VI. Themis
The lecture hall smelled of wood, and the open window let in the stench of smoke. At first sight, the hall seemed empty. Timeless. As was everything in a University. No matter what changed beyond it, the world inside the immortal, cold, silent stone, behind the solid wooden desks of polished wood, would never change.
And yet, the hall wasn't empty. In the early morning light, those blissful hours that only stay for a second in human perception, it seemed that the elderly man with his head resting against the light wood of a desk was asleep, and yet, he was thinking. Thinking of how, within these timeless walls, one can change the world. Because he didn't like it the way it was.
In a few minutes, perhaps seconds – passage of time had remained unregistered in the proffessor's mind – students would file into the hall. Some of them there merely at their parents' behest. Those that fooled around, spending lectures tossing paper shapes at others, writing silly notes, sleeping. Some of them were dedicated to the proffession they had chosen. Those that made detailed notes. Paid attention because they wanted to make an improvement in the proffession. Those few that might turn out to become good lawyers. There was, with luck, at most two students of that sort, and sometimes neither of them achieved what they had set out to: to change the face of law. Why? Either because they were weaker than the third type of student; or because they turned into that third type. The third type of student. The worst type. The ambitious carreerists. Those who wanted the money and power. Those who shaped the law as they wanted it.
This was a new year. And with every year, with every January 1st that brought extra lines into the professor's face, he resolved to change this distribution. He resolved, that with every class of his that graduated, the majority of them would be of the second type. Up to now, he had failed. All those years of work at Oxford. All those dry lectures. Thinking that the better the student knew the theory, the hard, solid, fact, the better a lawyer he would make. And yet that theory failed. That much he gathered from the courts of law and what went on inside them. No better than when he had been a student himself, and had had the privilege – if one could call it as such – to observe a number of important trials...important trials...
Inspiration hit him like a flash. It hit him in that last moment after over three hours of thought. Thought about how to make the most important law lecture of all he gave every year – the first. First impressions matter, for they are those that stick in one's head. And here, in his first year at the University of London, he would make the right first impression.
And here came the students, one by one, some munching on unfinished food, others talking, others solemn, and others nervous, biting their nails, or simply letting their eyes run amok, darting here and there, wondering what step to make next.
«Put away your books, gentlemen, you will be requiring only your ears today, and nothing more.»
This statement was met, as he had expected, with looks of surprise, quiet mumbling, and a general explosion of shuffling, scratching and scraping. Noise. Noise that did not irritate him, but only brought a smile to his face. Oh, how he wished he were still a fresh, young student, with a spring in his step! How he wished that he could carry his wisdom back into youth, and do something differently, and maybe be of use. Save lives. Or maybe, just one life. One life, would be as much as the world for him. How he wished that he could inhabit, with his wisdom and knowledge, the young heads before him. How you wished you were some sort of reverse form of a Legion of demons, he thought to himself, chuckling. Chuckling and scratching is grey chin. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and began.
«Gentlement, I welcome you to the law faculty of his young University. Now, I worked in Oxford for most of my life, and I could say that I failed. I failed as a university lecturer, as a proffessor, because, from what I saw in the legal system, I realised that I had failed to teach my students to honour Themis. Do you know who Themis is?»
A murmur.
«Themis, the Greek Goddess of justice. The very first thing a lawyer must know is the law of Themis. Can anyone tell me what that is? The law of Themis?»
No-one volunteered. The professor tried again.
«Very well, can anyone tell me what Themis' most distinguished feature is?»
After another wave of muttering, a student put his hand up. He was scrawny, like one of those over-studious types usually mentioned in jokes, wearing glasses as thick as milk bottle bottoms, with an over prominent adam's apple and overlarge clothes.
«She holds a pair of brass scales,» he said. He had a strong lisp.
«No, that is not her most important feature. The most important part is the blindfold. Her eyes are covered. That symbolises impartiality. A judge is a person, true, but only outside the courtroom. Within it, he must be Themis. He is one thing, justice is another. He must forget himself while he works.» The class held no visible reaction to these words. The professor sighed, wondering how many of those students were mentally present in the lecture hall; how many actually listened to him, and not just heard his words, the words that some let to wash over them in waves, disintegrating like the foam on wave crests breaking on the sea shore.
«I see that none of you are disposed to hear of what matters, but we cannot just sit here and do nothing, now, can we? So, let us procrastinate and leave that for another day. Now, I will talk to you about something unimportant. And yet, it might be interesting. So, if you have no patience at all with an old man's incessant babble, you may leave. I shall not object. But if you stay, please listen to my story.»
