Chapter II.31
At last, in his dark cell, Jacques de Boiscoran saw the day break that was to decide his fate.
He was to be tried to-day.
The occasion was, of course, too good to be neglected by "The Sauveterre Independent." Although a morning paper, it published, "in view of the gravity of the circumstances," an evening edition, which a dozen newsboys cried out in the streets up to mid-night. And this was what it said,--
ASSIZES AT SAUVETERRE.
THURSDAY, 23. Presiding Judge.--M. DOMINI. ASSASSINATION! INCENDIARISM!
[Special Correspondence of the Independent.]
Whence this unusual commotion, this uproar, this great excitement, in our peaceful city? Whence these gatherings of our public squares, these groups in front of all the houses! Whence this restlessness on all faces, this anxiety in all eyes?
The reason is, that to-day this terrible Valpinson case will be brought up in court, after having for so many weeks now agitated our people.
To-day this man who is charged with such fearful crimes is to be tried.
Hence all steps are eagerly turned towards the court-house: the people all hurry, and rush in the same direction.
The court-house! Long before daylight it was surrounded by an eager multitude, which the constables and the gendarmes could only with difficulty keep within bounds.
They press and crowd and push. Coarse words fly to and fro. From words they pass to gestures, from gestures to blows. A row is imminent. Women cry, men swear, and two peasants from Brechy are arrested on the spot.
It is well known that there will be few only, happy enough to get in. The great square would not contain all these curious people, who have gathered here from all parts of the district: how should the court-room be able to hold them?
And still our authorities, always anxious to please their constituents, who have bestowed their confidence upon them, have resorted to heroic measures. They have had two partition walls taken down, so that a part of the great hall is added to the court-room proper.
M. Lautier, the city architect, who is a good judge in such matters, assures us that this immense hall will accommodate twelve hundred persons.
But what are twelve hundred persons?
Long before the hour fixed for the opening of the court, every thing is full to overflowing. A pin might be thrown into the room, and it could not fall to the ground.
Not an inch of space is lost. All around, along the wall men are standing in close ranks. On both sides of the platform, chairs have been put, which are occupied by a large number of our first ladies in good society, not only of Sauveterre, however, but also of the neighborhood and even other cites. Some of them appear in magnificent toilettes.
A thousand reports are current, a thousand conjectures are formed, which we shall take care not to report. Why should we? Let us say, however, that the accused has not availed himself of his right to reject a certain number of jurymen. He has accepted all the names which were drawn by lot, and which the prosecuting attorney did not object to.
We obtained this information from an attorney, a friend of ours; and, just as he had told us all about it, a great noise rose at the door, which was followed by rapid moving of chairs, and half- smothered exclamations.
It was the family of the accused, who had come in, and now occupied the seats assigned them close by the platform.
The Marquis de Boiscoran had on his arm Miss Chandore, who wore with great grace and dignity a dark gray dress, trimmed with cherry-colored ribbons. M. de Chandore escorted the Marchioness de Boiscoran. The marquis and the baron looked cold and reserved. The mother of the accused appears utterly overcome. Miss Chandore, on the contrary, is lively, does not seem in the least concerned, and returns with a bright smile the few greetings she receives from various parts of the court-room.
But soon they are no longer an object of curiosity.
The attention of all is now directed towards a large table standing before the judges, and on which may be seen a number of articles covered by large red cloth.
These are the articles to be used in evidence.
In the meantime it strikes eleven o'clock. The sheriff's officers move about the room, seeing that every thing is in order.
Then a small door opens on the left, and the counsel for the defence enter.
Our readers know who they are. One is M. Magloire, the ornament of our bar; the other, an advocate from the capital, M. Folgat, quite young, but already famous.
M. Magloire looks as he does on his best days, and smilingly converses with the mayor of Sauveterre; while M. Folgat opens his blue bag, and consults his papers. Half-past eleven!
An usher announces,-- The court.
