This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you.<\/em><\/p>\nAbout one French league distant from the city of Toulouse, there is a village called Croix-Daurade. In the military history of England, this place is associated with a famous charge of the eighteenth hussars, which united two separated columns of the British army, on the day before the Duke of Wellington fought the battle of Toulouse. In the criminal history of France, the village is memorable as the scene of a daring crime, which was discovered and punished under circumstances sufficiently remarkable to merit preservation in the form of a plain narrative.<\/p>\n
I. The Persons of the Drama.
In the year seventeen hundred, the resident priest of the village of Croix-Daurade was Monsieur Pierre-C\u00e9lestin Chaubard. He was a man of no extraordinary energy or capacity, simple in his habits, and sociable in his disposition. His character was irreproachable; he was strictly conscientious in the performance of his duties; and he was universally respected and beloved by all his parishioners.<\/p>\n
Among the members of his flock, there was a family named Siadoux. The head of the household, Saturnin Siadoux, had been long established in business at Croix-Daurade as an oil-manufacturer. At the period of the events now to be narrated, he had attained the age of sixty, and was a widower. His family consisted of five children\u2014three young men, who helped him in the business, and two daughters. His nearest living relative was his sister, the widow Mirailhe.<\/p>\n
The widow resided principally at Toulouse. Her time in that city was mainly occupied in winding up the business affairs of her deceased husband, which had remained unsettled for a considerable period after his death, through delays in realising certain sums of money owing to his representative. The widow had been left very well provided for\u2014she was still a comely attractive woman\u2014and more than one substantial citizen of Toulouse had shown himself anxious to persuade her into marrying for the second time. <\/p>\n
But the widow Mirailhe lived on terms of great intimacy and affection with her brother Siadoux and his family; she was sincerely attached to them, and sincerely unwilling, at her age, to deprive her nephews and nieces, by a second marriage, of the inheritance, or even of a portion of the inheritance, which would otherwise fall to them on her death. Animated by these motives, she closed her doors resolutely on all suitors who attempted to pay their court to her, with the one exception of a master-butcher of Toulouse, whose name was Cantegrel.<\/p>\n
This man was a neighbour of the widow\u2019s, and had made himself useful by assisting her in the business complications which still hung about the realisation of her late husband\u2019s estate. The preference which she showed for the master-butcher was, thus far, of the purely negative kind. She gave him no absolute encouragement; she would not for a moment admit that there was the slightest prospect of her ever marrying him\u2014but, at the same time, she continued to receive his visits, and she showed no disposition to restrict the neighbourly intercourse between them, for the future, within purely formal bounds. <\/p>\n
Under these circumstances, Saturnin Siadoux began to be alarmed, and to think it time to bestir himself. He had no personal acquaintance with Cantegrel, who never visited the village; and Monsieur Chaubard (to whom he might otherwise have applied for advice) was not in a position to give an opinion: the priest and the master-butcher did not even know each other by sight. In this difficulty, Siadoux bethought himself of inquiring privately at Toulouse, in the hope of discovering some scandalous passages in Cantegrel\u2019s early life, which might fatally degrade him in the estimation of the widow Mirailhe. <\/p>\n
The investigation, as usual in such cases, produced rumours and reports in plenty, the greater part of which dated back to a period of the butcher\u2019s life when he had resided in the ancient town of Narbonne. One of these rumours, especially, was of so serious a nature, that Siadoux determined to test the truth or falsehood of it, personally, by travelling to Narbonne. He kept his intention a secret not only from his sister and his daughters, but also from his sons; they were young men, not over-patient in their tempers\u2014and he doubted their discretion. Thus, nobody knew his real purpose but himself, when he left home.<\/p>\n
His safe arrival at Narbonne was notified in a letter to his family. The letter entered into no particulars relating to his secret errand: it merely informed his children of the day when they might expect him back, and of certain social arrangements which he wished to be made to welcome him on his return. He proposed, on his way home, to stay two days at Castelnaudry, for the purpose of paying a visit to an old friend who was settled there. <\/p>\n
According to this plan, his return to Croix-Daurade would be deferred until Tuesday, the twenty-sixth of April, when his family might expect to see him about sunset, in good time for supper. He further desired that a little party of friends might be invited to the meal, to celebrate the twenty-sixth of April (which was a feast-day in the village), as well as to celebrate his return. The guests whom he wished to be invited were, first, his sister; secondly, Monsieur Chaubard, whose pleasant disposition made him a welcome guest at all the village festivals; thirdly and fourthly, two neighbours, business-men like himself, with whom he lived on terms of the friendliest intimacy. <\/p>\n
That was the party; and the family of Siadoux took especial pains, as the time approached, to provide a supper worthy of the guests, who had all shown the heartiest readiness in accepting their invitations.<\/p>\n
This was the domestic position, these were the family prospects, on the morning of the twenty-sixth of April\u2014a memorable day, for years afterwards, in the village of Croix-Daurade.<\/p>\n
