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Preface to Volume Fourteen [excerpt]
No greater contrasts
can be found in the history of great crimes and great criminal trials
than are illustrated in the assassins, Charles J. Guiteau
(p. 1) and Leon F. Czolgosz (p. 159) and in the judicial
proceedings that ended in their execution for the murder of two
Presidents of the United States. No other historic tragedy ever
produced such a vile, ridiculous and unheroic character as Guiteau,
a low and disreputable politician, who, disappointed in his desire
for a public office, takes his revenge in murder and then poses
as the agent of the Almighty, commissioned to save the country from
destruction. In his Recollections of an Alienist, Dr. Hamilton wrote:
“At the time, I said, ‘Guiteau is only a shrewd scamp with the plausibility
of an Alfred Jingle in swindling boarding-house keepers and evading
the payment of his debts; the visionary enthusiasm of Micawber or
Colonel Sellers; the cant and hypocrisy of Aminidab Sleep or Uriah
Heep; the ambition of Erastratus and the murderous manners of Felton,
who assassinated the Duke of Buckingham, of whose crime the the
killing of Garfield was an exact counterpart.’ Like one of the murderers
in Macbeth, he might have said:
And
I another,
So weary with disasters, tugged with fortune,
That I would set my life on any chance
To mend it or be rid on it.”
Czolgosz was a simple,
uneducated, foreign youth, an ordinarily industrious workman, without
bad habits and honest in his relation with fellow men, but unhappily
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listening to the advocates of anarchy and becoming
imbued with their doctrines, until morbidly brooding over the alleged
wrongs of his class and persuaded that anarchy was the only remedy,
determined to destroy the President because he was persuaded that
anarchy could never make any headway as long as the great mass of
people loved the head of the State as they did President McKinley.
Why the notorious Emma Goldman, whose teachings inspired his crime,
was not put in the dock with him is hard to explain, unless it was
that the laws of New York were defective in this respect. There
certainly was a good and sufficient precedent in the trial and conviction
of the Chicago Anarchists only 15 years previous. (12 Am. St. Tr.,
p. 1.)
The defense in both trials was insanity,
though Guiteau dishonestly and Czolgosz sullenly, denied the truth
of the plea made for them by their counsel. What is insanity from
a legal standpoint? Except in a few States, the law is adapted to
protect the public against the man or woman who has made himself
a self-declared judge, jury and executioner for the redress of injuries
to himself or some near relative. Nevertheless, criminals in all
parts of the United States escape punishment not because of their
legal insanity, but through the emotional insanity of judges and
jurors. The history of insanity in criminal courts has a place here.
The common law refuses to punish an insane man for acts committed
by him while in that condition. It is often argued that as the object
of punishment of criminals is to protect society, madmen who commit
crime should be treated like mad dogs; but the law is otherwise.
It being then only necessary for a criminal to prove himself insane
in order to go free, the defense of insanity has become a favorite
one when all other defenses and excuses
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have been found wanting. And it has become a difficult
question for the courts to decide. “We are not physicians,” exclaim
the judges, “nor can we look into the person’s brain, and this being
so we must have a legal test of insanity.” And what that test should
be has bothered the courts not a little. Lord Hale who tried some
of the first cases in which the “insanity plea” was set up, thought
that if the prisoner had as much sense as an ordinary four-year-old
child, he was, a fit subject for punishment. This was called the
“child test” and was followed by a good many judges until about
1724 when Chief Justice Tracy introduced a new test. “The man who
is to escape punishment for his crimes,” said he, “must be a man
that is totally deprived of his understanding and memory and doth
not know what he is doing no more than an infant, than a brute or
a wild beast.” Finally in 1840 a looney pot-boy named Oxford tried
to kill the Queen as she was taking a drive one summer afternoon.
