On the morrow the witnesses for the prosecution were examined,--Madame
Marion, Madame Grevin, Grevin himself, the senator’s valet, and
Violette, whose testimony can readily be imagined from the facts
already told. They all identified the five prisoners, with more or less
hesitation as to the four gentlemen, but with absolute certainty as to
Michu. Beauvisage repeated Robert d’Hauteserre’s speech when he met
them at daybreak in the park. The peasant who had bought Monsieur
d’Hauteserre’s calf testified to overhearing that of Mademoiselle de
Cinq-Cygne. The experts, who had compared the hoof-prints with the shoes
on the horses ridden by the five prisoners and found them absolutely
alike, confirmed their previous depositions. This point was naturally
one of vehement contention between Monsieur de Grandville and the
prosecuting officer. The defence called the blacksmith at Cinq-Cygne
and succeeded in proving that he had sold several horseshoes of the same
pattern to strangers who were not known in the place. The blacksmith
declared, moreover, that he was in the habit of shoeing in this
particular manner not only the horses of the chateau de Cinq-Cygne, but
those from other places in the canton. It was also proved that the horse
which Michu habitually rode was always shod at Troyes, and the mark of
that shoe was not among the hoof-prints found in the park.
“Michu’s double was not aware of this circumstance, or he would have
provided for it,” said Monsieur de Grandville, looking at the jury.
“Neither has the prosecution shown what horses our clients rode.”
He ridiculed the testimony of Violette so far as it concerned a
recognition of the horses, seen from a long distance, from behind, and
after dusk. Still, in spite of all his efforts, the body of the evidence
was against Michu; and the prosecutor, judge, jury, and audience were
impressed with a feeling (as the lawyers for the defence had foreseen)
that the guilt of the servant carried with it that of the masters. So
the vital interest centred on all that concerned Michu. His bearing
was noble. He showed in his answers the sagacity with which nature had
endowed him; and the public, seeing him on his mettle, recognized his
superiority. And yet, strange to say, the more they understood him the
more certainty they felt that he was the instigator of the outrage.
The witnesses for the defence, always less important in the eyes of a
jury and of the law than the witnesses for the prosecution, seemed to
testify as in duty bound, and were listened to with that allowance. In
the first place neither Marthe, nor Monsieur and Madame d’Hauteserre
took the oath. Catherine and the Durieus, in their capacity as servants,
did not take it. Monsieur d’Hauteserre stated that he had ordered Michu
to replace and mend the stone post which had been thrown down. The
deposition of the experts sent to examine the fence, which was now read,
confirmed his testimony; but they helped the prosecution by declaring
they could not fix the exact time at which the repairs had been made; it
might have been several weeks or no more than twenty days.
The appearance of Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne excited the liveliest
curiosity; but the sight of her cousins in the prisoners’ dock after
three weeks’ separation affected her so much that her emotions gave
the audience an impression of guilt. She felt an overwhelming desire to
stand beside the twins, and was obliged, as she afterwards admitted, to
use all her strength to repress the longing that came into her mind
to kill the prosecutor so as to stand in the eyes of the world as a
criminal beside them. She testified, with simplicity, that riding from
Cinq-Cygne and seeing smoke in the park of Gondreville, she had supposed
there was a fire; at first she thought they were burning weeds or brush;
“but later,” she added, “I observed a circumstance which I offer to the
attention of the Court. I found in the frogging of my habit and in the
folds of my collar small fragments of what appeared to be burned paper
which were floating in the air.”
“Was there much smoke?” asked Bordin.
“Yes,” replied Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne, “I feared a conflagration.”
“This is enough to change the whole inquiry,” remarked Bordin. “I
request the Court to order an immediate examination of that region of
the park where the fire occurred.”
The president ordered the inquiry.
Grevin, recalled by the defence and questioned on this circumstance,
declared he knew nothing about it. But Bordin and he exchanged looks
which mutually enlightened them.
“The gist of the case is there,” thought the old notary.
“They’ve laid their finger on it,” thought the notary.
But each shrewd head considered the following up of this point useless.
Bordin reflected that Grevin would be silent as the grave; and Grevin
congratulated himself that every sign of the fire had been effaced.
