CHAPTER LXVII.
THE VERDICT.
On the Wednesday morning Phineas Finn was again brought into theCourt, and again placed in the dock. There was a general feelingthat he should not again have been so disgraced; but he was still aprisoner under a charge of murder, and it was explained to him thatthe circumstances of the case and the stringency of the law did notadmit of his being seated elsewhere during his trial. He treated theapology with courteous scorn. He should not have chosen, he said,to have made any change till after the trial was over, even had anychange been permitted. When he was brought up the steps into the dockafter the judges had taken their seats there was almost a shout ofapplause. The crier was very angry, and gave it to be understood thateverybody would be arrested unless everybody was silent; but theChief Justice said not a word, nor did those great men the Attorneyand Solicitor-General express any displeasure. The bench was againcrowded with Members of Parliament from both Houses, and on thisoccasion Mr. Gresham himself had accompanied Lord Cantrip. The twoDukes were there, and men no bigger than Laurence Fitzgibbon wereforced to subject themselves to the benevolence of the Under-Sheriff.
Phineas himself was pale and haggard. It was observed that he leanedforward on the rail of the dock all the day, not standing uprightas he had done before; and they who watched him closely said thathe never once raised his eyes on this day to meet those of the menopposite to him on the bench, although heretofore throughout thetrial he had stood with his face raised so as to look directly atthose who were there seated. On this occasion he kept his eyes fixedupon the speaker. But the whole bearing of the man, his gestures, hisgait, and his countenance were changed. During the first long weekof his trial, his uprightness, the manly beauty of his countenance,and the general courage and tranquillity of his deportment had beenconspicuous. Whatever had been his fatigue, he had managed not toshow the outward signs of weariness. Whatever had been his fears,no mark of fear had disfigured his countenance. He had never oncecondescended to the exhibition of any outward show of effrontery.Through six weary days he had stood there, supported by a manhoodsufficient for the terrible emergency. But now it seemed that at anyrate the outward grace of his demeanour had deserted him. But itwas known that he had been ill during the last few days, and it hadbeen whispered through the Court that he had not slept at nights.Since the adjournment of the Court there had been bulletins as to hishealth, and everybody knew that the confinement was beginning to tellupon him.
On the present occasion the proceedings of the day were opened by theAttorney-General, who began by apologising to the jury. Apologies tothe jury had been very frequent during the trial, and each apologyhad called forth fresh grumbling. On this occasion the foremanexpressed a hope that the Legislature would consider the conditionof things which made it possible that twelve gentlemen all concernedextensively in business should be confined for fourteen days becausea mistake had been made in the evidence as to a murder. Then theChief Justice, bowing down his head and looking at them over the rimof his spectacles with an expression of wisdom that almost convincedthem, told them that he was aware of no mistake in the evidence. Itmight become their duty, on the evidence which they had heard and thefurther evidence which they would hear, to acquit the prisoner at thebar; but not on that account would there have been any mistake orerroneous procedure in the Court, other than such error on the partof the prosecution in regard to the alleged guilt of the prisoneras it was the general and special duty of jurors to remedy. Then heendeavoured to reconcile them to their sacrifice by describing theimportance and glorious British nature of their position. "My lord,"said one of the jurors, "if you was a salesman, and hadn't got nopartner, only a very young 'un, you'd know what it was to be keptout of your business for a fortnight." Then that salesman wagged hishead, and put his handkerchief up to his eyes, and there was pityalso for him in the Court.
After that the Attorney-General went on. His learned friend onthe other side,--and he nodded to Mr. Chaffanbrass,--had got somefurther evidence to submit to them on behalf of the prisoner who wasstill on his trial before them. He now addressed them with the viewof explaining to them that if that evidence should be such as hebelieved, it would become his duty on behalf of the Crown to joinwith his learned friend in requesting the Court to direct the juryto acquit the prisoner. Not the less on that account would it be theduty of the jury to form their own opinion as to the credibility ofthe fresh evidence which would be brought before them.
