CHAPTER XVII
THE CASE OF CLARINDA
The town has notoriously a short memory, yet I doubt if there be anystill living who remember the year 1760 and have forgotten the case ofJenny Wilmot. For, indeed, no one for some time talked of anything else.There were armies in the field: these were forgotten; there were fleetsand naval battles and expeditions: these were forgotten; there was thestrife of party: that was forgotten; there were the anxieties of trade:they were forgotten; there were scandals among the aristocracy: theywere forgotten; there was the new play; the new poem: all were cleanforgotten and neglected while the town talked at my Lady's breakfast orMoll King's tavern of Jenny Wilmot; Jenny Wilmot; Jenny Wilmot. Theworld at first could find nothing too bad to say or think of her. At theclubs they suspended their play while they listened to the latestrumour about Jenny. At the coffee-houses every quidnunc and gobemouchebrought a new story which he had heard and transmitted withembroideries; or else a trifling variation in the old story tocommunicate.
People remembered how she disappeared mysteriously from the stage a yearor two before this catastrophe!--Ha! what a proof of wickedness wasthat! Why, it was now known that she was none other than Madame Vallancewho provided the masquerades and the Assemblies in Soho Square and wasnever seen by the company except in a domino. There was anotherillustration of her wicked disposition! It was also recalled, for thebenefit of those who did not remember the fact, that she had been anOrange Girl at Drury before she was promoted to the stage. What could beexpected of an Orange Girl? And now it was actually brought tolight--could one believe it!--it was actually discovered--had she notherself confessed it?--that her mother and sister kept a tavern in St.Giles's, a place of resort for the lowest; a mere thieves' kitchen; therendezvous of highwaymen, footpads, pickpockets and rogues of everydescription.
It was certain that Jenny had been born and brought up in this vilereceptacle or Temple of Vice. Many people were found who hadrecollections of Jenny as a child playing in the gutter, or on the stepsof St. Giles's Church. These recollections were of an edifying nature.One gentleman, of an aspect which we call smug--somewhat resembling, infact, my cousin Matthew at his earliest and best--related in my hearingthat he had addressed the child, and on hearing that her ambition was tobecome an Orange Girl at Drury Lane Theatre, had warned her against theperils of that path; unhappily without effect, except that while he wasexhorting her to a godly life, his tears were checked by the theft ofhis pocket-handkerchief. And so on: and so on; because the occasion gavean opportunity for securing a momentary distinction, and when theimagination is fired the tongue is loosed.
Again, there is in the English mind something particularly repellant inthe life and the acts of the informer. Now it cannot be denied that inmy Trial, Jenny figured as one who had turned against her old friendsand associates; had used her knowledge to secure their arrest; and hadinduced her mother and sister and at least one of the rogues of theBlack Jack, to join her in giving evidence against the conspirators. Sothat when the news was spread abroad that her house, as well as theBlack Jack, had been wrecked and the contents destroyed there was atfirst a strong feeling among many that this was a kind of wild justicewhich she deserved, because she ought not to have turned against herfriends. As for the man for whose sake she did it, you may be sure thatthe motive commonly attributed to her was such as would naturallycommend itself to the majority. That any woman should be so deeply movedby generosity of heart, by love of justice, by honest indignationagainst so foul a conspiracy as to resolve, at all risks and hazards, todefeat the object of the villains, and to prevent the destruction of aninnocent man, required too high a flight to make it possible to beconsidered by the common sort--I mean, not the poor, but the common sortof 'respectable' burgesses; the folk of the coffee-house and the club.The world always accepts the worst where it ought to believe the best.And the wickedness of the natural man is never so strongly demonstratedas when he is searching for motives. In a word, it was pretended andbelieved, that in order to rescue her lover--a broken-down gentleman anda highwayman--from the charge of robbery, which could only be proved bythe witnesses taking false names, in order to protect themselves, beingunfortunately rogues themselves, she brought a charge against them ofconspiracy and exposed their true names and their history, which shecould only effect by the knowledge she got from the Black Jack and theassistance of her mother: that her lover, it was true, was cast looseupon the world again; but that the innocence of those four persons,including one most respectable attorney would be established as thenoonday clear at the ensuing Criminal Court at the Old Bailey.
