London (England) -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
higher than is needed--the racquet and fives players carried on their
games: at the lower end of the Parade some played the game called Bumble
Puppy: here and there tables were set where men drank and smoked pipes
of tobacco and played cards, though as yet it was only afternoon. The
people talked as they went along, but not with animation: now and then
one laughed; but the merriment of the College is very near the fount of
tears; it hath a sound hysterical. Some conversed eagerly with visitors:
by their eagerness you knew that they were newcomers. What did they talk
about? The means of release? Yet so few do get out. For the first three
or four years of imprisonment, when visitors call, prisoners talk of
nothing else. After that time visitors cease to call: and there is no
more talk of release. A man in the King's Bench is speedily forgotten.
He becomes dead to the world: dead and forgotten. Surely there is no
more pitiless and relentless enemy than a creditor. Yet in church every
Sunday he asks, and expects, that mercy from his God which he himself
refuses to his debtor.
On no other day in the year could the Prison look more cheerful. Yet as
I stood at the window there fell upon me such sadness as belongs only to
the Prison; it is a longing to be free: a yearning inconceivable for the
green fields and the trees. Such moods are common in the Prison. I have
seen men turn aside from their friends in the midst of a song, in the
height of the revelry, and slink away from the company with drooping
head and bowed shoulders. It is indeed difficult not to feel this
sadness from time to time. I was young: I had few friends, for a reason
that I shall tell you presently. For aught that I could see there was
nothing before me but a life-long imprisonment. Nobody, I say, can
understand the strength and the misery of this yearning for liberty--for
air--that sometimes seizes the prisoner and rends him and will not let
him go. Yet I was better off than many, because, though I could in no
way pay the money for which I was imprisoned, I was not without the
means of a livelihood. I had, as I have said, my fiddle. So long as a
man has a fiddle and can play it he need never want. To play the fiddle
is the safest of all trades, because the fiddler is always wanted. If a
company is drinking they will call for the fiddler to lift up their
hearts: if there are girls with them they will call for the fiddler to
make them dance: if they would sing they want the fiddler to lead them
off: if they are sitting in the coffee-room they call for the fiddler to
enliven them. Grave discourse or gay; young people or old: they are
always ready to call for the fiddler and to pay him for his trouble. So
that by dint of playing every evening, I did very well, and could afford
to dine at the two shilling ordinary and to drink every day a glass or
two of ale, and to pay my brother-in-law for the maintenance of Alice
and the boy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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