SHERIFFS’ COURT.—WEDNESDAY.
BONBON versus PUNCH.
[This important cause came on for trial on Wednesday last. That it has not been reported in the morning papers is doubtless to be attributed to the most reckless bribery on the part of the plaintiff. He has, no doubt, sought to hush up his infamy; the defendant has no such contemptible cowardice. Hence a special reporter was engaged for PUNCH. The trial is given here, firstly, for the beautiful illustration it affords of the philosophy of the English law of crim. con.; and secondly on a principle—for PUNCH has principles—laid down by the defendant in his course of public life, to show himself to the world the man he really is. In pursuit of this moral and philosophical object, should the waywardness of his genius ever induce PUNCH to cut a throat, pick a pocket, or, as a Middlesex magistrate (for PUNCH has been upon the bench many a year), to offer for sale a tempting lot of liberty to any competent captive,—should PUNCH rob as a vulgar Old Bailey delinquent, or genteelly swindle as an Aldermanic share-holder,—in each and every of these cases there will, on discovery, be the fullest report of the same in PUNCH’S own paper, PUNCH being deeply impressed with the belief that an exhibition of the weaknesses of a great man is highly beneficial to public philosophy and public morals. PUNCH now retires in favour of his “own” reporter.]
As early as six o’clock in the morning, the neighbourhood of the court presented a most lively and bustling aspect. Carriages continued to arrive from the west-end; and we recognised scores of ladies whose names are familiar to the readers of the Court Journal and Morning Post. Several noblemen, amateurs of the subject, arrived on horseback. By eight o’clock the four sides of Red Lion-square were, if we may be allowed the metaphor, a mass of living heads. We owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. Davis, the respected and conscientious officer for the Sheriff of Middlesex; that gentleman, in the kindest spirit of hospitality, allowing us six inches of his door-step when the crowd was at its greatest pressure. Several inmates of Mr. Davis’s delightful mansion had a charming view of the scene from the top windows, where we observed bars of the most picturesque and moyen age description. At ten minutes to nine, Mr. Charles Phillips, counsel for the plaintiff, arrived in Lamb’s Conduit-passage, and was loudly cheered. On the appearance of Mr. Adolphus, counsel for the defendant, a few miscreants in human shape essayed groans and hisses; they were, however, speedily put down by the New Police.
We entered the court at nine o’clock. The galleries were crowded with rank, beauty, and fashion. Conflicting odours of lavender, musk, and Eau de Cologne emanated from ladies on the bench, most of whom were furnished with opera-glasses, sandwich-boxes, and species of flasks, vulgarly known as pocket-pistols. In all our experience we never recollect such a thrill as that shot through the court, when the crier of the same called out—
BONBON v. PUNCH!
Mr. SMITH (a young yet rising barrister with green spectacles) with delicate primness opened the case. A considerable pause, when—
Mr. CHARLES PHILLIPS, having successfully struggled with his feelings, rose to address the court for the plaintiff. The learned gentleman said it had been his hard condition as a barrister to see a great deal of human wickedness; but the case which, most reluctantly, he approached that day, made him utterly despair of the heart of man. He felt ashamed of his two legs, knowing that the defendant in this case was a biped. He had a horror of the mysterious iniquities of human nature—seeing that the defendant was a man, a housekeeper, and, what in this case trebled his infamy, a husband and a father. Gracious Heaven! when he reflected—but no; he would confine himself to a simple statement of facts. That simplicity would tell with a double-knock on the hearts of a susceptible jury. The afflicted, the agonised plaintiff was a public man. He was, until lately, the happy possessor of a spotless wife and an inimitable spring-van. It was was a union assented to by reason, smiled on by prudence. Mr. Bonbon was the envied owner of a perambulating exhibition: he counted among his riches a Spotted Boy, a New Zealand Cannibal, and a Madagascar Cow. The crowning rose was, however, to be gathered, and he plucked, and (as he fondly thought) made his own for ever, the Swiss Giantess! Mr. Bonbon had wealth in his van—the lady had wealth in herself; hence it was, in every respect, what the world would denominate an equal match.