Denham, C. J., in charging the jury told them that the question
was whether the prisoner knew the right and wrong of the act he
was committing; if he did he was responsible; if he did not he was
not responsible. This is called the “right and wrong” test and is
the law in England and in nearly all the states. In New Hampshire
and a few others, the courts say that there ought to be no legal
test of insanity; that the question must simply be, was the man’s
insanity the cause of his committing the crime? This is the “medical
test” and as it is substantially handing the whole matter over to
the doctors to settle, it is very popular with and much advocated
by that profession. In Kentucky a peculiar idea has taken possession
of its courts. It has been aptly said by an English judge that there
are three powerful restraints existing, all tending to the assist-
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ance of the person who is laboring under a temptation
to commit a crime—the restraint of religion, the restraint of conscience
and the restraint of law. But in Kentucky the temptation itself
is held a legal excuse. Their courts recognize what they call “moral
insanity”; that is to say, the plea of “I couldn’t help it; I had
an irresistible impulse to do it,” is accepted as an excuse for
a criminal act. If there happens to be a woman in the case, the
defense itself becomes irresistible. Such a doctrine has no place
in the common law of England or in the jurisprudence of all those
states where the “right and wrong” test prevails. “The law,” said
another English judge, “does not acknowledge the doctrine of an
uncontrollable impulse, if the person was aware it was a wrong act
he was about to commit. A man might say he picked a pocket from
some uncontrollable impulse and in that case the law would have
an uncontrollable impulse to punish him for it.” And so said the
Supreme Court of North Carolina where an astute counsel attempted
to clear his client on the “moral insanity” theory.
“The law does not recognize any
moral power compelling one to do what he knows is wrong. ‘To
know the right and still the wrong pursue’ proceeds from a perverse
will brought about by the evil seductions of the evil one, but
which nevertheless, with the aids that lie within our reach
as we are taught to believe may be resisted and overcome; otherwise
it would not seem to be consistent with the principles of justice
to punish any malefactor. There are many appetites and passions
which by long indulgence acquire a mastery over men more or
less strong. Some persons indeed deem themselves incapable of
exerting will sufficient to arrest their wrong-doing, speak
of them as irresistible and impotently continue under their
dominion. But the law is far from excusing criminal acts committed
under the impulse of such passions. To excuse one from criminal
responsibility the mind must be insane. The accused should be
in such a state from mental disease as not to know the nature
and quality of the act he was doing, or if he did know it that
he did not know he was doing what was wrong; and this should
be clearly established. This test, a knowledge of right
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and wrong, has long been resorted to as a general criterion
for deciding upon legal accountability and with a restricted
application to the act then about to be committed, is approved
by the highest authorities. If the prisoner knew what he did
was wrong, the law presumes that he had the power to resist
it against all supernatural agencies, and holds him amenable
to punishment.”
Another writer has well
said:
“If the unlawful act of the prisoner
is simply a lesion of the will, moral insanity, if such persons
are to be deemed irresponsible—fit objects for Bedlam but not
for punishment—our jails should be thinned and lunatic asylums
multiplied. But it is the duty of a Christian and a rational
being to keep down these unruly passions, and the physician
who contends that man has no free will and cannot control his
ungovernable appetites, seems as unsound in his theology, as
erroneous in his law. The reader of his Bible dare not admit
that intense malevolence alone, even without ground or provocation,
actual or supposed, is of itself an unfailing proof of insanity,
or that a man is mad merely because he is desperately wicked.
Reason and religion teach us to reject the modern medical code,
fashionable and favorable to our corrupt nature, though it be,
that all are insane into whom, to judge from their deeds, Satan
has entered; that the more terrible the crime, if perpetrated
without apparent motive, the more conclusive is the existence
of the malady. To such paradoxes the law of England cannot venture
to listen. The law cannot tolerate the doctrine of making the
crime itself proof of irresponsibility, without inflicting the
greatest individual injustice and undermining the safeguards
of society, without proclaiming practical immunity to such wretched
beings as Greenacre, Gleeson, Wilson and Manning; to all, in
short, who show the mind diseased by inflicting horrors in the
newest shape, and inventing fresh modes of ghastly murder.”1
The charge of Judge
Cox to the jury in the Guiteau trial is a masterly exposition of
the “right and wrong” test which is the law of the Federal Courts.
