The Jessamy Bride

by Frank Frankfort Moore

He went for supper to a tavern which he knew would be visited by none of his friends. He had no wish to share in the drolleries of Garrick as the latter turned Boswell into ridicule to make sport for the company. He knew that Garrick would be at the club in Gerrard street, to which he had been elected only a few days before the production of “She Stoops to Conquer,” and it was not at all unlikely that on this account the club would be a good deal livelier than it usually was even when Richard Burke was wittiest.

While awaiting the modest fare which he had ordered he picked up one of the papers published that evening, and found that it contained a fierce assault upon him for having dared to take the law into his own hands in attempting to punish the scoundrel who had introduced the name of Miss Horneck into his libel upon the author of the comedy about which all the town were talking.

The scurrility of his new assailant produced no impression upon him. He smiled as he read the ungrammatical expression of the indignation which the writer purported to feel at so gross an infringement of the liberty of the press as that of which—according to the writer—the ingenious Dr. Goldsmith was guilty. He did not even fling the paper across the room. He was not dwelling upon his own grievances. In his mind, the worst that could happen to him was not worth a moment's thought compared with the position of the girl whose presence he had just left.

He knew perfectly well—had he not good reason to know?—that the man who had threatened her would keep his threat. He knew of the gross nature of the libels which were published daily upon not merely the most notable persons in society, but also upon ordinary private individuals; and he had a sufficient knowledge of men and women to be aware of the fact that the grossest scandal upon the most innocent person was more eagerly read than any of the other contents of the prints of the day. That was one of the results of the publication of the scurrilities of Junius: the appetite of the people for such piquant fare was whetted, and there was no lack of literary cooks to prepare it. Slander was all that the public demanded. They did not make the brilliancy of Junius one of the conditions of their acceptance of such compositions—all they required was that the libel should have a certain amount of piquancy.

No one was better aware of this fact than Oliver Goldsmith. He knew that Kenrick, who had so frequently libelled him, would pay all the money that he could raise to obtain the letters which the man who called himself Captain Jackson had in his possession; he also knew that there would be no difficulty in finding a publisher for them; and as people were always much more ready to believe evil than good regarding any one—especially a young girl against whom no suspicion had ever been breathed—the result of the publication of the letters would mean practically ruin to the girl who had been innocent enough to write them.

Of course, a man of the world, with money at his hand, would have smiled at the possibility of a question arising as to the attitude to assume in regard to such a scoundrel as Jackson. He would merely inquire what sum the fellow required in exchange for the letters. But Goldsmith was in such matters as innocent as the girl herself. He believed, as she did, that because the man did not make any monetary claim upon her, he was not sordid. He was the more inclined to disregard the question of the possibility of buying the man off, knowing as he did that he should find it impossible to raise a sufficient sum for the purpose; and he believed, with Mary Horneck, that to tell her friends how she was situated would be to forfeit their respect forever.

She had told him that only cunning could prevail against her enemy, and he felt certain that she was right. He would try and be cunning for her sake.

He found great difficulty in making a beginning. He remembered how often in his life, and how easily, he had been imposed upon—how often his friends had entreated him to acquire this talent, since he had certainly not been endowed with it by nature. He remembered how upon some occasions he had endeavoured to take their advice; and he also remembered how, when he thought he had been extremely shrewd, it turned out that he had never been more clearly imposed upon.

He wondered if it was too late to begin again on a more approved system.

He brought his skill as a writer of fiction to bear upon the question (which maybe taken as evidence that he had not yet begun his career of shrewdness).