THE CASE OF CLARINDA
The town has notoriously a short memory, yet I doubt if there be any
still living who remember the year 1760 and have forgotten the case of
Jenny Wilmot. For, indeed, no one for some time talked of anything else.
There were armies in the field: these were forgotten; there were fleets
and naval battles and expeditions: these were forgotten; there was the
strife of party: that was forgotten; there were the anxieties of trade:
they were forgotten; there were scandals among the aristocracy: they
were forgotten; there was the new play; the new poem: all were clean
forgotten and neglected while the town talked at my Lady's breakfast or
Moll King's tavern of Jenny Wilmot; Jenny Wilmot; Jenny Wilmot. The
world at first could find nothing too bad to say or think of her. At the
clubs they suspended their play while they listened to the latest
rumour about Jenny. At the coffee-houses every quidnunc and gobemouche
brought a new story which he had heard and transmitted with
embroideries; or else a trifling variation in the old story to
communicate.
People remembered how she disappeared mysteriously from the stage a year
or two before this catastrophe!--Ha! what a proof of wickedness was
that! Why, it was now known that she was none other than Madame Vallance
who provided the masquerades and the Assemblies in Soho Square and was
never seen by the company except in a domino. There was another
illustration of her wicked disposition! It was also recalled, for the
benefit of those who did not remember the fact, that she had been an
Orange Girl at Drury before she was promoted to the stage. What could be
expected of an Orange Girl? And now it was actually brought to
light--could one believe it!--it was actually discovered--had she not
herself 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; the
rendezvous of highwaymen, footpads, pickpockets and rogues of every
description.
It was certain that Jenny had been born and brought up in this vile
receptacle or Temple of Vice. Many people were found who had
recollections of Jenny as a child playing in the gutter, or on the steps
of St. Giles's Church. These recollections were of an edifying nature.
One gentleman, of an aspect which we call smug--somewhat resembling, in
fact, my cousin Matthew at his earliest and best--related in my hearing
that he had addressed the child, and on hearing that her ambition was to
become an Orange Girl at Drury Lane Theatre, had warned her against the
perils of that path; unhappily without effect, except that while he was
exhorting her to a godly life, his tears were checked by the theft of
his pocket-handkerchief. And so on: and so on; because the occasion gave
an opportunity for securing a momentary distinction, and when the
imagination is fired the tongue is loosed.
Again, there is in the English mind something particularly repellant in
the life and the acts of the informer. Now it cannot be denied that in
my Trial, Jenny figured as one who had turned against her old friends
and associates; had used her knowledge to secure their arrest; and had
induced her mother and sister and at least one of the rogues of the
Black Jack, to join her in giving evidence against the conspirators. So
that when the news was spread abroad that her house, as well as the
Black Jack, had been wrecked and the contents destroyed there was at
first a strong feeling among many that this was a kind of wild justice
which she deserved, because she ought not to have turned against her
friends. As for the man for whose sake she did it, you may be sure that
the motive commonly attributed to her was such as would naturally
commend itself to the majority. That any woman should be so deeply moved
by generosity of heart, by love of justice, by honest indignation
against so foul a conspiracy as to resolve, at all risks and hazards, to
defeat the object of the villains, and to prevent the destruction of an
innocent man, required too high a flight to make it possible to be
considered by the common sort--I mean, not the poor, but the common sort
of '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 demonstrated
as when he is searching for motives. In a word, it was pretended and
believed, that in order to rescue her lover--a broken-down gentleman and
a highwayman--from the charge of robbery, which could only be proved by
the witnesses taking false names, in order to protect themselves, being
unfortunately rogues themselves, she brought a charge against them of
conspiracy and exposed their true names and their history, which she
could only effect by the knowledge she got from the Black Jack and the
assistance of her mother: that her lover, it was true, was cast loose
upon the world again; but that the innocence of those four persons,
including one most respectable attorney would be established as the
noonday clear at the ensuing Criminal Court at the Old Bailey.
Further, it was spread abroad that Jenny had been arrested, at her
lover's house in the Rules of the King's Bench, that she had been
brought before Sir John Fielding and had been by him committed to
Newgate on a charge of receiving stolen goods. Receiving stolen goods!
What, however, could one expect from St. Giles's and the daughter of the
Black Jack? She who must needs expose the crimes of her friends was now
in prison on a charge far more serious than theirs. Receiving stolen
goods! Monstrous! And one who entertained even R-- P--s at her
Assemblies! And she was all the time acting with her mother in receiving
stolen goods! After this, what pity could one feel even for a woman so
beautiful and so engaging as Jenny Wilmot? But was she so beautiful?
