MR. CHAFFANBRASS
We must now follow Alaric to his trial. He was, of course, much too soon
at court. All people always are, who are brought to the court perforce,
criminals for instance, and witnesses, and other such-like unfortunate
wretches; whereas many of those who only go there to earn their bread
are very often as much too late. He was to be tried at the Old Bailey.
As I have never seen the place, and as so many others have seen it, I
will not attempt to describe it. Here Mr. Gitemthruet was quite at
home; he hustled and jostled, elbowed and ordered, as though he were the
second great man of the place, and the client whom he was to defend was
the first. In this latter opinion he was certainly right. Alaric was
the hero of the day, and people made way for him as though he had won a
victory in India, and was going to receive the freedom of the city in a
box. As he passed by, a gleam of light fell on him from a window, and
at the instant three different artists had him photographed,
daguerreotyped, and bedevilled; four graphic members of the public press
took down the details of his hat, whiskers, coat, trousers, and boots;
and the sub-editor of the _Daily Delight_ observed that 'there was a
slight tremor in the first footstep which he took within the precincts
of the prison, but in every other respect his demeanour was dignified
and his presence manly; he had light-brown gloves, one of which was on
his left hand, but the other was allowed to swing from his fingers.
The court was extremely crowded, and some fair ladies appeared there to
grace its customarily ungracious walls. On the bench we observed Lord
Killtime, Sir Gregory Hardlines, and Mr. Whip Vigil. Mr. Undecimus
Scott, who had been summoned as a witness by the prisoner, was also
accommodated by the sheriffs with a seat.' Such was the opening
paragraph of the seven columns which were devoted by the _Daily Delight_
to the all-absorbing subject.
But Mr. Gitemthruet made his way through artists, reporters, and the
agitated crowd with that happy air of command which can so easily be
assumed by men at a moment's notice, when they feel themselves to be for
that moment of importance. 'Come this way, Mr. Tudor; follow me and
we will get on without any trouble; just follow me close,' said Mr.
Gitemthruet to his client, in a whisper which was audible to not a few.
Tudor, who was essaying, and not altogether unsuccessfully, to bear the
public gaze undismayed, did as he was bid, and followed Mr. Gitemthruet.
'Now,' said the attorney, 'we'll sit here--Mr. Chaffanbrass will be
close to us, there; so that I can touch him up as we go along; of
course, you know, you can make any suggestion, only you must do it
through me. Here's his lordship; uncommon well he looks, don't he? You'd
hardly believe him to be seventy-seven, but he's not a day less, if he
isn't any more; and he has as much work in him yet as you or I, pretty
nearly. If you want to insure a man's life, Mr. Tudor, put him on the
bench; then he'll never die. We lawyers are not like bishops, who are
always for giving up, and going out on a pension.'
But Alaric was not at the moment inclined to meditate much on the long
years of judges. He was thinking, or perhaps trying to think, whether
it would not be better for him to save this crowd that was now gathered
together all further trouble, and plead guilty at once. He knew he was
guilty, he could not understand that it was possible that any juryman
should have a doubt about it; he had taken the money that did not belong
to him; that would be made quite clear; he had taken it, and had not
repaid it; there was the absolute _corpus delicti_ in court, in the
shape of a deficiency of some thousands of pounds. What possible doubt
would there be in the breast of anyone as to his guilt? Why should he
vex his own soul by making himself for a livelong day the gazing-stock
for the multitude? Why should he trouble all those wigged counsellors,
when one word from him would set all at rest?
'Mr. Gitemthruet, I think I'll plead guilty,' said he.
'Plead what!' said Mr. Gitemthruet, turning round upon his client with a
sharp, angry look. It was the first time that his attorney had shown any
sign of disgust, displeasure, or even disapprobation since he had taken
Alaric's matter in hand. 'Plead what! Ah, you're joking, I know; upon my
soul you gave me a start.'
Alaric endeavoured to explain to him that he was not joking, nor in
a mood to joke; but that he really thought the least vexatious course
would be for him to plead guilty.
