Mr Albert Reynolds is presumably a wiser man today than when he set off to the High Court in London almost six weeks ago. And notwithstanding the endeavours by his family to put a brave face on matters, he is undoubtedly a sadder man. For he is faced with the prospect that he will probably be substantially poorer in his pocket and he is woefully diminished by the jury's adjudication that although libelled by The Sunday Times, any loss or injury to his reputation was not worth even the derisory one penny of damages.
In his summing up to the jury, Lord Justice French made it clear that whatever else might be taken from Mr Reynolds, nobody could take away from him his role in securing the IRA ceasefire. That is so. He is entitled to his share of the credit in the process and his place in the history books.
The wonder is that Mr Reynolds would not have had the sense to leave matters at that. He has a secure place in the story of the quest for peace. But sentient, intelligent people also know the limits of interpretation which can be placed upon the English language. They do not generally share the sort of approach perhaps best illustrated by Mr Reynolds's insistence that he was "vindicated" by the Hamilton report on the beef processing industry. They know that however much he may protest his inability to understand or accept what he was being told by his new Attorney General Mr Eoghan Fitzsimons, Mr Fitzsimons is the most rational, honest and plain-speaking of men. Even in that repository of conjuring and sophistry known as the Law Library, he is recognised as such.
The saga in the London court, stretching out through six weeks, proves that there are seldom any real winners in proceedings of this kind. In seeking to persuade the jury that he did not deliberately mislead the Dail, Mr Reynolds had to convince them that he did not comprehend what Mr Fitzsimons claims to have made clear beyond issue to him, not once but many times, before the then-Taoiseach stood up in the Dail to seal the fate of his government. Asking the jury to find that The Sunday Times was not justified in branding him a liar, counsel for Mr Reynolds sought to persuade them that he was a man overwhelmed by detail and lost in the complexity of what was afoot. It might be said that foolishness as distinct from knavishness - was at issue. But is that the sort of exculpation which any self-respecting, modern nation-state would wish to have advanced on behalf of its head of government?
The proceedings over the past six weeks in Lord Justice French's court have not been greatly edifying in a number of respects. Many will take the view that Mr Reynolds did himself, his party, his former high office and his country no service by insisting on washing the dirty linen of his fallen government in an English courtroom. The methodology of Mr Rupert Murdoch's Sunday Times has been exposed in an unflattering light. And one or two of the luminaries of the English bar have revealed a decidedly ungentlemanly streak. Perhaps the single redeeming aspect of the proceedings was the jury's attention to detail and their capacity to endure 25 days of evidence and summation.
Why did Mr Reynolds do it? Undoubtedly, no man wants to be branded or misrepresented. And he wanted to clear his name. He says that in this case The Sunday Times refused to apologise. But on other occasions when various media have offered to affirm his good name he has looked for a great deal more. He has insisted on having the money too and his financial gains to date have been very considerable. But at what loss of dignity to the high office he once held, albeit briefly?