 | Francis Beaumont |  |
ACT III.
Scene I.
—A room in Mr. Egerton's house.[Mr. Egerton, Philip, and Isabella.]
Philip.
Father, what is't o'clock?
Mr. Egerton.
'Tis after nine.
Isabella.
And when does it begin?
25
At ten precisely.
I've not much time to lose. The court will be
Crowded to suffocation.
Isabella.
How I wish
I could be there.
Mr. Egerton.
That's dutiful, when I
Have positively said, you must not go.
Isabella.
Papa, 'tis very natural I should wish
To hear a trial of such interest.
How do you think—will Walter be found guilty?
Philip.
It is the general belief he will.
The case is very strong.
Mr. Egerton.
Not quite so strong:
The evidence is circumstantial only:
None saw him strike the blow; there's none can say
How it was done, or wherefore.
Philip.
'Tis indeed
Mysterious: yet can I discern a way
Thro' which the light breaks in. My testimony,
Back'd by the two domestics of the hall—
Mr. Egerton.
Come, you must not be dallying.
Philip.
I am off,
And you shall hear the news without delay.
[Exit Philip.]
26
Philip is right: the verdict will be guilty.
Mr. Egerton.
You hope it will, and therefore you believe it.
Isabella.
The magistrates who had the case before them
Believ'd the same as I.
Mr. Egerton.
The magistrates
A very little proof will satisfy:
But jurymen, my child, whose consciences
Are charged to be the final arbiters
Between the culprit and arraigning justice,
Weigh every question in a nicer scale,
Look that each doubt and scruple be removed,
Ere they pronounce the word that must deprive
Their fellow-man of life or liberty.
Isabella.
But here I see not any room for doubt.
Was not the body of Orlando found
Close to the prisoner's house? The men who find it
Go straight to Walter's, see him on the floor
Wounded and stain'd with blood, the dagger near him:
Of all which strange appearances he gave not
One word of explanation.
Mr. Egerton.
That is true.
Isabella.
Then it is shown, he quarrell'd with his master;
High words had pass'd between them at the hall;
Orlando rais'd his hand to strike him once:
He was at Walter's house the night before:
Walter is heard next day to threaten him:
These circumstances all adhere together:
And not another soul was near the spot.
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How if he brings this Edwards whom he named,
To prove that Francis Beaument pass'd the road?
Isabella.
The man forthcomes not, and my brother says,
Tho' Francis had been seen upon the road,
The damning facts 'gainst Walter are the same.
Mr. Egerton.
'Tis pity you are not counsel for the crown,
You argue it so well.
Isabella.
My dear papa,
If you would ask the Beaumonts to your house,
'Twould be but friendly. For our sakes perhaps
They will break thro' the deep seclusion
Which keeps them from society so long.
Mr. Egerton.
For that I much commend them, Isabella;
And for the wise forbearance, which delays
To seize upon their newly-gotten wealth.
I (for they set me here a good example)
Wait for this day's decision, ere I mean
To importune them for their company.
Isabella.
After the trial, then, you will invite them?
Say yes, papa. Yes, yes, I know you will.
[Exit Isabella.]
Mr. Egerton.
'Tis an ill wind, they say, that blows no good.
Orlando Beaumont's death displeases not
My children; nor (I own) much vexes me.
He sought my daughter's hand; the match was one
That prudent fathers like not to refuse;
My daughter with her stubborn will opposed,
And would have thwarted me. Perhaps 'tis well.
Francis and Langley Park for Isabella,
And Clara, nobly portion'd, for my son,
Will meet the approbation of us all.
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Will give his money with a generous hand.
But hold! I count my gains too hastily.
The day, that is to yield that golden harvest,
Hath not yet dawn'd. The trial—who can tell
What it may bring to light? The proofs are many
Against th' accus'd; but yet it will be ask'd,
What reason could he have to kill his master?
And when he charges Francis with the deed,
There will be those who echo him, and say,
Who profits by the deed but Francis Beaumont?
His tale indeed is strange, and unsupported
By either proof or probability.
Had Francis slain his cousin in a duel,
Or in a moment of ungovern'd anger,
I had not wonder'd: he is fierce by nature:
'Twas said, he struck his father, and for that
Was disinherited. But sudden strife
Is out of question here; for how could they
Have met at such an hour and such a place?
'Tis generally thought, and I agree,
The hand that did the bloody deed was Walter's;
Whether the murderous design were his,
Is far more doubtful. I must wait the issue.
He who is careful of the world's regard,
Must often see with eyes of other men,
Hear with their ears, and act upon their judgment,
Or seem to do so. For my children's sake
I must be worldly-wise and circumspect.
Scene II.
—Mrs. Beaumont's parlour. [Mrs. Beaumont and Clara Beaumont.]Mrs. Beaumont.
Clara, there's retribution for the guilty,
E'en in this world. The steward, by whose practice
We were thrust out of our inheritance,
(For that he play'd the rogue I never doubted,)
Destroys the very man he help'd to raise,
And is himself o'ertaken by the law.
These are the judgments of a righteous Heaven.
