# Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 2/Divorce a vinculo - Part 7

←Part 6
DIVORCE A VINCULO; or, THE TERRORS OF SIR CRESSWELL CRESSWELL.
(Continued from p. 305.)
Portrait of the Respondent, from a sketch in the possession of the Petitioner’s family.
“No, no, my dear fellow,” said Wig number Two; “’pinion of the world—’pinion of the world. Man goes a little wrong—everybody does that. Pure peccadillo—pure peccadillo. That’s all right. Whack a woman—’pinion of the world—’pinion of the world dead against you. That’s all wrong—that’s all wrong. Barber must fight second issue—’specially as he married his wife for her money.”
“The vara best thing that cud happen to Meester Barber,” struck in our old Scottish friend, the amicus curiæ of the other day, “wad be to mak oot a gud story, and have the vairdick just go agenst him. For you see, in that case, and if he plays his cairds wall, he’ll marry a leddy of fortin’ within the three months after the advantage of siccan a trial as this. But it wadna do to mak oot that he had bedeeveled and thumped his ​present leddy ower much, for it’s no the positive fac of bein’ well pounded that is delechtful to female apprehension—but joost the pleasin sensation of tarror consequent upon bein lenkit or conjoined to a mon of uncontrawled passions and ready fests. The real refinement of sentiment is waiting for the ‘blaw that’s just a comin,’ but never comes. Hech! but I cud tell you a leetle awnecdut—”
We had not the opportunity of hearing the particulars of the anecdote in question, because at this moment the three Judges entered, and took their seats as before. Mr. Shuttlecock, Q.C., was now pointed out to me: he was sitting in the lower seat appropriated to the accommodation of the arch-gladiators in this exciting arena, when resting from their toils. He was a lithe, thin man, with acute features, who must have been well sweated in his youth in legal dunghills, and well dosed with the strong waters of the Reports, to bring him into his actual and effective fighting condition. Candour seemed to be the chief and amiable characteristic of his mind. At the same time, I must admit that there was a certain dulness about his appreciation of the force of his adversary’s arguments, which was not a little surprising, when you considered with what acuteness he followed his own to their remotest consequences. Well! I suppose it is all right that Mr. Barber, fore-judged as he is, should have some person to stand up for him, and apologise to the human race in his name for the obloquy he has brought upon our common nature. So Mr. Shuttlecock may begin as soon as he likes. Mr. Shuttlecock did so.
“May it please you, my Luds and Gentlemen of the Jury. I wish I could stand up before you to-day, and submit to your judgment such evidence as would entirely exonerate my client, Mr. Augustus Barber, the Respondent in this case, from the many and serious charges which have been brought against him by his wife, the unfortunate Petitioner, who has been driven, by his desertion, to apply for relief to this Court, and to you. I wish I could do this, Gentlemen; but I tell you at once, frankly and sincerely, that I cannot. I am not in a condition to tell you that Mr. Barber has been in all respects a pattern of conjugal virtue—a model husband—a man whose example you would hold forth to young men about to marry for their instruction and imitation. I think you will agree with me when I say, that no amount of levity—no number of petty domestic vexations, however sedulously and for however long a period consistently and systematically inflicted by the wife upon the husband, justify any Englishman who, for the time being, may be acting in the latter capacity, in proceeding so far as actual desertion of the domestic hearth. I at once fully and heartily condemn Mr. Barber in this respect, that contrary to his faith plighted at the altar—in defiance of the laws of his country—in contempt of the usages of society—he has abandoned that lady whom he had sworn to cherish and protect, no matter what may have been the provocations he received from her in the course of their married life. Still less can I attempt to justify him when his desertion assumes so flagrant a form as that actually charged. No, Gentlemen, it is the duty of an advocate to guide, not to mislead—or rather to endeavour to mislead—a British Jury, though the endeavour would, I am sure, only result in his own confusion. It is the point of honour amongst the gentlemen whom I see around me, and you see before you, in all cases to submit the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, to the consideration of the Jury, and that I will endeavour to do this day. We cannot, I fear, help arriving at the conclusion, that in one important particular Mr. Barber has violated the nuptial pledge; and, therefore, your verdict must be for the lady on that point. I can’t struggle against such a decision. I haven’t a word to say against it. Mrs. Barber is fully entitled to ask for a judicial separation—but not for an absolute dissolution of the marriage—not for an absolute dissolution. In order to do so, she must prove a great deal more than she has been able to prove—for assertions, Gentlemen, are not facts. I fear that the ‘ipsa dixit,’ or ‘she said it,’ is a still more unstable foundation on which to found a decision than the ‘ipse dixit,’ or ‘he said it.’ In either case you, Gentlemen, I am sure, will not be content with the bare assertions of the parties most deeply interested in the event of this trial; but like twelve calm, dispassionate Englishmen, well versed in the ways of the world, will seek for corroboration and external evidence before you arrive at a conclusion which will certainly be pregnant with misery or happiness to the two parties who crave your judgment this day.”
