My dear Charles,--Old Bowdler has been brooding again on that
idea of a brief for the defence in the forthcoming trial of the
ex-Kaiser. He rather fancies himself cross-examining with courtesy
but firmness some Generalissimo or other, or reducing to tears by an
eloquent speech a court packed with everybody who is anybody, and
in both cases having the eyes of Europe upon him and the ears of
America hanging on his next word. After all, barristers will be
barristers and, when they are, your ordinary man is no match for
'em. It took another man of his own kind to knock the conceit out of
the idea.
Lack of precedent was no difficulty to Bowdler's learned opponent. A
ready imagination made up. To hear him talk you would think he had
spent his life assisting at the trials of ex-Kaisers. He described
the whole affair as if it had already taken place. Thus:--
The culprit, he assumed, is on bail, though not, of course, on his
own recognizances. First, attention is called to the case by Counsel
for the Prosecution rising early in the sitting and asking his
Lordship if he might mention the case of WILLIAM HOHENZOLLERN, next
on his Lordship's list.
"William who?" asks the Clerk of Assize.
"WILLIAM HOHENZOLLERN," answers counsel: "H-O-H-E-N-Z-O-double
L-E-R-N."
A titter is heard at the idea of a man going about with a name like
that. His Lordship, regarding it as a nuisance rather than a joke,
threatens to have the court cleared. A juryman in waiting in the
gallery seizes the opportunity to ask, if anyone is to be turned
out, might it be himself.
Counsel goes on to mention the case. "A complicated case of false
pretences, my Lord----," he begins. But his solicitor plucks at his
gown and points out to him that he is confusing his briefs. Counsel
apologises to the Court and asks leave to refresh his memory. In a
passionate whisper to his solicitor he asks who is this Hohenzollern
man, anyway, and why the devil does he want to be mentioned before
his time? Enlightened, he explains to the Court that the accused
has got some money together for a dock defence and would like an
opportunity to instruct his counsel more fully.
His Lordship refuses a postponement; Hohen-what's-his-name should
have thought of this before. His Lordship has every confidence in
counsel's ability to pick up the facts as the case proceeds. If
counsel's personal convenience is involved that is another matter.
But as for Zohenhollern--["Hohenzollern, my Lord"]--he cannot expect
particular treatment; and that will do, thank you.
The ushers start calling out for him to surrender to his bail:
"Hohenzollern! Hhhohenzollern! Owen Zollern!" re-echoes throughout
the building. "Zollern--O-N!" is heard faintly in the far distance.
No one notices that a gentleman with a fierce moustache has already
made his dramatic entry and is trying to push his way into the
dock....
He is stood up with half-a-dozen other prisoners, so that one jury
may be sworn for the lot. It is desired that each prisoner should
be identified with his name as it is called. WILLIAM HOHENZOLLERN,
whichever he may be, is asked to bold up his hand. An old man in
corduroys, who wears a dirty handkerchief round his neck for collar
and cravat, and is charged with feloniously stealing, taking and
carrying away his forty-first pair of boots and is also a bit 'ard
of 'earing, insists that he is the man. As nothing will persuade
him that he is not, the Clerk of Assize leaves it to the warders to
decide which of the two is which. After all it is a small point.
The case is called on and WILLIAM is left in sole possession of the
dock. This is his moment, thinks he. With set features he stands
forward and assumes the most important attitude possible.
"Are you WILLIAM HOHENZOLLERN?" asks the Clerk of Assize.
There is a pause. "I am," says he.
Everyone turns to have a look at him. Feeling that he is thoroughly
impressing everyone WILLIAM fixes a commanding eye on the judge,
compelling, as he supposes, his utmost attention.
"Let's adjourn for lunch," says the judge....
When at last the case gets to its hearing (so far as anything at
all can be heard over the small talk in front of the dock and the
shuffle of impatient feet behind it) a novel point arises. A witness
refers to the War. "What war?" asks his Lordship. Counsel thinks
he can explain, but WILLIAM isn't for letting him. "Will you keep
silence?" says the Judge to WILLIAM. "You must call evidence to
prove that there was a war," he says to counsel.
WILLIAM faints upon realising that Armageddon, his masterpiece, was
such that judicial knowledge wasn't aware of it....
Witness after witness is called; barrister after barrister, in the
bar beneath the dock rail, goes to sleep. WILLIAM, after shaking off
the stupor caused by the awful disregard of his personality, begins
to murmur incoherently. The warder taps him on the shoulder.
WILLIAM, who has never even conceived of being tapped by anybody,
bursts out with an exclamation. The worst thing which has ever
happened to him in his life then happens. Bowdler, Bowdler of all
the un-imperial and un-godlike people in this world, turns to
WILLIAM to rebuke him in a stern whisper, telling him that he is
doing himself no good and concluding his remarks with "My man"....
The trial proceeds, WILLIAM being speechless with rage. In his ears
is ringing a Hymn of Hate--hate of everybody in the court, but
particularly of Bowdler. Every time he can get his brain to work and
his tongue to work with it, he leans forward to breathe some drastic
utterance at his defending counsel. Bowdler remains detached.
WILLIAM (late Kaiser) has to realise as a cold fact that here is
a wretched mortal daring to sharpen a pencil while he is being
addressed by the ALL-HIGHEST. The ALL-HIGHEST reaches over the dock
rail to thump the wretched mortal's wretched head....
Bowdler rises deliberately. There is a hush. He is going to say
something important. WILLIAM feels that at last the world is sane
and duly attentive to him again. Bowdler submits that the state of
mind of the accused person (accused person!) should be inquired
into.
The judge very readily acquiesces; anything to get rid of the
fellow. The prison doctor swears that he has never seen a lunatic if
this isn't one. An assertive juryman, who disapproves of business
being so rushed as not to permit of a hanging, expresses the view
aloud that it is all put on. Silence ensues upon the anomaly of a
juryman daring to express a view aloud; WILLIAM avails himself of
this silence for the same purpose. His view, which was evidently
intended to take some time in the expressing, starts off with
personal reminiscences of the intimate friendship and business
partnership between himself and the Almighty. The juryman at once
gives in and the verdict is found before WILLIAM has completed his
second sentence....
WILLIAM hears himself being ordered "to be detained during His
Majesty's pleasure." The warder, propelling him down below stairs to
the cells, makes it quite clear to WILLIAM that the Majesty referred
to is not his (WILLIAM'S)....
Bowdler follows later to tell WILLIAM what a lucky fellow he is, and
also to take off him one pound, three shillings and sixpence....
Yours ever, HENRY.
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[Illustration: _Conducting Officer._ "IT'S NOT A BAD LITTLE BATTLEFIELD;
BUT I'M AFRAID IT'S AWFULLY UNTIDY."]
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