Boston a novel
Said cunning old Fury;
I’ll try the whole cause and condemn you to death!
They got onto the question of the literature which Sacco and Vanzetti
claimed they had been intending to gather up. “Books relating to
anarchy, were they not?” “Not all of them.” “How many of them?” “Well
all together. We are Socialists, democratic, any other socialistic
information, Socialists, Syndicalists, Anarchists, any paper.” They
discussed for a while what had been intended with the literature,
whether it was to be destroyed or only hidden for a while. Sacco
admitted it was to be hidden. “Certainly, because they are educational
for book, educational.” Said the prosecutor: “An education in anarchy,
wasn’t it?” Said the witness: “Why, certainly. Anarchistic is not
criminals.” This greatly incensed the district attorney. “I did not
ask you if they are criminals or not. Nor are you to pass upon that,
sir.” What a light this threw upon his purpose! And upon the argument
which Cornelia was to hear in future years from the whole of official
Massachusetts--that the purpose of this cross-examination had been to
prove that Sacco and Vanzetti had not been genuine “Reds,” but were
merely making a pretense at it!
On and on, with no end in sight. Presently the wolverine or lynx was
back at his neck-chewing--though you would think his victim must by
now be bled to death. “And you are a man who tells this jury that
the United States of America is a disappointment to you?” Again an
objection of the defense, and the webthayer telling the wolverine or
lynx how to proceed. The judge pointed out that Katzmann had made the
mistake of “assuming” that Sacco was the man. So of course Katzmann
took the hint, and framed it as a question; _was_ Sacco the man? The
lawyers again objected, and the judge overruled, and the lawyers asked
an exception, and then the victim couldn’t understand the phrase,
“passed judgment upon the United States of America,” and it had to
be explained to him: “Well, tell us about how disappointed you were,
and what you did not find and what you expected to find. Are you that
man?” Yes, Sacco admitted, he was the man; and the jury was greatly
enlightened.
IX
The ordeal was over at last, and a court official came to Cornelia
Thornwell, saying that His Honor would like to see her in his chambers.
Another interview with the judge--the third during the trial! It
was intolerable to him that members of the aristocracy which he
reverenced should be sitting there in court day by day disapproving
of the procedure; he must argue with them, he must explain and defend
himself, he must bring the great ones to appreciate his services. He
meant it for a compliment to them; but unfortunately he paid the same
compliment to newspaper reporters and photographers, and other persons
whom the aristocracy does not recognize.
He had taken off his black silk robe and hung it on a hook, and was now
a quite ordinary little old man, small, narrow-shouldered, with white
hair and a feeble chin and bloodless complexion. He rose from his chair
and bowed her to a seat, and she saw that his hands were trembling, and
his blinking worse than usual--he was a tired old man, who had been
through a severe ordeal and was wrought up and suffering. He was fussy
in his manner, over-cordial and lacking in repose; he repeated himself,
saying the same words several times: “Now, Mrs. Thornwell, you see, you
see! You see what I told you about those men!”
“How do you mean, Judge Thayer?”
“You heard the testimony that fellow Sacco gave? You see he admits
it, he admits the worst--they are arnychists, of the most desperate
character--they say it, defiantly--they defy the court and all society!”
“But, Judge Thayer, I have always known they were anarchists. I don’t
understand they are on trial for anarchism.”
“No, but it shows their character, their ideas. They have no respect
for the law--they are men who would commit crimes.”
“But I heard Sacco’s employer testify that he was a good workman,
that he had not been absent from his machine but one day in a long
time--he was trusted with the keys to the factory--he had been a
night-watchman--”
“Oh, but Mrs. Thornwell, you should hear what Kelley says outside!”
“What do you mean, what Kelley says?”
“I cannot tell you his words, they are not fit for a lady’s ears; the
substance of it is that Kelley is afraid to tell the truth about what
he thinks of Sacco.”
“Judge Thayer, you appal me!”
“How do you mean, madame?”
“You are going outside the testimony of the case, considering gossip
that people bring you, things that the witnesses are unwilling to say
under oath!”
“I am dealing with people who are terrorized. You cannot imagine
the condition in this community, the time we have had getting men
to come forward and testify at all. Think of the situation, Mrs.
Thornwell--what it means, where it was necessary to summon nearly seven
hundred veniremen in order to get a jury!”
“And so you think that our legal system has broken down, and you throw
it overboard! I have read that men were executed upon the gossip of
spies in Turkey under the sultans, and in Russia under the tsars, but I
did not know we had come to that in Massachusetts.”
The old man’s face showed that he had blood in him after all. He
held up a shaking hand to stop her. “Mrs. Thornwell, it is a grave
impropriety for you to address such words to a judge who is presiding
over a trial!”
Cornelia rose. “You well know that I did not seek this meeting, Judge
Thayer. If it is your idea that you are free to say what you please in
condemnation of these men, and that impropriety begins when you hear
what you do not wish to hear, then I would advise you to confine your
talks to your social inferiors, for I have not been brought up to carry
on conversation on that basis.”
