My Memoirs Part 53

In these reports, the words spoken by the prisoner are very seldom exactly reproduced, for this reason: the Judge has before him a list of questions which he has carefully prepared beforehand; he asks the questions one by one, and dots down rapidly the prisoner's answers, or, at least, what he considers the essential part of those answers.

Afterwards, using his notes, he dictates both his question and the reply of the prisoner to his _greffier_... with the result that very often the whole report seems to have been written by the same person, so similar in style are the questions and the answers. As a rule, at my _Instruction_, I did not even listen when the Judge dictated to M.

Simon. During those few minutes of peace, which occurred every ten or fifteen minutes, I rested and collected my thoughts.... At the final and momentous _Instruction_, however, when all the _Instructions_ were reviewed, I tried, although it was the most harrowing of them all, and I was more exhausted than ever, to listen to the words M. Andre dictated to M. Simon, and time after time I explained that he was not dictating the exact words I had used, or that he cut short my replies. I repeated what I had said, and generously the examining magistrate consented to alter those "trifling details," as he put it.

In spite of this, however, such a report does not convey the pathos and the tragic importance of the proceedings.

In spite of all I had said and done, in spite of all facts which proved my innocence--that innocence which the jury were to realise and proclaim _eight months later_--M. Andre, who had thought me guilty from the first, refused to alter his opinion, and coolly and with a faint smile of self-satisfaction, declared to me that I was accused of having murdered my husband and my mother!

M. Simon had tears in his eyes. My counsel stood near me fearing that I should faint. I made a superhuman effort and rose.

I signed my name at the foot of the last page of that terrible _Instruction_; I handed the pen to M. Simon, and then M. Andre signed.

As I pa.s.sed out before him, on my way back to the _Depot_, and thence to Saint-Lazare, the Judge, against whom I had fought for my life for so many days, quietly said to me: "Au revoir, Madame." He lighted a cigarette and jauntily left the room, greatly satisfied with himself.

A judge, he apparently did not know that "good faith is the foundation of Justice."

He had achieved a great piece of work. Although there existed no proofs of my guilt whatever, he had succeeded--or so he thought--in building up out of flimsy fragments of circ.u.mstantial evidence, out of vague a.s.sertions and vague a.s.sumptions, out of childish contradictions, and above all, out of his own preconceptions, a solid, impregnable charge of double murder against an unhappy, defenceless, nerve-wracked and innocent woman.

Decidedly, he felt, life was a grand thing, the _Instruction_ a sublime inst.i.tution and an examining magistrate a saviour of society.... And M.

Andre was sure of promotion now!

Like so many judges I have known--and my address-book alone, which was seized at the time of my arrest but has never been returned to me in spite of many applications for it, could supply the number of all the magistrates who eagerly attended my receptions and told me anecdotes about their careers and their work!--M. Andre suffered from that illness which Brieux, in "La Robe Rouge" (the Red Robe), has aptly called, "the fever of promotion, which turns so many honest men into bad Judges."

M. Andre _was_ promoted.

CHAPTER XXVII

THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THREE DAYS IN PRISON

FROM A PRISON

The sky is o'er the wall's grey height So blue, so clean; A tree, above the wall's grey height, Waves boughs of green; From out the blue that greets my sight, A faint bell rings; Upon the tree that greets my sight, A sweet bird sings.

O G.o.d! O G.o.d! dear life is there Tranquil and sweet, That peaceful soothing murmur there Comes from the street.

What hast thou done in thy despair Weeping apart, What hast thou done in thy despair With thy young heart?

"D'une Prison," VERLAINE; translated by _Touchstone_.

When I returned to "my" cell at the Saint-Lazare prison, I had not lost all hope. Maitre Aubin, as I was on my way to the _Depot_, declared: "There is absolutely nothing against you. You may be released at any time, now. Never mind M. Andre! When the dossier of the _Instruction_ is read by those who have power to decide whether you are to be set free or tried in the Court of a.s.size, they will realise your innocence. The fact that you did not obtain a favorable reply to your recent pet.i.tion, proves nothing."

The pet.i.tion was a "_demande de liberte provisoire_" (provisional liberty), which I handed to Judge Andre at the close of the last _Instruction_ but one.

The exact contents of this pet.i.tion may interest the reader, inasmuch as it reveals various facts in connection with the crime, which I have hardly mentioned so far:

(No. 342) March 8th, 1909. _Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction._

