The Man in Court | Page 6

old-fashioned
pew. What the object of the inclosure may be is uncertain, unless it is a
relic of a time when it was necessary to imprison the jurors. Jury duty
has doubtless always been arduous and disagreeable, and in earlier days
men were probably as anxious to escape serving on the jury as they are
to-day. In one of the courts, which was not supposed to be for jury
trials, twelve men once sat on a case without any jury-box in plain
chairs and at the side of the room. They were extremely uncomfortable
themselves; their legs were exposed and they seemed shockingly
unconventional.
Between the judge's desk and the jury-box is the witness chair, an
ordinary chair placed not quite so high, but beside the judge's and
where he can look down on the witness. The position of the witness
chair may be accountable for the feeling of protecting the witness that
exists in the minds of the judge and jury. There is a natural sympathy
for him, as though he were being attacked by the examining counsel.
The witness in former times stood in a little enclosed box and in Italy,
where court scenes are more intense, the prisoners to this day in
criminal trials testify from behind iron bars.

Below the witness chair is the stenographer. The former idea of the
aged scrivener or court clerk with white hair and green eye shade has
vanished. The modern stenographer, who keeps the record of a trial, is
probably an energetic young man, who has passed high on the civil
service list, knows something about law, is studying for a better
position, or is connected with a very profitable stenographers' business
on the outside.
The court proper is divided from the rest of the room by an iron or
wooden rail guarded by a jealous court attendant, who is always a
strong advocate of court etiquette and very properly maintains the
dignity of the court. He is in uniform with a shield or badge of office
conspicuously displayed and being taken from the civil service list
whereon war veterans and retired firemen or policemen have a
preference, is generally of a certain age. Naturally, being old and
having to stand so much, he has tender feet, and with the customary
effects of all secure and salaried positions, acquires both a slow and
shuffling gait and the ordinary characteristics of his class. He is subject
to many petty annoyances, foolish questions, repeated inquiries, people
talking or arguing, little disorders pursue him on every hand.
The object of the attendant in the court is to maintain order and
preserve dignity. They are almost avid in their pursuit of the ignoramus
who comes in with his hat on his head or covers himself on going out
before he reaches the door. Their salaries are not large but their duties
are not arduous. They may seem solicitous to the judge and sometimes
overbearing to the litigants and lawyers, but they are only in the
position of the supes or ushers in the theater. Yet they are
understanding and wise as regards the human drama constantly played
before them.
The lighting of the court-room is unusually dramatic. There are no
foot-lights, but the best theory of stage lighting is that there should be
none. One of the most effective scenes in the modern theater is the
court setting in Galsworthy's Justice. The lighting is indirect and the
spots of red and green lights at the judge's desk, the corners of the
jury-box and the shaded ones at the clerk's elbow, give a remarkable

impression of mysterious terror.
Whatever may be the cause, there exists a marked resentment against
the courts. Not only is there a complaint as to the cloying technicalities
of procedure, the long and fatal delays of the law, the absurd forms and
mannerisms of the trial, but underneath them all a fundamental distrust
of justice itself. The complaint is heard of the inequality of justice. That
there is a law for the poor man and another law for the rich. The stage
gives expression to the feeling, and modern literature voices it. The
high-priced millionaire escapes and the low-browed pickpocket goes to
prison.
Cases are cited where the rich woman returning from a debauch of
European shopping with a few thousand dollars' worth of pearls sewed
in the lining of her winter bonnet is only fined, whereas the little
milliner from the lower end of the city is sent to jail for trying to
smuggle in a new coat. The impressario of art collections is caught at a
gigantic scheme for defrauding the government of thousands of dollars
on imported pictures. He hobbles into court and on the ground of ill
health escapes a prison sentence and is merely fined, while the little