Chapter XXIII

DEATH OF MR. BRIGGS; SUMMER ASSIZES, 1844; “REMINISCENCES OF
JUDGES’ COURTS;” “REMINISCENCES OF GEORGE CANNING.”

The spring of the year 1844 was overclouded by domestic affliction. Mr. Briggs, the much esteemed relative of Mrs. Opie, had, for some time past, been suffering from pulmonary disorder; and as he expressed a desire to see her, she was prepared to expect the summons, which was not long delayed. On the 9th of January she wrote:—

I do so enjoy my home. In a morning I am only too full of
company; but when at nightfall I draw my sofa round, for a long
evening to myself, I have such a feeling of thankfulness!—and
so I ought. It is well to see how the burden is fitted to the
back by our merciful Father. I have been a lone woman through
life; an only child! a childless widow! All my nearest ties
engrossed by nearer ones of their own. If I did not love to be
alone, and enjoy the privileges leisure gives, what would have
become of me!—but I love my lot, and every year it grows dearer
still—though parting with beloved friends throws, for a while,
a deep shadow over my path. * * *

And even now the shadow was upon her. Six days after she writes:—

I go on my melancholy journey to-morrow, scarcely expecting to
see my poor cousin alive; but he wishes to see me, and it is
therefore my duty to go.

She remained with him to the last, and touchingly describes the closing scenes. When all was over, she said:—

Going into his gallery of pictures, where so many, alas! are
unfinished, reminds me so powerfully of bygone days, when I
stood in my _own_ gallery, where finished and unfinished
pictures abounded!

This melancholy visit was the last Mrs. Opie paid to the metropolis for a long period. During the next four years she was closely engaged in attendance upon her aged aunt, Mrs. E. Alderson, and seldom left Norwich for more than a few days at a time.

After her return home she wrote to Miss Gurney:—

5th mo. 7th.
MY DEAREST A.,

* * * I fear that I shall feel the loss of London and the
Meeting, but at present I do not; for the duty and necessity of
staying where I am, is more evident every day, because my aunt
is become so dependent upon me, that I could trust no one to
attend to her wants but myself. I have sent a large box full of
repository purchases to M. G. to-day. I kept shop.[43] I have
seen A. Hodgkin at Meeting and at the Grove; her husband had a
public meeting last night, and has again to-morrow. _Such_
ministry as J. H.’s last night is what is _rarely_ heard, and
never, I believe, but in a Friends’ Meeting! It was
soul-searching; and I only wished hundreds could have heard it.
* * *

Mrs. Opie was present in court, during the summer assizes of this year. She writes:—

I heartily enjoyed the Courts, the Judges, and the High Sheriff,
and every part of my _entourage_. I was more in the Nisi Prius
Court than in the Criminal; but the last morning I found myself
let in, to hear a woman tried for poisoning her baby with
laudanum. I should have fled instantly, had I not been assured,
by the chaplain of the jail, and others, that, on the plea of
insanity, she would be found not guilty; and, to my speedy
relief, the Judge would not allow the trial to go on. By the
bye, he is a very pleasing and clever Judge, (Williams,) and
cordially humane; and, though a little man, he has a remarkable
degree of dignity in his appearance and manner on the Bench; his
eye, too, is very fine in shape and expression. In the year ’20
I said to Sir G. Phillips, at a party at his house, “who is that
little man in the window-seat, with those very fine eyes?” “That
little man, it is expected, will prove himself a great man
to-morrow; for he is the third counsel employed to defend the
Queen, and his turn comes to-morrow morning.” I then little
thought I should see him here so frequently as Judge.

The other evening, while Baron Alderson and the High Sheriff and
I were talking together, in the Judges’ room, (they waiting for
the other Judge’s finishing a trial he was engaged upon,) Sir E.
asked me how I was going home? on which the High Sheriff,
seizing my hand, said, “Oh! she shall go with us, we will take
her home.” I drew back, of course, not believing he could be in
earnest! but the Judge said “yes! let us take her.” I still
resisted, but Edward pulled me on, saying “come brother Opie!”
as he tucked me under his arm; the High Sheriff led the way, and
into the carriage I jumped, ashamed, but pleased; and I sat by
my cousin, and the astonished chaplain sat opposite the Judge,
wondering and laughing. We set the Judge down first, then the
High Sheriff set me down, and went back for Justice Williams.
Little did I think I should ever ride behind four horses,
harnessed, and two outriders, with trumpets, &c.! But I must own
that the Judge ordered the trumpets to remain behind, as they
were not going in state, and to drive fast in order to come back
soon. So much for the escapade of a grave Judge and High
Sheriff.

