ARDEUIL. It frightens me.

LA BOUZOLE. You are speaking seriously?

ARDEUIL. Certainly.

LA BOUZOLE. Then why did you become a substitute?

ARDEUIL. Through no choice of my own! My people pushed me into the profession.

LA BOUZOLE. Yes. People look on the magistracy as a career. That is to say, from the moment you enter it you have only one object—to get on. [A pause]

ARDEUIL. Yet it would be a noble thing—to dispense justice tempered with mercy.

LA BOUZOLE. Yes—it should be. [A pause] Do you want the advice of a man who has for forty years been a judge of the third class?

ARDEUIL. I should value it.

LA BOUZOLE. Send in your resignation. You have mistaken your vocation. You wear the wrong robe. The man who attempts to put into practice the ideas you have expressed must wear the priest's cassock.

ARDEUIL [as though to himself] Yes—but for that one must have a simple heart—a heart open to faith.

BUNERAT [who is with the others] If only we had the luck to have a deputy of the department for Keeper of the Seals! Just for a week!

LA BOUZOLE [to Ardeuil] There, my boy, that's the sort of thing one has to think about.

THE MANSERVANT [entering] From his Honor the President of Assizes. [He gives Vagret a letter]

VAGRET. He isn't coming?

MADAME VAGRET [after reading the note] He isn't coming.

BUNERAT. I hardly expected him.

MADAME VAGRET. A nervous headache he says. He left by the 6:49 train.

MOUZON. That's significant!

MADAME BUNERAT. It would be impossible to mark his disapproval more clearly.

BUNERAT. Three acquittals too!

MADAME BUNERAT. If it had been a question of celebrated pleaders! But newly fledged advocates!

BUNERAT. Nobodies!

MADAME VAGRET [to her daughter] My poor child! What will his report be like?

BERTHA. What report?

MADAME VAGRET. Don't you know? At the close of each session the President submits a report to the Minister—Ah, my dear Madame Bunerat! [The three women seat themselves at the back of the stage]

MOUZON. Three acquittals—and the Irissary murder. A deplorable record! A pretty pickle we're in.

BUNERAT. You know, my dear Vagret, I'm a plain speaker. No shilly-shallying about me. When I hunt the boar I charge right down on him. I speak plainly—anyone can know what's in my mind. I'm the son of a peasant, I am, and I make no bones about it. Well, it seems to me that your Bar—I know, of course, that you lead it with distinguished integrity and honesty—but it seems to me—how shall I put it?—that it's getting weak. Mouzon, you will remember, said the same thing when he was consulting the statistics.

MOUZON. It really is a very bad year.

BUNERAT. You know it was a question of making ourselves an exception to the general rule—of getting our Court raised to a higher class. Well, Mauleon won't be raised from the third class to the second if the number of causes diminishes.

MOUZON. We should have to prove that we had been extremely busy.

BUNERAT. And many of the cases you settled by arrangement might well have been the subject of proceedings.

MOUZON. Just reflect that this year we have awarded a hundred and eighteen years less imprisonment than we did last year!

BUNERAT. And yet the Court has not been to blame. We safeguard the interests of society with the greatest vigilance.

MOUZON. But before we can punish you must give us prisoners.

VAGRET. I have recently issued the strictest orders respecting the repression of smuggling offences, which are so common in these parts.

BUNERAT. Well, that's something. You understand the point of view we take. It's a question of the safety of the public, my dear fellow.

MOUZON. We are falling behind other Courts of the same class. See, I've worked out the figures. [He takes a paper from his pocket-book and accidentally drops other papers, which La Bouzole picks up] I see—

LA BOUZOLE. You are dropping your papers, Mouzon. Is this yours—this envelope? [He reads] "Monsieur Benoit, Officer of the Navy, Railway Hotel, Bordeaux." A nice scent—

MOUZON [flurried, taking the letter from La Bouzole] Yes—a letter belonging to a friend of mine.

LA BOUZOLE. And this? The Irissary murder?

MOUZON. Ah, yes—it's—I was going to explain—it's—oh, the Irissary murder, yes—it's the translation Bunerat gave me of the article which appeared in the Eskual Herria to-day. It is extremely unpleasant. They say Mauleon is a sort of penal Court—something like a Biribi of the magistracy.

VAGRET. But, after all, I can't invent a murderer for you just because the fellow is so pig-headed that he won't allow himself to be taken! Delorme has sent the description they gave us to the offices of all the magistrates.

MOUZON. Delorme! Shall I tell you what I think? Well, our colleague Delorme is making a mistake in sticking to the idea that the criminal is a tramp.

VAGRET. But there is a witness.

MOUZON. The witness is lying, or he's mistaken.

BUNERAT. A witness who saw gipsies leaving the victim's house that morning.

MOUZON. I repeat, the witness is lying, or he is mistaken.

VAGRET. Why so?

MOUZON. I'm certain of it.

BUNERAT. Why?

MOUZON. Because I'm certain the murderer wasn't a gipsy.

VAGRET. But explain—

MOUZON. It's of no use, my dear friend. I know my duty to my colleague Delorme too well to insist. I've said too much already.

VAGRET. Not at all.

BUNERAT. By no means.

MOUZON. It was with the greatest delicacy that I warned our colleague Delorme—he was good enough to consult me and show me day by day the information which he had elicited—I warned him that he was on a false scent. He would listen to nothing; he persisted in searching for his tramp. Well, let him search! There are fifty thousand tramps in France. After all, I am probably wrong. Yet I should be surprised, for in the big towns in which I have served as magistrate, and in which I found myself confronted, not merely now and again, but every day, so to speak, with difficulties of this sort, I was able to acquire a certain practice in criminal cases and a certain degree of perspicacity.

VAGRET. Obviously. As for Delorme, it is the first time he has had to deal with such a big crime.

MOUZON. In the case of that pretty woman from Toulouse, at Bordeaux, a case which made a good deal of stir at the time, it was I who forced the accused to make the confession that led her to the guillotine.

BUNERAT [admiringly] Was it really?

VAGRET. My dear friend, I ask you most seriously—and if I am insistent, it is because I have reasons for being so—between ourselves, I beg you to tell us on what you base your opinion.

MOUZON. Well, I don't want to hide my light under a bushel—I'll tell you.

BUNERAT. We are listening.

MOUZON. Recall the facts. In a house isolated as are most of our Basque houses they find, one morning, an old man of eighty-seven murdered in his bed. Servants who slept in the adjacent building had heard nothing. The dogs did not bark. There was robbery, it is true, but the criminal did not confine himself to stealing hard cash; he stole family papers as well. Remember that point. And I will call your attention to another detail. It had rained on the previous evening. In the garden footprints were discovered which were immediately attributed to the murderer, who was so badly shod that the big toe of his right foot protruded from his boot. Monsieur Delorme proceeds along the trail; he obtains a piece of evidence that encourages him, and he declares that the murderer is a vagrant. I say this is a mistake. The murderer is not a vagrant. Now the house in which the crime was committed is an isolated house, and we know that within a radius of six to ten miles there was no tramp begging before the crime. So this tramp, if there was one, would have eaten and drunk on the scene of the crime, either before or after striking the blow. Now no traces have been discovered which permit us to suppose that he did anything of the kind. So—here is a man who arrives in a state of exhaustion. He begs; he is refused. He then hides himself, and, when it is night, he robs and assassinates. There is wine and bread and other food at hand; but he goes his way without touching them. Is this probable? No. Don't tell me that he was disturbed and so ran off; it is not true; their own witness declares that he saw him in the morning, a few yards from the house, whereas the crime was committed before midnight. If Monsieur Delorme, in addition to his distinguished qualities, had a little experience of cases of this kind, he would realize that empty bottles, dirty glasses, and scraps of food left on the table constitute, so to speak, the sign manual which the criminal vagrant leaves behind him on the scene of his crime.

BUNERAT. True; I was familiar with that detail.

LA BOUZOLE [under his breath to Ardeuil] That fellow would send a man to the scaffold for the sake of seeming to know something.

VAGRET. Go on—go on.

MOUZON. Monsieur Delorme ought to have known this also: in the life of the vagrant there is one necessity which comes next to hunger and thirst—it is the need of footwear. This is so true that they have sometimes been known to make this need a pretext for demanding an appeal, because the journey to the Court of Appeal is generally made on foot, so that the administration is obliged to furnish shoes, and, as these are scarcely worn during the period of detention, they are in good condition when the man leaves prison. Now the supposed vagrant has a foot very nearly the same size as that of his victim. He has—you yourself have told us—boots which are in a very bad condition. Well, gentlemen, this badly shod vagrant does not take the good strong boots which are in the house! I will add but one word more. If the crime had been committed by a passing stranger—by a professional mendicant—will you tell me why this remarkable murderer follows the road which passes in front of the victim's house—a road on which he would find no resources—a road on which houses are met with only at intervals of two or three miles—when there is, close at hand, another road which runs through various villages and passes numbers of farmhouses, in which it is a tradition never to refuse hospitality to one of his kind? One word more. Why does this vagrant steal family papers which will betray him as the criminal the very first time he comes into contact with the police? No, gentlemen, the criminal is not a vagrant. If you want to find him, you must not look for a man wandering along the highway; you must look for him among those relatives or debtors or friends, who had an interest in his death.

VAGRET. This is very true.

BUNERAT. I call that admirably logical and extremely lucid.

MOUZON. Believe me, the matter is quite simple. If I were intrusted with the examination, I guarantee that within three days the criminal would be under lock and key.

VAGRET. Well, my dear colleague, I have a piece of news for you. Monsieur Delorme, who is very unwell, has returned me his brief this afternoon, and it will be intrusted to you. Henceforth the preliminary examination of the Irissary murder will be in your hands.

MOUZON. I have only to say that I accept. My duty is to obey. I withdraw nothing of what I have said; within three days the murderer will be arrested.

BUNERAT. Bravo!

VAGRET. I thank you for that promise in the name of all concerned. I declare that you relieve us of a great anxiety. [To his wife] Listen, my dear. Monsieur Mouzon is undertaking the preliminary examination, and he promises us a result before three days are up.

MADAME VAGRET. We shall be grateful, Monsieur Mouzon.

MADAME BUNERAT. Oh, thank you!

VAGRET. Bertha! Tell them to serve dinner—and to send up that old Irrouleguy wine! I will drink to your success, my dear fellow.

THE MANSERVANT. Dinner is served.

The gentlemen offer their arms to the ladies preparatory to going in to dinner.

CURTAIN.



ACT II

In the office of Mouzon, the examining magistrate. A door at the back and in the wall to the right. On the left are two desks. Portfolios, armchairs, and one ordinary chair.

SCENE I:—The recorder, then the doorkeeper, then Mouzon. When the curtain rises the recorder, seated in the magistrate's armchair, is drinking his coffee. The doorkeeper enters.

RECORDER. Ah! Here's our friend the doorkeeper of the courthouse! Well, what's the news?

DOORKEEPER. Here's your boss.

RECORDER. Already!

DOORKEEPER. He got back from Bordeaux last night. Fagged out he looked.

RECORDER [loftily] A Mauleon magistrate is always fatigued when he returns from Bordeaux!

DOORKEEPER. Why?