There was considerable moral dignity about the manner in which Mr. Shuttlecock in the first part of his opening evacuated the untenable post, and repudiated all complicity (even as a professional accessory after the fact) with the abandoned husband. In point of fact, when he washed his hands with imaginary soap, and then with a stern Roman gesture waved Mr. Barber away from his chambers, and denied him the benefit of his legal assistance, the learned gentleman carried the Court with him, and I think predisposed the Jury to listen to his after-statements. He might certainly be mistaken himself—his mind might be loaded with prejudice, but all Mr. Shuttlecock desired was fair play.
“Now, Gentlemen, as the law actually stands, and as I am sure his Ludship will tell you, the wife who seeks for an absolute dissolution of the marriage must prove not only what we admit on the first issue, but furthermore make out to the satisfaction of the Jury that her husband has systematically, and cruelly ill-used her. I am not speaking of mere tiffs, mere petty differences of opinion—of the amantium iræ which as the Poet tells us, and tells us truly, are but the renewals of love. It won’t suffice to dissolve an English marriage that the husband did upon one occasion refuse to accompany his wife to hear the Band play at Kensington Gardens, and upon another insisted upon taking her to Broadstairs instead of Brighton. If such outrages as these, however they may rankle in the female mind, were held sufficient to procure a dissolution of our marriages, I fear that many of us would be cast back upon cold comfortless celibacy whilst we were engaged ​in daily and nightly toil to procure the means of ease and luxury for those who would banish us from their hearts, and from our own homes because we had fainted, not faltered in their service. You must have placed before you evidence of genuine bonâ fide cruelty in the ordinary and reasonable acceptation of the term, before you would think it right to darken the whole of a man’s future existence, and to extinguish the fire upon his once happy hearth. Now how does the case stand between Mr. and Mrs. Barber, save in the one solitary instance of alleged cruelty at Cheltenham of which I will speak presently?—for as for the ridiculous story of Mr. Barber’s setting fire to the lady’s nose at Folkestone I will not insult your understanding by laying very great stress upon that.” (Here Dr. Lobb whispered something to his chief, who continued): “I beg your pardon, Gentlemen, I am reminded by my learned friend that there is a second instance charged, when Mr. Barber, as she alleges, cut off her hair at Brussels—that is to say—as we assert, at her own request pulled out a few gray hairs from her head which were to the lady the first indication that her dazzling beauty was but of mortal mould—”
Provocation.
Here Mrs. Barber jumped up from her seat, and Ann Iron sat down, so that the lady stood fully revealed to the Court, but Mr. Shuttlecock—not one whit abashed by the splendid vision, and talking at the lady, continued:
—“‘that all that’s bright must fade,’ and the time was not far distant when those charms which had captivated Mr. Barber’s heart, and not proved wholly without effect upon general society, must somewhat sink from their meridian splendour; when the bright eye would fall dull; the graceful form lose somewhat of its taper and enchanting proportions; the smooth brow be deformed with wrinkles—and nothing survive worthy of admiration but the memory of a well-spent life—”
Mrs. Barber sate down again, and Ann Iron stood up. The two Misses Barber clutched their skinny fingers with diabolical glee, and nodded at each other like the witches in Macbeth when the slab mixture in their infernal caldron is bubbling to their satisfaction, and emitting the correct devil’s-truffle stench so grateful to Hecate and her friends at their little ré-unions.