This asks the jury but one question: Did the prisoner know the nature
and quality of his act and that it was wrong? i. e. contrary to
law? Medical science asks: Was he at the time he committed the act
a victim of mental disease or medical unsoundness? In the Guiteau
trial, the great weight of medical testimony declared him sane,
1
Modern State Trials, W. C. Townsend, London,
1850.
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according to the “right and wrong” test. In the Czolgosz
trial the experts for both prosecution and defense declared him
sane by both the legal and the medical tests.
Great was the indignation against
the assassin of President Garfield by the people of Washington.
General Sherman felt compelled, in the first days after his incarceration,
to send a considerable military force to guard the jail. And before
and during his long and weary trial he was attacked several times
by would-be “avengers.” Sergeant Mason, one of his guards, fired
a rifle ball into his cell, narrowly missing him, and a substantial
farmer named William Jones, one afternoon rode up behind the prison
van and attempted to shoot him while he was being conveyed from
the court room to the jail. What would have happened had the jury
disagreed or had they found him insane? Doubtless he would have
been lynched.2
Czolgosz was for a time in danger,
also. “I never,” says an eye-witness to the shooting, “saw such
an ugly crowd, and had it been led, it would have broken into the
Temple and taken him away from the few people there and lynched
him.”3 But the vigilance of the Buffalo
authorities, their quick action in putting the criminal beyond the
reach of reporters and sensational news-
2
A story told to the editor ten years after
the tragedy is of interest. The narrator was an old soldier of the
civil war where he served as a captain of cavalry. “I was one,”
he said, “of 100 members of Gen. Garfield’s command in the war who
pledged themselves by a secret oath that Guiteau should not escape
death. A delegation of us drawn by lot and serving for a week at
a time were in the court room every day of the trial. On the day
the jury were to return their verdict twenty-five of us were present,
each with a loaded revolver in his pocket. Had the verdict been
either the prisoner is insane, or the prisoner is not guilty, that
very instant twenty-five bullets would have pierced the carcass
of the wretch.”
3 General
Babcock, p. 179.
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mongers and the firm belief of the citizens that he
would have a speedy and satisfactory trial, soon removed any apprehensions
of this kind.
The authorities in Washington were
as lax as those of Buffalo were vigilant. No sooner was Guiteau
jailed than he was permitted to issue an address to the American
people. And all through the months of his confinement and trial,
reporters and anybody curious to see him were admitted without limit;
they came in crowds and his daily interviews and messages to the
public were conveyed to every breakfast table until the scaffold
closed his mouth. But not a single person except the officers of
the Government, the experts appointed to examine him and his counsel—not
one reporter even—caught even a glance of Czolgosz until he appeared
in the courtroom, or were permitted to speak to him until he passed
into the custody of the sheriff to be taken to Albany to be hanged.
To the District Attorney the credit for this was due. His course
likewise in the permission to the experts for both the State and
prisoner to freely meet and consult together and each obtain the
same personal knowledge of the prisoner’s mental condition, is highly
to be commended. Its result was the complete agreement of all of
them as to the prisoner’s sanity. This, while it is the Continental
method, was a new departure in the United States. It was thought
of in the Guiteau trial, where each side retained its own experts
who gave their opinions in accordance with the requirements of the
party that paid them. And not only these professional witnesses,
but the prisoner’s “sisters, his cousins and his aunts” and anybody
who had ever seen or talked to him, were allowed to take the stand
and give their opinions as to his state of mind.
The Counsel for the Government in
the Guiteau trial
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were all able and distinguished members of the Bar.
Yet the conduct of the prosecution is open to much criticism. Hardly
had the testimony begun before they began to show the differences
between the “stalwart” and “half-breed” republicans, a perfectly
irrelevant matter and one not for their side to go into. To prove
the killing and then rest was the proper course.4
And there was a marked lack on their part of that official dignity
that is characteristic of the English Public Prosecutor and which
was so happily displayed in our early political prosecutions, as
carried on by those great lawyers Rawle, Bradford, Randolph and
Wirt, and whose careful and courteous demeanor towards their opponents
is illustrated in several trials in this series.5
Mr. Porter’s cross-examination of Guiteau was well done, as it served
to impress the jury with his conceit, untruthfulness and hypocrisy.
