CELEBRATED CRIMES, COMPLETE

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS, PERE

IN EIGHT VOLUMES

MARTIN GUERRE

We are sometimes astonished at the striking resemblance existing betweentwo persons who are absolute strangers to each other, but in fact itis the opposite which ought to surprise us. Indeed, why should we notrather admire a Creative Power so infinite in its variety that it neverceases to produce entirely different combinations with precisely thesame elements? The more one considers this prodigious versatility ofform, the more overwhelming it appears. 

To begin with, each nation has its own distinct and characteristictype, separating it from other races of men. Thus there are the English, Spanish, German, or Slavonic types; again, in each nation we findfamilies distinguished from each other by less general but stillwell-pronounced features; and lastly, the individuals of each family, differing again in more or less marked gradations. What a multitude ofphysiognomies! What variety of impression from the innumerable stampsof the human countenance! What millions of models and no copies!Considering this ever changing spectacle, which ought to inspire us withmost astonishment--the perpetual difference of faces or the accidentalresemblance of a few individuals? Is it impossible that in the wholewide world there should be found by chance two people whose featuresare cast in one and the same mould? Certainly not; therefore that whichought to surprise us is not that these duplicates exist here and thereupon the earth, but that they are to be met with in the same place, and appear together before our eyes, little accustomed to see suchresemblances. From Amphitryon down to our own days, many fables haveowed their origin to this fact, and history also has provided a fewexamples, such as the false Demetrius in Russia, the English PerkinWarbeck, and several other celebrated impostors, whilst the story we nowpresent to our readers is no less curious and strange. 

On the 10th of, August 1557, an inauspicious day in the history ofFrance, the roar of cannon was still heard at six in the evening in theplains of St. Quentin; where the French army had just been destroyed bythe united troops of England and Spain, commanded by the famous CaptainEmanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy. An utterly beaten infantry, theConstable Montmorency and several generals taken prisoner, the Duked'Enghien mortally wounded, the flower of the nobility cut down likegrass, --such were the terrible results of a battle which plunged Franceinto mourning, and which would have been a blot on the reign of HenryII, had not the Duke of Guise obtained a brilliant revenge the followingyear. 

In a little village less than a mile from the field of battle were to beheard the groans of the wounded and dying, who had been carried thitherfrom the field of battle. The inhabitants had given up their houses tobe used as hospitals, and two or three barber surgeons went hitherand thither, hastily ordering operations which they left to theirassistants, and driving out fugitives who had contrived to accompany thewounded under pretence of assisting friends or near relations. They hadalready expelled a good number of these poor fellows, when, opening thedoor of a small room, they found a soldier soaked in blood lying ona rough mat, and another soldier apparently attending on him with theutmost care. 

"Who are you?" said one of the surgeons to the sufferer. "I don't thinkyou belong to our French troops. "

"Help!" cried the soldier, "only help me! and may God bless you for it!"

"From the colour of that tunic, " remarked the other surgeon, "I shouldwager the rascal belongs to some Spanish gentleman. By what blunder washe brought here?"

"For pity's sake!" murmured the poor fellow, "I am in such pain. "

"Die, wretch!" responded the last speaker, pushing him with his foot. "Die, like the dog you are!"

But this brutality, answered as it was by an agonised groan, disgustedthe other surgeon. 

"After all, he is a man, and a wounded man who implores help. Leave himto me, Rene. "

Rene went out grumbling, and the one who remained proceeded to examinethe wound. A terrible arquebus-shot had passed through the leg, shattering the bone: amputation was absolutely necessary. 

Before proceeding to the operation, the surgeon turned to the othersoldier, who had retired into the darkest corner of the room. 

"And you, who may you be?" he asked. 

The man replied by coming forward into the light: no other answer wasneeded. He resembled his companion so closely that no one could doubtthey were brothers-twin brothers, probably. Both were above middleheight; both had olive-brown complexions, black eyes, hookednoses, pointed chins, a slightly projecting lower lip; both wereround-shouldered, though this defect did not amount to disfigurement:the whole personality suggested strength, and was not destitute ofmasculine beauty. So strong a likeness is hardly ever seen; even theirages appeared to agree, for one would not have supposed either to bemore than thirty-two; and the only difference noticeable, besides thepale countenance of the wounded man, was that he was thin as comparedwith the moderate fleshiness of the other, also that he had a large scarover the right eyebrow. 

"Look well after your brother's soul, " said the surgeon to the soldier, who remained standing; "if it is in no better case than his body, it ismuch to be pitied. "

"Is there no hope?" inquired the Sosia of the wounded man. 

"The wound is too large and too deep, " replied the man of science, "to be cauterised with boiling oil, according to the ancient method. 'Delenda est causa mali, ' the source of evil must be destroyed, as saysthe learned Ambrose Pare; I ought therefore 'secareferro, '--that is tosay, take off the leg. May God grant that he survive the operation!"

While seeking his instruments, he looked the supposed brother full inthe face, and added--

"But how is it that you are carrying muskets in opposing armies, forI see that you belong to us, while this poor fellow wears Spanishuniform?"

"Oh, that would be a long story to tell, " replied the soldier, shakinghis head. "As for me, I followed the career which was open to me, andtook service of my own free will under the banner of our lord king, Henry II. This man, whom you rightly suppose to be my brother, wasborn in Biscay, and became attached to the household of the Cardinal ofBurgos, and afterwards to the cardinal's brother, whom he was obliged tofollow to the war. I recognised him on the battle-field just as he fell;I dragged him out of a heap of dead, and brought him here. "

During his recital this individual's features betrayed considerableagitation, but the surgeon did not heed it. Not finding some necessaryinstruments, "My colleague, " he exclaimed, "must have carried them off. He constantly does this, out of jealousy of my reputation; but I will beeven with him yet! Such splendid instruments! They will almost work ofthemselves, and are capable of imparting some skill even to him, dunceas he is!. . . I shall be back in an hour or two; he must rest, sleep, have nothing to excite him, nothing to inflame the wound; and when theoperation is well over, we shall see! May the Lord be gracious to him!"

Then he went to the door, leaving the poor wretch to the care of hissupposed brother. 

"My God!" he added, shaking his head, "if he survive, it will be by thehelp of a miracle. "

Scarcely had he left the room, when the unwounded soldier carefullyexamined the features of the wounded one. 

"Yes, " he murmured between his teeth, "they were right in saying that myexact double was to be found in the hostile army. . . . Truly one would notknow us apart!. . . I might be surveying myself in a mirror. I did well tolook for him in the rear of the Spanish army, and, thanks to the fellowwho rolled him over so conveniently with that arquebus-shot; I was ableto escape the dangers of the melee by carrying him out of it. "

"But that's not all, " he thought, still carefully studying the torturedface of the unhappy sufferer; "it is not enough to have got out of that. I have absolutely nothing in the world, no home, no resources. Beggar bybirth, adventurer by fortune, I have enlisted, and have consumed my pay;I hoped for plunder, and here we are in full flight! What am I to do? Goand drown myself? No, certainly a cannon-ball would be as good as that. But can't I profit by this chance, and obtain a decent position byturning to my own advantage this curious resemblance, and making someuse of this man whom Fate has thrown in my way, and who has but a shorttime to live?"

Arguing thus, he bent over the prostrate man with a cynical laugh: onemight have thought he was Satan watching the departure of a soul tooutterly lost to escape him. 

"Alas! alas!" cried the sufferer; "may God have mercy on me! I feel myend is near. "

"Bah! comrade, drive away these dismal thoughts. Your leg painsyou--well they will cut it off! Think only of the other one, and trustin Providence!"

"Water, a drop of water, for Heaven's sake!" The sufferer was in a highfever. The would-be nurse looked round and saw a jug of water, towardswhich the dying man extended a trembling hand. A truly infernal ideaentered his mind. He poured some water into a gourd which hung from hisbelt, held it to the lips of the wounded man, and then withdrew it. 

"Oh! I thirst-that water!. . . For pity's sake, give me some!"

"Yes, but on one condition you must tell me your whole history. "

"Yes. . . But give me water!"

His tormentor allowed him to swallow a mouthful, then overwhelmed himwith questions as to his family, his friends and fortune, and compelledhim to answer by keeping before his eyes the water which alone couldrelieve the fever which devoured him. After this often interruptedinterrogation, the sufferer sank back exhausted, and almost insensible. But, not yet satisfied, his companion conceived the idea of reviving himwith a few drops of brandy, which quickly brought back the fever, andexcited his brain sufficiently to enable him to answer fresh questions. The doses of spirit were doubled several times, at the risk of endingthe unhappy man's days then and there: Almost delirious, his headfeeling as if on fire, his sufferings gave way to a feverish excitement, which took him back to other places and other times: he began to recallthe days of his youth and the country where he lived. But his tongue wasstill fettered by a kind of reserve: his secret thoughts, the privatedetails of his past life were not yet told, and it seemed as though hemight die at any moment. Time was passing, night already coming on, and it occurred to the merciless questioner to profit by the gatheringdarkness. By a few solemn words he aroused the religious feelings of thesufferer, terrified him by speaking of the punishments of another lifeand the flames of hell, until to the delirious fancy of the sick manhe took the form of a judge who could either deliver him to eternaldamnation or open the gates of heaven to him. At length, overwhelmed bya voice which resounded in his ear like that of a minister of God, thedying man laid bare his inmost soul before his tormentor, and made hislast confession to him. 

Yet a few moments, and the executioner--he deserves no other name--hangsover his victim, opens his tunic, seizes some papers and a few coins, half draws his dagger, but thinks better of it; then, contemptuouslyspurning the victim, as the other surgeon had done--

"I might kill you, " he says, "but it would be a useless murder; it wouldonly be hastening your last Sigh by an hour or two, and advancing myclaims to your inheritance by the same space of time. "

And he adds mockingly:--

"Farewell, my brother!"

The wounded soldier utters a feeble groan; the adventurer leaves theroom. 

