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Cornell University Law Library 
 
 The Moak Collection 
 
 PURCHASED FOR 
 
 The School of Law of Cornell University 
 
 !. And Presented February 14, 1893 
 
 IN nEnoRY OF 
 . JUDQE DOUGLASS BOARDMAN 
 
 FIRST DEAN qF THE SCHOOL 
 
 By his Wife and Daugliter 
 A. M. BOARDMAN arid ELLEN D. WILLIAMS 
 
CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 3 1924 072 408 325 
 
 (jorn^U Cam Btl^tml ©brary 
 

Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
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 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924072408325 
 
X 
 
 JUDICIAL DEAMAS. 
 
JUDICIAL DEAMAS; 
 
 OR THE 
 
 KOMANCE OF FRENCH CRIMINAL LAW. 
 
 BT 
 
 HENRY SPICE R. 
 
 ADTHOB OF "SIOHTS AND SOUNDS," "OLD STTLES'S," 
 " BBODSHT TO BOOK," ETa 
 
 PericuloBum est credere et non credere ; 
 Utriusque breviter exponam rei. 
 
 LONDON: 
 TINSLBY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 
 1872. 
 
TO 
 
 MR, SERJEANT BALLANTINE, 
 
 JUSTLY STTLED THE 
 
 ABLEST ADVOCATE AND CEOSS-EXAMINEE OF THE ENGLISH BAR, 
 
 THIS SELECTION OF A CLASS OF OASES KNOWN 
 IN FRANCE AS 
 
 "DEAMES JUDIOIAIKES," 
 
 IS DEDICATED BY THE COMPILE K, 
 
 H. S. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 I. GHOST* IN COURT 1 
 
 II. THE MYSTERY OF METZ 23 
 
 III. THE PRIEST-MAGICIAN .'^ 46 
 
 IV. AM I MYSELF? 92 
 
 V. ON YOUR OATH? 114 
 
 -IVI. HUMAN BLOODHOUNDS 134 
 
 VIL " IT WILL OUT " 175 
 
 VIII. THE TRAGEDY d'ANGLADE 208 
 
 IX. THE ERENCH MACHEATH 228 
 
 X. THE SKELETON OF THE RUE VAUGIRARD 279 
 
 XI. A FRENCH WOLF 317 
 
 XII. THE MAETYR-WIFE , . , . 359 
 
JUDICIAL DRAMAS. 
 
 I. 
 
 GHOSTS IN COUET. 
 
 TTTHETHEE or not the defective ventilation of our 
 courts of law be inimical to the subtle fluid of 
 which phantoms are composed, or whether these 
 sensitive essences, oppressed with the absurdities of 
 forensic costume and manners, take fright at the first 
 glimmer of a counsellor's wig, or at the titter that 
 follows a counsellor's joke, there can be no question of 
 the extreme difficulty that has always been experi- 
 enced in bringing a spectre fairly to judicial book. 
 
 So long as the proceedings retain an extrajudicial 
 character, no gentleman on the extensive roll of 
 attorneys could devote his time and abilities more 
 zealously to the getting up of a case than has your 
 unfee'd film. Not content with fulfilling the office 
 of detective, the indefatigable phantom has suggested 
 needful testimony, indicated lines of prosecution, 
 
 1 
 
Ghosts in Court. 
 
 collected witnesses, and — all being ready — marclied, 
 so to speak, up to the very door of the judgment-hall. 
 There, however, for one of the reasons above stated, 
 or for some other, the spectre has invariably come to 
 a stand. An objection to be sworn, in that impres- 
 sive manner so familiar to the frequenters of English 
 courts of justice, may have something to do with it. 
 The prospect of a cross-examination by a sceptical 
 person in horsehair, whose incredulity goes the 
 'length of doubting one's very existence, and whose 
 questions, in any case, must look one's substance 
 through and through, may be sufficiently alarming. 
 Still, it is clear that such coquetting with the forms of 
 legal procedure is, as Dogberry observes, most tole- 
 rable, and not to be endured. We need not, therefore, 
 be surprised that a tacit understanding has been 
 arrived at to eliminate the accusing shade altogether. 
 If flesh and blood, that can speak well up to a jury, 
 and stand bullying, cannot convict a man, shall a 
 skulking shadow have that power ? No. The ghost's 
 word — appraised by the Prince of Denmark at "a 
 thousand pound" — is now, in the eye of the law, 
 literally not worth one dump. 
 
 Eespect, however, for the fallen. It is one of the 
 evil results of the " Spiritualism" which has spread 
 
Ghosts in Court. 
 
 like a rabies through society, that, in dealing with 
 those wizards who are medium one day and conjuror 
 the next, according to the amount of detection brought 
 to bear on them, or to the tone of the opinion market^ 
 we are apt to acquire a habit of speaking with over- 
 famiharity of things that lie beyond the hitherto 
 ascertained limit of natural laws. This is surely a 
 ■mistake. Nothing, in this educated age, astonishes 
 one more than the extreme narrowness of that district 
 which separates absolute scepticism from blind belief. 
 So close are these neighbours, that, without risk of 
 offending one or the other, the reasonable mind has 
 scarcely space to stir. With the former, the mere act 
 of inquiry seems tc involve a sort of abandonment of 
 principle ; with the latter, the most superficial exami- 
 nation suffices. 
 
 "Without in the least challenging the wisdom of 
 that arrangement which has outlawed the ghost, it is 
 singular to trace the manner in which, within the 
 memory of this generation, what must be called, for 
 fault of other phrase, supernatural interference, 
 has, to all appearance, contributed to the ends of 
 justice. 
 
 Thus, in the case of a notorious murder near 
 Brighton, some thirty years ago, a dream, and a dream 
 
 1—3 
 
4 Ghosts in Court 
 
 alone, led to the discovery of the crime, and of the 
 victim's remains. 
 
 A curious instance of what, in Scotland, would have 
 heen termed second-sight, occurred, within the writer's 
 recollection, in a midland county; and, though of 
 course suppressed at the trial, was (an unusual circum- 
 stance) attested upon oath at the preceding inquest. 
 A market-gardener, known, from his fine presence, as 
 " Noble Eden," was murdered while at work in the 
 fields at a long distance from his dwelling. His wife, 
 ironing at a dresser by the kitchen window, saw him 
 run swiftly past, pursued by another man, who 
 brandished a stone hammer, as if threatening to 
 strike. Aware that it was a spectral illusion, and 
 impressed with an idea that some evil had befallen her 
 husband, Mrs. Eden caused instant search to be made 
 at the spot to which he had intended to proceed, 
 when the body was discovered, cold and stiff — the 
 murderous weapon, a stone hammer, lying beside him. 
 Another example of this species of warning 
 attracted some attention in the " burking " times at 
 Edinburgh — the voice of one of the victims, recog- 
 nised under circumstances irreconcilable with any 
 known law of nature, having led to the suspecting, 
 and thence to the conviction, of the assassins. 
 
Ghosts in Court. 
 
 A gentleman, lately living, used to relate that 
 while resident near Fort Greorge, N.B., the disap- 
 pearance of an old woman, who, from her strict and 
 sober habits, was employed by the whole neighbour- 
 hood as a messenger, created much excitement. 
 Nothing could be discovered respecting her. The 
 search, at the instance of her husband, was at length 
 discontinued. One evening Mr. H. was sitting 
 reading in his arbour, when the missing woman 
 suddenly thrust her head through the leafy shield ! 
 There was a broad crimson streak round her neck, 
 and, without her uttering a word, an impression 
 seemed to be conveyed to Mr. H.'s mind that she 
 had been murdered, and that her body lay concealed, 
 under stable refuse, in a distant byre. Search was 
 made there, the corpse was found, and the husband 
 was subsequently executed, on his own confession of 
 the crime. 
 
 In the French courts, questions of ghost or no 
 ghost— and, if the former, what might be the worth 
 of the ghost's testimony — seem to have been permitted 
 a wider range. Counsel has been freely heard on either 
 part. In a case that, many years ago, stirred up the 
 whole philosophy of the subject, so much curious 
 matter was elicited as to make the record worth 
 
6 Ghosts in Court. 
 
 preserving. It is an illustration of the familiar 
 manner in which a not distant generation dealt with 
 the subject. 
 
 Honore Mirabel, a poor labourer on the estate of a 
 family named Gay, near Marseilles, invoked the pro- 
 tection of the law under the following extraordinary 
 circumstances : — 
 
 He declared that, while lying under an almond- 
 tree, late one night, striving to sleep, he suddenly 
 noticed a man of remarkable appearance standing, in 
 the full moonlight, at the window of a neighbouring 
 house. Knowing the house to be unoccupied, he rose 
 to question the intruder, when the latter disappeared. 
 A ladder being at hand, Mirabel mounted to the 
 window, and, on entering, found no one. Struck 
 with a feeling of terror, he descended the ladder with 
 all speed, and had barely touched the ground, when 
 a voice at his back accosted him : 
 
 " Pertuisan " (he was of Pertuis), " there is a 
 large treasure buried close at hand. Dig, and it is 
 yours." 
 
 A small stone was dropped on the terrace, as if to 
 mark the spot alluded to. 
 
 For reasons not explained, the favoured Mirabel 
 shrank from pursuing the adventure alone, but com- 
 
Ghosts in Court. 
 
 municated with, a friend, one Bernard, a labourer in 
 the employ of the farmeress Paret. This lady being 
 admitted to their confidence, the three assembled next 
 night at the place indicated by the spectre, and, after 
 digging to a considerable depth, came upon a large 
 parcel wrapped in many folds of linen. Struck with 
 the pickaxe, it returned unmistakably the melodious 
 sound of coin; but the filthy, and, as Paret suggested, 
 plague-stricken appearance of the covering, checked 
 their eager curiosity, until, having been conveyed 
 home and well soaked in wine, the parcel was opened, 
 and revealed to their delighted gaze more than a 
 thousand large gold pieces, subsequently ascertained 
 to be Portuguese. 
 
 It was remarkable, yet so it was, that Mirabel was 
 allowed to retain the whole of the treasure. Perhaps 
 his friends felt some scruple in interfering with the 
 manifest intentions of the ghost. But Mirabel was 
 not much the happier for it. He feared for the 
 safety of his wealth— he feared for his own Hfe. 
 Moreover, the prevailing laws respecting " treasure- 
 trove " were peculiarly explicit, and it was question- 
 able how far the decision of the ghost might be held 
 to override them. 
 
 In France, of treasure found in the highway, half 
 
8 Ghosts in Court. 
 
 belonged to the king, half to the finder. If in any 
 other public place, half to the high-justiciary, half to 
 the finder. If discovered by magical arts, the whole 
 to the king, with a penalty upon the finder. If, 
 when discovered, the treasure were concealed from the 
 proprietor of the ground, the finder forfeited his share. 
 To these existing claims the phantom had made no 
 allusion. In his perplexity, honest Mirabel be- 
 thought him of another friend, one Auguier, a sub- 
 stantial tradesman of Marseilles. 
 
 The advice of this gentleman was, that the secret 
 should be rigorously confined to those who already 
 knew it, while he himself (Auguier) was prepared to 
 devote himself, heart and soul, to his friend's best 
 interests, lend him any cash he needed (so as to obvi- 
 ate the necessity of changing the foreign money), 
 attend him whithersoever he went, and, in fine, be- 
 come his perpetual solace, monitor, arid guard. 
 
 To prevent the possibility of his motives being 
 misinterpreted, the worthy Auguier took occasion to 
 exhibit to his friend a casket, in which was visible 
 much gold and silver coin, besides a jewel or two of 
 some value. 
 
 The friendship thus happily inaugurated grew and 
 strengthened, until Mirabel came to the prudent 
 
Ghosts in Court. 
 
 resolution of entrusting the whole treasure to the 
 custody of his friend, and appointed a place and time 
 for that purpose. 
 
 On the way to the rendezvous, Mirabel met with an 
 acquaintance, Gaspard Deleuil, whom — Auguier being 
 already in sight — Mirabel requested to wait for him 
 at the side of a thicket; then, going forward, he 
 handed to the trusty Auguier two sealed bags, one of 
 them secured with a red ribbon, the other with a blue, 
 and received in return an instrument conceived in the 
 following satisfactory terms : — 
 
 " I acknowledge myself indebted to Honore Mirabel 
 twenty thousand livres, which I promise to pay on 
 demand, acquitting him, moreover, of forty livres 
 which he owes me. Done at Marseilles, this seventh 
 of September. 
 
 (Signed) " Louis Auguier." 
 
 This little matter settled, Mirabel rejoined Deleuil, 
 and next day departed for his native village. After 
 starring it there for a few weeks, the man of wealth 
 revisited Marseilles, and, having passed a jovial even- 
 ing with his friend and banker, Auguier, was on his 
 way home, when, at a dark part of the road, he was 
 set upon by a powerful ruffian, who dealt him several 
 
10 Ghosts in Court. 
 
 blows witk some sharp weapon, flung tim to tlie 
 ground and escaped. Fortunately, the wounds proved 
 superficial. 
 
 This incident begat a certain suspicion in the mind 
 of Mirabel. As soon as he was able, he repaired to 
 Marseilles, and demanded of Auguier the return 
 of his money, or liquidation of the bond. His 
 friend expressed his extreme surprise. What an 
 extraordinary application was here ! Money ! What 
 money ? He indignantly denied the whole trans- 
 action. Mirabel must be mad. 
 
 To establish his sanity, and, at the same time, re- 
 fresh the memory of his friend, Mirabel without 
 further ceremony appealed to the law, and, in due 
 course, the Lieutenant-Criminal, with his officer, 
 made his appearance at the house of Auguier, to 
 conduct the perquisition. Search being made on the 
 premises, no money was found ; but there were dis- 
 covered two bags and a red ribbon, which were identi- 
 fied by Mirabel as those which he had delivered to 
 his friend. 
 
 The account given by the latter differed, in some 
 material particulars, from that of Mirabel. He had 
 enjoyed, indeed, some casual acquaintance with that 
 gentleman. They had dined together, once, at his 
 
Ghosts in Court. 11 
 
 (Auguier's) house. He had accepted the hospitality 
 of Mons. Mirabel, as often, at a tavern. He had 
 advanced that gentleman a crown. Mirabel had 
 spoken of a ghost and money, and had talked of 
 placing the latter in his charge. At present, he had, 
 however, limited his confidence to the deposit of two 
 empty bags and a red ribbon. All the other allega- 
 tions he indignantly denied. 
 
 Deeply impressed with the marvellous history, the 
 Lieutenant-Criminal decided that the matter should 
 be sifted to the bottom. The process continued. 
 
 Magdalene Paret deposed that Mirabel had called 
 on her one day, looking pale and agitated, and de- 
 clared that he had been holding converse with an 
 apparition, which had revealed to him the situation 
 of some buried treasure. She was present when the 
 parcel, apparently containing money, was found j and 
 she remembered Mirabel stating, subsequently, that 
 he had placed it for safety in the hands of Auguier. 
 
 Graspard Deleuil repeated the narrative told by 
 Mirabel of the ghost and the gold, adding that he had 
 met him on the seventh of September, near the Porte 
 des Faineants -(Idlers' Grate), carrying two bags ; that 
 he saw him hand them over to a man who appeared to 
 be waiting for him, and saw him receive in return a 
 
12 Ghosts in Court. 
 
 piece of paper; and that, on rejoining him, Mirabel 
 stated that he had entrusted to Auguier some newly- 
 found treasure, taking his acknowledgment for the same. 
 
 JPrangois Fourniere, the third witness, confirmed the 
 story of the spectre and the money, as related by 
 Mirabel, who appeared deeply stricken by the extra- 
 ordinary favour shown him in this supernatural visi- 
 tation. On his pressing for a sight of the treasure, 
 Mirabel took the witness to his chamber, and, re- 
 moving some bricks from the chimney, displayed a 
 large bag filled with gold coin. Having afterwards 
 heard of Auguier's alleged dishonesty, the witness re- 
 proached him with it : when he became deadly pale, 
 and entreated that the subject might be dropped. 
 
 Other witnesses deposed to the sudden intimacy, 
 more noticeable on account of their difference of 
 station, that had sprung up between Mirabel and 
 Auguier, dating from the period of the discovery of 
 the gold. Sundry experts bore testimony to the 
 resemblance of the writing of the receipt, signed 
 " Louis Auguier," to the autograph of the latter. 
 
 The ghost and Mirabel carried the day. lii fact, 
 it was a mere walk over the course. The Lieutenant- 
 Criminal, entirely with them, decreed that Auguier 
 should be arrested, and submitted to the " question." 
 
Ghosts in Court. 13 
 
 Appeal, however, was made to the parliament of 
 Aix, and the matter began to excite considerable 
 notice. Persons were found to censure the ready- 
 credence given by the Lieutenant-Criminal to the 
 story of the ghost, and, the case coming to hearing, 
 an able advocate of Ihe day buckled on his armour to 
 do battle with the shade. 
 
 Is it credible (he asked) that a spirit should quit 
 the repose of another world expressly to inform Mons. 
 de Mirabel, a gentleman with whose existence it 
 seems to have had no previous acquaintance, of the 
 hiding-place of this treasure ? How officious must 
 be the nature of that ghost which should select, in a 
 caprice, a man it did not personally know, to enrich 
 him with a treasure, for the due enjoyment of which 
 his social position made him so unfit ? How slight 
 must be the prescience of a spirit that could not fore- 
 see that Mirabel would be deprived of his treasure 
 by the first knave he had the misfortune to trust ! 
 There could be no such spirit, be assured. 
 
 If there were no spectre, there was, according to 
 all human probability, no gold ; and, if no gold, no 
 ground for the accusation of Auguier. 
 
 Descending to earthly reasoning, was it likely that 
 Mirabel should entrust to Auguier a treasure of whose 
 
14 Ghosts in Court. 
 
 actual value he knew nothing, or that he should take 
 in return a receipt he had not seen the giver write? 
 How was it, pray, that the woman Paret and Gaspard 
 Deleuil demanded no share in the treasure so dis- 
 covered ? Were these excellent persons superior to 
 the common weaknesses of humanity — curiosity, and 
 the lust of gain ? The witness Paret certainly saw 
 the discovery of a parcel ; but the rest of her evidence 
 was hearsay. The witness Deleuil saw the exchange 
 of bags and paper ; but all the rest — spectre in- 
 cluded — was hearsay. And when the witness Pour- 
 niere declared that Auguier, being taxed with robbery, 
 turned deadly pale, Auguier frankly — nay, proudly — 
 confessed it, stricken as that honourable burgher was 
 with horror at a charge so foul and unexpected ! 
 The climax of injustice was surely reached when this 
 respected, estimable, substantial merchant of France's 
 proudest sea-mart, was, on the uncorroborated word 
 of a ghost (for to this it must be traced), submitted 
 to the torture. In criminal, even more than in civil 
 cases, that which seems repugnant to probability is 
 reputed false. Let a hundred witnesses testify to 
 that which is contrary to nature and the light of 
 reason, their evidence is worthless and vain. Take, 
 as example, the famous tradition which gives an addi- 
 
Ghosts in Court. 15 
 
 tional interest to the noble house of Lusignan, and 
 say that certain persons swore that the fairy Melu- 
 sina, who had the tail of a serpent, and bathed every 
 Saturday in a marble cellar, had revealed a treasure 
 to some weak idiot, who was immediately robbed of 
 it by another. What would be thought of a judge 
 who should, on such testimony, condemn the accused ? 
 Is it on such a fairy fable that Auguier, the just, the 
 respected family- father, the loyal patriot, must be 
 adjudged guilty? Never! Such justice might be 
 found at Cathay, might prevail in the yet undis- 
 covered islands of the Eastern Archipelago, but in 
 France — no. There remained, in short, but one 
 manifest duty to the court, namely, to acquit, with 
 aU honour, this much-abused man, and to render him 
 such noble compensation as the injuries he had 
 suffered deserved. 
 
 It was now, however, the phantom's innings. 
 Turning on the court the night-side of nature, the 
 spectre's advocate pointed out that the gist of 
 Auguier's defence consisted of a narrow and senseless 
 satire upon supernatural visitations, involving a most 
 unauthorized assumption that such things did never 
 occur. Was it intended to contradict holy writ? 
 To deny a truth attested by Scripture, by the Fathers 
 
16 Ghosts in Court. 
 
 of the Church, by very wide experience and testimony, 
 finally, by the Taculty of Theology of Paris ? The 
 speaker here adduced the appearance of the prophet 
 Samuel at Endor (of which Le Brun remarked that 
 it was, past question, a work commenced by the power 
 of evil, but taken from his hand and completed by a 
 stronger than he) ; that of the bodies of buried saints 
 after our Lord's resurrection ; and that of Saint FeHx, 
 who, according to Saint Augustine, appeared to the 
 besieged inhabitants of Nola. But, say that any 
 doubts could rationally exist, were they not com- 
 pletely set at rest by a 'recent decision of the Faculty 
 of Theology? "Desiring," says this enlightened 
 decree, " to satisfy pious scruples, we have, after a 
 very careful consideration of the subject, resolved 
 that the spirits of the departed may and do, by 
 supernatural power and divine licence, reappear 
 unto the living." And this opinion was in confor- 
 mity with that pronounced at Sorbonne two centuries 
 before. 
 
 However, it was not dogmatically affirmed that the 
 spirit which had evinced this interest in Mirabel was 
 the ghost of any departed person. It might have 
 been a spirit, whether good or evil, of another kind. 
 That such a spirit can assume the human form few 
 
 5j& 
 
Ghosts in Court. 17 
 
 will deny, wlieii they recal that the apostles held that 
 belief, mistaking their Lord, walking on the waves of 
 Galilee, for such an one. The weight of probability, 
 nevertheless, inclines to the side of this singular appa- 
 rition being, as was first suggested, the spirit of one 
 deceased — ^perhaps, a remote ancestor of Mirabel — 
 perhaps, one who, in this life, sympathized with honest 
 endeavour, and sought to endow the struggling toiling 
 1 peasant with the means of rest and ease. And, with 
 regard to this reappearance, a striking modem in- 
 stance seemed pertinent to the question at issue. 
 The Marquis de Eambouillet and the Sieur de Precy, 
 aged respectively twenty-five and thirty, were inti- 
 mate friends. Speaking one day of the prospect of a 
 future state of being, their conversation ended with a 
 mutual compact that the first who died should reveal 
 himself to the survivor. Three months afterwards the 
 Marquis went to the war in Flanders, while De Precy, 
 sick with fever, remained in Paris. One night, the 
 latter, while in bed, heard the curtains move, and, 
 turning, recognised his friend, in buff-coat and riding- 
 boots, standing by the bed. Starting up, he at- 
 tempted to embrace the visitor, but the latter, evading 
 him, drew apart, and, in a solemn tone, informed him 
 that such greetings were no longer fitting, that he 
 
 2 
 
18 Ghosts in Court. 
 
 had been, slain the previous night in a skirmish, that 
 he had come to redeem his promise, and to announce 
 to his friend that all that had been spoken of a world 
 to come was most certainly true, and that it behoved 
 him (De Prfecy) to amend his life without delay, as he 
 would himself be slain within a very brief period, 
 rinding his hearer still incredulous, the Marquis ex- 
 hibited a deadly wound below the breast, and imme- 
 diately disappeared. The arrival of a post from 
 rianders confirmed the vision. The Marquis had been 
 slain in the manner mentioned. De Precy himself fell 
 in the civil war, then impending, 
 
 (The speaker here cited a number of kindred examples 
 belonging to the period, such as, in later days, have 
 found parallels in the well-known stories of Lord Tyrone 
 and Lady Betty Cobb, Lord Lyttelton and M. P. An- 
 drews, Prince Dolgorouki and Apraxin, the ex-queen of 
 Etruria and Chipanti, with a long list of similar cases, 
 and then addressed himself to the terrestrial facts.) 
 
 It was proved "by Magdalene Paret that the trea- 
 sure was actually found. By the witness, Deleuil, 
 it was traced into the possession of Auguier. By 
 other witnesses, it was shown that Auguier had made 
 use of many artifices to obtain the custody of the 
 gold, cultivating a romantic attachment for this 
 
Ghosts in Court. 19 
 
 humble labourer, and seeking to inspire him with 
 fears for his personal safety, so long as he retained 
 possession of so large a sum. Upon the whole, 
 unless it had been practicable to secure the attend- 
 ance and oral testimony of the very phantom itself, 
 the claim of Mirabel could hardly address itself more 
 forcibly to the favourable judgment of the Court. 
 
 It may be that this little deficiency in the chain of 
 evidence weighed- more than was expected with the 
 parliament of Aix. At all events, they demanded 
 further proof; and the peasant, Bernard, was brought 
 forward, and underwent a very rigid examination. 
 
 He stated that, on a certain day in May, Mirabel 
 informed him that a ghost had revealed to him the 
 existence of some secreted treasure. That, on the fol- 
 lowing morning, they proceeded together to the spot 
 indicated by the apparition, but found no money. 
 That he laughed at Mirabel, snapped his fingers at 
 the story, and went away. That he nevertheless 
 agreed to a further search — the witness, Magdalene 
 Paret, being present — but again found nothing. That, 
 subsequently, Mirabel declared he had discovered 
 eighteen pieces of gold, then twelve, finally, thirty- 
 five, but displayed none of them. That Mirabel had, 
 however, sent by him twenty sols to a priest, to say 
 
 2—2 
 
20 Ghosts in Court. 
 
 masses for the soul of the departed, to whom he owed 
 so much ; and that he had spoken of handing over 
 the treasure to Auguier, and taking the latter's re- 
 ceipt, which certainly seemed to be the same now 
 produced, signed " Louis Auguier." 
 
 The matter was obscure and puzzling. There was, 
 by this time, no question that this large sum of 
 money had, somehow, come into the possession of 
 Mirabel. He could not, by skill or labour, Jiave 
 realized the hundredth part of it. No one had been 
 robbed, for the notoriety of the case would at once 
 have produced the loser. If Mirabel had found it 
 (and there were the witnesses who proved the dis- 
 covery many feet below the surface, in an undisturbed 
 corner of the terrace), who revealed the precious de- 
 posit to this poor simple clown ? The scale was in- 
 clining, slowly and steadily, to the spectral side, when 
 some new and startling evidence appeared. 
 
 Auguier proved that mhsequently to the alleged 
 delivery of the treasure into his hands, Mirabel had 
 declared that it was still concealed in the ground, and 
 had invited his two brothers-in-law from Pertuis to 
 see it. Placing them at a little distance from the 
 haunted spot, he made pretence of digging,but suddenly 
 raising a white shirt, which "he had attached to sticks 
 
Ghosts in Court. 21 
 
 placed crosswise, h.e rushed towards thera, crying out, 
 "The ghost! the ghost !" One of these unlucky per- 
 sons died from the impressions engendered by this piece 
 of pleasantry. The survivor delivered this testimony. 
 
 The case now began to look less favourable for the 
 spectre. It was hardly probable that Mirabel should 
 take so unwarrantable a liberty with an apparition in 
 which he believed, as to represent him, and that for 
 no explainable purpose, by an old white shirt ! Was 
 it barely possible that Mirabel was after all a hum- 
 bug, and that the whole story was a pure fabrication, 
 for the purpose of obtaining damages from the well- 
 to-do Auguier ? 
 
 It does not appear to what astute judicial intellect 
 this not wholly impossible idea presented itself. At 
 all events, a new process was decreed, the great object 
 of which was to discover in the first instance how 
 and whence came the money into Mirabel's possession. 
 
 Under the pressure of this inquiry, the witness 
 Paret was at length brought to confess — ^first, that 
 she had never actually beheld one coin belonging to 
 the supposed treasure : secondly, that she did not 
 credit one word of Mirabel's story : thirdly, that if 
 she had already deposed otherwise, it was at the 
 earnest, entreaty of Mirabel himself. 
 
22 Ghosts in Court. 
 
 Two experts were then examined as to the alleged 
 receipt. These differed in opinion as to its being in 
 the handwriting of Auguier ; but a third being added 
 to the consultation, all three finally agreed that it was 
 a well-executed forgery. 
 
 This, after twenty months, three processes, and 
 the examination of fifty-two witnesses, was fatal to the 
 ghost. He was put out of court. 
 
 The final decree acquitted Auguier, and condemned 
 Mirabel to the galleys for life, he having been pre- 
 viously submitted to the question. Under the tor- 
 ture, Mirabel confessed that one Etienne Barth^lemy, 
 a declared enemy of Auguier's, had devised the 
 spectral fable, as a ground for the intended accusation, 
 and, to substantiate the latter, had lent him (for ex- 
 hibition) the sum of twenty thousand Hvres. By an 
 after process, Barth^lemy was sentenced to the galleys 
 for life, and the witnesses Delenil and Fourniere to be 
 hung up by the armpits, in some public place, as false 
 witnesses. 
 
 So far as records go, this singular case was the last 
 in which, in French law-courts, the question of ghost 
 or no ghost was made the subject of legal argument 
 and sworn testimony. 
 
II. 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF METZ. 
 
 nPHEEE existed within the recollection of continental 
 travellers of the present century, a large old 
 cloTidy daub covering certain square feet of the wall of 
 one of the galleries of the Hotel de Ville, Frankfort, 
 and, rather from its mystery than its merit, diverting 
 many an eye from the monotonous assemblage of 
 crowned ladies and gentlemen suspended in its 
 neighbourhood. It exercised a fearful fascination. 
 Issuing from the gloom of the picture might be dis- 
 tinguished strange symbols — red angry glints of fire, 
 as from lamps half hidden ; brandished weapons ; and 
 faces distorted with bigot-rage — while, barely visible 
 in the centre, lay stretched upon a table a little naked 
 child, bound upon crossed pieces of wood, and bleed- 
 ing from innumerable, though apparently not mortal 
 gashes. It was in this work that the excited fancy of 
 the artist sought to commemorate one of those fearful 
 atrocities affirmed by Baronius, the Chronicle of 
 
24 The Mystery of Metz. 
 
 Nuremberg, and other authorities, to have been 
 prevalent among the Jews for ages, but more 
 especially in the thirteenth century — the sacrifice 
 of a Christian child, with all the attendant cruelties 
 suggested by the suffering and death of the blessed 
 Eedeemer of mankind. 
 
 While, in justice to this extraordinary people — at 
 once the most favoured and afBicted of the earth — it 
 must be owned that some at least of these alleged 
 crimes were nothing more than pretexts for oppres- 
 sion, yet the records of an age of ignorance and blind 
 fanaticism furnish credible evidence that the origin of 
 this new and hideous form of murder must rest with 
 them. 
 
 Thus — selecting from the better authenticated 
 cases — in 1220, a boy was murdered in Alsace; in 
 1225, a child was crucified at Norwich; and another, 
 aged nine, at Lincoln, in 1255. 
 
 yoTinge Hugh of Lincoln ! slain also 
 With cursed Jewes, as 'tis notable, 
 For it n' is but a little while ago, 
 
 says Chaucer, writing at the distance of little more 
 than a century. 
 
 In 1236, several were killed at Fulda, the bodies 
 being sent to Hagenau, to prevent identification. 
 
The Mystery of Metz. 25 
 
 Similar crimes occurred about the same period at 
 Baden, Berne, and Munich. In 1287, the murder of 
 the boy Werner (briefly referred to in Murray's 
 " Handbook for Northern Germany," p. 279) created 
 a wide and painful sensation. The circumstances not 
 supplied in Murray, were as follows : — 
 
 Werner was a youth of fourteen, residing near 
 Bacharach, and supporting himself by his own in- 
 dustry. One day, while working at Oberwesel, some 
 Jews accosted him, requesting him to convey a 
 quantity of mould into a cellar in the neighbour- 
 hood. This order happening to reach the ears of his 
 landlady, she earnestly bade the boy beware, as the 
 next day but one would be Good Friday, and he 
 would assuredly be killed and eaten by his infidel 
 employers ! To this the lad simply replied, that he 
 was in the hands of Providence. On the morrow, 
 Thursday, he went to confession, and afterwards 
 partook of the eucharist. Later in the day, the Jews 
 repeated their directions, and enticing the poor boy 
 into the cellar, fell upon and bound him. They then 
 crammed a ball of lead into his mouth to stifle his 
 cries, and tied him to a post head downward, hoping 
 by these means to make him reject the wafer he had 
 told them he had received. Unsuccessful in this, 
 
26 The Mystery of Metz. 
 
 they proceeded to mangle him with scourges, after 
 which they opened veins in different parts of his 
 body, pressing them with pincers to promote the 
 hsemorrhage. They then hung him up for three days, 
 sometimes by the head, sometimes by the feet, till blood 
 had entirely ceased to flow. The foul deed had, how- 
 ever, been witnessed by a servant of the house, a 
 Christian, who, watching her opportunity, hastened 
 to the magistrate, and conducted him at once to the 
 scene of butchery. But the immense bribes offered 
 by the Jews proved too much for his honesty ; they 
 were permitted to effect their escape in a boat^ 
 taking with them the body of the murdered boy, 
 which, when clear of the town, they flung into the 
 river. Legends affirm that, instead of floating down 
 the stream, it breasted the torrent, swimming up 
 towards Bacharach. The probability is that, having 
 no weight wherewith to sink the body, the murderers 
 drew it back into the boat, and subsequently con- 
 cealed it in a little cave, covered with tliorns and 
 brambles, near Bacharach. 
 
 The picture heretofore alluded to has disappeared 
 from the walls of the Eomer of Frankfort ; perhaps 
 in consideration to the feelings of the Jewish com- 
 munity, which, of late years, has formed so large and 
 
The Mystery of Metz. 27 
 
 important a section of the population of that once free 
 city; perhaps because, like many another prejudice, it 
 had become at length completely obliterated. The 
 actual incident it was intended to illustrate has never 
 been very clearly set forth — the doubt resting between 
 two cases, the one in 1475, the other in 1669. Of 
 
 • 
 
 the former, scarcely any record beyond the date has 
 been retained; of the latter, some discursive notes, 
 
 thrown together by M. , parliamentary advocate, 
 
 furnish, when sifted, materials for the narrative that 
 follows : — 
 
 A little after noon, on the 25th of September, 1669, 
 Wilhelmina, wife of Grilles Leraoine the cartwright, 
 residing in Glatigny, went to a spring, distant some 
 few hundred yards from the village, to wash linen. 
 She was followed by her little son Didier, a pretty 
 rosy chUd, with fair long curls, aged about three. As 
 they went, the little boy stumbled and feU. 
 
 "Not hurt, not hurt, my mother!" shouted the 
 young hero, jealous of being assisted. " I am coming, 
 my mother. Gro on !" 
 
 She did go on, never to hear her child's voice again. 
 
 Busied with her work, some minutes elapsed before 
 Madame Lemoine became aware that she was alone ; 
 but then she hastily retraced her steps, calling sharply 
 
28 The Mystery of Metz. 
 
 as she went, for slie fancied that the child had 
 concealed himself, and she was at the moment in no 
 mood for play. Eeceiving no answer, she ran back to 
 the house, and, unsuccessful there, hastened with her 
 husband to the cottage of her father-in-law, which was 
 close at hand. No one there had seen the child, and 
 now seriously alarmed lest he should have strayed 
 into the adjacent wolf-haunted forest, the anxious 
 parents assembled their friends, and, aided by the 
 town-prefect in person, examined every inch of 
 ground in the vicinity of the spring. Their search in 
 this direction proved vain; but a shout from one of 
 the party who had reached the high-road leading to 
 Metz, brought everybody to the spot, where, clearly 
 traceable on the soft white dust, were seen the foot- 
 prints of the little wanderer ! 
 
 Soon, however, these tiny tracks were lost in the 
 marks of wheels and hoofs,"* and again the searchers 
 were at fault. 
 
 Suddenly there came up, riding from Metz, a horse- 
 man, wearing the livery of the Count de Vaudemont, 
 who, to the question had he met a straying child, 
 promptly answered that he had encountered, but a few 
 minutes before, a huge black-bearded Jew, on a white 
 horse, proceeding towards Metz, and carrying before 
 
The Mystery of Metz. 29 
 
 him a little curly-headed boy, apparently between 
 three and four years old. No sooner, he added, had 
 the Jew caught sight of him than he had quitted the 
 high-road, so as to preserve in passing the distance of 
 a pistol-shot. 
 
 There could be no question that the child was 
 Didler ; and the unhappy parents hurrying on to 
 Metz, inquired, at what was called the Grerman 
 Gate of the city, if such a person as they described 
 had been seen to enter. 
 
 Tes. A turner named Eegnault, living close to the 
 gate, had observed him pass in. 
 
 At this moment, there came in through the gate 
 an acquaintance of Lemoine, resident in the neigh- 
 bouring village of Hex, who, on being informed of 
 what had occurred, at once identified the Jew as one 
 Eaphael Levi of Boulay, whose face dwelt freshly 
 enough in the speaker's recollection, inasmuch as, 
 less than two hours since, Levi had passed him on 
 the road to Metz, carrying something before him, 
 covered with a cloak. 
 
 Where did he lodge, this Eaphael Levi ? 
 
 At the house of his cousin, Grargon, not a minute's 
 walk from the gate. 
 
 To the eager demands of the Lemoines, Garpon's 
 
30 The Mystery of Metz. 
 
 servant persistently declared that her master was ab- 
 sent, and that nothing was known of any strange child. 
 
 The baffled inquirers were about reluctantly to 
 withdraw, when a young Jewess, who had stopped 
 in passing to listen to the debate, stepped forward, 
 and, addressing the servant in Grerman, warned her to 
 aiFord them no information. 
 
 Now it happened that Lemoine understood Grerman, 
 and, with these ominous words, stole into his heart 
 the conviction that his child had been kidnapped by 
 the Jew, for purposes too horrible to contemplate. 
 Already it might be too late to save the little innocent ; 
 but revenge at least was left, and to this Lemoine, 
 secretly despairing of his child's life, devoted himself 
 heart and soul. No time was lost in laying a formal 
 complaint before the lieutenant-criminal of Metz ; but 
 before the suspected Jew could be apprehended, those 
 of his people resident in the city wrote to him, 
 earnestly advising him to appear and answer frankly 
 to the charge preferred. Eaphael Levi obeyed. 
 
 In the process which followed, Eaphael Levi was 
 described as aged fifty-six, born at Xelaincourt, of 
 middle stature, black curling hair, very full black 
 beard. A bold, determined man. Had travelled 
 much in the Levant, in Italy, Spain, Holland ; 
 
The Mystery of Metz. 31 
 
 whithersoever, in short, the affairs of his people 
 summoned him. Of late years, resident at Boulay, in 
 the duchy of Lorraine (six French leagues from Metz), 
 where he exercised the functions of rabbi and chief of 
 the synagogue. 
 
 On the day of the alleged abduction of the child 
 Lemoine, he had quitted Boulay at seven in the 
 morning, arriving three hours later at Metz, his 
 errand being to purchase a ram's horn for the next 
 day's Feast of Trumpets, and also wine, oil, and fish. 
 These articles he delivered to his son, and despatching, 
 him homewards, followed himself an hour after noon. 
 The village of Griatigny is about a league and a half 
 from Metz, and lies some two hundred paces from the 
 high road from Metz to Boulay. It has been mentioned 
 that the child, in place of following his mother to the 
 spring, had wandered into the road. The presumption 
 was that Levi, finding him there alone, had caught 
 him up on his horse, returned to Metz, delivered him 
 into the keeping of others of his people, and finally 
 retraced his way to Boulay to sleep. Eighteen 
 witnesses were produced, five of whom testified to 
 having observed, on the day mentioned in the process, 
 a Jew answering the description of Levi enter by the 
 German Gate. He rode a white horse, and carried 
 
32 The Mystery of Metz. 
 
 before him, wrapped in his mantle, a child about 
 three years of age, with long bright curls escaping 
 from his little crimson cap. One only of the wit- 
 nesses, however, Blaisette Thomas, spoie positively 
 to the identity of the infant-carrying Jew, while the 
 Vaudemont rider affirmed that the man he had en- 
 countered on the road exceeded the accused in height 
 and size. 
 
 The Jews of Metz, who neglected nothing to secure 
 the acquittal of Levi, now tendered proof that, on the 
 day in question, he had been at three o'clock at 
 Estangs, two leagues from Metz, and half a league 
 from Glatigny, arriving at Boulay at four, accom- 
 panied by his son. 
 
 " Agreed," replied the judges ; " that is very 
 possible;" and thereupon decreed that the accused, 
 Eaphael Levi, should be burned alive — being previ-- 
 ously subjected to the torture, ordinary and extra- 
 ordinary, with the view of discovering what he had 
 done with the child. 
 
 Appeal was instantly made to parliament. 
 
 Two days after the first decree had been pronounced 
 — namely, on the 11th November — the jailer reported 
 to the recorder that he had surprised Levi in the act 
 of throwing out a letter to a servant of the prison ; 
 
The Mystery of Metz. 33 
 
 and, on searching Ms cell, had found ten other letters, 
 addressed at different times to the accused. These, 
 the servant, Marguerite Houster, admitted having 
 received at the gate from the prisoner's son. The 
 letters were in Hebrew and in German, the Jews of 
 Metz habitually using the latter tongue for conversa- 
 tion. Some delay occurred in discovering an inter- 
 preter for the Hebrew letters, but one was at last 
 found in the person of a young man named Louis 
 Anne, a shoemaker, formerly a Jew. He read his 
 translations in the presence of the accused, who 
 admitted their fidelity, with the exception of the 
 letter taken from the servant, Houster. 
 
 The communication in question was addressed to 
 the principal Jewish residents of Metz. It was read 
 to them. They were united enough in condemning 
 the interpretation of Louis Anne, but differed widely 
 among themselves as to actual meanings — the accused 
 himself repeatedly varying his rendering of the same 
 passage. At length, in despair, the authorities sum- 
 moned to their aid Monsieur Paul Duvalier, formerly 
 a Jew, and an eminent physician of Metz, but since 
 of Kaisersburg, in Alsace. 
 
 This gentleman made a careful translation, the 
 correctness of which Levi acknowledged, objecting 
 
 3 
 
34 Tfce Mystery of Metz. 
 
 only to one word, " bound " {lie), in place of wMcli 
 he affirmed he had written " found " {trouve), his 
 object being, it was supposed, to induce an idea either 
 that the child was yet alive, or, if dead, to conceal the 
 kind of death to which it had been subjected. 
 
 As the terms of this epistle are curious enough, 
 and as to its testimony the result of the trial was 
 principally due, it is here given literally, after 
 Duvalier's translation. 
 
 " Written by Eaphael Levi, in his captivity, to 
 the chief Jews of the Synagogue of Metz. 
 
 " Dear Directors, — I languish to learn what the 
 parliament hath pronounced, for the attorney of the 
 king hath spoken, and I dwell in constant fear. Let 
 me know, I pray you, the proceedings of the Com-t, 
 and what the controller* doth before it! 
 
 " The jailer's servant fcold me that the Jew who 
 brings my victuals said they bound {lie) the child. 
 Ah, write to me concerning my witnesses — write me 
 everything, so that I may for once receive a little 
 comfort. 
 
 " That Homan f visited the prison to-day, and 
 
 * A person at Boulay, to whom lie was in debt, 
 f Corruption of Haman. The most injurious epithet a Jew can 
 apply. 
 
The Mystery of Metz. 35 
 
 said that he would upset all that justice had hitherto 
 effected. Look, therefore, to the parliament. Invoke 
 them, that I may be released from this wretchedness — 
 debarred as I am from speaking to my dear wife and 
 children — unable to reckon with the controller, my 
 creditor. Ah ! I am unhappy. 
 
 " I will die like a son of Israel, and glorify the 
 name of God. All I ask is, that my daughter 
 Blimel^, who is betrothed, be married, and that my wife 
 and little ones be cared for. 
 
 " I am plunged in this misery for the sake of the com- 
 munity. God will help me in it!' 
 
 This letter bore no date, neither did any of the 
 others, which contained little more than hints for 
 the guidance of the prisoner when confronted with 
 the witnesses. One of them, however, seems to 
 have enclosed a piece of knotted straw, which the 
 accused was earnestly exhorted to place under his 
 tongue when called upon for his defence, pronouncing 
 at the same time five Hebrew words, the purport of 
 which neither he himself nor any of his interpreters 
 could explain. 
 
 Another of the captured notes was acknowledged by 
 the accused to be word for word as follows : — 
 
 "To Eaphael Levi in his captivity. — In case, 
 
 3—2 
 
36 The Mystery of Metz. 
 
 Eaphael (the whicli Heaven forbid !) thou art sub- 
 mitted to the torture, thou wilt repeat thrice the 
 following words : Moi Juif, Juif moi, vive Juif, Juif 
 vive, mortJuif, Juifmort." 
 
 Closely interrogated concerning these letters, espe- 
 cially the last, which was suspected to be a charm, 
 Levi indignantly repudiated aU dealings with sorcery, 
 declaring that the above formula was nothing more 
 than a prayer. 
 
 Still labouring to save their fellow, the Jews of 
 Metz now had recourse to a stratagem, suggested, it 
 may be, by the passage in Genesis xxsvii. 33 : " An 
 evil beast hath devoured him; Joseph is without 
 doubt rent in pieces." 
 
 A report was industriously propagated that the 
 child had been carried off by wolves, and liberal 
 rewards, emanating from the Jews themselves, were 
 offered to any person who might succeed in recover- 
 ing a portion of the remains or attire of the infant, 
 sufficient to establish his identity. Within a day or 
 two of the announcement of the rewards, the child's 
 little shirt was discovered, hanging on a bush at the 
 distance of three feet from the ground, in a dense part 
 of the wood, about a quarter of a league from 
 Glatigny. 
 
The Mystery of Metz. 37 
 
 Nor was this all. A woman living at Katonfai, a 
 little village not far from Grlatigny, affirmed on oath 
 that she one day encountered on the road three Jews 
 of Metz, whose names she did not know. These men 
 entered into conversation with her, appearing anxious 
 to learn what was thought and said in the neighbour- 
 hood with respect to the missing child ; and on her 
 replying that, even if he had been devoured by beasts, 
 some portions of his dress might yet be found, one of 
 the strangers eagerly assented, remarking with signifi- 
 cant emphasis, that the head at least might be forth- 
 coming. 
 
 The observation seemed prophetiC; Two days later 
 — that is, on the 26th November, 1669 — four swine- 
 herds, passing through the wood, came upon the head 
 of a child, with the neck and part of the shoulder ; 
 two little frocks, one within the other ; one woollen 
 sock, and a little red bonnet ; none of the articles of 
 dress being either torn or discoloured with blood ! 
 
 Thereupon the parliament directed a commissioner 
 to repair to Glatigny, and report upon the discovery. 
 In the presence of this officer, Lemoine at once identi- 
 fied his child's dress. As for the head, so much was 
 it mangled and disfigured, that the little features were 
 no longer recognisable by mortal eyes. The flesh. 
 
38 The Mystery of Metz. 
 
 notwithstanding, was singularly firm and fresh, and 
 the hlood in the veins seemed scarcely dried. The 
 swineherds described the manner in which the articles 
 had been found, and one of them boldly affirmed that 
 it was impossible the child had been mangled by 
 beasts, since, not to mention that the clothes were 
 whole and unstained, he had observed that, when a 
 wolf attacked a sheep, or any other domestic animal, 
 it invariably preyed upon the head first. 
 
 Two master-surgeons, after minute examination, 
 gave it as their opinion that the child had lived and 
 breathed much within the period (two months and a 
 day) that had elapsed since his disappearance. 
 
 The accused, in refuting the testimony that sought 
 .,0 fix his identity, returned to his alibi, and averring 
 parenthetically that he had worn no mantle on the 
 day of the supposed abduction, stated, as before, that 
 he had arrived at his own dwelling at Boulay by 
 four o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 These two statements were contradicted, singularly 
 enough, by two of his own witnesses, who asserted 
 that, on the 25th September, he had passed them, as 
 though coming from Metz, at about half an hour 
 before sunset (this being about the equinox, would 
 make it between balf-past five and six) ; that he was 
 
The Mystery of Metz. 39 
 
 mounted on a white horse, wore a mantle, was alone, 
 and appeared so much agitated, that he permitted his 
 horse to wander from the road, to which they, the 
 witnesses, re-conducted him. 
 
 Certain neighbours of one Grideon Levi, a Jew, 
 residing at Hex — one league from Glatigny, and three 
 from Metz — deposed that, ever since the loss of the 
 child, Jews of Metz were perpetually visiting Levi's 
 house, sometimes in parties of three and four, even 
 five and six, and this at all hours of the day and 
 night. One swore to having seen Grideon Levi quit 
 his house, and go into the wood, carrying on his back 
 a hotte (scuttle) ; and another declared that Gideon 
 had advised him to join in the search for the remains, 
 and even indicated the direction in which they would 
 probably be discovered. Upon this evidence, Gideon 
 was apprehended and interrogated. He denied all 
 knowledge of the crime ; and admitted that, by the 
 direction of the Jews of Metz, he had sent persons to 
 search the wood, and promised a hundred crowns for 
 the discovery of any trace of the young Lemoine. 
 
 Once only, during the protracted investigation, did 
 the accused commit himself by inconsistent state- 
 ments. He declared before the parliamentary com- 
 mission, that he could not possibly have carried the 
 
40 The Mystery of Metz. 
 
 child upon, his horse, the latter heing already laden 
 with barrels of oil and wine, which he had purchased 
 at Metz — whereas, before the lieutenant-criminal, on 
 the i4th October, he stated that he had placed the 
 barrels on his sons horse, and sent him forward, 
 remarking that he himself, travelling more lightly, 
 would easily overtake him. 
 
 Upon the whole evidence, the Court decreed as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Annulled the former judgment. Declared the 
 accused, Raphael Levi, Jew, guilty of having, on the 
 25th September, 1869, upon or near the highway, near 
 Glatigny, stolen the body of the child of GiUes 
 Lemoine, aged three, whose head and neck have since 
 been found exposed in the adjacent wood. In repa- 
 ration, condemned the said Raphael Levi to make the 
 amende honorable before the great door of the cathe- 
 dral church of Metz ; and, kneeling, in his shirt, a rope 
 about his neck, and a burning taper of three pounds 
 weight in his hand, to confess his crime, declare his 
 repentance, and ask pardon of God, the king, and 
 the law. This done, the said Eaphael Levi should be 
 conveyed to the field of SeiUe, and there burned 
 alive, and his ashes scattered to the winds j himself 
 having been first submitted to the question ordinary 
 
The Mystery of Metz. 41 
 
 and extraordinary, in order to discover in whose 
 hands he deposited the child, and the manner of its 
 death ; the goods of the condemned to be confiscated ; 
 one thousand livres paid to the king, and one thou- 
 sand five hundred to Gilles Lemoine, together with 
 the expenses of the process. 
 
 " Ordered, further, that Grideon Levi be submitted 
 to the question ordinary and extraordinary, to discover 
 by whom the remains of the child Lemoine were 
 placed in the wood : that Marguerite Houster, ser- 
 vant, be summoned before the council, and severely 
 reprimanded for conveying letters to the said Eaphael 
 Levi ; lastly, that Mayer Schaube, Jew, of Metz, be 
 committed to prison, and his goods inventoried, with 
 a view to more ample inquiry as to the place in which 
 the child Lemoine was secreted. Done at Metz, in 
 parliament, in the chamber De la Tournelle, January 
 16th, 1670." 
 
 Gideon Levi was subjected at once to the torture, 
 but without obtaining from him any revelation ; and 
 as it was by that time late in the day, the execution 
 of the sentence on Eaphael Levi was postponed to the 
 following morning. At eight o'clock, accordingly, 
 the unhappy criminal was conducted to the torture- 
 chamber. Casting one hasty glance around upon the 
 
42 The Mystery of Metz. 
 
 terrible apparatus, h.e drew from liis pocket a small 
 volume in the Hebrew character, and proceeded to 
 read from it certain words. But the jealous suspicion 
 of Messieurs the Commissioners instantly took the 
 alarm. These words migbt contain a spell similar to 
 that contained in tbe formula he had been instructed 
 to utter when submitted to the question. The book 
 was taken away. 
 
 The sentence was then read, the condemned man 
 evincing no emotion. When it was finished, he 
 calmly observed that he had no complaint to make of 
 his judges ; but as for the witnesses, they had spoken 
 falsely, and betrayed him to death. He warned the 
 Commissioners that, should the agonies of the torture 
 force any confession from his lips, he would revoke it 
 within an hour. This declaration he repeated thrice. 
 
 The warning proved superfluous : so far from con- 
 fessing anything, he never ceased, while consciousness 
 lasted, to insist upon his innocence. It was remarked 
 that during the severest moments of the torture — for 
 example, while suspended in the air with heavy 
 weights attached to his toes — ^the prisoner remained 
 for a quarter of an hour in a kind of lethargy, appa- 
 rently quite insensible to pain. Some of those present 
 attributed this to the effect of the words they had 
 
The Mystery of Metz. 43 
 
 imprudently permitted him to pronounce before the 
 book was taken from him ; " but," says the excellent 
 advocate, gravely, "it is surely a simplicity on the 
 part of any to believe that the speaking of certain 
 syllables can be productive of such an effect !" 
 
 Torture having done its miserable worst, the 
 criminal was conveyed to the cell for the condemned, 
 and handed over for a time to two reverend persons — 
 the Sieur d' Arras, curate of St. Marcel of Metz, and 
 a Capuchin friar — who were awaiting him, with the 
 benevolent purpose of exhorting him to embrace the 
 Christian faith. The unhappy culprit, though ac- 
 knowledging that he had not too deeply studied 
 the mysteries of his own faith, still refused to substi- 
 tute another, and turning away from his exhorters, 
 seemed to await with impatience the closing scene. 
 
 Conducted at last towards the place of punishment, 
 he tied round his left arm and forehead narrow strips 
 of leather, with knots in the centre. One of the 
 officers having demanded the meaning of this cere- 
 mony, Levi replied that in the knots were contained 
 the commandments of his Jaw, and that it was 
 customary with his people, at the point of death to 
 attach them thus to the head and arm. Still haunted 
 with the idea of some concealed spell, the intelligent 
 
44 Tlie Mystery of Metz. 
 
 Commissioners deprived the criminal of these symbols, 
 and once more pressed him to acknowledge the 
 abduction of the child, the place of its concealment, 
 and the time and manner of its murder. 
 
 Eaphael Levi returned thereupon to his first un- 
 qualified denial, asserting that he was perfectly inno- 
 cent, and the witnesses forsworn. It was remarked 
 that during the trial he had, nevertheless, made no 
 exception to their testimony. 
 
 StiU, the Church made one final efibrt to secure the 
 convert. The curate and Capuchin pressed up to 
 him, and were commencing a new exhortation, when 
 the criminal, bound as he was, pushed them from him 
 with his elbows, sternly desiring them to notice that 
 he died as he had lived, a Jew; and that, dying in 
 such a manner, his soul would assuredly be carried 
 into Abraham's bosom, even adding that for the act 
 imputed to him as a crime, he would not ask pardon 
 of God himself ! This last expression confirmed the 
 then popular opinion that the Jews included the 
 abstraction and murder of Christian children in the 
 category of religious acts ! 
 
 The courage and calmness of the condemned man, 
 whatever their source, remained unabated to the end. 
 Arrived at the pile he dressed himself unaided in the 
 
The Mystery of Metz. 45 
 
 garment in wMch lie was to suffer. Attached to the 
 stake, and pressed to the last moment on the one side 
 to confess his crime, on the other to disavow his creed, 
 the nnhappy man continued to reply with as much 
 courage as though he had not been standing on the 
 verge of death. 
 
 At last, turning to the executioner, he begged him 
 to put an end to the scene by strangling him with the 
 rope that confined him to the stake. 
 
 And this was done. 
 
III. 
 
 THE PRIEST-MAGICIAN. 
 
 TT is strange enough, yet unquestionably true, that 
 the very severity of the laws enacted for the sup- 
 pression of the imaginary crime of sorcery, tended 
 greatly to its increase. By drawing attention to the 
 practice, and dealing with it as with an actual offence, 
 it became rooted in men's minds as a reality, and that 
 once effected, no terrific penalties assigned to it by the 
 law, sufficed to counterbalance the fearful fascination 
 it was calculated to exercise over the weak and un- 
 taught mind. As " one fool makes many," so — in 
 a more credulous age than ours — did one morbid 
 imagination infect others with its wild and lurid 
 impressions, and it is not too much to assert that 
 every example of sorcery to which attention was 
 compelled by a public execution, so far from acting as 
 a deterrent, enticed fifty more self-deluded beings 
 within the danger of the law. 
 
The Priest-Magician. 47 
 
 A forcible instance of the ease with which this 
 moral contagion is disseminated, is adduced by 
 Malebranche : — A pastor, wearied with his Sabbath 
 labours, his mind overwrought with the peculiar and 
 exalted character of the subjects with which he has 
 been called upon to deal, and his brain for the moment 
 a little disturbed hj the wine he has taken to recruit 
 his exhausted frame, relates to his astonished family a 
 species of temptation offered him, as he conceives, 
 directly from the evil one. He narrates this supposed 
 experience with the force and eloquence habitual to 
 him, and with all the effect likely to be produced by 
 such a communication proceeding from a husband, 
 father, and spiritual guide. How is it possible that 
 some degree of credence should not be accorded to 
 the statement? The imagination of his hearers be- 
 comes heated. The idea, once so strange and fearful, 
 grows familiar. The younger members of the family, 
 when alone, renew the subject, and their immature 
 reasoning faculties oppose no effectual barrier to the 
 encroaching foe. They dream, and awake from sleep 
 to compare the visions that have haunted them, in a 
 manner to fortify their new belief, until their minds, 
 thoroughly subjugated, accept, with the drunkard's 
 fatal thirst, everything that associates itself with the 
 
48 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 accursed thing whicli is hurrying them to their fate. 
 It was thus that sorcerers were made. 
 
 It was not until a more enlightened policy suggested 
 the treating sorcerers as merely madmen, that the 
 crime or practice began to subside. The parliament 
 of Paris at length reversed the practice of preceding 
 assemblies, and steadily refused to punish one accused 
 of sorcery unless it involved some other crime. The 
 effect of this wise disdain was first to awaken doubts 
 as to the reality of the offence, then to make it 
 ridiculous, finally, to all but abolish its exis- 
 tence, the death-blow being probably that royal 
 decree which set at liberty every one at the time 
 confined in the prisons of Rouen on accusations of 
 the kind. 
 
 How far in earlier times the powers of evil were 
 permitted to treat vsrith man, may be still an open 
 question. St. Augustine takes an affirmative view, 
 but limits such intercourse to three especial ends — 
 " ad probationem, ad pcenam, ad coronam " — to prove, 
 to punish, and to reward. M. Nicole, in his "In- 
 structions Theologiques," adopts this opinion, adding 
 that the evil one has certainly power over the wicked, 
 but that God sets bounds thereto ; while, with regard 
 to good men, Satan has no power whatever, save only 
 
The Priest-Magician. 49 
 
 wlien God, for especial reasons, as in the case of Job, 
 suffers him for a time to exercise it. 
 
 We cannot in effect deny the diabolical influence 
 without seeming to challenge the truth of what we 
 hold as the manual of truth — the holy Scriptures. It is 
 probable too, that Pharaoh's magicians, the pythoness 
 of Endor, and Simon Magus, were indeed sorcerers in 
 the darkest sense of the word ; but neither were such 
 beings permitted to infect the troubled earth in any 
 number, nor was their allotted time to be indefinitely 
 prolonged. Holy writ instructs us that the kingdom 
 of Satan is destroyed, and the great deceiver rendered 
 powerless in those bonds which shall only be relaxed 
 at the end of this being. The strong man armed has 
 been vanquished by a stronger than he, and can 
 harm and mislead us no more, save iu accordance 
 with our own mad will. He reigned until his conqueror 
 came, may reign still, (we cannot say it is not so) 
 where that redeeming conqueror has not been known ; • 
 but he has neither right nor power over the followers 
 of Christ. He cannot even tempt them without leave 
 of Grod, nor harm them then, if they will but use the 
 o-lorious weapons laid ready to their hand in the 
 armoury of God. It is, in short, esteeming too 
 highly of the prince of darkness, to credit him with 
 
50 The Priest-Magician: 
 
 the follies of later ages, as though they were instances 
 of his unextinguished power. 
 
 With these remarks, too brief, perhaps, for a sub- 
 ject of such interest, but sufficient for our present 
 purpose, we turn to the extraordinary history of the 
 priest, Louis Gaufridy, which," at the commencement 
 of the seventeenth century, engaged public attention 
 to an unprecedented extent. 
 
 Momet Gaufridy, the father of Louis, resided at 
 Beauveser, in Provence, his brother, Christophe, being 
 cur^ of the adjacent village of Pourrieres, In these 
 two villages Louis dwelt, alternately with his father 
 and uncle, until he attained the age of ten, when he 
 permanently took up his residence with the latter. 
 
 At seven years old he met with a remarkable acci- 
 dent, falling headlong from a great height to the 
 ground, without sustaining the least injury;. The 
 wiseacres of the neighbourhood insisted that the devil 
 alone could have saved him from mortal hurt ! 
 
 As he was intended for the church, his uncle, after 
 some preliminary instruction, sent him to Aries. Here 
 he remained four years, then went to Marseilles to 
 study rhetoric, and subsequently returned to Aries, 
 -where he was ordained, without having graduated in 
 theology, so slight, at that period, was the preparation 
 
The Priest-Magician. 51 
 
 required for the priesthood. He was forthwith ap- 
 pointed curate of the parish des Accoules, at Mar- 
 seilles, and remained in that position six years, 
 becoming a great favourite from his genial disposition, 
 ready wit, and other social qualities which tend to 
 popularity, if not always to the highest respect. 
 
 Six months before the death of his uncle Christophe, 
 the latter sent to his nephew a manuscript in six 
 folios, containing forty so-called spells or charms, in 
 which were understood to be comprised all the 
 mysteries of magic. So at least the old cure de- 
 clared, and as he was a man of little learning, and, 
 like inost ignorant people, disposed to consider all 
 things wonderful that they cannot understand, he 
 recommended the work to his nephew as well de- 
 serving his perusal. 
 
 It seems that Louis was far from partaking his 
 uncle's enthusiasm in the matter. After glancing 
 hastily through the manuscript, he laid it aside, and 
 forgot all about it for five years, when, seeking a lost 
 volume of Cicero's Epistles for the use of a pupil, he 
 came upon the fatal work which was destined to be 
 his ruin. He read it now, read it carefully, then 
 greedily. The strange characters seemed to glow 
 and burn before his eyes, and as he reached the foot 
 
 4—2 
 
52 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 of the page, eacli of whicli concluded with a cabahstic 
 refrain, a thrill of horrible delight urged him forward 
 to the perusal of the next. 
 