RECORDER [after a pause] I do not know.

DOORKEEPER. It's the Irissary murder that has brought him here so early.

RECORDER. Probably. [While speaking he arranges his cup, saucer, sugar basin, etc., in a drawer. He then goes to his own place, the desk at the back. Mouzon enters. The doorkeeper pretends to have completed some errand and leaves the room. The recorder rises, with a low bow] Good-morning, your worship.

MOUZON. Good-morning. You haven't made any engagements, have you, except in the case of the Irissary murder?

RECORDER. I have cited the officer of the gendarmerie, the accused, and the wife of the accused.

MOUZON. I am tired, my good fellow. I have a nervous headache! Any letters for me?

RECORDER. No, your worship.

MOUZON. His Honor the State Attorney hasn't asked for me?

RECORDER. No, your worship. But all the same I have something for you. [He hands him an envelope]

MOUZON [opening the envelope] Stamps for my collection! I say, Benoit, that's good! Now let's see. Let's see. [He unlocks the drawer of his desk and takes out a stamp album] Uruguay. I have it! Well, it will do to exchange. And this one too. Oh! Oh! I say, Benoit! A George Albert, first edition! But where did you get this, my dear fellow?

RECORDER. A solicitor's clerk found it in a brief.

MOUZON. Splendid! I must stick that in at once! Pass me the paste, will you? [He delicately trims the edges of the stamp with a pair of scissors and pastes it in the album with the greatest care, while still talking] It is rare, extremely rare! According to the Philatelist it will exchange for three blue Amadei or a '67 Khedive, obliterated. There! [Turning over the leaves of his album] Really, you know, it begins to look something like. It's beginning to fill up, eh? You know I believe I shall soon be able to get that Hayti example. Look! See here! [In great delight] There's a whole page-full! And all splendid examples. [He closes the album and sighs] O Lord!

RECORDER. You don't feel well?

MOUZON. It's not that. I was rather worried at Bordeaux.

RECORDER. About your stamps?

MOUZON. No, no. [A sigh to himself] Damn the women! The very thing I didn't want. [He takes his album again] When I've got that Hayti specimen I shall need only three more to fill this page too. Yes. [He closes the album] Well, what's the post? Ah! Here is the information from Paris in respect of the woman Etchepare and her husband's judicial record. [The doorkeeper enters with a visiting-card] Who is coming to disturb me now? [More agreeably, having read the name] Ah! Ah! [To the recorder] I shall see him alone.

RECORDER. Yes, your worship. [He goes out]

MOUZON [to the doorkeeper] Show him in. [He hides his album, picks up a brief, and affects to be reading it with the utmost attention]

SCENE II:—Enter Mondoubleau.

MONDOUBLEAU [speaking with a strong provincial accent] I was passing the Law Courts, and I thought I'd look in and say how do. I am not disturbing you, I hope?

MOUZON [smiling and closing his brief] My dear deputy, an examining magistrate, as you know, is always busy. But it gives one a rest—it does one good—to see a welcome caller once in a while. Sit down, I beg you. Yes, please!

MONDOUBLEAU. I can stop only a minute.

MOUZON. But that's unkind of you!

MONDOUBLEAU. Well, what's the latest about the Irissary murder?

MOUZON. So far there's nothing new. I've questioned the accused—an ugly-looking fellow and a poor defence. He simply denied everything and flew into a temper. I had to send him back to the cells without getting anything out of him.

MONDOUBLEAU. Are you perfectly sure you've got the right man?

MOUZON. Certain—no; but I should be greatly surprised if I were mistaken.

MONDOUBLEAU. I saw Monsieur Delorme yesterday. He's a little better.

MOUZON. So I hear. He thinks the murderer was a tramp. Now there, my dear sir, is one of the peculiarities to which we examining magistrates are subject. We always find it the very devil to abandon the first idea that pops into our minds. Personally I do my best to avoid what is really a professional failing. I am just going to examine Etchepare, and I am waiting for the results of a police inquiry. If all this gives me no result, I shall set the man at liberty and look elsewhere for the culprit—but I repeat, I firmly believe I am on the right scent.

MONDOUBLEAU. Monsieur Delorme is a magistrate of long experience and a very shrewd one, and I will not deny that the reasons he has given me are—

MOUZON. I know my colleague is extremely intelligent. And, once more, I don't say that he's wrong. We shall see. At present I am only morally certain. I shall be materially certain when I know the antecedents of the accused and have established an obvious motive for his action. At the moment of your arrival I was about to open my mail. Here is a letter from the Court of Pau; it gives our man's judicial record. [He takes a paper-knife in order to open the envelope]

MONDOUBLEAU. A curious paper-knife.

MOUZON. That? It's the blade of the knife that brought the pretty Toulouse woman to the guillotine at Bordeaux. Pretty weapon, eh? I had it made into a paper-knife. [He opens the envelope] There—there you are! Four times sentenced for assaulting and wounding. You see—

MONDOUBLEAU. Really, really! Four times!

MOUZON. This is getting interesting. Besides this—I have neglected nothing—I have learned that his wife, Yanetta Etchepare—

MONDOUBLEAU. Is that the young woman I saw in the corridor just now?

MOUZON. I have called her as witness. I shall be hearing her directly.

MONDOUBLEAU. She looks a very respectable woman.

MOUZON. Possibly. But, as I was about to tell you, I have learned that she used to live in Paris—before her marriage—I have written asking for information. Here we are. [He opens the envelope and smiles] Aha! Well, this young woman who looks so respectable was sentenced to one month's imprisonment for receiving stolen goods. Now we will hear the police lieutenant who is coming, very obligingly, to give me an account of the inquiry with which I intrusted him, and which he will put in writing this evening. I shall soon see—

MONDOUBLEAU. Do you suppose he will have anything new for you?

MOUZON. Does this interest you? I will see him in your presence. [He goes to the door and makes a sign. He returns to his chair] Understand, I assert nothing. It is quite possible that my colleague's judgment has been more correct than mine. [The officer enters]

SCENE III:—The same and the officer.

OFFICER. Good-morning, Monsieur.

MOUZON. Good-morning, lieutenant. You can speak before this gentleman.

OFFICER [saluting] Our deputy—

MOUZON. Well?

OFFICER. Yes! He's the man!

MOUZON [after a glance at Mondoubleau] Don't let's go too fast. On what grounds do you make that assertion?

OFFICER. You will see. In the first place there have been four convictions already.

MOUZON. I know.

OFFICER. Then fifteen years ago he bought, from Daddy Goyetche, the victim, a vineyard, the payment taking the form of a life annuity.

MOUZON. Well!

OFFICER. He professed to have made a very bad bargain, and he used to abuse old Goyetche as a swindler.

MOUZON. Excellent!

OFFICER. Five years ago he sold this vineyard.

MOUZON. So that for five years he has been paying an annuity to the victim, although the vineyard was no longer his property.

OFFICER. Yes, your worship.

MOUZON. Go on.

OFFICER. After his arrest people's tongues were loosened. His neighbors have been talking.

MOUZON. That's always the way.

OFFICER. I have heard a witness, the girl Gracieuse Mendione, to whom Etchepare used the words, "It is really too stupid to be forced to pay money to that old swine."

MOUZON. Wait a moment. You say the girl Gracieuse?

OFFICER. Mendione.

MOUZON [writing] Mendione—"It is really too stupid to be forced to pay money to that old swine." Good! Good! Well?

OFFICER. I have another witness, Piarrech Artola.

MOUZON [writing] Piarrech Artola.

OFFICER. Etchepare told him, about two months ago, in speaking of old Goyetche, "It's more than one can stand—the Almighty's forgotten him."

MOUZON [writing] "The Almighty has forgotten him." Excellent. Is this all you can tell me?

OFFICER. Almost all.

MOUZON. At what date should Etchepare have made the next annual payment to old Goyetche?

OFFICER. A week after Ascension Day.

MOUZON. That is a week after the crime?

OFFICER. Yes, your worship.

MOUZON [to Mondoubleau] Singular coincidence! [To the officer] Was he comfortably off, this Etchepare?

OFFICER. He was pressed for money. Three months ago he borrowed eight hundred francs from a Mauleon cattle-dealer.

MOUZON. And what do the neighbors say?

OFFICER. They say Etchepare was a sly grasping fellow, and they aren't surprised to hear that he's the murderer. All the same, they all speak very highly of the woman Yanetta Etchepare. They say she is a model mother and housekeeper.

MOUZON. How many children?

OFFICER. Two—Georges and—I can't remember the name of the other now.

MOUZON. And the woman's moral character?

OFFICER. Irreproachable.

MOUZON. Good.

OFFICER. I was forgetting. One of my men, one of those who effected the arrest, informs me that when Etchepare saw him coming he said to his wife, "They've got me."

MOUZON. "They've got me." That is rather important.

OFFICER. And then he told his wife, in Basque, "Don't for the world let out that I left the house last night!"

MOUZON. He said this before the gendarme?

OFFICER. No, your worship—the gendarme was outside—close to an open window. Etchepare didn't see him.

MOUZON. You will have him cited as witness.

OFFICER. Yes, your worship. Then there's that witness for the defence too—Bridet.

MOUZON. Ah, yes—I have read the deposition he made in your presence. It's of no importance. Still, if he's there I'll hear him. Thank you. Well, draw up a report for me, in full detail, and make them give you the summonses for the witnesses.

OFFICER. Yes, your worship. [He salutes and goes out]

SCENE IV:—Mouzon and Mondoubleau.

MONDOUBLEAU. Monsieur Delorme is a fool.

MOUZON [laughing] Well, I don't say so, my dear deputy.

MONDOUBLEAU. It's wonderful, your faculty of divination.

MOUZON. Wonderful—no, no. I assure you—

MONDOUBLEAU. Now how did you come to suspect this Etchepare?

MOUZON. Well, you know, it is partly a matter of temperament. The searching for a criminal is an art. I may say that a good examining magistrate is guided less by the facts themselves than by a kind of inspiration.

MONDOUBLEAU. Wonderful. I repeat it's wonderful. And this witness for the defence?

MOUZON. He may be a false witness.

MONDOUBLEAU. What makes you think that?

MOUZON. Because he accuses the gipsies! Moreover, he had business dealings with Etchepare. The Basque, you know, still look on us rather as enemies, as conquerors, and they think it no crime to deceive us by means of a false oath.

MONDOUBLEAU. Then you were never inclined to accept the theory of your predecessor?

MOUZON. Tramps—the poor wretches! I know what an affection you have for the poor, and I feel with you that one should not confine oneself to suspecting the unfortunate—people without shelter, without bread even.

MONDOUBLEAU. Bravo! I am delighted to find that you are not only an able magistrate, but also that you think with me on political matters.

MOUZON. You are very good.

MONDOUBLEAU. I hope that from now on the Basque newspapers will cease its attacks upon you.

MOUZON. I am afraid not.

MONDOUBLEAU. Come, come!

MOUZON. What can you expect, my dear sir? The paper is hostile to you, and as I do not scruple openly to support your candidature they make the magistrate pay for the opinions of the citizen.