Four months later, a woman sat at the door of a house at one end of thevillage of Artigues, near Rieux, and played with a child about nine orten years of age. Still young, she had the brown complexion of Southernwomen, and her beautiful black hair fell in curls about her face. Herflashing eyes occasionally betrayed hidden passions, concealed, however, beneath an apparent indifference and lassitude, and her wasted formseemed to acknowledge the existence of some secret grief. An observerwould have divined a shattered life, a withered happiness, a soulgrievously wounded. 

Her dress was that of a wealthy peasant; and she wore one of the longgowns with hanging sleeves which were in fashion in the sixteenthcentury. The house in front of which she sat belonged to her, so alsothe immense field which adjoined the garden. Her attention was dividedbetween the play of her son and the orders she was giving to an oldservant, when an exclamation from the child startled her. 

"Mother!" he cried, "mother, there he is!"

She looked where the child pointed, and saw a young boy turning thecorner of the street. 

"Yes, " continued the child, "that is the lad who, when I was playingwith the other boys yesterday, called me all sorts of bad names. "

"What sort of names, my child?"

"There was one I did not understand, but it must have been a very badone, for the other boys all pointed at me, and left me alone. He calledme--and he said it was only what his mother had told him--he called me awicked bastard!"

His mother's face became purple with indignation. "What!" she cried, "they dared!. . . What an insult!"

"What does this bad word mean, mother?" asked the child, half frightenedby her anger. "Is that what they call poor children who have no father?"

His mother folded him in her arms. "Oh!" she continued, "it is aninfamous slander! These people never saw your father, they have onlybeen here six years, and this is the eighth since he went away, but thisis abominable! We were married in that church, we came at once to livein this house, which was my marriage portion, and my poor Martin hasrelations and friends here who will not allow his wife to be insulted--"

"Say rather, his widow, " interrupted a solemn voice. 

"Ah! uncle!" exclaimed the woman, turning towards an old man who hadjust emerged from the house. 

"Yes, Bertrande, " continued the new-comer, "you must get reconciled tothe idea that my nephew has ceased to exist. I am sure he was not such afool as to have remained all this time without letting us hear from him. He was not the fellow to go off at a tangent, on account of a domesticquarrel which you have never vouchsafed to explain to me, and to retainhis anger during all these eight years! Where did he go? What did he do?We none of us know, neither you nor I, nor anybody else. He is assuredlydead, and lies in some graveyard far enough from here. May God havemercy on his soul!"

Bertrande, weeping, made the sign of the cross, and bowed her head uponher hands. 

"Good-bye, Sanxi, " said the uncle, tapping the child's, ' cheek. Sanxiturned sulkily away. 

There was certainly nothing specially attractive about the uncle: hebelonged to a type which children instinctively dislike, false, crafty, with squinting eyes which continually appeared to contradict his honeyedtongue. 

"Bertrande, " he said, "your boy is like his father before him, and onlyanswers my kindness with rudeness. "

"Forgive him, " answered the mother; "he is very young, and does notunderstand the respect due to his father's uncle. I will teach himbetter things; he will soon learn that he ought to be grateful for thecare you have taken of his little property. "

"No doubt, no doubt, " said the uncle, trying hard to smile. "I will giveyou a good account of it, for I shall only have to reckon with you twoin future. Come, my dear, believe me, your husband is really dead, andyou have sorrowed quite enough for a good-for-nothing fellow. Think nomore of him. "

So saying, he departed, leaving the poor young woman a prey to thesaddest thoughts. 

Bertrande de Rolls, naturally gifted with extreme sensibility, on whicha careful education had imposed due restraint, had barely completed hertwelfth year when she was married to Martin Guerre, a boy of about thesame age, such precocious unions being then not uncommon, especially inthe Southern provinces. They were generally settled by considerations offamily interest, assisted by the extremely early development habitualto the climate. The young couple lived for a long time as brother andsister, and Bertrande, thus early familiar with the idea of domestichappiness, bestowed her whole affection on the youth whom she had beentaught to regard as her life's companion. He was the Alpha and Omega ofher existence; all her love, all her thoughts, were given to him, andwhen their marriage was at length completed, the birth of a son seemedonly another link in the already long existing bond of union. But, asmany wise men have remarked, a uniform happiness, which only attacheswomen more and more, has often upon men a precisely contrary effect, andso it was with Martin Guerre. Of a lively and excitable temperament, hewearied of a yoke which had been imposed so early, and, anxious tosee the world and enjoy some freedom, he one day took advantage ofa domestic difference, in which Bertrande owned herself to have beenwrong, and left his house and family. He was sought and awaited in vain. Bertrande spent the first month in vainly expecting his return, then shebetook herself to prayer; but Heaven appeared deaf to her supplications, the truant returned not. She wished to go in search of him, but theworld is wide, and no single trace remained to guide her. What torturefor a tender heart! What suffering for a soul thirsting for love! Whatsleepless nights! What restless vigils! Years passed thus; her son wasgrowing up, yet not a word reached her from the man she loved so much. She spoke often of him to the uncomprehending child, she sought todiscover his features in those of her boy, but though she endeavoured toconcentrate her whole affection on her son, she realised that there issuffering which maternal love cannot console, and tears which it cannotdry. Consumed by the strength of the sorrow which ever dwelt in herheart, the poor woman was slowly wasting, worn out by the regrets of thepast, the vain desires of the present, and the dreary prospect of thefuture. And now she had been openly insulted, her feelings as a motherwounded to the quirk; and her husband's uncle, instead of defending andconsoling her, could give only cold counsel and unsympathetic words!

Pierre Guerre, indeed, was simply a thorough egotist. In his youth hehad been charged with usury; no one knew by what means he had becomerich, for the little drapery trade which he called his profession didnot appear to be very profitable. 

After his nephew's departure it seemed only natural that he should poseas the family guardian, and he applied himself to the task of increasingthe little income, but without considering himself bound to give anyaccount to Bertrande. So, once persuaded that Martin was no more, hewas apparently not unwilling to prolong a situation so much to his ownadvantage. 

Night was fast coming on; in the dim twilight distant objects becameconfused and indistinct. It was the end of autumn, that melancholyseason which suggests so many gloomy thoughts and recalls so manyblighted hopes. The child had gone into the house. Bertrande, stillsitting at the door, resting her forehead on her hand, thought sadly ofher uncle's words; recalling in imagination the past scenes which theysuggested, the time of their childhood, when, married so young, theywere as yet only playmates, prefacing the graver duties of life byinnocent pleasures; then of the love which grew with their increasingage; then of how this love became altered, changing on her side intopassion, on his into indifference. She tried to recollect him as he hadbeen on the eve of his departure, young and handsome, carrying his headhigh, coming home from a fatiguing hunt and sitting by his son's cradle;and then also she remembered bitterly the jealous suspicions she hadconceived, the anger with which she had allowed them to escape her, the consequent quarrel, followed by the disappearance of her offendedhusband, and the eight succeeding years of solitude and mourning. Shewept over his desertion; over the desolation of her life, seeing aroundher only indifferent or selfish people, and caring only to live for herchild's sake, who gave her at least a shadowy reflection of the husbandshe had lost. "Lost--yes, lost for ever!" she said to herself, sighing, and looking again at the fields whence she had so often seen him comingat this same twilight hour, returning to his home for the evening meal. She cast a wandering eye on the distant hills, which showed a blackoutline against a yet fiery western sky, then let it fall on a littlegrove of olive trees planted on the farther side of the brook whichskirted her dwelling. Everything was calm; approaching night broughtsilence along with darkness: it was exactly what she saw every evening, but to leave which required always an effort. 

She rose to re-enter the house, when her attention was caught by amovement amongst the trees. For a moment she thought she was mistaken, but the branches again rustled, then parted asunder, and the form of aman appeared on the other side of the brook. Terrified, Bertrande triedto scream, but not a sound escaped her lips; her voice seemed paralyzedby terror, as in an evil dream. And she almost thought it was a dream, for notwithstanding the dark shadows cast around this indistinctsemblance, she seemed to recognise features once dear to her. Had herbitter reveries ended by making her the victim of a hallucination? Shethought her brain was giving way, and sank on her knees to pray forhelp. But the figure remained; it stood motionless, with folded arms, silently gazing at her! Then she thought of witchcraft, of evil demons, and superstitious as every one was in those days, she kissed a crucifixwhich hung from her neck, and fell fainting on the ground. With onespring the phantom crossed the brook and stood beside her. 

"Bertrande!" it said in a voice of emotion. She raised her head, uttereda piercing cry, and was clasped in her husband's arms. 

The whole village became aware of this event that same evening. The neighbours crowded round Bertrande's door, Martin's friendsand relations naturally wishing to see him after this miraculousreappearance, while those who had never known him desired no less togratify their curiosity; so that the hero of the little drama, insteadof remaining quietly at home with his wife, was obliged to exhibithimself publicly in a neighbouring barn. His four sisters burstthrough the crowd and fell on his neck weeping; his uncle examined himdoubtfully at first, then extended his arms. Everybody recognised him, beginning with the old servant Margherite, who had been with the youngcouple ever since their wedding-day. People observed only that a riperage had strengthened his features, and given more character to hiscountenance and more development to his powerful figure; also that hehad a scar over the right eyebrow, and that he limped slightly. Thesewere the marks of wounds he had received, he said; which now no longertroubled him. He appeared anxious to return to his wife and child, butthe crowd insisted on hearing the story of his adventures during hisvoluntary absence, and he was obliged to satisfy them. Eight years ago, he said, the desire to see more of the world had gained an irresistiblemastery over him; he yielded to it, and departed secretly. A naturallonging took him to his birthplace in Biscay, where he had seen hissurviving relatives. There he met the Cardinal of Burgos, who took himinto his service, promising him profit, hard knocks to give and take, and plenty of adventure. Some time after, he left the cardinal'shousehold for that of his brother, who, much against his will, compelledhim to follow him to the war and bear arms against the French. Thushe found himself on the Spanish side on the day of St. Quentin, andreceived a terrible gun-shot wound in the leg. Being carried into ahouse a an adjoining village, he fell into the hands of a surgeon, whoinsisted that the leg must be amputated immediately, but who left himfor a moment, and never returned. Then he encountered a good old woman, who dressed his wound and nursed him night and day. So that in a fewweeks he recovered, and was able to set out for Artigues, too thankfulto return to his house and land, still more to his wife and child, andfully resolved never to leave them again. 

