"I'll have to tell ye, then," pursued Hermiston. "It seems ye've been
skirting against the father that begot ye, and one of his Maijesty's
Judges in this land; and that in the public street, and while an order
of the Court was being executit. Forbye which, it would appear that
ye've been airing your opeenions in a Coallege Debatin' Society"; he
paused a moment: and then, with
extraordinarybitterness, added: "Ye
damned eediot."
"I had meant to tell you," stammered Archie. "I see you are well
informed."
"Muckle obleeged to ye," said his
lordship, and took his usual seat.
"And so you
approve" target="_blank" title="v.不赞成;指责">
disapprove of Caapital Punishment?" he added.
"I am sorry, sir, I do," said Archie.
"I am sorry, too," said his
lordship. "And now, if you please, we shall
approach this business with a little more parteecularity. I hear that
at the
hanging of Duncan Jopp - and, man! ye had a fine
client there -
in the middle of all the riff-raff of the ceety, ye thought fit to cry
out, `This is a
damned murder, and my gorge rises at the man that
haangit him.' "
"No, sir, these were not my words," cried Archie.
"What were yer words, then?" asked the Judge.
"I believe I said, `I
denounce it as a murder!'" said the son. "I beg
your
pardon - a God-defying murder. I have no wish to
conceal the
truth," he added, and looked his father for a moment in the face.
"God, it would only need that of it next!" cried Hermiston. "There was
nothing about your gorge rising, then?"
"That was afterwards, my lord, as I was leaving the Speculative. I said
I had been to see the
miserable creature hanged, and my gorge rose at
it."
"Did ye, though?" said Hermiston. "And I suppose ye knew who haangit
him?"
"I was present at the trial, I ought to tell you that, I ought to
explain. I ask your
pardonbeforehand for any expression that may seem
undutiful. The position in which I stand is wretched," said the unhappy
hero, now fairly face to face with the business he had chosen. "I have
been
reading some of your cases. I was present while Jopp was tried.
It was a
hideous business. Father, it was a
hideous thing! Grant he
was vile, why should you hunt him with a vileness equal to his own? It
was done with glee - that is the word - you did it with glee; and I
looked on, God help me! with horror."
"You're a young gentleman that doesna
approve of Caapital Punishment,"
said Hermiston. "Weel, I'm an auld man that does. I was glad to get
Jopp haangit, and what for would I
pretend I wasna? You're all for
honesty, it seems; you couldn't even steik your mouth on the public
street. What for should I steik mines upon the bench, the King's
officer,
bearing the sword, a dreid to evil-doers, as I was from the
beginning, and as I will be to the end! Mair than enough of it!
Heedious! I never gave twa thoughts to heediousness, I have no call to
be bonny. I'm a man that gets through with my day's business, and let
that suffice."
The ring of sarcasm had died out of his voice as he went on; the plain
words became invested with some of the
dignity of the Justice-seat.
"It would be telling you if you could say as much," the
speaker resumed.
"But ye cannot. Ye've been
reading some of my cases, ye say. But it
was not for the law in them, it was to spy out your faither's nakedness,
a fine
employment in a son. You're splairging; you're
running at lairge
in life like a wild nowt. It's impossible you should think any longer
of coming to the Bar. You're not fit for it; no splairger is. And
another thing: son of mines or no son of mines, you have flung fylement
in public on one of the Senators of the Coallege of Justice, and I would
make it my business to see that ye were never admitted there yourself.
There is a kind of a
decency to be observit. Then comes the next of it
- what am I to do with ye next? Ye'll have to find some kind of a
trade, for I'll never support ye in idleset. What do ye fancy ye'll be
fit for? The
pulpit? Na, they could never get diveenity into that
bloackhead. Him that the law of man whammles is no likely to do muckle
better by the law of God. What would ye make of hell? Wouldna your
gorge rise at that? Na, there's no room for splairgers under the fower
quarters of John Calvin. What else is there? Speak up. Have ye got