Mr. Shuttlecock was evidently a man of different mould to Dr. Lobb, he continued:
“Beyond this instance named, of which, Gentlemen, I promise you that I will render, and Mr. Barber will render due account, what remains? Mrs. Barber says, My husband’s sisters wore two flannel dressing gowns—dissolve my marriage! The same two ladies, whose fostering care and open hospitality I repaid with the grossest ingratitude, upon one occasion put my hair into curl-papers;—Mrs. Barber’s hair, Gentlemen, plays a very ​leading part in this cause!—dissolve my marriage! Mr. Barber refused to give me his arm when we were out walking together—dissolve my marriage! Mr. Barber put on my very preposterous and exaggerated crinoline one evening;—and, Gentlemen, where would have been the great harm if my client had shamed the lady into the use of a somewhat less ridiculous petticoat?—dissolve my marriage! Now, Gentlemen, be just; whatever opinion you may entertain of my client, as husbands, as fathers, as brothers, you must, I am very confident, be ready to set your faces against the prevailing fashion of ladies’ dress, and not be very much at variance with Mr. Barber, who holds strong and serious opinions upon the subject, and esteems this crinoline, as it is called, not a fitting garb for the wear of a modest and decorous British matron. Again, Gentlemen (and here I must call your attention specifically to the fact that it is not we who have raised this question;—Mr. Barber would, if the lady had allowed it, have been the last man to resort to recrimination, or to unveil her little foibles before the eyes of a British Jury, although she has shown no great tenderness to his defects of temper); but, again: Mrs. Barber says, my husband would not permit me to wear transparent petticoats over my huge balloon-like crinoline—dissolve my marriage! Why, doesn’t the very course and tenor of the accusation drive your minds—as I confess it does my own—irresistibly to the conclusion, that is was not of neglect of the lady, but of over-care and nervous anxiety for her welfare and fair repute, of which my client was guilty—if guilt there were; until she herself, by her own levity and coquetry, and by a system of petty persecutions, drove him from her side, estranged his affections, and did her best to compel him to seek elsewhere for that domestic comfort and sympathy which he could no longer look for at home.” (Mr. Shuttlecock accompanied the concluding phrases with a rising and falling movement of his body, just like a jockey over the last quarter of a mile of a race-course.) “Why, if Mr. Barber hadn’t cared for his wife, why should he have troubled himself as to what she wore, or what she didn’t wear? He wouldn’t have cared a button about it. She might, in the exercise of her own discretion, have displayed, or not displayed, her feet and ankles. All he would have wanted would have been to be relieved from the onus of her presence. In point of fact, the more ridiculous and unbecoming her attire, the better pleased would he have been. But this was not so. Mr. Barber in this instance, as in all others till his home was rendered unbearable to him, was an over-indulgent, an over-attentive, an over-anxious, an over-fond husband. That was his real fault, and that is why we are here to-day.”
I was beginning to forget what Mr. Battledove had told us, and what Mrs. Barber had stated herself when under examination; but the Court and the Jury will put Mr. Shuttlecock right in the end. Had he been in Court when the lady was in the pen, I am very sure he would never have represented these little transactions in so odious a light. Dr. Lobb ought to have carried the case through; he was handling it very nicely when Mr. Shuttlecock came in, and put our minds into such a state of confusion. The learned gentleman continued:
“There is certainly another point—I scarcely know how to approach it with sufficient gravity—but since so much has been made of it on the other side, I suppose it will be expected that in Mr. Barber’s name I should answer the charge. Mrs. Barber says, ‘I had stipulated with my husband in a very special and express way before my marriage—ay, during the period of our courtship—that I should be allowed, during coverture, to wear silken stockings, and no others. Despite, however, of all his promises—of all his protestations—my brutal and perjured husband did, within a very short space, forget these sacred obligations, and compel me to wear stockings, half of silk—half of cotton; or, if my learned friend, Dr. Dodge, will have it so,—Cotton Tops. Now, Gentlemen, let us pause for a moment over these Cotton Tops—let us turn them inside out—and see what is the legitimate inference to be derived thence. Here we find a young lady just at the most critical period of her life—when she has exchanged vows, for the first time, with her lover or husband—call him what you will—who sees before her an unknown and untried future, which, in most cases, Love tinges with its purple hues. What is she thinking about?—that she will be a glory in his prosperity—a solace in his sickness and adversity, to that man in whom she believes as the type and exemplar of glorified humanity? Pardon me, Gentlemen, if I carry you back to the times in which we also—we hard worldly men believed in such things—even we! Well! what is this young girl thinking about? Why, that a silken stocking will set off her foot and ankle to greater advantage than a stocking of any other texture. That is her notion of Love—that is the acorn out of which the sturdy oak of Mr. Barber’s domestic happiness is to grow. Do you see, now, Gentlemen, where I am coming to? Does not that agreement, made during the burning fervour of courtship, furnish you with a key by which you can explain the subsequent transactions at Folkestone, at Brussels, and elsewhere? Of course a lady who loved to clothe her dainty feet to such advantage, would be nervously anxious to keep the secret of her hidden symmetries and charms to herself, especially when her affections had departed from her husband, as Mrs. Barber admits in her own case, they had. She wouldn’t lift the end of her gown by a quarter of an inch upon a railway-platform—not she! Would not—and I leave this suggestion to your own consideration, Gentlemen of the Jury,—would not the same feeling which had imposed that pre-nuptial agreement pervade the whole of Mrs. Barber’s married life? Silk stockings in the first place—Love afterwards.”
