Falkner: A Novel

by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

"Mr. Falkner is acquitted—he is free—he will soon be here! No one could doubt his innocence that saw him—no one did doubt it—the jury did not even retire." Thus Osborne ran on, relating the events of the trial. Falkner's mere appearance had prepossessed every one. The frankness of his open brow, his dignified, unembarrassed manner, his voice, whose clear tones were the very echo of truth, vouched for him. The barrister who conducted the prosecution narrated the facts rather as a mystery to be inquired into than as a crime to be detected. Gerard Neville's testimony was entirely favourable to the prisoner; he showed how Falkner, wholly unsuspected, safe from the shadow of accusation, had spontaneously related the unhappy part he took in his unfortunate mother's death, for the sake of restoring her reputation and relieving the minds of her relatives. The narrative written in Greece, and left as explanation in case of his death, was further proof of the truth of his account. Gerard declared himself satisfied of his innocence; and when he stated his father's dying words, his desire, at the last hour on the bed of death, to record his belief in Falkner's being guiltless of the charge brought against him—words spoken as it were yesterday, for he who uttered them still lay unburied—the surprise seemed to be that he should have suffered a long imprisonment and the degradation of a trial. Osborne's own evidence was clear and satisfactory. At last Falkner himself was asked what defence he had to make. As he rose every eye turned on him, every voice and breath were hushed—a solemn silence reigned. His words were few, spoken calmly and impressively; he rested his innocence on the very evidence brought against him. He had been the cause of the lady's death, and asked for no mercy; but for her sake, and the sake of that heroic feeling that led her to encounter death amid the waves, he asked for justice, and he did not for a moment doubt that it would be rendered him.

"Nor could you doubt it as you heard him," continued Osborne. "Never were truth and innocence written so clearly on human countenance as on his as he looked upon the jury with his eagle eyes, addressing them without pride, but with infinite majesty, as if he could rule their souls through the power of a clear conscience and a just cause; they did not hesitate—the jury did not hesitate a moment; I rushed here the moment I heard the words, and now—he is come."

Many steps were again heard in the street below, and one, which Elizabeth could not mistake, upon the stairs. Falkner entered—she flew to his arms, and he pressed her to his bosom, wrapping her in a fond, long embrace, while neither uttered a word.

A few moments of trembling almost to agony, a few agitated tears, and the natural gladness of the hour assumed its genuine aspect. Falkner, commanding himself, could shake hands with Osborne, and thank him, and Elizabeth presented him to Mrs. Raby. He at once comprehended the kindness of her visit, and acknowledged it with a heartfelt thankfulness that showed how much he had suffered while picturing Elizabeth's abandonment. Soon various other persons poured into the room, and it was necessary to pass through many congratulations, and to thank, and, what was really painful, to listen to the outpouring talk of those persons who had been present at the trial. Yet, at such a moment, the heart, warmed and open, acknowledges few distinctions. Among those whose evident joy in the result filled Elizabeth with gratitude, she and Falkner felt touched by none so much as the visit of a turnkey, who was ashamed to show himself, yet who, hearing they were immediately to quit Carlisle, begged permission to see them once again. The poor fellow, who looked on Elizabeth as an angel and Falkner as a demigod—for, not forgetting others in their adversity, they had discovered and assisted his necessities—the poor fellow seemed out of his mind with joy—ecstasy was painted on his face—there was no mistaking the clear language of a full and grateful heart.

At length the hurry and tumult subsided—all departed. Falkner and his beloved companion were left alone, and for a few short hours enjoyed a satisfaction so perfect that angels might have envied them. Falkner was humbled, it is true, and looked to the past with the same remorse; but in vain did he think that his pride ought to feel deeply wounded by the scene of that day; in vain did he tell himself that, after such a trial, the purity of his honour was tarnished—his heart told another tale. Its emphatic emotions banished every conventional or sophisticated regret. He was honestly though calmly glad, and acknowledged the homely feeling with the sincerity of a man who had never been nourished in false refinements or factitious woes.

In the evening, when it was dusk, said Falkner, "Let us, love, take a walk." The words made Elizabeth both laugh and cry for joy; he put on his hat, and, with her on his arm, they got quickly out of the town, and strolled down a neighbouring lane. The wind that waved the heads of the still leafless trees, the aspect of the starry sky, the wide-spread fields, were felt as blessings from Heaven by the liberated prisoner. "They all seem," he said, "created purely for my enjoyment. How sweet is nature—how divine a thing is liberty! Oh, my God! I dare not be so happy as I would—there is one thought to chill the genial glow; but for the image of lost, dead Alithea, I should enjoy a felicity too pure for frail humanity."

As they returned into the town, a carriage with four posters passed them; Elizabeth recognised at once Gerard Neville within—a pang shot through her heart to remember that they did not share their feelings, but were separated, perhaps for ever, at this very hour. On her return, worn out with fatigue and oppressed with this reflection, she bade good-night to Falkner; and he, happy in the idea that the same roof would cover them, kissed and embraced her. On entering her room she found a letter on her toilet—and smiles again dimpled her face—it was a letter from Neville. It contained a few words, a very few, of congratulation, reminding her that he must hurry back to town for the melancholy task of his father's funeral, and imploring that neither she nor Falkner would determine on any immediate step. "I cannot penetrate the cloud in which we are enveloped," he said; "but I know that I ought not, that I cannot lose you. A little time, a little reflection may show us how to accord our various duties with the great necessity of our not being separated. Be not rash, therefore, my own Elizabeth, nor let your friend be rash. Surely the worst is over, and we may be permitted at last to hate no more, and to be happy."

Elizabeth kissed the letter, and placed it beneath her pillow. That night she slept sweetly and well.

Early in the morning Mrs. Raby called on them. The same prepossession which Gerard had felt in her favour as soon as he saw her, had taken place in her on seeing Falkner. There is a sort of magnetism that draws like to like, and causes minds of fine and lofty tone to recognise each other when brought in contact. Mrs. Raby saw and acknowledged at once Falkner's superiority; whatever his faults had been, they were winnowed away by adversity, and he was become at once the noblest and gentlest of human beings. Mrs. Raby had that touch of generosity in her own character that never permitted her to see merit without openly acknowledging and endeavouring to reward it. The first thought of the plan she now entertained she had cast away as impracticable, but it returned; the desire to give and to benefit, a natural growth in her heart, made her look on it with complacency—by degrees she dismissed the objections that presented themselves, and resolved to act upon it. "We complain," she thought, "of the barrenness of life, and the tediousness and faults of our fellow-creatures; and when Providence brings before us two selected from the world as endowed with every admirable quality, we allow a thousand unworthy considerations, which assume the voice of prudence, to exile us from them. Where can I find a man like Falkner, full of honour, sensibility, and talent? where a girl like Elizabeth, who has proved herself to be the very type of virtuous fidelity? Such companions will teach my children better than volumes of moral treatises, the existence and loveliness of human goodness."

Mrs. Raby passed a sleepless night, revolving these thoughts. In the morning she called on her new friends; and then, with all the grace that was her peculiar charm, she invited them to accompany her to Belleforest, and to take up their residence there for the next few months.