Here is a note in which Mrs. Opie invited the writer to accompany her to the scene she afterwards described.

MY DEAR C. L.,

The Judges always, as I believe, go to church first, and take
the sacrament afterwards. But I _always_ go early, to be sure of
a good seat, so I mean to call thee at nine, and we can talk
there as well as here—and the time will soon fly! I went in a
chariot-fly to see them come in. Farewell! little dear; I fear
thou art a lazy-bones—but _indeed_—by ten I have often seen
the best places filled. Often, _how_ often, both as a young and
old woman, have I been in that court by half-past seven in the
morning—was this time twelvemonth.

A. O.

Among Mrs. Opie’s papers left in an unfinished state, was one headed “Reminiscences of Judges’ Courts,” written in 1844. It was probably intended for publication, but never completed; in the following pages the reader will find the principal parts of it.

Hark! the bells are ringing their loudest, merriest peal, and at
intervals are heard the deep tones of trumpets! Those sounds
proclaim that the Judges have entered the city, and are about to
open their Commission in the Court of our ancient Castle, and
that the next day they will begin their momentous task.

Alas! I lament that the ringing of bells, which usually
proclaims a wedding, and other joyful events, should be employed
to welcome those who come to fulfil the painful office of
sitting in judgment on their fellow creatures, and condemning
many of them, perhaps, to long imprisonment, exile, or death.

Would that this custom were always discontinued, and trumpets
heard alone; because the sound of the latter is _not_ that of
rejoicing, but of solemn preparation. It is _a call_, a summons,
and one sometimes of fearful augury.

It is calculated also to excite in the minds of the prisoners
salutary emotions, and prepare them for the scene that awaits
them; while the joyful peal, which makes itself heard into their
cell, drowning all other sounds, and seeming to insult their
misery, calls forth in them feelings of indignant bitterness.

Let me add, that while the higher orders seem to consider the
assize week as a time for public amusements, though many of the
lower classes are undergoing every variety of anxious suspense,
and some perhaps awaiting the terrors of the Law, the
consciousness of this painful truth may have a hardening effect
on the surrounding population, whose sympathies are with their
poorer brethren at the bar, not with those in the theatre or the
ball-room; and whatever has a tendency to excite, among the
former, a belief that their sufferings are forgotten, or viewed
with indifference by their superiors, may lessen that love and
confidence in the higher ranks, on which so much of the safety
of society depends.

That week has always possessed for me an attraction of an
intellectual kind, which at present I still feel irresistible; I
mean attendance in the Nisi Prius Court—a love for which has
“grown with my growth, and strengthened with my strength;” and
certainly it has not become weaker since I have had the
gratification of seeing on the judgment seat a near and dear
relative, and sometimes also a highly esteemed friend.

The interest excited by the Criminal Court is often painfully
strong, even though such a blessed change has taken place in the
penal law.

Horace Walpole (who hated capital punishments) says in one of
his letters, that whenever he heard any one was being tried for
his life, he always earnestly desired he might be acquitted; and
so strongly do I compassionate the prisoner, that I never attend
a trial for murder, and am only at my ease in the Civil Court.
And there I am, at a very early hour, in order to secure my
favorite place in it, and before any preparations for business
are begun. Nor is it without interest that I look round the
empty Hall, and at the large table covered with green cloth,
where the barristers and attornies sit, and think that soon the
vacant seats will be filled with busy, anxious life, and the
stillness exchanged for the hum of many voices! and absorbed and
amused in the contemplation of the coming scene, I find the time
of waiting pass almost imperceptibly away. But at length the
solitude ceases—the necessary preparations are made by the
attendants, and soon the bells and trumpets announce the
approach of the great functionaries. To greetings, and the hum
of voices, succeeds the silence of expectation; for silent
become the bells and trumpets; and, in another moment, the Judge
is in the Court; the barristers rise, as he courteously salutes
them, and the business begins.