But his closing speech is mainly a mass of vituperative retorts
between himself and the prisoner, in which both employed the most
virulent terms they could command. A state prosecution should be
conducted with dignity and without resort to personal altercation
with and vituperation of a prisoner, no matter how vile he may be.
Guiteau’s counsel were his brother-in-law,
a third-class lawyer of somewhat his type, and his wife (who, though
not admitted to the bar, was permitted by the Court to act as though
she were), a disgraced attorney from another State, and himself.
The only reputable member of the bar retained by him, retired from
the case after a few days’ experience.
In preparing for the Czolgosz trial,
the Bar Association of Buffalo took the lead, and through its President
4
See 10 Fed. Rep. 200.
5 See
for example the Trial of Fries, 11 Am. St. Tr. p. 1.
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obtained the appointment of his defenders—for the
culprit was too poor to employ counsel for himself—two of the oldest,
most respected and most learned lawyers of the county, both of whom
had served on the Supreme Court of the State. And the State was
represented by a prosecuting attorney whose highest aim was that
the prisoner should have all the constitutional rights to which
he was entitled and that complete justice should be done. In such
hands the conduct of the trial was well nigh faultless. It was not
a fight, a duel, a game in which each side was straining every effort
to win, but was a sober, deliberate and thorough judicial investigation
of a great crime. On the trial Czolgosz’s attitude was one of complete
indifference. Never once during the trial or afterwards, did he
exhibit any of the mannerism or boastful displays as Guiteau did.
He made no complaint of personal wrongs or persecution such as Guiteau
was constantly making; he never showed once, as Guiteau did constantly,
his satisfaction at being the central figure in a great judicial
function, the observed of all observers, nor did he even once endeavor
to simulate mental disease as Guiteau’s conduct on his trial indicated
as his scheme. When called upon to plead, he refused to answer,6
and when he finally said the word “guilty” the judge refused to
receive the
6
Compare the action of the Court with the old
common law procedure when a prisoner on arraignment stood mute and
refused to plead. The judgment rendered was called the peine
et morte and was as follows: “That the prisoner be remanded
to the prison from whence he came and put into a low, dark chamber
and then laid on the bare floor, naked, unless when decency forbids.
That there be placed upon his body as great a weight of iron as
he could bear and more; that he have no sustenance save only on
the first day, three morsels of the worst bread; and on the second
day three draughts of standing water that should be nearest the
prison door; and in this situation should be alternately his daily
dish until he died or answered.”
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plea and ordered a plea of “not guilty” to be recorded.
The trial was attended neither by
delay nor harassed by the trivial technicalities of the law, so
common in trials for murder in the United States. A jury was procured,
the evidence heard, the speeches to the jury and the charge of the
Judge and a verdict of guilty rendered in fewer hours than it took
weeks to convict Guiteau. Czolgosz’s counsel did everything that
an honest lawyer could do for a client. Their cross-examination
of the witnesses was sharp and searching and in their addresses
to the jury they said all that could be said in his favor. None
of the devices and tricks of the ordinary criminal lawyer were resorted
to by them. They made no motion for a new trial or in arrest of
judgment; they asked for no appeal to another Court; they did not
attempt to have the case carried through tribunal after tribunal
on a host of technical questions which their knowledge of the criminal
law might easily have suggested. As sound and learned lawyers they
knew that there was no just ground for such subterfuges, and as
men of good sense and good citizens they scorned to resort to a
deliberate imposition upon the higher courts simply for the purpose
of delaying the punishment of the assassin. What a contrast to the
Guiteau trial!
