** Edgar Allan Poe **
(1841)
What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, although puzzling questions are not beyond all conjecture.--SIR THOMAS BROWNE, Urn-Burial.
THE mental features discoursed of as the
analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of
analysis. We appreciate them only in their effects. We know of
them, among other things, that they are always to their
possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source of the
liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physical
ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into
action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which
disentangles. He derives pleasure from even the most trivial
occupations bringing his talents into play. He is fond of
enigmas, of conundrums, of hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his
solutions of each a degree of acumen which appears to the
ordinary apprehension preternatural. His results, brought about
by the very soul and essence of method, have, in truth, the
whole air of intuition. The faculty of re-solution is possibly
much invigorated by mathematical study, and especially by that
highest branch of it which, unjustly, and merely on account of
its retrograde operations, has been called, as if par
excellence, analysis. Yet to calculate is not in itself to
analyze. A chess-player, for example, does the one without
effort at the other. It follows that the game of chess, in its
effects upon mental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am
not now writing a treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat
peculiar narrative by observations very much at random; I will,
therefore, take occasion to assert that the higher powers of
the reflective intellect are more decidedly and more usefully
tasked by the unostentatious game of draughts than by all the
elaborate frivolity of chess. In this latter, where the pieces
have different and bizarre motions, with various and variable
values, what is only complex is mistaken (a not unusual error)
for what is profound. The attention is here called powerfully
into play. If it flag for an instant, an oversight is
committed, resulting in injury or defeat. The possible moves
being not only manifold but involute, the chances of such
oversights are multiplied; and in nine cases out of ten it is
the more concentrative rather than the more acute player who
conquers. In draughts, on the contrary, where the moves are
unique and have but little variation, the probabilities of
inadvertence are diminished, and the mere attention being left
comparatively what advantages are obtained by either party are
obtained by superior acumen. To be less abstract --Let us
suppose a game of draughts where the pieces are reduced to four
kings, and where, of course, no oversight is to be expected. It
is obvious that here the victory can be decided (the players
being at all equal) only by some recherche movement, the result
of some strong exertion of the intellect. Deprived of ordinary
resources, the analyst throws himself into the spirit of his
opponent, identifies himself therewith, and not unfrequently
sees thus, at a glance, the sole methods (sometimes indeed
absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce into error or
hurry into miscalculation.
Whist has long been noted for its influence upon
what is termed the calculating power; and men of the highest
order of intellect have been known to take an apparently
unaccountable delight in it, while eschewing chess as
frivolous. Beyond doubt there is nothing of a similar nature so
greatly tasking the faculty of analysis. The best chess-player
in Christendom may be little more than the best player of
chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity for success in
all these more important undertakings where mind struggles with
mind. When I say proficiency, I mean that perfection in the
game which includes a comprehension of all the sources whence
legitimate advantage may be derived. These are not only
manifold but multiform, and lie frequently among recesses of
thought altogether inaccessible to the ordinary understanding.
To observe attentively is to remember distinctly; and, so far,
the concentrative chess-player will do very well at whist;
while the rules of Hoyle (themselves based upon the mere
mechanism of the game) are sufficiently and generally
comprehensible. Thus to have a retentive memory, and to proceed
by "the book," are points commonly regarded as the sum total of
good playing. But it is in matters beyond the limits of mere
rule that the skill of the analyst is evinced. He makes, in
silence, a host of observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do
his companions; and the difference in the extent of the
information obtained, lies not so much in the validity of the
inference as in the quality of the observation. The necessary
knowledge is that of what to observe. Our player confines
himself not at all; nor, because the game is the object, does
he reject deductions from things external to the game. He
examines the countenance of his partner, comparing it carefully
with that of each of his opponents. He considers the mode of
assorting the cards in each hand; often counting trump by
trump, and honor by honor, through the glances bestowed by
their holders upon each. He notes every variation of face as
the play progresses, gathering a fund of thought from the
differences in the expression of certainty, of surprise, of
triumph, or chagrin. From the manner of gathering up a trick he
judges whether the person taking it can make another in the
suit. He recognizes what is played through feint, by the air
with which it is thrown upon the table. A casual or inadvertent
word; the accidental dropping or turning of a card, with the
accompanying anxiety or carelessness in regard to its
concealment; the counting of the tricks, with the order of
their arrangement; embarrassment, hesitation, eagerness or
trepidation --all afford, to his apparently intuitive
perception, indications of the true state of affairs. The first
two or three rounds having been played, he is in full
possession of the contents of each hand, and thenceforward puts
down his cards with as absolute a precision of purpose as if
the rest of the party had turned outward the faces of their
own.
The analytical power should not be confounded with
simple ingenuity; for while the analyst is necessarily
ingenious, the ingenious man often remarkably incapable of
analysis. The constructive or combining power, by which
ingenuity is usually manifested, and which the phrenologists (I
believe erroneously) have assigned a separate organ, supposing
it a primitive faculty, has been so frequently seen in those
whose intellect bordered otherwise upon idiocy, as to have
attracted general observation among writers on morals. Between
ingenuity and the analytic ability there exists a difference
far greater, indeed, than that between the fancy and the
imagination, but of a character very strictly analogous. It
will found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful,
and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic.
The narrative which follows will appear to the
reader somewhat in the light of a commentary upon the
propositions just advanced.
Residing in Paris during the spring and part of
the summer of 18--, I there became acquainted with a Monsieur
C. Auguste Dupin. This young gentleman was of an excellent
--indeed of an illustrious family, but, by a variety of
untoward events, had been reduced to such poverty that the
energy of his character succumbed beneath it, and he ceased to
bestir himself in the world, or to care for the retrieval of
his fortunes. By courtesy of his creditors, there still
remained in his possession a small remnant of his patrimony;
and, upon the income arising from this, he managed, by means of
a rigorous economy, to procure the necessaries of life, without
troubling himself about its superfluities. Books, indeed, were
his sole luxuries, and in Paris these are easily obtained.
Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the
Rue Montmartre, where the accident of our both being in search
of the same very rare and very remarkable volume, brought us
into closer communion. We saw each other again and again. I was
deeply interested in the little family history which he
detailed to me with all that candor which a Frenchman indulges
whenever mere self is the theme. I was astonished, too, at the
vast extent of his reading; and, above all, I felt my soul
enkindled within me by the wild fervor, and the vivid freshness
of his imagination. Seeking in Paris the objects I then sought,
I felt that the society of such a man would be to me a treasure
beyond price; and this feeling I frankly confided to him. It
was at length arranged that we should live together during my
stay in the city; and as my worldly circumstances were somewhat
less embarrassed than his own, I was permitted to be at the
expense of renting, and furnishing in a style which suited the
rather fantastic gloom of our common temper, a time-eaten and
grotesque mansion, long deserted through superstitions into
which we did not inquire, and tottering to its fall in a
retired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain.
Had the routine of our life at this place been
known to the world, we should have been regarded as madmen
--although, perhaps, as madmen of a harmless nature. Our
seclusion was perfect. We admitted no visitors. Indeed the
locality of our retirement had been carefully kept a secret
from my own former associates; and it had been many years since
Dupin had ceased to know or be known in Paris. We existed
within ourselves alone.
It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what
else shall I call it?) to be enamored of the Night for her own
sake; and into this bizarrerie, as into all his others, I
quietly fell; giving myself up to his wild whims with a perfect
abandon. The sable divinity would not herself dwell with us
always; but we could counterfeit her presence. At the first
dawn of the morning we closed all the massy shutters of our old
building; lighted a couple of tapers which, strongly perfumed,
threw out only the ghastliest and feeblest of rays. By the aid
of these we then busied our souls in dreams --reading, writing,
or conversing, until warned by the clock of the advent of the
true Darkness. Then we sallied forth into the streets, arm and
arm, continuing the topics of the day, or roaming far and wide
until a late hour, seeking, amid the wild lights and shadows of
the populous city, that infinity of mental excitement which
quiet observation can afford.