'Then I tell you it would be the most vexatious proceeding ever I heard
of in all my practice. But you are in my hands, Mr. Tudor, and you can't
do it. You have done me the honour to come to me, and now you must be
ruled by me. Plead guilty! Why, with such a case as you have got, you
would disgrace yourself for ever if you did so. Think of your friends,
Mr. Tudor, if you won't think of me or of yourself.'
His lawyer's eloquence converted him, and he resolved that he would run
his chance. During this time all manner of little legal preliminaries
had been going on; and now the court was ready for business; the jury
were in their box, the court-keeper cried silence, and Mr. Gitemthruet
was busy among his papers with frantic energy. But nothing was yet seen
of the great Mr. Chaffanbrass.
'I believe we may go on with the trial for breach of trust,' said the
judge. 'I do not know why we are waiting.'
Then up and spoke Mr. Younglad, who was Alaric's junior counsel. Mr.
Younglad was a promising common-law barrister, now commencing his
career, of whom his friends were beginning to hope that he might, if
he kept his shoulders well to the collar, at some distant period make a
living out of his profession. He was between forty and forty-five years
of age, and had already overcome the natural diffidence of youth in
addressing a learned bench and a crowded court.
'My lud,' said Younglad, 'my learned friend, Mr. Chaffanbrass, who leads
for the prisoner, is not yet in court. Perhaps, my lud, on behalf of my
client, I may ask for a few moments' delay.'
'And if Mr. Chaffanbrass has undertaken to lead for the prisoner, why
is he not in court?' said the judge, looking as though he had uttered a
poser which must altogether settle Mr. Younglad's business.
But Mr. Younglad had not been sitting, and walking and listening, let
alone talking occasionally, in criminal courts, for the last twenty
years, to be settled so easily.
'My lud, if your ludship will indulge me with five minutes' delay--we
will not ask more than five minutes--your ludship knows, no one better,
the very onerous duties--'
'When I was at the bar I took no briefs to which I could not attend,'
said the judge.
'I am sure you did not, my lud; and my learned friend, should he ever
sit in your ludship's seat, will be able to say as much for himself,
when at some future time he may be--; but, my lud, Mr. Chaffanbrass is
now in court.' And as he spoke, Mr. Chaffanbrass, carrying in his hand a
huge old blue bag, which, as he entered, he took from his clerk's hands,
and bearing on the top of his head a wig that apparently had not been
dressed for the last ten years, made his way in among the barristers,
caring little on whose toes he trod, whose papers he upset, or whom he
elbowed on his road. Mr. Chaffanbrass was the cock of this dunghill, and
well he knew how to make his crowing heard there.
'And now, pray, let us lose no more time,' said the judge.
'My lord, if time has been lost through me, I am very sorry; but if your
lordship's horse had fallen down in the street as mine did just now----'
'My horse never falls down in the street, Mr. Chaffanbrass.'
'Some beasts, my lord, can always keep their legs under them, and others
can't; and men are pretty much in the same condition. I hope the former
may be the case with your lordship and your lordship's cob for many
years.' The judge, knowing of old that nothing could prevent Mr.
Chaffanbrass from having the last word, now held his peace, and the
trial began.
There are not now too many pages left to us for the completion of our
tale; but, nevertheless, we must say a few words about Mr. Chaffanbrass.
He was one of an order of barristers by no means yet extinct, but of
whom it may be said that their peculiarities are somewhat less often
seen than they were when Mr. Chaffanbrass was in his prime. He confined
his practice almost entirely to one class of work, the defence, namely,
of culprits arraigned for heavy crimes, and in this he was, if not
unrivalled, at least unequalled. Rivals he had, who, thick as the skins
of such men may be presumed to be, not unfrequently writhed beneath
the lashes which his tongue could inflict. To such a perfection had he
carried his skill and power of fence, so certain was he in attack, so
invulnerable when attacked, that few men cared to come within the reach
of his forensic flail. To the old stagers who were generally opposed to
him, the gentlemen who conducted prosecutions on the part of the Crown,
and customarily spent their time and skill in trying to hang those
marauders on the public safety whom it was the special business of Mr.
