Week III. It took two years since Col Richard Martin’s wife Eliza eloped with John Petrie, a merchant, before the long process of divorce in the 18th century could begin. It promised to be a sensational case given the status of Martin, a larger than life character, one of the largest landowners in Ireland, his reputation as duellist, and his enormous popularity for his gift of mimicry and acting.
To secure a divorce at the time, ‘criminal conversation’ (sexual intimacy ) outside the marriage, had to be proved.* It would be provided in detail by Martin’s valet, Joseph Casteaux, which was alluded to in the Diary last week.
But in the interim Martin had much time for thought. Past actions of his wife which had seemed innocent at the time now acquired significance. Men whom he had been proud to see admire her, now appeared potential seducers. His biographer Shevawn Lynam tells us that Martin began to examine his children’s features, and ask himself questions. Was his daughter Laetitia’s birth really premature? She had his mouth, but did it not also resemble Wolfe Tone’s mouth, who had been a tutor to his children at Dangan House for two years? Wolfe Tone had also acted opposite Eliza on the stage at Kirwan’s Lane… had Tone not played his part ‘with more than an amateur’s ardour?’ Poor Martin. The field for conjecture was wide.
In the meantime Mrs Martin settled down to live openly with Petrie at his London house in Soho Square. No doubt the world speculated on Martin’s reaction. He had the kind of personality that create’s legends. Among them is the story that Martin disguised himself as an Eastern pedlar selling silks, which would be an ideal, and rare gift for an inamorata. He boldly knocked on the main door of Petrie’s house, and was shown into the drawing room where Eliza and Petrie were together. ‘Petrie almost died of shock’ when the pedlar threw aside his disguise and revealed Martin himself. No doubt expecting a pistol- ball between his eyes, he must have been relieved to see Martin leave the room, no matter how deadly was Martin’s gaze.
Martin had other plans. He felt the case of ‘criminal conversation’ was so strong, Casteaux’s evidence so convincing, he would destroy Petrie by demanding a ruinous £20,000. which has to be the equivalent of several millions today.
As well as revenge, no matter how justified, such an award would greatly assist in meeting the crippling financial incumbency which threatened to ruin his Ballynahinch estate.
Lurid details
The case opened at London’s prestigious Guildhall on Thursday December 14 1791 before Lord Kenyon and a special jury. Martin’s barristers, Mr Garrow and Mr Bearcroft, brought forward friends who all attested to Martin’s character as being above approach, and described the Martins’ marriage as ‘a model for all others’. Martin’s counsel defied Petrie to attack Martin’s character or to attribute any dishonourable behaviour to Mrs Martin before she met Petrie. He maintained Petrie was determined to debauch her: ‘She must have been solely the object of his lust,’ he declared, ‘of his love she could not be.’
Then the court heard the evidence of Joseph Casteaux, and of Mrs Martin’s maid who both entertained the court with lurid details. The waiter of the Ship Tavern in Brightelmstone, added to the general picture of concupiscence by stating that, although Petrie had a house in the vicinity, he always slept with Mrs Martin at the tavern. He added that she looked pregnant.
The vicious appetite
It did appear to be an open and shut case, but Petrie had chosen his defence counsel well. Mr Erskine, who had been in Paris during the Martins’ visit, specialised in ‘criminal conversation’ cases. He began by stating that it was usual in such cases to vilify the husband to show that the infidelity of the wife was somehow justified; but Erskine told the jury that he had been specifically told by Mr Petrie not to follow that mode of defence, instead his client came before the court ‘with the infirmities of human nature hanging about him.’ ‘He comes like the repentant man mentioned by our Redeemer.’
That said Erskine reflects that the ‘best security for the honour of a wife, is prudence on the part of the husband.’ Yet what had Colonel Martin done? he had left his poor innocent wife, ‘in times that were exceptionally eventful, in a capital of the greatest luxury, I might almost say of abomination’. Such was the moral disapproval in England of the French Revolution, Erskine pleaded that it was most improper for a woman whose husband was absent to witness the events at the Champ de Mars (when the King and Queen of France gave allegiance to the National Assemply ).
As for Martin being further delayed because of an election in Galway, Erskine thought it was lamentable that Mrs Martin was not permitted to share in the toils of an election, when it is known that female aid is often beneficial to the campaign.
Erskine, warming to the plight of the abandoned Mrs Martin, asked why the colonel did not send a woman companion for his wife; or why indeed did he not approach Mr Petrie himself, as a gentleman, and ask him to ‘escort my wife to Ireland, to your honour as a gentleman I bequeath her?.
When two months after her husband’s departure, she receives a letter from him, she turns away in disgust. We are left to conjecture, continues Erskine, whether the seduction was, understandably, commenced not by his client, but by Mrs Martin, who was alone, and who sought protection with Mr Petrie. Had her husband being present she would have been saved from ‘the vicious appetite’.
Jury’s verdict
Petrie pleaded that he was not a wealthy man. His entire fortune was invested in the West Indies, and as a result of the American War he doubted that he had any fortune left. He appealed for the mercy of the court. If it found against him, his wife and family would be made destitute and would suffer for his crime.
But, after adjourning for just 15 minutes, the jury found in favour of Martin. It must have taken into consideration Martin’s prolonged absences. Martin was awarded £10,000., exactly half the amount he sought.
Silver shoes
It was still a large sum of money, and a welcome sum for the cash-strapped Ballinahinch estate. Martin, however, hesitated. He was loathe to benefit from his wife’s departure, and perhaps the jury acknowledging his prolonged absences decided him against accepting the money.
He was returning to Galway immediately, but before departure he handed Petrie’s money to his coachman, Thady Harte, telling him to change it into small coin.
He had his horses shod in silver shoes, and, as they set out for home, he ordered Thady to fling the money out on either side of the road as they progressed.
A few weeks later, when Thady came for his wages, Martin asked him if he had not thought of keeping something of all the money they had got in London? Thady was said to have replied: if it had not been right for his master to have kept it, it could not have been right for him.
Next week: Did the former Mrs Martin suffer for her daring elopement ?
Absolutely not.
NOTES: It was a long process, and involved three separate hearings. In the first instance the husband could sue the seducer of his wife for ‘ injury he sustained by the dishonour of his bed, the alienation of his wife’s affection, the destruction of his domestic comfort, and the suspicion cast upon the legitimacy of her offspring; the degradation which ensues, and the mental anguish which the husband suffers’. The court had to put a financial value on those injuries which the husband endured.
After that, there were further legalities before the wife was declared ‘dead’ to the plaintive.
Sources this week include Shevawn Lynam’s Humanity Dick, published Hamish Hamilton 1975, ‘Richard Martin’s Divorce from Elizabeth Vesey - A Drama in Three Acts 1791 - 1793’ by Hugh Carey, from Journal of Galway Archaeological and Historical Society, Vol 68 2016, and Burke’s Connaught Journal December 29 1791.
Listen to Tom Kenny and Ronnie O'Gorman elaborating on topics they have covered in this week's paper and much more in this week's Old Galway Diary Podcast.
