Chapter 9
At seven‑thirty in the morning Meursault is taken in a prison van to the courthouse. Two policemen keep him in a dark waiting room, offer him a cigarette, ask if he has the “jitters,” and finally lead him, handcuffed, into the dock of a bright, stuffy courtroom. The room is packed; blinds filter sun, fans whir, and a row of jurors looks at him like anonymous street‑car passengers. A press contingent, including a special correspondent for a Paris paper, greets him, and his lawyer—arriving in a gown flanked by colleagues—shakes hands with reporters before giving Meursault terse advice to answer briefly and not volunteer.
The prosecutor, a tall thin man in red with a pince‑nez, takes his place beside three judges (two in black, one in red) who enter with files, caps, and handkerchiefs, and announce the session. A young reporter with gray flannels watches Meursault closely. The court draws lots for the jury, reads the indictment, and the presiding judge begins questioning Meursault about his identity, the incident with his mother (Maman), and the beach shooting. Meursault repeats “Yes, Your Honor” to each question.
The bailiff calls witnesses one by one. First the director of the elder‑care home testifies that Maman complained about Meursault and that he showed no grief at her funeral, confirming that he left without paying respects. Next the caretaker confirms he smoked a cigarette with Meursault and offered him coffee; after a heated objection from the prosecutor his testimony is allowed. Thomas Pérez, the home’s director, is helped to the stand; he says he saw Meursault only once, on the funeral day, too sad to notice anything, and did not see him cry. The prosecutor repeatedly emphasizes that the jury will “take note.” Meursault’s lawyer objects, shouting “everything is true and nothing is true!”
Céleste, called by the defense, testifies that Meursault was his customer and friend, that he was “a man,” that he never paid his bills, and repeats that the case is “bad luck.” The judge cuts him short but allows a brief reiteration of the “bad luck” theme. Marie, Meursault’s lover, testifies that she had known him since working in their office, that they were to be married, and that their liaison began the day after his mother’s death; she names a Fernandel film they saw together. The prosecutor presses her on the date, then moves on. Masson testifies that Meursault was honest and decent; Salamano speaks of Meursault’s kindness to his dog and how he ran out of things to say to his mother, then is escorted out. Raymond, the last witness, declares Meursault innocent, explains their friendship, and repeats that many of the events were “just chance.” The prosecutor counters, accusing Meursault of killing a man for a trivial reason after his mother’s burial and insists the jury will note the “shameful debauchery.”
Meursault’s lawyer, exasperated, raises his arms and shouts, “Come now, is my client on trial for burying his mother or for killing a man?” The courtroom erupts in laughter. The prosecutor rises again, adjusting his robe, and declares that Meursault has “crime in his heart” for burying his mother. The judge eventually adjourns the trial. As Meursault leaves the courthouse, he senses the summer evening air, hears street‑vendor cries, birds, street‑car screeches, and the hum of the port, recalling a time when he felt content, before returning to his cell to await the next day.