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THE TRAVELLER ON HIS ARRIVAL TAKES PRECAUTIONS FOR DEPARTURE
It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening when the cart,
which we left on the road, entered the porte-cochere of the Hotel
de la Poste in Arras; the man whom we have been following up to
this moment alighted from it, responded with an abstracted air
to the attentions of the people of the inn, sent back the extra
horse, and with his own hands led the little white horse to the
stable; then he opened the door of a billiard-room which was situated
on the ground floor, sat down there, and leaned his elbows on
a table; he had taken fourteen hours for the journey which he
had counted on making in six; he did himself the justice to acknowledge
that it was not his fault, but at bottom, he was not sorry.
The landlady of the hotel entered.
"Does Monsieur wish a bed?
Does Monsieur require supper?"
He made a sign of the head in the negative.
"The stableman says that Monsieur's horse is extremely
fatigued."
Here he broke his silence.
"Will not the horse be in a condition to set out again
to-morrow morning?"
"Oh, Monsieur! he must rest for two days at least."
He inquired:--
"Is not the posting-station located here?"
"Yes, sir."
The hostess conducted him to the office; he showed his passport,
and inquired whether there was any way of returning that same
night to M. sur M. by the mail-wagon; the seat beside the post-boy
chanced to be vacant; he engaged it and paid for it.
"Monsieur," said the clerk, "do not fail to
be here ready to start at precisely one o'clock in the morning."
This done, he left the hotel and began to wander about the
town.
He was not acquainted with Arras; the streets were dark, and
he walked on at random; but he seemed bent upon not asking the
way of the passers-by. He crossed the little river Crinchon, and
found himself in a labyrinth of narrow alleys where he lost his
way. A citizen was passing along with a lantern.
After some hesitation, he decided to apply to this man, not
without having first glanced behind and in front of him, as though
he feared lest some one should hear the question which he was
about to put.
"Monsieur," said he, "where is the court-house,
if you please."
"You do not belong in town, sir?" replied the bourgeois,
who was an oldish man; "well, follow me.
I happen to be going in the direction of the court-house,
that is to say, in the direction of the hotel of the prefecture;
for the court-house is undergoing repairs just at this moment,
and the courts are holding their sittings provisionally in the
prefecture."
"Is it there that the Assizes are held?" he asked.
"Certainly, sir; you see, the prefecture of to-day was
the bishop's palace before the Revolution.
M. de Conzie, who was bishop in '82, built a grand hall there.
It is in this grand hall that the court is held."
On the way, the bourgeois said to him:--
"If Monsieur desires to witness a case, it is rather
late. The sittings generally close at six o'clock."
When they arrived on the grand square, however, the man pointed
out to him four long windows all lighted up, in the front of a
vast and gloomy building.
"Upon my word, sir, you are in luck; you have arrived
in season. Do you see those four windows?
That is the Court of Assizes. There is light there, so they
are not through.
The matter must have been greatly protracted, and they are
holding an evening session. Do you take an interest in this affair?
Is it a criminal case? Are you a witness?"
He replied:--
"I have not come on any business; I only wish to speak
to one of the lawyers."
"That is different," said the bourgeois.
"Stop, sir; here is the door where the sentry stands.
You have only to ascend the grand staircase."
He conformed to the bourgeois's directions, and a few minutes
later he was in a hall containing many people, and where groups,
intermingled with lawyers in their gowns, were whispering together
here and there.
It is always a heart-breaking thing to see these congregations
of men robed in black, murmuring together in low voices, on the
threshold of the halls of justice.
It is rare that charity and pity are the outcome of these
words.
Condemnations pronounced in advance are more likely to be
the result.
All these groups seem to the passing and thoughtful observer
so many sombre hives where buzzing spirits construct in concert
all sorts of dark edifices.
This spacious hall, illuminated by a single lamp, was the
old hall of the episcopal palace, and served as the large hall
of the palace of justice.
A double-leaved door, which was closed at that moment, separated
it from the large apartment where the court was sitting.
