by Victor Hugo
CHAPTER VII
THE TRAVELLER TAKES PRECAUTIONS FOR RETURNING.
It was nearly eight in the evening when the cart we left on the roaddrove under the archway of the post-house at Arras. The man whom wehave followed up to this moment got out, discharged the second horse,and himself led the white pony to the stables; then he pushed open thedoor of a billiard room on the ground-floor, sat down, and rested hiselbows on the table. He had taken fourteen hours in a journey for whichhe had allowed himself six. He did himself the justice that it was nofault of his, but in his heart he was not sorry at it. The landladycame in.
"Will you sleep here, sir?"
He nodded in the negative.
"The ostler says that your horse is extremely tired."
"Will it not be able to start again to-morrow morning?"
"Oh dear, no, sir; it requires at least two days' rest."
"Is not the postoffice in this house?"
"Yes, sir."
The landlady led him to the office, where he showed his passport,and inquired whether he could return to M---- the same night by themail-cart. Only one seat was vacant, and he took it and paid forit. "Do not fail, sir," said the clerk, "to be here at one o'clockprecisely."
This done, he left the hotel, and began walking about the streets. Hewas not acquainted with Arras, the streets were dark, and he walkedabout hap-hazard, but he seemed obstinately determined not to ask hisway of passers-by. He crossed the little river Crinchon, and foundhimself in a labyrinth of narrow lanes, in which he lost his way. Acitizen came toward him with a lantern, whom, after some hesitation, heresolved to address, though not till he had looked before and behindhim, as if afraid lest anybody should overhear the question he wasabout to ask.
"Will you be kind enough to tell me the way to the courts of justice,sir?" he said.
"You do not belong to the town, sir?" replied the man, who was ratherold; "well, follow me, I am going in the direction of the courts,that is to say, of the Prefecture, for the courts are under repair atpresent, and the sittings take place temporarily at the Prefecture."
"Are the assizes held there?" he asked.
"Of course, sir: you must know that what is now the Prefecture was theBishop's palace before the Revolution. Monsieur de Conzi?, who wasBishop in '92, had a large hall built there, and the trials take placein this hall."
On the road, the citizen said to him,--
"If you wish to witness a trial you are rather late, for the courtusually closes at six o'clock."
However, when they arrived in the great square the old man showed himfour lofty lighted windows in a vast gloomy building.
"On my word, sir," he said, "you have arrived in time, and are inluck's way. Do you see those four windows? They belong to the assizecourts. As there are lights, it is not closed yet: there must havebeen a long trial, and they are having an evening session. Are youinterested in the trial? Is it a criminal offence, or are you awitness?"
He answered,--
"I have not come for any trial: I only wish to speak to a solicitor."
"That is different. That is the door, sir, where the sentry isstanding, and you have only to go up the large staircase."
He followed the old man's instructions, and a few minutes later was ina large hall, in which there were a good many people, and groups ofrobed barristers were gossiping together. It is always a thing thatcontracts the heart, to see these assemblies of men dressed in black,conversing in a low voice on the threshold of a court of justice. Itis rare for charity and pity to be noticed in their remarks, for theygenerally express condemnations settled before trial. All such groupsappear to the thoughtful observer so many gloomy hives, in whichbuzzing minds build in community all sorts of dark edifices. This hall,which was large and only lighted by one lamp, served as a waiting-room:and folding-doors, at this moment closed, separated it from the grandchamber in which the assizes were being held. The obscurity was sogreat, that he was not afraid of addressing the first barrister he cameacross.
"How is it going, sir?" he said.
"It is finished."
"Finished!" This word was repeated with such an accent, that thebarrister turned round.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but perhaps you are a relative?"
"No, I know no one here. Was a verdict of guilty brought in?"
"Of course; it could not possibly be otherwise."
"The galleys?"
"For life."
He continued in a voice so faint that it was scarce audible,--
"Then, the identity was proved?"
"What identity?" the barrister retorted. "Nothing of the sort wasrequired; the affair was simple,--the woman had killed her child, theinfanticide was proved, the jury recommended her to mercy, and she wassentenced to imprisonment for life."
"You are alluding to a woman, then?"
"Why, of course; a girl of the name of Limosin. To whom were youreferring, pray?"
"To nobody; but as the trial is over, how is it that the court is stilllighted?"
"It is for the other trial, which began about two hours back."
"What other trial?"
"Oh, it is clear too; he is a sort of beggar, a relapsed galley slave,who has been robbing. I forget his name, but he has a regular banditface, on the strength of which I would send him to the galleys if fornothing else."
"Is there any way of entering the court, sir?" he asked.
"I do not think so, for it is very full. Still, the trial is suspended,and some persons have gone out. When the court resumes, you can try."
"Which is the way in?"
"By that large door."
The barrister left him; in a few minutes he had experienced almostsimultaneously, and confusedly blended, every emotion possible. Thewords of this indifferent person had by turns pierced his heart likeneedles of ice and like red-hot sword-blades. When he found that thetrial was not over, he breathed again; but he could not have saidwhether what he felt were satisfaction or pain. He walked up to severalgroups and listened to what they were saying; as the trial list wasvery heavy, the President had selected for this day two simple andshort cases. They had begun with the infanticide, and were now engagedwith the relapsed convict, the "return horse." This man had stolenapples, but it was proved that he had already been at the Toulongalleys. It was this that made his case bad. His examination and thedeposition of the witnesses were over; but there were still the speechfor the defence and the summing up, and hence it would not be finishedtill midnight. The man would probably be condemned, for the publicprosecutor was sharp, and did not let his accused escape; he was awitty fellow who wrote verses. An usher was standing near the doorcommunicating with the court, and he asked him,--
"Will this door be opened soon?"
"It will not be opened," said the usher.
"Will it not be opened when the court resumes its sitting?"
"It has resumed," the usher replied, "but the door will not be opened."
"Why not?"
"Because the hall is full."
"What! is there no room?"
"For not a soul more. The door is closed, and no one can go in."
The usher added after a pause,--"There are certainly two or three seatsbehind the President, but he only admits public officials to them."
After saying this, the usher turned his back on him. He withdrew withhanging head, crossed the waiting-room, and slowly went down thestairs, hesitating at every step. He was probably holding counsel withhimself; the violent combat which had been going on in him since theprevious day was not finished, and every moment he entered some newphase. On reaching the landing he leaned against the banisters andfolded his arms; but all at once he took his pocket-book, tore a leaffrom it, wrote in pencil upon it, "M. Madeleine, Mayor of M. sur M.;"then he hurried up the stairs, cleft the crowd, walked up to the usher,handed him the paper, and said to him with an air of authority,--"Handthis to the President." The usher took the paper, glanced at it, andobeyed.
