“I now pass on to the second and far more terrible charge which has been brought against my client. Shall I be able to purge him of that accusation as I know that I have cleared him of the former? Here there is no question of denial. The facts are all plain enough and are all frankly admitted. The fatal deed has been done, the grave has closed over the ill-starred victim; and the weapon, the kris with which the fatal wound was inflicted, lies there before you on the table.
“The prosecution has given us a shockingly graphic description of the terrible occurrence, and has painted, in the most vivid colours, the manner in which that kris was slashed across the throat of the unhappy bandoelan. It is not difficult to see why so much stress was laid upon the bloody scene, and why we had the loathsome details so forcibly placed before us. But yet, gentlemen, I venture to think, that the cause of my client has been benefited rather than damaged by this vivid word-painting. For the more painful the impression produced, the more forcibly must the question arise: ‘How was it possible that a creature of so quiet and meek a nature could have been goaded to a deed of such unbridled fury?’ Again I appeal to the testimony of William Verstork, and I think it well to tell you that I also have personally and independently made a careful investigation into all the facts of this most painful case; and the results of my personal inquiry I will proceed to lay before you. Yes, gentlemen, I also shall have to be graphic and realistic; but remember that I am merely following the example set me by the prosecution. Yes, gentlemen, I also shall have to enter into harrowing and revolting details; but I shall do so only because the cause for which I am pleading compels me to that course.”
And now the young lawyer displayed a power of eloquence such as had never before been heard in Santjoemeh—never perhaps in all Dutch India. He made use of words not only but also of gestures. He “acted” as Mrs. van Gulpendam spitefully remarked to one of her friends.
Yes, he did enact before his spell-bound audience that tragic scene, building up the entire drama, as Cuvier out of a single bone would construct the entire skeleton of some antediluvian monster. He made them see how the opium-hunters penetrated that peaceful dwelling. He made them hear how Singomengolo haughtily refused to submit to any examination. One could behold as it were the ruthless ransacking of all the poor furniture, one could hear the children crying and wailing at the licentious conduct of the ruffians who had respect neither for age nor sex. The entire audience shuddered at the “Allah Tobat,” the frenzied cry of the desperate mother, and one could see also how, at his wife’s bitter cry, Setrosmito’s eye had, for a single instant, glanced away from Singomengolo, and how the latter had profited by that instant of distraction to draw forth the box of opium with a gesture of insolent triumph. How rage and indignation wrung from the unhappy father an abusive epithet which was answered immediately by a blow in the mouth. How, stung to madness at that insult, Setrosmito grasped his kris; how at that fatal moment the cry of little Kembang had drawn the attention of the father to his poor little girl; how he had seen her exposed to the hideous outrages of the Chinese bandoelan. All these events the eloquence of the advocate conjured up, as it were, before the eyes of his hearers. At the words, “Let go!” uttered with incomparable energy, the audience seemed to see the father flinging himself upon the astonished bandoelan, who, dazed by the very imminence of peril, had not sufficient presence of mind to desist from his outrageous conduct, and thereupon resounded the terrible words, “Die then like a dog!” in a tone which filled the entire pandoppo with shuddering horror.
Even Setrosmito, who profoundly ignorant of the Dutch language did not understand a word of his counsel’s speech, and had for some time been sitting vacantly staring before him, even he, at length, grew attentive, lifted his eyes inquiringly to the young man’s face, and then kept them riveted upon him with concentrated intensity. No! the rich flow of words had no meaning to him whatever; but the gestures he could interpret quite plainly. He saw the whole tragedy unfolded before his eyes—he saw his outraged child—he saw the hand of the speaker go through the very action which cost a human life. With eyes glittering with excitement he nodded again and again at his counsel, while thick heavy tear-drops kept trickling down his cheeks. “Yes, that is how it happened,” he murmured audibly amidst the deep silence to the Javanese chiefs while he stretched out his arms imploringly towards them.
“And,” continued van Beneden, with still increasing fervour, “if now, after having thus laid before you the bare facts of the case, if now I turn to you with the question: ‘Is that man guilty of murder—who slew another—yes; but who slew him in a moment of ungovernable rage, and in defence of his innocent child?’ What must be your answer? Is there anyone here who would cast a stone at him who drew the weapon—and who used it—to preserve his own child from the foulest outrage that can be perpetrated in a father’s sight? Aye but, ‘this is a question of opium-police!’ If I could, for a moment, harbour the thought that anyone present under this roof would, for the sake of the opium question, desire to hear a verdict of guilty returned against this man—why then, in sheer despair, I should be driven to exclaim: ‘Woe to the nation that contains such a wretch—woe to the man, who, for so sordid a principle, would tread Eternal Justice under foot—such a nation must be near its fall!’ ”
The effect of these words was simply indescribable, a shudder seemed to run through the assembly.
“And now,” continued the young man turning to the prosecution, “go on your way, pile one judicial error upon another, erect for yourself a pedestal so lofty that the cry of the unhappy victim of the opium traffic—that insatiable Minotaur—will not reach your ears! The time will come, when, from above, retribution will overtake you. The day will dawn when the Dutch nation will awake out of its lethargy and sweep you and your opium-god from the face of the earth.
“As for you,” continued August van Beneden turning to the members of the council and speaking in a more subdued voice, but yet with a persuasive energy which it was impossible to withstand, “as for you, gentlemen, place yourselves, I pray you, in the position of that unhappy man whose eyes were just now dropping tears as I sketched, in a manner which could reach his comprehension, the terrible deed of which he is accused. Picture to yourselves the hours—the days of mortal anxiety he has passed through, and is even now passing through as his fate is hanging on your lips—then you will in some measure, be able to realise the unutterable joy with which he presently will hail the verdict which you will deliver—a verdict of ‘not guilty’ which will restore to his wife and family a man who can so sturdily stand up in their defence.”
Having thus said, van Beneden resumed his seat, or rather fell back exhausted in his chair. It was getting late, the sun was high up in the heavens, and an oppressive heat weighed like lead upon the assembled crowd. For a few moments, absolute silence ensued, the silence of emotions too deep for utterance and which was broken only by a sob here and there. But then, a tempest of cheering arose which made the very roof tremble, and amidst which the stentorian voice of the usher was completely drowned.