By Edgar Allen Poe
Editor’s note: Readers of this Poe
short story might compare it with the structure and style of the Sherlock
Holmes series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle albeit Poe wrote this half a century
before Sherlock’s remarkable debut. Poe’s lengthy introduction comes off as an
obvious precursor to Doyle’s character John Watson.
For the convenience of modern readers, this blog has
divided the work into seven daily installments.
The struggle
“Let us reflect now upon
‘the traces of a struggle;’ and let me ask what these traces have been supposed
to demonstrate. A gang. But do they not rather demonstrate the absence of a
gang? What struggle could have taken place—what struggle so violent and so
enduring as to have left its ‘traces’ in all directions—between a weak and
defenseless girl and the gang of ruffians imagined? The silent grasp of a few
rough arms and all would have been over. The victim must have been absolutely
passive at their will. You will here bear in mind that the arguments urged
against the thicket as the scene, are applicable in chief part, only against it
as the scene of an outrage committed by more than a single individual. If we
imagine but one violator, we can conceive, and thus only conceive, the struggle
of so violent and so obstinate a nature as to have left the ‘traces’ apparent.
“And again. I have already
mentioned the suspicion to be excited by the fact that the articles in question
were suffered to remain at all in the thicket where discovered. It seems almost
impossible that these evidences of guilt should have been accidentally left
where found. There was sufficient presence of mind (it is supposed) to remove
the corpse; and yet a more positive evidence than the corpse itself (whose
features might have been quickly obliterated by decay,) is allowed to lie
conspicuously in the scene of the outrage—I allude to the handkerchief with the
name of the deceased. If this was accident, it was not the accident of a gang.
We can imagine it only the
accident of an individual. Let us see. An individual has committed the murder.
He is alone with the ghost of the departed. He is appalled by what lies
motionless before him. The fury of his passion is over, and there is abundant
room in his heart for the natural awe of the deed. His is none of that
confidence which the presence of numbers inevitably inspires. He is alone with
the dead. He trembles and is bewildered.
Yet there is a necessity
for disposing of the corpse. He bears it to the river, but leaves behind him
the other evidences of guilt; for it is difficult, if not impossible to carry
all the burthen at once, and it will be easy to return for what is left. But in
his toilsome journey to the water his fears redouble within him. The sounds of
life encompass his path. A dozen times he hears or fancies the step of an
observer. Even the very lights from the city bewilder him. Yet, in time and by
long and frequent pauses of deep agony, he reaches the river’s brink, and
disposes of his ghastly charge—perhaps through the medium of a boat. But now
what treasure does the world hold—what threat of vengeance could it hold
out—which would have power to urge the return of that lonely murderer over that
toilsome and perilous path, to the thicket and its blood chilling
recollections?
He returns not, let the
consequences be what they may. He could not return if he would. His sole
thought is immediate escape. He turns his back forever upon those dreadful shrubberies
and flees as from the wrath to come.
“But how with a gang? Their
number would have inspired them with confidence; if, indeed confidence is ever
wanting in the breast of the arrant blackguard; and of arrant blackguards alone
are the supposed gangs ever constituted. Their number, I say, would have
prevented the bewildering and unreasoning terror, which I have imagined to
paralyze the single man. Could we suppose an oversight in one, or two, or
three, this oversight would have been remedied by a fourth. They would have
left nothing behind them; for their number would have enabled them to carry all
at once. There would have been no need of return.
“Consider now the
circumstance that in the outer garment of the corpse when found, ‘a slip, about
a foot wide had been torn upward from the bottom hem to the waist wound three
times round the waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in the back.’ This was
done with the obvious design of affording a handle by which to carry the body.
But would any number of men have dreamed of resorting to such an expedient?
To three or four, the limbs
of the corpse would have afforded not only a sufficient, but the best possible
hold. The device is that of a single individual; and this brings us to the fact
that ‘between the thicket and the river, the rails of the fences were found
taken down, and the ground bore evident traces of some heavy burden having been
dragged along it!’ But would a number of men have put themselves to the
superfluous trouble of taking down a fence, for the purpose of dragging through
it a corpse which they might have lifted over any fence in an instant?
Would a number of men have
so dragged a corpse at all as to have left evident traces of the dragging?
“And here we must refer to
an observation of Le Commerciel; an observation upon which I have already, in
some measure, commented. ‘A piece,’ says this journal, ‘of one of the
unfortunate girl’s petticoats 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.’
“I have before suggested
that a genuine blackguard is never without a pocket-handkerchief. But it is not
to this fact that I now especially advert. That it was not through want of a
handkerchief for the purpose imagined by Le Commerciel, that this bandage was
employed, is rendered apparent by the handkerchief left in the thicket; and
that the object was not ‘to prevent screams’ appears, also, from the bandage
having been employed in preference to what would so much better have answered
the purpose. But the language of the evidence speaks of the strip in question
as ‘found around the neck, fitting loosely, and secured with a hard knot.’
These words are sufficiently vague, but differ materially from those of Le
Commerciel. The slip was 18 inches wide, and therefore, although of muslin,
would form a strong band when folded or rumpled longitudinally. And thus
rumpled it was discovered.
My inference is this. The
solitary murderer, having borne the corpse, for some distance, (whether from
the thicket or elsewhere) by means of the bandage hitched around its middle,
found the weight, in this mode of procedure, too much for his strength. He
resolved to drag the burthen—the evidence goes to show that it was dragged.
With this object in view, it became necessary to attach something like a rope
to one of the extremities. It could be best attached about the neck, where the
head would prevent its slipping off.
And, now, the murderer
bethought him, unquestionably, of the bandage about the loins. He would have
used this, but for its volition about the corpse, the hitch which embarrassed
it, and the reflection that it had not been ‘torn off’ from the garment. It was
easier to tear a new slip from the petticoat. He tore it, made it fast about
the neck, and so dragged his victim to the brink of the river.
That this ‘bandage,’ only
attainable with trouble and delay, and but imperfectly answering its
purpose—that this bandage was employed at all, demonstrates that the necessity
for its employment sprang from circumstances arising at a period when the
handkerchief was no longer attainable—that is to say, arising, as we have
imagined, after quitting the thicket, (if the thicket it was), and on the road
between the thicket and the river.
“But the evidence, you will
say, of Madame Deluc, points especially to the presence of a gang, in the
vicinity of the thicket, at or about the epoch of the murder. This I grant. I
doubt if there were not a dozen gangs, such as described by Madame Deluc, in
and about the vicinity of the Barrière du Roule at or about the period of this
tragedy. But the gang which has drawn upon itself the pointed animadversion,
although the somewhat tardy and very suspicious evidence of Madame Deluc, is
the only gang which is represented by that honest and scrupulous old lady as
having eaten her cakes and swallowed her brandy, without putting themselves to
the trouble of making her payment. Et hinc illæ iræ?
“But what is the precise
evidence of Madame Deluc? ‘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 recrossed the river
as if in great haste.’
“Now this ‘great haste’
very possibly seemed greater haste in the eyes of Madame Deluc, since she dwelt
lingeringly and lamentingly upon her violated cakes and ale—cakes and ale for
which she might still have entertained a faint hope of compensation. Why,
otherwise, since it was about dusk, should she make a point of the haste? It is
no cause for wonder, surely, that even a gang of blackguards should make haste
to get home, when a wide river is to be crossed in small boats, when storm
impends, and when night approaches.
“I say approaches; for the
night had not yet arrived. It was only about dusk that the indecent haste of
these ‘miscreants’ offended the sober eyes of Madame Deluc. But we are told
that it was upon this very evening that Madame Deluc, as well as her eldest
son, ‘heard the screams of a female in the vicinity of the inn.’ And in what
words does Madame Deluc designate the period of the evening at which these
screams were heard? ‘It was soon after dark,’ she says. But ‘soon after dark,’
is, at least, dark; and ‘about dusk’ is as certainly daylight.
Thus it is abundantly clear
that the gang quitted the Barrière du Roule prior to the screams overheard by
Madame Deluc. And although, in all the many reports of the evidence, the
relative expressions in question are distinctly and invariably employed just as
I have employed them in this conversation with yourself, no notice whatever of
the gross discrepancy has, as yet, been taken by any of the public journals, or
by any of the Myrmidons of police.
“I shall add but one to the
arguments against a gang; but this one has, to my own understanding at least, a
weight altogether irresistible. Under the circumstances of large reward
offered, and full pardon to any King’s evidence, it is not to be imagined, for
a moment, that some member of a gang of low ruffians, or of any body of men,
would not long ago have betrayed his accomplices. Each one of a gang so placed,
is not so much greedy of reward, or anxious for escape, as fearful of betrayal.
He betrays eagerly and early that he may not himself be betrayed.
That the secret has not
been divulged, is the very best of proof that it is, in fact, a secret. The
horrors of this dark deed are known only to one, or two, living human beings,
and to God.
Fruits of long analysis
“Let us sum up now the
meagre yet certain fruits of our long analysis. We have attained the idea
either of a fatal accident under the roof of Madame Deluc, or of a murder
perpetrated, in the thicket at the Barrière du Roule, by a lover, or at least
by an intimate and secret associate of the deceased.
This associate is of swarthy
complexion. This complexion, the ‘hitch’ in the bandage, and the ‘sailor’s
knot,’ with which the bonnet-ribbon is tied, point to a seaman. His
companionship with the deceased, a gay, but not an abject young girl,
designates him as above the grade of the common sailor. Here the well written
and urgent communications to the journals are much in the way of corroboration.
The circumstance of the first elopement, as mentioned by Le Mercurie, tends to
blend the idea of this seaman with that of the ‘naval officer’ who is first
known to have led the unfortunate into crime.
“And here, most fitly,
comes the consideration of the continued absence of him of the dark complexion.
Let me pause to observe that the complexion of this man is dark and swarthy; it
was no common swarthiness which constituted the sole point of remembrance, both
as regards Valence and Madame Deluc. But why is this man absent? Was he
murdered by the gang? If so, why are there only traces of the assassinated
girl? The scene of the two outrages will naturally be supposed identical. And
where is his corpse? The assassins would most probably have disposed of both in
the same way.
But it may be said that
this man lives, and is deterred from making himself known, through dread of
being charged with the murder. This consideration might be supposed to operate
upon him now—at this late period—since it has been given in evidence that he
was seen with Marie—but it would have had no force at the period of the deed.
The first impulse of an
innocent man would have been to announce the outrage, and to aid in identifying
the ruffians. This policy would have suggested. He had been seen with the girl.
He had crossed the river with her in an open ferry-boat. The denouncing of the
assassins would have appeared, even to an idiot, the surest and sole means of
relieving himself from suspicion. We cannot suppose him, on the night of the
fatal Sunday, both innocent himself and incognizant of an outrage committed.
Yet only under such circumstances is it possible to imagine that he would have
failed, if alive, in the denouncement of the assassins.
“And what means are ours,
of attaining the truth? We shall find these means multiplying and gathering
distinctness as we proceed. Let us sift to the bottom this affair of the first
elopement. Let us know the full history of ‘the officer,’ with his present
circumstances, and his whereabouts at the precise period of the murder. Let us
carefully compare with each other the various communications sent to the
evening paper, in which the object was to inculpate a gang.
This done, let us compare these
communications, both as regards style and MS., with those sent to the morning
paper, at a previous period, and insisting so vehemently upon the guilt of
Mennais. And, all this done, let us again compare these various communications
with the known MSS. of the officer. Let us endeavor to ascertain, by repeated
questionings of Madame Deluc and her boys, as well as of the omnibus driver,
Valence, something more of the personal appearance and bearing of the ‘man of
dark complexion.’
Queries, skilfully directed,
will not fail to elicit, from some of these parties, information on this
particular point (or upon others)—information which the parties themselves may
not even be aware of possessing. And let us now trace the boat picked up by the
bargeman on the morning of Monday the 23 of June, and which was removed from
the barge-office, without the cognizance of the officer in attendance, and
without the rudder, at some period prior to the discovery of the corpse.
With a proper caution and
perseverance we shall infallibly trace this boat; for not only can the bargeman
who picked it up identify it, but the rudder is at hand. The rudder of a sailboat
would not have been abandoned, without inquiry, by one altogether at ease in
heart. And here let me pause to insinuate a question. There was no
advertisement of the picking up of this boat. It was silently taken to the
barge-office, and as silently removed. But its owner or employer—how happened
he, at so early a period as Tuesday morning, to be informed, without the agency
of advertisement, of the locality of the boat taken up on Monday, unless we
imagine some connexion with the navy—some personal permanent connexion leading
to cognizance of its minute in interests—its petty local news?
“In speaking of the lonely
assassin dragging his burden to the shore, I have already suggested the
probability of his availing himself of a boat. Now we are to understand that
Marie Rogêt was precipitated from a boat. This would naturally have been the
case. The corpse could not have been trusted to the shallow waters of the
shore. The peculiar marks on the back and shoulders of the victim tell of the
bottom ribs of a boat. That the body was found without weight is also
corroborative of the idea. If thrown from the shore a weight would have been
attached. We can only account for its absence by supposing the murderer to have
neglected the precaution of supplying himself with it before pushing off.
In the act of consigning
the corpse to the water, he would unquestionably have noticed his oversight;
but then no remedy would have been at hand. Any risk would have been preferred
to a return to that accursed shore. Having rid himself of his ghastly charge,
the murderer would have hastened to the city. There, at some obscure wharf, he
would have leaped on land. But the boat—would he have secured it? He would have
been in too great haste for such things as securing a boat. Moreover, in
fastening it to the wharf, he would have felt as if securing evidence against
himself. His natural thought would have been to cast from him, as far as
possible, all that had held connection with his crime. He would not only have
fled from the wharf, but he would not have permitted the boat to remain.
Assuredly he would have cast it adrift. Let us pursue our fancies.—In the
morning, the wretch is stricken with unutterable horror at finding that the
boat has been picked up and detained at a locality which he is in the daily
habit of frequenting —at a locality, perhaps, which his duty compels him to
frequent.
The next night, without
daring to ask for the rudder, he removes it. Now where is that rudderless boat?
Let it be one of our first purposes to discover. With the first glimpse we
obtain of it, the dawn of our success shall begin. This boat shall guide us,
with a rapidity, which will surprise even ourselves, to him who employed it in
the midnight of the fatal Sabbath. Corroboration will rise upon corroboration,
and the murderer will be traced.”
[For reasons which we shall
not specify, but which to many readers will appear obvious, we have taken the
liberty of here omitting, from the MSS. placed in our hands, such portion as
details the following up of the apparently slight clew obtained by Dupin. We
feel it advisable only to state, in brief, that the result desired was brought
to pass; and that the Prefect fulfilled punctually, although with reluctance,
the terms of his compact with the Chevalier. Mr. Poe’s article concludes with
the following words.
It will be understood that
I speak of coincidences and no more. What I have said above upon this topic
must suffice. In my own heart there dwells no faith in præter-nature. That
Nature and its God are two, no man who thinks, will deny. That the latter,
creating the former, can, at will, control or modify it, is also unquestionable.
I say “at will;” for the
question is of will, and not, as the insanity of logic has assumed, of power.
It is not that the Deity cannot modify his laws, but that we insult him in
imagining a possible necessity for modification. In their origin these laws were
fashioned to embrace all contingencies which could lie in the Future. With God
all is Now.
I repeat, then, that I
speak of these things only as of coincidences. And farther: in what I relate it
will be seen that between the fate of the unhappy Mary Cecilia Rogers, so far
as that fate is known, and the fate of one Marie Rogêt up to a certain epoch in
her history, there has existed a parallel in the contemplation of whose
wonderful exactitude the reason becomes embarrassed. I say all this will be
seen.
But let it not for a moment
be supposed that, in proceeding with the sad narrative of Marie from the epoch
just mentioned, and in tracing to its dénouement the mystery which enshrouded
her, it is my covert design to hint at an extension of the parallel, or even to
suggest that the measures adopted in Paris for the discovery of the assassin of
a grisette, or measures founded in any similar ratiocination, would produce any
similar result.
For, in respect to the
latter branch of the supposition, it should be considered that the most
trifling variation in the facts of the two cases might give rise to the most
important miscalculations, by diverting thoroughly the two courses of events;
very much as, in arithmetic, an error which, in its own individuality, may be
inappreciable, produces, at length, by dint of multiplication at all points of
the process, a result enormously at variance with truth.
And, in regard to the
former branch, we must not fail to hold in view that the very Calculus of
Probabilities to which I have referred, forbids all idea of the extension of
the parallel:—forbids it with a positiveness strong and decided just in
proportion as this parallel has already been long-drawn and exact.
This is one of those
anomalous propositions which, seemingly appealing to thought altogether apart
from the mathematical, is yet one which only the mathematician can fully
entertain. Nothing, for example, is more difficult than to convince the merely
general reader that the fact of sixes having been thrown twice in succession by
a player at dice, is sufficient cause for betting the largest odds that sixes
will not be thrown in the third attempt.
A suggestion to this effect
is usually rejected by the intellect at once. It does not appear that the two
throws which have been completed, and which lie now absolutely in the Past, can
have influence upon the throw which exists only in the Future.
The chance for throwing
sixes seems to be precisely as it was at any ordinary time—that is to say,
subject only to the influence of the various other throws which may be made by
the dice. And this is a reflection, which appears so exceedingly obvious that
attempts to controvert it are received more frequently with a derisive smile
than with anything like respectful attention. The error here involved—a gross
error redolent of mischief—I cannot pretend to expose within the limits
assigned me at present; and with the philosophical it needs no exposure. It may
be sufficient here to say that it forms one of an infinite series of mistakes,
which arise in the path of Reason through her propensity for seeking truth in
detail.
THE END.
Editor’s note: So what happened? Is this the worse ending ever? Go to the following essay about Poe’s story,
which many call an essay and not a work of fiction.
http://www.worlds-best-detective-crime-and-murder-mystery-books.com/mysteryofmarieroget-article.html
In it some light is shed upon the ending of “The Mystery of Mary Roget.”
Alas, it is the journey—not the destination that is
most enjoyable. N’est-ce pas?
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