Lives and Exploits of the Most Noted Highwaymen and Robbers: The German Princess
BY
Charles Whitehead
An excerpt from
LIVES AND EXPLOITS OF THE MOST NOTED HIGHWAYMEN, ROBBERS AND MURDERERS
1847
Introduction
Mary Moders quickly gained a reputation as one of the most skilled and elusive criminals of her time. She was known for her ability to disguise herself and her talent for eluding the police. Her crimes included burglaries, robberies, and fraud, and she often operated under the guise of a wealthy and sophisticated woman. Her exploits captured the attention of the media and the public, earning her the nickname "the German Princess."
Lives and Exploits of the Most Noted Highwaymen and Robbers: The German Princess
Though this remarkable female character was denominated a German Princess, for a reason which will be mentioned in the course of her narrative, she was a native of Canterbury, and her father a chorister of that cathedral. From her sprightly and volatile disposition, she at an early period took delight in reading the novels that were at that time fashionable,—such as Parismus and Parismanus, Don Bellianis of Greece, Amadis de Gaul, and Cassandra and Cleopatra; and in a little time really believed what she wished, even that she was a princess.
But in her marriage she lost sight of her exalted conceptions, and united her fortune with a journeyman shoemaker. She resided with him until she had two children, who both died in their infancy. The industrious shoemaker was unable to support her extravagance, so that she at last left him, to seek her fortune elsewhere.
A woman of her figure, beauty, and address, was not long before she procured another husband. She went to Dover, and married a surgeon of that place, but, being apprehended and tried at Maidstone for having two husbands, by some dexterous manœuvre she was acquitted.
She presently after embarked for Holland, and travelled by land to Cologne, and having a considerable sum of money, took handsome lodgings at a house of entertainment, and cut a dashing figure. As it is customary for the gentry in England to frequent Brighton during the season, so it was then customary for those in Germany to frequent the Spa. Our heroine went thither, and was addressed by an old gentleman who had a good estate in the vicinity. With the assistance of her landlady, she managed this affair with great art. The old gentleman presented her with several fine jewels, besides a gold chain and costly medal, which had been given him, for some gallant action under count Tilly, against the valiant Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden. He at length began to press matrimony with all the keenness of a young lover, and, unable to resist the siege any longer, she consented to make him happy in three days. Meanwhile, he supplied her with money in great profusion, and she was requested to prepare what things she pleased for the wedding. The Princess now deemed it high time to be gone, and, to secure her retreat, acquainted her landlady with her design. Having already shared largely of the spoils that our adventurer had received from her old doating lover, the aged beldame, in hopes of pillaging him a little more, encouraged and aided her flight. Our heroine requested her to go and provide her a seat in a carriage which took a different road from that of Cologne, as she did not wish that her lover should be able to trace her route. When our Princess found herself alone, she broke open a chest in which the good woman had deposited all her share of the spoil that she had received from our heroine, as well as her own money. Madame made free with all, and took her passage to Utrecht, from thence went to Amsterdam, sold her chains and some jewels, and then passed into Rotterdam, from whence she speedily embarked for England.
She landed at Billingsgate, one morning very early in the end of March 1663, and found no house open until she came to the Exchange inn, where she attained to the dignity of a German princess in the following manner. In this inn, she got into the company of some gentlemen who, she perceived, were full of money, and these addressing her in a rude manner, she began to weep most bitterly, exclaiming that it was extremely hard for her to be reduced to this extreme distress, who was once a princess. Here she recited the story of her extraction and education, and much about her pretended father, the lord Henry Vanwolway, a prince of the empire, and independent of every man but his Imperial Majesty. “Certainly,” said she, “any gentleman here present may conceive what a painful situation this must be to me to be thus reduced, brought up as I have been under the care of an indulgent father, and in all the luxuries of a court. But, alas! what do I say?—Indulgent father! was it not his cruelty which banished me, his only daughter, from his dominions, merely for marrying, without his knowledge, a nobleman of the court whom I loved to excess? Was it not my father who occasioned my dear lord and husband to be cut off in the bloom of his age, by falsely accusing him of a design against his person,—a deed which his virtuous soul abhorred?” Here she pretended that the poignancy of her feelings would allow her to relate no more of her unfortunate history.
The whole company was touched with compassion at the melancholy tale, which she related with so much unaffected simplicity, that they had not a doubt of its truth. Compassionating her unfortunate situation, they requested her acceptance of all the money they had about them, promising to return again with more. They were as good as their promise, and she ever after went by the name of the unfortunate German Princess.
