The lawyer for the defence had ended. A murmur went through the
wide court of the assizes, the galleries of which were crammed with
spectators.
If the accused did not spoil the effect of the brilliant speech by an
imprudent word he was saved.
The president’s answer resounded unheard.
And now the eye-glasses and opera-glasses began to click. All eyes were
directed to the pale, simply-clad man who was sitting in the same dock
where, eight years ago, the vicious servant had sat.
The president asked whether the accused had anything more to add to
strengthen the proof of his innocence.
“Silence! silence!” was murmured through the court.
But Paul rose and spoke--first, low and hesitatingly, then every moment
with greater firmness.
“I am heartily sorry that the trouble my defender has taken to save me
should have been useless; but I am not as innocent of the deed as he
represents.”
The judges looked at each other. “What is he at? He is going to speak
against himself.”
He said: “Anxiety made me nearly unconscious. I then acted in a kind of
madness which at that moment rendered me incapable of calculation.”
“He is cutting his own throat!” said the audience.
“I have all my life been shy and oppressed, and have felt as if I could
look nobody in the face, though I had nothing to conceal; but if this
time I behave in a cowardly manner, I believe I should be less able to
do so than ever--and this time I should have good reason enough for
it. My defender has also represented my former life as a pattern of
all virtues. But this was not so, either. I lacked dignity and
self-possession; I passed over too much as regards both other people and
myself, and that has always rankled in my mind, though I was never clear
about it. Too much has weighed upon me to enable me ever to breathe
freely as a man should if he does not want to grow dull and care-laden.
This deed has made me free, and has given me that which I lacked so
long; it has been a great happiness to me; and should I be so ungrateful
as to deny it to-day? No; I will not do that. Let them imprison me as
long as they like. I shall abide my time and begin a new life.
“And so I must say I have set fire to my belongings in full
consciousness; I was never more in my senses than at the moment when I
poured the petroleum over my sheaves; and if to-day I were to be in the
same position, God knows I should do the same again. Why should I not?
What I destroyed was the work of my own hands--I had created it after
long years of hard toil, and could do with it what I liked. I well know
that the law is of a different opinion, and therefore I shall quietly
go to prison for my time. But who else suffered by the injury except
myself? My sisters were well provided for, and my father--” he stopped
a moment, and his voice shook as he continued--“yes, would it not have
been better if my old father had passed the last years of his life in
peace and tranquillity with one of his daughters than where I am now
going?
“Fate would not have it so. A stroke killed him, and my brothers say
that I was his murderer. But my brothers have no right at all to judge
about that; they neither know me nor my father. All their lives they
have been concerned with themselves only, and have let _me_ alone care
for my father, mother, and sisters, house, and farm, and I was only good
enough when they wanted something. They turn away from me to-day, but
they can never be more estranged from me in the future than they have
always been in the past.
“My sisters”--he turned towards the witness-box, where Greta and Kate
sat crying with covered faces, and his voice grew softer as if from
suppressed tears--“my sisters won’t have anything to do with me any
more, but I gladly forgive them; they are women, and made of more
delicate metal; also, there are two men standing behind them who find it
very easy to be indignant at my monstrous deed. They have all abandoned
me now--no, not all”--a bright look crossed his face--“but that need not
be mentioned here. But one thing I will say, even though I be considered
a murderer--I do not repent that my father died through my deed; I loved
him more when I killed him than if I had let him live. He was old and
weak, and what awaited him was shame and dishonor--he lived such a quiet
life, and would have miserably dwindled away here; surely it was better
death should come to him like lightning that kills people in the middle
of their happiness. That is my opinion. I have settled it with my
conscience, and have no need to render account to any one but to God and
to myself. Now you may condemn me.”
“Bravo!” cried a thundering voice in the court from the witness-box.
It was Douglas.
His gigantic figure stood erect, his eyes sparkled beneath his bushy
brows, and when the president called him to order he sat down defiantly
and said to his neighbor, “I can be proud of him--eh?”