by
Translated by Elizabeth Lee
Hodder and Stoughton Limited
London
First Edition, September, 1905.
Second Edition, September, 1905.
Third Edition, December, 1905.
Made and Printed in Great Britain.
Wyman & Sons Ltd., London, Reading and Fakenham
The difficult path which leads to the gardens where
the waters of life sparkle, takes us first to a big
city in which the hearts of men pulsate with feverish
unrest.
There is such a great crowd in the broad square in
front of the law courts that the electric cars are
forced to stop. Six or eight of them are standing
in a row, and the police cannot break through the crowd.
Every one is making for the law courts; some hurry
forward excitedly, others push their way through quietly,
and fresh streams of people from the side streets
are continually joining the rest. The public
prosecutor is expected every moment to appear on the
balcony and announce the verdict to the public.
Every one was indulging in remarks about the prisoner
who had wished to do so terrible a deed.
“He is condemned, sure enough!” shouted
one man. “The like of him gets to Heaven
with a hempen cord!”
“Don’t be silly,” said another,
with lofty superiority. “In half an hour
at most he’ll pass the gate a free man.
Juries don’t condemn the like of him.”
Many agreed with the first speaker, but more with
the last.
“Whoever believes that he’ll be let off
is a fool!” shouted some one. “Just
consider what he did, what he wished to do!”
“He wanted to do a splendid thing!”
Passionate discussion and wagering began. It
would have struck a keen observer that good broadcloth
expected condemnation, while fustian and rags eagerly
desired acquittal. A big man of imposing presence
asked in a loud tone, over the heads of the people,
if anyone would bet him ten ducats that the wretch
would hang.
A starved-looking little fellow declared himself willing
to take up the bet. The handsome man turned
his head in its silk hat, and when he saw the starved,
undersized creature, murmured sleepily, “He!
he’ll bet ten ducats with me! My dear
sir, you’d better go home to your mother and
ask her to give you a couple of pennies.”
Laughter followed; but it was interrupted. The
crowd swayed suddenly, as when a gust of wind passes
over the surface of water. A man appeared on
the balcony of the law courts. He had a short,
dark beard; his head with its high forehead was uncovered.
He stepped forward ceremoniously to the railing,
and raised his hand to enforce silence. And when
the murmur of the crowd died away, he exclaimed in
a thin voice, but pronouncing every syllable clearly,
“The prisoner, Konrad Ferleitner, is found guilty
by a majority of two-thirds of the jury, and in the
name of his Majesty the King is condemned to die by
hanging.”