Having ended his story, he shook hands with his still wonderingneighbours, addressing by name some who had been very young when heleft, and who, hearing their names, came forward now as grown men, hardly recognisable, but much pleased at being remembered. He returnedhis sisters' caresses, begged his uncle's forgiveness for thetrouble he had given in his boyhood, recalling with mirth the variouscorrections received. He mentioned also an Augustinian monk who hadtaught him to read, and another reverend father, a Capuchin, whoseirregular conduct had caused much scandal in the neighbourhood. Inshort, notwithstanding his prolonged absence, he seemed to have aperfect recollection of places, persons, and things. The good peopleoverwhelmed him with congratulations, vying with one another in praisinghim for having the good sense to come home, and in describing the griefand the perfect virtue of his Bertrande. Emotion was excited, many wept, and several bottles from Martin Guerre's cellar were emptied. Atlength the assembly dispersed, uttering many exclamations about theextraordinary chances of Fate, and retired to their own homes, excited, astonished, and gratified, with the one exception of old Pierre Guerre, who had been struck by an unsatisfactory remark made by his nephew, andwho dreamed all night about the chances of pecuniary loss augured by thelatter's return. 

It was midnight before the husband and wife were alone and able to givevent to their feelings. Bertrande still felt half stupefied; she couldnot believe her own eyes and ears, nor realise that she saw again in hermarriage chamber her husband of eight years ago, him for whom she hadwept; whose death she had deplored only a few hours previously. In thesudden shock caused by so much joy succeeding so much grief, she had notbeen able to express what she felt; her confused ideas were difficult toexplain, and she seemed deprived of the powers of speech and reflection. When she became calmer and more capable of analysing her feelings, shewas astonished not to feel towards her husband the same affection whichhad moved her so strongly a few hours before. It was certainly himself, those were the same features, that was the man to whom she had willinglygiven her hand, her heart, herself, and yet now that she saw him again acold barrier of shyness, of modesty, seemed to have risen between them. His first kiss, even, had not made her happy: she blushed and feltsaddened--a curious result of the long absence! She could not definethe changes wrought by years in his appearance: his countenanceseemed harsher, yet the lines of his face, his outer man, his wholepersonality, did not seem altered, but his soul had changed its nature, a different mind looked forth from those eyes. Bertrande knew him forher husband, and yet she hesitated. Even so Penelope, on the return ofUlysses, required a certain proof to confirm the evidence of her eyes, and her long absent husband had to remind her of secrets known only toherself. 

Martin, however, as if he understood Bertrande's feeling and divinedsome secret mistrust, used the most tender and affectionate phrases, andeven the very pet names which close intimacy had formerly endeared tothem. 

"My queen, " he said, "my beautiful dove, can you not lay aside yourresentment? Is it still so strong that no submission can soften it?Cannot my repentance find grace in your eyes? My Bertrande, my Bertha, my Bertranilla, as I used to call you. "

She tried to smile, but stopped short, puzzled; the names were the verysame, but the inflexion of voice quite different. 

Martin took her hands in his. "What pretty hands! Do you still wear myring? Yes, here it is, and with it the sapphire ring I gave you the daySanxi was born. "

Bertrande did not answer, but she took the child and placed him in hisfather's arms. 

Martin showered caresses on his son, and spoke of the time when hecarried him as a baby in the garden, lifting him up to the fruit trees, so that he could reach and try to bite the fruit. He recollected one daywhen the poor child got his leg terribly torn by thorns, and convincedhimself, not without emotion, that the scar could still be seen. 

Bertrande was touched by this display of affectionate recollections, andfelt vexed at her own coldness. She came up to Martin and laid her handin his. He said gently--

"My departure caused you great grief: I now repent what I did. But I wasyoung, I was proud, and your reproaches were unjust. "

"Ah, " said she, "you have not forgotten the cause of our quarrel?"

"It was little Rose, our neighbour, whom you said I was making loveto, because you found us together at the spring in the little wood. I explained that we met only by chance, --besides, she was only achild, --but you would not listen, and in your anger--"

"Ah! forgive me, Martin, forgive me!" she interrupted, in confusion. 

"In your blind anger you took up, I know not what, something which layhandy, and flung it at me. And here is the mark, " he continued, smiling, "this scar, which is still to be seen. "

"Oh, Martin!" Bertrande exclaimed, "can you ever forgive me?"

"As you see, " Martin replied, kissing her tenderly. 

Much moved, Bertrande swept aside his hair, and looked at the scarvisible on his forehead. 

"But, " she said, with surprise not free from alarm, "this scar seems tome like a fresh one. "

"Ah!" Martin explained, with a little embarrassment; "it reopenedlately. But I had thought no more about it. Let us forget it, Bertrande;I should not like a recollection which might make you think yourselfless dear to me than you once were. "

And he drew her upon his knee. She repelled him gently. 

"Send the child to bed, " said Martin. "Tomorrow shall be for him;to-night you have the first place, Bertrande, you only. "

The boy kissed his father and went. 

Bertrande came and knelt beside her husband, regarding him attentivelywith an uneasy smile, which did not appear to please him by any means. 

"What is the matter?" said he. "Why do you examine me thus?"

"I do not know--forgive me, oh! forgive me!. . . But the happiness ofseeing you was so great and unexpected, it is all like a dream. I musttry to become accustomed to it; give me some time to collect myself;let me spend this night in prayer. I ought to offer my joy and mythanksgiving to Almighty God--"

"Not so, " interrupted her husband, passing his arms round her neck andstroking her beautiful hair. "No; 'tis to me that your first thoughtsare due. After so much weariness, my rest is in again beholding you, andmy happiness after so many trials will be found in your love. That hopehas supported me throughout, and I long to be assured that it is noillusion. " So saying, he endeavoured to raise her. 

"Oh, " she murmured, "I pray you leave me. "

"What!" he exclaimed angrily. "Bertrande, is this your love? Is it thusyou keep faith with me? You will make me doubt the evidence of yourfriends; you will make me think that indifference, or even anotherlove----"

"You insult me, " said Bertrande, rising to her feet. 

He caught her in his arms. "No, no; I think nothing which could woundyou, my queen, and I believe your fidelity, even as before, you know, onthat first journey, when you wrote me these loving letters which I havetreasured ever since. Here they are. " And he drew forth some papers, onwhich Bertrande recognised her own handwriting. "Yes, " he continued, "Ihave read and--re-read them. . . . See, you spoke then of your love and thesorrows of absence. But why all this trouble and terror? You tremble, just as you did when I first received you from your father's hands. . . . It was here, in this very room. . . . You begged me then to leave you, tolet you spend the night in prayer; but I insisted, do you remember? andpressed you to my heart, as I do now. "

"Oh, " she murmured weakly, "have pity!"

But the words were intercepted by a kiss, and the remembrance of thepast, the happiness of the present, resumed their sway; the imaginaryterrors were forgotten, and the curtains closed around the marriage-bed. 

The next day was a festival in the village of Artigues. Martin returnedthe visits of all who had come to welcome him the previous night, andthere were endless recognitions and embracings. The young men rememberedthat he had played with them when they were little; the old men, thatthey had been at his wedding when he was only twelve. 

The women remembered having envied Bertrande, especially the prettyRose, daughter of Marcel, the apothecary, she who had roused the demonof jealousy in, the poor wife's heart. And Rose knew quite well thatthe jealousy was not without some cause; for Martin had indeed shown herattention, and she was unable to see him again without emotion. Shewas now the wife of a rich peasant, ugly, old, and jealous, and shecompared, sighing, her unhappy lot with that of her more fortunateneighbour. Martin's sisters detained him amongst them, and spoke oftheir childish games and of their parents, both dead in Biscay. Martindried the tears which flowed at these recollections of the past, andturned their thoughts to rejoicing. Banquets were given and received. Martin invited all his relations and former friends; an easy gaietyprevailed. It was remarked that the hero of the feast refrained fromwine; he was thereupon reproached, but answered that on account of thewounds he had received he was obliged to avoid excess. The excuse wasadmitted, the result of Martin's precautions being that he kept a clearhead on his shoulders, while all the rest had their tongues loosed bydrunkenness. 

"Ah!" exclaimed one of the guests, who had studied a little medicine, "Martin is quite right to be afraid of drink. Wounds which havethoroughly healed may be reopened and inflamed by intemperance, andwine in the case of recent wounds is deadly poison. Men have died on thefield of battle in an hour or two merely because they had swallowed alittle brandy. "

Martin Guerre grew pale, and began a conversation with the pretty Rose, his neighbour. Bertrande observed this, but without uneasiness; she hadsuffered too much from her former suspicions, besides her husband showedher so much affection that she was now quite happy. 

When the first few days were over, Martin began to look into hisaffairs. His property had suffered by his long absence, and he wasobliged to go to Biscay to claim his little estate there, the law havingalready laid hands upon it. It was several months before, by dint ofmaking judicious sacrifices, he could regain possession of the house andfields which had belonged to his father. This at last accomplished, hereturned to Artigues, in order to resume the management of his wife'sproperty, and with this end in view, about eleven months after hisreturn, he paid a visit to his uncle Pierre. 

Pierre was expecting him; he was extremely polite, desired Martin, tosit down, overwhelmed him with compliments, knitting his brows ashe discovered that his nephew decidedly meant business. Martin brokesilence. 