MONDOUBLEAU. I feel ashamed—and I thank you with all my heart, my dear fellow. Go on as you are doing—but be prudent—eh? The Keeper of the Seals was saying to me only a couple of days ago, "I look to you to see that there is no trouble in your constituency. No trouble—above all no scandal of any kind!" I ought to tell you that Eugene is the subject of many attacks at the present moment.

MOUZON. You are on very intimate terms with his Honor the Keeper of the Seals.

MONDOUBLEAU [makes a gesture, then, simply] We were in the Commune together.

MOUZON. I see.

MONDOUBLEAU. Tell me, by the way, what sort of a man is your State Attorney?

MOUZON. Monsieur Vagret?

MONDOUBLEAU. Yes.

MOUZON. Oh, well—he's a very painstaking magistrate, very exact—

MONDOUBLEAU. No, I mean as to his political opinions.

MOUZON. You mustn't blame him for being in the political camp of those who are diametrically opposed to us. At all events, don't run away with the idea that he is a mischievous person.

MONDOUBLEAU. Narrow-minded. [He has for some little time been gazing at Mouzon's desk] I see you've got the Labastide brief on your table. There's nothing in it at all. I know Labastide well; he's one of my ablest electoral agents; and I assure you he's absolutely incapable of committing the actions of which he is accused. I told Monsieur Vagret as much, but I see he is prosecuting after all.

MOUZON. I can only assure you, my dear deputy, that I will give the Labastide affair my most particular attention.

MONDOUBLEAU. I have too much respect for you, my dear fellow, to ask more of you. Well, well, I mustn't waste your time. So for the present—

MOUZON. Au revoir. [The deputy goes out. Mouzon is alone] I don't think our deputy is getting such a bad idea of me. [Smiling] The fact is it was really clever of me to suspect Etchepare. Now the thing is to make him confess the whole business, and as quickly as possible—

The doorkeeper enters, a telegram in his hand.

MOUZON. A telegram for me?

DOORKEEPER. Yes, your honor.

MOUZON. Give it me. Right. [The doorkeeper goes out. Mouzon reads] "Diane is detained under arrest. The report of yesterday's affair sent to the Attorney-General.—Lucien." That's nice for me! [He is silent, pacing to and fro] Oh, the accursed women! [Silence] Come, I must get to work. [He goes to the door at the back and calls his recorder] Benoit!

SCENE V:—Mouzon, the recorder, and then Bridet.

MOUZON [seated, gives a brief to the recorder] Make out an order of non-lieu in the Labastide case and the order for his immediate release. You can do that during the interrogatories. Now, let us begin! It is two o'clock already and we have done nothing. Make haste—Let's see—What are you waiting for? Give me the list of witnesses—the list of witnesses. Don't you understand? What's the matter with you to-day? That's right. Now bring in this famous witness for the defence and let us get rid of him. Is Etchepare there?

RECORDER. Yes, your honor.

MOUZON. His wife too?

RECORDER. Yes, your honor.

MOUZON. Well, then! What's the matter with you that you look at me like that? Bring him in.

RECORDER. Which first? Etchepare?

MOUZON. No!—the witness for the defence. The wit-ness for the de-fence—do you understand?

RECORDER [outside, angrily] Bridet! Come, Bridet, are you deaf? Come in! [Roughly] Stir yourself!

Bridet enters.

BRIDET. Your worship, I am going to tell you—

MOUZON. Hold your tongue. You will speak when you are questioned. Name, surname, age, profession, and place of domicile.

BRIDET. Bridet, Jean-Pierre, thirty-eight, maker of alpargates at Faigorry.

MOUZON [in a single breath] You swear to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Say, "I swear." You are neither a blood relative nor a relation by marriage of the accused, you are not in his service and he is not in yours. [To the recorder] Has he said, "I swear"?

RECORDER. Yes, your worship.

MOUZON [to Bridet] Speak! [Silence] Go on—speak!

BRIDET. I am waiting for you to ask me questions.

MOUZON. Just now one couldn't keep you quiet; now when I ask you to speak you have nothing to say. What interest have you in defending Etchepare?

BRIDET. What interest?

MOUZON. Yes. Don't you understand your own language?

BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur. Why, no interest.

MOUZON. No interest? Is that the truth? Eh? None? Come, I want very much to believe you. [Very sternly] However, I remind you that Article 361 of the Penal Code punishes false evidence with imprisonment. Now that you know the risk you run in not telling the truth I will listen to you.

BRIDET [confused] I was going to say that old Goyetche was murdered by gipsies who came from over the frontier, down the mountain.

MOUZON. You are sure of that?

BRIDET. I believe it's so.

MOUZON. You are not here to say what you believe. Tell me what you saw or heard. That is all that's asked of you.

BRIDET. But one's always meeting them, these gipsies. The other day they robbed a tobacconist's shop. There were three of them. Two of them went inside. I must tell you they had looked the place over during the day—

MOUZON. Did you come here to laugh at the law? Eh?

BRIDET. I?—But, Monsieur—

MOUZON. I ask if you came here to mock at the law?

BRIDET. No, Monsieur.

MOUZON. That's as well, for such a thing won't answer—you understand? Do you hear?

BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON. Is that all you have to say?

BRIDET. No, Monsieur.

MOUZON. Well, then, go on! Confound it! Don't waste my time in this way! Do you think I've nothing to do but listen to your gossip? Come now, tell me.

BRIDET. Well, the day after Ascension Day—that is, on the Monday—no, on the Friday—

MOUZON. Was it Monday or Friday?

BRIDET. Friday—it was like a Monday, you see, because it was the day after the holiday. Well, the day they found old Goyetche murdered I saw a troop of gipsies leaving his house.

MOUZON. Then you were quite close to the house?

BRIDET. No, I was passing on the road.

MOUZON. Did they close the door behind them?

BRIDET. I don't know, Monsieur.

MOUZON. Then why do you say you saw them come out of the house?

BRIDET. I saw them come out of the meadow in front of the house.

MOUZON. And then?

BRIDET. That's all.

MOUZON [throwing himself back in his chair] And you've come here to bother me for this, eh? Answer. For this?

BRIDET. But, your worship—I beg your pardon—I thought—I beg your pardon—

MOUZON. Listen. How many gipsies were there? Think well. Don't make a mistake.

BRIDET. Five.

MOUZON. Are you certain of that?

BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON. Yes. Well, in the presence of the gendarmes you said there were five or six. So you are more certain of a fact at the end of a month than you were on the day on which you observed it. On the other hand, you no longer know whether the fact occurred on a Monday or a Friday, nor whether the gipsies were leaving the house or merely crossing the fields. [Sternly] Tell me, are you acquainted with the accused? Etchepare—do you know him?

BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON. You have business relations with him? You used to sell him sheep?

BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON. That's enough for me. Get out!

BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON. And think yourself lucky that I let you go like this.

BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON. In future, before asking to be heard as a witness for the defence in a trial at law, I recommend you to think twice.

BRIDET. Rest your mind easy, Monsieur. I swear they'll never get me again!

MOUZON. Sign your interrogatory and be off. If there were not so many easy-going blunderers of your sort, there would be less occasion to complain of the law's delays and hesitations for which the law itself is not responsible.

BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON [to the recorder] Send for Etchepare.

RECORDER [returning immediately] Your worship.

MOUZON. Well?

RECORDER. The advocate—Maitre Placat.

MOUZON. Is he there?

RECORDER. Yes, your honor. He would like to see you before the interrogatory.

MOUZON. Well, show him in, then! What are you waiting for? Be off—and come back when I send for the accused.

The recorder goes out as Placat enters.

SCENE VI:—Mouzon, Maitre Placat.

MOUZON. Good-day, my dear fellow—how are you?

PLACAT. Fine. And you? I caught sight of you last night at the Grand Theatre; you were with an extremely charming woman.

MOUZON. Ah, yes—I—er—

PLACAT. I beg your pardon. Tell me now—I wanted to have a word with you about the Etchepare case.

MOUZON. If you are free at the present moment, we are going to hold the examination at once.

PLACAT. That's the trouble—I haven't a minute.

MOUZON. Would you like us to postpone it until to-morrow?

PLACAT. No, no—I have just been speaking to the accused. An uninteresting story. He just keeps on denying—that's all. He agreed to be interrogated without me. [Laughing] I won't hide from you that I advised him to persist in his method. Well, then, au revoir. If he wants an advocate later on, let me know—I'll send you one of my secretaries.

MOUZON. Right. Good-bye for the present, then.

He returns to his desk. The recorder enters, then Etchepare, between two gendarmes.

SCENE VII:—Mouzon, Etchepare, the recorder.

RECORDER. Step forward.

MOUZON [to the recorder] Recorder, write. [Very quickly, stuttering] In the year nineteen hundred and ninety-seven, etc. Before me, Mouzon, examining magistrate, in the presence of—and so on—the Sieur Etchepare Jean-Pierre was brought to our office, his first appearance being recorded in the report of—and so on. We may mention that the accused, having consented to interrogation in the absence of his advocate—[To Etchepare] You do consent, don't you?

ETCHEPARE. I am innocent. I don't need any advocate.

MOUZON [resumes his stuttering] We dispensed therewith. In consequence of which we have immediately proceeded as below to the interrogation of the said Sieur Etchepare Jean-Pierre. [To Etchepare] Etchepare, on the occasion of your first appearance you refused to reply, which wasn't perhaps very sensible of you, but you were within your rights. You lost your temper and I was even obliged to remind you of the respect due to the law. Are you going to speak to-day?

ETCHEPARE [disturbed] Yes, your worship.

MOUZON. Ah! Aha! my fine fellow, you are not so proud to-day!

ETCHEPARE. No. I've been thinking. I want to get out of this as quickly as possible.

MOUZON. Well, well, for my part, I ask nothing more than to be able to set you at liberty. So far we understand each other excellently. Let us hope it'll last. Sit down. And first of all I advise you to give up trying to father the crime onto a band of gipsies. The witness Bridet, who has business relations with you, has endeavored, no doubt at your instigation, to induce us to accept this fable. I warn you he has not succeeded.

ETCHEPARE. I don't know what Bridet may have told you.

MOUZON. Oh! You deny it? So much the better! Come, you are cleverer than I thought! Was it you who murdered Goyetche?

ETCHEPARE. No, Monsieur.

MOUZON. You had an interest in his death?

ETCHEPARE. No, Monsieur.

MOUZON. Oh, really! I thought you had to pay him a life annuity.

ETCHEPARE [after a moment's hesitation] Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON. Then you had an interest in his death? [Silence] Eh! You don't answer? Well, let us continue. You said to a witness, the young woman—the young woman Gracieuse Mendione—"It is really too stupid to be forced to pay money to that old swine."

ETCHEPARE [without conviction] That's not true.

MOUZON. It's not true! So the witness is a liar, eh?

ETCHEPARE. I don't know.

MOUZON. You don't know. [A pause] You thought that Goyetche had lived too long?

ETCHEPARE. No, Monsieur.

MOUZON. No, Monsieur. Then why did you say to another witness, Piarrech Artola, why did you say, in speaking of your creditor, "It's too much, the Almighty has forgotten him"?

ETCHEPARE. I didn't say that.

