The Law and the Lady

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER XX. THE END OF THE TRIAL.

  THE calling of the new witness provoked a burst of laughter among theaudience due partly, no doubt, to the strange name by which he hadbeen summoned; partly, also, to the instinctive desire of all crowdedassemblies, when their interest is painfully excited, to seize on anyrelief in the shape of the first subject of merriment which maypresent itself. A severe rebuke from the Bench restored order amongthe audience. The Lord Justice Clerk declared that he would "clear theCourt" if the interruption to the proceedings were renewed.

  During the silence which followed this announcement the new witnessappeared.

  Gliding, self-propelled in his chair on wheels, through the opening madefor him among the crowd, a strange and startling creature--literally thehalf of a man--revealed himself to the general view. A coverlet whichhad been thrown over his chair had fallen off during his progressthrough the throng. The loss of it exposed to the public curiositythe head, the arms, and the trunk of a living human being: absolutelydeprived of the lower limbs. To make this deformity all the morestriking and all the more terrible, the victim of it was--as to his faceand his body--an unusually handsome and an unusually well-made man. Hislong silky hair, of a bright and beautiful chestnut color, fell overshoulders that were the perfection of strength and grace. His face wasbright with vivacity and intelligence. His large clear blue eyes and hislong delicate white hands were like the eyes and hands of a beautifulwoman. He would have looked effeminate but for the manly proportionsof his throat and chest, aided in their effect by his flowing beard andlong mustache, of a lighter chestnut shade than the color of his hair.Never had a magnificent head and body been more hopelessly ill-bestowedthan in this instance! Never had Nature committed a more careless or amore cruel mistake than in the making of this man!

  He was sworn, seated, of course, in his chair. Having given his name,he bowed to the Judges and requested their permission to preface hisevidence with a word of explanation.

  "People generally laugh when they first hear my strange Christianname," he said, in a low, clear, resonant voice which penetrated to theremotest corners of the Court. "I may inform the good people here thatmany names, still common among us, have their significations, and thatmine is one of them. 'Alexander,' for instance, means, in the Greek,'a helper of men.' 'David' means, in Hebrew, 'well-beloved.' 'Francis'means, in German, 'free.' My name, 'Miserrimus,' means, in Latin, 'mostunhappy.' It was given to me by my father, in allusion to the deformitywhich you all see--the deformity with which it was my misfortune to beborn. You won't laugh at 'Miserrimus' again, will you?" He turned to theDean of Faculty, waiting to examine him for the defense. "Mr. Dean. Iam at your service. I apologize for delaying, even for a moment, theproceedings of the Court."

  He delivered his little address with perfect grace and good-humor.Examined by the Dean, he gave his evidence clearly, without theslightest appearance of hesitation or reserve.

  "I was staying at Gleninch as a guest in the house at the time of Mrs.Eustace Macallan's death," he began. "Doctor Jerome and Mr. Gale desiredto see me at a private interview--the prisoner being then in a state ofprostration which made it impossible for him to attend to his duties asmaster of the house. At this interview the two doctors astonished andhorrified me by declaring that Mrs. Eustace Macallan had died poisoned.They left it to me to communicate the dreadful news to her husband, andthey warned me that a post-mortem examination must be held on the body.

  "If the Fiscal had seen my old friend when I communicated the doctors'message, I doubt if he would have ventured to charge the prisoner withthe murder of his wife. To my mind the charge was nothing less than anoutrage. I resisted the seizure of the prisoner's Diary and letters,animated by that feeling. Now that the Diary has been produced, I agreewith the prisoner's mother in denying that it is fair evidence to bringagainst him. A Diary (when it extends beyond a bare record of facts anddates) is nothing but an expression of the poorest and weakest side inthe character of the person who keeps it. It is, in nine cases out often, the more or less contemptible outpouring of vanity and conceitwhich the writer dare not exhibit to any mortal but himself. I am theprisoner's oldest friend. I solemnly declare that I never knew he couldwrite downright nonsense until I heard his Diary read in this Court!

