Complete works of willia.., p.302
Complete Works of William Morris, page 302
St. Standing on a stool, speaking
Mr. H. Yes; speaking: to how many people?
St. About a thousand.
Mr. H. Could you get near him?
St. Nowhere near.
Mr. H. Well, can you tell me what he was saying?
St. Well, he said that all the rich people and all the shopkeepers (glancing at the Jury) should be disemboweled and flayed alive, and that all arrangements had been made for doing it, if only the workingmen would combine. He then went into details as to where various detachments were to meet in order to take the Bank of England and capture the Queen. He also threatened to smash Mr. Justice Nupkins’ “Rent-of-Ability,” by which I understood him to mean his skull.
J. N. His — my brains, you mean!
St. No, my lord; for he said that you — that he — hadn’t any brains.
Mr. H. Did you find any documents or papers on him when he was arrested?
St. Yes; he had a bundle of papers with him.
Mr. H. Like this? (showing a number of “Commonweal”)
St. Yes.
J. F. (Aside: Two quires that I couldn’t sell, damn it!)
Mr. H. We put this paper in, my lord. Your lordship will notice the vileness of the incendiarism contained in it. I specially draw your attention to this article by one Bax, who as you will see, is familiar with the use of dynamite to a fearful extent. (J. N. reads, muttering “Curse of Civilisation.”) Gentlemen of the Jury that is our case.
J. N. (looking up from “Commonweal”). Prisoner at the bar, what have you to say? Do you call witnesses?
J. F. Yes, I call witnesses, but I haven’t much to say. I am accused of obstruction, but I shan’t argue that point, as I know that I should do myself no good by proving that I had not obstructed. I am accused of being a Socialist and a revolutionist. Well, if you, my lord, and you, gentlemen of the Jury, and the classes to which you belong, knew what Socialism means — and I fear you take some pains not to — you would also know what the condition of things is now, and how necessary revolution is. So if it is a crime to be a Socialist and a revolutionist, I have committed that crime; but the charge against me is that I am a criminal fool, which I am not. And my witnesses will show you, gentlemen of the Jury, that the evidence brought against me is a mass of lies of the silliest concoction. That is, they will show it you if you are sensible men and understand your position as jurymen, which I almost fear you do not. Well, it will not be the first time that the judge has usurped the function of the jury, and I would go to prison cheerfully enough if I could hope it would be the last.
[He pauses as if to listen. Confused noises and the sound of the “Marseillaise” a long way off. (Aside: What is it, I wonder? — No; it’s nothing.)
J. N. Prisoner, what is the matter with you? You seem to be intoxicated; and indeed I hope you are, for nothing else could excuse the brutality of your language.
J. F. Oh, don’t put yourself out, my lord. You’ve got the whip-hand of me, you know. I thought I heard an echo; that’s all. Well, I will say no more, but call the Archbishop of Canterbury.
[Enter the Archbishop, who is received with much reverence and attention. He is sworn.
J. F. Your Grace, were you present at the meeting at Beadon Road where I was arrested?
Arch. Yes — yes, I was there. Strange to say, it was on a Sunday morning. I needed some little refreshment from the toils of ecclesiastical office. So I took a cab, I admit under the pretext of paying a visit to my brother of London; and having heard the fame of these Socialist meetings, I betook me to one of them for my instruction and profit: for I hold that in these days even those that are highest in the Church should interest themselves in social matters.
J. F. Well, my lord, were you pleased with what you saw and heard?
Arch. I confess, sir, that I was disappointed.
J. F. Why, my lord?
Arch. Because of the extreme paucity of the audience.
J. F. Were there a thousand persons present?
Arch. (severely). I must ask you not to jest with me in the sacredly respectable precincts of a Court of Justice. To the best of my remembrance, there were present at the commencement of your discourse but three persons exclusive of yourself. That fact is impressed on my mind from the rude and coarse words which you said when you mounted your stool or rostrum to the friend who accompanied you and had under his arm a bundle of a very reprehensible and ribald print called the Commonweal, one of which he, I may say, forced me to purchase.
J. F. Well, what did I say?
Arch. You said, “I say, Bill! damned hard lines to have to speak to a lamp-post, a kid, and an old buffer” — by the latter vulgarity indicating myself, as I understand.
J. F. Yes, my lord, so it is. Now let me ask you, if that matters, is Beadon Road a thronged thoroughfare?
Arch. On the contrary; at least on the morning on which I was there, there was a kind of Sabbath rest about it, scarcely broken by the harangue of yourself, sir.
J. F. You heard what I said, my lord?
Arch. I did, and was much shocked at it.
J. F. Well, did I say anything about bowels?
Arch. I regret to say that you did.
J. F. Do you remember the words I used?
Arch. Only too well. You said, but at great length, and with much embroidery of language more than questionable, that capital had no bowels for the worker, nor owners of capital either; and that since no one else would be kind to them, the workers must be kind to themselves and take the matter into their own hands.
