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Confession by W. Gilmore Simms

W >> W. Gilmore Simms >> Confession




"Oh, you do not understand it, Julia. You do not know, then, that
you are the daughter of a rich merchant--the only daughter--that
you have servants to wait on you, and a carriage at command--that
you can wear fine silks, and have all things that money can buy,
and a rich man's daughter desire. You don't know these things,
Julia, eh?"

"Yes, Edward, I hear you say so now, and I hear mamma often say
the same things; but still I don't see--"

"You don't see why that should make a difference between yourself
and your poor cousin, eh? Well, but it does; and though you don't
see it now, yet it will not be very long before you will see, and
understand it, and act upon it, too, as promptly as the wisest
among them. Don't you know that I am the object of your father's
charity--that his bounty feeds me--and that it would not be seemly
that the world should behold me on a familiar footing of equality
or intimacy with the daughter of my benefactor--my patron--without
whom I should probably starve, or be a common beggar upon the
highway?"

"But father would not suffer that, Edward."

"Oh, no! no!--he would not suffer it, Julia, simply because his own
pride and name would feel the shame and disgrace of such a thing.
But though he would keep me from beggary and the highway, Julia,
neither he nor your mother would spend a sixpence or make an effort
to save my feelings from pain and misery. They protect me from the
scorn of others, but they use me for their own."

The girl hung her head in silence.

"And you, too," I added--"the time will come when you. too, Julia,
will shrink as promptly as themselves from being seen with your
poor relation. You--"

"No! no! Edward--how can you think of such a thing?" she replied
with girlish chiding.

"Think it!--I know it! The time will soon be here. But--obey your
mother, Julia. Go! leave me now. Begin, once the lesson which,
before many days, you will find it very easy to learn."

This was all very manly, so I fancied at the time; and then
blind with the perverse heart which boiled within me, I felt not
the wantonness of my mood, and heeded not the bitter pain which I
occasioned to her gentle bosom. Her little hand grasped mine, her
warm tears fell upon it; but I flung away from her grasp, and left
her to those childish meditations which I had made sufficiently
mournful.

Subsequent reflection, while it showed me the brutality of my
conduct to Julia, opened my eyes to the true meaning of her mother's
interdiction; and increased the pang of those bitter feelings,
which my conscious dependence had awakened in my breast, it was
necessary that this dependence should be lessened; that, as I was
now approaching manhood, I should cast about for the future, and
adopt wisely and at once the means of my support hereafter. It was
necessary that I should begin the business of life. On this head
I had already reflected somewhat, and my thoughts had taken their
direction from more than one conference which I had had with William
Edgerton. His father was an eminent lawyer, and the law had been
adopted for his profession also. I determined to make it mine;
and to speak on this subject to my uncle. This I did. I chose an
afternoon, the very week in which my conversation had taken place
with Julia, and, while the dinner things were undergoing removal,
with some formality requested a private interview with him. He looked
round at me with a raised brow of inquiry--nodded his head--and
shortly after rose from the table. My aunt stared with an air of
supercilious wonder; while poor Julia, timid and trembling, barely
ventured to give me a single look, which said--and that was enough
for me--"I wish I dared say more."

My conference with my uncle was not of long duration. I told
him it was my purpose--my desire--to begin as soon as possible to
do something for myself. His answer signified that such was his
opinion also. So far we were agreed; but when I told him that it
was my wish to study the law, he answered with sufficient, and as
I thought, scornful abruptness:--

"The law, indeed! What puts the law into your head? What preparations
have you made to study the law? You know nothing of languages which
every lawyer should know--Latin--"

I interrupted him to say that I had some slight knowledge of
Latin--sufficient, I fancied, for all legal purposes.

"Ah! indeed! where did you get it?"

"A friend lent me a grammar and dictionary, and I studied myself."

"Oh, you are ambitious; but you deceive yourself. You were never
made for a lawyer. Besides, how are you to live while prosecuting
your studies? No, no! I have been thinking of something for you,
Edward--and, just now, it happens fortunately that old Squire
Farmer, the bricklayer, wants some apprentices--"

I could scarcely listen thus far.

