"And you, miserable woman! by what unworthy artifice did you gain his
love? Was it by witchcraft? or some poisonous philtre learned from your
worthy father?"
"Alas! no, madame; my weakness is my only crime, and also my only
excuse. I loved him, long ago, when I was only a young girl, and these
memories have been my ruin."
"Memories? What! did you also think you were loving the same man? Are
you also his dupe? Or are you only pretending, in order to find a rag of
excuse to cover your wickedness?"
It was now Rose who failed to understand; Bertrande continued, with
growing excitement--
"Yes, it was not enough to usurp the rights of a husband and father, he
thought to play his part still better by deceiving the mistress also . .
. . Ah! it is amusing, is it not? You also, Rose, you thought he was
your old lover! Well, I at least am excusable, I the wife, who only
thought she was faithful to her husband!"
"What does it all mean?" asked the terrified Rose.
"It means that this man is an impostor and that I will unmask him.
Revenge! revenge!"
Pierre came forward. "Bertrande," he said, "so long as I thought you
were happy, when I feared to disturb your peace, I was silent, I
repressed my just indignation, and I spared the usurper of the name and
rights of my nephew. Do you now give me leave to speak?"
"Yes," she replied in a hollow voice.
"You will not contradict me?"
By way of answer she sat down by the table and wrote a few hasty lines
with a trembling hand, then gave them to Pierre, whose eyes sparkled
with joy.
"Yes," he said, "vengeance for him, but for her pity. Let this
humiliation be her only punishment. I promised silence in return for
confession, will you grant it?"
Bertrande assented with a contemptuous gesture.
"Go, fear not," said the old man, and Rose went out. Pierre also left
the house.
Left to herself, Bertrande felt utterly worn out by so much emotion;
indignation gave way to depression. She began to realise what she had
done, and the scandal which would fall on her own head. Just then her
baby awoke, and held out its arms, smiling, and calling for its father.
Its father, was he not a criminal? Yes! but was it for her to ruin him,
to invoke the law, to send him to death, after having taken him to her
heart, to deliver him to infamy which would recoil on her own head and
her child's and on the infant which was yet unborn? If he had sinned
before God, was it not for God to punish him? If against herself, ought
she not rather to overwhelm him with contempt? But to invoke the help,
of strangers to expiate this offence; to lay bare the troubles of her
life, to unveil the sanctuary of the nuptial couch--in short, to summon
the whole world to behold this fatal scandal, was not that what in her
imprudent anger she had really done? She repented bitterly of her haste,
she sought to avert the consequences, and notwithstanding the night and
the bad weather, she hurried at once to Pierre's dwelling, hoping at all
costs to withdraw her denunciation. He was not there: he had at once
taken a horse and started for Rieux. Her accusation was already on its
way to the magistrates!
At break of day the house where Martin Guerre lodged when at Rieux was
surrounded by soldiers. He came forward with confidence and inquired
what was wanted. On hearing the accusation, he changed colour slightly,
then collected himself, and made no resistance. When he came before the
judge, Bertrande's petition was read to him, declaring him to be "an
impostor, who falsely, audaciously, and treacherously had deceived her
by taking the name and assuming the person of Martin Guerre," and
demanding that he should be required to entreat pardon from God, the
king, and herself.
The prisoner listened calmly to the charge, and met it courageously,
only evincing profound surprise at such a step being taken by a wife who
had lived with him for two years since his return, and who only now
thought of disputing the rights he had so long enjoyed. As he was
ignorant both of Bertrande's suspicions and their confirmation, and also
of the jealousy which had inspired her accusation, his astonishment was
perfectly natural, and did not at all appear to be assumed. He
attributed the whole charge to the machinations of his uncle, Pierre
Guerre; an old man, he said, who, being governed entirely by avarice and
the desire of revenge, now disputed his name and rights, in order the
better to deprive him of his property, which might be worth from sixteen
to eighteen hundred livres. In order to attain his end, this wicked man
had not hesitated to pervert his wife's mind, and at the risk of her own
dishonour had instigated this calumnious charge--a horrible and
unheard-of thing in the mouth of a lawful wife. "Ah! I do not blame
her," he cried; "she must suffer more than I do, if she really
entertains doubts such as these; but I deplore her readiness to listen
to these extraordinary calumnies originated by my enemy."
The judge was a good deal impressed by so much assurance. The accused
was relegated to prison, whence he was brought two days later to
encounter a formal examination.
He began by explaining the cause of his long absence, originating, he
said, in a domestic quarrel, as his wife well remembered. He there
related his life during these eight years. At first he wandered over the
country, wherever his curiosity and the love of travel led him. He then
had crossed the frontier, revisited Biscay, where he was born, and
having entered the service of the Cardinal of Burgos, he passed thence
into the army of the King of Spain. He was wounded at the battle of St.
