Чарльз Диккенс
Bardell v. Pickwick
The truth was, Mr. Pickwick’s attorney was too much of a social character and of the “old family solicitor” pattern for so critical a case. The counsel he “instructed” were unsuitable. Serjeant Snubbin was an overworked “Chamber lawyer,” whose whole time and experience was given to furnishing “opinions” on tangled cases; so pressed was he that he took “expedition fees” to give certain cases priority: an illegitimate practice that now the Bar Committee would scarcely tolerate. What could such a man know of nisi prius trials, of cross-examining or handling witnesses? It is enough to give his portrait, as supplied by the author:
Mr. Serjeant Snubbin was a lantern-faced, sallow-complexioned man, of about five-and-forty, or – as the novels say – he might be fifty. He had that dull-looking boiled eye which is often to be seen in the heads of people who have applied themselves during many years to a weary and laborious course of study; and which would have been sufficient, without the additional eye-glass which dangled from a broad black riband round his neck, to warn a stranger that he was very near-sighted. His hair was thin and weak, which was partly attributable to his having never devoted much time to its arrangement, and partly to his having worn for five-and-twenty years the forsenic wig which hung on a block beside him. The marks of hair powder on his coat collar, and the ill-washed and worse tied white neckerchief round his throat, showed that he had not found leisure since he left the court to make any alteration in his dress: while the slovenly style of the remainder of his costume warranted the inference that his personal appearance would not have been very much improved if he had. Books of practice, heaps of papers, and opened letters, were scattered over the table, without any attempt at order or arrangement; the furniture of the room was old and ricketty; the doors of the bookcase were rotting in their hinges; the dust flew out from the carpet in little clouds at every step; the blinds were yellow with age and dirt; the state of everything in the room showed, with a clearness not to be mistaken, that Mr. Serjeant Snubbin was far too much occupied with his professional pursuits to take any great heed or regard of his personal comforts.
It was a characteristic feature of the slowness of legal process in those days that though the notice of action was sent on August the 28th, 1827, the case was not ripe for trial until February 14th of the next year – nearly six months having elapsed. It is difficult to speculate as to what this long delay was owing. There were only two witnesses whose evidence had to be briefed – Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders – and they were at hand. It is odd, by the way, that they did not think of examining little Tommy Bardell, the only one who actually witnessed the proceeding. True, he was of tender years – about eight or ten – and the son of the Plaintiff, but he must have “known the nature of an oath.”
THE TRIAL
At last the momentous morning came round. It was the fourteenth of February, Valentine’s Day, 1828 – one not of good omen for the Plaintiff. 1 The Defendant’s party was rather gloomy at breakfast, when Perker, by wave of encouraging his client, uttered some dicta as to the chances of the Jury having had a good breakfast “Discontented or hungry jurymen, my dear Sir, always find for the Plaintiff.” “Bless my heart,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking very blank, “What do they do that for!”
The party then got into hackney coaches and was driven to the Guildhall, where the case was to be tried at ten o’clock precisely.
How dramatic Boz has made the “calling of the Jury,” which might be thought an uninteresting and prosaic operation enough. It was a special jury, which entailed one guinea per head extra expense on Mr. Pickwick. He had, of course, asked for it: but Dodson and Fogg would have been well content with and perhaps even have preferred a common jury. Now-a-days, special jurors, though summoned largely, have to be almost coerced into attending. A fine of ten pounds is imposed, but this is almost invariably remitted on affidavit. The common jurors, moreover, do not show the reluctance to “serve” of Groffin, the chemist. A guinea is not to be despised. There are, as it were, professional common jurors who hang about the Courts in the hope of being thus called as “understudies.” On this occasion what was called a Tales was prayed for, and two common jurors were pressed into the service: and “a greengrocer and a chemist were caught directly.”
It is impossible to say too much of the completeness with which the legal scene is put forward. Everything is dealt with. We have perfect sketches of the judge, the ushers, the jury, the counsel on the case, the witnesses, the barristers, the attorneys; we have the speeches, the methods of examination and cross-examination.
There is nothing better or more life-like than the sketch of the court in the chill morning, and before the actors came on the scene – the inimitable description of the idle barristers hanging about “the Bar of England,” which is accurate to this hour.