After a short process, twelve jurymen are sworn in—to me a most
disagreeable ceremony—though the oath is repeated now with less
rapidity than it used to be; still I always rejoice when it is
over.

The leaders now take their places—a cause comes on—the junior
counsel employed in it reads aloud to the jury the particulars
of the case. The leader then rises, explains and comments on its
merits, artfully warning the jury against the eloquence and
sophistical arguments which his learned brother will, he knows,
bring forward for the defence; but which he is very certain of
proving vain and nugatory by the witnesses whom he can, without
fear, expose to the powerful battery of his learned brother’s
cross-examination. After a long and often eloquent speech, the
counsel for the plaintiff calls his witnesses; by each of them,
when called into the witness box, the oath is taken, and each in
his turn is subjected to the fiery ordeal of cross-examination.
Then rises the counsel for the defendant, hoping, and sometimes
very justly, that cross-examination has shaken the testimony of
the plaintiff’s witnesses; he tells the jury that though his own
eloquence has been so warmly lauded by his obliging and learned
brother, he has himself too mean an opinion of it to presume to
rest on _that_ his client’s cause; nor does he rest it on his
arguments alone, though they are not sophistical, as his learned
friend calls them. No! his only weapon will be the force of
truth; for he shall bring forward _facts_; facts which he shall
prove by witnesses, whose evidence not even his brother’s
well-known power of cross-examination can shake; and he shall
also prove that, whether from unintentional inaccuracy in their
statements, from defective memory, or an utter disregard to
truth, the plaintiff’s witnesses have borne testimony which was
utterly _false_; he is _sure_, he says, to obtain a verdict for
his client. Then comes “the tug of war,” and such a view of the
case is presented, that it changes, no doubt, the opinion of
many minds, (my own, for instance,) and of the probable result
we form a very different expectation to what we previously
entertained. But the first speaker, having left himself a right
to reply, then rises again; after having opened on the
defendant’s witnesses, the formidable field-piece of his
cross-examination; and, that done, he is doubtless, not the less
warm and powerful in argument, now that he feels his client’s
cause is in more danger than when he opened the case, and that
for the last time he fights for ultimate victory; at length he
sits down, expressing his certainty of obtaining it!

Oh! bloodless fights! would that we should never hear again of
any battles but these!

But now another interesting period has arrived—the judge is
about to speak: he has not been silent during the proceedings;
but has made many observations, and asked questions of the
witnesses on both sides; and now, much to the refreshment of
short memories, he sums up the whole proceedings, and delivers
his charge to the jury; going over every tittle of the evidence
with surprising accuracy. The Clerk of Arraigns then says,
“Consider your verdict, gentlemen!” the jury then turn their
faces to the wall, and form so peculiar a group, that were an
artist to draw them, no one could imagine, I think, what they
were meant to represent, unless well acquainted with courts of
justice. * * *

There are certain persons at the barristers’ table, whose
position is calculated to excite the sympathy of observers, and
who have often awakened mine on their behalf; namely, the young
lawyers, who have, perhaps, gone circuit after circuit, and
still remain briefless barristers. This must be a painful
situation; and I have been much gratified, when it has
occasionally happened to me to see a usually unemployed
barrister, with flushed cheek, opening, it may be, his first
brief in that court, and, with beating heart, preparing to enter
the legal arena. Gratifying indeed must it be, to a young man of
talent, when at length some fortunate circumstance gives him the
long-desired opportunity to distinguish himself, which was all,
perhaps, that he required to rise in a short time to the head of
his profession; and how enviable must be his feelings, when he
looks back to departed hours, passed in vain expectation of
business, sitting unobserved at that crowded table, making to
himself employment by nibbing his pen, or cutting his pencil to
write notes to a brother barrister, at a distance; and then,
contrasts with that trying period, his present position, when he
has scarcely time to sit, except when his opponent in a cause is
speaking. Now, he is the “observed of all observers,” and feels
that on his skill in argument, and on his powers of elocution
and persuasive appeal, depend, perhaps, the future well being
and happiness of many of his fellow-creatures, who have
entrusted to him the vindication of their rights, and sometimes
of their reputation. Anxiety must indeed be felt by barristers
on every circuit, even whether they have attained, or not, the
greatest eminence; since it is as necessary for them to retain,
as to gain, that eminence. The advocate, therefore, pleads for
his own as well as his client’s cause, when he puts forth all
the energies of his voice, his gesture, and his mind, on the
legal stage; and could address his audience in the words of the
poet: “Alas! I feel I am no _actor_ here!”

