CHAPTER XXXIV
WESTMINSTER HALL
A surging, seething crowd! heads upon heads in a dense, compact mass--adouble row of men, women, boys, and girls, held back with difficulty bythe Serjeant-at-Arms and his men, armed with halberds and tipstaves!
A crowd come to gape and grin, some to sympathize--but only a very fewof these. All come to see how the proudest gentleman in England wouldbear himself in a felon's dock.
The dull grey light of an early November day came in ghostly streaksthrough the huge window of the Hall, throwing into bold relief thescarlet-clad figures of the twenty-four noble lords who were to be theDuke's triers, the gorgeous robes of the judges, and the dull blackgowns of the attorneys and the minor dignitaries.
Quick, excited whispers passed from mouth to mouth as now and then afamiliar face detached itself from the crowd of all these awesomepersonages and was recognized by the people.
"That's my lord Huntingdon," said an elderly merchant, pointing to agrey-bearded lord who had just taken his seat. "I mind him well whenfirst he bought a pair of spurs in my father's shop."
"Aye! and there's Lord Northampton," commented another, "and mightilythankful he should be not to be standing at the bar himself for hightreason."
"That's Mr. Gilbert Gerard, the Attorney-General," quoth one who knew.
"Sh! sh! sh!" came in excited whispers all around, "here comes the LordHigh Steward himself and all the judges."
The procession awed the populace, for every new-comer--gorgeouslyapparelled though he was--wore a grave face and a saddened mien. Thecrowd, who had come for a day's pageant, a frolic not unlike the happydoings at East Molesey Fair, felt suddenly silenced and oppressed. Someof the women shivered beneath their thin kerchiefs; the devout ones madea quick sign of the cross, as if prayers were about to begin.
It was all so solemn and so grand, in this dim winter's light, whereinshadows seemed to hover all around, hiding the remote corners of theHall and dwelling mysteriously on that tall scaffold, whereon one by onethese reverend personages took their allotted seats.
The Queen's Serjeant carried the white rod, and escorted my Lord HighSteward to the great chair, covered with a gorgeous cloth, whichdominated the entire hall. To the right and left of him sat thetwenty-four peers with their ermine-decked cloaks over their shoulders.
Below them sat the Lord Chief Justice of England, the Lord Chief Justiceof Common Pleas, and the Lord Chief Baron of the Exchequer, and also therest of the minor judges. The Clerk of the Crown, in black gown andyellow hose, had been busy some time conversing with his secondary. Nextto the judges sat several gentlemen of the Queen's household, theirsilken doublets of rich though sombre hues adding a crisp note ofcontrasting colour to the harmonies in scarlet and dull oak, whichfilled in the background of the picture.
Sir Walter Mildmay, Chancellor of the Exchequer, sat close by with sixof the Queen's Privy Councillors, also on their left the Master ofRequests and other persons of note. Immediately facing the bar was theQueen's Serjeant, the Attorney-General, the Solicitor-General, and theAttorney-General of the Court of Wards. The Recorder of London had beengiven a special seat, also Mr. Thomas Norton, the Queen's printer, whowrote out the historical account of the trial, which has been preservedamongst the State papers.
Then my Lord High Steward stood up bareheaded, holding the white rod inhis hand, and the Serjeant-at-Arms stepped forward into the immediatecentre of the Hall facing the crowd, and read out the proclamation asfollows:--
"My Lord's Grace, the Queen's Majesty's Commissioner, High Steward ofEngland, commandeth every man to keep silence on pain of imprisonmentand to hear the Queen's Commission read."
This was followed by the reading of the Queen's Commission by the Clerkof the Crown, after which--still standing--he read the indictment in aloud voice, so that all might hear.
"Whereas Robert d'Esclade, fifth Duke of Wessex, did on the night of thefourteenth of October of this year of our Lord one thousand five hundredand fifty-three, unlawfully kill Don Miguel, Marquis de Suarez, grandeeof Spain . . ."
The voice of the Clerk went droning on, the people amazed, horrified,tried not to lose one single word of this strange document which soloudly proclaimed the fact that a dastardly crime, unparalleled in itscowardice and ferocity, had been committed by one who until now hadstood above all Englishmen as a model of honour, loyalty, and truth.
With every fresh charge, skilfully woven together and intertwined withsundry depositions obtained from my lord Cardinal and his retinue, thecrowd of spectators realized more and more that they were face to facewith a weird and mysterious tragedy, not a pageant, but an appallingdrama, the prologue of which was being enacted before them now.
It seemed, as the Clerk pursued his reading, that he was slowlyunfolding mesh by mesh a hideous web, in the midst of which the presenceof a death-dealing and loathsome spider could as yet only be dimlyguessed.
A close, clinging web from which no man, be he the premier peer ofEngland or the humblest commoner, could ever hope to escape.