The man who kept the inn, knowing that she was come from the continent, and seeing that she had great riches about her, was disposed more than ever to believe the truth of her story. Nor was Madame backward to inform him, that she had collected all that she possessed from the benevolent contributions of neighboring princes, who knew and pitied her misfortunes. “Nor durst any one of them,” continued she, “let my father know what they had done, or where I am, for he was so much more powerful than any of them, that if he understood that any one favored me, he would instantly make war upon them.”
King, the innkeeper, being convinced of her rank and fortune, John Carleton, his brother-in-law, no doubt receiving proper information from King, became enamored of the Princess, and presumed to pay his addresses to her. She was highly displeased at first, but, from his importunity, was at last prevailed upon to descend from her station, and receive the hand of a common man. Poor Carleton thought himself the happiest of mortals, in being thus so highly honored by a union with such an accomplished and amiable princess, possessed of an ample fortune, though far inferior to what she had a right to expect from her noble birth.
But, during this dream of pleasure, Mr. King received a letter, informing him, that the woman who resided at his house, and was married to his brother-in-law, was an impostor, that she had already been married to two husbands, and had eloped with all the money she could lay her hands on: and that the writer said nothing but what could be proved by the most unquestionable evidence in a court of justice. The consequence was, that a prosecution was instituted against her for polygamy; but from insufficient evidence she was acquitted.
She was then introduced as an actress among the players, and by them supported for some time. Upon the strength of her popularity the house was often crowded, and the public curiosity was excited by a woman who had made such a figure in the world, and was receiving great applause in her dramatic capacity. She generally appeared in characters suited to her habits of life, and those scenes which had been rendered familiar to her by former deception and intrigues. But what tended chiefly to promote her fame, was a play called the “German Princess,” written principally upon her account, in which she spoke the following prologue in such a manner as gained universal applause.
I’ve passed one trial, but it is my fear
I shall receive a rigid sentence here:
You think me a bold cheat, but case ’twere so,
Which of you are not? Now you’d swear, I know;
But do not, lest that you deserve to be
Censured worse than you can censure me;
The world’s a cheat, and we that move in it
In our degrees do exercise our wit;
And better ’tis to get a glorious name,
However got, than live by common fame.
The Princess had too much mercury in her constitution to remain long within the bounds of a theatre, when London itself was too limited for her volatile disposition. She did not, however, leave the theatre until she had procured many admirers. Her history was well known, as well as her accomplishments and her gallantry, and introduced her into company. She was easy of access, but in society carried herself with an affected air of indifference.
There were two young beaux, in particular, who had more money in their pockets than wit in their heads; and from the scarcity of that commodity in themselves, they the more admired her wit and humor. She encouraged their addresses until she had extracted about three hundred pounds from each of them, and then observing their funds were nearly exhausted, discarded them both, saying, she was astonished at their impudence, in making love to a princess!
Her next lover was an old gentleman about fifty, who saw her, and though he was acquainted with her history, nevertheless resolved to be at the expense of some hundreds a year, provided she would consent to live with him. To gain his purpose he sent her several rich presents, which, with seeming reluctance, she accepted. When they commenced living together as man and wife, she so accommodated herself to his temper and disposition that he was constantly making her rich presents, which were always accepted with apparent reluctance, as laying her under so many obligations. In this manner they continued, until her doating lover one evening coming home intoxicated, she thought it a proper opportunity to decamp. So soon as he was asleep, she rifled his pockets, and found his pocket-book, containing a bill for a hundred pounds, and some money. She also stripped him of his watch, and, taking his keys, opened his coffers, and carried off every thing that suited her purpose. She next went and presented the bill, and, as the acceptor knew her, received the money without hesitation.
Having thus fleeced her old lover, our German princess took up lodgings in a convenient place, under the character of a young lady with a thousand pounds, whose father was able to give her twice as much: but disliking a person whom he had provided as a husband for her, she had left her father’s house, and did not wish to be discovered by any of her friends. Madame now continued to have different letters sent her from time to time, containing an account of all the news concerning her father and lover. These were left carelessly about the room, and her landlady reading them, became confirmed in the belief of her story.
