Albert Camus

The story: The mother [Maman] of the main character, Meursault, dies in a public assistance-type nursing home in a remote French town. Meursault and Maman had been estranged for some time. Almost immediately after arriving for the funeral, Meursault takes up with a local young woman, Marie, and makes friends with Raymond, a friend of Marie. Raymond had some prior trouble with a man referred to as "the Arab," who had been stalking him. One day while at the beach, the Arab and another man attack Meursault and Raymond, while Marie is with them, but Meursault and Raymond are able to fend off the assailants. Raymond has a gun, but Meursault takes it from him so that Raymond will not be tempted to shoot the Arab if he appears again. It is a very hot day, so Meursault decides to go back to the beach. When he arrives, he notices the Arab. The sun is shining in Meursault's eyes and his forehead is sweating profusely. The Arab pulls a knife and attacks Meursault with it. As the Arab raises the knife, the sun glints off of it into Meursault's eyes. He throws his head back and the sweat fills his eyes. Meursault is unable to see. He sees what he believes is the flash of the knife coming toward his face, and Meursault reflexively shoots the Arab. Meursault is charged with pre-meditated murder and is awaiting trial as Chapter 3 opens.

Chapter 3

But I can honestly say that the time from summer went very quickly. And I knew as soon as the weather turned hot for the last session of the Court of Assizes, and that session was due to end some time in June. The trial opened with the sun glaring outside. My lawyer had assured me that it wouldn't last more than two or three days. "Besides," he had added, "the court will be pressed for time. Yours isn't the most important case of the session. Right after you, there's a patricide coming up.

* * *

A short time later a small bell rang in the room.... I sat down with the policemen standing on either side of me. It was then that I noticed a row of faces in front of me. They were all looking at me: I realized that they were the jury. But I can't say what distinguished one from another. I had just one impression: I was sitting across from a row of seats on a streetcar and all these anonymous passengers were looking over the new arrival to see if they could find something funny about him. I knew it was a silly idea since it wasn't anything funny they were after but a crime. There isn't much difference, though - in any case that was the idea that came to me.

* * *

...[T]he presiding judge started speaking. He said that the formal proceedings were about to begin and that he didn't think he needed to remind the public to remain silent. According to him, he was there to conduct in an impartial manner the proceedings of a case which he would consider objectively. The verdict returned by the jury would be taken in a spirit of justice....

* * *

My examination began right away. The presiding judge questioned me calmly and even, it seemed to me, with a hint of cordiality. Once again he had me state my name, age, date and place of birth, and although it irritated me, I realized it was only natural, because it would be a very serious thing to try the wrong man....

He told me he now had to turn to some questions that might seem irrelevant to my case but might in fact have a significant bearing on it. I knew right away he was going to talk about Maman again, and at the same time I could feel how much it irritated me. He asked me why I had put Maman in the home. I answered that it was because I didn't have the money to have her looked after and cared for. He asked me if it had been hard on me, and I answered that Maman and I didn't expect anything from each other anymore, or from anyone else either, and that we had both gotten used to our new lives. The judge then said that he didn't want to dwell on this point, and he asked the prosecutor if he had any further questions.

The prosecutor had his back half-turned to me, and without looking at me he stated that, with the court's permission, he would like to know whether I had gone back to the spring by myself intending to kill the Arab. "No," I said. Well, then, why was I armed and why did I return to precisely that spot? I said it just happened that way. And the prosecutor noted in a nasty voice, "That will be all for now." After that things got a little confused, at least for me. But after some conferring, the judge announced that the hearing was adjourned until the afternoon, at which time the witnesses would be heard.

* * *

... I heard the director of the home being called. He was asked whether Maman ever complained about me, and he said yes but that some of it was just the way the residents all had of complaining about their relatives. The judge then had him clarify whether she used to reproach me for having put her in the home, and the director again said yes. But this time he didn't add anything else. To another question he replied that he had been surprised by my calm the day of the funeral. He was asked what he meant by "calm." The director then looked down at the tips of his shoes and said that I hadn't wanted to see Maman, that I hadn't cried once, and that I had left right after the funeral without paying my last respects at her grave. And one other thing had surprised him: one of the men who worked for the undertaker had told him I didn't know how old Maman was.... [The judge] then asked the prosecutor if he had any questions to put to the witness, and the prosecutor exclaimed, "Oh no, that is quite sufficient!" with such glee and with such a triumphant look in my direction that for the first time in years I had this stupid urge to cry, because I could feel how much all these people hated me.

