Chapter VIII: Front Matter (8)

The compliment my friend rebutted as best he could, but the
proposition he accepted at once, although its advantages were
altogether provisional. This point being settled, the Prefect
broke forth at once into explanations of his own views,
interspersing them with long comments upon the evidence; of which
latter we were not yet in possession. He discoursed much, and
beyond doubt, learnedly; while I hazarded an occasional
suggestion as the night wore drowsily away. Dupin, sitting
steadily in his accustomed arm-chair, was the embodiment of
respectful attention. He wore spectacles, during the whole
interview; and an occasional signal glance beneath their green
glasses, sufficed to convince me that he slept not the less
soundly, because silently, throughout the seven or eight
leaden-footed hours which immediately preceded the departure of
the Prefect.

In the morning, I procured, at the Prefecture, a full report of
all the evidence elicited, and, at the various newspaper offices,
a copy of every paper in which, from first to last, had been
published any decisive information in regard to this sad affair.
Freed from all that was positively disproved, this mass of
information stood thus:

Marie Rogêt left the residence of her mother, in the Rue Pavée
St. Andrée, about nine o’clock in the morning of Sunday, June the
twenty-second, 18—. In going out, she gave notice to a Monsieur
Jacques St. Eustache, (*7) and to him only, of her intent
intention to spend the day with an aunt who resided in the Rue
des Drômes. The Rue des Drômes is a short and narrow but populous
thoroughfare, not far from the banks of the river, and at a
distance of some two miles, in the most direct course possible,
from the pension of Madame Rogêt. St. Eustache was the accepted
suitor of Marie, and lodged, as well as took his meals, at the
pension. He was to have gone for his betrothed at dusk, and to
have escorted her home. In the afternoon, however, it came on to
rain heavily; and, supposing that she would remain all night at
her aunt’s, (as she had done under similar circumstances before,)
he did not think it necessary to keep his promise. As night drew
on, Madame Rogêt (who was an infirm old lady, seventy years of
age,) was heard to express a fear “that she should never see
Marie again;” but this observation attracted little attention at
the time.

On Monday, it was ascertained that the girl had not been to the
Rue des Drômes; and when the day elapsed without tidings of her,
a tardy search was instituted at several points in the city, and
its environs. It was not, however until the fourth day from the
period of disappearance that any thing satisfactory was
ascertained respecting her. On this day, (Wednesday, the
twenty-fifth of June,) a Monsieur Beauvais, (*8) who, with a
friend, had been making inquiries for Marie near the Barrière du
Roule, on the shore of the Seine which is opposite the Rue Pavée
St. Andrée, was informed that a corpse had just been towed ashore
by some fishermen, who had found it floating in the river. Upon
seeing the body, Beauvais, after some hesitation, identified it
as that of the perfumery-girl. His friend recognized it more
promptly.

The face was suffused with dark blood, some of which issued from
the mouth. No foam was seen, as in the case of the merely
drowned. There was no discoloration in the cellular tissue. About
the throat were bruises and impressions of fingers. The arms were
bent over on the chest and were rigid. The right hand was
clenched; the left partially open. On the left wrist were two
circular excoriations, apparently the effect of ropes, or of a
rope in more than one volution. A part of the right wrist, also,
was much chafed, as well as the back throughout its extent, but
more especially at the shoulder-blades. In bringing the body to
the shore the fishermen had attached to it a rope; but none of
the excoriations had been effected by this. The flesh of the neck
was much swollen. There were no cuts apparent, or bruises which
appeared the effect of blows. A piece of lace was found tied so
tightly around the neck as to be hidden from sight; it was
completely buried in the flesh, and was fastened by a knot which
lay just under the left ear. This alone would have sufficed to
produce death. The medical testimony spoke confidently of the
virtuous character of the deceased. She had been subjected, it
said, to brutal violence. The corpse was in such condition when
found, that there could have been no difficulty in its
recognition by friends.

The dress was much torn and otherwise disordered. In the outer
garment, a slip, about a foot wide, had been torn upward from the
bottom hem to the waist, but not torn off. It was wound three
times around the waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in the
back. The dress immediately beneath the frock was of fine muslin;
and from this a slip eighteen inches wide had been torn entirely
out—torn very evenly and with great care. It was found around her
neck, fitting loosely, and secured with a hard knot. Over this
muslin slip and the slip of lace, the strings of a bonnet were
attached; the bonnet being appended. The knot by which the
strings of the bonnet were fastened, was not a lady’s, but a slip
or sailor’s knot.

After the recognition of the corpse, it was not, as usual, taken
to the Morgue, (this formality being superfluous,) but hastily
interred not far from the spot at which it was brought ashore.
Through the exertions of Beauvais, the matter was industriously
hushed up, as far as possible; and several days had elapsed
before any public emotion resulted. A weekly paper, (*9) however,
at length took up the theme; the corpse was disinterred, and a
re-examination instituted; but nothing was elicited beyond what
has been already noted. The clothes, however, were now submitted
to the mother and friends of the deceased, and fully identified
as those worn by the girl upon leaving home.

