species. Other connections I had gained, comparatively without
interest; and I saw them dissolved without the consummation of agony. I
had never experienced the purest refinements of friendship, but in two
instances, that of Collins, and this of the family of Laura. Solitude,
separation, banishment! These are words often in the mouths of human
beings; but few men except myself have felt the full latitude of their
meaning. The pride of philosophy has taught us to treat man as an
individual. He is no such thing. He holds necessarily, indispensably, to
his species. He is like those twin-births, that have two heads indeed,
and four hands; but, if you attempt to detach them from each other, they
are inevitably subjected to miserable and lingering destruction.
It was this circumstance, more than all the rest, that gradually gorged
my heart with abhorrence of Mr. Falkland. I could not think of his name
but with a sickness and a loathing that seemed more than human. It was
by his means that I suffered the loss of one consolation after another,
of every thing that was happiness, or that had the resemblance of
happiness.
The writing of these memoirs served me as a source of avocation for
several years. For some time I had a melancholy satisfaction in it. I
was better pleased to retrace the particulars of calamities that had
formerly afflicted me, than to look forward, as at other times I was too
apt to do, to those by which I might hereafter be overtaken. I conceived
that my story, faithfully digested, would carry in it an impression of
truth that few men would be able to resist; or, at worst, that, by
leaving it behind me when I should no longer continue to exist,
posterity might be induced to do me justice; and, seeing in my example
what sort of evils are entailed upon mankind by society as it is at
present constituted, might be inclined to turn their attention upon the
fountain from which such bitter waters have been accustomed to flow. But
these motives have diminished in their influence. I have contracted a
disgust for life and all its appendages. Writing, which was at first a
pleasure, is changed into a burthen. I shall compress into a small
compass what remains to be told.
I discovered, not long after the period of which I am speaking, the
precise cause of the reverse I had experienced in my residence in Wales,
and, included in that cause, what it was I had to look for in my future
adventures. Mr. Falkland had taken the infernal Gines into his pay, a
man critically qualified for the service in which he was now engaged, by
the unfeeling brutality of his temper, by his habits of mind at once
audacious and artful, and by the peculiar animosity and vengeance he had
conceived against me. The employment to which this man was hired, was
that of following me from place to place, blasting my reputation, and
preventing me from the chance, by continuing long in one residence, of
acquiring a character for integrity, that should give new weight to any
accusation I might at a future time be induced to prefer. He had come to
the seat of my residence with the bricklayers and labourers I have
mentioned; and, while he took care to keep out of sight so far as
related to me, was industrious in disseminating that which, in the eye
of the world, seemed to amount to a demonstration of the profligacy and
detestableness of my character. It was no doubt from him that the
detested scroll had been procured, which I had found in my habitation
immediately prior to my quitting it. In all this Mr. Falkland, reasoning
upon his principles, was only employing a necessary precaution. There
was something in the temper of his mind, that impressed him with
aversion to the idea of violently putting an end to my existence; at the
same time that unfortunately he could never deem himself sufficiently
secured against my recrimination, so long as I remained alive. As to the
fact of Gines being retained by him for this tremendous purpose, he by
no means desired that it should become generally known; but neither did
he look upon the possibility of its being known with terror. It was
already too notorious for his wishes, that I had advanced the most
odious charges against him. If he regarded me with abhorrence as the
adversary of his fame, those persons who had had occasion to be in any
degree acquainted with our history, did not entertain less abhorrence
against me for my own sake. If they should at any time know the pains he
exerted in causing my evil reputation to follow me, they would consider
it as an act of impartial justice, perhaps as a generous anxiety to
prevent other men from being imposed upon and injured, as he had been.
What expedient was I to employ for the purpose of counteracting the
meditated and barbarous prudence, which was thus destined, in all
changes of scene, to deprive me of the benefits and consolations of
human society? There was one expedient against which I was absolutely
determined--disguise. I had experienced so many mortifications, and such
intolerable restraint, when I formerly had recourse to it; it was
associated in my memory with sensations of such acute anguish, that my
mind was thus far entirely convinced: life was not worth purchasing at
so high a price! But, though in this respect I was wholly resolved,
there was another point that did not appear so material, and in which
therefore I was willing to accommodate myself to circumstances. I was
contented, if that would insure my peace, to submit to the otherwise
unmanly expedient of passing by a different name.