MOUZON. You didn't say that. So this witness is a liar too! Answer me. Is he a liar? [Silence] You don't answer. It's just as well. Come now, Etchepare, why do you persist in these denials—eh? Isn't it all plain enough? You are avaricious, interested, greedy for gain—

ETCHEPARE. It's so hard to make a living.

MOUZON. You are a man of violent temper—from time to time you get drunk, and then you become dangerous. You have been four times convicted for assault and wounding—you are over-ready with your knife. Is that the truth or isn't it? You were tired of paying—for nothing—a biggish annual sum to this old man. The time for payment was approaching; you were pressed for money; you felt that Goyetche had lived too long, and you killed him. It's so obvious—eh? Isn't it true?

ETCHEPARE [gradually recovering himself] I did not murder him.

MOUZON. We won't juggle with words. Did you pay anyone else to kill him?

ETCHEPARE. I had nothing to do with his death. You yourself say I was pressed for money. So how could I have paid anyone to kill him?

MOUZON. Then you did it yourself.

ETCHEPARE. That's a lie.

MOUZON. Listen, Etchepare—you will confess sooner or later. Already you are weakening in your defence.

ETCHEPARE. If I was to shout, you'd say I was play-acting.

MOUZON. I tell you sooner or later you will change your tune. Already you admit facts which constitute a serious charge against you.

ETCHEPARE. That's true; I said it without thinking of the consequences.

MOUZON. Ah, but you ought to think of the consequences; for they may be peculiarly serious for you.

ETCHEPARE. I'm not afraid of death.

MOUZON. The death of others—

ETCHEPARE. Nor my own.

MOUZON. So much the better. But you are a Basque; you are a Catholic. After death there is hell.

ETCHEPARE. I'm not afraid of hell; I've done nothing wrong.

MOUZON. There is the dishonor that will fall on your children. You love your children, do you not? Eh? They will ask after you—they love you—because they don't know—yet—

ETCHEPARE [suddenly weeping] My poor little children! My poor little children!

MOUZON. Come, then! All good feeling isn't extinct in you. Believe me, Etchepare, the jury will be touched by your confession, by your repentance—you will escape the supreme penalty. You are still young—you have long years before you in which to expiate your crime. You may earn your pardon and perhaps you may once again see those children, who will have forgiven you. Believe me—believe me—in your own interests even, confess! [Mouzon has approached Etchepare during the foregoing; he places his hands on the latter's shoulders; he continues, with great gentleness] Come, isn't it true? If you can't speak, you've only to nod your head. Eh? It's true? Come, since I know it's true. Eh? I can't hear what you say. It was you, wasn't it? It was you!

ETCHEPARE [still weeping] It was not me, sir! I swear it was not me! I swear it!

MOUZON [in a hard voice, going back to his desk] Oh, you needn't swear. You have only to tell me the truth.

ETCHEPARE. I am telling the truth—I am—I can't say I did it when I didn't!

MOUZON. Come, come! We shall get nothing out of you to-day. [To the recorder] Read him his interrogatory and let him be taken back to his cell. One minute—Etchepare!

ETCHEPARE. Monsieur?

MOUZON. There is one way to prove your innocence, since you profess to be innocent. Prove, in one way or another, that you were elsewhere than at Irissary on the night of the crime, and I will set you at liberty. Where were you?

ETCHEPARE. Where was I?

MOUZON. I ask you where you were on the night of Ascension Day. Were you at home?

ETCHEPARE. Yes.

MOUZON. Is that really the truth?

ETCHEPARE. Yes.

MOUZON [rising, rather theatrically, pointing at Etchepare] Now, Etchepare, that condemns you. I know that you went out that night. When you were arrested you said to your wife, "Don't for the world admit that I went out last night." Come, I must tell you everything. Someone saw you—a servant. She told the gendarmes that as she was saying good-night to a young man from Iholdy, with whom she had been dancing, at ten o'clock at night, she saw you a few hundred yards from your house. What have you to say to that?

ETCHEPARE. It is true—I did go out.

MOUZON [triumphantly] Ah! Now, my good man, we've had some trouble in getting you to say something. But I can read it in your face when you are lying—I can read it in your face in letters as big as that. The proof is that there was no witness who saw you go out—neither your servant nor anyone else; and yet I would have sworn to it with my head under the knife. Come, we have made a little progress now. [To the recorder] Have you put down carefully his first admission? Good. [To Etchepare] Now think for a moment. We will continue our little conversation. [He goes towards the fireplace, rubbing his hands, pours himself a glass of spirits, swallows it, gives a sigh of gratification, and returns to his chair]

FIRST GENDARME [to his comrade] A cunning one, he is!

SECOND GENDARME. You're right!

MOUZON. Let us continue. Come, now that you've got so far, confess the whole thing! Here are these good gendarmes who want to go to their grub. [The gendarmes, the recorder, and Mouzon laugh] You confess? No? Then tell me, why did you insist on saying that you remained at home that night?

ETCHEPARE. Because I'd told the gendarmes so and I didn't want to make myself out a liar.

MOUZON. And why did you tell the gendarmes that?

ETCHEPARE. Because I thought they'd arrest me on account of the smuggling.

MOUZON. Good. Then you didn't go to Irissary that night?

ETCHEPARE. No.

MOUZON. Where did you go?

ETCHEPARE. Up the mountain, to look for a horse that had got away the night before, one of a lot we were taking to Spain.

MOUZON. Good. Excellent. That isn't badly thought out—that can be maintained. You went to look for a horse lost on the mountain, a horse which escaped from a lot you were smuggling over the frontier on the previous night. Excellent. If that is true, there is nothing for it but to set you at liberty before we are much older. Now to prove that you've simply to tell me to whom you sold the horse; we shall send for the purchaser, and if he confirms your statement, I will sign your discharge. To whom did you sell the horse?

ETCHEPARE. I didn't sell it.

MOUZON. You gave it away? You did something with it!

ETCHEPARE. No—I didn't find it again.

MOUZON. You didn't find it again! The devil! That's not so good. Come! Let's think of something else. You didn't go up the mountain all alone?

ETCHEPARE. Yes, all alone.

MOUZON. Bad luck! Another time, you see, you ought to take a companion. Were you out long?

ETCHEPARE. All night. I got in at five in the morning.

MOUZON. A long time.

ETCHEPARE. We aren't well off, and a horse is worth a lot of money.

MOUZON. Yes. But you didn't spend the whole night on the mountain without meeting someone—shepherds or customs officers?

ETCHEPARE. It was raining in torrents.

MOUZON. Then you met no one?

ETCHEPARE. No one.

MOUZON. I thought as much. [In a tone of disappointed reproach, with apparent pity] Tell me, Etchepare, do you take the jurymen for idiots? [Silence] So that's all you've been able to think of? I said you were intelligent just now. I take that back. But think what you've told me—a rigmarole like that. Why, a child of eight would have done better. It's ridiculous I tell you—ridiculous. The jurymen will simply shrug their shoulders when they hear it. A whole night out of doors, in the pouring rain, to look for a horse you don't find—and without meeting a living soul—no shepherds, no customs officers—and you go home at five in the morning—although at this time of the year it's daylight by then—yes, and before then—but no, no one saw you and you saw no one. So everybody was stricken with blindness, eh? A miracle happened, and everyone was blind that night. You don't ask me to believe that? No? Why not? It's quite as probable as what you do tell me. So everybody wasn't blind? [The recorder bursts into a laugh; the gendarmes imitate him] You see what it's worth, your scheme of defence! You make the gaolers and my recorder laugh. Don't you agree with me that your new method of defence is ridiculous?

ETCHEPARE [abashed, under his breath] I don't know.

MOUZON. Well, if you don't know, we do! Come now! I have no advice to give you. You repeat that at the trial and see what effect you produce. But why not confess? Why not confess? I really don't understand your obstinacy. I repeat, I really do not understand it.

ETCHEPARE. Well, if I didn't do it, am I to say all the same that I did?

MOUZON. So you persist in your story of the phantom horse? You persist in it, do you?

ETCHEPARE. How do I know? How should I know what I ought to say? I should do better not to say anything at all—everything I say is turned against me!

MOUZON. Because the stories you invent are altogether too improbable—because you think me more of a fool than I am in thinking that I am going to credit such absurd inventions. I preferred your first method; at least you had two witnesses to speak for you—two witnesses who were not worth very much, it's true, but witnesses all the same. You've made a change; well, you are within your rights. Let us stick to the lost horse.

ETCHEPARE. Well, then? [A long pause]

MOUZON. Come! Out with it!

ETCHEPARE [without emphasis, hesitation, gazing at the recorder as though to read in his eyes whether he was replying as he should] Well, I'm going to tell you, Monsieur. You are right—it isn't true—I didn't go up into the mountain. What I said first of all was the truth—I didn't go out at all. Just now I was all muddled. At first I denied everything, even what was true—I was so afraid of you. Then, when you told me—I don't remember what it was—my head's all going like—I don't know—I don't remember—but all the same I know I am innocent. Well, just now, I almost wished I could admit I was guilty if only you'd leave me in peace. What was I saying? I don't remember. Ah, yes—when you told me—whatever it was, I've forgotten—it seemed to me I'd better say I'd gone out—and I told a lie. But [sincerely] what I swear to you is that I am not the guilty man. I swear it, I swear it!

MOUZON. I repeat, I ask nothing better than to be able to believe it. So now it's understood, is it, that you were at home?

ETCHEPARE. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON. We shall hear your wife directly. You have no other witnesses to call?

ETCHEPARE. No, Monsieur.

MOUZON. Good. Take the accused away—but remain in the Court. I shall probably need him directly for a confrontation. His interrogatory isn't finished.

The gendarmes lead Etchepare away.

SCENE VIII:—Mouzon and the recorder.

MOUZON [to the recorder] What a rogue, eh? One might have taken him in the act, knife in hand, and he'd say it wasn't true! A crafty fellow too—he defends himself well.

RECORDER. I really thought, at one time, that your worship had got him.

MOUZON. When I was speaking of his children?

RECORDER. Yes, that brought tears to one's eyes. It made one feel one wanted to confess even though one hadn't done anything!

MOUZON. Didn't it? Ah, if I hadn't got this headache! [A pause] I did a stupid thing just now.

RECORDER. Oh, your worship!

MOUZON. I did. I was wrong to show him how improbable that new story of his was. It is so grotesque that it would have betrayed him—while, if he goes on asserting that he never left the house, if the servant insists he didn't, and if the wife says the same thing, that's something that may create a doubt in the mind of the jury. He saw that perfectly, the rascal! He felt that of the two methods the first was the better. That's one against me, my good Benoit. [To himself] That must be set right. Let me think. Etchepare is the murderer, there's no doubt about that. I am as certain of that as if I'd been present. So he wasn't at home on the night of the crime and his wife knows it. After the way he hesitated just now—if I can get the wife to confess that he was absent from home till the morning, we get back to the ridiculous story of the lost horse, and I catch him twice in a flagrant lie, and I've got him. Come, we must give the good woman a bit of a roasting and get the truth out of her. It'll be devilish queer if I don't succeed. [To the recorder] What did I do with the police record of the woman Etchepare that was sent from Paris?

RECORDER. It's in the brief.

MOUZON. Yes—here it is—the extract from her judicial record. Report number two, a month of imprisonment, for receiving—couldn't be better. Send her in.