"I thank you, sir, but I have no disposition to be a bricklayer."

"You must do something for yourself. You can not expect to eat
the bread of idleness. I have done, and will do for you what I
can--whatever is necessary;--but I have my own family to provide
for. I can not rob my own child---"

"Nor do I expect it, Mr. Clifford," I replied hastily, and with some
indignation. "It is my wish, sir, to draw as little as possible
from your income and resources. I would not rob Julia Clifford of
a single dollar. Nay, sir, I trust before many years to be able
to refund you every copper which has been spent upon me from the
moment I entered your household."

He said hastily:--

"I wish nothing of that, Edward;--but the law is a study of years,
and is expensive and unpromising in every respect. Your clothes
already call for a considerable sum, and such a profession requires,
more than almost any other, that a student should be well dressed."

"I promise you, sir, that my dress shall be such as shall not
trespass upon your income. I shall be governed by as much economy--"

He interrupted me to say, that

"His duty required that his brother's son should be dressed as well
as his associates."

I replied, with tolerable composure:--

"I do not think, sir, that bricklaying will admit of very genteel
clothing, nor do I think that the vocation will suit me. I have
flattered myself, sir, that my talents--"

"Oh, you have talents, then, have you? Well, it is fortunate that
the discovery has been made in season."

I bore with this, though my cheek was burning, and said--with
an effort to preserve my voice and temper, in which, though the
difficulty was great, I was tolerably successful--

"You have misunderstood me in some things, Mr. Clifford; and I will
try now to explain myself clearly in others. Having resolved, sir,
that the law shall be my profession---"

"Ha! resolved, say you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, go on--go on!"

"Having resolved to pursue the study of law, and seeing that I am
burdensome and expensive to you--believing, too, that I can relieve
you of the burden--I have simply requested permission of you to
make the attempt."

"Why, how do you propose to do so?--how can you support yourself--that
is relieve me of the burden of your expenses--and study the law at
the same time?"

"Such things have been done, sir; and can be done again. I flatter
myself I can do it. Industry will enable me to do so. I propose to
apply for a clerkship in a mercantile establishment which I know
stands in need of assistance, and while there will pursue my studies
in such intervals of leisure as the business will afford me."

"You seem to have the matter ready cut and dry. Why do you come to
me, then? Remember, I can make no advances."

"I need none, sir. My simple object with you, sir, was to declare
my intention, and to request that I may be permitted to refer to
you the merchants to whom I mean to apply, for a knowledge of my
character and attainments."

"Oh, certainly, you may--for the character;--but as to the
attainments"--with a sneering smile--"of them I can say nothing,
and, perhaps, the less said the better. I've no doubt you'll do
well enough with the merchants. It does not need much genius or
attainment for such situations. But, if you'll take my counsel,
you'll go to the bricklayer. We want bricklayers sadly. To be a
tolerable lawyer, parts are necessary; and God knows the country
is over-stocked with hosts of lawyers already, whose only parts lie
in their impudence. Better think a little while longer. Speak to
old Farmer yourself."

I smiled bitterly--thanked him for his counsel, which was only a
studied form of insult, and turned away from him without further
speech, and with a proud swelling of indignation at my heart. Thus
our conference ended. A week after, I was ensconced behind the
counter of a wholesale dealer, and my hands at night were already
busy in turning over the heavy folios of Chitty and Blackstone.






CHAPTER III.

