“Ha!--my fears
Anticipate thy words!”
SMOLLETT.
When Lord Trimmerstone returned from his visit to Mr. Martindale, it was
with the full intention of firmly though gently insisting on preparations
being forthwith made for a departure from town and a settlement in the
country. When he inquired for the Countess, the domestics answered by
looking at each other with manifest symptoms of confusion, as if to ask
which should be the herald of evil tidings. His lordship was naturally
impatient; and such a mode of meeting his inquiries was not likely to
make him less so. With great impetuosity, therefore, he exclaimed,
“What is the matter? Why don’t you speak? Tell me this instant where is
the Countess!”
Thus speaking, he laid hold of his own valet, who trembling in every limb
replied,
“My lady is gone…”
“Gone!” exclaimed his lordship; “where, and with whom?”
“With Mr. Tippetson, my lord.”
This answer solved all difficulties; and his lordship immediately
understood the cause of the embarrassment manifested by his domestics.
At the information he was more enraged than surprised, and he flew into
a violent passion; from which the rest of the servants present were glad
to escape, leaving the valet with his lordship to answer any farther
questions which the Earl might be curious enough to ask.
From this man sufficient particulars were gathered to make the whole
story clear, and to fit the matter for the natural result of an
appearance before the public in the form of an action at law; in which
action Mr. Markham held a brief for the plaintiff, and a gentleman,
whose name we could not learn, held a brief for the defendant. As trials
of this nature are in the newspapers given at full length, and as they
are usually read with great attention by all whom they concern, and by
many whom they do not concern, we should only be guilty of a needless
repetition were we to lay this trial before our readers. We have noticed
and alluded to the trial simply for the sake of two remarkable points
in it: one of them is an instance of great simplicity on the part of
Markham; and the other is a specimen of great acuteness and penetration
on the part of the defendant’s counsel. We have here mentioned but
two counsellors; there were however six engaged: not that they were
absolutely wanted any more than six horses are wanted for a hearse; but
it is the fashion.
The simplicity of Markham was manifested in the circumstance, that
notwithstanding the fine opportunity afforded him for pouring out
a torrent of metaphors and indignation, whereby he might have
gained a six-month’s immortality among the unfledged spoutlings of
debating-societies and wisdom-clubs, he merely endeavoured to put the
jury into full and clear possession of the facts of the case, and to meet
the plausibilities which might be started by the counsel on the other
side. He did not say a word about honey and turtles on the one hand, or
scowling fiends and demons on the other. He did not talk about paradise,
for he did not suppose that there was any such place in Piccadilly. He
did not talk as if he thought that heaven and earth must come together,
because Mr. Tippetson had run away with the Countess of Trimmerstone. He
did not seem to think it at all a miracle that their post-chaise arrived
safely at Dover, and the steam-boat took them safely to Calais. He did
not run over all the elopements from Helen downwards, and demonstrate
that Mr. Tippetson was worse than Paris, or that the Countess of
Trimmerstone was more beautiful than Helen. He did not tell the jury that
all morality and domestic virtue would be banished from the earth, or
even from the west end of the town, if they should sentence Mr. Tippetson
to pay Lord Trimmerstone a farthing less than twenty thousand pounds. He
did not quote poetry or spout froth. So much for Markham’s simplicity.
Now, on the other hand, let us record for the honor of that gentleman
whose name we do not know, a specimen of his dexterity in making the
most and the best of a bad cause. It had been proved in the course of
the trial, according to the usual practice in such cases, that the Earl
and Countess of Trimmerstone had lived very happily together. There
was perhaps some difficulty in finding persons who had seen them much
together; but there was evidence enough to prove the point, and there
was none to disprove it. The opposing counsel then had nothing left but
to persuade the jury that Mr. Tippetson was so much superior to the Earl
of Trimmerstone, that the Countess was almost pardonable for making the
exchange; or that his lordship was so indifferent to her ladyship, that
the loss was a matter of little concern to him. On the latter topic he
dwelt with the greatest force; and in illustrating that point, he made
use of a most powerful and convincing argument, drawn from the fact that
his lordship did not immediately with all his household and establishment
pursue her ladyship and bring her back again. This was a most ingenious
argument, and for the eloquence and dexterity with which it was used, we
are tempted to make a brief extract from the learned gentleman’s address
to the jury. After having stated that the plaintiff did not immediately
pursue the defendant and the fugitive fair one, he continued:
“Now, gentlemen of the jury, can you for a moment imagine that the
plaintiff had any regard whatever for his wife, when he did not even
take the trouble to pursue her and bring her home again. Here was a
virtual manifestation of his indifference to her. If a robber carries
off that which is valuable and valued, and the person robbed has time
and power to pursue the plunderer, does he not immediately use his
efforts to compel the thief to restore his ill-gotten booty? Gentlemen
of the jury, if one of you should have your pockets picked, would you
not immediately cry out, ‘Stop thief!’ Yet the plaintiff, in the present
action, suffered a robber to carry off his greatest treasure without any
endeavour on his part to recover it. Here, gentlemen, is proof positive,
that the plaintiff cared less for his wife than any one of you would for
a snuff-box or pocket-handkerchief.”
