As Berry and I Were Saying

by Dornford Yates

  “Did they often transfer cases?”

  “No. I remember a case that was postponed – for a very unusual reason.”

  “Proceed.”

  “Well, I was in the case, so I know what I know. Even now I can’t say much, for it was one of those cases which are heard in camera. But I can tell you this – that it was the most astounding case that ever was heard. And that was Charles Gill’s opinion: and he was a pretty good judge. Tolstoy never conceived a drama so savage and so sensational. The accused was a millionaire – an American millionaire. He had a fine place in England – and was arrested at his own lodge-gates. Bodkin, a splendid lawyer, appeared for the Crown. Gill and Wild, both QCs, and the head of my chambers, as their junior, were instructed for the defence. The case entailed many hearings before the Justices; and, since the head of my chambers had a great deal of work, I used to take his place. Gill lived in St James’s Street, and every day he picked me up at the Club and took me down in his car. It was a long drive, and that was how I came to know him so well.

  “It’s strange, looking back. Gill and Wild and I used always to lunch at The Crown, a fine old house, where we have all lunched together time and again.”

  “The Crown?” said Jill.

  “Don’t knit your brows, my sweet. I’ve changed its name. I must do that sometimes, if I am to tell these tales.

  “After lunch, Gill and I used to walk up and down the sleepy old High Street, while Wild, I rather think, dozed. Gill wouldn’t let him touch the case – he did everything himself. Gill used to tell me the line which he was going to take that afternoon: and I used to make suggestions, which he heard with attention and invariably turned down. One day, during our walk, he asked a favour of me.

  “‘You know,’ he said, ‘that they’re sitting again tomorrow?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘And that tomorrow will be a very critical day?’

  “I nodded.

  “So it would be. The defendant was going into the box.

  “‘Well,’ said Gill. ‘I want you to do something for me – something to help. The man is in a highly excited state. He is violently resentful. Instead of coming back to London with me, I want you to travel with him and to calm him down.’

  “I stood still and closed my eyes.

  “‘Almost everything else,’ I said. ‘I’d do a great deal for you. But I do not want to sit by the side of that man.’

  “‘I ask this of you,’ said Gill. ‘I want you to ride with him and to let him let go to you. If he lets go to you, he won’t let go in the box. For he is now in that state in which he must let off steam. Encourage him to do it – to you. If he goes it in court tomorrow – well, there’s an end of the case. He won’t do it to me or to Wild. But he will to you.’

  “‘All right,’ I said. ‘For your sake. But I simply loathe the idea.’

  “‘I know you do,’ said Gill. He put his arm through mine. ‘And I’m greatly obliged. But it’s really of great importance. Just let him talk. And – and – well, deal with him as you think fit. I’ll ask him to give you a lift. I’ll say you want to get back, but that I’m going to stop on the way.’

  “I doubt if the defendant enjoyed the drive any more than I did. But I’ll say he let himself go… Gill was perfectly right. The man had to let off steam. Next day he did very well in the witness-box.

  “At the end of each hearing, Bodkin and I used to stay to hear the depositions which had been taken that day read through to the respective witnesses. These, I used to check with my note, and Bodkin with his recollection. Sometimes there was a dispute about the actual words which the witness had used: but Bodkin was always very charming and, with the generosity of the Crown, nearly always gave way.

  “Of his great experience, Gill had realized from the beginning that, once the case reached a jury, the defendant was doomed. That was vision. He saw, and his sight was good. Nine counsel out of ten would have decided that the accused was bound to be committed for trial and would have reserved their defence. But Gill was the tenth. So the battle royal was fought in the Petty Sessional Court. It was really fought between Gill and the Justices, for Bodkin never pressed his cases, and in this particular case the evidence spoke for itself.