Meantime, the excitement increased hourly. Several individuals
were arrested and discharged. St. Eustache fell especially under
suspicion; and he failed, at first, to give an intelligible
account of his whereabouts during the Sunday on which Marie left
home. Subsequently, however, he submitted to Monsieur G——,
affidavits, accounting satisfactorily for every hour of the day
in question. As time passed and no discovery ensued, a thousand
contradictory rumors were circulated, and journalists busied
themselves in suggestions. Among these, the one which attracted
the most notice, was the idea that Marie Rogêt still lived—that
the corpse found in the Seine was that of some other unfortunate.
It will be proper that I submit to the reader some passages which
embody the suggestion alluded to. These passages are literal
translations from L’Etoile, (*10) a paper conducted, in general,
with much ability.

“Mademoiselle Rogêt left her mother’s house on Sunday morning,
June the twenty-second, 18—, with the ostensible purpose of going
to see her aunt, or some other connexion, in the Rue des Drômes.
From that hour, nobody is proved to have seen her. There is no
trace or tidings of her at all.... There has no person, whatever,
come forward, so far, who saw her at all, on that day, after she
left her mother’s door.... Now, though we have no evidence that
Marie Rogêt was in the land of the living after nine o’clock on
Sunday, June the twenty-second, we have proof that, up to that
hour, she was alive. On Wednesday noon, at twelve, a female body
was discovered afloat on the shore of the Barrière de Roule. This
was, even if we presume that Marie Rogêt was thrown into the
river within three hours after she left her mother’s house, only
three days from the time she left her home—three days to an hour.
But it is folly to suppose that the murder, if murder was
committed on her body, could have been consummated soon enough to
have enabled her murderers to throw the body into the river
before midnight. Those who are guilty of such horrid crimes
choose darkness rather the light.... Thus we see that if the body
found in the river was that of Marie Rogêt, it could only have
been in the water two and a half days, or three at the outside.
All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown
into the water immediately after death by violence, require from
six to ten days for decomposition to take place to bring them to
the top of the water. Even where a cannon is fired over a corpse,
and it rises before at least five or six days’ immersion, it
sinks again, if let alone. Now, we ask, what was there in this
case to cause a departure from the ordinary course of nature?...
If the body had been kept in its mangled state on shore until
Tuesday night, some trace would be found on shore of the
murderers. It is a doubtful point, also, whether the body would
be so soon afloat, even were it thrown in after having been dead
two days. And, furthermore, it is exceedingly improbable that any
villains who had committed such a murder as is here supposed,
would have thrown the body in without weight to sink it, when
such a precaution could have so easily been taken.”

The editor here proceeds to argue that the body must have been in
the water “not three days merely, but, at least, five times three
days,” because it was so far decomposed that Beauvais had great
difficulty in recognizing it. This latter point, however, was
fully disproved. I continue the translation:

“What, then, are the facts on which M. Beauvais says that he has
no doubt the body was that of Marie Rogêt? He ripped up the gown
sleeve, and says he found marks which satisfied him of the
identity. The public generally supposed those marks to have
consisted of some description of scars. He rubbed the arm and
found hair upon it—something as indefinite, we think, as can
readily be imagined—as little conclusive as finding an arm in the
sleeve. M. Beauvais did not return that night, but sent word to
Madame Rogêt, at seven o’clock, on Wednesday evening, that an
investigation was still in progress respecting her daughter. If
we allow that Madame Rogêt, from her age and grief, could not go
over, (which is allowing a great deal,) there certainly must have
been some one who would have thought it worth while to go over
and attend the investigation, if they thought the body was that
of Marie. Nobody went over. There was nothing said or heard about
the matter in the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, that reached even the
occupants of the same building. M. St. Eustache, the lover and
intended husband of Marie, who boarded in her mother’s house,
deposes that he did not hear of the discovery of the body of his
intended until the next morning, when M. Beauvais came into his
chamber and told him of it. For an item of news like this, it
strikes us it was very coolly received.”

In this way the journal endeavored to create the impression of an
apathy on the part of the relatives of Marie, inconsistent with
the supposition that these relatives believed the corpse to be
hers. Its insinuations amount to this: that Marie, with the
connivance of her friends, had absented herself from the city for
reasons involving a charge against her chastity; and that these
friends, upon the discovery of a corpse in the Seine, somewhat
resembling that of the girl, had availed themselves of the
opportunity to impress the public with the belief of her death.
But L’Etoile was again over-hasty. It was distinctly proved that
no apathy, such as was imagined, existed; that the old lady was
exceedingly feeble, and so agitated as to be unable to attend to
any duty; that St. Eustache, so far from receiving the news
coolly, was distracted with grief, and bore himself so
frantically, that M. Beauvais prevailed upon a friend and
relative to take charge of him, and prevent his attending the
examination at the disinterment. Moreover, although it was stated
by L’Etoile, that the corpse was re-interred at the public
expense—that an advantageous offer of private sculpture was
absolutely declined by the family—and that no member of the
family attended the ceremonial;—although, I say, all this was
asserted by L’Etoile in furtherance of the impression it designed
to convey—yet all this was satisfactorily disproved. In a
subsequent number of the paper, an attempt was made to throw
suspicion upon Beauvais himself. The editor says:

“Now, then, a change comes over the matter. We are told that on
one occasion, while a Madame B—— was at Madame Rogêt’s house, M.
Beauvais, who was going out, told her that a gendarme was
expected there, and she, Madame B., must not say anything to the
gendarme until he returned, but let the matter be for him.... In
the present posture of affairs, M. Beauvais appears to have the
whole matter locked up in his head. A single step cannot be taken
without M. Beauvais, for, go which way you will, you run against
him.... For some reason, he determined that nobody shall have any
thing to do with the proceedings but himself, and he has elbowed
the male relatives out of the way, according to their
representations, in a very singular manner. He seems to have been
very much averse to permitting the relatives to see the body.”

