XXXI.
At last, in his dark cell, Jacques de Boiscoran saw the day break thatwas to decide his fate.
He was to be tried to-day.
The occasion was, of course, too good to be neglected by "The SauveterreIndependent." Although a morning paper, it published, "in view ofthe gravity of the circumstances," an evening edition, which a dozennewsboys cried out in the streets up to mid-night. And this was what itsaid,--
ASSIZES AT SAUVETERRE.
THURSDAY, 23.
Presiding Judge.--M. DOMINI.
ASSASSINATION! INCENDIARISM!
[Special Correspondence of the Independent.]
Whence this unusual commotion, this uproar, this great excitement, inour peaceful city? Whence these gatherings of our public squares, thesegroups in front of all the houses! Whence this restlessness on allfaces, this anxiety in all eyes?
The reason is, that to-day this terrible Valpinson case will be broughtup in court, after having for so many weeks now agitated our people.
To-day this man who is charged with such fearful crimes is to be tried.
Hence all steps are eagerly turned towards the court-house: the peopleall hurry, and rush in the same direction.
The court-house! Long before daylight it was surrounded by an eagermultitude, which the constables and the gendarmes could only withdifficulty keep within bounds.
They press and crowd and push. Coarse words fly to and fro. From wordsthey pass to gestures, from gestures to blows. A row is imminent. Womencry, men swear, and two peasants from Brechy are arrested on the spot.
It is well known that there will be few only, happy enough to get in.The great square would not contain all these curious people, who havegathered here from all parts of the district: how should the court-roombe able to hold them?
And still our authorities, always anxious to please their constituents,who have bestowed their confidence upon them, have resorted to heroicmeasures. They have had two partition walls taken down, so that a partof the great hall is added to the court-room proper.
M. Lautier, the city architect, who is a good judge in such matters,assures us that this immense hall will accommodate twelve hundredpersons.
But what are twelve hundred persons?
Long before the hour fixed for the opening of the court, every thing isfull to overflowing. A pin might be thrown into the room, and it couldnot fall to the ground.
Not an inch of space is lost. All around, along the wall men arestanding in close ranks. On both sides of the platform, chairs have beenput, which are occupied by a large number of our first ladies in goodsociety, not only of Sauveterre, however, but also of the neighborhoodand even other cites. Some of them appear in magnificent toilettes.
A thousand reports are current, a thousand conjectures are formed, whichwe shall take care not to report. Why should we? Let us say, however,that the accused has not availed himself of his right to reject acertain number of jurymen. He has accepted all the names which weredrawn by lot, and which the prosecuting attorney did not object to.
We obtained this information from an attorney, a friend of ours; and,just as he had told us all about it, a great noise rose at the door,which was followed by rapid moving of chairs, and half-smotheredexclamations.
It was the family of the accused, who had come in, and now occupied theseats assigned them close by the platform.
The Marquis de Boiscoran had on his arm Miss Chandore, who wore withgreat grace and dignity a dark gray dress, trimmed with cherry-coloredribbons. M. de Chandore escorted the Marchioness de Boiscoran. Themarquis and the baron looked cold and reserved. The mother of theaccused appears utterly overcome. Miss Chandore, on the contrary, islively, does not seem in the least concerned, and returns with abright smile the few greetings she receives from various parts of thecourt-room.
But soon they are no longer an object of curiosity.
The attention of all is now directed towards a large table standingbefore the judges, and on which may be seen a number of articles coveredby large red cloth.
These are the articles to be used in evidence.
In the meantime it strikes eleven o'clock. The sheriff's officers moveabout the room, seeing that every thing is in order.
Then a small door opens on the left, and the counsel for the defenceenter.
Our readers know who they are. One is M. Magloire, the ornament of ourbar; the other, an advocate from the capital, M. Folgat, quite young,but already famous.
M. Magloire looks as he does on his best days, and smilingly converseswith the mayor of Sauveterre; while M. Folgat opens his blue bag, andconsults his papers.
Half-past eleven!
An usher announces,--
The court.
M. Domini takes the chair. M. Gransiere occupies the seat of theprosecuting attorney.
Behind them the jurymen sit down, looking grave and solemn.
Everybody rises, everybody strains his eyes to see, and stands ontiptoe. Some persons in the back rows even get upon their chairs.
The president has ordered the prisoner to be brought in.
He appears.
He is dressed in black, and with great elegance. It is noticed that hewears in his buttonhole the ribbon of the Legion of Honor.
He looks pale; but his eye is clear and open, full of confidence, yetnot defiant. His carriage is proud, though melancholy.
He has hardly taken his seat when a gentleman passes over three rows ofchairs, and, in spite of the officers of the court, succeeds in shakinghands with him. It is Dr. Seignebos.
The president orders the sheriff to proclaim silence; and, afterhaving reminded the audience that all expressions of approbation ordisapprobation are strictly prohibited, he turns to the accused, andasks him,--
"Tell me your first names, your family name, your age, your profession,and your domicile."
The accused replies,--
"Louis Trivulce Jacques de Boiscoran, twenty-seven years, land-owner,residing at Boiscoran, district of Sauveterre."
"Sit down, and listen to the charges which are brought against you."
The clerk, M. Mechinet, thereupon reads the charges, which, in theirterrible simplicity, cause a shudder to pass through the whole audience.