To settle this point, which seemed a mere accessory to the trial and
somewhat puerile (but which is really essential in the justification
which history owes to these young men), the experts and Pigoult, who
were despatched by the president to examine the park, reported that they
could find no traces of a bonfire.
Bordin summoned two laborers, who testified to having dug over, under
the direction of the forester, a tract of ground in the park where
the grass had been burned; but they declared they had not observed the
nature of the ashes they had buried.
The forester, recalled by the defence, said he had received from the
senator himself, as he was passing the chateau of Gondreville on his way
to the masquerade at Arcis, an order to dig over that particular piece
of ground which the senator had remarked as needing it.
“Had papers, or herbage been burned there?”
“I could not say. I saw nothing that made me think that papers had been
burned there,” replied the forester.
“At any rate,” said Bordin, “if, as it appears, a fire was kindled on
that piece of ground some one brought to the spot whatever was burned
there.”
The testimony of the abbe and that of Mademoiselle Goujet made a
favorable impression. They said that as they left the church after
vespers and were walking towards home, they met the four gentlemen
and Michu leaving the chateau on horseback and making their way to
the forest. The character, position, and known uprightness of the Abbe
Goujet gave weight to his words.
The summing up of the public prosecutor, who felt sure of obtaining a
verdict, was in the nature of all such speeches. The prisoners were the
incorrigible enemies of France, her institutions and laws. They thirsted
for tumult and conspiracy. Though they had belonged to the army of Conde
and had shared in the late attempts against the life of the Emperor,
that magnanimous sovereign had erased their names from the list of
_emigres_. This was the return they made for his clemency! In short, all
the oratorical declamations of the Bourbons against the Bonapartists,
which in our day are repeated against the republicans and the
legitimists by the Younger Branch, flourished in the speech. These trite
commonplaces, which might have some meaning under a fixed government,
seem farcical in the mouth of administrators of all epochs and opinions.
A saying of the troublous times of yore is still applicable: “The label
is changed, but the wine is the same as ever.” The public prosecutor,
one of the most distinguished legal men under the Empire, attributed
the crime to a fixed determination on the part of returned _emigres_ to
protest against the sale of their estates. He made the audience shudder
at the probable condition of the senator; then he massed together
proofs, half-proofs, and probabilities with a cleverness stimulated by
a sense that his zeal was certain of its reward, and sat down tranquilly
to await the fire of his opponents.
Monsieur de Grandville never argued but this one criminal case; and it
made his reputation. In the first place, he spoke with the same glowing
eloquence which to-day we admire in Berryer. He was profoundly convinced
of the innocence of his clients, and that in itself is a most powerful
auxiliary of speech. The following are the chief points of his defence,
which was reported in full by all the leading newspapers of the period.
In the first place he exhibited the character and life of Michu in its
true light. He made it a noble tale, ringing with lofty sentiments, and
it awakened the sympathies of many. When Michu heard himself vindicated
by that eloquent voice, tears sprang from his yellow eyes and rolled
down his terrible face. He appeared then for what he really was,--a man
as simple and as wily as a child; a being whose whole existence had
but one thought, one aim. He was suddenly explained to the minds of all
present, more especially by his tears, which produced a great effect
upon the jury. His able defender seized that moment of strong interest
to enter upon a discussion of the charges:--
“Where is the body of the person abducted? Where is the senator?” he
asked. “You accuse us of walling him up with stones and plaster. If so,
we alone know where he is; you have kept us twenty-three days in prison,
and the senator must be dead by this time for want of food. We are
therefore murderers, but you have not accused us of murder. On the other
hand, if he still lives, we must have accomplices. If we have them, and
if the senator is living, we should assuredly have set him at liberty.
The scheme in relation to Gondreville which you attribute to us is a
failure, and only aggravates our position uselessly. We might perhaps
obtain a pardon for an abortive attempt by releasing our victim; instead
of that we persist in detaining a man from whom we can obtain no
benefit whatever. It is absurd! Take away your plaster; the effect is
a failure,” he said, addressing the public prosecutor. “We are either
idiotic criminals (which you do not believe) or the innocent victims of
circumstances as inexplicable to us as they are to you. You ought rather
to search for the mass of papers which were burned at Gondreville, which
will reveal motives stronger far than yours or ours and put you on the
track of the causes of this abduction.”