By the following fact, some color was given to the suspicion thus
thrown upon Beauvais. A visitor at his office, a few days prior
to the girl’s disappearance, and during the absence of its
occupant, had observed a rose in the key-hole of the door, and
the name “Marie” inscribed upon a slate which hung near at hand.

The general impression, so far as we were enabled to glean it
from the newspapers, seemed to be, that Marie had been the victim
of a gang of desperadoes—that by these she had been borne across
the river, maltreated and murdered. Le Commerciel, (*11) however,
a print of extensive influence, was earnest in combating this
popular idea. I quote a passage or two from its columns:

“We are persuaded that pursuit has hitherto been on a false
scent, so far as it has been directed to the Barrière du Roule.
It is impossible that a person so well known to thousands as this
young woman was, should have passed three blocks without some one
having seen her; and any one who saw her would have remembered
it, for she interested all who knew her. It was when the streets
were full of people, when she went out.... It is impossible that
she could have gone to the Barrière du Roule, or to the Rue des
Drômes, without being recognized by a dozen persons; yet no one
has come forward who saw her outside of her mother’s door, and
there is no evidence, except the testimony concerning her
expressed intentions, that she did go out at all. Her gown was
torn, bound round her, and tied; and by that the body was carried
as a bundle. If the murder had been committed at the Barrière du
Roule, there would have been no necessity for any such
arrangement. The fact that the body was found floating near the
Barrière, is no proof as to where it was thrown into the
water..... A piece of one of the unfortunate girl’s petticoats,
two feet long and one foot wide, was torn out and tied under her
chin around the back of her head, probably to prevent screams.
This was done by fellows who had no pocket-handkerchief.”

A day or two before the Prefect called upon us, however, some
important information reached the police, which seemed to
overthrow, at least, the chief portion of Le Commerciel’s
argument. Two small boys, sons of a Madame Deluc, while roaming
among the woods near the Barrière du Roule, chanced to penetrate
a close thicket, within which were three or four large stones,
forming a kind of seat, with a back and footstool. On the upper
stone lay a white petticoat; on the second a silk scarf. A
parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief were also here found.
The handkerchief bore the name “Marie Rogêt.” Fragments of dress
were discovered on the brambles around. The earth was trampled,
the bushes were broken, and there was every evidence of a
struggle. Between the thicket and the river, the fences were
found taken down, and the ground bore evidence of some heavy
burthen having been dragged along it.

A weekly paper, Le Soleil,(*12) had the following comments upon
this discovery—comments which merely echoed the sentiment of the
whole Parisian press:

“The things had all evidently been there at least three or four
weeks; they were all mildewed down hard with the action of the
rain and stuck together from mildew. The grass had grown around
and over some of them. The silk on the parasol was strong, but
the threads of it were run together within. The upper part, where
it had been doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and
tore on its being opened..... The pieces of her frock torn out by
the bushes were about three inches wide and six inches long. One
part was the hem of the frock, and it had been mended; the other
piece was part of the skirt, not the hem. They looked like strips
torn off, and were on the thorn bush, about a foot from the
ground..... There can be no doubt, therefore, that the spot of
this appalling outrage has been discovered.”

Consequent upon this discovery, new evidence appeared. Madame
Deluc testified that she keeps a roadside inn not far from the
bank of the river, opposite the Barrière du Roule. The
neighborhood is secluded—particularly so. It is the usual Sunday
resort of blackguards from the city, who cross the river in
boats. About three o’clock, in the afternoon of the Sunday in
question, a young girl arrived at the inn, accompanied by a young
man of dark complexion. The two remained here for some time. On
their departure, they took the road to some thick woods in the
vicinity. Madame Deluc’s attention was called to the dress worn
by the girl, on account of its resemblance to one worn by a
deceased relative. A scarf was particularly noticed. Soon after
the departure of the couple, a gang of miscreants made their
appearance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank without making
payment, followed in the route of the young man and girl,
returned to the inn about dusk, and re-crossed the river as if in
great haste.

It was soon after dark, upon this same evening, that Madame
Deluc, as well as her eldest son, heard the screams of a female
in the vicinity of the inn. The screams were violent but brief.
Madame D. recognized not only the scarf which was found in the
thicket, but the dress which was discovered upon the corpse. An
omnibus driver, Valence, (*13) now also testified that he saw
Marie Rogêt cross a ferry on the Seine, on the Sunday in
question, in company with a young man of dark complexion. He,
Valence, knew Marie, and could not be mistaken in her identity.
The articles found in the thicket were fully identified by the
relatives of Marie.