ADMITTED AMONG THE LAWYERS





Behold me, then, merchandising by day, and conning by night
the intricate mysteries of law. Books for the latter purpose were
furnished by my old friend, William Edgerton, from his father's
library. He himself was a student, beginning about the same time
with myself; though with the superior privilege of devoting himself
exclusively to this study. But if he had more time, I was more
indefatigable. My pride was roused, and emulation soon enabled me
to supply the want of leisure. My nights were surrendered, almost
wholly, to my new pursuit. I toiled with all the earnestness which
distinguished my temperament, stimulated to a yet higher degree by
those feelings of pride and pique, which were resolved to convince
my skeptical uncle that I was not entirely without those talents, the
assertion of which had so promptly provoked his sneer. Besides, I
had already learned that no such scheme as mine could be successfully
prosecuted, unless by a stern resolution; and this implied the
constant presence of a close, undeviating method in my studies. I
tasked myself accordingly to read--understandingly, if possible--so
many pages every night, making my notes, queries, doubts, &c., EN
PASSANT. In order to do this, I prescribed to myself a rule, to
pass directly from the toils of the day and the store to my chamber,
suffering no stoppage by the way, and studiously denying myself
the dangerous fascinations of that society which was everywhere at
command, in the persons of young men about my own age and condition.
The intensity of my character, and the suspiciousness which it
induced, helped me in this determination. Perhaps, there is no
greater danger to a young man's habits of study and business, than
a chat at the street corner, with a merry and thoughtless group.
A single half hour consumed in this manner, is almost always fatal
to the remaining hours of the day. It breaks into the circle, and
impairs the method without which the passage of the sun becomes
a very weary and always an unprofitable progress. If you would
be a student or anything, you must plunge headlong into it at the
beginning--bury yourself in your business, and work your way out
of your toils, by sheer, dogged industry.

My labors were so far successful that I could prosecute my studies
with independence. I had left the dwelling of my uncle the moment
I took employment in the mercantile house. My salary, though small,
was ample; with my habits, it was particularly so. I had few of
those vices in which young men are apt to indulge, and which, when
they become habits, cease unhappily to be regarded as vices. I used
tobacco in no shape, and no ardent spirits. I needed no stimulants,
and, by the way, true industry never does. It is only indolence that
needs drink; and indolence does need it; and the sooner drunkenness
kills indolence by the use of drink, the better for society. The
only objection to liquors as an agent for ridding the community of
a nuisance, is, that it is rather too slow, and too offensive in
its detailed operations; arsenic would be far less offensive, more
summary, and is far more certain. You would seek vainly to cure
drunkenness, unless you first cure the idleness which is its root
and strength, and, while they last, its permanent support. But my
object is not homily.

If I was free from vices such as these, however, I had vices of my
own, which were only less odious as they were less obvious. That
vexing, self-tormenting spirit of which I have spoken as the evil
genius that dogged my footsteps--that moral perverseness which
I have described as the "blind heart"--still afflicted me, though
in a far less degree now than when I was the inmate of my uncle's
dwelling, and exposed to all the caprices of himself, his wife
and servants. I kept on good terms with my employers, for the very
natural reason that they saw me attend to my business and theirs,
with a hearty cheerfulness that went to work promptly in whatever
was to be done, and executed its tasks with steady fortitude,
neatness, and rapidity. But, even with them, I had my sulks--my
humors--my stubborn fits of sullenness, that seemed anxious to provoke
opposition, and awaken wrath. These, however, they considerately
forgave in consideration of my real usefulness: and as they perceived
that whatever might have been the unpleasantness occasioned by
these specimens of spleen, they were never suffered to interfere
with or retard the operations of business. "It's an ugly way he's
got," was, probably, the utmost extent of what either of the partners
said, and of what is commonly said on such occasions by most persons,
who do not care to trouble themselves with a too close inquiry.