The speaker discussed these hypotheses with marvellous ability. He dwelt
on the moral character of the witnesses for the defence, whose religious
faith was a living one, who believed in a future life and in eternal
punishment. He rose to grandeur in this part of his speech and moved his
hearers deeply:--
“Remember!” he said; “these criminals were tranquilly dining when told
of the abduction of the senator. When the officer of gendarmes intimated
to them the best means of ending the whole affair by giving up the
senator, they refused, for they did not understand what was asked of
them!”
Then, reverting to the mystery of the matter, he declared that its
solution was in the hands of time, which would eventually reveal the
injustice of the charge. Once on this ground, he boldly and ingeniously
supposed himself a juror; related his deliberations with his colleagues;
imagined his distress lest, having condemned the innocent, the error
should be known too late, and drew such a picture of his remorse,
dwelling on the grave doubts which the case presented, that he brought
the jury to a condition of intense anxiety.
Juries were not in those days so blase to this sort of allocution as
they are now; Monsieur de Grandville’s appeal had the power of things
new, and the jurors were evidently shaken. After this passionate
outburst they had to listen to the wily and specious prosecutor, who
went over the whole case, brought out the darkest points against the
prisoners and made the rest inexplicable. His aim was to reach the
minds and the reasoning faculties of his hearers just as Monsieur de
Grandville had aimed at the heart and the imagination. The latter,
however, had seriously entangled the convictions of the jury, and the
public prosecutor found his well-laid arguments ineffectual. This was
so plain that the counsel for the Messieurs d’Hauteserre and Gothard
appealed to the judgment of the jury, asking that the case against their
clients be abandoned. The prosecutor demanded a postponement till the
next day in order that he might prepare an answer. Bordin, who saw
acquittal in the eyes of the jury if they deliberated on the case at
once, opposed the delay of even one night by arguments of legal right
and justice to his innocent clients; but in vain,--the court allowed it.
“The interests of society are as great as those of the accused,” said
the president. “The court would be lacking in equity if it denied a like
request when made by the defence; it ought therefore to grant that of
the prosecution.”
“All is luck or ill-luck!” said Bordin to his clients when the session
was over. “Almost acquitted tonight you may be condemned to-morrow.”
“In either case,” said the elder de Simeuse, “we can only admire your
skill.”
Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne’s eyes were full of tears. After the doubts
and fears of the counsel for the defence, she had not expected this
success. Those around her congratulated her and predicted the acquittal
of her cousins. But alas! the matter was destined to end in a startling
and almost theatrical event, the most unexpected and disastrous
circumstance which ever changed the face of a criminal trial.
At five in the morning of the day after Monsieur de Grandville’s
speech, the senator was found on the high road to Troyes, delivered from
captivity during his sleep, unaware of the trial that was going on or
of the excitement attaching to his name in Europe, and simply happy in
being once more able to breathe the fresh air. The man who was the pivot
of the drama was quite as amazed at what was now told to him as
the persons who met him on his way to Troyes were astounded at his
reappearance. A farmer lent him a carriage and he soon reached the house
of the prefect at Troyes. The prefect notified the director of the jury,
the commissary of the government, and the public prosecutor, who, after
a statement made to them by Malin, arrested Marthe, while she was still
in bed at the Durieu’s house in the suburbs. Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne,
who was only at liberty under bail, was also snatched from one of the
few hours of slumber she had been able to obtain at rare intervals in
the course of her ceaseless anxiety, and taken to the prefecture to
undergo an examination. An order to keep the accused from holding any
communication with each other or with their counsel was sent to the
prison. At ten o’clock the crowd which assembled around the courtroom
were informed that the trial was postponed until one o’clock in the
afternoon of the same day.
