convince the jury, to seize it and tear from it the "Yes" of a verdict. It was no longer a question of Etchepare, I tell you; it was a question of myself, of my vanity, of my reputation, of my honor, of my future. It's shameful, I repeat, it's shameful! At any cost, I wanted to avoid the acquittal which I felt was certain. And I was possessed by such a fear of not succeeding, that I employed all the arguments, good and bad—even those which consisted in representing to those frightened men their homes in flames, their loved ones assassinated. I spoke of the vengeance of God upon judges who had no severity. And all that in good faith—or rather without consciousness, in a fit of passion, in a fit of passion against the advocate whom I hated with all my forces. . . . The success was even greater than I could have wished; the jury is ready to obey me, and for myself, my dear—I let myself be congratulated, and I pressed the hands which were held out to me.—That's what it is to be a prosecutor!
Mme. Vagret:—Console yourself. There are perhaps not ten men in France who would have acted otherwise.
Vagret:—You are right. Only—if one reflects, it is precisely that which is frightful.
By Kenkō Hoshi
(See pages 135, 151)
The governing class should stop their luxurious expenditures in order to help the governed class. For only when a man has been provided with the ordinary means of living, and yet steals, may he be really called a thief.
