STATEMENT OF JOSEPH RIGOBERT: ADDRESSED TO THE ADVOCATE WHO DEFENDED HIM
AT HIS TRIAL
Respected Sir,--On the twenty-seventh of February I was sent, on business
connected with the stables at Maison Rouge, to the city of Metz. On the
public promenade I met a magnificent woman. Complexion, blond.
Nationality, English. We mutually admired each other; we fell into
conversation. (She spoke French perfectly--with the English accent.) I
offered refreshment; my proposal was accepted. We had a long and
interesting interview--we discovered that we were made for each other. So
far, Who is to blame?
Is it my fault that I am a handsome man--universally agreeable as such to
the fair sex? Is it a criminal offense to be accessible to the amiable
weakness of love? I ask again, Who is to blame? Clearly, nature. Not the
beautiful lady--not my humble self.
To resume. The most hard-hearted person living will understand that two
beings made for each other could not possibly part without an appointment
to meet again.
I made arrangements for the accommodation of the lady in the village near
Maison Rouge. She consented to honor me with her company at supper, in my
apartment at the stables, on the night of the twenty-ninth. The time fixed
on was the time when the other servants were accustomed to retire--eleven
o'clock.
Among the grooms attached to the stables was an Englishman, laid up with a
broken leg. His name was Francis. His manners were repulsive; he was
ignorant of the French language. In the kitchen he went by the nickname of
the "English Bear." Strange to say, he was a great favorite with my master
and my mistress. They even humored certain superstitious terrors to which
this repulsive person was subject--terrors into the nature of which I, as
an advanced freethinker, never thought it worth my while to inquire.
On the evening of the twenty-eighth the Englishman, being a prey to the
terrors which I have mentioned, requested that one of his fellow servants
might sit up with him for that night only. The wish that he expressed was
backed by Mr. Fairbank's authority. Having already incurred my master's
displeasure--in what way, a proper sense of my own dignity forbids me to
relate--I volunteered to watch by the bedside of the English Bear. My
object was to satisfy Mr. Fairbank that I bore no malice, on my side,
after what had occurred between us. The wretched Englishman passed a night
of delirium. Not understanding his barbarous language, I could only gather
from his gesture that he was in deadly fear of some fancied apparition at
his bedside. From time to time, when this madman disturbed my slumbers, I
quieted him by swearing at him. This is the shortest and best way of
dealing with persons in his condition.
On the morning of the twenty-ninth, Mr. Fairbank left us on a journey.
Later in the day, to my unspeakable disgust, I found that I had not done
with the Englishman yet. In Mr. Fairbank's absence, Mrs. Fairbank took an
incomprehensible interest in the question of my delirious fellow servant's
repose at night. Again, one or the other of us was to watch at his
bedside, and report it, if anything happened. Expecting my fair friend to
supper, it was necessary to make sure that the other servants at the
stables would be safe in their beds that night. Accordingly, I volunteered
once more to be the man who kept watch. Mrs. Fairbank complimented me on
my humanity. I possess great command over my feelings. I accepted the
compliment without a blush.
Twice, after nightfall, my mistress and the doctor (the last staying in
the house in Mr. Fairbank's absence) came to make inquiries. Once _before_
the arrival of my fair friend--and once _after_. On the second occasion
(my apartment being next door to the Englishman's) I was obliged to hide
my charming guest in the harness room. She consented, with angelic
resignation, to immolate her dignity to the servile necessities of my
position. A more amiable woman (so far) I never met with!
After the second visit I was left free. It was then close on midnight. Up
to that time there was nothing in the behavior of the mad Englishman to
reward Mrs. Fairbank and the doctor for presenting themselves at his
bedside. He lay half awake, half asleep, with an odd wondering kind of
look in his face. My mistress at parting warned me to be particularly
watchful of him toward two in the morning. The doctor (in case anything
happened) left me a large hand bell to ring, which could easily be heard
at the house.
Restored to the society of my fair friend, I spread the supper table. A
pâté, a sausage, and a few bottles of generous Moselle wine, composed our
simple meal. When persons adore each other, the intoxicating illusion of
Love transforms the simplest meal into a banquet. With immeasurable
capacities for enjoyment, we sat down to table. At the very moment when I
placed my fascinating companion in a chair, the infamous Englishman in the
next room took that occasion, of all others, to become restless and noisy
once more. He struck with his stick on the floor; he cried out, in a
delirious access of terror, "Rigobert! Rigobert!"
The sound of that lamentable voice, suddenly assailing our ears, terrified
my fair friend. She lost all her charming color in an instant. "Good
heavens!" she exclaimed. "Who is that in the next room?"
"A mad Englishman."
"An Englishman?"
"Compose yourself, my angel. I will quiet him."