Morley Ernstein; or, the Tenants of the Heart

by G. P. R. James

The barrister who would conduct a trial for horse-stealing, with a light and flippant speech of five minutes, although by the sanguinary laws of old, the life of the prisoner was in as great danger as if he had committed murder, would become impressed by the deepest sense of his situation, and speak by the hour together, if some great man were slain by the hand of an inferior; and the slightest touch of romance will hold a court for hours over a trial for murder, which would hang a dozen men for simple forgery in an hour and a half; and yet the responsibility is the same--the life of a fellow-being is in both cases at stake.[^[1]] Although, perhaps, it no longer happens that "Wretches hang, that jurymen may dine;" yet many a man has a cause affecting his life, or his happiness through life, tried with no slight inattention, because he has not committed some distinguished crime, or performed it in a remarkable manner.

At length, the expected moment came for the trial of Martin and his companions, and the prisoners were brought in and placed at the bar. All eyes were upon them, and certainly an awful moment must it be, when a man enters a crowded and expecting court, loaded with the charge of a heavy crime, waiting for the ordeal of a public trial, knowing that his fate for life or death is there to be sealed in a few short hours, and sees fixed upon him the thousand eyes of a multitude who have come there to pry into and enjoy all his emotions, to witness the terrible struggle, and mark how he bears his destiny. It must be a strong heart, or a hard one, that can endure that first look with calmness.

Very different from each other, in aspect and demeanour, were the four men who now advanced into the dock. Two of them hung their heads and looked down upon the ground; one of them gazed around with a faint and affected smile, nodding to some one that he saw in the crowd, and labouring painfully to appear at ease. Martin, on the contrary, came forward, looking straight before him, with his head erect, his broad chest expanded, and his step slow, but firm. His brow was somewhat knit and thoughtful, but his air was frank as usual, and after having gazed towards the bench and the barristers' table, he turned his eyes slowly to the right and left, scanning the eager faces of the crowd with an unquailing eye and an unchanging countenance. The clerk of the arraigns then read the indictment, charging the four prisoners with breaking into the house of Mr. Carr, at Yelverly, and stealing thence various sums of money, and articles of gold and silver, and he then asked the prisoners severally for their plea.

Contrary to the expectation of all present, while the three men who had seemed most cowed by the aspect of the court, pleaded "Not guilty," in a firm and distinct tone, and gave an immediate answer, Martin paused for a moment, ere he replied, as if he had some hesitation, and then answered likewise, but in a low voice, "Not guilty."

It may seem strange, it may be called unnatural, but I believe that, at that moment, there was in the heart of the bold and criminal man of whom I speak, a repugnance to tell a public falsehood, and to put in a plea that was not true. He would have given a great deal, as he stood there, to have been permitted to claim the old battle ordeal--ay, if there had been twenty champions against him; but with all his faults and crimes, he liked not to say he was not guilty, when he knew himself to be so.

The jury was then called over and sworn, no challenges being made, and after the usual formalities, the counsel for the crown addressed the court, with a due sense of the responsibility that rests upon him who undertakes the part of public accuser. Not one word did he say to display his own skill, or eloquence, to excite the passions of his auditory, or to prejudice the cause that was about to be tried. He mentioned the facts of the robbery, as they had taken place, the evidence by which he intended to prove those facts, the circumstances which he thought might justly fix the crime upon the prisoners at the bar, and then left it to the jury to decide whether they were guilty or not, according to the impression produced by the testimony about to be given before them.

After the conclusion of the counsel's speech, a momentary interruption of the proceedings took place, and a report ran round the court, that one of the principal witnesses had been taken suddenly ill. The judge and the counsel for the crown held some conversation together, the principal part of which was only heard by those near them; but at length the former said, distinctly--"I think that such is the best course to pursue. It does not much matter to you in what order the evidence is taken, and, probably, before we have proceeded far, the witness may be able to appear."

The counsel acquiesced in the judge's view, much to the relief of the spectators, who had become apprehensive that they might lose their amusement for the morning.

The two witnesses first called were the female servants of Mr. Carr, who, together with the labourers who had come to the rescue of the inhabitants of Yelverly, proved the facts of the robbery, but could say nothing to fix the guilt upon either of the prisoners in the dock. The housemaid, indeed, dealt a little in the marvellous, and though her fellow-servant had declared that she was asleep the whole time, vowed that she had seen one of the robbers, and that he was at least six inches taller than any of the prisoners; which called from the prisoner's counsel the significant remark, that the maid's testimony would go far to fix the burglary upon the Irish Giant. He declined to cross-examine her, however, saying, with a nod and a shrewd look to the jury, that her evidence was very well as it was, and would be received for as much as it was worth--but no more. Some of the prisoners smiled, but Harry Martin still remained grave, and thoughtful. His brow, indeed, gathered into a stern frown when the name of the next witness was pronounced, and Frederick, Count Lieberg, was called into court.

The foreign appellation, and the rank of the witness, caused a movement of curiosity amongst the spectators, and a slight murmur, in the midst of which, Lieberg advanced, and took his place in the witness-box, with that sort of calm and impressive demeanour, which bespeaks both attention and belief--very often, alas! where neither is due; for those who have been accustomed to frequent senates and courts, must have observed how much attention an empty speech will gain from an attractive tone and manner; and how readily a falsehood is believed, when the face of the teller bears the appearance of a firm conviction. Let the reader be sure that the lie is as much in the manner as the words, and that its success depends more upon the former than the latter.