A Night in the Cemetery

A COURT CASE

A case took place in N. Town Court, during one of the last jury sessions. Mr. Sidor [Translator’s Note: Russian for nasty], a man of about thirty years, with a lively gypsy’s face and lying eyes, a citizen of N., was sitting in the dock.

He was accused of burglary, fraud, and violating passport regulations. The last charge was compounded by his impersonations of a nobleman.

The assistant prosecutor was pressing the charges. The name of the prosecutor is legion. This was a man lacking any of those special features or outstanding qualities that bring big salaries. He was like many others of his kind: he spoke nasally, could not pronounce the letter “k,” and blew his nose constantly.

The defense attorney was one of the most famous and popular men in his profession. Everyone had heard of this lawyer. People still quote his speeches and remember his name with respect.

This kind of lawyer plays a key role in those cheap novels that end in a guilty verdict for the protagonist, and the applause of the public. The names of such lawyers in these novels are often associated with thunder, lightning, and other natural wonders.

When the assistant prosecutor had proved to everyone that Mr. Sidor was guilty and should be convicted, and when he had wrapped it all up by saying, “The prosecution rests,” the defense lawyer stood up. Everyone listened carefully. There was total silence in the hall. The lawyer started talking—and the nerves of the people of the Town of N. were shattered. The lawyer stretched out his sunburned neck, moved his head from side to side, flashed his eyes, lifted his hand, and poured his sweet, magical speech into the listeners’ eager ears.

His tongue played on the people’s nerves as if on the strings of a balalaika. After the first two or three phrases, someone in the gallery heaved a deep sigh; then an unconscious lad was carried out of the courtroom. Three minutes later, the judge had to reach for the bell and ring it three times. The bailiff, a man with a small red nose, began shifting nervously in his chair and looking threateningly at the gallery. All eyes were open wide; all faces grew pale; everyone expected something unusual from the lawyer. And what happened in the people’s hearts?

“We are all human beings, members of the jury, so let us make this a human courtroom,” the lawyer said, among other things. “Before facing you this day, this man suffered six months of prison time, during the investigation. For six straight months, his wife has been separated from her most beloved husband. His children’s eyes haven’t dried for a moment as they thought that they didn’t have their beloved father with them. Oh, if only you could see the children! They’re hungry because there’s no one to feed them, and they’re in tears because they’re miserable. Just look at them! They’re stretching their hands out to you, imploring you to give them back their father. They’re not here, but you can imagine the picture. (A pause.) Prison? Him? He was put into a cell with thieves, and with murderers. Him! (A pause.) You can imagine his moral suffering in that cell, when he was separated from his wife and children, just in order to—what else can I say?”

Sobs were heard in the audience. A young woman wearing a large brooch on her bosom started to wail. Her neighbor, a little old lady, joined her.

The defense lawyer went on with his speech. He omitted the facts and emphasized the psychology.

“To study this man’s soul means to study a rare and protected world, full of subtleties. And I have studied this world. And I must tell you truly that in studying it, I came to know a human being. I genuinely understood this human being. Each movement of his soul tells me that, in my client, I have an ideal man.”

The bailiff stopped looking threatening and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Two more women were carried out of the hall. The judge did not touch the bell anymore, but put on his eyeglasses, so that no one could see the tear in his right eye. Everyone pulled out handkerchiefs. The prosecutor himself, the man of stone and ice, the insensitive beast, was shifting nervously in his chair. He reddened and looked at the floor. His ears were glowing beneath his eyeglasses.

“I shouldn’t have taken this case at all; I should drop the charges right now,” he thought. “I’m going to be utterly defeated. What next?”

“Just look into his eyes,” the defense lawyer continued. His chin trembled; his voice trembled also, and his suffering was clear in his eyes. “Do you think those tender, humble eyes could look upon a crime in cold blood, without any feelings? No, those eyes can cry; they can shed tears. A very sensitive disposition is hidden underneath that rough, rugged, square-jawed face. A tender heart, not a criminal’s, but a human being’s, beats beneath that rough, crippled chest. And you would dare call him guilty?”

At this point, the accused could stand it all no longer. He burst into tears. He blinked, cried aloud, and shifted in his place.

“I am guilty!” he said, interrupting the defense attorney. “I am guilty! I accept my guilt completely. I stole, and I defrauded, and I lied.

“I took the money from the chest, and I brought the stolen fur coat to my sister-in-law, and I asked her to hide it. I confess. I’m guilty.”

He told the court everything. And so he was convicted and sentenced.