We shall not repeat them here, as all the incidents which they relateare well known to our readers.
[Examination of the Accused.]
PRESIDENT.--Accused, rise and answer clearly. During the preliminaryinvestigation, you have refused to answer several questions. Now thematter must be cleared up. And I am bound to tell you it is to yourinterest to answer frankly.
ACCUSED.--No one desires more than I do that the truth be known. I amready to answer.
P.--Why were you so reticent in your first examination?
A.--I though it important for my interests to answer only in court.
P.--You have heard of what crimes you are accused?
A.--I am innocent. And, first of all, I beg you will allow me to say onething. The crime committed at Valpinson is an atrocious, cowardly crime;but it is at the same time an absurdly stupid crime, more like theunconscious act of a madman. Now, I have always been looked upon as notlacking exactly in intelligence.
P.--That is a discussion.
A.--Still, Mr. President--
P.--Hereafter you shall have full liberty to state your argument. Forthe present you must be content to answer the questions which I shallask you.
A.--I submit.
P.--Were you not soon to be married?
At this question all eyes are turned towards Miss Chandore, who blushestill she is as red as a poppy, but does not cast down her eyes.
A.--(In a low voice.) Yes.
P.--Did you not write to your betrothed a few hours before the crime wascommitted?
A.--Yes, sir; and I sent her my letter by the son of one of my tenants,Michael.
P.--What did you write to her?
A.--That important business would prevent me from spending the eveningwith her.
P.--What was that business?
At the moment when the accused opened his lips to reply, the presidentstopped him by a gesture, and said,--
P.--Take care! You were asked this question during the preliminaryinvestigation, and you replied that you had to go to Brechy to see yourwood-merchant.
A.--I did indeed make that reply on the spur of the moment. It was notexact.
P.--Why did you tell a falsehood?
A.--(After an expression of indignation, which was noticed by all.) Icould not believe that I was in danger. It seemed to me impossible thatI should be reached by an accusation, which nevertheless, has broughtme into this court. Hence I did not deem it necessary to make my privateaffairs public.
P.--But you very soon found out that you were in danger?
A.--Yes, I did.
P.--Why did you not tell the truth then?
A.--Because the magistrate who carried on the investigation had been toointimate a friend of mine to inspire me with confidence.
P.--Explain yourself more fully.
A.--I must ask leave to say no more. I might, in speaking of M. Galpin,be found to be wanting in moderation.
A low murmur accompanies this reply made by the accused.
P.--Such murmurs are improper, and I remind the audience of the respectdue to the court.
M. Gransiere, the prosecuting attorney, rises,--
"We cannot tolerate such recriminations against a magistrate who hasdone his duty nobly, and in spite of the pain it caused him. If theaccused had well-founded objections to the magistrate, why did he notmake them known? He cannot plead ignorance: he knows the law, he is alawyer himself. His counsel, moreover, are men of experience."
M. Magloire replies, in his seat,--
"We were of the opinion that the accused ought to ask for a change ofvenue. He declined to follow our advice, being confident, as he said,that his cause was a good one."
M. Gransiere, resuming his seat,--
"The jury will judge of this plea."
P.--(To the accused.) And now are you ready to tell the truth withregard to that business which prevented you from spending the eveningwith your betrothed?
A.--Yes, sir. My wedding was to take place at the church in Brechy, andI had to make my arrangements with the priest about the ceremony. I had,besides, to fulfil certain religious duties. The priest at Brechy,who is a friend of mine, will tell you, that, although no day hadbeen fixed, it had been agreed upon between us that I should come toconfession on one of the evenings of the week since he insisted upon it.
The audience, which had been expecting some very exciting revelations,seemed to be much disappointed; and ironical laughter was heard invarious directions.
P.--(In a severe tone of voice.) This laughter is indecent andobjectionable. Sheriff, take out the persons who presume to laugh. Andonce more I give notice, that, at the first disturbance, I shall orderthe room to be cleared.
Then, turning again to the accused, he said,--
P.--Go on!
A.--I went therefore to the priest at Brechy, that evening: unluckilythere was no one at home at the parsonage when I got there. I wasringing the third or fourth time in vain, when a little peasant-girlcame by, who told me that she had just met the priest at the Marshalls'Cross-roads. I thought at once I would go and meet him, and went inthat direction. But I walked more than four miles without meeting him. Ithought the girl must have been mistaken, and went home again.
P.--Is that your explanation?
A.--Yes.
P.--And you think it a plausible one?
A.--I have promised to say not what is plausible, but what is true.I may confess, however, that, precisely because the explanation is sosimple, I did not venture at first to give it. And yet if no crime hadbeen committed, and I had said the day after, "Yesterday I went to seethe priest at Brechy, and did not find him," who would have seen anything unnatural in my statement?
P.--And, in order to fulfil so simple a duty, you chose a roundaboutway, which is not only troublesome, but actually dangerous, right acrossthe swamps?
A.--I chose the shortest way.
P.--Then, why were you so frightened upon meeting young Ribot at theSeille Canal?
A.--I was not frightened, but simply surprised, as one is apt to bewhen suddenly meeting a man where no one is expected. And, if I wassurprised, young Ribot was not less so.
P.--You see that you hoped to meet no one?