This seemed a very hardy way of dealing with this incident; but what certainly did surprise me was to see my friend Lamb, by whose side I was sitting, take out a pencil and indorse a brief which his clerk had just brought with him—“Mr. Shuttlecock, Q.C., with you Dr. Dodge, 50 guas.” The learned Counsel continued, without being aware of the good fortune which was awaiting him, in a sentimental way:
​“After all, Gentlemen, married life may be fairly enough represented by these Cotton Tops of which we have heard so much, half-silk and half-cotton—one half for comfort one half for show. Mrs. Barber looked to find all silk, and she was mistaken. Had she been contented with that moderate amount of happiness beyond which, as it seems, human beings can scarcely hope to go, we should have heard nothing of her complaints here to-day—nor would her husband have been driven to those expedients for making life tolerable which we all deplore. Now let us keep these Cotton Tops in view a little longer. Mrs. Barber swears that she did not perform the acts charged at Folkestone; Mr. Barber swears she did. There’s oath against oath. Now read Mrs. Barber’s character by the light of that special agreement with reference to silk stockings, which she made before her marriage—and, Gentlemen, I ask you as men of the world, is it not possible—is it not probable—is it not well-nigh certain—nay, is it not certain that the lady is mistaken in her version of the transactions at Folkestone? But if she was mistaken in one instance why not in others? Of course I can’t carry the Cotton Tops into the dressing-room at Cheltenham—nor the breakfast-room at Brussels—but I repeat it, if it can be proved to your satisfaction that Mrs. Barber was mistaken once—observe I use a very mild, a very guarded, a very cautious expression—why not twice, and thrice? I will put Mr. Barber before you, and he will tell you that he indignantly repudiates the idea of ever having lifted his hand against his wife during the period of their marriage. He will tell you that at Cheltenham Mrs. Barber by her own act knocked her wrist slightly against a tooth-brush with which he was brushing his teeth—that he never cut off her hair at Brussels as she alleges—that at Herne Bay the ridiculous scene with the magic lanthorn had no existence save in her own imagination—but that in all respects, and at all times till driven away from his home by the lady’s own levity and indifference he has been to her an anxious—a tender—and a loving husband. I wish, Gentlemen of the Jury, I could stop here!”
What could Mr. Shuttlecock be driving at? I am sure he has gone far enough. It would require us to drive out of our minds all that we have heard for many days past, before we could admit this catch-penny story about Mr. Barber’s attention and devotion to his wife. Something, however, was coming, for it was obvious that Mr. Shuttlecock was making up his face for a great and concluding effort.
“I wish, gentlemen, I could stop here. But although my client, Mr. Barber, has most strenuously, but most properly forbidden me to produce before you matter for grave recrimination, I should not be performing my duty to him—no, nor to you, Gentlemen—if I did not again recur to that which has been the real secret of the domestic unhappiness upon which you are called to pronounce your decision this day. What do you say to Madame Léocadie Lareine and her evidence? If I had been in Court, I should like to have asked that lady, if we dull moral Englishmen are to have French wives, why should we not act like French husbands? I should like to know what this French lady would have said to that? If Mrs. Barber is to waste the money which should have been expended upon the common subsistence of the family in the gratification of her inordinate love of dress, why should not Mr. Barber take these slight liberties with the marriage vow which French husbands are accustomed to take amidst very general applause? No, Gentlemen of the Jury, we want no French witnesses—no French wives—no French manners here. But, in conclusion, I will tell you once more, and repeat it to you again, as Mr. Barber will tell you, that it was his wife’s levity of conduct—observe, I go no further—and passion for admiration which first drove him from his home. Mrs. Barber had a kind word and a warm smile for everybody but him; and I cannot conceal from you, and it would be wrong to conceal from you, the fact that my client, like the famous Moor of Venice, is a man of jealous temperament, somewhat too exacting it may be of a return for his devotion,—for his unbounded affection. What drove him from his home, and what has driven him here to day, was that
“There where he had garner’d up his heart, Where either he must live or bear no life,
The fountain from the which his current ran,
Or else dried up; to be discarded thence!
Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads
To knot and gender in;—
Ay! that was too much for him—more than his manly heart could bear. By degrees, I admit it, his affections became estranged from his lady; but if this was so, who was to blame? Even at the worst, when the volcano of passion in his heart had burnt itself out, and had become a cold and icy glacier, Mr. Barber never by word or deed treated his wife with unkindness; and never in the course of his life raised his hand against her erring but sacred head. He shall tell you so himself. Call Mr. Barber.”
With these words Mr. Shuttlecock sat down, leaving the Court and Jury in a perfect state of intellectual muddle and confusion.
