Chapter V · (continued 3)

IX. APPOINTMENT TO A JUDGESHIP

Meanwhile, Fitzjames had been receiving various proofs of rising reputation. In January 1877 he was made K.C.S.I. He expresses his pleasure at having the name of India thus 'stamped upon him'; and speaks of the very friendly letter in which Lord Salisbury had announced the honour, and of his gratitude for Lord Lytton's share in procuring it. The University of Oxford gave him the honorary D.C.L. degree in 1878. He was member of a Commission upon fugitive slaves in 1876, and of a Commission upon extradition in 1878.[175] He was also a member of the Copyright Commission appointed in October 1875, which reported in 1878. He agreed with the majority and contributed a digest of the law of copyright. He had occasional reasons to expect an elevation to the bench; but was as often disappointed. Upon the death of Russell Gurney (May 31, 1878) there was some talk of his becoming Recorder of London; but he did not much regret the speedy disappearance of this prospect, though it had its attractions. He was three times (1873, 1877, and 1878) appointed to act as judge upon circuit. When at last he was entrusted with the preparation of the Criminal Code in 1877, the Attorney-General expressed the opinion that a satisfactory execution of the task would entitle him to a judgeship, but could not give any definite pledge. When, however, in July 1878, it was determined to appoint a Commission to prepare a code for Parliament, Fitzjames said that he would be unable to undertake a laborious duty which would make practice at the bar impossible for the time, without some assurance of a judgeship. The Chancellor thereupon wrote a letter, which, though an explicit promise could not be made, virtually amounted to a promise. In accordance with this he was appointed on January 3, 1879, to a judgeship which had become vacant by the resignation of Sir Anthony Cleasby. A notorious journalist asserted that the promise had been made on consideration of his writing in the papers on behalf of the Indian Government. The statement is only worth notice as an ingenious inversion of the truth. So far from requiring any external impulse to write on Lytton's behalf, Fitzjames could hardly refrain from writing when its expediency was doubtful. When the occasion for a word in season offered itself, hardly any threats or promises could have induced him to keep silence. 'Judge or no judge,' he observes more than once, 'I shall be forced to write' if certain contingencies present themselves.

I give the letter in which he announced his appointment to his sister-in-law (January 4, 1879):—'My dearest Emily, I write to tell you that I am out of all my troubles. Cleasby has unexpectedly resigned, and I am to succeed him. I know how this news will delight you, and I hasten to send it, though I hope to see you to-morrow. It gives me a strange, satisfied, and yet half-pathetic feeling. One great battle is won, and one great object obtained; and now I am free to turn my mind to objects which have long occupied a great part of it, so far as my leisure will allow. I hope I have not been anxious to any unworthy or unmanly extent about the various trials which are now over.

'In such moments as this, one's heart turns to those one loves. Dearest Emily, may all good attend you, and may I and mine be able to do our shares towards getting you the happiness you so pre-eminently deserve. I don't know what to wish for; but I wish for all that is best and most for your good in the widest sense which the word can have. Ever your loving brother, J. F. S.'

In giving the news to Lord Lytton, he observes that he feels like a man who has got into a comfortable carriage on a turnpike road after scrambling over pathless mountain ranges. His business since his return has been too irregular and capricious to allow him to feel himself at his ease. That being over, he is resolved to make the bench a 'base of operations' and 'not a mere shelf.'

The hint about 'leisure' in the letter to Lady Egerton will be understood. Leisure in his mouth meant an opportunity for doing more than his duties required. He calculated on a previous occasion that, if he were a judge, he should have at his disposal three or, by good management, four working hours at his own disposal. I find him, characteristically enough, observing in an article of about the same date that the puisne judges have quite enough work without imposing any extra labour whatever upon them. But he tacitly assumed that he was to carry a double burthen. How he turned his time to account will appear directly. I need only say here that he unfeignedly enjoyed his new position. He often said that he could imagine nothing more congenial to all his wishes. He observes frequently that the judicial work is the only part of our administrative system which is still in a thoroughly satisfactory state. He felt as one who had got into a safe place of refuge, from which he could look out with pity upon those who were doomed to toil and moil, in an unhealthy atmosphere, as politicians, public officials, and journalists. He could learn to be philosophical even about the fate of his penal code.

