Madame Vagret. Perhaps the jury won't find him guilty?
Vagret. It will find him guilty.
Madame Vagret. Or it may find there are extenuating circumstances.
Vagret. No. I adjured them too earnestly to refuse to do so. I was zealous enough, wasn't I? Violent enough?
Madame Vagret. That's true. Why did you make your indictment so passionately?
Vagret. Ah, why, why? Long before the hearing of the case it was so clearly understood by everybody that the prisoner was the criminal! And then it all went to my head, it intoxicated me—the way they talked. I was the spokesman of humanity, I was to reassure the countryside, I was to restore tranquillity to the family, and I don't know what else! So then—I felt I must show myself equal to the part intrusted to me. My first indictment was relatively moderate—but when I saw the celebrated counsel making the jurymen weep, I thought I was lost; I felt the verdict would escape me. Contrary to my habit, I replied. When I rose to my feet for the second time I was like a man fighting, who has just had a vision of defeat, and who therefore fights with the strength of despair. From that moment Etchepare, so to speak, no longer existed. I was no longer concerned to defend society or sustain my accusation; I was contending against the advocate; it was a trial of orators, a competition of actors; I had to be the victor at all costs. I had to convince the jury, resume my hold on it, wring from it the double "yes" of the verdict. I tell you, Etchepare no longer counted; it was I who counted, my vanity, my reputation, my honor, my future. It's shameful, I tell you, shameful. At any cost I wanted to prevent the acquittal which I felt was certain. And I was so afraid of not succeeding that I employed every argument, good and bad, even that of representing to the terrified jurymen their own houses in flames, their own flesh and blood murdered. I spoke of the vengeance of God falling on judges without severity. And all this in good faith—or rather unconsciously, in a burst of passion, in an access of anger against the advocate, whom I hated at that moment with all my might. My success was greater than I hoped; the jury is ready to obey me; and I, my dear, I have allowed myself to be congratulated, I have grasped the hands held out to me. That is what it is to be a magistrate!
Madame Vagret. Never mind. Perhaps there aren't ten in all France who would have acted otherwise.
Vagret. You are right. Only—if one reflects—it's precisely that that's so dreadful.
Recorder [entering] Monsieur le Procureur, the President is asking when the sitting can be resumed.
Vagret. At once.