Book Review: Justice by John Galsworthy

• Title: Justice: A Tragedy in Four Acts
• Author: John Galsworthy
• Published: New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1910. Pages-109.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

Alexander Pope (1688 – 1744) An Essay on Man: Epistle II, Lines 217-220[1]

John Galsworthy (1867-1933) was an English novelist and playwright.  He won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1932.[2]  He studied law and was called to the bar in 1890.[3]  Shortly afterwards, with a goal to specialize in marine law, he took a voyage around the world in which he met and befriended Joseph Conrad.[4]  The Encyclopedia Britannica calls Galsworthy “A passionate partisan of liberal humanitarianism, he had little sympathy with the modern movement in the arts taking place around him. … He had, in short, no profound understanding of human nature, only a keen emotional feeling for the society in which he had himself been brought up and a sentimental esteem for the underdog.”[5] The article gave most of its attention to Galsworthy’s Forsyth Saga, but did have a short comment on this particular work; “Justice (1910), a realistic portrayal of prison life that roused so much feeling that it led to reform.”[6]  I do not doubt that the media and general public perceived it this way, however, I do not agree that this is an accurate portrayal of Justice.  In this book there is no question as to Falder’s guilt.  Instead, the dilemma is on the temptation to violate the sanctity of equality under the law.  When do we make an exception?  Should there be an exception?  Who decides, and on what criteria?  We see this in Act One when Cokeson wants to make an exception and appeals to James How.  We see this in Act Two in the trial when the lawyer, Frome,  asks for an exception.  And again in Act Three, when we see Cokeson pleading with the prison Governor for exceptions that he knows he should not ask for, but does anyhow.  And finally, in Act Four, when James How finally relents to an exception, against his better judgment, to take the ex-con back, it is revealed that everything is just as he had feared it would be, and Falder, the man of “weak character,” selfishly throws away his life, over a case of misplaced passion, making his last mistake in series of many.

Therefore, I believe this play is not about instigating prison reform, but rather about how passion and familiarity with vice entices us to slide down that slippery slope of moral degradation.  To defend my position, I will explore the dynamic changes that occur in the character Cokeson over the course of the play, the fair trial that Falder, the man of “weak character” receives, and finally the portrayal of the prison in which that “realistic portrayal of prison life that roused so much feeling,” will be debunked and actually shown to be the most humane prison that I have ever read about.

The play opens and closes with the character Robert Cokeson.  He is described as “a man of sixty, wearing spectacles; rather short, with a bald head, and an honest, pug-dog face.  He is dressed in a well-worn black frock-coat and pepper-and-salt trousers.”  He has spent the last twenty-nine years as the managing clerk of the Law Firm of James and Walter How, a father and son establishment dealing with estate cases.  This respectable place of employment is suddenly disturbed by the arrival of a distraught woman, Mrs. Ruth Honeywill, and her two young children. She pleads to Cokeson that she must talk to William Falder, one of the junior clerks.  Cokeson learns that there is no acceptable relationship between the two and tells her that he cannot possibly allow that to happen and she must seek him out elsewhere.  She passionately exclaims that “It’s a matter of life and death,” and reluctantly Cokeson accedes.

We are then privy to the private conversation of Ruth and Falder.  She is trying to escape from an abusive husband and they have plans to run away that very night to South America and pose as husband and wife.  He gives her seven pounds and she leaves to get ready for their journey.  The partners arrive and discover that there is a discrepancy in the books.  They learn that a nine-pound bank note was forged to look like 90 pounds.  The blame initially falls on Davis, a young clerk who is on a ship headed to Australia with his young wife. Scotland Yard is notified, and plans are being made to have Davis arrested in Naples on his way to Australia.  Cokeson is very distressed by this incident as he thinks very highly of Davis.  The bank cashier, Cowley, who cashed the funds is sent for to get more information.  They wish Davis was there so that Cowley could identify him.  Falder is asked to come out of the office, just to cover all bases, and to the surprise of everyone, he identifies him as the one who cashed the forged note.  Falder denies this at first, and even tries to put the blame on the honeymooner.  But soon realizes he is caught and begs for forgiveness and vows to repay what he stole.  Falder claims it was a spur of the moment decision, but the elder How instead sums it all up as “weak character.”  The inspector shows up, arrests Falder, and takes him away.  The act ends with Cokeson so upset, that he cannot eat his lunch.

