Gates of Paradise (31 page)

Then what a coming and going there was, with the master led into the front parlour and eased into a chair by the fire where he groaned and held his head, and servants dispatched in every direction: Susie to the bedroom for the brandy bottle, Johnnie to the stables to saddle Bruno, Nan to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of warm water and towels and a length of lint to staunch the bleeding and the boot boy to the store cupboard for a roll of drugget to protect the carpet.

‘Such a thing!' Mrs Beke said, as the required goods were brought into the parlour and placed before her, ‘and for it to happen today of all days. I don't know what the world is coming to, indeed I don't. Hold your head quite still Mr Hayley, dear, while I get this dressing in place and then you shall have some brandy. Dearie, dearie me what a thing to have happened.'

Dr Guy was remarkably quick, following Bruno in at the gate after little more than half an hour, and once he was in the parlour he set to work at once to reassure his old friend as he examined his bleeding head.

‘You must patch me up, my dear friend,' Hayley said to him, adding dramatically, ‘for living or
dying I must make a public appearance at the trial of my friend Blake.'

‘If that is so,' the doctor smiled, reaching for a length of catgut, ‘I must make speed to insert such stitches as are needful to ensure that you are delivered to the Guildhall alive.'

William Blake took the stagecoach to Chichester on the day before his trial so as to be in good time to attend. He booked a room in one of the cheaper hotels, spent an anxious night watching the moon describe its long parabola across the Sussex sky and rose early to prepare himself for his ordeal. But his careful planning came to nothing, for when he presented himself at the Guildhall at the appointed time, clean, newly shaved and having wound himself up to a high pitch of emotional preparedness, he discovered that the trial was to be delayed until four o'clock on the following day, which meant that he had to kick his heels in Chichester for more than twenty-four hours. He wrote to his poor Catherine to explain the delay and to hope she was feeling a little better, and then walked about the town, prowling up and down its four main streets and circling its walls, round and round and round, getting steadily more depressed and agitated, until darkness forced him to retreat to his hotel room again and to the bed in which he still couldn't sleep. By the time he finally walked across the park to his fate on the following afternoon, he was in a very poor state indeed.

The Guildhall stood in damp and disconcerting isolation under a grey sky in the middle of a grey
field. In ordinary circumstances he would have enjoyed the sight of it for, having been the chancel of an ancient monastery, it was built in the Gothic style, which he'd always admired, but on that day it seemed forbidding in the extreme, its stone walls a sign of entrenched and implacable power, its stone-flagged floor and high Gothic windows cold as the punishment that was sure to come. With every single one of those windows shuttered, it was dark inside the building even with a flutter of candles on every table, and it took a minute or two for him to become accustomed to the change of light and even longer to take in all the details of the busy scene before him.

The space inside the building was divided by a wooden screen, in the centre of which was a double gate, which now stood open to admit the participants. Beyond it, and in front of what had once been the high altar, there was a dais where the judge and his six accompanying magistrates were sitting, he in his red robes and full-bottomed wig, looking larger and more powerful than anyone else at the hall, they in top coats, winter hats and stout boots, for it was as cold inside the building as it had been out in the field, and all of them talking and laughing together as if they were members of a club at some happy social gathering. The sight of them was more chilling to Blake than the cold air. Below the dais was another long table where the two counsels, also wigged and gowned, were pretending to ignore one another, while their solicitors sat
beside them shuffling papers, and behind them were the benches for the witnesses. He was encouraged to see so many of his old neighbours: Mr Grinder in a huge winter coat with a triple collar like a coachman; Betsy in her scarlet cloak sitting beside her mother who was wearing a hat like the one Mary Wollstonecraft used to wear; William the ostler bundled up in waistcoats and jackets like an over-wrapped parcel; Johnnie Boniface blowing on his hands to warm them. He tried to catch their eyes but they were all too busy talking to one another or looking round them at the judge and jury, who were ranged on two long benches, to the left of the judgement seat, looking like the tradesmen and labourers they were and plainly overawed by all the pomp and importance that surrounded them. And in the middle of it all, set apart and facing the judges and lawyers, was an empty box just big enough for a single occupant, where the witnesses would take the stand. Without doubt or any possibility of avoidance, he was in a court of law.