This woman had a rich nephew, a young man, who, having been introduced to her acquaintance, became enamored of her, and to gain her favor presented her with a gold watch, which she could hardly be prevailed upon to accept. Her lover already thought the door of paradise open to him, and their amour proceeded with all the mutual felicity that young lovers can expect or desire. But in this season of bliss, a porter knocked at the door with a letter. Her maid, as previously directed, brought the letter in to her, which she had no sooner read, than she exclaimed, “I am undone! I am ruined!”—and pretended to swoon away. The scent bottle was employed, and her enraptured lover was all kindness and attention. When she was a little recovered, she presented the letter, saying, “Sir, since you are at last acquainted with most of my concerns, I shall not make a secret of this; therefore, if you please, read this letter and know the occasion of my affliction.” The young gentleman received it, and read as follows:
“Dear Madam,
“I have several times taken my pen in my hand, on purpose to write you, and as often laid it aside again, for fear of giving you more trouble than you already labor under. However, as the affair so immediately concerns you, I cannot in justice hide what I tremble to disclose, but must in duty tell you the worst of news, whatever may be the consequence of my so doing.
“Know, then, that your affectionate and tender brother is dead. I am sensible how dear he was to you, and you to him, yet let me entreat you, for your own sake, to acquiesce in the will of Providence as much as possible, since our lives are all at his disposal who gave us being. I could use another argument to comfort you, that, with a sister less loving than you, would be of more weight than that I have urged; but I know your soul is above all mercenary views. I cannot, however, forbear to inform you, that he has left you all he had; and farther, that your father’s estate of 200l. per annum, can devolve upon no other person than yourself, who are now his only child.
“What I am next to acquaint you with may, perhaps, be almost as bad as the former particular. Your hated lover has been so importunate with your father, especially since your brother’s decease, that the old gentleman resolves, if ever he should hear of you any more, to marry you to him, and he makes this the condition of your being again received into his favor, and having your former disobedience, as he calls it, forgiven. While your brother lived, he was every day endeavoring to soften the heart of your father, and we were only last week in hopes he would have consented to let you follow your inclinations, if you would come home to him again; but now there is no advocate in your cause who can work upon the man’s peevish temper; for he says, as you are now his sole heir, he ought to be more resolute in the disposal of you in marriage.
“While I am now writing, I am surprised with an account that your father and lover are preparing to come to London, where, they say, they can find you out. Whether or not this be only a device, I cannot tell, nor can I conceive where they could receive their information, if it be true. However, to prevent the worst, consider whether or not you can cast off your old aversion, and submit to your father’s commands; for if you cannot, it will be most advisable in my opinion to change your residence. I have no more to say in the affair, being unwilling to direct you in such a very nice circumstance. The temper of your own mind will be the best instructer you can apply to; for your future happiness or misery during life depends on your choice. I hope that every thing will turn out for the best.
“From your sincere friend, S. E.”
Her lover saw that she had good reason to be afflicted, and, whilst he seemed to feel for her, he was no less concerned about his own interest. He advised her immediately to leave her lodgings, and added that he had very elegant apartments which were at her service. She accepted his offer; and, with her maid, who was informed of her intentions, and prepared to assist her, immediately set out for the residence of her lover. When introduced to their new apartment, these ladies did not go to bed, as they had resolved to depart next morning, but lay down to rest themselves with their clothes on. When the house was all quiet, they broke open the lover’s desk, took out a bag with a hundred pounds, two suits of clothes, and every thing valuable that they could carry along with them.
Her numerous and varied adventures would far exceed the limits appropriated to one life in this volume. It is sufficient to observe, that rather than her hands should be unemployed, or her avaricious disposition unsatisfied, she would carry off the most trifling article; that, according to the proverb, all was fish that came into her net; and that when a watch, a diamond, or piece of plate could not be found, a napkin, a pair of sheets; or any article of wearing apparel, would suffice.
One day she, along with her pretended maid, went into a mercer’s shop in Cheapside, and purchased a piece of silk to the value of six pounds. She pulled out her purse to pay the draper, but to her surprise found that she had no money except some large pieces of gold, for which she had so high an esteem, that she could not think of parting with them. The polite draper, on his part, could not think of hurting the feelings of a lady so elegantly dressed, and, accordingly, dispatched one of his shopkeepers along with her to receive his money. Arrived at the Royal Exchange, Madame ordered the coachman to stop, when, upon pretence of purchasing some ribands that would suit the silks, her maid carried out the parcel, and went along with her, leaving the shopman in the coach to wait their return. The young man waited in the coach, until he was impatient and ashamed, and then returned home to relate his misfortunes, and the loss of his master.