The recorder goes to the door and calls.

RECORDER. Yanetta Etchepare!

Enter Yanetta.

SCENE IX:—Mouzon, recorder, Yanetta.

MOUZON. Step forward. Now, Madame, I shall not administer the oath to you, since you are the wife of the accused. But none the less I beg you most urgently to tell the truth. I warn you that an untruth on your part might compel me to accuse you of complicity with your husband in the crime of which he is accused and force me to have you arrested at once.

YANETTA. I'm not afraid. I can't be my husband's accomplice because my husband isn't guilty.

MOUZON. That is not my opinion. I will say further: you know a great deal more about this matter than you care to tell.

YANETTA. I? That's infamous.

MOUZON. Come, come, no shouting! I don't say you took a direct part in the murder, I say it is highly probable that you knew of the murder, perhaps advised it, and that you have profited by it. That would be enough to place you in the dock beside your husband at the assizes. My treatment of you will depend on the sincerity of your answers to my questions. As you do or do not tell me the truth I shall either set you at liberty or have you arrested. Now you can't say that I haven't warned you! And now, if you please, inform me whether you persist in your first statement, in which you affirm that Etchepare stopped at home on the night of Ascension Day.

YANETTA. I do.

MOUZON. Well, it is untrue.

YANETTA [excited] The night on which Daddy Goyetche was murdered my husband never left the house.

MOUZON. I tell you that is not the truth.

YANETTA [as before] The night Daddy Goyetche was murdered my husband never left the house.

MOUZON. You seem to have got stuck. You go on repeating the same thing.

YANETTA. Yes, I go on repeating the same thing.

MOUZON. Well, now let us examine into the value of your evidence. Since your marriage—for the last ten years—your conduct has left nothing to be desired. You are thrifty, faithful, industrious, honest—

YANETTA. Well?

MOUZON. Wait a moment. You have two children, whom you adore. You are an excellent mother. One hears of your almost heroic behavior at the time your eldest child was ill—Georges, I think.

YANETTA. Yes, it was Georges. But what has that to do with the charge against my husband?

MOUZON. Have patience. You will see presently.

YANETTA. Very well.

MOUZON. It is all the more to your credit that you are what you are, for your husband does not give us an example of the same virtues. He occasionally gets drunk.

YANETTA. No, he doesn't.

MOUZON. Come—everyone knows that. He is violent.

YANETTA. He's not violent.

MOUZON. So violent that he has been convicted four times for assault and battery.

YANETTA. That's possible; at holiday times, in the evening, men get quarrelling. But that was a long time ago. Now he behaves better, and I'm very happy with him.

MOUZON. That surprises me.

YANETTA. Anyhow, does that prove he murdered old Goyetche?

MOUZON. Your husband is very grasping.

YANETTA. Poor people are forced to be very grasping or else to die of starvation.

MOUZON. You defend him well.

YANETTA. Did you suppose I was going to accuse him?

MOUZON. Have you ever been convicted?

YANETTA [anxious] Me?

Mouzon. Yes, you.

YANETTA [weakly] No, I've never been convicted.

Mouzon. That is curious because there was a girl of your name in Paris who was sentenced to a month's imprisonment for receiving stolen property.

YANETTA [weakly] For receiving stolen property—

MOUZON. You are not quite so bold now—you are disturbed.

YANETTA [as before] No—

MOUZON. You are pale—you are trembling—you are feeling faint. Give her a chair, Benoit. [The recorder obeys] Pull yourself together!

YANETTA. My God, you know that?

MOUZON. Here is the report which has been sent me. "The woman Yanetta X—was brought to Paris at the age of sixteen as companion or lady's maid by Monsieur and Madame So-and-so, having been employed by them in that capacity at Saint-Jean-de-Luz." Is that correct?

YANETTA. Yes.

MOUZON. Here is some more. "Illicit relations were before long formed between the girl Yanetta and the son of the family, who was twenty-three years of age. Two years later the lovers fled, taking with them eight thousand francs which the young man had stolen from his father. On the information of the latter the girl Yanetta was arrested and condemned to one month's imprisonment for receiving stolen property. After serving her sentence she disappeared. It is believed that she returned to her own district." Are you the person mentioned here?

YANETTA. Yes. My God, I thought that was all so long ago—so completely forgotten. It is all true, Monsieur, but for ten years now I've given every minute of my life to making up for it, trying to redeem myself. Just now I answered you insolently; I beg your pardon. You have not only my life in your hands now, but my husband's, and the honor of my children.

MOUZON. Does your husband know of this?

YANETTA. No, Monsieur. Oh, you aren't going to tell him! I beg you on my knees! It would be wicked, I tell you, wicked! Listen, Monsieur—listen. I came back to the country; I hid myself; I would rather have died; I didn't want to stay in Paris—you understand why—and then in a little while I lost mother. Etchepare was in love with me, and he bothered me to marry him. I refused—I had the courage to go on refusing for three years. Then—I was so lonely, so miserable, and he was so unhappy, that in the end I gave way. I ought to have told him everything. I wanted to, but I couldn't. It would have hurt him too much. For he's a good man, Monsieur, I swear he is. [Mouzon makes a gesture] Yes, I know, sometimes when he's been drinking, he's violent. I was going to tell you about that. I don't want to tell you any more untruths. But it's very seldom he's violent now. [Weeping] Oh, don't let him know, Monsieur, don't let him know. He'd go away—he'd leave me—he'd take my children from me. [She gives a despairing cry] Ah, he'd take my children from me! I don't know what to say to you—but it isn't possible—you can't tell him—now you know all the harm it would do. You won't? Of course I was guilty—but I didn't understand—I didn't know. I wasn't seventeen, sir, when I went to Paris. My master and mistress had a son; he forced me almost—and I loved him—and then he wanted to take me away because his parents wanted to send him away by himself. I did what he asked me. That money—I didn't know he had stolen it—I swear I didn't know—

MOUZON. That's all right; control yourself.

YANETTA. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON. We'll put that on one side for the moment.

YANETTA. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON. Now your husband—

YANETTA. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON [with great sincerity] You will have need of all your courage, my poor woman. Your husband is guilty.

YANETTA. It's impossible! It's impossible!

MOUZON [with great sincerity] He has not confessed it, but he is on the point of doing so. I myself know what happened that night after he left your house—witnesses have told me.

YANETTA. No! No! My God, my God! Witnesses? What witnesses? It isn't true!

MOUZON. Well, then, don't be so obstinate! In your own interest, don't be so stubborn! Shall I tell you what will be the end of it? You will ruin your husband! If you insist on contradicting the evidence, that he passed the night away from the house, you'll ruin him, I tell you. On the other hand, if you will only tell me the truth, then if he is not the murderer, he will tell us what he did do and who his companions were.

YANETTA. He hadn't any.

MOUZON. Then he went out alone?

YANETTA. Yes.

MOUZON. At ten o'clock?

YANETTA. At ten.

MOUZON. He returned alone at five in the morning?

YANETTA. Yes, all alone.

MOUZON. But perhaps you are thinking of some other night. It was really the night of Ascension Day when he went out alone?

YANETTA. Yes.

MOUZON. Benoit, have you got that written down?

RECORDER. Yes, your worship.

MOUZON. Madame, I know how painful this must be to you, but I beg you to listen to me with the greatest attention. Your husband was pressed for money, was he not?

YANETTA. No.

MOUZON. Yes.

YANETTA. I tell you no.

MOUZON. Here is the proof. Three months ago he borrowed eight hundred francs from a cattle-dealer of Mauleon.

YANETTA. He never told me about it.

MOUZON. Moreover, he owed a considerable sum to Goyetche.

YANETTA. I've never heard of that either.

MOUZON. Here is an acknowledgment written by your husband. It is in his handwriting?

YANETTA. Yes, but I didn't know—

MOUZON. You didn't know of the existence of this debt? That tends to confirm what I know already—your husband went to Irissary.

YANETTA. No, sir; he tells me everything he does.

MOUZON. But you see very well that he doesn't, since you didn't know of the existence of this debt. He went to Irissary. Don't you believe me?

YANETTA. Yes, Monsieur, but he didn't kill a man for money; it's a lie, a lie, a lie!

MOUZON. It's a lie! Now how am I to know that? Your husband begins by denying everything, blindly, and then he takes up two methods of defence in succession. You yourself begin by a piece of false evidence. All this, I tell you again, will do for the man.

YANETTA. I don't know about that, but what I do tell you again is that he didn't kill a man for money.

MOUZON. Then what did he kill him for? Perhaps after all he isn't as guilty as I supposed just now. Perhaps he acted without premeditation. This is what might have happened. Etchepare, a little the worse for drink, goes to Goyetche in order to ask him once more to wait for the payment of this debt. There is a dispute between the two men; old Goyetche was still a strong man; there may have been provocation on his part, and there may have been a struggle, with the tragic result you know of. In that case your husband's position is entirely different—he is no longer a criminal premeditating a crime; and the sentence pronounced against him may be quite a light one. So you see, my good woman, how greatly it is in your interest to obtain a complete confession from him. If he persists in his denials, I am afraid the jury will be extremely severe upon him. There is no doubt that he killed Goyetche; but under what conditions did he kill him? Everything depends on that. By persistently trying to pass for a totally innocent man he risks being thought more guilty than he is. Do you understand?

YANETTA. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON. Will you speak to him as I suggest? Shall I send for him?

YANETTA. Yes, Monsieur.

MOUZON. [to the recorder] Bring in the accused. Tell the gendarmes I shall not need them.

Etchepare enters.

SCENE X:—The same, Etchepare.

YANETTA. Pierre! To see you here—my Pierre—a prisoner—like a thief! My poor husband—my poor husband! Oh, prove you haven't done anything! Tell his worship—tell him the truth. It'll be best. I beg you tell him the truth.

ETCHEPARE. It's all no good. I know, I can feel, I'm done for. All that I can do or say would be no use. Every word I do say turns against me. The gentleman wants me to be guilty. I must be guilty, according to him. So you see! What would you have me do, my poor darling? I've got no strength to go on struggling against him. Let them do what they like with me; I shan't say anything more.

YANETTA. Yes, yes, you must speak. You must defend yourself. I beg of you, Pierre. I beg of you, defend yourself.

ETCHEPARE. What's the use?

YANETTA. I beg you to in the name of your children. They don't know anything yet—but they cry because they see me crying—because, you see, I can't hide it, I can't control myself always in front of them. I can't be cheerful, can I? And then they love me, so they notice it. And they ask me questions, questions. If you only knew! They ask me about you. Andre was asking me again this morning, "Where's father? Are you going to look for him? Tell me, are you going to fetch him?" I told him "yes" and I ran away. You see you must defend yourself so as to get back to them as soon as possible. If you've anything to reproach yourself with, even the least thing, tell it. You are rough sometimes—so—I don't know. But if you went to Irissary, you must say so. Perhaps you had a quarrel with the poor old man. If that was it, say so, say so. Perhaps you got fighting together and you—I'm saying perhaps you did—I don't know—you understand—but his worship promised me just now that if it was like that they wouldn't punish you—or not very much. My God, what am I to say to you? What's to be done?