II. The Events of the Day.
Besides the curacy of the village church, good Monsieur Chaubard held some small ecclesiastical preferment in the cathedral church of St. Stephen at Toulouse. Early in the forenoon of the twenty-sixth, certain matters connected with this preferment took him from his village curacy to the city\u2014a distance which has been already described as not greater than one French league, or between two and three English miles.<\/p>\n
After transacting his business, Monsieur Chaubard parted with his clerical brethren, who left him by himself in the sacristy (or vestry) of the church. Before he had quitted the room, in his turn, the beadle entered it, and inquired for the Abb\u00e9 de Mariotte, one of the officiating priests attached to the cathedral.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Abb\u00e9 has just gone out,\u201d replied Monsieur Chaubard. \u201cWho wants him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA respectable-looking man,\u201d said the beadle. \u201cI thought he seemed to be in some distress of mind, when he spoke to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid he mention his business with the Abb\u00e9?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, sir; he expressed himself as anxious to make his confession immediately.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIn that case,\u201d said Monsieur Chaubard, \u201cI may be of use to him in the Abb\u00e9\u2019s absence\u2014for I have authority to act here as confessor. Let us go into the church, and see if this person feels disposed to accept my services.\u201d<\/p>\n
When they went into the church, they found the man walking backwards and forwards in a restless, disordered manner. His looks were so strikingly suggestive of some serious mental perturbation, that Monsieur Chaubard found it no easy matter to preserve his composure, when he first addressed himself to the stranger.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am sorry,\u201d he began, \u201cthat the Abb\u00e9 de Mariotte is not here to offer you his services\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to make my confession,\u201d said the man, looking about him vacantly, as if the priest\u2019s words had not attracted his attention.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can do so at once, if you please,\u201d said Monsieur Chaubard. \u201cI am attached to this church, and I possess the necessary authority to receive confessions in it. Perhaps, however, you are personally acquainted with the Abb\u00e9 de Mariotte? Perhaps you would prefer waiting\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo!\u201d said the man, roughly. \u201cI would as soon, or sooner, confess to a stranger.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIn that case,\u201d replied Monsieur Chaubard, \u201cbe so good as to follow me.\u201d<\/p>\n
He led the way to the confessional. The beadle, whose curiosity was excited, waited a little, and looked after them. In a few minutes, he saw the curtains, which were sometimes used to conceal the face of the officiating priest, suddenly drawn. The penitent knelt with his back turned to the church. There was literally nothing to see\u2014but the beadle waited nevertheless, in expectation of the end.<\/p>\n
After a long lapse of time, the curtain was withdrawn, and priest and penitent left the confessional.<\/p>\n
The change which the interval had worked in Monsieur Chaubard was so extraordinary, that the beadle\u2019s attention was altogether withdrawn, in the interest of observing it, from the man who had made the confession. He did not remark by which door the stranger left the church\u2014his eyes were fixed on Monsieur Chaubard. The priest\u2019s naturally ruddy face was as white as if he had just risen from a long sickness\u2014he looked straight before him, with a stare of terror\u2014and he left the church as hurriedly as if he had been a man escaping from prison; left it without a parting word, or a farewell look, although he was noted for his courtesy to his inferiors on all ordinary occasions.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood Monsieur Chaubard has heard more than he bargained for,\u201d said the beadle, wandering back to the empty confessional, with an interest which he had never felt in it till that moment.<\/p>\n
The day wore on as quietly as usual in the village of Croix-Daurade. At the appointed time, the supper-table was laid for the guests in the house of Saturnin Siadoux. The widow Mirailhe, and the two neighbours, arrived a little before sunset. Monsieur Chaubard, who was usually punctual, did not make his appearance with them; and when the daughters of Saturnin Siadoux looked out from the upper windows, they saw no signs on the high road of their father\u2019s return.<\/p>\n
Sunset came\u2014and still neither Siadoux nor the priest appeared. The little party sat waiting round the table, and waited in vain. Before long, a message was sent up from the kitchen, representing that the supper must be eaten forthwith, or be spoilt; and the company began to debate the two alternatives, of waiting, or not waiting, any longer.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is my belief,\u201d said the widow Mirailhe, \u201cthat my brother is not coming home to-night. When Monsieur Chaubard joins us, we had better sit down to supper.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan any accident have happened to my father?\u201d asked one of the two daughters, anxiously.<\/p>\n