The web of a rough and misguided justice, of a law of the talion,retributive and blind, distributing with an impartial hand condemnationsand punishments to guilty and innocent alike, to the martyr and to thefelon, to the coward and the deceived.
This was not a decadent, puny century, peopled with neurotics andfeeble-minded weaklings, it was a century of men!--men who were giantsalike in their virtues and their passions, their vices and theiratrocities, narrow in their views, but staunch in their beliefs, savagein their creeds and prejudices--but MEN for all that.
"The more heinous the offence the less chance shall the prisoner have ofjustifying his conduct." That was the dictate of the law.
"For truly," said Sir Robert Catline, Lord Chief Justice of England, inthe course of the trial of Sir Nicholas Throckmorton for high treason,"justice must not be confused by sundry arguments in the prisoner'scause, which might lead to his acquittal and the non-punishment of sograve a fault."
Witnesses were seldom, if ever, examined in the presence of the accused.Depositions were extorted--often by torture, always by threats--frompersons who happened to be friends or associates of the prisoner.
An acquittal?--perish the thought! Let the citizen look to himself erehe fell in the clutches of his country's justice; once there he hadlittle or no chance of proving his innocence.
Lest the guilty escape!
Always that awful possibility! Rough justice demanded punishment--alwayspunishment--lest the guilty escape!
And the people as they listened knew that they had come to see a man'slast day upon earth.
Proud, rich, fastidious Wessex! this is the end of all things! Pomp andceremony, gorgeous robes and costly apparels! these to speed thee on thyway; but as inevitably as the dull winter's night must follow this greyNovember morning, so will pomp and circumstance fade away into the pastand leave thee with but one red-clad figure by thy side--that of theheadsman with the axe.
Justice to-day could make short work of her duties.
Robert d'Esclade, fifth Duke of Wessex, had confessed to his crime, whyshould Justice trouble herself to prove that which was already admitted?She had merely to think out the form and severity of the punishment forthis man of high degree, who had sunk and stooped so low.
For form's sake a few depositions had been taken, for this was anunusual event--a specially atrocious crime! the murder of a foreignenvoy at the Court of the Queen of England, and at the hand of thepremier peer of the realm!
The Cardinal de Moreno, envoy in chief of His Majesty the King of Spain,had given the matter a political significance. In the name of his royalmaster he had demanded judgment on that most monstrous felony, and theexercise of the full rigour of the law. The Duke of Wessex had been arival suitor for the hand of the Queen of England, and hehad--presumably--wilfully removed a successful diplomatist whothreatened to thwart his projects.
And thus Wessex was arraigned for treason as well as for murder, and thein
dictment set forth the depositions of my lord Cardinal and those ofhis servant Pasquale, all of which His Grace had declined to peruse. Heknew that these statements were lies, guessed well enough how hisenemies would heap proof upon proof to bolster up his own briefconfession.
His Eminence had made a sworn statement that he heard angry voices'twixt Don Miguel and His Grace some little time before the Marquis wasfound dead. Well, that was true enough! There _had_ been a deadlyquarrel, and though this did not aggravate the case, it helped toestablish the facts, if public opinion was like to sway the judges or ifdisbelief in Wessex' guilt was too firmly rooted in the minds of hispeers.
The indictment was a masterpiece, well could the Solicitor-General pridehimself on the perfection of the document.
A dull, oppressive silence had fallen upon this vast concourse ofpeople. Interest, which was at fever-pitch, had forcibly to be kept incheck, but now, as the Clerk's final words echoed feebly through thevast hall, a great sigh of eager excitement rose from the entiremultitude.
Everything so far had been but preliminary, the somewhat dull, lengthyprologue of the coming palpitating drama. But at last the curtain wasabout to rise on the first act, and the chief actor was ready to stepupon the stage.
Already from afar loud murmurs and excited cries proclaimed the approachof the prisoner.
"He hath arrived from the Tower," whispered the 'prentices to oneanother.
The distant murmurs grew in volume, then came nearer and nearer. Allnecks were craned to see the Duke arrive, and even the repeated calls ofthe Serjeant-at-Arms demanding silence were now left unheeded.
Whispers passed from lip to ear. Comments and conjectures flew throughthe crowd. Was not this the most interesting moment of this interestingday?
"How would he carry himself?"
"How would he look?"
"How doth a nobleman look when he becomes a felon?"
"Silence! Here they come!"
The Serjeant-at-Arms once more stood up before the people and loudlyread a proclamation, calling upon the Lieutenant of the Tower of Londonto return his precept and bring forth his prisoner.
This was responded to by a call of "Present!" from outside, followed bya loud tumult. The next moment the great doors of the Hall were thrownopen, six armed men entered and walked straight up the centre aisletowards the bar.
Behind them appeared the Lieutenant of the Tower of London, with LordRich, and between them was Robert d'Esclade, fifth Duke of Wessex, theprisoner.