Few could describe effectively the peculiar appearance of a crowd of barristers assembled in a Court of Law. They are a type apart, and their odd headgear accentuates all the peculiarities of their faces. No one has, however, succeeded so well as Boz in touching off their peculiarities. This sort of histrionic guise and bearing is assumed with a view to impose on his friends and the public, to suggest an idea that they have much or at least something to do.
‘And that,’ said Mr. Pickwick, pointing to a couple of enclosed seats on his right, ‘that’s where the jurymen sit, is it not?’
‘The identical place, my dear Sir,’ replied Perker, tapping the lid of his snuff-box.
Mr. Pickwick stood up in a state of great agitation and took a glance at the court. There were already a pretty large sprinkling of spectators in the gallery, and a numerous muster of gentlemen in wigs in the barristers’ seats, who presented, as a body, all that pleasing and extensive variety of nose and whisker for which the bar of England is so justly celebrated. Such of the gentlemen as had got a brief to carry, carried it in as conspicuous a manner as possible, and occasionally scratched their noses therewith, to impress the fact more strongly on the observation of the spectators.
One of the happiest descriptions is surely that of the binding of law books. A law library is the most repulsive and uninteresting thing in the world. The colour of the leather is unhealthy and disagreeable, and the necessary shading is secured at the expense of grace. Boz characterises it as ‘that under-done pie crust.’
Other gentlemen, who had no briefs to show, carried under their arms goodly octavos, with a red label behind, and that under-done-pie-crust-coloured cover, which is technically known as “law calf.” Others, who had neither briefs nor books, thrust their hands into their pockets, and looked as wise as they conveniently could; while others, again, moved here and there with great restlessness and earnestness of manner, content to awaken thereby the admiration and astonishment of the uninitiated stranger. The whole, to the great wonderment of Mr. Pickwick, were divided into little groups, who were chatting and discussing the news of the day in the most unfeeling manner possible – just as if no trial at all were coming on.
A bow from Mr. Phunky, as he entered, and took his seat behind the row appropriated to the King’s Counsel, attracted Mr. Pickwick’s attention; and he had scarcely returned it, when Mr. Serjeant Snubbin appeared, followed by Mr. Mallard, who half hid the Serjeant behind a large crimson bag, which he placed on his table, and after shaking hands with Perker, withdrew. Then there entered two or three more Serjeants, and among them, one with a fat body and a red face, who nodded in a friendly manner to Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, and said it was a fine morning.
‘Who’s that red-faced man, who said it was a fine morning and nodded to our counsel?’ whispered Mr. Pickwick.
‘Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz,’ replied Perker. ‘He’s opposed to us; he leads on the other side. That gentleman behind him is Mr. Skimpin, his junior.’
Mr. Pickwick was just on the point of inquiring, with great abhorrence of the man’s cold-blooded villainy, how Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, who was counsel for the opposite party, dared to presume to tell Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, who was counsel for him, that it was a fine morning, – when he was interrupted by a general rising of the barristers, and a loud cry of ‘Silence!’ from the officers of the court. Looking round, he found that this was caused by the entrance of the Judge.
On reaching the Court, Perker said, “put Mr. Pickwick’s friends in the students’ box. Mr. Pickwick had better sit by me.” This useful provision for the instruction of legal probationers has fallen into desuetude – no place is reserved for the students now-a-days. Lord Campbell describes the custom and recalls an incident that occurred when he was sitting in the students’ box, close to the Bench.
There were some matters of procedure which have since been changed – such as Mr. Skimpin “calling for” Winkle, and the latter answering. This is now done by an Officer of the Court. Skimpin also asks Winkle his name, as a first question, though he had been sworn and had given it. And the mal-entendu as to “Daniel Nathaniel” could not then have occurred, as the Officer would have obtained the name correctly. Another unusual thing was that Buzfuz, after his long and rather exhausting speech, should have examined the first witness. Now-a-days the junior would do this. We may note that at this time it was always “my Lord,” and “your Lordship,” with the full natural sound – we had not yet got to the clipped “M’lud,’” and “your Ludship.” Perhaps this form was actually used by the Counsel but was not noticed by Boz, or seemed to him the right thing. The King’s Counsel were behind and could stoop down to consult their solicitors.
