Anecdotes of the Judge, Jury, and Audience.

Washington, January 5, 1882.

A strange tale comes floating down the surface of the centuries. Its strange points assimilate with those associated with the unique criminal trial of to-day. During the period that the Roman inquisition was at the zenith of its power, a Catholic priest invented an instrument of torture. It was in the shape of an iron room, long and narrow, and with seven small windows looking toward the rising sun. By means of noiseless machinery the space contracted so that the wretched prisoner would see by the first light of dawn that a window had disappeared. The torture of the infernal machine could be lengthened or shortened according to the mercy of the executioner. But on the last day, or rather night, the iron bedstead would assume the form of a box, and as the sun appeared in the east the muffled tones of a bell would fall on the ear of the doomed, whilst the lid would fall, and after the clang there would be heard the fastening of screws if insensibility had not previously intervened. To prevent the existence of this instrument being known, the Doge of Venice seized its unfortunate inventor and put him into the machine, that everything connected with it should be destroyed, even to the inventor. Just as the Catholic priest created an instrument of torture and destruction, Guiteau has woven a web from which there is no escape.

The mercy or weakness which Judge Cox is accused of exercising toward the prisoner is the same sort of kindness which the executioner had for the Catholic priest. The windows of the iron cage are a little longer in disappearing. A thoughtful spectator watching the countenance of Judge Cox will see that he carries all the weight of responsibility which goes with the judicial ermine. Cool, calm, inflexible, he seems to realize that his course in this celebrated case will be put on record to stand as long as the archives of the Republic. No opportunity has been given for the defense to obtain a new trial; no chance for ill-timed sympathy to accuse him of want of clemency or withholding that which is decreed the humblest citizen on trial for his life. In this most trying position in which a man could be placed, Judge Cox has filled all the requirements of the case in a manner which unbiased, unprejudiced posterity will applaud.

Coming to the jury, taken altogether, a clearer-headed set of men could not be found. If the writer was on trial for her life and allowed the privilege to select a jury, a large proportion of those now serving would be chosen for this painful and thankless duty. One of the jurymen has had honors paid him accorded only to the most distinguished men of the world. He has been met at the threshold of the Winter Palace of the Czar of Russia, the great Nicholas, standing with a silver salver in one hand, upon which was placed corn bread, and a golden chair in the other, the seat of which was hollowed out to hold salt. He has sat at the same table with the Emperor, amidst all the splendor and pomp of the Russian court. This gentleman (Mr. Heinline) was engineer of the monitor that carried Assistant Secretary Fox, of the Navy, when he went to take President Lincoln’s dispatches to the crowned heads of Europe during our late war. In charge of this wonderful war craft, he received as much attention and in one sense more than Mr. Fox, for the Czar, like his ancestor, Peter the Great, had unbounded respect for the science of mechanics. During the lifetime of the monitors only the highest talent was employed to manage their machinery. Cool and brave must be the men who went to sea in these iron pots, and who would not choose such a juryman? And yet fate or accident has determined this man should be one to bring his strength of mind to decide in the matter of the assassin’s responsibility. It would make this article too long to make sketches of the different jurymen, but all enjoy the respect of those who know them best, so far as the writer has been able to ascertain. Few men, whether their crimes have been heavy or light, have been so fortunate as the assassin. No mortal hand was extended to help Guiteau in the selection of a jury. To the credit of all the citizens of the District, not a man was chosen that did not bewail his fate and hope that something would prevent his selection. It was claimed at the time that no jury could be impaneled because all had expressed opinions as to the guilt of the prisoner; but whether the assassin was insane or otherwise placed the trial in a different light, and only the repulsion remained in the minds of the people of the capital.

It is cruel slander on the women of the District when it is claimed it is “the same old set” of theater-goers that have gone to the Guiteau trial every day. A very few faces, less than a dozen, have been daily attendants, but these are the suspected adventuresses who come to Washington in advance of Congressmen to get the winter nests well warmed. They stop at the leading hotels, where they behave with that becoming modesty that secures them from molestation. When the real work of the Congressional season begins they flit to the different “boudoirs” in some of the most respectable quarters of the city where carriages going and coming attract not the slightest notice. The women wear “seal skin” and have all the attractive airs of “official life.” Excitement they must have, and the Guiteau trial is an excellent preliminary to the winter festivities.