At such times I could not help remarking and
admiring (although from his rich ideality I had been prepared
to expect it) a peculiar analytic ability in Dupin. He seemed,
too, to take an eager delight in its exercise --if not exactly
in its display --and did not hesitate to confess the pleasure
thus derived. He boasted to me, with a low chuckling laugh,
that most men, in respect to himself, wore windows in their
bosoms, and was wont to follow up such assertions by direct and
very startling proofs of his intimate knowledge of my own. His
manner at these moments was frigid and abstract; his eyes were
vacant in expression; while his voice, usually a rich tenor,
rose into a treble which would have sounded petulantly but for
the deliberateness and entire distinctness of the enunciation.
Observing him in these moods, I often dwelt meditatively upon
the old philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself with
the fancy of a double Dupin --the creative and the
resolvent.
Let it not be supposed, from what I have just
said, that I am detailing any mystery, or penning any romance.
What I have described in the Frenchman, was merely the result
of an excited, or perhaps of a diseased intelligence. But of
the character of his remarks at the periods in question an
example will best convey the idea.
We were strolling one night down a long dirty
street, in the vicinity of the Palais Royal. Being both,
apparently, occupied with thought, neither of us had spoken a
syllable for fifteen minutes at least. All at once Dupin broke
forth with these words:-
"He is a very little fellow, that's true, and
would do better for the Theatre des Varietes."
"There can be no doubt of that," I replied
unwittingly, and not at first observing (so much had I been
absorbed in reflection) the extraordinary manner in which the
speaker had chimed in with my meditations. In an instant
afterward I recollected myself, and my astonishment was
profound.
"Dupin," said I, gravely, "this is beyond my
comprehension. I do not hesitate to say that I am amazed, and
can scarcely credit my senses. How was it possible you should
know I was thinking of --?" Here I paused, to ascertain beyond
a doubt whether he really knew of whom I thought.
--"of Chantilly," said he, "why do you pause? You
were remarking to yourself that his diminutive figure unfitted
him for tragedy."
This was precisely what had formed the subject of
my reflections. Chantilly was a quondam cobbler of the Rue St.
Denis, who, becoming stage-mad, had attempted the role of
Xerxes, in Crebillon's tragedy so called, and been notoriously
Pasquinaded for his pains.
"Tell me, for Heaven's sake," I exclaimed, "the
method --if method there is --by which you have been enabled to
fathom my soul in this matter." In fact I was even more
startled than I would have been willing to express.
"It was the fruiterer," replied my friend, "who
brought you to the conclusion that the mender of soles was not
of sufficient height for Xerxes et id genus omne."
"The fruiterer! --you astonish me --I know no
fruiterer whomsoever."
"The man who ran up against you as we entered the
street --it may have been fifteen minutes ago."
I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer,
carrying upon his head a large basket of apples, had nearly
thrown me down, by accident, as we passed from the Rue C-- into
the thoroughfare where we stood; but what this had to do with
Chantilly I could not possibly understand.
There was not a particle of charlatanerie about
Dupin. "I will explain," he said, "and that you may comprehend
all clearly, we will explain," he said, "and that you may
comprehend all clearly, we will first retrace the course of
your meditations, from the moment in which I spoke to you until
that of the rencontre with the fruiterer in question. The
larger links of the chain run thus --Chantilly, Orion, Dr.
Nichols, Epicurus, Stereotomy, the street stones, the
fruiterer."
There are few persons who have not, at some period
of their lives, amused themselves in retracing the steps by
which particular conclusions of their own minds have been
attained. The occupation is often full of interest; and he who
attempts it for the first time is astonished by the apparently
illimitable distance and incoherence between the starting-point
and the goal. What, then, must have been my amazement when I
heard the Frenchman speak what he had just spoken, and when I
could not help acknowledging that he had spoken the truth. He
continued:
"We had been talking of horses, if I remember
aright, just before leaving the Rue C--. This was the last
subject we discussed. As we crossed into this street, a
fruiterer, with a large basket upon his head, brushing quickly
past us, thrust you upon a pile of paving-stones collected at a
spot where the causeway is undergoing repair. You stepped upon
one of the loose fragments) slipped, slightly strained your
ankle, appeared vexed or sulky, muttered a few words, turned to
look at the pile, and then proceeded in silence. I was not
particularly attentive to what you did; but observation has
become with me, of late, a species of necessity.
"You kept your eyes upon the ground --glancing,
with a petulant expression, at the holes and ruts in the
pavement, (so that I saw you were still thinking of the
stones,) until we reached the little alley called Lamartine,
which has been paved, by way of experiment, with the
overlapping and riveted blocks. Here your countenance
brightened up, and, perceiving your lips move, I could not
doubt that you murmured the word 'stereotomy,' a term very
affectedly applied to this species of pavement. I knew that you
could not say to yourself 'stereotomy' without being brought to
think of atomies, and thus of the theories of Epicurus; and
since, when we discussed this subject not very long ago, I
mentioned to you how singularly, yet with how little notice,
the vague guesses of that noble Greek had met with confirmation
in the late nebular cosmogony, I felt that you could not avoid
casting your eyes upward to the great nebula in Orion, and I
certainly expected that you would do so. You did look up; and I
was now assured that I had correctly followed your steps. But
in that bitter tirade upon Chantilly, which appeared in
yesterday's 'Musee,' the satirist, making some disgraceful
allusions to the cobbler's change of name upon assuming the
buskin, quoted a Latin line about which we have often
conversed. I mean the line
Perdidit antiquum litera prima sonum.
I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, formerly written Urion; and, from certain pungencies connected with this explanation, I was aware that you could not have forgotten it. It was clear, therefore, that you would not fall to combine the ideas of Orion and Chantilly. That you did combine them I say by the character of the smile which passed over your lips. You thought of the poor cobbler's immolation. So far, you had been stooping in your gait; but now I saw you draw yourself up to your full height. I was then sure that you reflected upon the diminutive figure of Chantilly. At this point I interrupted your meditations to remark that as, in fact, he was a very little fellow --that Chantilly --he would do better at the Theatre des Varietes."
Not long after this, we were looking over an evening edition of the "Gazette des Tribunaux," when the following paragraphs arrested our attention.
"Extraordinary Murders. --This morning, about three o'clock, the inhabitants of the Quartier St. Roch were aroused from sleep by a succession of terrific shrieks, issuing, apparently, from the fourth story of a house in the Rue Morgue, known to be in the sole occupancy of one Madame L'Espanaye, and her daughter, Mademoiselle Camille L'Espanaye. After some delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt to procure admission in the usual manner, the gateway was broken in with a crowbar, and eight or ten of the neighbors entered, accompanied by two gendarmes. By this time the cries had ceased; but, as the party rushed up the first flight of stairs, two or more rough voices, in angry contention, were distinguished, and seemed to proceed from the upper part of the house. As the second landing was reached, these sounds, also, had ceased, and everything remained perfectly quiet. The party spread themselves, and hurried from room to room. Upon arriving at a large back chamber in the fourth story, (the door of which, being found locked, with the key inside, was forced open,) a spectacle presented itself which struck every one present not less with horror than with astonishment.
"The apartment was in the wildest disorder
--the furniture broken and thrown about in all directions.
There was only one bedstead; and from this the bed had been
removed, and thrown into the middle of the floor. On a chair
lay a razor, besmeared with blood. On the hearth were two or
three long and thick tresses of grey human hair, also dabbled
in blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by the roots.
Upon the floor were found four Napoleons, an ear-ring of topaz,
three large silver spoons, three smaller of metal d'Alger, and
two bags, containing nearly four thousand francs in gold. The
drawers of a bureau, which stood in one corner, were open, and
had been, apparently, rifled, although many articles still
remained in them. A small iron safe was discovered under the
bed (not under the bedstead). It was open, with the key still
in the door. It had no contents beyond a few old letters, and
other papers of little consequence.
