(Henriette hired Fernand Labori, the superstar
defence lawyer who had recently acted for
Dreyfus. Old and cynical, he advises her to
play on her sexy image.)
6. Fernand Labori
I've long since left off thinking of it thus.
It's putting on an act, that's all it is.
The ones who play it honest miss the bus.
You'll give it drama, colour, fervour, fizz.
A woman's always stronger than a man,
since men are tethered by the nether parts.
I'm sure you'll give it everything you can.
Your jurors are all men -- so break their hearts!
You have the looks, so hit them where they live.
You shot a man to death? The nation shrugs.
The only thing the French will not forgive
is if you're sexless. Let them see those dugs.
Admit it all, and argue crime of passion.
Oh yes, you took a gun, but meant restraint.
To win the women, wear the latest fashion:
to win the men, it helps if you can faint.
Just flash an ankle, watch them strain their necks.
(And still, we label you the weaker sex!)
(The husband of Henriette is in a casino, playing
roulette, and not especially concerned about her
plight. The Hotel Dieux is a hospital alongside
Notre Dame Cathedral, in downtown Paris.)
5. Joseph Caillaux
When? The chips are down. This is a marriage,
this black and red. Rien ne va plus, he said!
Let's go! We came here in a horseless carriage,
tonight we'll have the sidewalk for a bed.
(My little joke.) What's that you say, mon vieux?
The Tax Bill? That's how politicians play it.
(This wheel will put me in the Hôtel Dieu!)
A private confidence -- you don't betray it.
A public face (it can't be otherwise)
is oftentimes at variance with the private.
But Calmette's type are sneakers, peekers, spies,
would wreck a man (and frequently contrive it!)
Mon brave, I'm not the man to fight a duel.
You risk your life, your health, or prosecution --
for what? You lose, you're dead. You win, you fuel
the anger of your foes. It's no solution.
She said she would. (I'll spin, and win for us!)
I've long since left off thinking of it. (Thus!)
(Now we hear from the murderess. She explains
that she killed Calmette because he published
love letters which she had written to her husband,
a minister in the government. It is true that she
made her own way to the police station, having
given her word that she would answer charges.
"Le Gratin" is the "upper crust" of French society.)
4. Henriette Caillaux
He got his just come-uppance. Ça suffit.
What else is there to make an issue of?
Oh, very well: you wish to know my plea.
My plea is, I'm a woman, and in love.
I didn't leave the scene. I waited there.
I am a lady, I'd done nothing wrong.
My attitude, you think, is debonaire?
I said I'd keep my word. I came along.
What kind of scoundrel publishes the letters
that pass between two lovers? Tell me that!
He sinned against our love, against his betters:
The cur deserved to die, I'll tell you flat!
The jurors? Do they tipple, make love? Dance?
They are red-blooded Frenchmen? You will see.
Le Gratin, c'est Le Gratin. France is France.
No jury will convict. Take it from me.
When someone's out to damage and disparage,
When all the chips are down, this is a marriage.