Iain Pears - An Instance of the Fingerpost

His interrogation was kept secret lest he lose credit with his friends, and I offered afterward to engage him as a servant at a decent wage; he was so astonished by his good fortune that he accepted with alacrity. Already he had some small learning, for he was the orphan of a printer in the city, and could read well and write with accuracy. And as I tempted him with knowledge, he responded with an enthusiasm I have never met, before or since, in any pupil.

Those who know me may find this incredible, for I know I have a reputation for impatience. I willingly admit that my tolerance for the idle, the stupid or the willfully ignorant is swiftly exhausted. But give me a real pupil, one burning with the desire to learn, who needs only a touch of sweet water to yearn for the whole river of knowledge, and my care is all but infinite. To take such a boy as Matthew, to form him and see his comprehension expand and his wisdom develop, is the richest of experiences, if also the most difficult and calling for unrelenting effort. The getting of children is the vulgar work of nature; fools can do it, peasants can do it and women can do it. Framing those moving lumps into wise and good adults is a task fit only for men and only they can properly savor the result.

“Train up a child in the way he should go—and when he is old, he will not depart from it”(Proverbs 22:6). I had no extravagant hopes but I thought that, in time, I would establish him in some position in the government and ultimately teach him my skills in cryptography, that he might be useful and make his way to position. My hopes were more than satisfied, for however fast Matthew learned, yet I knew he could go faster. But I confess this merely excited my own desires for him still further and I often lost my temper when he misconstrued a phrase, or bungled a simple proposition in mathematics. But I always thought that he knew my anger came from love and selfless ambition for him, and he seemed to try at all times to earn my approbation.

I knew this, knew his devotion to me was so great he would sometimes labor too much, and still I pushed him even when my desire was to tell him to rest and sleep, or give him some token of my affection. Once I got up and found him sprawled at my desk. All my papers were disorganized, candle fat had spilled over my notes and a glass of water had tipped on a letter I was writing. I was furious, as I am naturally fastidious in matters of organization, and straightway pulled him to the ground and beat him. He made not one word of protest, said nothing in his own defense, but submitted patiently to my punishment. Only later (and not from him) did I learn that he had been up all night, trying to master a problem I had set him, and had finally fallen asleep through simple exhaustion. It was the hardest thing not to beg his pardon, to resist giving way to sentiment. He never suspected, I think, that I regretted my deed, for once a perfect submission is undermined and questioned, then all authority dissolves, and the weaker are the greatest losers. We see this everywhere we look.

I was aware, of course, of Matthew’s connections with men of dubious loyalty and opinion, and could not forbear to use him on occasion to run errands and listen to gossip. In this often distasteful and dishonorable business he was invaluable, for he was both observant and intelligent in his manner. Unlike many of those I was forced to rely on—cutthroats, thieves and madmen for the most part, whose word could never be taken on trust—Matthew soon won my complete confidence. I called him in to me when I was in London, and wrote to him every second day while in Oxford, for I delighted in his company and missed it badly when we were apart as, I hope, he missed mine.

By the time he came to me that morning in 1663, he had been my servant for several years and had grown in stature to the point that I knew I would soon have to find him a permanent position of his own. Already I had delayed too long, for he was rising twenty, and outgrowing his tutelage. I could see him straining, and knew that if he was not soon released, he would come to resent my authority. But I held him to me still, unable to let go. I blame myself for this greatly, and think that his desire to leave me may have made him incautious.

When he told me he was to deliver a package to the private mails on behalf of a group of radicals, I immediately took notice. He did not know what this package was but had undertaken to take it to a merchant who delivered mails on his ships. It was common enough—especially amongst those who did not wish their letters to be read. The unusual occurrence was that someone like Matthew was to perform a task more suited for a child. It was not certain, but he had a feeling that the package might be of significance, especially as the destination was the Low Countries.

For many months now, there had been rumblings all over the country, with shadowy figures flitting about and mutter-ings of discontent. But there was no form or unity to the collection of reports which allowed me to discern the shape of their plans. Left to themselves, these radicals presented no serious threat to anyone, so great were their divisions and despair; but, should a man of authority and skill organize and fund them properly they could easily become so. Matthew had, I thought, provided the first beginnings of that external correspondence I had long been looking for. As it turned out, he was wrong, but it was the best mistake he ever made.

“Excellent,” I said. “Bring me the package. I will have it opened, examine the contents and send you on your way.”

He shook his head. “Not so simple, I’m afraid, sir. We—they—have learned caution of late. I know I am not suspected in any way but I am to be accompanied from the moment it is put into my hands to the moment I hand it over. It will be impossible for you to have access to it in such a fashion. Not for the time you will need to copy it.”

“And you are sure it is worth the effort?”

“I don’t know. But you asked me to mention any communication with the exiles…”

“You did very well indeed. Now, your suggestions? You know I value your opinion.”

He smiled with pleasure at this small token of regard. “I assume it will stay in the merchant’s house until it is placed on board one of his ships. But not for long; they want it on its way as quickly as possible. That, perhaps, will be the only opportunity for obtaining it in secret.”

“Ah. And what is the name of this merchant?”

“Di Pietro. He is a Venetian and has a house near the Tower.”

I thanked him profusely for his work, and gave him some small money as a reward, then dismissed him to consider what he had said. It troubled me a little, even though it made no obvious sense. For what was a Venetian doing helping sectaries? In all probability he was merely carrying mail for a fee, uninterested in either senders or recipients, but I was mindful that this was the second time the name of di Pietro had arisen. That fact alone made me more determined to examine those letters.

I had some leisure to ponder the problem, but not much—Matthew was due to deliver the package the following evening. Bennet had told me to leave di Pietro alone; but he had also told me to find out about the king’s enemies in England. He had not told me what to do when these two commands were in contradiction.

So I went to Tom Lloyd’s coffee shop, where men of trade were wont to gather to exchange news and organize themselves into better profits. I knew some people in this world, as I would occasionally venture capital in this fashion, and had learned who was to be trusted and who deserved only to be shunned. Particularly, I knew a man called Williams who spent a considerable amount of time gathering up individuals with money to risk, and putting them in contact with traders who needed finance. Through him, I had placed to advantage some small part of my surplus funds in the East Indies, and also with a gentleman who captured Africans for the Americas. This latter was by far the finest investment I ever made, the more so because (the captain of the vessel assured me) the slaves were instructed vigorously in the virtues of Christianity on their voyage across the ocean and thus had their souls saved at the same time as they produced valuable labor for others.