Dressed all in black, he looked distinctly older than the crowd hadremembrance of him. A sigh of excited anticipation went all along theline, a regular bousculade ensued; the people behind trying to catch anearer glimpse of the Duke and pushing those who were in front. The'prentices, who were squatting in the foremost rank on the ground, wereviolently jerked forward, some fell on their faces right up against theLieutenant and my lord Rich, seeing which and the general excitedconfusion the Duke was observed to smile.
A woman in the crowd murmured--
"The Lord bless his handsome face!"
"Heaven ward Your Grace!" added another.
The women's pity--and that only momentarily. And the awful publicity ofit all! Among the men wagers were offered and taken in his hearing as hepassed, whether sentence of death would be passed on him or not.
"Will they hang him, think you?"
"No, no, 'tis always the axe for noble lords; but they'll have him drawnand quartered for sure."
"God help Your Grace!" sighed the women.
Indeed, if pride was a deadly sin, how deadly was its punishment now.
The crowd was not hostile, only indifferent, curious, eager to see; andevery remark made by these stolid gapers must have cut the prisoner likea blow.
They watched him cross the entire length of the hall, commenting on hisappearance, his clothes, his past life, a coarse jest even came to hisears now and again, a laugh of derision or an exclamation of satisfiedenvy.
Fallen Wessex indeed!
He tried with all his might not to show what he felt, and evidently hesucceeded over well, for Mr. Thomas Norton, in his comments on thetrial, states placidly:--
"The prisoner seemeth not to understand the gravity of his position andcareth naught for the heinousness of his crime. Truly this indifferencemarketh a godless soul or else the supreme conceit of wealth and highrank, he having many friends among his peers and being confident of anacquittal."
Lord Rich alone, who walked by the side of the Duke, and stood close tohim throughout the awful ordeal, has noted in his interesting memoirshow deeply the accused was moved when he realized that he would have tostand at the bar on a raised dais, in full view of all the crowd.
"Meseemed that his hand trembled when first he rested it on the bar,"adds his lordship in his chronicles. "He being passing tall he could beseen by all and sundry, which was trying to his pride. But anon HisGrace caught my eye, and I doubt not but that he read therein all thesympathy which I felt for him, for he then threw back his head andscanned the crowd right fearlessly, and more like a king ready to read aproclamation than a felon awaiting his trial. Then, as he looked allaround him, his eyes lighted on my lord the Cardinal de Moreno and on aveiled female figure who sat close to the Spanish envoy. He then becamedeathly pale, and I, fearing that he might swoon, caught him by the arm.But he pressed my hand and thanked me, saying only that the heat of theroom was oppressive."
It is evident that my lord Rich was a hot partisan of the accused. Heand the Lieutenant of the Tower stood close beside the Duke throughoutthe trial, the Tower guard forming a semicircle round the bar, and theChamberlain of the Tower holding the axe with its edge from the prisonerand towards Lord Rich.
Mr. Thomas Norton tells us that at this point of the proceedings theexcitement was intense. Lord Chandois himself seemed unable to keep upthe rigid dignity of his office. The peers who were the triers wereeagerly whispering to one another. The Clerk seemed unable to clear histhroat before calling on the accused.
The crowd too felt this acute tension. The people had already noticedthe veiled female figure, clad in sombre kirtle and black paniers, whohad entered the Hall a little while ago, accompanied by His Eminence theCardinal, and had since then sat, dull and rigid, beside him, seeminglytaking no notice of the proceedings. A hurried conversation carried onin whispers between His Eminence and my lord High Steward had been notedby everybody--yet no one dared to ask a question.
It seemed as if an invisible presence had suddenly made itself felt, aspirit from the land of shadows, that awesome precursor of death whichis called "Retribution," and that from his ghostly lips there hadfallen--unheard yet felt by every heart--the mighty dictate of analmighty will: "Thou shalt do no murder!"
Had the spirit really passed? Who can tell? But the soul of every manand woman there was left quivering. There was not a hand that now didnot slightly tremble, not one lid that failed to move, for the suprememoment had come for the accomplishment of an irreparable wrong.
The spectators had before them the picture of that solemn Court, theLord High Steward with chain and sword of gold, the judges in their redrobes, the peers with their ermine, and here and there quaint patchesof unexpected colour as the wintry sun struck full through the colouredfacets of the huge window beyond and alighted on a black gown or theleather jerkins of the guard.
They saw the halberds of the men-at-arms faintly gleaming in the wan,grey light, the Cardinal's purple robes, a brilliant note amidst thedull mass of browns and blacks; the blue doublet of Sir HenryBeddingfield, a jarring bit of discord between the sable-hued garb ofthe other gentlemen there.
And there, amongst them all, the tall, erect figure, the one quiet,impassive face in this surging sea of excitement--the prisoner at thebar!
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