\u201cGod forbid!\u201d said the widow.<\/p>\n
\u201cGod forbid!\u201d repeated the two neighbours, looking expectantly at the empty supper-table.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt has been a wretched day for travelling,\u201d said Louis, the eldest son.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt rained in torrents, all yesterday,\u201d added Thomas, the second son.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd your father\u2019s rheumatism makes him averse to travelling in wet weather,\u201d suggested the widow, thoughtfully.<\/p>\n
\u201cVery true!\u201d said the first of the two neighbours, shaking his head piteously at his passive knife and fork.<\/p>\n
Another message came up from the kitchen, and peremptorily forbade the company to wait any longer.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut where is Monsieur Chaubard?\u201d said the widow. \u201cHas he been taking a journey too? Why is he absent? Has anybody seen him to-day?\u201d
\u201cI have seen him to-day,\u201d said the youngest son, who had not spoken yet. This young man\u2019s name was Jean; he was little given to talking, but he had proved himself, on various domestic occasions, to be the quickest and most observant member of the family.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere did you see him?\u201d asked the widow.<\/p>\n
\u201cI met him, this morning, on his way into Toulouse.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe has not fallen ill, I hope? Did he look out of sorts when you met him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was in excellent health and spirits,\u201d said Jean. \u201cI never saw him look better\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I never saw him look worse,\u201d said the second of the neighbours, striking into the conversation with the aggressive fretfulness of a hungry man.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat! this morning?\u201d cried Jean, in astonishment.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo; this afternoon,\u201d said the neighbour. \u201cI saw him going into our church here. He was as white as our plates will be\u2014when they come up. And what is almost as extraordinary, he passed without taking the slightest notice of me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jean relapsed into his customary silence. It was getting dark; the clouds had gathered while the company had been talking; and, at the first pause in the conversation, the rain, falling again in torrents, made itself drearily audible.<\/p>\n
\u201cDear, dear me!\u201d said the widow. \u201cIf it was not raining so hard, we might send somebody to inquire after good Monsieur Chaubard.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll go and inquire,\u201d said Thomas Siadoux. \u201cIt\u2019s not five minutes\u2019 walk. Have up the supper; I\u2019ll take a cloak with me; and if our excellent Monsieur Chaubard is out of his bed, I\u2019ll bring him back, to answer for himself.\u201d<\/p>\n
With those words he left the room. The supper was put on the table forthwith. The hungry neighbour disputed with nobody from that moment, and the melancholy neighbour recovered his spirits.<\/p>\n
On reaching the priest\u2019s house, Thomas Siadoux found him sitting alone in his study. He started to his feet, with every appearance of the most violent alarm, when the young man entered the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cI beg your pardon, sir,\u201d said Thomas; \u201cI am afraid I have startled you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you want?\u201d asked Monsieur Chaubard, in a singularly abrupt, bewildered manner.<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you forgotten, sir, that this is the night of our supper?\u201d remonstrated Thomas. \u201cMy father has not come back; and we can only suppose\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
At those words the priest dropped into his chair again, and trembled from head to foot. Amazed to the last degree by this extraordinary reception of his remonstrance, Thomas Siadoux remembered, at the same time, that he had engaged to bring Monsieur Chaubard back with him; and, he determined to finish his civil speech, as if nothing had happened.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe are all of opinion,\u201d he resumed, \u201cthat the weather has kept my father on the road. But that is no reason, sir, why the supper should be wasted, or why you should not make one of us, as you promised. Here is a good warm cloak\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t come,\u201d said the priest. \u201cI\u2019m ill; I\u2019m in bad spirits; I\u2019m not fit to go out.\u201d He sighed bitterly, and hid his face in his hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t say that, sir,\u201d persisted Thomas. \u201cIf you are out of spirits, let us try to cheer you. And you, in your turn, will enliven us. They are all waiting for you at home. Don\u2019t refuse, sir,\u201d pleaded the young man, \u201cor we shall think we have offended you, in some way. You have always been a good friend to our family\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
Monsieur Chaubard again rose from his chair, with a second change of manner, as extraordinary and as perplexing as the first. His eyes moistened as if the tears were rising in them; he took the hand of Thomas Siadoux, and pressed it long and warmly in his own. There was a curious mixed expression of pity and fear in the look which he now fixed on the young man.
