RANK AND TALENT;
A NOVEL.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF “TRUCKLEBOROUGH-HALL.”
When once he’s made a Lord,
Who’ll be so saucy as to think he can
Be impotent in wisdom?
COOK.
Why, Sir, ’tis neither satire nor moral, but the mere passage
of an history; yet there are a sort of discontented creatures,
that bear a stingless envy to great ones, and these will wrest
the doings of any man to their base malicious appliment.
MARSTON.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1829.
RANK AND TALENT.
CHAPTER I.
“Law is the world’s great light, a second sun
To this terrestrial globe, by which all things
Have life and being; and without which
Confusion and disorder soon would seize
The general state of men.”
BARRY.
The Summer assizes for the county of ----, in the year 18--, excited
in the county-town where they were held rather more than the usual
sensation; but in the remote and smaller town of Brigland, they roused
a stirring interest. Long before the day of the trial, every vehicle
which could be hired was engaged to carry the curious to the assizes,
to hear the action brought by poor old Richard Smith against the Hon.
Philip Martindale, for an assault and false imprisonment. The defendant
was by no means popular at Brigland, and there were circumstances,
which rendered the injury done to the plaintiff peculiarly hard and
oppressive; and whenever the sympathy of the multitude is with the
poor oppressed against the rich oppressor, that sympathy is very
strong, and indignation is not choice in the terms of its expression,
nor does cool deliberation precede judgment. It was the common, and
almost universal wish, that the defendant might have to pay heavy
damages; and that he might hear from the lips of the plaintiff’s
counsel some home truths, which might mortify his pride, and abate his
arrogance.
In addition to the excitement which this action produced, there was
also another, though smaller stimulus to curiosity, in the first
appearance on the circuit of a young barrister, who was a native of
the town in which the assizes were held. These two circumstances,
therefore, filled the court at an early hour with anxious and curious
expectants.
The plaintiff’s attorney had put his brief into the hands of the young
barrister; the defendant had retained a more experienced advocate, one
well versed in the theory of the law, and, what is far more to the
purpose, deeply skilled in the ways of the world, and the practice of
courts--one who had the professionally desirable art of mystifying a
jury, and of persuading twelve men out of their senses--one who would
be sure of every cause he undertook, were it not for the summing up of
the judge--one who, by means of a loud voice and swaggering manner,
was a terror to nine-tenths of the simpletons who entered the witness’
box--one who never cross-examined a female witness without making her
blush, or terrifying her to tears--one who could talk very solemnly
about “our holy religion,” and could convert into a joke the clearest
principles of morality, or the deepest sufferings of humanity. It was
a great amusement to the country people and the county magistrates to
hear this very clever man; and poor old Richard Smith was very much
alarmed when he found what a dexterous and terrific adversary was
employed against him, and he expressed his fears to his own attorney,
who comforted him by saying, “Had your cause been a bad one, I would
have retained Mr. ----.”
After one or two causes had been disposed of, that of Smith _versus_
Martindale was called. Then, for the first time, and in his native
town, did Horatio Markham open his lips in a court of justice.
Notwithstanding the profound and anxious silence which prevailed in the
court, scarcely one-half of the persons there could hear distinctly the
commencement of his speech; but by degrees he gained confidence, and
his voice was more audible. The audience, however, was not very highly
pleased with what he said. Many thought that he stated the case much
too feebly. Some thought that he was afraid of the defendant’s counsel;
and others thought he was fearful of offending the defendant himself.
The Hon. Philip Martindale, who was on the bench, listened with but
slight attention to the speech; and when it was finished, honoured it
with a contemptuous sneer. This sneer was reflected in most courtly
style by the gentlemen who sat on either side of him; the high-sheriff
was one, and a clerical magistrate was the other.
Witnesses were then called to prove the case. From them it appeared
very clear that the Hon. Philip Martindale had, upon very defective
evidence, and against very credible evidence, committed Richard Smith
to jail as a poacher; and the said Hon. Philip Martindale had also with
great severity, not to say cruelty, struck the said Richard Smith,
in order, as the defendant had said, to punish the old man for his
insolence. What this insolence was, would not have appeared to the
court, had it not been for the dexterity of the defendant’s counsel, in
cross-examining one of the plaintiff’s witnesses.
This witness was a very pretty, modest-looking young woman, who seemed
to suffer quite enough from the publicity in which she was placed by
being brought to speak in open court. The temptation was too strong for
the defendant’s counsel to resist; and he therefore took abundant pains
to show his wit, by asking a long string of impertinent questions, and
repeating the answers to those questions in a loud insulting tone.
He and those who follow his example, are best able to say how far
such a mode of proceeding can answer the ends of justice--how far it
is consistent with the gravity and decorum of a court, and with the
character of a gentleman--how far it is calculated to impress the
multitude with a sentiment of reverence for the expounders of the
law--and how far it is likely to advance those who adopt it, in their
own esteem.
The cross-examination of this young woman, who was the plaintiff’s
niece, led to a re-examination, in which it was made manifest to the
court, as it had been previously known to most then present, that the
severity of the Hon. Philip Martindale towards poor old Richard Smith
arose from the vigilance with which the old man guarded his niece, and
preserved her from the artifices of the defendant. When this fact came
out in evidence, there was an involuntary and indescribable expression
of contempt in the court; and the honourable defendant endeavoured
to smile away his mortification, but did not succeed, though he was
countenanced by the high-sheriff on one side of him, and a clerical
magistrate on the other. The contrast between impertinence and decorum
was never so strongly manifested as in the cross-examination and
re-examination above alluded to; and it has been said that the witty
barrister himself was not quite at his ease, and that he broke down in
an attempted jest upon gravity.