  “From first to last, Gill did the whole case magnificently. He was on his mettle, and, so far as I saw, he never put a foot wrong. He examined and cross-examined to perfection. I’ve told you already how he made the Bench grant bail. On the last day, he made a supreme effort to persuade them to dismiss the case. If ever I saw a case which should have gone for trial, it was this one. But Gill very nearly did it. After his truly brilliant performance, the Justices retired to consider what they should do. And then at last they came back and announced that they had come to the conclusion that it was a case for a jury to decide. I can’t say we were disappointed. You may cry for the moon, but you can’t be disappointed if you don’t get it. Gill had made an impossible demand. His triumph lay in the fact that his demand had been considered for very nearly an hour.

  “I’m afraid I’ve strayed from the point I was trying to make.”

  My sister smiled.

  “Always do that for me. I wouldn’t have missed a word.”

  “You’re very sweet. Well, the prisoner was sent for trial. But when the solicitors asked which Judge would try the case, to the general consternation, it proved to be Phillimore. Now Phillimore was, as I’ve said, a Puritan. He carried to excess an outlook which was inhumanly strict. If he was trying a man for stealing a duck and the fact emerged that the prisoner had a glad eye, that prisoner was doomed. Phillimore couldn’t help it; that was the way he was made. And when we learned that he was to be the Judge that would try the case – well, we knew that if he did, the man might as well plead guilty as fight so hopeless a fight.

  “So Charles Gill got going. The Attorney General was approached and he at once agreed that the case was not one which Phillimore should try. And so it stood over until the next Assize.

  “The fellow went down all right, as he richly deserved. But we were, at least, spared Phillimore’s reactions which would have sent us mad. And Phillimore was spared, too: for he was a genuine, though most objectionable, Puritan, and I really believe that the evidence would have shortened his life.”

  “Did it shorten yours?”

  “No. But then I am not a Puritan and I am pretty tough. But it certainly shook me. But it was the dramatic situation that hit you between the eyes. There was the play before you, complete in every detail, a stronger, more terrible play than dramatists, ancient or modern, have ever dared to create. And it wasn’t a play at all. It was the real thing.”

  “I believe you,” said Berry, “but may we have the name?”

  “I’d rather not give it. But this was in 1914, and the prisoner was sentenced at Lewes at the Summer Assize. Perhaps I’ve said too much, but I’d like to add one thing. The magistrates granted bail. As some time must elapse before he was tried, the accused asked the Crown’s permission to visit America. Now the offence with which he was charged was not an extraditable offence: so, had he declined to return, he could not have been brought back. So the Crown, rather naturally, hesitated to comply with his request. But he promised that he would return to stand his trial. So they let him go. And he kept his word and came back – for seven years.”

  4

  “I feel,” said Berry, “that the number of persons yet alive who were acquainted with the German in his habit as he lived before the first war must be comparatively small. And very few accurate pictures of the German of that day have ever been presented. The only one I ever came across appeared in The Caravaners, which was written by the lady who wrote Elizabeth and her German Garden. In that she presented a picture of a German officer and his unfortunate wife which was so lifelike that nearly all who read it supposed it to be a lampoon. Why? Because they couldn’t believe it. They simply could not believe that any educated man could he so selfish, so complacent, so foolish, so arrogant, so o
ffensive and so gauche. We are, of course, a tolerant lot, and we shrink from believing that other people are brutes. That is, in a way, a good fault: but it may prove extremely expensive. In Germany’s case, it did. For the average German is not only cursed with the failings which the lady in question exposed, but he is very gross and inherently cruel. There are, of course, exceptions – at least, there were. But they only proved the rule.

  “And now, having said my piece, which will do about as much good as a belch in a barrage—”

  “You filthy brute,” said Daphne. “Why must you be so disgusting?”

  “The reflection,” said her husband, “that, though my estimate is true, it will not be believed, induces, as always, congestion of the emotional ducts. I do not have to tell you that this must be dealt with at once; and the violent metaphor always affords me relief. However, as having frequently visited Germany before the first war, I am in a position to recount one or two items of behaviour which I witnessed myself in a country some of whose ancient cities undoubtedly fill the eye. And Boy shall contribute others…

  “On one occasion, I was escorting Aunt Adela, who had been distinguishing Wiesbaden, back to her English home. About half-past one we left our compartment and sought the restaurant-car. There we were allotted two seats at a table for four. Opposite us were two Germans – in excellent cue, for the German is fond of his food, and the luncheon served in those days was always extremely good. One of the Germans had a beard.