29
The ways of Heaven are far beyond our ken.
We see the good man fall, the wicked prosper;
Yet who will dare deny that God is just?
Mrs. Beaumont.
The wicked only prosper for a time:
Their end will come.
Clara.
But whether it shall come
In the brief issue of a human life,
Or in an age, or in a course of ages,
That is a question which we cannot solve.
Eternal justice stretches thro' all time;
And we, the creatures of an hour, can see
But a small portion of its ministry.
Mrs. Beaumont.
But when we do behold the guilty suffer,
We cannot err in calling it a judgment.
Clara.
Could we be sure, who are the guilty—
[Enter Francis.]
Mrs. Beaumont.
Frank!
How goes the trial?
Francis.
It is not yet over:
The jury have retired, but in a temper
Which makes conviction certain. The suspense
I could not bear, and hasted from the court.
Clara.
Did you give evidence?
30
I did; I stated,
In contradiction to the prisoner,
That on the fatal night (as you well know)
I slept at home, and never left the house.
The deed was done past midnight; for the body
Was warm and reeking when the woodmen found it.
Clara.
And were you cross-examined?
Francis.
Ha! you deem
That I was faint of heart and panic-stricken,
As on that dreadful morning. No! I met
The artful hireling lawyer face to face,
And baffled him and all his questionings.
Clara.
A man who tells the honest simple truth
May baffle all the lawyers in the world.
Francis.
Not always, Clara. Strong emotion
Will sometimes overcome the firmest heart.
Do you remember how the sudden news
Of poor Orlando's murder shook my frame,
And made me tremble with a woman's weakness?
I knew not what I said or what I did:
You must remember it.
Clara.
I do remember.
Francis.
I would that I possest your self-command.
Mrs. Beaumont.
What did the steward say in his defence?
31
His story—mark how different from the first—
Was this: he saw me strike the deadly blow,
And ran to save his master; closing with me,
Ere he could wrest the dagger from my hand,
He got a wound; I fled, and he pursued,
Till meeting Edwards, who had seen me pass,
He told what had befallen, and then went home.
Clara.
That's different indeed! Your wounding him
He did not mention: taken from the ground
Deep gash'd and bleeding, that he never told.
Francis.
The flaw was glaring; so he patch'd it up,
He or his lawyer; but it serv'd him little:
The judge, in summing up the evidence,
Remarked upon his inconsistency.
The dagger too was shown to be Orlando's;
Of this he never thought.
Clara.
Had he a witness?
Francis.
He call'd Ralph Edwards, and I own I trembled.
Clara.
You trembled? Why?
Francis.
For fear he had suborned
Some villain to outswear me.
Clara.
But he came not?
Francis.
The name was three times call'd, but no one answer'd
I saw the jury smile at one another.
[A knocking. The door is opened. Enter Philip.]
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The verdict, Philip?
Philip.
Guilty.
Mrs. Beaumont.
God be praised!
Clara.
Hush, mother!
(To Philip.)
Tell us how it was.
Philip.
The jury
Withdrew for half-an-hour. When they return'd,
There was a death-like stillness in the court,
And they were called upon to give their verdict.
A moment's pause, and with a steady voice
The foreman said the words “we find him guilty:”
Then rose a murmur as of heaving waves
Thro' the dense crowd—
Mrs. Beaumont.
And Walter?—
Philip.
Clasp'd his hands
In speechless agony. But when the judge
Put on the fatal cap, and solemnly
Pronounced the condemnation of the law,
The prisoner cried aloud “I'm innocent,”
And called on God to witness, till by force
He was removed.
Mrs. Beaumont.
Oh, dreadful! And he still
Persists in saying he is innocent!
Philip.
That is the common way with criminals,
Till they are past all hope. I heard it said,
He ask'd to see you, Francis; and 'tis thought
That he will make a full confession.
33
Is the day fixed for execution?
Philip.
A fortnight hence, unless the interval
Should bring him a reprieve.
Francis.
Reprieve! For what?
Is there a chance of that?
Philip.
I cannot think it.
The general voice speaks loudly for the sentence;
Yet there are some men wiser than the rest,
Who shake their heads, and are not satisfied.
Francis.
I'll go without delay, and get permission
To see the prisoner.
Mrs. Beaumont.
Do so, and implore him
To speak the truth, and make his peace with God.
Scene III.
—A prison.[Walter solus.]
Walter.
Oh! I deserve to die, but not for this!
My own too black offence was undiscover'd,
And I must perish for another's crime.
Such are the tricks of justice! Dare they hang
A dog upon such proof? Because my witness
Is bought or kept away, the law must clutch me
In its remorseless fangs. There's one means left—
I will tell all, and may obtain a respite;
For any crime but murder there is hope.
And Francis Beaumont—could I see him once,
I could unfold a tale whose startling truth
Should rouse him from his blind security,
And force him to the sure and only way
To save himself and me.
[The gaoler shews in Francis Beaumont, and then retires.]
34
Walter, you wish'd to see me.
Walter.
Yes, I wish it
For both our sakes. Come nearer, master Beaumont.