"Following public opinion, which is so terribly against me but which, when it is better informed, will necessarily become again generous and just, you have considered me a monstrous criminal. I have endured your ten interrogatories, your sixty hours of questions, without flinching, and have always a.s.serted my innocence. You have not believed me--could not believe me after all the foolish or extravagant things I have said and done, and have been made to say and do--(this last sentence was dictated to me by my counsel, who suggested that it would not be wise to be too aggressive). My narrative of the crime seemed to you, as to other people, fantastic and unacceptable; I was the only culprit, or I had an accomplice whom I had influenced, or by whom I had been influenced! The a.s.sa.s.sins, _Monsieur le Juge_, were those I said, and their number was the number I gave. And it is your own experts in their reports, your dossier in its final state, which prove it. I, the only criminal! To think that such a gross and abominable idea should be held for one moment! Why? To make it hang together it has been necessary to introduce the theory of a sleeping-draught or of some poison! Now, after the expert, Dr. Ogier, had declared that the bodies of the victims contained no trace of narcotic or poison, comes Dr. Balthazard, who supplies this irresistible argument: that my husband and my mother were so little poisoned, so little under the influence of a narcotic, that the latter got out of her bed and that the former rose and walked to the bath-room, both victims having incontrovertibly been killed at the spot and in the position in which their bodies were found. Thus is destroyed the odious hypothesis of the 'Tragic Widow,' giver of poison or narcotic, and slayer, with her own hands and without help, of her husband and mother.

"There remains the hypothesis according to which I am still guilty, but had the a.s.sistance of an accomplice. Without insisting on the imprudence entailed by the choice of any accomplice--an inadmissible imprudence as you perceived, since you have continuously and persistently regarded me as the only culprit--which facts in regard to this theory has the _Instruction_ brought out? None. And yet it is not for lack of investigations and clues; your dossiers are full of inquiries concerning all the persons who knew me, from my most distant acquaintances to my own brother. That is not all, and here again Reason and Science supply some information. M. Bertillon and Dr. Balthazard have succeeded in ascertaining the following facts: the small clock, surely handled by one of the a.s.sa.s.sins and thrown into a cupboard, bears finger-prints which have not been identified; the brandy bottle used a few hours before the crimes for the grogs, brought up almost full in the evening and found almost empty on the morning after the crime, bears numerous unidentified finger-prints, especially around the neck, as if the murderers had drunk from the bottle. On the carpet a number of ink-spots were found, which came from the pool of ink in the _boudoir_ (where the murderers knocked over the ink-stand on the desk which contained the money and the dummy bundle of doc.u.ments); those spots had dropped from the edge of some flowing garment, which could not have been one of mine, since I had undressed on the Sat.u.r.day night in the bath-room, and since my clothes were found there on the Sunday morning, without any ink-spots on them or under the hem. To whom did this long loose garment, to whom did that gown which left its traces on the carpet, belong? Was it not to the woman I denounced, or to one of the murderers dressed as I have said? An ink-spot was found on my knee--was it not made by one of the men when binding me to the bed?"...

(Then, I showed how the gowns stolen at the Hebrew Theatre must have been those worn by the murderers, and I mentioned the extraordinary and all-important discovery of the cards in the Underground, the day after the crime, cards which pointed to the Hebrew Theatre and to the "stolen gowns.")

..."Allow me to add that four letters which are in the Dossier corroborate my narrative: Two letters from a certain Arthur Rewer, one of which is dated June 2nd, three days after the crime, a letter posted at Boulogne-sur-Seine, and the fourth written by an Italian woman and sent from Oporto (Portugal). You have a.s.suredly attached some importance to them, especially to the two Rewer letters, since you appointed an expert in handwriting and ordered all kinds of investigations and inquiries. Now, in his letter of June 2nd, Arthur Rewer declared that on the night of the crime, he had seen, and even followed (at about 12.30 A.M.), four men (I only saw three men on the fatal night, but the fourth evidently kept watch downstairs) and a woman who left the Impa.s.se Ronsin with bags. And the writer gave a description of these people which tallied with my own! I am endeavouring to submit to your high conscience proofs of my own innocence taken from your dossier, and how many other proofs there are which make my guilt impossible! And, reminding you how much, for my own life and for my daughter I needed my husband, reminding you of my love for my mother I protest to you once more: I am innocent!

"Besides, what motive could have led me to commit such a ghastly crime?

It was not a desire to be free to marry, since the person you know of, would not and could not marry again for eight years! (M. Bdl. has often said, and to others beside me, that he would never give a step-mother to his children, and that before marrying again, he would wait till they were all grown up, which meant about eight years.) For financial reasons? How could one admit it, since, if the death of my mother brought me a small income, my husband's deprived me of one far larger!

As regards the jewels which I declare to have been stolen, you know that, contrary to the news spread abroad, it has been impossible to find a single one, outside the four jewels I myself handed to M. Souloy on June 12th, as I have already told M. Leydet, and also that not one of my mother's jewels taken by the murderers, has been discovered.

"That is why, _Monsieur le Juge_, at the present stage of the _Instruction_, I ask you to give me back my child, and to put an end to this torture which is now more than useless and for which your conscience may some day p.r.i.c.k you. I have the honour to ask you to grant me 'provisional liberty,' and I duly promise to remain at your disposal and to help you with all my power in the search for the Truth.

"(Signed) MARGUERITE STEINHEIL j.a.pY."

Four days later, on March 12th, that is on the eve of the final _Instruction_, my pet.i.tion, was returned to me--rejected "purely and simply."