In act two, at Falder’s trial, Cokeson on the witness stand, states that he was a “nice, pleasant-spoken young man,” and that they “were all very jolly and pleasant together, until this happened.”  Cokeson’s life up until this time has been orderly and respectable.  He knew things happened out there in the real world, but not to him and his associates.  This made it personal, and as such he was having a hard time dealing with it.  He relies on custom and prescription to guide his actions, but this shakes him up.  He is very particular to answer all the questions posed to him honestly and precisely.  For example, when asked how long Falder had worked for the company he responded, “Two years.  No, I’m wrong there – all but seventeen days.”   Cokeson replies that dishonesty would never do, that, “Every man of business knows that honesty’s the sine qua non.”   In his testimony, Cokeson states that Falder on the morning of the forgery was jumpy.  He likened him to a “dog that’s lost its master.”  This is interesting, in the act of committing the crime, he compared Falder to be acting or taking on an animal characteristic.   Falder is found guilty in the trial and goes to prison.

In act three, Cokeson visits Falder, and then goes to see the Governor of the prison.  He tells the Governor, “Fact is, I oughtn’t to be here by rights. … Well, I take an interest in him.  He was our junior – I go to the same chapel – and I didn’t like to refuse.  And what I wanted to tell you was, he seems lonely here.”  Cokeson is worried, but is he really worried for Falder, or for the trouble it is causing him, as in when he says, “I’m afraid it’ll prey on my mind.”  Cokeson asks the Governor if he can make an exception with Falder.  It seems when prisoners first arrived they were kept in a cell for three months, before they were allowed to participate in group activities.  Cokeson is here to plead for leniency.  He hates to see a man cry, and his problems are due to a woman.  A man may indeed be lonely when he goes to prison.  What is wrong with having a few months to think things out, collect your thoughts, and reflect on why you are there?  He petitions to the Governor to make an exception and allow Ruth to visit Falder.  The governor refuses this request also and Cokeson goes on to tell us her sad plight.  He explains that she came to him saying she didn’t know what else to do and was going to have to go into the workhouse, but he couldn’t let that happen so he was helping her out, and wanted to give her some money.  She said, “I don’t like to take it from you.  I think I’d better go back to my husband.”  Cokeson said it was this news that upset Falder.  He tells the governor, “He’s got his three years to serve. I want things to be pleasant for him.”  Is prison supposed to be pleasant?  Cokeson tells the chaplain that he keeps dogs and that he “wouldn’t shut one of them up all by himself, month after month, not if he bit me all over.”  The Chaplain responds, “Unfortunately, the criminal is not a dog; he has a sense of right and wrong.”  Cokeson replies back, “But that’s not the way to make him feel it.”  The Chaplain then says, “Ah! There I’m afraid we must differ.”  Cokeson, has visited the prison, even though he knew he had no right to, asked for exceptions for Falder to see a married woman, and compared the prisoners condition as worse than dogs.  It is quite apparent that he is out of his element and is simply being motivated by passion.  He is concerned about their feelings.  The Chaplain politely disagrees with him and the prison officials shake their head at this old mans naivety.