M. Domini takes the chair. M. Gransiere occupies the seat of the prosecuting attorney. Behind them the jurymen sit down, looking grave and solemn.
Everybody rises, everybody strains his eyes to see, and stands on tiptoe. Some persons in the back rows even get upon their chairs.
The president has ordered the prisoner to be brought in. He appears.
He is dressed in black, and with great elegance. It is noticed that he wears in his buttonhole the ribbon of the Legion of Honor.
He looks pale; but his eye is clear and open, full of confidence, yet not defiant. His carriage is proud, though melancholy.
He has hardly taken his seat when a gentleman passes over three rows of chairs, and, in spite of the officers of the court, succeeds in shaking hands with him. It is Dr. Seignebos.
The president orders the sheriff to proclaim silence; and, after having reminded the audience that all expressions of approbation or disapprobation are strictly prohibited, he turns to the accused, and asks him,--
"Tell me your first names, your family name, your age, your profession, and your domicile."
The accused replies,--
"Louis Trivulce Jacques de Boiscoran, twenty-seven years, land- owner, residing at Boiscoran, district of Sauveterre."
"Sit down, and listen to the charges which are brought against you."
The clerk, M. Mechinet, thereupon reads the charges, which, in their terrible simplicity, cause a shudder to pass through the whole audience.
We shall not repeat them here, as all the incidents which they relate are well known to our readers.
[Examination of the Accused.]
PRESIDENT.--Accused, rise and answer clearly. During the preliminary investigation, you have refused to answer several questions. Now the matter must be cleared up. And I am bound to tell you it is to your interest to answer frankly.
ACCUSED.--No one desires more than I do that the truth be known. I am ready to answer.
P.--Why were you so reticent in your first examination?
A.--I though it important for my interests to answer only in court.
P.--You have heard of what crimes you are accused?
A.--I am innocent. And, first of all, I beg you will allow me to say one thing. The crime committed at Valpinson is an atrocious, cowardly crime; but it is at the same time an absurdly stupid crime, more like the unconscious act of a madman. Now, I have always been looked upon as not lacking exactly in intelligence.
P.--That is a discussion.
A.--Still, Mr. President--
P.--Hereafter you shall have full liberty to state your argument. For the present you must be content to answer the questions which I shall ask you.
A.--I submit.
P.--Were you not soon to be married?
At this question all eyes are turned towards Miss Chandore, who blushes till she is as red as a poppy, but does not cast down her eyes.
A.--(In a low voice.) Yes.
P.--Did you not write to your betrothed a few hours before the crime was committed?
A.--Yes, sir; and I sent her my letter by the son of one of my tenants, Michael.
P.--What did you write to her?
A.--That important business would prevent me from spending the evening with her.
P.--What was that business?
At the moment when the accused opened his lips to reply, the president stopped him by a gesture, and said,--
P.--Take care! You were asked this question during the preliminary investigation, and you replied that you had to go to Brechy to see your wood-merchant.
A.--I did indeed make that reply on the spur of the moment. It was not exact.
P.--Why did you tell a falsehood?
A.--(After an expression of indignation, which was noticed by all.) I could not believe that I was in danger. It seemed to me impossible that I should be reached by an accusation, which nevertheless, has brought me into this court. Hence I did not deem it necessary to make my private affairs public.
P.--But you very soon found out that you were in danger?
A.--Yes, I did.
P.--Why did you not tell the truth then?
A.--Because the magistrate who carried on the investigation had been too intimate a friend of mine to inspire me with confidence.
P.--Explain yourself more fully.
A.--I must ask leave to say no more. I might, in speaking of M. Galpin, be found to be wanting in moderation.
A low murmur accompanies this reply made by the accused.
P.--Such murmurs are improper, and I remind the audience of the respect due to the court.
M. Gransiere, the prosecuting attorney, rises,--
"We cannot tolerate such recriminations against a magistrate who has <