only for pardon from God, and during the long or the short time which remains to us together don’t steal any more from me.
JACQUES : No matter how much I go back over the past, I can’t see that I have any score to settle with the justice of men. I haven’t killed or stolen or raped.
MASTER : Too bad. All things considered I’d prefer it if the crime had already been committed than remained to be, and for good reason.
JACQUES : But, Monsieur, perhaps I won’t be hanged on my account, but on account of someone else’s actions.
MASTER : That’s possible.
JACQUES : Perhaps I’ll only be hanged after my death?
MASTER : That’s possible too.
JACQUES : Perhaps I won’t be hanged at all.
MASTER : I doubt that.
JACQUES : Perhaps it is written up above that I will merely assist at thehanging of another person. And as for that other person, who knows who he is? Whether he is near by or far away from me?
MASTER : Monsieur Jacques, be hanged, since Fate wills it and your horse says it, but do not be insolent. Stop your impertinent conjecture and tell me your Captain’s story quickly.
JACQUES : Monsieur, don’t get angry. Sometimes perfectly honest people have been hanged. It’s one of the misunderstandings of justice.
MASTER : These misunderstandings of yours are painful. Let’s change the subject.
Jacques, who was feeling a little reassured by the diverse interpretations he had found for his horse’s prognostication, said:
When I joined the regiment there were two officers who were both of more or less the same age, same birth, same length of service, and both of equal merit. My Captain was one of them. The only difference between them was that one was rich and the other wasn’t. My Captain was the rich one. This similarity was bound to produce either the greatest sympathy or the most violent antipathy. In fact it produced both…
Here Jacques stopped, and this happened to him several more times during the course of his story, every time his horse moved his head to the left or the right. And to carry on he repeated his last phrase, as if he had the hiccups.
JACQUES : In fact it produced both. There were days when they were the best of friends and others when they were mortal enemies. On their days of friendship they would seek each other out, make a great show of pleasure when they met, embrace each other and then tell each other all their problems, their pleasures and their needs. They would consult each other on the most intimate subjects, on their domestic affairs, their hopes, their fears, their ambitions. And then the next day they would pass each other by without looking, or they would glare fiercely at each other, call each other ‘Monsieur’, say harsh words to each other, draw their swords and fight. If it happened that one of the two was wounded, the other would rush up to his friend crying and lamenting, see him to his quarters and install himself at his friend’s bedside until he was better. Then, a week, or a fortnight, or a month later, it would begin again, and people would see from one moment to the next two gallant men… two gallant men, two sincere friends each facingdeath at the other’s hands and the one who died would certainly not have been the one deserving the most pity.
People had often spoken to them about the strangeness of their conduct. I, myself– for my Captain allowed me to discuss things with him – used to ask him: ‘Monsieur, what if you killed him?’
At these words he would start to cry and bury his face in his hands. Then he would run round his apartment like a madman. Two hours later, either his friend would bring him back wounded or he would do the same for his friend.
Neither my protests… neither my protests nor those of anyone else did any good. The only solution was to separate them. The Minister of War was informed of their extraordinary persistence in these extremes of behaviour and my Captain was given command of a fortress with strict orders to
JACQUES : No matter how much I go back over the past, I can’t see that I have any score to settle with the justice of men. I haven’t killed or stolen or raped.
MASTER : Too bad. All things considered I’d prefer it if the crime had already been committed than remained to be, and for good reason.
JACQUES : But, Monsieur, perhaps I won’t be hanged on my account, but on account of someone else’s actions.
MASTER : That’s possible.
JACQUES : Perhaps I’ll only be hanged after my death?
MASTER : That’s possible too.
JACQUES : Perhaps I won’t be hanged at all.
MASTER : I doubt that.
JACQUES : Perhaps it is written up above that I will merely assist at thehanging of another person. And as for that other person, who knows who he is? Whether he is near by or far away from me?
MASTER : Monsieur Jacques, be hanged, since Fate wills it and your horse says it, but do not be insolent. Stop your impertinent conjecture and tell me your Captain’s story quickly.
JACQUES : Monsieur, don’t get angry. Sometimes perfectly honest people have been hanged. It’s one of the misunderstandings of justice.
MASTER : These misunderstandings of yours are painful. Let’s change the subject.
Jacques, who was feeling a little reassured by the diverse interpretations he had found for his horse’s prognostication, said:
When I joined the regiment there were two officers who were both of more or less the same age, same birth, same length of service, and both of equal merit. My Captain was one of them. The only difference between them was that one was rich and the other wasn’t. My Captain was the rich one. This similarity was bound to produce either the greatest sympathy or the most violent antipathy. In fact it produced both…
Here Jacques stopped, and this happened to him several more times during the course of his story, every time his horse moved his head to the left or the right. And to carry on he repeated his last phrase, as if he had the hiccups.
JACQUES : In fact it produced both. There were days when they were the best of friends and others when they were mortal enemies. On their days of friendship they would seek each other out, make a great show of pleasure when they met, embrace each other and then tell each other all their problems, their pleasures and their needs. They would consult each other on the most intimate subjects, on their domestic affairs, their hopes, their fears, their ambitions. And then the next day they would pass each other by without looking, or they would glare fiercely at each other, call each other ‘Monsieur’, say harsh words to each other, draw their swords and fight. If it happened that one of the two was wounded, the other would rush up to his friend crying and lamenting, see him to his quarters and install himself at his friend’s bedside until he was better. Then, a week, or a fortnight, or a month later, it would begin again, and people would see from one moment to the next two gallant men… two gallant men, two sincere friends each facingdeath at the other’s hands and the one who died would certainly not have been the one deserving the most pity.
People had often spoken to them about the strangeness of their conduct. I, myself– for my Captain allowed me to discuss things with him – used to ask him: ‘Monsieur, what if you killed him?’
At these words he would start to cry and bury his face in his hands. Then he would run round his apartment like a madman. Two hours later, either his friend would bring him back wounded or he would do the same for his friend.
Neither my protests… neither my protests nor those of anyone else did any good. The only solution was to separate them. The Minister of War was informed of their extraordinary persistence in these extremes of behaviour and my Captain was given command of a fortress with strict orders to
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