  “No doubt, the train was late, for the driver just then decided to make up time. The pace was greatly increased, and the coach began to sway and to take the points in its stride.

  “Soup was served – in soup plates. Afraid to risk it, Aunt Adela and I refused. But it takes more than the whim of an engine-driver to come between a German and his food. Our two vis-à-vis got down to it – literally. Anxious to lose not a drop, they approached their noses to their plates, in order to reduce the distance which their spoons would have to cover between their plates and their mouths. This was, no doubt, common sense, but the spectacle was hardly in the nature of an aperitif. However, they found it great fun, and they jested as they gobbled – and sometimes missed their mouths. And then the car gave the very hell of a lurch…

  “The bearded German stopped some of his soup with his face, but most with his beard. The other got his on his chest. But nothing could diminish their good humour. They simply roared with laughter, regarding each other with tears hopping down their cheeks. Then one smeared his chest with his napkin: the other dabbed at his face and then wrung out his beard into his plate. Then he picked up his spoon again…

  “Yes, I took Aunt Adela back to our carriage there. When we reached Cologne, I bought some sandwiches.”

  “I can only suppose,” said Daphne, “you want to make us sick.”

  “In a way, I do,” said Berry. “At least, not you, because I know you believe. If sickness is the price of belief let unbelievers be sick. After all, dogs will be dogs: if human beings are to imitate their less attractive pursuits…

  “One flash from Wiesbaden. Aunt Adela purchased a paper and, strolling into the Tiergarten, or Park, sat down upon a bench to read. Very soon a policeman approached her. ‘What are you doing?’ he said. ‘I’m reading a paper,’ she said. ‘Then be more careful,’ he said, ‘and move to that seat over there.’ Aunt Adela stared. ‘Why?’ ‘Use your eyes,’ said the policeman. ‘Regard the back of your seat.’ Aunt Adela did as she was bid. On the back of her seat was a label To be sat upon only. ‘On that seat over there,’ said the policeman, ‘you may sit and read.’ Aunt Adela moved, to find that this was quite true.

  “I was one day in Munich, a very pleasant city, with handsome streets and buildings and really beautiful fountains, always at work. The weather was very hot. I had spent a fruitful hour at one of the galleries, for the pictures at Munich need no commendation from me. And now I was strolling idly towards my hotel. My attention was attracted by a crowd which was gathered about the basin of one of the fountains to which I have just referred. So I turned aside and walked up, to see what was going on.

  “In the great marble basin was a mongrel dog. I imagine that it had been thirsty and, in its endeavours to drink, had fallen in. At any rate, there it was. It was, of course, out of its depth, for the basin was deep: and, because the rim was polished, it couldn’t get out. Every time he tried, the poor fellow’s paws slipped off. And in desperation he’d swim to another place. How long he’d been there, I don’t know; but his strength was failing fast and it isn’t too much to say that he was a drowning dog. And the crowd was watching his struggles… And waiting for the last one of all. So was a German policeman… The latter improved the occasion with all his might. Each time the dog got his paws on the basin’s rim, the policeman cried, ‘Move along, there, move along’: and the crowd fairly roared with laughter at this display of wit. But the dog’s eyes were starting, for death was very close…

  “I pushed my way to the basin, got the dog by the neck and hauled him out. The crowd retired a little – I think they thought he might shake himself, and they didn’t want to get wet. But he hadn’t the strength to do that. He just stood still, trembling, and let me pat his head. I was suddenly aware of the silence, and looked up to meet the stares. Then, ‘English’, said more than one, and spat on the ground. You see, I had spoiled sport.”

  “The filthy swine,” cried Jill: “the filthy swine.”

  Berry shrugged his shoulders.