Maitre Aubin had told me that, after the dossier had been carefully examined, I should probably be released; I believed him and tried to wait--patiently....

I have interrupted the description of my life in prison to deal with the _Instruction_, but I may now resume my narrative of the year of agony I spent at Saint-Lazare. That agony was only relieved by the devotion of a few persons, to some of whom I have already referred. The others I shall mention in the course of this chapter.

On January 1st, 1909, several Sisters came to give me their good wishes, but the traditional "A Happy New Year" sounded bitter and ironical to me, alas!

Pastor Arboux came to see me that day, and gave me a Bible. M. Desmoulin brought me a few tangerine oranges which Firmin and I thought the most wonderful fruit we had ever tasted. Sister Leonide gave me her own lamp, a very small and old lamp which she had treasured for many, many years.

No present could have touched me more, nor have been more useful. It hardly gave more light than a candle, but the flame did not flicker, and that meant so much to my eyes, worn out by needlework--and tears. With the tissue paper and the silver-paper which had been wrapped round the tangerines, I made a little lamp-shade for "my" lamp--my priceless lamp!

Who would have thought that I, who had always surrounded myself with an orgy of light, and still never found a room sufficiently lit, would have been overwhelmed with joy to possess a toy oil-lamp!

On the same day, through the kindness of a Benevolent Society, buns were distributed among the prisoners, and it was pathetic to watch their joy... and heartrending to see some of the mothers take the buns given to the children, and devour them while the little ones screamed with disappointment. Certain women in prison reach such a state of degradation that they even lose their motherly instincts!...

After the _Instruction_ was over, Sister Leonide entered my cell one day, and said: "The Director wishes me to ask you for one of your boots... M. Hamard has applied for that." I complied with this strange request, but send a message to my counsel asking him to lodge a complaint against such arbitrary treatment. The _Instruction_ was over.

I had a right to be left in peace.

A few days later, Maitre Aubin came to the prison. I had never seen him so jovial or beaming. He laughed so much that he could hardly speak. At last he spluttered out: "It's too funny, really!... The _Subst.i.tut_, the _Procureur_, and other magistrates, are all studying the dossier of your case. I suppose they are very much annoyed, since it clearly reveals your innocence. They probably don't see how they are going to draw up an indictment with the material at their disposal.... They wondered, and suddenly they exclaimed: 'The boot: We will catch her by the boot!'...

"You don't understand? Nor did I, at first! well, it appears that on one of the photographs, taken after the crime, of the floors in your apartments, one can see a mark left by a heel. The boots of all who were suspected of having any connection with the crime have been examined--in vain. Then, they sent for one of your boots. It was at once seen that the all-important heel-mark could not have been yours. But wait! The end of the story is the most humorous part of it: they have found, beyond any doubt, that the mark was made by the heel of the very photographer who photographed the floor!"

Maitre Aubin checked his hilarity, and in an earnest tone added: "Ah, Madame, I almost hope the _non-lieu_ (no bill) you expect will not be granted you. I know it sounds terrible... as it would mean, for you, several weeks more in this prison. But, believe me, a _non-lieu_ in your case would amount to the total wreck of your life and of Marthe's too.

If you were suddenly set free, the public would think that there was some pact between you and the authorities. Suspicions would become deeper and more general than ever. Your life would be made a misery, whilst at a trial, people would follow the examination and the evidence, and after your acquittal, which would be the inevitable conclusion of the trial if there were one, you would be fully rehabilitated in the eyes of the whole world."

Maitre Aubin was sincere. I know he was not thinking--and if he had, it would have been excusable--of the great speech he would make at the trial, of the fame and glory his _role_ in the final act of the sensational drama could give him. He merely thought of what was best for me.... Alas, in spite of my acquittal, many people continued to believe me guilty, and less than a month after I reached England, I heard a number of people discuss the Steinheil affair and my personality in a drawing-room, and most of them agreed that I was a dangerous and fatal woman, and "very likely, a murderess." No one knew who I was; I had been invited to that _soiree_ by an acquaintance who advised me to retain my incognito, and who introduced me under another name. I took part in the discussion about Mme. Steinheil. Men and women surrounded me because I "seemed to have studied the case more thoroughly than they had," as one lady put it, and I went so far as to tell them that I had met Mme.

Steinheil and had found her a typical Parisienne, perhaps a little "weak" as a woman, but kind-hearted, artistically inclined, a devoted mother, and altogether a person absolutely incapable of a cowardly or a base action--still less, of course, of a crime.

"You may have met her, Madame," said an old gentleman, "but you don't know her! Certain women, especially in your country, which is also the country of the wretched murderess of whom we are speaking, are inclined to be 'weak,' as you put it. But such weaknesses are pardonable in certain circ.u.mstances, whilst murdering one's own mother and husband is unspeakably monstrous."

"Of course it is," I said; "but how do you know she _did_ murder her husband and her mother?"

"Why! The French newspapers said so. Besides, had she been innocent, they would not have tried her for her life!"