Chaffanbrass to preserve unhung, to these he was, if not civil, at least
forbearing; but when any barrister, who was comparatively a stranger
to him, ventured to oppose him, there was no measure to his impudent
sarcasm and offensive sneers.
Those, however, who most dreaded Mr. Chaffanbrass, and who had most
occasion to do so, were the witnesses. A rival lawyer could find a
protection on the bench when his powers of endurance were tried too
far; but a witness in a court of law has no protection. He comes there
unfeed, without hope of guerdon, to give such assistance to the State
in repressing crime and assisting justice as his knowledge in this
particular case may enable him to afford; and justice, in order to
ascertain whether his testimony be true, finds it necessary to subject
him to torture. One would naturally imagine that an undisturbed thread
of clear evidence would be best obtained from a man whose position was
made easy and whose mind was not harassed; but this is not the fact: to
turn a witness to good account, he must be badgered this way and that
till he is nearly mad; he must be made a laughingstock for the court;
his very truths must be turned into falsehoods, so that he may be
falsely shamed; he must be accused of all manner of villany, threatened
with all manner of punishment; he must be made to feel that he has
no friend near him, that the world is all against him; he must be
confounded till he forget his right hand from his left, till his mind be
turned into chaos, and his heart into water; and then let him give his
evidence. What will fall from his lips when in this wretched collapse
must be of special value, for the best talents of practised forensic
heroes are daily used to bring it about; and no member of the Humane
Society interferes to protect the wretch. Some sorts of torture are,
as it were, tacitly allowed even among humane people. Eels are skinned
alive, and witnesses are sacrificed, and no one's blood curdles at the
sight, no soft heart is sickened at the cruelty.
To apply the thumbscrew, the boot, and the rack to the victim before him
was the work of Mr. Chaffanbrass's life. And it may be said of him that
the labour he delighted in physicked pain. He was as little averse to
this toil as the cat is to that of catching mice. And, indeed, he was
not unlike a cat in his method of proceeding; for he would, as it were,
hold his prey for a while between his paws, and pat him with gentle taps
before he tore him. He would ask a few civil little questions in his
softest voice, glaring out of his wicked old eye as he did so at those
around him, and then, when he had his mouse well in hand, out would come
his envenomed claw, and the wretched animal would feel the fatal wound
in his tenderest part.
Mankind in general take pleasure in cruelty, though those who are
civilized abstain from it on principle. On the whole Mr. Chaffanbrass
is popular at the Old Bailey. Men congregate to hear him turn a witness
inside out, and chuckle with an inward pleasure at the success of his
cruelty. This Mr. Chaffanbrass knows, and, like an actor who is kept up
to his high mark by the necessity of maintaining his character, he never
allows himself to grow dull over his work. Therefore Mr. Chaffanbrass
bullies when it is quite unnecessary that he should bully; it is a
labour of love; and though he is now old, and stiff in his joints,
though ease would be dear to him, though like a gladiator satiated with
blood, he would as regards himself be so pleased to sheathe his sword,
yet he never spares himself. He never spares himself, and he never
spares his victim.
As a lawyer, in the broad and high sense of the word, it may be presumed
that Mr. Chaffanbrass knows little or nothing. He has, indeed, no
occasion for such knowledge. His business is to perplex a witness and
bamboozle a jury, and in doing that he is generally successful. He
seldom cares for carrying the judge with him: such tactics, indeed, as
his are not likely to tell upon a judge. That which he loves is, that
a judge should charge against him, and a jury give a verdict in his
favour. When he achieves that he feels that he has earned his money.