"Uncle, " he said, "I come to thank you for the care you have taken ofmy wife's property; she could never have managed it alone. You havereceived the income in the family interest: as a good guardian, Iexpected no less from your affection. But now that I have returned, andam free from other cares, we will go over the accounts, if you please. "

His uncle coughed and cleared his voice before replying, then saidslowly, as if counting his words--

"It is all accounted for, my dear nephew; Heaven be praised! I don't oweyou anything. "

"What!" exclaimed the astonished Martin, "but the whole income?"

"Was well and properly employed in the maintenance of your wife andchild. "

"What! a thousand livres for that? And Bertrande lived alone, so quietlyand simply! Nonsense! it is impossible. "

"Any surplus, " resumed the old man, quite unmoved, --"any surplus went topay the expenses of seed-time and harvest. "

"What! at a time when labour costs next to nothing?"

"Here is the account, " said Pierre. 

"Then the account is a false one, " returned his nephew. 

Pierre thought it advisable to appear extremely offended and angry, andMartin, exasperated at his evident dishonesty, took still higher ground, and threatened to bring an action against him. Pierre ordered him toleave the house, and suiting actions to words, took hold of his arm toenforce his departure. Martin, furious, turned and raised his fist tostrike. 

"What! strike your uncle, wretched boy!" exclaimed the old man. 

Martin's hand dropped, but he left the house uttering reproaches andinsults, among which Pierre distinguished--

"Cheat that you are!"

"That is a word I shall remember, " cried the angry old man, slamming hisdoor violently. 

Martin brought an action before the judge at Rieux, and in course oftime obtained a decree, which, reviewing the accounts presented byPierre, disallowed them, and condemned the dishonest guardian to pay hisnephew four hundred livres for each year of his administration. The dayon which this sum had to be disbursed from his strong box the old usurervowed vengeance, but until he could gratify his hatred he was forced toconceal it, and to receive attempts at reconciliation with a friendlysmile. It was not until six months later, on the occasion of a joyousfestivity, that Martin again set foot in his uncle's house. The bellswere ringing for the birth of a child, there was great gaiety atBertrande's house, where all the guests were waiting on the thresholdfor the godfather in order to take the infant to church, and when Martinappeared, escorting his uncle, who was adorned with a huge bouquet forthe occasion, and who now came forward and took the hand of Rose, thepretty godmother, there were cries of joy on all sides. Bertrande wasdelighted at this reconciliation, and dreamed only of happiness. She wasso happy now, her long sorrow was atoned for, her regret was at an end, her prayers seemed to have been heard, the long interval between theformer delights and the present seemed wiped out as if the bond of unionhad never been broken, and if she remembered her grief at all, it wasonly to intensify the new joys by comparison. She loved her husband morethan ever; he was full of affection for her, and she was grateful forhis love. The past had now no shadow, the future no cloud, and the birthof a daughter, drawing still closer the links which united them, seemeda new pledge of felicity. Alas! the horizon which appeared so bright andclear to the poor woman was doomed soon again to be overcast. 

The very evening of the christening party, a band of musicians andjugglers happened to pass through the village, and the inhabitantsshowed themselves liberal. Pierre asked questions, and found that theleader of the band was a Spaniard. He invited the man to his own house, and remained closeted with him for nearly an hour, dismissing him atlength with a refilled purse. Two days later the old man announced tothe family that he was going to Picardy to see a former partner on amatter of business, and he departed accordingly, saying he should returnbefore long. 

The day on which Bertrande again saw her uncle was, indeed, a terribleone. She was sitting by the cradle of the lately-born infant, watchingfor its awakening, when the door opened, and Pierre Guerre strode in. Bertrande drew back with an instinct of terror as soon as she saw him, for his expression was at once wicked and joyful--an expression ofgratified hate, of mingled rage and triumph, and his smile was terribleto behold. She did not venture to speak, but motioned him to a seat. Hecame straight up to her, and raising his head, said loudly--

"Kneel down at once, madame--kneel down, and ask pardon from AlmightyGod!"

"Are you mad, Pierre?" she replied, gazing at him in astonishment. 

"You, at least, ought to know that I am not. "

"Pray for forgiveness--I--! and what for, in Heaven's name?"

"For the crime in which you are an accomplice. "

"Please explain yourself. "

"Oh!" said Pierre, with bitter irony, "a woman always thinks herselfinnocent as long as her sin is hidden; she thinks the truth will neverbe known, and her conscience goes quietly to sleep, forgetting herfaults. Here is a woman who thought her sins nicely concealed; chancefavoured her: an absent husband, probably no more; another man soexactly like him in height, face, and manner that everyone else isdeceived! Is it strange that a weak, sensitive woman, wearied ofwidowhood, should willingly allow herself to be imposed on?"

Bertrande listened without understanding; she tried to interrupt, butPierre went on--

"It was easy to accept this stranger without having to blush for it, easy to give him the name and the rights of a husband! She could evenappear faithful while really guilty; she could seem constant, thoughreally fickle; and she could, under a veil of mystery, at once reconcileher honour, her duty--perhaps even her love. "

"What on earth do you mean?" cried Bertrande, wringing her hands interror. 

"That you are countenancing an impostor who is not your husband. "

Feeling as if the ground were passing from beneath her, Bertrandestaggered, and caught at the nearest piece of furniture to saveherself from falling; then, collecting all her strength to meet thisextraordinary attack, she faced the old man. 

"What! my husband, your nephew, an impostor!"

"Don't you know it?" "I!!"

This cry, which came from her heart, convinced Pierre that she did notknow, and that she had sustained a terrible shock. He continued morequietly--

"What, Bertrande, is it possible you were really deceived?"

"Pierre, you are killing me; your words are torture. No more mystery, I entreat. What do you know? What do you suspect? Tell me plainly atonce. "

"Have you courage to hear it?"

"I must, " said the trembling woman. 

"God is my witness that I would willingly have kept it from you, but youmust know; if only for the safety of your soul entangled in so deadlya snare. . . There is yet time, if you follow my advice. Listen: the manwith whom you are living, who dares to call himself Martin Guerre, is acheat, an impostor----"

"How dare you say so?"

"Because I have discovered it. Yes, I had always a vague suspicion, anuneasy feeling, and in spite of the marvellous resemblance I could neverfeel as if he were really my sister's child. The day he raised hishand to strike me--yes, that day I condemned him utterly. . . . Chance hasjustified me! A wandering Spaniard, an old soldier, who spent a night inthe village here, was also present at the battle of St. Quentin, andsaw Martin Guerre receive a terrible gunshot wound in the leg. After thebattle, being wounded, he betook himself to the neighbouring village, and distinctly heard a surgeon in the next room say that a woundedman must have his leg amputated, and would very likely not survive theoperation. The door opened, he saw the sufferer, and knew him for MartinGuerre. So much the Spaniard told me. Acting on this information, Iwent on pretence of business to the village he named, I questioned theinhabitants, and this is what I learned. "

"Well?" said Bertrande, pale, and gasping with emotion. 

"I learned that the wounded man had his leg taken off, and, as thesurgeon predicted, he must have died in a few hours, for he was neverseen again. "

Bertrande remained a few moments as if annihilated by this appallingrevelation; then, endeavoring to repel the horrible thought--

"No, " she cried, "no, it is impossible! It is a lie intended to ruinhim-to ruin us all. "

"What! you do not believe me?"

"No, never, never!"

"Say rather you pretend to disbelieve me: the truth has pierced yourheart, but you wish to deny it. Think, however, of the danger to yourimmortal soul. "

"Silence, wretched man!. . . No, God would not send me so terrible atrial. What proof can you show of the truth of your words?"

"The witnesses I have mentioned. "

"Nothing more?"

"No, not as yet. "

"Fine proofs indeed! The story of a vagabond who flattered your hatredin hope of a reward, the gossip of a distant village, the recollectionsof ten years back, and finally, your own word, the word of a man whoseeks only revenge, the word of a man who swore to make Martin paydearly for the results of his own avarice, a man of furious passionssuch as yours! No, Pierre, no, I do not believe you, and I never will!"

"Other people may perhaps be less incredulous, and if I accuse himpublicly----"

"Then I shall contradict you publicly!" And coming quickly forward, hereyes shining with virtuous anger--

"Leave this house, go, " she said; "it is you yourself who are theimpostor--go!"

"I shall yet know how to convince everyone, and will make youacknowledge it, " cried the furious old man. 

He went out, and Bertrande sank exhausted into a chair. All the strengthwhich had supported her against Pierre vanished as soon as she wasalone, and in spite of her resistance to suspicion, the terrible lightof doubt penetrated her heart, and extinguished the pure torch oftrustfulness which had guided her hitherto--a doubt, alas! whichattacked at once her honour and her love, for she loved with all awoman's tender affection. Just as actual poison gradually penetrates andcirculates through the whole system, corrupting the blood and affectingthe very sources of life until it causes the destruction of the wholebody, so does that mental poison, suspicion, extend its ravages in thesoul which has received it. Bertrande remembered with terror her firstfeelings at the sight of the returned Martin Guerre, her involuntaryrepugnance, her astonishment at not feeling more in touch with thehusband whom she had so sincerely regretted. She remembered also, as ifshe saw it for the first time, that Martin, formerly quick, lively, andhasty tempered, now seemed thoughtful, and fully master of himself. 