A.--Pardon me, I did not say so. To expect is not the same as to hope.
P.--Why, then did you take such pains to explain your being there?
A.--I gave no explanations. Young Ribot first told me, laughingly, wherehe was going, and then I told him that I was going to Brechy.
P.--You told him, also, that you were going through the marshes to shootbirds, and, at the same time you showed him your gun?
A.--That may be. But is that any proof against me? I think just thecontrary. If I had had such criminal intentions as the prosecutionsuggests, I should certainly have gone back after meeting people,knowing that I was exposed to great danger. But I was only going to seemy friend, the priest.
P.--And for such a visit you took your gun?
A.--My land lies in the woods and marshes, and there was not a day whenI did not bag a rabbit or a waterfowl. Everybody in the neighborhoodwill tell you that I never went out without a gun.
P.--And on your return, why did you go through the forest ofRochepommier?
A.--Because, from the place where I was on the road, it was probably theshortest way to Boiscoran. I say probably, because just then I did notthink much about that. A man who is taking a walk would be very muchembarrassed, in the majority of cases, if he had to give a preciseaccount why he took one road rather than another.
P.--You were seen in the forest by a woodcutter, called Gaudry?
A.--So I was told by the magistrate.
P.--That witness deposes that you were in a state of great excitement.You were tearing leaves from the branches, you were talking loud.
A.--I certainly was very much vexed at having lost my evening, andparticularly vexed at having relied on the little peasant-girl. It isquite likely that I might have exclaimed, as I walked along, "Plagueupon my friend, the priest, who goes and dines in town!" or some suchwords.
There was a smile in the assembly, but not such as to attract thepresident's attention.
P.--You know that the priest of Brechy was dining out that day?
M. Magloire rose, and said,--
"It is through us, sir, that the accused has found out this fact. Whenhe told us how he had spent the evening, we went to see the priestat Brechy, who told us how it came about that neither he nor hisold servant was at the parsonage. At our request the priest has beensummoned. We shall also produce another priest, who at that time passedthe Marshalls' Cross-roads, and was the one whom the little girl hadseen."
Having made a sign to counsel to sit down again, the president once moreturns to the accused.
P.--The woman Courtois who met you deposes that you looked very curious.You did not speak to her: you were in great haste to escape from her.
A.--The night was much too dark for the woman to see my face. She askedme to render her a slight service, and I did so. I did not speak to her,because I had nothing to say to her. I did not leave her suddenly, butonly got ahead of her, because her ass walked very slowly.
At a sign from the president, the ushers raise the red cloth which coverthe objects on the table.
Great curiosity is manifested by the whole audience; and all rise, andstretch their necks to see better. On the table are displayed clothes,a pair of velveteen trousers, a shooting-jacket of maroon-coloredvelveteen, an old straw hat, and a pair of dun-colored leather boots. Bytheir side lie a double-barrelled gun, packages of cartridges, two bowlsfilled with small-shot, and, finally, a large china basin, with a darksediment at the bottom.
P.--(Showing these objects to the accused.) Are those the clothes whichyou wore the eveni
ng of the crime?
A.--Yes, sir.
P.--A curious costume in which to visit a venerable ecclesiastic, and toperform religious duties.
A.--The priest at Brechy was my friend. Our intimacy will explain, evenif it does not justify, the liberty I took.
P.--Do you also recognize this basin? The water has been allowed toevaporate, and the residue alone remains there on the bottom.
A.--It is true, that, when the magistrate appeared at my house, he foundthere the basin full of dark water, which was thick with half-burnt_debris_. He asked me about this water, and I did not hesitate a momentto tell him that I had washed my hands in it the evening before, aftermy return home.
Is it not evident, that if I had been guilty, my first effort wouldhave been to put every evidence of my crime out of the way? And yet thiscircumstance is looked upon as the strongest evidence of my guilt, andthe prosecution produces it as the most serious charge against me.
P.--It is very strong and serious indeed.
A.--Well, nothing can be more easily explained than that. I am a greatsmoker. When I left home the evening of the crime, I took cigars inabundance; but, when I was about to light one, I found that I had nomatches.
M. Magloire rises, and says,--
"And I wish to point out that this is not one of those explanationswhich are invented, after the fact, to meet the necessities of adoubtful case. We have absolute and overwhelming proof of it. M. deBoiscoran did not have the little match-box which he usually carriesabout him, at that time, because he had left it at M. de Chandore'shouse, on the mantelpiece, where I have seen it, and where it still is."
P.--That is sufficient, M. Magloire. Let the defendant go on.
A.--I wanted to smoke; and so I resorted to the usual expedient, whichall sportsmen know. I tore open one of my cartridges, put, instead ofthe lead, a piece of paper inside, and set it on fire.
P.--And thus you get a light?
A.--Not always, but certainly in one case out of three.
P.--And the operation blackens the hands?
A.--Not the operation itself. But, when I had lit my cigar, I could notthrow away the burning paper as it was: I might have kindled a regularfire.
P.--In the marshes?
A.--But, sir, I smoked five or six cigars during the evening, whichmeans that I had to repeat the operation a dozen times at least, andin different places,--in the woods and on the high-road. Each time Iquenched the fire with my fingers; and, as the powder is always greasy,my hands naturally became soon as black as those of a charcoal-burner.
The accused gives this explanation in a perfectly natural but stillrather excited manner, which seems to make a great impression.
P.--Let us go on to your gun. Do you recognize it?
A.--Yes, sir. May I look at it?
P.--Yes.
The accused takes up the gun with feverish eagerness, snaps the twococks, and puts one of his fingers inside the barrels.
He turns crimson, and, bending down to his counsel, says a few words tothem so quickly and so low, that they do not reach us.
P.--What is the matter?
M. MAGLOIRE.--(Rising.) A fact has become patent which at onceestablishes the innocence of M. de Boiscoran. By providentialintercession, his servant Anthony had cleaned the gun two days beforethe day of the crime. It appears now that one of the barrels is stillclean, and in good condition. Hence it cannot be M. de Boiscoran who hasfired twice at Count Claudieuse.
During this time the accused has gone up to the table on which theobjects are lying. He wraps his handkerchief around the ramrod, slips itinto one of the barrels, draws it out again, and shows that it is hardlysoiled.
The whole audience is in a state of great excitement.
P.--Do the same thing to the other barrel.
The accused does it. The handkerchief remains clean.
P.--You see, and still you have told us that you had burnt, perhaps, adozen cartridges to light your cigars. But the prosecution had foreseenthis objection, and they are prepared to meet it. Sheriff, bring in thewitness, Maucroy.
Our readers all know this gentleman, whose beautiful collection ofweapons, sporting-articles, and fishing-tackle, is one of the ornamentsof our great Square. He is dressed up, and without hesitation takes therequired oath.
P.--Repeat your deposition with regard to this gun.
WITNESS.--It is an excellent gun, and very costly: such guns are notmade in France, where people are too economical.
At this answer the whole audience laughs. M. Maucroy is not exactlyfamous for cheap bargains. Even some of the jurymen can hardly controltheir laughter.
P.--Never mind your reflections on that object. Tell us only what youknow about the peculiarities of this gun.
WITNESS.--Well, thanks to a peculiar arrangement of the cartridges, andthanks, also, to the special nature of the fulminating material, thebarrels hardly ever become foul.
A.--(Eagerly.) You are mistaken, sir. I have myself cleaned my gunfrequently; and I have, just on the contrary, found the barrelsextremely foul.
WITNESS.--Because you had fired too often. But I mean to say that youcan use up two or three cartridges without a trace being left in thebarrels.
A.--I deny that positively.
P.--(To witness.) And if a dozen cartridges were burnt?
WITNESS.--Oh, then, the barrels would be very foul.
P.--Examine the barrels, and tell us what you see.
WITNESS.--(After a minute examination.) I declare that two cartridgescannot have been used since the gun was cleaned.
P.--(To the accused.) Well, what becomes of that dozen cartridges whichyou have used up to light your cigars, and which had blackened yourhands so badly?
M. MAGLOIRE.--The question is too serious to be left entirely in thehands of a single witness.
THE PROSECUTING ATTORNEY.--We only desire the truth. It is easy to makean experiment.
WITNESS.--Oh, certainly!
P.--Let it be done.
Witness puts a cartridge into each barrel, and goes to the window toexplode them. The sudden explosion is followed by the screams of severalladies.
WITNESS.--(Returning, and showing that the barrels are no more foul thanthey were before.) Well, you see I was right.
P.--(To the accused.) You see this circumstance on which you relied sosecurely, so far from helping you, only proves that your explanation ofthe blackened state of your hands was a falsehood.
Upon the president's order, witness is taken out, and the examination ofthe accused is continued.
P.--What were your relations with Count Claudieuse?
A.--We had no intercourse with each other.
P.--But it was known all over the country that you hated him?
A.--That is a mistake. I declare, upon my honor, that I always lookedupon him as the best and most honorable of men.
P.--There, at least, you agree with all who knew him. Still you are atlaw with him?
A.--I have inherited that suit from my uncle, together with his fortune.I carried it on, but very quietly. I asked for nothing better than acompromise.
P.--And, when Count Claudieuse refused, you were incensed?
A.--No.
P.--You were so irritated against him, that you once actually aimed yourgun at him. At another time you said, "He will not leave me alone till Iput a ball into him." Do not deny! You will hear what the witnesses say.
Thereupon, the accused resumes his place. He looks as confident asever, and carries his head high. He has entirely overcome any feelingof discouragement, and converses with his counsel in the most composedmanner.
There can be no doubt, that, at this stage of the proceedings, publicopinion is on his side. He has won the good-will even of those who camethere strongly prejudiced. No one can help being impressed by his proudbut mournful expression of fate; and all are touched by the extremesimplicity of his answers.
Although the discussion about the gun has not turned out to hisadvantage, it does not seem to have in
jured him. People are eagerlydiscussing the question of the fouling of guns. A number of incredulouspersons, whom the experiment has not convinced, maintain that M. Maucroyhas been too rash in his statements. Others express surprise at thereserve shown by counsel,--less by that of M. Folgat, who is unknownhere, than by that of M. Magloire, who usually allows no opportunity toescape, but is sure to profit by the smallest incident.
The proceedings are not exactly suspended; but there is a pause, whilstthe ushers cover the articles on the table once more with red cloth,and, after several comings and goings, roll a large arm-chair in frontof the judge's seat.
At last one of the ushers comes up to the president, and whisperssomething into his ear.
The president only nods his head.
When the usher has left the room, M. Domini says,--
"We shall now proceed to hear the witnesses, and we propose to beginwith Count Claudieuse. Although seriously indisposed, he has preferredto appear in court."
At these words Dr. Seignebos is seen to start up, as if he wished toaddress the court; but one of his friends, sitting by him, pulls himdown by his coat. M. Folgat makes a sign to him, and he sits down again.
P.--Sheriff, bring in Count Claudieuse.
[Examination of Witnesses.]
The small door through which the armorer Maucroy had been admitted opensonce more, and Count Claudieuse enters. Supported and almost carried byhis man-servant.
He is greeted by a murmur of sympathetic pity. He is frightfully thin;and his features look as haggard as if he were about to give up theghost. The whole vitality of his system seems to have centred in hiseyes, which shine with extraordinary brilliancy.
He takes the oath in an almost inaudible voice.
But the silence is so deep, that when the president asks him the usualquestion, "Do you swear to tell the whole truth?" and he answers, "Iswear," the words are distinctly heard all over the court-room.
P.--(Very kindly.) We are very much obliged to you, sir, for the effortwhich you have made. That chair has been brought in for you: please sitdown.
COUNT CLAUDIEUSE.--I thank you, sir; but I am strong enough to stand.
P.--Please tell us, then, what you know of the attempt made on yourlife.
C.C.--It might have been eleven o'clock: I had gone to bed a littlewhile before, and blown out my light. I was in that half state which isneither waking nor sleeping, when I saw my room lighted up by a dazzlingglare. I saw it was fire. I jumped out of bed, and, only lightlydressed, rushed down the stairs. I found some difficulty in opening theouter door, which I had locked myself. At last I succeeded. But I had nosooner put my foot outside than I felt a terrible pain in my right side,and at the same time I heard an explosion of fire-arms. Instinctively Irushed towards the place from which the shot seemed to have been fired;but, before I had taken three steps, I was struck once more in myshoulder, and fell down unconscious.
P.--How long a time was there between the first and the second shots?
C.C.--Almost three or four seconds.
P.--Was that time enough to distinguish the murderer?
C.C.--Yes; and I saw him run from behind a wood-pile, where he had beenlying in ambush, and escape into the country.
P.--You can tell us, no doubt, how he was dressed?
C.C.--Certainly. He had on a pair of light gray trousers, a dark coat,and a large straw hat.
At a sign from the president, and in the midst of the most profoundsilence, the ushers remove the red cloth from the table.
P.--(Pointing at the clothes of the accused.) Does the costume which youdescribe correspond with those cloths?
C.C.--Of course; for they are the same.
P.--Then you must have recognized the murderer.
C.C.--The fire was so large at that time, that it was as bright asdaylight. I recognized M. Jacques de Boiscoran.
There was, probably, in the whole vast audience assembled under thatroof, not a heart that was not seized with unspeakable anguish whenthese crushing words were uttered.
We were so fully prepared for them, that we could watch the accusedclosely.
Not a muscle in his face seemed to move. His counsel showed as littleany signs of surprise or emotion.
Like ourselves, the president also, and the prosecuting attorney, hadbeen watching the accused and his counsel. Did they expect a protest, ananswer, any thing at all? Perhaps they did.
But, as nothing came, the president continued, turning to witness,--
P.--Your declaration is a very serious one, sir.
C.C.--I know its weight.
P.--It is entirely different from your first deposition made before theinvestigating magistrate.
C.C.--It is.
P.--When you were examined a few hours after the crime, you declaredthat you had not recognized the murderer. More than that, when M. deBoiscoran's name was mentioned, you seemed to be indignant of such asuspicion, and almost became surety yourself for his innocence.
C.C.--That was contrary to truth. I felt a very natural sense ofcommiseration, and tried to save a man who belonged to a highly esteemedfamily from disgraceful punishment.
P.--But now?
C.C.--Now I see that I was wrong, and that the law ought to have itscourse. And this is my reason for coming here,--although afflicted by adisease which never spares, and on the point of appearing before God--inorder to tell you M. de Boiscoran is guilty. I recognized him.
P.--(To the accused.) Do you hear?
The accused rises and says,--
A.--By all that is dear and sacred to me in the world, I swear that Iam innocent. Count Claudieuse says he is about to appear before God: Iappeal to the justice of God.
Sobs well-nigh drown the voice of the accused. The Marchioness deBoiscoran is overcome by a nervous attack. She is carried out stiff andinanimate; and Dr. Seignebos and Miss Chandore hasten after her.
A.--(To Count Claudieuse.) You have killed my mother!
Certainly, all who had hoped for scenes of thrilling interest were notdisappointed. Everybody looks overcome with excitement. Tears appear inthe eyes of almost all the ladies.
And yet those who watch the glances which are exchanged between M. deBoiscoran and Count Claudieuse cannot help asking themselves, if thereis not something else between these two men, besides what the trial hasmade known. We cannot explain to ourselves these singular answers givento the president's questions, nor does any one understand the silenceobserved by M. de Boiscoran's counsel. Do they abandon their client? No;for we see them go up to him, shake hands with him, and lavish upon himevery sign of friendly consolation and encouragement.
We may even be permitted to say, that, to all appearances, the presidenthimself and the prosecuting attorney were, for a moment, perfectlyovercome with surprise. At all events, we thought so at the moment.
But the president continues,--
P.--I have but just been asking the accused, count, whether there wasany ground of enmity between you.
C.C.--(In a steadily declining voice.) I know no other ground except ourlawsuit about a little stream of water.
P.--Has not the accused once threatened to fire at you?
C.C.--Yes; but I did not think he was in earnest, and I never resentedthe matter.
P. Do you persist in your declaration?
C.C.--I do. And once more, upon my oath, I declare solemnly that Irecognized, in such a manner as to prevent any possible mistake, M.Jacques Boiscoran.
It was evidently time that Count Claudieuse should end his evidence. Hebegins to totter; his eyes close; his head rolls from side to side; andtwo ushers have to come to his assistance to enable him, with the helpof his own servant, to leave the room.
Is the Countess Claudieuse to be called next?
It was thought so; but it was not so. The countess being kept by thebedside of one of her daughters, who is most dangerously ill, will notbe called at all; and the clerk of the court is ordered to read herdeposition.
Although her description of the terri
ble event is very graphic,it contains no new facts, and will remain without influence on theproceedings.
The next witness is Ribot.
This is a fine handsome countryman, a regular village cock, with apink-and-blue cravat around his neck, and a huge gold chain danglingfrom his watch-pocket. He seems to be very proud of his appearance andlooks around with an air of the most perfect self-satisfaction.
In the same way he relates his meeting with the accused in a tone ofgreat importance. He knows every thing and explains every thing. Witha little encouragement he would, no doubt, declare that the accused hadconfided to him all his plans of incendiarism and murder. His answersare almost all received with great hilarity, which bring down upon theaudience another and very severe reprimand from the president.
The witness Gaudry, who succeeds him, is a small, wretched-looking man,with a false and timid eye, who exhausts himself in bows and scrapes.Quite different from Ribot, he seems to have forgotten every thing. Itis evident he is afraid of committing himself. He praises the count; buthe does not speak the less well of M. de Boiscoran. He assures the courtof his profound respect for them all,--for the ladies and gentlemenpresent, for everybody, in fine.
The woman Courtois, who comes next, evidently wishes she were a thousandmiles away. The president has to make the very greatest efforts toobtain, word by word, her evidence, which, after all, amounts to next tonothing.
Then follow two farmers from Brechy, who have been present at theviolent altercation which ended in M. de Boiscoran's aiming with his gunat Count Claudieuse.
Their account, interrupted by numberless parentheses, is very obscure.One of the counsel of the defendant requests them to be more explicit;and thereupon they become utterly unintelligible. Besides, theycontradict each other. One has looked upon the act of the accused as amere jest: the other has looked upon it so seriously as to throw himselfbetween the two men, in order to prevent M. de Boiscoran from killinghis adversary then and there.
Once more the accused protests, energetically, he never hated CountClaudieuse: there was no reason why he should hate him.
The obstinate peasant insists upon it that a lawsuit is always asufficient reason for hating a man. And thereupon he undertakes toexplain the lawsuit, and how Count Claudieuse, by stopping the water ofthe Seille, overflowed M. de Boiscoran's meadows.
The president at last stops the discussion, and orders another witnessto be brought in.
This man swears he has heard M. de Boiscoran say, that, sooner or later,he would put a ball into Count Claudieuse. He adds, that the accusedis a terrible man, who threatened to shoot people upon the slightestprovocation. And, to support his evidence, he states that once before,to the knowledge of the whole country, M. de Boiscoran has fired at aman.
The accused undertakes to explain this. A scamp, who he thinks was noone else but the witness on the stand, came every night and stole histenants' fruit and vegetables. One night he kept watch, and gave him aload of salt. He does not know whether he hit him. At all events, thethief never complained, and thus was never found out.
The next witness is a constable from Brechy. He deposes that once CountClaudieuse, by stopping up the waters of the little stream, theSeille, had caused M. de Boiscoran a loss of twenty thousand weight offirst-rate hay. He confesses that such a bad neighbor would certainlyhave exasperated him.
The prosecuting attorney does not deny the fact, but adds, that CountClaudieuse offered to pay damages. M. de Boiscoran had refused withinsulting haughtiness.
The accused replies, that he had refused upon the advice of his lawyer,but that he had not used insulting words.
Next appeared the witnesses summoned by the defence.
The first is the excellent priest from Brechy. He confirms the statementof the accused. He was dining, the evening of the crime, at the houseof M. de Besson; his servant had come for him; and the parsonage wasdeserted. He states that he had really arranged with M. de Boiscoranthat the latter should come some evening of that week to fulfil thereligious duties which the church requires before it allows a marriageto be consecrated. He has known Jacques de Boiscoran from a child, andknows no better and no more honorable man. In his opinion, that hatred,of which so much has been said, never had any existence. He cannotbelieve, and does not believe, that the accused is guilty.
The second witness is the priest of an adjoining parish. He states,that, between nine and ten o'clock, he was on the road, near theMarshalls' Cross-roads. The night was quite dark. He is of the same sizeas the priest at Brechy; and the little girl might very well have takenhim for the latter, thus misleading M. de Boiscoran.