Quentin, conveyed to a neighbouring village, where he recovered,
although threatened with amputation. Anxious to again behold his wife
and child, his other relations and the land of his adoption, he returned
to Artigues, where he was immediately recognised by everyone, including
the identical Pierre Guerre, his uncle, who now had the cruelty to
disavow him. In fact, the latter had shown him special affection up to
the day when Martin required an account of his stewardship. Had he only
had the cowardice to sacrifice his money and thereby defraud his
children, he would not to-day be charged as an impostor. "But,"
continued Martin, "I resisted, and a violent quarrel ensued, in which
anger perhaps carried me too far; Pierre Guerre, cunning and revengeful,
has waited in silence. He has taken his time and his measures to
organise this plot, hoping thereby to obtain his ends, to bring justice
to the help of his avarice, and to acquire the spoils he coveted, and
revenge for his defeat, by means of a sentence obtained from the
scruples of the judges." Besides these explanations, which did not
appear wanting in probability, Martin vehemently protested his
innocence, demanding that his wife should be confronted with him, and
declaring that in his presence she would not sustain the charge of
personation brought against him, and that her mind not being animated by
the blind hatred which dominated his persecutor, the truth would
undoubtedly prevail.
He now, in his turn, demanded that the judge should acknowledge his
innocence, and prove it by condemning his calumniators to the punishment
invoked against himself; that his wife, Bertrande de Rolls, should be
secluded in some house where her mind could no longer be perverted, and,
finally, that his innocence should be declared, and expenses and
compensations awarded him.
After this speech, delivered with warmth, and with every token of
sincerity, he answered without difficulty all the interrogations of the
judge. The following are some of the questions and answers, just as they
have come down to us:--
"In what part of Biscay were you born?"
"In the village of Aymes, province of Guipuscoa."
"What were the names of your parents?"
"Antonio Guerre and Marie Toreada."
"Are they still living?"
"My father died June 15th, 1530; my mother survived him three years and
twelve days."
"Have you any brothers and sisters?"
"I had one brother, who only lived three months. My four sisters, Inez,
Dorothea, Marietta, and Pedrina, all came to live at Artigues when I
did; they are there still, and they all recognised me."
"What is the date of your marriage?"
"January 10, 1539."
"Who were present at the ceremony?"
"My father-in-law, my mother-in-law, my uncle, my two sisters, Maitre
Marcel and his daughter Rose; a neighbour called Claude Perrin, who got
drunk at the wedding feast; also Giraud, the poet, who composed verses
in our honour."
"Who was the priest who married you?"
"The old cure, Pascal Guerin, whom I did not find alive when I
returned."
"What special circumstances occurred on the wedding-day?"
"At midnight exactly, our neighbour, Catherine Boere, brought us the
repast which is known as 'medianoche.' This woman has recognised me, as
also our old Marguerite, who has remained with us ever since the
wedding."
"What is the date of your son's birth?"
"February 10, 1548, nine years after our marriage. I was only twelve
when the ceremony took place, and did not arrive at manhood till several
years later."
"Give the date of your leaving Artigues."
"It was in August 1549. As I left the village, I met Claude Perrin and
the cure Pascal, and took leave of them. I went towards Beauvais, end I
passed through Orleans, Bourges, Limoges, Bordeaux, and Toulouse. If you
want the names of people whom I saw and to whom I spoke, you can have
them. What more can I say?"
Never, indeed, was there a more apparently veracious statement! All the
doings of Martin Guerre seemed to be most faithfully described, and
surely only himself could thus narrate his own actions. As the historian
remarks, alluding to the story of Amphitryon, Mercury himself could not
better reproduce all Sosia's actions, gestures, and words, than did the
false Martin Guerre those of the real one.
In accordance with the demand of the accused, Bertrande de Rolls was
detained in seclusion, in order to remove her from the influence of
Pierre Guerre. The latter, however, did not waste time, and during the
month spent in examining the witnesses cited by Martin, his diligent
enemy, guided by some vague traces, departed on a journey, from which he
did not return alone.
All the witnesses bore out the statement of the accused; the latter
heard this in prison, and rejoiced, hoping for a speedy release. Before
long he was again brought before the judge, who told him that his
deposition had been confirmed by all the witnesses examined.
"Do you know of no others?" continued the magistrate. "Have you no
relatives except those you have mentioned?"
"I have no others," answered the prisoner.
"Then what do you say to this man?" said the judge, opening a door.
An old man issued forth, who fell on the prisoner's neck, exclaiming,
"My nephew!"
Martin trembled in every limb, but only for a moment. Promptly
recovering himself, and gazing calmly at the newcomer, he asked coolly--
"And who may you be?"
"What!" said the old man, "do you not know me? Dare you deny me?--me,
your mother's brother, Carbon Barreau, the old soldier! Me, who dandled
you on my knee in your infancy; me, who taught you later to carry a
musket; me, who met you during the war at an inn in Picardy, when you
fled secretly. Since then I have sought you everywhere; I have spoken of
you, and described your face and person, until a worthy inhabitant of
this country offered to bring me hither, where indeed I did not expect
to find my sister's son imprisoned and fettered as a malefactor. What is
his crime, may it please your honour?"