The learned counsel said he would call witnesses to prove the blissful atmosphere in which the parties lived, until the defendant, like a domestic upas-tree, tainted and polluted it. That van was another Eden, until PUNCH, the serpent, entered. The lady was a native of Switzerland—yes, of Switzerland. Oh, that he (the learned gentleman) could follow her to her early home!—that he could paint her with the first blush and dawn of innocence, tinting her virgin cheek as the morning sun tinted the unsullied snows of her native Jungfrau!—that he could lead the gentlemen of the jury to that Swiss cottage where the gentle Félicité (such was the lady’s name) lisped her early prayer—that he could show them the mountains that had echoed with her songs (since made so very popular by Madame Stockhausen)—that he could conjure up in that court the goats whose lacteal fluid was wont to yield to the pressure of her virgin fingers—the kids that gambolled and made holiday about her—the birds that whistled in her path—the streams that flowed at her feet—the avalanches, with their majestic thunder, that fell about her. Would he could subpoena such witnesses! then would the jury feel, what his poor words could never make them feel—the loss of his injured client. On one hand would be seen the simple Swiss maiden—a violet among the rocks—a mountain dove—an inland pearl—a rainbow of the glaciers—a creature pure as her snows, but not as cold; and on the other the fallen wife—a monument of shame! This was a commercial country; and the jury would learn with additional horror that it was in the sweet confidence of a commercial transaction that the defendant obtained access to his interesting victim. Yes, gentlemen, (said Mr. P.,) it was under the base, the heartless, the dastardly excuse of business, that the plaintiff poured his venom in the ear of a too confiding woman. He had violated the sacred bonds of human society—the noblest ties that hold the human heart—the sweetest tendrils that twine about human affections. This should be shown to the jury. Letters from the plaintiff would be read, in which his heart—or rather that ace of spades he carried in his breast and called his heart—would be laid bare in open court. But the gentlemen of the jury would teach a terrible lesson that day. They would show that the socialist should not guide his accursed bark into the tranquil seas of domestic comfort, and anchor it upon the very hearthstone of conjugal felicity. No—as the gentlemen of the jury were husbands and fathers, as they were fathers and not husbands, as they were neither one nor the other, but hoped to be both—they would that day hurl such a thunderbolt at the pocket of the defendant—they would so thrice-gild the incurable ulcers of the plaintiff, that all the household gods of the United Empire would hymn them to their mighty rest, and Hymen himself keep continual carnival at their amaranthine hearths. “Gentlemen of the jury (said the learned counsel in conclusion), I leave you with a broken heart in your hands! A broken heart, gentlemen! Creation’s masterpiece, flawed cracked, SHIVERED TO BITS! See how the blood flows from it—mark where its strings are cut and cut—its delicate fibres violated—its primitive aroma evaporated to all the winds of heaven. Make that heart your own, gentlemen, and say at how many pounds you value the demoniac damage. And oh, may your verdict still entitle you to the blissful confidence of that divine, purpureal sex, the fairest floral specimens of which I see before me! May their unfolding fragrance make sweet your daily bread; and when you die, from the tears of conjugal love, may thyme and sweet marjoram spring and blossom above your graves!”
Here the emotion of the court was unparalleled in the memory of the oldest attorney. Showers of tears fell from the gallery, so that there was a sudden demand for umbrellas.
The learned counsel sat down, and, having wiped his eyes, ate a sandwich.
There were other letters, but we have selected the least glowing. Mr. Charles Phillips then called his witnesses.
Peter Snooks examined: Was employed by plaintiff; recollected defendant coming to the van to propose a speculation, in which Madame Bonbon was to play with him. Defendant came very often when plaintiff was out. Once caught Madame Bonbon on defendant’s knee. Once heard Madame Bonbon say, “Bless your darling nose!” Was sure it was defendant’s nose. Was shocked at her levity, but consented to go for gin—Madame found the money. Had a glass myself, and drank their healths. Plaintiff never beat his wife; he couldn’t: they were of very uneven habits; she was seven feet four, plaintiff was four feet seven.
Cross-examined by Mr. Adolphus: Plaintiff was dreadfully afflicted at infidelity of his wife: had become quite desperate—never sober since; was never sober before. On first night of the news plaintiff was quite delirious; took six plates of alamode beef, and two pots of porter.
Sarah Pillowcase examined: Was chambermaid at the Tinder-box and Flint, New Cut; had known defendant since she was a child—also knew plaintiff’s wife. They came together on the 1st of April, about twelve at night. Understood they had been in a private box at the Victoria with an order. They had twelve dozen of oysters for supper, and eight Welch-rabbits: the lady found the money. Thought, of course, they were married, or would rather have died than have served them. They made a hearty breakfast: the lady found the money.
Cross-examined by Mr. Adolphus: Would swear to the lady, as she had once paid a shilling to see her.
(Here it was intimated by the learned judge that ladies might leave the court if they chose; it was evident, however, that no lady heard such intimation, as no lady stirred.)
Cross-examination continued: Yes, would swear it. Knew the obligation of an oath, and would swear it.
This ended the case for the plaintiff.
Mr. ADOLPHUS addressed the court for the defendant. He had not the golden tongue—no, he was not blessed with the oratory of his learned friend. He would therefore confine himself to the common sense view of the question. He was not talking to Arcadian shepherds (he was very happy to see his own butcher in the jury-box), but to men of business. If there had been any arts practised, it was on the side of the plaintiff’s wife. His client had visited the plaintiff out of pure compassion. The plaintiff’s show was a failing concern; his client, with a benevolence which had marked his long career, wished to give him the benefit of his own attractions, joined to those of the woman. Well, the plaintiff knew the value of money, and therefore left his wife and the defendant to arrange the affair between them. “Gentlemen of the jury,” continued the learned counsel, “it must appear to you, that on the part of the plaintiff this is not an affair of the heart, but a matter of the breeches’ pocket. He leaves his wife—a fascinating, versatile creature—with my client, I confess it, an acknowledged man of gallantry. Well, the result is—what was to be expected. My learned friend has dwelt, with his accustomed eloquence, on his client’s broken heart. I will not speak of his heart; but I must say that the man who, bereaved of the partner of his bosom, can still eat six plates of alamode beef, must have a most excellent stomach. Gentlemen, beware of giving heavy damages in this case, or otherwise you will unconsciously be the promoters of great immorality. This is no paradox, gentlemen; for I am credibly informed that if the man succeed in getting large damages, he will immediately take his wife home to his bosom and his van, and instead of exhibiting her, as he has hitherto done, for one penny, he will, on the strength of the notoriety of this trial, and as a man knowing the curiosity of society, immediately advance that penny to threepence. You will, therefore, consider your verdict, gentlemen, and give such moderate damages as will entirely mend the plaintiff’s broken heart.”
The jury, without retiring from the box, returned a verdict of “Damages One Farthing!”
We are credibly informed—though the evidence was not adduced in court—that Monsieur Bonbon first suspected his dishonour from his wife’s hair papers. She had most negligently curled her tresses in the soft paper epistles of her innamorato.