NOTE

^*_*^*My nephew, Sir Herbert Stephen, has kindly sent me the enclosed note in regard to my brother's life in Ireland.

L. S.

In 1869 my father took for the long vacation a house called Dromquina, on the northern bank of the Kenmare River, about three miles from Kenmare. The 'river' is an arm of the sea, something like forty miles long, and at Dromquina, I suppose, not above half a mile wide. He had heard of the place by reason of his friend, Mr. Froude, living at that time at Lord Lansdowne's house, Derreen, in Killmakalogue Harbour, about fifteen miles lower down on the opposite shore. In a thickly populated country this would not constitute a near neighbourhood, but we made excursions to Derreen, either in a boat or in Mr. Froude's yacht, several times in the course of the summer. It is in the neighbourhood of the Kenmare River and Bantry Bay that Mr. Froude laid the scene of 'The Two Chiefs of Dunboy.'

Dromquina stands close to the water's edge, and we had several boats and the services of some half-dozen fishermen at our command. My father had learnt to row at Eton, and during this summer he always took an oar—and did good service with it—upon our frequent excursions on the water. I remember, by the way, that many years later, after he had been for some time a judge, he was one day rowing in a boat with a party of friends on the Thames, and was much gratified by my telling him what hard work I had found it, while steering, to keep the boat straight, because he pulled so much harder than the man who was rowing bow, a sturdy athlete, twenty years his junior, but no waterman.

He liked the life at Dromquina so much that in 1873, after his return from India, he took the Bishop of Limerick's house, Parknasilla, in Sneem Harbour, just opposite Derreen. That year, if I remember right, he took some shooting, to which we had to drive a considerable distance. In one year or the other I went out shooting with him two or three times. I do not think he ever had any shooting later: though, considering how little practice he can have had, he was a decidedly good shot. The country was rough, and the bags, though not heavy in quantity—we were lucky if we saw ten brace of grouse—presented a rather extensive variety of kind. During these two summers my father indulged himself freely in his favourite amusement of taking long walks, but also did a good deal of rowing and sailing. He had had my brothers and me taught to swim in a previous summer at the sea-side, and at Dromquina decided that we ought to be able to swim confidently in our clothes. In order to test our possession of this accomplishment, he one day took us out himself in a boat, and told me to sit on the gunwale, after which he artfully engaged me in conversation until he saw that I was not expecting my plunge, when he suddenly shoved me overboard. We all passed the ordeal with credit.

In 1873 he meditated building a house on the Kenmare River, but in the course of that summer he went to visit Sir John Strachey, who was then living at Anaverna House, at Ravensdale in County Louth. The Stracheys left it not long after, and we went there for the first time in 1875. Some years later my father took a lease of it, and there he spent every long vacation till 1891 inclusive, and the greater part of 1892.

For this place my father in particular, as well as his family generally, had from the first a strong affection. The house stands rather high, on the extreme southern slope of the Mourne Mountains, just within the border of the county of Louth and the province of Leinster. Behind and above the house to the north, the 'mountains' (moors varying in height from 1,000 to 2,700 feet) stretch for many miles, enclosing the natural harbour known as Carlingford Lough. Southwards there is a view across a comparatively level plain as far as the Wicklow Mountains, just beyond Dublin, and about sixty miles away. The sea is visible at no great distance on the east, and on fine days we could always see the Isle of Man, about eighty miles to the north-east, from any of several hill-tops within an hour's walk of the house. My father was therefore able to take to his heart's content the long walks that had always been his favourite amusement. He also devoted himself with the greatest enthusiasm to the improvement of the house and grounds. For many years before the Stracheys' short tenancy it had been unoccupied, and the grounds—of which there were about seventy acres—were at first very much overgrown, especially with laurels, which, when neglected, grow in that country in almost disgusting luxuriance. My father therefore occupied himself a good deal with amateur forestry, and became, considering that he first turned his attention to the subject at the age of forty-six, a rather expert woodsman. A good deal of tree-felling was necessary, both in the interest of the trees and for the improvement of the views from the house and its immediate neighbourhood. My father had a Canadian axe, given to him by Frederick Gibbs, of which he was extremely fond, and with which he did a great deal of work. He was never reduced to cutting down a tree merely for exercise, but always first satisfied himself with much care that its removal would be an improvement. Another point in his wood-cutting that I always admired was that, when the more amusing part of the operation—which is cutting the tree down—was over, he invariably took personally his full share of the comparatively uninteresting work of sawing up the trunk, and disposing in an orderly manner of the branches. He also took great pains to cut his trees as close to the ground as possible, so as not to sacrifice the good timber at the butt, or leave a tall or ragged stump to disfigure the ground afterwards.