The obscurity was such that he did not fear to accost the
first lawyer whom he met.
"What stage have they reached, sir?" he asked.
"It is finished," said the lawyer.
"Finished!"
This word was repeated in such accents that the lawyer turned
round.
"Excuse me sir; perhaps you are a relative?"
"No; I know no one here.
Has judgment been pronounced?"
"Of course.
Nothing else was possible."
"To penal servitude?"
"For life."
He continued, in a voice so weak that it was barely audible:--
"Then his identity was established?"
"What identity?" replied the lawyer.
"There was no identity to be established.
The matter was very simple.
The woman had murdered her child; the infanticide was proved;
the jury threw out the question of premeditation, and she was
condemned for life."
"So it was a woman?" said he.
"Why, certainly.
The Limosin woman.
Of what are you speaking?"
"Nothing.
But since it is all over, how comes it that the hall is still
lighted?"
"For another case, which was begun about two hours ago.
"What other case?"
"Oh! this one is a clear case also.
It is about a sort of blackguard; a man arrested for a second
offence; a convict who has been guilty of theft.
I don't know his name exactly.
There's a bandit's phiz for you!
I'd send him to the galleys on the strength of his face alone."
"Is there any way of getting into the court-room, sir?"
said he.
"I really think that there is not.
There is a great crowd. However, the hearing has been suspended.
Some people have gone out, and when the hearing is resumed,
you might make an effort."
"Where is the entrance?"
"Through yonder large door."
The lawyer left him.
In the course of a few moments he had experienced, almost
simultaneously, almost intermingled with each other, all possible
emotions.
The words of this indifferent spectator had, in turn, pierced
his heart like needles of ice and like blades of fire. When he
saw that nothing was settled, he breathed freely once more; but
he could not have told whether what he felt was pain or pleasure.
He drew near to many groups and listened to what they were
saying. The docket of the session was very heavy; the president
had appointed for the same day two short and simple cases.
They had begun with the infanticide, and now they had reached
the convict, the old offender, the "return horse."
This man had stolen apples, but that did not appear to be
entirely proved; what had been proved was, that he had already
been in the galleys at Toulon. It was that which lent a bad aspect
to his case.
However, the man's examination and the depositions of the
witnesses had been completed, but the lawyer's plea, and the speech
of the public prosecutor were still to come; it could not be finished
before midnight.
The man would probably be condemned; the attorney-general
was very clever, and never missed his culprits; he was a brilliant
fellow who wrote verses.
An usher stood at the door communicating with the hall of
the Assizes. He inquired of this usher:--
"Will the door be opened soon, sir?"
"It will not be opened at all," replied the usher.
"What!
It will not be opened when the hearing is resumed? Is not
the hearing suspended?"
"The hearing has just been begun again," replied
the usher, "but the door will not be opened again."
"Why?"
"Because the hall is full."
"What!
There is not room for one more?"
"Not another one.
The door is closed.
No one can enter now."
The usher added after a pause:
"There are, to tell the truth, two or three extra places
behind Monsieur le President, but Monsieur le President only admits
public functionaries to them."
So saying, the usher turned his back.
He retired with bowed head, traversed the antechamber, and
slowly descended the stairs, as though hesitating at every step.
It is probable that he was holding counsel with himself. The violent
conflict which had been going on within him since the preceding
evening was not yet ended; and every moment he encountered some
new phase of it.
On reaching the landing-place, he leaned his back against
the balusters and folded his arms.
All at once he opened his coat, drew out his pocket-book,
took from it a pencil, tore out a leaf, and upon that leaf he
wrote rapidly, by the light of the street lantern, this line:
M. Madeleine, Mayor of M. sur M.; then he ascended the stairs
once more with great strides, made his way through the crowd,
walked straight up to the usher, handed him the paper, and said
in an authoritative manner:--
"Take this to Monsieur le President."
The usher took the paper, cast a glance upon it, and obeyed.
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