The Jessamy Bride

by Frank Frankfort Moore

After the lapse of a day or two he began to think if it might not be well for him to consult with Edmund Burke as to whether it would be to the advantage of Baretti or otherwise to submit evidence as to the threats made use of by Jackson in regard to Baretti. He thought that it might be possible to do so without introducing the name of Mary Horneck. But Burke, after hearing the story—no mention of the name of Mary Horneck being made by Goldsmith—came to the conclusion that it would be unwise to introduce at the trial any question of animosity on the part of the man who had been killed, lest the jury might be led to infer—as, indeed, they might have some sort of reason for doing-that the animosity on Jackson's part meant animosity on Baretti's part. Burke considered that a defence founded upon the plea of accident was the one which was most likely to succeed in obtaining from a jury a verdict of acquittal. If it could be shown that the man had attacked Baretti as impudently as some of the witnesses for the Crown were ready to admit that he did, Burke and his legal advisers thought that the prisoner had a good chance of obtaining a verdict.

The fact that neither Burke nor any one else spoke with confidence of the acquittal had, however, a deep effect upon Goldsmith. His sanguine nature had caused him from the first to feel certain of Baretti's safety, and any one who reads nowadays an account of the celebrated trial would undoubtedly be inclined to think that his feeling in this matter was fully justified. That there should have been any suggestion of premeditation in the unfortunate act of self-defence on the part of Baretti seems amazing to a modern reader of the case as stated by the Crown. But as Edmund Burke stated about that time in the House of Commons, England was a gigantic shambles. The barest evidence against a prisoner was considered sufficient to bring him to the gallows for an offence which nowadays, if proved against him on unmistakable testimony, would only entail his incarceration for a week. Women were hanged for stealing bread to keep their children from that starvation which was the result of the kidnapping of their husbands to serve in the navy; and yet Burke's was the only influential voice that was lifted up against a system in comparison with which slavery was not only tolerable, but commendable.

Baretti was indeed the only one of that famous circle of which Johnson was the centre, who felt confident that he would be acquitted. For all his railing against the detestable laws of the detestable country—which, however, he found preferable to his own—he ridiculed the possibility of his being found guilty. It was Johnson who considered it within the bounds of his duty to make the Italian understand that, however absurd was the notion of his being carted to the gallows, the likelihood was that he would experience the feelings incidental to such an excursion.

He went full of this intention with Reynolds to visit the prisoner at Newgate, and it may be taken for granted that he discharged his duty with his usual emphasis. It is recorded, however, on the excellent authority of Boswell, that Baretti was quite unmoved by the admonition of the sage.

It is also on authority of Boswell that we learn that Johnson was guilty of what appears to us nowadays as a very gross breach of good taste as well as of good feeling, when, on the question of the likelihood of Baretti's failing to obtain a verdict being discussed, he declared that if one of his friends were fairly hanged he should not suffer, but eat his dinner just the same as usual. It is fortunate, however, that we know something of the systems adopted by Johnson when pestered by the idiotic insistence of certain trivial matters by Boswell, and the record of Johnson's pretence to appear a callous man of the world probably deceived no one in the world except the one man whom it was meant to silence.

But, however callous Dr. Johnson may have pretended to be—however insincere Tom Davis the bookseller may—according to Johnson—have been, there can be no doubt that poor Goldsmith was in great trepidation until the trial was over. He gave evidence in favour of Baretti, though Boswell, true to his detestation of the man against whom he entertained an envy that showed itself every time he mentioned his name, declined to mention this fact, taking care, however, that Johnson got full credit for appearing in the witness-box with Burke, Garrick and Beauclerk.

Baretti was acquitted, the jury being satisfied that, as the fruit-knife was a weapon which was constantly carried by Frenchmen and Italians, they might possibly go so far as to assume that it had not been bought by the prisoner solely with the intention of murdering the man who had attacked him in the Haymarket. The carrying of the fruit-knife seems rather a strange turning-point of a case heard at a period when the law permitted men to carry swords presumably for their own protection.

Goldsmith's mind was set at ease by the acquittal of Baretti, and he joined in the many attempts that were made to show the sympathy which was felt—or, as Boswell would have us believe Johnson thought, was simulated—by his friends for Baretti. He gave a dinner in honour of the acquittal, inviting Johnson, Burke, Garrick, and a few others of the circle, and he proposed the health of their guest, which, he said, had not been so robust of late as to give all his friends an assurance that he would live to a ripe old age. He also toasted the jury and the counsel, as well as the turnkeys of Newgate and the usher of the Old Bailey.

When the trial was over, however, he showed that the strain to which he had been subjected was too great for him. His health broke down, and he was compelled to leave his chambers and hurry off to his cottage on the Edgware Road, hoping to be benefitted by the change to the country, and trusting also to be able to make some progress with the many works which he had engaged himself to complete for the booksellers. He had, in addition, his comedy to write for Garrick, and he was not unmindful of his promise to give Mrs. Abington a part worthy of her acceptance.

He returned at rare intervals to town, and never failed at such times to see his Jessamy Bride, with whom he had resumed his old relations of friendship. When she visited her sister at Barton she wrote to him in her usual high spirits. Little Comedy also sent him letters full of the fun in which she delighted to indulge with him, and he was never too busy to reply in the same strain. The pleasant circle at Bun-bury's country house wished to have him once again in their midst, to join in their pranks, and to submit, as he did with such good will, to their practical jests.