The Autobiography of William Jerdan
Ch. 5: Misfortune
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CHAPTER V.
A MISFORTUNE.
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Honour and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part,—there all the honour lies.
Fortune in men has some small difference made—
One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade.
Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow;
The rest is all but leather and prunella.
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For several years previous to this period of my life, I lived on
very intimate terms with a much respected gentleman, Mr. Peter
Begbie; who had been in the Indian mercantile service, and now held a
peculiar official situation in Somerset House. A numerous family surrounded his hospitable
domestic hearth—the daughters accomplished with fine natural attainments, and his sons
acquiring that instruction which was to forward them in their several walks of life,
chiefly the church and the military and civil service of India. All the three elder girls
wrote sweet poetry, for the “Sun,” and
many of their compositions afterwards adorned the “Literary Gazette,” as I shall have occasion to notice in
due time. Harlow, whom I introduced to them painted
portraits of them, and fancy pieces in which they figured; and for his Hubert and Prince
Arthur, in King John, exhibited in 1815, my friend Begbie and his
second son sat for the characters. It was a social and ![]()
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most agreeable
rendezvous, at least twice a-week, and many a happy day I spent in their company.
But,—there is always a but—a serious misfortune sprung out of this enjoyment, and afforded
exactly such an incident as is likely to affect the welfare of a literary man, as I have
described in the foregoing pages. Among the acceptable and intelligent gentlemen with whom
I became acquainted at Mr. Begbie’s, was Mr.
Whitehead, the principal of the banking firm of
Whitehead, Howard, and
Haddock, with whom, for reasons promising advantages to myself, I
lodged the moderate sum of money I then possessed. On the 17th of November, this old
established and highly respectable house, connected with many country banks, was compelled
to stop payment; and notwithstanding the first favourable report of assets, and the known
worth and integrity of the partners, the hope entertained of a favourable winding up was
never fulfilled.
It may readily be believed that such an event materially deranged my
resources and disconcerted my prospects: it was indeed a severe and unexpected blow, not
only for the actual loss, but for its hurtful interference with ulterior objects and
engagements. From what happened within the next two years, I never could recover the same
ease of circumstances again. My final retirement from the “Sun” and the time required for the establishment, to be
profitable, of the “Literary
Gazette,” bound the chain faster and thicker round me, and to the end the more
I made, as the common saying is, the more I was pillaged and victimised by those who had
got a hold upon my progress and earnings.
It may be a silly tale, but it is a true one. The evil might possibly have
been lessened by the possession and the exercise of a less sanguine disposition than
belonged ![]()
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to me, and of more severe prudence. But I fought hard too,
and worked hard, in vain—the alp rose behind the alp in the ascent, and the pitfall
succeeded the pitfall in the decline! The incubus never was entirely thrown off: if it had,
I should have been a prosperous gentleman, but inexorable fate, like that of Greek tragedy,
had ordained it otherwise, and fate was faithfully and zealously served by harpies, whose
foul deeds it must be my task to expose. As a warning fact I would add, that a man
struggling tinder difficulties is almost sure to come into contact with rascally people,
who will betray and plunder him.
Like the magpie in the fable, he is thrown into bad company, and if they
leave him a feather in his wing, or do not wring his neck, it is no voluntary omission of
theirs. Vultures scent their prey from a wonderful distance:—the proverb is somewhat musty.
A friendly and sympathising letter from Mr.
Freeling, relative to the loss to which I have alluded, may be added as an
indication of his generous nature:—
“Lisson-grove, Saturday night.
“Dear Jerdan,
“I regret most truly that you are a sufferer by the
unfortunate failure of the Whiteheads. I am sorry you
should think any apology necessary to me for any thing. I experience nothing
but kindness and attention at your hands.
“Believe me ever yours truly,
“Perhaps you will come and dine here one day
towards the end of the week.”
