Chapter 15 – Justice denied
Du Pont’s threats to expedite the Marquis’s execution, and to preside over it personally, thankfully came to nought. After disembarkation in France, the prisoners were repatriated to their respective places of origin in France for trial. The Marquis was sent to his hometown of Lyon. One of his former friend’s chateaus had been confiscated for use by the state. The chateau’s wine cellar had been turned into a prison. Ironically, his friend had been a serious collector of fine wines and his greatest fear was that a bottle of his wine might end up being stolen and still worse, that it might thereafter be consumed by some peasant with a scant appreciation for good wine. The Marquis wondered whether his friend would have been amused at the fact that his former wine cellar had been converted into one of the most secure prisons in all of France. Most regrettably of all was that none of the persons responsible for the confiscation of the chateau or the construction of the prison failed in their civic duty to ensure that all of the wines were removed from the cellar prior to its conversion into a cell.
The chateau’s great hall, which had once hosted some of the most lavish parties in all of France, now served as a court room. And in a moment of unmitigated inspiration, the authorities decided to convert the main courtyard into an execution area. This was of course, to cater for the possibility that the presiding officers might on occasion find it necessary to employ the death sentence. The decision soon revealed astonishing intuition on the part of the planners since death by the guillotine proved not only to end up becoming the most popular sentence handed down by the presiding officers, but execution by decapitation also soon gained a substantial following amongst local spectators who went to considerable lengths to acquire good seats for these occasions. Those who preferred to make a point of keeping their garments spotless, however, soon learnt that the seats directly in front of the guillotine tended not to lend themselves particularly well to that pursuit. Despite these risks, those seats seldom went unoccupied due to the curious obsession of some with the reputed expressions and movements on the faces of the recently decapitated heads.
The Marquis’s trial began on the first of August 1793. He was shepherded up the narrow staircase leading from the cells to the trial hall. All the seats in the public gallery were taken. The spectators cheered and jeered vociferously when they caught a glimpse of the Marquis. He was taken to the prisoner’s dock. His chains were not removed.
‘Monsieur d’Artois, you are charged with complicity in the deaths of hundreds of young Frenchmen by your enforcement of, and participation in the system of conscription. How do you plead?’
‘May it please this Court, I plead not guilty. I was simply doing my duty as it existed in law at the time. I cannot be held responsible for the lives of any of the young men who died in the wars of Louis XVI.’ Although the Marquis had no formal training in law, he had acted as a defending officer in various courts martial whilst in the navy. In this capacity, he had learned a great deal from other legally qualified representatives of co-accused sailors over the years.
‘I would also respectfully mention that if it is the policy of this court to execute nobles on grounds of their nobility, it would seem churlish to refuse to acknowledge their titles. I am the Marquis d’Artois. If this Court refuses to recognise my title, I request that I be tried as a commoner who had no authority to enforce conscription whatsoever.’
‘Marquis d’Artois, I beg your most humble pardon,’ the Judge said. ‘Citizens, this is the Marquis d’Artois. He is of noble birth and he possesses a title. Will everyone in this court, without exception, kindly rise and bow in the direction of the accused. No, don’t only bow once. Please, whilst we still have the privilege of having such remarkable people in our midst, they should be revered, please feel free to bow several times.’
Predictably, everyone, including the prosecutor, rose and bowed repeatedly. Many of the bows were accompanied by elaborate circular hand gestures as the audience engaged in mock competition with each other to seem more respectful than the person next to them.
‘The Court is indebted to everyone in this court for their enthusiastic co-operation. In the light of the accused’s self-expressed wish to be tried as a member of the nobility, his application to be tried as a commoner falls to be dismissed. I take it Monsieur Prosecutor, that the State has no objection.’
‘No, your honour, none whatsoever. In fact, if I may be permitted to say so your honour, I found the Court’s reasoning to be most sound.’
‘You may, you may,’ the judge beamed. ‘You may also call your first witness, Monsieur Prosecutor.’
It occurred to the Marquis that he knew the judge from somewhere. But he was unable to place him.
‘The prosecution calls Monsieur Jacques de Predis.’
A man in his early fifties took to the stand. After he was sworn in the prosecutor continued:
‘Monsieur de Predis, you are a member of this community are you not?’
‘I am.’
‘What function do you perform for the citizenry?’
‘I am a farmer.’
‘A noble profession indeed! Now I understand that you once were fortunate enough to have four sons who were able to assist you on your farm. Is that ….’
‘Objection, your honour. The prosecutor is leading the witness.’