"There won't be much doubt about the credibility," said Mr.Chaffanbrass, rising in his place. "I am not a bit afraid about thecredibility, gentlemen; and I don't think that you need be afraideither. You must understand, gentlemen, that I am now going oncalling evidence for the defence. My last witness was the RightHonourable Mr. Monk, who spoke as to character. My next will be aBohemian blacksmith named Praska,--Peter Praska,--who naturally can'tspeak a word of English, and unfortunately can't speak a word ofGerman either. But we have got an interpreter, and I daresay we shallfind out without much delay what Peter Praska has to tell us." ThenPeter Praska was handed up to the rostrum for the witnesses, and theman learned in Czech and also in English was placed close to him, andsworn to give a true interpretation.
Mealyus the unfortunate one was also in Court, brought in betweentwo policemen, and the Bohemian blacksmith swore that he had made acertain key on the instructions of the man he now saw. The readerneed not be further troubled with all the details of the evidenceabout the key. It was clearly proved that in a village near toPrague a key had been made such as would open Mr. Meager's door inNorthumberland Street, and it was also proved that it was made froma mould supplied by Mealyus. This was done by the joint evidence ofMr. Meager and of the blacksmith. "And if I lose my key," said thereverend gentleman, "why should I not have another made? Did I everdeny it? This, I think, is very strange." But Mr. Emilius was veryquickly walked back out of the Court between the two policemen, ashis presence would not be required in regard to the further evidenceregarding the bludgeon.
Mr. Chaffanbrass, having finished his business with the key, at oncebegan with the bludgeon. The bludgeon was produced, and was handedup to the bench, and inspected by the Chief Justice. The instrumentexcited great interest. Men rose on tiptoe to look at it even from adistance, and the Prime Minister was envied because for a moment itwas placed in his hands. As the large-eyed little boy who had foundit was not yet six years old, there was a difficulty in perfectingthe thread of the evidence. It was not held to be proper toadminister an oath to an infant. But in a roundabout way it wasproved that the identical bludgeon had been picked up in the garden.There was an elaborate surveyor's plan produced of the passage, thegarden, and the wall,--with the steps on which it was supposed thatthe blow had been struck; and the spot was indicated on which thechild had said that he had found the weapon. Then certain workersin leather were questioned, who agreed in asserting that no suchinstrument as that handed to them had ever been made in England.After that, two scientific chemists told the jury that they hadminutely examined the knob of the instrument with reference to thediscovery of human blood,--but in vain. They were, however, ofopinion that the man might very readily have been killed by theinstrument without any effusion of blood at the moment of the blows.This seemed to the jury to be the less necessary, as three or foursurgeons who had examined the murdered man's head had already toldthem that in all probability there had been no such effusion. Whenthe judges went out to lunch at two o'clock the jury were tremblingas to their fate for another night.
The fresh evidence, however, had been completed, and on the return ofthe Court Mr. Chaffanbrass said that he should only speak a very fewwords. For a few words he must ask indulgence, though he knew them tobe irregular. But it was the speciality of this trial that everythingin it was irregular, and he did not think that his learned friend theAttorney-General would dispute the privilege. The Attorney-Generalsaid nothing, and Mr. Chaffanbrass went on with his littlespeech,--with which he took up the greatest part of an hour. It w
asthought to have been unnecessary, as nearly all that he said was saidagain--and was sure to have been so said,--by the judge. It was nothis business,--the business of him, Mr. Chaffanbrass,--to accuseanother man of the murder of Mr. Bonteen. It was not for him to tellthe jury whether there was or was not evidence on which any other manshould be sent to trial. But it was his bounden duty in defence ofhis client to explain to them that a collection of facts tendingto criminate another man,--which when taken together made a fairprobability that another man had committed the crime,--rendered itquite out of the question that they should declare his client to beguilty. He did not believe that there was a single person in theCourt who was not now convinced of the innocence of his client;--butit was not permitted to him to trust himself solely to that belief.It was his duty to show them that, of necessity, they must acquit hisclient. When Mr. Chaffanbrass sat down, the Attorney-General waivedany right he might have of further reply.