This change of character she had supposed due to the natural developmentof age, she now trembled at the idea of another possible cause. Someother little details began to occur to her mind--the forgetfulness orabstraction of her husband as to a few insignificant things; thus itsometimes happened that he did not answer to his name of Martin, alsothat he mistook the road to a hermitage, formerly well known to themboth, and again that he could not answer when addressed in Basque, although he him self had taught her the little she knew of thislanguage. Besides, since his return, he would never write in herpresence, did he fear that she would notice some difference? She hadpaid little or no attention to these trifles; now, pieced together, theyassumed an alarming importance. An appalling terror seized Bertrande:was she to remain in this uncertainty, or should she seek an explanationwhich might prove her destruction? And how discover the truth--byquestioning the guilty man, by noting his confusion, his change ofcolour, by forcing a confession from him? But she had lived with himfor two years, he was the father of her child, she could not ruin himwithout ruining herself, and, an explanation once sought, she couldneither punish him and escape disgrace, nor pardon him without sharinghis guilt. To reproach him with his conduct and then keep silence woulddestroy her peace for ever; to cause a scandal by denouncing him wouldbring dishonour upon herself and her child. Night found her involved inthese hideous perplexities, too weak to surmount them; an icy chill cameover her, she went to bed, and awoke in a high fever. For several daysshe hovered between life and death, and Martin Guerre bestowed the mosttender care upon her. She was greatly moved thereby, having one of thoseimpressionable minds which recognise kindness fully as much as injury. When she was a little recovered and her mental power began to return, she had only a vague recollection of what had occurred, and thought shehad had a frightful dream. She asked if Pierre Guerre had been tosee her, and found he had not been near the house. This could only beexplained by the scene which had taken place, and she then recollectedall the accusation Pierre had made, her own observations which hadconfirmed it, all her grief and trouble. She inquired about the villagenews. Pierre, evidently, had kept silence why? Had he seen that hissuspicions were unjust, or was he only seeking further evidence? Shesank back into her cruel uncertainty, and resolved to watch Martinclosely, before deciding as to his guilt or innocence. 

How was she to suppose that God had created two faces so exactly alike, two beings precisely similar, and then sent them together into theworld, and on the same track, merely to compass the ruin of an unhappywoman! A terrible idea took possession of her mind, an idea not uncommonin an age of superstition, namely, that the Enemy himself could assumehuman form, and could borrow the semblance of a dead man in order tocapture another soul for his infernal kingdom. Acting on this idea, she hastened to the church, paid for masses to be said, and prayedfervently. She expected every day to see the demon forsake the body hehad animated, but her vows, offerings, and prayers had no result. ButHeaven sent her an idea which she wondered had not occurred to hersooner. "If the Tempter, " she said to herself, "has taken the form of mybeloved husband, his power being supreme for evil, the resemblance wouldbe exact, and no difference, however slight, would exist. If, however, it is only another man who resembles him, God must have made them withsome slight distinguishing marks. "

She then remembered, what she had not thought of before, having beenquite unsuspicious before her uncle's accusation, and nearly out of hermind between mental and bodily suffering since. She remembered that onher husband's left shoulder, almost on the neck, there used to be one ofthose small, almost imperceptible, but ineffaceable birthmarks. Martinwore his hair very long, it was difficult to see if the mark were thereor not. One night, while he slept, Bertrande cut away a lock of hairfrom the place where this sign ought to be--it was not there!

Convinced at length of the deception, Bertrande suffered inexpressibleanguish. This man whom she had loved and respected for two whole years, whom she had taken to her heart as a husband bitterly mourned for--thisman was a cheat, an infamous impostor, and she, all unknowing, was yeta guilty woman! Her child was illegitimate, and the curse of Heavenwas due to this sacrilegious union. To complete the misfortune, she wasalready expecting another infant. She would have killed herself, but herreligion and the love of her children forbade it. Kneeling before herchild's cradle, she entreated pardon from the father of the one for thefather of the other. She would not bring herself to proclaim aloud theirinfamy. 

"Oh!" she said, "thou whom I loved, thou who art no more, thou knowestno guilty thought ever entered my mind! When I saw this man, I thought Ibeheld thee; when I was happy, I thought I owed it to thee; it was theewhom I loved in him. Surely thou dost not desire that by a public avowalI should bring shame and disgrace on these children and on myself. "

She rose calm and strengthened: it seemed as if a heavenly inspirationhad marked out her duty. To suffer in silence, such was the course sheadopted, --a life of sacrifice and self-denial which she offered to Godas an expiation for her involuntary sin. But who can understand theworkings of the human heart? This man whom she ought to have loathed, this man who had made her an innocent partner in his crime, thisunmasked impostor whom she should have beheld only with disgust, she-loved him! The force of habit, the ascendancy he had obtained overher, the love he had shown her, a thousand sympathies felt in her inmostheart, all these had so much influence, that, instead of accusing andcursing him, she sought to excuse him on the plea of a passion to which, doubtless, he had yielded when usurping the name and place of another. She feared punishment for him yet more than disgrace for herself, andthough resolved to no longer allow him the rights purchased by crime, she yet trembled at the idea of losing his love. It was this aboveall which decided her to keep eternal silence about her discovery; onesingle word which proved that his imposture was known would raise aninsurmountable barrier between them. 

To conceal her trouble entirely was, however, beyond her power; her eyesfrequently showed traces of her secret tears. Martin several times askedthe cause of her sorrow; she tried to smile and excuse herself, onlyimmediately sinking back into her gloomy thoughts. Martin thought itmere caprice; he observed her loss of colour, her hollow cheeks, andconcluded that age was impairing her beauty, and became less attentiveto her. His absences became longer and more frequent, and he did notconceal his impatience and annoyance at being watched; for her lookshung upon his, and she observed his coldness and change with much grief. Having sacrificed all in order to retain his love, she now saw it slowlyslipping away from her. 

Another person also observed attentively. Pierre Guerre since hisexplanation with Bertrande had apparently discovered no more evidence, and did not dare to bring an accusation without some positive proofs. Consequently he lost no chance of watching the proceedings of hissupposed nephew, silently hoping that chance might put him on the trackof a discovery. He also concluded from Bertrande's state of melancholythat she had convinced herself of the fraud, but had resolved to concealit. 

Martin was then endeavoring to sell a part of his property, and thisnecessitated frequent interviews with the lawyers of the neighbouringtown. Twice in the week he went to Rieux, and to make the journeyeasier, used to start horseback about seven in the evening, sleep atRieux, and return the following afternoon. This arrangement did notescape his enemy's notice, who was not long in convincing himselfthat part of the time ostensibly spent on this journey was otherwiseemployed. 

Towards ten o'clock on the evening of a dark night, the door of a smallhouse lying about half a gunshot from the village opened gently for theexit of a man wrapped in a large cloak, followed by a young woman, who accompanied him some distance. Arrived at the parting point, theyseparated with a tender kiss and a few murmured words of adieu; thelover took his horse, which was fastened to a tree, mounted, and rodeoff towards Rieux. When the sounds died away, the woman turned slowlyand sadly towards her home, but as she approached the door a mansuddenly turned the corner of the house and barred her away. Terrified, she was on the point of crying for help, when he seized her arm andordered her to be silent. 

"Rose, " he whispered, "I know everything: that man is your lover. Inorder to receive him safely, you send your old husband to sleep by meansof a drug stolen from your father's shop. This intrigue has been goingon for a month; twice a week, at seven o'clock, your door is opened tothis man, who does not proceed on his way to the town until ten. I knowyour lover: he is my nephew. "

Petrified with terror, Rose fell on her knees and implored mercy. 

"Yes, " replied Pierre, "you may well be frightened: I have your secret. I have only to publish it and you are ruined for ever:"

You will not do it! "entreated the guilty woman, clasping her hands. 

"I have only to tell your husband, " continued Pierre, "that his wifehas dishonoured him, and to explain the reason of his unnaturally heavysleep. "

"He will kill me!"

"No doubt: he is jealous, he is an Italian, he will know how to avengehimself--even as I do. "

"But I never did you any harm, " Rose cried in despair. "Oh! have pity, have mercy, and spare me!"

"On one condition. "

"What is it?"

"Come with me. "

Terrified almost out of her mind, Rose allowed him to lead her away. 

Bertrande had just finished her evening prayer, and was preparing forbed, when she was startled by several knocks at her door. Thinking thatperhaps some neighbour was in need of help, she opened it immediately, and to her astonishment beheld a dishevelled woman whom Pierre graspedby the arm. He exclaimed vehemently--

"Here is thy judge! Now, confess all to Bertrande!"

Bertrande did not at once recognise the woman, who fell at her feet, overcome by Pierre's threats. 

"Tell the truth here, " he continued, "or I go and tell it to yourhusband, at your own home!"--"Ah! madame, kill me, " said the unhappycreature, hiding her face; "let me rather die by your hand than his!"

Bertrande, bewildered, did not understand the position in the least, butshe recognised Rose--

"But what is the matter, madame? Why are you here at this hour, pale andweeping? Why has my uncle dragged you hither? I am to judge you, does hesay? Of what crime are you guilty?"

"Martin might answer that, if he were here, " remarked Pierre. 

A lightning flash of jealousy shot through Bertrande's soul at thesewords, all her former suspicions revived. 

"What!" she said, "my husband! What do you mean?"

"That he left this woman's house only a little while ago, that for amonth they have been meeting secretly. You are betrayed: I have seenthem and she does not dare to deny it. "

"Have mercy!" cried Rose, still kneeling. 

The cry was a confession. Bertrande became pate as death. "O God!" shemurmured, "deceived, betrayed--and by him!"

"For a month past, " repeated the old man. 

"Oh! the wretch, " she continued, with increasing passion; "then hiswhole life is a lie! He has abused my credulity, he now abuses my love!He does not know me! He thinks he can trample on me--me, in whose powerare his fortune, his honour, his very life itself!"

Then, turning to Rose--

"And you, miserable woman! by what unworthy artifice did you gain hislove? Was it by witchcraft? or some poisonous philtre learned from yourworthy father?"

"Alas! no, madame; my weakness is my only crime, and also my onlyexcuse. I loved him, long ago, when I was only a young girl, and thesememories have been my ruin. "

"Memories? What! did you also think you were loving the same man? Areyou also his dupe? Or are you only pretending, in order to find a rag ofexcuse to cover your wickedness?"

It was now Rose who failed to understand; Bertrande continued, withgrowing excitement--

"Yes, it was not enough to usurp the rights of a husband and father, hethought to play his part still better by deceiving the mistress also. . . . Ah! it is amusing, is it not? You also, Rose, you thought he wasyour old lover! Well, I at least am excusable, I the wife, who onlythought she was faithful to her husband!"

"What does it all mean?" asked the terrified Rose. 

