CHAPTER LXI.
THE BEGINNING OF THE TRIAL.
The task of seeing an important trial at the Old Bailey is by nomeans a pleasant business, unless you be what the denizens of theCourt would call "one of the swells,"--so as to enjoy the privilegeof being a benchfellow with the judge on the seat of judgment. Andeven in that case the pleasure is not unalloyed. You have, indeed,the gratification of seeing the man whom all the world has beentalking about for the last nine days, face to face; and of being seenin a position which causes you to be acknowledged as a man of mark;but the intolerable stenches of the Court and its horrid heat comeup to you there, no doubt, as powerfully as they fall on those below.And then the tedium of a prolonged trial, in which the points ofinterest are apt to be few and far between, grows upon you till youbegin to feel that though the Prime Minister who is out should murderthe Prime Minister who is in, and all the members of the two Cabinetswere to be called in evidence, you would not attend the trial, thoughthe seat of honour next to the judge were accorded to you. Thosebe-wigged ones, who are the performers, are so insufferably long intheir parts, so arrogant in their bearing,--so it strikes you, thoughdoubtless the fashion of working has been found to be efficientfor the purposes they have in hand,--and so uninteresting in theirrepetition, that you first admire, and then question, and at lastexecrate the imperturbable patience of the judge, who might, as youthink, force the thing through in a quarter of the time without anyinjury to justice. And it will probably strike you that the lengthof the trial is proportioned not to the complicity but to theimportance, or rather to the public interest, of the case,--sothat the trial which has been suggested of a disappointed andbloody-minded ex-Prime Minister would certainly take at least afortnight, even though the Speaker of the House of Commons and theLord Chancellor had seen the blow struck, whereas a collier may knockhis wife's brains out in the dark and be sent to the gallows witha trial that shall not last three hours. And yet the collier hasto be hung,--if found guilty,--and no one thinks that his life isimproperly endangered by reckless haste. Whether lives may not beimproperly saved by the more lengthened process is another question.
But the honours of such benchfellowship can be accorded but to few,and the task becomes very tiresome when the spectator has to enterthe Court as an ordinary mortal. There are two modes open to him,either of which is subject to grievous penalties. If he be thepossessor of a decent coat and hat, and can scrape any acquaintancewith any one concerned, he may get introduced to that overworked andgreatly perplexed official, the under-sheriff, who will stave him offif possible,--knowing that even an under-sheriff cannot make spaceelastic,--but, if the introduction has been acknowledged as good,will probably find a seat for him if he persevere to the end. Butthe seat when obtained must be kept in possession from morning toevening, and the fight must be renewed from day to day. And thebenches are hard, and the space is narrow, and you feel that theunder-sheriff would prod you with his sword if you ventured tosneeze, or to put to your lips the flask which you have in yourpocket. And then, when all the benchfellows go out to lunch athalf-past one, and you are left to eat your dry sandwich without roomfor your elbows, a feeling of unsatisfied ambition will pervade you.It is all very well to be the friend of an under-sheriff, but if youcould but have known the judge, or have been a cousin of the realsheriff, how different it might have been with you!
But you may be altogether independent, and, as a matter of right,walk into an open English court of law as one of the British public.You will have to stand of course,--and to commence standing veryearly in the morning if you intend to succeed in witnessing anyportion of the performance. And when you have made once good yourentrance as one of the British public, you are apt to be a gooddeal knocked about, not only by your public brethren, but also bythose who have to keep the avenues free for witnesses, and who willregard you from first to last as a disagreeable excrescence on theofficialities of the work on hand. Upon the whole it may be betterfor you, perhaps, to stay at home and read the record of the affairas given in the next day's Times. Impartial reporters, judiciousreaders, and able editors between them will preserve for you all thekernel, and will save you from the necessity of having to deal withthe shell.