But the change of my name, the abruptness with which I removed from
place to place, the remoteness and the obscurity which I proposed to
myself in the choice of my abode, were all insufficient to elude the
sagacity of Gines, or the unrelenting constancy with which Mr. Falkland
incited my tormentor to pursue me. Whithersoever I removed myself it was
not long before I had occasion to perceive this detested adversary in my
rear. No words can enable me to do justice to the sensations which this
circumstance produced in me. It was like what has been described of the
eye of Omniscience, pursuing the guilty sinner, and darting a ray that
awakens him to new sensibility, at the very moment that, otherwise,
exhausted nature would lull him into a temporary oblivion of the
reproaches of his conscience. Sleep fled from my eyes. No walls could
hide me from the discernment of this hated foe. Every where his industry
was unwearied to create for me new distress. Rest I had none; relief I
had none: never could I count upon an instant's security; never could I
wrap myself in the shroud of oblivion. The minutes in which I did not
actually perceive him, were contaminated and blasted with the certain
expectation of his speedy interference. In my first retreat I had passed
a few weeks of delusive tranquillity, but never after was I happy enough
to attain to so much as that shadowy gratification. I spent some years
in this dreadful vicissitude of pain. My sensations at certain periods
amounted to insanity.
I pursued in every succeeding instance the conduct I had adopted at
first. I determined never to enter into a contest of accusation and
defence with the execrable Gines. If I could have submitted to it in
other respects, what purpose would it answer? I should have but an
imperfect and mutilated story to tell. This story had succeeded with
persons already prepossessed in my favour by personal intercourse; but
could it succeed with strangers? It had succeeded so long as I was able
to hide myself from my pursuers; but could it succeed now, that this
appeared impracticable, and that they proceeded by arming against me a
whole vicinity at once?
It is inconceivable the mischiefs that this kind of existence included.
Why should I insist upon such aggravations as hunger, beggary, and
external wretchedness? These were an inevitable consequence. It was by
the desertion of mankind that, in each successive instance, I was made
acquainted with my fate. Delay in such a moment served but to increase
the evil; and when I fled, meagreness and penury were the ordinary
attendants of my course. But this was a small consideration. Indignation
at one time, and unconquerable perseverance at another, sustained me,
where humanity, left to itself, would probably have sunk.
It has already appeared that I was not of a temper to endure calamity,
without endeavouring, by every means I could devise, to elude and disarm
it. Recollecting, as I was habituated to do, the various projects by
which my situation could be meliorated, the question occurred to me,
"Why should I be harassed by the pursuits of this Gines? Why, man to
man, may I not, by the powers of my mind, attain the ascendancy over
him? At present he appears to be the persecutor, and I the persecuted:
is not this difference the mere creature of the imagination? May I not
employ my ingenuity to vex him with difficulties, and laugh at the
endless labour to which he will be condemned?"
Alas, this is a speculation for a mind at ease! It is not the
persecution, but the catastrophe which is annexed to it, that makes the
difference between the tyrant and the sufferer! In mere corporal
exertion the hunter perhaps is upon a level with the miserable animal he
pursues! But could it be forgotten by either of us, that at every stage
Gines was to gratify his malignant passions, by disseminating charges of
the most infamous nature, and exciting against me the abhorrence of
every honest bosom, while I was to sustain the still-repeated
annihilation of my peace, my character, and my bread? Could I, by any
refinement of reason, convert this dreadful series into sport? I had no
philosophy that qualified me for so extraordinary an effort. If, under
other circumstances, I could even have entertained so strange an
imagination, I was restrained in the present instance by the necessity
of providing for myself the means of subsistence, and the fetters which,
through that necessity, the forms of human society imposed upon my
exertions.
In one of those changes of residence, to which my miserable fate
repeatedly compelled me, I met, upon a road which I was obliged to
traverse, the friend of my youth, my earliest and best beloved friend,
the venerable Collins. It was one of those misfortunes which served to
accumulate my distress, that this man had quitted the island of Great
Britain only a very few weeks before that fatal reverse of fortune which
had ever since pursued me with unrelenting eagerness. Mr. Falkland, in
addition to the large estate he possessed in England, had a very
valuable plantation in the West Indies. This property had been greatly
mismanaged by the person who had the direction of it on the spot; and,
after various promises and evasions on his part, which, however they
might serve to beguile the patience of Mr. Falkland, had been attended
with no salutary fruits, it was resolved that Mr. Collins should go over
in person, to rectify the abuses which had so long prevailed. There had
even been some idea of his residing several years, if not settling
finally, upon the plantation. From that hour to the present I had never
received the smallest intelligence respecting him.