"It means that this man is an impostor and that I will unmask him. Revenge! revenge!"

Pierre came forward. "Bertrande, " he said, "so long as I thoughtyou were happy, when I feared to disturb your peace, I was silent, Irepressed my just indignation, and I spared the usurper of the name andrights of my nephew. Do you now give me leave to speak?"

"Yes, " she replied in a hollow voice. 

"You will not contradict me?"

By way of answer she sat down by the table and wrote a few hasty lineswith a trembling hand, then gave them to Pierre, whose eyes sparkledwith joy. 

"Yes, " he said, "vengeance for him, but for her pity. Let thishumiliation be her only punishment. I promised silence in return forconfession, will you grant it?"

Bertrande assented with a contemptuous gesture. 

"Go, fear not, " said the old man, and Rose went out. Pierre also leftthe house. 

Left to herself, Bertrande felt utterly worn out by so much emotion;indignation gave way to depression. She began to realise what she haddone, and the scandal which would fall on her own head. Just then herbaby awoke, and held out its arms, smiling, and calling for its father. Its father, was he not a criminal? Yes! but was it for her to ruin him, to invoke the law, to send him to death, after having taken him to herheart, to deliver him to infamy which would recoil on her own head andher child's and on the infant which was yet unborn? If he had sinnedbefore God, was it not for God to punish him? If against herself, oughtshe not rather to overwhelm him with contempt? But to invoke the help, of strangers to expiate this offence; to lay bare the troubles of herlife, to unveil the sanctuary of the nuptial couch--in short, to summonthe whole world to behold this fatal scandal, was not that what in herimprudent anger she had really done? She repented bitterly of her haste, she sought to avert the consequences, and notwithstanding the night andthe bad weather, she hurried at once to Pierre's dwelling, hoping atall costs to withdraw her denunciation. He was not there: he had at oncetaken a horse and started for Rieux. Her accusation was already on itsway to the magistrates!

At break of day the house where Martin Guerre lodged when at Rieux wassurrounded by soldiers. He came forward with confidence and inquiredwhat was wanted. On hearing the accusation, he changed colour slightly, then collected himself, and made no resistance. When he came before thejudge, Bertrande's petition was read to him, declaring him to be "animpostor, who falsely, audaciously, and treacherously had deceivedher by taking the name and assuming the person of Martin Guerre, " anddemanding that he should be required to entreat pardon from God, theking, and herself. 

The prisoner listened calmly to the charge, and met it courageously, only evincing profound surprise at such a step being taken by a wifewho had lived with him for two years since his return, and who onlynow thought of disputing the rights he had so long enjoyed. As he wasignorant both of Bertrande's suspicions and their confirmation, and alsoof the jealousy which had inspired her accusation, his astonishmentwas perfectly natural, and did not at all appear to be assumed. Heattributed the whole charge to the machinations of his uncle, PierreGuerre; an old man, he said, who, being governed entirely by avarice andthe desire of revenge, now disputed his name and rights, in order thebetter to deprive him of his property, which might be worth from sixteento eighteen hundred livres. In order to attain his end, this wicked manhad not hesitated to pervert his wife's mind, and at the risk of herown dishonour had instigated this calumnious charge--a horrible andunheard-of thing in the mouth of a lawful wife. "Ah! I do not blameher, " he cried; "she must suffer more than I do, if she reallyentertains doubts such as these; but I deplore her readiness to listento these extraordinary calumnies originated by my enemy. "

The judge was a good deal impressed by so much assurance. The accusedwas relegated to prison, whence he was brought two days later toencounter a formal examination. 

He began by explaining the cause of his long absence, originating, he said, in a domestic quarrel, as his wife well remembered. He thererelated his life during these eight years. At first he wandered over thecountry, wherever his curiosity and the love of travel led him. Hethen had crossed the frontier, revisited Biscay, where he was born, andhaving entered the service of the Cardinal of Burgos, he passed thenceinto the army of the King of Spain. He was wounded at the battle ofSt. Quentin, conveyed to a neighbouring village, where he recovered, although threatened with amputation. Anxious to again behold his wifeand child, his other relations and the land of his adoption, he returnedto Artigues, where he was immediately recognised by everyone, includingthe identical Pierre Guerre, his uncle, who now had the cruelty todisavow him. In fact, the latter had shown him special affection up tothe day when Martin required an account of his stewardship. Had heonly had the cowardice to sacrifice his money and thereby defraudhis children, he would not to-day be charged as an impostor. "But, "continued Martin, "I resisted, and a violent quarrel ensued, in whichanger perhaps carried me too far; Pierre Guerre, cunning and revengeful, has waited in silence. He has taken his time and his measures toorganise this plot, hoping thereby to obtain his ends, to bring justiceto the help of his avarice, and to acquire the spoils he coveted, and revenge for his defeat, by means of a sentence obtained from thescruples of the judges. " Besides these explanations, which didnot appear wanting in probability, Martin vehemently protested hisinnocence, demanding that his wife should be confronted with him, anddeclaring that in his presence she would not sustain the charge ofpersonation brought against him, and that her mind not being animatedby the blind hatred which dominated his persecutor, the truth wouldundoubtedly prevail. 

He now, in his turn, demanded that the judge should acknowledge hisinnocence, and prove it by condemning his calumniators to the punishmentinvoked against himself; that his wife, Bertrande de Rolls, should besecluded in some house where her mind could no longer be perverted, and, finally, that his innocence should be declared, and expenses andcompensations awarded him. 

After this speech, delivered with warmth, and with every token ofsincerity, he answered without difficulty all the interrogations of thejudge. The following are some of the questions and answers, just as theyhave come down to us:--

"In what part of Biscay were you born?"

"In the village of Aymes, province of Guipuscoa. "

"What were the names of your parents?"

"Antonio Guerre and Marie Toreada. "

"Are they still living?"

"My father died June 15th, 1530; my mother survived him three years andtwelve days. "

"Have you any brothers and sisters?"

"I had one brother, who only lived three months. My four sisters, Inez, Dorothea, Marietta, and Pedrina, all came to live at Artigues when Idid; they are there still, and they all recognised me. "

"What is the date of your marriage?"

"January 10, 1539. "

"Who were present at the ceremony?"

"My father-in-law, my mother-in-law, my uncle, my two sisters, MaitreMarcel and his daughter Rose; a neighbour called Claude Perrin, who gotdrunk at the wedding feast; also Giraud, the poet, who composed versesin our honour. "

"Who was the priest who married you?"

"The old cure, Pascal Guerin, whom I did not find alive when Ireturned. "

"What special circumstances occurred on the wedding-day?"

"At midnight exactly, our neighbour, Catherine Boere, brought us therepast which is known as 'medianoche. ' This woman has recognised me, as also our old Marguerite, who has remained with us ever since thewedding. "

"What is the date of your son's birth?"

"February 10, 1548, nine years after our marriage. I was only twelvewhen the ceremony took place, and did not arrive at manhood till severalyears later. "

"Give the date of your leaving Artigues. "

"It was in August 1549. As I left the village, I met Claude Perrin andthe cure Pascal, and took leave of them. I went towards Beauvais, end Ipassed through Orleans, Bourges, Limoges, Bordeaux, and Toulouse. If youwant the names of people whom I saw and to whom I spoke, you can havethem. What more can I say?"

Never, indeed, was there a more apparently veracious statement! Allthe doings of Martin Guerre seemed to be most faithfully described, andsurely only himself could thus narrate his own actions. As the historianremarks, alluding to the story of Amphitryon, Mercury himself could notbetter reproduce all Sosia's actions, gestures, and words, than did thefalse Martin Guerre those of the real one. 

In accordance with the demand of the accused, Bertrande de Rolls wasdetained in seclusion, in order to remove her from the influence ofPierre Guerre. The latter, however, did not waste time, and during themonth spent in examining the witnesses cited by Martin, his diligentenemy, guided by some vague traces, departed on a journey, from which hedid not return alone. 

All the witnesses bore out the statement of the accused; the latterheard this in prison, and rejoiced, hoping for a speedy release. Beforelong he was again brought before the judge, who told him that hisdeposition had been confirmed by all the witnesses examined. 

"Do you know of no others?" continued the magistrate. "Have you norelatives except those you have mentioned?"

"I have no others, " answered the prisoner. 

"Then what do you say to this man?" said the judge, opening a door. 

An old man issued forth, who fell on the prisoner's neck, exclaiming, "My nephew!"

Martin trembled in every limb, but only for a moment. Promptlyrecovering himself, and gazing calmly at the newcomer, he asked coolly--

"And who may you be?"

"What!" said the old man, "do you not know me? Dare you deny me?--me, your mother's brother, Carbon Barreau, the old soldier! Me, who dandledyou on my knee in your infancy; me, who taught you later to carry amusket; me, who met you during the war at an inn in Picardy, when youfled secretly. Since then I have sought you everywhere; I have spokenof you, and described your face and person, until a worthy inhabitant ofthis country offered to bring me hither, where indeed I did not expectto find my sister's son imprisoned and fettered as a malefactor. What ishis crime, may it please your honour?"

"You shall hear, " replied the magistrate. "Then you identify theprisoner as your nephew? You affirm his name to be---?"

"Arnauld du Thill, also called 'Pansette, ' after his father, JacquesPansa. His mother was Therese Barreau, my sister, and he was born in thevillage of Sagias. "

"What have you to say?" demanded the judge, turning to the accused. 