 It was at the climax of this feverish excitement, 
 which must have been closely allied to positive mad- 
 ness, that he believed the incident to have occurred 
 which cast such a lurid lustre over all his after-life. 
 The spirit of evil revealed himself in human form, 
 declaring at once his character and mission ! 
 
 He was attired, related Gaufridy, as a private 
 gentleman, without sword, having all the bearing of 
 a person of condition, say, perhaps, a banker, or rich 
 merchant. He had brown hair and beard, and his 
 face was very pale. 
 
 At first Gaufridy acknowledged that he felt consider- 
 able uneasiness, but reassured by the quiet and gentle- 
 manly manner of his visitor, his courage returned, 
 and he had the nerve to inquire with some composure, 
 what the object of this unexpected visit might be ? 
 
 " Say rather," was the answer, " what do you 
 require of me ? I am ready to meet your wishes in 
 every particular." 
 
 Gaufridy hesitated. 
 
 "But what will you give me in return?" continued 
 the stranger, with a business-like air that must 
 
The Priest Magician. 53 
 
 have been in harmony with his mercantile appear- 
 ance. 
 
 "What do you demand?" asked Louis. 
 
 " Simply that you dedicate to me all your duties 
 and good works ; nothing more," replied the other. 
 
 Gaufridy hesitated again. Something urged him 
 almost irresistibly to consent to what seemed so 
 simple and easy a proposition. But the thought that 
 among the required good works must be classed 
 those holy sacraments it was his function to ad- 
 , minister, deterred him. He might imperil too many 
 souls. Might it not be a snare of the evil one to 
 secure more than he affected to be treating for ? 
 
 Graufridy boldly announced that he must reserve 
 the sacraments. 
 
 Contrary to his expectation Satan politely acceded, 
 and a kind of list or schedule being made out on the 
 spot, Graufridy affixed his signature in blood drawn from 
 his arm. 
 
 This completed, he lost no time in testing the 
 value of the arrangement, and accordingly demanded 
 power to gratify the two dominant passions in his 
 mind — desire to be reputed wise, and to subjugate the 
 affections of every woman who happened to please his 
 eye. The prince of darkness readily assented, and 
 
54 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 gave him, unasked, a formal document wherein it was 
 explained that Gaufridy by merely breathing over a 
 person of the other sex, would, if he pleased, inspire 
 her with an irresistible passion. 
 
 All fell out as he had been taught to expect. The 
 fame of his learning and sagacity spread far and wide. 
 His breath displayed aU the virtue he had hoped for 
 to lead captive others' virtue. He saw, as he declared, 
 the most beautiful women fall without a struggle into 
 his net. According to his subsequent confession, it 
 was not necessary actually to breathe upon his in- 
 tended prey. If she were within hearing of his sigh, 
 that was enough. It was the knell of her good 
 fame. 
 
 Thanks to his newly-acquired reputation for learn- 
 ing, Louis Gaufridy became the intimate friend of the 
 family of Mons. de Mandols de la Pallud, who had 
 three lovely daughters, accomplished girls, of whom 
 the youngest, Madeleine, had the misfortune to 
 attract their guest. Gaufridy induced her to select 
 him as her confessor, and his influence over the poor 
 girl, (she was only twelve or thirteen when the 
 acquaintance began,) shortly became unbounded. 
 
 The child fell into a state of melancholy, which 
 caused her parents much anxiety ; but the physicians 
 
The Priest-Magician. 55 
 
 declared her free from any definite ailment. At this 
 period Graufridy, walking witli lier one day in a 
 sequestered garden, took the opportunity of impress- 
 ing upon her that spiritual fathers have the power to 
 dispose as they please of their spiritual children, and 
 asked her consent to devote her — spiritually — to 
 whomsoever he would. The girl consenting, Graufridy 
 presented her at once to his dark ally. Such an ofier- 
 ing, so made, must, however, be regarded as merely 
 complimentary, and there is reason to think that the 
 giver himself considered it as little more. 
 
 Madeleine now expressed a desire to enter an 
 Ursuline Convent, and was accordingly placed in a 
 house of that order at Aix, where she fulfilled a sort 
 of noviciate during three years, enjoying much greater 
 tranquillity of mind — excepting on Wednesdays and 
 Fridays, when she was revisited by her old melancholy 
 in a painfully augmented form. 
 
 About this time (the end of her three years' resi- 
 dence in the convent), Gaufridy went to visit her, 
 treated her with extreme tenderness, and engaged 
 her to write to him, bidding her not to be surprised 
 if, in spite of her satisfaction with existing arrange- 
 ments, he should require her to return to her home, 
 perhaps within a short time. 
 
66 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 Not long after, she received a letter from him, in 
 which he used these words : — 
 
 " I pray you to believe that, so great is the affec- 
 tion I bear you, I could desire that my heart 
 were interwoven [entrelasse) and extinguished utterly 
 in yours." 
 
 Here followed a design of two hearts transfixed 
 and united by crossed arrows, and 
 
 " Thus dearest friend, let it befal our mutual 
 hearts." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Mandols dutifully presented this 
 composition to the Superior, but the latter was able 
 to see nothing but a mass of hieroglyphics, unde- 
 cipherable without the key. 
 
 By this time Madeleine had begun to reciprocate 
 the feelings so openly betrayed by her false guide ; 
 and the necessity for change of air after an attack of 
 fever, restoring her to her home, she was brought more 
 closely within his malign influence. She did, how- 
 ever, make an effort to break loose, and entrenched 
 herself in coldness and disdain. 
 
 One day Gaufridy offered her a fine peach, of which 
 each ate half. It was (as he afterwards declared) a 
 charm, and produced the effect intended, namely, to 
 soften and attract her towards him, in which condition 
 
The Priest-Magician. 57 
 
 the unfortunate girl lavished upon him every mark of 
 tenderness short of the sacrifice of honour. 
 
 He then gave her a nut, another and more power- 
 ful charm. This she subsequently threw into the 
 fire ; but it refused to burn, and after the lapse of a 
 few minutes suddenly vanished. The effect, however, 
 had been produced. The passion of the unhappy 
 girl overcame every other feeling. The miscreant 
 triumphed, and Madeleine fell. 
 
 After this her infatuation knew no limits. In her 
 blind attachment to the man she followed him every- 
 where, even to the church, and it became difficult to 
 disembarrass himself of her presence sufficiently to 
 avert scandal. 
 
 Whatever might have been his real power of fasci- 
 nation, it is certain that Gaufridy but rarely availed 
 himself of it with regard to others than Madeleine, 
 at any rate to a culpable extent. It pleased his vanity 
 to overcome the prude, and tame .the coquette, but he 
 seldom abused his opportunities. One of his victims 
 was a woman named La Corbie, wife of Frangois 
 Perrin, a hotel proprietor of Marseilles. Having 
 merely vindicated his power, Gaufridy ceased to culti- 
 vate this last acquaintance, but the lady was not to 
 be got rid of so easily. She pursued him day and 
 
58 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 night, like a restless phantom, neglecting her affairs, 
 and causing Ganfridy even more alarm than Made- 
 leine, for La Corbie used no discretion at all, and 
 became a source of incessant torment both to herself 
 and to the object of her worship. 
 
 Two other women, named Bouchete and Pintade, 
 the latter a servant in his house, were victims of his 
 fatal fascination, but Madeleine was his real favourite. 
 Tor her he was content to run risks of which he 
 deemed none else worthy ; and again and again 
 escaped, as if by miracle, from scandals which it 
 seemed impossible to avert. 
 
 For six years Gaufridy exercised with success, if not 
 without uneasiness, the power he believed himself to 
 have acquired. But now the devil, that ^ liar from the 
 beginning," began to tire of keeping his word. He 
 had covenanted to confer on Louis the reputation of 
 a wise and reverend man ; and yet by some means a 
 dark, sinister rumour began to stir, attributing to the 
 young priest the most fearful practices, associated 
 with diabolic agency ! 
 
 Whether the extravagancies of Mademoiselle de la 
 Mandols, La Corbie, and several others who had 
 fallen into his snare, became too pronounced for 
 further concealment, or what other circumstance 
 
The Priest-Magician. 59 
 
 struck the key-note of the cry of reprobation about 
 to burst forth, is not precisely known. But it was 
 suddenly announced that Pfere Michaelis, the inqui- 
 sitor, had solemnly exorcised Mademoiselle de Man- 
 dols, whom he had found at the Sainte-Baume ! 
 
 In his proc^s-verbal, the father adduced his 
 reasons, seriatim, for holding the young lady as under 
 diabolic dominion. 
 
 In the first place he observed, that although she 
 had never learned Latin, and was unable even to read 
 it, she repKed freely in French to all his Latin 
 questions. And the good father added that this by 
 no means surprised him, inasmuch as the author of 
 " Flagellum Dsemonum" had remarked, that possessed 
 women do very rarely answer in the Latin tongue. 
 
 Secondly, he noticed that Mademoiselle de Mandols 
 (who was then nineteen) had intervals of unpossession, 
 during which her intelligence shone forth peculiarly 
 bright and clear. Also that during a fortnight the 
 fiend had occasionally administered charms, resembling 
 lozenges of honey, to the girl, one of which he, the 
 good father, succeeded in securing on its way to her 
 mouth. 
 
 Thirdly, that during the process of exorcism she 
 trembled so excessively that he was obliged, in regard 
 
60 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 for her life, to suspend the ceremony when half 
 complete. That on placing one's hand on the head 
 of the possessed, there was perceptible an extraordinary- 
 movement, as of an infinity of insects, which ceased in 
 an instant on commanding the demon to retire. 
 
 Fourthly, on exhorting her to renounce the devil 
 and all his works, the fiend immediately grasped her 
 by the windpipe from within. She turned up the 
 whites of her eyes, and became as one dead ; but 
 presently recovering, resumed the thread of her dis- 
 course. This energetic proceeding on the part of 
 Lucifer convinced the excellent inquisitor that the 
 fiend was driven to his last shift to prevent her re- 
 nunciation of him. 
 
 Fifthly, she saw what was not actually before her 
 eyes, viz., certain nuns passing from the dormitory 
 into the chapel, naming them correctly one by one. 
 
 Sixthly, she spoke very minutely of the angelic 
 orders, stating that the chief in each of the nine choirs 
 had been involved in the angelic fall ; that Lucifer had 
 been the chief seraphim in the highest Hierarchy; 
 that Beelzebub was the second to join Lucifer in his 
 revolt, and is, next him, the most powerful of the 
 fallen ones, having licence to come and go upon earth, 
 while his leader is held captive, since the Eedeemer's 
 
The Priest-Magician. 61 
 
 resurrection, in hell, albeit Ms legions yet retain 
 their allegiance and obey his commands, unless over- 
 ruled by God. She asserted that the third in power 
 was the fiend " Leviathan," and added many other 
 particulars concerning the diabolic kingdom, which 
 filled many pages of the proces-verbal. 
 
 She affirmed that Saint Michael was the fourth 
 angel created ; he who resisted the revolted host 
 under Lucifer, gave them battle, and defeated 
 them. 
 
 Lastly, she named twenty -four evil spirits who pos- 
 sessed her, repeating their names at various times with- 
 out a mistake. She claimed to know the guardian-angel 
 of every one on earth, and to what order they belonged, 
 with other details, concerning the mass of which the 
 good inquisitor intimated that they would, no doubt, 
 be of the highest value and interest could they only 
 be verified. 
 
 Asked why the devil entered into her in such 
 angelic company, she replied that it was through the 
 prevailing power of Lucifer, and with her own half- 
 consent. She added that many of the Ursuline nuns 
 had been delivered from the spells Gaufridy had cast 
 upon them, and that she would be the last. 
 
 Asked why after certain prayers, certain evil spirits 
 
62 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 at least, were not exorcised, one of them immediately 
 repHed — 
 
 " If we be cast out how will the magician be de- 
 tected ? God wills that we keep possession, because 
 it is His purpose to exterminate the whole band of 
 sorcerers, and 'we shall only depart when Louis 
 Gaufridy is either converted, dead, or delivered to 
 justice." 
 
 Father Michaelis appended to this statement, that a 
 great tumult of voices of sorcerers of both, sexes was 
 distinctly heard from beneath the church of St. 
 Baume, on the 9th January, 1610, at ten at night, 
 a,nd that again, on the 30th, on a mountain near at 
 hand, was heard .the same " charivari." We do not 
 find this remarkable circumstance recorded in any 
 other bistory of the time. 
 
 The nomenclature — both angelic and diabolic — 
 supplied by Mademoiselle de Mandols, was absolutely 
 inexhaustible. We can only mention a few appellations, 
 of which '■' Break-heart " and " Shut-lip," the two 
 familiar spirits attendant on Gaufridy, were most 
 frequently mentioned.X She stated that her good 
 angel was named " Fortitude," and that he had often 
 chastised the fiend who possessed her. The guardian- 
 angels of others she severally described as " Clear- 
 
The Priest- Magician. 63 
 
 Light," " Simplicity," " Vision of God," " Agility," 
 &c., &c., and then proceeded to detail the doings of 
 the famous " Witches' Sabbath," a ceremony which 
 at that period commanded such general belief. 
 
 It was on a lonely mountain, near Marseilles, that 
 Madeleine — borne safely and tenderly through the 
 air by " Break-heart " — attended her first Sabbath of 
 this kind. 
 
 She found a multitude of people, composed of aU 
 nations, already assembled, and noticed Graufridy, in 
 a seat of authority, receiving the homage of all as 
 chief of the sorcerers and lieutenant of Lucifer. 
 Beelzebub was enthroned at his side. The inferior 
 sorcerers kissed the feet of this august pair, and 
 committed a series of acts of impiety and filthiness, 
 with which it is impossible to soil a modern page. 
 
 Graufridy caused her to receive a mark on her head 
 and bosom, and other parts more concealed. These 
 marks would sometimes disappear, but invariably 
 returned, and were considered to be indelible, even 
 after conversion, as tokens that the bearer had at one 
 time agreed to be a good and faithful servant of the 
 devil. Certain jurists were disposed, however, to 
 question the validity of such a bond, inasmuch as it 
 was not, in legal knowledge, " synallagmatique " — 
 
64 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 obligatory on both parties — the fiend never binding 
 bimself to be a good master during all bis servant's life ! 
 
 Summons to the Sabbath was given by means of a 
 horn sounded by a diabolic herald, and audible (at 
 least by sorcerers) in every part of the world at once. 
 
 By the side of the Prince was usually seated a 
 Princess, whose countenance, glowing with a lurid 
 radiance, shot terror throughout the sorcerer world; 
 for though to the Prince, and indeed to all the wizard 
 aristocracy, she appeared enchantingly fair — to the 
 oi polloi, her black skin, flaming eyes, flat broad nose, 
 and smoking volcanic mouth, rendered her an object 
 of unspeakable alarm. 
 
 The chief business of these agreeable reunions 
 seemed to be the planning schemes of evil, and 
 feasting upon viands which had the peculiarity of 
 never satisfying those who fed. Neither salt nor oil 
 was permitted on the board, nor any knives, lest, by 
 an unfortunate accident, two of these useful instru- 
 ments happening to fall into a crucial form should 
 spoil the mirth of the meeting ! For the salt and 
 oil, we know that salt is the symbol of wisdom, and 
 oil an agent in the ceremonies of religion. It is to 
 be presumed that salad, so dear to French palates, 
 could never figure at these feasts. 
 
The Priest-Magician. 65 
 
 Without tracing tlie subject with, more minuteness, 
 it is enougli to say that in these alleged assemblies 
 the Prince of Evil presented himself as the ape of 
 Divinity, striving to reproduce in his Sabbaths all 
 the chief ceremonies of the Church. The lights were 
 of sulphur, and burned and spluttered with a fierce 
 noise. The bell was a discordant horn. There was. 
 no music — a circumstance, wrote a French cynic, not 
 unworthy the attention of those devots who ascertain 
 that he presides over the opera and theatre. 
 
 The feast concluded, carriages are called, and 
 everybody, borne as he came, be it demon or owl, bat 
 or broomstick, departs to his accustomed home. 
 
 Such were the matters gravely and sorrowfully 
 reported by the excellent monk Michaelis, and they 
 were moreover embellished with so many curious 
 particulars and marvellous incidents, that we cannot 
 be astonished if his proces-verbal efiectuaUy awakened 
 public attention, and therewith a persuasion, almost 
 amounting to certain belief, that the possession of 
 Mademoiselle de Mandols had been the work of the 
 hitherto respected priest, Louis Gaufridy. 
 
 The parliament of Provence, resolving at once to 
 sift the matter, appointed MM. Seguiran and Thoron, 
 councillors, to the commission of inquiry. 
 
 5 
 
66 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 Several witnesses offered themselves, and, first, 
 Mons.. Prota, a well-known notary, deposed that on 
 searching Gaufridy's chamber, he had discovered 
 neither book nor paper of a magical description ; but, 
 on the contrary, every trace of Christian habits and 
 opinions. And this testimony was corroborated by 
 Father Carenne, monk of L'Observance, and other 
 credible witnesses. 
 
 The Sieur Berthe, provost of the Collegiate Church 
 of St. Martin, described Graufridy as " fort debon- 
 naire " — an epithet which, connected as it is with an 
 excellent French king, can scarcely be held applicable 
 to a malignant wizard. 
 
 It became necessary to examine Madeleine herself, 
 and being accordingly brought before Mons. Thoron 
 on the 21st February, 1610, she communicated to him 
 all that she knew ; indeed a good deal more, for there 
 was reason subsequently to believe that she had 
 embroidered her narrative with so lavish a hand as to 
 'stifle what might have proved inconvenient truth 
 under the load of ornament. 
 
 Assuming at first the demeanour of possession, she 
 threw herself into strange postures, her fingers bent 
 back into the form of a cross, but without apparent 
 dislocation. In this state she praised Gaufridy, de- 
 
The Priest-Magician. 67 
 
 daring him a good man, worthy of divine honours, 
 and that she had only accused him to work his 
 ruin. 
 
 She then resumed her ordinary bearing, and, in- 
 terrogated as to her connexion with Gaufridy, con- 
 fessed the criminal nature of their intercourse, adding 
 that she made this avowal by constraint of an impulse 
 she found irresistible. But this uttered, she tried to 
 snatch the examination paper from the clerk, affirming 
 that all he had written was mere illusion — that it was 
 Asmodeus, the demon of impurity, who had cast her 
 into grotesque and immodest postures, and that 
 Gaufridy had sent all those devils which tormented 
 her. 
 
 The Sieur Garandeau, Grand Vicar of Aix, having 
 placed a sacred relic to her lips, she refused to kiss it. 
 She next recounted a conversation between Beelzebub 
 and Gaufridy, in which the latter was recommended 
 to have no fear of the law, but to reply to his judges 
 in such terms as these : — ■ 
 
 " I have been guilty of numerous offences against 
 God, but in regard to witchcraft I am innocence itself, 
 and this I will maintain even unto death." 
 
 " They will believe you," said the diabolic coun- 
 sellor, "if you speak thus, and conclude that you 
 
 5—2 
 
68 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 are wrongly condemned, and that your accuser is 
 mad." 
 
 She added that the fiend would effect Gaufridy's 
 release, if it were in his power. 
 
 Suddenly she fell into a state of violent convulsion. 
 Her limbs were contracted and distorted, her throat 
 appeared as if griped from within. She threw her arms 
 aloft, shrieking violently. " Who would have believed 
 that Madeleine would accuse Louis ?" she gasped out. 
 
 Growing more confused, she declared that the 
 devils had inflicted on her these unspeakable torments, 
 because they knew that she was about to betray the 
 truth, and hoped to prevent it. When completely 
 restored, the girl proceeded to relate with perfect 
 clearness all the magical practices she maintained to 
 have learned from Gaufridy. While doing this the 
 convulsions occasionally returned, and when that 
 happened she praised and exonerated Gaufridy as 
 before, though it was noticed that her commendations 
 were accompanied by an ironical smile. 
 
 She declared that Gaufridy had become a wizard at 
 fourteen, and was at once promoted to the princedom. 
 That he had now celebrated all the Sabbaths (^which 
 occurred only weekly) that his reign was therefore 
 drawing to a close, and that, should justice not over- 
 
The Priest-Magician. 69 
 
 take his person, the devil would seize and appropriate 
 him both body and soul. 
 
 " Here," remarked one of the examiners, " is a 
 precious princedom ! The man had but a bare sub- 
 sistence." 
 
 " Pardon me," was the reply ; " he had as much 
 money as he desired. The devils had only to fish for 
 it in the sea." 
 
 At this time Graufridy had been actually appre- 
 hended, and was closely watched in his cell. Not- 
 withstanding, Mademoiselle de Mandols affirmed that 
 he was at liberty, and moving whither he pleased. A 
 messenger being sent to learn the truth, it was found 
 that the gaoler had permitted his prisoner for a few 
 minutes, and under guard, the entire range of the 
 prison grounds. 
 
 They now examined the girl's feet, which exhibited 
 two bluish marks of unknown character, one of which 
 was punctured with a pin without drawing blood, or 
 producing the slightest pain. 
 
 This concluded the first interrogation. 
 
 The second meeting, February 24th, was attended 
 by some higher dignitaries. Among the rest, Coriolis, 
 president of the Court; MM. Julien de Percier, 
 Eaymond Meinier, and Jean Baptiste Chene, coun- 
 
70 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 cillors ; and Margalet, councillor of the Exchequer 
 Chamher. 
 
 Madeleine being asked by Thoron whether she 
 herself, or the possessing spirit, would reply to the 
 questions about to be put, replied with quiet respect 
 that she would. 
 
 She then stated, in answer to queries, that she had 
 passed a very troubled night, disturbed with visions, 
 &c. ; but was better now, having confessed and com- 
 municated, and felt calm and tranquil in her mind. 
 
 She said that Gaufridy had made her sign eight 
 deeds, and that she had resigned herself entirely to 
 his control. 
 
 Addressing Thoron, she said — 
 
 " Our Lord has shown me great mercy. He in- 
 spired me to confess all to Father Michaelis. I have 
 confessed besides to Mons. du Vair, president, and to 
 you also. Monsieur. I trust, therefore, that the Court 
 wUl have compassion on my youth, remembering that 
 I have been misled by a vile sorcerer, and that I shall 
 be spared the punishment I deserve." 
 
 Encouraged with hopes of pardon, she regained her 
 spirits, warmly thanked her judges, and confessed, 
 further, that Gaufridy had marked her on the head, 
 sides, &c. After this the convulsive fits returned 
 
The Priest-Magician. 71 
 
 more violently tlian before, the girl, or (as it was 
 deemed) the possessing spirit, by ber lips crying out 
 incessantly, "I burn! I burn!" 
 
 Other examinations followed, but nothing of im- 
 portance was elicited, and the Court now invited the 
 Bishop of Marseilles to take part in the inquiry. The 
 prelate immediately named Messire Pelicot, provost 
 of the church of Aix, his vicar, and the processes, 
 lay and clerical, continued simultaneously. 
 
 At Graufridy's first examination he denied every- 
 thing ; but the testimony, by this time obtained, was 
 fatal to his moral character ; and the entire history 
 of his libertinism, both as regarded Mademoiselle de 
 Mandols and others, was laid open to the world. 
 
 On the 6th March, 1611, Father Michaelis, in reply 
 to questions from M. Thoron, declared that such 
 knowledge as he had obtained of the disposition and 
 doings of Mademoiselle de Mandols, having come to 
 him under the seal of confession, he could communicate 
 nothing without her consent. 
 
 M. Thoron represented to Madeleine that the 
 welfare of religion and morals demanded this per- 
 mission ; and the girl, first stipulating for her own 
 pardon, accorded it. 
 
 Two medical men, appointed by the Court, now 
 
72 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 visited her, and made a voluminous report, of whicli 
 we condense the portion most material. 
 
 They state that, being directed to visit and examine 
 Madeleine de la Pallud, chiefly with reference to 
 certain mysterious marks upon her person, and also to 
 remarkable visitations to which she appeared to be 
 subject, they attended at the prison, and found her 
 on her knees at prayer. That they heard a loud 
 exclamation to the effect that Beelzebub had arrived. 
 
 That, at the request of the Father Exorcist, they 
 placed their hands upon the top and back of her head, 
 and were sensible of an extraordinary agitation or 
 boiling movement in the brain. 
 
 That the girl, having given a violent start and an- 
 nounced that Beelzebub had gone, it was observable 
 that the aforesaid movement had entirely ceased. 
 
 That in a little while a voice announced that 
 " Leviathan " had now arrived, when the agitation in 
 the upper part of the head recommenced with increased 
 intensity. 
 
 " Having," the report continued, "well and maturely 
 considered this unusual case, we say that these move- 
 ments do not proceed from the brain ; nor are they 
 voluntary; nor producible by any known malady 
 incident to the human frame. On our second visit we 
 
The Priest- Magician. 73 
 
 examined the patient's right foot, and observed upon 
 the instep a greyish mark, as of an old scar. On 
 puncturing this to the depth of one inch, the patient 
 exhibited no sensation ; nor did any effusion ensue. 
 
 " A mark on the left foot being punctured in like 
 manner, and the needle having reached the depth of 
 an inch and a quarter, the patient felt no pain ; and 
 only on the instrument being directed, experimentally, 
 sideways, did she experience some slight sensation. 
 
 " Similar marks, with similar results, occurred on 
 her left breast, and the patient then directed our 
 attention to another, which we were told existed on 
 the spinal cord, but which we failed to find. 
 Marks, heretofore visible on other parts, had in like 
 manner disappeared j and it was while we were ex- 
 pressing our astonishment at the circumstance, that 
 the patient remarked, ' I would have concealed the 
 others too, if God had suffered me.' 
 
 "All these strange marks belong to a hitherto 
 unclassed category. "We pronounce them to proceed 
 from some extraordinary source, totally unconnected 
 with any recognised condition of the human body. 
 
 "Signed, March, 1611, by MM. Fontaine and 
 Grassy, physicians; MM. Meriadol and Bontems, 
 surgeons." 
 
74 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 Now came the important confrontation of the two 
 unhappy subjects of this strange inquiry. 
 
 Mons. Thoron previously informed Madeleine that 
 the fact of her proving able to repeat before Graufridy 
 the damning testimony she had given in his absence, 
 would at once convince the Court that she was wholly 
 delivered from diabolic influence. Strengthening food 
 was given her, and the examination began ; Gaufridy 
 being for the moment kept apart. 
 
 To the general surprise and disgust of the 
 " bench," Mademoiselle de Mandols at once declared 
 that Graufridy was innocent, that he had been her 
 true friend, and that everything she had testified 
 against him was illusory ! 
 
 " That will not do for us," retorted the Court (in 
 substance). "It is only her devil that speaks! 
 Avaunt, Sathanas ! Let her answer for herself." 
 
 " She shall not answer," retorted the spirit. 
 
 Madeleine moved her head restlessly about, as 
 seeking Gaufridy, whom she declared she felt to be 
 close at hand. 
 
 They asked her if she desired to see and to kiss him. 
 
 " Only," she replied, " to breathe a word of comfort 
 in his ear." 
 
 Mass was now said ; after which, becoming quite 
 
The Priest-Magician. 75 
 
 calm, slie retracted everything she had said in regard 
 to Gaufridy, 
 
 They told her she lied. 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 Father Billet, an Augustine monk, now exorcised 
 her ; but she repeated the formula, and even antici- 
 pated the words. 
 
 She observed that the fiend tormented her in hope 
 to drive her mad. 
 
 Suddenly, she became entirely dumb, and had 
 violent convulsions. 
 
 Imagining that Graufridy was the cause, and that 
 he could not influence her in presence of the eccle- 
 siastics, he was at length introduced. Madeleine 
 gazed at him with a relieved expression ; but, next 
 moment, the convulsions recommenced, till she was 
 completely exhausted, and the meeting was necessarily 
 adjourned. 
 
 On reassembling, Thoron asked her if she had 
 strength and courage to submit to the confrontation, 
 to which she replied in the negative. 
 
 This, however, was held to ^be a pretext of the 
 malignant spirit, and Graufridy was brought forward j 
 but Madeleine was allowed to sit where she could 
 not see him. 
 
76 The Priest-Magician, 
 
 Asked if he confessed the girl's charges against 
 him, he replied " No ; since she was possessed by an 
 evil spirit, whose object was to ruin both." He indeed 
 confessed the illicit intercourse ; but denied everything 
 else, and earnestly appealed to Madeleine to acknow- 
 ledge that the whole charge of witchcraft was a 
 delusion of the evil spirit who held her in possession. 
 
 But the girl was unshaken. 
 
 " You have confessed," she said, " the wrong you 
 have done me. The loss of my honour was the result 
 of the many secret and familiar discourses you held 
 with me. Have you not set these terrible marks 
 upon me ? Are you not — you only — the cause of my 
 being now in the power of this tormenting fiend? 
 I have owned and made public my crime. May Grod 
 inspire you to do the same !" 
 
 Gaufridy persisted that she stiU spoke under pos- 
 session. But the president pointed out that she was 
 now in a tranquil state — entirely berself 
 
 She then related at great length the history of tbe 
 various charms or spells laid on her by Gaufridy, 
 when the sitting closed. 
 
 On the next occasion Gaufridy was confronted with 
 various witnesses, when, after much hesitation, and 
 with the. air of one wearied out, he acknowledged 
 
The Priest-Magician. 11 
 
 that lie had at one time resolved to renounce such 
 magic arts as he had ever practised, and had even 
 fixed a certain day for that final abjuration, when 
 Lucifer himself appeared to him one evening under 
 the form of a respectable burgess, and remarked : — 
 
 " Tou are doubting about this conversion of yours. 
 If you resolve in favour of it, great misfortunes will 
 overwhelm you, and I will be jour r,uin." 
 
 Gaufridy assured his agreeable visitor that he had 
 no fear of these misfortunes ; upon which the fiend 
 departed, making a great disturbance. 
 
 Some days later, Graufridy fell from top to bottom 
 of the staircase at the Church des Accoules,and thought 
 that the devil had tried to break his neck in this 
 manner, but he received no hurt whatever. 
 
 Asked why, since he desired conversion, he had not 
 applied to the Capuchin fathers, who had so fre- 
 quently exhorted him thereto — he assured them that 
 he was rendered proof against such wholesome inspira- 
 tions by a certain unguent with which the fiend 
 anointed his followers. 
 
 He went on to state that he had resolved at last to 
 destroy his book of magic, and sought for it for that 
 end, but the devil had taken the precaution to remove 
 it from its usual position. He (the devil) had pre- 
 
78 The Priest- Magician. 
 
 viously warned Mm that, should he destroy the 
 deeds, he would make a " tintamarre epouvantable," 
 which Gaufridy felt it prudent to avoid. 
 
 From this he went on to describe the orgies of the 
 diabolic Sabbath, and averred that the devil had a sort 
 of clothes-store not far from Nice, from whence 
 garments were supplied to all who frequented the 
 assembly. Every one recounted the mischief he had 
 contrived to do since the last meeting, .and the pre- 
 siding fiend administered correction to those who had 
 done but little. The impious and filthy abominations 
 which filled up the time at these feasts, as narrated 
 by the unhappy visionary, will not bear detail. 
 
 A njedical commission appointed to examine 
 Gaufridy, discovered on his person similar marks, and 
 with the like peculiarities to those on the body of the 
 girl. 
 
 On a subsequent interrogation, Gaufridy recanted 
 all his confessions, stating that they were made solely 
 with the hope of escaping, by his frankness, a sentence 
 of death. But it was now too late. On the 18th 
 April, 1611, the Court pronounced the fatal judg- 
 ment : — 
 
 " That Louis Gaufridy, priest, was convicted of 
 
The Priest-Magician. 79 
 
 magic, sorcery, idolatry, and unchaste demeanour ; of 
 the seduction and subornation of Madeleine de la 
 PaUud, Ursuline novice, and the delivering her to the 
 possession of the power of evil. That having been 
 examined medically (we condense the formal report) 
 he was found to bear marks of a peculiar nature, 
 callous, and producible only by the interposition of 
 Satan. That he had carried on a long and familiar 
 intercourse with the aforesaid Madeleine, including 
 letters conveyed in characters which were visible to 
 her only. That, under the cloak of her confessor 
 and spiritual guide, he had charmed, suborned, and 
 induced her to renounce God and his Church, and to 
 present herself, body and soul, to Beelzebub. That 
 he had, on various occasions enumerated, confessed to 
 the practice of magic and sortilege, from the time 
 of receiving a book of magic from his deceased uncle, 
 Messire Christopher Gaufridy. That he had made 
 use of this book during six years, invoking and 
 conjuring spirits of evil, making pact and convention 
 with them, for the purpose of winning to his will the 
 said Madeleine and others, and in exchange therefor 
 assigning and making over to the foul spirit all his 
 good works and lawful aspirations by means of reci- 
 procal schedules and instruments, whereof he induced 
 
80 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 the said Madeleine to take part. That he had pre- 
 sented himself at the Sabbath of fiends, where — 
 (ceremonies described) — and adored and idolized the 
 spirit of evil. For these canses," concluded the 
 report, " we demand that the said Louis Gaufridy be 
 declared convict, and being first degraded from his 
 sacred orders by Hs diocesan, the Bishop of Marseilles, 
 he should be condemned to make the ' amende 
 honorable ' in public, with head and feet bare, a 
 rope about his neck, and holding in his hand a lighted 
 torch, asking pardon of God, the king, and the law. 
 Being then delivered over to the common executioner, 
 he should be. conducted through, public ways to the 
 place of execution, where, after being burned with hot 
 irons in sundry parts of his body, he should be burned 
 alive and quick upon a pile of wood purposely pre- 
 pared, his ashes being subsequently scattered to the 
 winds ; and that previous to his execution he should 
 be subjected to the question, ordinary and extr.iordi- 
 nary, as much as lie could bear, with the view of 
 ascertaining his accomplices. 
 
 (Signed) " Eabasse." 
 
 On the 23rd April, the Fathers Billet and Antoine 
 Boletot reported that, at the conclusion of the 
 
The Priest-Magician. 81 
 
 Easter festivals, Madeleine de Mandols had suddenly- 
 experienced severe pain in the region of the various 
 marks on her person, and that Beelzebub had an- 
 nounced that, in testimony of her conversion, Grod 
 had commanded " Fortitude" (her guardian-angel) to 
 compel him (Beelzebub) to remove these marks, and 
 restore the woman to her original state, which he had 
 done. 
 
 To verify this important statement, the Court ap- 
 pointed a medical commission, who reported that the 
 marks had indeed all but disappeared, and that the 
 slight traces still perceptible were no longer insensible 
 of pain. 
 
 " We say," concluded the medical sages, " that the 
 revivification of these parts, hitherto without sensi- 
 bility, is not producible by any power or faculty in 
 the patient, nor by any art of medicine, and this is 
 our decision. Signed, &c., &c." 
 
 On the 28th April, Gaufridy was interrogated on 
 the sellette. 
 
 It was represented to him that the mercy of God 
 was yet open to him, but that concealment of the 
 truth might forfeit it. The exhortation was at first 
 fruitless, but finally the unhappy man appeared to 
 give way, and recapitulated at great length the whole 
 
 6 
 
82 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 history, both of his pretended magic, and the seduc- 
 tion of Madeleine and the rest. 
 
 The parliament of Provence then issued their final 
 decree, in accordance with the sentence demanded. 
 
 In the torture-chamber Gaufridy displayed much 
 firmness, or, as the examiners described it, obstinacy. 
 
 In vain he was told that since he had recognised 
 at the witch-meetings Mademoiselle de Mandols, he 
 might certainly recognise others. 
 
 To this he replied, that he knew her perfectly 
 already. The rest were strangers to him, although 
 he observed that several wore the habit of certain 
 religious orders, which he refused to name. 
 
 No amount of torture sufficed to draw from him 
 any other confession. 
 
 At length, amidst the execrations of an immense 
 mob, the unhappy man — no longer priest — was con- 
 ducted to the stake. He walked between two 
 Capuchins, who did not spare to exhort and comfort 
 him ; but so great was' his agitation, that, as they 
 reported, the tokens of repentance he displayed were 
 at best equivocal. 
 
 He had foretold that heavy misfortunes would at- 
 tend his execution, and this was in a manner realized. 
 The Sieur Desprade, who was betrothed to the 
 
The Priest-Magician. 83 
 
 daughter of the President of Brasle, was assassinated 
 in the crowd by the Chevalier de Monteroux— a girl 
 standing by being severely wounded in the momentary 
 scuffle. The murderer escaped. Persons fell from 
 the trees and were picked up dead, and an immense 
 number of accidents of every kind undoubtedly at- 
 tended the sinister ceremony. 
 
 " Such events," remarks a worthy writer of the 
 time, " are fitting accompaniments of the death of a 
 sorcerer — that pest of humanity." 
 
 But was Gaufridy a sorcerer ? This very excusable 
 question was mooted even while his own confession 
 was ringing in men's ears. It was said that Mons. 
 du Vair, premier president of the parliament, a most 
 enlightened and every way distinguished man, avowed 
 his disbelief. It seemed to him, and others like him, 
 that Gaufridy, a man of corrupt heart and loose de- 
 sires, practised in the deceit that had become neces- 
 sary to cover his unchaste Hfe, had, at length, suc- 
 ceeded in deceiving himself, and mistaken dreams for 
 realities. 
 
 The force of imagination in melancholy minds makes 
 visionaries : and that to such an extent, that the vision 
 becomes at length the tyrant, the reason the 
 slave. Malebranche merely divides them into two 
 
 6—2 
 
84 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 classes — ^visionaries of the imagkiation, and of the 
 sense. 
 
 Graufridy, it will have been seen, was unable to 
 identify any attendant at the alleged witches' Sabbath, 
 or to adduce a single fact of any kind in support of 
 its reality. One of the most extraordinary features 
 of these witch-trials was certainly the ready credulity 
 of the judges, who never in any instance appear to 
 have contemplated the possibility of any other solution 
 than that suggested. 
 
 If Mademoiselle de Mandols flings herself into 
 strange attitudes and contortions, it is no more than 
 is done for a few shillings at any country-fair. If she 
 replies in her own language, to questions in a tongue 
 she is not presumed to know, must the devil, of neces- 
 sity, have been her schoolmaster ? As touching the 
 callous marks on her person, how many people, never 
 suspected of dealing with the powers of darkness, 
 could show the same ? And even in the days of these 
 medical wiseacres, whose report we have given above, 
 were there no chemical means by which a temporary 
 insensibility to pain could be procured ? What could 
 be hoped for from the sagacity of judges who receive 
 as evidence the assurance of several witnesses that 
 they had reason {what reason?) to believe that a grey 
 
The Priest-Magician. 85 
 
 cat, which was often seen with Gaufridy, was a fanuliar 
 spirit ? 
 
 Many years after the execution of the reputed 
 wizard, a case of alleged possession, in the person of 
 Mademoiselle Thevenet de Corbeil, was brought by the 
 Archbishop of Paris under the notice of the law. The 
 facts reported to be ascertained were these : — 
 
 The young lady was lifted seven or eight feet from 
 the ground, in a garden, without any visible support. 
 She raised her brother and his nurse three feet from 
 the ground, also without support. 
 
 She was lifted when in bed three or four feet into 
 the air, covered with the upper bedclothes, and pre- 
 serving the same recumbent attitude. 
 
 She read in the mind of one of her attendants a 
 particular resolution formed by her, and repeated the 
 precise words of a prayer uttered by the same atten- 
 dant, where it was impossible she could have been 
 overheard. 
 
 Lastly, her convulsive fits were of such violence 
 that, fragile and delicate as she was, strong men were 
 unable to hold her. 
 
 Strange as were these circumstances, the testimony 
 of the devil's complicity was not held conclusive, and 
 the matter was allowed to drop. 
 
86 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 Before concluding the subject, let us hear one word 
 from Pere Le Brun, who, in his Critical History of the 
 practices of superstition, writes as follows : — 
 
 "A girl, who suffered from three distressing 
 maladies — catalepsy, tetanus, and hypochondria — had 
 wonderful visions, and was subject to violent move- 
 ments, over which she had no control. In this state 
 pins might be thrust into her arms, thighs, &c., 
 without eliciting any sign of pain. Her whole frame 
 became perfectly flexible, and in whatever position her 
 limbs might be placed, no matter how unnatural, thus 
 they remained till replaced by her attendants ; but, 
 what was most singular, her body, from the waist 
 upwards, was equally flexible, and as light as one of 
 her «,rms in its normal state. She could be lifted a 
 foot from the couch by one hand, and held thus, with- 
 out difficulty, for minutes together," 
 
 This very interesting young person confessed, we 
 find, to M. Argenson, lieutenant of police, that she 
 had been indulging in trickery, Le Pere Le Brun 
 believed that she had been endeavouring to imitate 
 the symptoms of catalepsy ; and, in fact, she had done 
 little more than has been effected by many a clever 
 charlatan. 
 
 It is strange that the feats of this class of per- 
 
The Priest-Magician. 8 7 
 
 formers did not awaken more suspicion in the minds 
 of those who were called upon to examine the 
 "wizards." The wonders wrought by a professed 
 conjuror of the time, Madame Voisin, might have 
 filled volumes. She told fortunes with great fidelity, 
 having in her pay some intelligent domestic or 
 humble friend in every important family. She sold 
 an enchanted sword to a citizen for an enormous price. 
 It was warranted to kill any one whom the bearer 
 fought, without the latter sustaining any injury. For 
 the buyer's better satisfaction she engaged a person 
 in her confidence and pay to fix a quarrel on the 
 former, and then suffer himself to be at once dis- 
 armed by the miraculous weapon. 
 
 At last, however, the poor citizen receives a g'evere 
 wound, and on remonstrating with the sorceress, learns 
 that his antagonist, fortunately for himself, possesses 
 an enchanted sword of greater power ! 
 
 Madame Voisin had a magic basin by which she 
 effected many wonders, as thus : — A gentleman having 
 been robbed of a pair of pistols, went to ask her 
 advice. Expecting this, she had caused to be prepared 
 a representation of the thief's face (a fellow-servant 
 having supplied all needful information), of the pistols, 
 and of the place where they were stolen. 
 
88 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 She desired her visitor to gaze steadfastly into a 
 basin of water, when she causes to descend from 
 above his head a sketch of the lost pistols. These 
 are reflected for an instant in the water, and disappear. 
 Again the picture descends. This time, it is the 
 robber's face, with certain accessories, clearly indi- 
 cating the locality of the theft. For this branch of 
 art Madame Voisin entertained more than one accom- 
 plished artist ! 
 
 A lady visited her, entreating to be told whether 
 she would survive her husband. 
 
 "Tou shall know that by a sign," replied the 
 sorceress. " The urn which stands among the porce- 
 lain on your cabinet will fall to-night while you sleep. 
 If it ■ break, your husband shall die first, if not, 
 yourself." 
 
 As may be expected, the maid being in alliance 
 with fate and Madame Voisin, the urn punctually falls, 
 and is shivered to atoms. 
 
 Madame Voisin dealt in charmed cosmetics with- 
 out limit. Madame Rachel could not have held the 
 candle to her. She had a pomade which conferred 
 perpetual beauty, brightening the eyes, reducing the 
 lips, and, if necessary, the nose, and completely 
 correcting nature's errors ; while her spells for deal- 
 
The Priest-Magician. 89 
 
 ing with the hair, complexion, voice, &c., were as in- 
 exhaustible as, judging from the price willingly paid 
 for them, they were effectual. 
 
 She did very striking things beside, such as caus- 
 ing a human body to fall piecemeal down the chimney, 
 the parts reuniting, and appearing none the worse as 
 a whole, a pleasantry in which we have seen the clown 
 indulge with respect to his rival, harlequin. And 
 she could furthermore produce thunder and lightning, 
 which also we have seen done with more or less 
 success on the boards! 
 
 One scurvy trick was played upon her by a still 
 better conjuror, the Marechal de Luxembourg. No- 
 thing would satisfy him short of seeing the devil 
 himself! Madame promised, and the fiend, sur- 
 rounded with most alarming concomitants, duly made 
 his appearance. But the Marshal, declining to be 
 appalled, seized him by the throat, and would have 
 passed his rapier through Satan's very body, had he 
 not cried for mercy and confessed the fraud. 
 
 After aU, those possessed of optical secrets are 
 perhaps the most adroit conjurors. Light is a cheap 
 material, and the stock-in-trade of a sorcerer as clever 
 as Mr. Pepper may be very small indeed. 
 
 To guide the excited fancy is another and more 
 
90 The Priest-Magician. 
 
 delicate proof of conjuring skill. "With an illustration 
 of this we bring the subject to a close. 
 
 Jean Faustus Cudlingen, the German philosopher, 
 dining with some friends, who challenged him to 
 teach them something remarkable, promised to show 
 them anything they could agree upon. 
 
 It was in winter, and, by way of increasing the 
 difficulty, he was invited to display to them a vine 
 loaded with grapes, ripe and ready to be gathered. 
 He promised, but upon condition that all should keep 
 their places, and no one attempt to pluck the grapes 
 without his leave, assuring them that neglect of this 
 might be fatal to some of them. 
 
 This arranged, the host pushed the wine about 
 among his excited and expectant guests, till, having 
 reduced them to semi-intoxication, he, with a sudden 
 and powerful effort of description, called up to their 
 imaginations a splendid grape-loaded vine. One by 
 one recognised the phantom, and at length strove to 
 gather the fruit so temptingly pointed out to them. 
 The desire intensified the fancy, as the fancy had 
 awakened the desire, and the host prolonged this con- 
 dition as long as he considered safe. Then, giving 
 the word of release, the vine suddenly disappeared, 
 while the guests found themselves, with knife in hand, 
 
Tke Priest-Magician. 91 
 
 grasping eacli other by the nose, and fully prepared 
 to cut off an inch or two of those features by mistake 
 for grapes, had not the host's inflexible command 
 protected them. 
 
 Truly the mother of sorcery is simplicity. 
 
IV. 
 
 AM I MYSELF? 
 
 TT was pleasantly remarked by a French gentleman, 
 of long descent but sbort means, tbat the anti- 
 quity of his house had at length exhausted its pos- 
 sessions. 
 
 Such, perhaps, was the position of the young Louis 
 de la Pivardiere, Sieur de Bouchet, destined to be the 
 hero of a case which, towards the end of the seven- 
 teenth century, created an intense interest, and has 
 seldom found its parallel in the records of criminal 
 jurisprudence. 
 
 Louis de la Pivardiere was the youngest of three 
 sons of a gentleman of noble lineage, but whose pos- 
 sessions at his death were scarcely sufficient to provide 
 his children with the means of an honourable sub- 
 sistence. 
 
 In this position the young and handsome Louis had 
 the good fortune, as he thought it, to captivate the 
 affections of Madame de Chauvelin, widow of the 
 
Am I Myself F 93 
 
 Sieur Menon de Billy, at that time about thirty-five, 
 and the mother of five children by her first marriage. . 
 She had a moderate estate at Narbonne, producing a 
 fair but not abundant income. Her beauty, which 
 "was but little impaired by time, and her refined and 
 pleasing manners, rendered her a great favourite in 
 the society in which she moved. Her marriage with 
 Pivardiere was celebrated at the close of 1687, and 
 for two years all went well, their domestic felicity 
 being only interrupted by passing fits of jealousy on 
 the part of the young husband, which, however, had 
 no other ground than his lady's devotion to general 
 society. 
 
 In 1689 the Arriere-ban compelled the Sieur de 
 Pivardiere, as lord of Narbonne, to take his turn of 
 service, and two years later he obtained a lieutenancy 
 in the regiment of dragoons of St. Hermine. 
 
 By this time a certain coolness had been engen- 
 dered between the pair, and the inevitable absence of 
 Louis was endured by both with an amount of 
 resignation hardly consistent with a real affection. 
 
 One of the most frequent and (to Madame de 
 la Pivardiere) most welcome visitors at the Chateau 
 de Narbonne, was the reverend prior of the neigh- 
 bouring Abbey of Miseray — a sequestered edifice 
 
94 Am I Myself? 
 
 nestling in the adjacent wood, and accommodating 
 only some six or eight brethren at most. The prior, as 
 domestic chaplain, attended to celebrate mass on 
 Saturdays at the chateau. 
 
 It was not very long before sharp-eyed and many- 
 tongued scandal began to comment upon the unde- 
 niable fact that the reverend gentleman's visits were 
 becoming far more frequent than his spiritual duties 
 seemed to demand. Louis was aware of the existence 
 of such a rumour, but a certain dread of that mixture 
 of censure and ridicule which attaches to a needlessly 
 jealous husband, induced him to close eye and ear 
 to the .growing intimacy, and to merely absent himself 
 more than ever from the scene of his annoyance. 
 
 While travelling from place to place on pretence of 
 military duty, but in reality for solace of his mental 
 trouble, Louis found himself one sweet summer 
 evening wandering in the outskirts of Auxerre. 
 Suddenly his attention was attracted by bursts of 
 merriment proceeding from a group of young girls 
 engaged in some youthful game beneath the trees. 
 On one of them especially the young soldier's eyes 
 were fixed with a curiosity and interest he himself 
 could hardly understand. With blue eyes sparkling 
 with mirthful excitement, and bright brown hair 
 
Am I Myself? 95 
 
 waving and glistening in the chequered light, Louis 
 felt his heart irresistibly attracted towards the fairy 
 figure, and without further ceremony set .himself to 
 making her closer acquaintance. 
 
 He very soon discovered that she was the daughter 
 of a lately deceased innkeeper, named Pillard, a cir- 
 cumstance which gave him secret pleasure as increasing 
 the facilities for, as he hoped, making this fair prize 
 his own. 
 
 Without a moment's delay, the infatuated young 
 man engaged an apartment in the little inn 
 presided over by the widow Pillard, and entered 
 heart and soul into the enterprise he had resolved 
 upon. We need not pursue him step by step. 
 That he speedily established himself in the good 
 graces of the pretty rustic need not be a matter of 
 surprise. Handsome, graceful, accomphshed, and in 
 earnest, Louis made short work of her affections. But 
 here his progress was stayed. As good and pure in 
 heart as she was fair in person, his young mistress 
 refused all overtures unsanctified with the marriage 
 rite, and would have dismissed her lover on the spot 
 had he not, following out the impulse he had at first 
 conceived, and determined through all obstacles to 
 obtain his object, acceded to her conditions. 
 
96 Am I Myself? 
 
 He went through the ceremony accordingly under 
 his family name of Bouchet, dropping that of la 
 Pivardiere, and taking every other precaution that 
 suggested itself to him for the concealment of the 
 mock marriage, as he had previously concealed from 
 his victim the real one. This successfully effected, 
 he took up his residence at the little inn, and, sacri- 
 ficing pride to love, fulfilled the duties of host with a 
 frank amenity that hrought augmented custom to the 
 house, and thus materially added to the comforts of 
 the now happy family. 
 
 Within a twelvemonth the young wife, as she 
 believed herself, being shortly to become a mother, it 
 seemed needful to Louis that he should pay a brief 
 visit to his abandoned home, and obtain, if possible, a 
 supply of money. 
 
 Accordingly, making what excuse he might, he 
 took horse for Narbonne, and arriving on the second 
 day at the period of the evening meal, found a merry 
 party assembled, and the reverend prior of Miseray 
 dispensing the hospitalities of the chateau in its 
 master's chair. At this sight, and the cold greeting 
 he received from his wife, Louis' blood began to boU, 
 but conscience whispered in his ear a quieting word. 
 There was no scene ; and Louis, taking occasion to 
 
Am I Myself? 97 
 
 mention that he must rejoin his regiment, if possible, 
 on the morrow, found his lady so obligingly anxious 
 that no financial impediment should arise, that he was 
 enabled to take horse next morning with a lighter 
 heart and heavier purse than he had brought with him. 
 
 Pour years now elapsed without especial incident, 
 save that Louis's young partner brought him four 
 children, and that he himself paid an annual visit to 
 Narbonne, from whence he derived what supplies he 
 could towards the support of his establishment at 
 Auxerre. But a change was at hand. 
 
 Some of those who delight in communicating evil 
 tidings found means to inform Madame de la Pivar- 
 diere of her husband's pretended marriage, but without 
 indicating name or pla'ce. She instantly adopted 
 measures for verifying the statement, and had just 
 obtained the required assurance, when her husband 
 set out on his accustomed annual visit to the 
 chateau. 
 
 It would appear that all Louis's old jealousy of the 
 prior of Miseray had revived; for, halting at the 
 village of Bourgdieu, seven leagues from Narbonne, 
 he fell into conversation with a mason whom he knew, 
 and remarked to him that it was his object to arrive 
 late at the chateau, where he would probably meet with 
 
 7 
 
98 Am I Myself: 
 
 the prior, and would either take his life or lose his 
 own. 
 
 No thought of his own infidelity seems to have 
 softened the man's heart as he spurred homeward on 
 his deadly errand. But perhaps he was of opinion 
 with Lemaitre that men, claiming for themselves 
 virtues of the mind, exact from the other sex the less 
 noble virtues of the body, maintaining, in fact, that 
 man's honour is in no way allied with his chastity, 
 while with woman honour and chastity are one and 
 the same. 
 
 It was at sunset, on the f&te of Notre Dame, 
 August, 1697, that a splendid collation was taking 
 place at Narbonne, at which many of the neighbouring 
 gentry, who had attended the morning mass at the 
 ch&,teau, were present with their families. 
 
 To the astonishment of all, the master of the house 
 strode suddenly into the room, and took his seat at 
 the table. All the guests rose and offered their salu- 
 tations. His wife alone retained her seat, her 
 countenance so expressive of scorn and pent-up anger, 
 that a lady present could not forbear some words of 
 condolence. 
 
 "Is it thus," she murmured, " that a husband ■ so 
 long absent should be greeted in his own house?" 
 
Am I Myself f 99 
 
 Louis overheard it. 
 
 " Je ne suis que son mari — -je ne suis pas son ami !" 
 (" I am only her husband — not her friend "), he an- 
 swered bitterly. 
 
 The mirth of the feast departed with Louis's 
 appearance. A consciousness of " something wrong " 
 silenced everybody, and at the earliest moment good 
 manners permitted, Louis and his resentful wife found 
 themselves alone. 
 
 For a few minutes there reigned a gloomy silence — 
 then, the lady — rising — offered to retire to her apart- 
 ment. Her husband made a movement to attend her, 
 and, being repulsed, at once demanded to know the 
 reason of her contempt and anger. 
 
 " Go back to your new wife," was the indignant 
 reply, " and ask her the reason !" 
 
 In vain Louis attempted to deny the wrong. She 
 refused to credit — even to listen to — any defence, and 
 heaping on him the bitterest reproaches, ended by 
 declaring that, in a very brief space, he should be 
 made bitterly to repent the injury he had done her. 
 With these ominous words she withdrew, her husband 
 retiring to a separate chamber prepared for him by 
 her orders. 
 
 Warned, as it subsequently appeared, by one of the 
 
 1—2, 
 
100 Am. I Myself f 
 
 maid servants that his life was not secure so long as 
 he remained under that roof, Louis resolved to depart 
 under cover of the night, and,. taking with him his 
 dog and gun, abandoned his horse (which had fallen 
 lame the previous day), his cloak, and pistols-^these 
 being likely to encumber him too much in the fatigu- 
 ing foot journey he proposed to make. 
 
 It was in evidence at the trial, that he passed 
 through Bourgdieu, that he lodged on the 17th at 
 Chateauroux, on the 18th at the hostelry de la 
 Cloche at Issodun, and from thence set forward 
 toward Auxerre, where he expected to arrive at 
 dusk. 
 
 A few days later there started into life a sinister 
 rumour. Louis de la Pivardifere had, it was affirmed, 
 been assassinated in his own house at Narbonne ! 
 How, when, or where the report originated, was 
 never known. One thing was certain, that it grew 
 and spread until nothing else was spoken of in the 
 vicinity of the supposed murder, while all went on as 
 usual in the chateau, and its mistress appeared in 
 public Avith her accustomed grace and smiles, and a 
 demeanour perfectly unruffled. 
 
 But one fine day there appeared at the gate of 
 Narbonne the police -lieutenant of Chatillon, in atten- 
 
Am I Myself f 101 
 
 dance on the Procureur du Eoi, and an inquiry 
 followed. 
 
 Fifteen witnesses were . examined. Some of whom, 
 resident in the neighbourhood of the chateau,, deposed 
 to having heard a shot fired during the night of the 
 supposed murder. 
 
 Madame de la Pivardifere was thereupon ordered 
 into custody. But the lady had fled. It was ascer- 
 tained that she had removed from the chjiteau all that 
 was most valuable and easy of transport, and taken 
 refuge herself in the house of her friend, Madame 
 d'Anneuil, pending the issue of the inquiry. 
 
 It was no convincing proof of guilt that she should 
 have avoided the storm about to burst on her head. 
 The innocent are often timid : she had reason, more- 
 over, to believe that the lieutenant was no friend to 
 the prior of Miseray, and ignorant as she was of her 
 husband's place of concealment, she was unable to 
 refute at once the calumny. 
 
 But the astounding circumstance was, that her 
 two maids. Marguerite Mercier and Catherine Le 
 Moine, being arrested, gave a precise and detailed 
 narrative of the murder of the missing gentleman ! 
 
 The former, Mercier, her mistress's godchild, and 
 a great favourite, stated that Madame de la Pivar- 
 
102 Am I Myself? 
 
 difere, having got rid of all who might suspect her, 
 introduced two male servants into her husband's 
 chamber, by whose hands he was there and then put 
 to death. 
 
 The second maid declared that she had been sent 
 out of the way, and only returned when the murder 
 was just accomplished. 
 
 The little Mdlle. Pivardiere, aged nine, declared 
 that in the middle of the night she had heard her 
 father's voice exclaiming, " Ah, my Grod ! have pity 
 on me ! 
 
 A third servant, Jaquette Eifle, denied all know- 
 ledge of the assassination. 
 
 The first, Mercier, being ill and in danger of death, 
 before receiving the last sacraments, confirmed her 
 former deposition, and added that the prior of 
 Miseray had assisted at the murder, and had dealt 
 the last fatal blow ! 
 
 There is perhaps nothing more inexplicable in 
 criminal records, than the conduct of these two 
 women, supposing that their testimony was false. 
 They had no grudge against their mistress, who 
 treated them with the kindest indulgence, and, in fact, 
 had everything to lose — nothing to gain — by contri- 
 buting to her ruin. 
 
Am I Myself? 103 
 
 It was believed by some that a murder had really 
 been committed, but upon the person of the servant of 
 De la Pivardiere, whom his master, under some feel- 
 ing of distrust, had caused to ' occupy his bed, he 
 himself escaping in the night, and that next day, 
 on discovering her mistake, Madame de la Pivardiere 
 had, with the aid of the prior, buried the body of 
 the murdered valet in the garden. This, it was 
 suggested, accounted for the confidence of her denials, 
 when charged with the murder of her husband. But 
 there was no evidence of any kind to give reality to this 
 hypothesis, and it was at least certain that M. de la 
 Pivardiere had brought no servant with him to the 
 chateau. 
 
 The lieutenant now visited Narbonne, and insti- 
 tuted a close inquiry relative to some traces of blood 
 found on the floor of M. de la Pivardi^re's apartment, 
 but without result. 
 
 Meanwhile the lady had petitioned the " Chambre 
 des Vacations" to cause a fresh process to be issued 
 before another judge than he of Chatillon, and that 
 search might be made for her missing but living 
 husband. Her case was accordingly' referred to the 
 judge of Kemorentin. 
 
 She herself pressed the search with the greatest 
 
104 Am I Myself f 
 
 perseverance, and no long time elapsed before he was 
 actually discovered in his humble home at Auxerre. 
 "When" informed that he was sought for by his wife, 
 the idea that he was to be arrested and tried for 
 bigamy, presented itself at once to his mind. He 
 took to flight. Overtaken at Tlavigny, he, for the 
 first time, learned the real state of affairs, and now 
 his apprehensions on his own account were lost in 
 anxiety for his wife. 
 
 He returned to Auxerre, and we may imagine the 
 painful scene that ensued when he found himself 
 compelled to avow his true position to the gentle 
 loving woman who had believed herself his wife. 
 
 As for the latter, with a nobility of soul hardly 
 to be expected under circumstances so trying, far 
 from giving way to hatred against the man who had 
 wronged her, and jealousy against the woman who was 
 to take him from her, she did her best to comfort her 
 mock-husband, and incite him to proceed, without 
 the delay of an instant, to the succour of his legiti- 
 mate wife. 
 
 De la Pivardiere followed her generous counsel, and 
 without an hour's delay executed a formal declaration 
 before two notaries, confirming his own existence. He 
 wrote to his wife and to his brother, and this done. 
 
Am I Myself? 105 
 
 started for Narbonne, where^ lie found the chateau a 
 scene of indescribable confusion, the perquisitions of 
 the police, and the unauthorized intrusion of curious 
 strangers, having reduced it to the condition of a 
 house sacked by a mob. 
 
 Shocked at the disturbance of which he had been 
 the unconscious cause, he proceeded forthwith to the 
 judge of Eemorentin, and demanded a formal and 
 legal recognition ; after which, accompanied by that 
 official, he repaired to Luce, not far from Narbonne, 
 where he was immediately recognised by at least a 
 dozen people, the fact being admitted by the police 
 who had the case in hand. 
 
 From Luce they proceeded to Jeumaloches, and, 
 entering the church during divine service on St. 
 Anthony's day, the appearance of the missing man so 
 excited the assembly, that vespers were for some 
 minutes suspended, every one gazing at him with dis- 
 tended eyes and quickened pulse, as though looking 
 upon one really returned from the tomb.* Later in 
 the day more than two hundred witnesses, including 
 
 * Those who have read Charles Eeade's powerful novel, 
 " Griffith Gaunt," will be struck with the similarity of the leading 
 incidents. 
 
106 Am I Myself? 
 
 many persons of high consideration, testified on oath 
 to his identity, and subsequently his little daughter, 
 her nurse, the clergy and gentry of Miseray, 
 and numerous others, recognised the returned 
 man. 
 
 One would have thought that such a mass of evi- 
 dence would have set the question at rest. Far from 
 it. The contest was only now beginning. The law 
 appeared to consider that if the Sieur de la Pivardiere 
 was not murdered and buried, he certainly ou^M to 
 have been, and declined to accept the contrary with- 
 out much more satisfactory proof than that supplied 
 by the reappearance of the murdered individual among 
 his gratulating friends. 
 
 The Lieutenant of Chatillon at once bestirred him- 
 self, and, proceeding to Narbonne, ordered a strict 
 search to be made in the grotmds and lake for the 
 body. While thus engaged, the Sieur de la Pivar- 
 diere himself joined the busy party, and laughingly 
 accosted the magistrate — 
 
 " Do not trouble yourselves, Messieurs," he said, 
 " to liunt at the bottom of any lake for what you may 
 find on the bank." 
 