"Of Madame L'Espanaye no traces were here seen;
but an unusual quantity of soot being observed in the
fire-place, a search was made in the chimney, and (horrible to
relate!) the corpse of the daughter, head downward, was dragged
therefrom; it having been thus forced up the narrow aperture
for a considerable distance. The body was quite warm. Upon
examining it, many excoriations were perceived, no doubt
occasioned by the violence with which it had been thrust up and
disengaged. Upon the face were many severe scratches, and, upon
the throat, dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger
nails, as if the deceased had been throttled to death.
"After a thorough investigation of every portion
of the house, without farther discovery, the party made its way
into a small paved yard in the rear of the building, where lay
the corpse of the old lady, with her throat so entirely cut
that, upon an attempt to raise her, the head fell off. The
body, as well as the head, was fearfully mutilated --the former
so much so as scarcely to retain any semblance of humanity.
"To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we
believe, the slightest clew."
The next day's paper had these additional particulars.
"The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue. Many
individuals have been examined in relation to this most
extraordinary and frightful affair," [The word 'affaire' has
not yet, in France, that levity of import which it conveys with
us] "but nothing whatever has transpired to throw light upon We
give below all the material testimony elicited.
"Pauline Dubourg, laundress, deposes that she has
known both the deceased for three years, having washed for them
during that period. The old lady and her daughter seemed on
good terms-very affectionate towards each other. They were
excellent pay. Could not speak in regard to their mode or means
of living. Believed that Madame L. told fortunes for a living.
Was reputed to have money put by. Never met any persons in the
house when she called for the clothes or took them home. Was
sure that they had no servant in employ. There appeared to be
no furniture in any part of the building except in the fourth
story.
"Pierre Moreau, tobacconist, deposes that he has
been in the habit of selling small quantities of tobacco and
snuff to Madame L'Espanaye for nearly four years. Was born in
the neighborhood, and has always resided there. The deceased
and her daughter had occupied the house in which the corpses
were found, for more than six years. It was formerly occupied
by a jeweller, who under-let the upper rooms to various
persons. The house was the property of Madame L. She became
dissatisfied with the abuse of the premises by her tenant, and
moved into them herself, refusing to let any portion. The old
lady was childish. Witness had seen the daughter some five or
six times during the six years. The two lived an exceedingly
retired life --were reputed to have money. Had heard it said
among the neighbors that Madame L. told fortunes --did not
believe it. Had never seen any person enter the door except the
old lady and her daughter, a porter once or twice, and a
physician some eight or ten times.
"Many other persons, neighbors, gave evidence to
the same effect. No one was spoken of as frequenting the house.
It was not known whether there were any living connexions of
Madame L. and her daughter. The shutters of the front windows
were seldom opened. Those in the rear were always closed, with
the exception of the large back room, fourth story. The house
was a good house --not very old.
"Isidore Muset, gendarme, deposes that he was
called to the house about three o'clock in the morning, and
found some twenty or thirty persons at the gateway, endeavoring
to gain admittance. Forced it open, at length, with a bayonet
--not with a crowbar. Had but little difficulty in getting it
open, on account of its being a double or folding gate, and
bolted neither at bottom nor top. The shrieks were continued
until the gate was forced --and then suddenly ceased. They
seemed to be screams of some person (or persons) in great agony
--were loud and drawn out, not short and quick. Witness led the
way up stairs. Upon reaching the first landing, heard two
voices in loud and angry contention-the one a gruff voice, the
other much shriller --a very strange voice. Could distinguish
some words of the former, which was that of a Frenchman. Was
positive that it was not a woman's voice. Could distinguish the
words 'sacre' and 'diable.' The shrill voice was that of a
foreigner. Could not be sure whether it was the voice of a man
or of a woman. Could not make out what was said, but believed
the language to be Spanish. The state of the room and of the
bodies was described by this witness as we described them
yesterday.
"Henri Duval, a neighbor, and by trade a
silversmith, deposes that he was one of the party who first
entered the house. Corroborates the testimony of Muset in
general. As soon as they forced an entrance, they reclosed the
door, to keep out the crowd, which collected very fast,
notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The shrill voice, the
witness thinks, was that of an Italian. Was certain it was not
French. Could not be sure that it was a man's voice. It might
have been a woman's. Was not acquainted with the Italian
language. Could not distinguish the words, but was convinced by
the intonation that the speaker was an Italian. Knew Madame L.
and her daughter. Had conversed with both frequently. Was sure
that the shrill voice was not that of either of the
deceased.
"--Odenheimer, restaurateur. This witness
volunteered his testimony. Not speaking French, was examined
through an interpreter. Is a native of Amsterdam. Was passing
the house at the time of the shrieks. They lasted for several
minutes --probably ten. They were long and loud --very awful
and distressing. Was one of those who entered the building.
Corroborated the previous evidence in every respect but one.
Was sure that the shrill voice was that of a man --of a
Frenchman. Could not distinguish the words uttered. They were
loud and quick --unequal --spoken apparently in fear as well as
in anger. The voice was harsh --not so much shrill as harsh.
Could not call it a shrill voice. The gruff voice said
repeatedly 'sacre,' 'diable' and once 'mon Dieu.'
"Jules Mignaud, banker, of the firm of Mignaud et
Fils, Rue Deloraine. Is the elder Mignaud. Madame L'Espanaye
had some property. Had opened an account with his baking house
in the spring of the year --(eight years previously). Made
frequent deposits in small sums. Had checked for nothing until
the third day before her death, when she took out in person the
sum of 4000 francs. This sum was paid in gold, and a clerk sent
home with the money.
"Adolphe Le Bon, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, deposes
that on the day in question, about noon, he accompanied Madame
L'Espanaye to her residence with the 4000 francs, put up in two
bags. Upon the door being opened, Mademoiselle L. appeared and
took from his hands one of the bags, while the old lady
relieved him of the other. He then bowed and departed. Did not
see any person in the street at the time. It is a bye-street
--very lonely.
William Bird, tailor, deposes that he was one of
the party who entered the house. Is an Englishman. Has lived in
Paris two years. Was one of the first to ascend the stairs.
Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voice was that of a
Frenchman. Could make out several words, but cannot now
remember all. Heard distinctly 'sacre' and 'mon Dieu.' There
was a sound at the moment as if of several persons struggling
--a scraping and scuffling sound. The shrill voice was very
loud --louder than the gruff one. Is sure that it was not the
voice of an Englishman. Appeared to be that of a German. Might
have been a woman's voice. Does not understand German.
"Four of the above-named witnesses, being
recalled, deposed that the door of the chamber in which was
found the body of Mademoiselle L. was locked on the inside when
the party reached it. Every thing was perfectly silent --no
groans or noises of any kind. Upon forcing the door no person
was seen. The windows, both of the back and front room, were
down and firmly fastened from within. A door between the two
rooms was closed, but not locked. The door leading from the
front room into the passage was locked, with the key on the
inside. A small room in the front of the house, on the fourth
story, at the head of the passage, was open, the door being
ajar. This room was crowded with old beds, boxes, and so forth.
These were carefully removed and searched. There was not an
inch of any portion of the house which was not carefully
searched. Sweeps were sent up and down the chimneys. The house
was a four story one, with garrets (mansardes). A trap-door on
the roof was nailed down very securely --did not appear to have
been opened for years. The time elapsing between the hearing of
the voices in contention and the breaking open of the room
door, was variously stated by the witnesses. Some made it as
short as three minutes --some as long as five. The door was
opened with difficulty.