\u201cOf all the days in the year,\u201d he said, very earnestly, \u201cdon\u2019t doubt my friendship to-day. Ill as I am, I will make one of the supper-party, for your sake\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd for my father\u2019s sake?\u201d added Thomas, persuasively.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet us go to the supper,\u201d said the priest.<\/p>\n
Thomas Siadoux wrapped the cloak round him, and they left the house.<\/p>\n
Every one at the table noticed the change in Monsieur Chaubard. He accounted for it by declaring, confusedly, that he was suffering from nervous illness; and then added that he would do his best, notwithstanding, to promote the social enjoyment of the evening. His talk was fragmentary, and his cheerfulness was sadly forced; but he contrived, with these drawbacks, to take his part in the conversation\u2014except in the case when it happened to turn on the absent master of the house. Whenever the name of Saturnin Siadoux was mentioned\u2014either by the neighbours, who politely regretted that he was not present; or by the family, who naturally talked about the resting-place which he might have chosen for the night\u2014Monsieur Chaubard either relapsed into blank silence, or abruptly changed the topic. Under these circumstances, the company, by whom he was respected and beloved, made the necessary allowances for his state of health; the only person among them, who showed no desire to cheer the priest\u2019s spirits, and to humour him in his temporary fretfulness, being the silent younger son of Saturnin Siadoux.<\/p>\n
Both Louis and Thomas noticed that, from the moment when Monsieur Chaubard\u2019s manner first betrayed his singular unwillingness to touch on the subject of their father\u2019s absence, Jean fixed his eyes on the priest, with an expression of suspicious attention; and never looked away from him for the rest of the evening. The young man\u2019s absolute silence at table did not surprise his brothers, for they were accustomed to his taciturn habits. But the sullen distrust betrayed in his close observation of the honoured guest and friend of the family, surprised and angered them. The priest himself seemed once or twice to be aware of the scrutiny to which he was subjected, and to feel uneasy and offended, as he naturally might. He abstained, however, from openly noticing Jean\u2019s strange behaviour; and Louis and Thomas were bound, therefore, in common politeness, to abstain from noticing it also.<\/p>\n
The inhabitants of Croix-Daurade kept early hours. Towards eleven o\u2019clock, the company rose and separated for the night. Except the two neighbours, nobody had enjoyed the supper, and even the two neighbours, having eaten their fill, were as glad to get home as the rest. In the little confusion of parting, Monsieur Chaubard completed the astonishment of the guests at the extraordinary change in him, by slipping away alone, without waiting to bid anybody good night.<\/p>\n
The widow Mirailhe and her nieces withdrew to their bed-rooms, and left the three brothers by themselves in the parlour.<\/p>\n
\u201cJean,\u201d said Thomas Siadoux, \u201cI have a word to say to you. You stared at our good Monsieur Chaubard in a very offensive manner all through the evening. What did you mean by it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWait till to-morrow,\u201d said Jean; \u201cand perhaps I may tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n
He lit his candle, and left them. Both the brothers observed that his hand trembled, and that his manner\u2014never very winning\u2014was, on that night, more serious and more unsociable than usual.<\/p>\n