He stood before the gate, trying to still the anxious trembling of his heart, and emanations rose ice-white and sinister to coil about his body and numb his limbs. But then his counsel looked up, saw him and strode across the stone flags to welcome him. ‘Mr Blake, my dear sir, I trust I see you well.'

‘I am the better for seeing you, Mr Rose,' Blake said, ‘although I could have wished our meeting anywhere but here.'

‘Tush man, have no fear,' the counsellor said. ‘We are well prepared and will prevail.' His Scottish accent was a comfort to Blake for it showed that he was an outsider too and not a member of the club at the high table. ‘However,' he went on, ‘I should tell you that one of our judges is Mr Quantock who, as you probably remember, is the magistrate who took Scolfield's original deposition.'

‘A bad omen,' Blake said.

‘Not necessarily,' his counsellor said. ‘Do not forget that you are being tried by jury and juries are unpredictable by their nature. That is their great strength.'

The two soldiers were arriving, pushing through the wooden doors as if they were storming a citadel, bright in their red jackets, blue facings rich in the candlelight, buttons polished to a gleam, epaulettes dangling gold, wearing their white doeskin trousers for the occasion with their red greatcoats slung about their shoulders and looking extremely tall and imposing under their black cocked hats. Their counsel was on his feet at once to greet them, which he did very loudly, and to lead them in military procession to the seats beside him. They were causing a stir and they knew it and enjoyed it.

Blake sat beside Counsellor Rose, as far away from his adversaries as he could get and tried to appear unconcerned. But the usher was calling the court to order, banging on the flagstones with his staff and singing ‘Silence in the court!' in a very loud voice. ‘The case of William Blake engraver
versus Private Scolfield of His Majesty's First Regiment of Dragoons, His Honour the Duke of Richmond presiding.' His ordeal was about to begin.

It was humiliating to be named so publicly and loudly, alarming to watch the gates being closed and to know that they were all shut in, demoralising to realise that all eyes had turned in his direction and that most seemed unfriendly. He looked along the line of judges, trying to guess which one was Mr Quantock and saw that the gentleman sitting at the end of the table was Mr Poynz, who lived in Aldwick and was an old customer of his, and that encouraged him a little. But even so the chains of torment held him shackled and his heart shook in his breast.

The formalities were gone through, the two counsels were required to identify themselves, as Counsellor Rose and Counsellor Bowen, and the charge was read. ‘That on the twelfth day of August in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and three, War was carrying on between the persons exercising the powers of Government in France and our said Lord the King, to wit, at the parish of Felpham in the County of Sussex, one WILLIAM BLAKE, late of the said Parish of Felpham in the said County of Sussex, being a Wicked Seditious and Evil disposed person and greatly disaffected to our said Lord the King and Wickedly and Seditiously intending to bring our said Lord the King into great Hatred Contempt and
Scandal with all his liege and faithful subjects of this realm and the Soldiers of our said Lord the King to Scandalize and Vilify and intending to withdraw the fidelity and allegiance of his said Majesty's Subjects from his said Majesty and to encourage and invite as far as in him lay the enemies of our said Lord the King to invade this Realm and Unlawfully and Wickedly to seduce and encourage his Majesty's Subjects to resist and oppose our said Lord the King.'

The sonorous words and the convoluted manner of their delivery were enough to strike terror into any one, let alone an accused man, and, as if that weren't enough, Counsellor Bowen stood up at once to underline the severity of the charge and spell out its implications.

