University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

The Hall of Justice.
The Judge, Magistrate, Advocate, Glanville, Isbel, and Spectators.
Jud.
With calmness now set forth the accusation.

Isb.
Nineteen long years ago—and on this day,
The very birth and change-day of the moon,
A day on which as you came here to-day,
The King Justiciary open'd the assize;
That hollow man of undiscover'd crimes,
Did with an impious, destructive hand,
Make me a widow—ruin'd all my life,
Pluck'd every pleasure of the Earth away,
And left me withering, shelterless, and wild,
As the bare tree which Heaven's afflicting flash,
Has made so hideous and fantastical,
That twilight travellers, as they pass it by,
Are seiz'd with fear, and think unhallow'd things.

Jud.
What proof, what witnesses support this charge?

Isb.
Proofs sent from Heaven, and Providence itself.
Every sad morning since the deed was done
I've ta'en my seat, near where the trodden grass,
With crimson blush reveal'd the secret sin;
And annual as the dismal day came round,
That pensive man, in seeming kind concern,
Did visit me, and minister'd soft words,
With frequent gifts, my sorrow to appease.
Why is't, my Lord, that he was thus so kind,
So punctual in his pity?

Jud.
To the point.

Isb.
And ever still, as regularly true,
As the great Sun adorn'd that morning's sky,
His life was mark'd by some high-priz'd advantage,
Some valued fruitage of prosperity.
But yet, while all his house resounded joy,
Still would he from the festal throng retire,
And come in contrite charity to me.
Was it not strange that he did so, my Lord?

Jud.
Be circumstantial.

Adv.
Is this evidence!

Isb.
And still as often as his fortune florish'd,
Some new deficiency in life I found.

Adv.
Alas! my Lord, how she perverts the signs,
That Heaven itself gives of his innocence.

Jud.
She builds her accusation on the proof
Of providential circumstance, and he
Must meet the charge by similar appeal.

Adv.
It is insane conceit.

Jud.
Let her proceed.

Isb.
Yes, the just Heavens by order'd circumstance,
Since human demonstration there was none,
Have turn'd the issue of his Fortune still,
To draw all eyes to this mysterious day—
—Once on the anniversary of guilt,
That fatal day, a son was born to him,
Yet while the mother weak in anguish lay,
He left her, babe, and garr'lous gossips all,
Rememb'ring me the wretch he made forlorn.
Another time a kinsman proudly rich,
Whose haughty and unrecognizing eye,
Had never glanc'd on him or his, deceas'd,
And made him heir to treasures passing name.
Again upon that day, sequence to wealth,
Came great emblazon'd honors from the King.
—Each chance of prosp'rous fortune that he found,
Still on that day befell.

Jud.
Then, wherefore, Isbel,
Did you not sooner make this solemn charge?

Isb.
In that, my Lord, behold how Providence
Doth work its purpose to the destin'd end.
Still, though by custom, I was wont to look
With thankful expectation for his coming,
No thought of wrong, not one suspicious thought
Arose within me 'till this day of Justice.
As I was sitting at the city gate,
When he with all the honor'd of the town,
Came forth, as ancient custom did require,
To bring you, as the King's vice-gerent, in;—
This day, the only day he e'er neglected
To bring his customary gift and pity;—
I, wond'ring at his absence, as he came
And greeted you with courteous salutation,
Regarded him, I know not how, reproachful,
At which, methought, pale terror blanch'd his face:
He look'd at me, and then anon at you,
And dread and trouble thicken'd in his eye;—
Then did the proof of all that I have told;
The nineteen annual visits; each success
That crown'd his feature, and made fair his lot,
Rise, like the first creation of the light,
Surprising me with most entire conviction.

Adv.
Surely, my Lord, this is but as a dream,
The empty vapor of a brain diseas'd—
We but offend the gravity of Justice
In giving 'tendance to a tale like this.

[Enter Ariette and Reginald,] [and remain on one side]
Ariet.
All is yet well, and nothing yet hath come,
But, wherefore is this pause—Why do they wait?
Do they expect?—Ah, what do they expect?

Reg.
Hush, sister, hush, let us stand back, apart,
See, the judge rises, do not so obtrude.—

Jud.
The proof, so far, by the accuser given,
Is not sufficient.

Adv.
Proof, my Lord! what proof?
Witness or evidence, there has been none:
Therefore, I claim the prisoner's acquittal.

Jud.
But he is tried upon the ancient law,
And may not claim release, till he has pass'd
The solemn ordeal therein prescribed.

Glan.
What is it, Sir?

Adv.
Stand forth, and face the Judge.

Reg.
My dearest Ariette, in mercy rest,
Press not so eagerly, nor look so wild.

Jud.
The charge against you, Glanville, you have heard,
'Tis built on circumstances, so obscure,
That but for old traditionary wont,
I should pronounce you free to leave the bar:
But this the charter of the town forbids,
Till you have here, in open court, requir'd
High Heaven to verify the accusation,
Or scaithless, suffer you to quit the Hall.
Say, will you make this terrible appeal?

Glan.
If 'tis so ordered, I must submit.

Jud.
Kneel.

Glan.
Must I kneel?

Isb.
How pale he looks?

Glan.
What more?

Jud.
Make the demand?

Ariet.
No, father, father, no!—

Glan.
Alas, my child!

Jud.
Remove that gentle maid—
Sir, we attend: will you make the appeal?

Adv.
How full of horror is this solemn pause!

Glan.
If Heaven accuses me before this court,
Send forth its witness, or let me retire.

Adv.
No witness comes.

Jud.
Who then is that?

Ariet.
Who? Where?

Jud.
Stand back, divide, and give him room to enter.

Adv.
Who is't, my Lord, who? where? what witness? which?

Jud.
Yon black-hair'd man who wears his plumed cap
On his left temple—Give him room to come.

Adv.
I am amaz'd, my Lord, I see none such.

Jud.
Him in the purple cloak, you ruddy man.

Isb.
It is, it is my husband that appears!

Glan.
O God, O God, and doth his ghost arrive?

Reg.
My sister, O my sister.

Adv.
She is dead!
The vital cord, with dreadful expectation
Strain'd beyond suff'ring, suddenly hath snapp'd.

Glan.
—My long deep-hidden misery of heart,
Is by the heralding of Heaven proclaim'd
In this stern visitation.—O my child,
My gentle, innocent, sweet Ariette,
But thou art blest, why should I mourn for thee?
You, dearest Reginald, my blazon'd shame
Will, like the taint of an infectious pest,
From all esteem'd society exclude—
Yet wilt thou never, if preserv'd from guilt
In that exclusion, half the anguish suffer,
Which, ever torturing, gnaw'd thy father's heart:
For let polemics to the end debate,
When bliss or punishment results to man,
Though safe from human law, the guilty feel,
With the first crime the pains of Hell begin—
Pronounce the sentence, I await my doom.