French courtroom experience leaves us wanting more

A couple of years ago we fell victim to a charlatan caterer. We reported him to the police and heard nothing for months until we received an invitation to the man’s trial in our local courthouse.

We were summoned to attend at 13:30 on a Tuesday. I assumed the thing would be over in a few minutes because the case was one of open-and-shut escroquerie (swindling). 

We took our places on the hard wooden seats provided for the public and, when instructed, stood as the presiding judge (known as a président) and her two companions (the assesseurs) took their seats on the bench. The court was in session. 

An official read out the schedule and announced that our case was to be sixth – the last of the day. The présidente advised us, and the two dozen other victims of the con man, to come back later. Much later. Lesson number one about the law in France: it takes time.

We returned after coffee, prepared for hours of boredom. Instead, the afternoon turned into one of the most interesting experiences we have had in France and a language lesson to boot.

The French Penal Code divides crimes into three types. Serious crimes, such as murder, are dealt with by the Cour d’assises. Minor infractions – routine traffic violations for example – are brought before a police court. Middle-ranking cases, classed as délits, which include burglary and fraud, are heard by a court such as the one we attended.

Lesson number two: you have to make an effort to figure out who’s who and what is going on. 

How courts work in France

A court in session is populated by men and women dressed in the sombre costumes of the law (black robes with white fringed tassels). 

There’s a prosecutor (procureur de la République) whose job is to insist on the appropriate punishment for the person, if found guilty; a greffier who is charged with ensuring the correct procedures are followed; and a parade of defence lawyers who must make the best possible case for each defendant and try to get his or her sentence reduced.

The président of the panel of judges has an inquisitorial function. It is he or she who cross-examines the defendant. Ours was patient and respectful but firm with each person who came before her. She did her best to get them to explain their motives. 

Each case lasted as long as it took to consider every last detail and every possible mitigating plea. This meant that the court session overran its allotted time span by hours.

Our crooked chef sat at the back of the public benches the whole time. At last, it was his turn to take the stand. 

Two of the previous defendants, brought from prison, had stood in the dock to our left, accompanied by muscly police officers; but the swindler was not yet convicted and he spoke from a lectern in the middle of the court.

The présidente presented the accusation. The gendarme who had put together the case explained the context. Then the victims were invited to relate their experiences. Most were disgruntled customers, but others were ex-employees who had been treated badly or not paid. 

The civil claims of all cheated parties were dealt with at the same time as the criminal charges. 

Lawyers representing the victims (les parties civiles) related their stories and stated the amount of compensation their clients were hoping to receive and their reasons, giving chapter and verse from the Penal Code. Then the procureur de la République announced the sentence that the state was requesting. 

Finally, the man’s own lawyer stood up and put forward a list of weak excuses, beginning with his client’s unhappy childhood, which had caused him to turn to crime. He also remarked that the victims were all adults, and only had themselves to blame if they were taken in by lies. 

This was a clear case of escroquerie, the présidente told the man; the evidence was overwhelming. 

She needed nothing more to make her decision but we would not hear it today. In the other cases, the three judges had retired to discuss the verdicts so that the sentence could be delivered immediately. 

Now, however, our man was told to come back in a couple of months’ time to hear his fate, which might include a prison sentence.

We were exhausted. We had been riding tides of information and emotions for hours. On the way home all I could say was: “Forget television. That was amazing. We must do that again sometime.”

Who can attend a court? 

Most court sessions are public and free to attend (in both senses) because justice has to be seen to be done. However, a judge may decide a particular case must be held in private (en huis clos) if it involves children or the discussion of sensitive information.

You can go into any courtroom that is in open session and sit on the public benches. You do not need to be a French citizen or to have a particular interest in a case. 

You will have to go through a security check and, once inside, you are expected to sit in silence (unless you are addressed by the judge) and not consume food or drink. Photography is forbidden. 

For high-profile trials in the cities there will be a greater demand for seats so get there early or expect to be put in an overflow room with a closed-circuit TV screen. 

Click here for more information.