The counsel for the defendant called no witnesses, but made a witty
speech; in which he proved by arguments which made the multitude laugh,
that it is a very slight inconvenience to be imprisoned for a few
months; that seduction is a very venial offence, and highly becoming
a gentleman; that it is a great condescension in a man of high rank
to knock down a poor cottager; that gray hairs are a very ludicrous
ornament; that it is very insolent in a poor man to interrupt a rich
man in his pursuit of vicious pleasure; that the game-laws are so very
excellent, that persons only suspected of violating them ought to be
punished. Then he gave the jury to understand, that if they should be
foolish enough to give a verdict for the plaintiff, they must award the
least possible damages. Then he sat down, and took a great quantity
of snuff, and winked at the high-sheriff. In spite of all the wit and
coxcomical impertinence of this redoubtable advocate, the jury found a
verdict for the plaintiff, giving him one hundred pounds damages.
This verdict, and the unpretending sobriety of the young barrister’s
mode of arguing his case, occasioned much conversation in the town, and
gave also ground for some observations among the gentlemen of the bar.
Some of these gentlemen had known Horatio Markham from the very first
day that he had entered his name in the Temple. They were acquainted
with his taste and the line of his reading, and they knew that the
oratorical writers of antiquity and of modern times occupied a place
on his shelves and a share of his attention; and they expected that
when he held such a brief as that of which we have made mention, he
would indulge a little in declamation. It was therefore a matter of
surprise to them when he confined himself so strictly to the record,
and suffered his case to rest so independently on its own strength.
The opposing counsel was completely at fault. He had calculated so
confidently on Markham’s eloquence, and was so familiar with the
common places of declamation, that he was quite prepared with a
copious supply of extemporaneous witticisms, with which he designed
to overwhelm the young gentleman, and throw ridicule on his cause.
It was therefore a disappointment to him when he found that all this
previous preparation was labour lost. But though most of the barristers
on the circuit joined with the witty counsel for the defendant in his
vituperation of those who had been instrumental in procuring such
a verdict, yet secretly they were not displeased that their tyrant
had been so fairly set down. Markham was absolutely beginning to
be a favourite on the circuit. The judge himself all but publicly
complimented him on the able and gentleman-like manner in which he had
managed his cause; and even the honourable defendant was mortified that
there was nothing in Markham’s language to which any exception could be
taken.
When the court had broken up, the young barrister most unblushingly
walked into a linen-draper’s shop, and passing on to a little back
parlour, took off his gown and wig, and sat down to dine with his
father and mother. The old people were proud of their son, and the
young man was not ashamed of his parents. But he had seen many
instances of young persons who had scarcely deigned to acknowledge
those to whom they were not only bound by the ties of nature, but to
whose self-denial they owed their distinction and station in life.
These little think how much substantial reputation they lose, and how
little shadowy honour they gain.
As the family of the young barrister was sitting at dinner, there
entered to them unannounced, and without apology, an elderly man, in
very singular attire, and of very singular appearance. Markham had
a recollection of having seen him in court. His countenance had an
expression of archness, and he seemed by his looks as though he were
on the eve of uttering some choice piece of wit; there were also
observable indications of impetuosity and strong self-will. His head
was nearly bald; his shoulders of ample breadth; his stature short;
his voice shrill; and his manner of speaking quick and dogmatical.
Without taking any notice of the father and mother of the barrister, he
addressed himself directly to Horatio.
“I suppose you don’t know me--my name is Martindale.”
“The Hon. Philip Martindale?” replied the young man with great
composure; for he was quite ignorant of the person of the defendant in
the recent action.
“The Hon. Philip Martindale!” echoed the stranger, with a tone and
with a look which answered the question very decidedly. “The Hon.
Philip rascal!--no, sir; my name is not made ridiculous by any such
lying adjunct. My name is John Martindale; and it is my misfortune to
be called cousin by that hopeful spark who was defendant in the action
this morning. I am come, sir, to tell you that I think you did yourself
honour by the manner in which you conducted the poor man’s cause.”
Horatio Markham perceived that, though the gentleman was somewhat of an
oddity, he was a man of some consequence, and apparently a man of good
feeling; he therefore replied:
“Sir, you are very polite; you.…”
“No such thing,” interrupted Mr. Martindale; “I am not polite, and hope
I never shall be polite. My cousin Philip is a very polite man.” Then
directing his conversation to Mr. Markham the elder, he continued: “I
congratulate you, sir, on having for a son a young man who can make a
speech without fine words and metaphors.”
This seemed to the father a singular ground of congratulation, and he
did not know how to reply to it: fortunately, the speaker did not wait
for a reply; but turning again to the young man, he said: “You must
come and spend a few weeks with me in my cottage at Brigland. I will
have no excuses, so tell me when you will come. Will you go home with
me tonight?”
Markham recollected that he had in his boyhood heard frequent talk and
many singular anecdotes of Mr. John Martindale of Brigland; but as his
general character was one of benevolence and shrewd sense, he was not
reluctant to accept the invitation, especially as it was given in such
terms as not to be refused without that degree of rudeness which did
not seem suitable from a young man of humble origin towards an elderly
person of high rank. He therefore professed his readiness to spend a
short time with his new friend, and fixed the following day for the
purpose. The stranger then took his leave.