At this trial there were among the crowd who succeeded in enteringthe Court three persons of our acquaintance who had resolved toovercome the various difficulties. Mr. Monk, who had formerly beena Cabinet Minister, was seated on the bench,--subject, indeed, tothe heat and stenches, but priviledged to eat the lunch. Mr. QuintusSlide, of The People's Banner,--who knew the Court well, for informer days he had worked many an hour in it as a reporter,--hadobtained the good graces of the under-sheriff. And Mr. Bunce, withall the energy of the British public, had forced his way in among thecrowd, and had managed to wedge himself near to the dock, so that hemight be able by a hoist of the neck to see his lodger as he stoodat the bar. Of these three men, Bunce was assured that the prisonerwas innocent,--led to such assurance partly by belief in the man,and partly by an innate spirit of opposition to all exercise ofrestrictive power. Mr. Quintus Slide was certain of the prisoner'sguilt, and gave himself considerable credit for having assisted inrunning down the criminal. It seemed to be natural to Mr. QuintusSlide that a man who had openly quarrelled with the Editor of ThePeople's Banner should come to the gallows. Mr. Monk, as Phineashimself well knew, had doubted. He had received the suspectedmurderer into his warmest friendship, and was made miserable evenby his doubts. Since the circumstances of the case had come to hisknowledge, they had weighed upon his mind so as to sadden his wholelife. But he was a man who could not make his reason subordinate tohis feelings. If the evidence against his friend was strong enoughto send his friend for trial, how should he dare to discredit theevidence because the man was his friend? He had visited Phineas inprison, and Phineas had accused him of doubting. "You need not answerme," the unhappy man had said, "but do not come unless you are ableto tell me from your heart that you are sure of my innocence. Thereis no person living who could comfort me by such assurance as youcould do." Mr. Monk had thought about it very much, but he had notrepeated his visit.
At a quarter past ten the Chief Justice was on the bench, with asecond judge to help him, and with lords and distinguished commonersand great City magnates crowding the long seat between him and thedoorway; the Court was full, so that you would say that anotherhead could not be made to appear; and Phineas Finn, the memberfor Tankerville, was in the dock. Barrington Erle, who was thereto see,--as one of the great ones, of course,--told the Duchessof Omnium that night that Phineas was thin and pale, and in manyrespects an altered man,--but handsomer than ever.
"He bore himself well?" asked the Duchess.
"Very well,--very well indeed. We were there for six hours, and hemaintained the same demeanour throughout. He never spoke but once,and that was when Chaffanbrass began his fight about the jury."
"What did he say?"
"He addressed the judge, interrupting Slope, who was arguing thatsome man would make a very good juryman, and declared that it was notby his wish that any objection was raised against any gentleman."
"What did the judge say?"
"Told him to abide by his counsel. The Chief Justice was very civilto him,--indeed better than civil."
"We'll have him down to Matching, and make ever so much of him," saidthe Duchess.
"Don't go too fast, Duchess, for he may have to hang poor Phineasyet."
"Oh dear; I wish you wouldn't use that word. But what did he say?"
"He told Finn that as he had thought fit to employ counsel for hisdefence,--in doing which he had undoubtedly acted wisely,--he mustleave the case to the discretion of his counsel."
"And then poor Phineas was silenced?"
"He spoke another word. 'My lord,' said he, 'I for my part wishthat the first twelve men on the list might be taken.' But oldChaffanbrass went on just the same. It took them two hours and a halfbefore they could swear a jury."
"But, Mr. Erle,--taking it altogether,--whi
ch way is it going?"
"Nobody can even guess as yet. There was ever so much delay besidesthat about the jury. It seemed that somebody had called him Phineesinstead of Phineas, and that took half an hour. They begin with thequarrel at the club, and are to call the first witness to-morrowmorning. They are to examine Ratler about the quarrel, andFitzgibbon, and Monk, and, I believe, old Bouncer, the man whowrites, you know. They all heard what took place."
"So did you?"
"I have managed to escape that. They can't very well examine all theclub. But I shall be called afterwards as to what took place at thedoor. They will begin with Ratler."
"Everybody knows there was a quarrel, and that Mr. Bonteen had beendrinking, and that he behaved as badly as a man could behave."
"It must all be proved, Duchess."
"I'll tell you what, Mr. Erle. If,--if,--if this ends badly forMr. Finn I'll wear mourning to the day of my death. I'll go to theDrawing Room in mourning, to show what I think of it."
Lord Chiltern, who was also on the bench, took his account of thetrial home to his wife and sister in Portman Square. At this timeMiss Palliser was staying with them, and the three ladies weretogether when the account was brought to them. In that house it wastaken as doctrine that Phineas Finn was innocent. In the presence ofher brother, and before her sister-in-law's visitor, Lady Laura hadlearned to be silent on the subject, and she now contented herselfwith listening, knowing that she could relieve herself by speechwhen alone with Lady Chiltern. "I never knew anything so tedious inmy life," said the Master of the Brake hounds. "They have not doneanything yet."
"I suppose they have made their speeches?" said his wife.