A couple of years later, Ruth shows up again at the law office.  This time she is well received by Cokeson.  She wants Falder to have his old job back and he agrees to talk to him about it.  He asks how she is getting along and is startled to find out she is now a prostitute.  She goes downstairs and sends Falder up.  Cokeson is flustered and thought he would have more time to grasp everything as Falder pours out his story of looking for work and sleeping in the park.  Then the law partners arrive.  They hear his sad situation and how hard it is to find work for a felon.  The elder How finally agrees to take him back if he would just denounce Ruth and give it all a fresh start.  Falder adamantly refuses.  She is his everything.  She was his whole reason for going to prison, how could he just give her up.  The elder How has been informed in a whisper the condition of Ruth and decides to appeal to her judgment that if she really wants what best for Falder she will convince him to give her up and start his life anew.  She grudgingly does this.  Falder starts to suspect something has changed and realizes what she has done to her reputation.  Just then the Detective-Sergeant Wister from Scotland Yard inspector shows up, the same as in act one.  Before he comes in the room they tell Falder and Ruth to hide in a side room.  They learn from Wister that Falder has not checked in like he was supposed to these last three months and not only that, but he has been forging his references.  So, he is here to take him back to prison to serve his last remaining six months.  He was led to believe he would be here.  Everyone denies he is there.  He reminds them that harboring a criminal is a criminal offense.  Cokeson and the two partners vehemently deny that Falder is there just as they all look down and focus on his hat sitting on the table in the middle of the room.  The inspector is on to them, he goes to leave, but suddenly switches directions and opens the door to the room where Falder and Ruth are waiting.  There is a momentary lapse and then Wister “comes out with his arm twisted in Falder’s.  The latter gives a white, staring look at the other three men.”  By the look on his face he now knows the truth about Ruth.  As he is being taken away he gives a queer, desperate laugh and exclaims, “Good!” This will be his last word, as he leaves “Flinging a look back at Ruth, he throws up his head, and goes out through the outer office, half dragging Wister after him.”  Suddenly, there is the sound of a heavy thud.  It appears Falder has jumped down the stairs to his death rather than go back to prison.  Cokeson consoles Ruth and states “No one’ll touch him now!  Never again! He’s safe with gentle Jesus!”  The last scene has Cokeson bending humbly before Ruth, holding out his hand as one would to a lost dog. Now I read this as the more and more that Cokeson got involved in the passionate details and the life of Faldur and Ruth, the more he lost sight of his moral compass.  In the end he was harboring a criminal, aiding a man that had never truly repented what he had done, and even helping a woman who had degraded herself by selling her own body.  I believe by trying to “help” them the way he did, he only enabled them further.  What I think Galsworthy was doing is putting the issue in our face.  What truly is justice?  Do we follow our laws and custom or do we make exceptions and give in.  The trial is where this becomes most apparent.

Act two is the trial of Falder; and Galsworthy explains that the testimonies of James and Walter How, Cowley the cashier, and Wister the detective have already been given, clearly implying that his focus is not on them.  Cokeson is the first testimony we hear, but the stage is set first with the defense attorney, Hector Frome, who states, “I am not going to dispute the fact that the prisoner altered this cheque, but I am going to put before you evidence as to the condition of his mind, and to submit that you would not be justified in finding that he was responsible for his actions at the time.”  This is the crux of the play.  We know that Falder is guilty, that fact is never disputed.  But, we are asked to overlook the actual crime committed; and instead, sympathize with the accused and sympathize with his passion and think about what we would have done if we were in his place.  For, after all, the young man is only twenty-three years old, and “little more than a boy,” in the words of Frome.  How does his age excuse this crime at all?  Now this is truly putting a false impression and definite attempt to manipulate our emotions.  Frome continues with, “I am not, of course saying that it’s either right or desirable for a young man to fall in love with a married woman, or that it’s his business to rescue her from an ogre-like husband.”  In actuality, he is asking us to say exactly that.  He sums it all up with a misdirect, “married to a drunken and violent husband, she has no power to get rid of him; for as you know, another offence besides violence is necessary to enable a woman to obtain a divorce; and of this offense it does not appear that her husband is guilty.”  Who is on trial here, the husband or Falder?  Or is it a progressive push for divorce reform?  No, it is a deliberate attempt to cloud the issue.  Galsworthy was a lawyer, he knows this and is presenting it to our eyes so we can clearly understand the situation.