"You shall hear," replied the magistrate. "Then you identify the
prisoner as your nephew? You affirm his name to be---?"
"Arnauld du Thill, also called 'Pansette,' after his father, Jacques
Pansa. His mother was Therese Barreau, my sister, and he was born in the
village of Sagias."
"What have you to say?" demanded the judge, turning to the accused.
"Three things," replied the latter, unabashed, "this man is either mad,
or he has been suborned to tell lies, or he is simply mistaken."
The old man was struck dumb with astonishment. But his supposed nephew's
start of terror had not been lost upon the judge, also much impressed by
the straightforward frankness of Carbon Barreau. He caused fresh
investigations to be made, and other inhabitants of Sagias were summoned
to Rieux, who one and all agreed in identifying the accused as the same
Arnauld du Thill who had been born and had grown up under their very
eyes. Several deposed that as he grew up he had taken to evil courses,
and become an adept in theft and lying, not fearing even to take the
sacred name of God in vain, in order to cover the untruth of his daring
assertions. From such testimony the judge naturally concluded that
Arnauld du Thill was quite capable of carrying on, an imposture, and
that the impudence which he displayed was natural to his character.
Moreover, he noted that the prisoner, who averred that he was born in
Biscay, knew only a few words of the Basque language, and used these
quite wrongly. He heard later another witness who deposed that the
original Martin Guerre was a good wrestler and skilled in the art of
fence, whereas the prisoner, having wished to try what he could do,
showed no skill whatever. Finally, a shoemaker was interrogated, and his
evidence was not the least damning. Martin Guerre, he declared, required
twelve holes to lace his boots, and his surprise had been great when he
found those of the prisoner had only nine. Considering all these points,
and the cumulative evidence, the judge of Rieux set aside the favourable
testimony, which he concluded had been the outcome of general credulity,
imposed on by an extraordinary resemblance. He gave due weight also to
Bertrande's accusation, although she had never confirmed it, and now
maintained an obstinate silence; and he pronounced a judgment by which
Arnauld du Thill was declared "attainted and convicted of imposture, and
was therefore condemned to be beheaded; after which his body should be
divided into four quarters, and exposed at the four corners of the
town."
This sentence, as soon as it was known, caused much diversity of opinion
in the town. The prisoner's enemies praised the wisdom of the judge, and
those less prejudiced condemned his decision; as such conflicting
testimony left room for doubt. Besides, it was thought that the
possession of property and the future of the children required much
consideration, also that the most absolute certainty was demanded before
annulling a past of two whole years, untroubled by any counter claim
whatever.
The condemned man appealed from this sentence to the Parliament of
Toulouse. This court decided that the case required more careful
consideration than had yet been given to it, and began by ordering
Arnauld du Thill to be confronted with Pierre Guerre and Bertrande de
Rolls.
Who can say what feelings animate a man who, already once condemned,
finds himself subjected to a second trial? The torture scarcely ended
begins again, and Hope, though reduced to a shadow, regains her sway
over his imagination, which clings to her skirts, as it were, with
desperation. The exhausting efforts must be recommenced; it is the last
struggle--a struggle which is more desperate in proportion as there is
less strength to maintain it. In this case the defendant was not one of
those who are easily cast down; he collected all his energy, all his
courage, hoping to come victoriously out of the new combat which lay
before him.
The magistrates assembled in the great hall of the Parliament, and the
prisoner appeared before them. He had first to deal with Pierre, and
confronted him calmly, letting him speak, without showing any emotion.
He then replied with indignant reproaches, dwelling on Pierre's greed
and avarice, his vows of vengeance, the means employed to work upon
Bertrande, his secret manoeuvres in order to gain his ends, and the
unheard-of animosity displayed in hunting up accusers, witnesses, and
calumniators. He defied Pierre to prove that he was not Martin Guerre,
his nephew, inasmuch as Pierre had publicly acknowledged and embraced
him, and his tardy suspicions only dated from the time of their violent
quarrel. His language was so strong and vehement, that Pierre became
confused and was unable to answer, and the encounter turned entirely in
Arnauld's favour, who seemed to overawe his adversary from a height of
injured innocence, while the latter appeared as a disconcerted
slanderer.
The scene of his confrontation with Bertrande took a wholly different
character. The poor woman, pale, cast down, worn by sorrow, came
staggering before the tribunal, in an almost fainting condition. She
endeavoured to collect herself, but as soon as she saw the prisoner she
hung her head and covered her face with her hands. He approached her and
besought her in the gentlest accents not to persist in an accusation
which might send him to the scaffold, not thus to avenge any sins he
might have committed against her, although he could not reproach himself
with any really serious fault.