I had not noticed the fact during the excitement caused by Mr. Shuttlecock’s speech, but when he had concluded, and I looked around me, I was perfectly astounded at the number of barristers who had made their way into Court, and were now to be seen (it is usual, in such cases, to refer to “Vallombrosa,” “autumn leaves,” &c., but I forbear,) standing huddled together in the space on the proper left of the seats devoted to the accommodation of the Bar. It was just like a pit-crush in the grand old days of “Drury” or “the Garden.” The learned gentlemen were so tightly packed that I scarcely think that if a blue-bottle had settled upon any of their noses, the owner of the feature in question would have been able to seek for relief in any other way than by twitching it about; or, if the insect had persevered in its attentions, despite of the uncertain foot-hold, by rubbing it against the tight little grey tails which depended from the wig of the learned gentleman immediately before him. Mr. Battledove, too, appeared in his place: how he ​had got there, unless indeed he had risen through a well-oiled trap-door, I am wholly unable to say. All indications around us seemed to suggest that the critical moment of the struggle had arrived, and that the three learned Horatii and the three equally learned Curiatii were to engage in decisive conflict over Mr. Barber’s prostrate form. Where I sate I could not help hearing the general sense of Mr. Shuttlecock’s hurried but emphatic suggestion to Dr. Lobb, whose duty it was to examine Mr. Barber in chief—it was something about “A chaste system of denegation, and then counter!” I did not quite understand what the crafty advovate intended at the moment, but his meaning soon became intelligible enough.
Mr. Barber was duly sworn: but for him there were no delicate attentions, no courteous requests to take his seat on the gorgeous cushion at the back of the pen. Even the kind old Judge—who was breathing, as one may say, a new quill, and giving it a preliminary canter over the paper preparatory to settling down for the note-taking business—simply growled at the Respondent, and told him to “stand well forward.” Sir C. C. gave him a severe but mournful glance, and the third Judge reclined back in his chair, awful as the third Erinnys meditating on the possibility that Orestes might yet escape. Mr. Barber’s aspect was pale and disgusting. What a contrast in his appearance to that of the beautiful being who so lately occupied that place!
Our excited expectations were destined to momentary disappointment, and I soon saw what it was that Mr. Shuttlecock had pointed out to Dr. Lobb as the path of safety. One by one he took Mrs. Barber’s allegations, and embodied each in the form of a coarse and distinct question which only admitted in reply of a “Yes,” or “No.” In order to avoid the re-introduction of incidents which would become nauseous by frequent repetition, I must then beg that the reader will understand that Mr. Barber traversed each of his amiable lady’s assertions modo et formâ, and that, with exceedingly rare exceptions, Dr. Lobb, being kept within the limits of discretion by a sharp, admonitory glance from his thin and watchful chief, never permitted him to wander out of those narrow bounds. Mr. Barber’s manner, which at first had yielded indications of nervousness, got more assured as he proceeded; indeed, with reference to the incident at Cheltenham, he went so far, in reply to a question from Dr. Lobb, as to ask him in return, “If it was likely now that a man would clean his teeth with a boot-jack?” a degree of pertness which brought the Court down on him like a thunderbolt. He persisted most emphatically in his declaration, that he had never in any way interfered with Mrs. Barber in her desire to wear silk stockings—saving in so far as repeated prayers on his part, that she would not endanger her precious health by refusing to wear worsted stockings under them in winter time and rainy weather, might be construed as such interference. Dr. Lobb continued:
Dr. L. “And now, Mr. Barber, that we have disposed of all Mrs. Barber’s assertions in a way which will, I hope, prove satisfactory to the Jury, I think they would like to hear a little of your own complaints. Did Mrs. Barber make your home a happy one to you?”
Mr. B. “Certainly not. I was the most miserable brute—I mean person—going. I’d have changed places with a cab-driver at any moment with the greatest pleasure.”
Dr. L. “Changed places with a cab-driver at any moment. Just so. But be pleased, sir, to give the Jury some particulars. What happened? How did Mrs. Barber wound and lacerate your feelings, and poison your existence if I may so say?” (Here the learned civilian repeated his words not without a certain unctuous relish, as though he had just hit upon the right term). “Yes! poison your existence?”
Mr. B. “Why, sir, it’s difficult to say—that she did this, or that. She didn’t exactly fling the tea-pot at my head, or lock me out of doors: but she always made it out as if I was a madman, and she was my keeper. When I was pretty jolly—I mean in good spirits—she was always in a low nervous state; and if I was out of spirits, she was all for going out for a lark—I mean to enjoy ourselves. Then there was her uncle Viscount Poteen, and her five noble cousins, the five Miss O’Toddys of Castle Toddy, somewhere in Connemara.”