The items of evidence and information thus collected by myself,
from the newspapers, at the suggestion of Dupin, embraced only
one more point—but this was a point of seemingly vast
consequence. It appears that, immediately after the discovery of
the clothes as above described, the lifeless, or nearly lifeless
body of St. Eustache, Marie’s betrothed, was found in the
vicinity of what all now supposed the scene of the outrage. A
phial labelled “laudanum,” and emptied, was found near him. His
breath gave evidence of the poison. He died without speaking.
Upon his person was found a letter, briefly stating his love for
Marie, with his design of self-destruction.

“I need scarcely tell you,” said Dupin, as he finished the
perusal of my notes, “that this is a far more intricate case than
that of the Rue Morgue; from which it differs in one important
respect. This is an ordinary, although an atrocious instance of
crime. There is nothing peculiarly outré about it. You will
observe that, for this reason, the mystery has been considered
easy, when, for this reason, it should have been considered
difficult, of solution. Thus; at first, it was thought
unnecessary to offer a reward. The myrmidons of G—— were able at
once to comprehend how and why such an atrocity might have been
committed. They could picture to their imaginations a mode—many
modes—and a motive—many motives; and because it was not
impossible that either of these numerous modes and motives could
have been the actual one, they have taken it for granted that one
of them must. But the case with which these variable fancies were
entertained, and the very plausibility which each assumed, should
have been understood as indicative rather of the difficulties
than of the facilities which must attend elucidation. I have
before observed that it is by prominences above the plane of the
ordinary, that reason feels her way, if at all, in her search for
the true, and that the proper question in cases such as this, is
not so much ‘what has occurred?’ as ‘what has occurred that has
never occurred before?’ In the investigations at the house of
Madame L’Espanaye, (*14) the agents of G—— were discouraged and
confounded by that very unusualness which, to a properly
regulated intellect, would have afforded the surest omen of
success; while this same intellect might have been plunged in
despair at the ordinary character of all that met the eye in the
case of the perfumery-girl, and yet told of nothing but easy
triumph to the functionaries of the Prefecture.

“In the case of Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter there was,
even at the beginning of our investigation, no doubt that murder
had been committed. The idea of suicide was excluded at once.
Here, too, we are freed, at the commencement, from all
supposition of self-murder. The body found at the Barrière du
Roule, was found under such circumstances as to leave us no room
for embarrassment upon this important point. But it has been
suggested that the corpse discovered, is not that of the Marie
Rogêt for the conviction of whose assassin, or assassins, the
reward is offered, and respecting whom, solely, our agreement has
been arranged with the Prefect. We both know this gentleman well.
It will not do to trust him too far. If, dating our inquiries
from the body found, and thence tracing a murderer, we yet
discover this body to be that of some other individual than
Marie; or, if starting from the living Marie, we find her, yet
find her unassassinated—in either case we lose our labor; since
it is Monsieur G—— with whom we have to deal. For our own
purpose, therefore, if not for the purpose of justice, it is
indispensable that our first step should be the determination of
the identity of the corpse with the Marie Rogêt who is missing.

“With the public the arguments of L’Etoile have had weight; and
that the journal itself is convinced of their importance would
appear from the manner in which it commences one of its essays
upon the subject—‘Several of the morning papers of the day,’ it
says, ‘speak of the _conclusive_ article in Monday’s Etoile.’ To
me, this article appears conclusive of little beyond the zeal of
its inditer. We should bear in mind that, in general, it is the
object of our newspapers rather to create a sensation—to make a
point—than to further the cause of truth. The latter end is only
pursued when it seems coincident with the former. The print which
merely falls in with ordinary opinion (however well founded this
opinion may be) earns for itself no credit with the mob. The mass
of the people regard as profound only him who suggests _pungent
contradictions_ of the general idea. In ratiocination, not less
than in literature, it is the epigram which is the most
immediately and the most universally appreciated. In both, it is
of the lowest order of merit.

“What I mean to say is, that it is the mingled epigram and
melodrame of the idea, that Marie Rogêt still lives, rather than
any true plausibility in this idea, which have suggested it to
L’Etoile, and secured it a favorable reception with the public.
Let us examine the heads of this journal’s argument; endeavoring
to avoid the incoherence with which it is originally set forth.

“The first aim of the writer is to show, from the brevity of the
interval between Marie’s disappearance and the finding of the
floating corpse, that this corpse cannot be that of Marie. The
reduction of this interval to its smallest possible dimension,
becomes thus, at once, an object with the reasoner. In the rash
pursuit of this object, he rushes into mere assumption at the
outset. ‘It is folly to suppose,’ he says, ‘that the murder, if
murder was committed on her body, could have been consummated
soon enough to have enabled her murderers to throw the body into
the river before midnight.’ We demand at once, and very
naturally, why? Why is it folly to suppose that the murder was
committed _within five minutes_ after the girl’s quitting her
mother’s house? Why is it folly to suppose that the murder was
committed at any given period of the day? There have been
assassinations at all hours. But, had the murder taken place at
any moment between nine o’clock in the morning of Sunday, and a
quarter before midnight, there would still have been time enough
‘to throw the body into the river before midnight.’ This
assumption, then, amounts precisely to this—that the murder was
not committed on Sunday at all—and, if we allow L’Etoile to
assume this, we may permit it any liberties whatever. The
paragraph beginning ‘It is folly to suppose that the murder,
etc.,’ however it appears as printed in L’Etoile, may be imagined
to have existed actually thus in the brain of its inditer—‘It is
folly to suppose that the murder, if murder was committed on the
body, could have been committed soon enough to have enabled her
murderers to throw the body into the river before midnight; it is
folly, we say, to suppose all this, and to suppose at the same
time, (as we are resolved to suppose,) that the body was not
thrown in until after midnight’—a sentence sufficiently
inconsequential in itself, but not so utterly preposterous as the
one printed.

“Were it my purpose,” continued Dupin, “merely to _make out a
case_ against this passage of L’Etoile’s argument, I might safely
leave it where it is. It is not, however, with L’Etoile that we
have to do, but with the truth. The sentence in question has but
one meaning, as it stands; and this meaning I have fairly stated;
but it is material that we go behind the mere words, for an idea
which these words have obviously intended, and failed to convey.
It was the design of the journalist to say that, at whatever
period of the day or night of Sunday this murder was committed,
it was improbable that the assassins would have ventured to bear
the corpse to the river before midnight. And herein lies, really,
the assumption of which I complain. It is assumed that the murder
was committed at such a position, and under such circumstances,
that the bearing it to the river became necessary. Now, the
assassination might have taken place upon the river’s brink, or
on the river itself; and, thus, the throwing the corpse in the
water might have been resorted to, at any period of the day or
night, as the most obvious and most immediate mode of disposal.
You will understand that I suggest nothing here as probable, or
as cöincident with my own opinion. My design, so far, has no
reference to the facts of the case. I wish merely to caution you
against the whole tone of L’Etoile’s suggestion, by calling your
attention to its ex parte character at the outset.

“Having prescribed thus a limit to suit its own preconceived
notions; having assumed that, if this were the body of Marie, it
could have been in the water but a very brief time, the journal
goes on to say:

‘All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown
into the water immediately after death by violence, require from
six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to
bring them to the top of the water. Even when a cannon is fired
over a corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days’
immersion, it sinks again if let alone.’

“These assertions have been tacitly received by every paper in
Paris, with the exception of Le Moniteur. (*15) This latter print
endeavors to combat that portion of the paragraph which has
reference to ‘drowned bodies’ only, by citing some five or six
instances in which the bodies of individuals known to be drowned
were found floating after the lapse of less time than is insisted
upon by L’Etoile. But there is something excessively
unphilosophical in the attempt on the part of Le Moniteur, to
rebut the general assertion of L’Etoile, by a citation of
particular instances militating against that assertion. Had it
been possible to adduce fifty instead of five examples of bodies
found floating at the end of two or three days, these fifty
examples could still have been properly regarded only as
exceptions to L’Etoile’s rule, until such time as the rule itself
should be confuted. Admitting the rule, (and this Le Moniteur
does not deny, insisting merely upon its exceptions,) the
argument of L’Etoile is suffered to remain in full force; for
this argument does not pretend to involve more than a question of
the probability of the body having risen to the surface in less
than three days; and this probability will be in favor of
L’Etoile’s position until the instances so childishly adduced
shall be sufficient in number to establish an antagonistical
rule.

“You will see at once that all argument upon this head should be
urged, if at all, against the rule itself; and for this end we
must examine the rationale of the rule. Now the human body, in
general, is neither much lighter nor much heavier than the water
of the Seine; that is to say, the specific gravity of the human
body, in its natural condition, is about equal to the bulk of
fresh water which it displaces. The bodies of fat and fleshy
persons, with small bones, and of women generally, are lighter
than those of the lean and large-boned, and of men; and the
specific gravity of the water of a river is somewhat influenced
by the presence of the tide from sea. But, leaving this tide out
of question, it may be said that very few human bodies will sink
at all, even in fresh water, of their own accord. Almost any one,
falling into a river, will be enabled to float, if he suffer the
specific gravity of the water fairly to be adduced in comparison
with his own—that is to say, if he suffer his whole person to be
immersed, with as little exception as possible. The proper
position for one who cannot swim, is the upright position of the
walker on land, with the head thrown fully back, and immersed;
the mouth and nostrils alone remaining above the surface. Thus
circumstanced, we shall find that we float without difficulty and
without exertion. It is evident, however, that the gravities of
the body, and of the bulk of water displaced, are very nicely
balanced, and that a trifle will cause either to preponderate. An
arm, for instance, uplifted from the water, and thus deprived of
its support, is an additional weight sufficient to immerse the
whole head, while the accidental aid of the smallest piece of
timber will enable us to elevate the head so as to look about.
Now, in the struggles of one unused to swimming, the arms are
invariably thrown upwards, while an attempt is made to keep the
head in its usual perpendicular position. The result is the
immersion of the mouth and nostrils, and the inception, during
efforts to breathe while beneath the surface, of water into the
lungs. Much is also received into the stomach, and the whole body
becomes heavier by the difference between the weight of the air
originally distending these cavities, and that of the fluid which
now fills them. This difference is sufficient to cause the body
to sink, as a general rule; but is insufficient in the cases of
individuals with small bones and an abnormal quantity of flaccid
or fatty matter. Such individuals float even after drowning.

“The corpse, being supposed at the bottom of the river, will
there remain until, by some means, its specific gravity again
becomes less than that of the bulk of water which it displaces.
This effect is brought about by decomposition, or otherwise. The
result of decomposition is the generation of gas, distending the
cellular tissues and all the cavities, and giving the puffed
appearance which is so horrible. When this distension has so far
progressed that the bulk of the corpse is materially increased
without a corresponding increase of mass or weight, its specific
gravity becomes less than that of the water displaced, and it
forthwith makes its appearance at the surface. But decomposition
is modified by innumerable circumstances—is hastened or retarded
by innumerable agencies; for example, by the heat or cold of the
season, by the mineral impregnation or purity of the water, by
its depth or shallowness, by its currency or stagnation, by the
temperament of the body, by its infection or freedom from disease
before death. Thus it is evident that we can assign no period,
with any thing like accuracy, at which the corpse shall rise
through decomposition. Under certain conditions this result would
be brought about within an hour; under others, it might not take
place at all. There are chemical infusions by which the animal
frame can be preserved forever from corruption; the bi-chloride
of mercury is one. But, apart from decomposition, there may be,
and very usually is, a generation of gas within the stomach, from
the acetous fermentation of vegetable matter (or within other
cavities from other causes), sufficient to induce a distension
which will bring the body to the surface. The effect produced by
the firing of a cannon is that of simple vibration. This may
either loosen the corpse from the soft mud or ooze in which it is
imbedded, thus permitting it to rise when other agencies have
already prepared it for so doing; or it may overcome the tenacity
of some putrescent portions of the cellular tissue; allowing the
cavities to distend under the influence of the gas.

“Having thus before us the whole philosophy of this subject, we
can easily test by it the assertions of L’Etoile. ‘All experience
shows,’ says this paper, ‘that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown
into the water immediately after death by violence, require from
six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to
bring them to the top of the water. Even when a cannon is fired
over a corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days’
immersion, it sinks again if let alone.’

“The whole of this paragraph must now appear a tissue of
inconsequence and incoherence. All experience does not show that
‘drowned bodies’ require from six to ten days for sufficient
decomposition to take place to bring them to the surface. Both
science and experience show that the period of their rising is,
and necessarily must be, indeterminate. If, moreover, a body has
risen to the surface through firing of cannon, it will not ‘sink
again if let alone,’ until decomposition has so far progressed as
to permit the escape of the generated gas. But I wish to call
your attention to the distinction which is made between ‘drowned
bodies,’ and ‘bodies thrown into the water immediately after
death by violence.’ Although the writer admits the distinction,
he yet includes them all in the same category. I have shown how
it is that the body of a drowning man becomes specifically
heavier than its bulk of water, and that he would not sink at
all, except for the struggles by which he elevates his arms above
the surface, and his gasps for breath while beneath the
surface—gasps which supply by water the place of the original air
in the lungs. But these struggles and these gasps would not occur
in the body ‘thrown into the water immediately after death by
violence.’ Thus, in the latter instance, the body, as a general
rule, would not sink at all—a fact of which L’Etoile is evidently
ignorant. When decomposition had proceeded to a very great
extent—when the flesh had in a great measure left the bones—then,
indeed, but not till then, should we lose sight of the corpse.

“And now what are we to make of the argument, that the body found
could not be that of Marie Rogêt, because, three days only having
elapsed, this body was found floating? If drowned, being a woman,
she might never have sunk; or having sunk, might have reappeared
in twenty-four hours, or less. But no one supposes her to have
been drowned; and, dying before being thrown into the river, she
might have been found floating at any period afterwards whatever.

“‘But,’ says L’Etoile, ‘if the body had been kept in its mangled
state on shore until Tuesday night, some trace would be found on
shore of the murderers.’ Here it is at first difficult to
perceive the intention of the reasoner. He means to anticipate
what he imagines would be an objection to his theory—viz.: that
the body was kept on shore two days, suffering rapid
decomposition—more rapid than if immersed in water. He supposes
that, had this been the case, it might have appeared at the
surface on the Wednesday, and thinks that only under such
circumstances it could so have appeared. He is accordingly in
haste to show that it was not kept on shore; for, if so, ‘some
trace would be found on shore of the murderers.’ I presume you
smile at the sequitur. You cannot be made to see how the mere
duration of the corpse on the shore could operate to multiply
traces of the assassins. Nor can I.

“‘And furthermore it is exceedingly improbable,’ continues our
journal, ‘that any villains who had committed such a murder as is
here supposed, would have thrown the body in without weight to
sink it, when such a precaution could have so easily been taken.’
Observe, here, the laughable confusion of thought! No one—not
even L’Etoile—disputes the murder committed _on the body found_.
The marks of violence are too obvious. It is our reasoner’s
object merely to show that this body is not Marie’s. He wishes to
prove that Marie is not assassinated—not that the corpse was not.
Yet his observation proves only the latter point. Here is a
corpse without weight attached. Murderers, casting it in, would
not have failed to attach a weight. Therefore it was not thrown
in by murderers. This is all which is proved, if any thing is.
The question of identity is not even approached, and L’Etoile has
been at great pains merely to gainsay now what it has admitted
only a moment before. ‘We are perfectly convinced,’ it says,
‘that the body found was that of a murdered female.’

“Nor is this the sole instance, even in this division of his
subject, where our reasoner unwittingly reasons against himself.
His evident object, I have already said, is to reduce, as much as
possible, the interval between Marie’s disappearance and the
finding of the corpse. Yet we find him urging the point that no
person saw the girl from the moment of her leaving her mother’s
house. ‘We have no evidence,’ he says, ‘that Marie Rogêt was in
the land of the living after nine o’clock on Sunday, June the
twenty-second.’ As his argument is obviously an ex parte one, he
should, at least, have left this matter out of sight; for had any
one been known to see Marie, say on Monday, or on Tuesday, the
interval in question would have been much reduced, and, by his
own ratiocination, the probability much diminished of the corpse
being that of the grisette. It is, nevertheless, amusing to
observe that L’Etoile insists upon its point in the full belief
of its furthering its general argument.

“Reperuse now that portion of this argument which has reference
to the identification of the corpse by Beauvais. In regard to the
hair upon the arm, L’Etoile has been obviously disingenuous. M.
Beauvais, not being an idiot, could never have urged, in
identification of the corpse, simply hair upon its arm. No arm is
without hair. The generality of the expression of L’Etoile is a
mere perversion of the witness’ phraseology. He must have spoken
of some peculiarity in this hair. It must have been a peculiarity
of color, of quantity, of length, or of situation.

“‘Her foot,’ says the journal, ‘was small—so are thousands of
feet. Her garter is no proof whatever—nor is her shoe—for shoes
and garters are sold in packages. The same may be said of the
flowers in her hat. One thing upon which M. Beauvais strongly
insists is, that the clasp on the garter found, had been set back
to take it in. This amounts to nothing; for most women find it
proper to take a pair of garters home and fit them to the size of
the limbs they are to encircle, rather than to try them in the
store where they purchase.’ Here it is difficult to suppose the
reasoner in earnest. Had M. Beauvais, in his search for the body
of Marie, discovered a corpse corresponding in general size and
appearance to the missing girl, he would have been warranted
(without reference to the question of habiliment at all) in
forming an opinion that his search had been successful. If, in
addition to the point of general size and contour, he had found
upon the arm a peculiar hairy appearance which he had observed
upon the living Marie, his opinion might have been justly
strengthened; and the increase of positiveness might well have
been in the ratio of the peculiarity, or unusualness, of the
hairy mark. If, the feet of Marie being small, those of the
corpse were also small, the increase of probability that the body
was that of Marie would not be an increase in a ratio merely
arithmetical, but in one highly geometrical, or accumulative. Add
to all this shoes such as she had been known to wear upon the day
of her disappearance, and, although these shoes may be ‘sold in
packages,’ you so far augment the probability as to verge upon
the certain. What, of itself, would be no evidence of identity,
becomes through its corroborative position, proof most sure. Give
us, then, flowers in the hat corresponding to those worn by the
missing girl, and we seek for nothing farther. If only one
flower, we seek for nothing farther—what then if two or three, or
more? Each successive one is multiple evidence—proof not _added_
to proof, but multiplied by hundreds or thousands. Let us now
discover, upon the deceased, garters such as the living used, and
it is almost folly to proceed. But these garters are found to be
tightened, by the setting back of a clasp, in just such a manner
as her own had been tightened by Marie, shortly previous to her
leaving home. It is now madness or hypocrisy to doubt. What
L’Etoile says in respect to this abbreviation of the garters
being an usual occurrence, shows nothing beyond its own
pertinacity in error. The elastic nature of the clasp-garter is
self-demonstration of the unusualness of the abbreviation. What
is made to adjust itself, must of necessity require foreign
adjustment but rarely. It must have been by an accident, in its
strictest sense, that these garters of Marie needed the
tightening described. They alone would have amply established her
identity. But it is not that the corpse was found to have the
garters of the missing girl, or found to have her shoes, or her
bonnet, or the flowers of her bonnet, or her feet, or a peculiar
mark upon the arm, or her general size and appearance—it is that
the corpse had each, and _all collectively_. Could it be proved
that the editor of L’Etoile _really_ entertained a doubt, under
the circumstances, there would be no need, in his case, of a
commission de lunatico inquirendo. He has thought it sagacious to
echo the small talk of the lawyers, who, for the most part,
content themselves with echoing the rectangular precepts of the
courts. I would here observe that very much of what is rejected
as evidence by a court, is the best of evidence to the intellect.
For the court, guiding itself by the general principles of
evidence—the recognized and _booked_ principles—is averse from
swerving at particular instances. And this steadfast adherence to
principle, with rigorous disregard of the conflicting exception,
is a sure mode of attaining the maximum of attainable truth, in
any long sequence of time. The practice, in mass, is therefore
philosophical; but it is not the less certain that it engenders
vast individual error. (*16)

“In respect to the insinuations levelled at Beauvais, you will be
willing to dismiss them in a breath. You have already fathomed
the true character of this good gentleman. He is a busy-body,
with much of romance and little of wit. Any one so constituted
will readily so conduct himself, upon occasion of real
excitement, as to render himself liable to suspicion on the part
of the over acute, or the ill-disposed. M. Beauvais (as it
appears from your notes) had some personal interviews with the
editor of L’Etoile, and offended him by venturing an opinion that
the corpse, notwithstanding the theory of the editor, was, in
sober fact, that of Marie. ‘He persists,’ says the paper, ‘in
asserting the corpse to be that of Marie, but cannot give a
circumstance, in addition to those which we have commented upon,
to make others believe.’ Now, without re-adverting to the fact
that stronger evidence ‘to make others believe,’ could never have
been adduced, it may be remarked that a man may very well be
understood to believe, in a case of this kind, without the
ability to advance a single reason for the belief of a second
party. Nothing is more vague than impressions of individual
identity. Each man recognizes his neighbor, yet there are few
instances in which any one is prepared to give a reason for his
recognition. The editor of L’Etoile had no right to be offended
at M. Beauvais’ unreasoning belief.