"Sir Gregory Grogram opened the case, as they call it; and a verystrong case he made of it. I never believe anything that a lawyersays when he has a wig on his head and a fee in his hand. I preparemyself beforehand to regard it all as mere words, supplied at so muchthe thousand. I know he'll say whatever he thinks most likely toforward his own views. But upon my word he put it very strongly. Hebrought it all within so very short a space of time! Bonteen and Finnleft the club within a minute of each other. Bonteen must have beenat the top of the passage five minutes afterwards, and Phineas atthat moment could not have been above two hundred yards from him.There can be no doubt of that."
"Oswald, you don't mean to say that it's going against him!"exclaimed Lady Chiltern.
"It's not going any way at present. The witnesses have not beenexamined. But so far, I suppose, the Attorney-General was right. Hehas got to prove it all, but so much no doubt he can prove. He canprove that the man was killed with some blunt weapon, such as Finnhad. And he can prove that exactly at the same time a man was runningto the spot very like to Finn, and that by a route which would nothave been his route, but by using which he could have placed himselfat that moment where the man was seen."
"How very dreadful!" said Miss Palliser.
"And yet I feel that I know it was that other man," said LadyChiltern. Lady Laura sat silent through it all, listening with hereyes intent on her brother's face, with her elbow on the table andher brow on her hand. She did not speak a word till she found herselfalone with her sister-in-law, and then it was hardly more than aword. "Violet, they will murder him!" Lady Chiltern endeavoured tocomfort her, telling her that as yet they had heard but one side ofthe case; but the wretched woman only shook her head. "I know theywill murder him," she said, "and then when it is too late they willfind out what they have done!"
"Violet, they will murder him."]
On the following day the crowd in Court was if possible greater, sothat the benchfellows were very much squeezed indeed. But it wasimpossible to exclude from the high seat such men as Mr. Ratler andLord Fawn when they were required in the Court as witnesses;--andnot a man who had obtained a seat on the first day was willing to beexcluded on the second. And even then the witnesses were not calledat once. Sir Gregory Grogram began the work of the day by sayingthat he had heard that morning for the first time that one ofhis witnesses had been,--"tampered with" was the word that heunfortunately used,--by his learned friend on the other side. Healluded, of course, to Lord Fawn, and poor Lord Fawn, sitting upthere on the seat of honour, visible to all the world, became veryhot and very uncomfortable. Then there arose a vehement disputebetween Sir Gregory, assisted by Sir Simon, and old Mr. Chaffanbrass,who rejected with disdain any assistance from the gentler men whowere with him. "Tampered with! That word should be recalled by thehonourable gentleman who was at the head of the bar, or--or--" HadMr. Chaffanbrass declared that as an alternative he would pull theCourt about their ears, it would have been no more than he meant.Lord Fawn had been invited,--not summoned to attend; and why? Inorder that no suspicion of guilt might be thrown on another man,unless the knowledge that was in Lord Fawn's bosom, and there alone,would justify such a line of defence. Lord Fawn had been attended byhis own solicitor, and might have brought the Attorney-General withhim had he so pleased. There was a great deal said on both sides, andsomething said also by the judge. At last Sir Gregory withdrew theobjectionable word, and substituted in lieu of it an assertion thathis witness had been "indiscreetly questioned." Mr. Chaffanbrasswould not for a moment admit the indiscretion, but bounced about inhis place, tearing his wig almost off his head, and defying every onein the Court. The judge submitted to Mr. Chaffanbrass that he hadbeen indiscreet.--"I never contradicted the Bench yet, my lord," saidMr. Chaffanbrass,--at which there was a general titter throughout thebar,--"but I must claim the privilege of conducting my own practiceaccording to my own views. In this Court I am subject to the Bench.In my own chamber I am subject only to the law of the land." Thejudge looking over his spectacles said a mild word about theprofession at large. Mr. Chaffanbrass, twisting his wig quite onone side, so that it nearly fell on Mr. Serjeant Birdbolt's face,muttered something as to having seen more work done in that Courtthan any other living lawyer, let his rank be what it might. Whenthe little affair was over, everybody felt that Sir Gregory had beenvanquished.
Mr. Ratler, and Laurence Fitzgibbon, and Mr. Monk, and Mr. Bouncerwere examined about the quarrel at the club, and proved that thequarrel had been a very bitter quarrel. They all agreed that Mr.Bonteen had been wrong, and that the prisoner had had cause foranger. Of the three distinguished legislators and statesmen abovenamed Mr. Chaffanbrass refused to take the slightest notice. "I haveno question to put to you," he said to Mr. Ratler. "Of course therewas a quarrel. We all know that." But he did ask a question or two ofMr. Bouncer. "You write books, I think, Mr. Bouncer?"