This change of hour, following on the news of the senator’s deliverance,
Marthe’s arrest, and that of Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne, together with
the denial of the right to communicate with the prisoners carried terror
to the hotel de Chargeboeuf. The whole town and the spectators who had
come to Troyes to be present at the trial, the short-hand writers
for the daily journals, even the populace were in a ferment which can
readily be imagined. The Abbe Goujet came at ten o’clock to see Monsieur
and Madame d’Hauteserre and the counsel for the defence, who were
breakfasting--as well as they could under the circumstances. The abbe
took Bordin and Monsieur Grandville apart, told them what Marthe had
confided to him the day before, and gave them the fragment of the letter
she had received. The two lawyers exchanged a look, after which Bordin
said to the abbe: “Not a word of all this! The case is lost; but at any
rate let us show a firm front.”
Marthe was not strong enough to evade the cross-questioning of the
director of the jury and the public prosecutor. Moreover the proof
against her was too overwhelming. Lechesneau had sent for the under
crust of the last loaf of bread she had carried to the cavern, also for
the empty bottles and various other articles. During the senator’s long
hours of captivity he had formed conjectures in his own mind and had
looked for indications which might put him on the track of his enemies.
These he now communicated to the authorities. Michu’s farmhouse, lately
built, had, he supposed, a new oven; the tiles or bricks on which the
bread was baked would show their jointed lines on the bottom of the
loaves, and thus afford a proof that the bread supplied to him was baked
on that particular oven. So with the wine brought in bottles sealed with
green wax, which would probably be found identical with other bottles in
Michu’s cellar. These shrewd observations, which Malin imparted to the
justice of peace, who made the first examination (taking Marthe with
him), led to the results foreseen by the senator.
Marthe, deceived by the apparent friendliness of Lechesneau and the
public prosecutor, who assured her that complete confession could alone
save her husband’s life, admitted that the cavern where the senator had
been hidden was known only to her husband and the Messieurs de Simeuse
and d’Hauteserre, and that she herself had taken provisions to the
senator on three separate occasions at midnight.
Laurence, questioned about the cavern, was forced to acknowledge that
Michu had discovered it and had shown it to her at the time when the
four young men evaded the police and were hidden in it.
As soon as these preliminary examinations were ended, the jury, lawyers,
and audience were notified that the trial would be resumed. At three
o’clock the president opened the session by announcing that the case
would be continued under a new aspect. He exhibited to Michu three
bottles of wine and asked him if he recognized them as bottles from his
own cellar, showing him at the same time the identity between the green
wax on two empty bottles with the green wax on a full bottle taken from
his cellar that morning by the justice of peace in presence of his wife.
Michu refused to recognize anything as his own. But these proofs for
the prosecution were understood by the jurors, to whom the president
explained that the empty bottles were found in the place where the
senator was imprisoned.
Each prisoner was questioned as to the cavern or cellar beneath the
ruins of the old monastery. It was proved by all witnesses for the
prosecution, and also for the defence, that the existence of this
hiding-place discovered by Michu was known only to him and his wife, and
to Laurence and the four gentlemen. We may judge of the effect in the
courtroom when the public prosecutor made known the fact that this
cavern, known only to the accused and to their two witnesses, was the
place where the senator had been imprisoned.
Marthe was summoned. Her appearance caused much excitement among the
spectators and keen anxiety to the prisoners. Monsieur de Grandville
rose to protest against the testimony of a wife against her husband.
The public prosecutor replied that Marthe by her own confession was an
accomplice in the outrage; that she had neither sworn nor testified, and
was to be heard solely in the interests of truth.
“We need only submit her preliminary examination to the jury,” remarked
the president, who now ordered the clerk of the court to read the said
testimony aloud.
“Do you now confirm your own statement?” said the president, addressing
Marthe.
Michu looked at his wife, and Marthe, who saw her fatal error, fainted
away and fell to the floor. It may be truly said that a thunderbolt had
fallen upon the prisoners and their counsel.
“I never wrote to my wife from prison, and I know none of the persons
employed there,” said Michu.
Bordin passed to him the fragments of the letter Marthe had received.
Michu gave but one glance at it. “My writing has been imitated,” he
said.
“Denial is your last resource,” said the public prosecutor.