I had always considered the circumstance of his critical absence as one
of my severest misfortunes. Mr. Collins had been one of the first
persons, even in the period of my infancy, to conceive hopes of me, as
of something above the common standard; and had contributed more than
any other to encourage and assist my juvenile studies. He had been the
executor of the little property of my father, who had fixed upon him for
that purpose in consideration of the mutual affection that existed
between us; and I seemed, on every account, to have more claim upon his
protection than upon that of any other human being. I had always
believed that, had he been present in the crisis of my fortune, he would
have felt a conviction of my innocence; and, convinced himself, would,
by means of the venerableness and energy of his character, have
interposed so effectually, as to have saved me the greater part of my
subsequent misfortunes.
There was yet another idea in my mind relative to this subject, which
had more weight with me, than even the substantial exertions of
friendship I should have expected from him. The greatest aggravation of
my present lot was, that I was cut off from the friendship of mankind. I
can safely affirm, that poverty and hunger, that endless wanderings,
that a blasted character and the curses that clung to my name, were all
of them slight misfortunes compared to this. I endeavoured to sustain
myself by the sense of my integrity, but the voice of no man upon earth
echoed to the voice of my conscience. "I called aloud; but there was
none to answer; there was none that regarded." To me the whole world was
unhearing as the tempest, and as cold as the torpedo. Sympathy, the
magnetic virtue, the hidden essence of our life, was extinct. Nor was
this the sum of my misery. This food, so essential to an intelligent
existence, seemed perpetually renewing before me in its fairest colours,
only the more effectually to elude my grasp, and to mock my hunger. From
time to time I was prompted to unfold the affections of my soul, only to
be repelled with the greater anguish, and to be baffled in a way the
most intolerably mortifying.
No sight therefore could give me a purer delight than that which now
presented itself to my eyes. It was some time however, before either of
us recognised the person of the other. Ten years had elapsed since our
last interview. Mr. Collins looked much older than he had done at that
period; in addition to which, he was, in his present appearance, pale,
sickly, and thin. These unfavourable effects had been produced by the
change of climate, particularly trying to persons in an advanced period
of life. Add to which, I supposed him to be at that moment in the West
Indies. I was probably as much altered in the period that had elapsed as
he had been. I was the first to recollect him. He was on horseback; I on
foot. I had suffered him to pass me. In a moment the full idea of who he
was rushed upon my mind; I ran; I called with an impetuous voice; I was
unable to restrain the vehemence of my emotions.
The ardour of my feelings disguised my usual tone of speaking, which
otherwise Mr. Collins would infallibly have recognised. His sight was
already dim; he pulled up his horse till I should overtake him; and then
said, "Who are you? I do not know you."
"My father!" exclaimed I, embracing one of his knees with fervour and
delight, "I am your son; once your little Caleb, whom you a thousand
times loaded with your kindness!"
The unexpected repetition of my name gave a kind of shuddering emotion
to my friend, which was however checked by his age, and the calm and
benevolent philosophy that formed one of his most conspicuous habits.
"I did not expect to see you!" replied he: "I did not wish it!"
"My best, my oldest friend!" answered I, respect blending itself with my
impatience, "do not say so! I have not a friend any where in the whole
world but you! In you at least let me find sympathy and reciprocal
affection! If you knew how anxiously I have thought of you during the
whole period of your absence, you would not thus grievously disappoint
me in your return!"
"How is it," said Mr. Collins, gravely, "that you have been reduced to
this forlorn condition? Was it not the inevitable consequence of your
own actions?"
"The actions of others, not mine! Does not your heart tell you that I am
innocent?"
"No. My observation of your early character taught me that you would be
extraordinary; but, unhappily, all extraordinary men are not good men:
that seems to be a lottery, dependent on circumstances apparently the
most trivial."
"Will you hear my justification? I am as sure as I am of my existence,
that I can convince you of my purity."
"Certainly, if you require it, I will hear you. But that must not be
just now. I could have been glad to decline it wholly. At my age I am
not fit for the storm; and I am not so sanguine as you in my expectation
of the result. Of what would you convince me? That Mr. Falkland is a
suborner and murderer?"
I made no answer. My silence was an affirmative to the question.
"And what benefit will result from this conviction? I have known you a
promising boy, whose character might turn to one side or the other as
events should decide. I have known Mr. Falkland in his maturer years,
and have always admired him, as the living model of liberality and
goodness. If you could change all my ideas, and show me that there was
no criterion by which vice might be prevented from being mistaken for
virtue, what benefit would arise from that? I must part with all my
interior consolation, and all my external connections. And for what?