Some of the men raised this question. Painted for the stage: all
artificial. Was she engaging? She played as she was taught: she smiled
and 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! And
certainly for a day or two the reputation of Jenny was very low indeed.
Suddenly, however, there came a change--to me most welcome, because
without doubt the mind of the town was poisoned and prejudiced against
Jenny, in whose favour no one ventured to speak.
The first cause of the change was due to a paper--I think, if my memory
serves me right, in the _Connoisseur_. In this paper the 'Case of
Clarinda' put forth with great skill and power thinly disguised the
history of Jenny. I venture to quote a portion of that paper. As soon as
people understood that it was her history that was told the paper flew
from hand to hand: everybody in the coffee-houses and the taverns cried
out for it when they entered the house. And when it was read a silence
fell upon the room and shame upon all hearts. The author, I have always
understood, I know not why, was my Lord Brockenhurst, though he never
confessed 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 one
which ought to reduce to humility those who boast of our civilization
and the justice of our institutions. For, certainly, it will be allowed
that the first requisite of justice is that the officers of the State
shall be sufficiently provided with intelligence, with resources and
with encouragement, to search into all cases of alleged crime, and to
take care by ascertaining especially the private character and previous
history 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 crime
charged to him. Yet the case of Clarinda shows that such is the
condition of the times, such the weakness of our criminal procedure that
a conspiracy as vile, as villainous, as was ever concocted out of Hell
would have succeeded to the judicial murder of an innocent man, had it
not been for the activity, the courage, the lavish expenditure of a
woman unaided and single-handed. Her efforts have resulted in the escape
of the innocent man and the imprisonment of the conspirators. But at
what a price for herself?
'Clarinda is the daughter of a widow who for a long time has kept a
tavern in that part of the town known as St. Giles's. It is not
pretended that the place is the resort of the Quality. There has been
nothing, however, alleged against the conduct of the house or the
character of the landlady. Some of the frequenters certainly belonged to
the ranks of those who live by their wits. It is not the case, as
alleged in some quarters, that Clarinda was ever the companion or the
friend of these people. When she was still quite young she was placed in
the pit of Drury Lane Theatre as an Orange Girl. Accident drew towards
her the attention of the manager, who found her clever and attractive
with a lovely face and figure, a charming manner, and a beautiful voice.
In a word, the Orange Girl was transferred to the stage, and there
became the delight of the town; the greatest favourite of living
actresses.
'After a time Clarinda, as often happens to actresses, grew weary of the
stage, and longed for a quiet life in the country far from the lights
and 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 out
of 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; but
this proved that he was free from the vices of the men she more
frequently met. Clarinda accepted him, and they were married.
'She discovered, on the very day of her marriage, that he had lied to
her. He was not rich, though once he had been possessed of a large
fortune; he was a gambler; he had gambled away all his money; he had
married her because she was lovely; he proposed to use her charms for
the purpose of attracting rich gentlemen to his rooms where he intended
to carry on a gaming table.
'Clarinda on this discovery instantly left the man in disgust; but for
the moment she would not go back to the stage. She then took a large
house in one of the western squares. She decorated and furnished this
house, and she opened it for Masquerades and Assemblies. One day she
received a letter from two of the frequenters of her mother's house.
They were in a Debtors' Prison: they were afraid of becoming known, in
which case not only would other detainers be put in, but they might
themselves be arrested on some criminal charge.
'Clarinda, always generous, went to the Prison, saw the two men, and
promised them relief. It was an unfortunate act of generosity, which in
the end worked toward her ruin.
'In the Prison she espied a young man so closely resembling her own
unworthy husband that she accosted him and learned that he was
imprisoned, probably for life, by her husband aided by Mr. Vulpes, an
Attorney, on a vamped-up charge of debt with the hope of making him
obtain his liberty by selling his chance of succession to a large
fortune.
'She obtained the release of this gentleman, who, with his wife, can
never cease to be sufficiently grateful to her. She gave him, for he was
a 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 injured
gentleman. But she was unable to learn the nature of the plot, except
that the two Villains whom she had released from Prison were involved in
it. The next step was that the gentleman was accused by the whole party
of 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 to
him the truth. He told her that he had neither men nor money to follow
up the case. Therefore Clarinda, at her own expense, fetched up from
various country prisons turnkeys and governors who should expose the
character of the witnesses; she persuaded her mother and sister to give
evidence to the same effect; in order to do this, she was obliged to buy
her mother out of the tavern. She herself gave evidence; and she made
her unwilling husband give evidence. The result was the acquittal of the
prisoner and the committal of the conspirators. Not the magistrates of
the 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 her
property was to be expected at a time when we cannot protect our streets
in the very day time. But there was more.