Upon another occasion Madame waited upon a French weaver in Spitalfields, and purchased goods to the amount of forty pounds. He went home with her to carry the parcel and to receive his money. She desired him to make out a bill for the whole of the goods, as one half belonged to a lady in the next room. With all the ceremony natural to a Frenchman, he sat down to write his account, while she took the silk into the adjacent room to show it to her niece, to whom the one half belonged. By means of a bottle of wine which Madame had placed before the French weaver, half an hour passed over without much uneasiness. At length his patience was exhausted, and, having called up the people of the house, he inquired for the lady who came in with him, and who told him she was only gone into the next room. To the utter confusion and disappointment of poor Monsieur, he was informed that his lady was gone, and would, they believed, return no more to that dwelling. To calm his rage, and to convince him that they were not confederates in her villany, they conveyed him to the next room, and showed him, that the proper entry to her apartment was by a back stair; adding, that she had only taken their room for a month, for which she had paid them, and that her time being expired, they knew not whither she had gone.
Determined to collect her contributions from householders instead of travellers, she next took lodgings from a tailor. As it was natural for a generous, good-hearted lady to promote the prosperity of the family where she resided, Madame employed the tailor to make the goods she had procured from the mercer and the weaver. Convinced that he had got an excellent job, as well as a rich lodger, the tailor, with mirth and song, sat down to make Madame’s dresses. As she acquainted him that upon a specified day she was to have a large party, the tailor called in all his journeymen to his aid, and had the whole finished by that time. Meanwhile, the Princess gave her landlady a guinea to purchase what things she deemed necessary, promising to pay her the remainder the following day. The day arrived, the guests appeared, an elegant entertainment was served up, and plenty of wine drunk. None were without their due portion. The tailor had plied his glass so plentifully, that his wife had to lend him her assistance to his bed-chamber. This answered the design of our Princess. She and all her company departed one by one, carrying away, each a silver tankard, or a saltcellar, or a knife, or a fork, while the maid carried off all the clothes that were not upon their backs. The moment they reached the street, the maid was placed in a coach with the booty, and the rest of the company took different directions, none of them being discovered. Thus a merry night brought a sorrowful morning to the poor industrious tailor.
Madame being attacked with a fit of mourning, sent her confidential maid to a shop in the New Exchange, where she had purchased a few articles the previous day. The woman of the shop, with all possible expedition, selected the best specimens of her goods, and hastened to the lodgings. Madame was so very much indisposed when the milliner arrived, that she could not look at the things, and desired her to return after dinner, when she doubted not but they would agree as to the price. The obliging milliner was satisfied, and requested liberty to leave her goods until she returned, a request which was readily granted. At the hour appointed she returned, and inquired if the lady up stairs were at home. To her great mortification she was informed that she was gone they could not tell where, and that she did not intend to return. But before her departure she had conveyed away the valuable part of her effects. Thus both her landlady and the milliner were left to regret her absence, and to reflect upon their own easy credulity and loss.
But the adventures of our ingenious Princess increase in magnitude as they multiply in number. Being arrayed in her sable robes, and having taken lodgings in Holborn, she sent for a barrister of Gray’s Inn, and informed him, that by the death of her father, she was sole heir to his fortune, but that she was married to an extravagant husband, who was resolved to secure her property to himself. Here she poured forth a torrent of tears and the most grievous lamentations, the more to interest the young barrister in her favor. But while the lawyer was squaring his features to the occasion, and talking of the matter in a learned and eloquent strain, a woman ran up stairs, exclaiming, “O, madam, we are all undone! for my master is below; he has been asking for you, and swears that he will come up to your chamber. I am afraid the people of the house will not be able to hinder him, he appears so resolute.”—“O heavens!” exclaimed Madame, “what shall I do?”—“Why?” cried the lawyer. “Why!” quoth she, “I mean how shall I dispose of you? Dear me, what excuse shall I make for your being here? I dare not tell him your quality and business, for that would endanger all; and, on the other side, he is extremely jealous. Therefore, good sir, step into that closet until I can send him away.” Surprised, and at a loss what to do, the lawyer complied. The closet being locked, and the curtains of the bed drawn, she opened the door to her husband, who was loudly demanding admittance.
The moment he entered, he gave his spouse the most opprobrious language. “O, mistress abandoned! I understand you have a man in the room: a pretty companion for a poor innocent woman, truly! one who is always complaining how hardly I use her. Where is the villain? I shall sacrifice him this moment. Is this your modesty, madam? this your virtue? Let me see your gallant immediately, or, by the light! you shall be the first victim yourself.” Saying this, he made to the closet door, and burst it open like a fury. The young lawyer was discovered with shame, though innocent, and trembling in every limb. The husband’s sword was unsheathed, and death was before the barrister’s eyes. But Madame, interposing, seemed determined rather to die herself than to suffer the blood of an innocent man to stain her chamber. A companion of the husband also fortunately came to her assistance, and seizing the arm of the infuriated man, struggled to wrest the sword from his hand.