Another labour in which he took much interest was the making of paths through a little wood running up the hill-side behind the house, and the engineering of a stream which descended through it, and, being flooded two or three times every year, required a good deal of management, the more so as the house was supplied by it with water through an artificial streamlet made for the purpose. In these pursuits my father was always assisted by the village post-master, an old man named Morton, of picturesque appearance and conversation, and the consultations between the two used to be full of interest. Morton spoke with a strong brogue, and combined several other pursuits with that of post-master, the universality of his aptitudes making him an interesting companion, and my father had a great regard for him. He died a few months ago, being then, I believe, over eighty years of age.

Another out-door amusement that my father enjoyed was shooting at a mark with a Snider rifle. The nature of the grounds made it easy to get a safe hundred yards' range within three minutes' walk of the front door, and three or four hundred yards by going a little farther. We practised in this way pretty often, and I think the judge was, on the whole, a better shot than any of his sons. In the year 1883 the household was increased, a good deal to my father's annoyance, by two policemen. At the Liverpool summer Assizes he had tried a gang of dynamiters, I think for treason-felony. They, or most of them, were convicted and sentenced to long terms of penal servitude. Some of my father's friends, not understanding that if anybody wanted to murder him it was quite as likely to be done, and quite as easy to do, in England as in Ireland, and perhaps entertaining the fantastic idea that the population of Louth had more regard for dynamiters than the population of London, suggested to the Irish Government that he was in some danger. The only thing that could be done was to order police protection, and this Sir George Trevelyan did. Accordingly two constables took up their abode in a room which happened to be available in the stable-yard, and mounted guard all day over the hall-door, following my father wherever he went during the day. Though their continued escort troubled him a good deal, there was no escape from it, and he got used to it to some extent. He made great friends with the men personally—like other people, he had the highest admiration for the force to which they belonged—and sometimes challenged them to a shooting match, either with their own rifles or with his, and was much gratified when he got the better of them.

With the people generally he became after a time extremely popular. I say after a time, because the inhabitants of that country do not, any more than country people in most parts of England, take strongly to strangers before they know anything about them. They never showed the least disposition to incivility, but for the first year or two my father had not many acquaintances among them. Later he came to be well known, and when he was taking his walks in the fields or on the mountains, there was hardly a man for a good many miles round who did not hail him by name. I have known them shout across two fields, 'It's a fine evening, Sir James'; and when they did so he invariably stopped and entered into conversation about the crops and the weather, or other topics of universal interest. With some of them whom he had frequently met while walking, or whom he had helped with advice or small loans (about the repayment of which they were, to his great delight, singularly honest), he was on particularly friendly terms, and made a point of visiting them in their houses at least once every year. They have remarkably good manners, and attracted him particularly by their freedom from awkwardness, and their combination of perfect politeness with complete self-respect. I have reason to know that they have not forgotten him.

He once made a short expedition with one of my sisters to Achill, Clifden, and Galway. They stayed two nights at Achill, which sufficed for him to make friends with Mr. Sheridan, the landlord of the inn there. They never met again, but there were communications between them afterwards which showed that my father retained as long as he lived a kindly recollection of the people he had met in that particular holiday.

It was naturally during the summer holidays, and when one of us used to go circuit as his marshal, that my brothers and I saw most of him. I think that during the years of his judgeship I came to know all his opinions, and share most of them. One result of his strong memory, and the immense quantity of talking and reading that he had done in his life, was that he was never at a loss for conversation. But to attempt to give an idea of what his intimate talk was like when he conversed at his ease about all manner of men and things is not my business. It was, of course, impossible to live in the house with him without being impressed by his extraordinary industry. The mere bulk of the literary work he did at Anaverna would make it a surprising product of fifteen long vacations, and there was not a page of it which had not involved an amount of arduous labour which most men would regard as the antithesis of holiday-making. This, however, as the present biography will have shown, was his normal habit, and these notes are designed to indicate that it did not prevent him from enjoying, when away from books and pens and ink, a happy and vigorous life.