In one of the leading journals of
the day, the conduct of the Guiteau trial was summed up thus:
“Was there ever before in a tribunal
of enlightened people such concentrated and accumulated disgrace
and real cause for shame? A vituperative criminal, whose impudence
and indecency could be equalled only by his fluency and keenness
of perception and repartee; a hissing, jeering and applauding
audience; perpetually wrangling counsel; all three antagonistic
forces often talking and fighting at once; with a judge who,
to all appearance was utterly inadequate to manage or control
either—such was the trial of an unprecedented criminal, for
an unpardonable crime, which for ten weeks disgraced this country
and made a shameful spectacle for the whole world. Who, that
day after day listened to loud and vengeful
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shouts of the prisoner, to the bickering and quarrelling of
the lawyers, could believe that this trial could ever mount
to a climax that could, at last, simply express dignity and
law”?7
For this the presiding
Judge was largely responsible.8 He was
a good lawyer, a gentleman of the old school, of benevolent temperament,
but too mild and long-suffering for such a contest of which he was
to be the arbiter. He was unable to even preserve order in the court-room,
and marks of approval and disapproval came from the audience without
rebuke. The prisoner, as it was said at the time, cared no more
for the Judge’s gentle cry of “silence” than he did for the fly
he brushed from his nose. A strong Judge—like Cockburn, who tried
the Tichbourne Claimant—would have gagged him or removed him from
the courtroom, as he had a lawful right to do, and Judge Cox was
much criticized for his failure
7
The Independent, Feb. 9, 1881.
8 “Such
elements as enter into the ‘makeup’ of Judge Cox are rarely seen
in any man, north or south, who has achieved success or eminence.
Said one who knows him well, ‘I have never seen any man really eminent
who had so little self-consciousness. Judge Cox is the most unpretentious
man I ever knew. He assumes nothing.’ Judge Walter Cox was born
in Georgetown and is by birth, association and training a real son
of the District of Columbia. Inheriting a large fortune from his
father, he had all the incentives to idleness usually born of opulence;
but though he lives in great elegance, and entertains with large
hospitality, he has been all his life one of the hardest of workers.
Standing in the foremost rank as a lawyer, he has been for years
at the head of the Law school of Columbia University, Washington.
In addition to a pressing law practice, three evenings of the week,
for many years, have found him in his place as the instructor of
the intelligent, and in many cases, hard-worked young men, who with
other employments by day, studied law with Judge Cox of nights.
Judge Cox is a slight, delicate-looking man, whose strong features
and fine head indicate a mentality more potent than any mere physical
force could express. He is somewhat bald, has mild blue eyes, a
Roman nose and an expression entirely benevolent. Said a friend:
‘I cannot see how a man can amount to so much and assert himself
so little.’ This was the quality that brought down upon him so many
anathemas during the Guiteau trial.” The Independent, Id.
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to do this. But a great authority on criminal law
has defended his course in this respect, saying:
“There can be now no question
that giving Guiteau full liberty in the court-room greatly conduced
not only to the promptness and early unanimity of the action
of the jury, but to the universal approval with which that verdict
has been met. I confess that when the prosecution opened I had
much doubt whether a conviction could be secured; and I believe
that the general sentiment then was that the case was on the
border-line and that the jury could not be expected to agree.
This feeling, however, was gradually dispelled by Guiteau’s
course during the trial. Undoubtedly he showed great vanity
and great ignorance, so far as the higher conditions of knowledge
are concerned. But he showed abundantly that he acted in the
tragic homicide perpetrated by him with a motive, which, however
preposterous and villainous, was nevertheless as sane as are
the motives of other criminals who take human life to gratify
personal or political revenge and with a full knowledge of the
unlawfulness of his act. He proved on the trial that he was
as sane as are the greater body of ruffians by whom life is
taken; and he proved also that if the defense of insanity was
good in his case, there are few cases of atrocious crimes in
which it could not be sustained. Had he been removed from the
court-room or gagged, as was proposed, this condition would
not have existed. Even if convicted there would have been many
who would have felt that the case was still one of doubt, and
there would have been few who would have regarded the conviction
and execution with entire approval.”9
9
Dr. Francis Wharton, in 10 Fed. Rep.
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