Ruth is called on the stand.  She is mostly questioned by the defense to show how upset Falder was about Ruth’s situation and how this might have clouded his judgment.  The prosecuter asks her one question, “When you left him on the morning of Friday the 7^th you would not say that he was out of his mind, I suppose?”  This was the morning right before he forged the check and stole the money.  She responded, “No, sir.”  Cleaver the prosecutor had no further questions after that.

Falder then takes the stand.  He is asked if he knew Ruth’s husband and he replied “Only through her – he’s a brute.”  He admits the entire crime.  After he regains his seat the defense, Frome, gives his final argument.  He states, “But is a man to be lost because he is bred and born with a weak character?  Gentlemen, men like the prisoner are destroyed daily under our law for want of that human insight which sees them as they are, patients, and not criminals.  If the prisoner be found guilty, and treated as though he were a criminal type, he will, as all experience shows, in all probability become one.”  This idea of a patient was repeated later in the prison where the chaplain comments that Cokeson thinks the prison should be a hospital.  Frome compares Justice to a machine and then asks, “Is this young man to be ground to pieces under this machine for an act which at the worst was one of weakness?”  What crime was ever committed where the perpetrator did not suffer from moral weakness?

Cleaver the prosecutor then proceeds.  He states, “if the prisoner had pleaded guilty my friend would have had to rely on a simple appeal to his lordship.  Instead of that, he has gone into the byways and hedges and found this – er – peculiar plea, which has enabled him to show you the proverbial woman, to put her in the box – to give, in fact, a romantic glow to this affair.”  He continues to state the core of the defense’s case relies on the possibility that the defendant was insane.  “We have therefore the plea that a man who is sane at ten minutes past one, and sane at fifteen minutes past, may, for the purposes of avoiding the crime, call himself insane between those points of time.”  Galsworthy provides also for the fact that Falder had to go back four days later and forge the foil duplicate, and that he knew that Davis would get the blame to seal any doubt about Falder’s innocence.  But still, some will read this, and be moved by passion, not morals, not custom, not our law, and try to excuse his crime.  He saw this as a problem in 1910 and it is a problem today.  The jury retires and then returns with the verdict of guilty.

The judge declares that in his opinion the jury has rightly found him guilty of forgery.  He states that the defense has really presented its case as an appeal for mercy.  “Whether he was well advised to do so is another matter.”  The Judge gives an excellent sentencing statement, that, though long, I will quote.

“I have to consider on the one hand the grave nature of your offense, the deliberate way in which you subsequently altered the counterfoil, the danger you caused to an innocent man – and that to my mind, is a very grave point – and finally I have to consider the necessity of deterring others from following your example.  On the other hand, I have to bear in mind that you are young, that you have hitherto borne a good character, that you were, if I am to believe your evidence and that of your witness, in a state of some emotional excitement when you committed this crime.  I have every wish, consistently with my duty – not only to you, but to the community – to treat you with leniency.  And this brings me to what are the determining factors in my mind in my consideration of your case.  You are a clerk in a lawyer’s office – that is a very serious element in this case; there can be no possible excuse made for you on the ground that you were not fully conversant with the nature of the crime you were committing, and the penalties that attach to it.  It is said, however, that you were carried away by your emotions.  The story has been told here today of your relations with this – er – Mrs. Honeywill; on that story both the defense and the plea for mercy were in effect based.  Now what is that story?  It is that you, a young man, and she, a young woman, unhappily married, had formed an attachment, which you both say – with what truth I am unable to gauge – had not yet resulted in immoral relations, but which you both admit was about to result in such relationship.  Your counsel has made an attempt to palliate this, on the ground that the woman is in what he describes, I think, as “a hopeless position.”  As to that I can express no opinion.  She is a married woman, and the fact is patent that you committed this crime with the view of furthering an immoral design.  Now, however I might wish, I am not able to justify to my conscience a plea for mercy which has a basis inimical to morality.  It is vitiated ab initio, and would, if successful, free you for the completion of this immoral project.  Your counsel has made an attempt to trace your offense back to what he seems to suggest is a defect in the marriage law; he has made an attempt also to show that to punish you with further imprisonment would be unjust.  I do not follow him in these flights.  The Law is what it is – a majestic edifice, sheltering all of us, each stone of which rests on another.  I am concerned only with its administration.  The crime you have committed is a very serious one.  I cannot feel it in accordance with my duty to Society to exercise the powers I have in your favour.  You will go to penal servitude for three years.”