The pitiful old man had risen, trembling so that he had to hold onto
the back of the chair to sustain himself. His voice became shrill--it
was like a thin strip of steel. “Mrs. Thornwell, I deeply regret having
to say such a thing to you, but it amounts to contempt of court, what
you have said to a judge while he is sitting upon a case.”
“I will leave your chambers,” said Cornelia, haughtily, “and trust
that you will refrain from troubling me with further invitations. But
I will not fail to tell you what is the opinion of every disinterested
person in the court-room--that the scenes witnessed to-day constitute a
travesty upon justice, the worst I have ever heard of in my life!”
She started to the door. But even then the old man could not give up.
He came hurrying behind her, stretching out a hand that seemed to be
palsied. “Mrs. Thornwell! I warn you! You are letting yourself be
deceived! You are being used by unscrupulous persons! We are surrounded
by criminals, by desperate and embittered enemies of our institutions!
You owe it to your ancestry and your heritage to stand behind us--we
are trying to protect the community--a public service--patriotic
duty--a desperate danger--arnychists--assassination--conspiracy--”
they were snatches of words that Cornelia heard, while she was going
down the corridor, not yet out of sound of the shrill metallic voice.
X
Frank P. Sibley was a star reporter of the Boston _Globe_, covering
this trial in a special effort to be fair. The _Globe_ aims to be what
is known as a “family newspaper,” and has become one of the wealthiest
in America upon a policy of publishing the name of everybody in Eastern
Massachusetts not less than twice every year. It gives pages of local
gossip from every town and village: “For the Friday evening meeting of
the Ladies’ Aid Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church a delicious
walnut cake was provided by Mrs. Amanda Lubb, who is visiting her
niece, Mrs. Peter Bobbs of Scrugham Corners,” and so on. Sibley, who
contributed to a column of sentimental comment signed “Uncle Dudley,”
was an old-fashioned Bostonian, having notions of honor and dignity now
going out of fashion. He was covering this murder trial as a high civic
duty, signing his daily articles, and taking them very seriously.
And here he saw the judge on the bench, forcing himself upon
newspapermen, insisting upon talking about the case with them, such an
impropriety as had never been heard of. Judge Thayer joining reporters
walking back to the court-house from lunch, asking them what they
thought of his conduct of the case; telling them of other murder trials
he had conducted, and of compliments he had received from justices
of the Supreme Judicial Court of the Commonwealth for his skillful
handling and exact rulings! Sibley could not tell such things in his
paper, for that was not what several hundred thousand families of
Eastern Massachusetts wanted to read with their morning cod-fish balls.
But he thought it his duty to write a letter to the attorney-general
of the Commonwealth--to which that blue-blood gentleman thought it his
duty to make no reply!
Did a rumor come to Judge Thayer? Or was there something in the
attitude of the newspapermen which conveyed, even to his obtuse mind,
that he was not “making a hit”? Anyhow, he was anxious; and now in that
private dining-room of the Dedham Inn where the reporters lunched
and discussed their stories, comparing notes so as to protect one
another from error, they were surprised to have the judge come up to
them without warning and announce: “I think I am entitled to have a
statement published in the Boston papers that this trial is being
conducted in a fair and impartial manner.”
Naturally, the group of men at the table were taken aback. Even a
newspaper reporter must respect somebody, and who should it be if not
the learned judge of the Superior Court, presiding at a trial which
involved the attendance of some two hundred persons, and was costing
the county of Norfolk some two thousand dollars per day?
Thayer turned to the star reporter of the _Globe_. “Sibley, you’re the
oldest. What do you think? Is this trial being fairly and impartially
conducted?” And Sibley had to think in a hurry. “Your Honor, I have
never seen anything like it.” His Honor stood and pondered that
compliment. Some little bird must have whispered to him that it would
be better to take it at face value; he turned on his heel and walked
out of the room.
And now came the cross-questioning of Sacco, with the judge on the
bench delivering his elaborate sneer at the defense: “Are you going
to claim that your client, in collecting this literature, was acting
in the interest of the United States?” The question revealed such
an obvious effort to distort Sacco’s meaning, and expose him to the
prejudice and hatred of the jury, that Sibley quoted the sentence in
his story; with the result that during the recess he found himself
summoned into the judge’s chambers. His Honor took him to task for
having quoted such a sentence; no such question had been asked, and
the judge had verified it by getting the transcript of his remarks. He
presented to Sibley a typewritten record, upon which the question did
not appear.
Sibley, of course, was embarrassed, and said that he had written the
sentence down as he heard it; he could only assume that his hearing
had played him false. He was about to ask if the judge wished him to
publish a retraction, when the bailiff entered, announcing that the
jury had arrived. The judge entered court, and so did Sibley. Next
day, when the actual record of the case was available, the reporter
consulted it, and found that it showed Judge Thayer’s question, in the
exact words quoted in the _Globe_! Five times the old man had asked
that question explicitly, and several times more by implication; but
now he had got frightened, and in an effort to cheat the public and