Further, it was spread abroad that Jenny had been arrested, at herlover's house in the Rules of the King's Bench, that she had beenbrought before Sir John Fielding and had been by him committed toNewgate on a charge of receiving stolen goods. Receiving stolen goods!What, however, could one expect from St. Giles's and the daughter of theBlack Jack? She who must needs expose the crimes of her friends was nowin prison on a charge far more serious than theirs. Receiving stolengoods! Monstrous! And one who entertained even R-- P--s at herAssemblies! And she was all the time acting with her mother in receivingstolen goods! After this, what pity could one feel even for a woman sobeautiful and so engaging as Jenny Wilmot? But was she so beautiful?Some of the men raised this question. Painted for the stage: allartificial. Was she engaging? She played as she was taught: she smiledand laughed as she was told to smile and laugh. That is not true acting.Alas! Poor Jenny! Poor favourite of the town, how wert thou fallen! Andcertainly for a day or two the reputation of Jenny was very low indeed.
Suddenly, however, there came a change--to me most welcome, becausewithout doubt the mind of the town was poisoned and prejudiced againstJenny, in whose favour no one ventured to speak.
The first cause of the change was due to a paper--I think, if my memoryserves me right, in the _Connoisseur_. In this paper the 'Case ofClarinda' put forth with great skill and power thinly disguised thehistory of Jenny. I venture to quote a portion of that paper. As soon aspeople understood that it was her history that was told the paper flewfrom hand to hand: everybody in the coffee-houses and the taverns criedout for it when they entered the house. And when it was read a silencefell upon the room and shame upon all hearts. The author, I have alwaysunderstood, I know not why, was my Lord Brockenhurst, though he neverconfessed it.
The mottoes--there were two--were as follows:
'Non tali auxilio, non defensoribus istis Tempus eget;'
and
'Tandem desine matrem.... sequi.'
'The Case of Clarinda, whose future yet remains to be determined, is onewhich ought to reduce to humility those who boast of our civilizationand the justice of our institutions. For, certainly, it will be allowedthat the first requisite of justice is that the officers of the Stateshall be sufficiently provided with intelligence, with resources andwith encouragement, to search into all cases of alleged crime, and totake care by ascertaining especially the private character and previoushistory of the witnesses how far they are to be credited. In a word,and speaking of those cases in which human intelligence can be of avail,it should be impossible for an innocent man to be convicted of any crimecharged to him. Yet the case of Clarinda shows that such is thecondition of the times, such the weakness of our criminal procedure thata conspiracy as vile, as villainous, as was ever concocted out of Hellwould have succeeded to the judicial murder of an innocent man, had itnot been for the activity, the courage, the lavish expenditure of awoman unaided and single-handed. Her efforts have resulted in the escapeof the innocent man and the imprisonment of the conspirators. But atwhat a price for herself?
'Clarinda is the daughter of a widow who for a long time has kept atavern in that part of the town known as St. Giles's. It is notpretended that the place is the resort of the Quality. There has beennothing, however, alleged against the conduct of the house or thecharacter of the landlady. Some of the frequenters certainly belonged tothe ranks of those who live by the
ir wits. It is not the case, asalleged in some quarters, that Clarinda was ever the companion or thefriend of these people. When she was still quite young she was placed inthe pit of Drury Lane Theatre as an Orange Girl. Accident drew towardsher the attention of the manager, who found her clever and attractivewith a lovely face and figure, a charming manner, and a beautiful voice.In a word, the Orange Girl was transferred to the stage, and therebecame the delight of the town; the greatest favourite of livingactresses.