III. The Younger Brother.
When post-time came on the morning of the twenty-seventh, no letter arrived from Saturnin Siadoux. On consideration, the family interpreted this circumstance in a favourable light. If the master of the house had not written to them, it followed, surely, that he meant to make writing unnecessary by returning on that day.<\/p>\n
As the hours passed, the widow and her nieces looked out, from time to time, for the absent man. Towards noon, they observed a little assembly of people approaching the village. Ere long, on a nearer view, they recognised at the head of the assembly, the chief magistrate of Toulouse, in his official dress. He was accompanied by his Assessor (also in official dress), by an escort of archers, and by certain subordinates attached to the town-hall. These last appeared to be carrying some burden, which was hidden from view by the escort of archers. The procession stopped at the house of Saturnin Siadoux; and the two daughters, hastening to the door, to discover what had happened, met the burden which the men were carrying, and saw, stretched on a litter, the dead body of their father.<\/p>\n
The corpse had been found that morning on the banks of the river Lers. It was stabbed in eleven places with knife or dagger wounds. None of the valuables about the dead man\u2019s person had been touched; his watch and his money were still in his pockets. Whoever had murdered him, had murdered him for vengeance, not for gain.<\/p>\n
Some time elapsed before even the male members of the family were sufficiently composed to hear what the officers of justice had to say to them. When this result had been at length achieved, and when the necessary inquiries had been made, no information of any kind was obtained which pointed to the murderer, in the eye of the law. After expressing his sympathy, and promising that every available means should be tried to effect the discovery of the criminal, the chief magistrate gave his orders to his escort, and withdrew.<\/p>\n
When night came, the sister and the daughters of the murdered man retired to the upper part of the house, exhausted by the violence of their grief. The three brothers were left once more alone in the parlour, to speak together of the awful calamity which had befallen them. They were of hot Southern blood, and they looked on one another with a Southern thirst for vengeance in their tearless eyes.<\/p>\n
The silent younger son was now the first to open his lips.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou charged me yesterday,\u201d he said to his brother Thomas, \u201cwith looking strangely at Monsieur Chaubard all the evening; and I answered that I might tell you why I looked at him when to-morrow came. To-morrow has come, and I am ready to tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n
He waited a little, and lowered his voice to a whisper when he spoke again.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen Monsieur Chaubard was at our supper-table last night,\u201d he said, \u201cI had it in my mind that something had happened to our father, and that the priest knew it.\u201d<\/p>\n
The two elder brothers looked at him in speechless astonishment.<\/p>\n
\u201cOur father has been brought back to us a murdered man!\u201d Jean went on, still in a whisper. \u201cI tell you, Louis\u2014and you, Thomas\u2014that the priest knows who murdered him.\u201d<\/p>\n
Louis and Thomas shrank from their younger brother, as if he had spoken blasphemy.<\/p>\n
\u201cListen,\u201d said Jean. \u201cNo clue has been found to the secret of the murder. The magistrate has promised us to do his best\u2014but I saw in his face that he had little hope. We must make the discovery ourselves\u2014or our father\u2019s blood will have cried to us for vengeance, and cried in vain. Remember that\u2014and mark my next words. You heard me say yesterday evening, that I had met Monsieur Chaubard on his way to Toulouse in excellent health and spirits. You heard our old friend and neighbour contradict me at the supper-table, and declare that he had seen the priest, some hours later, go into our church here with the face of a panic-stricken man. You saw, Thomas, how he behaved when you went to fetch him to our house. You saw, Louis, what his looks were like when he came in. The change was noticed by everybody\u2014what was the cause of it? I saw the cause in the priest\u2019s own face, when our father\u2019s name turned up in the talk round the supper-table. Did Monsieur Chaubard join in that talk? He was the only person present who never joined in it once. Did he change it, on a sudden, whenever it came his way? It came his way four times; and four times he changed it\u2014trembling, stammering, turning whiter and whiter, but still, as true as the Heaven above us, shifting the talk off himself, every time! Are you men? Have you brains in your heads? Don\u2019t you see, as I see, what this leads to? On my salvation I swear it\u2014the priest knows the hand that killed our father!\u201d<\/p>\n
The faces of the two elder brothers darkened vindictively, as the conviction of the truth fastened itself on their minds.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow could he know it?\u201d they inquired, eagerly.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe must tell us himself,\u201d said Jean.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd if he hesitates\u2014if he refuses to open his lips?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe must open them by main force.\u201d<\/p>\n
They drew their chairs together after that last answer, and consulted, for some time, in whispers.<\/p>\n
When the consultation was over, the brothers rose and went into the room where the dead body of their father was laid out. The three kissed him, in turn, on the forehead\u2014then took hands together, and looked, meaningly, in each other\u2019s faces\u2014then separated. Louis and Thomas put on their hats, and went at once to the priest\u2019s residence; while Jean withdrew by himself to the great room at the back of the house, which was used for the purposes of the oil-factory.