 The lieutenant directed one scared look at the 
 speaker, then, springing on his horse, departed at fuU 
 
Am I Myself? 107 
 
 gallop, amidst the cheers and laughter of De la 
 Piyardiere's friends. 
 
 To his friend, Monsieur Denyan, the advocate, the 
 lieutenant apologized for his flight, on the ground 
 that he really believed that he was looking on the 
 spectre of the missing man. 
 
 " But why avoid it ?" asked Denyan, coolly. " A 
 magistrate should be proof against such impulses. 
 This — hem — phantom — came only to demand revenge, 
 and to show you where to seek its mangled frame. 
 Such a prodigy might perhaps surprise, but should 
 not startle you. Instead of galloping away, my good 
 sir, you should have drawn up a proces-verbal on the 
 spot. The discovery of the shade of De la Pivardiere 
 beside the lake, was surely the most convincing proof 
 of his decease !" 
 
 The Sieur, accompanied by the judge of Eemo- 
 rentin, now visited the prison, and presented himself 
 to the two maid servants who had related his murder. 
 To the surprise of every one, they positively denied 
 his identity, pointing out the difference they professed 
 to discover between their visitor and their master. 
 
 It was imagined that the Lieutenant of Chatillori 
 had prompted this denial. He had kept the women 
 up to this time in close confinement, without external 
 
108 Am I Myself? 
 
 communication, and he now protested strongly against 
 the visit of the judge of Eemorentin. 
 
 The Sieur now visited an TJrsuline convent, and 
 was recognised by his two sisters and the Lady 
 Abbess. All his family unhesitatingly acknowledged 
 him, and detained him among them for three weeks, 
 during which period the Eemorentin judge prepared 
 a proc^s-verbal embodying these facts, and this being 
 signed by De la Pivardiere, it might be supposed that 
 his diflBculties were over. Not so. The tyranny of 
 form prevailed still against reason and reality. 
 
 The irrepressible lieutenant resolved to continue his 
 investigation of this murder of a living man. He 
 managed to obtain from the Attorney-General an 
 order of Court, staying the proceedings of the judge 
 of Eemorentin, and ordering a new and superior 
 inquiry. The prior of Miseray was arrested, and 
 placed — contrary to custom — in irons, pending the 
 process. The Sieur de la Pivardiere took part in the 
 latter, as representing his wife, and in the first place 
 demanded a safe-conduct for four months (protecting 
 himself thus against process for the bigamy), and that 
 the letters, &c., he had written since the date of his 
 alleged assassination, might be compared with those 
 J)receding that date. 
 
Am I Myself f 109 
 
 The pleadings were sufficiently curious, but would 
 weary the patience of any reader, unless one were 
 found who could take a professional interest in the 
 intricacies of old French law. 
 
 De la Pivardi^re's counsel of course dwelt strongly 
 upon the overwhelming evidence that established their 
 client's identity ; while, as regards the depositions of 
 the two maids, their contradictions and retractations 
 were pointed out with great perspicuity, and at inor^ 
 dinate length, seeing that the closing argument simply 
 asserted that their testimony to the murder must be 
 worthless, the victim having returned. 
 
 This rather reminds one of the French pref^t, who, 
 being censured for not receiving a royal visitor with 
 the customary salute, adduced a whole catalogue of 
 reasons, ending with the not immaterial one, that there 
 were neither cannon nor powder in the town ! 
 
 The counsel concluded by attributing the trouble and 
 calumny heaped upon Madame de la Pivardiere to two 
 great causes, an injurious cabal, and the mystery which 
 her husband had, to hide his own misdoing, flung 
 around his recent life. 
 
 After a plea of equal length from the opposite side, 
 still adhering to the non-identity of De la Pivardiere, 
 the Court (July 23, 1698) issued a most verbose and 
 
110 Am I Myself? 
 
 elaborate decree, tte substance whereof was to the 
 effect that, further proceedings being judged necessary, 
 the prisoners should be conveyed to Chartres, and M. 
 de la Pivardiere be placed in immediate arrest, with 
 the view of setting the question of identity at rest 
 for ever. 
 
 This decree, which puts the innocent, as it were, in 
 the place of guilt, was not in effect prejudicial to his 
 interests, since a judgment in his favour, without such 
 previous inquiry, would have been void. 
 
 The presence of De la Pivardiere was imperative, 
 and since (having failed of his safe-conduct) he refused 
 to appear, compulsion was necessary. Besides, his 
 very absence favoured the imputation of imposture. 
 
 On the other hand, it must be borne in mind that 
 at this time bigamy was a capital offence, and though 
 the records of love can boast of many an example of 
 men sacrificing their lives for their mistresses, those 
 of marriage are almost barren of such instances. 
 
 In this difficulty help came from an unexpected 
 quarter. De la Pivardiere's noble second wife hastened 
 to Versailles, and, aided by some persons about the 
 king, petitioned the latter for the required protection 
 for the husband who was about to abandon her. 
 
 Louis Quatorze was not the monarch to be wholly 
 
Am I Myself 1 111 
 
 insensible to beauty in grief! He raised the fair 
 suppliant from her knees, with the gallant remark : 
 
 " Une fiUe, faite comme vous, meritait un meilleur 
 sort." 
 
 And, having inquired into the particulars, granted 
 an immediate safe-conduct for three months — in terms 
 so ample that^as some one observed at the time — 
 the Sieur de la Pivardiere might, if so .disposed, have 
 gone through the whole gamut of crime, short of 
 treason, without any one daring to interpose, until the 
 period for which it was granted had expired. As 
 things were, the protection was several times renewed. 
 
 Thus provided, the Sieur gave himself up, a volun- 
 tary prisoner, at Fort I'Ev^que, Paris, September 1st, 
 1698. 
 
 The matter became at this time more than ever 
 complicated by the death of the Lieutenant of 
 ChatiUon, whose heirs, from motives of respect to his 
 memory, felt it their duty to continue the process he 
 had originated. 
 
 Upon the second trial a large and distinguished bar 
 appeared on either side, and gigantic efforts were made 
 to increase the mystery — efforts so successful that it 
 was not until the 14th June, 1701, that this extra- 
 ordinary case came to an end. 
 
112 Am I My self f 
 
 The final judgment, after duly reciting the fore- 
 going proceedings, decreed in favour of De la Pivar- 
 diere, acquitting all those placed in arrest during the 
 process, and condemning Marguerite Mercier (her 
 fellow-servant, Le Moine, had died during the process) 
 to make the public " amende honorable " in the usual 
 form as a false witness, denying " in a loud and intel- 
 ligible voice" her slanderous assertions, after which she 
 was to be publicly whipped and branded with a fleur- 
 de-lys on the right shoulder, thereafter to be bcinished, 
 her goods being forfeited to the crown. 
 
 Whatever may have been the private wrong and sufr 
 fering inflicted in this strange case, it was not without 
 benefit to the commonwealth, many questions thereto- 
 fore of great legal uncertainty having been definitively 
 set at rest. A list of fifteen of such decisions were 
 issued to the judges of the various courts, and became 
 thenceforth indisputable law. 
 
 The Sieur De la Pivardiere and his wife did not 
 very long survive this event in their lives. 
 
 The Sieur, still cherishing his old jealousy, having 
 only consulted his own honour and the safety of his 
 wife in the recent proceeding, refused to return to his 
 home. He, however, revisited the noble-hearted 
 woman who had come to his rescue, only to bid her 
 
Am I My self f 113 
 
 farewell. It would be difficult to realize the mingled 
 love and grief of such a parting. 
 
 De la Pivardifere subsequently obtained tbrough 
 his relation, the Due de la Feuillade, a semi-military 
 employ, in which he was killed while leading his 
 brigade against a large band of " contrebandiers." 
 
 Nearly at the same time his lady was found dead 
 in her bed from natural causes, at the ch&,teau. 
 
 The prior of Miseray, who had long since ceased 
 to visit at the latter place, died in high esteem, at a 
 very advanced age. 
 
 It is pleasant to be able to state that the generous 
 second wife was destined to see many days of peace 
 and prosperity. She was twice married, lived for 
 many years after the events above recorded, and en- 
 joyed the well-deserved esteem of all who knew her, 
 and were acquainted with the strange history in 
 which she alone appears to advantage. 
 
V. 
 
 ON YOUR OATH? 
 
 TS it not Lopez de Vega who remaiks that Nature, 
 wearied with her own variety, sometimes — for mere 
 change — ^repeats herself with such marvellous fidelity 
 as to defy the keenest critic to detect a difierence ? 
 When the same assemblage of features is found 
 accompanied with a similar expression, gait, and bear- 
 ing, and when to these are superadded marks and 
 tokens which might be supposed to be peculiar to the 
 individual, the difficulty of distinguishing, especially 
 if the mystery be increased by fraud, can astonish 
 none. 
 
 Social history tn all ages records these remarkable 
 resemblances. Those moving in London society at 
 the present moment may remember two accomplished 
 sisters, whose most familiar associates would hesitate 
 to depose suddenly, on oath, as to their identity. It 
 has fallen to our own lot to encounter twin-brethren, 
 whose intended wives were wont, at evening parties. 
 
On Your Oath? 115 
 
 to rely — ^for distinction — chiefly upon flowers worn by 
 their betrothed in their button -holes ! 
 
 The extraordinary trial which has of late engaged 
 public attention, throwing everything else — save 
 politics and racing — into the shade, has but one 
 parallel in the annals of the law ; and a comparison 
 of the two cases may not be without interest, premis- 
 ing that what follows has no reference to the merits 
 and issue of the recent trial, being intended merely 
 to illustrate the singular obstacles that may sometimes 
 arise in the way of a prompt settlement of a question 
 of personal identity. 
 
 It is to M. Coras, advocate-general, subsequently a 
 distinguished judge — and, it is melancholy to add, 
 hanged in his crimson robes, with two colleagues, after 
 the massacre of St. Bartholomew— that we are indebted 
 for the most faithful report of the celebrated case of 
 Martin Gruerre. It is true that the learned writer, 
 whose heart was in his profession, has enriched his 
 narrative with remarks and researches of the highest 
 value to the jurisconsult; but these we must of 
 necessity omit, and confine ourselves sternly to the 
 hard facts. 
 
 Martin Guerre was, at the mature age of eleven, 
 married in January, 1539, to Mademoiselle Bertrand^ 
 
 8— » 
 
116 On Your Oathl 
 
 de Eols, of Artigues, of the same ripe years. The 
 young lady was, according to M. Coras, as wise as she 
 was fair ; and belonged, like her elderly partner, to 
 that class which La Fontaine describes as " half- 
 burgess," that is, above the peasant and below the 
 gentry. A certain provision was made for the wedded 
 pair, and in the ninth year of their marriage a third 
 member was added to the juvenile group, by the 
 birth of a fine boy, who received the name of 
 Sanxi. 
 
 But an envious cloud now gathered over the 
 domestic sky. Naughty Martin was tempted to 
 appropriate to^his own use some wheat belonging to 
 his father, and fearing the latter's displeasure, absented 
 himself from home until the matter should blow over. 
 Eight days were assigned — between Monsieur and 
 Madame Gruerre — as the probable period for this ; but 
 as many years actually did elapse before Martin was 
 again seen, and during the whole of that time no token 
 of his existence cheered his wife and child. 
 
 At length, one gloomy winter's evening, the way- 
 worn traveller — if it were he — suddenly presented 
 himself, and folding his Bertrande in his arms, and 
 demanding his child, declared that he had returned a 
 penitent man, resolved to atone by every office of 
 
On Your Oath? 117 
 
 affection and conjugal duty for the anxiety and 
 distress h.e had occasioned. 
 
 Not the least question of the visitor's being indeed 
 Martin Gruerre seems to have occurred to anybody. 
 His own four sisters, his uncle, and every member of 
 his wife's family then at hand, acknowledged him 
 without an instant's hesitation. And no wonder ; for 
 not only was the newly-arrived identical in form 
 and feature with Guerre, but he showed himself 
 familiar with circumstances which could be known 
 only to the latter ; and these were numerous and 
 minute enough to suggest to Pasquier (in his " Ee- 
 searches'') the idea that if this were not indeed Martin 
 Gruerre, he at least knew that gentleman better than 
 the latter knew himself. 
 
 Pasquier adds : " The most wonderful feature in 
 this wonderful story is, that this supposed , husband 
 never enjoyed an opportunity of intimate acquaintance 
 with the man he undertook to personate." 
 
 But Coras, whose narrative we follow, and whose 
 information must have been far superior to Pasquier' s, 
 contradicts this. 
 
 Madame Guerre, whose attachment to her lord had 
 never wavered or diminished in his absence, received 
 his representative with every token of the fondest 
 
118 On Your Oath? 
 
 affection; returning to her quiet wifely habits as 
 before, and, in the period of three years during which 
 they hved together, presenting the supposed Martin 
 with two children, one of whom, however, died in 
 infancy. In effect, according to our judicial historian, 
 Jupiter himself did not more successfully personate 
 absent Amphitryon than did the returned traveller 
 Martin Guerre. 
 
 Whether or not the wife ever suspected that she 
 was the victim of a daring imposture can never be 
 ascertained. It was deemed impossible that some or 
 other of those almost imperceptible yet positive diffe- 
 rences, that must always exist between man and man, 
 should not have at times awakened her suspicions. 
 The probability is that they did so; and that her 
 continued agquiescence in this singular connexion was 
 the result, partly of personal liking for the man who 
 enacted his rdle of husband with a tenderness and 
 fidelity the original did not, and partly from a con- 
 viction that, impostor as he might be, her peace and 
 respectability would be best consulted by keeping 
 her own counsel and his. But this was not to be. 
 
 What circumstance prompted the first attempt to 
 investigate the matter was not distinctly known. It 
 was, however, at the pressing instances of Pierre 
 
On Your Oath? 119 
 
 Guerre, an uncle of the missing man, and other con- 
 nexions of the family, that Bertrande was at length 
 induced to invoke the vengeance of the law on her 
 pretended spouse. He was thereupon arrested, and 
 before the Court of Eieux Bertrande accused him of 
 having falsely and treacherously personated her 
 husband, Martin Gruerre, and demanded that he 
 should be condemned to do penance in the usual 
 public form, should pay a fine to the king, and make 
 compensation to herself in the sum of ten thousand 
 livres. 
 
 The accused made an eloquent defence, maintain- 
 ing stoutly his identity with Martin Gruerre ; and 
 complaining bitterly of the cruelty of his wife and 
 relatives, who, for interested purposes, had resolved 
 upon his ruin. He then explained the causes of his 
 prolonged absence, giving a minute and circumstantial 
 history of the seven or eight years, during which he 
 had served as a soldier, passing afterwards into the 
 service of the King of Spain. Consumed with the 
 longing desire once more to see his wife and son, he 
 had at length wandered back, browned and bearded, 
 to the village he had left a smooth-cheeked boy. But 
 his friends could recognise him yet. Yes, Pierre 
 Guerre, that very uncle who now sought his ruin. 
 
120 On Your Oath? 
 
 was the first to load him with caresses, and only 
 changed in his demeanour when he — the accused — 
 requested an account of the moneys he had, as agent 
 for Martin Gruerre, administered in his absence. His 
 uncle had even attempted his life, and it was only 
 through the energetic interposition of his wife that 
 he had been protected from mortal injury. He de- 
 manded to be confronted with his wife, persuaded as 
 he was that, being free from the cupidity that inspired 
 his persecutors, she would not conceal the truth ; he 
 required that she should be placed beyond the in- 
 fluence of subornation by his enemies ; and finally, 
 that the latter should be mulcted in heavy damages 
 for the wrong they had inflicted. 
 
 In the severe interrogatory to which he was sub- 
 jected, he replied without hesitation and with un- 
 failing accuracy to everyaquestion of family history : 
 naming the time and pl4ce of the birth of Martin 
 Guerre, his father, mother, brothers, and sisters, and 
 even more distant relations ; the day, month, and 
 year of his own marriage, the parties present, or 
 otherwise associated with the marriage, the dresses of 
 the guests, and a multitude of special incidents which 
 occurred on that and the' preceding day. He spoke 
 of Sanxi, his little son, and next proceeded to describe 
 
On Your Oath? 121 
 
 his departure, journeyings, the cities he had visited in 
 France and Spain, and the acquaintance he had made 
 there j furnishing the names and addresses of those 
 who could most readily confirm his narrative ; and 
 unquestionably leaving a very strong impression in 
 his favour on the minds of his hearers. 
 
 The testimony of his wife Bertrande corroborated 
 all the statements of the accused, so far as they came 
 within her knowledge ; but she positively denied his 
 identity with her husband. 
 
 The court now ordered that an inquiry should be 
 instituted into the conduct of Bertrande during the 
 absence of her husband, and into the character and 
 repute of the witnesses who so persistently pursued 
 the accusation. The result was satisfactory. 
 
 On the resumption of the trial there were sum- 
 moned no less than one hundred and fifty witnesses. 
 Of these, forf^ declared on oath that the accused was 
 unquestionably the long- missing Martin Guerre. 
 They had been his intimate companions in his 
 boyhood and youth, and their conviction was 
 strengthened by the recollection of certain marks or 
 scars, which time had not efiaced. 
 
 On the other hand, a great body of witnesses as 
 positively declared that the accused was mi Gruerre, 
 
122 On Your Oath ? 
 
 but one Arnaud du Tilh, called " Pansette," with 
 whom some, at least, among them had been acquainted 
 from the cradle. The remaining witnesses, sixty in 
 number, affirmed that so close was the resemblance 
 they dared not pronounce an opinion. 
 
 The court now ordered that young Sanxi Guerre 
 should be produced and compared with his alleged 
 father. A formal report declared that there existed no 
 resemblance; a second report averred that, on being 
 compared with the sisters of Guerre, the boy's face 
 exhibited an unmistakable likeness. 
 
 Greatly to the public surprise, the process resulted 
 in the conviction of the accused. As Arnaud du 
 Tilh, he was pronounced guilty of the alleged offence, 
 and sentenced to decapitation. Appeal being made 
 on his behalf to the parliament of Toulouse, the 
 liigher court decided that the matter had been insuf- 
 ficiently weighed, decreed a new trial, and ordered 
 that Pierre Guerre and Bertrande should be succes- 
 sively confronted with the accused. 
 
 The confrontation, however, produced nothing, 
 though it is recorded that the bearing of the accused, 
 calm and confident, contrasted favourably with the 
 downcast looks of his opponents. 
 
 Thirty new witnesses now appeared upon the scene. 
 
On Your Oath ? 123 
 
 Of these, ten declared him to be the true Martin 
 Gruerre, seven or eight decided in favour of Arnaud 
 du Tilh, and the remainder refused dej&nitely to give 
 any opinion on the matter. 
 
 All this, remarks M. Coras, proved extremely per- 
 plexing to the judges, as weU it might, and confirmed 
 them in their impression of the precipitancy of the 
 " court below." 
 
 On summing up the testimony, it resulted that 
 forty-five witnesses declared the accused to be no 
 Martin Gruerre, but Arnaud du Tilh. Among these 
 were several who had passed years in the latter's 
 company, while the character of these deponents 
 sufficed to place their evidence beyond suspicion. 
 
 The principal witness was maternal uncle of Du 
 Tilh, one Carbon Bareau, who at once recognised his 
 nephew, and seeing him in fetters, burst into tears at 
 witnessing the disgrace he had brought upon the 
 family. Other witnesses had been present when 
 Arnaud du TUh had executed certain deeds, &c., and 
 these instruments were produced in corroboration. 
 
 All of them agreed in describing Martin Guerre as 
 taller and darker than the accused, slender in body 
 and limb, round-shouldered, with a high, divided 
 chin, pendent lower lip, and squat [camus] nose, having 
 
124 On Your Oath? 
 
 the trace of an ulcer on one cheek, and a scar on the 
 right eyehrow. 'Now, Arnaud, the accused, was 
 short and stout, having neither humpy shoulders nor 
 squat nose. It was singular enough, however, that 
 both the marks referred to as indicative of Martin 
 Guerre were perceptible in the face of Arnaud. 
 
 The shoemaker of Martin Guerre deposed that the 
 dimensions of his foot exceeded by one quarter that 
 of the accused. /Another witness alleged that Guerre 
 was a skilful swordsman and wrestler. The accused 
 was a novice .in either art. Jean Espagnol, of 
 Tonges, swore, that the prisoner had revealed himself 
 to him as Arnaud,; but enjoining secresy, and declar- 
 ing that Martin Guerre had made over to him the 
 whole of his possessions. Pelegrin de Liberos de- 
 posed that the accused had given him two hand- 
 kerchiefs, to be delivered to Jean du TUh, his 
 brother. 
 
 Two other witnesses declared that a soldier from 
 Eochefort, passing through Artigues, and hearing 
 the accused called Martin Guerre, denounced him as 
 an impostor ; he himself having lately known the real 
 Martin in Flanders, where he had lost a leg at the battle 
 of St. Laurent, before St. Quentin. It is indicative 
 of the wife's good faith in the process, that she had,. 
 
On Your Oath? 125 
 
 through great difficulties, obtained a legal verification 
 of the soldier's testimony. 
 
 Finally, numerous persons declared that Arnaud 
 du Tilh had from boyhood been a mauvais sujet of the 
 worst description : a drunkard, a swearer, an atheist, 
 and blasphemer ; a man, in short, " quoted and signed 
 to do a deed of shame" such as that now imputed to him. 
 
 Such was the formidable case set up against the 
 " claimant." Let us now hear his answer. 
 
 Nearly forty credible witnesses asserted that he 
 was actually Martin Guerre, whom the greater part 
 had known from infancy. Among these were his 
 four sisters, with the husbands of two of the latter, 
 Friends who had been present at his marriage with 
 Bertrande de Eols confirmed their testimony; and 
 the housekeeper who, on the nuptial night, bore to 
 the new-married pair the little collation, called in 
 courtly circles media noche, among burgesses reveillon, 
 positively identified the accused as the bridegroom. 
 
 A great number of the witnesses averred that Martin 
 Guerre had two teeth in the left lower jaw broken, a 
 drop of extravasated blood in the left eye, the naU of 
 the left forefinger missing, and three warts on the 
 left hand, one being on the little finger. All these 
 peculiarities existed in the accused. 
 
126 On Your Oath? 
 
 It was moreover proved that the prisoner, on 
 arriving at Artigues, recognised and saluted as old 
 friends all those who had been intimate with Gruerre ; 
 that in conversation with his wife he recalled to her 
 memory incidents which could have been only known 
 to herself and her husband ; and it was stated, by way 
 of illustration, that Madame Gruerre having mentioned 
 that she had preserved certain chests unopened, he 
 desired her to fetch from one of them a pair of -white 
 pantaloons folded in taffeta. The garment was found 
 as he had described. 
 
 With regard to the dissimilarity in appearance 
 between the men, it was urged that a very conside- 
 rable change must of necessity have occurred in Martin 
 Gruerre; nor was there anything remarkable in the 
 slender stripling returning, after so long an absence, 
 a stout and sturdy man ; an alteration which, to the 
 eye, would naturally diminish his stature. 
 
 The want of resemblance between Sanxi Guerre 
 and the accused was pronounced to be of little value. 
 How many sons might not be classed in the same 
 category ? The report of the soldier from Eochefort, 
 being but hearsay, could not be accepted, the law 
 expressly refusing credence to such testimony. 
 
 The indifferent character attributed to Arnaud du 
 
On Your Oath ? 127 
 
 Tilh could not affect the accused, who claimed to be 
 another man, Martin Guerre ; and it was at least in 
 evidence that his course of life during the four years 
 that had elapsed since his return had been without 
 reproach. 
 
 Lastly, the marvellous accuracy with which the 
 accused assumed and maintained the character he 
 claimed, transcended, his supporters alleged, human 
 ingenuity. His acquaintance with dates, incidents, 
 conversations, &c. &c., in the actual life of Guerre, 
 was as inexhaustible as it was shown, by irrefragable 
 testimony, to be correct. M. Pasquier, who was 
 strongly against the accused, finds himself driven to 
 magic and sorcery for explanation of the phenomenon ; 
 an argument which, however plausible in his time, 
 would be hardly acceptable at Westminster in ours. 
 
 Such was the conflict of reason and of evidence 
 with which the judges of Toulouse were called upon 
 to deal. All sources of information seemed to be 
 now fairly exhausted. It was necessary to arrive at 
 some conclusion; and the Court, according to M. 
 Coras, were upon the very point of pronouncing the 
 accused to be Martin Guerre, when there occurred an 
 event so unexpected, so singularly timed, and so de- 
 cisive, that the spectators may be excused for regard- 
 
128 On Your Oath ? 
 
 ing it as a direct interposition of Heaven to overrule 
 man's erring judgment, and avert a cruel wrong. 
 The veritable husband — Martin Gruerre — suddenly 
 stumped into court, on the wooden leg described by 
 the Eochefort witness, and claimed to be heard ! 
 
 Arrested and interrogated, he denounced the im- 
 postor — whose history he gave in detail — and de- 
 manded to be confronted with him. It was done; 
 and a singular scene ensued. The accused — Arnaud 
 du THh — in his turn denoimced the rival husband, 
 boldly declaring that he was willing to be condemned 
 if he did not on the spot convict the latter of fraud 
 and machination. 
 
 Maintaining the same arrogant tone, he then pro- 
 ceeded to cross-examine the other as to certain domes- 
 tic incidents which ought to be within his knowledge. 
 The answers were delivered with hesitation ; and the 
 impostor — if such he were — certainly displayed a more 
 intimate acquaintance with Martin Guerre's domestic 
 history than did that gentleman himself. 
 
 On examining the peculiar marks deposed to by 
 the witnesses on the part of Guerre, these were found 
 duly existing in the newly arrived man, although less 
 apparent than in the other. 
 
 The first claimant was now withdrawn, and the 
 
On Tour Oath? 129 
 
 second — he of tlie wooden leg — underwent a close 
 interrogatory touching many domestic particulars 
 which, had not hitherto heen submitted to either. 
 
 To these he replied with unfailing accuracy. But 
 once more justice was at fault ; for Martin Guerre 
 the second, interrogated in his turn, replied with the 
 like precision. 
 
 In despair the Court now directed that the four 
 sisters, the two brothers-in-law, and uncle of Martin 
 Gruerre, the brothers of Arnaud du Tilh, and the 
 chief witnesses who asserted the latter to be Gruerre, 
 should appear together, and decide, once for all, which 
 was the real man. 
 
 AU obeyed excepting the brothers of Du Tilh, 
 whom the Court, with a consideration at that period 
 somewhat rare, forbore to compel to give testimony 
 which would probably affect the life of their 
 relative. 
 
 The eldest sister of Guerre, who entered first, 
 paused for an instant as if thunder-stricken; then, 
 bursting into tears, fell on Martin's breast, and ac- 
 knowledged him to be her brother. The rest followed 
 suit ; the witnesses hitherto most inflexibly against 
 him passing one by one into the same view. 
 
 Last of all came Bertrande de Eols. No sooner 
 
 9 
 
130 On Your Oath? 
 
 had her eyes lit upon Guerre than, weeping and 
 trembling, as M. Coras expressed it, " like a leaf in 
 the autumn breeze," she threw herself at his feet — 
 foot, rather— entreating pardon for having suffered 
 herself to be betrayed by artifice into so great a fault. 
 She laid part of the blame upon her sisters-in-law, 
 who had so readily accepted the imposture, but more 
 Upon her own warm love for her absent husband, and 
 that eager longing for his actual return which had 
 contributed to the self-deceit. She averred, that no 
 sooner had she become conscious of her error, than, 
 but for the dread of God's anger, she would have 
 concealed her grief and dishonour in the grave. In 
 place of this she determined on revenge, and, as all 
 the world knew, had pursued to the death the de- 
 stroyer of her fame and peace. 
 
 The woman's natural manner, her beauty and her 
 tears, sensibly affected the whole auditory, save only 
 Martin Guerre himself. That stern reasoner declined 
 to be moved by passionate words. 
 
 " Dry your tears, Madame," he said coldly. " They 
 cannot and they ought not to move my pity. The 
 example of my sisters and uncle can be no excuse for 
 ^ou. A wife must know her husband better than the 
 very closest connexions, and an error such as yours can 
 
On Your Oath? 131 
 
 only be made by one wilfully blind. You — 
 you alone — are answerable for what has befallen 
 me." 
 
 The judges in vain attempted to soften the man's 
 bitterness. 
 
 " But I would willingly ask" (writes M. Pasquier, 
 discontentedly,) " whether this Monsieur Guerre, who 
 inveighs so bitterly against his wife, did not deserve 
 punishment as much as the other man, for having, by 
 his unprovoked desertion, been the primary cause of 
 her misdeed." 
 
 The records of this most extraordinary case do not 
 describe what was the demeanour of the convicted 
 impostor at the moment of discovery. He was, how- 
 ever, apparently one of those " resolved villains" who 
 defy the thunderbolt of vengeance until the very 
 moment it strikes them into nothing. 
 
 The Court decreed that Arnaud du Tilh, called 
 " Pansette," had been convicted of the several crimes 
 of imposture, falsehood, substitution of name and 
 person, adultery, rape, sacrilege, detention {plagiat)* 
 and larceny, and condemned him to do penance before 
 
 * Holding possession of a person who properly belongs to 
 another. 
 
 9— a 
 
132 On Your Oath ? 
 
 the churcb of Artigues, on his knees, in his shirt, with 
 head and feet bare, a halter ronnd his neck, and a 
 burning taper in his hand, asking pardon of God 
 and the king, Martin Guerre, and Bertrande de Eols 
 his wife ; that he should then be handed over to the 
 common executioner, who should conduct him through 
 the most public ways to the house of Martin Guerre, 
 in front of which, upon a scaffold purposely prepared 
 he should be executed by hanging, and his body 
 burned. All his effects were forfeited to the crown. 
 The decree bears date September 12th, 1560. 
 
 While under condemnation in the prison at 
 Artigues, Amaud made a full confession, declaring 
 that the imposture had first suggested itself to him 
 on his being mistaken by intimate friends of Martin 
 Guerre for that individual himself. From them and 
 others he had gleaned all necessary particulars of the 
 past life and ways of the man he proposed to per- 
 sonate. He denied having had recourse to any magic 
 more powerful than natural cunning and a retentive 
 memory ; but made no scruple of confessing to sun- 
 dry other crimes, which had not come under the 
 cognisance of the law. 
 
 His behaviour on the scaffold was penitent and 
 becoming enough. It was found that he had left a 
 
On Your Oath? 133 
 
 will, bequeathing all he possessed to his little daughter 
 Bertrande, and naming tutors and guardians in the 
 event of her mother's death. This instrument was 
 duly acted upon, the crown having ceded its 
 right to the confiscated" property in favour of the 
 chHd. 
 
VI. 
 
 HUMAN BLOODHOUNDS. 
 
 TT has been said that no man that ever lived is so 
 devoid of the leaven of wickedness as, under 
 certain circumstances, to be proof against the temp- 
 tation to commit certain crimes, apparently foreign to 
 his nature and inclination. 
 
 But for the minute official records from which the 
 following narrative is derived, it would be almost im- 
 possible to believe that there existed in one family- 
 three such marvellous monsters as they who, in 1650, 
 compassed the destruction of -one of the most beautiful 
 women of her time, as spotless in character as she was 
 fair in aspect, the Marchioness de Gauge. 
 
 The only daughter of the Sieur de Eoussan 
 d' Avignon, who died while she was yet a child, she 
 was the presumptive heiress of the enormous wealth 
 of her maternal grandfather, Joanis, Sieur de Nocheres. 
 She was styled Mademoiselle de Chliteaublanc, from 
 one of the estates hereafter to be hers. 
 
Human Bloodhounds.. 135 
 
 The girl's exquisite beauty, without the additional 
 charm of her prospective wealth, would have sufficed 
 to assemble round her a crowd of admirers ; and when 
 to the above advantages were added a sweetness and 
 simplicity of character not always found in one so 
 favoured by fortune, it cannot be wondered at that 
 Mademoiselle de Chateaublanc was not left long to 
 the enjoyment of single blessedness. She married at 
 thirteen the Marquis de Oastellane, grandson of the 
 Due de Villars, a gentleman brave, handsome, rich, 
 and possessed of many courtly accomplishments. 
 
 The Marquis at once introduced his fair bride to 
 the highest society, and she became, almost at a step, 
 the brightest ornament of what was certainly the 
 most brilliant Court of that period. 
 
 Louis the Fourteenth, then in his first youth, was 
 tte first to acknowledge the grace and loveliness of 
 " la belle Proven9ale," as she was usually called, and 
 the king's admiration naturally brought the whole 
 Court to her footstool. His Majesty delighted in 
 selecting her as his partner at the balls, and perpetu- 
 ally discovered some new charm in the fair Marquise. 
 She was for a time the undisputed queen of beauty. 
 
 Her portrait," by Mignard, represents her of pearl- 
 white complexion, touched with the most delicate rose, 
 
136 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 dark glossy tair, curling naturally, eyes as dark as 
 the hair, but large, languishing, yet glistening like 
 diamonds, rosebud mouth, with small perfect teeth, 
 and an ensemble that recals the saying that human 
 beauty is after all the most beautiful thing in nature. 
 
 Faultless in figure as in face, with hands and fe^t 
 sculptors might have vainly sought among their miost 
 approved models, it might seem that .in this lovely 
 woman nature had for once resolved to make a master- 
 piece.. The picture by Mignard is more than corro- 
 borated in a work published at Eouen, in 1667, in 
 which several pages are devoted to a description of 
 her marvellous personal beauty. 
 
 In disposition sweet and genial, with a pure mind, 
 and sound, if not brilliant intelligence, "la belle 
 Proven9ale" appeared destined, if ever woman was, to 
 pass the happiest of lives, admired, esteemed, beloved 
 of all. Seldom, in this chequered life, has so fair a 
 dawn been followed by so dark a noon. 
 
 She was at the height of her popularity when the 
 Marquis, her husband, who commanded part of the 
 French fleet in the Mediterranean, was lost, with his 
 ship and others, on the coast of Sicily. She felt the 
 shock deeply, and retiring for a time from society, 
 resided with Madame d'Ampus, the aunt of her de- 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 137 
 
 ceased husband, after wHch her affairs requiring her 
 presence at Avignon, she placed herself in a convent 
 there, and held intercourse only with her most inti- 
 mate friends, and those connected with the manage- 
 ment of her property. 
 
 Time, however, exercising its usual soothing influ- 
 ence, " la belle Proven9ale," more beautiful even than 
 before, returned to the world, and from the crowd of 
 suitors who eagerly presented themselves to compete 
 for such a prize, selected the young and handsome 
 Marquis de Grange. He was at this time about 
 twenty, and was as a man little inferior in outward 
 gifts to what his betrothed appeared as a woman. 
 
 In character they were literally as the poles asunder. 
 The Marquis was proud, haughty, sullen, jealous, 
 mistrustful; in effect, precisely the reverse of the 
 amiable, noble-hearted woman, whose affections he 
 had, unhappily for her, contrived to ensnare. 
 
 The world proclaimed it an admirable match, and 
 such in truth it seemed. The Marchioness was at 
 this time just twenty-two, the culmination as some 
 have thought of youthful charms. La Bruyfere once 
 heard a wish expressed by a male friend that he could 
 become a beautiful woman from eighteen to twenty- 
 two, and then resume his sex ! 
 
138 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 Apparently the attachment of the young couple did 
 not long survive the honeymoon. At all events they 
 were quickly seen again in the vortex of society, and 
 far more frequently apart than seemed consistent with 
 mutual affection. The Marquis neglected his lovely 
 wife, and though there were many quite prepared to 
 impart what consolation their homage might, the lady 
 never permitted the slightest approach to any tenderer 
 feeling. It was enough for One of her admirers to 
 hetray the least symptom of an undue interest in her, 
 to find himself at once relegated to the remotest rank 
 of her acquaintance. Discreet, however, as she was, 
 it availed nothing against her husband's causeless 
 jealousy and suspicion, and these were kept alive and 
 aggravated by the whispers of of&cious friends. 
 
 Ashamed of the ridicule that attaches to a jealous 
 husband, and unable to give form and reality to what 
 he suspected, young De Gauge concealed his feelings as 
 best he might from the world, and only suffered them 
 to appear in his sullen and morose demeanour with his 
 wife. Thus months, and even years, passed on, and 
 brought no amelioration to their intercourse, until the 
 Marquis's two brothers — a chevalier and an abbe — 
 came on a visit to De Gauge, and subsequently made 
 it their permanent residence. 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 139 
 
 As these two persons were destined to play a great 
 and fearful part in the tragedy that was to come, they 
 merit some description. The elder, the Abh4 was a 
 libertine and debauchee of the vilest, stamp. To 
 apply these terms to such as he — devoid of religion, 
 heart, or feeling of any kind — is almost to wrong 
 those men who, with half his guilt upon their souls, 
 have been described in a similar manner. This mis- 
 creant churchman had adopted the sacred profession 
 solely as a cloak for his misdeeds. Unhappily for his 
 many victims, he was a man of the most fascinating 
 manners, witty and accomplished, and skilled in 
 acting to perfection any character in which it suited 
 his present purpose to appear. " He was not a 
 man," wrote an author of the time, "but a veritable 
 devil — riisi, artifici&ux, prenant toutes sortes de formes, 
 mime celle de I'honnHe homme." 
 
 The Chevalier, on the other hand, was a poor weak 
 creature, equally unprincipled but far less gifted- 
 one of those, in fact, who seem born expressly to 
 become the unresisting, unquestioning tools of men 
 more actively vile. He was completely under the 
 control of his brother, who, nevertheless, had the art 
 to conceal the leading-strings wherewith he directed 
 his puppet. 
 
140 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 In a somewhat less degree the Abbe exercised 
 ascendancy over his brother the Marquis, leading the 
 latter to believe in his entire devotion to him and to 
 his interests, and rendering himself so useful in a 
 thousand ways, as gradually to obtain almost undis- 
 puted sway in his household and over his revenues ; 
 insomuch that De Gange at length sunk into a 
 nominal master, leaving the wily churchman to do 
 whatsoever he pleased. 
 
 It was hardly to be expected that a man of such 
 ungovernable passions should be unmoved by the 
 excessive beauty of the Marchioness de Grange. The 
 Abbe was not only moved, but deeply smitten, and 
 without an instant's unnecessary delay, began to 
 weave the snares in which he hoped to entrap her. 
 He laid himself out to please her to the uttermost, 
 and, as a first step, laboured to effect a reconciliation 
 between the ill-assorted pair ; in which he succeeded 
 to such an extent that the Marchioness, whose indif- 
 ference towards her changed lord had been tending 
 towards aversion, began to feel a renewal of her old 
 affection, and certain brief months of happiness 
 seemed to promise more auspicious days to come. 
 
 But the Abbe had no intention of denying himself 
 the reward of his peacemaking, and his next move 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 141 
 
 was to let his sister-in-law fully understand to 
 whose influence she was indebted for the improved 
 state of things, and who it was that could if he 
 pleased undo the gracious work he had done. 
 
 Now the Marchioness, though pleased with the 
 Abbe's wit and vivacity, had conceived almost from 
 the first a strong personal dislike to the man, and it 
 may be imagined how distasteful to her was the idea 
 of being placed under an obligation of this descrip- 
 tion towards one who — something whispered her — 
 was perfectly capable of abusing thfe hold it gave 
 him. 
 
 Madame de Grange thanked him for his friendly 
 service, but it was with a coldness that convinced 
 him at once that no warmer fruit than gratitude 
 could ever come to repay him for that service. More- 
 over, he no-vy found her on her guard, and himself 
 kept at such an unusual distance that he resolved to 
 have an explanation with her on the first opportunity. 
 This speedily occurred. The Marchioness went on 
 a visit to some friends in the country, and thither the 
 Abbe, whose lively, yet polished manners made him 
 everywhere a welcome guest, at once followed her. 
 Perhaps the passionate sentiment that possessed him 
 lent unusual point and animation to his wit and con- 
 
142 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 versatioiij for never liad he been more agreeable — 
 proving, indeed> the life and soul of the party. 
 " One morning a hunting expedition being organized^ 
 the Abbe managed to attach himself to the beautiful 
 Marchioness, as her squire,. and thus quickly found 
 the occasion he desired. Alone for a few minutes ill 
 an alley of the wood, and discarding, rather im- 
 prudently, that timidity which most frequently waits 
 upon a genuine affection — he boldly declared his 
 passion and implored for a return. 
 
 The Marchioness turned upon him a look that 
 might have satisfied him without words how utterly 
 he had mistaken the character with which he had to 
 deal. Too much agitated and incensed to express 
 the incredulity she felt, it was some moments before 
 she could command herself sufficiently to reply. 
 Then, in a cold and bitter tone she simply said — 
 
 " Monsieur I'Abb^ you seem to consider me a 
 woman who is capable of receiving such a declaration 
 in the light of a compliment. You are entirely mis- 
 taken. Now tliat you are warned, consider, sir, what 
 I ouffht to say, and spare me the pain of utter- 
 mg it. 
 
 The Abb^ was too shrewd a man not to perceive 
 
 •I 
 
 that as regards any reciprocity of feeling the case 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 143 
 
 was hopeless. Bat he had another arrow in his 
 quiver, and he let it fly. 
 
 " Are you aware, Madame," he said, calmly, " that" 
 your happiness is absolutely in my hands ? That I 
 can at pleasure render you the most miserable woman 
 upon earth ? I can, be assured, undo all that I have 
 done for you- — nor can anything that you may say or do 
 prevail against my power. Tour husband will believe 
 nothing you can say to my discredit. Tou are — I 
 repeat — utterly helpless. Why then should we be 
 enemies, rather than the dearest friends and allies ? 
 Grive me but the regard I covet, and your life shall 
 be henceforth serene and joyful as the most exacting 
 spirit can desire." 
 
 The Marchioness turned and looked him full in 
 the face so steadily that, libertine as he was, he 
 almost cowered under the dark fire of her splendid 
 eyes. 
 
 " If, sir," she answered, " you have learned to love 
 me, learn also to respect me. Know that, were I 
 certain to undergo the most cruel suffering ever laid 
 upon humanity, I would not seek to avert it at the 
 cost of honour. More than thatj learn that if I were 
 capable of so great a crime and weakness as that to 
 which you would tempt me,^€U, Monsieur I'Abbe, 
 
144 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 are the last man on earth who would be likely to 
 inspire me with the feeling it implies." 
 
 With these words she turned her horse's head and 
 joined the rest of the party. 
 
 That evening the Abbe discovered that he had 
 pressing business at Avignon. 
 
 Baffled, but not discouraged, he now directed all 
 his efforts to the increasing of his influence over his 
 brother ; and, far from depreciating the Marchioness 
 to him, lost no opportunity of congratulating his 
 brother on the possession of a wife as good as she 
 was fair. For a time, therefore, the poor lady 
 retained her late found happiness. She abstained 
 from any marked avoidance of the Abbe, but at the 
 same time took sedulous care never to be for an 
 instant alone with him. 
 
 The Chevalier — ^fool as he was — had not, on his 
 part, escaped the influence of her attractions, and 
 his manners being gentle, he found himself not un- 
 welcome to her as a companion, and even flattered 
 himself that he might in due time succeed in 
 rendering himself yet more agreeable. Of course the 
 jealous and penetrating Abbe detected his hopes at 
 their very birth; and, perceiving that his brother 
 was encouraged while he was repulsed, was at first 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 145 
 
 half-disposed to believe that the Marchioness in some 
 measure returned the sentiment. He accordingly set 
 a watch upon the pair, but nothing rewarded these 
 disinterested efforts. Still the species of rivalship 
 which existed between the Chevalier and himself dis- 
 turbed and irritated him. He resolved to have an 
 understanding with the other, and accordingly- 
 observed to him, in his curt decisive way — a style that 
 never failed with the weak Chevalier — 
 
 " Hark ye, brother ; we both love yonder woman — 
 both pursue her. But only one can succeed. I do 
 not wish to cross your way. Do your best to win 
 her ! I will stand aloof — for we are too nearly aUied 
 to enter into a competition of such a sort. Only 
 mark this — when you have tried and failed (and 
 take your own time for the essay), then frankly 
 retire, and allow me the opportunity of judging 
 whether I can succeed better." 
 
 The Chevalier was not a little moved at this unex- 
 pected manifestation of brotherly regard, and — not to 
 be outdone in generosity — offered some faint resis- 
 tance. But the magnanimous Abbe was firm. 
 
 "No, no," said he; "not a word. I shall see, 
 with sincere satisfaction, that good fortune attends 
 you. I am master of myself. I can exercise a certain 
 
 10 
 
146 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 control over my most ardent desires ; and I assure you,I 
 prefer my brother's friendship to the love of any woman." 
 
 The touchiag little contest ended with a tearful 
 embrace. 
 
 The wooing of the love-sick Chevalier was not more 
 fortunate than that of Eoderigo. On the contrary, 
 no sooner did Madame de Grange perceive the drift of 
 his attentions, tban she at once placed him at an 
 equal distance with the Abbe. The Chevalier affected 
 patience and humility — ^but the lady, determined that 
 there should be no mistake, gave him such unques- 
 tionable proofs of her disdain, that he finally 
 abandoned the pursuit, and announcing to his self- 
 denying brother that the coast was clear, declared his 
 intention of overcoming his fatal passion. The Abbe 
 highly commended this manly resolution. 
 
 The tactics of the latter now underwent a change. 
 Hitherto policy suggested that he should act the 
 peacemaker between husband and wife; but this 
 having led to no profitable result, he now resolved 
 to try the opposite course. And this required some 
 tact and management, for the Marquis was not a man 
 to be hoodwinked like the Chevalier, and though sub- 
 missive to the Abbe's stronger will, was far from being 
 its slave. 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 147 
 
 It cost the tempter no small pains to bring his 
 brother into the belief that the Marchioness's acquain- 
 tance with a young nobleman who was frequently in 
 her company had in it something dangerous to his 
 honour. He did, however, succeed ; and now began 
 a miserable time of jealousy, suUenness, even, it was 
 rumoured, of personal outrage, in the encouragement 
 of which the miscreant Abb^ found ample revenge for 
 the mortification of his defeat. Although fully aware 
 of the malign influence at work against her, the un- 
 happy lady made no attempt to explain to her hus- 
 band its nature and cause, being too sensible of the 
 little weight any such representation was likely to 
 carry. 
 
 At the height of this misery it occurred to the 
 Abb^ to make one more bold effort to conquer the 
 fair fortress he had reduced to such cruel straits. 
 
 Having — ^not withoiit difficulty — contrived to sur- 
 prise her alone, he bluntly accosted her. 
 
 " M, Men, Madame ! are you and I destined to be 
 always enemies ? Why — why will you compel me to 
 make war where I would fain bring peace ? How 
 easily might you at once win back your husband, and 
 secure me for your friend ! Instead of that, you force 
 me, against my heart and will, to disturb your peace, 
 
 10—2 
 
148 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 while at the same time you repulse and persecute one 
 whose only fault has been the loving you too much." 
 
 Madame de Gauge gazed haughtily at him, then 
 turning away, left him without a word. 
 
 Just at this period, the death of the Sieur de 
 Nocheres, whose great wealth descended to the 
 Marchioness, compelled the family to visit the Chateau 
 de Gauge, seventeen leagues from Montpellier, and 
 nineteen from Avignon. It was a lonely residence, 
 and the Marchioness experienced an inexplicable re- 
 pugnance to the visit. 
 
 Her gloom and uneasiness had perhaps been aug- 
 mented by an incident of a suspicious nature that had 
 recently occurred at Avignon. After having partaken 
 of some cream-ice, she had become extremely iU — several 
 others, who had done the like, being similarly affected. 
 Through the use of emetics, all escaped without 
 serious illness ; but the ice, on analysis, proved to have 
 been impregnated with a strong mineral poison. The 
 circumstance recalled to her memory that a person in 
 Paris, who professed to draw horoscopes, had warned 
 her that fate had decreed that she should die a violent 
 and unexpected death. 
 
 The affair of the poisoned ice made considerable 
 noise at Avignon, but no regular inquiry followed, and 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 149 
 
 the Marchioness, who should have regarded it as a ■ 
 warning, was the first to hanish it from her mind. 
 Then followed the death of the Sieur de Nocheres, 
 and the increase of fortune accruing to her had the 
 efiect of rendering her husband more considerate. 
 The Abbe treated her with quiet respect, while the 
 Chevalier, according to wont, simply followed his 
 brother's lead. 
 
 It was proposed to pass the autumn at Gange ; and 
 the Marchioness, oppressed with the strange presenti- 
 ment before alluded to, determined first to execute a 
 will. In this instrument she made her mother heir, 
 with power to assign the inheritance, at her dis- 
 cretion, either to her little son^ aged six, or her 
 daughter, then nearly five. 
 
 She kept the will secret, but made a formal decla- 
 ration before the magistrates at Avignon and other 
 witnesses, that should she die and be found to have 
 made a will of more recent date, she thereby formally 
 disavowed the latter instrument, expressing in the 
 most distinct and emphatic manner words could con- 
 vey, her desire that the will just executed should alone 
 be regarded as authentic. 
 
 She distributed money to different religious bodies 
 for masses for her soul, lest she should die without 
 
150 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 'the sacraments of the church, and did this with a sor- 
 rowful earnestuess that betrayed her secret appre- 
 hensions. 
 
 In taking leave of her friends, her manner was that 
 of one about to be led forth to certain death, and 
 moved every one to tears. History is full of such 
 presentiments, and it would sometimes seem that the 
 forewarning— like the snake's eye — exercises a fatal 
 fascination, and paralyses the efforts of the victim to 
 escape the danger. 
 
 Arrived at Gange, she was received by Madame de 
 Gauge, her mother-in-law, with every demonstration of 
 tenderness. This lady, who usually resided at Mont- 
 pellier, but was now on a visit to her son, possessed 
 many excellent qualities, and the party thus assembled 
 at the gloomy old chateau enjoyed their sojourn far 
 more than some of them, at least, expected. The 
 three brothers behaved to the Marchioness with 
 studied respect — her husband with marked affection — 
 while the Abbe and Chevalier, carefully abstaining 
 from all such advances as had justly offended the 
 Marchioness, did their utmost to promote the general 
 good humour and hilarity. 
 
 Madame de Gange was entirely deceived by this 
 unlooked-for calm. She began to believe that happy 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 151 
 
 days were yet in store for her. Bat her gentl©, 
 trustful nature was no match for the dark and 
 traitorous spirits with whom she had to deal. 
 
 After a few pleasant weeks, old Madame de Gauge 
 returned to Montpellier. The Marquis immediately 
 afterwards left for Avignon, but before his departure 
 there was too much reason to believe that he took 
 his full share in planning the hellish tragedy there- 
 after to be enacted. 
 
 Left thus alone with her two most cruel foes, the 
 Marchioness's fears might have returned, but for the 
 consummate art with which the Abbe-— and under 
 his tutelage, the Chevalier — continued to disguise 
 their bitter hatred under every form of respectful, 
 yet not obtrusive politeness. 
 
 When at length the crafty Abb^ saw that his arts 
 had succeeded, and that his sister-in-law's confidence 
 had returned, he one day availed himself of an 
 opportunity to turn the conversation on the will 
 executed by her, the substance of which had it appears 
 been made known — and to warn her that, so long as 
 such a document existed, she could not expect that 
 there could be any permanent good understanding 
 with her husband. He expressed his fear that she 
 stni cherished a hostile feeling towards the Marquis, 
 
152 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 who, nevertheless, now anxiously desired a perfect 
 reconciliation ; and he dwelt strongly upon the neces- 
 sity for removing such an obstacle as the will was 
 likely to prove. If this were done he offered to 
 guarantee that everything and every one should 
 henceforth be entirely subject to her wishes — that, in 
 fact, she should reign absolutely in the hearts of 
 all. 
 
 So eloquently did he plead, that the Marchioness — ■ 
 ever inclining to the gentle and generous side — 
 actually revoked her will, and executed another in 
 favour of her husband. 
 
 The Abbe probably believed that there was no 
 necessity for cancelling the declaration she had made 
 before the magistrates. At all events, he took no 
 pains to procure that step. He had reason to suppose 
 that his aims had thus far completely prospered ; and 
 the monster now quietly prepared for the consumma- 
 tion of the frightful crime that had been resolved 
 upon. By what arguments he induced his less in- 
 human brother, the Chevalier, to aid in the intended 
 murder, was never known. The result, in any case, 
 was to secure his full co-operation, and they now- 
 only waited for a favourable moment. 
 
 It so happened that, on the 17th May, 1667, the 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 153 
 
 Marchioness, feeling indisposed, sent to her apothe- 
 cary for a draught such as she was in the habit of 
 taking. It was sent; but, perceiving something 
 unusual in the colour or smell, she laid it aside, pre- 
 ferring to use instead something from her own medi- 
 cine-chest. There was no doubt that the draught 
 from the apothecary had been intercepted and poisoned 
 by the AhhL 
 
 The inquiries of the latter gentleman and his bro- 
 ther on the following morning after the health of their 
 sister-in-law were most affectionate, and it must have 
 been with at least as much surprise as pleasure that 
 they learned that her ladyship appeared to have 
 derived much benefit from the medicament she . had 
 swallowed on the previous day ! 
 
 Suspecting her suspicions, they decided to adopt 
 more prompt and certain measures. 
 
 The Marchioness, who — according to custom, occa- 
 sionally received visitors in her bedroom — one day 
 assembled an unusually numerous party. She had 
 never appeared more beautiful, nor in gayer mood ; 
 while the Abb^ and Chevalier, brooding over their 
 infernal scheme, contributed little or nothing to the 
 wit and mirth of the circle. Eallied good-humouredly 
 by their hostess on their unwonted distraction, the 
 
154 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 two murderers forced themselves to take sufficient 
 part in the conversation to satisfy her. More they 
 found impossible. 
 
 A collation being presently served, the Marchioness 
 not only did the honours with her accustomed grace, 
 but set the example of eating heartily. It was late 
 before the party broke up, when the Abb^ attended 
 the guests to their carriages, while the Chevalier 
 remained alone with the intended victim. Seated at 
 the foot of her bed, wrapt in gloOmy reverie, the 
 man's sinister look at length began to arouse the 
 Marchioness's fears. She concealed them, however, 
 and continued to rally him, trying in vain to divine 
 the secret of his demeanour. 
 
 Quickly and fearfully was she enlightened. A 
 heavy determined step advanced along the corridor. 
 The door was rudely opened, and the Abb^ re- 
 appeared, an altered man. In one hand he held a 
 pistol, in the other a glass of some dark thick liquid. 
 His eyes gleamed as might a tiger's about to bound 
 upon its prey ; and so terrible was his aspect, that the 
 unhappy woman, as she gazed upon him, felt her hair 
 rise upon her head ! Closing the door behind him, 
 he approached the bed, then, pausing for a minute, 
 fixed his glowing eyes upon her as if he intended by 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 155 
 
 tHs mute pantomime to announce to her his cruel 
 purpose, and freeze his victim with horror before 
 accomplishing it. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Chevalier, whose face wore a similar 
 expression, drew his sword and ranged himself beside 
 his brother. At first the unhappy lady had imagined 
 the latter only meant to protect her, but his vengeful 
 looks quickly dispelled this illusion. 
 
 At length the chief assassin broke the terrible 
 silence. Speaking in a calm and low, yet determined, 
 voice, he addressed her : — 
 
 " Madame, you must die. Choose one of the three 
 alternatives I ofier you — sword, pistol, or poison. No 
 delay. Make your selection." 
 
 "Die!" gasped the unfortunate woman; "and 
 wherefore ? Of what crime have I been guilty ? You 
 decree my death — ^and you inflict it — but why ? 
 How can I have deserved so cruel a fate at your 
 hands ?" 
 
 No answer being returned to her agonized remon- 
 strance, she turned to the Chevalier. 
 
 "What have I. done to you, my dear brother, that 
 you should be as cruel and inexorable as he? 
 Surely you cannot have the heart to take my life! 
 Have you forgotten the many proofs of friendship 
 
156 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 and esteem I have given you ?" (She had again 
 and again supplied him with money, and but two 
 days before had given him a note for five hundred 
 livres.) " If I have given you any offence, will 
 nothing appease you but my blood ?" 
 
 Far from softening the man's heart, her piteous 
 appeals only seemed to confirm his murderous pur- 
 pose. With brutal roughness he bade her accept her 
 inevitable fate. 
 
 " (Ten est fait (it is settled). Take your choice, 
 Madame — or we will choose for you," was his only 
 reply ; and again the threefold means of death were 
 set before her. 
 
 Seeing, then, that her death was resolved upon, 
 the Marchioness — with one glance of bitter reproach, 
 and one silent prayer to the Almighty witness of that 
 scene of murder — took from the Abbe's hand the 
 poisoned draught, while the Chevalier on one side, 
 and his brother on the other, held their weapons to 
 her breast. In swallowing the deadly liquid some 
 drops fell upon her neck, blackening the white skin 
 with their corrosive power. 
 
 So determined were her murderers to do their work 
 eifectually, that, observing some sediment remaining 
 in the glass, the Chevalier collected it with a spoon, 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 157 
 
 and bringing it to the brim of the goblet, offered it 
 once more to the victim's quivering lips. She 
 received it in her mouth, but with much presence of 
 mind retained it there, and affecting to sink fainting 
 on her pillow, rejected and concealed it among the 
 folds of her robe de cJiamhre. 
 
 " In heaven's name," she gasped out, " since you 
 have taken my life, do not also destroy my soul! 
 Send for a confessor, and let me at least expire as a 
 Christian should !" 
 
 . The two wretches withdrew, closing the door 
 behind them, and went in search of the chaplain — a 
 man entirely devoted to their interests — whom they 
 despatched to the chamber of the unhappy woman. 
 
 No sooner was she alone, than the hope and desire 
 of life aroused her to a desperate effort. Leaping to 
 her feet, she threw over her a loose robe that lay near, 
 and rushing to the window, which looked, from a 
 height of twenty-two feet, upon a paved courtyard, 
 she prepared to cast herself below. 
 
 Her dress caught, and she would inevitably have 
 fallen head-foremost on the stones had not the chap- 
 lain arrived at the critical moment, and, catching her 
 robe, so changed the position of her body, that, 
 though she fell, she alighted on her feet with little 
 
158 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 harm beyond a severe shock. The miscreant priest, 
 seeing her on the point of escaping, caught up a 
 heavy pitcher of water, and dashed the vessel down 
 upon her, in hopes of fracturing her skull. It fell, 
 however, several inches distant, and once more her 
 life was preserved. So far safe, she now grasped her 
 long hair, and forcing it down her own throat, induced 
 by the irritation so caused a violent sickness, which 
 relieved her of much of the deadly drug she had been 
 compelled to swallow. 
 
 It was essential now to complete her escape. But 
 all the doors opening from the court were locked, and 
 even that leading to the stables defied her efforts to 
 open it. Suddenly an ostler made his appearance. 
 She uttered a cry of joy. 
 
 " Save me, good friend !" she cried ; " they have 
 given me poison ! Open, open, for mercy's sake, and 
 let me find succour !" 
 
 The man, affected, supported her carefully on his arm, 
 and conducting her through the stables, placed her in 
 the care of some women whom he summoned to her aid. 
 
 "While this was passing, the miscreant chaplain 
 had hastened to warn his employers of their victim's 
 flight. They followed instantly, telling all whom 
 they met that the Marchioness had had an access of 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 159 
 
 madness — an assertion to whicli her wild and troubled 
 looks, bare feet, and dishevelled hair, gave strong con- 
 firmation. Ultimately her murderers overtook her, 
 some four hundred yards from the chateau, near to 
 the residence of the Sieur de Prats, where she had 
 hoped to find efl&cient protection. 
 
 The Chevalier, forcing her within the gate, gave 
 the explanation already mentioned, while the Abb^, 
 pistol in hand, kept guard at the gate, declaring that 
 he would kill the first who ofiered to interpose, the 
 family of the sufferer not choosing that she should be 
 seen while in her delirium. It was hoped through this 
 delay that the poison might have time to work its 
 full efiect. 
 
 Monsieur de Prats happened to be absent, but his 
 lady was entertaining a party of friends, one of whom, 
 the daughter of the cure of the place, managed to 
 convey to her, unseen by the Chevalier, a restorative 
 draught, which somewhat allayed the thirst and fever 
 the poison was beginning to excite. Another gave 
 her a glass of water ; but this the Chevalier dashed 
 from her lips, declaring that there must be no inter- 
 ference with the " patient," with whom he alone 
 knew how to deal, and begging that every one would 
 leave the room. 
 
160 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 Alone with her executioner, the unhappy woman, 
 throwing herself on her knees, made one more effort 
 to move his pity : she entreated him to spare what 
 remained of her life, promising in the most solemn 
 terms never to denounce the crime that had been 
 intended against her, but, to interpret it to the world 
 in any manner he chose to suggest. 
 
 Her agonized entreaties, her beanty, and her suffer- 
 ings, had no effect upon the monster she addressed ; 
 on the contrary, they seemed only to infuriate him 
 more. He drew his sword, and using it as a dagger, 
 stabbed the unfortunate suppliant twice in her 
 bosom. Uttering a shriek, she sprang to her feet, 
 and had just gained the door, when the assassin, over- 
 taking her, dealt her five more wounds, with the last 
 stroke breaking the weapon, the point of which 
 remained in her shoulder. 
 
 Leaving her writhing on the ground, the wretch 
 hurried away in search of his brother, whom he found 
 still at his post beside the door. 
 
 " Betirons-noiis, Abbe! I' affaire est faite!" he ex- 
 claimed. But the other was not yet wholly satisfied, 
 and they lingered to see what would follow on the 
 alarm. 
 
 The guests and servants had meanwhile found the 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 161 
 
 unhappy Marchioness, bathed in blood and insensible, 
 but still living, and, throwing up the windows, they 
 cried aloud for surgical aid. 
 
 At this the Abbe, resolved to silence the victim at 
 once and for ever, rushed back to the chamber, and 
 like one who scarcely knew the desperate act he, was 
 committing, placed his pistol to her heart ; but his 
 arm was seized by Mdlle. Brunelle, and the ball 
 passed harmlessly through the window. 
 
 The Abbe dealt the brave girl a stunning blow 
 with his clenched fist ; then, striking at .the 
 Marchioness with the pistol-butt, tried to dash 
 out her brains. But now the women, with a 
 combined rush, flung themselves upon him, and 
 with pushes and furious blows, forced him from the 
 room. 
 