J. N. (making notes). Owners of the capital; workman must take the matter — take the matter — into their own hands.
J. F. Well, I have no more questions to ask your Grace.
Mr. H. With many excuses, your Grace, I will ask you a question.
Arch. Certainly, Mr Hungary.
Mr. H. You say that the audience was very small; that was at first; but did it not increase as time went on?
Arch. Yes; an itinerant vendor of ices drew up his stall there, and two policemen — these gentlemen — strolled in, and some ten or more others stood round us before the orator had finished.
Mr. H. (Aside: H’m! old beggar will be so very specific. Let’s try him as to the sedition.) (To Arch.) My lord, you said that you were shocked at what the prisoner said: what was the nature of his discourse?
Arch. I regret to have to say that it was a mass of the most frightful incendiarism, delivered with an occasional air of jocularity and dry humour that made my flesh creep. Amidst the persistent attacks on property he did not spare other sacred things. He even made an attack on my position, stating (wrongly) the amount of my moderate stipend. Indeed, I think he recognised me, although I was partially disguised.
J. F. (Aside: True for you, old Benson, or else how could I have subpœnaed you?)
Mr. H. I thank your Grace: that will do.
J. F. I now call Lord Tennyson.
[Lord Tennyson sworn.
J. F. My lord, have you been present, in disguise, at a meeting of the Socialist League in 13 Farringdon Road?
Lord T. What’s that to you? What do you want to know for? Yes, I have, if it comes to that.
J. F. Who brought you there?
Lord T. A policeman: one Potlegoff. I thought he was a Russian by his name, but it seems he is an Englishman — and a liar. He said it would be exciting: so I went.
J. F. And was it exciting?
Lord T. NO: it was dull.
J. F. How many were present?
Lord T. Seventeen: I counted them, because I hadn’t got anything else to do.
J. F. Did they plot anything dreadful?
Lord T. Not that I could hear. They sat and smoked; and one fool was in the chair, and another fool read letters; and then they worried till I was sick of it as to where such and such fools should go to spout folly the next week; and now and then an old bald-headed fool and a stumpy little fool in blue made jokes, at which they laughed a good deal; but I couldn’t understand the jokes — and I came away.
J. F. Thank you, my lord.
Mr. H. My lord Tennyson, I wish to ask you a question. You say that you couldn’t understand their jokes: but could you understand them when they were in earnest?
Lord T. No, I couldn’t: I can’t say I tried. I don’t want to understand Socialism: it doesn’t belong to my time. [Exit.
J. F. I call Professor Tyndall.
[Professor Tyndall sworn.
J. F. Professor Tyndall, have you seen me before?
Pro. T. Yes; I have seen you in a public-house, where I went to collect the opinions of the lower orders against Mr. Gladstone.
J. F. Who was I with?
Pro. T. You were with a man whom I was told was a policeman in plain clothes, and with some others that I assume to have been friends of yours, as you winked at them and you and they were laughing together as you talked to the policeman.
J. F. Do you see the policeman in Court?
Pro. T. Yes; there he is.
J. F. Was he drunk or sober?
Pro. T. What, now?
J. F. No — then.
Pro. T. (with decision). Drunk.
J. F. Was I drunk?
Pro. T. What, now?
J. F. No — then; though you may tell me whether I’m drunk or not now, if you like, and define drunkenness scientifically.
Pro. T. Well, you were so, so.
J. F. Thank you, Professor.
Mr. H. One question, Professor Tyndall. Did you hear what the prisoner was saying to the policeman — who, by the way, was, I suspect, only shamming drunkenness?
J. F. (Aside: He could carry a good deal, then.)
Pro. T. Yes, I heard him. He was boasting of the extent and power of the Socialist organisation.
Mr. H. And did you believe it? did it surprise you?
Pro. T. It did not in the least surprise me: it seemed to me the natural consequences of Gladstone’s Home Rule Bill. As to believing it, I knew he was jesting; but I thought that his jesting concealed very serious earnest. He seemed to me a determined, cunning, and most dangerous person.
Mr. H. I thank you, professor. [Exit Pro. T.
J. N. Prisoner, do you want to re-examine the witnesses? What’s that noise outside? They ought to be arrested.
[“Marseillaise” again without, and tumult nearer. Freeman listens intently, without heeding the Judge.
J. N. Prisoner, why don’t you answer? Your insolence won’t serve you here, I can tell you.
J. F. I was listening, Judge; I thought I heard that echo again.
J. N. Echo again! What does the fellow mean? It’s my belief you’re drunk, sir: that you have stimulated your courage by liquor.
A Voice. Look out for your courage, old cockywax; you may have something to try it presently!
J. N. Officer, arrest that pernicious foreigner.
[Usher promenades once more.
