His most remarkable professional employment arose out of certain ecclesiastical cases. Sir Francis Jeune, who was concerned in some of them, has kindly described his impressions to me. Fitzjames's connection with certain prosecutions directed against the ritualists arose from a conversation between Sir F. Jeune, who was then junior counsel to the English Church Union, and its secretary the late Sir Charles Young. A counsel was required who should unite 'plenty of courage' to an intimate knowledge of the Criminal Law and power of appreciating the results of historical research. Fitzjames 'combined these requirements in a wonderful way.' Sir F. Jeune makes reservations similar to those which I have had to notice in other applications, as to Fitzjames's want of the subtlety and closeness of reasoning characteristic of the greatest lawyers. He saw things 'rather broadly,' and his literary habits tended to distract him from the precise legal point. 'I always thought of his mind,' says Sir Francis, 'as of a very powerful telescope pulled out just a little too much.' The sharp definitions, perceptible sometimes to inferior minds, were in his a little blurred. These peculiarities, however, were even advantages in this special class of business. The precedents and principles involved were rather vague, and much of the work within the province rather of the historian than of the lawyer. It involved questions as to the spirit in which the articles and rubrics had been composed by their authors. The requirement of 'courage' was amply satisfied. 'I shall never forget,' says Sir Francis, 'one occasion' in which Fitzjames was urged to take a course which he thought improper, though it was not unnaturally desired by irritated clients fighting against what they considered to be harsh legal restraint. Fitzjames at once made it clear that no client should make him deviate from the path of professional propriety. He had, in fact, indignantly refused, as I find from one of his letters, to adopt a position which implied distrust of the impartiality of the judges.
Of the cases themselves I must say generally that they often provoked a grim smile from the advocate. When, in earlier days, he had defended Dr. Williams he had spoken not merely as an advocate, but as a man who had felt that he was vindicating the intellectual liberty of the Church of which he was a member. The cases in which he was now concerned could appeal to him only as an advocate. The first in which he appeared, February 16, 1876, was sufficiently grotesque.[171] A clergyman had refused to administer the sacrament to a gentleman who had published a volume of 'Selections' from the Bible—implying, it was suggested, that he did not approve of the part not selected—and who had his doubts about the devil. The clergyman was reported to have said, 'Let him sit down and write a calm letter, and say he believes in the devil, and I will give him the sacrament.' The only legitimate causes in a legal sense for refusing the sacrament would be that a man was an 'open and notorious evil liver,' or a 'common and notorious depraver of the Book of Common Prayer.' The Court of Arches apparently held that the gentleman came under this description; but the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, after hearing Fitzjames, decided that he did not. A man might disbelieve in the devil, without being a 'notorious evil liver,' however irrational may be his scepticism.
The most important of his appearances was in the Folkestone case.[172] His 'opening argument, and even more his reply' (upon the appeal), 'were masterpieces, and they obtained from the Privy Council a judgment in very marked contrast to those which had preceded it.' His argument, as Sir F. Jeune thinks, induced the Privy Council to some extent 'to retrace, or at least seem to retrace, its steps.' The judgment sanctioned what is known as the 'Eastern position,' and certain other ritualistic practices. In another case,[173] it was decided, in accordance with Fitzjames's argument, that a sculptured representation of the Crucifixion, as opposed to the exhibition of a crucifix, was lawful.
Fitzjames, in his letters at this time, gives his own view pretty emphatically. While you, he says to Lord Lytton, (I shall speak of this correspondence directly) 'are fighting with famine in India, I am struggling over albs and chasubles, and superstitions not more reasonable than those about Vishnu and Shiva.' 'I have been passionately labouring for the last nine days' (he says a little later in regard to the Folkestone case) 'for the liberty of the clergy to dress themselves in certain garments and stand in particular attitudes. All my powers of mind and body were devoted to these important objects, till I dreamed of chasubles and wafers.' Some years ago, he remarks, certain natives of India, having an interest in an appeal to the Privy Council, caught an idiot and slew him on a hill-top as a sacrifice to the deity who presides over the deliberations of that body. A being capable of being propitiated in that fashion might take an interest in squabbles over wafers and chasubles. 'It is a foolish subject to joke about,' he adds, 'for beyond all manner of doubt my clients' real object is to get as much idolatry as possible into the poor old Church of England, and I believe that they will sooner or later succeed in making the whole thing look absurd and breaking it up.' Whether that would be a good thing or not is a matter upon which he feels unable to make up his mind.