Dr. L. “Viscount Poteen and the five Miss O’Toddys. Very well, sir, go on.”
Mr. B. “Why, sir, my wife was always telling me what an advantage it was to me to have married into a noble Irish family; but I wish, sir, you’d seen the Viscount over a glass of punch, and how the five Miss O’Toddys would get the better of a leg of mutton. Then, by George, sir! they were so dirty, it was a perfect shame. The house was never empty of them; and Mrs. Barber and me used to have squabbles about that, especially after I’d sent home five tubs, of different sizes, to their lodgings on Valentine’s Day, as a broad hint. Why, sir, the Viscount was going to call me out for that, and only withdrew his challenge when I consented to become a Director of ‘The Company for converting the turf on the Poteen estate into animal food, and exporting it to Brazil.’ As I used to tell him, sir, they’d got a good head of cattle there already.”
Dr. L. “Never mind that, Mr. Barber—that’s not evidence. Mrs. Barber habitually converted her aristocratic connections into machinery for tormenting you. What then?”
Mr. B. “Why, sir, there was the baby—she was always slobbering me over with the baby, and making me hold it, and forgetting to take it back again when people called. Nights and nights, sir, I’ve spent walking up and down the bed-room with the baby in my arms, and got called a brute into the bargain.”
By the Court. “What’s that, Dr. Lobb?”
Dr. L. “Mrs. Barber used to compel Mr. Barber to carry the babe up and down the bed-room, and call him a brute, My Lud.”
By the Court. “Very good; I’ve got that.”
Mr. B. “Then, sir, she was always practising singing—and giving great parties for people to come and hear her at it. There wasn’t a spot in the house where I could go to get a moment’s quiet. I tried the back attic, but I was told I ​must not smoke there, on account of the servant maids, as they objected to the smell of tobacco. Why, sir, if you’d seen our drawing-room in Upper Berkeley Street, with a lot of people there seated round, as if they’d been going to see conjuring, and heard Mrs. Barber howling away in the midst of us, you’d have been sorry for me. And she would make me bring the fellows from the Clubs; and when we were sick of the noise, and sneaked down-stairs into the hat room to have a little beer—not much more peace for me that night!”
Dr. L. “Not much more peace for you that night: Go on, sir. Go on.”
Mr. B. Why, sir, I can’t remember it all of a heap. There was another day—it was the last Derby Day but two—the men were all waiting for me with the drag to be off; and just as I was tying on my veil Mrs. Barber called me in, and said she would not let me go because confirmation was coming on, and it was my duty, as head of the family, to stop at home and cross-examine little Nancy Tigg—the under nursery-maid—for confirmation. Of course I went all the same, but I got nothing but black looks, sir, for weeks afterwards; though it’s my opinion if we’d asked Mrs. Barber to take a seat in the drag herself—”
Dr. L. “Never mind your opinion, sir, that’s not evidence.”
It would be superfluous to go beyond this sample of Mr. Barber’s examination in chief; and certainly, if his word was to be believed, the rose leaves in his bower were not always uncrumpled—but what of that? We shall soon see to whose statements the Jury will give the readiest credence. I certainly should not have liked to have been in Mr. B.’s position when Mr. Battledove got up, and took him in hand. That gentleman occupied a good quarter of an hour—I am sure I should be nearer the truth if I said half-an-hour—in wrangling with Mr. Barber and the Court upon whether or no he could be compelled to answer certain questions which would, if answered, have convicted him of perjury. All sorts of documents, and registers were handed up—and Mr. B. was growled at, and stormed at by one side; and soothed and encouraged by the other—but the upshot was, that the Court informed him, that he need not answer Mr. Battledove’s question, unless he chose. Mr. Battledove might put it, but he was not obliged to answer to it. Mr. Battledove made an emphatic pause—glared at the Jury—and then in a tone of super-human solemnity repeated his question. Mr. Barber, acting upon the suggestion of the Court, declined to answer it.
“Very good, sir,” said Mr. Battledove, with a contemptuous smile, “that’s quite satisfactory,—that will do.”