At this impressive and conclusive sentence, the learned gentleman paused,
astonished at his own wit, and waiting for the murmur of approbation,
which he thought must necessarily follow such a combination of eloquence
and sagacity; but, unfortunately, some of the jury did not see the point
of the argument, and they smiled at the learned gentleman’s simplicity;
but they saw that he was a young man, and knew no better.
It has often been with us a matter of consideration, how far it is
advisable to defend a bad cause; and what discretion should be allowed in
such cases to those learned gentlemen, who have not received from nature
any very great share of discernment. We have heard that it has been said
by them of Ireland, that bad luck is better than no luck at all; and by
parity of reasoning, peradventure it may appear to some, both of Ireland
and England, that a bad defence is better than no defence at all. Of this
we have our doubts; for we can suppose it very possible that a defendant,
whose cause was a bad one, should say to his counsel, “My cause is bad
enough of itself, I beseech you not to make it worse by your wit or
eloquence.” The use of a clumsy _non sequitur_ argument has sometimes
prevailed with some juries. But juries are now growing more enlightened;
and the system of composing juries is improved. There still, however,
remains room for farther improvement: for since the science of crani…--we
beg pardon, we mean phrenology--has been brought to such perfection as
to prove, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that a man who has been hanged
for murder has the organ of destructiveness strongly developed, it is
quite a reproach to the legislature that no steps have been taken to
render that most exact of all the sciences subservient to the purposes of
society. The size of the head is the measure of the judgment: the upper
classes, as it has lately been shown, having larger heads, generally
speaking, than the lower and labouring classes. In order then to form an
intelligent jury, nothing farther is necessary than that a law should
be forthwith made, enacting that no person should be eligible on a jury
who has not a head of a certain thickness. The discovery that wisdom and
thick heads go together is certainly not modern; it is quite as old as
our big wigs for judges, bishops, and others who, if not absolutely wise,
ought to be always thought so. Moreover, we are humbly of opinion, that
the vulgar notion that thick-headed people are stupid, has arisen from
the ironical application of the term thick-head. Exactly in the same
manner do we now give the name of Solomon to a simpleton; not that we
consider Solomon to have been a fool, but quite the reverse. This theory
of ours also solves what has hitherto been a matter of difficulty and
perplexity to the ingenious; viz. the apparent paradox that thick-headed
and shallow-pated should mean the same. Thick-headed, we see, is used
ironically, and shallow-pated seriously, to express a fool. It may be
still farther observed, that our young gentlemen do now take marvellous
pains to make their heads appear thick, by wearing a large quantity
of hair, bushed and bristled out with great pains and study; and when
entering a house, or any place of public resort, they do ordinarily
poke their fingers through their hair to make it stick out as widely as
possible. This is a nasty trick; but for the sake of looking very wise,
it is worth while to be a little nasty. We make no apology for this
digression, seeing that it is very wise and valuable and entertaining;
and an apology would be dull, flat, and unprofitable.
To proceed then with our narrative. The plaintiff received an award of
five thousand pounds; and the defendant, not finding it convenient or
agreeable to pay that sum, remained a voluntary exile from his native
land.
