The executioner, the culprit, and one priest
ascended the steps of the platform.
The garrotte is a short stout post, at the top of which is an
iron crook, just wide enough to admit the neck of a man
seated in a chair beneath it. Through the post, parallel
with the crook, is the loop of a rope, whose ends are
fastened to a bar held by the executioner. The loop, being
round the throat of the victim, is so powerfully tightened
from behind by half a turn of the bar, that an extra twist
would sever a man's head from his body.
The murderer showed no signs of fear; he quietly seated
himself, but got up again to adjust the chair and make
himself comfortable! The executioner then arranged the rope
round his neck, tied his legs and his arms, and retired
behind the post. At a word or a look from the priest the
wrench was turned. For a single instant the limbs of the
victim were convulsed, and all was over.
No exclamation, no whisper of horror escaped from the lookers
on. Such a scene was too familiar to excite any feeling but
morbid curiosity; and, had the execution taken place at the
usual spot instead of in the town, few would have given
themselves the trouble to attend it.
It is impossible to see or even to think of what is here
described without gravely meditating on its suggestions. Is
capital punishment justifiable? This is the question I
purpose to consider in the following chapter.
CHAPTER XVIII
ALL punishments or penal remedies for crime, except capital
punishment, may be considered from two points of view:
First, as they regard Society; secondly, as they regard the
offender.
Where capital punishment is resorted to, the sole end in view
is the protection of Society. The malefactor being put to
death, there can be no thought of his amendment. And so far
as this particular criminal is concerned, Society is
henceforth in safety.
But (looking to the individual), as equal security could be
obtained by his imprisonment for life, the extreme measure of
putting him to death needs justification. This is found in
the assumption that death being the severest of all
punishments now permissible, no other penalty is so
efficacious in preventing the crime or crimes for which it is
inflicted. Is the assumption borne out by facts, or by
inference?
For facts we naturally turn to statistics. Switzerland
abolished capital punishment in 1874; but cases of
premeditated murder having largely increased during the next
five years, it was restored by Federal legislation in 1879.
Still there is nothing conclusive to be inferred from this
fact. We must seek for guidance elsewhere.
Reverting to the above assumption, we must ask: First, Is
the death punishment the severest of all evils, and to what
extent does the fear of it act as a preventive? Secondly, Is
it true that no other punishment would serve as powerfully in
preventing murder by intimidation?
Is punishment by death the most dreaded of all evils? 'This
assertion,' says Bentham, 'is true with respect to the
majority of mankind; it is not true with respect to the
greatest criminals.' It is pretty certain that a malefactor
steeped in crime, living in extreme want, misery and
apprehension, must, if he reflects at all, contemplate a
violent end as an imminent possibility. He has no better
future before him, and may easily come to look upon death
with brutal insensibility and defiance. The indifference
exhibited by the garrotted man getting up to adjust his chair
is probably common amongst criminals of his type.
Again, take such a crime as that of the Cuban's: the passion
which leads to it is the fiercest and most ungovernable which
man is subject to. Sexual jealousy also is one of the most
frequent causes of murder. So violent is this passion that
the victim of it is often quite prepared to sacrifice life
rather than forego indulgence, or allow another to supplant
him; both men and women will gloat over the murder of a
rival, and gladly accept death as its penalty, rather than
survive the possession of the desired object by another.
Further, in addition to those who yield to fits of passion,
there is a class whose criminal promptings are hereditary: a
large number of unfortunates of whom it may almost be said
that they were destined to commit crimes. 'It is unhappily a
fact,' says Mr. Francis Galton ('Inquiries into Human
Faculty'), 'that fairly distinct types of criminals breeding
true to their kind have become established.' And he gives
extraordinary examples, which fully bear out his affirmation.
We may safely say that, in a very large number of cases, the
worst crimes are perpetrated by beings for whom the death
penalty has no preventive terrors.
But it is otherwise with the majority. Death itself, apart
from punitive aspects, is a greater evil to those for whom
life has greater attractions. Besides this, the permanent
disgrace of capital punishment, the lasting injury to the
criminal's family and to all who are dear to him, must be far
more cogent incentives to self-control than the mere fear of
ceasing to live.
With the criminal and most degraded class - with those who
are actuated by violent passions and hereditary taints, the
class by which most murders are committed - the death
punishment would seem to be useless as an intimidation or an
example.
With the majority it is more than probable that it exercises
a strong and beneficial influence. As no mere social
distinction can eradicate innate instincts, there must be a
large proportion of the majority, the better-to-do, who are
both occasionally and habitually subject to criminal
propensities, and who shall say how many of these are
restrained from the worst of crimes by fear of capital
punishment and its consequences?