It was half-past three when the judge began his charge. He would, hesaid, do his best to enable the jury to complete their tedious duty,so as to return to their families on that night. Indeed he wouldcertainly finish his charge before he rose from the seat, let thehour be what it might; and though time must be occupied by him ingoing through the evidence and explaining the circumstances ofthis very singular trial, it might not be improbable that the jurywould be able to find their verdict without any great delay amongthemselves. "There won't be any delay at all, my lord," said thesuffering and very irrational salesman. The poor man was againrebuked, mildly, and the Chief Justice continued his charge.
As it occupied four hours in the delivery, of which by far thegreater part was taken up in recapitulating and sifting evidencewith which the careful reader, if such there be, has already beenmade too intimately acquainted, the account of it here shall bevery short. The nature of circumstantial evidence was explained,and the truth of much that had been said in regard to such evidenceby Mr. Chaffanbrass admitted;--but, nevertheless, it would beimpossible,--so said his lordship,--to administer justice if guiltcould never be held to have been proved by circumstantial evidencealone. In this case it might not improbably seem to them that thegentleman who had so long stood before them as a prisoner at thebar had been the victim of a most singularly untoward chain ofcircumstances, from which he would have to be liberated, should hebe at last liberated, by another chain of circumstances as singular;but it was his duty to inform them now, after they had heard what hemight call the double evidence, that he could not have given it tothem as his opinion that the charge had been brought home against theprisoner, even had those circumstances of the Bohemian key and of theforeign bludgeon never been brought to light. He did not mean to saythat the evidence had not justified the trial. He thought that thetrial had been fully justified. Nevertheless, had nothing arisen topoint to the possibility of guilt in another man, he should not theless have found himself bound in duty to explain to them that thethread of the evidence against Mr. Finn had been incomplete,--or,he would rather say, the weight of it had been, to his judgment,insufficient. He was the more intent on saying so much, as he wasdesirous of making it understood that, even had the bludgeon stillremained buried beneath the leaves, had the manufacturer of thatkey never been discovered, the great evil would not, he thought,have fallen upon them of punishing the innocent instead of theguilty,--that most awful evil of taking innocent blood in their justattempt to punish murder by death. As far as he knew, to the best ofhis belief, that calamity had never fallen upon the country in histime. The administration of the law was so careful of life that theopposite evil was fortunately more common. He said so much because hewould not wish that this case should be quoted hereafter as showingthe possible danger of circumstantial evidence. It had been a case inwhich the evidence given as to character alone had been sufficientto make him feel that the circumstances which seemed to affect theprisoner injuriously could not be taken as establishing his guilt.But now other and imposing circumstances had been brought to light,and he was sure that the jury would have no difficulty with theirverdict. A most frightful murder had no doubt been committed in thedead of the night. A gentleman coming home from his club had beenkilled,--probably by the hand of one who had himself moved in thecompany of gentlemen. A plot had been made,--had probably beenthought of for days and weeks before,--and had been executed withextreme audacity, in order that an enemy might be removed. Therecould, he thought, be but little doubt that Mr. Bonteen had beenkilled by the instrument found in the garden, and if so, he certainlyhad not been killed by the prisoner, who could not be supposedto have carried two bludgeons in his pocket, and whose quarrelwith the murdered man had been so recent as to have admitted of nopreparation. They had heard the story of Mr. Meager's grey coat, andof the construction of the duplicate key for Mr. Meager's house-door.It was not for him to tell them on the present occasion whether thesestories, and the evidence by which they had been supported, tendedto affix guilt elsewhere. It was beyond his province to advert tosuch probability or possibility; but undoubtedly the circumstancesmight be taken by them as an assistance, if assistance were needed,in coming to a conclusion on the charge against the prisoner."Gentlemen," he said at last, "I think you will find no difficulty inacquitting the prisoner of the murder laid to his charge," whereuponthe jurymen put their heads together; and the foreman, without halfa minute's delay, declared that they were unanimous, and that theyfound the prisoner Not Guilty. "And we are of opinion," said theforeman, "that Mr. Finn should not have been put upon his trial onsuch evidence as has been brought before us."