The disaster I have just explained (upon which my friend D. Pollock shrewdly observed, at an after period,
“Jerdan![]()
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has been always kept back by the want of those few hundred
pounds,”) was more than pecuniarily distressing; for I entertained a sincere
regard for the greatest sufferer in the calamity, and was only reassured from very painful
apprehensions when I learnt that Mr. Begbie, like a
good Samaritan as he was, had humanely taken charge of him in his distraction, and
accompanied him to Calais. In my first volume I exhibited some traits of the penalties paid
by crime; and I am sure, at this distance of time (thirty-eight years), it can hurt no
private feeling to indicate the severe consequences which result from, and punish, even
unguarded worth and too indiscriminating generosity. In our trading community and
commercial country, a good man must not “wear his heart upon his sleeve for daws to
peck at;” for trusty is the adage, “the simple man’s the beggar’s
brother,” and heaven pity him when he has fallen into that state. Portion of a
letter, dated Calais, 18 November, 1814, will afford a melancholy illustration of this
topic:—
“I had written thus far when I received your few lines
of Wednesday last, and I feel myself very grateful for your attention. Poor
Whitehead! how I feel for him; for, though prepared
for the event, yet he was not without hopes that the house might have weathered
the storm. His unbounded liberality to, and confidence in, his brother, added
to the sudden withdrawing the Bath bank’s account, have caused the
calamity, I fear he has not nerves to return. I wish to God, my friend, you and
Mrs. B. could induce Mrs. W, to
join us as soon as she can. Till she does, I cannot leave him. I do firmly
believe I have saved his life: he is really wild at times, and I have no
trifling task, I assure you, to amuse him.
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“May I entreat you, my friend, should you receive this
in time, to take Gloster Place in your way from the Strand, and pass an hour or
two with her. I have written to her by this post, but I know that sometimes
foreign letters are rather tardy in their delivery westward. As far as I can be
comfortable, away from my family, I am so, but it is painful the state of
suspense; did I know to a certainty when Mrs. W. would
arrive, I should be easy.* Mr. W. begs to be very kindly
remembered to you.
“You talked of taking another trip to this
country. I wish you could contrive to join us here.”
Notwithstanding what had occurred, the ensuing year, 1815, though the
beginning of a great vexation and overthrow, was gone through without any particular
incident to require notice, or any event to lament, till, at its close, I lost the
estimable friend whose letter I have just quoted. The year opened triumphantly for a
“Sun” editor. The glorious position
which the British empire had attained, filled the breast of all who held its politics with
exultation;
* This poor lady was ill calculated to meet the blast of
adversity. In her prosperous days she was something of the temperament of many
wealthy City dames whom I have met and (as usual) observed. Attentions of every
kind were somewhat imperiously demanded, and sometimes ludicrously (often
unwillingly) rendered. Of the former I remember a laughable instance. On the first
day, in a fine Brighton lodging-house, the maid-servant, at dinner, brought up cold
spoons wherewith to help the warm gravy; and got admonished for her ignorance of
the science of waiting at table, and told never to bring up spoons again without
making them as hot as possible. We soon after had coffee, and in an instant
Mrs. W. threw down her cup, saucer, spoon, and all: the
maid had made the latter nearly red hot, and burning her mistress’s fingers
was the result of advice not afforded with sufficient coolness or particularity.
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and it seemed impossible to make an addition to her power and fame.