Amid these various occupations, Fitzjames, however fully occupied, showed no symptoms of being over-worked or over-worried. He had, in a remarkable degree, the power of taking up and dismissing from his mind the matters in each of which he was alternately absorbed. He could throw himself into codifying, or speculating, or getting up briefs at any moment and in any surroundings, and dismiss each occupation with equal readiness. He found time, too, for a good deal of such society as he loved. He heartily enjoyed little holiday tours, going occasionally to the Continent, and more frequently to some of the friends to whom he always adhered and to whom he could pour out his opinions frankly and fully. Maine was almost his next-door neighbour, and frequently consulted him upon Indian matters. He took his Sunday walks with Carlyle; and he went to stay with Froude, in whose society he especially delighted, in a summer residence in Devonshire. He frequently visited his old friend Venables in Wales, and occasionally spent a few days with members of his own family. Although ready to take up a bit of work, literary or professional, at any moment, he never appeared to be preoccupied; and could discourse with the utmost interest upon his favourite topics, though he sometimes calls himself 'unsociable'—by which he apparently means that he cared as little as might be for the unsociable kind of recreation. He was a member of the 'Cosmopolitan'; he belonged also to 'The Club' and to the 'Literary Society,' and he heartily enjoyed meeting distinguished contemporaries. In 1874 he paid a visit to his friends the Stracheys, who had taken for the summer a house at Anaverna, near Ravensdale, Co. Louth, in Ireland. He liked it so much that he resolved to become their successor. He took the house accordingly, and there spent his holidays in the summer of 1875 and the succeeding years so long as his strength lasted.
Anaverna is a village about five miles of Dundalk, at the foot of a range of grassy hills rising to a height of some 1,700 feet, within a well-wooded country below. The house stood in grounds of about sixty acres, including a wood and traversed by a mountain-stream. Fitzjames enjoyed walks over the hills, and, in the last years, drives in the lower country. To this place, and the quiet life there, Fitzjames and his family became most warmly attached. His letters abound in enthusiastic remarks about the scenery, and describe his pleasure in the intercourse with neighbours of all classes, and in the visits of old friends who came to stay with him. A good deal of his later writing was done there.
VIII. CORRESPONDENCE WITH LORD LYTTON
I have now to speak of a new friendship which played a very important part in his life from this time. In January 1876, Lord Lytton[174] was appointed Governor-General of India. In February, Fitzjames dined in his company at Lord Arthur Russell's. They went afterwards to the 'Cosmopolitan,' and by the end of the evening had formed a close friendship, which was only to end with their lives. Some of Fitzjames's friends were surprised at the singular strength of attachment between two men so conspicuously different in mind and character. Some contrasts, as everyone observes, rather facilitate than impede friendship; but in this case the opposition might seem to be too decided. The explanation is not, I think, difficult. Lord Lytton, in the first place, was a singularly charming person. He was not only a delightful companion, but he was delightful because obviously open-hearted, enthusiastic, and exceedingly affectionate. To such charms Fitzjames was no more obdurate than his fellows. Lord Lytton, it is true, was essentially a man of letters; he was a poet and a writer of facile and brilliant prose; and Fitzjames acknowledged, or rather claimed, a comparative insensibility to excellence of that kind. Upon some faults, often combined with a literary temperament, he was perhaps inclined to be rather too severe. He could feel nothing but hearty contempt for a man who lapped himself in æsthetic indulgences, and boasted of luxurious indifference to the great problems of the day. Such an excess of sensibility, again, as makes a man nervously unwilling to reveal his real thoughts, or to take part in a frank discussion of principles, would be an obstacle to intimacy. Fitzjames might not improbably decline to take the trouble necessary to soothe the vanity, or thaw the shyness of such a person, and might perhaps too hastily set him down for a coward or a 'poor creature.' But when, as was often the case, the sensitive person was encouraged to openness by Fitzjames's downright ways, the implied compliment would be fully recognised. Lord Lytton, as an accomplished man of the world, was of course free from any awkward bashfulness; and at the very first interview was ready to meet Fitzjames half-way. His enthusiasm accordingly met with a rapid return. One of Fitzjames's favourite assertions was that nobody but a humbug could deny the pleasantness of flattery; and, in fact, I think that we all like it till we discover it to be flattery. What he really meant was that he liked downright, open-hearted and perfectly sincere praise; and both parties to this alliance could praise each other both sincerely and heartily.