"Three things, " replied the latter, unabashed, "this man is either mad, or he has been suborned to tell lies, or he is simply mistaken. "

The old man was struck dumb with astonishment. But his supposed nephew'sstart of terror had not been lost upon the judge, also much impressedby the straightforward frankness of Carbon Barreau. He caused freshinvestigations to be made, and other inhabitants of Sagias were summonedto Rieux, who one and all agreed in identifying the accused as the sameArnauld du Thill who had been born and had grown up under their veryeyes. Several deposed that as he grew up he had taken to evil courses, and become an adept in theft and lying, not fearing even to take thesacred name of God in vain, in order to cover the untruth of his daringassertions. From such testimony the judge naturally concluded thatArnauld du Thill was quite capable of carrying on, an imposture, andthat the impudence which he displayed was natural to his character. Moreover, he noted that the prisoner, who averred that he was born inBiscay, knew only a few words of the Basque language, and used thesequite wrongly. He heard later another witness who deposed that theoriginal Martin Guerre was a good wrestler and skilled in the art offence, whereas the prisoner, having wished to try what he could do, showed no skill whatever. Finally, a shoemaker was interrogated, and hisevidence was not the least damning. Martin Guerre, he declared, requiredtwelve holes to lace his boots, and his surprise had been great when hefound those of the prisoner had only nine. Considering all these points, and the cumulative evidence, the judge of Rieux set aside the favourabletestimony, which he concluded had been the outcome of general credulity, imposed on by an extraordinary resemblance. He gave due weight also toBertrande's accusation, although she had never confirmed it, and nowmaintained an obstinate silence; and he pronounced a judgment by whichArnauld du Thill was declared "attainted and convicted of imposture, andwas therefore condemned to be beheaded; after which his body shouldbe divided into four quarters, and exposed at the four corners of thetown. "

This sentence, as soon as it was known, caused much diversity of opinionin the town. The prisoner's enemies praised the wisdom of the judge, and those less prejudiced condemned his decision; as such conflictingtestimony left room for doubt. Besides, it was thought that thepossession of property and the future of the children required muchconsideration, also that the most absolute certainty was demanded beforeannulling a past of two whole years, untroubled by any counter claimwhatever. 

The condemned man appealed from this sentence to the Parliament ofToulouse. This court decided that the case required more carefulconsideration than had yet been given to it, and began by orderingArnauld du Thill to be confronted with Pierre Guerre and Bertrande deRolls. 

Who can say what feelings animate a man who, already once condemned, finds himself subjected to a second trial? The torture scarcely endedbegins again, and Hope, though reduced to a shadow, regains her swayover his imagination, which clings to her skirts, as it were, withdesperation. The exhausting efforts must be recommenced; it is the laststruggle--a struggle which is more desperate in proportion as there isless strength to maintain it. In this case the defendant was not oneof those who are easily cast down; he collected all his energy, all hiscourage, hoping to come victoriously out of the new combat which laybefore him. 

The magistrates assembled in the great hall of the Parliament, and theprisoner appeared before them. He had first to deal with Pierre, andconfronted him calmly, letting him speak, without showing any emotion. He then replied with indignant reproaches, dwelling on Pierre's greedand avarice, his vows of vengeance, the means employed to work uponBertrande, his secret manoeuvres in order to gain his ends, and theunheard-of animosity displayed in hunting up accusers, witnesses, andcalumniators. He defied Pierre to prove that he was not Martin Guerre, his nephew, inasmuch as Pierre had publicly acknowledged and embracedhim, and his tardy suspicions only dated from the time of their violentquarrel. His language was so strong and vehement, that Pierre becameconfused and was unable to answer, and the encounter turned entirely inArnauld's favour, who seemed to overawe his adversary from a heightof injured innocence, while the latter appeared as a disconcertedslanderer. 

The scene of his confrontation with Bertrande took a wholly differentcharacter. The poor woman, pale, cast down, worn by sorrow, camestaggering before the tribunal, in an almost fainting condition. Sheendeavoured to collect herself, but as soon as she saw the prisoner shehung her head and covered her face with her hands. He approached herand besought her in the gentlest accents not to persist in an accusationwhich might send him to the scaffold, not thus to avenge any sins hemight have committed against her, although he could not reproach himselfwith any really serious fault. 

Bertrande started, and murmured in a whisper, "And Rose?"

"Ah!" Arnauld exclaimed, astonished at this revelation. 

His part was instantly taken. Turning to the judges--

"Gentlemen, " he said, "my wife is a jealous woman! Ten years ago, whenI left her, she had formed these suspicions; they were the cause of myvoluntary exile. To-day she again accuses me of, guilty relations withthe same person; I neither deny nor acknowledge them, but I affirmthat it is the blind passion of jealousy which, aided by my uncle'ssuggestions, guided my wife's hand when she signed this denunciation. "

Bertrande remained silent. 

"Do you dare, " he continued, turning towards her, --"do you dare to swearbefore God that jealousy did not inspire you with the wish to ruin me?"

"And you, " she replied, "dare you swear that I was deceived in mysuspicions?"

"You see, gentlemen, " exclaimed the prisoner triumphantly, "her jealousybreaks forth before your eyes. Whether I am, or am not, guilty of thesin she attributes to me, is not the question for you to decide. Canyou conscientiously admit the testimony of a woman who, after publiclyacknowledging me, after receiving me in her house, after living twoyears in perfect amity with me, has, in a fit of angry vengeance, thought she could give the lie to all her wards and actions? Ah!Bertrande, " he continued, "if it only concerned my life I think I couldforgive a madness of which your love is both the cause and the excuse, but you are a mother, think of that! My punishment will recoil on thehead of my daughter, who is unhappy enough to have been born since ourreunion, and also on our unborn child, which you condemn beforehand tocurse the union which gave it being. Think of this, Bertrande, you willhave to answer before God for what you are now doing!"

The unhappy woman fell on her knees, weeping. 

"I adjure you, " he continued solemnly, "you, my wife, Bertrande deRolls, to swear now, here, on the crucifix, that I am an impostor and acheat. "

A crucifix was placed before Bertrande; she made a sign as if to push itaway, endeavoured to speak, and feebly exclaimed, "No, " then fell to theground, and was carried out insensible. 

This scene considerably shook the opinion of the magistrates. Theycould not believe that an impostor, whatever he might be, would havesufficient daring and presence of mind thus to turn into mockery allthat was most sacred. They set a new inquiry on foot, which, instead ofproducing enlightenment, only plunged them into still greater obscurity. Out of thirty witnesses heard, more than three-quarters agreed inidentifying as Martin Guerre the man who claimed his name. Neverwas greater perplexity caused by more extraordinary appearances. Theremarkable resemblance upset all reasoning: some recognised him asArnauld du Thill, and others asserted the exact contrary. He couldhardly understand Basque, some said, though born in Biscay, was thatastonishing, seeing he was only three when he left the country? He couldneither wrestle nor fence well, but having no occasion to practise theseexercises he might well have forgotten them. The shoemaker--who madehis shoes afore-time, thought he took another measure, but he might havemade a mistake before or be mistaken now. The prisoner further defendedhimself by recapitulating the circumstances of his first meeting withBertrande, on his return, the thousand and one little details he hadmentioned which he only could have known, also the letters in hispossession, all of which could only be explained by the assumptionthat he was the veritable Martin Guerre. Was it likely that he would bewounded over the left eye and leg as the missing man was supposed tobe? Was it likely that the old servant, that the four sisters, his unclePierre, many persons to whom he had related facts known only to himself, that all the community in short, would have recognised him? And eventhe very intrigue suspected by Bertrande, which had aroused her jealousanger, this very intrigue, if it really existed, was it not anotherproof of the verity of his claim, since the person concerned, asinterested and as penetrating as the legitimate wife; had also acceptedhim as her former lover? Surely here was a mass of evidence sufficientto cast light on the case. Imagine an impostor arriving for the firsttime in a place where all the inhabitants are unknown to him, andattempting to personate a man who had dwelt there, who would haveconnections of all kinds, who would have played his part in a thousanddifferent scenes, who would have confided his secrets, his opinions, torelations, friends, acquaintances, to all sorts of people; who had alsoa wife--that is to say, a person under whose eyes nearly his whole lifewould be passed, a person would study him perpetually, with whom hewould be continually conversing on every sort of subject. Could such animpostor sustain his impersonation for a single day, without his memoryplaying him false? From the physical and moral impossibility of playingsuch a part, was it not reasonable to conclude that the accused, who hadmaintained it for more than two years, was the true Martin Guerre?

There seemed, in fact, to be nothing which could account for such anattempt being successfully made unless recourse was had to an accusationof sorcery. The idea of handing him over to the ecclesiasticalauthorities was briefly discussed, but proofs were necessary, and thejudges hesitated. It is a principle of justice, which has become aprecept in law, that in cases of uncertainty the accused has the benefitof the doubt; but at the period of which we are writing, these truthswere far from being acknowledged; guilt was presumed rather thaninnocence; and torture, instituted to force confession from those whocould not otherwise be convicted, is only explicable by supposing thejudges convinced of the actual guilt of the accused; for no one wouldhave thought of subjecting a possibly innocent person to this suffering. However, notwithstanding this prejudice, which has been handed down tous by some organs of the public ministry always disposed to assume theguilt of a suspected person, --notwithstanding this prejudice, the judgesin this case neither ventured to condemn Martin Guerre themselves as animpostor, nor to demand the intervention of the Church. In thisconflict of contrary testimony, which seemed to reveal the truth only toimmediately obscure it again, in this chaos of arguments and conjectureswhich showed flashes of light only to extinguish them in greaterdarkness, consideration for the family prevailed. The sincerity ofBertrande, the future of the children, seemed reasons for proceedingwith extreme caution, and this once admitted, could only yield toconclusive evidence. Consequently the Parliament adjourned the case, matters remaining in 'statu quo', pending a more exhaustive inquiry. Meanwhile, the accused, for whom several relations and friends gavesurety, was allowed to be at liberty at Artigues, though remaining undercareful surveillance. 

Bertrande therefore again saw him an inmate of the house, as if nodoubts had ever been cast on the legitimacy of their union. Whatthoughts passed through her mind during the long 'tete-a-tete'? Shehad accused this man of imposture, and now, notwithstanding her secretconviction, she was obliged to appear as if she had no suspicion, as ifshe had been mistaken, to humiliate herself before the impostor, andask forgiveness for the insanity of her conduct; for, having publiclyrenounced her accusation by refusing to swear to it, she had noalternative left. In order to sustain her part and to save the honourof her children, she must treat this man as her husband and appearsubmissive and repentant; she must show him entire confidence, as theonly means of rehabilitating him and lulling the vigilance of justice. What the widow of Martin Guerre must have suffered in this life ofeffort was a secret between God and herself, but she looked at herlittle daughter, she thought of her fast approaching confinement, andtook courage. 

