Read Online The Passion of Sacco and Vanzetti: A New England Legend by Howard Fast - Free Book Online

little. “Age,” he thought to himself. “I am not properly armed for anger.” And he said deliberately, “I heard that at your lecture this morning, you said some things that a thoughtful man might find reason to regret.”
    â€œThe reports came quickly,” answered the Professor calmly, “but I said nothing that I see reason to regret. Nor do I consider myself unusually thoughtless.”
    â€œConsider again, sir!”
    â€œI have considered well and seriously,” the Professor replied. “I have lost count of the hours I spent weighing these matters. I decided that what must be said, must be said.”
    For all the care with which he spoke, there was more than a trace of a foreign accent in the voice of the Professor. Some of his formulations carried that awkwardness which suggested echoes of another tongue, and when he pronounced a word ending with ing , he could not prevent the k sound from creeping in. Of these things, the President of the University was acutely aware; but his awareness was brushed all over with irritation, and this made him even more irascible than he ordinarily was. For several days now, he had contained within himself a fine comfortable feeling of achievement and power at the decision he and his companions on the investigating committee had come to. Never, never would he put it so bluntly and vulgarly as the Judge in the case had put it, when the Judge said, Well, I did give those anarchist bastards what was coming to them! Yet he couldn’t deny that he felt something of the same thing that the Judge must have felt. But all morning now, that feeling of achievement had been slipping away, dissipating, and when he heard of the ill-considered—as he thought of it—and violent lecture the Professor had given, the remainder of that feeling of achievement quickly disappeared.
    What did they mean, he wondered now, when they said that the Professor was in a powerful position? Did they mean that approval—approval of decent people, and some not too unlike himself, old people well-located in Boston—might rest with the Professor of Criminal Law? Could they mean such a thing?
    â€œYou are very sure of yourself, sir,” the President said coldly.
    â€œYes—yes, I think I am.”
    â€œAnd that gave you the right and the purpose to accuse people of desiring the death of these two men?”
    â€œPeople do desire it—a few people in high places. The world knows it. I said it. I don’t regret saying it.”
    â€œMeaning myself?”
    â€œSir?”
    â€œYou accuse me?”
    â€œNo—I never mentioned you,” the Professor said. “ You accuse yourself , sir. Your feelings are hurt, but these two men will die tonight. How many times have you died, sir?”
    â€œYou are being insufferable!”
    â€œAm I? Was their lawyer also insufferable? He was more eloquent than I am. I read his argument only once, but it remained with me. How did he conclude— if you cannot give these men a fair trial, pardon them, pardon them by all that is holy. Christians created a God that is merciful. You sit like God, with life in your hand . Did he say that or something like that? Only yesterday. Shall I forget that you enjoyed being executioner?”
    Anger went away, and suddenly the President of the University was afraid. His ancestors were a poor, cold shroud. His ears hummed, as if that man the Professor of Criminal Law had just referred to, the lawyer of Sacco and Vanzetti, were standing before him again.
    â€œSit down,” he had said then to that other lawyer who had appeared before him a few days ago to make a last plea—standing before him then even as this Jew stood before him now. “Why must you stand and pace like that?” “I cannot argue sitting,” the lawyer had answered. “I cannot plead sitting. I am pleading now. If you cannot give these men a new trial, having heard so much