Of course it was;—one need not be a great lawyer to know, that if a man is so unscrupulous as to obtain a marriage licence by perjury, he would not be very particular upon another occasion when a temptation, equally strong, is set before him. I trust I am not saying anything deep and out of the way, but that was the result of the discussion in my mind. Mr. Battledove then having placed Mr. Barber in the comfortable position of a perjured man, proceeded to turn him inside out, and hold him in his true colours before the Jury and the Court. Whose money was it which had been expended upon that journey to Epsom? Was it only about little Nancy Tigg and the confirmation that Mrs. Barber had spoken? Was not three weeks rent due for lodgings at the time? Had not Mrs. Barber been therefore insulted by the landlady? and was there not a strong likelihood that the baby would soon be left without food altogether? Had Mr. Barber been asked once—twice—a hundred—ten thousand times—if not, how many times to carry the baby up and down the bedroom? Did he wish to throw the infant out of the window; to pitch it under the grate; to dash its brains out against the bed-post? Which of these alternatives would have been most grateful to his paternal heart? No! there was no use his losing his temper here. The Jury had had one specimen of what he was capable. Had not Mr. Barber literally picked his wife’s pocket—literally, eh? Let him answer that, and keep his temper. Surely there was nothing to ruffle him in so simple a question as that! There were family grievances on both sides; but would Mr. Barber swear that the scheme, recommended by Viscount Poteen to his adoption, was not one for putting the water in the St. George’s Channel into a two-ounce physic-bottle, and taking a spoonful every four hours till the patient told the truth, especially with regard to marriage-licences? Ah! Mr. Barber would swear that—well, that assertion might be true. Had the Noble Lord, however, put Mr. B’s. hair into curl-papers, and nearly torn it out by the roots? Then there were family grievances on both sides? Just so. Did Mr. Barber and his club-companions even get intoxicated—beastly drunk, if he would have it—in the hat-room, while his poor wife was giving one of her graceful little musical ré-unions up-stairs? No! Would he swear Mrs. Barber had never taxed him with it? Ah! Mr. Battledove would have the truth out of him at last.
So, the learned gentleman handled the witness, and it was beautiful to see the state of rage and exasperation to which he was reduced at last. He was brought, in point of fact, to a condition of hopeless mental imbecility, and could only gasp out—Yes, and No, at random. Mr. Shuttlecock came in to his assistance every now and then with a little squabble as to whether or no a particular question could be put, just to give him time to recover his breath, and knowing, of course, that his objection was perfect moonshine.
Poor Mrs. Barber had listened with great interest to the cross-examination of her husband; in point of fact, she stood up during this portion of the proceedings. I was at first rather inclined to blame her in my own mind for putting herself so prominently forward at such a time; but when I remembered what Mr. Lamb’s clerk had told me as to his Governor’s (that was the expression he used) tactical arrangements, I saw at once that she was acting under compulsion. She was not to blame, if she could not altogether repress a smile when her brutal husband was dancing about in the pen like a gouty bear, under the influence of Mr. Battledove’s more stinging questions. ​Indeed, it was very funny to watch him; and if poor Mrs. Barber was gifted with a keen sense of the ludicrous, no one can say that was her fault.
The Misses Barber were next called upon successively to bear their part in this terrible domestic drama. During their examination in chief, as was to be expected, they gave their fierce brother the very best of characters. They had never seen him excited, or guilty of an act of violence, in his life, save upon one occasion, when he had gently cuffed (molliter manus, as Dr. Lobb put it) a farmer’s boy for flinging stones at some poor pigs which were at the time endeavouring to pick up a precarious existence in the lanes near Poldadek. Neither Miss Harriet nor Miss Jane, however, could entirely approve of their brother Augustus’s conduct towards his wife. He held the reins of government with far too slack a hand for their notions of domestic rule. The feeling of a wife towards her husband should be that of awe streaked with veneration; but Mrs. Barber used to box her husband’s ears, and call him a “sweet poppet”—a term which Miss Harriet characterised as disgusting. Then she was always kissing him before strangers.
By the Court. (In a discontented way.) “What are we coming to, Dr. Lobb? Mrs. Barber’s kisses before third parties are not evidence—you can’t say they are.”
Dr. Lobb. “With all deference, My Lud, I propound the osculation as matter of——”
By the Court. (Maundering.) “No, no. I shall strike that out, unless indeed you can show that the witness was present during the performance: indeed then I don’t see what the osculation is to come to—what’s the use of it? However, go on.”