The discernment of the lawyer soon discovered the deception, and, to exculpate and relieve himself, he candidly related the whole matter, and the reason for which he was introduced into that place. But all was in vain. The injured and enraged husband insisted that this was only a feigned narrative to cover his villany, and nothing but his blood, or an adequate remuneration, would assuage his fury. The cause was at last referred to the arbitration of the kind stranger who had interfered, and aided Madame in protecting the young lawyer. Five hundred pounds were proposed as a proper recompense; but that was far beyond the power of the lawyer to command. It was with no small difficulty agreed that he should give a hundred pounds, rather than be found exposed to the consequences of detection, in a situation where he was unable to vindicate his innocence. He sent a note to a friend for that sum, the confederates being careful to examine it before it was transmitted, lest it should be for a constable, instead of a hundred pounds. Upon the payment of that sum the lawyer was liberated, and went off with the bitter reflection, that, instead of receiving a good fee for writing a deed of settlement, he had paid a hundred pounds for a few minutes’ lodging in a closet; but, consoling himself with the hopes of seeing this amiable widow speedily exalted to merited honor.
The good wishes of the lawyer were in a very few years verified in her history. Not long after this, Madame was apprehended, accused of stealing a silver tankard at Covent Garden, and sent to Newgate. At the next sessions she was tried, and transported to Jamaica; where, however, she only remained two years, when she returned to England, and appeared in the character of a great heiress. The result of this artifice was, that she was speedily married to a rich apothecary, whom she soon robbed of above three hundred pounds, and then left him to resolve the question whether the loss of his money or the loss of his wife was the greatest misfortune. Madame went next to lodge in a house where the landlady, a watchmaker, herself, and her faithful maid, composed the whole family. Having established her character for sobriety and probity, she invited her landlady and the watchmaker to the play, and treated them with tickets. They accepted the invitation, and the maid remained at home, sole guardian of the garrison. But during their absence, she broke open the locks, extracted about two hundred pounds, and made free with about thirty watches; so that her spoil amounted in all to six hundred pounds, which she carried to the appointed place of rendezvous. Meanwhile, Madame, not satisfied with treating the watchmaker and her good landlady with tickets to the play, after it was over took them to a tavern to treat them to a small collation, where she embraced an opportunity to decamp.
It happened that one Mr. Freeman, a brewer, had been robbed of two hundred pounds, and that an officer had been sent to search every suspected place for the thieves. One Lancaster was the person upon whom suspicion chiefly rested, and, while searching a house for him, they discovered Madame walking in a night-gown. The thief-catcher entered her room, and, seeing two letters upon the table, he began to examine their contents. Madame was highly displeased with his impertinent freedom, and, in the course of the dispute which ensued, he had occasion to examine the features of her countenance, and recognising her ladyship, took both her and her letters along with him.
When removed to the Old Bailey, she was interrogated, whether she was the woman who usually went by the name of Mary Carleton. She answered, “Yes.” The court then demanded the reason of her return from banishment before the specified time. She made many trifling excuses, which detained the court for a few days; but finding these excuses would not answer her purpose, she pleaded pregnancy. A committee of matrons was then appointed to examine her, who gave a verdict against her, and she was condemned to suffer in conformity with her previous sentence.
In prison she was visited by many, out of curiosity to see the behavior of such a remarkable character in confinement and under sentence of death; and several clergymen attended her to conduct her devotions, and to direct her in her calamitous situation. She confessed herself to be a Roman Catholic, and sincerely bewailed her criminal conduct, frequently wishing that she could again renew her life, in order to spend it in a more exemplary and virtuous manner.
On the day of her execution, she appeared more cheerful and gay than usual, and, placing the picture of her husband upon her arm, she went to Tyburn with it. She appeared devout, and, when she heard St. Sepulchre’s bell begin to toll, uttered several pious ejaculations. To a friend, who rode in a cart with her to the place of execution, she delivered two Roman Catholic books; and, addressing the multitude, owned that she had been a very vain woman, and hoped that her fate would deter others from the same evil ways; and that, though the world had condemned her, she had much to say for herself. Then, praying God to forgive her as she did her most inveterate enemies, she was in a few minutes launched into eternity. She was executed in the year 1672, in the thirty-eighth year of her age, and in the same month of the year in which she was born.