I
It took place in the court room of a rural district. At the head of the
Judges' table sits an old Judge--a tall and massively built man, with a
broad, rough-hewn visage. For several hours he has been engaged in
deciding one case after another, and finally something like disgust and
melancholy has taken hold of him. It is difficult to know if it is the
heat and closeness of the court room that are torturing him or if he has
become low-spirited from handling all these petty wrangles, which seem
to spring from no other cause than to bear witness to people's
quarrel-mania, uncharitableness, and greed.
He has just begun on one of the last cases to be tried during the day.
It concerns a plea for help in the rearing of a child.
This case had already been tried at the last Court Session, and the
protocols of the former suit are being read; therefore one learns that
the plaintiff is a poor farmer's daughter and the defendant is a married
man.
Moreover, it says in the protocol, the defendant maintains that the
plaintiff has wrongfully, unjustly, and only with the desire of
profiting thereby, sued the defendant. He admits that at one time the
plaintiff had been employed in his household, but that during her stay
in his home he had not carried on any intrigue with her, and she has no
right to demand assistance from him. The plaintiff still holds firmly to
her claim, and after a few witnesses have been heard, the defendant is
called to take the oath and show cause why he should not be sentenced by
the Court to assist the plaintiff.
Both parties have come up and are standing, side by side, before the
Judges' table. The plaintiff is very young and looks frightened to
death. She is weeping from shyness and with difficulty wipes away the
tears with a crumpled handkerchief, which she doesn't seem to know how
to open out. She wears black clothes, which are quite new and whole, but
they fit so badly that one is tempted to think she has borrowed them in
order to appear before the Court of Justice in a befitting manner.
As regards the defendant, one sees at a glance that he is a prosperous
man. He is about forty and has a bold and dashing appearance. As he
stands before the Court, he has a very good bearing. One can see that he
does not think it a pleasure to stand there, but he doesn't appear to be
the least concerned about it.
As soon as the protocols have been read, the Judge turns to the
defendant and asks him if he holds fast to his denials and if he is
prepared to take the oath.
To these questions the defendant promptly answers a curt yes. He digs
down in his vest pocket and takes out a statement from the clergyman who
attests that he understands the meaning and import of the oath and is
qualified to take it.
All through this the plaintiff has been weeping. She appears to be
unconquerably bashful, and doggedly keeps her eyes fixed upon the floor.
Thus far she has not raised her eyes sufficiently to look the defendant
in the face.
As he utters his "yes," she starts back. She moves a step or two nearer
the Court, as if she had something to say to the contrary, and then she
stands there perplexed. It is hardly possible, she seems to say to
herself; he cannot have answered yes. I have heard wrongly.
Meanwhile the Judge takes the clergyman's paper and motions to the court
officer. The latter goes up to the table to find the Bible, which lies
hidden under a pile of records, and lays it down in front of the
defendant.
The plaintiff hears that some one is walking past her and becomes
restless. She forces herself to raise her eyes just enough to cast a
glance over the table, and she sees then how the court officer moves the
Bible.
Again it appears as though she wished to raise some objection, and again
she controls herself. It isn't possible that he will be allowed to take
the oath. Surely the Judge must prevent him!
The Judge is a wise man and knows how people in her home district think
and feel. He knew, very likely, how severe all people were as soon as
there was anything which affected the marriage relation. They knew of no
worse sin than the one she had committed. Would she ever have confessed
anything like this about herself if it were not true? The Judge must
understand the awful contempt that she had brought down upon herself,
and not contempt only, but all sorts of misery. No one wanted her in
service--no one wanted her work. Her own parents could scarcely tolerate
her presence in their cabin and talked all the while of casting her out.
Oh, the Judge must know that she would never have asked for help from a
married man had she no right to it.
Surely the Judge could not believe that she lied in a case like this;
that she would have called down upon herself such a terrible misfortune
if she had had any one else to accuse than a married man. And if he
knows this, he must stop the oath-taking.
She sees that the Judge reads through the clergyman's statements a
couple of times and she begins to think he intends to interfere.
True, the Judge has a wary look. Now he shifts his glance to the
plaintiff, and with that his weariness and disgust become even more
marked. It appears as though he were unfavorably disposed toward her.
Even if the plaintiff is telling the truth, she is nevertheless a bad
woman and the Judge cannot feel any sympathy for her.
Sometimes the Judge interposes in a case, like a good and wise
counsellor, and keeps the parties from ruining themselves entirely. But
to-day he is tired and cross and thinks only of letting the legal
process have its course.
He lays down the clergyman's recommendation and says a few words to the
defendant to the effect that he hopes he has carefully considered the
consequences of a perjured oath. The defendant listens to him with the
calm air which he has shown all the while, and he answers respectfully
and not without dignity.
The plaintiff listens to this in extreme terror. She makes a few
vehement protests and wrings her hands. Now she wants to speak to the
Court. She struggles frightfully with her shyness and with the sobs
which prevent her speaking. The result is that she cannot get out an
audible word.
Then the oath will be taken! She must give it up. No one will prevent
him from swearing away his soul.
Until now, she could not believe this possible. But now she is seized
with the certainty that it is close at hand--that it will occur the next
second. A fear more overpowering than any she has hitherto felt takes
possession of her. She is absolutely paralyzed. She does not even weep
more. Her eyes are glazed. It is his intention, then, to bring down upon
himself eternal punishment.