Only one of the workmen was left in the place. He was watching an immense cauldron of boiling linseed-oil.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can go home,\u201d said Jean, patting the man kindly on the shoulder. \u201cThere is no hope of a night\u2019s rest for me, after the affliction that has befallen us\u2014I will take your place at the cauldron. Go home, my good fellow\u2014go home.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man thanked him, and withdrew. Jean followed, and satisfied himself that the workman had really left the house. He then returned, and sat down by the boiling cauldron.<\/p>\n
Meanwhile, Louis and Thomas presented themselves at the priest\u2019s house. He had not yet retired to bed, and he received them kindly\u2014but with the same extraordinary agitation in his face and manner which had surprised all who saw him on the previous day. The brothers were prepared beforehand with an answer, when he inquired what they wanted of him. They replied immediately that the shock of their father\u2019s horrible death had so seriously affected their aunt and their eldest sister, that it was feared the minds of both might give way, unless spiritual consolation and assistance were afforded to them that night. The unhappy priest\u2014always faithful and self-sacrificing where the duties of his ministry were in question\u2014at once rose to accompany the young men back to the house. He even put on his surplice, and took the crucifix with him, to impress his words of comfort all the more solemnly on the afflicted women whom he was called on to succour.<\/p>\n
Thus innocent of all suspicion of the conspiracy to which he had fallen a victim, he was taken into the room where Jean sat waiting by the cauldron of oil; and the door was locked behind him.<\/p>\n
Before he could speak, Thomas Siadoux openly avowed the truth.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is we three who want you,\u201d he said\u2014\u201dnot our aunt, and not our sister. If you answer our questions truly, you have nothing to fear. If you refuse\u2014\u2014\u201d He stopped, and looked toward Jean and the boiling cauldron.<\/p>\n
Never, at the best of times, a resolute man; deprived, since the day before, of such resources of energy as he possessed, by the mental suffering which he had undergone in secret\u2014the unfortunate priest trembled from head to foot, as the three brothers closed round him. Louis took the crucifix from him, and held it; Thomas forced him to place his right hand on it; Jean stood in front of him and put the questions.<\/p>\n
\u201cOur father has been brought home a murdered man,\u201d he said. \u201cDo you know who killed him?\u201d<\/p>\n
The priest hesitated; and the two elder brothers moved him nearer to the cauldron.
\u201cAnswer us, on peril of your life,\u201d said Jean. \u201cSay, with your hand on the blessed crucifix, do you know the man who killed our father?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI do know him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen did you make the discovery?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAt Toulouse.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cName the murderer.\u201d<\/p>\n
At those words, the priest closed his hand fast on the crucifix, and rallied his sinking courage.<\/p>\n
\u201cNever!\u201d he said firmly. \u201cThe knowledge I possess was obtained in the confessional. The secrets of the confessional are sacred. If I betray them, I commit sacrilege. I will die first!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThink!\u201d said Jean. \u201cIf you keep silence, you screen the murderer. If you keep silence, you are the murderer\u2019s accomplice. We have sworn over our father\u2019s dead body to avenge him\u2014if you refuse to speak, we will avenge him on you. I charge you again, name the man who killed him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI will die first,\u201d the priest reiterated, as firmly as before.<\/p>\n
\u201cDie then!\u201d said Jean. \u201cDie in that cauldron of boiling oil.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGive him time,\u201d cried Louis and Thomas, earnestly pleading together.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe will give him time,\u201d said the younger brother. \u201cThere is the clock yonder, against the wall. We will count five minutes by it. In those five minutes, let him make his peace with God\u2014or make up his mind to speak.\u201d<\/p>\n
They waited, watching the clock. In that dreadful interval, the priest dropped on his knees and hid his face. The time passed in dead silence.<\/p>\n
\u201cSpeak! for your own sake, for our sakes, speak!\u201d said Thomas Siadoux, as the minute hand reached the point at which the five minutes expired.<\/p>\n
The priest looked up\u2014his voice died away on his lips\u2014the mortal agony broke out on his face in great drops of sweat\u2014his head sank forward on his breast.<\/p>\n
\u201cLift him!\u201d cried Jean, seizing the priest on one side. \u201cLift him, and throw him in!\u201d<\/p>\n
The two elder brothers advanced a step\u2014and hesitated.<\/p>\n
\u201cLift him, on your oath over our father\u2019s body!\u201d<\/p>\n
The two brothers seized him on the other side. As they lifted him to a level with the cauldron, the horror of the death that threatened him, burst from the lips of the miserable man in a scream of terror. The brothers held him firm at the cauldron\u2019s edge. \u201cName the man!\u201d they said for the last time.<\/p>\n
The priest\u2019s teeth chattered\u2014he was speechless. But he made a sign with his head\u2014a sign in the affirmative. They placed him in a chair, and waited patiently until he was able to speak.