The judge makes it very clear, I believe, that Falder is guilty and that he should be sentenced.  There is really no wriggle room, in my opinion, for anything else to occur than he should go to prison.

This leads us to look over the prison scene, Act Three: The “realistic portrayal of prison life that roused so much feeling that it led to reform.”  This prison is ideal.  Every official we meet is completely dedicated to the long-term welfare of the men they are in charge of.  The act starts with the Governor inspecting a make-shift saw that one of the prisoners had made and was using to attempt an escape.  The Governor says, “Worries me to feel the men discontented. [Gazing at the saw] Have to punish this poor devil.  Can’t help liking a man who tries to escape.”  The prisoner who was trying to escape is Moaney.

THE GOVERNOR [Beckoning him out into the corridor, and holding up the saw–with the manner of an officer speaking to a private] Anything to say about this, my man? [MOANEY is silent] Come!

MOANEY It passed the time.

THE GOVERNOR [Pointing into the cell] Not enough to do, eh?

MOANEY It don’t occupy your mind.

THE GOVERNOR [Tapping the saw] You might find a better way than this.

MOANEY [Sullenly] Well! What way? I must keep my hand in against the time I get out. What’s the good of anything else to me at my time of life? [With a gradual change to civility, as his tongue warms] Ye know that, sir. I’ll be in again within a year or two, after I’ve done this lot. I don’t want to disgrace meself when I’m out. You’ve got your pride keeping the prison smart; well, I’ve got mine. [Seeing that the GOVERNOR is listening with interest, he goes on, pointing to the saw] I must be doin’ a little o’ this. It’s no harm to any one. I was five weeks makin’ that saw–a, bit of all right it is, too; now I’ll get cells, I suppose, or seven days’ bread and water. You can’t help it, sir, I know that–I quite put meself in your place.

THE GOVERNOR Now, look here, Moaney, if I pass it over will you give me your word not to try it on again? Think! [He goes into the cell, walks to the end of it, mounts the stool, and tries the window-bars]

THE GOVERNOR [Returning] Well?

MOANEY [Who has been reflecting] I’ve got another six weeks to do in here, alone. I can’t do it and think o’ nothing. I must have something to interest me. You’ve made me a sporting offer, sir, but I can’t pass my word about it. I shouldn’t like to deceive a gentleman. [Pointing into the cell] Another four hours’ steady work would have done it.

THE GOVERNOR Yes, and what then? Caught, brought back, punishment. Five weeks’ hard work to make this, and cells at the end of it, while they put anew bar to your window. Is it worth it, Moaney?

MOANEY [With a sort of fierceness] Yes, it is.

THE GOVERNOR [Putting his hand to his brow] Oh, well! Two days’ cells-bread and water.

MOANEY Thank ‘e, sir.

The Governor addresses Moaney “with the manner of an officer speaking to a private.” That sounds like respect to me.  Then we have the Governor “listening with interest.”  This means he cares.  If someone does notb care, they don’t listen, but he does, the welfare of Moaney concerns him, he wants to understand him, so that he may be able to help him.  The Governor asks Moaney, “if I pass it over will you give me your word not to try it on again? Think!”  It says a lot about Moaney, that he admits he would, and he knows the Governor has to do his duty and give him seven days in cell with bread and water, but the Governor shows mercy and only gives him two days with bread and water.  Is this in need of reform?  No, I do not think so.  The Governor continues to see the prisoners and shows the same level of concern and sincerity on all of them.  The Govenor promised Cokeson that he would look in on Falder and he does.  Cokeson seemed to question the Governor’s integrity at one point and he responded rather sharply, “If any sign of injury to his health shows itself his case will be reported at once.”  The Doctor had proclaimed Falder nervous and rather melancholy earlier, but the Governor wants to him to check him out again.