Dr. Lobb, under his Lordship’s direction, elicited from the witness that she actually was present during the terrible scene, and she felt so ashamed that she wished the earth, or, to speak more precisely, the floor of the dining-room at Poldadek had opened and swallowed her up. Both sisters cordially agreed in condemnation of Mrs. Barber for her inordinate love of dress, general extravagance and levity of demeanour. I do not think that either of the ladies will forget their subsequent interviews with Mr. Battledove. How he did tease them about not being married! What could single ladies know of the feelings of married ones? Did Miss Harriet consider that there was any impropriety in a wife’s bestowing a chaste salute upon her husband? Well—where was the harm of it? Would she explain? No—she would not explain. Had Miss H. B. ever read the Fable of the Fox and the Grapes? Very pretty reading. The learned gentleman handled Miss Jane much in the same way, asking her, amongst other things, if her views upon the subject of osculation were the same twenty years ago—he would say thirty years ago—as now? He then elicited from the lady at great length her theories with regard to a lady’s apparel—detaining her for a considerable period on the subject of stockings. I am bound to say that Mr. Battledove did not at all appear to share the feeling of hilarity which prevailed throughout the Court during the course of this protracted examination. The learned gentleman glanced around every now and then with an air of great surprise, and indeed went so far as to pray for the interference of the Court when a coarse burst of laughter followed upon one of Miss Jane Barber’s replies—which was to the effect that she considered two pairs of stockings per week amply sufficient for any lady’s wear! Mr. Battledove was honestly anxious for information upon the point, for gentlemen know nothing of such matters. What could they all be laughing at?
I will not more than record the fact that two other ladies—friends of the family—were called up on Mr. Barber’s behalf, to speak to his character. One was a slight, sickly lady, the mother of seventeen children, fourteen being daughters. She was a certain Mrs. Podd, the wife of an officer in the Royal Artillery. Then there was Mrs. General Chutnee—a lady who habitually resided at Cheltenham, but who had enjoyed frequent opportunities of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Barber together. She had never, to all appearance, seen a better assorted union. Mr. Battledove declined to ask these witnesses any questions.
There was a short delay—and then the old Judge commenced his summing up. I was really surprised, considering that the sense of hearing in the learned functionary was somewhat dulled, to find how much of the various examinations he had really transferred to his notes. He began by telling the Jury that here was another illustration of the old proverb “Marry in haste and repent at leisure.” If Mr. Barber hadn’t run off with Miss Montresor he wouldn’t have been—that is he might not have been—before the Divorce Court this day. If Miss Montresor hadn’t listened to Mr. Barber she would not have been his wife, and would in all probability have saved herself a great deal of misery. He then went through his notes pointing out to the Jury that throughout—with one exception of which he would speak presently—it was simply a question of whether they believed the lady or the gentleman. This was a case of cross-swearing—as indeed most of these cases were. It would have been more satisfactory if Mrs. Barber had procured evidence from Brussels, Folkestone, &c.,—as to the various instances of sævitia charged—and he was bound to tell the Jury, that a commission might have been sent over to Brussels to procure the necessary confirmation of Mrs. Barber’s statements. The one exception to which he had referred, was the incident that occurred at Cheltenham. Ann Iron had confirmed her mistress’s statement so far as to swear that she had seen the bruised arm—she did not go so far as to say she had seen the blow struck. In this way the old Judge passed the evidence in review fairly enough, and bidding the Jury dismiss from their minds all that had been said by counsel on either side which was not supported by evidence, left them to consider their verdict.
The Jury turned round and put their heads together, but before they had been more than a minute in consultation the Judge recalled them for a moment. He wished to inform them that he removed the question of the Cotton Tops entirely from their consideration. That was a question for a Court of Equity, and it was competent to Mrs. ​Barber—if so advised—to institute a suit for specific performance. The Jury bowed and put their heads together again.
Mr. Lamb had reproduced his fair client in the full sight of the Jury. Mrs. Barber sobbed in a suppressed emphatic way. Mr. Barber was breathing hard—through his nose. I looked to my friend Lamb in an interrogative manner. He winked at me slowly. The three Judges were chatting together. It was an awful moment.
At length the Jury turned round, and, in answer to the regular question, gave in, through their Foreman, a verdict for the Petitioner—Mrs. Barber was free!
Mr. Lamb, with his accustomed deference of manner, gave his arm to his client, and conducted her out of Court and into the Hall, where the hard women on the steps cheered her as she passed. The lady asked her professional adviser if she had not done it well?—the more so as it was all stuff and nonsense;—Augustus had never beaten her at all. No; she would not go back in Mr. Lamb’s carriage. She had her own brougham at the door. I was thunder-struck on arriving at the portal of the Hall to see that the equipage in question was really there—and in it a party with whiskers. “Only my cousin Frederick!”
That afternoon a small company of sorrowful-looking men paced up and down Westminster Hall, in grim consultation as to what was to be done under these distressing circumstances. They were British Husbands! I was there!
Oh! Flora! Flora! Don’t!
What came of that consultation, and what were the steps taken by British Husbands to procure a rectification of their frontiers, will appear in our next and following numbers, under the title of THE SCIENCE OF MATRIMONY. L’Empire c’est la Paix. Gamma.