The Mammoth Book of Unsolved Crimes (44 page)

Bertrande Rols, when little more than thirteen years of age, was married to her playmate, Martin Guerre, a youth of about sixteen; but, despite the fact that they were both strong and healthy, Bertrande possessing, in addition to a sound constitution, considerable physical attraction, they had no children.

Hence, the good citizens of Artigues, who like the majority of people at that time were very superstitious, came to the conclusion that the Guerres were bewitched; and consequently extraordinary rumours soon got into circulation concerning them. It was said, for instance, that they had gathered flowers in a certain woodland glade reputed to be fairy haunted, and that, as a result, they had come under a spell; and, again, that they had offended an old itinerant mendicant believed to possess the evil eye, and that he, in revenge, had cursed them.

Their friends and relatives, believing either one or other of these stories, and anxious to deliver the alleged sufferers from the charm or curse, as the case might be, recommended all sorts of supposed antidotes, such as consecrated cakes, the branch of an elder tree, a horseshoe (nailed over the entrance of their abode), and the red flowers of the hypericon or St John’s wort (to be worn round their necks),
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while the priests of the district composed special prayers for their benefit, and nearly drowned them in holy water. However, it was all of no avail; the enchantment continued: no children would come.

Now among the many admirers of Bertrande Guerre were several young men, who, being envious of Martin, combined with Bertrande’s friends and relatives in trying to persuade Bertrande to divorce him and marry some one else, attributing her being childless to him, and declaring him to be a thoroughly worthless and abandoned character, capable of almost any wickedness. But Bertrande, who was devotedly attached to her husband, indignantly repudiated all these charges, and refused to be separated from him.

Then an event happened, which for the time being, at all events, led to the total discomfiture of Martin’s accusers. Bertrande gave birth to a child, a boy, who was subsequently christened Sanxi
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; and this, of course, rendered any attempt at divorce extremely difficult, if not impossible. However, not long after the birth of this child, a robbery took place one night on the farm belonging to Martin’s father (who, though of Biscayan origin, lived in Artigues), and owing to the discovery of certain tell-tale clues, suspicion at once fell upon Martin; and, whether he could have exonerated himself or not, no one could say, for while his wife and father, who believed him to be innocent, were waiting for him to take that step he suddenly vanished.

He left his cottage one summer morning and set off down the road, in the direction of his father’s farm, and, after that, all trace of him was lost. His enemies, naturally, spread the report that he had absconded, remarking that if any sure proof of his guilt had been needed, he himself had now furnished it. Fearing arrest and the severe punishment meted out to thieves, they said (in those days no matter how small the theft hanging was the penalty) he had simply fled.

“You are well rid of him,” they told Madame Guerre. “If he hadn’t robbed his father, you may depend upon it he would have robbed some one else.”

But again they were nonplussed; Bertrande stolidly refused to be set against her husband. Moreover, she declared, in public, her absolute belief in his innocence, and was ceaseless in her efforts to trace his whereabouts. In this she was helped by Martin’s father, who, although somewhat dubious now as to his son’s innocence (the circumstances, it must be remembered, appeared to be dead against him), was still fond of him, and only too willing to welcome him back to Artigues.

However, despite the exhaustive inquiries made by these two, no tidings of the missing man could be obtained. He had not been seen in any of the neighbouring villages, nor apparently had he been encountered by anyone in any of the roads or lanes round and about Artigues.

The years passed by. Martin’s father died, and to prove that he bore Martin no ill will he left the bulk of his property to him. In the absence of any positive proof of Martin’s death, the legal view of the matter was that he was still alive, a fact Martin’s father, of course, would be well aware of when he drew up the will.

In Artigues, however, the opinion that Martin Guerre was dead prevailed, and great therefore was every one’s astonishment, when, at the expiration of eight years from the time of his disappearance, the news was suddenly spread that he had returned. What actually happened was this.

One morning, a sunburned, weather-beaten man called at the house where Madame Guerre was living in solitary retirement, and asked to see her. Now the moment Madame Guerre caught sight of the stranger, perceiving at once that his features and stature were identical with those of her lost husband, with a wild cry of delight she threw herself into his arms. Later, the Guerres’ friends and neighbours, becoming acquainted with the news, came crowding to the house, and as soon as they saw the stranger they also unanimously expressed the opinion that it really was Martin come back, and straightaway greeted him with the utmost cordiality.

The stranger, whom I will now call Martin, then chatted away with them, gossiping about old times, various escapades in which he had participated as a boy, and numerous adventures that had befallen him in more recent years, until finally, when they left him and returned to their respective houses, there was not one among them who was not fully convinced that he was and could be none other than Martin Guerre.

And it was the same with Martin Guerre’s four sisters. They had no sooner set eyes on the stranger than they hailed him as their missing brother, while their uncle, Peter Guerre, following suit, acknowledged him to be his nephew, and subsequently made him his heir. So far, then, all was well. Martin Guerre had come back to life, and since, naturally perhaps, bygones were allowed to remain bygones, he was soon comfortably ensconced in the home he had left so abruptly, and under such a cloud.

And no one could have been happier than his faithful Bertrande, who, in course of time, presented him with two more children. One of them, it is true, died in its infancy, but this apparently was a mere detail, apart from which everything seemed to be going on quite swimmingly in the Guerre household. Nothing, in fact, of an unpleasant nature seemed in the least degree likely to happen, when one day a startling report concerning Martin was suddenly launched forth and spread throughout the village. It originated thus.

A soldier, arriving in the village from Rochefort, upon being told the story of Martin’s disappearance and return, electrified his informers by declaring that the man whom they had welcomed, open armed, as the lost Martin Guerre was an impostor, and that the real Martin Guerre, whom he knew intimately, was still alive, although he had lost a leg in the recent war in Flanders.