The necessity of liberating poor Phineas from the horrors of hisposition was too urgent to allow of much attention being given atthe moment to this protest. "Mr. Finn," said the judge, addressingthe poor broken wretch, "you have been acquitted of the odious andabominable charge brought against you, with the concurrence, I amsure, not only of those who have heard this trial, but of all yourcountrymen and countrywomen. I need not say that you will leave thatdock with no stain on your character. It has, I hope, been someconsolation to you in your misfortune to hear the terms in whichyou have been spoken of by such friends as they who came here togive their testimony on your behalf. It is, and it has been, a greatsorrow to me to see such a one as you subjected to so unmerited anignominy; but a man educated in the laws of his country, as youhave been, and understanding its constitution fundamentally, as youdo, will probably have acknowledged that, great as has been themisfortune to you personally, nothing more than a proper attempt hasbeen made to execute justice. I trust that you may speedily findyourself able to resume your place among the legislators of thecountry." Thus Phineas Finn was acquitted, and the judges, collectingup their robes, trooped off from the bench, following the long lineof their assessors who had remained even to that hour to hear thelast word of the trial. Mr. Chaffanbrass collected his papers, withthe assistance of Mr. Wickerby,--totally disregardful of his juniorcounsel, and the Attorney and Solicitor-General congratulated eachother on the successful termination of a very disagreeable piece ofbusiness.
And Phineas was discharged. According to the ordinary meaning of thewords he was now to go about his business as he pleased, the lawhaving no further need of his person. We can understand how in commoncases the prisoner discharged on his acquittal,--who probably innine cases out of ten is conscious of his own guilt,--may feel thesweetness of his freedom and enjoy his immunity from danger with alight heart. He is received probably by his wife or young woman,--orperhaps, having no wife or young woman to receive him, betakeshimself to his usual haunts. The interest which has been felt in hiscareer is over, and he is no longer the hero of an hour;--but he is afree man, and may drink his gin-and-water where he pleases. Perhapsa small admiring crowd may welcome him as he passes out into thestreet, but he has become nobody before he reaches the corner. But itcould not be so with this discharged prisoner,--either as regardedhimself and his own feelings, or as regarded his friends. Whenthe moment came he had hardly as yet thought about the immediatefuture,--had n
ot considered how he would live, or where, duringthe next few months. The sensations of the moment had been so full,sometimes of agony and at others of anticipated triumph, that he hadnot attempted as yet to make for himself any schemes. The Duchessof Omnium had suggested that he would be received back into societywith an elaborate course of fashionable dinners; but that view of hisreturn to the world had certainly not occurred to him. When he wasled down from the dock he hardly knew whither he was being taken, andwhen he found himself in a small room attached to the Court, claspedon one arm by Mr. Low and on the other by Lord Chiltern, he did notknow what they would propose to him,--nor had he considered whatanswer he would make to any proposition. "At last you are safe," saidMr. Low.
"But think what he has suffered," said Lord Chiltern.
Phineas looked round to see if there was any other friend present.Certainly among all his friends he had thought most of her who hadtravelled half across Europe for evidence to save him. He had seenMadame Goesler last on the evening preceding the night of the murder,and had not even heard from her since. But he had been told what shehad done for him, and now he had almost fancied that he would havefound her waiting for him. He smiled first at the one man and thenat the other, and made an effort to carry himself with his ordinarytranquillity. "It will be all right now, I dare say," he said. "Iwonder whether I could have a glass of water."
He sat down while the water was brought to him, and his two friendsstood over him, hardly knowing how to do more than support him bytheir presence.
Then Lord Cantrip made his way into the room. He had sat on the benchto the last, whereas the other two had gone down to receive theprisoner when acquitted;--and with him came Sir Harry Coldfoot, theHome Secretary. "My friend," said the former, "the bitter day haspassed over you, and I hope that the bitterness will soon pass awayalso." Phineas again attempted to smile as he held the hand of theman with whom he had formerly been associated in office.
"I should not intrude, Mr. Finn," said Sir Harry, "did I not feelmyself bound in a special manner to express my regret at the greattrouble to which you have been subjected." Phineas rose, andbowed stiffly. He had conceived that every one connected with theadministration of the law had believed him to be guilty, and none inhis present mood could be dear to him but they who from the beginningtrusted in his innocence. "I am requested by Mr. Gresham," continuedSir Harry, "to express to you his entire sympathy, and his joy thatall this is at last over." Phineas tried to make some little speech,but utterly failed. Then Sir Harry left them, and he burst out intotears.