"I do," said Mr. Bouncer, with dignity. Now there was no peculiarityin a witness to which Mr. Chaffanbrass was so much opposed as anassumption of dignity.
"What sort of books, Mr. Bouncer?"
"I write novels," said Mr. Bouncer, feeling that Mr. Chaffanbrassmust have been ignorant indeed of the polite literature of the day tomake such a question necessary.
"You mean fiction."
"Well, yes; fiction,--if you like that word better."
"I don't like either, particularly. You have to find plots, haven'tyou?"
Mr. Bouncer paused a moment. "Yes; yes," he said. "In writing a novelit is necessary to construct a plot."
"Where do you get 'em from?"
"Where do I get 'em from?"
"Yes,--where do you find them? You take them from the Frenchmostly;--don't you?" Mr. Bouncer became very red. "Isn't that the wayour English writers get their plots?"
"Sometimes,--perhaps."
"Your's ain't French then?"
"Well;--no;--that is--I won't undertake to say that--that--"
"You won't undertake to say that they're not French."
"Is this relevant to the case before us, Mr. Chaffanbrass?" asked thejudge.
"Quite so, my lud. We have a highly-distinguished novelist before us,my lud, who, as I have reason to believe, is intimately acquaintedwith the French system of the construction of plots. It is a businesswhich the French carry to perfection. The plot of a novel sh
ould, Iimagine, be constructed in accordance with human nature?"
"Certainly," said Mr. Bouncer.
"You have murders in novels?"
"Sometimes," said Mr. Bouncer, who had himself done many murders inhis time.
"Did you ever know a French novelist have a premeditated murdercommitted by a man who could not possibly have conceived the murderten minutes before he committed it;--with whom the cause of themurder anteceded the murder no more than ten minutes?" Mr. Bouncerstood thinking for a while. "We will give you your time, because ananswer to the question from you will be important testimony."
"I don't think I do," said Mr. Bouncer, who in his confusion had beenquite unable to think of the plot of a single novel.
"And if there were such a French plot that would not be the plot thatyou would borrow?"
"Certainly not," said Mr. Bouncer.
"Did you ever read poetry, Mr. Bouncer?"
"Oh yes;--I read a great deal of poetry."
"Shakespeare, perhaps?" Mr. Bouncer did not condescend to do morethan nod his head. "There is a murder described in _Hamlet_. Was thatsupposed by the poet to have been devised suddenly?"
"I should say not."
"So should I, Mr. Bouncer. Do you remember the arrangements for themurder in _Macbeth_? That took a little time in concocting;--didn'tit?"
"No doubt it did."
"And when Othello murdered Desdemona, creeping up to her in hersleep, he had been thinking of it for some time?"
"I suppose he had."
"Do you ever read English novels as well as French, Mr. Bouncer?" Theunfortunate author again nodded his head. "When Amy Robsart was luredto her death, there was some time given to the preparation,--eh?"
"Of course there was."
"Of course there was. And Eugene Aram, when he murdered a man inBulwer's novel, turned the matter over in his mind before he did it?"
"He was thinking a long time about it, I believe."
"Thinking about it a long time! I rather think he was. Those greatmasters of human nature, those men who knew the human heart, did notventure to describe a secret murder as coming from a man's brainwithout premeditation?"
"Not that I can remember."
"Such also is my impression. But now, I bethink me of a murder thatwas almost as sudden as this is supposed to have been. Didn't a Dutchsmuggler murder a Scotch lawyer, all in a moment as it were?"
"Dirk Hatteraick did murder Glossop in _The Antiquary_ verysuddenly;--but he did it from passion."
"Just so, Mr. Bouncer. There was no plot there, was there? Noarrangement; no secret creeping up to his victim; no escape even?"
"He was chained."
"So he was; chained like a dog;--and like a dog he flew at his enemy.If I understand you, then, Mr. Bouncer, you would not dare so toviolate probability in a novel, as to produce a murderer to thepublic who should contrive a secret hidden murder,--contrive it andexecute it, all within a quarter of an hour?"
Mr. Bouncer, after another minute's consideration, said that hethought he would not do so. "Mr. Bouncer," said Mr. Chaffanbrass,"I am uncommonly obliged to our excellent friend, Sir Gregory, forhaving given us the advantage of your evidence."