                                      1841

                         THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

                               by Edgar Allan Poe

  THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE



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.





                                     -THE END-

.