What is it you propose? The death of Mr. Falkland by the hands of the
hangman."
"No; I will not hurt a hair of his head, unless compelled to it by a
principle of defence. But surely you owe me justice?"
"What justice? The justice of proclaiming your innocence? You know what
consequences are annexed to that. But I do not believe I shall find you
innocent. If you even succeed in perplexing my understanding, you will
not succeed in enlightening it. Such is the state of mankind, that
innocence, when involved in circumstances of suspicion, can scarcely
ever make out a demonstration of its purity; and guilt can often make us
feel an insurmountable reluctance to the pronouncing it guilt.
Meanwhile, for the purchase of this uncertainty, I must sacrifice all
the remaining comforts of my life. I believe Mr. Falkland to be
virtuous; but I know him to be prejudiced. He would never forgive me
even this accidental parley, if by any means he should come to be
acquainted with it."
"Oh, argue not the consequences that are possible to result!" answered
I, impatiently, "I have a right to your kindness; I have a right to your
assistance!"
"You have them. You have them to a certain degree; and it is not likely
that, by any process of examination, you can have them entire. You know
my habits of thinking. I regard you as vicious; but I do not consider
the vicious as proper objects of indignation and scorn. I consider you
as a machine; you are not constituted, I am afraid, to be greatly useful
to your fellow men: but you did not make yourself; you are just what
circumstances irresistibly compelled you to be. I am sorry for your ill
properties; but I entertain no enmity against you, nothing but
benevolence. Considering you in the light in which I at present consider
you, I am ready to contribute every thing in my power to your real
advantage, and would gladly assist you, if I knew how, in detecting and
extirpating the errors that have misled you. You have disappointed me,
but I have no reproaches to utter: it is more necessary for me to feel
compassion for you, than that I should accumulate your misfortune by my
censures."
What could I say to such a man as this? Amiable, incomparable man! Never
was my mind more painfully divided than at that moment. The more he
excited my admiration, the more imperiously did my heart command me,
whatever were the price it should cost, to extort his friendship. I was
persuaded that severe duty required of him, that he should reject all
personal considerations, that he should proceed resolutely to the
investigation of the truth, and that, if he found the result terminating
in my favour, he should resign all his advantages, and, deserted as I
was by the world, make a common cause, and endeavour to compensate the
general injustice. But was it for me to force this conduct upon him, if,
now in his declining years, his own fortitude shrank from it? Alas,
neither he nor I foresaw the dreadful catastrophe that was so closely
impending! Otherwise, I am well assured that no tenderness for his
remaining tranquillity would have withheld him from a compliance with my
wishes! On the other hand, could I pretend to know what evils might
result to him from his declaring himself my advocate? Might not his
integrity be browbeaten and defeated, as mine had been? Did the
imbecility of his grey hairs afford no advantage to my terrible
adversary in the contest? Might not Mr. Falkland reduce him to a
condition as wretched and low as mine? After all, was it not vice in me
to desire to involve another man in my sufferings? If I regarded them as
intolerable, this was still an additional reason why I should bear them
alone.
Influenced by these considerations, I assented to his views. I assented
to be thought hardly of by the man in the world whose esteem I most
ardently desired, rather than involve him in possible calamity. I
assented to the resigning what appeared to me at that moment as the last
practicable comfort of my life; a comfort, upon the thought of which,
while I surrendered it, my mind dwelt with undescribable longings. Mr.
Collins was deeply affected with the apparent ingenuousness with which I
expressed my feelings. The secret struggle of his mind was, "Can this be
hypocrisy? The individual with whom I am conferring, if virtuous, is one
of the most disinterestedly virtuous persons in the world." We tore
ourselves from each other. Mr. Collins promised, as far as he was able,
to have an eye upon my vicissitudes, and to assist me, in every respect
that was consistent with a just recollection of consequences. Thus I
parted as it were with the last expiring hope of my mind; and
voluntarily consented, thus maimed and forlorn, to encounter all the
evils that were yet in store for me.
This is the latest event which at present I think it necessary to
record. I shall doubtless hereafter have further occasion to take up the
pen. Great and unprecedented as my sufferings have been, I feel
intimately persuaded that there are worse sufferings that await me. What
mysterious cause is it that enables me to write this, and not to perish
under the horrible apprehension!