FALDER [His lips twitch with a sort of smile] I don’t know, sir. I was always nervous. [Suddenly voluble] Everything seems to get such a size then. I feel I’ll never get out as long as I live.

THE GOVERNOR That’s morbid, my lad. Pull yourself together.

FALDER [With an equally sudden dogged resentment] Yes–I’ve got to.

THE GOVERNOR Think of all these other fellows?

FALDER They’re used to it.

THE GOVERNOR They all had to go through it once for the first time, just as you’re doing now.

FALDER Yes, sir, I shall get to be like them in time, I suppose.

THE GOVERNOR [Rather taken aback] H’m! Well! That rests with you. Now come. Set your mind to it, like a good fellow. You’re still quite young. A man can make himself what he likes.

FALDER [Wistfully] Yes, sir.

THE GOVERNOR Take a good hold of yourself. Do you read?

FALDER I don’t take the words in. [Hanging his head] I know it’s no good; but I can’t help thinking of what’s going on outside. In my cell I can’t see out at all. It’s thick glass, sir.

When the Governor is taken aback by the Falder’s response of “I shall get to be like them in time, I suppose,”  he follows with, “That rests with you.”  Personal responsibility must be taken.  Never in the course of the play does Falder really accept what he has done.  He has to serve time, but that is because he was caught.  He still believes in his passion and goal of running away with Ruth.  “A man can make himself what he likes.”  The Doctor then goes in to the cell to examine Falder.

The DOCTOR has come out of FALDER’s Cell, and the GOVERNOR beckons to him.

THE GOVERNOR Well?

THE DOCTOR I can’t make anything much of him. He’s nervous, of course.

THE GOVERNOR Is there any sort of case to report? Quite frankly, Doctor.

THE DOCTOR Well, I don’t think the separates doing him any good; but then I could say the same of a lot of them–they’d get on better in the shops, there’s no doubt.

THE GOVERNOR You mean you’d have to recommend others?

THE DOCTOR A dozen at least. It’s on his nerves. There’s nothing tangible. That fellow there [pointing to O’CLEARY’S cell], for instance–feels it just as much, in his way. If I once get away from physical facts–I shan’t know where I am. Conscientiously, sir, I don’t know how to differentiate him. He hasn’t lost weight. Nothing wrong with his eyes. His pulse is good. Talks all right.

THE GOVERNOR It doesn’t amount to melancholia?

THE DOCTOR [Shaking his head] I can report on him if you like; but if I do I ought to report on others.

THE GOVERNOR I see. [Looking towards FALDER’S cell] The poor devil must just stick it then.

And there it is.  There is nothing wrong with Falder, he is just having trouble dealing with his quasi-isolation.  There is an interesting description of Falder’s room.  He has the novel, “Lorna Doone,” lying open on a table, but devotional books on are on a shelf not used.  He did not seek inspiration, but rather his own fantasies.  The novel is a romance, and in it, all ends well, but, it takes time for fate to run its course.  Perhaps if Falder would have even taken that position, he would have done better.  But Galsworthy is showing us that this prison scene is not horrendous.  It is society and the decisions we make.

In the end, we see the overarching portrayal of Cokeson and how he represents the average working man, who faced with vice and crime is almost swept away by the emotions that it entails.  Falder is a man ruled by his passion and his trial is one that could only have resulted in guilty.  The prison, no terrible place, but an ideal situation.  Who can ask for a better prison than one that has a governor, chaplain and doctor that cares so much for the welfare of its inmates.  A time of isolation, for a man to confront what he has done and who he is, and then let him return and participate in group activities.  I wonder what Galsworthy would think of my interpretation, I wonder what he thought of his contemporaries’ views.  Perhaps  I will run across a article or book someday that will enlighten me.