His first words were words of entreaty. He begged Thomas Siadoux to give him back the crucifix. When it was placed in his possession, he kissed it, and said faintly, \u201cI ask pardon of God for the sin that I am about to commit.\u201d He paused; and then looked up at the younger brother, who still stood in front of him. \u201cI am ready,\u201d he said. \u201cQuestion me, and I will answer.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jean repeated the questions which he had put, when the priest was first brought into the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know the murderer of our father?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSince when?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSince he made his confession to me yesterday, in the cathedral of Toulouse.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cName him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHis name is Cantegrel.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe man who wanted to marry our aunt?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe same.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat brought him to the confessional?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHis own remorse.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat were the motives for his crime?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere were reports against his character; and he discovered that your father had gone privately to Narbonne to make sure that they were true.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid our father make sure of their truth?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe did.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWould those discoveries have separated our aunt from Cantegrel if our father had lived to tell her of them?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey would. If your father had lived, he would have told your aunt that Cantegrel was married already; that he had deserted his wife at Narbonne; that she was living there with another man, under another name; and that she had herself confessed it in your father\u2019s presence.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere was the murder committed?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBetween Villefranche and this village. Cantegrel had followed your father to Narbonne; and had followed him back again to Villefranche. As far as that place, he travelled in company with others, both going and returning. Beyond Villefranche, he was left alone at the ford over the river. There Cantegrel drew the knife to kill him, before he reached home and told his news to your aunt.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow was the murder committed?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was committed while your father was watering his pony by the bank of the stream. Cantegrel stole on him from behind, and struck him as he was stooping over the saddle-bow.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is the truth, on your oath?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOn my oath, it is the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou may leave us.\u201d<\/p>\n
The priest rose from his chair without assistance. From the time when the terror of death had forced him to reveal the murderer\u2019s name, a great change had passed over him. He had given his answers with the immoveable calmness of a man on whose mind all human interests had lost their hold. He now left the room, strangely absorbed in himself; moving with the mechanical regularity of a sleep-walker; lost to all perception of things and persons about him. At the door he stopped\u2014woke, as it seemed, from the trance that possessed him\u2014and looked at the three brothers with a steady changeless sorrow, which they had never seen in him before, which they never afterwards forgot.<\/p>\n
\u201cI forgive you,\u201d he said, quietly and solemnly. \u201cPray for me, when my time comes.\u201d<\/p>\n
With those last words, he left them.<\/p>\n
IV. The End.
The night was far advanced; but the three brothers determined to set forth instantly for Toulouse, and to place their information in the magistrate\u2019s hands, before the morning dawned.<\/p>\n
Thus far, no suspicion had occurred to them of the terrible consequences which were to follow their night-interview with the priest. They were absolutely ignorant of the punishment to which a man in holy orders exposed himself, if he revealed the secrets of the confessional. No infliction of that punishment had been known in their neighbourhood\u2014for, at that time, as at this, the rarest of all priestly offences was a violation of the sacred trust confided to the confessor by the Roman Church. Conscious that they had forced the priest into the commission of a clerical offence, the brothers sincerely believed that the loss of his curacy would be the heaviest penalty which the law could exact from him. They entered Toulouse that night, discussing the atonement which they might offer to Monsieur Chaubard, and the means which they might best employ to make his future life easy to him.<\/p>\n
The first disclosure of the consequences which would certainly follow the outrage they had committed, was revealed to them when they made their deposition before the officer of justice. The magistrate listened to their narrative with horror vividly expressed in his face and manner.<\/p>\n
\u201cBetter you had never been born,\u201d he said, \u201cthan have avenged your father\u2019s death, as you three have avenged it. Your own act has doomed the guilty and the innocent to suffer alike.\u201d<\/p>\n
Those words proved prophetic of the truth. The end came quickly, as the priest had foreseen it, when he spoke his parting words.<\/p>\n