There was, however, another reason which helps to explain the great value which Fitzjames attached from the first to this intercourse. It comes out in almost every letter in his part of their correspondence. Fitzjames calls himself 'self-contained'; and the epithet is quite appropriate if it is taken as not implying any connotation of real selfishness. He was, that is, sufficient for himself; he was contented so long as he could feel, as he always had a right to feel, that he was doing his work thoroughly to the very best of his abilities. He could dispense with much appreciation from outside, though it was unaffectedly welcome when it came from competent persons. He had too much self-reliance to be dependent upon any endorsement by others. But, though this might be perfectly true, he was at bottom sensitive enough, and it was also true that he felt keenly certain consequences of his position. His professional career, as I have so often said, had been a series of tantalising half-successes; he was always being baffled by cross winds at the harbour-mouth. Although his courage never failed for an instant, he could not but have a certain sense of isolation or want of support. This was especially true of the codification schemes which occupied so much of his thought. He had been crying in the market-place and no man heeded him. Yet his voice was powerful enough morally as well as physically. He had the warmest of friends. Some of them were devoted to pursuits which had nothing to do with law and could only express a vague general sympathy. They admired his general vigour, but were not specially interested in the ends to which it was applied. Others, on the contrary, were politicians and lawyers who could have given him effectual help. But they almost unanimously refused to take his plans seriously. The British barrister and member of Parliament looked upon codification as at best a harmless fancy. 'A jurist,' Fitzjames sometimes remarks in a joke, which was not all joking, is a 'fool who cannot get briefs.' That represents the view generally taken of his own energy. It was possibly admirable, certainly unobjectionable, but not to the purpose. The statesman saw little chance of gaining votes by offers of a code, and the successful lawyer was too much immersed in his briefs to care about investigating general principles of law. At last, as I have said, Fitzjames got a disciple or two in high places, but even then his most telling argument seems to have been less that codification was good in itself than that success in passing a code would be a feather in the Government cap. Up to 1876 he had not even got so far. Russell Gurney, indeed, had helped him, and Coleridge had shown an interest in his work; but the general answer to his appeals was even more provoking than opposition; it was the reply of stolid indifference.
In India his hands had been free. There he had really done a genuine and big stroke of work. The contrast to English methods, and the failure of his attempts to drive his ideas into the heads of any capable allies, had strengthened his antipathy to the home system, though it had not discouraged him from work. But now at last he had made a real and enthusiastic convert; and that convert a Governor-General, who would be able to become an effective agent in applying his ideas. The longing for real sympathy, scarcely perhaps admitted even to himself, had been always in existence, and its full gratification stimulated his new friendship to a rapid growth. Lord Lytton left for India on March 1, 1876. Before he left, Fitzjames had already written for him an elaborate exposition of the Indian administrative system, which Lytton compared to a 'policeman's bull's-eye.' It lighted up the mysteries of Indian administration. Fitzjames writes to him on the day of his departure: 'You have no conception of the pleasure which a man like me feels in meeting with one who really appreciates and is willing to make use of the knowledge which he has gained with great labour and much thought. I have had compliments of all sorts till I have become almost sick of them, but you have paid me the one compliment which goes straight to my heart—the compliment of caring to hear what I have to say and seeing the point of it.' 'You have managed,' he afterwards says, 'to draw me out of my shell as no one else ever did.' Three years later he still dwells upon the same point. You, he says (January 27, 1879) 'are the only prominent public man who ever understood my way of looking at things, or thought it in the least worth understanding.' 'Others have taken me for a clever fellow with dangerous views.' 'You have not only understood me, but, in your warm-hearted, affectionate way, exaggerated beyond all measure the value of my sayings and doings. You have not, however, exaggerated in the least my regard for you, and my desire to be of service to you.'