Toronto Teachers College - Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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What Will Ye Then That I Shall J. BRADLEY BURT The Tension was electric. A heavy and uncomfortable silence lay across the courtroom. The heat, which had been only a minor annoyance during the day, was now oppressive and sticky as the afternoon waned. A few flies buzzed angrily against the windows, and the buzzing seemed unusually loud in the silent room. No one spoke, or even attempted to speak. The whole room seemed to be waiting for some great event to occur. And every eye in the room was focused on one man, as if he alone could break the spell. The man sat stone-still. He was staring at a piece of paper in front of him and appeared to be unaware of the great, yawning silence. He was perched on the edge of his seat, his shoulders hunched and pulled forward, his head sunk deep into his neck. His hands, tightly clasped together, twitched on the table in front of him. His sallow cheeks were drawn and gaunt, and his whole face had a grisly appearance, haggard and exhausted. He moved not a muscle, but sat in silence, alone. The heat became almost unbearable and the silence droned, so that the very vastness of the huge courtroom seemed to echo under the high domed ceiling. Then the man lifted his eyes to the judge, and every face in the room turned to follow his gaze. The judge returned the man's stare, somberly, impassively. The expectant faces swung hungrily back to the man. At last, with a sigh that was heard in every corner of the room, he pushed himself to his feet. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and terse and very, very sober. And he spoke three words. Guilty, as charged. The silence vanished. Pandemonium broke loose in the courtroom, as people yelled and cheered, jumped up and down, and clapped their neighbours on the back. The man who had spoken turned to face his fellow-jurors, and their faces reflected the decision. He sat down in his place to wait for the judge to re- store order. But the judge was oblivious to the noise and confusion. He sat staring fixedly at the condemned man opposite him. And behind the judge's impassive face, his thoughts ran rampant. The esteemed judge was a short, patrician-looking man of fifty years of age. His black hair was streaked with gray above the ears. His eyes, set deeply into their sockets, were very dark, and his nose was hooked and sharply pointed. His lips were fine and cruel, and at the moment were compressed into a thin slash under his nose. He sat erect on his chair, his maroon robe covering his wiry body from neck to knees. And he 30 Do Unto Him? stared at the prisoner, who showed absolutely no emotion at the verdict of the jurors. The judge was frankly puzzled. The man's conduct throughout the entire trial had been most unusual. He had refused legal counsel, had refused to plead his own case, and had countered all the prosecutor's questions with questions of his own. He had sat through the relatively short trial with no trace of emotion, and now he sat, after hearing himself pronounced guilty, and said nothing. A stranger man the judge had never met. He had first seen the prisoner some hours earlier. Manacled to a burly guard, he had been led unpro- testingly to the docket and sworn in before the judge. He was a tall, well-built man, albeit a little stoop- shouldered. His light brown hair was long and un- combed, and it kept falling down over his eyes. The eyes themselves were soft and dark, except occasion- ally when he spoke. Then the softness yielded to a spark which flickered deep down in his eyes, and he spoke in a gentle, yet rich, voice. His clothes were of a poor quality and were rather worn and dirty. Alto- gether, he looked like a man who would be supporting some fanatic movement or lost cause. And he was. The man had been tried, and found guilty, on a charge of high treason and sedition. The judge's thoughts were interrupted as he became aware, finally, of the bedlam in the courtroom. The bailiffs were trying valiantly to restore order to the scene, but their efforts were marked by little success. The spectators were jubiliant over the decision of the jurors, and they were certainly showing it. The judge picked up his heavy gavel and began pounding it on the desk in front of him. Order, he shouted, over and over. l want order in this court. Bailiff! Make those people sit down. The noise diminished, as the crowd became aware of his voice above the din. He made a mental note to have more bailiffs in court next time. Stop this noise, he cried again. I'll clear the court if you don't come to order. Sit down and be quiet. The noise ceased slowly under the pounding of his gavel and the prodding of the bailiffs. As the crowd moved back to the seats, the judge stole a glance at the prisoner. The man still sat staring straight ahead, seeing nothing. The judge shook his head in bewilder- ment. Never had he seen anyone so icily calm as the man he soon would sentence. He looked again at the crowd and hesitated before speaking, until all noise had died.

