LITMIR.BIZ

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so far never occurred to me. I could no longer practise in the garret while my father was in the counting-house. But I could get away, on pretence of business to the ships, and snatch an hour below with the fiddler. And in the evening sometimes, when my father was feasting with a City Company or engaged in other business out of the house, I could take boat across the river and run over to St. George's Fields, there to have half an hour of play with a musician, of whom you shall learn more, called Tom Shirley. After the manner of youths I never asked myself how long this would go on without discovery: or what would be the result when it was discovered. Yet I knew very well that no Quaker could be more decided as to the sinfulness of music than my father and my uncle. Had not the great and Reverend Samuel Halliday, D. D., preached before the Protector on the subject of the snares spread by the devil to catch souls by means of music?

      Now, one afternoon in the month of June, when the counting-house is more than commonly terrible, a message came to me that my father wished to speak with me.

      I found him in his own room, his brother Paul sitting with him. His face showed astonishment and anger; that of his brother presented some appearance of sorrow – real or not, I cannot say. My uncle Paul was, as often happens in a family, a reduced copy of his elder brother. He was not so tall: not so portly: not so red in the face: not so swollen in the neck: yet he was tall and portly and red and swollen. He was shaking his head as I entered saying, 'Dear! dear! dear! And in our family too – in our family!'

      'Son William,' said my father, 'I have heard a serious thing.'

      'What is that, Sir, if I may ask?'

      'I learn from my brother, who had it from Matthew – '

      'From Matthew,' my uncle interposed solemnly.

      'That you lose no opportunity of getting away from your desk to go on board our ships in the Pool, there to play the fiddle with the common sailors – to play the fiddle – the common fiddle – like a fellow with a bear – with the common sailors. I hear that our Captains and officers are all acquainted with this unworthy pastime of yours! I hear, further, that you have formed an acquaintance with a certain fellow named Shirley, now a prisoner in the Rules of the King's Bench, one who makes a sinful living by playing wanton music for lewd and wicked persons at what are called Pleasure Gardens, whither resort such company as no godly youth should meet. And I hear that you spend such time as you can spare under the tuition of this person.'

      He stopped. My uncle took up the word.

      'All these things I am assured by my son Matthew to be the case. I have informed Matthew that in my opinion it was right and even necessary that they should be brought before the notice of my brother.'

      'I wait thy reply, Will,' said my father.

      'It is all quite true, Sir.'

      'Quite true.' I felt a little sinking of the heart because of the disappointment and sadness in his voice. 'But,' he went on, 'what is the meaning of it? For my own part I see no good purpose to be gained by music. On the other hand my grandfather, the Rev. Dr. Samuel Halliday, hath clearly shown in his book of godly discourses, that music, especially music with dancing, is the surest bait by which the devil draws souls to destruction. People, I am aware, will have music. At our Company's feasts music attends: at the Lord Mayor's banquets there is music: at the Lord Mayor's Show there is music: at many churches there is an organ: but what hast thou to do with music, Will? It is thy part to become a merchant, bent on serious work: and outside the counting-house to become a magistrate. What hast thou to do with music?'

      He spoke, being much moved, kindly – because – alas! he loved his son.

      'Sir,' I said, 'it is all most true. There is nothing that I love so much as music.'

      'Consider,' he went on. 'There is no place for music in the life before thee. All day long learning thy work in the counting-house: some time to succeed me in this room. How is it possible for a young man who stoops to make music on catgut with a bow to become a serious merchant, respected in the City?'

      'Indeed, Sir, I do not know,'

      'How will it be possible for you to advance the interests of the House – nay, to maintain the interests of the House, when it is known that you are a common scraper in a crowd like a one-legged man with a Jack in the Green?'

      Now I might even then have submitted and promised and given up my fiddle and so pleased my father and remained in his favour. But this was one of those moments which are turning-points in a man's life. Besides I was young; I was inexperienced. And an overwhelming disgust fell upon my soul as I thought of the counting-house and the ledgers and the long hours in the dingy place driving the quill all day long. So without understanding what the words meant, I broke out impatiently:

      'Sir,' I said, 'with submission, I would ask your leave to give up my place in this office.'

      'Give up? Give up?' he cried, growing purple in the face. 'Does the boy know what he means?'

      'Give up?' cried my uncle. 'Is the boy mad? Give up his prospects in this House – this – the soundest House in the whole City? Nephew Will, wouldst starve?'

      'I will make a living by music.'

      'Make a living – a living – make a living – by music? What? To play the fiddle in a tavern? To play in the gallery while your father is feasting below?'

      'Nay, sir; but there are other ways.'

      'Hark ye, Will; let this stop. Back to thy desk lest something happen.' My father spoke with sudden sternness.

      'Nay, sir; but I am serious.'

      'Ay – ay? Serious? Then I am serious, too. Understand, then, that I own no son who disgraces the City family to which he belongs by becoming a common musician. Choose. Take thy fiddle and give up me – this office – thine inheritance – thine inheritance, mind, or lay down the fiddle and go back to thy desk. There, sir, I am, I hope, serious enough.'

      He was. My father was a masterful man at all times; he was perfectly serious. Now the sons of masterful men are themselves often masterful. I walked out of the counting-house without a word.

      I am conscious that there is no excuse for a disobedient son. I ought to have accepted any orders that my father might choose to lay upon me. But to part with my fiddle, to give up music: to abandon that sweet refreshment of the soul: oh! it was too much.

      Moreover, no one knew better than myself the inveterate hatred with which my father and the whole of my family regarded what they called the tinkling cymbal which they thought leads souls to destruction. Had I seen any gleam of hope that there would be a relenting, I would have waited. But there was none. Therefore I cast obedience to the winds, and left the room without a word.

      Had I known what awaited me: the misfortunes which were to drag me down almost unto a shameful death, in consequence of this act of disobedience, I might have given way.

      But perhaps not: for in all my troubles there were two things which cheered and sustained me, I enjoyed at all times, so you shall learn, the support of love and the refreshment of music.

      Had my father known of these misfortunes would he have given way? I doubt it. Misfortune does not destroy the soul, but music does. So he would say and so think, and conduct his relations with his own accordingly.

      I walked out of the counting-house. At the door I met, face to face, the informer, my cousin Matthew, who had caused all this trouble.

      He was attired as becomes a responsible merchant, though as yet only a clerk or factor with the other clerks. He wore a brown coat with silver buttons: white silk stockings: silver buckles in his shoes: silver braid upon his hat: a silver chain with seals hanging from his fob: with white lace ruffles and neckerchief as fine as those of his father, or of any merchant on Change.

      He met me, I say, face to face, and for the first time within my knowledge, he grinned when he met me. For he knew what had been said to me. He grinned with a look of such devilish glee that I understood for the first time how much he hated me. Why? I had never crossed him. Because I was the son of the senior partner whose place I was to take and of the richer man of the two Partners. His would be the subordinate position with a third only of the profits. Therefore my cousin hated me. He, I say,

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