The Earl of Trimmerstone had begun to think seriously, and almost
painfully. He looked back on the past, and was astonished to see what
opportunities of rendering himself respectable he had suffered to pass
away unimproved. He now saw that in almost every step he had been
wrong, and he was bitterly mortified. He knew not how to escape from
his miserable feelings, or to what object or pursuit to direct his
attention. Mr. Martindale pitied him very sincerely; but Mr. Martindale
ought to have blamed himself that he had not taken pains to prevent this
unpleasant catastrophe. For under pretence and colour of supplying the
young man with the means of keeping up an appearance in the world, he
had only furnished him with an opportunity of making a fool of himself.
Mr. Martindale had never given his young relative any of his confidence;
he had treated him with a distant and capricious patronage. The old
gentleman knew well enough the character of Celestina Sampson; and he
also knew enough of his kinsman to be well aware that there could not be
on his part much sincerity of attachment to her; but he must have known
that mere necessity compelled the match. That necessity it was in his
power to remove; and it was indeed his duty, inasmuch as his own fanciful
liberality had in the first instance created it. It was also the duty of
the old gentleman to watch a little more attentively over the conduct of
his relative, even after his marriage, and after his accession of title.
But the truth is, that old Mr. Martindale, like many other rich, queer,
liberal, or money-giving men, consulted rather his own humor in his
liberality than any advantage or benefit likely to accrue from it to the
object of his bounty. It had so happened, that at the time that his large
property came into his possession, he had no other probable or plausible
recipient of his superfluous wealth than the Martindale family. For then
he had not discovered, nor did he think it probable that he ever should
discover, his lost and long-neglected daughter. Now, however, that this
discovery was made, all his thoughts were centred in her and her child;
and though he professed not to have forgotten his cousin, the attention
which he paid him was very capricious.
Finding then at last that the Earl of Trimmerstone was really melancholy,
and deeply dejected at his disappointments, Mr. Martindale began at
length to feel for him, and talk to him with friendly condolence. He
quite approved of his design of leaving London, and spending a little
time in retirement and solitude. He offered Trimmerstone Hall, and
proposed, if it were necessary or even desirable, that it should be
totally rebuilt. He would insist on making over to his lordship that
dwelling, and the estate connected with it, as properly belonging to the
title. He also requested that Lord Trimmerstone would favor him with as
much of his company as possible before he left town.
This was not only substantially kind, but it was also done in such a
manner as to render it pleasing as well as profitable. It somewhat melted
and moved the heart of the young nobleman; but it did not by any means
effectually and entirely dissipate that melancholy which was preying
upon his spirits. He accepted the invitation to spend much of his time
with Mr. Martindale; and when his thoughts were removed from schemes of
gaming, and from the vulgar amusements of the turf and the ring, his
understanding being naturally good, he much enjoyed the conversation
of Signora Rivolta and her daughter, in both of whom he observed an
agreeable and rational manner of thinking and speaking. Their society was
to him also the more pleasant, as it was so completely the reverse of
that to which he had been long accustomed, and with which he connected no
pleasant ideas. He was weary of slang, artificialness, and common-place;
and he was glad to exchange them for common sense, good taste, and sound
judgment. There might be some regrets that he had sacrificed himself to
a creature so frivolous as Celestina; but there was no distinct wish
in his mind that he had preferred and chosen the gentle, intelligent,
and unobtrusive Clara Rivolta. This was fortunate for him, because it
rendered his intimacy with the family so much more agreeable than it
would otherwise have been had he looked back with vain regret to the
past, so far as any of them were concerned.
Signora Rivolta, who was a woman of good discernment, and somewhat proud
of that discernment, fancied that Lord Trimmerstone was quite an altered
man, and that the character in which he had hitherto appeared was not his
real character, but was merely a piece of that apery, by which clumsy
ones make fools of themselves in endeavouring to become fashionable or
distinguished. Under this impression, the Signora paid very especial
attention to his lordship; and with a view of confirming and establishing
him in good resolutions and good principles, very frequently directed
her conversation to the subject of religion, using however very general
language, lest the old gentleman her father should entertain a suspicion
that there was any design of making a convert to the faith of Rome: for
Mr. Martindale had dreadful notions of the Roman Catholic faith, though
he did not exactly know what it was. He needed not, however, have given
himself much uneasiness about the matter; for when people of rank become
religious, it is almost, if not quite always, according to the religion
of the state.
What effect conversation of this nature produced on his lordship’s mind
must be narrated hereafter. We must now pay our attention elsewhere.