Francis.
If you have aught to say or to confess,
Proceed, unhappy man; mine ear is open.
Walter.
There's none outside the walls to listen, sir.
Play not the priest: 'tis not a time for shams.
Francis.
No, nor for idle parley. Time is precious.
Walter.
It is—to you not less so than to me.
Then hear: I must begin from the beginning.
Do you remember that eventful day,
When in a fit of wrath you struck your father?
Francis.
'Tis false: he rais'd his arm against my mother;
I interposed, he fell; I never struck him.
Walter.
Well, well; he said you did. That very day
He bade me write a will—
Francis.
The will that gave
His nephew all, and made his children beggars?
And you dissuaded not.
Walter.
I wrote it all
From his dictation: but a fortnight after
He became ill; he sent for me again,
And in my presence tore the will in pieces,
Telling me not to breathe a syllable—
Francis.
O heavens! and you—
35
The fragments were destroyed,
Save only one, where it was sign'd and witness'd,
Which, unperceiv'd by him, I took away.
Francis.
Oh! villain!
Walter.
Spare reproaches; they are useless:
And bear in mind, you never were my friend.
Your cousin—
Francis.
He and you—I see it all.
Walter.
I forged the will, and he the signatures.
Your father's tenants, who subscribed the first,
Ne'er doubted but that ours was genuine.
Francis.
Had you but told me this some months before!
Walter.
It had been well for more than one of us.
But mark how rogues are caught in their own snares!
Half of the crime was mine; and half the prize
I bargain'd for. Your cousin put me off
With vain excuses—he was deep in debt—
The land was cumbered—pretexts for delay.
I prest him; for I meant, when I had clutch'd
The promis'd gold, to quit the neighbourhood:
Ill-gotten wealth is best enjoy'd from home.
Francis.
Well, well; he paid you not the felon's hire.
Walter.
He paid me not, except with promises;
I threatened him—you are impatient—
I'm coming to the time.
Francis.
Go on, go on.
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The night before the last, he sought my house,
Made me some offer of a paltry pension,
And, when I spurn'd it, in a wrathful mood
He left me. But the next night—ha! you tremble—
He came again, and long and angry talk
Ensued between us, till he drew a poniard
And plunged it with fell purpose in my side;
I grasp'd his arm, he dropt the steel and fled:
Scarce had he pass'd the garden twenty yards,
When from behind some trees a man rushed out
And with a weapon struck him to the earth,
From which he rose no more; the man stooped over,
And gave blow after blow; then up he sprang,
And vanished from my sight.
Francis.
You saw him not?
Walter.
I stood in horror, but on sudden thought
I gather'd up my strength, to follow him.
He dash'd into the copse that skirts the park,
And I toil'd after: when I clear'd the wood,
I spied him in a fallow, crossing slowly
To where it meets the road, for which direct
I made across the clover pasturage:
He stood beside the gate, and leant upon it,
And cast his eyes all round. Just then the moon
Shone full and bright; I saw him, and I knew him.
Francis.
'Tis false!
Walter.
I climbed the bank, and got a view.
You hurried on, and little guess'd that I
Was close upon your heels. Just as I turn'd
The milestone corner, I beheld a man,
Whom I remember'd as a haymaker
Some summers past, a noted poacher too,
That very Edwards—yes—'tis true! you pass'd him:
He knew your person, Master Francis.
37
Liar!
None—But go on.
Walter.
I set him on your track,
While, to alarm the people at the hall,
I measur'd back my way; and just reach'd home,
But, overcome with pain and loss of blood,
I sank upon the ground, and there remained
Till my accusers found me. What ensued
I need not tell; and what became of Edwards,
Perhaps none better knows than you yourself.
Francis.
Walter, you now have told three different tales:
Which is the true one?
Walter.
This. You know it is.
Oh, trifle not, but harken to my words—
Fly! save yourself!
Francis.
What mean you?
Walter.
Fly from England—
Across the sea—no matter where—but fly!
I shall confess the whole: a dying man
Will be believed.
Francis.
A triple-tongued liar
Will gain no credence.
Walter.
Yes! they will believe me.
Put off that smile: you cheat yourself alone.
Mark well the difference: my former tale
Had the appearance of a mystery,
Revealing much, but leaving more behind:
But this disguises nothing, nothing hides;
And, in that I shall criminate myself,
I put the stamp of truth on all the rest.
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You could not so amend your story now,
But with the world 'twould pass for counterfeit
Walter.
Oh! I conjure you, ere it be too late!
Francis.
Yet harken, Walter. You are not past hope.
I shall exert my utmost influence
To get you a reprieve.
Walter.
Ha, master Beaumont!
I am too old to be deluded thus:
You shall have time for flight, but no delay.
Francis.
Vain man! Do nothing rash! The lawyers say,
You were condemn'd on insufficient proof;
And it is rumour'd, you will have a pardon.
Would you avow the crime of forgery?
Walter.
You play me false: I know it. But beware!
Francis.
I will do all I can in your behalf.
Walter.
Look to yourself! Three days, and all is told.
| Francis Beaumont | |