J. N. (Aside: I don’t like it: I’m afraid there is something going to happen.) (To Court) Mr. Hungary.
Mr. H. My lord and gentlemen of the Jury, the prisoner’s mingled levity and bitterness leaves me little to answer to. I can only say, gentlemen of the Jury, that I am convinced that you will do your duty. As to the evidence, I need make no lengthened comments on it, because I am sure his lordship will save me the trouble. (Aside: Trust him!) It is his habit — his laudable habit — to lead juries through the intricacies which beset unprofessional minds in dealing with evidence. For the rest, there is little need to point out the weight of the irrefragible testimony of the sergeant and constable, — men trained to bring forward those portions of the facts which come under their notice which are weighty. I will not insult you, my lord, by pointing out to intelligent gentlemen in your presence how the evidence of the distinguished and illustrious personages so vexatiously called by the prisoner, so far from shaking the official evidence, really confirms it. (Aside: I wonder what all that row is about? I wish I were out of this and at home.) Gentlemen of the Jury, I repeat that I expect you to do your duty and defend yourselves from the bloodthirsty designs of the dangerous revolutionist now before you. (Aside: Well, now I’m off, and the sooner the better; there’s a row on somewhere.) [Exit.
J. N. Gentlemen of the Jury, I need not expatiate to you on the importance of the case before you. There are two charges brought against the prisoner, but one so transcends the other in importance — nay, I may say swallows it up — that I imagine your attention will be almost wholly fixed on that — the charge of conspiring and inciting to riot. Besides, on the lesser charge the evidence is so simple and crystal-clear that I need but allude to it. I will only remark on the law of the case, that committing an obstruction is a peculiar offence, since it is committed by everyone who, being in a public thoroughfare, does not walk briskly through the streets from his starting-place to his goal. There is no need to show that some other person is hindered by him in his loitering, since obviously that might be the case; and besides, his loitering might hinder another from forming in his mind a legitimate wish to be there, and so might do him a very special and peculiar injury. In fact, gentlemen, it has been doubted whether this grave offence of obstruction is not always being committed by everybody, as a corollary to the well-known axiom in physics that two bodies cannot occupy the same space at one and the same time. So much, gentlemen, for the lesser accusation. As to the far more serious one, I scarcely know in what words to impress upon you the gravity of the accusation. The crime is an attack on the public safety, gentlemen; if it has been committed, gentlemen — if it has been committed. On that point you are bound by your oaths to decide according to the evidence; and I must tell you that the learned counsel was in error when he told you that I should direct your views as to that evidence. It is for you to say whether you believe that the witnesses were speaking what was consonant with truth. But I am bound to point out to you that whereas the evidence for the prosecution was clear, definite, and consecutive, that for the defence had no such pretensions. Indeed, gentlemen, I am at a loss to discover why the prisoner put those illustrious and respectable personages to so much trouble and inconvenience merely to confirm in a remarkable way the evidence of the sergeant and the constable. His Grace the Archbishop said that there were but three persons present when the prisoner began speaking; but he has told us very clearly that before the end of the discourse there were ten, or more. You must look at those latter words, or more, as a key to reconcile the apparent discrepancy between his Grace’s evidence and that of constable Potlegoff. This, however, is a matter of little importance, after what I have told you about the law in the case of obstruction. His Grace’s clear remembrance of the horrible language of the prisoner, and the shuddering disgust that it produced on him, is a very different matter. Although his remembrance of the ipsissima verba does not quite tally with that of the constable, it is clear that both the Archbishop and the policeman have noted the real significance of what was said: The owners of this capital, said the prisoner —
J. F. I said nothing of the kind.
J. N. Yes you did, sir. Those were the very words you said: I have got it down in my notes of his Grace’s evidence. What is the use of your denying it, when your own witness gives evidence of it? Hold your tongue, sir. — And the workingmen, says the prisoner, must take the matter into their own hands. Take it into their own hands, gentlemen, and take the matter into their hands. What matter are they to take into their hands? Are we justified in thinking that the prisoner was speaking metaphorically? Gentlemen, I must tell you that the maxim that in weighing evidence you need not go beyond the most direct explanation guides us here; forbids us to think that the prisoner was speaking metaphorically, and compels us to suppose that the matter which is to be in the hands of the workmen, their very hands, gentlemen, is — what? Why, (in an awe-struck whisper) the bowels of the owners of the capital, that is of this metropolis — London! Nor, gentlemen, are the means whereby those respectable persons, the owners of house property in London, to be disembowelled left doubtful: the raising of armed men by the million, concealed weapons, and an organisation capable of frustrating the search for them. Nay, an article in the paper which impudently calls itself (reading the “Commonweal”) the official journal of the Socialist League, written by one Bax, who ought to be standing in the same dock with the prisoner — an article in which he attacks the sacredness of civilisation — is murky with the word dynamic or dynamite. And you must not forget, gentlemen, that the prisoner accepts his responsibility for all these words and deeds. With the utmost effrontery having pleaded “Not Guilty,” he says, “I am a Socialist and a Revolutionist”! — Thus much, gentlemen, my duty compels me to lay before you as to the legal character of the evidence. But you must clearly understand that it rests with you and not with me to decide as to whether the evidence shows this man to be guilty. It is you, gentlemen of the Jury, who are responsible for the verdict, whatever it may be; and I must be permitted to add that letting this man loose upon society will be a very heavy responsibility for you to accept.