"Alfonzo Garcio, undertaker, deposes that he
resides in the Rue Morgue. Is a native of Spain. Was one of the
party who entered the house. Did not proceed up stairs. Is
nervous, and was apprehensive of the consequences of agitation.
Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voice was that of a
Frenchman. Could not distinguish what was said. The shrill
voice was that of an Englishman --is sure of this. Does not
understand the English language, but judges by the
intonation.
"Alberto Montani, confectioner, deposes that he
was among the first to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in
question. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman.
Distinguished several words. The speaker appeared to be
expostulating. Could not make out the words of the shrill
voice. Spoke quick and unevenly. Thinks it the voice of a
Russian. Corroborates the general testimony. Is an Italian.
Never conversed with a native of Russia.
"Several witnesses, recalled, here testified that
the chimneys of all the rooms on the fourth story were too
narrow to admit the passage of a human being. By 'sweeps' were
meant cylindrical sweeping-brushes, such as are employed by
those who clean chimneys. These brushes were passed up and down
every flue in the house. There is no back passage by which any
one could have descended while the party proceeded up stairs.
The body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was so firmly wedged in the
chimney that it could not be got down until four or five of the
party united their strength.
"Paul Dumas, physician, deposes that he was called
to view the bodies about day-break. They were both then lying
on the sacking of the bedstead in the chamber where
Mademoiselle L. was found. The corpse of the young lady was
much bruised and excoriated. The fact that it had been thrust
up the chimney would sufficiently account for these
appearances. The throat was greatly chafed. There were several
deep scratches just below the chin, together with a series of
livid spots which were evidently the impression of fingers. The
face was fearfully discolored, and the eye-balls protruded. The
tongue had been partially bitten through. A large bruise was
discovered upon the pit of the stomach, produced, apparently,
by the pressure of a knee. In the opinion of M. Dumas,
Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been throttled to death by some
person or persons unknown. The corpse of the mother was
horribly mutilated. All the bones of the right leg and arm were
more or less shattered. The left tibia much splintered, as well
as all the ribs of the left side. Whole body dreadfully bruised
and discolored. It was not possible to say how the injuries had
been inflicted. A heavy club of wood, or a broad bar of iron
--a chair --any large, heavy, and obtuse weapon have produced
such results, if wielded by the hands of a very powerful man.
No woman could have inflicted the blows with any weapon. The
head of the deceased, when seen by witness, was entirely
separated from the body, and was also greatly shattered. The
throat had evidently been cut with some very sharp instrument
--probably with a razor.
"Alexandre Etienne, surgeon, was called with M.
Dumas to view the bodies. Corroborated the testimony, and the
opinions of M. Dumas.
"Nothing farther of importance was elicited,
although several other persons were examined. A murder so
mysterious, and so perplexing in all its particulars, was never
before committed in Paris --if indeed a murder has been
committed at all. The police are entirely at fault --an unusual
occurrence in affairs of this nature. There is not, however,
the shadow of a clew apparent."
The evening edition of the paper stated that the greatest excitement continued in the Quartier St. Roch --that the premises in question had been carefully re-searched, and fresh examinations of witnesses instituted, but all to no purpose. A postscript, however mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been arrested and imprisoned --although nothing appeared to criminate him, beyond the facts already detailed.
Dupin seemed singularly interested in the
progress of this affair --at least so I judged from his manner,
for he made no comments. It was only after the announcement
that Le Bon had been imprisoned, that he asked me my opinion
respecting the murders.
I could merely agree with all Paris in considering
them an insoluble mystery. I saw no means by which it would be
possible to trace the murderer.
"We must not judge of the means," said Dupin, "by
this shell of an examination. The Parisian police, so much
extolled for acumen, are cunning, but no more. There is no
method in their proceedings, beyond the method of the moment.
They make a vast parade of measures; but, not unfrequently,
these are so ill adapted to the objects proposed, as to put us
in mind of Monsieur Jourdain's calling for his robe-de-chambre
--pour mieux entendre la musique. The results attained by them
are not unfrequently surprising, but, for the most part, are
brought about by simple diligence and activity. When these
qualities are unavailing, their schemes fall. Vidocq, for
example, was a good guesser, and a persevering man. But,
without educated thought, he erred continually by the very
intensity of his investigations. He impaired his vision by
holding the object too close. He might see, perhaps, one or two
points with unusual clearness, but in so doing he, necessarily,
lost sight of the matter as a whole. Thus there is such a thing
as being too profound. Truth is not always in a well. In fact,
as regards the more important knowledge, I do believe that she
is invariably superficial. The depth lies in the valleys where
we seek her, and not upon the mountain-tops where she is found.
The modes and sources of this kind of error are well typified
in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies. To look at a star
by glances --to view it in a side-long way, by turning toward
it the exterior portions of the retina (more susceptible of
feeble impressions of light than the interior), is to behold
the star distinctly --is to have the best appreciation of its
lustre --a lustre which grows dim just in proportion as we turn
our vision fully upon it. A greater number of rays actually
fall upon the eye in the latter case, but, in the former, there
is the more refined capacity for comprehension. By undue
profundity we perplex and enfeeble thought; and it is possible
to make even Venus herself vanish from the firmament by a
scrutiny too sustained, too concentrated, or too direct.
"As for these murders, let us enter into some
examinations for ourselves, before we make up an opinion
respecting them. An inquiry will afford us amusement," (I
thought this an odd term, so applied, but said nothing) "and,
besides, Le Bon once rendered me a service for which I am not
ungrateful. We will go and see the premises with our own eyes.
I know G--, the Prefect of Police, and shall have no difficulty
in obtaining the necessary permission."
The permission was obtained, and we proceeded at
once to the Rue Morgue. This is one of those miserable
thoroughfares which intervene between the Rue Richelieu and the
Rue St. Roch. It was late in the afternoon when we reached it;
as this quarter is at a great distance from that in which we
resided. The house was readily found; for there were still many
persons gazing up at the closed shutters, with an objectless
curiosity, from the opposite side of the way. It was an
ordinary Parisian house, with a gateway, on one side of which
was a glazed watch-box, with a sliding way, on one si panel in
the window, indicating a loge de concierge. Before going in we
walked up the street, turned down an alley, and then, again
turning, passed in the rear of the building-Dupin, meanwhile,
examining the whole neighborhood, as well as the house, with a
minuteness of attention for which I could see no possible
object.
Retracing our steps, we came again to the front of
the dwelling, rang, and, having shown our credentials, were
admitted by the agents in charge. We went up stairs --into the
chamber where the body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been
found, and where both the deceased still lay. The disorders of
the room had, as usual, been suffered to exist. I saw nothing
beyond what had been stated in the "Gazette des Tribunaux."
Dupin scrutinized every thing-not excepting the bodies of the
victims. We then went into the other rooms, and into the yard;
a gendarme accompanying us throughout. The examination occupied
us until dark, when we took our departure. On our way home my
companion stopped in for a moment at the office of one of the
dally papers.
I have said that the whims of my friend were
manifold, and that Fe les menageais: --for this phrase there is
no English equivalent. It was his humor, now, to decline all
conversation on the subject of the murder, until about noon the
next day. He then asked me, suddenly, if I had observed any
thing peculiar at the scene of the atrocity.
There was something in his manner of emphasizing
the word "peculiar," which caused me to shudder, without
knowing why.
"No, nothing peculiar," I said; "nothing more, at
least, than we both saw stated in the paper."