He would, he said, produce incontrovertible proof that the accused had uttered an abominable and seditious calumny upon His Majesty the King and all his subjects, that the words he had uttered were: – damn the King (meaning our said Lord the King) and Country (meaning this Realm) his Subjects (meaning the subjects of our said Lord the King) and all you Soldiers (meaning the Soldiers of our said Lord the King) are sold for slaves. ‘Gentlemen,' he said, inclining his bulk towards the jury, ‘this is a very uncommon accusation. It is foreign to our natures and opposite to our habits. Do you not hear every day, from the mouths of thousands in the streets, the exclamation of “God Save the King!” It is the effusion of every
Englishman's heart. The charge therefore laid in the indictment is an offence of so extraordinary a nature, that evidence of the most clear, positive, and unobjectionable kind will be necessary to induce you to believe it, which I shall presently lay before you. Extraordinary vices, gentlemen, are very rare, which is all the more reason why they should be dealt with swiftly and decisively, that their malignancy – for that is what it is – should be rooted out from our loyal and God-fearing society and that any unprincipled, malignant and evil wretch, such as the man who stands here accused, should, if found guilty, as I truly believe will be the case, be punished for his seditious utterances. Truly, I wonder that a counsellor of such eminence as my esteemed colleague, Mr Rose, should undertake to defend such a wretch, when he must surely be aware of the atrocity and malignity of the crime of which he is accused.' Then, looking plumply pleased with himself, he smiled at the jurymen, bowed to the duke and sat down.

There was a flutter of interest as Mr Rose stood to make his opening statement. He began smoothly and with great courtesy. ‘I perfectly agree with my learned friend,' he said, ‘with regard to the atrocity and malignity of the charge now laid before you. I am also much obliged to him for having given me the credit that no justification or extenuation of such a charge would be attempted by me, supposing the charge could be proved to your satisfaction – and I must be permitted to say, that it is a credit
which I deserve. If there be a man, who can be found guilty of such a transgression, he must apply to some other person to defend him. My task is to show that my client is not guilty of the words imputed to him. We stand here not merely in form, but in sincerity and truth, to declare that we are not guilty. There is no doubt that the crime which is laid to the charge of my client is a crime of the most extraordinary malignity – I chose the term malignity purposely – for if the offence be clearly proved I am willing to allow that public malignity and indelible disgrace are fixed upon my client. If on the other hand when you have heard the witnesses, which I shall call, you should be led to believe that it is a fabrication for the purpose of answering some scheme of revenge, you will have little difficulty in deciding that it is a still greater malignity on the part of the witness Scolfield.'

It was a skilled answer and Blake was cheered by it, but the chains still bit, for now Private Scolfield was being asked to take the stand. There was much neck craning on the public benches, as the soldier removed his cocked hat, put it under his arm and marched to the witness box.

He agreed to his name and rank and allowed that Mr Bowden should take him back ‘to the day in question, when you were in Mr Blake's garden, were you not?'

‘I was, sir.'

‘Would you tell the court what took you there?'

‘Well, sir, I walked across from The Fox Inn…'

‘Where you were billeted.'

‘Where I was billeted, yes, sir. I walked across, like I said, sir, with a message for the ostler. He was helping in the garden on account of there wasn't much work in the inn at the time.'

‘Did you deliver your message?'

‘I did, sir.'

‘And what then?'

‘Well, then, sir, Mr Blake, he come out the cottage and he sees me there and starts shouting at me.'

‘Had you said anything to him to occasion such behaviour?'

‘No, sir. I had not.'

‘Quite. Pray continue. Can you recall the words he used when he started to shout at you?'

‘I can indeed, sir, on account of they was such shameful words, seditious words, words against King and Country, sir, words what in my opinion, ought never to have been said.'

‘Your opinion does you credit,' Mr Bowen approved. ‘Pray continue.'

‘Well, sir, he said the king should be damned and the people of England were like a parcel of children what would get burnt in the fire and they would be damned and when Bonaparte came, he would be master of Europe in an hour, and England could depend on it that when he set foot on English ground every Englishman would have a choice whether to have his throat cut or join the French. And he said he was a strong man and would
certainly begin to cut throats. It will be cut throat for cut throat, he said, and the weakest will go to the wall.'