That was just what Zherebyatnikov wanted; he would pause, and would begin talking to the victim with a sentimental air.
“But what am I to do, my friend?” he would begin. “It’s not I am punishing you, it’s the law!”
“Your honour, it’s all in your hands, have pity on me!”
“Do you suppose I don’t feel for you? Do you suppose it’s a pleasure to me to see you beaten? I am a man too. Am I a man or not, do you suppose?”
“For sure, your honour, we all know you are our father, we are your children. Be a father to me!” cries the convict, beginning to hope.
“But judge for yourself, my friend-you’ve got sense; I know that as a fellow creature I ought to be merciful and indulgent even to a sinner like you.”
“It’s the holy truth you are speaking, your honour.”
“Yes, to be merciful however sinful you may be. But it’s not my doing, it’s the law! Think of that! I have my duty to God and to my country; I shall be taking a great sin upon myself if I soften the law, think of that!” “Your honour”
“But there! So be it, for your sake! I know I am doing wrong, but so be it . . . I will have mercy on you this time. I’ll let you off easy. But what if I am doing you harm? If I have mercy on you this once and let you off easily, and you’ll reckon on it being the same next time and commit a crime again, what then? It will be on my conscience.”
“Your honour! I’d not let friend or foe! As before the throne of the Heavenly Father . . .”
“All right, all right! But do you swear to behave yourself for the future?”
“Strike me dead, may I never in the world to come . . .”
“Don’t swear, it’s a sin. I’ll believe your word. Do you give me your word?”
“Your honour!!!”
“Well, I tell you, I’ll spare you simply for your orphan’s tears. You are an orphan, aren’t you?”
“Yes, your honour, alone in the world, neither father nor mother . . .”
“Well, for the sake of your orphan’s tears; but mind you, it’s the last time . . . . Take him,” he adds in such a soft-hearted way that the convict does not know how to pray devoutly enough for such a benefactor.