"The 'Gazette,'" he replied, "has not entered, I
fear, into the unusual horror of the thing. But dismiss the
idle opinions of this print. It appears to me that this mystery
is considered insoluble, for the very reason which should cause
it to be regarded as easy of solution --I mean for the outre
character of its features. The police are confounded by the
seeming absence of motive --not for the murder itself --but for
the atrocity of the murder. They are puzzled, too, by the
seeming impossibility of reconciling the voices heard in
contention, with the facts that no one was discovered up stairs
but the assassinated Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and that there
were no means of egress without the notice of the party
ascending. The wild disorder of the room; the corpse thrust,
with the head downward, up the chimney; the frightful
mutilation of the body of the old lady; these considerations
with those just mentioned, and others which I need not mention,
have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by putting completely at
fault the boasted acumen, of the government agents. They have
fallen into the gross but common error of confounding the
unusual with the abstruse. But it is by these deviations from
the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels its way, if at
all, in its search for the true. In investigations such as we
are now pursuing, it should not be so much asked 'what has
occurred,' as 'what has occurred that has never occurred
before.' In fact, the facility with which I shall arrive, or
have arrived, at the solution of this mystery, is in the direct
ratio of its apparent insolubility in the eyes of the
police."
I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.
"I am now awaiting," continued he, looking toward
the door of our apartment --"I am now awaiting a person who,
although perhaps not the perpetrator of these butcheries, must
have been in some measure implicated in their perpetration. Of
the worst portion of the crimes committed, it is probable that
he is innocent. I hope that I am right in this supposition; for
upon it I build my expectation of reading the entire riddle. I
look for the man here --in this room --every moment. It is true
that he may not arrive; but the probability is that he will.
Should he come, it will be necessary to detain him. Here are
pistols; and we both know how to use them when occasion demands
their use."
I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did,
or believing what I heard, while Dupin went on, very much as if
in a soliloquy. I have already spoken of his abstract manner at
such times. His discourse was addressed to myself; but his
voice, although by no means loud, had that intonation which is
commonly employed in speaking to some one at a great distance.
His eyes, vacant in expression, regarded only the wall.
"That the voices heard in contention," he said,
"by the party upon the stairs, were not the voices of the women
themselves, was fully proved by the evidence. This relieves us
of all doubt upon the question whether the old lady could have
first destroyed the daughter, and afterward have committed
suicide. I speak of this point chiefly for the sake of method;
for the strength of Madame L'Espanaye would have been utterly
unequal to the task of thrusting her daughter's corpse up the
chimney as it was found; and the nature of the wounds upon her
own person entirely preclude the idea of self-destruction.
Murder, then, has been committed by some third party; and the
voices of this third party were those heard in contention. Let
me now advert --not to the whole testimony respecting these
voices --but to what was peculiar in that testimony. Did you
observe anything peculiar about it?"
I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in
supposing the gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, there was
much disagreement in regard to the shrill, or, as one
individual termed it, the harsh voice.
"That was the evidence itself," said Dupin, "but
it was not the peculiarity of the evidence. You have observed
nothing distinctive. Yet there was something to be observed.
The witnesses, as you remark, agreed about the gruff voice;
they were here unanimous. But in regard to the shrill voice,
the peculiarity is not that they disagreed --but that, while an
Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Hollander, and a
Frenchman attempted to describe it, each one spoke of it as
that of a foreigner. Each is sure that it was not the voice of
one of his own countrymen. Each likens it --not to the voice of
an individual of any nation with whose language he is
conversant --but the converse. The Frenchman supposes it the
voice of a Spaniard, and 'might have distinguished some words
had he been acquainted with the Spanish.' The Dutchman
maintains it to have been that of a Frenchman; but we find it
stated that 'not understanding French this witness was examined
through an interpreter.' The Englishman thinks it the voice of
a German, and 'does not understand German.' The Spaniard 'is
sure' that it was that of an Englishman, but 'judges by the
intonation' altogether, 'as he has no knowledge of the
English.' The Italian believes it the voice of a Russian, but
'has never conversed with a native of Russia.' A second
Frenchman differs, moreover, with the first, and is positive
that the voice was that of an Italian; but, not being cognizant
of that tongue, is, like the Spaniard, 'convinced by the
intonation.' Now, how strangely unusual must that voice have
really been, about which such testimony as this could have been
elicited! --in whose tones, even, denizens of the five great
divisions of Europe could recognise nothing familiar! You will
say that it might have been the voice of an Asiatic --of an
African. Neither Asiatics nor Africans abound in Paris; but,
without denying the inference, I will now merely call your
attention to three points. The voice is termed by one witness
'harsh rather than shrill.' It is represented by two others to
have been 'quick and unequal' No words --no sounds resembling
words --were by any witness mentioned as distinguishable.
"I know not," continued Dupin, "what impression I
may have made, so far, upon your own understanding; but I do
not hesitate to say that legitimate deductions even from this
portion of the testimony --the portion respecting the gruff and
shrill voices --are in themselves sufficient to engender a
suspicion which should give direction to all farther progress
in the investigation of the mystery. I said 'legitimate
deductions;' but my meaning is not thus fully expressed. I
designed to imply that the deductions are the sole proper ones,
and that the suspicion arises inevitably from them as the
single result. What the suspicion is, however, I will not say
just yet. I merely wish you to bear in mind that, with myself,
it was sufficiently forcible to give a definite form --a
certain tendency --to my inquiries in the chamber.
"Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this
chamber. What shall we first seek here? The means of egress
employed by the murderers. It is not too much to say that
neither of us believe in praeternatural events. Madame and
Mademoiselle L'Espanaye were not destroyed by spirits. The
doers of the deed were material, and escaped materially. Then
how? Fortunately, there is but one mode of reasoning upon the
point, and that mode must lead us to a definite decision. --Let
us examine, each by each, the possible means of egress. It is
clear that the assassins were in the room where Mademoiselle
L'Espanaye was found, or at least in the room adjoining, when
the party ascended the stairs. It is then only from these two
apartments that we have to seek issues. The police have laid
bare the floors, the ceilings, and the masonry of the walls, in
every direction. No secret issues could have escaped their
vigilance. But, not trusting to their eyes, I examined with my
own. There were, then, no secret issues. Both doors leading
from the rooms into the passage were securely locked, with the
keys inside. Let us turn to the chimneys. These, although of
ordinary width for some eight or ten feet above the hearths,
will not admit, throughout their extent, the body of a large
cat. The impossibility of egress, by means already stated,
being thus absolute, we are reduced to the windows. Through
those of the front room no one could have escaped without
notice from the crowd in the street. The murderers must have
passed, then, through those of the back room. Now, brought to
this conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it is not
our part, as reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent
impossibilities. It is only left for us to prove that these
apparent 'impossibilities' are, in reality, not such.
"There are two windows in the chamber. One of them
is unobstructed by furniture, and is wholly visible. The lower
portion of the other is hidden from view by the head of the
unwieldy bedstead which is thrust close up against it. The
former was found securely fastened from within. It resisted the
utmost force of those who endeavored to raise it. A large
gimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame to the left, and a
very stout nail was found fitted therein, nearly to the head.
Upon examining the other window, a similar nail was seen
similarly fitted in it; and a vigorous attempt to raise this
sash, failed also. The police were now entirely satisfied that
egress had not been in these directions. And, therefore, it was
thought a matter of supererogation to withdraw the nails and
open the windows.
"My own examination was somewhat more particular,
and was so for the reason I have just given --because here it
was, I knew, that all apparent impossibilities must be proved
to be not such in reality.
"I proceeded to think thus --a posteriori. The
murderers did escape from one of these windows. This being so,
they could not have re-fastened the sashes from the inside, as
they were found fastened; --the consideration which put a stop,
through its obviousness, to the scrutiny of the police in this
quarter. Yet the sashes were fastened. They must, then, have
the power of fastening themselves. There was no escape from
this conclusion. I stepped to the unobstructed casement,
withdrew the nail with some difficulty, and attempted to raise
the sash. It resisted all my efforts, as I had anticipated. A
concealed spring must, I now knew, exist; and this
corroboration of my idea convinced me that my premises, at
least, were correct, however mysterious still appeared the
circumstances attending the nails. A careful search soon
brought to light the hidden spring. I pressed it, and,
satisfied with the discovery, forebore to upraise the sash.