  "_He_ kill his wife! _He_ treat his wife with neglect and cruelty! Iventure to say, from twenty years' experience of him, that there is noman in this assembly who is constitutionally more incapable of crime andmore incapable of cruelty than the man who stands at the Bar. While Iam about it, I go further still. I even doubt whether a man capable ofcrime and capable of cruelty could have found it in his heart to do evilto the woman whose untimely death is the subject of this inquiry.

  "I have heard what the ignorant and prejudiced nurse, Christina Ormsay,has said of the deceased lady. From my own personal observation,I contradict every word of it. Mrs. Eustace Macallan--granting herpersonal defects--was nevertheless one of the most charming women I evermet with. She was highly bred, in the best sense of the word. I neversaw in any other person so sweet a smile as hers, or such grace andbeauty of movement as hers. If you liked music, she sang beautifully;and few professed musicians had such a touch on the piano as hers. Ifyou preferred talking, I never yet met with the man (or even the woman,which is saying a great deal more) whom her conversation could notcharm. To say that such a wife as this could be first cruelly neglected,and then barbarously murdered, by the man--no! by the martyr--who standsthere, is to tell me that the sun never shines at noonday, or that theheaven is not above the earth.

  "Oh yes! I know that the letters of her friends show that she wrote tothem in bitter complaint of her husband's conduct to her. But rememberwhat one of those friends (the wisest and the best of them) says inreply. 'I own to thinking,' she writes, 'that your sensitive natureexaggerates or misinterprets the neglect that you experience at thehands of your husband.' There, in that one sentence, is the whole truth!Mrs. Eustace Macallan's nature was the imaginative, self-tormentingnature of a poet. No mortal love could ever have been refined enough for_her._ Trifles which women of a coarser moral fiber would have passedover without notice, were causes of downright agony to that exquisitelysensitive temperament. There are persons born to be unhappy. That poorlady was one of them. When I have said this, I have said all.

  "No! There is one word more still to be added.

  "It may be as well to remind the prosecution that Mrs. EustaceMacallan's death was in the pecuniary sense a serious loss to herhusband. He had insisted on having the whole of her fortune settled onherself, and on her relatives after her, when he married. Her incomefrom that fortune helped to keep in splendor the house and groundsat Gleninch. The prisoner's own resources (aided even by his mother'sjointure) were quite inadequate fitly to defray the expenses of livingat his splendid country-seat. Knowing all the circumstances, I canpositively assert that the wife's death has deprived the husband oftwo-thirds of his income. And the prosecution, viewing him as the basestand cruelest of men, declares that he deliberately killed her--with allhis pecuniary interests pointing to the preservation of her life!

  "It is useless to ask me whether I noticed anything in the conduct ofthe prisoner and Mrs. Beauly which might justify a wife's jealousy. Inever observed Mrs. Beauly with any attention, and I never encouragedthe prisoner in talking to me about her. He was a general admirer ofpretty women--so far as I know, in a perfectly innocent way. That hecould prefer Mrs. Beauly to his wife is inconceivable to me, unless hewere out of his senses. I never had any reason to believe that he wasout of his senses.

  "As to the question of the arsenic--I mean the question of tracing thatpoison to the possession of Mrs. Eustace Macallan--I am able to giveevidence which may, perhaps, be worthy of the attention of the Court.

  "I was present in the Fiscal's office during the examination ofthe papers, and of the other objects discovered at Gleninch. Thedressing-case belonging to the deceased lady was shown to me afterits contents had been officially investigated
by the Fiscal himself. Ihappen to have a very sensitive sense of touch. In handling the lid ofthe dressing-case, on the inner side I felt something at a certainplace which induced me to examine the whole structure of the lidvery carefully. The result was the discovery of a private repositoryconcealed in the space between the outer wood and the lining. In thatrepository I found the bottle which I now produce."

  The further examination of the witness was suspended while thehidden bottle was compared with the bottles properly belonging to thedressing-case.

  These last were of the finest cut glass, and of a very elegantform--entirely unlike the bottle found in the private repository, whichwas of the commonest manufacture, and of the shape ordinarily in useamong chemists. Not a drop of liquid, not the smallest atom of anysolid substance, remained in it. No smell exhaled from it--and, moreunfortunately still for the interests of the defense, no label was foundattached to the bottle when it had been discovered.