 This done, one among them who knew something 
 of surgery, extracted the point of the broken sword, 
 and stanched the various wounds, the sufferer mean- 
 while displaying marvellous fortitude, and desiring 
 the operator to apply her knee to her back in order to 
 disengage the sword-point more readily. It seemed 
 as if the Chevalier in his fury and confusion had failed 
 to inflict any mortal injury. 
 
 While this was passing, the assassins, availing 
 
 11 
 
162 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 themselves of the advancing nighty, effected their 
 escape to Auberas, another of the Marquis's estates, 
 about a league from the chateau. 
 
 In this retreat they decided to remain for the 
 present, bitterly reproaching themselves for having 
 done their work so imperfectly, as, not only to have 
 failed of taking their victim's life, but to have exposed 
 themselves to the most imminent danger. 
 
 In the meantime the authorities of De Grange had 
 taken cognizance of the horrible affair, and, as a first 
 precaution, surrounde'd the house with an efficient 
 guard. The news spread in every direction, and from 
 all sides the nobility and gentry of the neighbourhood 
 hastened to offer their sympathy and kind offices to 
 the rescued woman. The Barons de Semenez and 
 Sinestons came among the first ; and the Baron de 
 Tressan, grand provost, started at once on the track 
 of the murderers. But he was too late. They had 
 escaped by sea from Pataval. We shall pursue their 
 subsequent fortunes in an after page. 
 
 The best medical assistance France could supply 
 being obtained from Montpellier, the Marchioness 
 appeared to be regaining strength. Her husband, 
 who was at Avignon, and had no doubt expected that 
 his wife's destruction would be effected by the dumb 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 163 
 
 agency of poison, expressed the most becoming indig- 
 nation against her intended assassins, vowing that he 
 himself would willingly be their executioner could no 
 other be found. With all his rage and anxiety, it 
 was notwithstanding noticeable that the Marquis 
 deferred his departure for Gange, until the evening 
 after the day on which he received the afflicting 
 tidings. It was equally remarkable that, though he 
 met and conversed with several intimate friends before 
 leaving Avignon, he never once mentioned to them 
 what had befallen ! 
 
 Arrived at the chateau, he was received by his 
 suffering wife with all the demonstrations of tender- 
 ness due to the most affectionate of husbands. She 
 only uttered some gentle reproaches for having left 
 her so long without his loving protection. Such a 
 reception was perhaps the bitterest punishment he 
 could have suffered. But the Marquis possessed great 
 self-control, and gave no outward indication of com- 
 punction, seeming only to consider the physical condi- 
 tion of the patient, and to contribute as far as in him 
 lay to her restoration. Observing this Solicitude, the 
 kind-hearted lady regretted even the tender reproof 
 she had ventured upon, and besought him to forgive 
 it, and regard those too hasty words as wrung from 
 
 11-3 
 
164 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 h.ex rather by the pain she was enduring than from 
 any feeling of resentment. 
 
 Encouraged by this gentleness, the Marquis ven- 
 tured to moot the subject of the declaration con- 
 firming her will, which she had made at Avignon. 
 For it appears that the vice-legate had refused the 
 Marquis's request to register the later will made at 
 Gange, until the declaration concerning the former 
 .had been annulled. 
 
 This, however, she firmly refused. And this im- 
 prudent step of her husband, so far from forwarding 
 his views, gave strength and consistency to the sus- 
 picions she had already, in spite of herself, conceived 
 respecting him. 
 
 Madame de Grange now earnestly begged to be 
 transported to MontpeUier, for the advantage of 
 being nearer the most eminent physicians ; but such 
 was her state of prostration that her medical atten- 
 dants at Gauge positively refused to aUow the attempt 
 to be made. 
 
 On the day succeeding the Marquis's arrival, the 
 Marchioness's mother, Madame de Eossan, arrived at 
 the chateau with a party of friends. Nothing, could 
 exceed her astonishment at finding her son-in-law, not 
 only at his wife's bedside, but evidently on the most 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 165 
 
 affectionate footing with her. She was fully per- 
 suaded of the man's perfidy and cruelty, but proof was 
 wanting ; and such was the disturbance his presence 
 excited in her mind that she found it impossible to re- 
 main, and after a stay of only three days, took her leave. 
 
 The poor patient now desired to partake of the last 
 sacraments of the Church ; but what were her surprise 
 and alarm when she recognised in the priest who 
 prepared to administer the holy rite the person who 
 had sought to arrest her flight I Fearing that he 
 might even attempt to poison her by means of the 
 sacred wafer, she insisted that he should partake of it 
 with her, and this was done. 
 
 From this moment she occupied her moments of 
 relief in imparting to her little son those sentiments 
 of piety and faith in which she herself had found such 
 consolation, and which, coming from lips about to 
 close for ever, would, she hoped, be more deeply 
 impressed upon his mind. 
 
 The parliament of Toulouse now appointed Mons. 
 de Catalan, Seigneur de Masqukes, their commis- 
 sioner to interrogate the dying lady. Dismissing 
 every one from the chamber, this gentleman sought 
 to obtain from her the full history of what had 
 occurred, and with some difficulty succeeded. 
 
166 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 The Marchioness stated that she had visited Gange 
 with strange reluctance, and that the misery she had 
 undergone in that fatal house struck her, even in 
 remembrance, with a mortal terror. She entreated 
 to be at once removed from it, and the commissioner 
 promised that her wishes should be complied with. 
 
 It was, however, too late. That night her pain 
 increased. She became delirious, then sank into 
 stupor ; and next morning, May oth, surrounded by 
 her weeping attendants, passed quietly away. 
 
 Thus, in the very prime of beauty, and in aU 
 respects a model of womanly excellence, died, the 
 victim of two dastard assassins, the fairest woman 
 of her time. 
 
 Without an hour's delay, M. de Catalan issued his 
 warrant for the arrest of the Marquis, who was still 
 in the neighbourhood. The latter declared that he 
 had intended to pursue to the death the murderers of 
 his beloved wife. He was conveyed to the prison at 
 Montpellier; and, arriving at night, found the city 
 illuminated that he might be better seen, while the 
 populace, lining the streets, pursued him with hooting 
 and imprecations, till the gaol-doors shut him from 
 their sight. 
 
 The women of Montpellier seemed to regard the 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 167 
 
 murder of the Marchioness as au injury to the entire 
 sex, and went into mourning as for one of royal blood. 
 
 A post-mortem examination showed that the un- 
 happy lady had not succumbed to her wounds, but to 
 the deadly effects of the poison, which had destroyed 
 the coats of the stomach, and even blackened her 
 brain! That her constitution should have resisted 
 for nineteen days such cruel injuries, caused the 
 greatest astonishment. It was said that she had 
 never, in her brightest and happiest time, appeared 
 half so lovely as in those last days of agony. 
 
 Her mother, Madame de Eossan, took possession of 
 all the property, in accordance with the will executed 
 at Avignon, and now devoted herself entirely to the 
 duty of bringing to justice the murderers of her child. 
 
 She published a "memoire" or petition, setting 
 forth, with much legal ability, the reasons which 
 existed for regarding the Marquis as an accomplice 
 in the crime. This document, much too long for 
 insertion, was replied to by the *Marquis in another 
 " memoire," which, though brief, provoked consider- 
 able discussion among the magistrates conducting the 
 process. It is true that, although no human being 
 entertained the slightest doubt of his guilt, there was 
 a certain lack of actual proof; and on this the Marquis 
 
168 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 dwelt with all the earnestness of a man who feels that 
 his life hangs upon a thread. 
 
 In the end the Court adopted that middle course 
 which is the last resort of bewildered human judg- 
 ment, and decreed as follows : — 
 
 " That the Abb^ and Chevalier de Grange, for the 
 crimes proved in the process, should be broken alive 
 on the wheel. That the Marquis de Gauge should 
 be degraded from nobility, his goods forfeited to the 
 crown, and his person condemned to perpetual exile. 
 And that the priest Perrette should be stripped of 
 his clerical habit, and be seiit to the galleys for life." 
 
 The last-named wretch died in his fetters before 
 reaching Toulouse. 
 
 Great dissatisfaction was felt and expressed at the 
 comparatively lenient sentence passed upon the guilty 
 husband. But a short time, however, was to elapse 
 before he was summoned to a higher judgment. 
 
 The Marquis and the Chevalier escaped to Venice, 
 and offering their swords to that Eepublic, were sent 
 to the relief of Candia, at that time in the twenty- 
 second year of its siege by the Turks. Here, in a 
 few weeks, the Chevalier was killed by the explosion 
 of a bomb, and three days later the Marquis, while 
 fighting with valour, in a sally from the town, was 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 169 
 
 slain by the springing of a mine under the party lie 
 commanded, a death too glorious for men so soiled 
 with crime. Readers may remember the remark of 
 Mar^chal de Yillars, who when informed that Mar^- 
 chal de Berwick had been slain by a cannon-ball 
 before Philipsbourg quietly replied — 
 
 " Monsieur de Berwick was always in luck ! " 
 
 The fate of the miscreant Abb^ was of a different 
 kind. He had escaped to Holland, and repaired to 
 Vianne, a district near Utrecht, under the rule of the 
 Count de la Lippe. Having changed his name and 
 embraced the Protestant faith, he was introduced to 
 the Count by a friend, as a French geiitleman of rank 
 and merit, and was received with all the distinction 
 such a character deserved. 
 
 The Count was highly pleased with his new ac- 
 quaintance, and recognising in him a person of refined 
 manners and excellent understanding, confided to him 
 the education of his eldest son, then nine or ten years 
 of age. 
 
 By his care of this youth the latter grew up to be 
 an estimable and accomplished man, and the Abbe 
 received numerous marks of gratitude and regard 
 from the Count and Countess and all their household. 
 But he was far from being at peace. The stings of a 
 
170 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 guilty conscience were never blunted, and he groaned 
 inwardly under a vague perpetual fear. It was very 
 soon to be realized. 
 
 Some French political refugees, who desired to take 
 , up their residence at Vianne, and build dwellings 
 there, demanded a formal permission from the chief 
 legal authority of the place. That gentleman referred 
 them to the Count himself, hinting at the same time 
 that it would do their cause no harm were they to 
 engage in their interests a certain Monsieur de la 
 MarteUifere, in whom the Count reposed the highest 
 confidence. This was the Abbe, who had adopted 
 that name. 
 
 The wily churchman, however, fearing that he might 
 be recognised by one or other of the new comers, 
 dissuaded the Count from granting their request. 
 
 By this time his influence with the latter had so 
 greatly increased that he scarcely took any measure 
 of importance without consulting the Abbe. In the 
 midst of this seeming prosperity a change occurred. 
 The Abbe had the misfortune to become attached 
 to an amiable young lady, a cousin of the Countess, 
 and sought her hand. But the Countess inflexibly 
 opposed the union. In vain they sought to overcome 
 her objections. 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 171 
 
 " The Sieur de la Martelliere," she replied, " seems 
 a very worthy man! We owe him much, and readily 
 acknowledge his high desert. But he is a kind of 
 Melchisedec ! We know nothing of his origin. His 
 manners are courtly, and it is impossible to believe 
 him to be of obscure birth. Still we do not choose to 
 risk a mesalliance. When he leaves us, we shall 
 present him with an acknowledgment proportioned 
 to his great services; but the honour of our house 
 compels us to refuse his present claim." 
 
 The young lady saw that remonstrance was in vain. 
 She did not, however, abandon her resolution to marry 
 the Abbe; but confined herself for the present to 
 reporting to him the conversation that had passed. 
 
 The Abbe pondered deeply upon the course he 
 should pursue, and finally adopted the most extra- 
 ordinary, and manifestly the worst for his own in- 
 terests, he could possibly have selected. 
 
 He had come to the conclusion that by . frankly 
 revealing his lineage, he would overcome the difficulty 
 started by the Countess, and that in gratitude for his 
 service to the family he would be able to command 
 forgiveness of his horrible crime. 
 
 He demanded an audience of the Countess. 
 
 Alone with her in the cabinet he cast himself at her 
 
172 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 feet, asking pardon for recalling to her recollecjtion his 
 faithful services, and entreating "to know by what 
 fault of his he had now the misfortune to find her 
 opposing his dearest wishes. 
 
 " Monsieur," returned the Countess, " my lord and 
 I are deeply sensible of all we owe you. But be just 
 to yourself. Confine yourself, I beg, to demands such 
 as we may concede. Tou shall have no reason to 
 doubt our gratitude; but cease, I pray you, from 
 urging an alliance to which we cannot consent. We 
 are ignorant of your parentage, and the mystery with 
 which you have thought fit to surround it, leaves 
 room to believe that it may be the reverse of noble." 
 
 " Madame," said the Abbe, resolutely, " if I could 
 make myself known to your highness without in- 
 curring your resentment, you would at least own that 
 on the score of birth no obstacles exist to my desire." 
 He paused a moment. 
 
 " Speak, sir," said the Countess, encouragingly. 
 
 " Know then, Madame, that you see before you 
 that unhappy Abbe de Gange, whose crime has made 
 his name as familiar as it is infamous." 
 
 The Countess started, and recoiled as from a 
 venomous reptile. 
 
 " But, Madame," he continued hastily, " I have 
 
Human Bloodhounds. 173 
 
 deeply and bitterly repented of that horrible deed ; 
 and my conduct and teaching during the many years 
 I have been honoured with your confidence may prove 
 to yoiir highness the sincerity of that repentance. 
 Let me implore " 
 
 " Begone, man ! " exclaimed the Countess, her eyes 
 flashing, and her finger, with which she pointed to 
 the door, trembling with passion. " Leave me this 
 instant. Tou that monster? That atrocious coward 
 and murderer, the Abbe de Grange ? Your hateful 
 name soils every lip that utters it. Great heaven ! 
 that we should have confided to such a human fiend 
 the training of our child ! Begone, I say, and with- 
 out a word!" He went. 
 
 Even more indignant than his lady, the Count de la 
 Lippe was with great difficulty restrained from at 
 once giving up the refugee assassin to the laws. As 
 it was, the man was commanded to quit the country 
 without an hour's delay. 
 
 Eepairing to Amsterdam he obtained a subsistence 
 by teaching languages, being occasionally assisted 
 secretly by his former pupil, to whom at least he had 
 been an excellent preceptor. 
 
 The young lady to whom he had paid his addresses 
 subsequently followed him to Amsterdam, where they 
 
174 Human Bloodhounds. 
 
 were married, and resided in much comfort for several 
 years, considerably enriched by a fortune that, in a 
 short time, devolved upon the lady. 
 
 Ultimately the Abbe, whose later life had been 
 without a stain, died in good repute, and not a little 
 regretted by the friends among whom he had moved. 
 
 To one of the most trusted of them the unhappy 
 man confessed that his life had been troubled by 
 constant visions of his victim, as she appeared in the 
 cruel moment at which he offered her a choice of 
 death. At these times he suffered from an inde- 
 scribable horror. It was, he declared, impossible to 
 conceive such a " synderfese."* 
 
 The daughter of the murdered Marchioness married 
 the Marquis de Perrard, aged seventy-two, who had 
 once vainly wooed her grandmother ! 
 
 The young Marquis de Gange entered the army, 
 and distinguished himself on many occasions, proving 
 himself, in every characteristic except bravery, the 
 reverse of his unfortunate sire. 
 
 * A word, without synonym in English, signifying an impres- 
 sion of remorse and horror combined. 
 
VII. 
 
 "IT WILL OUT." 
 
 QTUDENTS of classic literature may remember 
 that wlien the Emperor CaracaUa invited Papi- 
 nianus to justify the fratricide of which he, CaracaUa, 
 had been guilty, that polite jurisconsult, replied that, 
 the murder of one's brother was an act more easy to 
 commit than to excuse. 
 
 Some time before this, Papinianus' conscience had 
 like to have been put to a still severer test. CaracaUa 
 had accompanied his father, Severus, to Britain ; and, 
 riding one day in his train, under the control of a 
 frightful impulse, drew his sword to assassinate him. 
 A cry from some one induced the intended victim to 
 turn his head. At his look, Caracalla's weapon stole 
 back to its sheath. That evening Severus summoned 
 his son to his chamber ; Papinianus and Castor stood 
 beside him, and on the table lay a naked sword. 
 
 " If, my son, you desire my life," said the old 
 Eoman, sternly, "take it now, and here — not in the 
 
176 ''It Will Out." 
 
 light of day and before mankind. If you want 
 courage for such, a deed, here stand two men 
 whom I, their emperor, have commanded to obey 
 you. 
 
 What mild censure would have emanated from the 
 worthy Papinianus had the offer been accepted, can 
 only be matter of conjecture. Caracalla, as we know, 
 turned out so excellent a son, that when at length 
 Severus died the natural death of age, he put to death 
 the entire medical staff, whose exertions had failed to 
 prolong his»parent's days. 
 
 Solon and Eomulus, whose criminal codes embraced 
 every imaginable delinquency, assigned no unusual 
 penalty to parent- murder — in a noble pretence of 
 doubt that so foul a crime could stain the annals of 
 humanity. Unhappily, as ages rolled on, it became 
 apparent that the malignity of human passions re- 
 cognised no such limit ; whereupon said Cicero {pro 
 Moscio Amerind), " Since there is no law so sacred that 
 man's audacity shall not violate it, those whom nature 
 cannot restrain must be deterred by terror-striking 
 punishment." 
 
 The Eoman law ordained that such a criminal be 
 enclosed in a leathern sack, together with a dog, a 
 cock, a viper, and an ape (the first to signify the 
 
"It Will Out:' 177 
 
 parricide more brute than man ; the second as type of 
 a wild libidinous nature ; the third in allusion to the 
 pain which was believed to accompany its nativity ; 
 the last because its half- hum an features destroyed the 
 sole remaining distinction), and with these companions 
 flung into the nearest river. 
 
 In later times, the law of almost every nation has 
 annexed to the usual penalties of murder some circum- 
 stance of obloquy calculated to mark its detestation 
 of this horrible form of turpitude. 
 
 In this country an exceptional punishment — burn- 
 ing alive — was, as in the case of husband-murder, some- 
 times applied. 
 
 At York, in 1705, Mary Coole was convicted of 
 parricide. In her defence she boldly asserted that 
 her crime was no worse than that of the Parliament 
 of England, who had destroyed the king their father ; 
 or of the queen, vho had permitted hers to die in 
 exile. She was deprived of her tongue and hand, and 
 condemned to the stake. 
 
 In Trance, much later, this crime — even the inten- 
 tion of it — was punished by cutting off the hand; 
 after which the culprit was broken alive on the wheel, 
 his body burned, and the ashes scattered to the winds. 
 And such was the inevitable penalty at the period 
 
 12 
 
] 78 " It Will Outr 
 
 when the following remarkable case was added to the 
 black archives of French crime. 
 
 The 16th of October, 1712, a f^te-day in the little 
 town of St. Bamabe near Marseilles, was, moreover, a 
 day of reconciliation in the family of the Sieur de 
 Salis, a retired oflBcer of distinction, inhabiting a 
 handsome villa just beyond the town. 
 
 This gentleman's family consisted of seven chil- 
 dren — ^viz., two daughters (professed nuns) and five 
 sons : Antoine (a lieutenant in the navy), Jean- 
 Baptiste, Fran9ois-Guillaume, Etienne-Gayetan (in 
 the army), and Louis-Cesar, a lad of thirteen. 
 
 M. de Salis, at forty, had married a woman twenty- 
 two years his junior — very beautiful, but of a violent, 
 implacable temper. Their married life had conse- 
 quently been one series of bitter quarrels and hoUow 
 reconciliations. In all these, Madame de Salis had 
 never lost sight of one especial object — that of 
 weakening the bonds of duty and affection between the 
 children and their father, and attaching the former 
 exclusively to herself; an aim in which, as will be 
 seen, she had been but too successful. 
 
 On the day above mentioned, M. de Salis had been 
 induced to forgive his second son, Jean-Baptiste, a 
 grave dereliction of duty, in having married, without 
 
" It Will Outr 179 
 
 consent, the pretty penniless daughter of M. Senelon, 
 curate of the parish. 
 
 The reconciliation was, however, complete ; and the 
 old gentleman had insisted upon his son's remaining 
 to dinner, though engaged to partake of that meal 
 with his father-in-law. 
 
 The dinner had passed off with unwonted good 
 humour and cordiality, and Madame de Salis had 
 withdrawn to her own apartment, when Franpois- 
 Guillaume, intending to go to the fete, applied to his 
 father for some money for the purpose. Now it was 
 one of the mother's plans for maintaining her ascen- 
 dancy with the children, to be herseK their purse- 
 bearer. Her husband, therefore, unprepared for his 
 son's request, and having indeed but little to spare, 
 tendered him a coin of such modest value that the 
 latter conceived himself insulted. 
 
 This may seem a trifling cause for anger. In point 
 of fact it was but the breaking forth of that hidden 
 fire which had never ceased to smoulder in the hearts 
 of all the sons against their unhappy father. 
 
 The latter becoming irritated in his turn, words 
 rose higher and higher; others (especially the newly- 
 pardoned Jean-Baptiste) joined in the quarrel ; and 
 finally, Madame de Salis, rushing in, and taking the 
 
 12—2 
 
180 ''It Will Out:' 
 
 part of her sons, increased their fury tenfold. At 
 length Fran^ois-Gruillaume, not content with vitupe- 
 rating his father, in his maniacal rage drew his 
 sword. 
 
 At this last outrage M. de Salis started from his 
 seat, and summoning a Turkish servant — one 
 Hassan Ali — ^bade him saddle a horse, loudly de- 
 claring his intention to proceed straight to Marseilles 
 and lodge a formal complaint against his unnatural 
 children. 
 
 Not reflecting that the parent who threatens most 
 loudly is often the slowest to execute, and completely 
 blinded by passion, Madame de Salis exhorted her 
 sons to oppose their father's exit, assuring them that, 
 should he do as he had threatened, their ruin was 
 inevitable. 
 
 The old gentleman persisting, a desperate struggle 
 commenced, the maddened woman actually dragging 
 him back by the hair of his head, while the sons 
 secured his arms and legs. Thus overpowered, he was 
 flung to the ground, and, in faUing, received on the 
 forehead a wound so severe as almost to render him 
 unconscious. Eallying a little, the unhappy father 
 appealed in touching terms to his cowardly as- 
 sailants. 
 
''Tt Will Out" 181 
 
 " What have I done to you boys, that you treat 
 me as though I were your deadly enemy ? If you 
 have ceased to obey and honour me as a father, at 
 least remember that we are still united in a common 
 humanity. Look at these grey hairs ! Will my own 
 children be my murderers ?" 
 
 Finding his remonstrances produce no effect, M. de 
 Salis now uttered a loud, lamentable cry ; and it was 
 probably in attempting to stifle this that Jean- 
 Baptiste grasped him so tightly by the throat as to 
 reduce him to complete insensibility. In fact, whether 
 or not he died at this instant was never fully known. 
 What is certain is, that the guilty band felt they had 
 now gone too far to recede; and, with clutching, 
 convulsive hands, and — it was said — the sword of 
 Frangois-Guillaume, made their horrible work com- 
 plete. 
 
 During the frightful scene, the younger son, Louis- 
 Cesar, had crouched weeping in a corner, longing, but 
 not daring, to succour his father. For a similar reason, 
 the Turkish servant had remained inactive. The 
 only other domestic, Susanne Borelli, was absent at 
 the f^te. 
 
 No sooner was the parricide consummated than 
 dismay succeeded. The actors in this tragedy, dis- 
 
182 ''It Will Out" 
 
 ordered, breathless, flecked with blood, stood gazing 
 in each other's white faces, as though they wist not 
 what next to do. The bright autumn sun streamed 
 in full upon the recumbent figure of their victim. 
 They almost recoiled before the mute inquisitor ; but, 
 as yet, there was no voice of vengeance. " Patient, 
 because eternal," says Tertullian. 
 
 The instinct of self-preservation soon aroused them 
 to action ; and she whose influence had brought about 
 the deed, was the first to regain suflScient self-com- 
 mand to take measures for averting its consequences. 
 Aware that the chief danger lay in the chance of 
 some one of the party, in the first horror of what had 
 passed, involuntarily betraying himself and the rest, 
 she assumed a calmness she was far from feeling, and 
 affected to treat the matter in the light of a mere mis- 
 adventure. 
 
 She had the firmness to search her husband's 
 pockets, and take his keys and money. Of the latter, 
 she gave a portion to Frangois-Gruillaume, desiring 
 him to go, as he had proposed, to the f^te ; but to 
 return early, and help in " putting things to rights." 
 
 She ordered Jean-Baptiste and Hassan Ali to con- 
 vey the body to a chamber on the top floor, and bring 
 the key to her. 
 
''It Will Out" 183 
 
 Her next step was a bold one. She sent Louis- 
 Cesar to the curate, M. Senelon, requesting his at- 
 tendance ; and, on his arrival, quietly informed him 
 that his son-in-law Jean-Baptiste and Fran9ois-Guil- 
 laume had killed their father. 
 
 Madame de Salis had judged M. Senelon aright. 
 Horror-stricken as he was, he could not bring himself 
 to denounce the husband of his child. Compelled 
 therefore to aid the concealment of that atrocious 
 crime, he suggested that the body should be placed in 
 bed, and that it should be given out that M. de Salis 
 had died of apoplexy. 
 
 On learning, however, that the marks of violence 
 were too apparent for this explanation, the curate 
 proposed that the body should be let fall from an 
 upper window into the garden, dressed as it was, and 
 with the finger still retaining the ring of a bird-cage 
 which usually hung outside, and in striving to reach 
 which it might be surmised that M. de Salis had over- 
 balanced himself and fallen. Having, as it were, 
 forced himself to give this advice, the curate turned 
 to withdraw ; but pausing on the threshold, spoke a 
 parting word — 
 
 " Though I have consented — against my conscience 
 and my duty — ^to aid in the present concealment of this 
 
184 ''It Will Out." 
 
 unnatural and horrible deed, be sure that no human 
 craft or caution will secure your permanent safety. 
 Prepare yourselves, by your future lives, for the 
 inevitable judgment, even of man. Preserve your 
 secret with what fidelity you may, mark my warning — '■ 
 it will out J" 
 
 "Now was seen a curious feature of humanity. Jean- 
 Baptiste, who had been foremost in the murderous 
 assault, trembled from head to foot at the very 
 thought of the fresh indignity he was called on to 
 inflict upon the senseless corpse. He at first positively 
 refused to lay a finger on the body ; and it required 
 all his mother's influence to overcome his repugnance. 
 As it was, he was seized with a deadly sickness in the 
 act ; and the dishonoured frame that fell prone among 
 the crushed flowers was hardly more livid and corpse- 
 like than he who dropped it there. As for Madame 
 de Salis, who had by this time regained all her natural 
 self-possession, she neglected nothing that might 
 further the deceit. She threw her husband's hat into 
 the garden ; and then going down to her hen-house, 
 killed some fowls, and sprinkled the blood about the 
 prostrate body. 
 
 In a few minutes shrieks and cries warned the neigh- 
 bours that something had happened at the house of De 
 
''ItWillOutr 185 
 
 Salis ; and these, rushing in, found tlie family in the 
 act of lifting up the hody from the earth. It was 
 placed upon the nearest couch, amidst tears and 
 plaints ; and every means for restoring animation re- 
 sorted to with well-acted assiduity. These exhausted, 
 Madame de Salis gave herself up to the wildest grief, 
 tearing her hair, and exhibiting every token of despair ; 
 the rest, each according to his several gift, imitating 
 as best they might. 
 
 A magistrate now arrived, and, attended by two 
 surgeons, examined the body. Not the slightest 
 suspicion of foul play visited their minds. The medi- 
 cal men reported that M. de Salis had died from 
 injuries received in an accidental fall; and the be- 
 reaved family were quickly left to the free indulgence 
 of their sorrow. 
 
 This satisfactory proceeding removed a great source 
 of anxiety. The whole party, excepting the young 
 Louis-Cesar, assembled at supper with renewed 
 courage, the mother assuring them that, were they 
 but true to themselves, their future life would be far 
 happier and more peaceful than hitherto. 
 
 Matters did go on for some months with a tran- 
 quillity hitherto foreign enough to that unhappy 
 home^ when a little cloud made its appearance above 
 
186 ''ItWillOutr 
 
 their horizon. M. de Salis had possessed but slender 
 means beyond the provision he received from Govern- 
 ment. The family soon began to feel the pressure of 
 poverty ; and, finding their resources all but exhausted, 
 the sons — with the exception of Antoine, already 
 provided for — wrote a joint letter to their uncle, the 
 Count de Salis, describing in touching terms their 
 destitute position, and entreating his influence to 
 ameliorate it. In answer to their application, the 
 Count conferred on the family a pension of six hun- 
 dred livres a year. 
 
 In this interval, certain suspicions having arisen in 
 the minds of the two absent sons, Antoine the sailor 
 and Etienne-Grayetan the soldier, these two arranged 
 a joint visit to their home ; and, taking their youngest 
 brother apart, subjected the lad to so close and 
 searching an examination, that he ended by divulging 
 the horrible secret, and describing minutely the tragedy 
 of which he had been a witness. Then followed a 
 family consultation, in which fresh pledges for the 
 concealment of the secret were exchanged ; and these 
 would probably have been observed, had not the 
 allowance granted by the Count proved a source of 
 fatal division. Madame de Salis insisted that this 
 money should be paid over to her, as most competent 
 
''It Will Out:' 187 
 
 to use it for the general benefit. To this her sons, 
 who had ceased to treat her with their wonted defe- 
 rence, demurred ; and the party separated, Madame 
 de Salis repairing to Aix, Guillaume-Franfois and 
 Etienne-Gayetan remaining at St. Barnab^ Jean- 
 Baptiste and Louis-C6sar taking up their residence at 
 Marseilles. 
 
 It was not without opposition from Jean-Baptiste 
 that Etienne-Gayetan took possession of the paternal 
 mansion, &c. The latter 's object, however, had not 
 been a selfish one. He was a good economist, and 
 believed himself capable of developing the resources 
 of the little property for the advantage of all. An 
 angry correspondence followed between the brothers, 
 alid arrived at such a point that Etienne-Gayetan 
 was induced to remind his elder, that not only the 
 latter's fortunes, but his life, were at the mercy of the 
 man he vilified. Jean-Baptiste was of violent and 
 headstrong disposition. The threat only enraged him 
 the more. Whether he was transported beyond him- 
 self, or whether he Secretly believed that his brother 
 would never take the step at which he darkly hinted, 
 at all events he replied with disdain and defiance. 
 Thereupon Etienne-Gayetan seized his pen, and, with 
 pulses still throbbing, wrote to an old comrade of his 
 
188 ''It Will Out." 
 
 father's — the Marquis de Montolieu — a precise detail 
 of the frightful transaction. 
 
 Scarcely had the Marquis read and reflected on 
 this startling communication, when a visitor- was 
 announced — Louis-Cesar. What precisely passed at 
 this interview never appeared. It ended, however, in 
 the lad's dismissal, carrying with him the letter, and 
 a verbal caution to Jean-Baptiste, which the Marquis 
 probably believed would suffice to induce the accused 
 either to stand forward and clear himself, or to rid the 
 country of his presence. 
 
 Jean-Baptiste resolved to attempt the former. In 
 great alarm he wrote hastily to the Marquis, and with 
 much ingenuity and no small eloquence, cast the 
 whole guUt of the murder upon his mother and his 
 brother Guillaume-I'ran9ois. Here were already two 
 traitors to the guilty compact. Another quickly 
 succeeded. 
 
 Madame de Salis, made aware of the quarrels among 
 her sons and the threats of Etienne-Gayetan, became 
 extremely uneasy. She lost sleep and appetite. Her 
 mind perpetually recalled the scene of murder, with 
 sensations of horror and dread such as had not accom- 
 panied the act itself. A consciousness of impending 
 vengeance associated itself with every idea that crossed 
 
*'ItWillOutr 189 
 
 her mind, with every habitual movement of the day, 
 with every nightly vision. At length, in despair of 
 other means of saving herself, she wrote to the Count 
 de Sahs, her brother-in-law, revealing the bloody deed 
 in all its atrocity, but laying it to the charge of Jean- 
 Baptiste alone. 
 
 The horror with which her correspondent received 
 this information may be conceived. It was some time 
 before he could collect himself sufficiently to make 
 any reply. When he did so, it was conceived in the 
 following terms : — 
 
 " I forward to you, my dear sister, a letter which 
 has been addressed to me under your seal. It is pro- 
 bably from some enemy who has copied your hand- 
 writing so skilfully that one might almost swear it 
 was your own. Destroy it forthwith, and be careful 
 to give no grounds for attacks of such a character 
 from any one whomsoever. I shall write to my 
 brother's old friend, the Marquis de Montolieu, re- 
 commending my nephews to his care, in the hope that 
 he may be able to reconcile their differences, and recall 
 them to their filial duty." 
 
 Meanwhile the letter of Jean-Baptiste to M. de 
 Montolieu had thrown the latter into the greatest 
 consternation. Of the murder he entertained not the 
 
190 " It Will Out:' 
 
 slightest doubt. The question which perpetually 
 suggested itself to his conscience was, whether, or 
 for how long, he should suffer the actors in a crime 
 of such atrocity to pollute society with their presence. 
 After much consideration, he resolved to confide the 
 matter to an intimate friend, the Marquis de Cavoy ; 
 and accordingly, to him he transmitted the whole 
 fatal history, intimating at the same time his 
 determination to isolate the guilty family from 
 society. 
 
 The Marquis de Cavoy immediately communicated 
 with the Count de Salis, proposing to use their united 
 influence to obtain a decree of banishment. But to 
 this the Count objected that his object — that of keep- 
 ing the matter quiet — would be defeated, as the King 
 would infallibly inquire the grounds of the application 
 for the lettre de cachet, and on learning them, would^ 
 with equal certainty, deliver the criminals into the 
 hands of justice. He promised, however, to write a 
 soothing letter to M. de Montolieu, and also to restore 
 peace in the divided family. 
 
 Up to this moment, it will be seen, the prudence 
 and sagacity of the Count de Salis had averted the 
 danger that had been caused by the imprudence of 
 Madame de Salis and her sons. But divine justice 
 
"It Will Out." 191 
 
 had decreed tlie revelation of the crime, and 
 brought about this result in an unexpected 
 manner. 
 
 The Count de Salis, before permitting his friend the 
 Marquis de Cavoy to depart, had exacted from him a 
 promise to destroy the letter of M. de Montolieu, 
 which he had left in his cabinet. On returning home, 
 the Marquis, mindful of his promise, took out the 
 letter and placed it in his pocket, intending to burn 
 it in a brasier in the haU. As he entered that apart- 
 ment, a servant announced a messenger from the 
 minister of justice, M. de Pontchartrain, who desired 
 to see him instantly on a political matter of impor- 
 tance, on which they had already several times con- 
 ferred. 
 
 De Cavoy hastened to the minister's residence, and 
 a discussion, which drove the business of the morning 
 entirely from his mind, ended in M. de Pontchartrain 
 requesting his friend to leave with him all the papers 
 connected with the subject of their consultation, and 
 to visit him again on the following day. 
 
 An hour later, as the statesman stiU sat in medita- 
 tion, the documents before him, a strange expression 
 in one of them chanced to catch his eye — " atrocious 
 murder." He took up the paper, and read it from 
 
192 "It Will Out:' 
 
 beginning to end. It was the letter of the Marquis 
 de Montolieu ! 
 
 It at once occurred to the astute minister that his 
 friend had purposely chosen this manner of bringing 
 the affair to his knowledge, with the view of avoiding 
 the painful duty of coming forward as actual informer. 
 In any case, however, M. de Pontchartrain felt that 
 there was but one course open to him ; and this he at 
 once adopted. Going straight to the palace, he laid 
 the matter before the King. The latter, struck with 
 horror, directed that the parties should be immediately 
 arrested, and that M. Lebret, president of Provence, 
 and M. Lagarde, procureur-general, should take 
 measures for bringing them to condign punishment. 
 
 Early on the succeeding day M. de Cavoy, having 
 discovered the loss of his letter, made his appearance 
 in some disorder at the minister s house, and desired 
 leave to examine the documents he had left. M. de 
 Pontchartrain at once informed him of what had been 
 done, mentioning at the same time the impression he 
 had conceived that such a proceeding would be in 
 accordance with his visitor's wishes, since it was not 
 to be supposed that he (the latter) would knowingly 
 cast a veil over so horrible a crime, M. de Cavoy 
 retired without reply. 
 
''ItWillOuC 193 
 
 It so happened that M. Lagarde was supping at 
 the house of M. le Bret when the missive conveying 
 the king's commands was delivered to the latter. 
 Both these gentlemen had been personally acquainted 
 with M. de Salis and his family; both were alike 
 thunderstruck at the startling intelligence. 
 
 M. Lagarde avowed his entire disbelief. That 
 Madame de Salis was possessed of a warm temper had 
 been pretty generally known.; but that this lady, and 
 her orderly and seemingly dutifal children, should have 
 been guilty of such a diabolical crime, appeared posi- 
 tively incredible. 
 
 His host agreed with him. It was now eight 
 months since this supposed murder. The magistrates 
 had attended at the time ; the surgeons had made 
 their report. Such charges were not unprecedented, 
 as the work of secret slanderers who had a grudge 
 against some unfortunate family. 
 
 But on M. Lagarde's arriving at his own house, he 
 found a communication awaiting him from M. de 
 Pontchartrain, in which the crime, with all its details, 
 was fally set forth. He was enjoined to lose not a 
 moment in securing the murderers ; and accordingly 
 issued the necessary directions, in pursuance of which 
 lieutenant of police Bonnet, with an escort of archers, 
 
 13 
 
194 "ItWtUOut:' 
 
 proceeded to St. Barnabe, and, quietly surrounding: 
 the house, arrested the two sons, Guillaume-Franfois 
 and Etienne-Gayetan, in their beds. 
 
 Finding that Jean-Baptiste and Louis-Cesar were 
 still at Marseilles, Bonnet induced his prisoners to 
 write to their brothers, proposing a general family 
 council, for the arrangement of their affairs ; and that 
 they should, for that purpose, come on the morrow 
 to St. Barnabe. 
 
 Bonnet himself, attended by three archers in dis- 
 guise, was the bearer of this missive, and, on reaching 
 the residence of the brothers, met Jean-Baptiste in 
 the act of going out. The latter perused the note 
 with an air of doubt and perplexity; and, after a 
 minute's hesitation, returned a verbal answer, to the 
 effect that if his brothets desired a conference, they 
 had better come to him at Marseilles. Thereupon 
 Bonnet placed both brothers in the custody of his 
 archers. 
 
 But a few hours elapsed before the indefatigable 
 lieutenant made his appearance in the apartment of 
 Madame de Salis, at the house of her friend, M. 
 Aillaud, of Aix. On learning his errand, the unhappy 
 woman fell into a paroxysm of grief and terror. She 
 clung to a pillar, crying out that she would not quit 
 
« It Will Out:' 195 
 
 the house without a promise that she should have an 
 interview with the procureur-general. The latter was 
 appealed to, and acceded to her wish ; but the inter- 
 view, at which several persons were present, led, as 
 might be expected, to no result beneficial to the 
 prisoner ; and she was then lodged in the prison at 
 Marseilles, within whose gloomy walls she encountered 
 her four sons. 
 
 The King now reiterated his commands that the 
 process should be commenced without a day's delay. 
 But in the brief interval that necessarily ensued, no 
 care had been taken to separate the accused from each 
 other. In consequence they had concerted a line of 
 defence which threatened, at the first interrogation, if 
 adhered to, to defeat the ends of justice. 
 
 The first important witness was the Turk, Hassan 
 All , who deposed that the death of his master was 
 occasioned by a fall from the window whUe feeding a 
 pet bullfinch. 
 
 This dreaded witness having thus delivered himself, 
 a zealous friend of the accused hastened to smuggle 
 him away into a place of concealment. Something, 
 however, in the man's demeanour had awakened sus- 
 picion in the mind of the experienced procureur- 
 general. He sharply censured the lieutenant 
 
 13—2 
 
196 ''It Will Out" 
 
 for not having included this witness among his 
 prisoners. 
 
 The lieutenant replied that, the minister of justice 
 having limited his instructions to the arrest of the 
 mother and sons — while aware of the presence at the 
 death-scene of Hassan Ali — ^he, Bonnet, had naturally- 
 concluded that there was a certain object in thus 
 leaving the man at liberty. The matter was quickly 
 settled through the imprudence of the Turk himself, 
 who, venturing from his retreat, was re-arrested, and 
 lodged in gaol. 
 
 In the meantime the second witness, Susanne 
 Borelli, had undergone examination, but had revealed 
 nothing of importance. It was manifestly on Hassan 
 Ali that the prosecution would be compelled to rely. 
 To extort the truth from him all legal means were 
 speedily put in action. He passed through two pro- 
 tracted interrogatories without approaching a jot 
 nearer to the truth. It was then resolved to place 
 him in a dungeon, upon bread-and- water ; and the 
 effect of this system was soon apparent. 
 
 Hassan Ali purchased an improved state of things 
 by denouncing Guillaume-Franyois- as the parricide, 
 and faintly implicating Jean-Baptiste. These two 
 were consequently placed in separate cells. But here 
 
" It Will Out." 197 
 
 the matter seemed to rest. So long as both 
 were silent, the testimony of Hassan Ali was inno- 
 cuous. 
 
 rive months elapsed, when the Turk suddenly re- 
 quested leave to amend his former Statement ; and 
 now exonerated Madame de Salis and GuiUaume- 
 Frangois, declaring that Jean-Baptiste alone was 
 guilty. 
 
 In addition to this testimony, other parties came 
 forward to declare that Madame de Salis had expressed 
 her intention to practise upon her husband with some 
 slow poison, that should at least confine him to his 
 bed, and thus leave her the sole direction of the 
 household. 
 
 This was confirmed by Jean-Baptiste, who acknow- 
 ledged that his mother had on several occasions sent 
 Mm to purchase the drugs — which, however, the 
 chemist had refused to furnish. 
 
 rinding the tide set so strongly against her — and 
 inspired, above all, with resentment against Jean- 
 Baptiste — Madame de Salis now resolved to take her 
 turn at confession, and accordingly denounced the 
 former as the sole assassin. She declared that her 
 only reason for reserve had been a natural reluctance 
 to betray her son to the scafibld; but that since 
 
198 '' It Will Out" 
 
 Hassan Ali had evidently been tampered with on his 
 behalf, and been prevailed on to inculpate herself 
 and Guillaume-Franfois, she now resolved to declare 
 the truth. 
 
 Invited to reconcile this statement with her letter 
 to M. de Montolieu, she denied the inferences at- 
 tempted to be drawn from the latter— rand (for M. de 
 Montolieu had died in the interval) this point was 
 abandoned. 
 
 The mother and son were now confronted. The 
 latter uttered no reproach ; he listened in silence to 
 her deposition ; then addressed her, in a low, quiet 
 tone, as follows — 
 
 " Can you in your conscience, mother, persist in a 
 statement that casts upon me — the least guilty — the 
 whole burden of such a crime ? "Was it not Gruillaume- 
 Frangois who drew his sword upon my father ? Did 
 not you yourself, at the first commencement of the 
 quarrel, rush from your apartment, seize our victim 
 by the hair, and, when he was flung to the ground, 
 assist in trying to strangle him ? Was it not 
 Gruillaume-Fran9ois who struck him on the temple 
 with the sword, while I in vain strove to stanch 
 the flowing blood?" 
 
 His mother hung her head without reply ; and 
 
" It Will Out." 199 
 
 now the other two brothers, Griiillaume-Fraii9ois and 
 Louis-Cesar (the guilty and the innocent), added their 
 testimony, the general effect of which was to ex- 
 onerate their mother, and to lay the crime on Jean- 
 Baptiste. 
 
 The process, which had lasted nearly twelve 
 months, at length terminated with the following 
 decree : — 
 
 " Jean-Baptiste — ^guilty of murder and parricide — 
 condemned to have both hands cut off; his arms, legs, 
 thighs, and body to be bruised and broken ; afterwards 
 to be fixed upon the wheel, there to Knger so long as 
 God shall please ; after which, his body to be burned 
 and scattered to the winds. A fine of ten livres to 
 the king. 
 
 " Gruillaume-rranyois, the same, sparing one 
 hand. 
 
 "Louis-Cesar — guilty of not interposing — con- 
 demned to be present at the execution of his brothers ; 
 then to perpetual banishment. 
 
 "Madame de Salis— for aiding in the murder — 
 sentenced to decapitation. 
 
 " Hassan Ali— for failing to assist his master— to 
 stand for two hours in the pillory. 
 
 " Etienne-Grayetan and Susanne Borelli, acquitted." 
 
200 " It Will Outr 
 
 An appeal having been subsequently made against 
 the sentence, the whole of the prisoners were conveyed 
 to Aix, where the mother was lodged in a chamber of 
 the Conciergerie, and the brothers Jean-Baptiste and 
 Gruillaume-Fran9ois in separate cells. 
 
 The case had by this time created an extraordinary 
 sensation ; and when at length the judgment on 
 appeal was delivered, the greatest anxiety was evinced 
 by all ranks to obtain a place of hearing. The im- 
 posing hall of the Palais de Justice was crowded with 
 persons of the highest distinction, not a few of whom 
 were connected by family ties with the accused. The 
 decree confirmed, with some slight modifications, the 
 former sentence. 
 
 It was expected that Madame de Salis would have 
 fallen into a transport of passion and despair j on the 
 contrary, she bowed her head submissively, only 
 murmuring — 
 
 " On ne me rend pas justice " {" They do not do me 
 justice "). 
 
 Justice, that is, to her crime ; for it appeared that 
 her conscience was now fully awakened, and that she 
 desired only to make what atonement was possible to 
 God and man. 
 
 The condemned persons met in an adjoining apart- 
 
''It Will Out" 201 
 
 ment. They were to see each other but once 
 again— on the scaffold. At six o'clock they were to 
 die. 
 
 Jean-Baptiste, Holding up his heavy chains with 
 both hands, knelt at his mother's feet, and entreated 
 pardon for the testimony he had been compelled to 
 give. 
 
 Madame de Salis knelt likewise, embraced her son, 
 and assured him of her complete forgiveness. Then, 
 addressing her children generally — 
 
 "They are about," she said, "to separate these 
 mortal frames ; but our souls, let us humbly trust, 
 shall be reunited in heaven. Thank we Grod, who 
 has brought us to this just and merciful condemna- 
 tion. Think no more of the life we quit, but of that 
 to which we hasten ; and follow me, my children. / 
 led you to this guilt ; I will precede you to its 
 punishment." 
 
 Then followed a brief dialogue between Jean- 
 Baptiste and rran9ois-Guillaume. The latter had 
 preserved a somewhat sullen demeanour, and was dis- 
 posed to deny his full participation in the murder. 
 
 "You wUl forgive me, brother," said the elder, 
 " for having confessed the truth ?" 
 
 " You have not always kept to the truth." 
 
202 « It Will OuC 
 
 " Tou are right as to the first interrogatory, but 
 not the latter," was the reply; "and you yourself, 
 Fran9ois, have done as much." 
 
 " Well, that is true ; and I — ^I wish " 
 
 And rran9ois, melting, threw himself into his 
 brother's arms. 
 
 "For my part," continued the latter, "I never 
 truly believed that Heaven woidd suffer such an act 
 to go unpunished. I never passed the place of execu- 
 tion at Aix without repeating to myself, 'There I 
 must end my life ; it is but a question of days.' There 
 is but one thing that troubles me : the punishment is 
 not equal to the crime. They will but burn my 
 corpse. They should rather give my body living to 
 the flame." 
 
 A Capuchin informed the speaker that he would, 
 not be left to linger on the wheel. They would accord 
 him the pardon-stroke. 
 
 " Still further mitigation !" exclaimed the prisoner. 
 "Do they think I cannot bear all that my guilt 
 deserves ? I ought to linger, not for one, but many 
 days — ay, many weeks. They should tear from me 
 each day some fragment of this guilty frame. It is 
 my desire to breathe my last sigh in the midst of the 
 worst pangs justice can inflict." 
 
" It Will Outr 203 
 
 The wretched family engaged separately in devo- 
 tional exercises for the intervening hours. At six 
 o'clock the executioners entered the prison. Madame 
 de Salis was the first to appear. She shed tears, hut 
 was otherwise calm and self-possessed. She frequently 
 pressed her lips to the crucifix she carried, mur- 
 muring — 
 
 " Mother of grace, Mother of mercy, defend us from 
 the assaults of the enemy of souls." 
 
 Fran9ois-Gruillaume followed. He stretched out 
 his arms to the assistants — 
 
 " Bind these impious hands," he said, " stained 
 with a parent's blood. They should not only be 
 bound, but burned in a slow fire." 
 
 Madame de Salis then knelt before the altar, 
 and uttered a prayer that touched the hearts of 
 aU:— 
 
 " My God, I pfier Thee my spirit, my heart, my 
 soul, my body ; my spirit, because it dwells only upon 
 Thee ; my heart, because it loves but Thee ; my soul, 
 because it pants for Thy presence ; my body, that it 
 may be offered in fitting expiation for my crime. I 
 offer Thee this head, about to fall ; and would 
 that I had ten thousand, that I might give them 
 aU!" 
 
204 '' It Will Out:' 
 
 The condemned exchanged a last embrace, and the 
 procession was then formed; the two sons being 
 placed together in one cart, their mother following, 
 supported by the Turk, Hassan Ali, in another. An 
 immense multitude lined the way ; and although a 
 strong body of archers escorted the procession, it 
 had frequently to halt while room was made to 
 pass. 
 
 Arrived opposite the church of St. Sauveur, the 
 carts drew up before the door, in order that the usual 
 amende honorable might be made. But the criminals 
 were not required to descend. The reverend director 
 of the Capuchins performed this humble function in 
 their name, entreating pardon of God, the king, and 
 the law. 
 
 The cart which bore the two brothers being the first 
 to reach the scaffold, they were assisted to mount the 
 steps; and the crowd, ever awake to the minutest 
 circumstances that mark these solemn moments, did 
 not fail to note, as a coincidence, perhaps intended by 
 divine justice, that Guillaume-FranQois, who had been 
 the first to commence the fatal quarrel, was the first 
 to set foot on the platform. 
 
 Seeing her sons ascending before her, Madame de 
 Salis became much agitated, declaring that the autho- 
 
'' It Will Out" 205 
 
 rities had broken faitli with, her, having promised that 
 she should be the first to die. 
 
 Her confessor assured her it was merely a proceeding 
 rendered necessary by the relative position of the 
 vehicles, and pointed out to her the executioner, 
 hastening to assist her to ascend. In another minute 
 she was standing on the scaffold, with a serene, con- 
 tented look ; and, turning to the people, besought, in 
 low humble tones, their prayers for herself and her 
 children. 
 
 Turning to the executioner, she said, " My friend, 
 I do not fear death; but lest, in its agony, my 
 woman's nature should prove too weak, I pray you not 
 to put me to any needless pain." 
 
 The executioner took off a black scarf she had 
 hitherto worn on her head, and tied it over her eyes. 
 She then moved in the direction of the block, and, 
 feeling for it, knelt, and laid her head quietly down. 
 The headsman approached his broad blade close to 
 the slender white neck — raised it aloft — struck. The 
 head dropped forward; but though the victim was 
 dead, it needed the application of a knife to complete 
 the decapitation. Head and body were placed to- 
 gether in a cofl&n, and Guillaume-rran9ois was the 
 next summoned. 
 
206 ''It Will Out." 
 
 He had heard the fatal blow, although firom inter- 
 vening objects he had not been able to witness it, and 
 was told that all was over. He desired to see the 
 body. The confessor, fearing the sight would unman 
 him, objected ; but the young man persisting, he was 
 conducted to the side of the coffin. With one deep 
 sigh he turned away, and strode to the block, laying 
 his right hand upon it. 
 
 " This," he said, " is my first expiation — this im- 
 pious hand. Take it quickly." 
 
 The executioner struck, but so unskilfully, that the 
 blow was not wholly effectual ; and in the sudden 
 anguish the young man uttered a loud cry. A second 
 blow divided the quivering muscles ; then Guillaume- 
 Frangois laid down his head. The same want of 
 skill caused the headsman again to fail in doing his 
 office at one blow; for though he struck with such 
 force that the criminal was slain and the block itself 
 overturned, it needed a second stroke to make the work 
 complete. 
 
 Jean-Baptiste came forward with firm step and 
 unchanged mien. The block had been removed, and 
 a huge and heavy cross substituted. To this, his upper 
 garments having been removed, the prisoner was now 
 firmly bound ; this done his hands were struck off, one 
 
« It Will Out." 207 
 
 after tlie other ; then the brawny headsman, seizing a 
 ponderous iron bar, broke in succession his legs and 
 thighs, and finally dealt him three several blows, on the 
 stomach, chest, and throat. This last was the " pardon- 
 stroke," instantly mortal. 
 
 Thus came this murder " out." 
 
VIII. 
 
 THE TRAGEDY D'ANGLADE. 
 
 TT was in the year 1687, a period more than com- 
 monly fruitful in extraordinary crimes and so- 
 cial incidents of a strange, sinister character, that a, 
 splendid mansion in the Kue Eoyale at Paris num- 
 bered among its tenants Frangois Comte de Mont- 
 gomery and his lady, who occupied the basement and 
 first floor, and the Sieur and Madame d'Anglade, 
 who rented the second and third floor apartments. 
 
 The Count Montgomery was a man of wealth, 
 keeping up an expensive establishment, and moving 
 in the first circles of society. Mons. d'Anglade, 
 whose means were comparatively small, was seen less 
 frequently in the haunts of fashion, but had many 
 friends in distinguished position, and reckoned among 
 them his neighbours the Montgomerys. 
 
 These latter, proposing to visit their country resi- 
 dence at Yillehousin, invited the DAnglades to bear 
 them company. The invitation was at first accepted. 
 
The Tragedy d'Anglade, 209 
 
 but subsequently declined, and tbe trivial nature of the 
 excuse put forward was afterwards dwelt upon with 
 great insistance in the process that was to follow. 
 
 The Count and Countess left Paris on Monday 
 evening, September 22nd, 1687, intending to return 
 on the succeeding Thursday. They were followed by 
 Prangois Gagnard, the priest Manceau, their steward, 
 and other domestics ; and the only remaining members 
 of the household were a lady's-maid of the Countess, 
 named Pormenie, a little footboy, and four girls 
 employed in enibroidery work. 
 
 The Montgomerys returned one day sooner than 
 they had intended. Their reason was a singular one. 
 On sitting down to dinner the Count had noticed a 
 drop of blood upon his napkin, and another on his 
 plate, the origin of which was not discoverable. The 
 circumstance, trivial as it was, disturbed his rather 
 superstitious mind, and, oppressed with some presenti- 
 ment of evil, he at once resolved to return to Paris. 
 
 The steward, page, and valet, returned a few hours 
 after their master. 
 
 On the same day the Sieur d'Anglade, who had 
 been supping with the lady of President Eobert, 
 returned home at eleven o'clock, accompanied by the 
 Abbes De Fleury and De Villars. As he entered, 
 
 14 
 
210 The Tragedy cCAnglade. 
 
 the Count and Countess were still at supper, and 
 Mons. d'Anglade, pausing to pay his compliments, 
 was presently joined by his wife, who joined in the 
 lively conversation which followed. 
 
 The next morning, early, the Count Montgomery 
 waited upon the Lieutenant-Criminal of Ch&telet, 
 and announced that during his recent absence a chest 
 or coffer had been forced open, and that there had 
 been abstracted from it thirteen bags containing 
 1000 livres each in silver, 11,500 livres in gold pieces 
 of two pistoles, 100 new louis d'or, and a pearl neck- 
 lace worth 4000 livres. 
 
 The lieutenant, procureur, and a commissioner, 
 immediately proceeding to the house, made an ex- 
 amination which led them at once to the conclusion 
 that the robbery could only have been effected by 
 some one familiar with the house, and a general in- 
 quiry was resolved upon. 
 
 Mons. d'Anglade was the first to demand that his 
 apartments should be searched, and himself conducted 
 the lieutenant into every room in his occupation. 
 Coffers, cabinets, drawers, &c., were opened and 
 searched; beds were taken to pieces, pillows and 
 mattresses pierced and sounded, but nothing siispi- 
 cious was discovered, and the searchers next mounted 
 
The Tragedy d'Anglade. 211 
 
 to the garrets, Madame d'Anglade excusing herself- 
 from accompanying them further on the ground of 
 fatigue. 
 
 In the first room, concealed in an old chest fuU of 
 ragged linen, was found a roulean of seventy louis d'or, 
 wrapped in a genealogical paper which the Count 
 identified as belonging to him. He declared that 
 these pieces formed part of the hundred stolen from 
 him, identifying them by the dates of 1686 and 1687, 
 and now, without further ceremony, charged the 
 d' An glades with being concerned in the robbery, and 
 demanded that they should be submitted to a separate 
 interrogation. This was done, and a certain hesitation 
 in their answers, hardly to be wondered at under the 
 circumstances, increased the suspicions of their guilt. 
 Unfortunately, it so happened that Madame 
 d'Anglade drew attention to the fact of the door of 
 the servant's bedroom having been found unlocked, 
 observing that this circumstance implicated the valet, 
 and that if search were made, something might pro- 
 bably be found there. Search was made, and in a 
 recess were found five bags containing each 1000 
 livres, with another, in which there wanted 219 livres 
 of a similar sum. 
 
 " Acknowledge," said the Count, turning exultingly 
 
 14— a 
 
212 The Tragedy d'Anglade. 
 
 to his wife, " the value of my presentiment. Had we 
 returned only on the day we intended, this plunder 
 woidd have heen removed." 
 
 No other part of the rooms occupied by the Count 
 was searched — a remarkable omission, seeing that the 
 recent discovery bore suspiciously upon his own 
 domestics. He indeed offered to be answerable for 
 the latter ; but what can be thought of the impar- 
 tiality of the magistrate, who, on the discovery of the 
 louis, turning to d'Anglade, coolly remarked — 
 
 "Monsieur, if ^ou did not commit this robbery, it 
 
 The unfortunate d'Anglades were forthwith placed 
 in arrest, and conducted — the husband to the Ch^telet, 
 the wife to Fort L'Ev^que, where they were confined 
 in close cells, in complete isolation from the outer 
 world. 
 
 Two days kter, the process was opened. They 
 found themselves accused of burglary. 
 
 An important witness appeared in the person of 
 the Count's sister, who deposed that she had seen 
 d'Anglade near the door of the Count's valet, both 
 before and after his master's arrival. 
 
 Another witness affirmed that d'Anglade was an 
 habitual gambler; and a third deposed to having 
 
The Tragedy d'Anglade. 213 
 
 resided with him in a house from which some silver 
 plate had been stolen, and never traced. Many cir- 
 cumstances as trivial and irrelevant as those already 
 stated were heaped together, and it was deemed neces- 
 sary to apprehend the valet and coachman of d'An- 
 glade, and his wife's maid. The coachman was, how- 
 ever, set at liberty. 
 
 On the 25th October, 1687, the Grand Council 
 stayed the process, on the ground that it charged to 
 the accused the crime of burglary with violence, 
 while in fact it had been effected without injury 
 to the locks by the medium of false keys. 
 
 D'Anglade appealed against the conduct of the 
 former process by the Lieutenant-Criminal, but the 
 decision was adverse to him, and the case being re- 
 turned to the judgment of the lieutenant, d'Anglade 
 was placed at the further disadvantage of pleading 
 before a magistrate whose impartiality he had ar- 
 raigned. 
 
 He was soon to feel the effects of this. On the 1 9th 
 January, 1 688, the judge ordered that he should be 
 submitted to the question, ordinary and extraordinary. 
 
 D'Anglade appealed to parliament. 
 
 The latter decreed that he should undergo the 
 question as intended, but " manentibus indiciis" — i.e., 
 
214 The Tragedy d'Anglade. 
 
 corroborative proofs still required — and the non- 
 confession of the accused not freeing him from the 
 charge. 
 
 Thus the unfortunate D'Anglade, although he 
 underwent the torture without admitting a syllable of 
 the accusation, was condemned on the strength of the 
 testimony already obtained. 
 
 On the 16th February the following sentence was 
 pronounced. 
 
 D'Anglade was condemned to the galleys for nine 
 years. His wife was banished for the same space of 
 time. The two were fined 20 livres to the crown, 
 3000 livres " civil reparation," and 25,673 livres resti- 
 tution to the Count Montgomery, besides the pearl 
 necklace, or, in default of it, 4000 livres. From the 
 sum total were to be deducted the monies recovered 
 by the searchers, and those found on the person of the 
 prisoner when apprehended. AU costs and expenses 
 were likewise defrayed by the accused. 
 
 D'Anglade, whose health was but feeble, appeared 
 completely overcome and prostrated by this fatal re- 
 sult. ^Nevertheless, he was removed from the judg- 
 ment-chamber only to be cast into a dark and 
 miserable dungeon in the Castle of Montgomery, 
 languishing in that confinement without air, comfort. 
 
The Tragedy d'Anglade. 215 
 
 or companionship, until lie was conducted forth to 
 the Chateau de la Tourville, and riveted to the 
 dreaded galley-slave's chain. 
 
 In this miserable condition the man's better nature 
 supported him; and the religious feelings that in 
 happier times had never lost their influence, now, like 
 friends, faithful at need, came to his aid and held him 
 up under a weight of misery that few indeed could 
 have supported. Not a word of revenge or hatred 
 passed his lips. Imprisonment, the torture, the 
 shame became indifferent to him, as he permitted 
 his thoughts to rest on One who had suffered more, 
 and the chain grew light to him as he gazed in thought 
 on Him who bore the cross. 
 
 He declared that he heartily forgave those who had 
 been instrumental in his ruin ; and when, as was sup- 
 posed, near his end, declared, in receiving the holy 
 sacraments, that he was innocent of the crime im- 
 puted to him. This declaration he committed to 
 writing. 
 
 Contrary to all expectations, the unhappy man re- 
 covered, and prepared to undergo the sentence passed 
 upon him. It was said that the Count de Mont- 
 gomery not only took measures to ensure his de- 
 parture with his fellow-prisoners before he had suf- 
 
216 The Tragedy d'Anglade. 
 
 ficiently recovered, but even took post by the road- 
 side in order that he might feast his eyes upon his 
 suffering victim. The latter, too weak to travel on 
 foot, was lifted by two men into a cart, and, at the 
 close of the day's journey, laid on some straw in a 
 barn or stable. 
 