She comprehends that he wants to swear himself free for the sake of his
wife. But even if the truth were to make trouble in his home, he should
not for that reason throw away his soul's salvation.
There is nothing so terrible as perjury. There is something uncanny and
awful about that sin. There is no mercy or condonation for it. The gates
of the infernal regions open of their own accord when the perjurer's
name is mentioned.
If she had then raised her eyes to his face, she would have been afraid
of seeing it stamped with damnation's mark, branded by the wrath of God.
As she stands there and works herself into greater and greater terror,
the Judge instructs the defendant as to how he must place his fingers on
the Bible. Then the Judge opens the law book to find the form of the
oath.
As she sees him place his fingers on the book, she comes a step nearer,
and it appears as though she wished to reach across the table and push
his hand away.
But as yet she is restrained by a faint hope. She thinks he will relent
now--at the last moment.
The Judge has found the place in the law book, and now he begins to
administer the oath loudly and distinctly. Then he makes a pause for the
defendant to repeat his words. The defendant actually starts to repeat,
but he stumbles over the words, and the Judge must begin again from the
beginning.
Now she can no longer entertain a trace of hope. She knows now that he
means to swear falsely--that he means to bring down upon himself the
wrath of God, both for this life and for the life to come.
She stands wringing her hands in her helplessness. And it is all her
fault because she has accused him! But she was without work; she was
starving and freezing; the child came near dying. To whom else should
she turn for help? Never had she thought that he would be willing to
commit such an execrable sin.
The Judge has again administered the oath. In a few seconds the thing
will have been done: the kind of thing from which there is no turning
back--which can never be retrieved, never blotted out.
Just as the defendant begins to repeat the oath, she rushes forward,
sweeps away his outstretched hand, and seizes the Bible.
It is her terrible dread which has finally given her courage. He must
not swear away his soul; he must not!
The court officer hastens forward instantly to take the Bible from her
and to bring her to order. She has a boundless fear of all that pertains
to a Court of Justice and actually believes that what she has just done
will bring her to prison; but she does not let go her hold on the Bible.
Cost what it may, he cannot take the oath. He who would swear also runs
up to take the Bible, but she resists him too.
"You shall not take the oath!" she cries, "you shall not!"
That which is happening naturally awakens the greatest surprise. The
court attendants elbow their way up to the bar, the jurymen start to
rise, the recording clerk jumps up with the ink bottle in his hand to
prevent its being upset.
Then the Judge shouts in a loud and angry tone, "Silence!" and everybody
stands perfectly still.
"What is the matter with you? What business have you with the Bible?"
the Judge asks the plaintiff in the same hard and severe tone.
Since, with the courage of despair, she has been able to give utterance
to her distress, her anxiety has decreased so that she can answer, "He
must not take the oath!"
"Be silent, and put back the book!" demands the Judge.
She does not obey, but holds the book tightly with both hands. "He
cannot take the oath!" she cries fiercely.
"Are you so determined to win your suit?" asks the Judge sharply.
"I want to withdraw the suit," she shrieks in a high, shrill voice. "I
don't want to force him to swear."
"What are you shrieking about?" demands the Judge. "Have you lost your
senses?"
She catches her breath suddenly and tries to control herself. She hears
herself how she is shrieking. The Judge will think she has gone mad if
she cannot say what she would say calmly. She struggles with herself
again to get control of her voice, and this time she succeeds. She says
slowly, earnestly, and clearly, as she looks the Judge in the face: "I
wish to withdraw the suit. He is the father of the child. I am still
fond of him. I don't wish him to swear falsely."
She stands erect and resolute, facing the Judges' table, all the while
looking the Judge square in the face. He sits with both hands resting on
the table and for a long while does not take his eyes off from her.
While the Judge is looking at her, a great change comes over him. All
the ennui and displeasure in his face vanishes, and the large,
rough-hewn visage becomes beautiful with the most beautiful emotion.
"Ah, see!" he thinks--"Ah, see! such is the mettle of my people. I shall
not be vexed at them when there is so much love and godliness even in
one of the humblest."
Suddenly the Judge feels his eyes fill up with tears; then he pulls
himself together, almost ashamed, and casts a hasty glance about him. He
sees that the clerks and bailiffs and the whole long row of jurymen are
leaning forward and looking at the girl who stands before the Judges'
table with the Bible hugged close to her. And he sees a light in their
faces, as though they had seen something very beautiful, which had made
them happy all the way into their souls.
Then the Judge casts a glance over the spectators, and he sees that they
all breathe a quick sigh of relief, as if they had just heard what they
had longed above everything to hear.
Finally, the Judge looks at the defendant. Now it is _he_ who stands
with lowered head and looks at the floor.
The Judge turns once more to the poor girl. "It shall be as you wish,"
he says. "The case shall be stricken from the Calendar,"--this to the
recording clerk.
The defendant makes a move, as though he wished to interpose an
objection. "Well, what now?" the Judge bellows at him. "Have you
anything against it?"
The defendant's head hangs lower and lower, and he says, almost
inaudibly, "Oh, no, I dare say it is best to let it go that way."
The Judge sits still a moment more, and then he pushes the heavy chair
back, rises, and walks around the table and up to the plaintiff.
"Thank you!" he says and gives her his hand.
She has laid down the Bible and stands wiping away the tears with the
crumpled up handkerchief.
"Thank you!" says the Judge once more, taking her hand and shaking it as
if it belonged to a real man's man.