Arriving at the court-house, Nekhludoff met the usher in the corridor
and asked him where the prisoners already sentenced were kept, and
from whom permission could be obtained to see them. The usher told him
that the prisoners were kept in various places, and that before final
judgment the public prosecutor was the only person from whom
permission to see them could be obtained. "The prosecutor has not
arrived yet; when he does I will let you know, and will escort you
myself to him after the session. And now, please to walk into the
court. The session is commencing."
Nekhludoff thanked the usher, who seemed to him particularly pitiful
to-day, and went into the jury-room.
As Nekhludoff was approaching the jury-room his fellow jurors were
coming out, repairing to the court-room. The merchant was as cheerful,
had lunched as well as yesterday, and greeted Nekhludoff like an old
friend. The loud laughter and familiarity of Peter Gerasimovitch did
not give rise to-day in Nekhludoff of the unpleasant sensation of
yesterday.
Nekhludoff wished to tell all the jurymen of his relations to the
woman whom they had convicted yesterday. "It would have been proper,"
he thought, "yesterday to rise in court and publicly confess my
guilt." But when with the other jurymen he entered the court-room and
witnessed the same procedure, the same "Hear ye! Hear ye!" the three
judges in high collars on the elevation, the silence, the seating of
the jury on high-backed chairs, the gendarmes, the priest--he felt
that, though it was necessary to do it, he would not have been able
even yesterday to break this solemnity.
They went through the same preliminaries, except the swearing in of
the jury and the justiciary's speech to them.
A case of burglary was before the court. The prisoner, who was guarded
by two gendarmes with unsheathed swords, was a twenty-year-old boy
with a bloodless face and in a gray coat. He sat alone on the
prisoners' bench and scanned from under his eyebrows all those that
entered the court-room. This boy and another were charged with
breaking the lock of a shed and stealing therefrom mats of the value
of three rubles and sixty-seven kopecks. It appeared from the
indictment that a policeman caught the boy when he was walking with
the other, who carried the mats on his shoulder. Both of them
immediately confessed, and they were put in jail. The comrade of this
boy, a locksmith, died in jail, and he was tried alone. The old mats
lay on the table reserved for exhibits.
The case was conducted in the same order as yesterday, with all the
proofs, witnesses, experts, oath-taking, examinations and
cross-examinations. The policeman, when questioned by the justiciary,
complainant and the defense, made listless answers--"Yes, sir," "Can't
tell," and again "Yes, sir"--but notwithstanding this, it was apparent
that he pitied the boy and testified involuntarily against him.
Another witness, a splenetic old man who owned those mats, when asked
if they belonged to him, unwillingly testified that they were his.
When, however, the prosecutor asked him what use he intended to make
of them, and whether he needed them much, he became angry and
answered: "I wish they had been lost entirely, these mats. I don't
need them at all. And if I had known that you would make so much fuss
about them, I would gladly have given ten rubles, or twenty, rather
than be dragged into court. I have spent five rubles on carriages
coming here and going back again. And I am sick; I am suffering from
rupture and rheumatism."
The prisoner admitted the charge against him, and, like a trapped
animal, stupidly looked now to one side, now to the other, and in a
halting voice related everything as it happened.
It was a clear case, but the prosecutor, as he did yesterday, raised
his shoulders and propounded subtle questions which were calculated to
entrap the clever criminal.
In his speech he argued that the theft was committed in a
dwelling-house by breaking and entering it, and that therefore the
severest punishment should be meted out to him.
Counsel for the defense, appointed by the court, argued that the
theft was committed not in a dwelling-house, and that, though the
prisoner pleaded guilty, he was not as dangerous to society as the
prosecutor would have them believe.
The justiciary was the personification of impartiality and justice,
and endeavored to impress on the jury that which they already knew and
could not help knowing. Again they took recesses and smoked
cigarettes, and again the usher shouted "Hear ye!" and the two
gendarmes sat trying to keep awake.
It developed during the trial that this boy had been apprenticed in a
tobacco factory, in which he worked five years. This year he was
discharged by his employer after a misunderstanding with the
employees, and, going idly about the city, he spent all he had on
drink. At an inn he met a locksmith who had also been discharged and
was drinking hard, and the two went at night, while drunk, to that
shed, broke the lock, and took the first thing they saw. They were
caught, and as they confessed they were imprisoned. The locksmith,
while waiting for a trial, died. The boy was now being tried as a
dangerous creature from whom it was necessary to protect society.
"As dangerous a creature as the prisoner of yesterday," Nekhludoff
thought while watching the proceedings. "They are dangerous, but are
we not dangerous? I am a libertine, an impostor; and all of us, all
those that know me as I am, not only do not detest but respect me."
It is evident that this boy is no villain, but a very ordinary
person--every one sees that--and that he became what he is only
because he lived amid conditions that beget such people. It is
therefore plain that such boys will exist as long as the conditions
producing these unfortunates remain unchanged. If any one had taken
pity on this boy, Nekhludoff thought while looking at the sickly,
frightened face of the boy, before want had driven him from the
village to the city, and relieved that want, or, when, after twelve
hours' work in the factory, he was visiting inns with grown-up
comrades, some one had told him, "Don't go, Vania; it is bad," the boy
would not have gone, or got drunk, and the burglary would never have
occurred.
But no one pitied the boy during the time that he, like an animal,
spent his school years in the city, and, with close-cropped hair, to
prevent his getting vermin, ran errands for the workmen. On the
contrary, the only thing he had heard from the workmen and his
comrades was to the effect that a brave fellow was he who cheated,
drank, reviled, fought, or led a depraved life.
And when, sickly and depraved from the unhealthy work, from drink and
lewdness, foolish and capricious, he aimlessly prowled around the
city, as in a dream, entered some shed and abstracted a few worthless
mats, then, instead of destroying the causes that led this boy into
his present condition, we intend to mend matters by punishing him!
It is dreadful!
Thus Nekhludoff thought, and no longer listened to what was going on
around him. He was himself terrified at this revelation. He wondered
why he had not seen it before--how others failed to see it.