 Arrived at Marseilles, he was conducted to the 
 convicts' hospital, and it was at once evident that he 
 would never leave it again alive. In effect, but a 
 short time elapsed before this unhappy victim of 
 mistaken justice yielded up his breath, maintaining 
 to the last that deep religious sentiment that had 
 been his stay, and commending to the care of the 
 all-just, all-merciful Father his unfortunate wife and 
 child. He died on the 4th March, four months after 
 his arrival at Marseilles. 
 
 In the meantime his unfortunate wife had been 
 undergoing cruel sufferings. Seized with painful 
 illness, the result of the shock occasioned by their 
 misfortune, she was reduced to the brink of the grave, 
 and in the wretched dungeon to which she was con- 
 signed had scarcely any attendance save that of her 
 little daughter — then about five — who, with a care 
 and judgment beyond her years, tenderly administered 
 to the wants of her distressed parent. 
 
The Tragedy d'Anglade. 221 
 
 It was some time before she was allowed even tlie 
 comfort of spiritual aid ; but a priest was at length 
 admitted to her ; and now the poor woman, supported, 
 like her husband, by strong religious hopes, began to 
 resign herself with greater calmness to the fate that 
 had overtaken her. 
 
 Her little nurse now fell ill. Her disorder was 
 accompanied with cold perspirations, yet the poor 
 mother was allowed neither linen nor fire. In spite 
 of the cold of an exceptionally rigorous winter, their 
 only source of warmth was a little pan of coals, which 
 when exhausted was never refilled. Only at the end 
 of five months were they removed to a better cell — 
 which indeed had a tolerable window, but the latter 
 being always kept closed, it was with difficulty the 
 prisoners escaped sufibcation from the fumes of their 
 charcoal fire. But now a change was at hand. 
 
 Within a short time of the sad death of Mons. 
 d'Anglade, certain anonymous letters were addressed 
 to more than one person in official position, in which 
 the writer stated that, being on the point of entering 
 a monastery and wishing to disburden his conscience 
 of a heavy secret, he desired to make known that the 
 Sieur d'Anglade was completely innocent of the theft 
 for which he had been condemned; that the real 
 
218 The Tragedy d' Anglade. 
 
 authors of the crime were one Vincent Belestre, son 
 of a tanner at Mans, and the priest rran9ois Gagnard, 
 almoner of the Count de Montgomery ; and that a 
 woman named De la Comble had it in her power to 
 throw much light on the transaction. 
 
 One of these letters was addressed to the Lieu- 
 tenant-Criminal, who placed it in the hands of the 
 exempt D^sgrais. 
 
 Another was directed to the Countess de Mont- 
 gomery, who, however, kept it secret. 
 
 A gentleman named Loysillon received a third, 
 and this proved of much value in the process that was 
 to follow. 
 
 The friends of the Montgomerys, however, declared 
 these communications to be an artifice of Madame 
 d' Anglade, the object of which was to shift from her 
 husband the obloquy of the crime. 
 
 Measures were, however, taken by the authorities 
 to ascertain the character and doings of Belestre and 
 Gagnard, with the following result. 
 
 Vincent Belestre had, it appeared, while yet a mere 
 youth, been concerned in a murder which compelled 
 him to fly from home and friends, and assume a false 
 name. He enlisted in the army, but in consequence 
 of a fray, in which a sergeant of his regiment was 
 
The Tragedy d'Anglade. 2 1 9 
 
 killed, as was supposed by his hand, he deserted and 
 became a vagabond — living by mendicancy and 
 roguery, until, becoming acquainted with Fran9ois 
 Gagnard, his fortunes underwent a sudden change. 
 He was known to be in the possession of large sums 
 in gold and silver coin, wore laced clothes, and actually 
 purchased, an estate near Mans, worth from nine to 
 ten thousand livres. 
 
 With respect to Gagnard, that worthy was ascer- 
 tained to have been born in humble life, the son of a 
 turnkey of the prison at Mans ; that, having forfeited, 
 the bail he had given to answer some offence, he had 
 fled, to Paris, and there subsisted on the masses he 
 performed at Saint-Esprit, until he entered the house- 
 hold of the Count de Montgomery as almoner. 
 "While in this position, he had always seemed in 
 poverty ; but on quitting it, launched into every 
 kind, of extravagance, indulging himself in the greatest 
 luxuries, and entertaining a mistress, to whom this 
 ornament of the priesthood appeared to deny 
 nothing. 
 
 Upon this disclosure, the two rascals were at once 
 apprehended ; or, to speak more correctly, transferred 
 to other custody, both being, singularly enough, in 
 confinement on other charges — Gagnard for having 
 
220 The Tragedy d'Anglade. 
 
 been present at a recent murder, Belestre for having 
 swindled a person from the country of five hundred 
 livres. 
 
 The woman De la Comble made her appearance and 
 gave most damnatory testimony as to the two accused. 
 She was confirmed by two or three other witnesses, 
 and yet something might still have been wanting in 
 the chain of evidence had not the imprudence of the 
 prisoner Belestre unexpectedly supplied it. 
 
 A witness was produced to whom some persons un- 
 known had communicated circumstances connected 
 with the robbery. To him Belestre petulantly re- 
 marked that he spoke under the prompting of certain 
 persons of doubtful character — viz., one Giraut, the 
 Abbe de Eontpeire, La Eoque, and La Fonds. 
 
 From this observation the magistrates drew the 
 inference that the parties named had been accomplices 
 in the crime. The whole were apprehended, and the 
 truth was at length completely revealed. 
 
 Following the advice of her guardian and repre- 
 sentative, the child, Constance Guillemot d'Anglade, 
 now applied to the Courts, claiming that the two 
 accused should be declared guilty of the robbery of 
 the Count de Montgomery, and the innocence of her 
 father and mother be placed pn public record. 
 
The Tragedy d'Anglade. 221 
 
 It was urged that the Count had in his charge 
 declared that the doors of his apartments had been 
 found locked as he had left them, and must conse- 
 quently have been opened with false keys. It was 
 now proved that Belestre had manufjxctured such, and 
 had purchased others at La Valee de Misere ; that 
 he had exhibited a key to one of the witnesses, 
 pointing at the same time to a bag of money, with 
 the remark : — 
 
 " This should be a key of gold, for it has opened 
 my way to all you see there." 
 
 The witness having asked him to explain, Belestre 
 stated that he had taken an impression in wax of the 
 proper key, and fabricated the false one. In fact, 
 this extremely candid practitioner was shown to have 
 owned to several indifferent persons that his favourite 
 method of becoming rich was by the use of such 
 instruments, one of which he habitually carried about 
 him, caUiag it " la gaillarde doree." 
 
 Since the robbery, Belestre was proved to have 
 shown to a witness one hundred louis in a bag. The 
 latter, believing that this was part of the Count's 
 money, listened at the keyhole of the door of a room 
 in which Belestre and Gragnard were dining, and over- 
 heard a little dialogue. 
 
222 The Tragedy d'Anglade. 
 
 " Eat, drink, my friend," said Belestre ; " let us be 
 jolly now Monsieur le Marquis is at the galleys." 
 
 "Nevertheless, I'm sorry for him," replied 'the 
 other, "with a sigh. " He was a good fellow enough, 
 and did me many a good turn." 
 
 " Bon — bon !" exclaimed Belestre, ironically. 
 " How can you pity a man whose ruin makes our 
 fortune ?" 
 
 They were interrupted at this point by the woman 
 De la Comble, who brought them wine. After she 
 had left, they expressed much uneasiness lest their 
 talk had been overheard. 
 
 This eavesdropping witness was in fact the Abbe 
 de Fontpeire, and the author of the anonymous 
 letters. 
 
 The woman De la Comble, alias Cartaud, in whom 
 Belestre had great confidence, deposed that he had 
 shown her great quantities of gold and silver, besides 
 a fine pearl necklace, at a period just subsequent to 
 the robbery. Upon being asked where he got them, 
 he replied, " at play." 
 
 She further stated that he had previously told her 
 he was about to make a " coup" in company with 
 Gagnard, who would keep everything quiet, and that 
 a signal was to be made to him by throwing a pebble 
 
The Tragedy d'Anglade. 223 
 
 at the window. She added thaf, being afterwards at 
 the Luxembourg with Belestre, the latter had sent 
 her away, saying that some gentlemen were coming 
 to make a division of what they had obtained, and, 
 on retiring, she encountered Gagnard, who betrayed 
 much embarrassment. 
 
 Interrogated as to this partition, Belestre said that 
 he had, with Gagnard, a partnership at play. But 
 Gagnard, questioned separately, denied that any such 
 partnership existed. 
 
 De la Comble further deposed that Belestre had 
 shown her a hundred louis in a leathern belt, and 
 having reproached him with the wrong done to those 
 from whom he had stolen it, he replied that such 
 people were not deserving of pity, since they still 
 possessed enough. AU goods were in common. 
 There was only the difference in the manner of taking 
 them. 
 
 The contract for the purchase of the property re- 
 cently bought by Belestre for between seven and eight 
 thousand livres, was produced. 
 
 Many other witnesses confirmed in minor points 
 the above testimony. It was a singular fact in con- 
 nexion with this case, that during the process against 
 the two unfortunate D'Anglades, the entire body of 
 
224 The Tragedy cTAnglade. 
 
 Paris thieves were cognizant of the circumstance that 
 Belestre and Gagnard were the real culprits. It was 
 freely talked of among them, and was known even at 
 Mans. 
 
 Gagnard,when called on for his defence, declared that 
 he had been in the country at the time of the robbery, 
 but had sent the keys to Belestre to enable him to 
 forge the imitations, and had subsequently shared in 
 the proceeds of the crime. 
 
 Belestre accounted for being in possession of so 
 much money by stating that he had accumulated it 
 by keeping a canteen at Courtrai, and that he had 
 won at play of a freebooter two thousand livres. This 
 story on investigation proved groundless. 
 
 A kind of biography of the two prisoners being 
 about this time made public — evidently spurious, and 
 attributed by some to the Count de Montgomery — a 
 counter-biography was published by Mdme. d'Anglade, 
 containing some curious details. 
 
 Pierre Vincent, it stated, was the son of a tanner 
 at Mans. He enlisted in the regiment of Normandie, 
 became sergeant, receiving the stirname of Belestre ; 
 and being concerned in the cowardly murder of a poor 
 tradesman at Mans, was condemned to the galleys in 
 1676. This was his first crime. On his release he 
 
The Tragedy d'Anglade. 225 
 
 became a robber in good earnest, and bis skill and 
 resolution soon placed him in tbe very first rank of 
 the aristocracy of crime. Many of his exploits were 
 set forth at length in the memoir, and he was shown 
 to have passed under many different names — " Beau- 
 lieu," "La Grange," "Des Touches," "Belair," &c. 
 
 The memoir traces the history of Gragnard in like 
 manner, and then proceeds to describe minutely the 
 mode in which the robbery of the Count de Mont- 
 gomery must have been effected. 
 
 Towards the month of December, 1690, Belestre 
 sought out one La Combe, formerly a soldier in his 
 regiment, and inquired of him the means of obtaining 
 insertion of a short notice in the Gazette d' HoUande. 
 La Combe, pleased to render a service to his old 
 sergeant, introduced the latter to one Eibon, who, on 
 payment of a crown, inserted in the journal a paper, 
 given him by Belestre, to the effect that — " There have 
 been lately executed at Orleans two criminals, one of 
 whom, at the last moment, confessed that he had 
 committed the robbery at the house of the Count de 
 Montgomery, for which the late Marquis d'Anglade 
 was condemned to the galleys." 
 
 This paper seemed to be regarded by Belestre as a 
 kind of passport, if not pardon, and he never stirred 
 
 15 
 
226 The Tragedy d'Anglade: 
 
 without it. It was found upon him when appre- 
 hended. 
 
 Nothing was now wanting to the conviction of 
 these miscreants, and their condemnation speedilj 
 followed. 
 
 Belestre first underwent the question, but confessed 
 nothing. 
 
 Gagnard was less determined. He admitted the 
 robbery, and added that had the magistrates who 
 conducted the first inquiry interrogated Jiim, he was 
 in such confusion and perplexity that the truth would 
 have at once escaped him. 
 
 The innocence of the d'Anglades being thus at 
 length established, the parliament granted letters of 
 revision to that efiect. 
 
 The daughter now put forward a claim for damages 
 against the Count, and on this point greater difii- 
 culties arose. The process was continued for many 
 months, and a vast amount of legal knowledge was 
 brought to bear on the subject, the question turning, 
 substantially, on the degree of justification that might 
 be pleaded by the Count on the ground of circum- 
 stances certainly suspicious, though subsequently ex- 
 plained. 
 
 At length the Court delivered its final decree. 
 
The Tragedy d'Anglade. 227 
 
 It discharged the memory of the d'Anglades, 
 husband and wife, from all complicity in the alleged 
 crime, and declared their imprisonment and the 
 confiscation of their goods unjust and injurious- 
 It ordered the erasure from the records of all men- 
 tion of their process, and condemned the Count de 
 Montgomery to restore certain sums calculated on the 
 hase of money seized, the sale of effects, the loss 
 of interest, &c., and amounting in all to nearly 
 30,000 livres. 
 
 This decree, dated 17th June, 1693, terminated 
 this remarkable case. 
 
 15-2 
 
IX. 
 
 THE FRENCH MACHEATH. 
 
 T) EEATHES there tBe student of French annals of 
 the past century that would not blush crimson 
 in confessing that he had never heard of Cartouche ? 
 
 What Caesar was among warriors, such was the 
 great, the unequalled Cartouche among the most 
 illustrious miscreants whose names have come down 
 to us invested with that slightly lurid halo belonging 
 to superb guilt, and also with a considerable amount 
 of factitious lustre that never was theirs at all. 
 There is, it would appear, something in the character 
 of distinguished men of this class which dazzles and 
 bewilders, inducing every successive biographer to 
 add some bright but unauthentic touch, until at length 
 nothing is left of the great original save an indistinct 
 outline and a name. 
 
 Such a portrait was presented to the public some 
 twenty years ago in the three volumes entitled 
 " L'Histoire de la Vie et du Proces de Cartouche," 
 
The French Macheath. 229' 
 
 wherein the hero is represented as an accomplished' 
 gentleman of the bandit tribe — half belonging to. 
 melodrama, half to opera-comique, rich in costume, 
 curious in arms, swelling with high and generous 
 sentiments, but with false ideas of honour, and mad- 
 dened with ambition to achieve, at whatever cost, 
 renown. 
 
 He was, in reality, nothing of the kind. 
 
 The true Cartouche was, in fact, one of the most 
 remarkable types presented by the Parisian lower 
 world at the beginning of the last century. His 
 existence, which would at any other period have been 
 an impossibility, is now a fact of history, perhaps 
 ■ about as well worth studying as those immortalities 
 of more exalted Trench circles, so complacently read 
 of in these latter days by those who have the fortune 
 to inhale a purer moral atmosphere. 
 
 The circumstance that such a man, established with 
 his band in the very heart of Paris, creating, so to 
 speak, a state within a state, and, not by a stroke of 
 genius but the mere force of circumstances, laying 
 under contribution high and low by means of a force 
 better organized for attack than that' which society 
 commanded for defence — such a fact is not only in 
 itself noteworthy, but it tends to the explanation. 
 
230 The French Macheath. 
 
 of other points in history not easy to com- 
 prehend. 
 
 It is this which has imparted to the name of the 
 French Macheath its lasting popularity. More than 
 one distinguished robber, even of his own time, sur- 
 passed Cartouche in originality, in audacity, or in 
 intelligence — Mandrin, for example ; but the universal 
 renown of Cartouche is centred permanently in the 
 theatre of his deeds — ^his immortal name remains indis- 
 solubly associated with that of the queenly capital of 
 Prance. 
 
 And whence shall we draw sound materials for a 
 brief biography of this great thief ? 
 
 Delessarts, in his " Proces C^lebres," has sketched 
 some certain adventures of this hero of the gallows, 
 but owns, with his usual candour, that they savour 
 somewhat too strongly of romance. 
 
 St. Edme, with less honesty, copies legend after 
 legend, ending with selections from that very un- 
 trustworthy book, " L'Histoire de la Bastille." 
 
 Similar fictions are retailed in the two great judi- 
 ciary journals, and also in an article by M. Horace 
 Uaisson in the Gazette des Tribunaux. 
 
 The only authentic sources available to us are the 
 parliamentary registers, and four scrolls, deposited 
 
The French Macheath. 231 
 
 with the archives, containing the interrogatories, con- 
 frontations, and proces-verhaux of the execution of 
 several hundred malefactors between the years 1721 
 and 1725. 
 
 Here we discover the first part of the process against 
 Cartouche. But alas ! we must not exult too greatly. 
 In all the 734 cases, one only is devoted to Car- 
 touche himself In the others, his name, is either 
 omitted, or appears mixed up indirectly with robbers 
 of the most desperate class. There is nothing, we 
 say with sorrow, in this large mass of evidence, &c., 
 which reveals to us Cartouche the organizer, the soul 
 and spirit of crime, the unclassed Csesar — ^let us say, 
 the impetuous Alexander of the streets. 
 
 Poets are not to be taken " au pied de la lettre," 
 else might we quote Eagot de Grandval (father of a 
 celebrated actor of that name), who somewhat mis- 
 used his unquestioned gift in the concoction of " Le 
 Vice puni," or " Cartouche," curiously illustrated by 
 Bonuart, commencing — 
 
 " Je cHante les combats, et ce fameux voleur, 
 Qui, par sa vigilance et sa rare valeur, 
 Fit trembler tout Paris," &c. &c. 
 
 A little work by a Jesuit father, Patouillet, styled 
 * Apologie de Cartouche," or " Le Scelerat sans re- 
 
232 The French Macheath. 
 
 proclie," appears to have been little more than the 
 groundwork for a theological controversy. 
 
 Such are the scanty materials with which to con- 
 struct our biography ; and yet they may suffice, the 
 legal records supplying the naked, brutal facts, Barbier 
 and the gazettes the reports and tone of feeling of the 
 day, Grrandval and Le Grrand tradition, manners, and 
 costume. 
 
 It is beyond doubt that Cartouche was born at 
 Paris in October, 1693, and was named Louis Domi- 
 nique. His birthplace was on the confines of that 
 thickly-populated, essentially Parisian quarter. La 
 Courtnie, which comprised that portion of the town 
 lying between the Poissonniere gate and the front ol 
 the Bastile. 
 
 According to the best authorities, Cartouche ph'e 
 was a respectable wine-seller, who had amassed by 
 steady industry a very handsome fortune. Anxious 
 to provide for his son a higher position in the social 
 scale, he sent him early to the college of Clermont, 
 where, in all probability, he found a feUow-pupil in 
 Voltaire. At this establishment, tradition states the 
 young hero displayed those dawnings of genius in 
 the pilfering line, destined to ripen into the perfection 
 of theft in its highest aspects. 
 
The French Macheaih. 233 
 
 It was hardly to be expected that a mind of such, a 
 stamp would long submit itself to the restraints of 
 discipline and study, and accordingly we next light 
 upon him in the company of a band of gipsies ; who, 
 charmed with his monkey-like agility and mischievous 
 pranks, adopted him a child of the gang, and in- 
 doctrinated him in many little matters which proved 
 to him of essential service in his subsequent career. 
 
 His gipsy friends formed the most sanguine antici- 
 pations as to his future ; and well they might. The 
 boy was a real prodigy. Bold and crafty, inventive, 
 nimble as an ape, pliant as an acrobat ; with an un- 
 conquerable love of waadering, of pleasure, and of 
 idleness, together with a remarkable ability to endure, 
 when necessary, privation and fatigue. Such were 
 some of the qualities that met in this celebrated 
 man. 
 
 His residence with these excellent people might 
 have lasted about three years, when one fine day the 
 parliament of Eouen issued an abrupt decree, com- 
 manding all gipsies to quit the province immediately — 
 or sooner. 
 
 The Bohemian band obeyed with the usual alacrity. 
 But in their haste, Cartouche, who for the moment 
 was lying ill in a neighbouring hut, was left behind ; 
 
234 The French Macheath. 
 
 and on Ms recovery found himself alone and friend- 
 less in tlie streets of Eouen, without a red cent in 
 his pocket. 
 
 As if Providence decreed him one chance more, who 
 should fall in with him than a well-to-do and warm- 
 hearted uncle, who not only regarnished both his 
 stomach and his pocket, but replaced him safely in the 
 paternal home, where, if no fatted calf celebrated 
 his reappearance, he was at least received with indul- 
 gence, and his sins — by this time not a few — remitted. 
 
 Many a comparatively trifling snare may be the 
 cause of man's final fall. Monotony slew Cartouche. 
 So long as the complete novelty of a calm and regular 
 life retained its charm, all went well ; but when the 
 rising at five, the thick soup at breakfast, always 
 smoking at the same hour on the same table — the 
 same duties — the same talk — began to pale, then^ 
 ■Cartouche remembered with regretful sighs his 
 " august abodes " in tent and hedge, and fretted, like 
 the caged eagle, to be free. 
 
 To do him justice, he struggled for a while with this 
 desire ; and even sought solace in the education of his 
 brothers and sisters — that is to say, in the language 
 and useful arts he had acquired among his gipsy 
 friends. Under his able tuition the young people 
 
The French Macheath. 235 
 
 became proficients in slang, and tlie words cagou, 
 solitary thief; coesre, master beggar ; coquillard, tbief 
 in pilgrim's dress ; courieau de houtanche, servant wbo 
 hires himself with the purpose of robbery ; deiacJieur 
 de boucJion, cutpurse ; franc mitou, shammer of sickness ; 
 huhin, curious variety of the last-named, showing 
 fictitious bites of a savage dog, and alarming into 
 charity people who dare not drive him away ; nar- 
 quois, mendicant soldier ; polisson, vagabond so scantily 
 clad as to excite disgust and pity; and finally, 
 orphelin, antithesis of " cagou," or gregarious robber. 
 These and many such phrases frequently struck 
 surprise and some half-defined uneasiness into the 
 souls of the Cartouches pire et mire. 
 
 From meditating on his lost Hberty to making 
 efibrts to regain it, was a short step for om* young 
 hero. Circumstances precipitated this. He had 
 formed a connexion with a young laundress of the 
 neighbourhood, to whom, in the gushing fondness of 
 his heart, he offered such rich repasts at the first 
 restaurateur's of La Courtille, that his father, made 
 aware of these luxurious doings, followed and detected 
 him — ascertaining, moreover, enough of his general 
 habits to be certain that he was already fairly 
 launched in a career of unblushing crime. 
 
236 The French Macheath. 
 
 Without an hour's delay, the father proceeded 
 straight to that "providence of families," the lieu- 
 tenant-general of police, from whom he readily 
 obtained an order for the transmission of his son to 
 the House of Correction at St. Lazare. 
 
 It was too late. The young gentleman had dis- 
 appeared, marching off with arms and baggage, and 
 (no doubt in absence of mind) his father's money- 
 box ! 
 
 A brief period was now spent in general practice 
 at church, or in crowded assemblies where money 
 promised to be plentiful ; and Cartouche had little left 
 to learn in the walk he had chosen, when a singular 
 incident occurred. 
 
 He had been attending a charity sermon, the results 
 of which had certainly been more profitable to his 
 individual self than to the object proposed, when he 
 was suddenly collared, and a determined voice de- 
 manded " his money or his life 1" 
 
 Cartouche preferred to retain both, and made such 
 effectual resistance that his assailant gave back. 
 
 " Gently, gently, my young game-chick !" said 
 the latter, with a burst of coarse laughter. " Not 
 so hot. You have beak and claws, and tliat's just 
 what I like. Shake hands, my lad !" 
 
The French Macheath. 237 
 
 Cartouche still remained on the defensive. 
 
 " Come, come !" resumed the other, impatiently ; 
 " he easy, man ! Que diable ! People of our sort ought 
 to understand each other at a glance. Hark ye — I 
 was in the church too ; but instead of working for 
 myself, I watched you I Peste ! — what a hand ! — what 
 quickness of eye ! — what softness of execution ! Tears 
 came into my eyes as I followed your supple move- 
 ments, and the success that attended them. Here — 
 take this " (giving him a red silk purse stuffed with 
 gold), " that's only a bit of my morning's work. I'd 
 ask you to drink with me, but something better 
 invites us. Come back to the Jacobins. A rich old 
 Grerman is hanging about the confessional, awaiting 
 his turn. Now you shall see, mon jeune cog, whether 
 or no I am worthy to work at your side." 
 
 Two minutes later the German's purse was trans- 
 ferred to the pocket of the speaker. 
 
 M. Gaguis — such was this gentleman's favourite 
 name — ^inhabited a sordid den in an alley of the 
 Tripot-de-JBertault, whose close and stuffy atmosphere 
 and poverty-stricken aspect were in some measure 
 redeemed by the presence of two charming young 
 ladies — Panchon and Michon — of whom the former 
 was the wife (waiving the ceremony) of M. Gaguis ; 
 
238 The French Macheath. 
 
 tlie latter her sister, waiting for an eligible oppor- 
 tunity to settle — like her elder. 
 
 ISTow, Cartouche was at this period about seventeen,, 
 and if not handsorae, far from unpleasant in his ex- 
 terior. Grrandval sums him up in three lines as — 
 
 "... a la fleur de son Sge, 
 Brun, sec, maigre, petit, mais grand pour le coinage ; 
 Entreprenant, hardi, robuste, alerte, adroit." 
 
 Introduced to the ladies by his admiring friend, 
 he received from Fanchon a motherly kiss, from 
 Michon a coquettish glance, from the effects of which 
 the visitor had hardly recovered when he was invited 
 to partake of the banquet — rabbit in onions — which 
 had been prepared by the fair hands of the latter 
 maiden. 
 
 An immense jug of Auxerre wine accompanied the 
 viands, and there being but two glasses in store, Car- 
 touche and Michon drank together, and found the 
 Auxerre wine unusually palatable*. 
 
 Dinner over and the jug emptied, 
 
 " Ah-ga, my young comrade," remarked Gaguis, 
 " you see how we rub on — never melancholy — never 
 idle ! What do you think of domestic life ? Hang 
 solitude ! Tou know the proverb : — 
 
TJie French Macheatli. 23& 
 
 ' Quand les boeufs vont deux a deux — ■ 
 Le labourage n'en va que mieux.' 
 
 (' When the beasts plough two and two — 
 Labour's the lighter, and sooner through.') 
 
 I had a partner lately, but owing to some words 
 with, la pousse (the peace-officers) he has been offered 
 a lodging at the expense of Mons. le comte de la car- 
 rache (the gaoler). I offer yon his place." 
 
 " Tope " (agreed), said Cartouche, glancing at 
 Michon. And the bargain was made. 
 
 The marriage (morganatic) of the younger pair 
 was celebrated on the spot, at, so to speak, the altar 
 of nature, and with the simple ceremonial of the 
 introduction of a fresh jug of wine, in which the 
 partie carree drank success to the united household. 
 
 The little family circle thus decorously arranged, 
 the gentlemen "went steadily to work, and, as may be 
 conjectured, considerable profits accrued from their 
 combined energies.. But alas ! the most sunny life 
 has its occasional clouds. 
 
 The Cartouche honeymoon had not waned when 
 Tanchon — the staid and matronly Fanchon — began to 
 betray so pronounced a partiality for her new con- 
 nexion as to excite the ire and jealousy of her true 
 proprietor. A general row ensued. The two gentle- 
 
240 The French Macheath. 
 
 men hencefortli worked on separate beats ; and this 
 circumstance — ^indirectly, indeed — contributed to tbe 
 complete disruption of their heretofore happy home. 
 
 Gaguis, troubled by these domestic broils, and 
 doing his work, as it were, mechanically, and without 
 due caution, was seen by the police in the act of 
 stripping a citizen of his laced cloak. Chase was given, 
 and our friend, by skilful doubles, had all but shaken 
 off his pursuers. But one quick eye had detected 
 him darting into the alley of refuge. The house was 
 searched. M. Gaguis was apprehended, and trans- 
 mitted to Marseilles, while the ladies were lodged in 
 safe custody elsewhere. Cartouche, who was absent, 
 returned, to find the whole of his adopted family in 
 the law's paternal embrace. 
 
 Our hero was not a man to succumb entirely to such 
 a blow. Work — sheer, uncompromising work — was 
 his panacea. But change, even in this, was needful to 
 him. He took to dice and cards. Haunting the 
 better hells, he used the skill acquired among the 
 gipsies to such purpose that suspicious were awakened, 
 and, at length, M. Cartouche, detected in the act, 
 was kicked into the street, and debarred for ever from 
 that branch of industry. 
 
 Tradition affirms that his next debut was in the 
 
The French Macheath.. 241. 
 
 cliaracter of a police spy. This, however, is apocry- 
 phal, and it is possible to riialign even such a 
 man as he. It is certain that he very quickly 
 appeared as a recruiting-sergeant ; and that he had 
 acquired ideas of discipline and subordination is; 
 manifest, as will be shown by his manner of dealing 
 with the skilled and desperate band-we find somewhat 
 later rallied round their accomplished general in Paris. 
 Nay, it was his aim to impart to this force an organi- 
 zation and system approximating as closely as possible, 
 to the military, appointing lieutenants, sub-lieutenants, 
 sergeants, watch, rallying and pass-words, &c. &c. 
 
 This completed, the campaign opened with night 
 skirmishing. Thus, some three or four of the band, 
 would pounce upon an unwary citizen, whom a blow 
 on the head from a loaded bludgeon reduced to tem- 
 porary silence. When the victim regained sufficient 
 consciousness to give an alarm, the troop was at safe 
 distance, arranging the next affair. 
 
 Le Grrand has given a dramatic picture of the scene 
 that wound up the night's depredations, from which, 
 however, it is evident he has eliminated much that is 
 revolting to feeling and taste. His report establishes ; 
 the sometimes disputed fact that the bandit force 
 divided the capital among them in regular districts : — 
 
 16 
 
242 The French Macheaih. 
 
 Car. — Now, gentlemen, what success to-night? 
 "Who had charge of the Pont !Neuf ? 
 
 La Bamee. — My captain, it was the wide-awake 
 one, assisted by Merciless and your humble 
 slave. 
 
 Car. — The proceeds ? 
 
 La B. — Four rapiers ; two gold-knobbed canes. 
 
 Car. — Have I not told you I don't care about 
 silver swords ? What rubbish is this ! I have half 
 a mind to make you return them. 
 
 La B. — The hilts are good, and they cost us 
 nothing. 
 
 Car. — ^Well, well — ^assons. Who was on duty at 
 St. Denis? 
 
 Harjpin. — ^No-quarter, I'Estoccade, and I. 
 
 Car. — What have you pince (grabbed) ? 
 
 Harp. — Some linen and muslin. 
 
 Car. — Humph ! Poor coarse stuff! Well, who 
 transacted business in the Eue des Noyers ? 
 
 Bel-Humeur — La Fantaisie, Fond-et-Cale, and I. 
 
 Car. — ^What have you picked up ? 
 
 Bel Hu. — A couple of marquises, who had supped 
 at Cheret's. 
 
 Car. — And got ? 
 
 Bel-Hu. — Their coats, swords, and hats. 
 
The French Macheaih. 243 
 
 Car. — Nothing else? Do you mean to say they 
 had not watches ? 
 
 Bel-Hu. — Certainly; but they had been treating 
 some lorettes. 
 
 Car. — I see. To-morrow, you will rob these 
 damsels. No poaching on my manors. Who was on 
 guard in the E,ue Fromenteau ? 
 
 La Pince. — The Earless, Debrideux, and I. 
 
 Car. — ^Whom did you fall in with ? 
 
 La Pince — An abbe in a scarlet cloak- 
 Car. — ^Any cash? 
 
 La P. — Not a sous. He had in his pocket only a 
 fan and a patch-box. 
 
 Car. — The guard at the Faubourg St. Grermain ? 
 
 La Branche. — Burn-Beard, Crackjaw, and I. 
 
 Ca?-.— Profit? 
 
 La B. — We can't tell yet. A Gascon gave us a 
 world of trouble. And after all, the rascal had not a 
 sous in his purse ! There was a pocket-book, indeed ; 
 but that contained only genealogies, assignations, and 
 tailors' bills. Fact, raon capitaine. Believe me, we 
 are men of honour. 
 
 Car. — I begin to doubt it, I promise you ! Come, 
 come, gentlemen, rob, pillage, swindle whomsoever you 
 please ; but, hang it ! no nonsense among ourselves. 
 
 16— a 
 
244 The French Macheath. 
 
 That age, the period of Cartouche, was the age of 
 nicknames. Not only in criminal circles, but in the 
 lower military grades, was the fashion largely adopted. 
 Scarcely a sergeant or corporal but had his supple- 
 mentary appellation, and " Brin-d'amour," " Bras-de- 
 fer," " Va-de-Bon-Cceur," "La Douceur," "Chasse- 
 lard," " La Eose," &c. &c., were plentiful as black- 
 berries. 
 
 Become aware of the existence of an organized 
 system of crime, Paris, alarmed, appealed to its 
 natural protector, M. Argenson, head of the police, but 
 found little consolation. 
 
 Police there were in rank abundance — i. e., archers 
 (horse and foot) ; exempts, forty-eight commissaries 
 (as many as at present), and spies and agents by 
 hundreds. But there was no controlling power, 
 order, or system. Each worked for himself. They 
 plundered the robber and the robbed alike. Of ten 
 agents engaged in a common pursuit, perhaps but 
 three obeyed the same superior. They were selected 
 without reference to their antecedents, many having 
 served in the galleys, and many more bearing the 
 convict's brand on their shoulder. Miserably paid, 
 they were perpetually exposed to the temptation of a 
 bribe, until at length the sheep-dog had become 
 
The French Machedth. 245 
 
 almost as dangerous to the flock as the wolf him- 
 self. 
 
 We have omitted to mention an important portion 
 of the robber force, without whose aid many a bril- 
 liant exploit would have fallen flat; many a well- 
 conceived project failed utterly in the execution — the 
 ladies. The records glow and glisten with the well- 
 known names of "La Catin," "La Bel- Air," "La 
 Galette," " La Petite Poulailliere," " La Mion," " La 
 Belle-Laitiere," " Margot-Monsieur," " La Eeli- 
 gieuse," " La Bonne," " La Blanche," " Tape-dru," 
 &c. &c. But far beyond them all stands out, in rich 
 relief, the name of that most celebrated, most accom- 
 plished, most devoted of all the (titular) wives of 
 Cartouche — Big Jenny ! 
 
 This remarkable woman was not descended from 
 the highest stock. Her sire was believed to be an 
 ostler, and it was probably owing in some degree to 
 the associations of childhood that Big Jenny's first 
 little misunderstanding with the laws arose from her 
 connexion with a horse-stealing case, • the result of 
 which was that the young lady, whipped and branded, 
 was exiled from Paris for the term of ten years. 
 Jane, however, broke her dan, returned to her beloved 
 city, and is found in 1720 ostensibly engaged in the 
 
246 The French Macheath. 
 
 peaceful profession of a fruiterer, but in reality flitting 
 about from place to place, spying, plotting, drinking, 
 fighting, robbing, and being robbed — tbe terror and 
 admiration (according to tbe spectator's point of view) 
 of every one that approached her. 
 
 It is with reluctance that, as faithful historians, we 
 have to acknowledge the existence of a second (con- 
 temporaneous) wife in " La Neron," who was parted 
 with to M. Cartouche by her afiectionate aunt. La 
 Tanton, for the moderate consideration of a dinner at 
 the cabaret Du Petit-Seau. 
 
 Let us glance for an instant at one of the excellent 
 institutions at which, thanks to the administrative 
 skill and energy of M. Cartouche, some of the most 
 finished thieves of the time received the education 
 they turned to such excellent account. 
 
 It is the largest of several huge caves sunk in the 
 chalky sides of Montmartre, and lit by large iron 
 sconces. From the centre of an arch spanning a deep 
 recess, hangs by the neck the figure of a man. He is 
 richly dressed ; a laced hat is still clutched in his hand. 
 By his side is a gold-hilted rapier, in his pockets a 
 diamond snuff-box, a pocket-book, and a purse of gold. 
 Within his portly person are bundles of hay. It is 
 the mannequin des Sp7-euves — the little Test-man. 
 
The French Macheath. 247 
 
 To various points of tliis gentleman's person aild 
 attire are attached numerous little rattles and bells. 
 To strip him without an alarm from these of every 
 valuable disposed about him is the task to which the 
 gang, crouched about him in various easy attitudes, 
 one by one address themselves, each candidate as he 
 fails being driven off by his fellows under a shower of 
 playful, but by no means contemptible, buffets. 
 
 One alone succeeds. It is the master himself, the 
 incomparable Cartouche, and tears come into the eyes 
 of the admiring band as they watch the indolent ease 
 with which those unrivalled fingers gradually, but 
 surely, reduce the pendant beau literally to a '"' man 
 of straw. ' 
 
 It was in 1720 that the terror inspired by the Car- 
 touchian band, and the laxity of the police, reached its 
 climax. They held virtual possession of the capital, 
 especially by night. And their depredations were 
 conducted with the military order and precision so 
 much inculcated by their great leader. 
 
 A party would assemble quietly before some rich 
 mansion. Then some huge fellow — very frequently, 
 one Simon Once, a gigantic ex-porter — would offer his 
 mighty shoulders as the base of a living pyramid 
 which, formed of the lighter and more agile members 
 
248 The French Machedih. 
 
 of the gang, speedily reached to the lower windows. 
 Some panes were adroitly removed, the apartments 
 entered, and the most attractive objects began to glide 
 down a chain of ready hands, till the pillage was 
 complete. 
 
 It was thus that, in September, 1720, the band 
 invaded the residence of the Spanish ambassador, 
 Eue de Tournon, and nearly stripped the chamber of 
 the- ambassadress, seizing a magnificent pearl neck- 
 lace, a brooch with twenty- seven large diamonds, a 
 rich table-service, and the entire wardrobe of the 
 lady. 
 
 About this period the South Sea bubble had intro- 
 duced Law to the Paris public, and enormous profits 
 resulted from the pressure and tumult among the 
 high-born mob who daily besieged the offices of the 
 great financier. On one occasion a certain Lord 
 Dermott is recorded to have lost shares to the value 
 of 1,300,000^om; nearly equal to 12,000,000— 
 livres ! 
 
 It was, however, only at the beginning of 1721 
 that the dreaded name of Cartouche became familiar 
 to the Parisians. " This Cartouche, the robber of 
 whom I have before spoken," writes Barbier, "is not 
 yet taken." He certainly was not. 
 
The French Macheath. 249 
 
 The exploits of the gang at this time read like a 
 battle-page from Homer. 
 
 " Va-de-Bon-Cceur " stole in the Palais-Eoyal two 
 silver flambeaux, enamelled with the Eegeht's 
 arms. 
 
 At the Louvre, Louison (Cartouche's brother) pos- 
 sessed himself of the sword and mantle of the Prince 
 Soubise. 
 
 The buckles and silver-hilted swords disappeared 
 like magic, and the Eegent himself was robbed, on 
 leaving the Opera. But here the laugh was on the 
 other side, the Eegent, purposely to deceive the 
 robbers, having caused his hilt to be richly chased — 
 in steel ! 
 
 The note-book of the receiver, Tanton, showed 
 among other things, "Three large, flagons of silver, 
 from the palace." 
 
 It was only when the very highest society- began to 
 feel the inconvenience of such a state of things that 
 the Government set themselves seriously to the task 
 of reform. A notorious murder in 1721 determined 
 the Eegent once for all to exterminate the banditti of 
 the capital. This was, perhaps, the more necessary, 
 since the Eegent himself, a man of many vices, and 
 well described by Louis XIV. as " le fanfaron de 
 
250 The French Macheath. 
 
 crimes," liad been suspected by the Paris public to be 
 in league witL. the robber band ! 
 
 It so happened that a worthless scribbler of the- 
 day, dubbed " poet," and forced into notice by Eacine,, 
 had published a series of rhymed philippics, in which 
 the Eegent was branded with every conceivable crime, 
 murder and incest included. As in the composition 
 of these unworthy diatribes the autlior had displayed 
 an amount of talent he had never brought to bear on 
 anything else, the work obtained a wide circulation,, 
 and quickly reached the eye of the Regent himself 
 
 That royal gentleman did not, it was reported, even 
 knit his brows at the imputation of murder — murder, 
 that is, of any ordinary type. At the history of his 
 unbridled debaucheries he laughed with a cynical 
 enjoyment. But when, as he proceeded, he found 
 himself depicted as the rival of Voisin and Brinvilliers, 
 concocting at the laboratory of the chemist Homborg, 
 slow-acting poisons destined for the Dauphin, the 
 Duke of Burgundy, and all who stood between th& 
 " round and top of sovereignty," and himself — tlietiy 
 it is said, a tear of honest rage and shame gushed 
 from his eye, little accustomed to such a visitor ; he 
 flung the book away, and vowed that the slanderer 
 De la Grange-Chancel should feel his vengeance. 
 
The French Macheath. 251 
 
 Nothing would have been easier than to cause the 
 wretched rhymester to be put to death in some secret 
 dungeon of the Bastile; but, strange to say, the 
 furious prince so far controlled his wounded feelings 
 on t/iis occasion as to merely send him prisoner to 
 the Isle Ste. Marguerite. Even from this penalty a 
 poem, couched in a tone of humble laudation, sufficed 
 to set him free. He fled to Holland, and at that 
 safe distance recommenced the work of calumny. 
 
 Paris was still discussing these slanders, when one 
 May morning, 1721, some labourers came upon the 
 body of a man recently murdered. It proved to be 
 that of another obscure poet, one Vergier ; but so 
 little were these men known to any but their own 
 immediate companions, that for a time the corpse was 
 believed to be that of De la Grange-Chancel. 
 
 " Kill a poet !" shouted the public. " F'/y F I^ot 
 to rob, surely. These sort of folks are not robbable L 
 It must have been an act of vengeance. And wkose 
 vengeance ? The Eegent's, of course !" 
 
 And now about the assassins. Cartouchians, you 
 may be sure. These fellows are all in the Eegent's. 
 pay. The rumour and the reasoning spread like 
 
 wildfire. 
 
 Cartouche was loudly demanded of the authorities. 
 
252 The French Machedth. 
 
 but the request was more easily made tlian complied 
 with. One of his most illustrious followers, however, 
 was forthcoming, and the arrest of this man, Jean 
 Eozy, alias the Chevalier, alias the Cracksman, was 
 sufficiently curious to be worth giving in detail. 
 
 The banditti of Paris at this time were divided 
 into cliques, or associations, between which, notwith- 
 standing that they frequently acted in concert, there 
 existed considerable jealousy. A province, for example, 
 would send to the capital from time to time gangs of 
 smugglers, highwaymen — men superior in strength 
 and daring even to the highest class of Parisian 
 robbers — being, in fact, the very aristocracy of crime. 
 These rural practitioners were so numerous as in some 
 districts to approach the dimensions of a veritable 
 army. Barbier writes that in 1718 a force of nearly 
 five thousand, chiefly smugglers of salt, held posses- 
 sion of the country round Paris, under the command 
 of two retired officers — Colingry and Easoir. So 
 well were these levies organized and disciplined, that 
 the Cardinal Alberoni is said to have regarded them 
 in the light of regular troops when calculating the 
 military resources of France. 
 
 Some days after the murder of Vergier, one of these 
 provincial gentlemen, Dubourquet, alias the Notary, 
 
The French Macheaih. 253 
 
 happened to be stroUiiig in the Taileries, and was 
 recognised by two Cartouchians — the Cracksman and 
 one Duplessis — who, hungry and with empty pockets, 
 were lurking for prey. Now, Mons. Dubourquet was 
 richly attired, wore a silver-hilted rapier, and regaled 
 his nose from time to time with snuff from a box of 
 the same rich material. This aspect of luxury stirred 
 the bile of the famishing professors. They resolved 
 on the plunder of their provincial brother. 
 
 Meeting him at the gate, they denounced him as 
 a spy of the police, employed to watch themselves. 
 Dubourquet, afraid of a disturbance in so public a 
 place, spoke them fair, but was only suffered to escape 
 on the forfeiture of his sword, purse, and snuff-box. 
 
 Mad for revenge, Dubourquet went straight to the 
 authorities, and under the name of Sarost, a retired 
 officer, informed against the Cracksman and his com- 
 panion. The former was arrested. But Captain 
 Sarost had gained his end, and never appeared to sub-, 
 stantiate his complaint. 
 
 A second murder now occurred to redouble the 
 public agitation. Cartouche himself with certain of 
 his band were carousing at a cabaret, .and listening to 
 the performance of a strolling fiddler. The latter, 
 having received a few sous, was departing, when he' 
 
254 The French Macheath. 
 
 Tvas pushed roughly back by a member of the gang, 
 and ordered to continue. Some workmen at a neigh- 
 bouring table, incensed at this tyranny, took part with 
 ihe assaulted man. A row ensued. Swords and 
 pistols were freely used. The police rushed in, and 
 one of these, Mondelot, fell dead from a shot fired, it 
 Tvas declared, by a female Cartouchian named Manon- 
 le-Eoy. It is at least certain that this distinguished 
 lady always carried arms, and equally so that when 
 some time afterwards she was arrested, in company 
 with two more amiable persons, Mesdames Chauvelot 
 and Madeleine Beaulieu, she entrenched herself 
 behind her bed, and for half an hour kept the whole 
 body of " exempts " at bay. 
 
 The murders of Vergier and Mondelot brought the 
 name of Cartouche prominently before the public. 
 Henceforward, every audacious crime went forth 
 stamped as it were with his name and authority. Some 
 attempts were made to entrap the formidable thief, 
 and one police-agent held him in such hot pursuit, 
 that Cartouche resolved to give him a lesson. 
 
 One evening, on an occasion of a public fete, when 
 a large body of archers and police were assembled in 
 the Eue de Tournon, Cartouche was aware of his 
 ■enemy stealthily, following, and evidently waiting only 
 
The French Macheath. 255 
 
 a favourable moment to raise tlie hue-and-cry. Sud- 
 denly the chief wheels round, seizes him by the throat, 
 and, having thus stopped his utterance, beats the 
 ;poor wretch almost into a jelly with his cane ; then 
 ^flinging him back among the advancing archers, darts 
 down an alley, changes coat and wig, and quietly re- 
 appears in the very midst of those who were eagerly 
 Tiunting him. 
 
 The gallantries of Cartouche would occasionally 
 Tsetray him into an awkward predicament. Married 
 as he was in a certain fashion to Big Jenny, that lady 
 was not without rivals, of whom, however, the 
 amiable lady took but little heed. We have already 
 mentioned La Neron. To her succeeded the fair 
 flower -maiden, Manon-le-Roy, who, whipped, branded, 
 and placed in the House of Correction, left the field 
 open for Marie-Jeanne Bonnefoi, a pretty lemonade- 
 •seller, known as the Little Grrey Sister, or Margot the 
 Nun, so called fromherdemure aspect and modest attire. 
 One evening in August, 1720, the police were 
 alarmed by a tumult that declared itself at the 
 humble dwelling of the little nun. On efiecting an 
 entrance, they found a little man, half drunk, shout- 
 ing, dancing, breaking furniture, and discharging 
 pistols right and left among an admiring audience of 
 
256 The French Macheath. 
 
 botli sexes. The excited performer was forthwith 
 conducted to the guardhouse; but no complainant 
 appeared against him, and after a while the httle 
 gentleman humbly represented that he was an honest 
 chocolate-seller in the Eue Comedie-rran9ais, Grrisel 
 by name, who had unfortunately drank a cup of wine 
 beyond his usual modest allowance. 
 
 " AUons !" remarked a good-natured sergeant, " you 
 have done nothing for which one would whip a cat. 
 Be off about your business, but leave something with 
 us in case we want you." 
 
 The little gentleman deposited 100 livres and his 
 snuff-box, which articles he was allowed to reclaim 
 next day. It was Cartouche. 
 
 A fearful affair now occurred. A woman of the 
 gang, called La Blanche, one of their most approved 
 spies and receivers, was murdered in her lodging by 
 the male Cartouchian, Dautreques-Duplessis. What 
 was to be done with the body ? Duplessis confided 
 his little difficulty to the chief. The two wretches 
 conveyed the corpse to a garret, divided it into as 
 many portions as time allowed, placed the latter in a 
 huge scuttle obtained at a broker's, and, marching 
 through Paris in broad day, deposited their hideous 
 burden in the Seine, Cartouche, pistol in hand, keep- 
 
The French Macheath. 257 
 
 ing curious observers at a distance till aU was done. 
 The wife of the miscreant Duplessis waited till dark ; 
 then placing the head of the murdered woman in her 
 apron, carried that also to a place of conceal- 
 ment. 
 
 In December, 1720, Cartouche was fairly captured 
 and confined in Fort I'Eveque ; but spite of the terror 
 inspired by this redoubtable robber, so slight were the 
 precautions taken respecting him, that on the 2nd of 
 March, 1721, he contrived to effect his escape. By 
 this time it had become known that he was personally 
 concerned in the affair of the murder of Mondelot, 
 and the authorities roused themselves to unusual 
 efforts for his recapture. Hereupon an odd incident 
 occurred. 
 
 As the officer of the Criminal Court was uttering 
 the usual proclamation, with sound of trumpet and 
 "outcry," calling upon Cartouche to appear within 
 eight days and answer to the charge of murder, and 
 had come to the words, "In the King's name and those 
 of nos seigneurs of the Parliament, we do command 
 
 the person called ' Cartouche' " 
 
 " Present, Cartouche !" shouted a voice in the centre 
 of the crowd, that turned the whole body — archers, 
 trumpeters, citizens and all — into a frenzy of rage and 
 
 17 
 
258 The French Macheath. 
 
 agitation. It was Cartouche himself, but he had 
 vanished. 
 
 Two persons now entered into a solemn league and 
 covenant to pursue the impalpable robber without rest 
 or respite until he should be slain or taken. One of 
 these was an exempt named Huron, a bold and 
 clever ojBBcer. The other was the archer Pepin, a 
 man of equal resolution. 
 
 The chase opened ill for our hero. Huron tracked 
 him so hotly as actually to exchange pistol-shots with 
 him, by which Cartouche was said to have been 
 seriously wounded. It is certain that either to escape 
 this persevering foe, or to recover from his alleged 
 hurts. Cartouche disappeared for three entire months 
 from criminal history. It is stated by Grrandval tha,t 
 he paid a visit to England, and became personally 
 known to his great British prototype, Jack Sheppard. 
 
 Another historian affirms that he journeyed in 
 company with his lieutenant, Balagny, into Cham- 
 pagne, where, at a cottage belonging to the last- 
 named illustrious person, he led an innocent and 
 pastoral life until his complete restoration urged him 
 once more to the field of fame. 
 
 The police, who exultingly assured the public that 
 Cartouche had been driven from the capital, were soon 
 
The French Macheath. 259 
 
 painfully aware of his return. A very large reward 
 was set upon his head, and a great body of exempts — 
 Huron and Pepin among the foremost — devoted them- 
 selves almost exclusively to the pursuit. 
 
 The zeal of both these officers proved fatal to them. 
 They had one evening tracked Cartouche to a noto- 
 rious robber-haunt. Finding themselves likely to be 
 surrounded, five of the robbers threw themselves at 
 once upon Huron and his followers. The officer re- 
 ceived several pistol-shots, and was then cut down by 
 Cartouche himself. 
 
 A few days later, Cartouche, while taking a quiet 
 stroll with Madeleine, perceived Pepin on his heels. 
 Turning suddenly on their pursuer, Madeleine at- 
 tacked him with large stones, while Cartouche ran the 
 unfortunate archer through the body. 
 
 These misadventures almost daunted the police, 
 while they renewed public anxiety to a painful degree. 
 The name of Cartouche was in every mouth. 
 
 " No more compliments and chat now," wrote Le 
 Grand. " We merely say ' good morning,' and then 
 add, ' What of Cartouche ? — ^have they got him?' " 
 
 A regularly organized attempt was next made, 
 under the direction of an aide-major of the Grardes 
 Fran^aises — Pekom — who selected ninety of his most 
 
 17—2 
 
260 The FrencJi MacheatK. 
 
 trusted and intrepid men, and sent them in various 
 disguises, but well armed, in quest of tlie single 
 robber chief. 
 
 The first result of this step was to awaken mistrust 
 on the part of Cartouche and his companions. They 
 saw themselves beset with disguised foes, and suspected 
 every strange face that crossed their way. The 
 Eegent, moreover, issued a proclamation increasing 
 the reward for the capture of Cartouche, promising 
 pardon to any accomplice who should deliver him up, 
 and severe punishment to any who gave him refuge. 
 
 At this critical period of our hero's fortunes 
 occurred what was known as the affair of the hotel 
 Desmarets. 
 
 Nicolas Desmarets, nephew of the great Colbert, 
 died on the 6th of May, at his hotel, Eue des Petits 
 Augustins. This wealthy residence Cartouche re- 
 solved should be thoroughly pillaged. 
 
 A chosen band, commanded by the chief in person, 
 forced an entrance, and were busily at work in the 
 rich saloons and chambers, when one of their look- 
 outs, " Ratichon," who usually dressed as an abbe, 
 rushed in breathless, announcing the approach of an 
 absolute army of archers, under the exempts Bourlon 
 and Pannetier. 
 
The French Macheatk 261 
 
 The danger-signal had hardly been given before 
 the enemy appear. A fierce fight commences — from 
 room to room, from stair to stair. The robbers fight 
 stoutly ; but some have fallen under the determined 
 assault of an enemy^ whose numbers increase every 
 moment. Ammunition fails. It is a sauve qui pewt. 
 Cartouche escapes by a chimney, gains the roof, and 
 descends at some distance in the garret of a good- 
 natured mechanic, to whom he represents himself as 
 a man pursued by his merciless creditors. His host 
 sympathizes, provides him with a disguise, and once 
 more the lion has escaped the toils. 
 
 That distrust existed in the brigand band at this 
 time is demonstrated by a ghastly incident related 
 by Barbier. A body, fearfully mutilated, was found 
 behind the Chartreux. A card affixed to the breast 
 bore this inscription : — 
 
 "Here lies Jean Labaty, who has met a well- 
 deserved fate. Let those who are guilty of the like 
 treason, expect the like punishment," 
 
 Barbier mistook "Labaty" for "Eeb^t^"— in 
 slang language, assassinated — and the corpse was 
 subsequently ascertained to have been that of one 
 Jean Lefebvre, a Garde Fran9aise in league with the 
 gang. 
 
262 The French Macheath. 
 
 The murder of Lefebvre was followed by that of , 
 Tanton, a cousin of Cartouche, who, suspecting him 
 of treachery, decoyed him to a retired spot, stabbed 
 him to the heart, and buried him in a dung-heap. 
 
 But now, at length, the hour' of retribution was at 
 hand. 
 
 Gruthus Duchatelet — ^next to Cartouche the most 
 ferocious of these human tigers — acknowledged to 
 himself that the game was nearly up. Plunged as 
 he was in the deepest and deadliest crime, he saw 
 that but one chance of safety remained to him. 
 He must denounce his chief. 
 
 No sooner resolved than done. On the 13th of 
 October the traitor called on Pekom, the aide-major 
 of the Gardes Fran9aises, made his offer, obtained his 
 conditions, and, to make all sure, procured the ratifi- 
 cation of the latter, not only by the minister Le 
 Blanc, but by the Eegent himself. 
 
 On being satisfactorily arranged, Pehom sent for a 
 brave veteran sergeant, Jean Courtades, and confided 
 to him — jittended by a picked band of archers — the 
 dangerous duty on hand, directing him to foUow the 
 guidance of Duchatelet ; but on the least suspicious 
 movement of the latter, to blow out his brains. 
 
 The party, consisting of forty men, marching at ten 
 
The French Macheath. 263 
 
 paces distance from each, other, started at break of 
 day. The place indicated by Duch^telet was the 
 cabaret " Du Pistolet," Eue de Menilmontant, kept by 
 one Germain Savard. 
 
 " Is any one above ?" asked the traitor 
 guide. 
 
 " No,'' was the answer. 
 " Are the four women there ?" 
 " Come up." 
 
 Leaving some men below to watch Savard, Cour- 
 tades led his band upstairs. In the chamber they 
 found the four chief bandits ; Balagny and Limosin 
 drinking by the fire, Graillard in bed, and Cartouche, 
 seated on a couch, in the act of drawing on his panta- 
 loons. The surprise was complete, and but a few 
 minutes elapsed before the four prisoners, securely 
 bound, were on their way, in coaches, to the hotel of 
 the Minister of War. 
 
 Barbier writes exultingly : — 
 " Great news in Paris ! — Cartouche, the famous 
 robber-chief, sought so long in vain that men began 
 to doubt of his actual existence, is a prisoner ! He 
 was sold and delivered by an ex-soldier of the guard, 
 one of the gang. This soldier deserves to be broken 
 on the wheel as richly as any ; but the fellow was cool 
 
264 The French Macheath. 
 
 enough. Cartouche had gone to bed at six this morn- 
 ing at a cabaret in La Courtille, with six pistols ready 
 to his hand. He was conducted to the Ministry of 
 War, and from thence, on foot, to the Ch&telet. He 
 was insolent, as if despising his captors, declaring that 
 they would not dare to execute him, and would not 
 keep him long." 
 
 Cartouche had been taken en chemise. His captors 
 refused to permit him even to finish dressing, and in 
 this condition he was presented to the public whom 
 he had held so long in abject terror. He, however, 
 never lost his coolness. On alighting from the car- 
 riage, he was compelled to step down barefooted into 
 the mud. An archer rudely pushed him forward. 
 Cartouche dashed his mud-soiled foot into the man's 
 face, exclaiming — 
 
 "Imbecile! Tou durst not have touched me 
 yesterday for your life !" 
 
 The process advanced quickly. Duchatelet, though 
 he had been promised pardon, was kept under surveil- 
 lance — it being intended to try and condemn him, 
 though not to execute his sentence. Certain of re- 
 prieve, he confessed, without hesitation, certain 
 burglaries in which Cartouche had personally taken 
 part — not to mention the murder of Lefebvre, in 
 
The French Macheath. 265 
 
 which himself (Duch^telet), Cartouche, Gaillard, 
 Balagny, and Limosin had participated. 
 
 Notwithstanding these confessions, Cartouche con- 
 tinued to deny his identity, calling himself one Jean 
 Bourguignon, a countryman. His celebrity seemed 
 to call for an exceptional treatment. At all events, 
 Barbier writes, — 
 
 " He is very well cared for. He has at dinner, 
 soup, a good bouilli, with a little entree, and three 
 flasks of wine. He receives crowds of distinguished 
 visitors, and the gaolers make a good thing of it. 
 Fashionable ladies attend his levees. The Eegent's 
 mistress, Mdme. de Parabere, came in disguise, 
 among others, to visit the hero of the day." 
 
 But the most distinguished of his visitors was the 
 Marechale de Boufflers, the widow of the hero who 
 so gloriously lost the battle of Malplaquet. 
 
 It was not their first interview. 
 
 One warm summer night in July, 1721, just as the 
 lady had retired to bed, leaving her window a little open 
 for air, roused by a slight noise, she drew the curtain 
 aside, and, to her horror, saw a man's face close to 
 her own. She made a snatch at the bell, but two 
 quick hands closed her lips and imprisoned her 
 hands. 
 
266 The French Macheatk 
 
 " No noise, madame !" said the visitor ; " I 
 am Louis Dominique Cartouche. I need say no 
 more." 
 
 After a moment's pause, the robber re- 
 sumed : — 
 
 " The street is guarded. They are on my traces, 
 but no one saw me climb your balcony. I am safe 
 
 if you keep quiet. If you will not " He opened 
 
 his blouse and displayed a rich but faded costume, 
 with a complete armoury of silver-mounted pistols 
 and knives. " But escape is not all I seek," continued 
 her visitor. " I have not been in bed for a week. I 
 am tired out, and hungry. Tou must provide me 
 supper and a bed !" 
 
 The Marechale gave a start and shudder. 
 " Compose yourself, madame," said Cartouche ; 
 " the devil is not so black as he is painted. I know 
 how to behave to a lady. Ani/ couch will serve for 
 my bed. As for supper, a chicken, some fruit, and 
 a bottle of champagne, is all I require. Eing for your 
 maids; pretend a/rin^ale (sudden hunger) ; and when 
 I have supped and slept I will make my bow," 
 
 The lady tremblingly obeyed; her visitor, en- 
 pconced behind the curtains, watching her every 
 gesture. The repast was quickly served, and the 
 
The French Macheath. 267 
 
 maids withdrew, much marvelling at their mistress's 
 sudden appetite. 
 
 In a few minutes Cartouche had left nothing but 
 some bones and peel, and an empty bottle. 
 
 " Now, madame," he said, rising, " I will wish you 
 good-night. I retire to the sofa in your dressing- 
 room. Please to forget that I am so near a neighbour, 
 for Cartouche, as you may be aware, sleeps only with 
 one eye !" 
 
 At three o'clock the robber rose, much refreshed, 
 offered polite acknowledgments, and retired as he 
 had come. 
 
 The Marechale sprang from her bed, closed the 
 window, and alarmed her household. Search was made 
 among the valuables, but not an article had been 
 removed ; even the costly silver used for the supper 
 had been respected by the eccentric thief. 
 
 Some days later, Mdme. de BouflQers received a 
 basket of excellent champagne. To be sure, the 
 acknowledgment cost Cartouche but little. The wine 
 had been abstracted from the vaults of the most 
 popular dealer in Paris. 
 
 Hearing of his capture, the lady could not resist 
 the inclination to visit her scrupulous visitor, Car- 
 .touche received her with great politeness, only regret- 
 
268 The French Macheath. 
 
 ting that circumstances at the moment forbade his 
 offering a return of her hospitality. The Marechale 
 presented him with two louis. 
 
 It was hardly to be expected that such a man 
 would calmly acquiesce in the decree of fate which 
 seemed to have consigned him to a hopeless impri- 
 sonment, from which the only outlet was to the 
 scaffold. 
 
 Cartouche only awaited his opportunity. It came 
 sooner than he had expected. 
 
 He had been placed in one of the horrible subter- 
 ranean dungeons destroyed in 1780 by the humane 
 command of Louis the Sixteenth. He had a com- 
 panion in trouble who had formerly worked as a 
 stonemason. This man, having, unlike Cartouche, his 
 arms and legs unfettered, had ascertained the exis- 
 tence of a ditch, or fosse, under their floor, connected 
 with the sewerage of the prison. With his nails, and 
 sometimes a limb of his companion's chair, he effected 
 an entrance into this ditch, and from thence through 
 a waU into another leading from the cellar of a 
 neighbouring house. A breach effected in another 
 wall, the adventurers found themselves safe in the 
 cellar of an honest fruiterer. A short staircase led up 
 into the shop ; and now, as Barbier naively remarks. 
 
