Читать книгу The Reminiscences of Sir Henry Hawkins (Baron Brampton) - Baron Henry Hawkins Brampton - Страница 19

Of course, in those days there were judges of the utmost strictness as there are now, who insisted that the rules of evidence should be rigidly adhered to. I may mention, one, whose abilities were of a remarkable order, and whose memory is still fresh in the minds of many of my contemporaries—I mean Mr. Justice Maule. His asthmatic cough was the most interesting and amusing cough I ever heard, especially when he was saying anything more than usually humorous, which was not infrequently. He was a man of great wit, sound sense, and a curious humour such as I never heard in any other man. He possessed, too, a particularly keen apprehension. To those who had any real ability he was the most pleasant of Judges, but he had little love for mediocrities. No man ever was endowed with a greater abhorrence of hypocrisy. I learnt a great deal in watching him and noting his observations. One day a very sad case was being tried. It was that of a man for killing an infant, and it was proposed by the prosecution to call as a witness a little brother of the murdered child.

The boy's capacity to give evidence, however, was somewhat doubted by the counsel for the Crown, John Clark, and it did honour to his sense of fairness. Having asked the little boy a question or two as to the meaning of an oath, he said he had some doubt as to whether the witness should be admitted to give evidence, as he did not seem to understand the nature of an oath, and the boy was otherwise deficient in religious knowledge.

He was asked the usual sensible questions which St. Thomas Aquinas himself would have been puzzled to answer; and being a mere child of seven—or at most eight—years of age, without any kind of education, was unable to state what the exact nature of an oath was.

Having failed in this, he was next asked what, when they died, became of people who told lies.

"If he knows that, it's a good deal more than I do," said Maule.

"Attend to me," said the Crown counsel. "Do you know that it's wicked to tell lies?"

"Yes, sir," the boy answered.

"I don't think," said the counsel for the prosecution, "it would be safe to swear him, my lord; he does not seem to know anything about religion at all.—You can stand down."

"Stop a minute, my boy," says Maule; "let me ask you a question or two. You have been asked about a future state—at least I presume that was at the bottom of the gentleman's question. I should like to know what you have been taught to believe. What will become of you, my little boy, when you die, if you are so wicked as to tell a lie?"

"Hell fire," answered the boy with great promptitude and boldness.

"Right," said Maule. "Now let us go a little further. Do you mean to say, boy, that you would go to hell fire for telling any lie?"

"Hell fire, sir," said the boy emphatically, as though it were something to look forward to rather than shun.

"Take time, my boy," said Maule; "don't answer hurriedly; think it over. Suppose, now, you were accused of stealing an apple; how would that be in the next world, think you?"

"Hell fire, my lord!"

"Very good indeed. Now let us suppose that you were disobedient to your parents, or to one of them; what would happen in that case?"

"Hell fire, my lord!"

"Exactly; very good indeed. Now let me take another instance, and suppose that you were sent for the milk in the morning, and took just a little sip while you were carrying it home; how would that be as regards your future state?"

"Hell fire!" repeated the boy.

Upon this Clark suggested that the lad's absolute ignorance of the nature of an oath and Divine things rendered it imprudent to call him.

"I don't know about that," said Maule; "he seems to me to be very sound, and most divines will tell you he is right."

"He does not seem to be competent," said the counsel.

"I beg your pardon," returned the judge, "I think he is a very good little boy. He thinks that for every wilful fault he will go to hell fire; and he is very likely while he believes that doctrine to be most strict in his observance of truth. If you and I believed that such would be the penalty for every act of misconduct we committed, we should be better men than we are. Let the boy be sworn."

On one occasion, before Maule, I had to defend a man for murder. It was a terribly difficult case, because there was no defence except the usual one of insanity.

The court adjourned for lunch, and Woollet (who was my junior) and I went to consultation. I was oppressed with the difficulty of my task, and asked Woollet what he thought I could do.

"Oh," said he in his sanguine way, "make a hell of a speech. You'll pull him through all right. Let 'em have it."

"I'll give them as much burning eloquence as I can manage," said I, in my youthful ardour; "but what's the use of words against facts? We must really stand by the defence of insanity; it is all that's left."

"Call the clergyman," said Woollet; "he'll help us all he can."

With that resolution we returned to court. I made my speech for the defence, following Woollet's advice as nearly as practicable, and really blazed away. I think the jury believed there was a good deal in what I said, for they seemed a very discerning body and a good deal inclined to logic, especially as there was a mixture of passion in it.

We then called the clergyman of the village where the prisoner lived. He said he had been Vicar for thirty-four years, and that up to very recently, a few days before the murder, the prisoner had been a regular attendant at his church. He was a married man with a wife and two little children, one seven and the other nine.

"Did the wife attend your ministrations, too?" asked Maule.

"Not so regularly. Suddenly," continued the Vicar, after suppressing his emotion, "without any apparent cause, the man became a Sabbath-breaker, and absented himself from church."

This evidence rather puzzled me, for I could not understand its purport. Maule in the meantime was watching it with the keenest interest and no little curiosity. He was not a great believer in the defence of insanity—except, occasionally, that of the solicitor who set it up—and consequently watched the Vicar with scrutinizing intensity.

"Have you finished with your witness, Mr. Woollet?" his lordship inquired.

"Yes, my lord."

Maule then took him in hand, and after looking at him steadfastly for about a minute, said—

"You say, sir, that you have been Vicar of this parish for four-and-thirty years?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And during that time I dare say you have regularly performed the services of the Church?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Did you have week-day services as well?"

"Every Tuesday, my lord."

"And did you preach your own sermons?"

"With an occasional homily of the Church."

"Your own sermon or discourse, with an occasional homily? And was this poor man a regular attendant at all your services during the whole time you have been Vicar?"

"Until he killed his wife, my lord."

"That follows—I mean up to the time of this Sabbath-breaking you spoke of he regularly attended your ministrations, and then killed his wife?"

"Exactly, my lord."

"Never missed the sermon, discourse, or homily of the Church, Sunday or week-day?"

"That is so, my lord."

"Did you write your own sermons, may I ask?"

"Oh yes, my lord."

Maule carefully wrote down all that our witness said, and I began to think the defence of insanity stood on very fair grounds, especially when I perceived that Maule was making some arithmetical calculations. But you never could tell by his manner which way he was going, and therefore we had to wait for his next observation, which was to this effect:—

"You have given yourself, sir, a very excellent character, and doubtless, by your long service in the village, have richly deserved it. You have, no doubt, also won the affection of all your parishioners, probably that of the Bishop of your diocese, by your incomparable devotion to your parochial duties. The result, however, of your indefatigable exertions, so far as this unhappy man is concerned, comes to this—"

His lordship then turned and addressed his observations on the result to me.

"This gentleman, Mr. Hawkins, has written with his own pen and preached or read with his own voice to this unhappy prisoner about one hundred and four Sunday sermons or discourses, with an occasional homily, every year."

There was an irresistible sense of the ludicrous as Maule uttered, or rather growled, these words in a slow enunciation and an asthmatical tone. He paused as if wondering at the magnitude of his calculations, and then commenced again more slowly and solemnly than before.

"These," said he, "added to the week-day services—make—exactly one hundred and fifty-six sermons, discourses, and homilies for the year." (Then he stared at me, asking with his eyes what I thought of it.) "These, again, being continued over a space of time, comprising, as the reverend gentleman tells us, no less than thirty-four years, give us a grand total of five thousand three hundred and four sermons, discourses, or homilies during this unhappy man's life."