'After a time Clarinda, as often happens to actresses, grew weary of thestage, and longed for a quiet life in the country far from the lightsand music and applause of the Theatre.
'Among the many who sighed for her was a young merchant from the city;he said he was rich; he swore he loved her; he promised to take her outof town to a country house where she would have a carriage, a garden,and all that she could desire.
'Clarinda listened. He was grave in demeanour; he was even austere; butthis proved that he was free from the vices of the men she morefrequently met. Clarinda accepted him, and they were married.
'She discovered, on the very day of her marriage, that he had lied toher. He was not rich, though once he had been possessed of a largefortune; he was a gambler; he had gambled away all his money; he hadmarried her because she was lovely; he proposed to use her charms forthe purpose of attracting rich gentlemen to his rooms where he intendedto carry on a gaming table.
'Clarinda on this discovery instantly left the man in disgust; but forthe moment she would not go back to the stage. She then took a largehouse in one of the western squares. She decorated and furnished thishouse, and she opened it for Masquerades and Assemblies. One day shereceived a letter from two of the frequenters of her mother's house.They were in a Debtors' Prison: they were afraid of becoming known, inwhich case not only would other detainers be put in, but they mightthemselves be arrested on some criminal charge.
'Clarinda, always generous, went to the Prison, saw the two men, andpromised them relief. It was an unfortunate act of generosity, which inthe end worked toward her ruin.
'In the Prison she espied a young man so closely resembling her ownunworthy husband that she accosted him and learned that he wasimprisoned, probably for life, by her husband aided by Mr. Vulpes, anAttorney, on a vamped-up charge of debt with the hope of making himobtain his liberty by selling his chance of succession to a largefortune.
'She obtained the release of this gentleman, who, with his wife, cannever cease to be sufficiently grateful to her. She gave him, for he wasa fine musician, a place in her orchestra.
'She then learned that Vulpes, the attorney, together with one Traditor,a Thief taker, was organizing another plot against this already injuredgentleman. But she was unable to learn the nature of the plot, exceptthat the two Villains whom she had released from Prison were involved init. The next step was that the gentleman was accused by the whole partyof four as a highway robber, and as such was cast into prison.
'Then it was that our Magistrates should have taken up the case.Clarinda repaired to Rhadamanthus, the Magistrate, and pointed out tohim the truth. He told her that he had neither men nor money to followup the case. Therefore Clarinda, at her own expense, fetched up fromvarious country prisons turnkeys and governors who should expose thecharacter of the witnesses; she persuaded her mother and sister to giveevidence to the same effect; in order to do this, she was obliged to buyher mother out of the tavern. She herself gave evidence; and she madeher unwilling husband give evidence. The result was the acquittal of theprisoner and the committal of the conspirators. Not the magistrates ofthe country; but--_Dux femina facti_--a woman, without assistance,single-handed, at her own private charges, has done this.
'"Non tali auxilio non defensoribus istis Tempus eget."
'That the mob should, in revenge, wreck her house and destroy herproperty was to be expected at a time when we cannot protect our streetsin the very day time. But there was more.
'Clarinda's mother at the time of the trial had in her keeping a certainquantity of stolen property. Whether she knew it to be stolen or notcannot be said. When, however, the old woman accepted Clarinda'sproposal that she should give evidence against the conspiracy she seemsto have thought that the garrets of her daughter's house would be a safeplace for storing these goods. She was observed to be conveying them bya woman, the mistress of one of the conspirators. While the house was inthe hands of the mob, this woman looked for, and found the property--amiserable paltry collection of rags--in the garrets. For the sake ofrevenge she brought information against Clarinda, who now therefore liesin Newgate waiting her trial at the Old Bailey.
'What should Clarinda do? If she pleads "Not Guilty," which underordinary circumstances she should do; the more so as there is noevidence whatever to connect her with any knowledge of these rags; shewill be acquitted; but then her mother will be arrested and tried onthis capital charge. If, on the other hand, she takes upon herself thefull responsibility, the mother escapes scot free while the daughter maypay the full penalty for the crime.