Well, at twenty-one, William Edgerton and myself were admitted
to the practice of the law, and that too with considerable credit
to ourselves. I had long since been carried by my friend into his
family circle; and Mr. Edgerton, his father, had been pleased to
distinguish me with sundry attentions, which were only grateful to
me in consequence of the unusual deference with which his manner
evinced his regard. His gentle inquiries and persuasive suggestions
beguiled me into more freedom of speech than I had ever before been
accustomed to; and his judicious management of my troubled spirit,
for a time, stifled its contradictions, and suppressed its habitual
tendencies. But it was with some jealousy, and an erectness of manner
which was surely ungracious, though, perhaps, not offensive, that
I endured and replied to his inquiries into my personal condition,
my resources, and the nature of that dependence which I bore to the
family of my uncle. When he learned--which he did not from me--in
what manner I had pursued my studies--after what toils of the day,
and at what late hours of the night--when he found from a close
private examination, which he had given me, before my admission,
that my knowledge of the law was quite as good as the greater
number of those who apply for admission--he was pleased to express
his astonishment at my perseverance, and delight at my success.
When, too, in addition to this, he discovered, upon a minute inquiry
from my employers and others, that I was abstemious, and indulged
in no excesses of any kind, his interest in me increased, as
I thought, who had been accustomed to nothing of the sort, beyond
all reasonable measure-and I soon had occasion to perceive that it
was no idle curiosity that prompted his consideration and inquiry.

Without my knowledge, he paid a visit to my uncle. This gentleman,
I may be permitted here to say, had been quite as much surprised as
anybody else, at my determined prosecution of my studies in spite
of the difficulties by which I was surrounded. That I was pursuing
them, while in the mercantile establishment to which I had gone, he
did not believe; and very frequently when I was at his house--for
I visited the family, and sometimes, though unfrequently, dined
with them on a sabbath--he jeered me on my progress--the "wonderful
progress," as he was pleased to term it--which he felt sure I was
making with my Coke and Blackstone, while baling blankets, or
bundling up plains and kerseys. This I bore patiently, sustained
as I was by the proud, indomitable spirit within me, which assured
me of the ultimate triumph which I felt positive would ensue.
I enjoyed his surprise--a surprise that looked something like
consternation--when the very day of my admission to the bar, and
after that event, I encountered him in the street, and in answer
to his usual sarcastic inquiry:--

"Well, Edward, how does the law come on? How is Sir William
Blackstone, Sir Edward Coke, and the rest of the white heads?"

I simply put the parchment into his hands which declared my formal
introduction to those venerable gentry.

"Why, you don't mean? Is it possible? So you really are admitted--a
lawyer, eh?"

"You see, sir--and that, too, without any Greek."

"Well, and what good is it to do you? To have a profession, Edward,
is one thing; to get business, another!"

"Yes, sir--but I take it, the profession must be had first. One
step is gained. That much is sure. The other, I trust, will follow
in due season."

"True, but I still think that the bricklayer would make the more
money."

"Were money-making, sir, the only object of life, perhaps, then,
that would be the most desirable business; but--"

"Oh, I forgot--the talents, the talents are to be considered."

And after the utterance of this sneer, our dialogue as may be
supposed, did not much longer continue.

I did not know of the contemplated visit of Mr. Edgerton to my
worthy uncle, nor of its purpose, or I should, most assuredly, have
put my veto upon the measure with all the tenacity of a resentful
spirit; but this gentleman, who was a man of nice sensibility as
well as strong good sense, readily comprehended a portion of my
secret history from what was known to him. He easily conceived
that my uncle was somewhat of a niggard from the manner in which I
had employed myself during my preparation for the bar. He thought,
however, that my uncle, though unwilling to expend money in the
prosecution of a scheme which he did not approve--now that the scheme
was so far successful as to afford every promise of a reasonable
harvest, could not do less than come forward to the assistance of
one who had shown such a determined disposition to assist himself.

He was mistaken. He little knew the man. His interview with my
uncle was a short one. The parties were already acquainted, though
not intimately. They knew each other as persons of standing in the
same community, and this made the opening of Mr. Edgerton's business
easy. I state the tenor of the interview as it came to my knowledge
afterward.

"Mr. Clifford," he said, "you have a nephew--a young gentleman,
who has been recently admitted to the bar--Mr. Edward Clifford."

The reply, with a look of wonder was necessarily affirmative.

"I have had much pleasure," continued the other, "in knowing him
for some time. He is an intimate of my eldest son, and from what
has met my eyes, sir, I should say, you are fortunate in having a
nephew of so much promise."