"Who can be surprised?" said Lord Cantrip. "The marvel is that heshould have been able to bear it so long."
"It would have crushed me utterly, long since," said the other lord.Then there was a question asked as to what he would do, and Mr. Lowproposed that he should be allowed to take Phineas to his own housefor a few days. His wife, he said, had known their friend so long andso intimately that she might perhaps be able to make herself moreserviceable than any other lady, and at their house Phineas couldreceive his sisters just as he would at his own. His sisters had beenlodging near the prison almost ever since the committal, and it hadbeen thought well to remove them to Mr. Low's house in order thatthey might meet their brother there.
"I think I'll go to my--own room--in Marlborough Street." These werethe first intelligible words he had uttered since he had been led outof the dock, and to that resolution he adhered. Lord Cantrip offeredthe retirements of a country house belonging to himself within anhour's journey of London, and Lord Chiltern declared that HarringtonHall, which Phineas knew, was altogether at his service,--but Phineasdecided in favour of Mrs. Bunce, and to Great Marlborough Street hewas taken by Mr. Low.
"I'll come to you to-morrow,--with my wife,"--said Lord Chiltern, ashe was going.
"Not to-morrow, Chiltern. But tell your wife how deeply I value herfriendship." Lord Cantrip also offered to come, but was asked towait awhile. "I am afraid I am hardly fit for visitors yet. All thestrength seems to have been knocked out of me this last week."
Mr. Low accompanied him to his lodgings, and then handed him over toMrs. Bunce, promising that his two sisters should come to him earlyon the following morning. On that evening he would prefer to be quitealone. He would not allow the barrister even to go upstairs with him;and when he had entered his room, almost rudely begged his weepinglandlady to leave him.
"Oh, Mr. Phineas, let me do something for you," said the poor woman."You have not had a bit of anything all day. Let me get you just acup of tea and a chop."
In truth he had dined when the judges went out to their lunch,--dinedas he had been wont to dine since the trial had been commenced,--andwanted nothing. She might bring him tea, he said, if she would leavehim for an hour. And then at last he was alone. He stood up in themiddle of the room, stretching forth his hands, and putting onefirst to his breast and then to his brow, feeling himself as thoughdoubting his own identity. Could it be that the last week had beenreal,--that everything had not been a dream? Had he in truth beensuspected of a murder and tried for his life? And then he thought ofhim who had been murdered, of Mr. Bonteen, his enemy. Was he reallygone,--the man who the other day was to have been Chancellor ofthe Exchequer,--the scornful, arrogant, loud, boastful man? He hadhardly thought of Mr. Bonteen before, during these weeks of his ownincarceration. He had heard all the details of the murder with afulness that had been at last complete. The man who had oppressedhim, and whom he had at times almost envied, was indeed gone, and theworld for awhile had believed that he, Phineas Finn, had been theman's murderer!
And now what should be his own future life? One thing seemed certainto him. He could never again go into the House of Commons, and sitthere, an ordinary man of business, with other ordinary men. He hadbeen so hacked and hewed about, so exposed to the gaze of the vulgar,so mauled by the public, that he could never more be anything but thewretched being who had been tried for the murder of his enemy. Thepith had been taken out of him, and he was no longer a man fit foruse. He could never more enjoy that freedom from self-consciousness,that inner tranquillity of spirit, which are essential to publicutility. Then he remembered certain lines which had long beenfamiliar to him, and he repeated them aloud, with some conceit thatthey were apposite to him:--
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,-- For the reed that grows never more again As a reed with the reeds in the river.
He sat drinking his tea, still thinking of himself,--knowing howinfinitely better it would be for him that he should indulge in nosuch thought, till an idea struck him, and he got up, and, drawingback the blinds from the open window, looked out into the night. Itwas the last day of June, and the weather was very sultry; but thenight was dark, and it was now near midnight. On a sudden he tookhis hat, and feeling with a smile for the latch-key which he alwayscarried in his pocket,--thinking of the latch-key which had been madeat Prague for the lock of a house in Northumberland Street, New Road,he went down to the front door. "You'll be back soon, Mr. Finn, won'tyou now?" said Mrs. Bunce, who had heard his step, and had remainedup, thinking it better this, the first night of his return, not torest till he had gone to his bed.