"I now replaced the nail and regarded it
attentively. A person passing out through this window might
have reclosed it, and the spring would have caught --but the
nail could not have been replaced. The conclusion was plain,
and again narrowed in the field of my investigations. The
assassins must have escaped through the other window.
Supposing, then, the springs upon each sash to be the same, as
was probable, there must be found a difference between the
nails, or at least between the modes of their fixture. Getting
upon the sacking of the bedstead, I looked over the headboard
minutely at the second casement. Passing my hand down behind
the board, I readily discovered and pressed the spring, which
was, as I had supposed, identical in character with its
neighbor. I now looked at the nail. It was as stout as the
other, and apparently fitted in the same manner --driven in
nearly up to the head.
"You will say that I was puzzled; but, if you
think so, you must have misunderstood the nature of the
inductions. To use a sporting phrase, I had not been once 'at
fault.' The scent had never for an instant been lost. There was
no flaw in any link of the chain. I had traced the secret to
its ultimate result, --and that result was the nail. It had, I
say, in every respect, the appearance of its fellow in the
other window; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusive
as it might seem to be) when compared with the consideration
that here, at this point, terminated the clew. 'There must be
something wrong,' I said, 'about the nail.' I touched it; and
the head, with about a quarter of an inch of the shank, came
off in my fingers. The rest of the shank was in the
gimlet-hole, where it had been broken off. The fracture was an
old one (for its edges were incrusted with rust), and had
apparently been accomplished by the blow of a hammer, which had
partially imbedded, in the top of the bottom sash, the head
portion of the nail. now carefully replaced this head portion
in the indentation whence I had taken it, and the resemblance
to a perfect nail was complete-the fissure was invisible.
Pressing the spring, I gently raised the sash for a few inches;
the head went up with it, remaining firm in its bed. I closed
the window, and the semblance of the whole nail was again
perfect.
"The riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The
assassin had escaped through the window which looked upon the
bed. Dropping of its own accord upon his exit (or perhaps
purposely closed) it had become fastened by the spring; and it
was the retention of this spring which had been mistaken by the
police for that of the nail, --farther inquiry being thus
considered unnecessary.
"The next question is that of the mode of descent.
Upon this point I had been satisfied in my walk with you around
the building. About five feet and a half from the casement in
question there runs a lightning-rod. From this rod it would
have been impossible for any one to reach the window itself, to
say nothing of entering it. I observed, however, that shutters
of the fourth story were of the peculiar kind called by
Parisian carpenters ferrades --a kind rarely employed at the
present day, but frequently seen upon very old mansions at
Lyons and Bordeaux. They are in the form of an ordinary door,
(a single, not a folding door) except that the upper half is
latticed or worked in open trellis --thus affording an
excellent hold for the hands. In the present instance these
shutters are fully three feet and a half broad. When we saw
them from the rear of the house, they were both about half open
--that is to say, they stood off at right angles from the wall.
It is probable that the police, as well as myself, examined the
back of the tenement; but, if so, in looking at these ferrades
in the line of their breadth (as they must have done), they did
not perceive this great breadth itself, or, at all events,
failed to take it into due consideration. In fact, having once
satisfied themselves that no egress could have been made in
this quarter, they would naturally bestow here a very cursory
examination. It was clear to me, however, that the shutter
belonging to the window at the head of the bed, would, if swung
fully back to the wall, reach to within two feet of the
lightning-rod. It was also evident that, by exertion of a very
unusual degree of activity and courage, an entrance into the
window, from the rod, might have been thus effected. --By
reaching to the distance of two feet and a half (we now suppose
the shutter open to its whole extent) a robber might have taken
a firm grasp upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then, his hold
upon the rod, placing his feet securely against the wall, and
springing boldly from it, he might have swung the shutter so as
to close it, and, if we imagine the window open at the time,
might have swung himself into the room.
"I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have
spoken of a very unusual degree of activity as requisite to
success in so hazardous and so difficult a feat. It is my
design to show you, first, that the thing might possibly have
been accomplished: --but, secondly and chiefly, I wish to
impress upon your understanding the very extraordinary --the
almost praeternatural character of that agility which could
have accomplished it.
"You will say, no doubt, using the language of the
law, that 'to make out my case' I should rather undervalue,
than insist upon a full estimation of the activity required in
this matter. This may be the practice in law, but it is not the
usage of reason. My ultimate object is only the truth. My
immediate purpose is to lead you to place in juxta-position
that very unusual activity of which I have just spoken, with
that very peculiar shrill (or harsh) and unequal voice, about
whose nationality no two persons could be found to agree, and
in whose utterance no syllabification could be detected."
At these words a vague and half-formed conception
of the meaning of Dupin flitted over my mind. I seemed to be
upon the verge of comprehension, without power to comprehend
--as men, at times, find themselves upon the brink of
remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember. My
friend went on with his discourse.
"You will see," he said, "that I have shifted the
question from the mode of egress to that of ingress. It was my
design to suggest that both were effected in the same manner,
at the same point. Let us now revert to the interior of the
room. Let us survey the appearances here. The drawers of the
bureau, it is said, had been rifled, although many articles of
apparel still remained within them. The conclusion here is
absurd. It is a mere guess --a very silly one --and no more.
How are we to know that the articles found in the drawers were
not all these drawers had originally contained? Madame
L'Espanaye and her daughter lived an exceedingly retired life
--saw no company --seldom went out --had little use for
numerous changes of habiliment. Those found were at least of as
good quality as any likely to be possessed by these ladies. If
a thief had taken any, why did he not take the best --why did
he not take all? In a word, why did he abandon four thousand
francs in gold to encumber himself with a bundle of linen? The
gold was abandoned. Nearly the whole sum mentioned by Monsieur
Mignaud, the banker, was discovered, in bags, upon the floor. I
wish you, therefore, to discard from your thoughts the
blundering idea of motive, engendered in the brains of the
police by that portion of the evidence which speaks of money
delivered at the door of the house. Coincidences ten times as
remarkable as this (the delivery of the money, and murder
committed within three days upon the party receiving it),
happen to all of us every hour of our lives, without attracting
even momentary notice. Coincidences, in general, are great
stumbling-blocks in the way of that class of thinkers who have
been educated to know nothing of the theory of probabilities
--that theory to which the most glorious objects of human
research are indebted for the most glorious of illustration. In
the present instance, had the gold been gone, the fact of its
delivery three days before would have formed something more
than a coincidence. It would have been corroborative of this
idea of motive. But, under the real circumstances of the case,
if we are to suppose gold the motive of this outrage, we must
also imagine the perpetrator so vacillating an idiot as to have
abandoned his gold and his motive together.
"Keeping now steadily in mind the points to which
I have drawn your attention --that peculiar voice, that unusual
agility, and that startling absence of motive in a murder so
singularly atrocious as this --let us glance at the butchery
itself. Here is a woman strangled to death by manual strength,
and thrust up a chimney, head downward. Ordinary assassins
employ no such modes of murder as this. Least of all, do they
thus dispose of the murdered. In the manner of thrusting the
corpse up the chimney, you will that there was something
excessively outre --something altogether irreconcilable with
our common notions of human action, even when we suppose the
actors the most depraved of men. Think, too, how great must
have been that strength which could have thrust the body up
such an aperture so forcibly that the united vigor of several
persons was found barely sufficient to drag it down!
"Turn, now, to other indications of the employment
of a vigor most marvellous. On the hearth were thick tresses
--very thick tresses --of grey human hair. These had been torn
out by the roots. You are aware of the great force necessary in
tearing thus from the head even twenty or thirty hairs
together. You saw the locks in question as well as myself.