After asking the jury and my lawyer if they had any questions, the judge called the caretaker.... He said I hadn't wanted to see Maman, that I had smoked and slept some, and that I had had some coffee.... The caretaker was asked to repeat the part about the cigarette. The prosecutor looked at me with an ironic gleam in his eye. At that point my lawyer asked the caretaker if it wasn't true that he had smoked a cigarette with me. But the prosecutor objected vehemently to this question. "Who is on trial here and what kind of tactics are these, trying to taint the witnesses for the prosecution in an effort to detract from testimony that remains nonetheless overwhelming!" In spite of all that, the judge directed the caretaker to answer the question. The old man looked embarrassed and said, "I know I was wrong to do it. But I couldn't refuse the cigarette when monsieur offered it to me." Lastly, I was asked if I had anything to add. "Nothing," I said, "except that the witness is right. It's true. I did offer him a cigarette." The caretaker gave me a surprised and somehow grateful look. He hesitated and then he said that he was the one who offered me the coffee. My lawyer was exultant and stated loudly that the jury would take note of the fact. But the prosecutor shouted over our heads and said, "Indeed, the gentlemen of the jury will take note of the fact. And they will conclude that a stranger may offer a cup of coffee, but that beside the body of the one who brought him into the world, a son should have refused it." The caretaker went back to his bench.

When Thomas Perez's turn came, a bailiff had to hold him up and help him get to the witness stand. Perez said it was really my mother he had known and that he had seen me only once, on the day of the funeral. He was asked how I had acted that day and he replied, "You understand, I was too sad. So I didn't see anything...." The prosecutor asked him if he had at least seen me cry. Perez answered no. The prosecutor in turn said, "The gentlemen of the jury will take note." But my lawyer got angry. He asked Perez in what seemed to be an exaggerated tone of voice if he head seen me not cry. Perez said, "No." The spectators laughed....

* * *

After a five-minute recess, during which my lawyer told me that everything was working out for the best, we heard the testimony of Celeste, who was called by the defense. "The defense" meant me.... He was asked if I was a customer of his and he said, "Yes, but he was also a friend...." The prosecutor asked him if I kept up with my bill. Celeste laughed and said, "Between us those were just details." He was again asked what he thought about my crime. He put his hands on the edge of the box, and you could tell he had something prepared. He said, "The way I see it, it's bad luck. Everybody knows what bad luck is. It leaves you defenseless. And there it is! The way I see it, it's bad luck." He was about to go on, but the judge told him that would be all and thanked him. Celeste was a little taken aback. But he stated that he had more to say. He was asked to be brief. He again repeated that it was bad luck. And the judge said, "Yes, fine. But we are here to judge just this sort of bad luck. Thank you."....

Marie entered.... She seemed very nervous. Right away she was asked how long she had known me. She said since the time she worked in our office. The judge wanted to know what her relation was to me. She said she was my friend. To another question, she answered yes, it was true that she was supposed to marry me. Flipping through a file, the prosecutor asked her bluntly when our "liaison" had begun. She indicated the date. The prosecutor remarked indifferently that if he was not mistaken, that was the day after Maman died. Then in a slightly ironic tone he said that he didn't mean to dwell on such a delicate matter, and that he fully appreciated Marie's misgivings but (and his tone grew firmer) that he was duty bound to go beyond propriety. So he asked Marie to describe briefly that day when I had first known her. Marie didn't want to, but at the prosecutor's insistence, she went over our swim, the movies, and going back to my place.... By the time she had finished there was a complete silence in the courtroom. The prosecutor then rose and, very gravely and with what struck me as real emotion in his voice, his finger pointing at me, said slowly and distinctly, "Gentlemen of the jury, the day after his mother's death, this man was out swimming, starting up a dubious liaison, and going to the movies, a comedy, for laughs. I have nothing further to say." He sat down in the still-silent courtroom. But all of a sudden Marie began to sob, saying it wasn't like that, there was more to it, and that she was being made to say the opposite of what she was thinking, that she knew me and I hadn't done anything wrong. But at a signal from the judge, the bailiff ushered her out and the trial proceeded.

Hardly anyone listened after that when Masson testified that I was an honest man "and I'd even say a decent one." Hardly anyone listened to Salamano either, when he recalled how I had been good to his dog and when he answered a question about my mother and me by saying that I had run out of things to say to Maman and that was why I'd put her in the home. "You must understand," Salamano kept saying, "You must understand." But no one seemed to understand. He was ushered out.

