VOICE: They brought a couple in yesterday morning.
BARON: What do you mean?
VOICE: Yesterday morning, a day before you, they brought a couple in.
BARON: A couple?
VOICE: I saw them both in the refectory.
BARON: Where is it?
VOICE: It’s no use. You can’t go there. You can’t go out of here.
BARON: But you went there. Wait a bit (he rubs bis eyes), I think I can see things again. Are you certain that . . . ?
VOICE: That’s enough! It’s dark. You’re nervous. You’ll end up seeing what you want to see. Do you want me to help or don’t you?
BARON: What were they like? Eh? Did he have a goatee? Did she have fiery red hair?
VOICE: The description fits like a glove.
BARON: (horrified) Then it’s them?
VOICE: Maybe.
BARON: And wasn’t there a beautiful girl with them, about fifteen, with her breasts pressed into a silver corset and with golden hair falling over her shoulders? Wasn’t there?
VOICE: No. I’m sorry, but I didn’t see anyone fitting that description.
BARON: (covering his face with his hands) It’s not possible! There’s no justice in the world! Then it’s her! My God!
VOICE: Careful! Religion is caused by laziness and impatience. It’s the great defect of anyone who tries to explain the inexplicable without using reason. Don’t reach hasty conclusions.
BARON: But it’s her! It’s her!
VOICE: (impatient) Her? Who?
BARON: She’s the dead one. They killed her! While I was asleep!
VOICE: I wouldn’t go that far. What makes you so sure?
BARON: Murderers!
VOICE: I heard the two of them talking in the refectory. They said they wouldn’t stay for long. They think they’ll be found innocent. Idiots.
BARON: I need to see them.
VOICE: It’s impossible You’ve no access to them. They’re under observation. You can’t go back there.
BARON: Why not?
VOICE: This is where the definitive ones stay.
BARON: Definitive?
VOICE: Those who’ve come to stay.
BARON: But you’re here and you went there.
VOICE: I have free passage. I’ve been here for some time. It’s a right you achieve with time.
BARON: And what did they say? What did they say?
VOICE: They’d just got here. They were huddled together, frightened to mix, which only excited the others more – they surrounded them as if they were about to jump on them, and then ran around laughing all over the place. It was difficult to come near them without their hair standing on end. It was only at lunchtime, while all of them were eating, that I could get close without them realising it, and hear what they were saying. They were whispering, like people planning an escape. I couldn’t help getting interested. Attempts to escape interest me. Even if it’s only because of the punishments those who try are subjected to. But they weren’t planning any escape. They thought they would be released soon. They were saying that there was no reason for the two of them to be kept here. No one could prove anything against them. The man, who was in a deplorable state, dishevelled and dirty, was trying to calm her down, saying that they’d soon be free. He said they weren’t mad. That’s what they all say. They said they’d been sent here for lack of proof, on the excuse that they’d lost their reason, until the court found something to incriminate them with. They would soon be freed. He said they had contacts. That confirms your story. She said over and over: ‘What a nightmare! What a nightmare!’, shaking her head and with her eyes glazed over as if she were mad and had come to the right place. He did everything to comfort her. But there was also something mad in what he was saying: ‘Some things are inevitable. It was better this way. God works in mysterious ways,’ and other such idiocies. God! It’s the first name that comes into their mouths when things get difficult, but they never think of Him when they loosen the reins of pleasure, like unbelievers. They enjoy themselves without thanking anyone, and only remember God when they get into trouble. And that’s when they go mad, when they realise that God doesn’t exist and never did, at the moment they most need Him, when they’ve given their lives as proof that He doesn’t exist. Poor hypocrites. It was only little by little that I was able to observe the nods of the head and the gestures with his arms he punctuated his soothing speech with; those tics became more and more bizarre. If I was a doctor, after what I’ve seen in this place, I wouldn’t discharge them. Not a bit of it. Simply observing them, they seemed really mad to me.
BARON: They’re not mad. It might not be them.
VOICE: Unfortunately, I think it is them. They were talking about a night in the château and about the victim . . .
BARON: Martine!
VOICE: . . . as someone they knew closely.
BARON: They were in league!
VOICE: Something might have gone wrong. The woman simply repeated: ‘What a nightmare! What a nightmare!’, with the same movement of her head and glazed eyes. She was very low, her face looked exhausted. And he said to her: ‘Now, she’s gone. She’s a long way off. There’s nothing more we can do. We have to accept facts and destiny.’
BARON: Murderers! That’s the confession the court needed to arrest them. The proof of my innocence!
VOICE: It’s a long way from there to make them confess anything to the representatives of justice. Though it’s not a bad idea. Forced confessions are often the most beautiful ones, the ones that expose the tragic, powerless destiny of man, all the falsity of justice and the illusion of liberty and free will.
BARON: Someone has to make them pay for the crime they committed.
VOICE: They don’t seem so worried about that. They think they’re going to get out soon. Now, thinking about you, I don’t know who’s more naïve, you or them. Pay! Nobody pays for anything and everyone pays for everything. Life is an incentive to crime. What kind of a libertine are you?
BARON: Not a proper one, I told you. A slave to my feelings.
VOICE: That’s why you’re blind. You can’t see a thing.
BARON: There’s not a chink of light anywhere.
VOICE: It’s one of the features of this wing. In the other wing, at least they can see one another. Or they think they do. Which doesn’t reduce the madness in the least. Maybe it just increases it. Sometimes, it’s worse to be able to see. There’s no use in seeing when everything around you is a hallucination. I’m not excluding the possibility that your companions at the orgy might be hallucinating too when they think they’re going to get out soon. They’re just as mad as the others. Maybe even more so. How come they think they’re going to be released?