Their roots (a hideous sight!) were clotted with fragments of
the flesh of the scalp --sure token of the prodigious power
which had been exerted in uprooting perhaps half a million of
hairs at a time. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut,
but the head absolutely severed from the body: the instrument
was a mere razor. I wish you also to look at the brutal
ferocity of these deeds. Of the bruises upon the body of Madame
L'Espanaye I do not speak. Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy
coadjutor Monsieur Etienne, have pronounced that they were
inflicted by some obtuse instrument; and so far these gentlemen
are very correct. The obtuse instrument was clearly the stone
pavement in the yard, upon which the victim had fallen from the
window which looked in upon the bed. This idea, however simple
it may now seem, escaped the police for the same reason that
the breadth of the shutters escaped them --because, by the
affair of the nails, their perceptions had been hermetically
sealed against the possibility of the windows have ever been
opened at all.
If now, in addition to all these things, you have
properly reflected upon the odd disorder of the chamber, we
have gone so far as to combine the ideas of an agility
astounding, a strength superhuman, a ferocity brutal, a
butchery without motive, a grotesquerie in horror absolutely
alien from humanity, and a voice foreign in tone to the ears of
men of many nations, and devoid of all distinct or intelligible
syllabification. What result, then, has ensued? What impression
have I made upon your fancy?"
I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me
the question. "A madman," I said, "has done this deed --some
raving maniac, escaped from a neighboring Maison de Sante."
"In some respects," he replied, "your idea is not
irrelevant. But the voices of madmen, even in their wildest
paroxysms, are never found to tally with that peculiar voice
heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of some nation, and their
language, however incoherent in its words, has always the
coherence of syllabification. Besides, the hair of a madman is
not such as I now hold in my hand. I disentangled this little
tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L'Espanaye.
Tell me what you can make of it."
"Dupin!" I said, completely unnerved; "this hair
is most unusual --this is no human hair."
"I have not asserted that it is," said he; "but,
before we decide this point, I wish you to glance at the little
sketch I have here traced upon this paper. It is a fac-simile
drawing of what has been described in one portion of the
testimony as 'dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger
nails,' upon the throat of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and in
another, (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne,) as a 'series of livid
spots, evidently the impression of fingers.'
"You will perceive," continued my friend,
spreading out the paper upon the table before us, "that this
drawing gives the idea of a firm and fixed hold. There is no
slipping apparent. Each finger has retained --possibly until
the death of the victim --the fearful grasp by which it
originally imbedded itself. Attempt, now, to place all your
fingers, at the same time, in the respective impressions as you
see them."
I made the attempt in vain.
"We are possibly not giving this matter a fair
trial," he said. "The paper is spread out upon a plane surface;
but the human throat is cylindrical. Here is a billet of wood,
the circumference of which is about that of the throat. Wrap
the drawing around it, and try the experiment again."
I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious
than before.
"This," I said, "is the mark of no human
hand."
"Read now," replied Dupin, "this passage from
Cuvier." It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive
account of the large fulvous Ourang-Outang of the East Indian
Islands. The gigantic stature, the prodigious strength and
activity, the wild ferocity, and the imitative propensities of
these mammalia are sufficiently well known to all. I understood
the full horrors of the murder at once.
"The description of the digits," said I, as I made
an end of reading, "is in exact accordance with this drawing, I
see that no animal but an Ourang-Outang, of the species here
mentioned, could have impressed the indentations as you have
traced them. This tuft of tawny hair, too, is identical in
character with that of the beast of Cuvier. But I cannot
possibly comprehend the particulars of this frightful mystery.
Besides, there were two voices heard in contention, and one of
them was unquestionably the voice of a Frenchman."
True; and you will remember an expression
attributed almost unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice,
--the expression, 'mon Dieu!' This, under the circumstances,
has been justly characterized by one of the witnesses (Montani,
the confectioner,) as an expression of remonstrance or
expostulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I have mainly
built my hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A Frenchman
was cognizant of the murder. It is possible --indeed it is far
more than probable --that he was innocent of all participation
in the bloody transactions which took place. The Ourang-Outang
may have escaped from him. He may have traced it to the
chamber; but, under the agitating circumstances which ensued,
he could never have re-captured it. It is still at large. I
will not pursue these guesses-for I have no right to call them
more --since the shades of reflection upon which they are based
are scarcely of sufficient depth to be appreciable by my own
intellect, and since I could not pretend to make them
intelligible to the understanding of another. We will call them
guesses then, and speak of them as such. If the Frenchman in
question is indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this atrocity,
this advertisement, which I left last night, upon our return
home, at the office of 'Le Monde,' (a paper devoted to the
shipping interest, and much sought by sailors,) will bring him
to our residence."
He handed me a paper, and I read thus:
Caught --In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of the --inst., (the morning of the murder,) a very large, tawny Ourang-Outang of the Bornese species. The owner, (who is ascertained to be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel,) may have the animal again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and paying a few charges arising from its capture and keeping. Call at No.--, Rue --, Faubourg St. Germain --au troisieme.
"How was it possible," I asked, "that you
should know the man to be a sailor, and belonging to a Maltese
vessel?"
"I do not know it," said Dupin. "I am not sure of
it. Here, however, is a small piece of ribbon, which from its
form, and from its greasy appearance, has evidently been used
in tying the hair in one of those long queues of which sailors
are so fond. Moreover, this knot is one which few besides
sailors can tie, and is peculiar to the Maltese. I picked the
ribbon up at the foot of the lightning-rod. It could not have
belonged to either of the deceased. Now if, after all, I am
wrong in my induction from this ribbon, that the Frenchman was
a sailor belonging to a Maltese vessel, still I can have done
no harm in saying what I did in the advertisement. If I am in
error, he will merely suppose that I have been misled by some
circumstance into which he will not take the trouble to
inquire. But if I am right, a great point is gained. Cognizant
although innocent of the murder, the Frenchman will naturally
hesitate about replying to the advertisement --about demanding
the Ourang-Outang. He will reason thus: --'I am innocent; I am
poor; my Ourang-Outang is of great value --to one in my
circumstances a fortune of itself --why should I lose it
through idle apprehensions of danger? Here it is, within my
grasp. It was found in the Bois de Boulogne --at a vast
distance from the scene of that butchery. How can it ever be
suspected that a brute beast should have done the deed? The
police are at fault --they have failed to procure the slightest
clew. Should they even trace the animal, it would be impossible
to prove me cognizant of the murder, or to implicate me in
guilt on account of that cognizance. Above all, I am known. The
advertiser designates me as the possessor of the beast. I am
not sure to what limit his knowledge may extend. Should I avoid
claiming a property of so great value, which it is known that I
possess, I will render the animal, at least, liable to
suspicion. It is not my policy to attract attention either to
myself or to the beast. I will answer the advertisement, get
the Ourang-Outang, and keep it close until this matter has
blown over.
At this moment we heard a step upon the
stairs.
"Be ready," said Dupin, "with your pistols, but
neither use them nor show them until at a signal from
myself."
The front door of the house had been left open,
and the visitor had entered, without ringing, and advanced
several steps upon the staircase. Now, however, he seemed to
hesitate. Presently we heard him descending. Dupin was moving
quickly to the door, when we again heard him coming up. He did
not turn back a second time, but stepped up with decision and
rapped at the door of our chamber.
"Come in," said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty
tone.
A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently, --a
tall, stout, and muscular-looking person, with a certain
dare-devil expression of countenance, not altogether
unprepossessing. His face, greatly sunburnt, was more than half
hidden by whisker and mustachio. He had with him a huge oaken
cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise unarmed. He bowed
awkwardly, and bade us "good evening," in French accents,
which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still sufficiently
indicative of a Parisian origin.
Sit down, my friend," said Dupin. "I suppose you
have called about the Ourang-Outang. Upon my word, I almost
envy you the possession of him; a remarkably fine, and no doubt
a very valuable animal. How old do you suppose him to be?"