Waterloo was still in the womb of time, and little expected to be so near. We had rescued
Spain; were in cordial alliance with the Continental Governments; had reduced the colossal
and aggressive power of France; had established a general peace; and witnessed the
financial and commercial interests of the land seeking new channels without a fear of the
result, but rather a strong assurance of increased prosperity. The “Sun” had no spear to turn into a ploughshare, nor sword to
convert into a pruning-hook; but it took its peaceful course with a far more frequent and
enlarged attention to the literary productions and fine arts of the day. Hardly a Number
appeared without reviews of new publications, and criticisms upon works of art; and be it
remembered that these were very novel features to be displayed in a political journal; when
there were no such literary periodicals as now abound. But the season did not last long for
the development of this system. On the 10th of March a thunder-clap burst upon and
astonished Europe: Buonaparte had escaped from Elba,
and landed in France! Some reared aloft, come tumbling down amain, And fall so hard, they bound and rise again; |
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And so did he,—the boldest, most adventurous, and extraordinary of mortals,—the
Marc Antony of our era,—raised aloft once more the
meteor of the world, to be finally trod out by the greater Cæsar, Wellington. The newspapers
were all alive again; and a period ensued of conflicting accounts, intense anxieties, and
wonderful events, such as never had been crowded into so brief a space in the history of
mankind. I know not if Napoleon’s daring and impatience got the
better of his policy and prudence; but it does seem feasible ![]()
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to
suppose, that if he had waited but a short while, till the Congress of Vienna had broken
up, and the allied armies were more widely separated or reduced, his chance of success
might have been greater. He played his desperate game, however, with masterly skill and
force, Macbeth-like, still trusting to his supernatural
Grey Man, and undismayed by the appalling muster which advanced against him from every
side. If not every inch an Emperor, he was every inch a Soldier; and many there were who
dreaded the prestige of his military genius. The very humourists of Paris put some trust in
his destiny, for one clever caricature, founded on the Parisian mode of elision, when
asking for any newspaper,—with brevity calling the “Journal de
Debats,” “le Debats;” the
“Journal de l’Empire,” “L’Empire,” &c,—represented Louis XVIII., Buonaparte, and the King of Rome sitting in a cafe, the Corsican reading the
last-mentioned paper. The King says, very politely, “Sir, when you have done with the
Empire, I will thank you to let me have it;” and Napoleon,
pointing to the boy, replies, “Sir, I am sorry it is not in my power to oblige you,
for it is bespoke for this young gentleman!” Madmen ought not to be mad; But who can help their phrenzy? |
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With Napoleon, there was method in it; but the odds were too much
against him, in his last bold and desperate throw for the world’s dominion!
Mark Antony (83 BC-30 BC)
Roman statesman and general; victorious over the republicans at Philippi, defeated by
Octavian at Actium.
Peter Begbie (1768-1815)
A Scottish-born India merchant and friend of William Jerdan; after suffering a bankruptcy
he worked in the stamp-office in Somerset House.
John Dryden (1631-1700)
English poet laureate, dramatist, and critic; author of
Of Dramatick
Poesie (1667),
Absalom and Achitophel (1681),
Alexander's Feast; or the Power of Musique (1697),
The Works of Virgil translated into English Verse (1697), and
Fables (1700).
Sir Francis Freeling, first baronet (1764-1836)
Postal reformer and member of the Roxburghe Club; he was secretary to the General Post
Office. He was a friend of William Jerdan and Sir Walter Scott.
George Henry Harlowe (1787-1819)
English painter who exhibited at the Royal Academy and visited Byron at the Palazzo
Mocenigo in 1818 shortly before his early death. He was a friend of William Jerdan.
William Jerdan (1782-1869)
Scottish journalist who for decades edited the
Literary Gazette;
he was author of
Autobiography (1853) and
Men I
have Known (1866).
Louis XVIII, king of France (1755-1824)
Brother of the executed Louis XVI; he was placed on the French throne in 1814 following
the abdication of Napoleon.
Emperor Napoleon I (1769-1821)
Military leader, First Consul (1799), and Emperor of the French (1804), after his
abdication he was exiled to Elba (1814); after his defeat at Waterloo he was exiled to St.
Helena (1815).
Napoleon II, King of Rome (1811-1832)
The son of Napoleon and his second wife, Marie Louise of Austria; he was given “King of
Rome” as a courtesy title.
Sir David Pollock (1780-1847)
Educated at St. Paul's, Edinburgh University, and the Middle Temple, he succeeded Sir
Henry Roper as chief justice of the supreme court of Bombay in 1846.
The Sun. (1792-1876). A Tory evening paper edited by John Heriot (1792-1806), Robert Clark (1806-07), William
Jerdan (1813-17). The poets John Taylor and William Frederick Deacon were also associated
with
The Sun.