It is this class of female adventuresses who dog the footsteps of the virtuous Congressmen as well as the other kind. They even have the “cheek” to attend private receptions uninvited, and claim to be on intimate terms with those who compose our most refined circles of “official society.” When these women are excepted it will be found that the surging crowd that fills the court room is composed of strangers visiting the national capital. Our ladies had a desire to look once upon a man who could murder a President, but the desire was gratified with one visit. A glance at the newspapers will prove that this pardonable curiosity pervaded all ranks of the people. Even clergymen have been seen in the small space allotted to spectators of this criminal trial.

All the “star” actors or actresses who have appeared on the stage in Washington since the trial began came to the court room—the Florences, Mary Anderson, Lotta, and a troupe of lesser lights which have escaped the writer’s memory. All seemed seeking to try to solve the problem, whether the assassin is insane, and, with scarce an exception, all believe, as did Frederick the Great of Prussia, that cranks “are responsible.” When Frederick ruled his subjects assassination became a familiar crime, while insanity became the bridge which carried the criminals to safety; but the far-seeing, irrepressible Emperor thought it would be a good plan to crush out this kind of dangerous material by the extreme penalty of the law, and the result was that fanaticism did not bloom out any more in this kind of way. Whilst “experts,” or those who have had experience in the management of insane people, can give their belief, that has little to do with the actual and proper settlement of the question as to the responsibility of the “crank.” An honest man or woman who has been insane, yet restored to health, should be the ones to decide this most important point. Shakespeare settled the subject when he asked “Who can minister to a mind diseased?” Now, this most superior of human beings did not dare to answer his own inquiry. If the “experts” could take hold of a broken mind as the surgeons do of a shattered limb, possibly they might cure it; but if a human soul by some inscrutable means, like a ship at sea, finds its bottom covered with barnacles, or a terrible rent in the hold, torn by a hidden rock, only the Builder can plunge into the vast ocean of mystery and mend the sinking wreck.

Taking the testimony of the “experts,” Dr. Gray seemed wisest and best informed, and he was very careful not to commit himself. He conscientiously let the jury know how very little we know about insanity, but he did bear out the fact that a mind a little off color, or what is vulgarly called a “crank,” for the want of a better term, is not relieved of responsibility and should be punished for crime committed the same as other criminals.

Notwithstanding the prisoner has been allowed better food and has had the stimulant of excitement imparted by his trial, there is a change gradually stealing over his features, which, rightly interpreted, means despair. His naturally pale face has assumed a kind of ashen hue which makes a sombre background for the lightning play of the fierce passions with which he is continually interrupting the court. There are no particular points to mark this man. He is like the great masses of the human family who resemble each other almost as much as do the leaves of the forest.

There is something very touching in the appearance of Mr. Scoville, brother-in-law and counsel for the assassin. He seems to have advanced ten years in age since the trial began. He has grown very much thinner, and a painful, eager, anxious expression is stamped on his otherwise kindly face. And the sister, who comes so regularly and shares the odium and disgrace of the brother! It is said her husband was very much averse to having anything to do with the trial, but when so many lawyers refused he yielded to the earnest entreaties of his wife. But instead of becoming an object of loathing to the ladies of Washington, like her brother, the assassin, her womanly devotion is appreciated. It is true she has not been crowned with laurel or welcomed to hospitable boards, but woman’s heart at Washington beats in sympathy with this sister, for no place can be so vile that it is not purified and uplifted by the presence of the same spirit that qualified Mary to become the mother of Jesus.

John W. Guiteau, the brother, has also won the respect of the community. He is trying to make the public understand that only an idiot or mad man would be guilty of the crime which a brother has committed. He feels the disgrace so deep and burning that all facts connected with the assassin’s life should come to light. Unlike his sister, he has pity, but no affection, and if he can be made to believe his brother is responsible, he, like Mr. Scoville, under the same circumstances, will be among the first to approve the carrying out of the extreme penalty of the law.

Olivia.