The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a
man relieved of some intolerable burden, and then replied, in
an assured tone:
"I have no way of telling --but he can't be more
than four or five years old. Have you got him here?"
"Oh no; we had no conveniences for keeping him
here. He is at a livery stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. You
can get him in the morning. Of course you are prepared to
identify the property?"
"To be sure I am, sir."
"I shall be sorry to part with him," said
Dupin.
"I don't mean that you should be at all this
trouble for nothing, sir," said the man. "Couldn't expect it.
Am very willing to pay a reward for the finding of the animal
--that is to say, any thing in reason."
"Well," replied my friend, "that is all very fair,
to be sure. Let me think! --what should I have? Oh! I will tell
you. My reward shall be this. You shall give me all the
information in your power about these murders in the Rue
Morgue."
Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and
very quietly. Just as quietly, too, he walked toward the door,
locked it, and put the key in his pocket. He then drew a pistol
from his bosom and placed it, without the least flurry, upon
the table.
The sailor's face flushed up as if he were
struggling with suffocation. He started to his feet and grasped
his cudgel; but the next moment he fell back into his seat,
trembling violently, and with the countenance of death itself.
He spoke not a word. I pitied him from the bottom of my
heart.
"My friend," said Dupin, in a kind tone, "you are
alarming yourself unnecessarily --you are indeed. We mean you
no harm whatever. I pledge you the honor of a gentleman, and of
a Frenchman, that we intend you no injury. I perfectly well
know that you are innocent of the atrocities in the Rue Morgue.
It will not do, however, to deny that you are in some measure
implicated in them. From what I have already said, you must
know that I have had means of information about this matter
--means of which you could never have dreamed. Now the thing
stands thus. You have done nothing which you could have avoided
--nothing, certainly, which renders you culpable. You were not
even guilty of robbery, when you might have robbed with
impunity. You have nothing to conceal. You have no reason for
concealment. On the other hand, you are bound by every
principle of honor to confess all you know. An innocent man is
now imprisoned, charged with that crime of which you can point
out the perpetrator."
The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in
a great measure, while Dupin uttered these words; but his
original boldness of bearing was all gone.
"So help me God," said he, after a brief pause, "I
will tell you all I know about this affair; --but I do not
expect you to believe one half I say --I would be a fool indeed
if I did. Still, I am innocent, and I will make a clean breast
if I die for it."
What he stated was, in substance, this. He had
lately made a voyage to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of
which he formed one, landed at Borneo, and passed into the
interior on an excursion of pleasure. Himself and a companion
had captured the Ourang-Outang. This companion dying, the
animal fell into his own exclusive possession. After great
trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his captive
during the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodging it
safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract
toward himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbors, he
kept it carefully secluded, until such time as it should
recover from a wound in the foot, received from a splinter on
board ship. His ultimate design was to sell it.
Returning home from some sailors' frolic on the
night, or rather in the morning of the murder, he found the
beast occupying his own bed-room, into which it had broken from
a closet adjoining, where it had been, as was thought, securely
confined. Razor in hand, and fully lathered, it was sitting
before a looking-glass, attempting the operation of shaving, in
which it had no doubt previously watched its master through the
key-hole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so dangerous
a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious, and so
well able to use it, the man, for some moments, was at a loss
what to do. He had been accustomed, however, to quiet the
creature, even in its fiercest moods, by the use of a whip, and
to this he now resorted. Upon sight of it, the Ourang-Outang
sprang at once through the door of the chamber, down the
stairs, and thence, through a window, unfortunately open, into
the street.
The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor
still in hand, occasionally stopping to look back and
gesticulate at its pursuer, until the latter had nearly come up
with it. It then again made off. In this manner the chase
continued for a long time. The streets were profoundly quiet,
as it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. In passing down
an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive's
attention was arrested by a light gleaming from the open window
of Madame L'Espanaye's chamber, in the fourth story of her
house. Rushing to the building, it perceived the lightning-rod,
clambered up with inconceivable agility, grasped the shutter,
which was thrown fully back against the wall, and, by its
means, swung itself directly upon the headboard of the bed. The
whole feat did not occupy a minute. The shutter was kicked open
again by the Ourang-Outang as it entered the room.
The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and
perplexed. He had strong hopes of now recapturing the brute, as
it could scarcely escape from the trap into which it had
ventured, except by the rod, where it might be intercepted as
it came down. On the other hand, there was much cause for
anxiety as to what it might do in the house. This latter
reflection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A
lightning-rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a
sailor; but, when he had arrived as high as the window, which
lay far to his left, his career was stopped; the most that he
could accomplish was to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of
the interior of the room. At this glimpse he nearly fell from
his hold through excess of horror. Now it was that those
hideous shrieks arose upon the night, which had startled from
slumber the inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame L'Espanaye and
her daughter, habited in their night clothes, had apparently
been arranging some papers in the iron chest already mentioned,
which had been wheeled into the middle of the room. It was
open, and its contents lay beside it on the floor. The victims
must have been sitting with their backs toward the window; and,
from the time elapsing between the ingress of the beast and the
screams, it seems probable that it was not immediately
perceived. The flapping-to of the shutter would naturally have
been attributed to the wind.
As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had
seized Madame L'Espanaye by the hair, (which was loose, as she
had been combing it,) and was flourishing the razor about her
face, in imitation of the motions of a barber. The daughter lay
prostrate and motionless; she had swooned. The screams and
struggles of the old lady (during which the hair was torn from
her head) had the effect of changing the probably pacific
purposes of the Ourang-Outang into those of wrath. With one
determined sweep of its muscular arm it nearly severed her head
from her body. The sight of blood inflamed its anger into
phrenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire from its eves,
it flew upon the body of the girl, and imbedded its fearful
talons in her throat, retaining its grasp until she expired.
Its wandering and wild glances fell at this moment upon the
head of the bed, over which the face of its master, rigid with
horror, was just discernible. The fury of the beast, who no
doubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip, was instantly
converted into fear. Conscious of having deserved punishment,
it seemed desirous of concealing its bloody deeds, and skipped
about the chamber in an agony of nervous agitation; throwing
down and breaking the furniture as it moved, and dragging the
bed from the bedstead. In conclusion, it seized first the
corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up the chimney, as it was
found; then that of the old lady, which it immediately hurled
through the window headlong.
As the ape approached the casement with its
mutilated burden, the sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and,
rather gliding than clambering down it, hurried at once home
--dreading the consequences of the butchery, and gladly
abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude about the fate of the
Ourang-Outang. The words heard by the party upon the staircase
were the Frenchman's exclamations of horror and affright,
commingled with the fiendish jabberings of the brute.
I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-Outang
must have escaped from the chamber, by the rod, just before the
breaking of the door. It must have closed the window as it
passed through it. It was subsequently caught by the owner
himself, who obtained for it a very large sum at the Jardin des
Plantes. Le Bon was instantly released, upon our narration of
the circumstances (with some comments from Dupin) at the bureau
of the Prefect of Police. This functionary, however well
disposed to my friend, could not altogether conceal his chagrin
at the turn which affairs had taken, and was fain to indulge in
a sarcasm or two, about the propriety of every person minding
his own business.
"Let them talk," said Dupin, who had not thought
it necessary to reply. "Let him discourse; it will ease his
conscience. I am satisfied with having defeated him in his own
castle. Nevertheless, that he failed in the solution of this
mystery, is by no means that matter for wonder which he
supposes it; for, in truth, our friend the Prefect is somewhat
too cunning to be profound. In his wisdom is no stamen. It is
all head and no body, like the pictures of the Goddess Laverna,
--or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a codfish. But he
is a good creature after all. I like him especially for one
master stroke of cant, by which he has attained his reputation
for ingenuity. I mean the way he has 'de nier ce qui est, et
d'expliquer ce qui n'est pas.'"*
* Rousseau, Nouvelle Heloise.