‘Monsieur Prosecutor, we have had an objection from the accused. How do you respond?’
‘Your honour, I am permitted to lead the witness in matters which are common cause between the state and the defence. Surely the accused does not intend to dispute the number of sons the witness had? Surely the accused does not suggest that this witness needs to be reminded by the state or anyone else about how many sons he had, and then, cruelly lost?’
‘Indeed not. I will not allow such disrespect to a man who has suffered enough. The objection is overruled. Pray, proceed.’
‘So you had four sons who all helped you to farm the land you own?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did someone on four separate occasions come to your house accompanied by soldiers in order to take one of your sons away on each such separate occasion?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you ever see your sons again?’
‘I did not.’
‘What happened to your sons Monsieur de Predis? Do tell the Court.’
‘They were all killed serving in the king’s army.’
Despite everyone knowing what the answer to the question was, or was likely to be, its verbalisation by a parent nonetheless solicited several shocked gasps and murmurs from the gallery.
‘I must have silence!’ declared the judge after the worst of the hubbub had died down. ‘Do continue, Monsieur.’
‘On four occasions my wife and I had to suffer the sight of seeing a soldier coming to our home with a letter. On the first occasion, we did not know what the meaning of this was. The letter was from an officer in the king’s army. It said that our son had died in the war. We received three more such letters. The only difference was that now we knew when we saw the soldier coming to the farm with this letter. We knew what it meant.’
‘And do you see the man who came to fetch your sons in this Court?’
‘Yes, I do. It is the accused.’ The witness pointed at the Marquis.
‘No further questions, your honour.’
‘Cross examination?’
‘Yes your honour. Monsieur de Predis, I wish to start by expressing my heartfelt grief at the loss of your sons. I too am a parent. My youngest son was cruelly murdered by revolutionaries in this town not too long ago. One of the worst things that can happen to a parent is to outlive a single one of their children. I have experienced that. Outliving all four one’s children is something I cannot imagine. It must be unspeakably horrible.’
‘Your honour, is there a question?’ asked the prosecutor.
‘Indeed. The accused shall limit himself to questions,’ the judge determined.
‘Yes, your honour. Monsieur, did I kill your sons or did they die fighting for France?’
‘They died fighting for France but you took them.’
‘I did not kill them though did I?’
‘You did not kill them.’
‘And when I came for your sons, did I not treat you and your family with the greatest of respect and did I not insist that the troops with me do likewise? Please remember that my life may depend on the truth of your answer.’
‘What you say is correct.’
‘And when I came to fetch your fourth son, did you not show me the three dispatches reflecting that three of your sons had already died for France?’
‘Yes I did.’
‘What was my reaction, Monsieur?’
The witness stared hesitantly at the prosecutor.
‘What was my reaction, Monsieur?’ the Marquis repeated.
‘You sat down and cried,’ offered de Predis eventually. He shuffled about awkwardly, no longer able to maintain regular eye contact with the Marquis. Absolute silence gripped the well of the court and the entire gallery.
‘We cried together, did we not?’
‘Yes.’ This answer elicited several murmurs.
‘And what was my command to my troops about the conscription notice pertaining to your fourth son?’
‘You ordered them to leave my son. You promised you would speak to the army about my case. You said you would try to persuade the army that my family had suffered enough for France?’
‘And did the troops under my command take your fourth son away on that day?’
‘Not on that day.’
‘And is it not so that I returned two weeks later with a letter from the army which commended your family for its sacrifices but which indicated that France’s position was such that the king required every available bodied young man to fight?’
‘Yes. But Louis’s wars were wrong.’
‘That is so. But you cannot deny that I tried to help you and your family. I tried to arrange for your last remaining son to be exempted from service in the army?’
‘I do not deny it.’
‘You also surely do not deny it then that the king passed a law which compelled conscription?’
‘No I do not.’
‘Did I do anything to you or your family which justifies my death?’
‘It is not for me to say.’
‘You are on the witness stand. You hold my life in your hands. You are the father of the boys who died. Do I deserve to die in your opinion?’
‘No,’ the witness said eventually. The reply caused a stir in the public gallery.
‘Objection,’ intervened the prosecutor. ‘The accused is asking the witness to draw a legal conclusion. Only the Court can be the arbiter of whether the accused ought to live or die. I ask that the witnesses’ answer be disregarded.’
‘Your honour, this is the father of the four boys who died. His evidence that I do not deserve to die must surely be relevant.’