'Clarinda's mother at the time of the trial had in her keeping a certain
quantity of stolen property. Whether she knew it to be stolen or not
cannot be said. When, however, the old woman accepted Clarinda's
proposal that she should give evidence against the conspiracy she seems
to have thought that the garrets of her daughter's house would be a safe
place for storing these goods. She was observed to be conveying them by
a woman, the mistress of one of the conspirators. While the house was in
the hands of the mob, this woman looked for, and found the property--a
miserable paltry collection of rags--in the garrets. For the sake of
revenge she brought information against Clarinda, who now therefore lies
in Newgate waiting her trial at the Old Bailey.
'What should Clarinda do? If she pleads "Not Guilty," which under
ordinary circumstances she should do; the more so as there is no
evidence whatever to connect her with any knowledge of these rags; she
will be acquitted; but then her mother will be arrested and tried on
this capital charge. If, on the other hand, she takes upon herself the
full responsibility, the mother escapes scot free while the daughter may
pay the full penalty for the crime.
'The reader will not think it necessary to ask what course will be
pursued by Clarinda. The generous heart which would risk all, sacrifice
all, lavish all, in the cause of justice and for the rescue of a
man--not her lover, but a worthless husband's cousin--from an
ignominious and undeserved death, will assuredly not hesitate to save
her erring mother even at the risk of her own life. That generous heart;
that noble heart; will be sustained and followed unto the end, even
though justice demands the uttermost penalty, by the tears of all who
can 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 opposite
pole. It was wonderful how quickly opinion was changed. Jenny, who
yesterday had been a traitress; a spy; a receiver of stolen goods; a
hussy with no character; suddenly became a heroine; a martyr.
Then the men remembered once more that she was a wonderful actress; a
most 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 and
individual smile, so that they went home, their heads in the clouds, to
dream of things impossible and unspeakable, and all the old love for the
Favourite 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 to
her. The more I observed her, the more I marvelled at the strange power
which brought all men to their knees before her. She had but to smile
upon them and they were conquered. The Governor of the Prison was her
servant; the turnkeys were her slaves; her visitors crowded her narrow
cell every afternoon, while Jenny received them dressed like a Countess
with the manner of a Countess. Sometimes I was honoured by her commands
to play to them; tea and chocolate were served daily. Great ladies came
with the rest to gaze upon her; actresses, once her rivals, now came,
all rivalry apart, to weep over her; gentlemen wrote her letters of
passionate love; portrait painters begged on their knees permission to
limn her lovely features. In a word, for a while the centre of fashion
was 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 Jenny
had assured me, the most loyal of the gentlemen and the most sincere of
friends.
It must be added that Jenny's time in prison was not wholly spent in
converting a cell into a drawing-room of fashion. The unfortunate women,
her fellow-prisoners, were much worse off than the men; they had fewer
friends; they were suffered to starve on the penny loaf a day, the
allowance of the prison. They lay for the most part in cold and
starvation; in rags and dirt and misery overwhelming. Jenny went into
their yard and among them. There was the poor creature who had caused
her arrest. She was half starved now. Jenny gave her food and spoke to
her friendly without reproach; she sent food to others who were
starving. She not only fed them; she talked to them, not about their
sins, because poor Jenny knew nothing about sins except so far as that
certain deeds are punished by the law; but she talked to them about
being clean and neat: she revived the womanly instinct in them: made
them wash themselves, dress their hair, and take pleasure again in
making themselves attractive. Never had a woman a keener sense of the
duty of women to be beautiful. She made them in a week or two so
civilized that they left off fighting: there was not a black eye in the
place; and while Jenny was in the ward there was hardly so much as a
foul word. It was pretty to see how they loved her and welcomed her and
would have worked themselves to death for her. Poor lost souls--if
indeed they are lost! They must all be dead now. The horrible gallows
has killed some; the gaol fever, others; the fever of bad food and bad
drink and bad air, others, yet until the day of death I am sure that all
remembered Jenny. Notably, there was her accuser. She was sullen at
first; she was revengeful; next she was ashamed and turned aside; then
she wept; and then she became like a tame kitten following her through
the ward, hungering and thirsting for one more word--one more word of
friendship--from the very woman whom she had brought to this place.