The senator was introduced into the courtroom with all the ceremonies
due to his position. His entrance was like a stage scene. Malin (now
called Comte de Gondreville, without regard to the feelings of the late
owners of the property) was requested by the president to look at the
prisoners, and did so with great attention and for a long time. He
stated that the clothing of his abductors was exactly like that worn
by the four gentlemen; but he declared that the trouble of his mind had
been such that he could not be positive that the accused were really the
guilty parties.
“More than that,” he said, “it is my conviction that these four
gentlemen had nothing to do with it. The hands that blindfolded me in
the forest were coarse and rough. I should rather suppose,” he added,
looking at Michu, “that my old enemy took charge of that duty; but I beg
the gentlemen of the jury not to give too much weight to this remark. My
suspicions are very slight, and I feel no certainty whatever--for this
reason. The two men who seized me put me on horseback behind the man who
blindfolded me, and whose hair was red like Michu’s. However singular
you may consider the observation I am about to make, it is necessary
to make it because it is the ground of an opinion favorable to the
accused--who, I hope, will not feel offended by it. Fastened to the
man’s back I would naturally have been affected by his odor--yet I
did not perceive that which is peculiar to Michu. As to the person who
brought me provisions on three several occasions, I am certain it was
Marthe, the wife of Michu. I recognized her the first time she came by
a ring she always wore, which she had forgotten to remove. The Court and
jury will please allow for the contradictions which appear in the facts
I have stated, which I myself am wholly unable to reconcile.”
A murmur of approval followed this testimony. Bordin asked permission of
the Court to address a few questions to the witness.
“Does the senator think that his abduction was due to other causes than
the interests respecting property which the prosecution attributes to
the prisoners?”
“I do,” replied the senator, “but I am wholly ignorant of what the real
motives were; for during a captivity of twenty days I saw and heard no
one.”
“Do you think,” said the public prosecutor, “that your chateau at
Gondreville contains information, title-deeds, or other papers of value
which would induce a search on the part of the Messieurs de Simeuse?”
“I do not think so,” replied Malin; “I believe those gentlemen to be
incapable of attempting to get possession of such papers by violence.
They had only to ask me for them to obtain them.”
“You burned certain papers in the park, did you not?” said Monsieur de
Gondreville, abruptly.
Malin looked at Grevin. After exchanging a rapid glance with the notary,
which Bordin intercepted, he replied that he had not burned any papers.
The public prosecutor having asked him to describe the ambush to which
he had so nearly fallen a victim two years earlier, the senator replied
that he had seen Michu watching him from the fork of a tree. This
answer, which agreed with Grevin’s testimony, produced a great
impression.
The four gentlemen remained impassible during the examination of their
enemy, who seemed determined to overwhelm them with generosity. Laurence
suffered horrible agony. From time to time the Marquis de Chargeboeuf
held her by the arm, fearing she might dart forward to the rescue. The
Comte de Gondreville retired from the courtroom and as he did so he
bowed to the four gentlemen, who did not return the salutation. This
trifling matter made the jury indignant.
“They are lost now,” whispered Bordin to the Marquis de Chargeboeuf.
“Alas, yes! and always through the nobility of their sentiments,”
replied the marquis.
“My task is now only too easy, gentlemen,” said the prosecutor, rising
to address the jury.
He explained the use of the cement by the necessity of securing an iron
frame on which to fasten a padlock which held the iron bar with which
the gate of the cavern was closed; a description of which was given in
the _proces-verbal_ made that morning by Pigoult. He put the falsehoods
of the accused into the strongest light, and pulverized the arguments
of the defence with the new evidence so miraculously obtained. In 1806
France was still too near the Supreme Being of 1793 to talk about divine
justice; he therefore spared the jury all reference to the intervention
of heaven; but he said that earthly justice would be on the watch for
the mysterious accomplices who had set the senator at liberty, and he
sat down, confidently awaiting the verdict.
The jury believed there was a mystery, but they were all persuaded that
it came from the prisoners, who were probably concealing some matter of
a private interest of great importance to them.