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LITERARY CONTES-T - I A li T 'Q y. . l 'lfy 'i . XX ' -1 l l.tri5l'l . lk. i llli- ,iff Think hard my little child, For only you can remember When last you robbed the Nest ot her priceless iewels. Think hard my little child, For only you can remember That spot in Grandma's garden Where, with your baby feet, You trampled golden flowers, And did not give them Any hope of eternity. Think hard my cruel child, For in this chair of judgement You sit awaiting words from P'ower's High - And, yes, Uneasily you sit - You sense that death is Overtaking your weak and Child-like body - cruel child You can do nothing now .... .Lf J L. SILVER X It yi ,4 J i ig l lil ,fl i ...Ai 'Xxx M X .X rx KX 4 cz' ' Z7 lr l 2 l I Ax li ll Z x X XXX f' x X L M Il 'l I if f , , 5 .. - 47 if 1 Forgiveness A more than trifling pain you cost me, As I hung a moment on a thorn, While reaching to one ot life's roses, amid the clutching brambles. The pain, I do not say, was trifling, At another time it could have been. Yet in that moment you and no other plucked my arm Had another gripped me pushing, With Herculean force toward that bristling hedge, lt had been nothing. But your gentlest nudge, whose word was hope, Drove deep the troubling barb. The sore must now be closed For now the thorn has gone - time's tweezers have borne it away. And we shall once again reach out The full-stretched arm together To those roses deep among the briars. B. ROWE 29

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This man has been judged and found guilty of his crime, he announced gravely. He has offered no evidence in his own behalf, and must therefore be sentenced in light of the facts made known by the prosecution. This court will now have a brief recess, and will be recalled when l have decided upon the fate of the prisoner. He glanced at the man quickly, then dismissed the court. Bailiff, remove the prisoner to his cell. A babble arose from the spectators as the judge stood up and started for his chamber. He passed dir- ectly in front of the prisoner and looked squarely at him. And the man smiled at him as he passed. The judge's heavy eyebrows arched in surprise, for never before had a prisoner smiled at him. He continued to his chamber and pushed open the heavy, oaken door. Be- fore closing it, he looked back at the man. A bailiff was escorting him towards the door to the jail and the judge could not see the man's face. He closed his chamber door thoughtfully. Out in the courtroom, the prisoner allowed himself to be pushed through the milling crowd and out of the room. The ghost of a smile still played on his lips, but his eyes were troubled and sad. The judge paced the room. For three hours he had been locked in his chamber, weighing the evidence that had been presented. For three hours he had been pacing the floor, lost in thought, and for three hours he had been unable to come to a satisfactory conclu- sion. This was the part of his job he hated. The decision to sentence a man to death, even when called for by law, was always a hard one for the judge. More times than he cared to remember, he had so paced his room, trying to reach a decision. And many times he had gone out to tell a man that he would be executed. For one man to hold the power of life or death over another man was indeed a massive burden. He sighed deeply. l have to decide now, he said aloud. There's no putting it off until later. He paused. But why wouldn't the man defend himself? He stopped pacing and struck a thoughtful pose in the middle of the lush carpet that covered almost the entire floor. He had shed his robe earlier, when the heat had become too oppressive, and now stood in a light smock which he kept in his chamber for just such occasions. After a minute or two, he strode to his desk, having made up his mind, and slumped into his chair. He would go over the whole thing from start to finish, review the entire story in his mind, and then make a decision. After all, the evidence usually spoke for itself. So there was really no great problem. And on that note, he fell to remembering. The prisoner had been brought to trial, charged by the public prosecutor with sedition and high treason against the state. He had been observed, repeatedly, trying to incite the populace and cause a riot. He had, charged the prosecutor, tried to set up a private army of followers, so that he could overthrow the govern- ment. His close associates were men of a questionable character, and none had any visible means of support. So much for the charges. The man himself was an enigma. Not once, through the whole trial, had the judge detected any anxiety or fear on his face. Indifference, most of the time, or passivity, was all he showed. The prosecutor had ques- tioned him for the better part of an hour, but every query was parried by a question from the prisoner. The prosecutor had failed to get one affirmative reply from the prisoner. He concluded his questioning by throwing his hands in the air, a picture of frustration and annoyance. The judge had even talked to the man. After all the witnesses for the prosecution had testified, the man had been given the chance to defend himself. He had refused it. And the judge had tried vainly to make him change his mind. Are you aware of the gravity of the charges which have been brought against you? he asked. l am. Have you nothing to say to this court in reply to these many accusations? There's nothing l can say, is there? That's for you to tell us, man. You've been accused of treason, of plotting against the state. Are you a traitor, or not? Explain your actions, if you can. I'm afraid I cannot, he whispered. And the judge, too, had thrown up his hands in des- pair. There was no helping the man. And what of the mysterious smile? The prisoner had smiled right at him as he passed, the judge was sure of it. But why? Why would a man who is all but con- demned smile at the man who must sentence him? Did he want to die? The judge couldn't accept that. Nobody wanted to die. The man was obviously un- balanced. Perhaps he should be freed on the grounds that he was insane. But no, the public would not allow it. The outcry would be too great. There was no doubt that the man was unpopular with the people. Look at the crowd in the courtroom, how they had welcomed the verdict. No, the only thing to do was sentence him to death. There would certainly be no outcry over that. The man had no friends, as far as was known. They had all run off when he was arrest- ed. The death sentence was the most sensible decision. But the smile still bothered the judge. Had the man perhaps placed his life deliberately in the judge's hands, depending upon his sense of justice and fair 31