One of the attractions in the Nisi Prius Court is the agreeable
surprises which one experiences in it. I have known a cause,
promising at the beginning, to be very dull and uninteresting,
become, as it went on, one of great interest and entertainment;
for instance, a horse case, where the warranty of the horse is
the subject brought forward, and many amusing witnesses are
examined; or a right of way cause, as I believe it is
technically called.

On such occasions I have seen the old, and even the infirm, put
into the witness box to give evidence, neatly dressed in their
Sunday clothes, and seeming to enjoy their temporary importance;
and I have gazed with interest, which at length, perhaps, became
painful, on the sharpened features, almost seeming prepared for
death; and listened to the feeble voice striving in vain to
perform the required task, and make the testimony it bore heard
by the judge.

I have often asked myself why it is that I, and many others, can
sit from early morning till evening in a court of justice, with
still increasing interest? and the answer has been, that it
proceeds from that general and enduring passion, the love of
excitement.

Those courts are epitomes of human life, and their walls, within
their bounded space, contain beings full of the passions,
infirmities, resentments, self-deceits, self-interests, fears,
hopes, triumphs, and defeats, incident to our common nature, and
the proofs and results of which are there painfully brought
before us.

A court of justice may be likened to a stage, the principal
performers on which are the barristers; and happiest are they
who have the most frequent opportunities of moving the feelings,
and influencing the convictions, of that respectable audience—a
British jury.

A Nisi Prius cause is a new drama, brought before the jury as
the audience; but with this great difference between a play and
a cause—the actors in it, on one side only, are interested in
its success.

One great advantage which assize courts possess over the
theatre, is the certainty we have, that all the emotions we
behold are real, not acted, and springing from the exigences of
the moment; that the eloquent energy of the pleaders, the
replies of the witnesses, and, alas! the fearful perjury
sometimes elicited by cross-examination, together with every
outbreak of tongue, are not only like the representations of
great actors, “faithful to nature in the mimic scenes,” but are
nature itself!

There is another reason why, in my opinion, the interests in a
Court of Justice come more forcibly to the heart than that of
representations on the stage. It is that, while contemplating
the dramas of real life, as exhibited in a Court of Law, we have
an undefined consciousness that we are liable to be ourselves,
one day, performers in similar scenes, and worried by the same
difficulties, experiencing, either in our own person or that of
those dear to us, the trials and anxieties we see there endured
by others.

My theories on this subject may be deemed fanciful and untrue,
and the charge may be a just one; but, whatever be the cause of
the pleasure which I take in attending Courts of Justice, I hope
it is an innocent gratification, and no undue waste of time, as
the opportunities occur only twice in the year, and rarely last
longer than a week. It is also my conviction that whatever
brings us acquainted with, and interested in the affairs and
well being of our fellow creatures, in their varied stations and
positions in society, may have a beneficial influence on our
hearts, minds, and characters.

Another short “Reminiscence,” which was written about this time, will show how her thoughts went back to the days of her youth, and with what tenacity her memory retained the most minute details of bygone scenes and events.

I was never (she writes) so fortunate as to be in company with
that celebrated man George Canning, but at a very early period
of his life and mine, he was brought, by circumstances, under my
admiring observation. An aunt of his was married to a clergyman
in Norwich, and lived there, and when he was at Eton he used to
pass part of his holidays at her house.