  “I have exaggerated nothing. The crowd was an ordinary crowd – of business men and odd women and errand boys. It must have been sixty strong. And all I have said is God’s truth.”

  My sister lifted her voice.

  “Have you nearly done with the Germans? I can’t stand very much more.”

  “Side-lights on history,” said her husband, “don’t always smell very sweet. What I have just related shows the inherent cruelty which made it not only possible, but natural for German men and women to administer Belsen and other institutions with such efficiency. Provided they are not the subjects, suffering, human or animal, leaves them cold. But that is not the stuff of which fellow creatures are made.

  “On another occasion, in 1913, I happened to be in Berlin. Berlin is a vulgar city – at least, what is left of it was – with nothing to recommend it, so far as I saw. I was only there for two days, but a German who was introduced to me begged to be allowed to show me the latest luxury flats. All, he said, had been taken, but none were occupied: this was because there remained some work to be done. But the city was proud of them, because they were the last word. The special idea, of course, was to impress the Englishman. As I had time to spare, I thought I might as well go.

  “They stood in a quarter of fashion, and, though I’ve forgotten the rent, it must have been very high. The entrance was imposing, and the hall within, very fine. A marble pavement and pillars. And the flat I was shown was convenient in every way. No expense spared. It was, no doubt, the last word. Six rooms, I think, and a bathroom, very well done. The servants’ bedroom was small, but would just accept two. The kitchen was well contrived. It was on the small side, but well found. Built-in dresser, range, a capacious sink, lavatory—”

  “What did you say?” said Daphne.

  “Lavatory,” said Berry, wide-eyed. “The servants’ lavatory.”

  “D’you mean to say it opened out of the kitchen?”

  “No, my darling. It didn’t open out. There weren’t any walls or door. It was just there. Between the sink and the—”

  “There?” shrieked Daphne.

  “There. Complete. Porcelain pan, hardwood seat, and the cistern with chain above. I can’t remember whether there was a paper—”

  “But not in the kitchen?”

  “In the kitchen,” said Berry. “I saw it – with these two orbs. It was part of the built-in equipment…in the latest luxury flats to be built in Berlin…in the year of Our Lord 1913. And some Boche had designed that kitchen. And o
thers had seen and approved it – and taken the flat. And if, after that, you are going to tell me that the German is a fellow creature, all I can say is that I do not agree. I mean, even the animals—”

  “Now I do feel sick,” said Daphne. “Positively sick.”

  I poured a glass of brandy and put it into her hand. She sipped it thankfully.

  “And that, again,” said Berry, “is God’s own truth. And will anyone deny that that is a side-light on history? Manners and modes of the German…on the eve of the first great war.”

  “Let Boy take over,” said Daphne. “After the last half hour, the Newgate Calendar will be a great relief.”

  “I know,” said Jill. “The Temple. Boy took me there once. Fountain Court was lovely, and so was Crown Office Row.”

  “We mustn’t write a guidebook, my sweet.”

  “I know. But it was so lovely.”

  There was a little silence. The others knew that the laying waste of The Temple had hit me extremely hard.

  “There’s just one thing,” I said. “You’ll have to tell me whether it’s worth setting down.”

  “I’ll lay it isn’t,” said Berry. “Besides, I’ve just remembered the Germans at Marienbad. Boy was there in—”

  As the storm of protest subsided, I took up my tale.

  “When I left Treasury Chambers, I became a Common Lawyer and went to Brick Court. Number One had just been rebuilt, for that section of the building had been condemned. And there my chambers were, on the second floor. (Oliver Goldsmith had lived and worked in Brick Court, and so had Thackeray.) The head of my chambers, Harker, had the principal room: but mine was very pleasant and looked due South.

  “Now Harker and I used to arrive at Brick Court at about the same time – between, say, half-past nine and a quarter to ten. And the first thing I always did was to go to his room. I was his devil, you see, and we used to discuss the work. If I had arrived before him, I sat in front of the fire and read The Times till he came.