"Why, yes, sir, I believe he is a clever youth enough," was the
costive answer.

"He is more than that, sir. I regard him, indeed, as a most
astonishing young man. The very manner in which he has pursued his
studies while engaged in the harassing labors of a large wholesale
business house of this city--alone establishes this fact."

The cheeks of my uncle reddened. The last sentence of Mr. Edgerton
was unfortunate for his object. It conveyed a tacit reproof, which
the niggardly conscience of Mr. Clifford readily appropriated and,
perhaps, anticipated. He dreaded lest Mr. Edgerton knew all.

"You are probably aware, Mr. Edgcrton," he replied with equal
hesitancy and haste--"you have heard that Edward Clifford is an
orphan--that he has nothing, and it was therefore necessary that
he should learn to employ himself; though it was against my wish,
sir, that he went into a mercantile house."

There was something suppressed in this--a mean evasion--for he could
not easily have told Mr. Edgcrton, without a blush, that, instead
of the mercantile establishment, he would have made me a bricklayer's
hodman. But this, it seems, Edgerton had found out for himself. His
reply, however, was calculated to soothe the jealous apprehensions
of Mr. Clifford. He had an object in view, which he thought too
important to risk for the small pleasure of a passing sarcasm.

"Perhaps, it has happened for the best, Mr. Clifford. You were
right in requiring the young man to do for himself. Were I worth
millions, sir, I should still prefer that my son should learn that
lesson--that he should work out his own deliverance with the sweat
of his own brow."

"I agree with you, sir, perfectly," replied the other, with increased
complacency. "A boy learns to value his money as he should, only
when he has earned it for himself."

"Ah! it is not for this object simply," replied Mr. Edgerton,
"that I would have him acquire habits of industry; it is for the
moral results which such habits produce--the firmness, character,
consistency--the strength and independence--temperance, justice--all
of which arise, and almost only, from obedience to this law. But
it is clear that one can not do everything by himself, and this
young man, though he has gone on in a manner that might shame the
best of us, is still not so thoroughly independent as he fancies
himself. It will be some time before he will be able to realize
anything from his profession, and he will need some small assistance
in the meantime."

"I can not help him," exclaimed Mr. Clifford, abruptly--"I have
not the means to spare. My own family need everything that I can
give. He has himself only to blame. He chose his profession for
himself. I warned him against it. He needn't send to me."

"Do not mistake me, Mr. Clifford," said Mr. Edgerton, calmly.
"Your nephew knows nothing of my present visit. I would be loath
that he should know. It was the singular independence of his mind
that led me to the conviction, that he would sooner die than ask
assistance from anybody, that persuaded me to suggest to you in
what manner you might afford him an almost necessary help, without
offending his sensibility."

"Humph!" exclaimed the other, while a sneer mantled upon his lips.
"You are very considerate, Mr. Edgerton; but the same sensibilities
might prompt him to reject the assistance when tendered."

"No, sir," replied Edgerton, mildly--"I think I could manage that."

"I am sorry, sir, that I can not second your wishes in any material
respect," was the answer of my uncle;--"but I will see Edward, and
let him know that my house is open to him as it was from, the time
he was four years old; and he shall have a seat at my table until
he can establish himself more to his satisfaction; but money, sir,
in truth, I have not a cent to spare. My own necessities--"

"Enough, sir," said Mr. Edgerton, mildly; "I take it for granted,
Mr. Clifford, that if you could contribute to the success of your
brother's son, you certainly would neither refuse nor refrain to
do so."

"Oh, surely--certainly not," replied the other, hastily. "Anything
that I could do--anything in reason, sir, I should be very happy
to do, but--"

And then followed the usual rigmarole about "his own family," and
"hard times," and "diminished resources," and all those stereotype
commonplaces which are for ever on the lips of stereotype insincere
people. Mr. Clifford did not perceive the dry and somewhat scornful
inuendo, which lay at the bottom of Mr. Edgerton's seemingly innocent
assumption; and the latter took his leave, vexed with himself at
having made the unsuccessful application--but still more angry with
the meanness of character which he had encountered in my uncle.