Dramatis Personae:

• Robert Cokeson, the managing clerk, “is a man of sixty, wearing spectacles; rather short, with a bald head, and an honest, pug-dog face. He is dressed in a well-worn black frock-coat and pepper-and-salt trousers.” He has worked for the firm for the last 29 years.
• Sweedle the office boy “is a pale youth of sixteen, with spiky hair.”
• Mrs. Ruth Honeywill “She is a tall woman, twenty-six years old, unpretentiously dressed, with black hair and eyes, and an ivory-white, clear-cut face. …a natural dignity of pose and gesture, slight West-Country accent,” and has two small children.
• William Falder is a junior clerk. “He is a pale, good-looking young man, with quick, rather scared eyes.” Age 23 at the time of the trial.
• James How is the father of Walter How and is the senior law partner. “He is a shortish man, with white side-whiskers, plentiful grey hair, shrewd eyes, and a gold pince-nez.”
• Walter How is the son of James How and junior law partner. “He is rather a refined-looking man of thirty-five, with a pleasant, almost apologetic voice.”
• Cowley, the cashier, “who resembles a sedentary dragoon.”
• Wister Detective-Sergeant from Scotland Yard is a “square, medium-sized man, clean-shaved, in a serviceable blue serge suit and strong boots.”
• Judge who appears “raised above the clamour of the court, also seems unconscious of and indifferent to everything.”
• Harold Cleaver, the counsel for the Crown, “is a dried, yellowish man, of more than middle age, in a wig worn almost to the colour of his face.”
• Hector Frome, the counsel for the defense, “is a young, tall man, clean-shaved, in a very white wig.”
• The Governor of the prison is a “neat, grave-looking man, with a trim, fair moustache, the eyes of a theorist, and grizzled hair, receding from the temples… The hand … is gloved, for two fingers are missing.”
• Wooder, the chief warder, is “a tall thin, military-looking man of sixty, with grey moustache and melancholy, monkey-like eyes, stands very upright…”
• Chaplain Miller “is a dark-haired, ascetic man, in clerical undress, with a peculiarly steady, tight-lipped face and slow, cultured speech.”
• Doctor Clements is “a medium-sized, rather good-looking man with a quick eye.”
• The Warder Instructor is “a bearded man in blue uniform, with an apron, and some dangling keys.”
• Moaney, a prisoner, made a saw to “occupy his mind.” This is his fourth prison term and he is “a raw-boned fellow, about fifty-six years old, with outstanding bat’s ears and fierce, staring, steel-coloured eyes.”
• O’Cleary, a prisoner, who has been causing disturbances by banging on his door. He is described as an Irishman with “a broad-faced, middle-aged man, with a wide, thin, flexible mouth, and little holes under his high cheek-bones.”
• Clipton, a prisoner that the Governor calls “The philosopher.” He is a “small, thick, oldish man, with almost shaven head, and smouldering little dark eyes behind smoked spectacles.”
• Mr. Honeywill a Traveller, never appears, but is an alleged drunkard who beats his wife and children. However, it is implied that he is not unfaithful to Mrs. Honeyhill.
• Davis is a junior clerk that never physically appears in the play. He and his young wife have sailed for Australia on the City of Rangoon, and he was almost arrested in Naples for the forgery that Falder committed.

[1] Pope, Alexander, An Essay on Man, 4 vols. (London, 1733-34). E-10 1503 Fisher Rare Book Library (Toronto). Facs. edn. Menston: Scholar Press, 1969. PR 3627 A1 1734A ROBA. Accessed April 2, 2018.   https://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poems/essay-man-epistle-ii

[2] The New Encyclopaedia Brittanica 15^th Ed. Micropaedia Bk. IV, (1983) s.v. “Galsworthy, John,” 397-8

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.