No-one left. The professor smiled, stood up from his chair and half-leaned, half-sat on the table.
«Once, as hard as this is to believe, I was a young man. Young, with a spring in my step, auburn hair on my head and moustache to shame Velasquez into shaving his off. I was an ambitious law student, at Oxford, and it was my ultimate goal to become a judge of the high court in London. I was not a bad student,» - a few chuckles from the hall. The professor smiled – it was a sign of attention. «In fact, I was a very good one, and I was one of those 'privileged' to go into the London court, and observe a few cases – three, I think it was – and make notes, that I was to bring back to Oxford.»
«Professor?»
The proffessor nearly jumped in surprise. A young man in the back row had his hand raised. The back row. The rich men's sons, the sleepers, the dreamers, the paper-throwers.
«Yes?»
«You say you were one of the better students, Professor? Then, you could have been the honourable judge by now. A high-positioned man. Not here, dealing with us louts,» he said, chuckling. He had a deep, jovial voice. Most of the others laughed with him, nodding appreciatively.
«That's just what this story is about. It was the third case. The last one I had to oversee. It changed my mind. My life. It changed everything.» A short silence followed these words. The silence was absolute. The room crackled with attention. «The first two cases went well. Everything was just. The sentence, the proof, the crime, all followed the rules. Even Themis's law. I had never felt so important before then, never felt so excited at my prospects. Wonderful prospects. Have any of you read, The Queen of Spades by Alexander Pushkin? I happen to have learned Russian in my youth, and to have got my hands on some of this distinguished authors' works. In this story – in short, of course – a man sees a vision of an already dead old woman who prophesies that he will win in a game of cards if he bets on, at first, a three, then a seven, and then an ace. With the three, he won. With the seven, he won too. With the ace, he lost. Lost to the queen of spades...that man went mad. I didn't go mad, of course, although...it changed me forever, that court session. The young man who entered the courtroom that day died there, and a totally different men came out of it.»
«You see, the man on trial was accused of murder. A very brutal murder, in face, of a young woman who had been found dead in a London alley. And yet, they could propose no motive for the murder. Not a single witness seemed to agree. In the previous two cases I had heard, the court would go on for hours, until the witnesses would agree. They would never carry out the sentence unless there were no inconsistencies. And yet, that court case, it was like everyone had drunk a bucketful of laudanum. It was the most grave accusation of the three. The previous two had been a theft, and treasonous proclamations against her Majesty. This one, murder, was the most serious, and yet the shortest, most relaxed session. It felt wrong from the start. It was so obvious he was innocent, that poor man. At the end, as his wife sobbed and screamed, no, no, no, no, no, he is innocent! He was with me when the crime was committed! This is impossible, no, no, no...those terrible screams that still echo in my head every night before I go to bed, that judge, if one can call him so, said he would 'temper judgment with mercy' and, instead of hanging him, would send him to Australia. For life. A lifetime of hard labour on Devil's Island.»
A universal hush greeted these words.
«I don't know what happened to him, what happened to his family; but what I know is, that half of those sent to Botany Bay don't even survive the journey. What I know, is, that that judge had used a mixture of bribery and intimidation to coerce those responsible into fabricating evidence, into giving false witness, into sealing that poor man's fate...why? Because he wanted his wife. I don't know how that story ended. I don't want to know. All I know, is, that you cannot build happiness on someone else's unhappiness. That's something else learning Russian taught me. They have some good proverbs. Anyhow, I don't want to know what happened. All I know that, after I heard that poor woman crying, crying into her friend's shoulder, after I saw an innocent man's life ruined, I had to try and change things. I would not go into the court that had no respect for Themis. That pull on her hands, place weights in her scales and rip off her blindfold. Judiciary rape, I call it. No other word for it. All I could do, was remain in the university I had learned in, and try to prevent other students, other budding lawyers, from becoming like that judge. I hope that you, aspiring young lawyers, will leave this room with a wiser mind. Wanting to change things, and not just go along with the flow. Flow of corruption and misery. You might not plunge a dagger into a man's heart, but you may commit an injustice towards him that will kill him.»
After the students had filed out, solemn, quiet, so different to how they were when they came in, he opened a cabinet door. There stood a statue of Themis. Her brass scales lay on the floor before her. The proffessor picked them up, and replaced them on her balancing hand.