The arrest of Cantegrel was accomplished without difficulty, the next morning. In the absence of any other evidence on which to justify this proceeding, the private disclosure to the authorities of the secret which the priest had violated, became inevitable. The Parliament of Languedoc was, under these circumstances, the tribunal appealed to; and the decision of that assembly immediately ordered the priest and the three brothers to be placed in confinement, as well as the murderer Cantegrel. Evidence was then immediately sought for, which might convict this last criminal, without any reference to the revelation that had been forced from the priest\u2014and evidence enough was found to satisfy judges whose minds already possessed the foregone certainty of the prisoner\u2019s guilt. He was put on his trial, was convicted of the murder, and was condemned to be broken on the wheel. The sentence was rigidly executed, with as little delay as the law would permit.<\/p>\n
The cases of Monsieur Chaubard, and of the three sons of Siadoux, next occupied the judges. The three brothers were found guilty of having forced the secret of a confession from a man in holy orders, and were sentenced to death by hanging. A far more terrible expiation of his offence awaited the unfortunate priest. He was condemned to have his limbs broken on the wheel, and to be afterwards, while still living, bound to the stake, and destroyed by fire.<\/p>\n
Barbarous as the punishments of that period were, accustomed as the population was to hear of their infliction, and even to witness it, the sentences pronounced in these two cases dismayed the public mind; and the authorities were surprised by receiving petitions for mercy from Toulouse, and from all the surrounding neighbourhood. But the priest\u2019s doom had been sealed. All that could be obtained, by the intercession of persons of the highest distinction, was, that the executioner should grant him the mercy of death, before his body was committed to the flames. With this one modification, the sentence was executed, as the sentence had been pronounced, on the curate of Croix-Daurade.<\/p>\n
The punishment of the three sons of Siadoux remained to be inflicted. But the people, roused by the death of the ill-fated priest, rose against this third execution, with a resolution before which the local government gave way. The cause of the young men was taken up by the hot-blooded populace, as the cause of all fathers and all sons; their filial piety was exalted to the skies; their youth was pleaded in their behalf; their ignorance of the terrible responsibility which they had confronted in forcing the secret from the priest, was loudly alleged in their favour. More than this, the authorities were actually warned that the appearance of the prisoners on the scaffold would be the signal for an organised revolt and rescue. Under this serious pressure, the execution was deferred, and the prisoners were kept in confinement until the popular ferment had subsided.<\/p>\n
The delay not only saved their lives, it gave them back their liberty as well. The infection of the popular sympathy had penetrated through the prison doors. All three brothers were handsome, well-grown young men. The gentlest of the three in disposition\u2014Thomas Siadoux\u2014aroused the interest and won the affection of the head-gaoler\u2019s daughter. Her father was prevailed on at her intercession to relax a little in his customary vigilance; and the rest was accomplished by the girl herself. One morning, the population of Toulouse heard, with every testimony of the most extravagant rejoicing, that the three brothers had escaped, accompanied by the gaoler\u2019s daughter. As a necessary legal formality, they were pursued, but no extraordinary efforts were used to overtake them: and they succeeded, accordingly, in crossing the nearest frontier.<\/p>\n
Twenty days later, orders were received from the capital, to execute their sentence in effigy. They were then permitted to return to France, on condition that they never again appeared in their native place, or in any other part of the province of Languedoc. With this reservation they were left free to live where they pleased, and to repent the fatal act which had avenged them on the murderer of their father at the cost of the priest\u2019s life.<\/p>\n
Beyond this point the official documents do not enable us to follow their career. All that is now known has been now told of the village-tragedy at Croix-Daurade.<\/p>\n
Wilkie Collins Books to Read<\/h2>\n
<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a>
\nClick on the image to buy a copy<\/p>\nNarrated by Meridiculous, courtesy of Libravox. <\/p>\n
If you enjoyed The Cauldron of Oil by Wilkie Collins, check out An Italian Dream By Charles Dickens<\/a><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"The Cauldron of Oil by Wilkie Collins appeared in the collection My Miscellanies Vol II published in 1863. This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you. The Cauldron of Oil by Wilkie Collins The Cauldron of Oil by Wilkie Collins This post may contain affiliate links […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":0,"featured_media":574,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-573","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-bookreviews"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/573"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=573"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/573\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/574"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=573"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=573"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=573"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}