"Why should I be back soon?" he said, turning upon her. But thenhe remembered that she had been one of those who were true to him,and he took her hand and was gracious to her. "I will be back soon,Mrs. Bunce, and you need fear nothing. But recollect how littleI have had of liberty lately. I have not even had a walk for sixweeks. You cannot wonder that I should wish to roam about a little."Nevertheless she would have preferred that he should not have goneout all alone on that night.
He had taken off the black morning coat which he had worn during thetrial, and had put on that very grey garment by which it had beensought to identify him with the murderer. So clad he crossed RegentStreet into Hanover Square, and from thence went a short way downBond Street, and by Bruton Street into Berkeley Square. He tookexactly the reverse of the route by which he had returned homefrom the club on the night of the m
urder. Every now and then hetrembled as he passed some figure which might be that of a man whowould recognise him. But he walked fast, and went on till he cameto the spot at which the steps descend from the street into thepassage,--the very spot at which the murder had been committed. Helooked down it with an awful dread, and stood there as though he werefascinated, thinking of all the details which he had heard throughoutthe trial. Then he looked around him, and listened whether there wereany step approaching through the passage. Hearing none and seeing noone he at last descended, and for the first time in his life passedthrough that way into Bolton Row. Here it was that the wretch of whomhe had now heard so much had waited for his enemy,--the wretch forwhom during the last six weeks he had been mistaken. Heavens!--thatmen who had known him should have believed him to have done such adeed as that! He remembered well having shown the life-preserver toErle and Fitzgibbon at the door of the club; and it had been thoughtthat after having so shown it he had used it for the purpose to whichin his joke he had alluded! Were men so blind, so ignorant of nature,so little capable of discerning the truth as this? Then he went ontill he came to the end of Clarges Street, and looked up the mewsopposite to it,--the mews from which the man had been seen to hurry.The place was altogether unknown to him. He had never thought whitherit had led when passing it on his way up from Piccadilly to the club.But now he entered the mews so as to test the evidence that had beengiven, and found that it brought him by a turn close up to the spotat which he had been described as having been last seen by Erleand Fitzgibbon. When there he went on, and crossed the street, andlooking back saw the club was lighted up. Then it struck him for thefirst time that it was the night of the week on which the memberswere wont to assemble. Should he pluck up courage, and walk in amongthem? He had not lost his right of entry there because he had beenaccused of murder. He was the same now as heretofore,--if he couldonly fancy himself to be the same. Why not go in, and have done withall this? He would be the wonder of the club for twenty minutes, andthen it would all be over. He stood close under the shade of a heavybuilding as he thought of this, but he found that he could not do it.He had known from the beginning that he could not do it. How callous,how hard, how heartless, must he have been, had such a course beenpossible to him! He again repeated the lines to himself--
The reed that grows never more again As a reed with the reeds in the river.
He felt sure that never again would he enter that room, in which nodoubt all those assembled were now talking about him.
As he returned home he tried to make out for himself some plan forhis future life,--but, interspersed with any idea that he could weavewere the figures of two women, Lady Laura Kennedy and Madame MaxGoesler. The former could be nothing to him but a friend; and thoughno other friend would love him as she loved him, yet she could notinfluence his life. She was very wealthy, but her wealth could benothing to him. She would heap it all upon him if he would takeit. He understood and knew that. Taking no pride to himself thatit was so, feeling no conceit in her love, he was conscious of herdevotion to him. He was poor, broken in spirit, and almost without afuture;--and yet could her devotion avail him nothing!
But how might it be with that other woman? Were she, after all thathad passed between them, to consent to be his wife,--and it might bethat she would consent,--how would the world be with him then? Hewould be known as Madame Goesler's husband, and have to sit at thebottom of her table,--and be talked of as the man who had been triedfor the murder of Mr. Bonteen. Look at it in which way he might, hethought that no life could any longer be possible to him in London.