One evening, towards nightfall, she was sitting near him in the mostprivate corner of the garden, with her little child on her knee, whilstthe adventurer, sunk in gloomy thoughts, absently stroked Sanxi's fairhead. Both were silent, for at the bottom of their hearts each knew theother's thoughts, and, no longer able to talk familiarly, nor daring toappear estranged, they spent, when alone together, long hours of silentdreariness. 

All at once a loud uproar broke the silence of their retreat; they heardthe exclamations of many persons, cries of surprise mixed with angrytones, hasty footsteps, then the garden gate was flung violently open, and old Marguerite appeared, pale, gasping, almost breathless. Bertrandehastened towards her in astonishment, followed by her husband, but whennear enough to speak she could only answer with inarticulate sounds, pointing with terror to the courtyard of the house. They looked in thisdirection, and saw a man standing at the threshold; they approached him. He stepped forward, as if to place himself between them. He was tall, dark; his clothes were torn; he had a wooden leg; his countenance wasstern. He surveyed Bertrande with a gloomy look: she cried aloud, andfell back insensible;. . . She recognised her real husband!

Arnauld du Thill stood petrified. While Marguerite, distracted herself, endeavoured to revive her mistress, the neighbours, attracted by thenoise, invaded the house, and stopped, gazing with stupefaction at thisastonishing resemblance. The two men had the same features, the sameheight, the same bearing, and suggested one being in two persons. Theygazed at each other in terror, and in that superstitious age the ideaof sorcery and of infernal intervention naturally occurred to thosepresent. All crossed themselves, expecting every moment to see firefrom heaven strike one or other of the two men, or that the earth wouldengulf one of them. Nothing happened, however, except that both werepromptly arrested, in order that the strange mystery might be clearedup. 

The wearer of the wooden leg, interrogated by the judges, related thathe came from Spain, where first the healing of his wound, and then thewant of money, had detained him hitherto. He had travelled on foot, almost a beggar. He gave exactly the same reasons for leaving Artiguesas had been given by the other Martin Guerre, namely, a domestic quarrelcaused by jealous suspicion, the desire of seeing other countries, and an adventurous disposition. He had gone back to his birthplace, inBiscay; thence he entered the service of the Cardinal of Burgos; thenthe cardinal's brother had taken him to the war, and he had served withthe Spanish troops; at the battle of St. Quentiny--his leg had beenshattered by an arquebus ball. So far his recital was the counterpart ofthe one already heard by the judges from the other man. Now, they beganto differ. Martin Guerre stated that he had been conveyed to a houseby a man whose features he did not distinguish, that he thought he wasdying, and that several hours elapsed of which he could give no account, being probably delirious; that he suffered later intolerable pain, andon coming to himself, found that his leg had been amputated. He remainedlong between life and death, but he was cared for by peasants whoprobably saved his life; his recovery was very slow. He discovered thatin the interval between being struck down in the battle and recoveringhis senses, his papers had disappeared, but it was impossible to suspectthe people who had nursed him with such generous kindness of theft. After his recovery, being absolutely destitute, he sought to return toFrance and again see his wife and child: he had endured all sorts ofprivations and fatigues, and at length, exhausted, but rejoicing atbeing near the end of his troubles, he arrived, suspecting nothing, athis own door. Then the terror of the old servant, a few broken words, made him guess at some misfortune, and the appearance of his wife andof a man so exactly like himself stupefied him. Matters had now beenexplained, and he only regretted that his wound had not at once endedhis existence. 

The whole story bore the impress of truth, but when the otherprisoner was asked what he had to say he adhered to his first answers, maintaining their correctness, and again asserted that he was the realMartin Guerre, and that the new claimant could only be Arnauld du Thill, the clever impostor, who was said to resemble himself so much that theinhabitants of Sagias had agreed in mistaking him for the said Arnauld. 

The two Martin Guerres were then confronted without changing thesituation in the least; the first showing the same assurance, the samebold and confident bearing; while the second, calling on God and mento bear witness to his sincerity, deplored his misfortune in the mostpathetic terms. 

The judge's perplexity was great: the affair became more and morecomplicated, the question remained as difficult, as uncertain as ever. All the appearances and evidences were at variance; probability seemedto incline towards one, sympathy was more in favour of the other, butactual proof was still wanting. 

At length a member of the Parliament, M. De Coras, proposed as a lastchance before resorting to torture, that final means of examination ina barbarous age, that Bertrande should be placed between the two rivals, trusting, he said, that in such a case a woman's instinct would divinethe truth. Consequently the two Martin Guerres were brought before theParliament, and a few moments after Bertrande was led in, weak, pale, hardly able to stand, being worn out by suffering and advancedpregnancy. Her appearance excited compassion, and all watched anxiouslyto see what she would do. She looked at the two men, who had been placedat different ends of the hall, and turning from him who was nearest toher, went and knelt silently before the man with the wooden leg; then, joining her hands as if praying for mercy, she wept bitterly. So simpleand touching an action roused the sympathy of all present; Arnauld duThill grew pale, and everyone expected that Martin Guerre, rejoiced atbeing vindicated by this public acknowledgment, would raise his wifeand embrace her. But he remained cold and stern, and in a contemptuoustone--

"Your tears, madame, " he said; "they do not move me in the least, neither can you seek to excuse your credulity by the examples of mysisters and my uncle. A wife knows her husband more intimately thanhis other relations, as you prove by your present action, and if she isdeceived it is because she consents to the deception. You are the solecause of the misfortunes of my house, and to you only shall I everimpute them. "

Thunderstruck by this reproach, the poor woman had no strength to reply, and was taken home more dead than alive. 

The dignified language of this injured husband made another point inhis favour. Much pity was felt for Bertrande, as being the victim of anaudacious deception; but everybody agreed that thus it beseemed the realMartin Guerre to have spoken. After the ordeal gone through by the wifehad been also essayed by the sisters and other relatives, who one andall followed Bertrande's example and accepted the new-comer, the court, having fully deliberated, passed the following sentence, which wetranscribe literally:

"Having reviewed the trial of Arnauld du Thill or Pansette, callinghimself Martin Guerre, a prisoner in the Conciergerie, who appeals fromthe decision of the judge of Rieux, etc. , "We declare that this court negatives the appeal and defence of thesaid Arnauld du Thill; and as punishment and amends for the imposture, deception, assumption of name and of person, adultery, rape, sacrilege, theft, larceny, and other deeds committed by the aforesaid du Thill, andcausing the above-mentioned trial; this court has condemned and condemnshim to do penance before the church of Artigue, kneeling, clad in hisshirt only, bareheaded and barefoot, a halter on his neck, and a burningtorch in his hand, and there he shall ask pardon from God, from theKing, and from justice, from the said Martin Guerre and Bertrande deRolls, husband and wife: and this done, the aforesaid du Thill shall bedelivered into the hands of the executioners of the King's justice, who shall lead him through the customary streets and crossroads of theaforesaid place of Artigues, and, the halter on his neck, shall bringhim before the house of the aforesaid Martin Guerre, where he shall behung and strangled upon a gibbet erected for this purpose, after whichhis body shall be burnt: and for various reasons and considerationsthereunto moving the court, it has awarded and awards the goods of theaforesaid Arnauld du Thill, apart from the expenses of justice, tothe daughter born unto him by the aforesaid Bertrande de Rolls, underpretence of marriage falsely asserted by him, having thereto assumed thename and person of the aforesaid Martin Guerre, by this mans deceivingthe aforesaid de Rolls; and moreover the court has exempted and exemptsfrom this trial the aforesaid Martin Guerre and Bertrande de Rolls, alsothe said Pierre Guerre, uncle of the aforesaid Martin, and has remittedand remits the aforesaid Arnauld du Thill to the aforesaid judge ofRieux, in order that the present sentence may be executed according toits form and tenor. Pronounced judicially this 12th day of September1560. "

This sentence substituted the gallows for the decapitation decreed bythe first judge, inasmuch as the latter punishment was reserved forcriminals of noble birth, while hanging was inflicted on meaner persons. 

When once his fate was decided, Arnauld du Thill lost all his audacity. Sent back to Artigues, he was interrogated in prison by the judge ofRieux, and confessed his imposture at great length. He said the ideafirst occurred to him when, having returned from the camp in Picardy, he was addressed as Martin Guerre by several intimate friends ofthe latter. He then inquired as to the sort of life, the habits andrelations of, this man, and having contrived to be near him, had watchedhim closely during the battle. He saw him fall, carried him away, andthen, as the reader has already seen, excited his delirium to the utmostin order to obtain possession of his secrets. Having thus explained hissuccessful imposture by natural causes, which excluded any idea of magicor sorcery, he protested his penitence, implored the mercy of God, andprepared himself for execution as became a Christian. 

The next day, while the populace, collecting from the wholeneighbourhood, had assembled before the parish church of Artigues inorder to behold the penance of the criminal, who, barefoot, attired in ashirt, and holding a lighted torch in his hand, knelt at the entrance ofthe church, another scene, no less painful, took place in the house ofMartin Guerre. Exhausted by her suffering, which had caused a prematureconfinement, Bertrande lay on her couch of pain, and besought pardonfrom him whom she had innocently wronged, entreating him also to prayfor her soul. Martin Guerre, sitting at her bedside, extended his handand blessed her. She took his hand and held it to her lips; she could nolonger speak. All at once a loud noise was heard outside: the guilty manhad just been executed in front of the house. When finally attached tothe gallows, he uttered a terrible cry, which was answered by anotherfrom inside the house. The same evening, while the body of themalefactor was being consumed by fire, the remains of a mother and childwere laid to rest in consecrated ground.