The French Macheath. 269 
 
 their escape would have been completed if, par mal- 
 lieur, it had not failed. 
 
 The shop-door was simply bolted within, but before 
 the robbers could discover the latch, a slight noise 
 made by Cartouche's fetters aroused a dog till then 
 asleep under the counter. An alarm followed. 
 Down rushed a maid- servant, screaming "Thieves! 
 thieves !" followed by the master of the house bear- 
 ing a lamp, which Cartouche at once struck down. 
 Even now they had nearly escaped, for the bolt was 
 found and the door flung open. But, unluckily, a patrol 
 of four archers was passing at the critical moment. 
 Seeing Cartouche in fetters, they forthwith arrested 
 the pair, and reconducted them to the prison, where 
 they were placed in stricter cystody than before. 
 
 " Cartouche," writes Barbier, " has been transferred 
 to the Conciergerie, and lodged in the Montgomery 
 Tower, heavily ironed. The fellow who betrayed him 
 is a well-born gentleman, but a worse miscreant than 
 his leader. He was implicated in the Chartreux 
 murder, and, it is asserted, washed his hands pur- 
 posely in the blood of the victim. He has the 
 Eegent's pardon, signed and sealed, but wUl probably 
 be imprisoned. Forty-seven of the band (men and 
 women) have been arrested' on his information." 
 
270 The French Macheaih. 
 
 In his new prison none were allowed access to the 
 bandit chief except his guards, the cure of St. Bar- 
 thelemy, and a priest of Sorbonne, selected for his 
 confessor. He received his clerical visitors with 
 respect, but declined confession ; and when offered by 
 the cure some religious books, declared he had never 
 learned to read ! 
 
 What is called the interrogatory lihre (that which is 
 unattended with torture), produced nothing from 
 Cartouche. He simply denied everything, including 
 his own identity, and affirmed that he could not com- 
 prehend what they were talking about. 
 
 The process went forward with unexampled rapidity, 
 and on the 26th November, 1721, the Court decreed 
 as follows : — • 
 
 That " Le Camus," Louis Dominique Cartouche, 
 alias Lamarc, alias Le Petit, alias Bourguignon, 
 Jacques Maire, Jean-Pierre Balagny (called the Ca- 
 puchin), Gruthus Duchatelet, and Charles Blanchard 
 (called the Gaillard), should be broken alive on the 
 wheel ; that their legs, thighs, arms, and reins being 
 thus broken, their bodies should be affixed to the 
 wheel, face upward, joowr y finir leurs jours ; Madeleine 
 and Messier to be hanged. The whole of the pri- 
 soners to be previously submitted to the question, 
 
The French Macheath. 271 
 
 ordinary and extraordinary, with, the view of extorting 
 conffession. 
 
 Appended to this decree was a kind of postscript, 
 called " retentum." It ordered that Cartouche and 
 DuchMelet should be quietly strangled, after being 
 placed on the wheel, broken as aforesaid ; that Balagny 
 and Maire should be strangled after receiving three 
 strokes, and Blanchard without receiving any strokes 
 at all. 
 
 The proces-verbal relating to Cartouche reports 
 the application of the question in the form of the 
 hrodequins, or boots. These, as readers are possibly 
 aware, were wooden frames fitted to the legs, into 
 which wedges of increasing size were forcibly driven, 
 until the legs of the sufferer were reduced to a 
 pulp. 
 
 " Having been admonished to confess his robberies, 
 murders, and the names of his accomplices — 
 
 " Answered that he had committed no such crimes, 
 and had therefore no accomplices. 
 
 " On application of first, second, and third wedge, 
 answered that he was innocent. 
 
 " At the fourth, answered that he knew not what 
 they were speaking of. 
 
 " At the fifth, that he was innocent— was dying. 
 
272 The French Macheath. 
 
 " At the sixth, that he had done all that was re- 
 quired of him ; had done no wrong ; was dying. ' 
 
 " At the seventh, was innocent ; no accomplices. 
 
 " At the eighth and last, was innocent. 
 
 " Eeleased and laid on a mattress, we renewed the 
 interrogatory, but without result. 
 
 (Signed) &c." 
 
 The execution followed hard upon the preliminary 
 torture, the disgrace of those days. On the same 
 afternoon, November 27th, 1721, our unfortunate hero 
 was led forth to the scene of his final earthly punish- 
 ment. 
 
 The Place de la Grr^ve was one mass of humanity, 
 every window commanding a view of the scaffold 
 being let for a large sum. The patience of the 
 audience had been severely tried, for the execution 
 was announced for noon; and it was five o'clock 
 before the redoubted malefactor was led into the 
 square. 
 
 To add to the disgust and disappointment of the 
 assembled multitude, especially those who had paid, 
 the ofl&cers, entering the Place about four o'clock, had 
 ruthlessly removed four of the five wheels, leaving 
 only one. Cartouche himself expressed considerable 
 
The French Macheath. 273 
 
 annoyance at finding himself tlie sole object of inte- 
 rest, and it was this circumstance that probably influ- 
 enced the confessions he made during the last minutes 
 of his life. The removal of the wheels was, however, 
 only caused by the lateness of the hour, the execution 
 having been deferred thus long to enable Cartouche 
 to complete his reluctant revelations. 
 
 Arrived in the square, the criminal threw a fearless 
 glance around, comprehending in it every portion of 
 the packed assembly, many of whom had passed two 
 entire days and nights in anticipation of the moment 
 now arrived — eating, drinking, shouting, singing, and 
 sleeping by turns. 
 
 In all that human sea the robber recognised no 
 familiar face — nothing that afforded the faintest hope 
 of the rescue he had still deemed possible, but which 
 it needed hearts as dauntless as his own to attempt. 
 He glanced at the compact body of the two hundred 
 archers who hedged the scaffold, and from that 
 moment resigned himself to die. 
 
 Sending once more for the officials, he confessed 
 that he was indeed Louis Dominique Cartouche, the 
 robber, although his parents and his brother were, and 
 had always been, honest and guiltless persons. He 
 avowed that he had murdered Pepin in the Eue des 
 
 18 
 
274 The French Macheath. 
 
 Petits Augustins, as also Tanton and Bidel. He had 
 taken part also in the murder of Huron and of Mon- 
 delot. If there were more, it was done without pre- 
 meditation, and to protect his own person. He added 
 that in all his life he had never robbed in. a church, 
 though repeatedly incited to do so by Duch^telet. 
 
 Cartouche certainly showed himself, in his con- 
 fessions, un hon camarade, andi a man by no means 
 devoid of generous feelings. He absolved his own 
 family with especial earnestness from any share in his 
 misdoings. He refrained from denunciations even of 
 those who had deserted or betrayed him, excepting 
 only Duch&tel, towards whom he evinced intense scorn 
 and hatred. But, in revenge, he was unsparing in 
 respect to the spies and receivers of the gang, whom 
 he denounced by the score. He avowed himself the 
 head and chief of the numerous band, so long the 
 terror of the capital — an assertion which, if any one 
 feel inclined to doubt, was speedily confirmed by the 
 confusions and indiscipline which on his decease 
 became suddenly perceptible in the ranks of crime. 
 
 To the two last questions addressed to him, whether 
 any person of condition belonged to his band, and 
 whether he had ever accepted bribes to murder, he 
 replied emphatically in the negative. 
 
The French Macheath. 275 
 
 His confessions completed, Cartouclie calmly sur- 
 rendered himself to the executioners. 
 
 The proces-verbal, signed by the Greffier Drouet, 
 announces : — 
 
 " The said Cartouche, borne upon the scaffold, and 
 there bound and affixed to St. Andrew's cross, I 
 for the last time demanded if he had anything else to 
 declare, exhorting him to remember the necessity of 
 making his peace with Grod, before whom he was 
 about to appear. He replied that he had nothing to 
 add to the avowals already made. The Salve was 
 then chanted ; the criminal, in accordance with the 
 retentum, was at once strangled and executed; and 
 I withdrew, attended by the officers whose names 
 appear below." 
 
 On the 2nd December, Balagny {alias the Capuchin) 
 was broken on the wheel. Like his chief, it was only 
 when in sight of the scaffold that he made any full 
 confession. He denounced twelve more notorious 
 members of the band. 
 
 The 28th of March Louis Marcant was executed. 
 
 In June Barbier writes : " They are continuing the 
 
 process against the Cartouchians, and have a hundred 
 
 and fifty prisoners at the Conciergerie. On the eve of 
 
 the F^te-Dieu they executed Eozy, alias the Chevalier 
 
 18-3 
 
276 The French Macheath. 
 
 As they were about to leave the prison he began to 
 jaboter (prattle), and denounced so many accomplices 
 that in the course of the night and following day 
 eighty persons were Apprehended, among them two 
 police exempts, Eoux and Bourlon." 
 
 In July the diarist writes : " Nothing but hang- 
 ings and breakings on the wheel ! Every day some 
 Cartouchian executed. Yesterday they despatched 
 {expedid) Mademoiselle Neron, the chief's mistress, 
 a very pretty brunette. She was hanged at one 
 o'clock." 
 
 On the 24th July, 1722, it came to the turn of 
 " La Grande Jeanneton," Big Jenny had used her 
 tongue to such purpose that the police arrested, on 
 her information, fifty-two persons, chiefly innkeepers 
 and proprietors of wine shops, some of them well to 
 do and highly respected. Among those apprehended 
 were two ladies who occupied rich apartments, and 
 kept their carriage and horses. Confronted with Big 
 Jenny, the latter denied their acquaintance. It was 
 " une meprise de nom." The ladies were politely re- 
 conducted to their dwelling, under a guard of twenty 
 archers, to keep the amused spectators at bay. 
 
 Poor Jenny had had to undergo the question, the 
 brodequins. Strong and courageous, the girl (she was 
 
Tlie French Macheaih. 277 
 
 only twenty-five) preserved her fortitude till tlie intro- 
 duction of the third wedge; but then, breaking 
 sUence, she denounced more of the band than any 
 had done yet, delivering up to justice innumerable 
 receivers, including three sisters of a good family, the 
 Saint-Bigors, one of them the wife of an officer in the 
 Luxembourg regiment. 
 
 On the 31st July a very strange execution took 
 place. The young brother of Cartouche, le petit 
 Louison, was hung in the Place de Grreve, but only 
 by the armpits, for it was not intended that the boy 
 should die. 
 
 He cried out very loudly at first, and begged that 
 he might be put out of pain at once, as the weight 
 of his body seemed to force every drop of blood down 
 to his feet. " Ce-qui " (adds Barbier) " est la souffrance 
 des pendus. " 
 
 Later, his tongue protruded, and he spoke no more. 
 Without waiting for the ordained two hours to expire, 
 the lad was taken down and placed in medical care ; 
 but it was too late. He was already dead. " He was 
 very wicked for his years," says Barbier, " and had 
 been an accomplice of his brother from a very 
 early age." 
 
 The same day was executed Tanton, uncle of the 
 
278 The French Macheath. 
 
 cliief. He was tlie compiler of a kind of " Thieves' 
 Directory," containing tlie real names and addresses 
 of all distinguished robbers of the day. 
 
 Several executions followed, and it might well be 
 thought that Paris was now rid of her worst foes. 
 But no. 
 
 " In spite," writes our friend the diarist, " of the 
 executions at La Greve, there are more thieves than 
 ever in Paris. Cartouche has died on the wheel ; but 
 his name and memory engender robbers." The organi- 
 zation he is supposed to have given to crime was, in 
 reality, only the disorganization of society. 
 
THE SKELETON OF THE RUE 
 VAUGIRARD. 
 
 f\^ the twenty-sixth, of April, 1833, a singular 
 party arrived, in two carriages, at the door of 
 No. 81, Eue de Vaugirard, Paris. From the first 
 alighted a man of middle age, of shrewd, determined 
 aspect, bearing in his hand an official-looking bag, 
 crammed with papers. He was followed by a short, 
 stout man, well dressed, and wearing an enormous 
 pair of green spectacles ; and the rear was brought 
 up by another individual, tall and thin, apparently 
 a mechanic of the better class, whose air was gloomy 
 and downcast in the extreme. The last two persons 
 on descending from the carriage were surrounded by 
 a municipal guard and some followers, who appeared 
 to be awaiting their arrival. 
 
 The second vehicle brought a gentleman who carried 
 a case of surgical instruments, and respectfully made 
 
280 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 way for his companion, no other than the celebrated 
 analytical chemist, M. Orfila. 
 
 " Monsieur the Attorney-General," said the latter, 
 in his grave, musical voice, as he cordially shook 
 hands with the personage we have first described, 
 " my colleague, Dumoutier, and I await your direc- 
 tions. "What is the business ? — poison ? — autopsy ?" 
 
 " Neither," was the answer, with a smile. " Ar- 
 chaeology." 
 
 "With this ambiguous answer, he conducted the 
 party, by a small back door, into the damp and weed- 
 grown garden of the house, and towards a table 
 covered with black cloth, which had been placed under 
 an aged mulberry tree, and displayed writing materials, 
 &c., as if in preparation for an official inquiry. 
 
 The party now surrounding the table was composed 
 of the magistrate, with M. Orfila, and the surgeon, a 
 clerk, the municipal officer, and his two assistants, 
 each of whom kept a careful grasp upon one of the 
 men in custody. At the distance of a pace or two, 
 close to an apricot tree, which was trained upon the 
 wall, stood two labourers, spade and pickaxe in hand, 
 apparently awaiting orders. 
 
 The magistrate ran his finger across a plan that lay 
 On the table before him, and, pausing at a red cross. 
 
Tlie Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 281 
 
 and glancing thence to tlie apricot tree, said, quietly, 
 " Begin there." 
 
 The men dug. After working a few minutes the 
 pickaxe of one of them sank into an excavation ; at 
 this, the short prisoner with the green spectacles made 
 a sudden movement, and even into the dull dead eyes of 
 his companion there came a momentary glitter. The 
 officers, as if involuntarily, tightened their grasp, as 
 the magistrate, addressing the labourers, desired them 
 to proceed with the greatest caution, so as to injure 
 nothing. 
 
 Carefully trenching the soil, they presently came 
 upon a bed of lime, forming a sort of hard coat. 
 It was into this the pick had penetrated. Eemoved 
 in fragments, it gave to view a narrow grave, about 
 four feet from the surface, and at the bottom of the 
 grave a skeleton, perfect in all respects, the teeth and 
 hair complete as in life. Around the neck was a 
 four-times knotted cord. Upon the marriage finger 
 appeared the golden ring. 
 
 " It is quicklime," remarked M. Orfila, " but they 
 have forgotten the necessary moisture, and what was no 
 doubt intended to destroy, has only preserved. The 
 flesh has disappeared, but the skeleton is perfect. Well, 
 monsieur the magistrate, what do you wish us to do ?" 
 
282 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 " A miracle, gentlemen," was the answer, " and I 
 oflfer you the assistance of these two gentlemen, 
 Doctors Marc and De Loury" (who entered as he 
 spoke), " in effecting it. I wish you to reclothe these 
 bones with flesh, to tell me to whom they once be- 
 longed — the sex, the age, and exactly how long they 
 have rested in this hitherto unknown grave." 
 
 " Nothing is easier for my colleagues," replied the 
 able anatomist Dumoutier, " and my assistance would 
 be of little benefit, but for one circumstance. I could, 
 if you desire it, determine from merely examining the 
 skull, what were the peculiar habits, thoughts, pas- 
 sions, vices, and virtues of the soul by which it was 
 animated." 
 
 The physicians could hardly repress a smile. 
 Dumoutier was one of the earliest and most enthusi- 
 astic disciples of the then nascent philosophy of Grail 
 and Spurzheira. 
 
 Meanwhile the skeleton had been lifted from its 
 earthy bed and placed on a table in the dining-room, 
 which could be entered from the garden. The lime 
 and subjacent earth were also collected, and placed in 
 coffers for the analysis, to which the professional 
 gentlemen now addressed themselves. 
 
 They arrived at an unanimous conclusion : they had 
 
The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 283 
 
 before them the remains of a female about four feet 
 eight inches in height, of advanced age. The teeth 
 were singularly perfect for her years, and during life 
 must have been larger and longer than common. 
 The hands were small, and the perfect nails gave 
 evidence that the deceased had never been accustomed 
 to hard personal toil. They fixed her age at seventy. 
 
 The magistrate's face grew brighter as each suc- 
 cessive conclusion was announced. He could scarcely 
 have relished more the gradual unrolling of an 
 Egyptian mummy. 
 
 " But, gentlemen," he presently remarked, " that is 
 not all. I must now know the date of death." 
 
 " That is more diflicult," answered De Loury ; " a 
 few years since such a question would have been asked 
 in vain. Now, experience supplies us with approxi- 
 mative solutions." 
 
 Reasons were then adduced for pronouncing the 
 death to have occurred from ten to twelve years since. 
 That the cause was unquestionably strangulation, the 
 fatal cord remaining laced four times round the neck, 
 and circumstances placing the idea of suicide out of 
 consideration, and that (in view of the folding up of 
 the lower members) burial must have followed within 
 a few hours, that is, before rigidity commenced. 
 
284 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard, 
 
 The magistrate turned towards the prisoners : — 
 
 " Well, Bastien and Eobert, these gentlemen knew 
 nothing of the matter for which they were invited 
 hither. Yet, in two hours, they have drawn the 
 perfect picture of your victim. They have, as it were, 
 made us present at the very crime. There needs .but 
 one word more — the victim's name. I add it. The 
 widow Houet." 
 
 " And," put in Dumoutier," I will tell you what 
 was the character of her whose remains lie here, and 
 who was known by that name. She was avaricious, 
 distrustful, timid, and passionate." 
 
 He must have been right ; for, as if these words had 
 placed the dead before them, the impassible Eobert 
 started and recoiled, as if stricken with a sudden 
 fear. The perspiration broke from his forehead — his 
 teeth chattered — his moving hands seemed to feel for 
 something on which to lean. In doing so he touched 
 his companion ; but, instantly starting back, as with 
 disgust and horror, regained with a strong effort 
 his self-command. 
 
 " The identity is established ; the proofs are com- 
 plete," said the magistrate. " Grentlemen, I asked a 
 miracle of you. It is performed." 
 
 Such was the scene that first drew public attention 
 
The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 285 
 
 to a case, the earlier incidents of wliich occurred twelve 
 years before, and which we now proceed to give in a 
 more condensed and intelligible form than a mere 
 report of the judicial proceedings would allow. 
 
 On the 13th September, 1821, the widow Houet, a 
 woman of sixty-eight, disappeared from her residence, 
 Eue des Maturins. She possessed a fortune of 
 43,000 francs, and had two children — a son almost an 
 idiot, and a daughter married to one Robert, a wine 
 merchant, and an engraver of crystals. To this 
 daughter, M. Lebrun, a brother of Madame Houet, 
 had given a dower. 
 
 Erom the period of this marriage a bad under- 
 standing had existed between Madame Houet and 
 her son-in-law Eobert, and the old lady had been 
 heard to declare that she should one day die by his 
 hands. 
 
 At six in the morning of the 13th September Eobert 
 called at the house of his mother-in-law, and invited 
 her to breakfast, to which she consented. Towards 
 seven, a day-servant — Jusson — employed by her, made 
 her appearance, and was scolded for being late. 
 Madame Houet was dressed to go out, appeared 
 agitated, talked to herself, and presently hurried away. 
 She was last seen crossing the Eue de la Harpe, in the 
 
286 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 direction of a house in that street, inhabited by the 
 Eoberts. 
 
 Towards eleven, the woman Eobert came to inquire 
 for her mother, who had not come to her appointment, 
 but nothing had been heard of her. 
 
 The next morning some one called on Eobert to 
 inform him of the continued absence of his mother- 
 in-law. He was alone, and only replied :— "Do not 
 speak of it to my wife. It will only make her 
 uneasy. I shall not tell her till Sunday." 
 
 Two days later a letter purporting to be from 
 Mdme. Houet, was received by a M. HeroUe, stating 
 that she was about to take a journey, and should be 
 absent some days. 
 
 Another letter addressed to a tenant of hers at 
 Yersailles, one Vincent, hinted at her intention to 
 commit suicide. 
 
 Both letters were strongly suspected of being 
 forgeries. 
 
 It was suspected that a crime had been committed. 
 But where, when, and by whom ? 
 
 A perquisition was made in the widow's house, 
 and six notes of 1000 francs each were found, besides 
 710 francs in specie. She had not then, it seemed, 
 been murdered for the purpose of robbery. 
 
The Skeleton of the Hue Vaugirard. 287 
 
 Suspicion naturally fell on Eobert. He had failed 
 in business, and sold his wine establishment for 
 1800 francs, which, save an annuity of 168 in right 
 of his wife, was all that now remained to him. But 
 there were stronger grounds than the presumption 
 that he would be a gainer by the death of the old 
 lady. Eobert had been noticed by several persons 
 about the hour when she was last seen, watching at 
 the door of his house, as if he expected some one ; 
 while, subsequently to her disappearance, he, instead 
 of displaying uneasiness or aiding in inquiry, only 
 sought to conceal it from his wife, and affected to 
 believe that the misfortune was irreparable. 
 
 Tor the present .justice was baffled. Presumptions 
 are not proofs; and accordingly, in 1822, the 
 Tribune of Eirst Instance decided that there was, for 
 the time, no room for further investigation. 
 
 Meanwhile Eobert had quitted Paris, and estab- 
 lished himself with his wife at Dajunemoine. But in 
 1823 he returned, accompanied by a man named 
 Yeron, and the two reoccupied an apartment that had 
 always been reserved by Eobert in his old house in 
 the Eue de la Harpe. Here scenes occurred which 
 tended to reawaken all the former suspicions. 
 
 A person named Bastien, coming one day by ap- 
 
288 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 pointment to the house, received from Veron, on the 
 part of Eobert, a note for 250 francs. Some days later 
 Bastien called again, demanding a personal interview 
 with Eobert. The two were closeted together, and 
 an animated conversation was heard to ensue. Loud 
 and violent exclamations and hasty steps somewhat 
 alarmed Veron, who listened, and presently heard a 
 struggle, and the voice of Eobert, as if half strangled, 
 exclaiming, " Thieves ! thieves ! murder," &c. 
 
 Bursting into the room, he found the pair engaged 
 in a deadly struggle, Eobert half suffocated, Bastien 
 pale and menacing. 
 
 At sight of V^ron, however, they started asunder ; 
 and Bastien, snatching his hat, slunk away. While 
 the other occupied himself in adjusting his disordered 
 dress, Yeron's quick eye detected lying on the table a 
 bond for 20,000 francs, apparently awaiting signature 
 — a pen ready filled lying beside it. 
 
 Eecommended to place himself under the protection 
 of the law, Eobert at once refused, alleging that the 
 quarrel concerned losses at play, and was their own 
 private affair; but when alone with Veron, who 
 appeared to be a gentleman not easily startled at 
 crime, Eobert confided to him that Bastien' s exactions 
 were becoming intolerable, and coolly proposed that 
 
Tlie Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 289 
 
 he should be lured into the house at Yersailles, 
 assassinated, and buried in the garden ! 
 
 Concerning this same Bastien, it was known that 
 he had failed in business at Grenoble, and to escape 
 his creditors came to Paris. Eobert being at this 
 time in the wine shop, Bastien- frequented the shop 
 as a customer, and after the disappearance of Madame 
 Houet, became an intimate friend of Eobert. 
 
 Not long after the scene above described, Eobert 
 and Veron returned to Versailles. One day the 
 former, who had made a visit of a few hours to Paris, 
 came back much excited, and informed Veron that the 
 villain Bastien had, by holding a pistol to his throat, 
 compelled him to affix his signature to a bond for 
 30,000 francs. 
 
 Again, Vdron, who was not fully in the confidence 
 of his friend, urged him to avail himself of the law's 
 protection ; and again Eobert, who had his own 
 reasons for keeping the law as long as possible at 
 arm's length, positively declined, declaring that he 
 preferred flight to the scandal that would be occa- 
 sioned, and with this view withdrew once more to 
 Dannemoine. 
 
 Here he remained unmolested tiU 1827, when his 
 persecutor suddenly pounced upon his retreat, and at the 
 
 19 
 
290 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 first visit compelled the Eoberts to accept twelve bills, 
 amounting in all to 6000 francs. Eobert had been 
 upon the point of changing his residence ; and his 
 wife, who had gone before to prepare their new abode 
 at Villeneuve-le-Eoi, had to be brought back to 
 Germiny to sign the required acceptances. 
 
 A stormy interview was overheard by the inn- 
 keeper at Germiny, who slept in the adjoining 
 chamber. 
 
 " Voyonsl' roared the voice of Bastien. " Did I do 
 this business, or did I not ?" 
 " Yes, you did," growled Eobert. 
 " Pay me, then." 
 
 " Helas, mon Dieu ! I must" said the other, 
 gloomily. 
 
 Nevertheless, he resisted. It was daybreak, and the 
 acceptances remained unsigned. 
 
 Later, Eobert sought out the host, and finding him 
 alone, gave him a crown, saying — 
 
 " There is a fellow here who wants money that I 
 cannot afibrd to give him. When you see us together 
 presently, I shall tell him I have not a sous in the 
 world, unless I borrow it. Then you shall lend me 
 this crown." 
 
 The host, however, declined the part assigned him 
 
The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 291 
 
 in this little comedy, and even revealed the proposi- 
 tion to Bastien. 
 
 " Ah, c'est comma 9a !" said the latter. " Tell him, 
 then, that there is not a wisp of straw in his house 
 that I cannot demand — nay, if I choose, I may turn 
 him out of doors to beg his bread." 
 
 Ultimately, Eobert paid the general bill, and the 
 parties left the house together. 
 
 Scenes of this description had already attracted the 
 notice of the police ; and it should be mentioned that, 
 in 1825, on the receipt of an anonymous communi- 
 cation, accusing Eobert and Bastien of the murder of 
 Mdme. Houet, a second inquiry had been instituted, 
 the two men being placed under surveillance the 
 while. It proved as fruitless as the former. The 
 absence of the corps du delit — in this case represented 
 by the body of the missing woman — ^paralysed the 
 arm of justice, and a second decree of "non-lieu " (no 
 ground for further inquiry) was reluctantly issued. 
 
 By some means never explained, Robert contrived 
 for a time to give his enem^? the slip. He retired to 
 ViUeneuve, and for five years was left in peace. But 
 one fatal day Bastien knocked at the door. He was 
 tired of rambling about the world, felt himself de- 
 clining in years ; wished to settle down as a quiet 
 
 19— a 
 
292 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 country gentleman ; and could he wish to find a more 
 suitable home than at Villeneuve, close to his faithful 
 old friend ? Meanwhile, he desired to inaugurate this 
 renewal of their intimacy by requiring his friend's 
 signature to a little bond of 40,000 francs. 
 
 Then burst out the secret that had made one of the 
 miscreants so long the slave of the other. 
 
 "Assassin!" thundered Bastien, incensed at Eobert's 
 refusal. " Do you wish me to mount the roof of your 
 house, and proclaim to every passer-by that Eobert is 
 the murderer of his mother-in-law ?" 
 
 Without a word Eobert turned and staggered down- 
 stairs, with no thought but immediate escape ; but in 
 doing so he encountered a friend and neighbour, one 
 rieury, who had been alarmed by the disturbance. 
 This man proposed at once to summon the police, 
 and give this coquin (Bastien) into custody. 
 
 " No, no — for God's sake !" ejaculated the other, 
 and, to the utter astonishment of Fleury, he dashed 
 once more upstairs, from whence he escaped by a 
 garret window into a loft, and so into the fields, while 
 Bastien waited for him beside the street door. 
 
 Some weeks now elapsed. Bastien had quitted 
 Villeneuve, and Eobert, warned by some means of 
 the welcome fact, returned to his house. 
 
The Skeleton of the Hue Vaugirard. 293 
 
 Here he was shortly after waited on by a person 
 named Gouvernant, in whom Bastien appeared to 
 have placed great confidence, and who had, at all 
 events, been given to understand by the latter that 
 he (Bastien) had Eobert at his mercy, on account of 
 a concealed crime. His mission was to renew the 
 money-claim, and his weapons for its enforcement 
 were two slips of paper — the one containing certain 
 names and addresses, the other the plan of a garden, 
 in a corner of which there was traced a red cross. 
 
 At sight of these credentials Eobert turned deadly 
 pale ; his knees trembled ; he reeled into a chair. 
 
 " The villain ! the monster !" he exclaimed. " When 
 he has stripped me of everything, who will assure me 
 that he will not take my head also ?" 
 
 The visitor, finding him utterly prostrate with 
 despair and terror, took his leave for the present, 
 making an appointment, however, to meet him at a 
 neighbouring inn. 
 
 Eobert, rightly suspecting that Bastien intended 
 to take part in the next interview, did not deem it 
 advisable to attend. Upon this, Bastien, losing all 
 self-control, furnished himself with a piece of chalk, 
 and going direct to Eobert's house, wrote upon the 
 street door : — 
 
294 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 " Bobert has murdered his mother-in-law, the widow 
 Houet" 
 
 That night the Eoberts disappeared from Yille- 
 neuve-le-Eoi. They had fled into Burgundy, passing 
 by Sens, towards Bourbonne-les-Bains. 
 
 Furious at this evasion, Bastien now gave himself 
 wholly up to projects of revenge. With judgment 
 blinded by rage, he went at once to the representatives 
 of the murdered woman, and denounced Eobert as the 
 author of that mysterious crime. And this time 
 justice struck effectually. It was requisite, moreover, 
 to strike at once, the French law forbidding to open 
 a fresh inquiry after the lapse of ten years from the 
 abandonment of the last. A few months, and the 
 murderers, however guilty, would be beyond the 
 attaint of law. 
 
 The first step, rather to the amazement of the in- 
 former, was directed against his own precious person. 
 A decree commanded the immediate arrest of M. 
 Bastien. In his pocket-book were found several im- 
 portant papers. Among others the following memo- 
 randum : — 
 
 " June, 1821.— M. Eobert. 
 
 " Hired cellar, Eue des Deux-Portes. 
 
 " Eue de Vaugirard, small house, with good fruit 
 garden. 
 
The Skeleton of the Bue Vaugirard. 295 
 
 "July, 1821.— Borrowed 700 francs. 
 
 "Later, received money to purchase spade, pick, 
 and watering-can. 
 
 " Same day — bought (Place de la Greve) half a 
 bushel of lime." 
 
 At the back of this memorandum was written :— 
 
 " Plan for murder of the Widow Houet by the 
 Roberts', for which purpose we have hired the 
 cellar, and afterwards the house, Eue de Vau- 
 girard." 
 
 There were found also fragments of letters, one of 
 which contained the following passage : — 
 
 "Unhappy Eobert! is it then decreed that you 
 shall not escape punishment for that crime you have 
 described to the man you have involved in it as 're- 
 volting ?' Have you forgotten the Eue de Vaugirard, 
 and the spot where your victim lies ? Never. Believe 
 that all is safe ! Time and the remains (debris) still 
 exist, undestroyed." 
 
 Another letter, or note, contained : — 
 
 " You and your wife — you are the murderers ! 
 Have you forgotten the cellar and the Eue de Vau- 
 girard, and the disappearance of your mother-in-law, 
 the 13th September, 1821 ? Do you fancy your crime 
 is expiated ? Man, your foot is on the scafibld ! 
 
296 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 Your idiot brother-in-law will enjoy the money. For 
 you there is only remorse !" 
 
 Annexed was a plan of the garden — Eue de Vau- 
 girard — including the red cross before described. 
 
 The last paper was as follows : — 
 
 " The Court has decreed that, as regards Bastien, 
 there is non-lieu" (no ground of process), "and as 
 regards Eobert, non-lieu quant a present. This decision 
 is final for Bastien, according to the legal maxim, Non 
 bis in idem. Not so for Eobert. Even were Bastien 
 to own himself guilty, he cannot again be prosecuted. 
 The judgment is irrevocable !" 
 
 This last note explains the man's audacity. He 
 doubtless believed his own safety as much assured as 
 was Eobert's destruction. 
 
 The new process was opened April 12th, 1833. 
 
 It was proved that the house and garden had in 
 effect been hired by Bastien of a Madame Blanchard, 
 from July, 1821, Bastien alleging that he wished to 
 settle in Paris to superintend the education of his 
 children. 
 
 One of his first acts had been to dismiss the 
 gardener hitherto attached to the place. No progress 
 seemed to have been made in furnishing the residence ; 
 and this circumstance, coupled with others of a doubt- 
 
Tlie Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 297 
 
 ful character, such, as strange nocturnal visitors, lights 
 in the garden, &c., and finally, the apparent absence 
 of everybody, awakened the suspicions of Madame 
 Blanchard. Obtaining the aid of the police, she 
 opened the doors and examined the premises, but 
 without making any discovery. The next day, Bastien, 
 made aware of the perquisition, returned Madame 
 Blanchard the keys, and paying a second quarter in 
 advance, announced that his wife had changed her 
 mind, and abandoned the idea of a residence in Paris. 
 
 While the new inquiry was progressing, the Eoberts 
 had been arrested, the papers found on Bastien clearly 
 implicating the woman in the crime, while they in- 
 dicated at the same time an adulterous connexion 
 with her. She was, however, subsequently released on 
 a decree of " non-lieu." 
 
 The case came to hearing on the 12th of August, 
 18^'} 3, before the Assize Court of the Seine, presided 
 over by M. Hardouin. An immense crowd filled the 
 court and its approaches, and those who had obtained 
 entrance gazed with awe and interest on the skeleton, 
 which, prepared by Dumoutier, lay upon the table in 
 the centre of the court, and formed the first terrible 
 witness of the crime about to be revealed. 
 
 Bastien was attired in a sky-blue coat, his eyes 
 
298 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 concealed by his immense green spectacles. He ap- 
 peared, by turns, sullen and restless. 
 
 Eobert was plainly dressed. His grey eyes were 
 constantly fixed on one point beside tbe judge, and 
 he seemed perfectly unconscious of the presence of 
 those around, replying to the questions put to him in 
 a low, confused voice. His age appeared to be about 
 sixty-four. Bastien was fifty-one. 
 
 Bastien was interrogated first. 
 
 In his answers he admitted having learned the 
 disappearance of Mdme. Houet very soon after it 
 occurred, and had received at different times conside- 
 rable sums of money from Eobert, whom he suspected 
 of having caused it. 
 
 (It was evident that his line of defence would be 
 that he had detected, and profited by, a crime, 
 although he had taken no part in its commission.) 
 
 He had had intimate relations with Eobert, and, at 
 the latter's request, had hired a cellar in the Eue des 
 Deux-Portes, and also a house and garden, Eue de 
 Vaugirard, in which to conceal contraband liquors. 
 
 Had he not in March, 1823, compelled Eobert to 
 sign a bond for 30,000 francs ? — He had. 
 
 In October, 1823, had he not written to Y&on a 
 letter containing threats against Eobert, and declaring 
 
The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 299 
 
 that the latter should give him whatever sums he 
 chose to demand ? — Possibly. He had received many 
 sums from Eobert, varying from 10 francs to 
 1 7,000, and all on the same ground — i.e., hush- 
 money. 
 
 President. — I will now tell you, Bastien, what has 
 emboldened you to bring this charge against Eobert 
 thus openly — a thing you dared not do in 1823. You 
 have been told by one Grouvernant that you have 
 no longer anything to fear, being placed beyond the 
 grasp of justice by the decree of " non-lieu." I have 
 to warn you that that is a mistake. 
 
 £as. — ^When I said I had nothing to fear, I meant 
 that I had nothing to accuse myself of. 
 
 Fres. — Eobert told you that he wanted the house 
 in the Eue de Yaugirard for smuggling purposes, by 
 which he hoped to make large profits, wherein you 
 would doubtless expect to participate. WeU, the 
 house remained unused. There was no sign of clan- 
 destine commerce — not a single bottle of wine. Yet, 
 you made no comment. Your companion not per- 
 sisting in the fraud you speak of — why did he conceal 
 his name behind yours ? 
 
 No answer. 
 
 Fres. — You, bought a spade and pickaxe. For 
 
300 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 what purpose ? The gardener must have possessed 
 such tools. 
 
 JBas. — He had been dismissed. 
 
 Pres. — You purchased lime. For what purpose ? 
 
 Bas. — Eobert told me it was to clean the kitchen. 
 
 (It was here shown from Bastien's notes that these 
 purchases had been made immediately after the 
 tenancy commenced, while the gardener was only dis- 
 missed a month later.) 
 
 A chemist then proved that the quantity of lime 
 covering the corpse amounted to two decalitres, 
 exactly half a bushel, as mentioned in Bastien's 
 papers. 
 
 Pres. — Bastien, this skeleton was found in a spot 
 of the garden precisely corresponding with the red 
 cross in your plan. It is that of the widow Houet. 
 Now, you have stated that she was strangled, and the 
 cord around her neck confirms it. How came you so 
 well informed ? 
 
 Bas. — Suspecting his secret, 1 one day said to him 
 bluntly : " Tell me, unhappy wretch, is it not true 
 that you are a murderer ? The soil here has been 
 lately disturbed. What sort of seed have you planted 
 here ?" Throwing himself on his knees, he answered, 
 " Monsieur Bastien, have pity on me. I will give 
 
The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 301 
 
 you whatever you ask. All I have is at your com- 
 mand." That is all that passed. I had the power to 
 take his money, and, mafoi, I used it. 
 
 Pres. — ^How did you know the deceased was 
 strangled ? 
 
 Bas. — Eobert told me everything. 
 
 Pres. — In one of your disputes with Eobert, you 
 were heard to say, " This is dangerous talk. It will 
 cost three heads !" What did you mean by that ? 
 
 Bas. — I meant his head, and — and his wife's — 
 perhaps my own also ; for I should have blown out 
 Eobert's brains, and then my own. 
 
 Pres. — A doubtful explanation. Why, at the 
 inquiry in 1824, did you not reveal all this? 
 
 Bas. — It was against my interests. Eobert was 
 my vache a lait (milch cow). 
 
 The interrogation of Eobert was commenced. The 
 accused retained his downcast demeanour, and kept 
 his eyes on the ground. 
 
 Pres. — Eobert, you were on bad terms with your 
 mother-in-law. She at one time forbade your visits ; 
 while, on the other hand, you complained of her 
 extravagant habits, saying that she persisted in 
 speculating in lotteries, and would have nothing to 
 leave you and your wife at her death. 
 
302 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 Bob. — I could not have said so, knowing nothing 
 on the subject. 
 
 Pres. — She lent you various sums ? 
 
 Rob. — ^About 10,000 francs in all — ^no more. I 
 never asked her for a penny. 
 
 Pres. — Speak louder, if you please. 
 
 Rob. — My voice is naturally weak. 
 
 Pres. — ^Do you believe that your mother-in-law was 
 murdered ? 
 
 Rob. — I neither know nor believe it. 
 
 Pres. — Tou had an interest in her death. At that 
 period you were a ruined man. 
 
 Rob. — 1 have never been ruined. I sold my busi- 
 ness for 1800 francs, and I had goods to the value of 
 3000 more. 
 
 Pres. — By your mother-in-law's will, you have only 
 recently come into actual possession of what you 
 expected. Meantime, your income has not exceeded 
 1500 francs. In this condition, you actually signed 
 a bond to Bastien for 20,000 francs. Why ? 
 
 Rob. — I will explain the whole. I desired to place 
 what money I had left in a certain manufactory. It 
 was not sufl&cient. "Walking one day with Bastien in 
 the Palais Eoyal, he observed to me that if we could 
 raise a little money we could do a very good stroke 
 
The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 303 
 
 of business. Presently we met a gentleman, then 
 two others — to all of whom Bastien spoke. Then 
 he said to me, " One of these men will give us 6000 
 francs, another 3000. This looks well for the manu- 
 factory." It was now late, and I wished to go home. 
 Bastien detained me, saying it was not late. " It is 
 ten o'clock," said I. " I bet it is nothing of the 
 kind," said he. " I accept it," was my answer. " Five 
 hundred — ^ten thousand francs," he shouted. " Twenty 
 thousand !" I replied, thinking the whole a jest. It 
 turned out that I was wrong, and, because I would 
 not pay 20,000 francs he called me rascal and cheat. 
 Next day he came and demanded a bond for that 
 sum. I refused. " Beware," he said ; " this will 
 cost three lives." I ran from him. He followed, 
 calling out that he would put up with the wrong — 
 that he had behaved badly. But he had bought 
 some wood and had not the means to pay for it. How 
 much did he need, I asked. " Three thousand francs." 
 I gave it, and later, 4000 more. And that ended the 
 affair. 
 
 Pres. — One hardly pays such sums for a bet of such 
 a kind. 
 
 Rob. (with some quickness). — Monsieur, to judge 
 of that, one must know the people. 
 
304 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 Pres. — Attend, Eobert. It seems more probable 
 that you incited some one to this crime, than that 
 you committed it yourself. 
 
 Bob. — ^Ah, monsieur — ^impossible ! 
 
 Pres. — Of what, then, were you afraid? 
 
 Bob. — Of all these people — Bastien, Grouvemant, 
 Yeron, believing them to belong to the band of 
 Vidocq (the well-known agent of police). 
 
 Bos. — ^I deny it altogether. 
 
 Pres. — ^Did you, Eobert, send money to Bastien in 
 prison ? 
 
 Bob. — Never, monsieur. 
 
 Pres. — Bastien, what say y6u ? 
 
 Bas. — He sent me ten, twenty, and sometimes a 
 hundred francs at a time. 
 
 At this answer of his co-accused, Eobert entered 
 into a long and confused explanation, made still more 
 unintelligible by his weak voice ; at the close of which 
 witnesses were called. 
 
 A laundress. Esprit, deposed that she had heard 
 Mdme. Houet declare that she would die by the hand 
 of her son-in-law. After the disappearance, Eobert 
 came to the house as if to make inquiries. Witness 
 replied bluntly that he knew most about it, and would 
 do better to follow up the inquiry without seeking to 
 
The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 305 
 
 inculpate his idiot brother-in-law. " You suspect 
 me?" 
 
 " As I was about to answer," continued the witness, 
 " he hastilj begged me to speak lower, which I, 
 having no cause to fear being overheard, refused to do." 
 On this he hastened away. 
 
 Chevenaux, a porter, testified that within a few 
 days of the disappearance Eobert came to his lodge, 
 and observed, " If ever you are summoned, you will 
 be able to bear witness that I was at home." 
 
 Madame Lecqq had seen Eobert watching at his 
 house-door on the day of the disappearance. When 
 it was announced to him, he remarked to witness : 
 " My little neighbour, this misfortune happened that 
 very day we had that pleasant chat together. You 
 remember? So that if they should question you 
 about me, you wiU be able to say that you saw me at 
 work in the coal-yard. But " (added witness), " I could 
 not say that, for I was uneasy at Eobert's strange 
 manner, and went away on pretence of taking my 
 husband his dinner." 
 
 Pres. — These are singular precautions, Eobert. 
 
 ^0^, — It is possible ; but I remember nothing of 
 
 the sort. 
 
 At this point of the inquiry the medical professors 
 
 20 
 
306 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 came forward, and were requested to uncover thi? 
 skeleton. As the white sheet and green veil con- 
 I cealing the object were slowly withdrawn, revealing 
 the remains of the murdered woman, with the bones 
 and even the cartilages completely displayed, a lively 
 agitation pervaded the crowded assembly. The 
 accused men alone preserved their composure. 
 
 Pres. — Accused, look on these remains. Do you 
 recognise them? 
 
 Bastien replied : " "We have seen them." 
 
 Robert turned away his head. 
 
 The doctors repeated the description already given, 
 adding that the deceased had been murdered by stran- 
 gulation without suspension. 
 
 Veron, the friend of Eobert, in 1823, related the 
 quarrel between the latter and Bastien : — " You owe 
 me 20,000 francs," said Bastien; "pay me, or if 
 not " When Eobert and witness went out toge- 
 ther, Eobert said : " I am a wretched man. Are you my 
 friend ? If you are, assist me now. We will make 
 an appointment with Bastien in the Eue de Mont- 
 reiul, kill the fellow, and bury him in the garden." 
 " But," I replied, " we are necessary to our families. 
 Such an act would never pass unpunished." A little 
 while after Bastien came to me, and said : " Are you 
 
The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 307 
 
 aware that Eobert has nmrdered his mother-in-law ?" 
 Such a communication, coupled with Eobert's refusal 
 to appeal to the protection of the police, appeared to 
 me," the witness concluded, " assez drdle " (odd 
 enough). 
 
 Pres. — In spite of this asses drdle proposal of 
 murder, you remained on friendly terms with 
 Eobert? 
 
 "^ii, — ^I merely continued to work with him as 
 
 before. 
 
 Noquet, a mason, stated, that being employed in 
 the house at Versailles once belonging to the deceased, 
 now her daughter's, Bastien came in, and, inviting 
 him to drink, questioned him concerning the widow's 
 property. Witness told him Eobert had inherited a 
 portion. " Ah !" said Bastien, " I thought he took 
 the whole." At that moment Eobert appears. Bas- 
 tien and he have a fierce quarrel. The police are 
 called in ; the case is heard ; and both men declare 
 that their dispute merely concerns a bet. They are 
 discharged, 
 
 Lebceuf, another witness of the quarrel, gave the 
 dialogue rnore precisely, as thus : — 
 
 Bob.— I owe you nothing, I teU you. 
 
 £as. — Liar and cheat ! 
 
 20— a 
 
308 The Skeleton of the Bue Vaugirard. 
 
 Wit. — Come, come, my children, wliat does all this 
 mean? 
 
 Bos. — That this fellow is a rascal ! 
 
 Wit. — Bon ! Via du mic-mac. 
 
 Bob. — It is as much as life is worth to have to do 
 with a man like this ! 
 
 Wit. — One doesn't risk life on such a squahhle as 
 this. "What are your dealings with the citizen? 
 
 Bas. — Take care, Eobert. Three heads are in 
 danger ! 
 
 " I know that mine was all right," concluded the 
 witness, slowly and distinctly, " and I said : — 
 
 " ' Tiens, the business is that you have bribed this 
 man to murder your mother-in-law. A child might see 
 that!'" 
 
 One Masson, a master mason, stated that at this 
 point of the quarrel he had interposed, saying : — 
 
 " Well, well, pere Eobert, come and eat a cutlet. 
 This man means to kill you, and himself also ; never- 
 theless, a cutlet first !" 
 
 As they were eating, Eobert dropped his napkin. 
 Witness picked it up, and called Eobert's attention to 
 the fact that it was not a napkin, but part of a 
 chemise that had belonged to the deceased 
 woman. 
 
The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 309 
 
 " Ah, laisseg done qa /" exclaimed Eobert, much 
 agitated. " Do not disinter tlie dead !" 
 
 One Diensin deposed that he had lodged for some 
 time with Grouvernant, whom Bastien visited. One 
 day Gouvernant took him aside : " You see that big 
 fellow there !" pointing to Bastien. " He was accused 
 of a well-known murder. J.k, diable ! il sen a 
 ensauve" (he has scraped through it). They could 
 not bring it home. He's a lucky one — ce ff ail- 
 lard la !" 
 
 The examination of Grouvernant, the man so often 
 referred to by the other witnesses, created much 
 interest. This worthy, who called himself by the 
 elastic title of "agent," was at present a convict. 
 Though disqualified by law from giving testimony on 
 oath, he was admitted as a witness without it, his 
 evidence being taken for what it was worth. 
 
 Speaking with much assurance, he stated that he 
 had been on intimate terms with both the "messieurs" 
 accused. " One day," he continued, " Bastien came 
 to me and said, ' I know aU about the widow Houet, 
 and the author of it. They are searching in the 
 garden. So long as they keep away from the spot, I 
 shall be silent, for I hold a bond of 17,000 francs on 
 Eobert, and that would become worthless. But if 
 
310 The Skeleton of the Hue Vaugirard. 
 
 they " burn," I will confess all.' " Bastien was very 
 anxious and uneasy during the researches. 
 
 " I lost sight of both messieurs," continued the 
 witness, "until 1827, when I fell in with Bastien. 
 He told me things were going badly with him, and 
 related his adventures in pursuit of Eobert, who had 
 absconded, but whom he had now traced to Villeneuve- 
 le-Eoi. He then proposed to me to visit Eobert, and 
 try to extort something from him. I consented, on 
 condition that he (Bastien) should not himself enter 
 the town, because everybody, children and all, would 
 run after him, calling out, ' Here's JRoberfs man ! 
 Boberfs man's come !' 
 
 " He then gave me, as credentials, a plan of the 
 garden, having a red cro^s in one part, which he made 
 with a drop of rabbit's blood. 
 
 " I went to Eobert, and asked — ■ 
 
 " ' Are you the murderer, or are you not ? — ^yes or 
 no?' 
 
 " ' I don't know what you mean.' 
 
 " ' Well, I'll tell you.' So saying, I placed the 
 garden plan before him. 'Now tell me, have you 
 murdered the Widow Houet or not ?' 
 
 " ' What do you require of me ?' he asked. * This 
 Bastien is such a miscreant, that when he has 
 
The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 311 
 
 got all I possess, he is as likely as not to take my 
 life.' 
 
 " 'Don't fear that. When he has got all he can, 
 he'll let you alone.' 
 
 " ' Give me an hour to consider of it.' 
 
 " When we left the house we found a crowd assem- 
 bled, Bastien in the midst, crying out, ' Eobert is a 
 murderer !' 
 
 " 'How !' shouted the crowd ; ' Eobert ! — a house- 
 holder ! — a rentier ! — a man who played at bowls ! — 
 a man of substance ! C est-il possible ?' ' 
 
 " ' Well ?' cried Bastien, seeing me. 
 
 " ' He has asked for an hour.' 
 
 " ' Ah ! An hour ! I understand. See here !' 
 
 " It was then that he went and wrote on the house 
 door : — 
 
 " ' Robert murdered his mother-in-law, 8ept. \?>th, 
 1821.' 
 
 "Some days after Bastien came to me, and said, 
 ' How does this matter stand ? The decree of non- 
 lieu was only conditional as regards him ; for me it is 
 final — eh ?' 
 
 "I gave it as my opinion that they could still 
 prosecute him ; but only upon fresh testimony. 
 
 " Bastien seemed to consider that he had nothing to 
 
312 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 fear; but I warned him more than once that in im- 
 plicating Eobert he might seriously compromise him- 
 self. 
 
 " ' I am inclined/ said he, ' to denounce him to 
 the widow's representatives, and claim a reward.' 
 
 " ' How wiU that help you ? If the wife is declared 
 innocent, you wiU get nothing from them.' 
 
 " ' She is guilty — as guilty as her husband. I 
 could procure the condemnation of both as easily as 
 drink a glass of water.' 
 
 " ' Perhaps,' I objected, ' the body is decomposed, 
 bones and all, by this time.' 
 
 " ' In that case,' returned Bastien, ' I engage to 
 find at least a wedding-ring' " 
 
 Pres. (to Bastien). — Bastien, how did you know 
 there would be a ring? According to you, Eobert 
 never told you. 
 
 Bos. — He must have done so. Besides, one might 
 guess that a woman wore a ring. 
 
 The witness Gouvernant continued, and alleged that 
 Bastien had declared that the woman had been 
 strangled. 
 
 Fres. — Explain this, Bastien. 
 
 Bos. — Eobert told me. He said he had strangled 
 his mother-in-law, and buried her on the spot. 
 
TTie Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 313 
 
 Pres. — Who prepared tlie grave ? 
 
 Bos. — He himself, the night before. 
 
 liobert here interposed. 
 
 " It is all false, I swear. There is an understanding 
 between the witnesses. Gouvernant is an agent of 
 police, first-class. Bastien is an agent of Yidocq. 
 Give me ten minutes, and I wiU explain everything." 
 
 " This monsieur," remarked Gouvernant, demurely, 
 " calls me mouchard (police-spy). He takes every one 
 that approaches him for a gendarme or a spy." 
 
 Pres. — ^With respect to the ring ? 
 
 The witness Diensin, already examined, deposed 
 that Gouvernant told him that Bastien wore on his 
 little finger the ring of the murdered woman. 
 
 This exhausted the list of witnesses. 
 
 The accused Eobert, who had manifested great 
 impatience to be heard, now commenced his defence. 
 This consisted of a rather more minute than inte- 
 resting narrative of his early life, from which it 
 appeared that he had been a man so devoted to honest 
 labour, that he frequently painted, glazed, and plumbed, 
 for nothing- " Faites excuse," said Eobert, checking 
 himself at this point, " I once accepted a bottle of 
 wine, and in vintage-time I " 
 
 Eecalled by the President to the case at issue, 
 
314 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 Eobert proposed to favour the Court with a few- 
 details concerning his early disputes with his mother- 
 in-law. These, however, the President pronounced ir- 
 relevant to the process, and Eobert sat down, apparently 
 not ill-satisfied with the impression he had made. 
 
 The Court now announced its intention to leave to 
 the jury this question — Had Eobert, by gifts or pro- 
 mises, procured the murder of the deceased Widow 
 Houet. 
 
 " Incapable, man cher Monsieur" said Eobert. " In- 
 capable of anything of the kind ! I am not a man 
 to say one thing and mean another." 
 
 The Advocate-General Bayeux summed up the 
 evidence in a speech that neither for its eloquence 
 nor its lucidity would repay the reproduction. The 
 case, however, was too precise and clear to be injured 
 by any shortcomings in its advocate. He included 
 both the accused in his denunciation, and confidently 
 demanded their conviction. 
 
 The advocates for the defence did their best to shift 
 from one prisoner to the other the weight of guilt, 
 after which the President charged the jury, who retired, 
 and remained in deliberation during two hours and 
 a half. 
 
 On reappearing, their verdict established the fact 
 
The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 315 
 
 of murder. Bastien was pronounced guilty of the 
 crime with premeditation. 
 
 Robert was found guilty of having procured the 
 murder; but acquitted of actual participation 
 in it. 
 
 To the astonishment of every, one, including the. 
 judges, attenuating circumstances were admitted. 
 
 The prisoners were brought in. Bastien was calm. 
 His companion's face betrayed poignant anxiety, and 
 on hearing his comparative acquittal, he staggered, 
 and would have fallen, had not a bystander supported 
 his trembling form. 
 
 Both were sentenced to exposure on a scaffold, and 
 travaux forces for life. 
 
 At the moment of passing sentence Bastien had 
 made a slight movement, but without the slightest 
 change of feature. However, on being conducted to 
 his cell, he turned suddenly pale, and sank on a seat. 
 On examination his hand was found covered with 
 blood, and convulsively clutching a pair of scissors, 
 with which he had stabbed himself in the left breast. 
 The wound was slight. 
 
 The two convicts appealed ; but their appeal was 
 rejected, and November 36th they underwent " expo- 
 sition " in the Square before the Palais de Justice. 
 
816 The Skeleton of the Rue Vaugirard. 
 
 The crowd uttered ferocious cries and ribald jests : 
 "Down with the murderers!" "To the guillotine 
 with them !" " Monsters ! the law is too gentle for 
 such as you !" &c. &c. j 
 
 Public opinion sometimes corrects the decision of 
 an enlightened jury ! 
 
XI. 
 
 A FRENCH WOLF. 
 
 TN March., 1862, the chance of continental 
 travel brought under the writer's personal 
 notice the consummation of a history of horror 
 not perhaps to be surpassed in the most carefully 
 elaborated page of French romance. The narra- 
 tive of facts so frightful would indeed be a barren 
 as well as painful task, did not the case in question 
 present certain novel aspects worthy of attention. 
 
 The neighbourhood of Montluel — a smaU town 
 about twelve miles from Lyons, on the road to 
 Geneva — enjoys a traditionary iU repute. Across the 
 plain of Valbonne, on which it stands, may be seen 
 the glimmer of two white houses — the Great and 
 Little Dangerous — so called from ha.ving been in 
 former days the scene of many deeds of lawless 
 violence. The country around is broken, sparsely in- 
 habited, and dotted with patches of dense and sombre 
 woodland, sometimes reaching almost to the dimen- 
 
318 A French Wolf. 
 
 sions of forests. A better locality no robber could 
 desire. 
 
 Now, for six years, dating from February, 'fifty-five, 
 the ancient bad reputation of this precinct had been 
 resuscitated. On the 8th of February, 'fifty-five, 
 some sportsmen, threading the thickets of Montaverne, 
 came on the corpse of a young female, covered with 
 blood, which had proceeded from six terrible wounds 
 in the head and face. The body was stripped, and 
 had been subjected to gross outrage. A handkerchief, 
 collar, black-lace cap, and a pair of shoes, were picked 
 up close at hand. By the aid of these things, the 
 deceased was soon identified as Marie Baday, late a 
 servant at Lyons, which city she had quitted three 
 days before. She had stated as the reason for her 
 departure, that a man from the country had offered 
 her a good situation in the neighbourhood, provided 
 she could take it at once. Precisely similar proposals 
 had been made, on the very same day, to another 
 servant girl, Marie Cart : the agent being a country- 
 looking man, aged about fifty, and having a noticeable 
 scar or swelling on the upper lip. Marie Cart post- 
 poned her answer until the 4th of March : a circum- 
 stance which probably induced the suspected person 
 to address himself, in the interim, to Marie Baday. 
 
A French Woif. 319 
 
 On the 4tli of March, the same man called again 
 upon Marie Cart, who finally declined his ofier, but 
 introduced him to a friend of hers, Olympe Alabert — 
 also a servant — who, tempted with what she con- 
 sidered an advantageous proposal, closed with it, and 
 left Lyons under the guidance of the supposed 
 countryman. Night was falling as they entered the 
 wood of Montaverne, in which, a few days before, the 
 body of Marie Baday had been found. Acting on a 
 sudden impulse, induced, perhaps, by the gloomy 
 solitude of the place, the girl quitted her conductor, 
 and sought refuge in a neighbouring farm. 
 
 At this point — strange as it seems, considering on 
 what a stratum of crime they had touched — the dis- 
 coveries of the police ended for that time. 
 
 In the month of September following, a man, an- 
 swering in every point to the former description, 
 induced a girl, named Josephte Charlety, to accom- 
 pany him to a pretended situation as a domestic 
 servant, and both left the city together. Their way 
 led through cross roads ; untU, night coming on, the 
 girl — ^hke Olympe Alabert — oppressed with a nameless 
 terror, fled to the nearest house. 
 
 On the 31st of October, the wolf again visited the 
 fold, and selected Jeanne Bourgeois, another servant 
 
320 A French Wolf. 
 
 girl. But once more an opportune misgiving saved the 
 intended prey. In tlie succeeding month, the wolf 
 made choice of one Victorine Perrin ; but, on this 
 occasion, being crossed by some travellers, it was the 
 wolf who took to flight, carrying with him the girl's 
 trunk, containing all her clothes and money. None 
 of these incidents seemed to have provoked much 
 attention from the authorities ; and horrible deeds 
 actually in course of commission were only brought 
 to light by the almost miraculous escape of another 
 proposed victim, Marie Pichon. 
 
 On the 26th of May, '61, at eleven o'clock at night, 
 a woman knocked wildly at the door of a farm, in the 
 village of Balan, demanding help against an assassin. 
 Her bruised and wounded face, torn garments, 
 shoeless feet, all bore testimony to the imminence of 
 the danger from which she had escaped. Conducted 
 to the brigade of gendarmerie at Montluel, she made 
 the following statement : listened to at the subsequent 
 trial with breathless interest : " To-day, at two o'clock, 
 I was crossing the bridge La Guillotifere, at Lyons, 
 when a man I had not before observed, but who must 
 have been following me, plucked my dress and asked 
 if I could tell him in what street the Servants' Office 
 was situated. I mentioned two, adding that I was 
 
A French Wolf. 321 
 
 myself about to visit tlie latter. He asked if I were 
 in search of a place. 'Tes.' 'Then,' said he, 'I 
 have exactly the thing to suit you. I am gardener 
 at a chateau near Montluel, and my mistress has sent 
 me to Lyons with positive orders to bring back a 
 house-servant, cost what it may.' He enumerated 
 the advantages I should enjoy, and said that the 
 work would be very light, and the wages two hundred 
 and fifty francs, besides many Christmas-boxes. A 
 married daughter of his mistress paid her frequent 
 visits, and always left five francs on the mantelpiece 
 for the maid. He added, that I should be expected 
 to attend mass regularly. 
 
 "The appearance, language, and manner of the 
 man gave me so strong an impression of good faith, 
 that, without a minute's hesitation, I accepted his 
 offer, and we accordingly left by the train, which 
 arrived at Montluel about nightfall — half-past seven 
 Placing my trunk upon his shoulder he desired me 
 to follow, saying we had now a walk of an hour and 
 a half, but that, by taking cross paths, we should 
 quickly reach our destination. I carried in one 
 hand a little box : in the other, my basket and 
 umbrella. We crossed the railway and walked for 
 some distance along the parallel road, when the man 
 
 21 
 
322 A French Wolf. 
 
 turned suddenly to the left and led me down a steep 
 descent, skirted on both sides by thick bushes. Pre- 
 sently he faced round, saying that my trunk fatigued 
 him ; that he would conceal it in a thicket, and come 
 back for it with a carriage on the morrow. We then 
 abandoned the path altogether, crossed several fields, 
 and came to a coppice, in which he hid the trunk, 
 saying we should presently see the chateau. After 
 this, we traversed other fields, twice crossing over 
 places that looked like dried-up watercourses, and 
 finally, through very difficult ways, rather scrambling 
 than walking, arrived at the summit of a little hill. 
 
 " I must mention something that had attracted my 
 attention. Throughout the walk my guide seemed 
 remarkably .attentive, constantly cautioning me to 
 mind my steps, and assisted me carefully over every 
 obstacle. Immediately after crossing the hill I spoke 
 of, his movements began to give me uneasiness. In 
 passing some vines he tried to pull up a large stake. 
 It, however, resisted his efibrts, and, as I was follow- 
 ing close on his heels, he did not persevere. A little 
 farther, he stooped down and seemed to be endeavour- 
 ing to pick up one of the lar>ge stones that lay about. 
 Though now seriously alarmed, I asked, with all the 
 indifference I could command, what he was looking 
 
A French Wolf. 323 
 
 for. He made an unintelligible reply,, and presently 
 repeated the manoeuvre. Again I inquired what he 
 was looking for, — Had he lost anythicg ? ' Nothing, 
 nothing,' he replied ; ' it was only a plant I meant to 
 pick for my garden,' Other singular movements 
 kept me in a state of feverish alarm. I observed 
 that he several times lagged behind, and, whenever 
 he did so, moved his hands about under his blouse, 
 as though in search of a weapon. I was frozen with 
 terror. Kun away I durst not, for I felt he would 
 pursue me ; but I constantly urged him to lead the 
 way, assuring him I would follow. 
 