Monsieur de Grandville, to whom a plot or machination of some kind was
quite evident, rose; but he seemed discouraged,--less, however, by the
new evidence than by the manifest opinion of the jury. He surpassed,
if anything, his speech of the previous evening; his argument was more
compact and logical; but he felt his fervor repelled by the coldness of
the jury; he spoke ineffectually, and he knew it,--a chilling situation
for an advocate. He called attention to the fact that the release of
the senator, as if by magic and clearly without the aid of any of the
accused or of Marthe, corroborated his previous argument. Yesterday the
prisoners could most surely rely on acquittal, and if they had, as the
prosecution claimed, the power to hold or to release the senator, they
certainly would not have released him until after their acquittal. He
endeavored to bring before the minds of the Court and jury the fact that
mysterious enemies, undiscovered as yet, could alone have struck the
accused this final blow.
Strange to say, the only minds Monsieur de Grandville reached with this
argument were those of the public prosecutor and the judges. The jury
listened perfunctorily; the audience, usually so favorable to prisoners,
were convinced of their guilt. In a court of justice the sentiments
of the crowd do unquestionably weigh upon the judges and the jury, and
_vice versa_. Seeing this condition of the minds about him, which could
be felt if not defined, the counsel uttered his last words in a tone of
passionate excitement caused by his conviction:--
“In the name of the accused,” he cried, “I forgive you for the fatal
error you are about to commit, and which nothing can repair! We are the
victims of some mysterious and Machiavellian power. Marthe Michu was
inveigled by vile perfidy. You will discover this too late, when the
evil you now do will be irreparable.”
Bordin simply claimed the acquittal of the prisoners on the testimony of
the senator himself.
The president summed up the case with all the more impartiality because
it was evident that the minds of the jurors were already made up. He
even turned the scales in favor of the prisoners by dwelling on the
senator’s evidence. This clemency, however, did not in the least
endanger the success of the prosecution. At eleven o’clock that night,
after the jury had replied through their foreman to the usual questions,
the Court condemned Michu to death, the Messieurs de Simeuse to
twenty-four years’ and the Messieurs d’Hauteserre to ten years, penal
servitude at hard labor. Gothard was acquitted.
The whole audience was eager to observe the bearing of the five guilty
men in this supreme moment of their lives. The four gentlemen looked
at Laurence, who returned them, with dry eyes, the ardent look of the
martyrs.
“She would have wept had we been acquitted,” said the younger de Simeuse
to his brother.
Never did convicted men meet an unjust fate with serener brows or
countenances more worthy of their manhood than these five victims of a
cruel plot.
“Our counsel has forgiven you,” said the eldest de Simeuse to the Court.
* * * * *
Madame d’Hauteserre fell ill, and was three months in her bed at the
hotel de Chargeboeuf. Monsieur d’Hauteserre returned patiently to
Cinq-Cygne, inwardly gnawed by one of those sorrows of old age which
have none of youth’s distractions; often he was so absent-minded that
the abbe, who watched him, knew the poor father was living over again
the scene of the fatal verdict. Marthe passed away from all blame; she
died three weeks after the condemnation of her husband, confiding her
son to Laurence, in whose arms she died.
The trial once over, political events of the utmost importance effaced
even the memory of it, and nothing further was discovered. Society is
like the ocean; it returns to its level and its specious calmness
after a disaster, effacing all traces of it in the tide of its eager
interests.
Without her natural firmness of mind and her knowledge of her cousins’
innocence, Laurence would have succumbed; but she gave fresh proof of
the grandeur of her character; she astonished Monsieur de Grandville and
Bordin by the apparent serenity which these terrible misfortunes called
forth in her noble soul. She nursed Madame d’Hauteserre and went daily
to the prison, saying openly that she would marry one of the cousins
when they were taken to the galleys.
“To the galleys!” cried Bordin, “Mademoiselle! our first endeavor must
be to wring their pardon from the Emperor.”
“Their pardon!--_from a Bonaparte_?” cried Laurence in horror.
The spectacles of the old lawyer jumped from his nose; he caught them
as they fell and looked at the young girl who was now indeed a woman; he
understood her character at last in all its bearings; then he took the
arm of the Marquis de Chargeboeuf, saying:--
“Monsieur le Marquis, let us go to Paris instantly and save them without
her!”
The appeal of the Messieurs de Simeuse and d’Hauteserre and that
of Michu was the first case to be brought before the new court. Its
decision was fortunately delayed by the ceremonies attending its
installation.