‘Yes, well. Considering all the arguments placed before me, I have to agree with the prosecution that it is indeed this Court, and only this Court which has the power to determine the accused’s sentence, if any. Since that is clearly true, I cannot permit the witness’s answer to blot the record. God alone only knows what will happen if witnesses are permitted to influence the sentences of this Court. May I assume that there are no more questions for this witness?’
‘No further questions, your honour.’
‘Re-examination Monsieur Prosecutor?’
‘Yes, your honour. Monsieur de Predis, how many of the accused’s children were conscripted into Louis XVI’s armies?’
‘None!’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Everyone knows that the children of the nobles did not have to serve in the army. If the children of nobles chose to serve, they served as officers and, it is said, usually out of harm’s way. Not as cannon fodder like my children and those of most of my neighbours.’
‘No further questions.’
‘Marquis… Oh, ladies and gentlemen. Forgive me. I used his title. Please let us all bow.’
After the latest round of elaborate bowing had died down, the Marquis spoke up:
‘Mocking me and my title is all good and well. However, here we have a witness who has lost four children. The reduction of this trial to a farce is disrespectful to the witness.’
‘Silence! How dare you presume to lecture to this court! Especially if you consider the hundreds of young men whose blood drips from your hands,’ the judge exclaimed angrily. He then permitted himself a moment to recover his pose. ‘This witness is excused.’
The judge’s outburst caused the penny to drop at last.
‘Your honour, I know you! You are Monsieur Rigar! You worked for the local government. Three of your sons died fighting for France. I was involved in the conscription of two of them. I am entitled by the rules of natural justice to demand your recusal as judge and to apply for a fresh trial in front of an impartial judge.’
‘Monsieur Prosecutor, there is an application for my recusal. Do you have any counter submissions to make?’
‘Your honour, at the outset, may I be the first to express my heartfelt condolences on the deaths of each and every one of your three sons who died as a result of the activities of the accused. Secondly, may I bemoan the tone of the accused’s application for your recusal. Given the loss of your sons one would have expected the accused to have demonstrated at least as much sympathy for the Court’s loss as he pretended to have for the loss suffered by the previous witness. Thirdly, I fear that if those who lost children as a result of the accused’s activities were all disqualified from serving as judges, there would not be a single ordinary citizen left in this area who would be qualified to sit in judgment on this matter. The only persons who would be left would be nobles, who as we have already established, were not required to suffer the horrors of having their children conscripted. Have we not suffered enough under the justice of the nobility? We cannot allow that scourge to resurface here. My last submission, your honour, is about the accused’s insult to the dignity of this Court by the shameful suggestion that the loss suffered by the Court will in some way prevent this Court from deciding this case in an unbiased and just fashion. I accordingly call for the dismissal of this highly contemptuous and most unfortunate application.’
A burst of applause from some spectators followed the state’s address. Others remained silent. The split in the mood of the gallery came as an unexpected surprise to the Marquis.
‘Yes, well having heard argument from both sides it is apparent to all and sundry gathered here today that the state has advanced several particularly compelling reasons for me to refuse the application for my recusal as the judge in this matter. Most compelling of all is that if I were to recuse myself on the grounds suggested, virtually every other sitting judge in this district, if not this country would be forced to similarly recuse themselves. The real reason for this application is to delay these proceedings, which, we can all see, have run smoothly, efficiently and in accordance with the rules of natural and actual justice.’
‘Does the state have any more witnesses?’
‘Yes, your honour. We have two hundred and seventy witnesses.’
‘Two hundred and seventy? That is a considerable number of witnesses.’
‘Your honour, such is the magnitude of the accused’s crimes.’
‘Indeed so. However, I don’t wish to burden the Court with a procession of witnesses who are surely each going to give the same uncontested evidence.’
‘I agree, your honour.’
‘I thought you might. What I suggest is that we simply record the names of each of the witnesses and the names of their deceased sons on a piece of paper. These names can be read out in Court upon request. That will ensure that no witnesses can complain that either their or their children’s memories have not been incorporated as part and parcel of these pr
oceedings. On the same piece of paper, I suggest that we make a recordal that the examination in chief and the cross examination of the witnesses was short circuited, and taken as read, to avoid a monotonous repetition of the evidence of the first state witness. This should not be controversial since most of the evidence in respect of the first witness is not in dispute at all.’
‘The State agrees, your honour.’
‘The Defence objects, your honour. This is irregular and it constitutes a violation of my right to cross examine each witness and to hear their evidence against me.’