This minute observation and particularity of Boz is further shown in his noting the very places where the Attorneys sat, and which he describes. They had the seats next the table:
“You are quite right,” said Buzfuz later on, answering the whisper of Dodson and Fogg, after Sam’s awkward revelation. How often have we seen these hasty communications, which are not without their dramatic effect.
THE JUDGE
Mr. Pickwick, unfortunate in his Counsel, his Solicitor, his Jury – one of prejudiced tradesmen – was also to be unlucky in the Judge who tried his case. No doubt Perker had comforted him: “no matter how it goes, however unfair Buzfuz may be, we have a judge to hold the scales fair and keep the jury straight. The Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, the Right Hon. Sir Nicholas Conyngham Tindal is a man of immense reputation at the Bar. We are most fortunate in having him.” Judge then of the disappointment when on coming to court it was found that Sir Stephen Gaselee was to take the case “owing to the absence of the Chief Justice, occasioned by indisposition.” (I protest that at times one does not know whether we are following out a course of real events, or tracing the incidents of a fiction, so wonderfully does Boz make his fiction blend with reality.) This was a serious blow. Tindal was an admirable judge. Did not his chroniclers write of him: “His sagacity, impartiality and plain sense, his industry and clear sightedness made him an admiration of non-professional spectators: while among lawyers he was very highly esteemed for his invariable kindness to all who appeared before him. He retained to the last their respect and affection.” With such a man presiding Sergeant Buzfuz’s eccentric violence and abuse of the defendant would have been restrained (“having the outward appearance of a man and not of a monster.”) Mr. Skimpin’s gross insinuations, to wit, that Winkle was “telegraphing” to his friend, would have been summarily put down, and all “bullying” checked; more, he would have calmly kept Counsel’s attention to the issue. This perfect impartiality would have made him show to the Jury how little evidence there was to support the plaintiff’s case. Instead came this unlucky indisposition: and his place was taken by “my Brother Gaselee:” with what results Mr. Pickwick was to learn disastrously.
It is curious, however, that the Chief Justice, in spite of his indisposition, should still be associated with the case; for he had tried the momentous case of Norton v. Melbourne, and had heard there letters read, which were parodied in the “chops and tomato sauce” correspondence, so Boz had him well before him. The case had to be tried at the Guildhall Sessions; so a fair and rational judge would have spoilt all sport. Further, as Boz had seen the fairness and dignity of the Chief Justice he was naturally reluctant to exhibit him unfavorably. The only thing was to make the Chief Justice become suddenly “indisposed,” and have his place taken by a grotesque judge.
The Judge who was to try the case, Mr. Justice Stareleigh, as is well known, was drawn from Sir Stephen Gaselee, of whose name Stareleigh is a sort of synonym. Serjeant Gaselee was once well known in the prosecutions directed against Radicals and so-called Reformers, but Pickwick has given him a greater reputation. The baiting he received from patriotic advocates may have inflamed his temper and made him irritable. He is described by one author, in a most humorous, if personal fashion. He was “a most particularly short man, and so fat that he seemed all face and waistcoat. He rolled in upon two little turned legs, and having bobbed gravely to the bar who bobbed gravely to him, put his little legs under the table, when all you could see of him was two queer little eyes, one broad, pink face, and somewhere about half of a big and very comical-looking wig.” All through he is shown as arrogant and incapable, and also as making some absurd mistakes.
It will be a surprise to most people to learn that this picture is no more than an amusing caricature, and that the judge was really a person of high character. He is described as “a very painstaking, upright judge, and, in his private capacity, a worthy and benevolent man.” Thus, Mr. Croker, who, however, supplies a sound reason for his being the subject of such satire. “With many admirable qualities both of head and heart, he had made himself a legitimate object of ridicule by his explosions on the Bench.” Under such conditions, the Bar, the suitors and the public had neither the wish nor the opportunity to search for extenuating excuses in his private life. They suffered enough from the “explosions” and that was all that concerned them. He had been fourteen years on the Bench, and, like Stareleigh, belonged to the Common Pleas. He was suffering too from infirmities, particularly from deafness, and appears to have misapprehended statements in the same grotesque fashion that he mistook Winkle’s name.
Boz’s fashion of burlesque, by the way, is happily shown in his treatment of this topic. Another would have been content with “Daniel,” the simple misapprehension. “Nathaniel, sir,” says Winkle. “Daniel – any other name?” “Nathaniel, sir – my lord, I mean.” “Nathaniel Daniel—or Daniel Nathaniel?” “No, my lord, only Nathaniel, not Daniel at all.”