'The reader will not think it necessary to ask what course will bepursued by Clarinda. The generous heart which would risk all, sacrificeall, lavish all, in the cause of justice and for the rescue of aman--not her lover, but a worthless husband's cousin--from anignominious and undeserved death, will assuredly not hesitate to saveher erring mother even at the risk of her own life. That generous heart;that noble heart; will be sustained and followed unto the end, eventhough justice demands the uttermost penalty, by the tears of all whocan admire heroic sacrifice and filial martyrdom.'
* * * * *
There was more, but this is enough.
In a single day the voice of the people veered round to the oppositepole. It was wonderful how quickly opinion was changed. Jenny, whoyesterday had been a traitress; a spy; a receiver of stolen goods; ahussy with no character; suddenly became a heroine; a martyr.
Then the men remembered once more that she was a wonderful actress; amost charming woman; a most beautiful, graceful, vivacious creature.Then, as of old, men recalled the evenings when as they sat in the pit,Jenny seemed to have singled out one by one each for a separate andindividual smile, so that they went home, their heads in the clouds, todream of things impossible and unspeakable, and all the old love for theFavourite returned to them, and they panted for Jenny to be set free.
During this time I was with Jenny all day long ready to be of service toher. The more I observed her, the more I marvelled at the strange powerwhich brought all men to their knees before her. She had but to smileupon them and they were conquered. The Governor of the Prison was herservant; the turnkeys were her slaves; her visitors crowded her narrowcell every afternoon, while Jenny received them dressed like a Countesswith the manner of a Countess. Sometimes I was honoured by her commandsto play to them; tea and chocolate were served daily. Great ladies camewith the rest to gaze upon her; actresses, once her rivals, now came,all rivalry apart, to weep over her; gentlemen wrote her letters ofpassionate love; portrait painters begged on their knees permission tolimn her lovely features. In a word, for a while the centre of fashionwas Jenny's cell in Newgate.
And every day, among the visitors stood my Lord of Brockenhurst,foremost in sympathy and truest in friendship. He was, indeed, as Jennyhad assured me, the most loyal of the gentlemen and the most sincere offriends.
It must be added that Jenny's time in prison was not wholly spent inconverting a cell into a drawing-room of fashion. The unfortunate women,her fellow-prisoners, were much worse off than the men; they had fewerfriends; they were suffered to starve on the penny loaf a day, theallowance of the prison. They lay for the most part in cold andstarvation; in rags and dirt and misery overwhelming. Jenny went intotheir yard and among them. There was the poor creature who had causedher arrest. She was half starved now. Jenny gave her food and spoke toher friendly without reproach; she sent food to others who werestarving. She not only fed them; she talked to them, not about their
sins, because poor Jenny knew nothing about sins except so far as thatcertain deeds are punished by the law; but she talked to them aboutbeing clean and neat: she revived the womanly instinct in them: madethem wash themselves, dress their hair, and take pleasure again inmaking themselves attractive. Never had a woman a keener sense of theduty of women to be beautiful. She made them in a week or two socivilized that they left off fighting: there was not a black eye in theplace; and while Jenny was in the ward there was hardly so much as afoul word. It was pretty to see how they loved her and welcomed her andwould have worked themselves to death for her. Poor lost souls--ifindeed they are lost! They must all be dead now. The horrible gallowshas killed some; the gaol fever, others; the fever of bad food and baddrink and bad air, others, yet until the day of death I am sure that allremembered Jenny. Notably, there was her accuser. She was sullen atfirst; she was revengeful; next she was ashamed and turned aside; thenshe wept; and then she became like a tame kitten following her throughthe ward, hungering and thirsting for one more word--one more word offriendship--from the very woman whom she had brought to this place.