Let others, the young lads and spooneys of his profession, undertake
the milk-and-water work of defending injured innocence; it is all but
an insult to his practised ingenuity to invite his assistance to such
tasteless business. Give him a case in which he has all the world
against him; Justice with her sword raised high to strike; Truth with
open mouth and speaking eyes to tell the bloody tale; outraged humanity
shrieking for punishment; a case from which Mercy herself, with averted
eyes, has loathing turned and bade her sterner sister do her work; give
him such a case as this, and then you will see Mr. Chaffanbrass in his
glory. Let him, by the use of his high art, rescue from the gallows and
turn loose upon the world the wretch whose hands are reeking with
the blood of father, mother, wife, and brother, and you may see Mr.
Chaffanbrass, elated with conscious worth, rub his happy hands with
infinite complacency. Then will his ambition be satisfied, and he will
feel that in the verdict of the jury he has received the honour due
to his genius. He will have succeeded in turning black into white, in
washing the blackamoor, in dressing in the fair robe of innocence the
foulest, filthiest wretch of his day; and as he returns to his home, he
will be proudly conscious that he is no little man.
In person, however, Mr. Chaffanbrass is a little man, and a very dirty
little man. He has all manner of nasty tricks about him, which make
him a disagreeable neighbour to barristers sitting near to him. He
is profuse with snuff, and very generous with his handkerchief. He
is always at work upon his teeth, which do not do much credit to his
industry. His wig is never at ease upon his head, but is poked about by
him, sometimes over one ear, sometimes over the other, now on the back
of his head, and then on his nose; and it is impossible to say in which
guise he looks most cruel, most sharp, and most intolerable. His linen
is never clean, his hands never washed, and his clothes apparently never
new. He is about five feet six in height, and even with that stoops
greatly. His custom is to lean forward, resting with both hands on the
sort of desk before him, and then to fix his small brown basilisk eye
on the victim in the box before him. In this position he will remain
unmoved by the hour together, unless the elevation and fall of his
thick eyebrows and the partial closing of his wicked eyes can be called
motion. But his tongue! that moves; there is the weapon which he knows
how to use!
Such is Mr. Chaffanbrass in public life; and those who only know him in
public life can hardly believe that at home he is one of the most easy,
good-tempered, amiable old gentlemen that ever was pooh-poohed by his
grown-up daughters, and occasionally told to keep himself quiet in a
corner. Such, however, is his private character. Not that he is a fool
in his own house; Mr. Chaffanbrass can never be a fool; but he is so
essentially good-natured, so devoid of any feeling of domestic tyranny,
so placid in his domesticities, that he chooses to be ruled by his own
children. But in his own way he is fond of hospitality; he delights in
a cosy glass of old port with an old friend in whose company he may be
allowed to sit in his old coat and old slippers. He delights also in his
books, in his daughters' music, and in three or four live pet dogs,
and birds, and squirrels, whom morning and night he feeds with his
own hands. He is charitable, too, and subscribes largely to hospitals
founded for the relief of the suffering poor.
Such was Mr. Chaffanbrass, who had been selected by the astute Mr.
Gitemthruet to act as leading counsel on behalf of Alaric. If any human
wisdom could effect the escape of a client in such jeopardy, the
wisdom of Mr. Chaffanbrass would be likely to do it; but, in truth, the
evidence was so strong against him, that even this Newgate hero almost
feared the result.
I will not try the patience of anyone by stating in detail all the
circumstances of the trial. In doing so I should only copy, or, at
any rate, might copy, the proceedings at some of those modern _causes
célèbres_ with which all those who love such subjects are familiar. And
why should I force such matters on those who do not love them? The usual
opening speech was made by the chief man on the prosecuting side, who,
in the usual manner, declared 'that his only object was justice; that
his heart bled within him to see a man of such acknowledged public
utility as Mr. Tudor in such a position; that he sincerely hoped that
the jury might find it possible to acquit him, but that--' And then went
into his 'but' with so much venom that it was clearly discernible
to all, that in spite of his protestations, his heart was set upon a
conviction.
When he had finished, the witnesses for the prosecution were called--the
poor wretches whose fate it was to be impaled alive that day by Mr.
Chaffanbrass. They gave their evidence, and in due course were impaled.