ETCHEPARE. So you believe I'm guilty—you too! Tell me now! Do you believe me guilty too?

YANETTA. I don't know! I don't know!

ETCHEPARE [to Mouzon] Ah, so you've managed that too; you've thought of that too, to torture me through my wife—and it was you put it into her head to speak to me about my children. I don't know what you can have told her, but you've almost convinced her that I'm a scoundrel, and you hoped she'd succeed in sending me to the guillotine in the name of my children, because you know I worship them and they are everything to me. You are right; I dare say there isn't another father living who loves his little ones more than I love mine. [To Yanetta] You know that, Yanetta! You know that! And you know too that with all my faults I'm a true Christian, that I believe in God, in an almighty God. Well, then, listen! My two boys—my little Georges, my little Andre—I pray God to kill them both if I'm a criminal!

YANETTA [with the greatest exultation] He is innocent! I tell you he's innocent! I tell you he's innocent! [A pause] Ah, now you can bring your proofs, ten witnesses, a hundred if you like, and you might tell me you saw him do it—I should tell you: It's not true! It's not true! You might prove to me that he had confessed to it himself, and I would tell you it wasn't true! Oh, you must feel it, your worship. You have a heart—you know what it is when one loves one's children—so you must be certain, you too, that he's innocent. You are going to give him back to me, aren't you? It's settled now and you will give him back to me?

MOUZON. If he is innocent, why did he lie just now?

ETCHEPARE. It was you who lied—you! You told me you had witnesses who saw me leave my house that night—and you hadn't anyone!

MOUZON. If I had no one at that moment, I have someone now. Yes, there is a witness who has declared that you were not at home on the night of the crime, and that witness is your wife!

ETCHEPARE [to Yanetta] You!

MOUZON [to the recorder] Give me her interrogatory.

While Mouzon looks through his papers Yanetta gazes for some time at her husband, then at Mouzon. She is reflecting deeply. Finally she seems to have made up her mind.

MOUZON. There. Your wife has just told us that you left the house at ten o'clock and did not return until five in the morning.

YANETTA [very plainly] I did not say that. It is not true.

MOUZON. You went on to say that he returned alone.

YANETTA. I did not say that.

MOUZON. I will read your declaration. [He reads] Question: Then he went out alone? Reply: Yes. Question: At ten o'clock? Reply: At ten o'clock.

YANETTA. I did not say that.

MOUZON. Come, come! And I was careful to be precise. I said to you, "But perhaps you are thinking of another night? It was really on the night of Ascension Day that he went out alone?" And you replied, "Yes."

YANETTA. It's not so!

MOUZON. But I have it written here!

YANETTA. You can write whatever you like.

MOUZON. Then I'm a liar. And the recorder too, he is a liar?

YANETTA. The night old Goyetche was murdered my husband did not leave the house.

MOUZON. You will sign this paper, and at once. It is your interrogatory.

YANETTA. All that is untrue! I tell you it's untrue! [Shouting] The night old Goyetche was murdered my husband never left the house—he never left the house.

MOUZON [pale with anger] You will pay for this! [To the recorder] Make out immediately an order for the detention of this woman and call the gendarmes. [To Yanetta] Woman Etchepare, I place you under arrest on a charge of being accessory to murder. [To the gendarmes] Take the man to the cells and return for the woman.

The gendarmes remove Etchepare.

SCENE XI:—Mouzon, Yanetta, the recorder.

YANETTA. Ah, you are angry, aren't you—furious—because you haven't got your way! Although you've done everything, everything you possibly could, short of killing us by inches! You pretend to be kind. You spoke kindly to us. You wanted to make me send my husband to the scaffold! [Mouzon has taken up his brief and affects to be studying it with indifference] It's your trade to supply heads to the guillotine. You must have criminals, guilty men, you must have them at any cost. When a man falls into your clutches he's a dead man. They come in here innocent and they've got to go out again guilty. It's your trade; it's a matter of vanity with you to succeed! You ask questions which don't seem to mean anything in particular, and yet they may send a man to the next world; and when you've forced the poor wretch to condemn himself you're delighted, like a savage would be!

MOUZON [to the gendarmes] Take her away—be quick!

YANETTA. Yes, a savage! You call that justice! [To the gendarmes] You don't take me like that, I tell you! [She clings to the furniture] You're a butcher! You are as cruel as the people in history who broke one's bones to make one confess! [The gendarmes have dragged her free; she lets herself fall to the ground and shouts the rest of her speech while the men drag her to the door at the back] Brute! Savage brute! No, you don't think so—you think yourself a fine fellow, I haven't a doubt, and you're a butcher—

MOUZON. Take her away, I tell you! What, the two of you can't rid me of that madwoman?

The gendarmes make a renewed effort.

YANETTA. Butcher! Coward! Judas! Pitiless beast! Yes, pitiless, and you are all the more dishonest and brutal when you've got poor folk like us to do with. [She is at the door, holding to the frame] Ah, the brutes, they are breaking my fingers! Yes, the poorer one is the wickeder you are! [They carry her away. Her cries are still heard as the curtain falls] The poorer one is the more wicked you are—the poorer one is the more wicked you are—

CURTAIN.



ACT III

The office of the District Attorney. A door to the left, set in a diagonal wall, gives on to a corridor. It opens inwardly, so that the lettering on the outside can be read: "Parquet de Monsieur le Procureur de la Republique." A desk, chairs, and a chest of drawers.

SCENE I:—Benoit, La Bouzole. As the curtain rises the recorder is removing various papers from the desk and placing them in a cardboard portfolio. Enter La Bouzole.

LA BOUZOLE. Good-day, Benoit.

RECORDER [hesitating to take the hand which La Bouzole extends to him] Your worship. It's too great an honor—

LA BOUZOLE. Come, come, Monsieur Benoit, shake hands with me. From to-day I'm no longer a magistrate; my dignity no longer demands that I shall be impolite to my inferiors. How far have they got with the Etchepare trial?

RECORDER. So far the hearing has been devoted entirely to the indictment and the counsel's address.

LA BOUZOLE. They will finish to-day?

RECORDER. Oh, surely. Even if Monsieur Vagret were to reply, because his Honor the President of Assizes goes hunting to-morrow morning.

LA BOUZOLE. You think it will be an acquittal, Monsieur Benoit?

RECORDER. I do, your worship. [He is about to go out]

LA BOUZOLE. Who is the old lady waiting in the corridor?

RECORDER. That is Etchepare's mother, your worship.

LA BOUZOLE. Poor woman! She must be terribly anxious.

RECORDER. No. She is certain of the verdict. She hasn't the slightest anxiety. She was there all yesterday afternoon and she came back to-day, just as calm. Only to-day she wanted at any price to see the District Attorney or one of his assistants. Monsieur Ardeuil is away and Monsieur Vagret—

LA BOUZOLE. Is in Court.

RECORDER. She seemed very much put out at finding no one.

LA BOUZOLE. Well, send her in here; perhaps I can give her a little advice. Maitre Placat will be some time yet, won't he?

RECORDER. I believe so.

LA BOUZOLE. Well, tell her to come and speak to me, poor woman. That won't upset anybody and it may save her some trouble.

RECORDER. Very well, your worship. [He goes to the door on the right, makes a sign to old Madame Etchepare, and goes out by the door at the back]

LA BOUZOLE [alone] It's astonishing how benevolent I feel this morning!

Old Madame Etchepare enters, clad in the costume peculiar to old women of Basque race.

SCENE II:—La Bouzole, Old Madame Etchepare.

LA BOUZOLE. They tell me, Madame, that you wished to see one of the gentlemen of the Bar.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Yes, sir.

LA BOUZOLE. You wish to be present at the trial?

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. No, sir. I know so well that they cannot condemn my son that what they say in there doesn't interest me in the least. I am waiting for him. I have come because they have turned us out of our house.

LA BOUZOLE. They have turned you out?

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. The bailiffs came.

LA BOUZOLE. Then your son owed money?

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Since they arrested him all our men have left us. We couldn't get in the crops nor pay what was owing. But of course I know they'll make all that good when my son is acquitted.

LA BOUZOLE [aside] Poor woman!

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. I'm so thankful to see the end of all our troubles. He'll come back and get our house and field again for us. He'll make them give up our cattle. That's why I wanted to see one of these gentlemen.

LA BOUZOLE. Will you explain?

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. A fortnight after the gendarmes came to arrest my boy, Monsieur Claudet turned the waste water from his factory into the brook that passes our house where we water the beasts. That was one of the things that ruined us too. If Etchepare finds things like that when he gets back, God knows what he'll do! I want the law to stop them doing us all this harm.

LA BOUZOLE. The law! Ah, my good woman, it would be far better for you to have nothing to do with the law.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. But why? There is justice, and it's for everybody alike.

LA BOUZOLE. Of course.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Has Monsieur Claudet the right—

LA BOUZOLE. Certainly not.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Then I want to ask the judge to stop him.

LA BOUZOLE. It is not so simple as you suppose, Madame. First of all you must go to the bailiff.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Good.

LA BOUZOLE. He will make a declaration.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. What about?

LA BOUZOLE. He will declare that your water supply is contaminated.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. There is no need to trouble a bailiff, sir. A child could see that.

LA BOUZOLE. It is the law.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Well, and then?

LA BOUZOLE. Then you must go to a lawyer and get a judgment.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Very well, if there 's no other way of doing it—

LA BOUZOLE. That is not all. If Monsieur Claudet contests the facts, the President will appoint an expert who will visit the site and make a report. You will have to put in a request that the President will grant a speedy hearing on grounds of urgency. Your case being finally put on the list of causes, it would be heard in its turn—after the vacations.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. After the vacations!

LA BOUZOLE. And that is not all. Monsieur Claudet's lawyer might default, in which case judgment would be declared in your favor. But Monsieur Claudet might defend the case, or enter some kind of plea and obtain a judgment on that plea, or appeal against the judgment before the matter would be finally settled. All this would cost a great deal of money.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Who would pay it?

LA BOUZOLE. You, naturally, and Monsieur Claudet.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. It's all one to him; he's rich; but for us, who haven't a penny left!

LA BOUZOLE. Then you would have to apply for judicial assistance.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. That would take still more time?

LA BOUZOLE. That would take much longer.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. But, sir, I've always been told that justice was free in France.

LA BOUZOLE. Justice is gratuitous, but the means of obtaining access to justice are not. That is all.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. And all that would take—how long?

LA BOUZOLE. If Monsieur Claudet were to appeal, it might last two years.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. It isn't possible! Isn't the right on my side?

LA BOUZOLE. My poor woman, it's not enough to have the right on your side—you must have the law on your side too.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. I understand. Justice is a thing we poor people can know only when it strikes us down. We can know it only by the harm it does us. Well—we must go away—it doesn't matter where—and I shan't regret it; people insult us; they call out to us as they pass. Etchepare wouldn't put up with that.

LA BOUZOLE. In that respect the law protects you. Register a complaint and those who insult you will be prosecuted.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. I don't think so. I have already registered a complaint, as you say, but they've done nothing to the man who injured us. So he goes on.

LA BOUZOLE. Is he an inhabitant of your commune?

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Yes. A neighbor, a friend of Monsieur Mondoubleau, the deputy. Labastide.