CHAPTER IV.

"She still soothed The mock of others."





It is not improbable that, after a few hours given to calm reflection,
my uncle perceived how obnoxious he might be made to public censure
for his narrow treatment of my claims; and the next day he sent for
me in order to tender me the freedom of his house--a tender which
he had made the day before to Mr. Edgerton in my behalf. But his
offer had been already anticipated by that excellent friend that
very day. Coming warm and fresh from his interview with my uncle,
he called upon me, and in a very plain, direct, business-like, but
yet kind and considerate manner, informed me that he stood very
much in need of an assistant who would prepare his papers--did me
the honor to say that he fancied I would suit him better than anybody
else he knew, and offered me six hundred dollars for my labors in
that capacity for the first year of my service. My engagement to
him, he said at the same time, did not imply such entire employment
as would incapacitate me for the execution of any business which
might be intrusted to my hands individually. I was permitted the
use of a desk in his office, and was also permitted to hang out my
own banner from his window I readily persuaded myself that I could
be of service to Mr. Edgerton--such service as would, perhaps,
leave my obligation a light one--and promptly acceded to his offer.
He had scarcely departed when a servant brought a note from Mr.
Clifford. Even while meditating what he fancied was a favor, he
could not forbear the usual sneer. The following was his communication:

Letter: Gender roles in the Cinderella story

Doctors assure us that wherever you find an elderly, pompous old writer long past his prime you will find a bottle of scotch nearby. If only that were the case. Hilly hid mine after I fell up the stairs when I came home from the Garrick yesterday, and I've had to make do with a bottle of Blue Nun I found in the maid's parlour. Not that I am an alcoholic. Dipsomaniacs are a breed of the lower orders you meet on street corners: people like myself are bon viveurs who happen to like a drink. Or 12.

My primary observation is that drinking makes the daily grind of dealing with people so much easier. You drink a pint of whisky and become the life and soul of the party. You then start insulting people, before sweating heavily and wetting yourself involuntarily. You will usually find that everyone quickly avoids you, thereby relieving you of the need to make conversation. This is why I prefer to do much of my drinking at home. It saves so much time.

There are a great many drinks on the market - spirits, wines and beers - and I've probably drunk them all. Usually in some kind of combination with one another. Mixing cocktails is one of my favourite hobbies. Here's one I invented last week for my great sycophant, Christopher Hitchens.

The Hitch

One bottle of Babycham

One bottle of absinthe

Five shots of Angostura very bitters

Two tablespoons of bile

Two or three glasses of this tincture can give you a lifetime of self-satisfaction.

At some time you will probably be forced to invite people to your home and they may expect a drink. My advice is to offer them the cheapest tipple you can find; my local off-licence does a ghastly Mosel at 70p a bottle. I've never cared for even the best wines, and this should guarantee those poncing off you neither ask for top-ups nor stay long, thereby leaving you more money and time for the pub.

It is well known that only the very dullest of petit-bourgeois minds fail to over-imbibe on a daily basis, so I regard hangovers as a price worth paying for my brilliance. That said, I have found ways of coping with this metaphysical malaise. The first is to fuck someone; preferably somebody else's wife, but if your own is the only one around then she will do. The second is to read a book by that little shit Mart; it will either remind you you're not that bad a writer or give you some sleep.

The one downside to drinking is that it can make you fat. This is remedied by cutting out food entirely and drinking all spirits without mixers. My weight has gone down to 19st with this diet. There isn't much more to say, but as I'm being paid by the column I'd better repeat myself. And now that I'm dead, there's no harm in Bloomsbury repackaging the same material several times in the same collection.

I don't really like wine. Gin is for pansies, though a snifter with water doesn't go amiss. Liqueurs are best left to patent-shoed Wops. Or Americans. Champagne is an overrated girl's drink, though it can be drunk with any food; as such, it's a perfect breakfast drink because a scotch before 10am is very non-U.

