Goldsmith kept his word. He took a hackney-coach to the Temple, and was
alert all the time he was driving lest Jackson and his friends might be
waiting to make an attack upon him. He reached his chambers without any
adventure, however, and on locking his doors, took out the second parcel
of letters and set himself to peruse their contents.
He had no need to read them all--the first that came to his hand was
sufficient to make him aware of the nature of the correspondence. It was
perfectly plain that the man had been endeavouring to traffic with the
rebels, and it was equally certain that the rebel leaders had shown
themselves to be too honourable to take advantage of the offers which
he had made to them. If this correspondence had come into the hands of
Cornwallis he would have hanged the fellow on the nearest tree instead
of merely turning him out of his regiment and shipping him back to
England as a suspected traitor.
As he locked the letters once again in his desk he felt that there was
indeed every reason to fear that Jackson would not rest until he had
obtained possession of such damning evidence of his guilt. He would
certainly either make the attempt to get back the letters, or leave the
country, in order to avoid the irretrievable ruin which would fall upon
him if any one of the packet went into the hands of a magistrate; and
Goldsmith was strongly of the belief that the man would adopt the former
course.
Only for an instant, as he laid down the compromising document, did he
ask himself how it was possible that Mary Horneck should ever have
been so blind as to be attracted to such a man, and to believe in his
honesty.
He knew enough of the nature of womankind to be aware of the glamour
which attaches to a soldier who has been wounded in fighting the enemies
of his country. If Mary had been less womanly than she showed herself
to be, he would not have loved her so well as he did. Her womanly
weaknesses were dear to him, and the painful evidence that he had of the
tenderness of her heart only made him feel that she was all the more a
woman, and therefore all the more to be loved.
It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the
Hornecks.
He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine.
There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he
would attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock
dinner. It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably
be at the meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with
the dangerous character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due
precautions against any attack that the desperate man might be
induced to make upon him. No doubt Baretti would make a good point
in conversation with his friends of the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's
counselling caution to any one; but the latter was determined to give
the Italian his advice on this matter, whatever the consequences might
be.
It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention
in full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not
return from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the
Academy Baretti failed to put in an appearance.
He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to
communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not
having a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect.
“You would do well, then, to come to my house for supper,” said
Reynolds. “I think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if
only to apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has
promised to come, and I have secured Johnson as well.”
Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in
front, he followed with Reynolds some distance behind--not so far,
however, as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was
engaged in a discourse with his sweet companion--he was particularly
fond of such companionship--on the dignity inseparable from a classic
style in painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the
habiliments of their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a
painter who required any considerable amount of remonstrance from
her preceptors to keep her feet from straying in regard to classical
traditions. The artist who gave the purest Greek features and the Roman
toga alike to the Prodigal Son and King Edward III could not be said to
be capable of greatly erring from Dr. Johnson's precepts.
All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of
eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious
adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild
suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so
faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might
eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art.
“What, sir!” cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at
anchor, and pursing out his lips, “would you contend that a member
of Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day
clothes--that the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?”
“Why, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman,” replied
Goldsmith.
Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered
to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary
than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his
phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave.
“Sir,” he cried, turning once more to Goldsmith, “there is a very
flagrant example of what you would bring about. When a monarch, even
depicted in his robes and with the awe-inspiring insignia of his exalted
position, is not held to be beyond the violation of a punster, what
would he be if shown in ordinary garb? But you, sir, in your aims after
what you call the natural, would, I believe, consider seriously the
advisability of the epitaphs in Westminster Abbey being written in
English.”
“And why not, sir?” said Goldsmith; then, with a twinkle, he added,
“For my own part, sir, I hope that I may live to read my own epitaph in
Westminster Abbey written in English.”
Every one laughed, including--when the bull had been explained to
her--Angelica Kauffman.
After supper Sir Joshua put his fair guest into her chair, shutting its
door with his own hands, and shortly afterwards Johnson and Whitefoord
went off together. But still Goldsmith, at the suggestion of Reynolds,
lingered in the hope that Baretti would call. He had probably been
detained at the house of a friend, Reynolds said, and if he should pass
Leicester Square on his way home, he would certainly call to explain the
reason of his absence from the meeting.
When another half-hour had passed, however, Goldsmith rose and said that
as Sir Joshua's bed-time was at hand, it would be outrageous for him to
wait any longer. His host accompanied him to the hall, and Ralph helped
him on with his cloak. He was in the act of receiving his hat from the
hand of the servant when the hall-bell was rung with starling violence.
