The Panchronicon Part 39

"For one Copernicus Droop, and I mistake not!"

"Do you know him?" she faltered in amazement.

"I have met him--to my sorrow, mistress. 'Tis the first time and the last, I vow, that Francis Bacon hath dealt with mountebanks!"

"Francis Bacon!" cried Phoebe, delight and curiosity now added to puzzled amazement. "Is it possible that I see before me Sir Francis Bacon--or rather Lord Verulam, I believe." She dropped a courtesy, to which he returned a grave bow.

"Nay, good mistress," he replied. "Neither knight nor lord am I, but only plain Francis Bacon, barrister, and Secretary of the Star Chamber."

"Oh!" Phoebe exclaimed, "not yet, I see."

Then, as a look of grave inquiry settled over Bacon's features, she continued eagerly: "Enough of your additions, good Master Bacon. 'Twere better I offered my congratulations, sir, than prated of these lesser matters."

"Congratulations! Good lady, you speak in riddles!"

Smiling, she shook her head at him, looking meaningly into his eyes.

"Oh, think not _all_ are ignorant of what you have so ably hidden, Master Bacon," she said. "Can it be that the author of that wondrous play I saw here given but yesternight can be content to hide his name behind that of a too greatly favored player?"

"Play, mistress!" Bacon exclaimed. "Why, here be more soothsaying manners from a fairer speaker--but still as dark as the uncouth ravings of that fellow--that--that Droop."

"Nay--nay!" Phoebe insisted. "You need fear no tattling, sir. I will keep your secret--though in very truth, were I in your worship's place, 'twould go hard but the whole world should know my glory!"

"Secret--glory!" Bacon exclaimed. "In all conscience, mistress, I beg you will make more clear the matter in question. Of what play speak you?

Wherein doth it concern Francis Bacon?"

"To speak plainly, then, sir, I saw your play of the vengeful Jew and good Master Antonio. What! Have I struck home!"

She leaned against the wall with her hands behind her and looked up at him triumphantly. To her confusion, no answering gleam illumined the young man's darkling eyes.

"Struck home!" he exclaimed, shaking his head querulously. "Perhaps--but where? Do you perchance make a mock of me, Mistress--Mistress----?"

She replied to the inquiry in his manner and tone with disappointment in her voice:

"Mistress Mary Burton, sir, at your service."

Bacon started back a step and a new and eager light leaped into his eyes.

"The daughter of Isaac Burton?" he cried, "soon to be Sir Isaac?"

"The same, sir. Do you know my father?"

"Ay, indeed. 'Twas to seek him I came hither."

Then, starting forward, Bacon poured forth in eager accents a full account of his meeting with Droop in the deserted grove--of how they two had conspired to evade the bailiffs, and of his reasons for borrowing Droop's clothing.

"Conceive, then, my plight, dear lady," he concluded, "when, on reaching London, I found that the few coins which remained to me had been left in the clothes which I gave to this Droop, and I have come hither to implore the temporary aid of your good father."

"But he hath gone into London, Master Bacon," said Phoebe. "It is most like he will not return ere to-morrow even."

Droop's hat dropped from Bacon's relaxed grasp and he seemed to wilt in his speechless despair.

Phoebe's sympathy was awakened at once, but her anxiety to know more of the all-important question of authorship was perhaps the keenest of her emotions.

"Why," she exclaimed, "'tis a little matter that needs not my father, methinks. If ten pounds will serve you, I should deem it an honor to provide them."

Revived by hope, he drew himself up briskly as he replied:

"Why, 'twill do marvellous well, Mistress Mary--marvellous well--nor shall repayment be delayed, upon my honor!"

"Nay, call it a fee," she replied, "and give me, I beg of you, a legal opinion in return."

Bacon stooped to pick up the hat, from which he brushed the dust with his hand as he replied, with dubious slowness, looking down:

"Why, in sooth, mistress, I am used to gain a greater honorarium. As a barrister of repute, mine opinions in writing----"

"Ah, then, I fear my means are too small!" Phoebe broke in, with a smile. "'Tis a pity, too, for the matter is simple, I verily believe."

Bacon saw that he must retract or lose all, and he went on with some haste:

"Perchance 'tis not an opinion in writing that is required," he said.

"Nay--nay; your spoken word will suffice, Master Bacon."

"In that case, then----"

She drew ten gold pieces from her purse and dropped them into his extended palm. Then, seating herself upon a bench against the wall hard by, she said:

"The case is this: If a certain merchant borrow a large sum from a Jew in expectation of the speedy arrival of a certain argosy of great treasure, and if the merchant give his bond for the sum, the penalty of the bond being one pound of flesh from the body of the merchant, and if then the argosies founder and the bond be forfeit, may the Jew recover the pound of flesh and cut it from the body of the merchant?"

As she concluded, Phoebe leaned forward and watched her companion's face earnestly, hoping that he would betray his hidden interest in this Shakespearian problem by some look or sign.

The face into which she gazed was grave and judicial and the reply was a ready one.

"a.s.suredly not! Such a bond were contrary to public policy and void _ab initio_. The case is not one for hesitancy; 'tis clear and certain. No court in Christendom would for a moment lend audience to the Jew. Why, to uphold the bond were to license murder. True, the victim hath to this consented; but 'tis doctrine full well proven and determined, that no man can give valid consent to his own murder. Were this otherwise, suicide were clearly lawful."

"Oh!" Phoebe exclaimed, as this new view of the subject was presented to her. "Then the Duke of Venice----"

She broke off and hurried into new questioning.

"Another opinion hath been given me," she said. "'Twas urged that the Jew could have his pound of flesh, for so said the bond, but that he might shed no blood in the cutting, blood not being mentioned in the bond, and that his goods were forfeit did he cut more or less than a pound, by so much as the weight of a hair. Think you this be law?"

Still could she see no shadow in Bacon's face betraying consciousness that there was more in her words than met the ear.

"No--no!" he replied, somewhat contemptuously. "If that A make promise of a chose tangible to B and the promise fall due, B may have not only that which was promised, but all such matters and things accessory as must, by the very nature of the agreed transfer, be attached to the thing promised. As, if I sell a calf, I may not object to his removal because, forsooth, some portion of earth from my land clingeth to his hoofs. So blood is included in the word 'flesh' where 'twere impossible to deliver the flesh without some blood. As for that quibble of nor more nor less, why, 'tis the debtor's place to deliver his promise. If he himself cut off too much, he injures himself, if too little he hath not made good his covenant."

Complete conviction seemed to spring upon Phoebe, as though it had been something visible to startle her. It shook off her old English self for a moment, and she leaped to her feet, exclaiming: