This time it was not the man who was executed who was guilty, but the
executioners; consequently we feel sure that our readers will be anxious
to learn something of their fate.
Pere Lactance died in the most terrible agony on September 18th, 1634,
exactly a month from the date of Grandier's death. His brother-monks
considered that this was due to the vengeance of Satan; but others were
not wanting who said, remembering the summons uttered by Grandier, that
it was rather due to the justice of God. Several attendant circumstances
seemed to favour the latter opinion. The author of the History of the
Devils of Loudzin gives an account of one of these circumstances, for
the authenticity of which he vouches, and from which we extract the
following:
"Some days after the execution of Grandier, Pere Lactance fell ill of
the disease of which he died. Feeling that it was of supernatural
origin, he determined to take a pilgrimage to Notre Dame des Andilliers
de Saumur, where many miracles were wrought, and which was held in high
estimation in the neighbourhood. A place in the carriage of the Sieur de
Canaye was offered him for the journey; for this gentleman, accompanied
by a large party on pleasure bent, was just then setting out for his
estate of Grand Fonds, which lay in the same direction. The reason for
the offer was that Canaye and his friends, having heard that the last
words of Grandier had affected Pere Lactance's mind, expected to find a
great deal of amusement in exciting the terrors of their
travelling-companion. And in truth, for a day or two, the boon
companions sharpened their wits at the expense of the worthy monk, when
all at once, on a good road and without apparent cause, the carriage
overturned. Though no one was hurt, the accident appeared so strange to
the pleasure-seekers that it put an end to the jokes of even the boldest
among them. Pere Lactance himself appeared melancholy and preoccupied,
and that evening at supper refused to eat, repeating over and over
again--
"'It was wrong of me to deny Grandier the confessor he asked for; God is
punishing me, God is punishing me!'
"On the following morning the journey was resumed, but the evident
distress of mind under which Pere Lactance laboured had so damped the
spirits of the party that all their gaiety had disappeared. Suddenly,
just outside Fenet, where the road was in excellent condition and no
obstacle to their progress apparent, the carriage upset for the second
time. Although again no one was hurt, the travellers felt that there was
among them someone against whom God's anger was turned, and their
suspicions pointing to Pere Lactance, they went on their way, leaving
him behind, and feeling very uncomfortable at the thought that they had
spent two or three days in his society.
"Pere Lactance at last reached Notre-Dame des Andilliers; but however
numerous were the miracles there performed, the remission of the doom
pronounced by the martyr on Pere Lactance was not added to their number;
and at a quarter-past six on September 18th, exactly a month to the very
minute after Grandier's death, Pere Lactance expired in excruciating
agony."
Pere Tranquille's turn came four years later. The malady which attacked
him was so extraordinary that the physicians were quite at a loss, and
forced to declare their ignorance of any remedy. His shrieks and
blasphemies were so distinctly heard in the streets, that his brother
Franciscans, fearing the effect they would have on his after-reputation,
especially in the minds of those who had seen Grandier die with words of
prayer on his lips, spread abroad the report that the devils whom he had
expelled from the bodies of the nuns had entered into the body of the
exorcist. He died shrieking--
"My God! how I suffer! Not all the devils and all the damned together
endure what I endure!" His panegyrist, in whose book we find all the
horrible details of his death employed to much purpose to illustrate the
advantages of belonging to the true faith, remarks--
"Truly big generous heart must have been a hot hell for those fiends who
entered his body to torment it."
The following epitaph which was placed over his grave was interpreted,
according to the prepossessions of those who read it, either as a
testimony to his sanctity or as a proof of his punishment:--
"Here lies Pere Tranquille, of Saint-Remi; a humble Capuchin preacher.
The demons no longer able to endure his fearlessly exercised power as an
exorcist, and encouraged by sorcerers, tortured him to death, on May
31st, 1638."
But a death about which there could be no doubt as to the cause was that
of the surgeon Mannouri, the same who had, as the reader may recollect,
been the first to torture Grandier. One evening about ten o'clock he was
returning from a visit to a patient who lived on the outskirts of the
town, accompanied by a colleague and preceded by his surgery attendant
carrying a lantern. When they reached the centre of the town in the rue
Grand-Pave, which passes between the walls of the castle grounds and the
gardens of the Franciscan monastery, Mannouri suddenly stopped, and,
staring fixedly at some object which was invisible to his companions,
exclaimed with a start--
"Oh! there is Grandier!
"Where? where?" cried the others.
He pointed in the direction towards which his eyes were turned, and
beginning to tremble violently, asked--
"What do you want with me, Grandier? What do you want?"
A moment later he added
"Yes-yes, I am coming."
Immediately it seemed as if the vision vanished from before his eyes,
but the effect remained. His brother-surgeon and the servant brought him
home, but neither candles nor the light of day could allay his fears;
his disordered brain showed him Grandier ever standing at the foot of
his bed. A whole week he continued, as was known all over the town, in
this condition of abject terror; then the spectre seemed to move from
its place and gradually to draw nearer, for he kept on repeating, "He is
coming! he is coming!" and at length, towards evening, at about the same
hour at which Grandier expired, Surgeon Mannouri drew his last breath.
We have still to tell of M. de Laubardemont. All we know is thus related
in the letters of M. de Patin:--
"On the 9th inst., at nine o'clock in the evening, a carriage was
attacked by robbers; on hearing the noise the townspeople ran to the
spot, drawn thither as much by curiosity as by humanity. A few shots
were exchanged and the robbers put to flight, with the exception of one
man belonging to their band who was taken prisoner, and another who lay
wounded on the paving-stones. This latter died next day without having
spoken, and left no clue behind as to who he was. His identity was,
however, at length made clear. He was the son of a high dignitary named
de Laubardemont, who in 1634, as royal commissioner, condemned Urbain
Grandier, a poor, priest of Loudun, to be burnt alive, under the
pretence that he had caused several nuns of Loudun to be possessed by
devils. These nuns he had so tutored as to their behaviour that many
people foolishly believed them to be demoniacs. May we not regard the
fate of his son as a chastisement inflicted by Heaven on this unjust
judge--an expiation exacted for the pitilessly cruel death inflicted on
his victim, whose blood still cries unto the Lord from the ground?"
Naturally the persecution of Urbain Grandier attracted the attention not
only of journalists but of poets. Among the many poems which were
inspired by it, the following is one of the best. Urbain speaks:
"From hell came the tidings that by horrible sanctions
I had made a pact with the devil to have power over women:
Though not one could be found to accuse me.
In the trial which delivered me to torture and the stake,
The demon who accused me invented and suggested the crime,
And his testimony was the only proof against me.
The English in their rage burnt the Maid alive;
Like her, I too fell a victim to revenge;
We were both accused falsely of the same crime;
In Paris she is adored, in London abhorred;
In Loudun some hold me guilty of witchcraft,
Some believe me innocent; some halt between two minds.
Like Hercules, I loved passionately;
Like him, I was consumed by fire;
But he by death became a god.
The injustice of my death was so well concealed
That no one can judge whether the flames saved or destroyed me;
Whether they blackened me for hell, or purified me for heaven.
In vain did I suffer torments with unshaken resolution;
They said that I felt no pain, being a sorcerer died unrepentant;
That the prayers I uttered were impious words;
That in kissing the image on the cross I spat in its face;
That casting my eyes to heaven I mocked the saints;
That when I seemed to call on God, I invoked the devil
Others, more charitable, say, in spite of their hatred of my crime,
That my death may be admired although my life was not blameless;
That my resignation showed that I died in hope and faith;
That to forgive, to suffer without complaint or murmur,
Is perfect love; and that the soul is purified
From the sins of life by a death like mine."
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