Mr. Chaffanbrass had never been greater. The day was hot, and he thrust
his wig back till it stuck rather on the top of his coat-collar than on
his head; his forehead seemed to come out like the head of a dog from
his kennel, and he grinned with his black teeth, and his savage eyes
twinkled, till the witnesses sank almost out of sight as they gazed at
him.
And yet they had very little to prove, and nothing that he could
disprove. They had to speak merely to certain banking transactions, to
say that certain moneys had been so paid in and so drawn out, in stating
which they had their office books to depend on. But not the less on this
account were they made victims. To one clerk it was suggested that
he might now and then, once in three months or so, make an error in
a figure; and, having acknowledged this, he was driven about until he
admitted that it was very possible that every entry he made in the bank
books in the course of the year was false. 'And you, such as you,'
said Mr. Chaffanbrass, 'do you dare to come forward to give evidence on
commercial affairs? Go down, sir, and hide your ignominy.' The wretch,
convinced that he was ruined for ever, slunk out of court, and was
ashamed to show himself at his place of business for the next three
days.
There were ten or twelve witnesses, all much of the same sort, who
proved among them that this sum of twenty thousand pounds had been
placed at Alaric's disposal, and that now, alas! the twenty thousand
pounds were not forthcoming. It seemed to be a very simple case; and, to
Alaric's own understanding, it seemed impossible that his counsel should
do anything for him. But as each impaled victim shrank with agonized
terror from the torture, Mr. Gitemthruet would turn round to Alaric
and assure him that they were going on well, quite as well as he had
expected. Mr. Chaffanbrass was really exerting himself; and when Mr.
Chaffanbrass did really exert himself he rarely failed.
And so the long day faded itself away in the hot sweltering court,
and his lordship, at about seven o'clock, declared his intention of
adjourning. Of course a _cause célèbre_ such as this was not going to
decide itself in one day. Alaric's guilt was clear as daylight to all
concerned; but a man who had risen to be a Civil Service Commissioner,
and to be entrusted with the guardianship of twenty thousand pounds, was
not to be treated like a butcher who had merely smothered his wife in an
ordinary way, or a housebreaker who had followed his professional career
to its natural end; more than that was due to the rank and station
of the man, and to the very respectable retaining fee with which
Mr. Gitemthruet had found himself enabled to secure the venom of Mr.
Chaffanbrass. So the jury retired to regale themselves _en masse_ at a
neighbouring coffee-house; Alaric was again permitted to be at large on
bail (the amiable policeman in mufti still attending him at a distance);
and Mr. Chaffanbrass and his lordship retired to prepare themselves by
rest for the morrow's labours.
But what was Alaric to do? He soon found himself under the guardianship
of the constant Gitemthruet in a neighbouring tavern, and his cousin
Charley was with him. Charley had been in court the whole day, except
that he had twice posted down to the West End in a cab to let Gertrude
and Mrs. Woodward know how things were going on. He had posted down and
posted back again, and, crowded as the court had been, he had
contrived to make his way in, using that air of authority to which
the strongest-minded policeman will always bow; till at last the very
policemen assisted him, as though he were in some way connected with the
trial.
On his last visit at Gertrude's house he had told her that it was very
improbable that the trial should be finished that day. She had then
said nothing as to Alaric's return to his own house; it had indeed not
occurred to her that he would be at liberty to do so: Charley at once
caught at this, and strongly recommended his cousin to remain where he
was. 'You will gain nothing by going home,' said he; 'Gertrude does
not expect you; Mrs. Woodward is there; and it will be better for all
parties that you should remain.' Mr. Gitemthruet strongly backed his
advice, and Alaric, so counselled, resolved to remain where he was.
Charley promised to stay with him, and the policeman in mufti, without
making any promise at all, silently acquiesced in the arrangement.
Charley made one more visit to the West, saw Norman at his lodgings, and
Mrs. Woodward and Gertrude in Albany Place, and then returned to make a
night of it with Alaric. We need hardly say that Charley made a night
of it in a very different manner from that to which he and his brother
navvies were so well accustomed.