A SEQUEL TO “THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE.”
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.
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 the Parisian newspaper L’Etoile says in
respect to this abbreviation of the garter’s 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.
“In respect to the
insinuations leveled 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 busybody, 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?”
“That it is a vast pity its
inditer was not born a parrot—in which case he would have been the most
illustrious parrot of his race. He has merely repeated the individual items of
the already published opinion; collecting them, with a laudable industry, from
this paper and from that. ‘The things had all evidently been there,’ he says,
‘at least, three or four weeks, and there can be no doubt that the spot of this
appalling outrage has been discovered.’ The facts here re-stated by Le Soleil,
are very far indeed from removing my own doubts upon this subject, and we will
examine them more particularly hereafter in connexion with another division of
the theme.
“At present we must occupy
ourselves with other investigations. You cannot fail to have remarked the
extreme laxity of the examination of the corpse. To be sure, the question of
identity was readily determined, or should have been; but there were other
points to be ascertained. Had the body been in any respect despoiled? Had the
deceased any articles of jewelry about her person upon leaving home? if so, had
she any when found? These are important questions utterly untouched by the
evidence; and there are others of equal moment, which have met with no
attention. We must endeavor to satisfy ourselves by personal inquiry.
The case of St. Eustache
must be re-examined. I have no suspicion of this person; but let us proceed
methodically. We will ascertain beyond a doubt the validity of the affidavits
in regard to his whereabouts on the Sunday. Affidavits of this character are
readily made matter of mystification. Should there be nothing wrong here,
however, we will dismiss St. Eustache from our investigations. His suicide,
however corroborative of suspicion, were there found to be deceit in the
affidavits, is, without such deceit, in no respect an unaccountable
circumstance, or one which need cause us to deflect from the line of ordinary
analysis.
“In that which I now
propose, we will discard the interior points of this tragedy, and concentrate
our attention upon its outskirts. Not the least usual error, in investigations
such as this, is the limiting of inquiry to the immediate, with total disregard
of the collateral or circumstantial events. It is the mal-practice of the
courts to confine evidence and discussion to the bounds of apparent relevancy.
Yet experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast,
perhaps the larger portion of truth, arises from the seemingly irrelevant. It
is through the spirit of this principle, if not precisely through its letter,
that modern science has resolved to calculate upon the unforeseen.
But perhaps you do not
comprehend me. The history of human knowledge has so uninterruptedly shown that
to collateral, or incidental, or accidental events we are indebted for the most
numerous and most valuable discoveries, that it has at length become necessary,
in any prospective view of improvement, to make not only large, but the largest
allowances for inventions that shall arise by chance, and quite out of the
range of ordinary expectation. It is no longer philosophical to base, upon what
has been, a vision of what is to be. Accident is admitted as a portion of the
substructure.
We make chance a matter of
absolute calculation. We subject the unlooked for and unimagined, to the
mathematical formulae of the schools.
“I repeat that it is no
more than fact, that the larger portion of all truth has sprung from the
collateral; and it is but in accordance with the spirit of the principle
involved in this fact, that I would divert inquiry, in the present case, from
the trodden and hitherto unfruitful ground of the event itself, to the
contemporary circumstances which surround it. While you ascertain the validity
of the affidavits, I will examine the newspapers more generally than you have
as yet done.
So far, we have only reconnoitered
the field of investigation; but it will be strange indeed if a comprehensive
survey, such as I propose, of the public prints, will not afford us some minute
points which shall establish a direction for inquiry.”
In pursuance of Dupin’s
suggestion, I made scrupulous examination of the affair of the affidavits. The
result was a firm conviction of their validity, and of the consequent innocence
of St. Eustache. In the mean time my friend occupied himself, with what seemed
to me minuteness altogether objectless, in a scrutiny of the various newspaper
files. At the end of a week he placed before me the following extracts:
“About three years and a
half ago, a disturbance very similar to the present, was caused by the
disappearance of this same Marie Rogêt, from the parfumerie of Monsieur Le
Blanc, in the Palais Royal. At the end of a week, however, she re-appeared at
her customary comptoir, as well as ever, with the exception of a slight
paleness not altogether usual. It was given out by Monsieur Le Blanc and her
mother, that she had merely been on a visit to some friend in the country; and
the affair was speedily hushed up. We presume that the present absence is a
freak of the same nature, and that, at the expiration of a week, or perhaps of
a month, we shall have her among us again.”—Evening Paper—Monday June 23.
“An evening journal of
yesterday, refers to a former mysterious disappearance of Mademoiselle Rogêt.
It is well known that, during the week of her absence from Le Blanc’s
parfumerie, she was in the company of a young naval officer, much noted for his
debaucheries. A quarrel, it is supposed, providentially led to her return home.
We have the name of the Lothario in question, who is, at present, stationed in
Paris, but, for obvious reasons, forbear to make it public.”—Le Mercurie—Tuesday
Morning, June 24.
“An outrage of the most
atrocious character was perpetrated near this city the day before yesterday. A
gentleman, with his wife and daughter, engaged, about dusk, the services of six
young men, who were idly rowing a boat to and fro near the banks of the Seine,
to convey him across the river. Upon reaching the opposite shore, the three
passengers stepped out, and had proceeded so far as to be beyond the view of
the boat, when the daughter discovered that she had left in it her parasol. She
returned for it, was seized by the gang, carried out into the stream, gagged,
brutally treated, and finally taken to the shore at a point not far from that
at which she had originally entered the boat with her parents.
The villains have escaped
for the time, but the police are upon their trail, and some of them will soon
be taken.”—Morning Paper—June 25.
“We have received one or two
communications, the object of which is to fasten the crime of the late atrocity
upon Mennais; but as this gentleman has been fully exonerated by a loyal
inquiry, and as the arguments of our several correspondents appear to be more
zealous than profound, we do not think it advisable to make them public.”—Morning
Paper—June 28.
“We have received several
forcibly written communications, apparently from various sources, and which go
far to render it a matter of certainty that the unfortunate Marie Rogêt has
become a victim of one of the numerous bands of blackguards which infest the
vicinity of the city upon Sunday. Our own opinion is decidedly in favor of this
supposition. We shall endeavor to make room for some of these arguments
hereafter.”—Evening Paper—Tuesday, June 31.
“On Monday, one of the
bargemen connected with the revenue service, saw a empty boat floating down the
Seine. Sails were lying in the bottom of the boat. The bargeman towed it under
the barge office. The next morning it was taken from thence, without the
knowledge of any of the officers. The rudder is now at the barge office.”—Le
Diligence—Thursday, June 26.
Upon reading these various
extracts, they not only seemed to me irrelevant, but I could perceive no mode
in which any one of them could be brought to bear upon the matter in hand. I
waited for some explanation from Dupin.
“It is not my present
design,” he said, “to dwell upon the first and second of those extracts. I have
copied them chiefly to show you the extreme remissness of the police, who, as
far as I can understand from the Prefect, have not troubled themselves, in any
respect, with an examination of the naval officer alluded to. Yet it is mere
folly to say that between the first and second disappearance of Marie, there is
no supposable connection.
Tomorrow: Part 6
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