“What did you tell me it was Daniel for, then, sir?”
“I didn’t, my lord.”
“You did, sir. How could I have got Nathaniel in my notes, unless you told me so, sir?”
How admirable is this. The sly satire goes deeper, as Judges, under less gross conditions, have often made this illogical appeal to “my notes.”
Though not gifted with oratorical powers which were likely to gain him employment as a leader, Gaselee’s reputation for legal knowledge soon recommended him to a judge’s place. He was accordingly selected on July 1st, 1824, to fill a vacancy in the Court of Common Pleas. In that Court he sat for nearly fourteen years “with the character of a painstaking judge, and in his private capacity as a worthy and benevolent man.” Thus Mr. Foss, F.S.A.
The reader will have noted the Judge’s severity to poor Groffin, the chemist, who had pleaded the danger of his boy mistaking oxalic acid for Epsom salts. Could it be that the Judge’s experience as the son of a provincial doctor, had shown what class of man was before him? Later, unexpectedly, we learn that the Judge was a steady member for fourteen years of the Royal Humane Society, of which institution he was also a Vice-President.
But we now come to a most extraordinary thing – the result of the young author’s telling and most sarcastic portrait of the irascible little judge. It is curious that Forster, while enumerating various instances of Boz’s severe treatment of living persons, as a sort of chastisement for their defects of manner or character, seems not to have thought of this treatment of the judge – and passes it by. Nor did he notice the prompt result that followed on the sketch. The report of the trial appeared in the March number, 1837 – and we are told, the luckless judge retired from the Bench, shortly after the end of Hilary Term, that is in April or the beginning of May. We may assume that the poor gentleman could not endure the jests of his confrères or the scarcely concealed tittering of the Barristers, all of whom had of course devoured and enjoyed the number. We may say that the learned Sergeant Buzfuz was not likely to be affected in any way by his picture; it may indeed have added to his reputation. I confess to some sympathy for the poor old judge who was thus driven from the Bench. Sam Foote was much given to this sort of personal attack, and made the lives of some of his victims wretched. Boz, however, seems to have felt himself called upon to act thus as public executioner on two occasions only. After the fall of the judge in June, 1837, he wanted a model for a tyrannical magistrate in Oliver Twist– and Mr. Laing, the Hatton Garden Magistrate – a harsh, ferocious personage, at once occurred to him. He wrote accordingly to one of his friends that he wished to be smuggled into his office some morning to study him. This “smuggling” of course meant the placing him where he would not be observed – as a magistrate knowing his “sketches” might recognise him. “I know the man perfectly well” he added. So he did, for he forgot that he had introduced him already in Pickwick as Nupkins – whose talk is exactly alike, in places almost word for word to that of “Mr. Fang.”
These palliations, Boz, a young fellow of three and twenty or so, did not pause to weigh. He only saw a testy, red-faced old fellow with goggle eyes, and seventy-four years old, and past his work. His infirmities already made him incapable of carrying through the business of the Court as the mistake, “Is it Daniel Nathaniel or Nathaniel Daniel?” shows. It is curious, however, that this weakness of misapprehending names is described of another judge, Arabin – a strange grotesque. Theodore Hook gives an amusing specimen in his Gilbert Gurney.
From the general description in the text, it is evident Stareleigh was the prey of gouty affections – which swelled him into grotesque shape, and he found himself unequal to the office. He died two years after his retirement at No. 13, Montagu Place, Russell Square; so that the Judge in Bardell v. Pickwick was living close to Perker the Attorney in the same case. Here we seem to mix up the fictional and the living characters, but this is the law of Pickwick– the confines between the two worlds being quite confused or broken down. The late commander of our forces in China, Sir A. Gaselee, is of this family. It should be remembered, however, when we think of this judge’s frowardness, that judges in those times were dictatorial and carried matters with a high hand. There were often angry conflicts between them, and members of the Bar, and Stareleigh was really not so very tyrannical. He did what so many judges do – took a side from the first, and had decided in his own mind that Mr. Pickwick could not possibly have a case. That curious form of address from the Bench is now no longer heard – “who is with you, Brother Buzfuz?” Judges and sergeants were then common members of the Guild – both wore the “coif.”
