The advocate hesitated, not that he was afraid, for he was a brave man: but he was endeavouring to find some argument strong enough to turn these mock judges from the course on which they seemed bent. “I will speak on his behalf,” said the advocate, at last, “but not without first protesting with all my strength against these unheard of modes of trial.”
“Oh! spare us your homilies, and be brief.”
After Chanlouineau’s examination, it was difficult to improvise any plea for him, and especially so on the spur of the moment. Still, in his indignation, the courageous advocate managed to present a score of arguments which would have made any other tribunal reflect. But all the while he was speaking the Duke de Sairmeuse fidgeted in his arm-chair with every sign of angry impatience. “Your speech was very long,” he remarked, when the lawyer had finished, “terribly long. We shall never get through with this business if each prisoner takes up as much time!”
He turned to his colleagues and proposed that they should unite all the cases, in fact try all the culprits in a body, with the exception of the elder d’Escorval. “This will shorten our task,” said he, “and there will then be but two judgments to be pronounced. This will not, of course, prevent each individual from defending himself.”
The lawyers protested against such a course; for a general judgment such as the duke suggested would destroy all hope of saving any one of these unfortunate men. “How can we defend them,” pleaded one advocate, “when we know nothing of their precise situations; why, we do not even know their names. We shall be obliged to designate them by the cut of their coats or by the colour of their hair.”
They implored the tribunal to grant a week for preparation, four days, even twenty-four hours; but all their efforts were futile, for the president’s proposition was adopted by his colleagues. Consequently, each prisoner was called to the table, according to the place which he occupied on the different benches. Each man gave his name, age, dwelling place, and profession, and received an order to return to his seat. Six or seven of the prisoners were actually granted time to say that they were absolutely ignorant of the conspiracy, and that they had been arrested while conversing quietly on the public highway. They begged to be allowed to furnish proof of the truth of their assertions, and they invoked the testimony of the soldiers who had arrested them. M. d’Escorval, whose case had been separated from the others, was not summoned to the table. He would be examined last of all.
“Now the counsel for the defence will be heard,” said the duke; “but make haste; lose no time for it is already twelve o’clock.”
Then began a shameful and revolting scene. The duke interrupted the lawyers every other moment, bidding them be silent, questioning them, or jeering at their arguments. “It seems incredible,” said he, “that any one can think of defending such wretches!” Or again: “Silence! You should blush with shame for having constituted yourself the defender of such rascals!”
However, the advocates courageously persevered, even although they realized the utter futility of their efforts. But what could they do under such circumstances? The defence of these twenty-nine prisoners lasted only one hour and a half.
Before the last word was fairly uttered, the Duke de Sairmeuse gave a sigh of relief, and in a tone which betrayed his inward delight, exclaimed: “Prisoner d’Escorval, stand up.”