 "In this way we reached the top of another small 
 hill, on which ^tood a half-built cottage. There was 
 a cabbage-garden and a good wheel-road. My very 
 fear now gave me the necessary courage. I resolved 
 to go no farther, and at once said, ' I see you have 
 led me wrong. I shall stop here.' Hardly had the 
 words left my mouth when he turned sharply round, 
 stretched his arms above my head, and let fall a 
 cord with a running noose. We were at this moment 
 almost in contact. Instinctively, I let fall everything 
 I carried, and with both hands seized the man's two 
 arms, pushing him from me with all ray strength. 
 This movement saved me. The cord, which was 
 
 21—2 
 
324 A French Wolf. 
 
 already round my head, only cauglit and pulled off 
 my cap. I shrieked out, ' My God ! my Grod ! I am 
 lost!' 
 
 "I was too much agitated to ohserve why the 
 assassin did not repeat his attack. All I recollect is 
 that the cord was still in his hand. I caught up 
 my hox and umbrella, and flew down the hill. In 
 crossing a little ditch, I fell and bruised myself 
 severely, losing my umbrella. Fear, however, gave 
 me strength. I heard the heavy steps of the murderer 
 in pursuit, and was on my legs again in an instant, run- 
 ning for life. At that moment, the moon rose above 
 the trees on my left, and I saw the glimmer of a 
 white house on the plain. Towards this I flew, 
 crossing the railway, and falling repeatedly in my 
 headlong course. Soon I saw lights. It was Balan. 
 I stopped at the first house. A man ran out, and I 
 was saved." 
 
 Such was Marie Pichon's narrative. The autho- 
 rities, now fully aroused, at once commenced a 
 searching inquiry. Ultimately, the eye of justice 
 rested on a certain small house in the little hamlet of 
 Dumollard. Village gossip spoke unreservedly of 
 the skulking nocturnal habits of its master — the 
 stern, unsocial manners of his wife. Their name was 
 
A French Wolf. 325 
 
 the same as the village, Dumollard: a very common 
 name in that district. The man had a peculiar scar 
 or tumour on his upper lip. 
 
 The magistrates at once waited upon Dumollard, 
 and requested an explanation of the employment of 
 his time on the day and night of the 28th of May. 
 The answers being evasive, and certain articles in the 
 house wearing a very suspicious look, Dumollard was 
 given into custody, conveyed to Trevoux, and in- 
 stantly identified by Marie Pichon as her assailant. 
 Meanwhile, a search in his house resulted in the dis- 
 covery of an immense accumulation of articles,evidently 
 the produce of plunder — clothes, linen, pieces of lace, 
 ribbons, gowns, handkerchiefs, shoes — in a word, 
 every species of articles that might have belonged to 
 girls of the servant class. Very many of these bore 
 traces of blood : others had been roughly washed and 
 wrung out. These objects amounted in all to twelve 
 hundred and fifty. " The man must have a charnel 
 somewhere," said one of the searchers. 
 
 It was next ascertained that, in November, '58, 
 Dumollard was seen to alight one evening at the 
 station of Montluel, accompanied by a young woman, 
 whose luggage he deposited in the ofiBce, saying that 
 he would call for it next day. It was never claimed. 
 
326 A French Wolf. 
 
 " On the night you mean," said the wife of Dumol- 
 lard — who, after the search in the house, had been 
 likewise taken into custody, and now showed a dispo- 
 sition to confess — " DumoUard camp hom« very late, 
 bringing a silver watch and some blood-stained 
 clothes. He gave me the latter to wash, only saying, 
 in his short way, ' I have killed a girl in Montmain 
 Wood, and I am going back to bury her.' He took 
 his pickaxe, and went out. The next day he wanted 
 to claim the girl's luggage, but I dissuaded him from 
 doing so." 
 
 In order to verify this statement, the magistrates, 
 on the 31st of July, '61, repaired to Montmain Wood, 
 taking with them the two accused. For some hours 
 all their searches proved fruitless, the woman declaring 
 her inability to point out the precise spot, and the 
 man preserving a stolid silence. At length some 
 appearance of a tumulus was detected among the 
 bushes, and a few strokes of the pickaxe made visible 
 some bones. A circular trench was then carefully dug, 
 and a perfect female skeleton uncovered. The skull 
 presented a frightful fracture. Under it was found 
 some brown hair and a large double hair-pin. 
 
 The prisoners were now brought forward, and con- 
 fronted with the silent witness. 
 
A French Wolf. 327 
 
 The woman having volunteered further confession, 
 the party now proceeded to the wood Communes, also 
 near Montluel; but night coming on, investigation 
 was deferred till the next day. A great part of the 
 next day was passed in fruitless search, when, just as 
 the party prepared to return to Montluel with the 
 view of organizing explorations on a larger scale, 
 Dumollard suddenly declared that he would himself 
 point out the place they sought. 
 
 He thereupon guided them to a spot about fifty 
 yards deep in the wood. Here they laboured for 
 another hour with no better success, until one of the 
 officers noticed a slight displacement of the soil, pre- 
 senting some small fissures, from whence flies were 
 issuing. Above this spot two little shrubs, evidently 
 placed by design, had taken feeble root, 
 
 A stroke of the spade laid visible the back of a 
 human hand. Presently the body of a young female, 
 in complete preservation (owing to the character of the 
 soil), was exposed to view. The corpse lay on its 
 back, the left hand on the bosom, the fingers clutching 
 a clod of earth. Appearances favoured the frightful 
 conclusion that the victim had been buried while yet 
 alive and conscious. 
 
 The bearing of Dumollard in the presence of this 
 
328 A French Wolf. 
 
 new and terrible accuser, was as calm as ever. ]N'ot 
 the slightest trace of emotion was perceptible on his 
 stolid features. It was observed, nevertheless, that 
 he studiously avoided looking, as it were, on the face 
 of his victim. The magistrates seized the moment to 
 impress upon him the inutility of any further attempt 
 to evade justice, and invited him to make a full con- 
 fession. After a few moments of seeming irresolution, 
 he commenced the following recital : — 
 
 "One day in December, '53, I was accosted in 
 Lyons by two individuals of the farmer class, whose 
 manner and appearance won my unlimited confidence. 
 After treating me to wine at a neighbouring tavern, 
 they invited me to stroll on the quay, asked me a 
 multitude of questions, and finally proposed to me to 
 enter their service. I inquired the nature of the work 
 required of me. ' The abduction of young women,' 
 was the reply. ' You shall have forty francs for every 
 " prize," and if you remain with us twenty 
 years, we will guarantee you a hundred thousand 
 francs.' 
 
 " Such a proposal seemed far too advantageous to 
 be treated lightly," continued DumoUard. "They 
 gave me the necessary instructions, which were simple 
 enough. I was merely to look out for young females 
 
A French Wolf. 32 & 
 
 in search, of situations, offer them first-rate wages, and 
 conduct them beyond the town. 
 
 "A week later, we commenced operations on the 
 Place de la Charite. My first attempt failed ; but the 
 second woman I accosted listened to my story, ac- 
 cepted the pretended situation, and accompanied me 
 from the town. At the end of the suburbs my two 
 employers met me. I pretended to have forgotten 
 something, and, telling the girl these gentlemen were 
 friends of mine, requested her to go on with them, 
 promising to overtake tbem at Neyron. I lingered 
 about the spot for three hours, when the men returned, 
 and handed me a parcel, saying it was a present for 
 my wife. Opening it, I found a gown and chemise, 
 both stained with blood. I recognised the dress of 
 the woman I had brought, and demanded what had 
 become of her. ' You will not see her again,' was 
 the only reply. 
 
 * " On the way home I washed the clothes in the 
 fountain at Neyron, and gave them to my wife, saying 
 I had purchased them at Lyons. 
 
 " I never knew the exact place in which they mur- 
 dered the girl, but I think it must have been near the 
 bridge Du Barre, and that they flung the body into the 
 Rhone. I think so, because one day in the ensuing 
 
330 A French Wolf: 
 
 summer, while crossing that bridge in their company, 
 one of them remarked, 'We have sent two bodies 
 under this bridge already.' And this I understood 
 to imply two other murders, anterior to that I have 
 mentioned. 
 
 "Nothing remarkable happened until February, 
 '55, when my two friends met me by appointment at 
 a wine-shop, and brought with them a young female 
 of dark complexion, with whom and the men I set 
 forth, and proceeded as far as the road leading from 
 Miribel to Eomaneche, which passes through the 
 wood. Here I sat down, declaring I would go no 
 farther. They tried to persuade me to proceed, but 
 finding me determined, presently pursued their way, 
 taking with them the girl. 
 
 " I waited two hours. No cry reached my ears. 
 Still I had a presentiment of something wrong. The 
 men returned alone, saying they had left the girl at 
 a farm. As they brought no clothes with them, •! 
 was inclined to believe their story. We then parted, 
 and I returned home." 
 
 [This was, no doubt, the unfortunate Marie Baday.] 
 
 " Nothing occurred for two years, during which I 
 had occasional interviews with my two friends ; at 
 length, in December, '58, I fell in with them on the 
 
A French Wolf. 331 
 
 Quai de Perrache. They told me they had something 
 pn hand, would I come ? I consented, and they left 
 me ; presently returning with a young girl, with 
 ■yv^hom we started by the rail for Montluel. It was 
 dark when we arrived, and the men, taking me aside, 
 requested me to guide them to some secluded spot, 
 indicating the wood of Choisey. I told them it was 
 too close to the high road ; it would be better to go 
 on farther. Presently we reached the edge of Mont- 
 main Wood. T/iat, I told them, would do. 
 
 "They left me seated by the roadside. Soon I 
 heard one loud scream, about three hundred yards 
 distant ; then profound silence. In a few minutes the 
 men returned, bringing a silver watch and «ome 
 clothes. I told them I had heard a scream, and 
 asked if she had suffered much? 'No,' they an- 
 swered ; ' we gave her one blow on the head, and 
 another in the side, and that did the business.' 
 
 " We knew that the body of Marie Eaday had been 
 found, and it was judged prudent to bury this new 
 corpse. I therefore ran to my house for the tools, 
 and at the same time gave my wife the watch, and the 
 clothes, which were stained with blood. She ask^d 
 me whence they came ? Thinking that if I accused 
 others she would not believe me, and relying, like a 
 
3'32 A French Wolj'. 
 
 fool, on her discretion, I replied tliat they had be- 
 longed to a girl I had killed, and was about to bury, 
 in Montmain Wood. I then went back to my friends, 
 who dug a shallow grave, and concealed the body, 
 while I sat by." 
 
 _^[This was the victim — never identified — whose 
 skeleton was exhumed, as before mentioned, on the 
 31st July, '61.J 
 
 Dumollard referred to certain other attempts, which 
 had failed, owing to the suspicions of the intended 
 victims, and continued — 
 
 "I must speak now of this girl, Marie Eulalie 
 Bussod, whose body lies before us. I accosted her 
 one day on the bridge La Gruillotiere, and asked her 
 if she would accept a good place in the country, 
 offering two hundred francs. She required two 
 hundred and ten, and we went to the residence of her 
 sister to discuss the matter, where I agreed to her 
 terms. At the end of a week I returned, and escorted 
 her to the station at Brotteaux, where I had, in the 
 interim, desired my two employers to meet me. They 
 came, and I introduced them to Marie Bussod as 
 friends and neighbours of mine, who would accompany 
 us some little distance after quitting the rail. 
 
 " It was dark when we reached Montluel, and I had 
 
A French Wolf. 833 
 
 to act as guide, carrying the girl's trunk. 'What a 
 lovely creature !' whispered one of my friends to me 
 as we set out. 
 
 " I led the way towards the wood Communes — a 
 wild, retired spot — following a path, almost oblite- 
 rated, towards Croix-Martel. Here I hid the trunk 
 among some bushes, assuring the girl I would return 
 for it in the morning. 
 
 "Somehow, at this point, my courage failed me. 
 I told my friends I could go no farther ; at the same 
 time, however, pointing out to them Communes Wood, 
 which lay but a few paces distant. In two hours the 
 men returned, bringing some clothes and a pair of 
 gold ear-rings, which they gave me for my wife. I 
 inquired what they had done with the girl ? ' Oh,' 
 said one, ' she got two blows on the head, and one in 
 the stomach. She made no great outcry.' I then 
 went home for a spade, and the men buried her here, 
 as you see. 
 
 " Marie Pichon would inevitably have suffered the 
 same fate, had not my two employers failed me at the 
 appointed place. I did not wish to do her any harm. 
 On the contrary, finding the men absent, I wished to 
 get rid of her, and, to frighten her, threw my arms 
 (not a cord, as she affirms) round her neck. I was 
 
334 A French Wolf. 
 
 glad to see' her run away. ' At least,' I thought, 
 ' they'll not get tMs one !' 
 
 " Some days later, finding an inquiry on foot, I 
 judged it prudent to destroy the effects of the girl 
 Bussod, and those of Pichon, and, assisted hy my wife, 
 buried them accordingly in the wood des EouUlonnes. 
 
 " Now I have told all. I have nothing more to 
 add." 
 
 It is almost needless to mention that the two mys- 
 terious persons on whom he affected to lay the burden 
 of these atrocious crimes had no real existence. 
 Unable to resist the proof of his own complicity, 
 DumoUard, as Eush did before him, saw no hope of 
 escape, save in conjuring up some individual more 
 guilty than himself. 
 
 The account against him now stood as follows : 
 
 Three women, unknown, murdered and flung into 
 the Ehone. 
 
 Murder of Marie Baday; body found in M6ntaverne. 
 
 Murder of a girl unknown ; skeleton found in 
 Montmain wood. 
 
 Murder of Marie Bussod ; body found in Communes 
 Wood. 
 
 Attempts at robbery and assassination on the 
 persons of the women Charlety, Alabert, Bourgeois, 
 
A French Wolf. 335 
 
 Perrin, Fargat, Michel, Pichon, and three others 
 unidentified. 
 
 Nor is it to be supposed that he confessed to all the 
 victims. Without dwelling on opinions which carried 
 the number of those actually murdered to twelve, 
 sixteen, eighteen, it maybe gathered from hints- let 
 fall at intervals by the female prisoner, as well as from 
 the vast accumulation of clothes and the like (among 
 which were numerous articles which must have be- 
 longed to children of nine or ten years old), that these 
 intermediate periods described by DumoUard as pre- 
 senting " nothing remarkable," were stained with 
 deeds as horrible as those coiifessed to : deeds, 
 perhaps, never to be revealed on earth. 
 
 The trial commenced on the twenty-ninth of 
 January, 1863, at the assizes of the Ain, sitting 
 at Bourg: the woman DumoUard being included 
 in the act of accusation. It lasted four days. 
 Through the politeness of the oflScials it was not 
 difficult for a stranger to obtain an excellent place in 
 the crowded hall, and the temptation of witnessing 
 an important French criminal trial was too great to 
 be resisted by the passing traveller who writes this 
 account of it. 
 
 The proceedings commenced at ten o'clock, under 
 
336 A French Wolf. 
 
 the presidency of M. Marillat, of the Imperial Court 
 of Lyons : the Procureur-Greneral on his right, the 
 Procureur-Imperial on his left ; and the magistrates of 
 Bourg, Trevoux, and Montluel on the bench behind. 
 
 A short pause, and the prisoner appeared, escorted 
 by four gendarmes, his wife following. 
 
 " There he is ! There he is !" murmured the 
 assembly. 
 
 " Yes, here I am !" retorted the prisoner, waving 
 his hat, as a popular candidate might at an election. 
 
 He was placed on a bench at a little distance from 
 his wife, and had the appearance of a hale rustic of 
 fifty or thereabouts ; his hair, beard, and moustache, 
 thick and dark ; his nose aquiline ; eyes blue, round, 
 and very prominent ; his whole expression singularly 
 calm and self-possessed. The swelling on his upper 
 lip, by which he had been more than once identified, 
 was very apparent. He had told the jailer that it 
 was occasioned by the sting of a poisonous fly. 
 
 The phrenological development of this man pre- 
 sented some extraordinary traits. The skuU, enor- 
 mously large at the base, sloped upward and back- 
 ward, nntil it terminated almost in a cone — a point 
 too acute to be appreciated without passing the hand 
 through his thick hair. The organs of destructive- 
 
A French Wolf. 337 
 
 ness, circumspection, and self-reliance, exhibited the 
 most marked development. In front, the skull rapidly- 
 receding, presented, indeed, a "forehead villainous 
 low." From the root of the nose to the root 
 of the hair, it did not exceed three inches. The 
 organs of comparison, causality, ideality, &c., were 
 all but imperceptible ; nay, in some instances, pre- 
 sented an actual depression. In a word, the cruel, 
 brute-like character of this head was due rather to the 
 absence of almost every good feature, than to the 
 extreme development of the bad. It was a type of 
 skull commonly found among nations yet beyond the 
 pale of civilization. 
 
 The jury having been impanneUed, and two sup- 
 plementary jurors having been chosen by lot to 
 supply the places of any who might, from illness or 
 other cause, be disqualified from sitting out the trial, 
 the indictment was read. 
 
 Scarcely had the last word dropped from the ojQGicer's 
 lips than DumoUard rose, and beckoned eagerly to 
 his counsel, M. Lardiere. The latter approached. 
 
 " There is a draught of air somewhere," said the 
 prisoner, " which really annoys me excessively. Can 
 nothing be done to remedy it ?" 
 
 This important matter arranged to the prisoner's 
 
 22 
 
338 A French Wolf. 
 
 satisfaction, the list of witnesses — seventy in number — 
 was read aloud — all (save one, deceased) answering to 
 their names. 
 
 Next came the interrogatory ; that doubtful feature 
 in the otherwise excellent system of French criminal 
 procedure. It was conducted, however, in the present 
 instance, with dignity and fairness. DumoUard was 
 questioned on his domestic relations. 
 
 " Your father was a Hungarian ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What became of him ?" 
 
 "I cannot say." (Then, hesitatingly :) " If you insist 
 upon my explaining, I will." 
 
 " Certainly. You are here to explain." 
 
 " My father was weU-to-do in his own land. My 
 mother told me that, in 1814, we went into Italy — 
 to Padua. There my father was taken prisoner by 
 the Austrians. "We never saw him again." 
 
 [A horrible story, but resting on very substantial 
 proof, and fully credited at Trevoux, held that Du- 
 moUard's father had been implicated in a plot against 
 the life of the Emperor of Austria. On being recog- 
 nised at Padua, the unhappy man was hastily tried, 
 and subjected to the punishment of "6cartelement," 
 
A French Wolf. 339 
 
 — i.e., the culprit being attaclied to four horses, is 
 dismembered.] 
 
 " It is said you have been accustomed to ill-treat 
 your wife ?" 
 
 " Never. Well, sometime?, when she has plagued 
 me very much, I may have forgotten myself for a 
 moment." 
 
 " You have been convicted of many offences ?" 
 
 " Once, only." 
 
 " How, once only ? We have here the record 
 of two convictions, at least. You have no means, 
 yet you do no work. You have borne the character 
 of a vagabond at war with society." 
 
 "Since I became the associate of those two wretches" 
 (the fictitious persons), "it has, indeed, been as you say." 
 
 " You live in singular privacy, forbidding your wife 
 to know her neighbours : — a rule so well observed 
 that, before your arrest, the mayor of your commune 
 knew nothing of you. You returned to your house 
 at unusual hours, using a password, ' Hardi,' as one 
 of your neighbours will prove." 
 
 " I may have done so, but not in the sense you 
 mean." 
 
 Questioned as to Mary Pichon, the prisoner's 
 
 22—2 
 
340 A French Wolf. 
 
 account corroborated hers, except that he reiterated 
 his assertion that his only object was to frighten her. 
 " But she declares you strove to strangle her with 
 a cord." 
 
 " That is false. If I had had such a purpose, I 
 should not have led her to a place where any alarm 
 might be heard." 
 
 " But why lead her thither at all ?'' 
 " My employers said to me, ' Eyes are upon you of 
 which you know nothing. If you betray us you are 
 lost.' That alarmed me." 
 
 " You have destroyed many of the effects of your 
 several victims. Why have you allowed so many to 
 remain ?" 
 
 " I preserved those articles," replied the prisoner, 
 with perfect gravity, "for the sake of the relations 
 of the deceased." 
 
 Dumollard being removed, his wife was brought 
 forward. There was nothing noticeable in her 
 appearance or demeanour. 
 
 She stated, in reply to various questions, that her 
 husband had twice brought her articles of dress which 
 he described as having been the property of women 
 murdered by him. She had noticed the blood marks, 
 but said nothing to her husband, with whom she lived 
 
A French Wolf. 341 
 
 on indiiFerent terms. He was frequently absent at 
 night, returning before dawn and using a watchword, 
 as stated. Though cognisant of his guilty practices, 
 she continued to live with him, being completely 
 cowed by his menaces. 
 
 The production in court of the stolen effects was 
 the next scene of the legal drama. These were 
 brought forward in two immense chests bound with 
 iron clasps, and sealed. 
 
 "Ah,tiens!" murmured the assembly. "Now for 
 the wardrobe of M. DumoUard !" 
 
 The articles were sorted, and placed, " chronologi- 
 cally," in heaps. There were seventy handkerchiefs, 
 fifty-seven pairs of stockings, twenty-eight scarves, 
 thirty-eight caps, ten corsets, nine gowns, and a mul- 
 titude of miscellaneous objects. 
 
 Witness after witness then entered the box, and 
 delivered their testimony with surprising terseness 
 and lucidity. Until the evidence of each was com- 
 plete, no interruption was offered, unless when the 
 President, observing that the witness was merely 
 corroborating matters already amply deposed to, 
 recalled the speaker to facts bearing more imme- 
 diately on the case. 
 
 Owing to this, and perhaps in some degree to the 
 
342 A French Wolf. 
 
 Trench facilities of expression, tlie trial proceeded 
 with great rapidity. 
 
 The sixth witness, Louis Cochet, was an odd-looking 
 little man, with a very excited manner. He was 
 Dumollard's next-door neigbour. He stated that he 
 had seen the prisoner come home at two in the 
 morning carrying a trunk. 
 
 " He muttered ' Hardi ! hardi !' at the door, and 
 was let in. The next day, he "said to Madame (the 
 female prisoner), ' Aha ! I have got the watchword ! 
 I avail myself of Monsieur's absence to call when it 
 suits me !' Then I asked what he did abroad so 
 late ? She grew red, and said drily, ' He has his own 
 affairs.' Oh, messieurs !" said the impressionable 
 little witness, bursting into tears, " I'm fifty-one. I 
 never was in a court of justice before. Now, indeed, 
 I know what frightful ' affairs ' this neighbour of 
 mine dealt in !" 
 
 The seventeenth witness, Dr. Montvenoux, detailed 
 the autopsy of the body of Marie Bussod, stating his 
 belief that she had been buried alive. 
 
 Hereupon the prisoner's counsel rose for the first 
 time. 
 
 " 1 desire," he said, " to know the witness's precise 
 reasons for this presumption. We have horrors 
 
A French Wolf. 343 
 
 enough to contend with, without this crowning 
 atrocity. The opinion of the medical witnesses has 
 already created a most painful sensation." 
 
 Dr. Montvenoux alleged, as his chief reasons^ that 
 the wound was not mortal, nor even severe ; that a 
 clod of the outer earth — not that which formed the 
 subsoil — was grasped in the hand ; and that the teeth 
 were set, as if in agony. 
 
 The court now adjourned for a few minutes. 
 Dumollard took a huge lump of bread-and-cheese 
 from his pocket, and began devouring it with the 
 appetite of an ogre. At this moment his eye happened 
 to fall on Marie Pichon, who was moving through the 
 court. Faithful to his plan of defence, he called out 
 to her: — 
 
 " Ah, malheureuse ! But for me, you would not 
 have been here now. Come and thank me for 
 rescuing you from those villains." 
 
 The girl made no reply ; but her sister, who accom- 
 panied her, retorted with such warmth and volubility 
 that the dialogue was checked by the officer of the 
 court. A curious little episode occurred in the 
 waiting-room. Marie Pichon, who was evidently 
 regarded as the heroine of the hour, and was distin- 
 guished by a very pleasing countenance and ingenuous 
 
344 A French Wolf. 
 
 manner, had been prevailed upon by a photographer 
 sent from Paris to sit for her picture. Just as she 
 had taken her position, a respectably-dressed woman 
 forced her way through the crowd, and running up 
 to Pichon, implored her to forbear, reminding her^ in 
 accordance with a popular belief which it seems existed, 
 that all women who have become associated in a 
 marked manner with great criminal processes — such 
 as Nina Lassave, Fieschi's mistress, " Madame " 
 Lacenaire, and others — came to some melancholy end. 
 
 Maria Pichon started : " Ah, mon Dieu ! monsieur, 
 spare me ! Do not put me beside that wretch !" she 
 exclaimed, and was instantly lost in the crowd. 
 
 The examination of the fifty-third witness produced 
 a most painful scene. This was Josephte Bussod, 
 sister of the murdered girl, who, with two other 
 sisters, appeared in deep mourning, and testified the 
 most profound grief. It was necessary that she should 
 identify the clothes of the deceased; and as each 
 familiar garment stained with her blood was in turn 
 held up, the tears and sobs of the witnesses redoubled, 
 and deeply affected the auditory. The prisoners alone 
 preserved their calmness. 
 
 " Do you recollect this dress ?" asked the President 
 of DumoUard. 
 
A French Wolf. 345 
 
 " Oh, perfectly." 
 
 " And you, Marianne Dumollard ?" 
 
 " Of course ; I have worn it." 
 
 "Have you not also worn a cap with marks of 
 blood?" 
 
 " Certainly not. I should have washedii," said the 
 woman. 
 
 "You fully recognise the prisoner?" asked the 
 President of the weeping witness. 
 
 " Eecognise him !" shrieked the poor girl, wringing 
 her hands with wild passion. " The miscreant ! the 
 monster ! He killed my sister — my poor Eulalie ! 
 But it is I, too — / that am guilty. 0, mon Dieu ! 
 mon Dieu ! I believed him ! I trusted him ! I made 
 her go with him — ^to death — ^to death ! And what a 
 death !" 
 
 She was carried out fainting. A gentleman sitting 
 near stated that since the discovery of her sister's fate 
 she had never ceased to accuse herself in this manner 
 as a sort of accomplice. 
 
 The Procureur- General gave a brief summary of 
 the case, claiming the extreme penalty of the law 
 against both the prisoners. 
 
 " One" he concluded, " as the participator in all 
 the robberies, the confederate of all the horrors that 
 
346 A French Wolf. 
 
 had preceded them. The other, as an habitual pro- 
 fessed assassin, whose life has been one long outrage 
 and defiance of all laws, divine and human. Steeped 
 in infamy — enemy alike of the living and of the dead 
 — he has made no single pause in his career of crime, 
 nor can any penalty of man's enactment attain the 
 standard of his desert." 
 
 Dumollard's advocate, M. Lardiere, followed, and 
 commenced his address in a manner decidedly 
 French. 
 
 " In the secluded village of Dagneux, lately so 
 obscure, to-day so notorious, there stands, fronting 
 the church, a modest tomb, wherein repose all that is 
 mortal of those I loved best on earth — my father and 
 my mother. Since the period that the exigencies of 
 my professional career have forbidden me to kneel at 
 that cherished shrine, memory has daily pictured to 
 me those happy shades, that simple, quiet community, 
 among whom the soft joys of earlier youth were 
 tasted." 
 
 The excellent advocate, in less euphonious phrase, 
 proceeded to explain that DumoUard, recollecting his 
 name in connexion with the place, had written to 
 him, entreating him to undertake his defence. 
 
 " Perhaps it is a first expiation on the part of this 
 
A French Wolf. 347 
 
 Tinliappy man," remarked Monsieur L., with almost 
 overweening modesty, " that lie should have selected 
 my weak aid, instead of that of some more distin- 
 guished member of that bar whose hospitality I am 
 now enjoying." 
 
 Monsieur L. made no effort to rebut the evidence, 
 resting his defence on the ground of those social 
 defects which cast men like Dumollard, unheeded, 
 unreclaimed, loose upon the world, from their cradles ; 
 while, at the same time, the growing aversion to 
 capital punishment weakens the sole barrier by which 
 the passions of such men are restrained. Shall, then, 
 society wreak mortal vengeance upon a deed for which 
 it is itself, in some measure, responsible ? 
 
 The counsel of the female prisoner, M. Villeneuve, 
 delivered a long and very eloquent address, and, 
 having better materials to work with, made a decided 
 impression on the court and jury. 
 
 The President gave an impartial summing up, and 
 concluded by submitting to the jury twenty-eight 
 distinct questions, bearing upon the various acts of 
 murder, robbery, &c., charged in the indictment- 
 It was four o'clock on the fourth day when the jury 
 withdrew to their consultations. The prisoners were 
 removed, and groups forming in every part of the 
 
348 A French Wolf. 
 
 court, eagerly discussed the case. No doubt was felt • 
 as to DumoUard. The strongest opponents of capital 
 punishment seemed on this occasion to have laid aside 
 their prejudices. As an illustration of this, a gentle- 
 man who had been summoned among the jury, but 
 was not one of those on whom the lot feU, observed — 
 
 " I have never been able to condemn a man to 
 death, but in spite of the scruples I have always felt 
 and expressed as to the inviolability of human life, I 
 would, in this instance, have signed with both hands for 
 the guillotine." 
 
 In the meantime the individual most nearly con- 
 cerned was taking refreshment and chatting easily 
 with those around him ; but he neither addressed nor 
 even looked at his wife, who sat at a little distance, 
 weeping bitterly. 
 
 Two hours and a half had elapsed, when the door 
 leading to the jury-chamber swung open, and the 
 twelve re-entered, the foreman carrying a large scroll, 
 which he handed to the President. There was no 
 need to proclaim silence, when, placing his hand on 
 his heart, the foreman began — 
 
 "On my honour and my conscience, before God 
 and men, our verdict, is " 
 
 " Stay, gentlemen," said the President ; " here is 
 
A French Wolf. 349 
 
 something irregular. You have not only to pronounce 
 upon the principal charges, but also to answer ' Yes ' 
 or 'No' to each of the aggravating circumstances. 
 Have the goodness to retire and do this." 
 
 It took some little time to rectify this informality, 
 and then the jury once more made their appearance. 
 The twenty-eight chief questions were for the most 
 part supplemented by other questions, each requiring 
 a separate answer, such as : — 
 
 " With violence ?" 
 
 " During the night ?" 
 
 " With premeditation ?" 
 
 " On the public highway ?" And like questions. 
 
 In all there proved to be sixty-seven afl&rmative and 
 seventeen negative answers* — the former embracing all 
 the material charges. 
 
 The effect of this complicated verdict was the con- 
 viction of both prisoners, with (by a majority) ex- 
 tenuating circumstances in favour of the woman. 
 
 For the first time during the proceedings, Dumol- 
 lard's coolness seemed to desert him. His counte- 
 nance became perfectly livid ; his eyes glared wildly 
 round. At this moment, perhaps, the full horror of 
 his position first revealed itself to his stubborn intel^ 
 ligence. There occurred, too, one of those dramatic 
 
350 A French Wolf. 
 
 pauses wliicli give time for a scene of peculiar interest 
 and solemnity to impress itself ineffaceably on the 
 memory. Throughout the dimly-lighted court nothing 
 was to be seen but bowed heads or stem stiU faces, 
 waiting for the word of doom ; not without a sense of 
 that humiliation which even in the very act of justice 
 confesses with reluctance the possibility of guilt so 
 monstrous in the human form. Hunger makes the 
 wolf savage, " yet with his kind he gently doth con- 
 sort." Here was a man who, to pamper the lowest 
 passions of which nature is susceptible, had literally 
 waded in the blood of the most helpless and innocent 
 of his kind. 
 
 It was the voice of the Procureur- General that broke 
 the hush, praying the court to grant the application 
 of certain articles of the penal code. The prisoners, 
 called upon to add what they pleased to their defence, 
 made no reply. 
 
 Then the President, after reading the articles appli- 
 cable to the case, pronounced the fatal judgment. 
 Martin DumoUard to the pain of death, the 
 execution to take place at Montluel ; Marianne 
 DumoUard to twenty years' imprisonment and hard 
 labour. 
 
 That night the condemned murderer slept tran- 
 
A French Wolf. 351 
 
 quilly, though for the preceding four his rest had been 
 broken by convulsive tossings to and fro. 
 
 " Well, Dumollard, how goes it ?" said his advocate, 
 entering his cell next morning. 
 
 " As one who expects to die," was the answer. 
 
 " It remains then to make a good end ; let that be 
 the first expiation of your crimes." 
 
 Neither to such exhortations, nor to the earnest 
 counsels of the excellent Abbe Beroud, vicar of Bourg, 
 who paid him many visits, did the unhappy wretch 
 give any heed. 
 
 " I shall do nothing with him," said the good priest, 
 mournfully. " The mind is too coarse and brutified. 
 It is not with him as with others, where darkness and 
 light are at least mingled in the soul. Here it is one 
 profound obscurity." 
 
 Nevertheless, he did not relax his efforts ; and, as 
 Dumollard exercised his right of appeal to the Court 
 of Cassation, opportunity was not wanting. 
 
 Dumollard's cell was shared by four or five others, 
 condemned to different terms of imprisonment. These 
 sometimes flattered him with hopes of success in his 
 appeal. 
 
 " In twenty days," he answered, " I shall either lose 
 my head, or be set at liberty; but I would rather 
 
352 • A French Wolf. 
 
 die than be sent to Cayenne or even kept in 
 prison." 
 
 This speech betrayed two misapprehensions on the 
 criminal's part. One, that a certain time must elapse 
 before the execution of a capital sentence, whereas the 
 law assigns none ; the other, that a favourable decision 
 of the Appeal Court ends all proceedings, and sets a 
 prisoner free. Whereas it merely remits the case to a 
 new jury. 
 
 On the 27th of February his appeal was rejected ; 
 the report being accompanied by that recommendation 
 to mercy without which no capital sentence in France 
 is carried into execution. 
 
 The report was then submitted to the minister and 
 to the Emperor, who wrote upon it, " 11 ny a lieu " — 
 there is no room (i.e. for pardon) — and the magistrates 
 and officials of Montluel received orders to execute the 
 sentence within twenty-four hours. The executioner 
 of Grenoble was directed to assist his colleague of 
 Lyons. 
 
 On Friday evening, the 7th of March, the guillotine 
 was taken from the vaults below the Palais de Justice, 
 placed upon an immense car, and transported to 
 Montluel: whither a large detachment of Lancers had 
 already proceeded, to preserve order among the im- 
 
A French Wolf. 353 
 
 mense multitudes that came flocking from every part 
 of the country. At four o'clock that same evening, 
 the criminal received intimation that he was to die on 
 the morrow. He turned deadly pale; but soon 
 recovered his habitual indifference, and only replied 
 that it was what he had expected. His confessor 
 was then introduced, and remained with him half an 
 hour. About to leave, he suggested to the con- 
 demned man that the time had arrived when, if ever, 
 he should exchange forgiveness and reconciliation 
 with his wife, oflfering at the same time to obtain per- 
 mission for his release from irons. 
 
 Dumollard assented, and the interview took place 
 immediately — the male prisoner remaining calm and 
 unmoved as ever — the woman deeply agitated. After 
 this, the two sat down to partake of their last meal 
 together : an abundant supper, provided at the cost 
 of the good priest, who, though it was fast day, per- 
 mitted them, " in the present conjuncture of circum- 
 stances," to eat what they pleased. Of this license 
 Duniiollard (again like Eush) availed himself to the 
 utmost limit of human appetite. Beef, pork, cutlets, and 
 especially puddings, disappeared under his efforts with 
 a rapidity that struck with amazement the spectators 
 of that gloomy feast. He seemed to consider the 
 
 23 
 
354 A French Wolf. 
 
 time too precious to be wasted in conversation ; but, 
 nevertheless, found opportunity now and then to 
 address a word of comfort to his wife, whose sobs in- 
 terrupted the repast. 
 
 " Patience, patience ; you are fretting about me ; but 
 it is a waste of grief ; you see /don't care. As for you, 
 you have to remain twenty years in prison. Be careful 
 of the little money I shall leave you. Take some 
 wine now and then. But mind ! on your liberation, 
 do not go back to Dagneux, where your family would 
 not welcome you. Eemain at Dijon. By-the- 
 bye," he added, as if an important idea had struck 
 him ; " don't forget to reckon with Berthet — she 
 owes you for so many days' work; that wiU be 
 seventeen francs, less five sous.'' 
 
 At half-past ten at night, the vehicle which was 
 to convey DumoUard to Montluel arrived at the 
 prison. Embracing his wife for the last time, he 
 quietly mounted, accompanied by his confessor, and 
 escorted by two gendarmes. 
 
 " Ho la !" said the criminal, who seemed to have 
 a peculiar aversion to cold air. " This is very annoy- 
 ing. I am chiUed to death." 
 
 " Here, pere DumoUard," said a good-natured gen- 
 darme, " by a lucky foresight 1 brought my blanket." 
 
A French Wolf. 355 
 
 Once made comfortable, the prisoner seemed to 
 desire nothing more. Through the whole length of 
 that ghastly journey, his was the only unruffled spirit 
 of the party. He conversed incessantly, but without 
 effort or bravado, describing the localities, the distance 
 from point to point of places mentioned at the trial, 
 &c., &c., with a cool minuteness which, under the cir- 
 cumstances, and with the accompaniment of sickly 
 moon-gleams, the howling March wind, and the dull 
 rumble of the carriage that bore the culprit nearer 
 and nearer to his doom, struck his companions with 
 awe. 
 
 It was half-past one in the morning as they entered 
 Chalamont, a mile or two short of Montluel, and here 
 the crowd had become so dense as to create some diffi- 
 culty in passing. Yells and execrations resounded on 
 every side. Some women forced their way up to the 
 vehicle, flashing their lanterns into the face of the 
 criminal. The Abbe Beroud warmly remonstrated, 
 rebuking their indecent curiosity, and exhorting them 
 to be satisfied with the act of justice about to be done. 
 Thus, through masses of living beings, miles in length, 
 the cortege approached Montluel. 
 
 The scaffold had been erected during the night 
 in the widest piece of- public ground — the Place 
 
 23—3 
 
356 A French Wolf. 
 
 Bourgeat — and now stood ready, in the centre of a 
 perfect forest of bayonets and drawn sabres. Beyond 
 the military square every visible inch, from ground to 
 chimney-top, was packed with living beings. How 
 some of these points of vantage were gained at all, or 
 how descended from, were questions only to be resolved 
 by those who saw the process. We were informed 
 that thousands had been content to pass the long chill 
 night in these positions. 
 
 Dumollard had alighted at the town-hall, and was 
 warming himself comfortably at the fire in the 
 council-chamber*. A magistrate present exhorted him 
 to confess whatever remained upon his mind in 
 reference to the crimes for which he was to suifer. 
 The criminal made no other reply than : 
 
 " I am innocent. It is unlucky, but I am sacrificed 
 for the guilt of others." 
 
 M. Carrel, the cure of Montluel, entered. 
 
 " Ah, good morning, M. Carrel !" said DumoUard. 
 " I have heard much good of you. It was from your 
 hands that, at sixteen, I received my first communion." 
 
 Some further futile efibrts were made to induce him 
 to confess. One singular answer was noted : 
 
 "If others have buried bodies in my vineyard, I 
 am not responsible for that." 
 
A French Wolf. 357 
 
 He was offered some refreshment, and took some 
 coffee and Madeira ; after which the executioners were 
 introduced, and the "toilette" commenced. The 
 prisoner himself took off his blouse, and sat down. 
 
 His feet were tied, but not sufficiently to prevent his 
 walking, and his arms secured. They then cut off his 
 hair and the neck of his shirt. As the steel of the 
 shears touched him, he gave a convulsive shudder, 
 but quickly regained his self-command. One final 
 effort to obtain confession, or at least admission of 
 his guilt, met with the former result, and this extra- 
 ordinary offender, persevering to the last in his war 
 with justice and society, marched forth to his doom. 
 
 The shout that rent the air as he appeared might 
 have been heard for miles. The silence that succeeded 
 was the more appalling. DumoUard's lips moved as 
 though in prayer. The priests bent forward, caught, 
 and earnestly re-echoed the solitary accents : 
 
 " Jesus ! Marie ! Pray for me !" 
 
 He knelt for a moment on the lower steps of the 
 scaffold, and the Abbe Beroud offered to his white lips 
 the symbol of divine mercy. Then the executioners 
 helped him up the remaining steps, tied him to the 
 plank, pushed the latter to its place. Quick as 
 lightning the axe descended, and in a few seconds 
 
358 A French Wolf. 
 
 head and body lay together in a rude coffin ; the body 
 to be interred in an obscure nook of the cemetery at 
 Montluel, the head to be sent to the phrenological 
 professors at Lyons. There was scarcely time for a 
 trace of blood to become visible. Never was the 
 merciful death of the guillotine more skilfaUy ad- 
 ministered. Never was death punishment more richly 
 deserved, than by the French wolf, DumoUard. 
 
XII. 
 
 THE MARTYE-WIFE. 
 
 ^HEEE occur in the life of society, as in the lives 
 of its individual members, sinister and distressing 
 periods, intended — it might almost be believed — by 
 Providence to confound the most assured calculations 
 of mankind, and to sap the very basis of that which 
 seemed constructed to endure for ever. At such 
 times nature herself appears to partake the general 
 disorder, the seasons change their character — poverty, 
 hunger, and want of work — those counsellors to 
 crime — affect moral order, and, as if such examples 
 must find their echo in the circles removed, one might 
 suppose, from the same debasing temptations, strange 
 and horrible crimes declare themselves among the 
 rich and honoured of the world. 
 
 Such a crisis as this was experienced in France in 
 1847 — a period almost unexampled in these later 
 days for social crime, and culminating in a deed which 
 sent a thrill of horror throughout the land. 
 
 The murder of the Duchesse de Praslin by her 
 
360 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 husband was judged in different lights. As regards 
 its brutal and cowardly nature, there could, of course, 
 be no two opinions ; but there was ■ considerable 
 divergence as to the source to which it might be 
 traced. To calm, just minds it presented only 
 another terrible instance of the passions which, from 
 time to time, reveal themselves in our fallen nature, 
 and are identical in all conditions of men. To those 
 of strong political bias it offered a new pretext for 
 passionate invectives against an order of things which 
 had been too indifferent to — if it had not actually 
 fostered — vice .and crime among the classes least 
 exposed to temptation. 
 
 Let us be content with the moral lessons that may 
 be derived from a perusal of this strange dark passage 
 in the history of Parisian crime. 
 
 On the 17th August, 1847, the Duchesse de Choi- 
 seul-Praslin, only daughter of the Marshal Count 
 Sebastiani, returned from the magnificent Chslteau de 
 Vaux-Praslin, near Melun, to Paris, on their way to 
 bathing quarters at Dieppe. The family alighted at 
 the Hotel Sebastiani, their usual metropolitan resi- 
 dence, one side of which faces the Faubourg St. 
 Honor^ (No. 55), the other the Avenue Gabriel, 
 Champs-Elysees. 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 361 
 
 On their arrival the Duke and Duchess parted, 
 the former proceeding, in company with his daughters, 
 to pay some visits ; the latter, with her sons, retiring 
 to their apartments. It was hy this time half-past 
 nine at night. 
 
 About eleven the Duke returned, conducted his 
 daughters to their chamber, and then descended to his 
 own, situated in the rez-de-chaussee, and separated 
 by a vestibule from that of his wife. 
 
 By midnight sleep and silence seemed to reign 
 throughout the mansion. 
 
 At half-past four fearful outcries, compared by one 
 of the hearers to the yeUs of a mad person, proceeding 
 from Madame de Praslin's chamber, alarmed the 
 house. They were followed by violent and irregular 
 ringing of the beU.; and Auguste Charpentier, the 
 Duke's valet, and Madame Leclerc, lady's maid, 
 hastily dressing, flew to obey the summons. Their 
 attempts to enter by an antechamber at the foot of the 
 great staircase were bafi&ed, nor could their joint 
 efibrts force the door, which, contrary to usage, was 
 bolted as well as locked within. . Strange intermittent 
 cries continued to be heard, and the terrified servants 
 thought they could distinguish the hasty trampling 
 as of one pursued, mingled with dull blows. Hasten- 
 
362 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 ing round to another door opening from the grand 
 saloon, they found that also secured within. In vain 
 they knocked and entreated, " Madame ! Madame /" 
 There was no reply. 
 
 They now rushed into the garden, into which the 
 Duchess's apartment looked, but the casements were 
 closed as usual. Arrived, however, at the end of the 
 house, they noticed that the door of a wooden stair- 
 case leading to an antechamber which separated the 
 Duke's apartment from his wife's — was open. The 
 doors of the dressing-room and of the antechamber 
 opening into the Duchess's chamber were also open. 
 The valet entered. All was dark and silent ; but 
 there was, as the man declared, a smell of blood ! 
 
 More and more alarmed, Charpentier ran to the 
 apartment of one Merville, valet de chambre of the 
 Duchess of Orleans, and aroused him with an account 
 of what he feared had happened. 
 
 Merville sprang from his bed, seized a large stick, 
 gave Charpentier a sword, and, taking a lamp, has- 
 tened to the scene of murder, through the doors that 
 had been found open. 
 
 They foundthebodyof theunfortunate lady, clad only 
 in her night-dress, lying on the floor, her head supported 
 on an ottoman. She was literally bathed in blood. 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 363 
 
 Horror-stricken at the spectacle, they staggered, 
 back into the garden, and when there observed smoke 
 ascending from the chimney of the Duke's room. The 
 windows were closed, and it now struck them as 
 somewhat strange that, despite the alarms, the Duke 
 had not made his appearance. 
 
 The next minute the two servants were joined by 
 the porter, Briffard, and several other persons, and the 
 party prepared to return to the house. 
 
 At that moment the Duke opened the door of com- 
 munication between the saloon and the Duchess's 
 chamber. He wore his grey dressing-gown, and ap- 
 peared much agitated. 
 
 "What is the matter? what has happened?" he 
 gasped out. 
 
 At the moment, a servant threw open one of the 
 windows, and, admitting the light, exhibited the 
 corpse of the unhappy lady — a mass of wounds and 
 blood. 
 
 " My God ! my God !" exclaimed the Duke ; " what 
 a misfortune ! what a crime ! Who has done this ? 
 Help ! help ! Bring surgeons." 
 
 Briffard's wife gently raised the body; others 
 brought water to wash the wounds. It was thought 
 by some that she breathed once or twice, but this was 
 
364 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 doubtful. The surgeon on arriving pronounced her 
 lifeless. 
 
 The Duke, on hearing this, placed his hands on the 
 bloodstained shoulders. 
 
 " Poor soul ! poor soul ! — what monster has done 
 this ?" he exclaimed. Then, flinging himself on the 
 bed, he tore his hair, crying, " My children I my poor 
 children ! — who shall tell them they have no longer a 
 mother ? Poor Marshal !" (Sebastiani). 
 
 The commissaries of police, Pruy and Bruzelin, were 
 quickly on the spot, and commenced an inquiry. 
 
 The medical men reported that they discovered on 
 the back of the head five wounds reaching to the bone, 
 one of these affecting the vertebrae ; and on the front 
 of the head eight wounds, all but one incised like the 
 former. On the neck, two wounds ; under the jaw a 
 wound that left bare the carotid artery and jugular 
 vein, besides many slight stabs and scratches. Both 
 hands were mutilated by many wounds, as though 
 they had repeatedly grasped a two-edged cutting 
 instrument which had been drawn through them. 
 The face, besides superficial cuts, presented excoria- 
 tions apparently made by the nails of the murderer 
 seeking to stifle the cries of the victim, while he 
 completed his fearful crime. 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 365 
 
 The state of tlie room bore testimony to tlie 
 terrible nature of the struggle tbat had occurred there. 
 Lighted by a single window, looking on the garden, 
 this apartment was about twenty-one feet by eighteen. 
 It contained a large bed raised on a platform, at the 
 head of which hung the bell. Upon the mattrass 
 was visible a large stain of blood. The embroidered 
 muslin curtains and the pillow were dashed and 
 sprinkled with the same crimson stains. The door 
 opening on the saloon was marked with blood, and 
 the print of a bleeding hand was visibly imprinted in 
 the neighbourhood of the lock. The door opening 
 into the boudoir was stained in like manner, and hair, 
 evidently torn from the victim's head, was scattered 
 on the floor. An ottoman placed near the fireplace, 
 on which the body was found leaning, was literally 
 striped with blood. A chair, upset in the centre of the 
 room, bore similar marks ; beside this lay a book, an 
 English novel — " Mrs. Armytage " — marked with 
 blood, and numberless other traces around the apart- 
 ment gave melancholy witness to the severity and 
 duration of the death-struggle between the unhappy 
 lady and her assassin. 
 
 And who was the ■ assassin ? Whoever he was, he 
 could have entered only by the door of the little 
 
366 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 wooden staircase, leading to the garden. The only 
 trace of his presence was a pistol found on the floor. 
 It had blood-stains on the barrel, and on the butt and 
 lock, hairs, and a fragment of skin. 
 
 Having concluded these examinations, the com- 
 missaries received the declaration of the Duke. 
 
 M. de Praslin, with an emotion which, under the 
 circumstances, seemed natural enough, explained that 
 the pistol was his own. He had caught it up on the 
 first alarm, and the stains- of blood were probably 
 imparted by his own hands, marked as they must have 
 been by lifting up the body of his murdered wife. 
 
 Towards eight o'clock the Prefect of Police, the 
 Attorney-General, and M. Aristide Broussais, Juge 
 d'Instruction, accompanied by Greneral Sebastiani, 
 arrived at the mansion. So much was the latter gentle- 
 man overcome by the sight, that, all soldier as he 
 was, he fainted outright. 
 
 Seeing this, the valet Charpentier ran into the 
 Duke's chamber for a glass of water. On doing so 
 he observed that the room was in great disorder. The 
 hearth was laden with tinder from articles lately con- 
 sumed. A tub was in the middle of the room, from 
 which Charpentier offered to tgke some water, when 
 the Duke, hastily interposing, told him that the 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 367 
 
 vater was foul, and bade Hm throw it out of the 
 /vindow. 
 
 As the authorities were about to consigner — 
 )lace in a sort of custody — the servants of the house — 
 
 " They had much better," remarked Charpentier, 
 juietly, " pursue their investigations in the chamber 
 )f Monsieur le Due." 
 
 They did in effect examine the Duke's clothes, and 
 'ound on his dressing-gown several stains of blood, 
 [n the grate were quantities of ashes of burnt paper 
 md of a large handkerchief. The dressing-gown, 
 bowever, had been newly washed in certain places. 
 All these objects were taken possession of by the 
 magistrates, and the Juge d'Instruction interrogated 
 the Duke anew. 
 
 His statement was in substance as follows : — 
 
 That after arriving at Paris he never saw his wife, 
 who had gone straight to her apartments. That on 
 returning home with his daughters he had retired to 
 bed, without sending for his valet, whose services he 
 frequently dispensed with. That at some hour, 
 which appeared to him about dawn, he was awakened 
 by confused cries; but these being not unusual in 
 the Champs Elysees, he had not risen immediately. 
 Hearing, however, voices in the garden, he sprang up. 
 
368 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 and arming himself with a pistol, went straight to 
 the Duchess' chamber, through her dressing-room. 
 That he had called out "Tanny ! Tanny !" but 
 receiving no answer had returned to the dressing- 
 room, and after lighting a lamp re-entered the 
 chamber, where he found the Duchess in the state 
 before described. That he had barely time to lift up 
 the bleeding head before a loud knocking at the door 
 apprised him that help was at hand. That he had 
 hastened to unbolt the door, and give access to 
 several of the servants, while his valet, Charpentier, 
 had already effected entrance by another door. That 
 during the succeeding half-hour he had many times 
 been in contact with the corpse, and thus acquired 
 the stains of blood upon his hands and dressing- 
 gown, aU which he strove to remove in order not to 
 shock his children. Finally, that his first act was to 
 summon both the surgeon and the commissary of 
 police. 
 
 Asked as to the use he had been making of the 
 pistol, the Duke replied that he had taken it for his 
 own protection, and had, in his horror at the sight of 
 his murdered wife, let it fall he knew not where. 
 
 How did he explain the ashes of a burned hand- 
 kerchief and many papers found in his grate ? 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 369 
 
 On retiring to bed lie had selected the handkerchief 
 for a nightcap, but finding it soiled, flung it into the 
 grate, already full of papers. The latter took fire 
 from a match with which, on the alarm, he had 
 lighted his lamp. 
 
 But there was a clean handkerchief purposely laid 
 by his bedside ? 
 
 Could not explain the not using it, nor afford any 
 explanations more precise than those already given. 
 
 To what cause did he attribute the murder ? Had 
 the Duchess any known enemies ? 
 
 None, to his knowledge. The crime must have 
 been committed by robbers, not till then become 
 aware of the family's return. 
 
 What account could he give of five pieces of cord, 
 one of them stained with blood, found that morning 
 in the pocket of his dressing-gown ? 
 
 Could give no account of the cord. As to the 
 blood, he might have received some stain on his 
 hands while supporting the body. 
 
 " I have now to call your attention, M. le Due," 
 said M. Broussais, " to a very grave circumstance. 
 On a table in the Duchess's room was found a pistol, 
 stained with blood on the butt and barrel, and having 
 hairs and a bit of skin adhering to the lock. This 
 
 24 
 
370 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 was tlie same weapon with which you acknowledge 
 to have been armed. I beg you to explain this fact, 
 which at present certainly points directly to yourself 
 as the author of this murder." 
 
 The Duke clasped and hung his head, as if in 
 despair or weariness, and was silent. Exhorted to 
 make some reply, he at last said : 
 
 "I ought to have denied at once that the pistol 
 found in my wife's room was the same as that with 
 which I armed myself. I do so now, and add, that 
 neither with that or any other did I assail her. As 
 to the hairs and skin, if the fact be really so, I 
 cannot explain it." 
 
 On examining the Duke's hands they were found 
 to bear some slight scratches. On the right was the 
 trace of a bite, on the left distinct nail marks. The 
 left leg displayed a large recent bruise. 
 
 No sign of an entrance having been effected from 
 without could be detected in any part of the house. 
 
 During the progress of the inquiry it had become 
 known that a bad understanding had for some time 
 existed between the Duke and Duchess, dating, as it 
 seemed, from the entrance into the family, as gover- 
 ness, of a young lady named Deluzy. After a stay of 
 six years her departure had been agreed upon, and 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 371 
 
 was to have taken place about two months previous 
 to the murder, the Marshal Sebastiani^having insisted 
 on this concession to his daughter's wishes being no 
 longer deferred. Some unexplained reason had, how- 
 ever, occasioned a further delay, duj-ing which scandals 
 most injurious to the character both of Mdlle. Deluzy 
 and the Duke were very persistent and widely- spread. 
 
 The valet, Charpentier, confirmed these reports, 
 and stated that, since the departure of the governess, 
 his master never failed to visit her in his visits to 
 Paris. 
 
 Euphemia Merville, lady's-maid to the Duchess, 
 stated that for seventeen years, that is, up to the 
 arrival of Mdlle. Deluzy, in 1841, complete domestic 
 harmony prevailed. She had, indeed, seen her mistress 
 shed tears, and had heard the Duke contradict her ; 
 but he never appeared actually harsh. After Mdlle. 
 Deluzy appeared matters became worse. The Duchess 
 seemed hurt by the authority exercised by her, and it 
 was a matter of observation among the servants that 
 an attempt was being made to weaken the bonds of 
 affection that had hitherto existed between Mdme. 
 de Praslin and her children. The Duchess never 
 spoke of this, but the witness had frequently seen her 
 weep bitterly, and had found her lady's handkerchiefs 
 
 24—3 
 
872 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 soaked with tears. It was known to the household, 
 in short, that thg Duchess was not happy, and believed 
 by them that their master intrigued with Mdlle. 
 Deluzy. 
 
 " From the first moment," added the witness boldly, 
 " I believed that my lady was murdered by the Duke. 
 I would not say so, but I am convinced that it 
 is so." 
 
 Briffard, the porter, had been aware that a misun- 
 derstanding existed between the Duke and Duchess, 
 but knew nothing of its origin. 
 
 His wife, with less reticence, vowed that it was 
 well known to be due to the fatal influence of Mdlle. 
 Deluzy, who (the witness added emphatically) was a 
 bad woman, for whom she had always the greatest 
 aversion. She — Mdlle. Deluzy — ^had once treated it 
 as a matter of reproach to the Duchess that tlie latter 
 had not shed tears on the departure of her married 
 daughter for Italy. Witness had replied that those 
 who do not weep frequently suffer more than those 
 who do. Mdme. Briffard avowed her belief that the 
 murder was the work, or at least at the instigation of 
 cette horrible femme. 
 
 By this time Mdlle. Deluzy was in custody. She 
 had been found residing in the house of M. E^my, 
 
The Martyr- Wife. 373 
 
 literary professor. Her interrogatory was in sub- 
 stance as follows : 
 
 Describing herself as Henriette Deluzy-Desportes, 
 aged thirty-five, she stated that, having resided for 
 a time as governess in the family of Lady Hislop, near 
 London, she entered that of the Duke de Praslin in 
 March, 1841. She had board, lodging, and 2000 
 francs (80/.) a year. 
 
 The first question was couched in the most pro- 
 nounced style of French interrogatory : 
 
 Had she not for a long time committed grave 
 offences against the deceased lady, not only failing in 
 due respect and deference, but seeking to deprive her 
 of the affection of her husband and children ? 
 
 The witness replied, earnestly : 
 
 " Never ! never ! When I joined the family things 
 were already on a painful footing. The Duke wished 
 to direct his children's education alone. They had 
 had several governesses, with none of whom the 
 Duchess could agree. The Duke informed me that I 
 should take my meals alone with the children, and 
 inhabit a separate part of the mansion, where only 
 their mother would see them. I told him that I 
 could not agree to these conditions, and they were 
 abandoned, it being understood that the children 
 
374 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 should be under my exclusive tutelage, althougli we 
 should associate ' generally with those in the house. 
 Some time elapsed, when the Duchess expressed her 
 intention of taking part in our readings and lessons ; 
 but on the Duke objecting she refrained. At Praslin, 
 I lived with my pupils much apart, but never sought 
 to alienate them from their mother. There were 
 causes of dissension between the Duke and Duchess, 
 which it was not in my power to remove." 
 
 " What were these causes ?" 
 
 " The desire on the part of the Duchess to rule 
 both her husband and children, and on the Duke's 
 part a determined, but not ungentle, resistance." 
 
 "It is ascertained that Mdme. de Praslin had 
 conceived a certain jealousy of you, and suspicions 
 of a grave nature as to your relations with her 
 husband." 
 
 " Never ! At aU events she never expressed them 
 to me." 
 
 "Where did you pass the night of the 17th 
 August ?" 
 
 " In my apartment at Mdme. Lemaire's." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 " Yes. . But surrounded by other lodgers, who 
 could have heard all my movements." 
 
The Martyr- Wife. 375 
 
 "You are aware that there is strong evidence to 
 connect M. de Praslin with this murder ?" 
 
 " Ah ! no— no ! Impossible ! He ? He, who could 
 not bear to see one of his children in pain ? Oh, 
 gentlemen, this cannot be !" 
 
 The witness fell on her knees, wringing her hands, 
 and continued, in the wildest agitation : 
 
 " I say I cannot believe him capable of such a deed. 
 But if it be so, I am the guiltier, /who loved, adored 
 my pupils. I wrote letters to him. You can see all. 
 I told them I should die. I am a poor friendless 
 woman, without relation in the world, excepting my 
 stern old grandfather, who grudged me even the poor 
 aid he has sometimes been compelled to afford. Alas ! 
 alas ! I ought to have resigned myself more to the diffi- 
 culties of my situation, forgotten my own feelings, 
 and the desire of my pupils' love, and thought only of 
 their mother. Now I am punished. When I was dis- 
 niissed I thought I should have died at once. But 
 no. Then I drank laudanum; but, unhappily, not 
 etiough. They restored me to my miserable life. I 
 was so happy those six years with my darlings, and 
 without them life seemed purposeless. Yes, it is I 
 who am guilty. The Duke must have pitied me, and 
 
376 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 asked for my recal. She refused it, perhaps — and — 
 ah ! mon Dieu •" 
 
 "There appears to be some exaggeration in this 
 despair ? Is it only to the children that you wrote in 
 such a tone ?" 
 
 " Can you not understand, gentlemen, that affection 
 of any kind may reach despair? As for M. de 
 Praslin, it could hardly be that, loving his children 
 so fondly, I should be wholly indifferent to him. 
 But I am no mischief-maker, no adulteress. I could 
 not have kissed those innocent faces with such a stain 
 upon my soul." 
 
 " This tender feeling then, found some echo in M. 
 de Praslin?" 
 
 " Not in the least. He thought only of his children. 
 He felt for them, because their mother was unkind." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that he would have mur- 
 dered their mother, to save them from her harshness ?" 
 
 " No. His motive — if indeed he be guilty— must 
 have been the fear of the separation with which the 
 Duchess perpetually threatened him, and which 
 would have been the ruin of his children's future." 
 
 " There must have been very serious dissensions 
 indeed to necessitate separation. Let us deal with 
 that. Your dismissal was not the result of a first 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 377 
 
 jealous apprehension. The Duke took your part 
 against his wife, so that it became necessary for her 
 father. Marshal .Sebastiani, to interpose on her 
 behalf." 
 
 ■' Mons. de Praslin was always my friend," said the 
 witness, steadily ; " never my lover." 
 
 " It is now a month since you quitted the house. 
 In that interval are included these passionate letters 
 to the children, and several visits — three at least — 
 from the Duke. He invited you to call at his house 
 as yesterday — and yesterday morning the Duchess 
 was murdered !" 
 
 " I can only declare that there was no connexion 
 between us in the past, nor any scheme for the future. 
 If the Duke had been free and could have loved me, 
 I would have refused a marriage so unequal, and 
 therefore so disadvantageous to his children ; though 
 I might, I cannot say otherwise, have been willing 
 to sacrifice my honour — my life — for him. But I 
 would not, either as husband or lover, have possessed 
 him at the cost of one hair from his wife's head." 
 
 "Listen. In one of your letters to the children 
 we find an unfinished sentence. You say, ' You do 
 not tell me about your father. I trust he retains 
 both health and courage. It seems to me that I 
 
378 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 should be less miserable if I felt that I was suf- 
 fering . . . .* Will you complete tbe sentence ?" 
 