“The suspicious circumstances which invest him, will be found to
tally much better with my hypothesis of romantic busy-bodyism,
than with the reasoner’s suggestion of guilt. Once adopting the
more charitable interpretation, we shall find no difficulty in
comprehending the rose in the key-hole; the ‘Marie’ upon the
slate; the ‘elbowing the male relatives out of the way;’ the
‘aversion to permitting them to see the body;’ the caution given
to Madame B——, that she must hold no conversation with the
gendarme until his return (Beauvais’); and, lastly, his apparent
determination ‘that nobody should have anything to do with the
proceedings except himself.’ It seems to me unquestionable that
Beauvais was a suitor of Marie’s; that she coquetted with him;
and that he was ambitious of being thought to enjoy her fullest
intimacy and confidence. I shall say nothing more upon this
point; and, as the evidence fully rebuts the assertion of
L’Etoile, touching the matter of apathy on the part of the mother
and other relatives—an apathy inconsistent with the supposition
of their believing the corpse to be that of the perfumery-girl—we
shall now proceed as if the question of identity were settled to
our perfect satisfaction.”

“And what,” I here demanded, “do you think of the opinions of Le
Commerciel?”

“That, in spirit, they are far more worthy of attention than any
which have been promulgated upon the subject. The deductions from
the premises are philosophical and acute; but the premises, in
two instances, at least, are founded in imperfect observation. Le
Commerciel wishes to intimate that Marie was seized by some gang
of low ruffians not far from her mother’s door. ‘It is
impossible,’ it urges, ‘that a person so well known to thousands
as this young woman was, should have passed three blocks without
some one having seen her.’ This is the idea of a man long
resident in Paris—a public man—and one whose walks to and fro in
the city, have been mostly limited to the vicinity of the public
offices. He is aware that he seldom passes so far as a dozen
blocks from his own bureau, without being recognized and
accosted. And, knowing the extent of his personal acquaintance
with others, and of others with him, he compares his notoriety
with that of the perfumery-girl, finds no great difference
between them, and reaches at once the conclusion that she, in her
walks, would be equally liable to recognition with himself in
his. This could only be the case were her walks of the same
unvarying, methodical character, and within the same species of
limited region as are his own. He passes to and fro, at regular
intervals, within a confined periphery, abounding in individuals
who are led to observation of his person through interest in the
kindred nature of his occupation with their own. But the walks of
Marie may, in general, be supposed discursive. In this particular
instance, it will be understood as most probable, that she
proceeded upon a route of more than average diversity from her
accustomed ones. The parallel which we imagine to have existed in
the mind of Le Commerciel would only be sustained in the event of
the two individuals traversing the whole city. In this case,
granting the personal acquaintances to be equal, the chances
would be also equal that an equal number of personal rencounters
would be made. For my own part, I should hold it not only as
possible, but as very far more than probable, that Marie might
have proceeded, at any given period, by any one of the many
routes between her own residence and that of her aunt, without
meeting a single individual whom she knew, or by whom she was
known. In viewing this question in its full and proper light, we
must hold steadily in mind the great disproportion between the
personal acquaintances of even the most noted individual in
Paris, and the entire population of Paris itself.

“But whatever force there may still appear to be in the
suggestion of Le Commerciel, will be much diminished when we take
into consideration the hour at which the girl went abroad. ‘It
was when the streets were full of people,’ says Le Commerciel,
‘that she went out.’ But not so. It was at nine o’clock in the
morning. Now at nine o’clock of every morning in the week, _with
the exception of Sunday_, the streets of the city are, it is
true, thronged with people. At nine on Sunday, the populace are
chiefly within doors _preparing for church_. No observing person
can have failed to notice the peculiarly deserted air of the
town, from about eight until ten on the morning of every Sabbath.
Between ten and eleven the streets are thronged, but not at so
early a period as that designated.

“There is another point at which there seems a deficiency of
observation on the part of Le Commerciel. ‘A piece,’ it says, ‘of
one of the unfortunate girl’s petticoats, two feet long, and one
foot wide, was torn out and tied under her chin, and around the
back of her head, probably to prevent screams. This was done, by
fellows who had no pocket-handkerchiefs.’ Whether this idea is,
or is not well founded, we will endeavor to see hereafter; but by
‘fellows who have no pocket-handkerchiefs’ the editor intends the
lowest class of ruffians. These, however, are the very
description of people who will always be found to have
handkerchiefs even when destitute of shirts. You must have had
occasion to observe how absolutely indispensable, of late years,
to the thorough blackguard, has become the pocket-handkerchief.”

“And what are we to think,” I asked, “of the article in Le
Soleil?”