The story was variously received. While some were inclined to believe it, others did not, arguing that, if it were true, the one-legged man would assuredly have come forward long ago and claimed his pretty wife and not inconsiderable property.

Now, it was while the citizens of Artigues were thus engaged in a somewhat heated controversy that the harmony in the Guerre household was threatened with a serious rupture.

Although Peter Guerre had handed over to his nephew the property he had inherited from his father, and of which he had been appointed trustee, he had not rendered an account of his trusteeship, and this omission gave rise to an incessant wrangling, which soon led to a violent quarrel. Martin brought an action against his uncle, and his uncle, losing his temper one day, knocked him down with an iron bar and would have killed him, had not the devoted Bertrande opportunely interfered and prevented him. Henceforth, however, Peter Guerre became Martin’s inveterate enemy, and, with the intensity of feeling which was characteristic of him, gave himself up entirely to thoughts of revenge. Nor did he have to wait long for an opportunity to gratify such thoughts.

Martin, who seems either to have become suddenly aggressive or to have developed the unfortunate idiosyncrasy of arousing other people’s animosity, quarreled with a man named Jean d’Escarboeuf, who, somehow, managed to get him put into prison. Here, then, was the opportunity Peter was looking for. Taking advantage of Martin’s ignominy and absence, he did his level best to persuade Bertrande to desert her husband, declaring him—although he had up to that time unhesitatingly accepted him as his nephew—to be an impostor, and even going so far as to threaten to turn them out of their house if she refused. Bertrande, however, did refuse. She said the story told by the soldier from Rochefort was untrue, merely another device on the part of Martin’s old enemies, and that she was positively certain the man she had welcomed back as her husband was her husband.

“If it isn’t Martin,” she said, “then it is the devil in his skin.”

This sentiment found an echo in the minds of many, including one Jean Loze, a highly influential person living near Artigues, who, upon Peter’s applying to him for a loan to commence proceedings against Martin, indignantly refused to advance him a sou, at the same time remarking:

“If I part with any money, it will only be to defend Martin Guerre against those who are once again trying to deprive him of his good name.”

The day after Peter Guerre’s application had been thus summarily dismissed—it was said that he went out from the presence of Jean Loze raging—another sensation was caused in Artigues. Peter Guerre, accompanied by his four sons-in-law, all armed to the teeth, went to Martin’s house, while he was at breakfast, and taking him by surprise, before he could lay his hand on any weapon with which to defend himself, marched him off between them to Rieux, where he was once again lodged in the jail which he had only quitted a few hours previously. Intensely surprised though they were upon hearing of this outrage, the inhabitants of Artigues were still more astonished when they learned that it had been approved of by Bertrande herself, and even perpetrated at her request. There seems, indeed, to be little doubt that such was the case, but it is extremely probable that Peter Guerre and his sons-in-law had “got at” her, and that she would not have acted as she did, had they not resorted to forcible persuasion, or what is termed in other words undue influence. There is, however, some uncertainty with regard to what were her real feelings and belief at this juncture. Some are of the opinion that she had long ago discovered that the man she was living with was not her husband, but that she had resolved to say nothing about it, since she had grown really fond of him, a state of affairs that would account for her not having yielded to the previous persuasion and threats of Peter Guerre; whereas others maintain that she still believed the arrested man to be her real husband and, having full confidence in his ability to prove himself such, she considered it advisable that he should have an opportunity of doing so in public. At any rate, as a sure indication, we may take it, that she still had some regard for him, about three weeks after the commencement of his incarceration, she sent him clothes, clean linen and money.

The trial before the Court of Justice took place at Rieux. He was put down on the indictment sheet as Arnold Tilh, commonly called Pansette, a native of Sagias,
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and charged with having assumed the name, rank and person of Martin Guerre, claimed his wife, appropriated and spent her property, and contaminated her marriage. His chief accusers were Peter Guerre and the latter’s sons-in-law.

The accused defended himself, and the story he told was apparently pronounced with so much candour and simplicity that, if he really were the impostor he afterwards declared himself to be, one can only say he should be classified among the very cleverest and most unscrupulous of criminals. He said that having seriously offended his father (although he was innocent of the robbery) he thought it best for financial reasons and his wife’s sake to leave Artigues, and consequently he went off, without making known his intentions to a soul. Wandering about from place to place—he mentioned them by name and the various people he had come in contact with in each—he eventually enlisted, and served in the French army for eight years. Tiring at length of that, he deserted, and after being a soldier in the Spanish army for a short time, finding he could return to France without fear of punishment, he came back to Artigues, and being instantly recognized by his wife, his four sisters and all his relations and friends, he naturally resumed his old life. He described in detail the instant recognition of him by his wife and sisters, and the welcome they gave him, throwing themselves into his arms, and then said:

“If Bertrande, after thus receiving me back and living with me perfectly happily for three years, is now one of my accusers, it can only be because she has been intimidated and forced to turn against me by my enemies, of whom my uncle is the most bitter. I once had the misfortune to quarrel with him, and ever since then he has sought every opportunity to do me harm. I beg of you to have my wife released from his power and placed under the protection of some reliable and disinterested person.”

The Court granted this appeal and deferred giving a verdict till inquiries concerning the truth of certain of his statements had been made, and more witnesses called. The trial was therefore adjourned for a while. The result of the inquiries having tended to corroborate the statements of the accused, regarding the towns he had visited and the people he had encountered, the trial was resumed, and the accused subjected to a rigorous cross-examination. He neither wavered nor contradicted himself, but spoke easily and naturally about his parents and wife, commenting on the dresses worn by some of those present at his marriage, and recalling an amusing incident that happened the night preceding that event, namely, a serenade given him by a number of young men in the village, all of whom he mentioned by name.