 " I should perhaps have added ' alone/ or ' for you 
 all.' The sentiment was perhaps expressed more for- 
 cibly than it was ^felt. At any rate, it was an honest 
 one, and not unnatural, since we had passed six years 
 in the closest companionship." 
 
 The interrogatory was here adjourned. 
 
 Owing to some misapprehension as to their powers , 
 the accused being a peer, the authorities contented 
 themselves with placing the Duke under the surveil- 
 lance of the police agents at his own residence, 
 an express being despatched to the King, Louis 
 Philippe, then at Eu, to obtain the convocation of 
 the Chamber of Peers by special order. 
 
 But an incident now declared itself, which rendered 
 a closer custody necessary. 
 
 The Duke, who, while undergoing the corporal 
 examination mentioned above, had exhibited no sign 
 of suffering, became suddenly ill. Fearful vomiting 
 and an almost imperceptible pulse, alarmed the 
 medical attendants, and Dr. Louis, who was summoned 
 to a consultation, pronounced it an attack of cholera. 
 In a few hours the patient had become so weak as to 
 require being lifted from his bed to the sofa. On 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 379 
 
 the next day, tlie Duke being no better, M. Andral 
 was sent for, and that experienced practitioner at once 
 decided that he was suffering from the effects of 
 poison, and a course of treatment in accordance with 
 this opinion was at once entered upon. 
 
 An order for the convocation of the Peers' Chamber 
 appeared in the Moniteur of Saturday, the 21st, and 
 on the same day M. de Praslin was conveyed in a 
 carriage to the Luxembourg, great precautions being 
 taken to secure his undisturbed passage — such being 
 rendered necessary by the menacing aspect of the 
 groups that had been assembled from daybreak around 
 the Hotel Sebastian!. 
 
 At the moment of departure there was found on 
 the person of the prisoner a vial containing a mixture 
 of arsenic and laudanum. 
 
 The commission, under the presidency of the 
 Chancellor, M. de Pasquier, was composed of the Due 
 Decazes, le Comte de Pont^coulant, le Comte de St. 
 Aulaire, Cousin, Laplagne-Barris, and Vincent St. 
 Laurent. 
 
 The prisoner was arraigned as Charles Laure 
 Hugues Theobald, Due de Choiseul-Praslin, peer of 
 France, aged forty -three, born at Paris. 
 
 The president, Pasquier, began :— 
 
380 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 " Tou are aware of tlie crime imputed to you, and 
 of the evidence adduced to substantiate the accusa- 
 tion. I invite you, accused, to shorten the fatigue, 
 for which you seem unfitted, by confessing what it 
 seems you will hardly dare to deny." 
 
 "I have no strength to answer. Very long 
 explanations would be necessary." 
 
 " Say rather 'Yes ' or ' No.' That is simple." 
 
 " It needs sometimes a strong mental effort to say 
 either." 
 
 " At what hour did you part with your children on 
 the night of the murder ?" 
 
 " At half-past ten, or thereabouts." 
 
 " Whither did you go ?" 
 
 " To my chamber — ^to my bed." 
 
 "Tou slept?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " On being aroused, what was your impression ?" 
 
 '' I thought I had been awakened by a cry in the 
 house, and rushed to the room of my wife. I beg," 
 added the Duke, " that you will observe my condi- 
 tion, and adjourn the interrogatory." 
 
 " You entered your wife's room several times that 
 morning. On the first occasion, did you find her 
 in bed?" 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 381 
 
 " No. TJnliappily she was lying stretched on the 
 floor." 
 
 " jds when you dealt her the last blow ?" 
 " How can you address such a question to me ?" 
 " Can you explain the scratches on your hands ?" 
 " These were made in packing at PrasHn." 
 "And that bite?" 
 "Is not one at all." 
 
 "It must have been a trying moment, when, 
 retiring to your own room, you found yourself covered 
 with your victim's blood, and employed yourself in 
 efiacing the stains !" 
 
 " How could I have shown myself to the children 
 without doing so ?" 
 
 " Have not some evU counsels urged you to this 
 deed ?" 
 
 " I have received no such counsels." 
 "Do you experience no feelings of remorse, that 
 might be in some measure soothed by confession ?" 
 " I have no strength to-day." 
 "You have only been required to say 'yes' or 'no.' 
 Silence under such circumstances looks like guilt." 
 
 " You have begun with the conviction that I am 
 guilty. I cannot change it." 
 
 " Yes ; if you will give us reasons to believe the 
 
382 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 contrary ; if you can explain that which can only 
 explain itself on the assumption of your guilt. While 
 committing this crime, did you ever think of your 
 children ?" 
 
 " For the crime — I did not commit it. As to my 
 children, I think of nothing else." 
 
 " Once for all, will you positively deny that you 
 committed this murder ?" 
 
 The Duke hung his head for a few moments in 
 silence. Then he said in a low voice : 
 
 " I cannot reply to such a question." 
 
 The weakness of the prisoner now became so mani- 
 fest, that the examination was, of necessity, adjourned. 
 He was conveyed to his bed, which he was not again 
 destined to leave — the symptoms becoming hourly 
 more aggravated, and leaving no doubt whatever that 
 the unhappy man was suffering from the effects of 
 deadly .poison. 
 
 A secret seance of the Chamber of Peers decided 
 on the continuance of the inquiry, despite the absence 
 of the prisoner, and the interrogatory of.Mdlle. Deluzy 
 was at once resumed. 
 
 " When you entered this family, a good understand- 
 ing existed between the Duke and Duchess ?" 
 
 "Not exactly that. The governess — my prede- 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 383 
 
 cessor — ^had warned me that my position between 
 them would be a difficult one." 
 
 " Did you find it so ?" 
 
 " Not for some time. I lived much, apart, with 
 the children, and observed nothing." 
 
 " When did the situation alter ?" 
 
 " As the girls grew up their father was more with 
 them, and therefore unavoidably with me. Mdme. 
 de Praslin went much into society, and was often at 
 her father's. In the country she stayed much in her 
 own apartment." 
 
 " Did it not occur to you as your duty to draw the 
 mother and her daughters into closer union ?" 
 
 " I tried repeatedly to come to an understanding 
 with Mdme. de Praslin on that subject, but could 
 not succeed. She told me that she disapproved the 
 course of education prescribed by her husband, but 
 that she had promised to abstain from any inter- 
 ference. She gave me no instructions concerning her 
 daughters, save in regard to dress ; never sent for, 
 and rarely spoke to them. They rather feared her, 
 but were at all times affectionate and deferential in 
 demeanour." 
 
 " Did you not perceive that this separation from 
 her children in all that most nearly concerned them, 
 
384 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 was a subject of discord between the Duchess and 
 her husband ?" 
 
 "On the contrary, I thought that Mdme. de 
 Praslin — more attached to her husband than to her 
 children — kept them aloof, in order to have him more 
 to herself, and when he was absent observed the 
 same rule of conduct, that she might be able to re- 
 proach him with the misdirection of their education. 
 When the Duke, while playing with his children, 
 happened to make her a short or careless answer, it 
 was her habit to quit the room." 
 
 " In whatever you say you appear to cast all the 
 blame upon Mdme. de Praslin. Surely the lament- 
 able occurrence we are investigating should make you 
 gentler in your judgment. Tour manner creates a 
 great doubt whether you did actually use the empire 
 you had acquired over the children's minds, as 
 testified by your letters and theirs, for the purpose 
 of bringing them into nearer relations with their 
 mother." 
 
 " I would not for the world show disrespect to the 
 memory of Mdme. de Praslin ; but you enjoin me to 
 speak the truth, and all the truth. I do not speak of 
 her heart, or feelings, or principles, only of her 
 temper, at times uncertain and irritable, which ren- 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 385 
 
 dered her less fit for tlie control of children whose 
 characters were precisely the reverse. She did not, 
 moreover, evince that tenderness which appeals so 
 readily to youthful hearts. She was peevish in small 
 matters; and then, by way of compensation, over- 
 indulgent where firmness was required." 
 
 "In effect, not only authority but affection had 
 passed from Mdme. Praslin to you. Even if you 
 could have effected nothing, you cannot have been 
 ignorant of the state of affairs, and thus we are 
 forced to the conclusion that your fatal indifference 
 has had a considerable share in producing this 
 catastrophe." 
 
 " I never sought to transfer the children's love from 
 their mother to myself," replied the witness, warmly ; 
 " I loved them and devoted myself wholly to them. 
 Their pleasures and their pains were mine also. ■ Tor 
 six years I watched over them with a solicitude no 
 one has denied ; and in return they loved me with all 
 the ardour and constancy which belong to children of 
 their age thus treated." 
 
 " You have intimated that the Diike associated 
 much with his children, and yourself ?" 
 
 " In the dountry, certainly, he frequently walked 
 with us. In Paris, where the Duchess spent much 
 
 25 
 
386 ' The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 time with her father or in society, the Duke would 
 pass the evenings in our study. The children were 
 only allowed to stay a few minutes with their grand- 
 father, and Mdme. de Praslin never sent for us to her 
 own sitting-room." 
 
 " You persist, then, in casting all the blame on 
 Mdme. de Praslin. It is painful to see that, when 
 we refer to the two letters addressed to you by that 
 excellent woman, one at the new year, where she 
 generously offers to forget all causes of disagreement 
 between herself and you, pardoning (though she spares 
 you that word) all that has passed. The other, 
 written at the period of your dismissal, when she 
 assures you of her good wishes, promises her pro- 
 tection, and confers on you a pension of 1500 francs, 
 in recompense of your services to her family." 
 
 "So far as regarded myself personally, Mdme. 
 de PrasHn's conduct was much as it was to all else, 
 even to those she liked best, rather uncertain, and 
 sometimes a little incomprehensible. For example, she 
 would atone time reproach me with the influence I exer- 
 cised in the family, at another urge me to use that very 
 influence in favour of some design of her own. Often 
 after a dispute she would make me some handsome 
 present. In the last days of my residence, even when 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 387 
 
 she had refused to allow me to dine in her company, 
 she would meet me with all her former kindness, and 
 send me books, &c., to amuse my mind." 
 
 " These are, indeed, strong proofs of the generosity 
 which was known to belong to her character. As for 
 her irritability and uneasiness, have you not contri- 
 buted to these, and to the want of harmony between 
 herself and the Duke by your correspondence with him 
 and the children after your dismissal?" 
 
 " Alas ! I declare that I had no evil design in that 
 correspondence, I was in despair, and might have 
 expressed my wounded feelings too strongly. If 
 Mdme. de Praslin had condescended to come to an 
 understanding with me, had taken our correspondence 
 under her own direction, had promised that my pupils 
 and I might occasionally be brought once more 
 together, the suffering would have been lessened, and 
 its expression toned down." 
 
 " Always blaming the unhappy lady !" 
 " I am sorry to say what I must say," replied the 
 witness, bursting into tears. " She is dead. Would 
 that I could recal her, not only at the cost of my own 
 life, but of tortures worse than death !" 
 
 Mdlle. Deluzy then proceeded to explain that since 
 quitting the family she had seen the Duke three times, 
 
 25—2 
 
388 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 once with his younger children, the second time alone, 
 when he had desired her to ask for him at the door, 
 the third time, on the 17th August (the night of the 
 murder), with three of his daughters and his son. 
 On occasion of the second interview their con- 
 versation turned upon the system of education to 
 be followed with regard to the third daughter, 
 Marie. 
 
 At the last visit much time was spent at first in 
 tears and embraces. After this, the witness afiSrmed, 
 embarrassed as she was by having to speak before the 
 children, she briefly informed the Duke that her 
 hostess, Mdme. Lemaire, had ofiered her a situation, 
 but having heard injurious reports concerning her, 
 required as a condition that Mdme. de Praslin should 
 write a letter of recommendation and " rehabilitation" 
 in her behalf. She, however, begged the Duke not 
 to press the matter with his lady, as Mdme. Lemaire 
 probably made more of" it than was really necessary, 
 in order to justify the moderate salary she had offered 
 to the witness. 
 
 "Mons. de Praslin," witness added, "then took 
 leave, fearing that the Duchess might reproach him 
 and the children for their visit. Our last words were 
 ' till to-morrow/ it having been agreed that I should 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 389 
 
 call at two o'clock and pay a visit of respect and con- 
 ciliation to Mdme. de Praslin." 
 
 " Had M. de Praslin held out hopes of obtaining 
 the letter of rehabilitation from his lady ?" 
 
 " He told Mdme. Lemaire it might be difficult, as 
 the Duchess wished me to leave France entirely." 
 
 " Was the Duke excited on taking leave ?" 
 
 " No. He had simply said, ' I am truly sorry for 
 you. I play a sad part in this affair.' But he was as 
 calm as usual." 
 
 " He said or did nothing to excite a suspicion of 
 the fearful extremities to which he intended to go ?" 
 
 " Nothing— nothing ! I know not if I may be 
 allowed to mention something that shows that violence 
 was not always on his side. I have several times 
 heard Mdme. de Praslin threaten suicide. At Vau- 
 dreuil she did attempt it. The Duke in depriving her 
 of a weapon received a slight wound in the hand. 
 Again, at Dieppe, after a quarrel which was over- 
 heard in our chamber by the children and myself, she 
 rushed into the street, intending to throw herself into 
 the sea. It may show her instability of temperament, 
 that the Duke found her, some hours later, shopping, 
 and perfectly composed." 
 
 "Were you aware that, there was a project of 
 
390 The Martyr- Wife. 
 
 separation on foot which, distressed Mdme. de 
 Praslin?" 
 
 "I was. L'Abbe Gallard, who, on the part of 
 Marshal Sebastiani, came to request me to leave, 
 alluded to the scandal that would ensue should I 
 refuse. As if I should refuse! And M. Eiant, 
 Madame's notary, told me that the Duchess had con- 
 ceived the project of separation, though the Duke 
 believed it to be only a passing fancy." 
 
 " Did the Duke himself never speak to you on that 
 subject ? Eeflect." 
 
 "When he came to teU me that his efforts to 
 procure my stay had failed, I wept bitterly ; and then 
 he said, ' Give way I beg of you with a good grace, for 
 the scandal they speak of can only mean a process of 
 separation, and then I should lose my children." 
 
 " There is reference made in your letters to certain 
 calumnies respecting you. WJiat calumnies ?" 
 
 "MM. Gallard and Eiant only said that an impres- 
 sion unfavourable to my character had been caused by 
 my intimate association with the Duke. After leaving 
 the house a sort of fatality still pursued me, and several 
 persons repeated these calumnies to Madame Lemaire." 
 
 Thus ended this singular and painful, but not un- 
 interesting interrogatory. 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 391 
 
 Further researches in the Hotel Sebastiani, and at 
 Vaux-Praslin, had meanwhile brought to light a 
 number of letters which completely revealed the pro- 
 gress of that domestic discord wTiich resulted in a 
 fearful crime. Those which bore the signature of the 
 ill-fated lady, deserved aU the eulogy pronounced on 
 them by the president, Pasquier. 
 
 " Precious relics," he called them, " of one of the 
 most beautiful spirits ever created by the Almighty 
 for the honour of our age — ^an eternal memorial of the 
 perversity of one of the guiltiest of men, but at the 
 same time suggesting the consoling reflection that 
 Providence has sometimes seen fit to place beside the 
 vilest natures their most angelic opposite, so that eyes, 
 wearied and offended with gazing on such guilt, may 
 find thus close at hand a reassuring solace." 
 
 On the 24th of August the condition of the Duke 
 was. such that the Cure de St. Jacques and L'Abbe 
 Bourgoin were summoned to his bedside, and admi- 
 nistered to the dying man the comforts of religion. 
 
 After this he appeared calmer and stronger, and 
 received a visit from the grand referendaire, to 
 whom he confessed that he had taken poison as soon 
 as he saw that suspicion rested upon him. 
 
 " But," remarked his visitor, " suicide in presence 
 
3'92 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 of such a charge is tantamount to admission of its 
 justice." 
 
 The Duke was silent for a moment, then declared 
 that no other person was cognisant of the intended 
 crime. His speech was interrupted by acute pains. 
 
 The grand referendary reminded him that the suf- 
 ferings of the soul were worse than any that could 
 befal the body, and entreated the dying man to seek 
 some alleviation of these in expressions of repentance, 
 adding that his family were willing to believe that the 
 deed he had committed was wrought in a moment of 
 madness. 
 
 The Duke raised his eyes to heaven, and murmured, 
 half inaudibly, " Yes, yes, I do repeat it !" 
 
 Pressed for some further explanations, the grand 
 referendary offering either to summon the Chancellor, 
 or to be himself the recipient of any such avowals, the 
 Duke became violently agitated ; and, after a minute 
 of silence, answered that he felt at the moment too 
 fatigued and suffering, but would willingly receive the 
 Chancellor on the morrow. 
 
 It was impossible to question him further. 
 He was, in fact, sinking rapidly; and some hours 
 later, at half-past four, the Duke de Praslin breathed 
 his last sigh. 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 393 
 
 The official report was completely affirmative as to 
 tlie guilt of the unhappy man. 
 
 " The presumption," remarked M. Pasquier, " was 
 but too well-founded. The Duke de Praslin has 
 judged and condemned himself. Seven days and a 
 half after sacrificing his pure and innocent victim, he 
 has avenged her on himself" 
 
 Human justice had no more claim on this unhappy 
 offender ; but it became necessary to pursue the inquiry 
 as regarded MdUe. Deluzy, and accordingly a requisi- 
 tion from the Procureur- General demanded that the 
 case be referred to the Court of First Instance in 
 Paris in order to complete the investigation. 
 
 In the interval took place the funeral ceremony of 
 the unhappy pair, but under very different circum- 
 stances. 
 
 The Duchess was interred in the vaults of the 
 Chateau Vaux. It was a solemn and touching cere- 
 monial, for the Duchess was adored by all the nume- 
 rous dependents of the family, as well as the neigh- 
 bouring poor for miles around. Her charities, never 
 revealed in her lifetime, were found noted in a locked 
 volume, in which she affected to record the expenses 
 of her toilette. 
 
 The Duke was buried as secretly as possible on the 
 
394 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 night of the 26th August. At midnight a travelling 
 hearse was brought into the garden of the Luxem- 
 bourg, and up to the inner entrance of the prison. 
 The coffin being placed within, the melancholy pro- 
 cession set forth, under the escort of a brigade of 
 sergens-de-ville, passing by the Eue Vaugirard^ 
 through the Barriere du Maine. Through the dark 
 and stormy night, it reached the Cemetery du Sud, 
 wherein some labourers had dug a grave for they 
 knew not whom. 
 
 In the morning those who visited the cemetery 
 might have noticed a fresh mound in the remotest 
 corner, shaded by cypress and yew, undistinguished 
 even by the black cross that crowns the meanest 
 grave. That was the last resting-place of one of the 
 noblest peers of Prance, the Duke de Choiseul- 
 Praslin. 
 
 The inquiry concerning Mademoiselle Deluzy, lasting 
 over many days, failed to reveal any legal grounds for 
 a criminal proceeding against her. A writ of non- 
 lieu was consequently issued, and she was at once 
 set at liberty. 
 
 We will now throw together, as briefly as possible, 
 the facts of this most melancholy domestic drama, as 
 elicited in the prolonged and minute inquiry. 
 
The Martyr. Wife. 395 
 
 It appeared that in October, 1824, Madame de 
 Praslin became tbe wife of the Dake (tben Marquis) of 
 that name. In March, 1841, Mademoiselle Deluzy 
 entered the family as governess. In this interval of 
 seventeen years Madame de Praslin had borne ten 
 children, of whom she lost only one. 
 
 If during that period there may be traceable in the 
 correspondence of the young wife some slight tokens 
 of jealousy, there was certainly nothing to indicate 
 real uneasiness, or any want of harmony in the 
 domestic circle. 
 
 Succeeding by the death of his father to the pro- 
 perty of Vaux-Praslin, the Duke expended large sums 
 in improving his magnificent domain ; but with this 
 new wealth and splendour, happiness seemed to take 
 wing. The affection that had lasted seventeen years 
 suddenly cooled. The Duke not only ceased to make 
 his young wife the sharer of his plans and pleasures, 
 he suddenly announced that each should occupy a 
 separate range of apartments, and furthermore ex- 
 pressed his desire that Madame de Praslin should not 
 herself any longer direct the education of the 
 children. 
 
 It is to this period that this letter refers. Eloquent, 
 impassioned, diffuse, as love's language frequently is. 
 
396 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 it is the wail of a repulsed, but innocent and loving 
 wife, whose only fault is jealousy — in such, a case, 
 another name for love. 
 
 "Ah, why," she writes, " my well-beloved, refuse to allow your 
 mind and spirit to accord with mine ? By this course you deprive 
 our Hves of their greatest charm. You call me ' exacting ' because 
 I desire to partake your troubles. You hide them from me as if 
 I were a stranger ; and to make me more completely so, condemn 
 me to isolation and the sense of your indifference. How long will 
 it take for me to follow this example ? My heart would break long 
 before it had attained that end. You do not like to see me suffer, 
 yet you will afford me none of the consolation that only you can 
 bring. I see that you yourself are unhappy. I feel that I have 
 within me treasures of love and pity, to give you comfort, and yet 
 you repulse me from you! Am I not the companion of your life — 
 half your very self ? entitled, therefore, to share your griefs and 
 troubles, as well as your happiness and prosperity 7 Who should 
 help and soothe you but she whom Providence itself has purposely 
 placed at your side ? 
 
 " It does not need an intelligence like yours to comprehend how 
 much a really loving nature requires. It may be that my occasional 
 warmth of manner has made you unwilling to confide too much to 
 me ; that I may have repelled you by a jealous, suspicious, or too 
 imperious bearing. Ah, believe me, Theobald, four months of 
 grief and repentance have wrought a change ! It is to console and 
 soothe you — not to irritate — that I desire a return of your confidence. 
 Ah ! I swear to you I will never more seek to control you. I 
 acknowledge your superior reason ; and in desiring to be, as formerly, 
 the true partner of your life, it is only that I may pour balm into 
 its every wound. Again I swear to you, in the name of my love — 
 of your own — of all that is dearest and most sacred to us both — 
 that I require only your love and trust 1 I will be guided solely 
 by you. I will torment you no more with my jealousy. I will 
 arrogate to myself no right of rebuke or counsel. My penitence is 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 397 
 
 too sincere — my suffering has been too great — to admit of my being 
 ever again guilty of the faults that have cost me so dear I 
 
 " We are very young, Theobald. Ah 1 do not let us be separated 
 all our lives to come ! Give me only trust and tenderness ! I will 
 be the loving, but passive half of your existence. 
 
 " Take back your Fanny ! Prove her, once more, with your 
 confidence and affection. You will find yourself happier thus than 
 separate from her. You seek for distractions, but do they restore 
 you to real happiness ? Ah — no 1 not with such a heart as yours, 
 and with the life we are leading now. Ah 1 do not be deaf to my' 
 prayers, my repentance, my vows, for I love you, and my life shall 
 be spent in love and gratitude to you I 
 
 " You treat me as if I had been absolutely guilty. You banish 
 me from your heart and bed. What more could you do, even had 
 I been unfaithful ? I weep day and night. I stand at your door, 
 and dare not enter. Of what do you accuse me ? My suspicions, 
 my impatience ? Have I ever displayed anger, such as one caress, 
 one word of tenderness, would not at once dispel ? 
 
 " My well-beloved, believe me, and restore me my lost happi- 
 ness. If you knew what delight I feel in hearing your praises — 
 what pleasure it gave me to hear my father this evening remarking 
 how much you could accomplish, and with ease, when it pleased 
 you to try ! Ah ! I was proud and happy, but not surprised, for 
 all that / knew a long time ago. 
 
 " My friend, my friend, you who once loved me so fondly, forgive 
 me ! You will never regret your goodness. When you shall tell 
 me of your troubles, your head upon my bosom, your hands in 
 mine, your lips on my brow, you will be happier, believe me, than 
 now ! Life is short, and we have already wasted so much in 
 separation. Very soon I shall lose courage to make advances 
 perpetually repelled. For you, it is not in your nature to take the 
 lead in such a matter. You will not stir — ^your wife dare not 1 
 Thus life will waste away, yourself unhappy, and your wife dying 
 of pain and sorrow ! Ah 1 then, return, return to me !" 
 
 It would seem that the reconciliation so touchingly 
 
398 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 courted was for the time effected. But it was only a 
 brief interval of peace. Too soon reappears on the 
 scene, revealed by the letters we are quoting, the sad 
 procession of weU-founded jealousies, suspicions, 
 wrongs, dissensions. Mdme. de Praslin evidently 
 strove to disbelieve the suggestions of her own heart 
 and reason j but the world would not leave her that 
 solace. The scandal was too widely spread. The 
 very servants knew the truth, and at length the pride 
 of the outraged wife rose in open revolt. 
 
 The 20th May, 1841, witnessed a fearful scene of 
 reproach and defiance. Words, never to be forgotten 
 either by the speaker or hearer, were uttered, and 
 Mdme. de Praslin, broken-hearted, retired to her own 
 apartments, and wrote as follows to her husband : 
 
 " Do not be surprised, my dear Theobald, at my fear to be alone 
 witli you. We are separated for ever — you have said so. While 
 I entertained any hope of a complete reconciliation, I was agitated, 
 day by day, with alternate hopes and fears, which may, without 
 doubt, have affected my demeanour. But now all is over ! The 
 sacrifice is made ! You may be at ease. Nothing before the world, 
 our children, or the household, shall betray to them that my happi- 
 ness is gone for ever ! 
 
 "To be alone with you is, at present, more than I can bear. I 
 must weep alone — must collect myself — and study carefully the new 
 and cold aspect that I must henceforth wear. Time may calm my 
 sorrow, and habit give me strength for what at this moment appears 
 to me impossible. Then, be assured, instead of avoiding you, you 
 will be, as formerly and for ever, my most welcome companion. . . 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 399 
 
 " It will be a labour to forget tlie past ; to forget, besides, my 
 later hopes and illusions. Time and custom can alone teach me to 
 separate, in my thoughts, Theobald from Mons. de Praslin, and 
 reduce the former to a mysterious recollection. 
 
 " Ah that what I sufEer, and have yet to suffer, may at least 
 secure your happiness ! Come without fear to Vaudreuil. Stay 
 much among your children. You shall never find me in your 
 path. 
 
 " Farewell ! Ah 1 that with this word all your troubles might 
 end ! Farewell 1 You loved me once ! Farewell once more 1 We 
 shall meet again in heaven — that — the only appointment I shall 
 henceforth make with you {le seul rendezvous que je te donnerai 
 disormais) — ^you dare not refuse! Think of this sometimes. I 
 love you ever. 
 
 Sebastiani Praslin." 
 
 With this bitter cry the unhappy wife retired to her 
 solitary couch, and sought such relief as tears can 
 give, biting her pillow as she lay, in the vain en- 
 deavour to keep down the sobs and signs of grief that 
 might else have brought intruders into that chamber 
 of sorrow. 
 
 At length, rest being impossible, she rose, and 
 opening the secret journal in which she was used to 
 record her trials and troubles, continued the mournful 
 narrative. The first few leaves were found to have 
 been torn away : 
 
 " Twice before these pages have been covered with 
 the recital of my griefs. I destroyed them in a 
 moment of hope, desiring to retain nothing that 
 
400 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 might bear testimony to the wrongs I had 
 suffered. 
 
 " Two years have passed. My hopes are dead for 
 ever, and I only feel the sad necessity of making you 
 comprehend a heart that had centred in you aU its 
 hopes of happiness. 
 
 " Your conduct must have been dictated by some- 
 thing more than indifference. Tou have a good 
 heart, and would hardly treat one who so fondly 
 loved you with such cruelty, without a stronger 
 motive. Nothing short of absolute aversion could 
 induce you to deprive me of all the privileges of a 
 wife and mother. 
 
 " Can you believe that I should mislead our 
 children ? Impossible ! Tou know my purity of 
 heart and life. Do you suppose I do not love them? 
 Great Heaven ! Then you believe me a being with- 
 out a soul — worse than a beast of prey ! 
 
 " True, I may have been indolent, perhaps incom- 
 petent, but that was my misfortune. And now I see, 
 too plainly, that your affection is gone, since you 
 take my children from me, only to entrust them to a 
 young, light woman, without religious principles, of 
 whom eight inonths ago you had never heard. 
 
 " Once I believed that I occupied the first place in 
 
The Martyr- Wife. 401 
 
 your heart, but I discovered my mistake, and sub- 
 mitted. Next I had to learn that you preferred your 
 independence to my affection; and again, after a 
 painful struggle, I yielded. The death of your 
 excellent father, whom I loved with all my heart, was 
 the occasion of proving to me that I held only the 
 fourth place in your regard. Ah that I could 
 persuade myself that I retain it still !" 
 
 A melancholy truce seems to have succeeded this 
 outbreak, the conditions of which must have been 
 violated by Monsieur de Praslin, for under the date 
 of January 25th, 1843, she writes : 
 
 "Until this year I might always feel sure of 
 meeting you once a day, when you came home. I 
 had permission even to visit you whenever I pleased ; 
 but now you pass almost all your evenings in your 
 own apartment, whether alone or not I cannot say, 
 and supper is brought to you there. 
 
 " Ah, my Theobald ! are your promises come to 
 this ? Tou had said, ' If you don't visit me I shall be 
 always seeking you, and in the end we shall be 
 reunited, not to part again.' Well, I have adhered 
 to my promise — but thou ? Tou said, ' Do not 
 question me, and I will tell you everything.' Years 
 have gone by since I have forborne the least inquiry, 
 
 26 
 
402 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 even into that which interests me most deeply, yet 
 you have never vouchsafed me the slightest informa- 
 tion to comfort and reassure me. 
 
 " Tou said, ' Leave the care of the children to me, 
 and I will consult you in everything that concerns 
 them, always preserving a seemly attitude in regard 
 to their governesses.' Ah ! how have these pledges 
 been observed?" 
 
 About this time the Duke appears to have experi- 
 enced something like a return of affection for his 
 neglected wife. There was reason, however, to doubt 
 its reality, and the poor wife finds herself compelled, 
 against her fondest desire, to suspect some hidden 
 motive. 
 
 " Last night, to my great surprise I must allow, 
 you loaded me with caresses — ^you made me the most 
 kind and tender promises. This evening, I teased 
 you to go to the theatre, to distract your mind ; you 
 answered that it was too late. Then you talked of 
 using a hired carriage for the evenings, as if you had 
 not always a carriage at your orders. Tou seem to 
 dread that I should know whither you go. And, in 
 reality, whither do you go, and whom do you visit ? 
 
 " You have just gone out, at ten o'clock, on foot. 
 You have no relations now in Paris; who then do 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 403 
 
 you visit, in such a manner, at suoh a time? 
 You think me suspicious, but surrounded with so 
 much that is mysterious, how can it be otherwise ? 
 My beloved Theobald, to me this is not life. Alas, 
 am I to be always kept in ignorance of everything 
 that concerns you ?" 
 
 Fresh explanations were entered into, and from 
 these Mdme. de Praslin seems to have become convinced 
 of the fact that her husband required of her nothing 
 less than a tacit sanction of whatever he chose to do — 
 that she should, in short, lend herself to a state of 
 things which, as wife and mother, must soon have 
 become intolerable to her. 
 
 "Does he understand," she writes, in May, 1842, 
 " that I cannot be happy without his exclusive confi- 
 dence ? — without resuming my position as mistress 
 of the house and directress of my children? Will 
 he concede that ? Will he venture to signify it to 
 Mdlle. Deluzy ? I doubt it. She will say, ' Choose 
 then between your wife and me.' And she will be 
 the conqueror." 
 
 On the 12th May, 1842, the Duchess had an ex- 
 planation with Mdlle. Deluzy, and writes her im- 
 pressions to her husband. 
 
 " I find that she does not insist upon being 
 
 26—2 
 
404 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 directed only by you. I believe that she would 
 remain if all went on as it was before, and I do not 
 think she desires to alienate my children from me. 
 She declares that you constantly tell them that my 
 health alone prevents my taking the direction of 
 their education. Ah, why did you not tell me you 
 had done so, and save me the pain of believing that 
 they thought me indifferent to them ?" 
 
 The discord makes fatal progress. On the 22nd 
 May the Duchess writes in her journal : 
 
 " All is over. We are hopelessly divided. How, 
 oh, how can he have conceived this hatred of one 
 who loved him so purely — so tenderly ? Ah, it is a 
 cruel fate for me !" 
 
 The next entry reveals a terrible scene. 
 
 " To-day," she addresses him, " disgusted at seeing 
 you so long in company with JVEdlle. Deluzy, I thought 
 I could best avoid a scene, and at the same time mark 
 my displeasure, by leaving you without a word. 
 How could I foresee the fury that succeeded ! Could 
 you push your violence farther than to follow me 
 upstairs with reproaches and insulting gestures, break 
 my china vase, and take away the two objects I valued 
 most? 
 
 "Is it true, then, oh, my Grod ! that his love is 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 405 
 
 wholly gone ? Sometimes I would fain doubt it, and 
 consider his conduct as a plan he has conceived to 
 correct my faults of character. But, alas! this has 
 lasted five years. I know I have faults. I suffer too 
 much not to remember that. 
 
 " He has not uttered one word of regret for his 
 violence, for the destruction of the things I prized so 
 highly. He smiles when I speak of it. I had hoped 
 that his passion was half assumed. 
 
 "How sad is the influence exercised upon him! 
 How changed he is ! Once so truthful, I detect him 
 now in a hundred falsehoods. Once so pure, he passes 
 his life in I know not what unworthy company. His 
 manners, once so dignified, are become gross and vulgar. 
 His language, once so polished, betrays the society he 
 now frequents. Ah, Theobald! thou art no more 
 thyself— no longer the man I loved." 
 
 Pour months later is recorded another outburst of 
 grief But this time she is less the wife than the 
 outraged mother : 
 
 ^^ Paris, September 15, 1842. 
 
 " You cannot, Theobald, be conscious of your own cruelty, and 
 the sufferings you inflict on me. Grief, believe me, is a slow and 
 painful death. Ah, Theobald, how I loved you ! How I loved our 
 children ! I had nothing else in the world. Now, nothing is left 
 me of all I had, even your name; I live alone, abandoned, despised. 
 
406 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 I that have a husband and nine children ! Another woman before 
 my very eyes enjoys all that is most precious to me, and you 
 expect me to be content ! My God 1 what crime has brought upon 
 me such a penalty ? Ah, Theobald, you had no right to deprive 
 me of my children, to give them over to a woman without modesty, 
 without principle, without discretion ! Ah that you should be 
 thus weak and blind ! 
 
 " Mdlle. Deluzy is entirely mistress. Never before has the 
 position she holds been so provocative of scandal. And what an 
 example to give the young, to show them that it is a common thing 
 to visit, at any hour and in any dress, a man's apartment, to receive 
 him in one's dressing-gown, to arrange journeys, parties of pleasure, 
 &c., &c., and to pass entire evenings alone with him ! Has she not 
 had the insolence to say to me, ' I am sorry, madame, that it is out 
 of my power to mediate between yourself and your husband ? But 
 in your own interests I strongly advise you to treat me as your 
 friend. No doubt it must be painful to you to be separated from 
 your children ;, but seeing the resolution the Duke has come to with 
 regard to this, I feel that he must have serious reasons for what 
 he has decided upon.' Is it possible that your wife, who has been 
 always pure and affectionate, should be subjected to such an insult 
 from a hired governess whom you hardly know ? What must I 
 feel to see my children in the hands of one who avows her con- 
 tempt of me, and establishes her ascendancy by causing me to be 
 hated and repulsed by my husband ?" 
 
 Anotlier year has passed, and the Duchess finds 
 herself in the same isolated condition. 
 
 Letter, undated, found at'Praslin. 
 
 " On arriving here I hoped for at least some short period of 
 truce — of tranquillity. The illusion was brief. Before the steps 
 of the carriage were let down, I read in your icy looks — in the 
 faces of my children — in the little green eyes that glittered behind 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 407 
 
 your shoulder, that I should have to undergo treatment so painful 
 and humiliating that 1 cannot express it in language. Be assured, 
 Theobald, if I struggle yet, it is from a sense of the duty imposed 
 on me to neglect nothing that may restore even an apparent peace, 
 while I cannot by my silence give seeming approval to a state of 
 things as regards the children which I feel to be detestable in the 
 present, and most pernicious in the future. I know very well that 
 you are master — can act as you please with regard to me, but this 
 is a matter- in which a wife's rights are almost equal to those of 
 her husband. You must be aware that did I appeal to the law, it 
 would decide in my favour. You know well that I shall not do so ; 
 but is that a reason for abusing your power ? You desire at any 
 cost to retain MdUe. Deluzy. You think the loss would be irre- 
 mediable. You, who find it so simple and easy to supplant a 
 mother, deem it impossible to find a substitute for a governess ! ! 
 She might have proved a good one, but you have demoralized 
 {denature) her office. How should it not affect her to hear you 
 say more clearly than in words, ' I have a wife, but I prefer your 
 society — ^your affection and care ? My children have a mother, 
 but I have greater confidence in your devotion, your care, discre- 
 tion, judgment, tenderness — although you are young and almost 
 a stranger. Take my wife's place, then — command, direct. Who- 
 ever is worthy to guide my children must be supreme here.'' 
 
 " Theobald, you have not the right to condemn me to this civil 
 death. My children must suspect me of some guilt. Ask yourself 
 frankly what you would feel were you to be deprived at once of a 
 wife you fondly loved, and your children, and doomed to see the 
 latter delivered up to every kind of false and dangerous impression, 
 "When I was weak enough, in excess of love for you, to make the 
 .sacrifice of resigning the care of my children in the vain hope of 
 regaining your lost affection, I committed a great fault. I confess 
 it. I ought to have rather died. It was a false calculation, and 
 has given you a bad opinion of my judgment and principles — even 
 of my heart. But my tenderness confounded all our rights in orae. 
 I regarded you as a part of myself. But oh, how weak you are ! 
 
408 The Martyr- Wife. 
 
 You have reached a point at which you dare not take a manly step 
 with regard to your wife and children. You must have the 
 sanction of that person for all you do. You are such a slave to her 
 that you dare not stir without her. You are constantly at her 
 side, and your wife — the mother of your nine children — ^must live 
 and die alone." 
 
 Other letters, too painful to transcribe, might be 
 introduced bare, but we must hasten towards the close 
 of one of the saddest episodes of modern social life. 
 
 It would seem that whenever M. de Praslin returned 
 answers to these mournful appeals, they contained little 
 beyond attempted recriminations, cruel reproaches, 
 and hints of a separation. To one of these the un- 
 happy wife, rejoins : 
 
 " Mt dear Theobald, — No more illusions. I feel my brain begin- 
 ning to give way. In the name of your children, have pity on their 
 mother. Do not drive me absolutely mad. Is it possible that you 
 can take a cruel pleasure in speaking before aU the world of pro- 
 jects, aU the more painful to me because I love you, and yet feel 
 that they are intended for my punishment ? Why will you always 
 torment me with an affectation of mysteries with which. I am to 
 have nothing to do ? You say that you desire a temporary separa- 
 tion — to return to me, perhaps, hereafter, with renewed affection 
 when we shall have lost the habit of quarrelling. But do you not 
 see that the more I suffer, the more bitter will my feelings 
 become ? Kindness may cure me — but pain and sorrow drive me 
 beyond myself. If, when ybu returned to me after a long separa- 
 tion, you should find me cold, apathetic, habituated to that melan- 
 choly independence — would it not grieve and disappoint you ? All 
 I entreat is that you would abandon these ideas of separation, and 
 
The Marlyr-Wife. 409 
 
 spare me this pretence of mysteries I do not share. If we become 
 reconciled, you shall torment me thus as much as you please, but 
 now " 
 
 The irritation still augments. Mdme. de PrasHn 
 begins to feel that as wife and mother she can remain 
 no longer in the cruel and humiliating position assigned 
 her. 
 
 \Written in pencil ; found at Praslin, in the Duke's 
 secretary^ 
 
 " You have the rare and precious gift of poisoning everything. 
 If by your doubtful words and menaces you mean to imply that I 
 disapprove of the control exercised in our house by a person I utterly 
 despise, and who deserves neither your confidence nor mine, you are 
 right. The very presence of a woman who so conducts herself near 
 my children, is a shameful scandal. I know very well that you 
 have other connexions (liaisons), and that she does not absorb you 
 entirely — but, at any rate, she gives herself the air of doing so. 
 1 have the right to tell you that, in placing young people in the 
 hands of a woman who disregards all appearances, and is entirely 
 devoid of self-respect, you are committing a very grievous error. 
 You are at liberty to act as you please ; but you are, in fact, 
 training up my children to expose them hereafter to the desertion 
 and contempt that have been the portion of their mother. You 
 abandon them to a woman who misleads you, and whose principles 
 are most corrupt. So long as I had a husband, children, and a 
 home, I was happy, and never dreamed of separating myself from 
 them for a day. Now that you have deprived me of all, I own 
 that I do desire to escape from what you have made a hell." 
 
 {Later date.) 
 " You will not be surprised, sir, if after such an insult, I refuse 
 to remain under the same roof with the person to whom I am in- 
 
410 The Martyr- Wife. 
 
 debted for it. For a long time I have been seeking to have some 
 definite explanation with yoUi I have done all in my power to 
 obtain it. You refuse. I therefore, in order to avoid greater 
 scandal still, demand your permission to travel. During the in- 
 terval you can reflect upon the course you will take. I shall not 
 remain in Paris, but shall visit Lower Normandy. It will be 
 supposed that I go to the sea-baths. The day will come, Theobald, 
 when you wiE regain your reason, and comprehend your cruelty 
 and injustice towards the mother of your children. I shall leave, 
 if you think proper, the day after to-morrow. Endeavour to spare 
 me a carriage. I shall not go by Paris. You have treated me 
 like a guilty wife. God forgive you for it." 
 
 In a letter written on the eve of departure, the 
 Duchess writes : 
 
 " Adieu, Theobald. If a sentiment of false shame hinders you 
 from hereafter repairing the wrong you have done me, God is my 
 witness that I leave you with my heart broken, but with ardent 
 prayers for your happiness. I know that, however you may one 
 day regret what you have made me endure, your ideas of dignity 
 will not permit you fully to atone for it. It is, therefore, solely 
 for the interests of my children that I implore you to open your 
 eyes. They are in the worst hands. Farewell, farewell. Have 
 pity on your children." 
 
 The year 1 846 brought a gleam of sunshine across 
 these stormy skies. On New Tear's Day Mdme. 
 de Praslin made a touching advance towards recon- 
 ciliation with the person who had been the source of 
 all her misery. She sent her a bracelet, accompanied 
 with the following letter : 
 
The Martyr- Wife. 411 
 
 " Paris, January Isi, 1846. 
 
 " If it is forbidden us to lie down to rest without having forgiven 
 our enemies, it seems to me even more incumbent on us to bury 
 with the old year all causes of dissension and discontent. It is, 
 therefore, in all sincerity, Mademoiselle, that I offer you my hand, 
 desiring, in order that we may henceforth live in harmony, that 
 you wiU forget any painful moments I have caused you, while I, 
 on my part, will banish aU remembrance of what has on your side 
 occasioned me pain and sorrow. 
 
 " I am satisfied of your sincere and tender attachment to my 
 children, and no one, believe me, is so ready as I to feel both 
 gratitude and afEection for any one who devotes herself to their 
 care, so that I am not condemned to the pain of seeing them 
 alienated from their mother. In separation from me I lose my 
 fitting place in their young hearts and lives, and the end will be 
 that they will doubt my love ; while I may even be so unhappy as 
 to lose, without reason, their esteem and confidence. 
 
 " That cannot surely be your object, since you must be well 
 aware that it is as harmful for children as it is distressing to a 
 mother to destroy a bond so sacred. By degrees consequences are 
 arrived at which were neither foreseen nor intended. 
 
 " I had purposed long ago writing to you at this time of recon- 
 ciliation and good-will. It is, therefore, with double pleasure that I 
 have received your pretty offering to-day, since it affords a proof 
 that you are as desirous as myself to put an end to a state of things 
 which must, I am certain, be annoying to the children, while it 
 places ycni perpetually in false and disagreeable positions, and 
 isolates me from all I hold most dear. 
 
 " Let us, therefore, wholly resign the course hitherto followed, 
 and thus be free to adopt another and a happier one. I beg your 
 acceptance of this little pledge of an agreement to which I trust 
 you will cordially accede. 
 
 Sebastiani Peaslin." 
 
 Some months now elapse. Mdlle. Deluzy is at 
 
412 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 Turin, on a visit to the Duchess's eldest daughter, 
 married in Italy. 
 
 Mdme. de Praslin replies to a letter from the 
 governess in these terms : — 
 
 "Praslin, 25th August, 1845. 
 
 " I do not wish, Mademoiselle, to delay answering and thanking 
 you for your kind letter, which afforded me lively pleasure, and 
 which I could have wished twice as long. It was indeed time that 
 news should arrive. Both my head and heart were becoming dis- 
 quieted with this long silence. Everybody seemed to be aware of 
 that, for the factor himself, of his own accord, brought me my letters 
 late at night. Among them were Bertha's and your own. The 
 good Louis had gone to Melun, meaning to return to-morrow ; but 
 noticing among my letters the Turin postmark, forgot how tired he 
 was, and ran back in triumph with the letter-bag to Praslin. Tou 
 see, it is good to have friends about one, and this incident will 
 show you how quickly they observed my anxiety. At last ! 
 All's well that ends well. 
 
 " To-day we heard mass at the Chapel de St. Louis. My little ones 
 are very good, and from eight in the morning till half-past nine at 
 night we are rarely separate. In the evening I read them selections 
 from Moliere, which delight them. 
 
 " Thank you a thousand times for the details you send me. 
 Pray continue these welcome communications. 
 
 " The children had prepared a fSte for the distribution of prizes 
 at the Sisters', and I intended to have conveyed them thither, but 
 we had to give it up. The Cur^ de Crisenay had strongly advised 
 my doing so. There was a kind of epidemic at Maincy, and there 
 were many deaths among the very old and very young, whUe at 
 Maisenay only women were attacked by it. 
 
 "We live shut in at Praslin; but, I assure you, not shut up. 
 "When it is fine we stay never less than four hours out in the park. 
 My dear little things and I get on very well in our solitude. 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 413 
 
 " The council-general is on the 14th. I think Mons. de Praslin 
 ■will be there. In his place, I should. 
 
 " You say that Louise and Bertha speak much of me to Isabella. 
 It is perhaps to give me pleasure that you mentioned that. At all 
 events, you have entirely succeeded. I wept with joy. 
 
 " Once more, dear mademoiselle, I thank you from my heart for 
 your letter. Do not let it be the last. 
 
 Sebastiani Praslin." 
 
 Mdme. de Praslin herself went to Italy, and on lier 
 return had an almost friendly explanation with, her 
 husband, when it was agreed that order should be 
 re-established in the disturbed family. Unfortunately 
 nothing was actually effected. Troubles reappeared, 
 and a new and terrible crisis was at hand. 
 
 {Found in the Duke's secretary. ) 
 
 " Paris, January \Mh, 1847. 
 
 " My dear Theobald, — Up to this moment I have waited for the 
 fulfilment of your renewed promises. At my return from Italy, 
 it was agreed that our domestic system should undergo a complete 
 change. I feel it my duty to tell you that I could not return to 
 Praslin without resuming my due position as wife, mother, and 
 mistress, in the completest sense. 
 
 " The governess plan has never answered. It is time to renounce 
 it altogether. 
 
 " Until my daughters are married I shall live constantly among 
 them, partake their occupations, accompany them everywhere. My 
 plans are made, and I am sure that, on reflection, you will find as 
 much ground of confidence in trusting their education to a mother 
 as to any governess. Masters can be had as easily at Praslin as at 
 
414 The Martyr- Wife. 
 
 Paris, and recourse lias already been had to them. I have foreseen, 
 and can arrange everything. 
 
 " My father has, I know, offered Mademoiselle Deluzy a hand- 
 some pension. With this and the exercise of her talents she can 
 subsist honourably in England. 
 
 " You may fear that the children will miss her too much. It is 
 a natural regret, but will be less lasting and profound than you 
 imagine. I have good reasons for believing this. I have often 
 heard you speak of her in a manner that convinced me you had 
 begun to feel, at least in some degree, the grave inconvenience of 
 her presence in the family. 
 
 " Prom a feeling of delicacy I have not sought any support 
 out of your own family to disembarrass us of this painful source 
 of dissension ; but now, after years of patience, I feel that I 
 must give way to my father's very natural desire to speak with 
 you on a matter which so dearly concerns the interests of my 
 children. Since you, my best support, have failed me, I can only 
 appeal to my father. The first vexation passed, I am sure that 
 you will learn to rejoice in a crisis that will have restored peace 
 to our household. 
 
 " If you desire that Mademoiselle Deluzy should visit PrasHn to 
 collect her property, I will remain in Paris till she returns. If she 
 only sends for them, I will proceed thither whenever you please. 
 I have done my best, in spite of all that has occurred, to arrange 
 for her, as you wished, an honourable retirement from her 
 post. 
 
 " I have fulfilled my task. Duty to my children forbids me to 
 delay any longer putting an end to a position of things most 
 hurtful to us all. 
 
 " Do not be afraid of any painful recriminations. It is the 
 interest of both to abstain from such. The first condition of 
 domestic life should be peace and kind consideration. 
 
 " It is only on mature reflection that I have resolved to take this 
 step. It is the advice of my father, and would have, I am sure, 
 the assent of my uncle De Coigny, the representative of my mother. 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 415 
 
 My hope is that all can be arranged between my father, yourself, 
 and me, without the interference of anyone beside. 
 
 "You have often, my dear Theobald, expressed your wish for 
 this change, yet you as often shrink from making it. But now I 
 rely on your assistance in this, as in everything else that concerns 
 the happiness and welfare of our children. 
 
 Fanny Sebastiani Peaslin." 
 
 The wretched and demoralized nature to which 
 these lines were addressed remained untouched hy 
 the appeal. 
 
 " Death comes too slowly," writes the unhappy wife, later, " but 
 it is coming. I cannot bear this profound misery. I have neither 
 husband nor children. My place is occupied by others. What 
 are independence, luxury, fortune to me? I want my husband and 
 my children. I liked dress when I went abroad in your company. 
 I liked parties, attended by you. I loved all curious and pretty 
 objects when vye lived in harmony together ; but now aU these only 
 offend and weary me. 
 
 " If you knew what I suffer when I see happy wives, and hear 
 them talking of their households ! You tell me to make new 
 acquaintances, but what right have I, repulsed by my husband and 
 children, to claim love and friendship from those who move in a 
 circle of duties and afEections of their own ? Might they not ask, 
 ' What can you ask of us, you who have a husband and nine 
 children of your own ?' 
 
 " Cher, bon Theobald ! Do not curse me in my grave, for I loved 
 you all — all — my poor dear cherished ones ! Alas 1 must I die 
 before you will be reconciled to me ?" 
 
 The poor soul turns to the only ear that is never 
 deaf to the sufferer's cry. She kneels before the Holy 
 
416 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 Book, and opens it at hazard. It is the second 
 chapter of Ecclesiastes : — 
 
 " My son, when thou shalt engage in the service 
 of the Lord, prepare thyself for trial and temptation, 
 and strengthen thyself in the justice and the fear of 
 God. Keep thy soul in humility, and abide in 
 patience." 
 
 Eefreshed by the sublime admonition, she rises 
 and records her prayerful comment : — 
 
 " Take from me, Lord, if it be Thy pleasure, all my 
 earthly blessings, the affections of all I love most 
 fondly, and reunite us one day in Thy bosom. Save 
 us, 0* Grod, to Thine eternal restj and for this our 
 fleeting life deal with it as Thou wilt. Thou knowest 
 I speak from my heart. What Thou wilt / will. 
 Grive me only strength, and resignation to abide Thy 
 pleasure." 
 
 In June, 1847, Marshal Sebastiani, becoming 
 aware of the point at which matters had arrived, and 
 of the daily-increasing scandals, determined to inter- 
 pose. A violent scene was the consequence ; after 
 which the Duke, Duchess, and the children, ceased to 
 take their meals, as formerly, in the Marshal's 
 apartments. 
 
 The annexed letter speaks for itself. 
 
The Martyr- Wife. 4 1 7 
 
 Marshal Sebastiani to the Duke de Praslin. 
 
 " MoNS. LE Due, — You have caused me very great pain. You 
 have accused me of indifference in having closed my doors to you 
 and your family. Do me justice. I have done all in my power 
 to avert this separation. I have risked discredit in forcibly shutting 
 my eyes to scandals which have been propagated in the newspapers, 
 besides affecting disbelief of the reports with which aU Paris is but 
 too familiar. 
 
 " In recompense of my generosity, you have addressed to me re- 
 proaches as bitter as they were undeserved. 
 
 " I have never mentioned the name of Mdlle. Deluzy to any one. 
 I- am prepared to offer you certain testimony, which it is in your 
 own interest to hear ; but be just, and do not require from me 
 what is manifestly impossible. If I cease to receive my daughter, 
 it is that I may not embitter you more against her. You, there- 
 fore, it is who deprive me of the company of my grandchildren. 
 I have not deserved this treatment at your hands. 
 
 " Try to understand the true interests of these young people. 
 Have I ever done anything to you that could justify such conduct ? 
 But you are hardly yourself, and I can overlook it. Take counsel 
 of your own heart, which is a good one, and will therefore do me 
 justice. 
 
 H. Sebastianl 
 
 "When you are as old as I am, you may perhaps regret having 
 used me thus." 
 
 The old Marshal had, however, resolved, cost what 
 it might, to put an end to this deplorable condition of 
 things. His daughter had spoken of a separation. 
 That scandal must be spared if possible. 
 
 The cause, real or apparent, of the disunion was 
 Mdlle. Deluzy. The Marshal sent his notary, M. 
 
 27 
 
418 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 Riant, to visit her, and explain to her the conse- 
 quences that would result from her persistent resi- 
 dence in the family. 
 
 The Abbe Grallard also called upon her, and, in 
 somewhat sterner language, pointed out the necessity 
 for her immediate departure from a house in which 
 her presence was a perpetual cause both of dissension 
 and of scandal. 
 
 Mdlle. Deluzy acknowledged to herself that all was 
 over. She consented to depart. 
 
 Grreat kindness and delicacy seem to have been 
 displayed towards this woman, who, whether rightly 
 or wrongly, had been the understood source of so 
 much discord and suffering. Marshal Sebastiani 
 settled on her a pension of 1500 francs, only re- 
 quiring that she should quit France altogether. 
 
 The two annexed letters bear upon this point : — 
 
 "June Wth, 1847. 
 
 " Madame la Duchesse, — I should have desired to express by 
 word of mouth the feelings which animate me, but under present 
 circumstances I find the task beyond my power. Allow me then 
 to postpone until a calmer and happier time the thanks I owe you 
 for the generosity with which you reward my poor services. In 
 quitting the children I love so tenderly your approbation afforded 
 me a certain comfort. 
 
 " I accept gratefully the recommendations you are good enough 
 to offer, and shall avail myself of them the moment circumstances 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 419 
 
 permit. The failing health of my grandfather compels me at this 
 moment to remain with him. 
 
 " I shall beg leave to make you acquainted with my after pro- 
 ceedings ; and meanwhile entreat you, Madame, to receive the 
 expression of my profound respect. 
 
 H. Deluzy." 
 
 Be^ly of Mdme. de Praslin. 
 
 ''June 19th, 1847. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, — I regret much to hear that you are indisposed, 
 and that in that state you incurred the fatigue of thanking me for 
 what, remembering your devotion to my children, was nothing 
 more than due. If regard for their true interests has hastened a 
 separation which, a few days since, appeared to be much more 
 distant, do not doubt but that it will only render me more anxious 
 to serve you whenever you will afford me the opportunity. 
 
 " I hear that you propose to pay a visit to Lady Hislop. In 
 that case I would offer you a letter to Lady Tankerville, who will, 
 I am sure, unite with Lady Hislop in assisting your wishes to the 
 best of their power. If you desire an introduction also to Mdme. 
 de Flahaut and to Miss Elphinstone, pray say so. 
 
 " I remember that you wished to borrow a book of me at Praslin. 
 I trust you will not refuse me the pleasure of offering it as a 
 present. 
 
 "I can only repeat. Mademoiselle, that I shall be most eager to 
 aid your wishes at any opportunity that may present itself, and 
 trust that you will soon afford me that pleasure. 
 
 S. Pkaslin." 
 
 The victory was won! — a sad triumph — alas! and 
 .pregnant with a fearful sequel. 
 
 Mdme. de- Praslin experiences a sense of impending 
 misfortune. The Duke has muttered threats, and his 
 
 27-2 
 
420 . The Martyr- Wife. 
 
 cold and gloomy looks inspire her with, a secret 
 nameless apprehension. Her journal contains the 
 following passages, written on the eve of their 
 departure for Praslin : — 
 
 "Jwne 17th, 1847. 
 
 " I am obliged to tell myself again and again that in joining my 
 efforts to tlidse of my father to get rid of that woman, I have only 
 accomplished a sacred dtity. It has cost me dear. I hate V&clat, 
 but every one, and my own conscience also, approve the act. 
 
 " My God ! What will come of it ? {Quel sera Vavenir?) How 
 enraged he is ! One might suppose that he was not the most to 
 blame. Can he shut his eyes to that ? My God, open them !" 
 
 {Last Extract.) 
 
 " He had been tired of this woman for a long time, but was 
 afraid of her. That is why he refused to dismiss her. It ia clearly 
 so. And now that he has got help his self-love revolts against it. 
 That is his real cause of annoyance ; and in conjuring up within 
 himself a fictitious grief he hopes to soothe it. . ' You have marred 
 my whole Kfe by this act.' These were his words, spoken with 
 suppressed fury. 
 
 " In what haste he seemed, yesterday, to leave for Praslin, and 
 to cut the matter short (couper court de suite) ! Yes, I have, as they 
 assure me, done him a real service; but, as concerns myself, he will 
 never forgive it — never I He will be revenged on me. Day by day, 
 hour by hour, minute by minute, he will revenge himself for the 
 good I have done him, for my having been right when he was 
 wrong. The gulf between us will grow deeper day by day. The 
 more he broods on this the more he feels conscious of his own 
 error, the more will he wreak his vengeance on me. The future 
 appals me — I shudder in the contemplation {L'avenir nCeffraie; je 
 tremble en y songeant):" 
 
The Martyr- Wife. 421 
 
 The rest is known. 
 
 One month later Mdme. de Praslin wrote the 
 following paper. It was found in her cabinet, sealed, 
 and marked — 
 
 " Mes Impressions. 
 
 " July 13th, 1847. 
 
 " It is long since I have written a line, but nothing is changed. 
 
 " She is to leave, they say, when we go to Praslin ; in the 
 meantime she exercises the same influence over both my husband 
 and children. I can understand her conduct, if indeed she be quite 
 devoid of shame, but his remains a mystery. He condemns the 
 scandal, yet every day he supplies it with fresh food. He pretends 
 that his relatives have been assailed, and makes public his quarrel 
 with my father as the consequence of it. He breaks with us, while 
 he is perpetually with her. It is the most incomprehensible 
 character I have ever known. 
 
 " What can have given her this empire over him ? It must 
 surely be the influence of fear. 
 
 " Poor man ! I heartily pity him. What a life ! what a future ! 
 If at forty- two he can be so easily fooled by an intriguante, what will 
 become of him when old ? 
 
 " How I loved him once ! He must, perforce, have been 
 changed by these debasing associations ; for, viewing him as he 
 appears now, I cannot understand my own passionate love. It is 
 not the same man ; how suspicious he has grown, how apathetic, 
 how irritable ! Nothing animates, interests, or arouses him ; no 
 generous, exalted, or enthusiastic ideas seem to occur for an instant 
 to his altered mind. All that could conduce to an useftd, brilliant, 
 happy, honourable life was at his command. Now he cares for 
 nothing — his country, his children, are of no consideration. He has 
 feUen to be the cavalier servant of governesses, and is little better 
 than their slave. 
 
422 The Martyr-Wife. 
 
 " I really believe that he holds to this woman (whom he has 
 ceased to love at least these two years) because he fears that, once 
 away from here, she would make his existence intolerable. 
 
 " It is strange; but I am convinced she attributes my pressing her 
 dismissal to my love and jealousy of himself. He does not under-; 
 stand I now think only of my children. It flatters him ; but I 
 have no doubt that, if he had not believed my love inextinguishable, 
 he would have treated me better. One might perhaps preserve a 
 spark of love in one's heart for a man who, if harsh and cruel, is 
 still capable of something great and honourable ; nay, if he be but 
 just and conscientious. But 
 
 " Certainly there was good material in his heart and under- 
 standing, but the want of fixed moral and religious principles has 
 been fatal to him ; and his mental indolence gave the material pas- 
 sions way. 
 
 " How lonely he has become ! He has scarcely one real, sincere 
 friend. He has only connexions formed for pleasure, bonds that 
 become galling chains, because he has not the mental strength to 
 fling them fairly aside. It is frightfiil 1 
 
 " How weak, after all, are men ! How strange ! he has blamed, 
 oppressed, humiliated, abandoned me, for the sake of one whom in 
 reality he does not care for ! 1 loved him only, and with an ardour 
 that amazes me when I recal it now. It may be, I know not, but 
 possibly in his heart he may yet prefer me to these women that he 
 both disdains and fears, while I on my part am disenchanted with 
 Mm. 
 
 " Our position is both strange and sad. He has had pleasure 
 enough, but little love ; and now the love he might have had is 
 drowned in tears I 
 
 " How will it all end ? I cannot think there will ever be a com- 
 plete reconciliation, desirable as that must be for the children. 
 He will shun me because he has done me wrong, and I shall only 
 seek him through my devotion to our chUdreu. Some feeling 
 within me revolts against making advances to a man, even my 
 husband, while doubtful of his love. 
 
The Martyr-Wife. 423 
 
 "My God, Thou alone knowest all that I have suffered in 
 hunger of the heart. If I have not fallen into temptation, glory to 
 Thee, O Lord. Thou only art my stay. Oh, leave me not now, 
 for, wanting Thee, I perish. My God, my God! support and 
 guide me. I dread the future — ^the menaces he has uttered {fai 
 peur de Vavenir — des menaces qu'il m'a fait) — the difficulties 
 which every day arise. 
 
 " But Thou art at hand, and I have trust in Thee, that Thou 
 wilt support the poor mother fighting this hard battle for her 
 children. Lord, help me !" 
 
 These were the last recorded words of one whom 
 we have called, we think not inaptly, the 
 
 Martyr-Wife. 
 
 THE END, 
 
LOSDOH : 
 
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