The first time I ever stepped into the Courthouse in Paris, I was twenty. It was already a thousand-years old monument. 6999 doors, 3150 windows, 24 kilometers of corridors, according to the legend. I have been working there for over ten years. I was a court reporter. On the nights when I had to stay late awaiting for a verdict, I would step away from the lights and sink into darker and darker corridors. I would hear rumblings coming from deep down. I had the feeling that the House was alive and it appeared to be moving. It's impending removal hastens my return. I come back to the courthouse with no trial to follow. From its maze of passages and my encounters, from its lurking stories, the portrait of an abstraction emerges piece by piece : justice.