‘I have heard the objection of the accused. It is clear that the defence’s strategy is to unduly delay these proceedings. How else can one explain the rejection of the court’s perfectly reasonable solution to short circuit hours of repetitive evidence which is not in dispute? The parents have suffered enough. I will not add to their burdens. The defence’s objection is overruled. The evidence will be received through the method I suggested. I assume that is the case for the state?’
‘Yes, your honour.’
‘Does the accused have anything new to add to the opening submissions and to the points he has already made in this matter? If not, I do not require him to take the stand. As I said, I frown upon repetition. I tend to find that a good point is not improved by its repetition and neither is a bad point capable of redemption through repetition.’
‘I have nothing new, your honour.’
‘Do you intend calling any witnesses to introduce anything new which has not already been canvassed in the proceedings? I ask you to again consider this question in the light of my earlier comments on repetition.’
‘I have no witness to call.’
‘Excellent. That then is then the case for the accused,’ the Judge said. ‘Monsieur Prosecutor, I think the state’s argument has been fully canvassed during the interlocutory judgments I have already delivered in response to the arguments you have addressed to this Court earlier. Do you have any entirely new point that you may wish to raise as part of the state’s argument.’
‘No, your honour. I simply ask for the conviction of the accused. Furthermore, if I may be so bold as to presume that a conviction is inevitable considering the overwhelming evidence in this case, I would venture to respectfully suggest that it may be convenient for the Court to dispose of the matter of sentencing now as well. To that end, may I be permitted to make the humble submission that the death sentence is the only appropriate sentence for a man guilty of sending hundreds if not thousands of young innocent men to their violent and bloody deaths.’
‘Are there any brand new arguments from the accused?’
‘Only that I am clearly not guilty and that the man who sent the young men in question to their deaths, namely King Louis XVI, has already been executed for his crimes. I did not cause anyone’s death and nor did I wish anyone to die. I do not deserve to die. The only witness in this case said as much. Finally I ask for any death sentence to be suspended pending an appeal against the refusal of my application for your recusal.’
The Judge glared dismissively at the Marquis before rubbing his hands.
‘Thank you. I shall now retire to consider my verdict and I shall hand it down after lunch this afternoon. Court is adjourned. Monsieur Prosecutor, you will provide me with the lists of the additional witnesses and the additional deceased after lunch so that it can form part of the record?’
‘Yes, your honour.’
As the accused was led away, he overhead someone asking the prosecutor:
‘Are we likely to have the execution this afternoon? My mother has come quite a long way.’
The Marquis realised that his decision not to leave Montuga when he had had the opportunity to do so had been foolish. He had been warned on more than one occasion that the revolutionaries were likely to pursue them in Montuga. About a month before Du Pont eventually arrived in Montuga rumours had begun to surface that the Council of Six were preventing French nobleman in Montuga from being granted an audience with the king of Montuga. No distinction was drawn between the French nobles who owned property in Montuga and those who had arrived as refugees. He had also inexplicably ignored that warning sign.
The Court reconvened at two-thirty that afternoon. The crowd had grown considerably. It had been almost two weeks since the execution of the last noble. Everybody presumed that the verdict and the sentence would be a foregone conclusion. There was a hushed silence as the accused was led in. It was as if some onlookers realised that the man facing execution today did not deserve it. The judge proceeded to read his verdict.
‘It is not in dispute that the accused played a pivotal role in the deaths of many of the district’s young men. The former regime’s wars could not have been fought without those who ensured that its armies were kept supplied with poor and vulnerable men. He enforced a law knowing that it would not affect his children or those of his friends. Today is the day of reckoning. The accused is found guilty and he is sentenced to death. The application for the suspension of the sentence of death pending appeal is refused. The appeal has no prospect of succeeding. Does the accused have any final words?’
‘Yes,’ the Marquis said. ‘I respectfully request the right of a condemned man to be able to say a few words without interruption.’ In the absence of any response, the Marquis continued:
‘Our former king decreed that only those who were not of noble birth would be conscripted into the army. This was wrong. We all know that. But the king’s decree remained in force. Why, you may ask? Because the king could!’ He paused. ‘Because he could! Simply because you have the power to do wrong does not justify it or make it right.’ He paused once again for effect.