The ring was repeated before Ralph could take the few steps to the door.
“If that is Baretti who rings, his business must be indeed urgent,” said
Goldsmith.
In another moment the door was opened, and the light of the lamp showed
the figure of Steevens in the porch. He hurried past Ralph, crying out
so as to reach the ear of Reynolds.
“A dreadful thing has happened tonight, sir! Baretti was attacked by two
men in the Haymarket, and he killed one of them with his knife. He has
been arrested, and will be charged with murder before Sir John Fielding
in the morning. I heard of the terrible business just now, and lost no
time coming to you.”
“Merciful heaven!” cried Goldsmith. “I was waiting for Baretti in order
to warn him.”
“You could not have any reason for warning him against such an attack
as was made upon him,” said Steevens. “It seems that the fellow whom
Baretti was unfortunate enough to kill was one of a very disreputable
gang well known to the constables. It was a Bow street runner who stated
what his name was.”
“And what was his name?” asked Reynolds.
“Richard Jackson,” replied Steevens. “Of course we never heard the name
before. The attack upon Baretti was the worst that could be imagined.”
“The world is undoubtedly rid of a great rascal,” said Goldsmith.
“Undoubtedly; but that fact will not save our friend from being hanged,
should a jury find him guilty,” said Steevens. “We must make an effort
to avert so terrible a thing. That is why I came here now; I tried to
speak to Baretti, but the constables would not give me permission. They
carried my name to him, however, and he sent out a message asking me to
go without delay to Sir Joshua and you, as well as Dr. Johnson and Mr.
Garrick. He hopes you may find it convenient to attend before Sir John
Fielding at Bow street in the morning.”
“That we shall,” said Sir Joshua. “He shall have the best legal advice
available in England; and, meantime, we shall go to him and tell him
that he may depend on our help, such as it is.”
The coach in which Steevens had come to Leicester Square was still
waiting, and in it they all drove to where Baretti was detained in
custody. The constables would not allow them to see the prisoner, but
they offered to convey to him any message which his friends might have,
and also to carry back to them his reply.
Goldsmith was extremely anxious to get from Baretti's own lips an
account of the assault which had been made upon him; but he could
not induce the constables to allow him to go into his presence. They,
however, bore in his message to the effect that he might depend on the
help of all his friends in his emergency.
Sir Joshua sent for the watchmen by whom the arrest had been effected,
and they stated that Baretti had been seized by the crowd--afar from
reputable crowd--so soon as it was known that a man had been stabbed,
and he had been handed over to the constables, while a surgeon examined
the man's wound, but was able to do nothing for him; he had expired in
the surgeon's hands.
Baretti's statement made to the watch was that he was on his way to the
meeting of the Academy, and being very late, he was hurrying through
the Haymarket when a woman jostled him, and at the same instant two
men rushed out from the entrance to Jermyn street and attacked him with
heavy sticks. One of the men closed with him to prevent his drawing his
sword, but he succeeded in freeing one arm, and in defending himself
with the small fruit knife which he invariably carried about with him,
as was the custom in France and Italy, where fruit is the chief article
of diet, he had undoubtedly stabbed his assailant, and by a great
mischance he must have severed an artery.
The Bow street runner who had seen the dead body told Reynolds and his
friends that he recognised the man as one Jackson, who had formerly held
a commission in the army, and had been serving in America, when, being
tried by court-martial for some irregularities, he had been sent to
England by Cornwallis. He had been living by his wits for some months,
and had recently joined a very disreputable gang, who occupied a house
in Whetstone Park.
“So far from our friend having been guilty of a criminal offence,
it seems to me that he has rid the country of a vile rogue,” said
Goldsmith.
“If the jury take that view of the business they'll acquit the
gentleman,” said the Bow street runner. “But I fancy the judge will tell
them that it's the business of the hangman only to rid the country of
its rogues.”
Goldsmith could not but perceive that the man had accurately defined the
view which the law was supposed to take of the question of getting rid
of the rogues, and his reflections as he drove to his chambers, having
parted from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Steevens, made him very unhappy.
He could not help feeling that Baretti was the victim of
his--Goldsmith's--want of consideration. What right had he, he asked
himself, to drag Baretti into a matter in which the Italian had no
concern? He felt that a man of the world would certainly have acted
with more discretion, and if anything happened to Baretti he would never
forgive himself.