Evening star., 1935-01-28
Spectacle of Hauptnann Trial
Is Protested by Edna Ferber
Writer Disguised With Human Race
after attending Session-Cro,Ud
Likened to Bullfight Spectators.

Hauptmann. A curious half-smile on
his face-not q smile. really, but the
nervous contortion that you see on
the lips of certain people on entering
a crowded public place. He takes his
seat in the witness chair.
I was astonished to see that this
Bruno Hauptmann is q distinguished
looking man -. distinguished and
graceful. The line his body makes
from shoulder to ankle as he sits
there Is fluid, graceful. A painter or
a sculptor would be pleased with It..
The face. Now, I've seen that be-
fore. I've seen a thing like that
before. 1t Is no color. It is. for
that matter, no face. That is. it is
no living face. It Is not white. or
gray or yellow. 1t is wax That's it.
It Is the, face of a corpse Curiously
enough, it has a sort of dignity which
is the dignity Of the dead. 1t has the
deadness Of the face in the glass box
Of that marble Sepulchre in Red
Square in Moscow. As dead as that,
except for two small, sunken. live
dark Goals that shoulder duly in the
CaV6TIlS u9lO6T LIl6 DrOWS.
So there We sit and look and look,
hundreds and hundreds of us who
have no business there, who should
be turned away from there. We sit
and stare hungrily like vultures
perched on tree, watching living
thing writhe yet a while. We are
like the sans culottes, like the knit
ting women watching the heads fall
at the foot of the guillotine. We
have got into the room through ca
jolery and bribery and trickery and
lies and high ups and low downs. A
good show. Most Of them had been
there day after day, day after day.
I felt like a frosh at a senior brawl.
Darling, were you here this morning?
What did they do? Are you coming
tomorrow? I'm lunching with Reilly.
I'm lunching with Fisher. Do you
want to meet the sheriff? Oh, he's
sweet.
Look of Dreadful Passion.
Once I saw a bull fight in Spain.
It was a fine bull fight, all right.
Plenty of big black bulls, and bright
crimson blood and horses, entrails
dragging in the dust. But the thing
that drove me out of the amphi-
theater was the look on the faces
Of the men and women in the big
dazzling circle They were staring
staring, and their faces were sort of
wet-not really wet, you know, but
they had the appearance of being wet;
and their eyes were bright-not really
bright, but they shone oddly; and they
kept licking their lips and there was
an intent and fixed look in their eyes,
and yet a little silly. too. 1t was
look Of animal happiness and glutted
satisfaction and kind of dreadful
passion. 1t made me sick and 1t made
me mad as hornet, and got up and
left. And here it was again. that
look, in the prim little court house
on a snowy day in Flemington, N. J.
It's big world, after all.
I should like to say, as a taxpayer
and human being and an old busy
body, that that court room in Flem-
ington, N. j., should be emptied and
kept emptied of all except the Judge,
the jury, the lawyers, witnesses, re-
porters, special writers and such peo-
pie as are definitely connected with
the trial of Bruno Richard Haupt-
mann. For the jammed aisleS, the
crowded corridors, the noise, the buzz
the idiotic laughter, the revolving
faces Of those Of us who are watch
ing this trial are an affront to CIV
iliZation.
Speaks in Dead Voice.
This man Hauptmann, when he
speaks, does so in a hollow voice-a
voice without a tinge of warmth or
life. A voice as dead as his face. I
fought, he says in his lifeleSS voice,
in the war when I was II.
Guilty or innocent, this man, when
he was II, his bones not yet mans
bones, his mind not yet mans mind,
saw and knew fear, agony, ruthless
ness, murder, hunger. cold. He was a
German soldier in the war and prod
uct Of war. And perhaps this man,
with the face Of the dead and the
hollow, cold voice like voice from the
grave, is the complete and triumphant
product of war. Perhaps he is that
mythical thing, the unknown soldier
Of any country Of the world. come to
taunt us and to punish us and to say
to us, well, how do you like me, you
who made war and who again talk of
WARP. To make me you gave of your
strength and your money and your
time and your youth and your energy.
Here I am. Say, how do you like me?
(Copyrisht 1895. by North American
Newspaper Alliance. Inc.)