I hope the day will never come when our magistrates will have to deal out punishment as a shopman deals out goods—so much crime, so much punishment. At present they have hearts and sympathies, they have freedom and latitude—better still, their freedom of action and sympathy of heart make for justice, for ofttimes mercy is the only justice. That mercy may call for a light sentence or a severe one, but whichever it may be it does not call in vain. It is impossible for anyone who does not hear a case tried, see the different actors, and know something of the attendant circumstances to sit (with justice) in judgment on the ‘rightness’ of any sentence that may be given. Until the whole of humanity is cast in one mould, until all environments are alike, until physical, mental, and moral power are equally distributed, until temptations present equal force and the ability to resist is equally distributed, equality of punishment will be either an impossibility or a huge wrong.
The young or middle-aged men charged with embezzlement or fraud are a numerous class, and a sad duty awaits the magistrate when he has to convict and sentence such men. To these men character is everything, and when the brand of conviction is once upon them, their future is dark and doubtful. In sentencing such, the magistrate knows full well that the sentence he imposes is but light compared with the punishment society inflicts upon the wrongdoer. They are therefore leniently dealt with, and where possible are dealt with under the First Offenders Act. The existence and application of this Act are too well known. It is sometimes traded on, and young men (and even boys) who have been pursuing a course of systematic fraud for a long time, and have at length been brought to book, will ask to be dealt with under its provisions. For the man or woman, boy or girl, who has yielded to a sudden impulse, the magistrates require no pressing for leniency; but the prisoner convicted of a series of thefts, though charged for the first time, they do not consider a fitting subject for the application of the Act.
Drink, gambling, and lubricity are the chief factors in the downfall of these men, and it is a peculiar thing that journeymen butchers and assistant milkmen form a large proportion of such prisoners. The two former vices seem to prevail to an enormous extent among them, while the latter vice seems to account for the delinquencies of clerks, drapers’ assistants, etc. The women charged with various acts of dishonesty are a mixed lot, including as they do the unfortunate, the skilful shoplifter, the pickpocket, and the inveterate robber of furnished lodgings. Beyond proof of guilt these do not demand much attention from the magistrate; but with numbers of females the case is very different, for though their guilt may be fully established, the magistrate has much heart-searching before he deals with them, for truly they are pitiful problems. Numbers of girls from fourteen to twenty are charged with stealing; why they have stolen they do not appear to know, what they have done with the articles stolen they cannot sometimes tell; occasionally it appears the goods have been destroyed. Their behaviour in the cells and before the magistrate is strange, for they appear dazed and bewildered, and quite unable to concentrate their minds on what is taking place or what is said to them. They do not profess penitence or sorrow. To a casual observer they appear hardened and indifferent, and while their friends come and plead for them and evince a keen feeling of disgrace, they themselves still appear indifferent, and certainly do not realize the position in which they find themselves placed.
But decently married women, who are beyond doubt respectable, are also charged with theft. Some of these present similar problems to the girls, and there is no doubt that pathological causes lie at the root of the mental condition of both girls and women—at any rate, of many of them. Such offenders, if offenders they can be called, are considerately and even tenderly dealt with, and the First Offenders Act is invariably put in operation with regard to them. A knowledge not only of law and human nature, but also of physiology, is essential for the proper consideration of many cases that come before police court magistrates, and they often remand prisoners for a few days that medical opinion may be obtained.
There are, of course, many charges that need not be enumerated, ranging from frivolous assaults to murder, from stealing a drinking-glass to burglary. After these are all disposed of and the different persons interested in them have left the court, a class of charges are heard which I cannot even hint at except to say that they are sadly too prevalent, and that they demand the closest attention and scrutiny from the magistrate, odious and repulsive as they are.
The charges being disposed of, the summonses follow, and are mostly heard in the afternoon, or when, again, a mixed humanity tramps in and out of the court. The consequences to the persons summoned are not, of course, so serious, as a rule, as the consequences to persons charged, but, still, a great many are sent to prison for short terms, and many serious fines are imposed. Various are the offences for which the police take out summonses; infinite in their variety are the reasons for which private people summon each other. Infringement or wilful violation of the laws and by-laws of the County Council bring a great number into trouble. The Vestries, for a multiplicity of reasons, have to take proceedings against determined offenders. The Excise must look after the revenue, and is never behind in taking out summonses. The School Board claims and monopolizes at least one afternoon per week. So it comes to pass that about ten thousand summonses are adjudged in one year by the magistrates at one court. And they cover a wide area, and make a demand on the magistrate not only for a thorough knowledge of law and of human nature, but also for technical knowledge upon a thousand subjects. Having disposed of the summonses, excepting those adjourned, signed all the commitments and other documents, the magistrate’s work for the day, so far as the court is concerned, is done. But I venture to think that not only many obscure points of law, but also the consideration of many remanded prisoners and adjourned summonses claims his earnest attention when far away from the court.
Ten thousand applicants, eight thousand prisoners, and ten thousand summonses, would probably be a fair average of the humanity that tramps through a London police court in one year. And every social problem, every legal problem, every psychological problem, has its place among that heterogeneous mass. Among this tangled and perplexed humanity I have lived and moved for many years. I have seen it in the prisoners’ rooms, the dock, and the cells. I have seen it at liberty, and have been in touch and communion with it while it has been in prison. In the ten thousand homes of it I have been a constant and not unwelcome visitor, while much of it has visited me in mine. By its dying bed in some great institution, or in some mean room, I have frequently sat. At the mortuary I have been to view some broken remains of it, at the cemetery to see the last of it. So in the remaining chapters of this book I want to tell of humanity, of its good and evil, of its struggles and its failures, of its glory and of its shame—yea, and also of its sufferings and its wrongs. Down, low down, for years I have been groping among it, sometimes blindly, and sometimes with a ray of light, making here and there some rough places plain, and untying now and again some tangled knot; but more often baffled and defeated, yet always learning and ever seeing some new point for good or evil among them. So of this humanity and some of its problems I wish to tell, promising that I shall only speak of ‘that which I know, and testify only to that which I have seen.’
CHAPTER IV
HUSBANDS AND WIVES
‘The sight of this domestic misery completely appals me. I can hear no more.’ Mr. Biron had been listening at application time to a number of women who followed each other in quick succession, each bearing an outward and visible sign of the fact that she had been cruelly ill-used. Each woman was a wife, and each one wanted a ‘protection order’ against her husband, until the experienced magistrate, rising from his seat, declared that he could ‘stand it no longer.’
Every magistrate in London has the same experience. Some few years ago a number of such applicants were in North London Court, and the magistrate, with only half a look, knew what was wanted. ‘Take a summons, take a summons,’ he cried, almost as fast as they came up. A slip of paper was given to each, and away they went to the clerk’s office. At length there came a nicely dressed young woman, evidently a last year’s bride. She held her first babe at her breast. One side of her face bore the blush of early womanhood, the other the marks of a brutal husband’s fist. The magistrate had been signing some documents, and had not seen her as she stood there for a few seconds. He looked up and caught sight of the bruises. At the same time the young woman raised her hand to her face, but could only say, ‘My husband, sir—my husband!’ ‘What! Another of you? Take a summons; If I were to sit here from Monday morning till Saturday to protect women that had got drunken and brutal husbands, I should not get through half of them.’ So said Mr. Montague Williams, and he was not far wrong, for if every magistrate were to devote his time and energies to protecting women and putting right domestic grievances, they would not get through half of them.