Three other witnesses are introduced; and then, as neither the accusednor his counsel have any thing to add, the prosecuting attorney beginshis speech.
[The Charge.]
M. Gransiere's eloquence is so widely known, and so justly appreciated,that we need not refer to it here. We will only say that he surpassedhimself in this charge, which, for more than an hour, held the largeassembly in anxious and breathless suspense, and caused all hearts tovibrate with the most intense excitement.
He commences with a description of Valpinson, "this poetic and charmingresidence, where the noble old trees of Rochepommier are mirrored in thecrystal waves of the Seille.
"There," he went on to say,--"there lived the Count and the CountessClaudieuse,--he one of those noblemen of a past age who worshippedhonor, and were devoted to duty; she one of those women who are theglory of their sex, and the perfect model of all domestic virtues.
"Heaven had blessed their union, and given them two children, to whomthey were tenderly attached. Fortune smiled upon their wise efforts.Esteemed by all, cherished, and revered, they lived happy, and mighthave counted upon long years of prosperity.
"But no. Hate was hovering over them.
"One evening, a fatal glare arouses the count. He rushes out; he hearsthe report of a gun. He hears it a second time, and he sinks down,bathed in his blood. The countess also is alarmed by the explosion, andhastens to the spot: she stumbles; she sees the lifeless body of herhusband, and sinks unconscious to the ground.
"Are the children also to perish? No. Providence watches. A flash ofintelligence pierces the night of an insane man, who rushes throughthe flames, and snatches the children from the fire that was alreadythreatening their couch.
"Their lives are saved; but the fire continues its destructive march.
"At the sound of the terrible fire-bell, all the inhabitants of theneighboring villages hurry to the spot. But there is no one to directtheir efforts; there are no engines; and they can do nothing.
"But all of a sudden a distant rumbling sound revives hope in theirhearts. They know the fire-engines are coming. They come; they reach thespot; and whatever men can do is done at once.
"But great God! What mean those cries of horror which suddenly rise onall sides? The roof of the house is falling, and buries under its ruinstwo men, the most zealous and most courageous of all the zealous andcourageous men,--Bolton the drummer, who had just now summoned hisneighbors to come to the rescue, and Guillebault, a father with fivechildren.
"High above the crash and the hissing of flames rise their heart-rendingcries. They call for help. Will they be allowed to perish? A gendarmerushes forward, and with him a farmer from Brechy. But their heroismis useless: the monster keeps its prey. The two men also are apparentlydoomed; and only by unheard-of efforts, and at great peril of life, canthey be rescued from the furnace. But they are so grievously wounded,that they will remain infirm for the rest of their lives, compelled toappeal to public charity for their subsistence."
Then the prosecuting attorney proceeds to paint the whole of thedisaster at Valpinson in the sombrest colors, and with all the resourcesof his well-known eloquence. He describes the Countess Claudieuse asshe kneels by the side of her dying husband, while the crowd is eagerlypressing around the wounded man and struggling with the flames for thecharred remains of the unfortunate firemen. With increasing vehe
mence,he says next,--
"And during all this time what becomes of the author of these fearfulmisdeeds? When his hatred is gratified, he flees through the wood, andreturns to his home. Remorse, there is none. As soon as he reaches thehouse, he eats, drinks, smokes his cigar. His position in the country issuch, and the precautionary measures he had taken appear to him so wellchosen, that he thinks he is above suspicion. He is calm. He feels soperfectly safe, that he neglects the commonest precautions, and does noteven take the trouble of pouring out the water in which he has washedhis hands, blackened as they are by the fire he has just kindled.
"He forgets that Providence whose torch on great occasions illumines andguides human justice.
"And how, indeed, could the law ever have expected to find the guiltyman in one of the most magnificent chateaux of the country but for adirect intervention of Providence?
"For the incendiary, the assassin, was actually there, at the ChateauBoiscoran.
"And let no one come and tell us that the past life of Jacques deBoiscoran is such as to protect him against the formidable charges thatare brought against him. We know his past life.
"A perfect model of those idle young men who spend in riotous living afortune painfully amassed by their fathers, Jacques de Boiscoran had noteven a profession. Useless to society, a burden to himself, he passedthrough life like a ship without rudder and without compass, indulgingin all kinds of unhealthy fashions in order to spend the hours that wereweighing heavily upon him.
"And yet he was ambitious; but his ambition lay in the direction ofthose dangerous and wicked intrigues which inevitably lead men to crime.
"Hence we see him mixed up with all those sterile and wanton partymovements which discredit our days, uttering over and over again hollowphrases in condemnation of all that is noble and sacred, appealing tothe most execrable passions of the multitude"--
M. MAGLOIRE.--If this is a political affair, we ought to be informedbeforehand.
ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--There is no question of politics here. We speak ofthe life of a man who has been an apostle of strife.
M. MAGLOIRE.--Does the attorney-general fancy he is preaching peace?
PRESIDENT.--I request counsel for the defence not to interrupt.
ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--And it is in this ambition of the accused that wemust look for a key to that terrible hatred which has led him tocommit such crimes. That lawsuit about a stream of water is a matter ofcomparatively little importance. But Jacques de Boiscoran was preparingto become a candidate for election.
A.--I never dreamed of it.
ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--(Not noticing the interruption.) He did not say so;but his friends said it for him, and went about everywhere, repeatingthat by his position, his wealth, and his opinions, he was the man bestworthy of the votes of Republicans. And he would have had an excellentchance, if there had not stood between him and the object of his desiresCount Claudieuse, who had already more than once succeeded in defeatingsimilar plots.
M. MAGLOIRE.--(Warmly.) Do you refer to me?
ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--I allude to no one.
M. MAGLOIRE.--You might just as well say at once, that my friends aswell as myself are all M. de Boiscoran's accomplices; and that we haveemployed him to rid us of a formidable adversary.
ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--(Continues.) Gentlemen, this is the real motive ofthe crime. Hence that hatred which the accused soon is unable to concealany longer, which overflows in invectives, which breaks forth in threatsof death, and which actually carries him so far that he points his gunat Count Claudieuse.
The attorney-general next passes on to examine the charges, which, hedeclares, are overwhelming and irrefutable. Then he goes on,--
"But what need is there of such questions after the crushing evidence ofCount Claudieuse? You have heard it,--on the point of appearing beforeGod!
"His first impulse was to follow the generous nature of his heart, andto pardon the man who had attempted his life. He desired to save him;but, as he felt death come nearer, he saw that he had no right to shielda criminal from the sword of justice: he remembered that there wereother victims beside himself.
"And then, rising from his bed of agony, he dragged himself here intocourt, in order to tell you. 'That is the man! By the light of the firewhich he had kindled, I saw him and recognized him. He is the man!'
"And could you hesitate after such evidence? No! I can not and will notbelieve it. After such crimes, society expects that justice should bedone,--justice in the name of Count Claudieuse on his deathbed,--justicein the name of the dead,--justice in the name of Bolton's mother, and ofGuillebault's widow and her five children."
A murmur of approbation accompanied the last words of M. Gransiere, andcontinued for some time after he had concluded. There is not a woman inthe whole assembly who does not shed tears.
P.--The counsel for the defence.
[Pleading.]
As M. Magloire had so far alone taken an active part in the defence, itwas generally believed that he would speak. But it was not so. M. Folgatrises.
Our court-house here in Sauveterre has at various times reechoed thewords of almost all our great masters of forensic eloquence. We haveheard Berryer, Dufaure, Jules Favre, and others; but, even after theseillustrious orators, M. Folgat still succeeds in astonishing and movingus deeply.
We can, of course, report here only a few of his phrases; and we mustutterly abandon all hope of giving an idea of his proud and disdainfulattitude, his admirable manner, full of authority, and especially of hisfull, rich voice, which found its way into every heart.
"To defend certain men against certain charges," he began, "would beto insult them. They cannot be touched. To the portrait drawn by theprosecuting attorney, I shall simply oppose the answer given by thevenerable priest of Brechy. What did he tell you? M. de Boiscoran is thebest and most honorable of men. There is the truth; they wish to makehim out a political intriguant. He had, it is true, a desire tobe useful to his country. But, while others debated, he acted. TheSauveterre Volunteers will tell you to what passions he appealed beforethe enemy, and by what intrigues he won the cross which Chausy himselffastened to his breast. He wanted power, you say. No: he wished forhappiness. You speak of a letter written by him, the evening of thecrime, to his betrothed. I challenge you to read it. It covers fourpages: before you have read two, you will be forced to abandon thecase."
Then the young advocate repeats the evidence given by the accused; andreally, under the influence of his eloquence, the charges seem to fallto the ground, and to be utterly annihilated.
"And now," he went on, "what other evidence remains there? The evidencegiven by Count Claudieuse. It is crushing, you say. I say it issingular. What! here is a witness who sees his last hour drawing nigh,and who yet waits for the last minute of his life before he speaks. Andyou think that is natural! You pretend that it was generosity which madehim keep silent. I, I ask you how the most cruel enemy could have actedmore atrociously?
"'Never was a case clearer,' says the prosecution. On the contrary,I maintain that never was a case more obscure; and that, so far fromfathoming the secret of the whole affair, the prosecution has not foundout the first word of it."
M. Folgat takes his seat, and the sheriff's officers have to interfereto prevent applause from breaking out. If the vote had been taken atthat moment, M. de Boiscoran would have been acquitted.
But the proceedings are suspended for fifteen minutes; and in themeantime the lamps are lit, for night begins to fall.
When the president resumes his chair, the attorney-general claims hisright to speak.
"I shall not reply as I had at first proposed. Count Claudieuse isabout to pay with his life for the effort which he has made to place hisevidence before you. He could not even be carried home. He is perhapsat this very moment drawing his last breath upon earth in the adjoiningroom."
The counsel for the defence do not desire to address the jury; and, asthe accused also declares that he has nothing more to say, the pr
esidentsums up, and the jurymen withdrew to their room to deliberate.
The heat is overwhelming, the restraint almost unbearable; and all facesbear the marks of oppressive fatigue; but nobody thinks of leaving thehouse. A thousand contradictory reports circulate through the excitedcrowd. Some say that Count Claudieuse has died; others, on the contrary,report him better, and add that he has sent for the priest from Brechy.
At last, a few minutes after nine o'clock, the jury reappears.
Jacques de Boiscoran is declared guilty, and, on the score ofextenuating circumstances, sentenced to twenty years' penal labor.
THIRD PART--COCOLEU