Next came Raymond, who was the last witness. He waved to me and all of a sudden, he blurted out that I was innocent. But the judge advised him that he was being asked not for judgments but for facts.... [T]he judge asked him whether the victim hadn't also had reason to hate me. Raymond said that my being at the beach was just chance.... Finishing up, [the prosecutor] asked Raymond how he made his living, and when Raymond replied "warehouse guard," the prosecutor informed the jury that it was common knowledge that the witness practiced the profession of procurer. I was his friend and accomplice. They had before them the basest of crimes, a crime made worse than sordid by the fact that they were dealing with a monster, a man without morals. Raymond wanted to defend himself and my lawyer objected, but they were instructed that they must let the prosecutor finish. "I have little to add," the prosecutor said. "Was he your friend?" he asked Raymond. "Yes," Raymond said. "We were pals." The prosecutor then put the same question to me, and I looked at Raymond, who returned my gaze. I answered, "Yes." The prosecutor then turned to the jury and declared, "The same man who the day after his mother died was indulging in the most shameful debauchery killed a man for the most trivial of reasons and did so in order to settle an affair of unspeakable vice."

He then sat down. But my lawyer lost his patience, and, raising his hands so high that his sleeves fell, revealing the creases of a starched shirt, he shouted, "Come now, is my client on trial for burying his mother or for killing a man?" The spectators laughed. But the prosecutor rose to his feet again, adjusted his robe, and declared that only someone with the naivete of his esteemed colleague could fail to appreciate that between these two sets of facts there existed a profound, fundamental, and tragic relationship. "Indeed," he loudly exclaimed," I accuse this man of burying his mother with crime in his heart!" This pronouncement seemed to have a strong effect on the people in the courtroom. My lawyer shrugged his shoulders and wiped the sweat from his brow. But he looked shaken himself, and I realized that things weren't going well for me.

Chapter 4

* * *

[At the conclusion of his summation], the prosecutor stopped and after a short silence continued in a very low voice filled with conviction: "Tomorrow, gentlemen, this same court is to sit in judgment of the most monstrous of crimes: the murder of a father." According to him, the imagination recoiled before such an odious offense. He went so far as to hope that human justice would mete out punishment unflinchingly. But he wasn't afraid to say it: my callousness inspired in him a horror nearly greater than that which he felt at the crime of patricide. And also according to him, a man who is morally guilty of killing his mother severs himself from society in the same way as the man who raises a murderous hand against the father who begat him. In any case, the one man paved the way for the deeds of the other, in a sense foreshadowed and even legitimized them. "I am convinced, gentlemen," he added, raising his voice, "that you will not think it too bold of me if I suggest to you that the man who is seated in the dock is also guilty of the murder to be tried in this court tomorrow. He must be punished accordingly... For in the course of what has been a long career, I have had occasion to call for the death penalty, never as strongly as today have I felt this painful duty made easier, lighter, clearer by the certain knowledge of a sacred imperative and by the horror I feel when I look into a man's face and all I see is a monster."

When the prosecutor returned to his seat, there was a rather long silence. My head was spinning with heat and astonishment. The presiding judge cleared his throat and in a very low voice asked me if I had anything to add. I stood up, and since I did wish to speak, I said, almost at random, in fact, that I never intended to kill the Arab. The judge replied by saying that at least that was an assertion, that until then he hadn't quite grasped the nature of my defense, and that before hearing from my lawyer he would be happy to have me state precisely the motives for my act. Fumbling a little with my words and realizing how ridiculous I sounded, I blurted out that it was because of the sun. People laughed. My lawyer threw up his hands....

* * *

... The jurors filed out, and I was taken to the little room where I had waited before. My lawyer joined me. He was very talkative and spoke to me more confidently and cordially than he ever had before. He thought that everything would go well and that I would get off with a few years in prison or at hard labor. I asked him whether he thought that there was any chance of overturning the verdict if it was unfavorable. He said no. His tactic had been not to file any motions so as not to antagonize the jury. He explained to me that verdicts weren't set aside just like that, for nothing. That seemed obvious and I accepted his logic. Looking at it objectively, it made perfect sense. Otherwise there would be too much pointless paperwork. "Anyway," he said, "we can always appeal. But I'm convinced that he outcome will be favorable."

We waited a long time - almost three-quarters of an hour, I think. Then a bell rang. My lawyer left me, saying: "The foreman of the jury is going to announce the verdict. You'll only be brought in for the passing of sentence." Doors slammed. People were running on stairs somewhere, but I couldn't tell if they were nearby or far away. Then I heard a muffled voice reading something in the courtroom. When the bell rang again, when the door to the dock opened, what rose to meet me was silence in the courtroom, silence and the strange feeling I had when I noticed that the young reporter had turned his eyes away. I didn't look in Marie's direction. I didn't have time to, because the presiding judge told me in bizarre language that I was to have my head cut off in a public square in the name of the French people. Then it seemed to me that I suddenly knew what was on everybody's face. It was a look of consideration, I'm sure. The policemen were very gentle with me. The lawyer put his hand on my wrist. I wasn't thinking about anything anymore. But the presiding judge asked me if I had anything to say. I said, "No." That's when they took me away.