  The chemist who had sold the second supply of arsenic to the prisonerwas recalled and examined. He declared that the bottle was exactly likethe bottle in which he had placed the arsenic. It was, however, equallylike hundreds of other bottles in his shop. In the absence of the label(on which he had himself written the word "Poison"), it was impossiblefor him to identify the bottle. The dressing-case and the deceasedlady's bedroom had been vainly searched for the chemist's missinglabel--on the chance that it might have become accidentally detachedfrom the mysterious empty bottle. In both instances the search had beenwithout result. Morally, it was a fair conclusion that this might bereally the bottle which had contained the poison. Legally, there was notthe slightest proof of it.

  Thus ended the last effort of the defense to trace the arsenic purchasedby the prisoner to the possession of his wife. The book relating thepractices of the Styrian peasantry (found in the deceased lady's room)had been produced But could the book prove that she had asked herhusband to buy arsenic for her? The crumpled paper, with the grainsof powder left in it, had been identified by the chemist, and had beendeclared to contain grains of arsenic. But where was the proof that Mrs.Eustace Macallan's hand had placed the packet in the cabinet, and hademptied it of its contents? No direct evidence anywhere! Nothing butconjecture!

  The renewed examination of Miserrimus Dexter touched on matters of nogeneral interest. The cross-examination resolved itself, in substance,into a mental trial of strength between the witness and the LordAdvocate; the struggle terminating (according to the general opinion)in favor of the witness. One question and one answer only I will repeathere. They appeared to me to be of serious importance to the object thatI had in view in reading the Trial.

  "I believe, Mr. Dexter," the Lord Advocate remarked, in his mostironical manner, "that you have a theory of your own, which makes thedeath of Mrs. Eustace Macallan no mystery to _you?_"

  "I may have my own ideas on that subject, as on other subjects," thewitness replied. "But let me ask their lordships, the Judges: Am I hereto declare theories or to state facts?"

  I made a note of that answer. Mr. Dexter's "ideas" were the ideas ofa true friend to my husband, and of a man of far more than averageability. They might be of inestimable value to me in the coming time--ifI could prevail on him to communicate them.

  I may mention, while I am writing on the subject, that I added to thisfirst note a second, containing an observation of my own. In alluding toMrs. Beauly, while he was giving his evidence, Mr. Dexter had spoken ofher so slightingly--so rudely, I might almost say--as to suggest he hadsome strong private reasons for disliking (perhaps for distrusting)this lady. Here, again, it might be of vital importance to me to see Mr.Dexter, and to clear up, if I could, what the dignity of the Court hadpassed over without notice.

  The last witness had been now examined. The chair on wheels glided awaywith the half-man in it, and was lost in a distant corner of the Court.The Lord Advocate rose to address the Jury for the prosecution.

  I do not scruple to say that I never read anything so infamous as thisgreat lawyer's speech. He was not ashamed to declare, at starting, thathe firmly believed the prisoner to be guilty. What right had he to sayanything of the sort? Was it for _him_ to decide? Was he the Judgeand Jury both, I should like to know? Having begun by condemning theprisoner on his own authority, the Lord Advocate proceeded to pervertthe most innocent actions of that unhappy man so as to give them asvile an aspect as possible. Thus: When Eustace kissed his poor wife'sforehead on her death-bed, he did it to create a favorable impression inthe minds of the doctor and the nurse! Again, when his grief under hisbereavement completely overwhelmed him, he was triumphing in secret,and acting a part! If you looked into his heart, you would see therea diabolical hatred for his wife and an infatuated passion for Mrs.Beauly! In everything he had said he had lied; in everything he had donehe had acted like a crafty and heartless wretch! So the chief counselfor the prosecution spoke of the prisoner, standing helpless before himat the Bar. In my husband's place, if I could have done nothing more,I would have thrown something at his head. As it was, I tore the pageswhich contained the speech for the prosecution out of the Report andtrampled them under my feet--and felt all the better too for having doneit. At the same time I feel a little ashamed of having revenged myselfon the harmless printed leaves now.

  The fifth day of the Trial opened with the speech for the defense. Ah,what a contrast to the infamies uttered by the Lord Advocate wasthe grand burst of eloquence by the Dean of Faculty, speaking on myhusband's side!