LA BOUZOLE. Good. I will do what I can, I promise you.

OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Thank you, sir. [A pause] Then I will go and wait till they give me back my boy.

LA BOUZOLE. That's right.

She goes out slowly.

SCENE III:—La Bouzole, recorder.

RECORDER [entering by the door at the back] The hearing is suspended, your worship.

LA BOUZOLE. Has Maitre Placat concluded?

RECORDER. With great applause. Two of the jurymen were seen wiping their eyes. No one doubts there will be an acquittal.

LA BOUZOLE. So much the better.

RECORDER. Your worship knows the great news?

LA BOUZOLE. Which?

RECORDER. That the Attorney-General has arrived.

LA BOUZOLE. No—I know nothing of it.

RECORDER. Yes, he has just arrived. It seems he brings the nomination of one of these gentlemen to the post of Councillor in the Court of Appeal.

LA BOUZOLE. Ah, ah! And whose is the prize, in your opinion, Benoit? Vagret's?

RECORDER. That was my opinion. I hesitated a long time between him and his Honor the President, and I decided it would be Monsieur Vagret. But now I think I am wrong.

LA BOUZOLE. Do you think Monsieur Bunerat is appointed?

RECORDER. No, your worship. I feel very proud—I believe it is my employer who has the honor.

LA BOUZOLE. Monsieur Mouzon!

RECORDER. Yes, your worship.

LA BOUZOLE. What makes you think that?

RECORDER. His Honor the Attorney-General requested me to beg Monsieur Mouzon to come and speak to him before the rising of the Court.

LA BOUZOLE. My congratulations, my dear Monsieur Benoit.

Madame Bunerat enters.

SCENE IV:—The same and later Madame Vagret, Bunerat, the President of Assizes, and Mouzon, then the Attorney-General.

MADAME BUNERAT [in tears] Oh, my dear Monsieur La Bouzole!

LA BOUZOLE. What has happened, Madame Bunerat?

MADAME BUNERAT. It's that advocate! What talent! What a heart! What feeling! What genius! I feel quite shaken—quite upset—

LA BOUZOLE. It's an acquittal?

MADAME BUNERAT. They hope so—

MADAME VAGRET [entering] Well, my dear Monsieur La Bouzole, you have heard this famous advocate! What a ranter!

LA BOUZOLE. It seems he has touched the jury. That means an acquittal.

MADAME VAGRET. I'm very much afraid it does.

Enter Bunerat in a black gown.

BUNERAT. Do you know what they tell me? The Attorney-General is here!

MADAME BUNERAT. Really!

MADAME VAGRET. Are you certain?

LA BOUZOLE. It is true enough. He brings Monsieur Mouzon his appointment to the Court of Appeal at Pau.

BUNERAT. Mouzon!

MADAME VAGRET AND MADAME BUNERAT. And my husband! We had a definite promise!

The President of Assizes enters, wearing a red gown.

THE PRESIDENT. Good-day, gentlemen. You have not seen the Attorney-General, have you?

LA BOUZOLE. No, your honor—but if you will wait—

THE PRESIDENT. No. Tell me, La Bouzole—you are an old stager—were you in Court?

LA BOUZOLE. From the balloting for the jurymen to the plea for the defence.

THE PRESIDENT. Did you notice if I let anything pass that would make an appeal to the Court of Cassation possible?

LA BOUZOLE. I am sure you didn't.

THE PRESIDENT. It's my constant fear—I am thinking of nothing else all the time counsel are speaking. I always have the Manual of the President of Assizes wide open in front of me; I'm always afraid, nevertheless, of forgetting some formality. You see the effect of being in the Chancellery—I never have a quiet conscience until the time-limit has expired. [A pause] They tell me there were journalists here from Toulouse and Bordeaux.

LA BOUZOLE. And one from Paris.

THE PRESIDENT. One from Paris! Are you sure?

LA BOUZOLE. He was standing near the prisoner's bench.

THE PRESIDENT. He was left to stand! A journalist from Paris and he was left to stand! [Catching sight of the recorder] You knew that, Monsieur the recorder, and you didn't warn me? Is that how you perform your duties? Go at once and express my regret and find him a good seat; do you hear?

RECORDER. Yes, your honor. [He turns to go]

THE PRESIDENT [running after him] Here! [Aside to the recorder] Find out if he's annoyed.

RECORDER. Yes, your honor.

THE PRESIDENT. And then—[He encounters Madame Bunerat at the door. Pardon, Madame. He goes out, running, lifting up his gown]

LA BOUZOLE. When I was at Montpellier I knew an old tenor who was as anxious as that at his third debut—

Enter Mouzon. Frigid salutations.

MADAME BUNERAT [after a pause] Is it true, Monsieur Mouzon—

MADAME VAGRET. That the Attorney-General—

BUNERAT. Has arrived?

MOUZON [haughtily] Quite true.

BUNERAT. They say he brings a councillor's appointment.

MOUZON. They say so.

MADAME BUNERAT. And you don't know?

MADAME VAGRET. You don't know?

MOUZON. Nothing at all.

BUNERAT. Does nothing lead you to suppose—

MOUZON. Nothing.

RECORDER [entering] Here is his Honor the Attorney-General.

MADAME BUNERAT. Oh, Lord!

She arranges her hair. Enter the Attorney-General, a man with handsome, grave, austere features.

ALL [bowing and cringing, in a murmur] His Honor the Attorney-General—

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I think you can resume the hearing, gentlemen—I am only passing through Mauleon. I hope to return before long and make your better acquaintance.

ALL. Your honor—[They make ready to leave]

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Monsieur Mouzon, will you remain?

Mouzon bows.

MADAME VAGRET [as she goes out] My respects—the honor—Monsieur—

ATTORNEY-GENERAL [bowing] Mr. President—Madame—Madame—

BUNERAT [to his wife] You see, that's it!

They go out.

MOUZON [to the recorder, who is about to leave] Well, my dear fellow, I believe my appointment is settled.

RECORDER. I am delighted, Monsieur the Councillor! [Exit]

SCENE V:—Mouzon, Attorney-General. Mouzon rubs his hands together, bubbling with joy.

MOUZON [obsequiously] Your honor—

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Sit down. [Mouzon does so] A report has come to my office from Bordeaux—which concerns you, Monsieur! [Feeling in his portfolio] Here it is. [Reading] Mouzon and the woman Pecquet. You know what it is?

MOUZON [not taking the matter seriously, forces a smile. After a long silence] Yes, your honor—

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I am waiting for your explanation.

MOUZON [as before] You have been young, your honor—

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Not to that extent, Monsieur!

MOUZON. I admit I overstepped the mark a trifle.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL [reading] "Being in a state of intoxication, together with the woman Pecquet and two other women of bad character who accompanied him, the aforesaid Mouzon used insulting and outrageous language to the police, whom he threatened with dismissal." Is that what you call overstepping the mark a trifle?

MOUZON. Perhaps the expression is a little weak.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. And you allow the name of a magistrate to be coupled in a police report with that of the woman Pecquet?

MOUZON. She told me her name was Diane de Montmorency.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. [continuing] "Questioned by us, the commissary of police, on the following morning, as to the rank of officer in the navy which he had assumed"—[The Attorney-General gazes at Mouzon. Another pause]

MOUZON [still smiling] Yes, it's on account of my whiskers, you know.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Really?

MOUZON. When I—oh, well—when I go to Bordeaux I always assume the rank of naval officer, in order to safeguard the dignity of the law.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. You seem to have been a little tardy in considering it.

MOUZON. I beg you to note, your honor, that I endeavored to safeguard it from the very first, since I took care to go out of the arrondissement and even the judicial division—in order to—

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I will continue. "Monsieur Mouzon then informed us of his actual position as examining magistrate, and invoked that quality in requesting that we would stop proceedings."

MOUZON. The ass. He has put that in his report? Oh, really—that's due to his lack of education. No, it's a political affair—the commissary is one of our opponents—I asked him—After all—I wanted to avoid scandal. Anyone would have done the same in my place.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Is that the only explanation you have to give me?

MOUZON. Explanation? The truth is, Monsieur, that if you insist on maintaining, in this conversation, the relations between a superior and a subordinate, I can give you no further explanation. But if you would be so good as to allow me for a moment to forget your position, if you would agree to talk to me as man to man, I should tell you that this was a fault of youth, regrettable, no doubt, but explained by the profound boredom which exudes from the very paving-stones of Mauleon. Come, come! I had dined too well. Every night of the year a host of decent fellows find themselves in the same case. It's a pecadillo which doesn't affect one's personal honor.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Monsieur, when one has the honor to be a magistrate—when one has accepted the mission of judging one's fellows, one is bound more than all others to observe temperance and to consider one's dignity in all things. What may not affect the honor of the private citizen does affect the honor of the judge. You may take that for granted.

MOUZON. As you refuse to discuss the matter otherwise than in an official manner, nothing remains for me but to beg you to inform me what you have decided to do.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Cannot you guess?

MOUZON. I am an examining magistrate. You will make me an ordinary magistrate. It means my income will be diminished by five hundred francs a year. I accept.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. It is unfortunately impossible for me to content myself with such a simple measure. To speak plainly, I must inform you that Monsieur Coire, the director of the newspaper which attacks us so persistently, is acquainted with the whole of the facts of the accusation brought against you and will not give his word not to publish them unless by the end of the month you have left the Mauleon Court. I therefore find myself in the unhappy necessity of demanding your resignation.

MOUZON. I shall not resign.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. You will not resign?

MOUZON. I am distressed to oppose any desire of yours, but I am quite decided. I shall not resign.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. But really—you cannot know—

MOUZON. I know everything. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Very well, sir, we shall proceed against you.

MOUZON. Proceed. [He rises]

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Are you not alarmed at the scandal which would result from your appearance in court and your probable conviction?

MOUZON. Conviction is less probable than you think. I shall be able to defend myself and to select my advocate. As for the scandal, it wouldn't fall on me. I am a bachelor, with no family; I know no one or next to no one in Mauleon, where I am really in exile. My friends are all in Bordeaux; they belong to the monde ou l'on s'amuse, and I should not in the least lose caste in their eyes on account of such a prosecution. You think I ought to leave the magistracy? Fortunately I have sufficient to live on without the thirty-five hundred francs the Government of the Republic allows me annually.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. That is enough, Monsieur. Good-day.

MOUZON. My respects. [He goes out]

DOORKEEPER. Monsieur the deputy is here, your honor. Monsieur the deputy says that your honor is waiting for him.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. That is so. Ask him to come in.

Enter Mondoubleau. The Attorney-General advances towards him and shakes hands with him.

SCENE VI:—Mondoubleau, Attorney-General.

MONDOUBLEAU. Good-day, my dear Attorney-General.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Good-day, my dear deputy.

MONDOUBLEAU. I'm delighted to see you. I've come from Paris. I had lunch yesterday with my friend the Keeper of the Seals. The Government is badly worried just at the moment.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. About what?

MONDOUBLEAU. They're afraid of an interpellation. Just a chance—I'll tell you about it. Tell me—it seems you have a young assistant here who has been playing pranks.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Monsieur Ardeuil?

MONDOUBLEAU. Ardeuil, yes, that's the man. Eugene follows matters very closely.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Eugene?