I loathe pubs with loud music, but my utmost detestation is reserved for sanctimonious ex-topers. There's nothing worse than a man who doesn't drink. I once tried not drinking for several hours and my wives and mistresses said how dull it was that I was conscious and they were spared removing my soiled trousers from my bloated legs.

Whisky is my favourite tipple, though I recommend never giving it to a Welshman as it's wasted on someone with an IQ of less than 80. Have I mentioned that I'm partial to a Macallan? Gosh is that the time? Hilly's coming to change my IV drip before I fall unconscious again. The publisher can bloody well pad out the rest of the book with a pointless quiz without me.

Q: Who will buy this?

A: No one.

The digested read digested: The old pub bore.

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Jury clears judge of libelling mother
Sales of 'misery memoirs' fall after they boomed beyond all expectations since Dave Pelzer wrote A Child Called It

Constance Briscoe wins Ugly libel case

A judge who was sued for libel by her mother over allegations of childhood cruelty and neglect in her bestselling "misery memoir" won her case yesterday.

Constance Briscoe burst into tears at the high court in London as a jury unanimously cleared her and publishers Hodder & Stoughton over the claims in Ugly, which her mother Carmen Briscoe-Mitchell, 74, had alleged were a "piece of fiction".

During the 10-day trial, Briscoe, 51, who was one of the first black women judges in the UK, told the court her mother repeatedly beat her with a stick for bed-wetting and called her a "dirty little whore", a "potato-head" and "miss piss-a-bed".

She described trying to kill herself by drinking diluted bleach after failing to get taken into care, and told the jury she used a university grant to have plastic surgery to remove the "ugliness" her mother had taunted her over.

Briscoe, of Clapham, south London, also said that when she was nine, her mother had deliberately cut her on the inside of her arm with a knife in a row over the preparation of a chicken.

Ugly, published in 2006, has sold more than 400,000 copies in the UK. Briscoe and Hodder & Stoughton had denied libel and said the book was substantially true. Andrew Caldecott QC, for Briscoe, said the events occurred between 1964 and 1975.

Briscoe-Mitchell, from Southwark, south-east London, left court without making any immediate comment about her legal defeat. During the trial she had denied all the allegations of verbal and physical abuse and claimed she and her daughter had enjoyed a loving relationship within a happy family.

Her counsel, William Panton, told the jury Briscoe was "spinning a yarn", claiming his client had struggled to bring up her 11 children and had provided for them equally to the best of her ability.

Outside court, Briscoe told reporters she was "very happy" with the jury's verdict, which came after more than a day of deliberation.

"It is sad that my mother still feels the need to pursue me," she said. "Now I just want to get on with my career. I would like to thank all my readers who have sent me messages of support, including the very many children who provided helpful advice.

"I can quite understand why my family went into collective denial but whilst child abuse may be committed behind closed doors it should never be swept under the carpet."

Hodder & Stoughton said it was pleased with the verdict. "We are very proud to be Constance Briscoe's publisher," a statement said. "Her books Ugly and Beyond Ugly have touched hundreds of thousands of readers, many of them children. Sadly, as we know from the news over the past few weeks, child abuse is all too common and nothing and no one should ever stand in the way of the truth."

Asked during the trial why she wrote the book, Briscoe said: "I didn't believe for a split second that I owed my mother a bond of silence. I don't. I had a story to tell and that story really is that I, someone who from dirt poverty, from absolutely nowhere, with absolutely no assistance whatsoever, who faced adversity at every turn, could come through."

The court heard she had cleaned offices for two hours every day before school until her studies took her to Newcastle University, the criminal bar and, eventually, to become one of the country's few black women judges.

"I wanted to say to whoever read the book ... you can be whatever you want to be," Briscoe said. "You just have to believe in yourself ... you do not have to be posh or privileged to be at the Bar.

"You just need to believe in yourself and I truly, truly believe that my book has done an enormous amount of good."

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