_The_ JUDGE _and the_ PASTOR _enter_.
JUDGE. Permit me to thank you for the sermon, Pastor.
PASTOR. Oh, don't mention it, Judge.
JUDGE. Yes--for, as you know, this is my first court. To tell
the truth, I have felt some fear of this career, into which I
have been thrown almost against my will. For one thing, the laws
are so imperfect, the judicial practices so uncertain, and human
nature so full of falsehood and dissimulation, that I have often
wondered how a judge could dare to express any definite opinion
at all. And to-day you have revived all my old fears.
PASTOR. To be conscientious is a duty, of course, but to be
sentimental about it won't do. And as everything else on this
earth is imperfect, there is no reason why we should expect
judges and judgments to be perfect.
JUDGE. That may be, but it does not prevent me from harbouring
a sense of tremendous responsibility, as I have men's fates in
my hand, and a word spoken by me may show its effects through
generations. I am especially thinking of this separation suit
started by the Baron and his wife, and I have to ask you--you
who have administered the two prescribed warnings before
the Vestry Board--what is your view concerning their mutual
relations and relative guilt?
PASTOR. In other words, Judge, you would either put me in your
own place or base your decision on my testimony. And all I can
do is to refer you to the minutes of the board.
JUDGE. Yes, the minutes--I know them. But it is just what does
not appear in the minutes that I need to know.
PASTOR. What charges the couple made against each other at the
private hearings must be my secret. And besides, how can I know
who told the truth and who lied? I have to tell you what I told
them: there is no reason why I should believe more in one than
in the other.
JUDGE. But were you not able to form some kind of opinion in the
matter during the hearings?
PASTOR. When I heard one, I formed one opinion, and another when
I was hearing the other. In a word: I have no settled view in
this question.
JUDGE. But I am to express a definite view--I, who know nothing
at all.
PASTOR. That is the heavy task of the judge, which I could never
undertake.
JUDGE. But there are witnesses to be heard? Evidence to be
obtained?
PASTOR. No, they are not accusing each other in public. And
furthermore: two false witnesses will furnish sufficient proof,
and a perjurer will do just as well. Do you think I would base
my judgment on servant gossip, on the loose-tongued chatter of
envious neighbours, or on the spiteful partisanship of relatives?
JUDGE. You are a terrible sceptic, Pastor.
PASTOR. Well, one gets to be so after sixty, and particularly
after having tended souls for forty years. The habit of lying
clings like original sin, and I believe that all men lie. As
children we lie out of fear; as grown-ups, out of interest,
need, instinct for self-preservation; and I have known those who
lied out of sheer kindliness. In the present case, and in so
far as this married couple is concerned, I fear you will find
it very hard to figure out who has told most of the truth, and
all I can do is to warn you against being caught in the snares
set by preconceived opinions. You were married not long ago
yourself, and you are still under the spell of the young woman's
witchery. For this reason you may easily become prejudiced in
favor of a young and charming lady, who is an unhappy wife and
a mother besides. On the other hand, you have also recently
become a father, and as such you cannot escape being moved by
the impending separation of the father from his child. Beware of
sympathy with either side, for sympathy with one is cruelty to
the other.
JUDGE. One thing will make my task more easy at least, and that
is their mutual agreement on the principal points.
PASTOR. Don't rely too much on that, for it is what they all
say. And when they appear in court, the smouldering fire breaks
into open flames. In this case a tiny spark will be enough to
start a conflagration. Here comes the jury. Well, good-by for a
while! I stay, although I shall not be seen.