‘Today, you have all sat and watched an injustice occur. You all know that this trial has been a farce. I will not be executed because I have done anything for which I deserve to die. You will all permit my execution because you are the people and because you can! There is no-one to stop you. My youngest son was beaten to death by ordinary citizens much like the people in this court. They did it because they could! Not because butchering young children could ever be justified! You would all do well to remember that if you kill someone because you can, then you are no different from the people you condemn. The judge in my trial is a man whose own sons were lost due to conscription. This judge is not entitled to preside here. He is a judge in his own cause. A trial can only be just if it is so, not simply because a judge pronounces it so!’ The Marquis spoke in his usual measured, confident style. One could hear a pin drop in the courtroom. Utterances of disagreement or dismay were instantly shouted down by the majority, many of whom leaned forward or held their hands to their ears in a curious yet determined effort not to miss a single softly spoken word uttered by the condemned man.
‘You can execute me and by so doing you can deny my fundamental right to a proper appeal. But never forget, that as the last unjust regime fell suddenly, so too can this one. It can happen overnight. Injustice does not last forever. Lies cannot be covered up forever. Next month, next year or in ten years’ time, you, your honour, or maybe you, Monsieur Prosecutor may be the accused facing questions as to why you found it necessary to condemn someone like me to death. Or at the very least, you may have to justify or explain why you executed me without granting me my right to a proper appeal. You may have to explain why you presided over a mock court with imitation justice, but one which nonetheless carried out real executions. On that day, it will not be good enough to answer, your honour, that you did it because you could. Your only witness told this court I do not deserve to die. He is right!’
‘Soon you will all watch me die. You may enjoy watching a nobleman being executed. But tonight, the words of this witness will come back to haunt you all. You can lie to yourselves and pretend that this is justice. You can choose to believe these lies here and now, because there are others who will share in these lies. But tonight, and every night until you die, when you look at yourselves in your mirrors, you
will know the truth. It is impossible for anyone to hide from the truth for long. If you participate in or condone injustice, a time will come when you will be unable to look at yourself in the mirror, and neither will you be able to face each other. Because the guilt in the faces of those who were also here will remind you of your own guilt. And nothing can save you when you at last realise that in your lust for revenge or for the sight of blood, you allowed yourselves to become precisely what it was you originally despised.’ The Marquis paused for a final time. ‘Thank you at least, your honour, for not interrupting a condemned man in his final words.’
When he finished speaking, one could hear a pin drop. Some people in the room applauded softly. The Marquis heard one say softly:
‘He is right. We have become what we despise.’
‘Silence in Court. The accused will face execution in half an hour,’ the judge appeared red-faced. ‘This court is adjourned. Return the accused to his cell.’
The prosecutor’s head was buried in his hands.
Half an hour passed in no time at all and the Marquis was led out of his cell to the packed courtyard. The guillotine was centrally placed and only slightly elevated above ground level to ensure that the crowd were not too far removed from the action. The Marquis could not prevent himself from urinating in his britches as he was led to the guillotine and to his executioner. He was past feeling embarrassed or shame. He tried to think only of Philippe and he hoped that his son was being well cared for by Julien Garibaldi. How he hated himself for not escaping from Montuga with his son when he had every chance to do so. He thought of his wife and wondered whether he would shortly be seeing her. He stepped up to the guillotine and was about to be placed in position when a loud voice intervened.
‘Stop!’ The voice was that of the State Prosecutor. ‘It is my duty to announce that the prosecution have decided to support the accused’s right to an appeal against his conviction, his sentence and also the refusal of the application for the judge’s recusal. He will be remanded in custody here while the process of his appeal is sorted out.’
The announcement drew a mixed response from the crowd. Some clapped in relief whilst others were outraged or disappointed. The Marquis was quickly led away from the crowd and back to his cell. He would live for a while longer. The prosecutor later entered his cell.
‘That speech saved your life. At least, for now.’ The prosecutor stared at the Marquis for a while. ‘You were right. What has been happening is a farce. We all know it. But we pretend it is not so. It was wise to remind us that the system could change overnight. The present reign of terror cannot continue. We all know that. Those who hold others to account often fear being held to account themselves.’ The prosecutor got up to go. ‘Oh, and it may interest you to know, that when I found the judge to advise him of my decision, he was looking a little out of sorts. I think your speech may have caused him a little indigestion. And he is not a squeamish man.’
‘Thank you,’ the Marquis said. ‘For deciding to stand up and be counted. And for doing what is right. I realise that swimming upstream is not easy when you are the only one and everyone is going the other way.’
‘Thank you. I don’t know if it is not too late. There has been so much injustice,’ the prosecutor lamented. ‘And no one says anything for fear that they may be singled out as a collaborator. So it simply carries on.’
‘It is never too late. Every injustice is one too many. Every act of injustice matters. And every act of justice matters equally. The man you save today might be the man who saves you tomorrow.’