  This illustrious lawyer struck the right note at starting.

  "I yield to no one," he began, "in the pity I feel for the wife. ButI say, the martyr in this case, from first to last, is the husband.Whatever the poor woman may have endured, that unhappy man at the Barhas suffered, and is now suffering, more. If he had not been the kindestof men, the most docile and most devoted of husbands, he would neverhave occupied his present dreadful situation. A man of a meaner andharder nature would have felt suspicions of his wife's motives whenshe asked him to buy poison--would have seen through the wretchedlycommonplace excuses she made for wanting it--and would have wisely andcruelly said, 'No.' The prisoner is not that sort of man. He is too goodto his wife, too innocent of any evil thought toward her, or toward anyone, to foresee the inconveniences and the dangers to which his fatalcompliance may expose him. And what is the result? He stands there,branded as a murderer, because he was too high-minded and too honorableto suspect his wife."

  Speaking thus of the husband, the Dean was just as eloquent and just asunanswerable when he came to speak of the wife.

  "The Lord Advocate," he said, "has asked, with the bitter irony forwhich he is celebrated at the Scottish Bar, why we have failed entirelyto prove that the prisoner placed the two packets of poison in thepossession of his wife. I say, in answer, we have proved, first, thatthe wife was passionately attached to the husband; secondly, that shefelt bitterly the defects in her personal appearance, and especiallythe defects in her complexion; and, thirdly, that she was informed ofarsenic as a supposed remedy for those defects, taken internally. Tomen who know anything of human nature, there is proof enough. Doesmy learned friend actually suppose that women are in the habit ofmentioning the secret artifices and applications by which they improvetheir personal appearance? Is it in his experience of the sex that awoman who is eagerly bent on making herself attractive to a man wouldtell that man, or tell anybody else who might communicate with him, thatthe charm by which she hoped to win his heart--say the charm of a prettycomplexion--had been artificially acquired by the perilous use of adeadly poison? The bare idea of such a thing is absurd. Of course nobodyever heard Mrs. Eustace Macallan speak of arsenic. Of course nobody eversurprised her in the act of taking arsenic. It is in the evidencethat she would not even confide her intention to try the poison to thefriends who had told her of it as a remedy, and who had got her thebook. She actually begged them to consider their brief conversation onthe subject as strictly private. From first to last, poor creature, shekept
her secret; just as she would have kept her secret if she had wornfalse hair, or if she had been indebted to the dentist for her teeth.And there you see her husband, in peril of his life, because a womanacted _like_ a woman--as your wives, gentlemen of the Jury, would, in asimilar position, act toward You."

  After such glorious oratory as this (I wish I had room to quote more ofit!), the next, and last, speech delivered at the Trial--that is to say,the Charge of the Judge to the Jury--is dreary reading indeed.

  His lordship first told the Jury that they could not expect to havedirect evidence of the poisoning. Such evidence hardly ever occurred incases of poisoning. They must be satisfied with the best circumstantialevidence. All quite true, I dare say. But, having told the Jury theymight accept circumstantial evidence, he turned back again on his ownwords, and warned them against being too ready to trust it! "You musthave evidence satisfactory and convincing to your own minds," he said,"in which you find no conjectures--but only irresistible and justinferences." Who is to decide what is a just inference? And what iscircumstantial evidence _but_ conjecture?

  After this specimen, I need give no further extracts from the summingup. The Jury, thoroughly bewildered no doubt, took refuge in acompromise. They occupied an hour in considering and debating amongthemselves in their own room. (A jury of women would not have takena minute!) Then they returned into Court, and gave their timid andtrimming Scotch Verdict in these words:

  "Not Proven."

  Some slight applause followed among the audience, which was instantlychecked. The prisoner was dismissed from the Bar. He slowly retired,like a man in deep grief: his head sunk on his breast--not looking atany one, and not replying when his friends spoke to him. He knew, poorfellow, the slur that the Verdict left on him. "We don't say you areinnocent of the crime charged against you; we only say there is notevidence enough to convict you." In that lame and impotent conclusionthe proceedings ended at the time. And there they would have remainedfor all time--but for Me.