He had already distinguished himself by his poetical talents,
and the Eton boy had given promise of what the man might be.
During one of his visits to his aunt, there was a benefit
concert given at our Assembly Rooms, to which I was _chaperoned_
by an old lady of my acquaintance. Till the middle of the first
Act we were able to hear and enjoy the music, but then our
attention was disturbed by the entrance of George Canning’s
aunt, with a large party. Unfortunately, they took their seats
before us, and instead of listening to the music, began to
converse, as if nothing was going on. I was not so much annoyed
as I otherwise should have been, because I was told that the
young man before me was the Eton boy, whose productions had been
so much admired. I was, therefore, interested in examining his
countenance, and was pleased to hear his voice, though exerted
during a violin concerto!

But I shared at length in the displeasure of my companion, who,
finding the predestined orator becoming more and more
vociferous, gave him a rap on the shoulder with her fan, and
when he turned round, astonished at the blow, shook her head at
him reproachfully. He understood the appeal, and bowed his head
gracefully and respectfully in return; nor did he offend again,
but evidently reproved the talkativeness of his party. This
delighted my old lady and still more myself. The feeling and
well-bred youth, did not yet think he had made sufficient
amends; and as soon as the Act was concluded he came up to my
aged friend, and, with an ingenuous blush on his cheek, he said,
“I am very sorry, ma’am, that I interfered with your pleasure by
my talking just now, and am really ashamed of myself, pray
excuse me; I assure you I will not offend again.” The old lady
received the apology as graciously as it was made; and my young
heart rejoiced to find that this boy, in spite of the
head-turning honours which were his at this early period, was
possessed of, what a long life’s observation has taught me to
believe is almost the rarest quality, namely, a due
consideration for the rights of others in _little things_. From
that time he possessed a higher _niche_ in my esteem, than his
successes at Eton could have given him.

Many years elapsed before I saw him again; for though I became
rather intimate with his aunt, he never visited at the house
while I happened to be one of the guests; and at an early period
of my life, the family quitted Norwich. But I saw him soon after
he obtained a seat in Parliament, (1793,) and when the Pitt
administration had won the young orator from his early political
friends, and ranked him amongst their adherents. At the time to
which I allude he was standing on Windsor Terrace, bare headed;
his cheek evidently flushed with pleasurable emotion, and
listening to George the Third, who, with the Queen, and the
Royal Family, was taking his evening walk there. The Royal party
stopped some time before the young member, and it was with an
emotion of pleasure that I saw him thus publicly distinguished
by his Sovereign.

The last time I beheld him, was in the Hall of Buckingham House,
when the Queen and Regent received at that palace, and he was
returning from a _levée_. With what increased interest did I
then behold him; he was then in middle life, but I saw the same
character of face, and features, as when I was interested in the
Eton boy. How different was now his bearing; how different the
character of his person altogether! There was a degree of
dignity in his mien, and a loftiness in the carriage of his
head, which a well-founded consciousness of his importance in
the scale of society would naturally give, at the same time,
there was a slight expression of sadness in his smiles; yet he
might be justly called the child of prosperous ambition! His
talents had raised him to the highest offices of the state; his
eloquence was the delight of his friends, and the terror of his
enemies; he had formed a high and happy connexion in marriage;
he was admired by his opponents, and loved by his intimates; and
it seemed as if this world could bestow on him nothing more!

But even then, the corroding cares of public life and their
awful responsibilities, were, no doubt, preparing to fasten on
his heart, and gradually destroy the functions of life. Stormy
grew the political horizon during the years that ensued; though
on the whole, he may be said (to use his own words) “to have
weathered the storm;” and, at the period of his untimely death,
he seemed to have overcome every prejudice against him; and when
he fell a victim to his public duties, a universal lamentation
attended his exit, and a universal plaudit!

Among his mourners, none was more sincere than myself, and
rarely, even yet, do I pass his statue, without breathing a sigh
to his memory, and exclaiming, as I gaze on that sculptured
form, “Oh rare George Canning!”

-----

[43] This alludes to Mrs. Opie’s keeping a table at the yearly sale of the Repository, for the Norwich Sick poor Society; this she did during many years, and an admirable saleswoman she was. On one of these occasions she wrote to a friend, “Simeon’s Life is most precious to me. I have had extracts from it made, and printed, to be sold at the Repository.”