MONDOUBLEAU. Eugene—my friend Eugene—the Keeper of the Seals. He said to me, "I expect your Attorney-General to understand how to do his duty."

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I ask nothing better, but let me know what my duty is.

MONDOUBLEAU. That's just what one wants to avoid. But look here, my friend, you are a very mysterious person!

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I?

MONDOUBLEAU. You are asking for a change of appointment.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Who told you that?

MONDOUBLEAU. Who do you suppose? He is the only one who knows.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Eug—[Quickly] The Keeper of the Seals?

MONDOUBLEAU. You want to be appointed to Orleans? Am I correctly informed?

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Quite true. We have relations there.

MONDOUBLEAU. I fancy you are concerned in the movement now in preparation.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Is there a movement in preparation?

MONDOUBLEAU. There is. As for Monsieur Ardeuil, the Minister confined himself to saying that he had confidence in your firmness and zeal.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. The Keeper of the Seals may rely on me. I shall have to show considerable severity in several directions here, and I shall lack neither determination nor zeal, I can assure you.

MONDOUBLEAU. Yes, but above all, tact! Eugene repeated a dozen times, "Above all, no prosecutions, no scandals. At the present moment less than ever. We are being watched. So everything must be done quietly."

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. You needn't be alarmed. There's the matter of Mouzon.

MONDOUBLEAU. Mouzon! Mouzon the examining magistrate!

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Yes.

MONDOUBLEAU. Of Mauleon?

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Precisely.

MONDOUBLEAU. You aren't thinking of—One of my best friends—very well disposed—a capital fellow—an excellent magistrate, full of energy and discernment. I mentioned his name to Eugene in connection with the vacant post of Councillor.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. [offering him the report] You've picked the wrong man. I am going to show you a document about him. Besides, the post is promised to Monsieur Vagret.

MONDOUBLEAU. What is wrong?

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Here. I shall have to report him to the Superior Council of the Magistracy or proceed against him in the Court of Appeal.

MONDOUBLEAU. What has he done?

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Read it.

MONDOUBLEAU [after casting a glance over the document which the other has handed to him] Of course. But really—there's nothing in that. If you keep quiet about it, no one will know anything. No scandal. The magistracy is suffering from too many attacks already just now, without our providing our enemies with weapons.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Unfortunately Coire knows of it, and he threatens to tell the whole story in his paper unless Monsieur Mouzon is sent away from Mauleon.

MONDOUBLEAU. The devil! [He begins to laugh]

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. What are you laughing at?

MONDOUBLEAU. Nothing—an extravagant idea, a jest. [He laughs] Tell me—but you won't be annoyed?—it's only a joke—

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Well?

MONDOUBLEAU. I was thinking—I tell you, it's a grotesque idea. But after all—after all, if you propose Mouzon for the Councillor's chair at Pau, you will be pleasing everyone!

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. My dear deputy—

MONDOUBLEAU. A joke—of course, merely a joke—but what's so amusing about it is that if you did so it would please Coire, it would please me, it would please Mouzon, and it would please Eugene, who doesn't want any scandal.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. But it would be a—

MONDOUBLEAU. No, no. In politics there can be no scandal except where there is publicity.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. But really—

MONDOUBLEAU. I agree with you—I know all that could be said—I repeat, I am only chaffing. And do you realize—it's very curious—when one reflects—this fantastic solution is the only one that does not offer serious disadvantages—obvious disadvantages. That is so. If you leave Mouzon here, Coire tells everything. If you proceed against him, you give a certain section of the press an opportunity it won't lose—an opportunity of sapping one of the pillars of society. Those gentry are not particular as to the means they employ. They will confound the whole magistracy with Mouzon. It won't be Mouzon who will be the rake, but the Court, the Court of Appeal. There will be mud on all—on every robe.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. But you can't seriously ask me—

MONDOUBLEAU. Do you know what we ought to do? Let us go and talk it over with Rollet the senator—he is only a step from here.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I assure you—

MONDOUBLEAU. Come—come. You will put in a word as to your going to Orleans at the same time. What have you to risk? I tell you my solution is the best. You will come to it, I assure you! I'll take you along. [He takes his arm]

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Well, well, I had certainly something to say to Rollet.

The doorkeeper enters.

DOORKEEPER. Your honor—

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Where are they? The verdict—?

DOORKEEPER. Not yet. Monsieur Vagret has been making a reply.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Is the jury in the withdrawing room?

DOORKEEPER. No, your honor. They were going out when Monsieur Vagret asked for an adjournment.

MONDOUBLEAU. What an idea! Really! Well, my friend, let us go. I tell you, you'll come round!

ATTORNEY-GENERAL [weakly] Never! Never!

SCENE VII:—Recorder, then the doorkeeper, then Madame Vagret, the President of Assizes, Bunerat, Madame Bunerat, and Vagret.

RECORDER [much moved] Admirable!

DOORKEEPER [half opening the door at the back] Monsieur Benoit! What's the news?

RECORDER. Splendid! Our Prosecutor was admirable—and that Etchepare is the lowest swine.

Enter Madame Vagret, greatly moved. The recorder goes up to her. The doorkeeper disappears.

MADAME VAGRET. Ah! My God!

RECORDER. Madame Vagret, I am only a simple clerk, but allow me to say it was admirable! Wonderful!

MADAME VAGRET. Wonderful!

RECORDER. As for the counsel from Bordeaux, Monsieur Vagret had him absolutely at his mercy!

MADAME VAGRET. Hadn't he?

RECORDER. He's certain enough, now, to be condemned to death!

MADAME VAGRET. Certain!

RECORDER. Madame, the jurymen were looking at that fellow Etchepare, that thug, in a way that made my blood run cold. As Monsieur Vagret went on with his speech you felt they would have liked to settle his hash themselves—the wretch!

MADAME VAGRET. I saw that—

RECORDER. I beg your pardon, Madame—I am forgetting myself—but there are moments when one is thankful, yes, so gratified, that social differences don't count.

MADAME VAGRET. You are right, my dear man.

Enter the President of Assizes and Bunerat.

THE PRESIDENT. Madame, I congratulate you! We've got it, the capital sentence!

MADAME VAGRET. We have it safely this time, haven't we, Monsieur?

THE PRESIDENT. That is certain. But where is our hero? Magnificent—he was magnificent—wasn't he, Bunerat?

BUNERAT. Oh, sir, but the manner in which you presided prepared the way so well—

THE PRESIDENT. Well, well, I don't say I count for nothing in the result, but we must do justice to Vagret. [To Madame Vagret] You ought to be greatly gratified—very proud and happy, my dear Madame—

MADAME VAGRET. Oh, I am, your honor—

THE PRESIDENT. But what a strange idea to demand an adjournment! Is he unwell?

MADAME VAGRET. Oh, dear!

THE PRESIDENT. No. Here he is.

Enter Vagret. He is anxious.

MADAME VAGRET. Ah, my dear! [She takes his hand in hers. She can say no more, being choked by tears of joy]

THE PRESIDENT. It was wonderful!

BUNERAT. I can't restrain myself from congratulating you too.

VAGRET. Really, you confuse me. The whole merit is yours, Monsieur.

THE PRESIDENT. Not at all. Do you know what carried them all away? [He lights a cigarette]

VAGRET. No!

THE PRESIDENT. It was when you exclaimed, "Gentlemen of the jury, you own houses, farms, and property; you have beloved wives, and daughters whom you tenderly cherish. Beware—" You were splendid there! [Resuming] "Beware, if you leave such crimes unpunished; beware, if you allow yourselves to be led astray by the eloquent sentimentality of the defence; beware, I tell you, if you fail in your duty as the instrument of justice; beware, lest those above you snatch up the sword which has fallen from your feeble hands, when the blood that you have not avenged will be spilt upon you and yours!" That was fine! Very fine! And it produced a great effect.

BUNERAT. But you, my dear President, you moved them even more noticeably when you recalled the fact, very appropriately, that the accused loved the sight of blood.

THE PRESIDENT. Ah, yes, that told a little!

ALL. What? What was that?

BUNERAT. The President put this question: "On the morning of the crime did you not slaughter two sheep?" "Yes," replied the accused. And then, looking him straight in the eyes—

THE PRESIDENT. Yes, I asked him: "You were getting into practice, weren't you?" [To Vagret] But after all, if I have to a certain extent affected the result, the greater part of the honor of the day is yours.

VAGRET. You are too kind.

THE PRESIDENT. Not at all! And your peroration! [With an artist's curiosity] You were really, were you not, under the stress of a great emotion, a really great emotion?

VAGRET [gravely] Yes, I was under the stress of a great emotion, a really great emotion.

THE PRESIDENT. You turned quite pale when you faced the jury—when you added, in a clear voice, "Gentlemen, I demand the head of this man!"

VAGRET [his eyes fixed] Yes.

THE PRESIDENT. Then you made a sign to the advocate.

VAGRET. Yes. I thought he would have something else to say.

THE PRESIDENT. But why delay the verdict? You had won the victory.

VAGRET. Precisely.

THE PRESIDENT. What do you mean?

VAGRET. During my indictment a fact came to light that worried me.

THE PRESIDENT. A fact?

VAGRET. Not a fact—but—in short—[A pause] I beg your pardon—I am very tired—

THE PRESIDENT. I can very well understand your emotion, my dear Vagret. One always feels—on the occasion of one's first death sentence—but—you will see one gets used to it. [Going out, to Bunerat] Indeed, he does look very tired.

BUNERAT. I fancy he is feeling his position too keenly.

VAGRET. As I was leaving the Court I met the Attorney-General. I begged him urgently to give me a moment's conversation. I wanted to speak with him alone—and with you, Monsieur le President.

BUNERAT. As you wish.

MADAME VAGRET. I am afraid you are unwell, my dear. I shall wait there. I will come back directly these gentlemen have gone.

VAGRET. Very well.

MADAME BUNERAT [going out, to her husband] There's a man ready to do something stupid.

BUNERAT. That doesn't concern us.

They go out.

SCENE VIII:—Vagret, the President of Assizes, then the Attorney-General.

THE PRESIDENT. Did you notice any mistake on my part in the direction of the case?

VAGRET. No, if any mistake was made, it was I who made it.

The Attorney-General enters.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. What is this that is so serious, my dear sir?

VAGRET. It's this—I am more worried than I can say. I want to appeal to the conscience of you two gentlemen—to reassure myself—

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Tell us.

VAGRET. A whole series of facts—the attitude of the accused—certain details which had escaped me—have given rise, in my mind, to a doubt as to the guilt of this man.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Was there any mention of these facts, these details, in the brief?

VAGRET. Certainly.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Had the advocate studied this brief?

VAGRET. Naturally.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Well, then? What are you worrying yourself about?

VAGRET. But—suppose the man is not guilty?

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. The jury will decide. We can do no more, all of us, than bow to its verdict.

VAGRET. Let me tell you, sir, how my convictions have been shaken.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I do not wish to know. All that is a matter between yourself and your conscience. You have the right to explain your scruples to the jury. You know the proverb: "The pen is a slave, but speech is free."

VAGRET. I shall follow your advice.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I do not give you any advice.

VAGRET. I shall explain my doubts to the jury.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. It will mean acquittal.