Edgar Allan Poe

The Mystery of Marie Roget

A Sequel to "The Murder in the Rue Morgue"


There are ideal series of events which run parallel with the real ones. They 
rarely coincide. Men and circumstances generally modify the ideal train of 
events, so that it seems imperfect, and its consequences are equally imperfect. 
Thus with the Reformation; instead of Protestantism came Lutheranism.

Novalis. Moral Ansichten.

Upon the original publication of "Marie Roget," the footnotes now appended were 
considered unnecessary; but the lapse of several years since the tragedy upon 
which the tale is based, renders it expedient to give them, and also to say a 
few words in explanation of the general design. A young girl, Mary Cecilia 
Rogers, was murdered in the vicinity of New York; and although her death 
occasioned an intense and long-enduring excitement, the mystery attending it had 
remained unsolved at the period when the present paper was written and published 
(November, 1842). Herein, under pretence of relating the fate of a Parisian 
grisette, the author has followed, in minute detail, the essential, while merely 
paralleling the inessential, facts of the real murder of Mary Rogers. Thus all 
argument founded upon the fiction is applicable to the truth: and the 
investigation of the truth was the object.

The "Mystery of Marie Roget" was composed at a distance from the scene of the 
atrocity, and with no other means of investigation than the newspapers afforded. 
Thus much escaped the writer of which he could have availed himself had he been 
upon the spot and visited the localities. It may not be improper to record, 
nevertheless, that the confessions of two persons (one of them the Madame Deluc 
of the narrative), made, at different periods, long subsequent to the 
publication, confirmed, in full, not only the general conclusion, but absolutely 
all the chief hypothetical details by which that conclusion was attained.

THERE ARE few persons, even among the calmest thinkers, who have not 
occasionally been startled into a vague yet thrilling half-credence in the 
supernatural, by coincidences of so seemingly marvellous a character that, as 
mere coincidences, the intellect has been unable to receive them. Such 
sentiments–for the half-credences of which I speak have never the full force of 
thought–such sentiments are seldom thoroughly stifled unless by reference to the 
doctrine of chance, or, as it is technically termed, the Calculus of 
Probabilities. Now this Calculus is, in its essence, purely mathematical; and 
thus we have the anomaly of the most rigidly exact in science applied to the 
shadow and spirituality of the most intangible in speculation.

The extraordinary details which I am now called upon to make public, will be 
found to form, as regards sequence of time, the primary branch of a series of 
scarcely intelligible coincidences, whose secondary or concluding branch will be 
recognized by all readers in the late murder of MARY CECILIA ROGERS, at New 

When, in an article entitled "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," I endeavored, 
about a year ago, to depict some very remarkable features in the mental 
character of my friend, the Chevalier C. Auguste Dupin, it did not occur to me 
that I should ever resume the subject. This depicting of character constituted 
my design; and this design was thoroughly fulfilled in the wild train of 
circumstances brought to instance Dupin's idiosyncrasy. I might have adduced 
other examples, but I should have proven no more. Late events, however, in their 
surprising development, have startled me into some farther details, which will 
carry with them the air of extorted confession. Hearing what I have lately 
heard, it would be indeed strange should I remain silent in regard to what I 
both heard and saw so long ago.

Upon the winding up of the tragedy involved in the deaths of Madame L'Espanaye 
and her daughter, the Chevalier dismissed the affair at once from his attention, 
and relapsed into his old habits of moody revery. Prone, at all times, to 
abstraction, I readily fell in with his humor; and continuing to occupy our 
chambers in the Faubourg Saint Germain, we gave the Future to the winds, and 
slumbered tranquilly in the Present, weaving the dull world around us into 

But these dreams were not altogether uninterrupted. It may readily be supposed 
that the part played by my friend, in the drama at the Rue Morgue had not failed 
of its impression upon the fancies of the Parisian police. With its emissaries, 
the name of Dupin had grown into a household word. The simple character of those 
inductions by which he had disentangled the mystery never having been explained 
even to the Prefect, or to any other individual than myself, of course it is not 
surprising that the affair was regarded as little less than miraculous, or that 
the Chevalier's analytical abilities acquired for him the credit of intuition. 
His frankness would have led him to disabuse every inquirer of such prejudice; 
but his indolent humor forbade all further agitation of a topic whose interest 
to himself had long ceased. It thus happened that he found himself the cynosure 
of the political eyes; and the cases were not few in which attempt was made to 
engage his services at the Prefecture. One of the most remarkable instances was 
that of the murder of a young girl named Marie Roget.

This event occurred about two years after the atrocity in the Rue Morgue. Marie, 
whose Christian and family name will at once arrest attention from their 
resemblance to those of the unfortunate "cigar-girl" was the only daughter of 
the widow Estelle Roget. The father had died during the child's infancy, and 
from the period of his death, until within eighteen months before the 
assassination which forms the subject of our narrative, the mother and daughter 
had dwelt together in the Rue Pavee Saint Andree;<1> Madame there keeping a 
pension, assisted by Marie. Affairs went on thus until the latter had attained 
her twenty-second year, when her great beauty attracted the notice of a 
perfumer, who occupied one of the shops in the basement of the Palais Royal, and 
whose custom lay, chiefly among the desperate adventurers infesting that 
neighborhood. Monsieur Le Blanc<2> was not unaware of the advantages to be 
derived from the attendance of the fair Marie in his perfumery; and his liberal 
proposals were accepted eagerly by the girl, although with somewhat more of 
hesitation by Madame.

The anticipations of the shopkeeper were realized, and his rooms soon became 
notorious through the charms of the sprightly grisette. She had been in his 
employ about a year, when her admirers were thrown into confusion by her sudden 
disappearance from the shop. Monsieur Le Blanc was unable to account for her 
absence, and Madame Roget was distracted with anxiety and terror. The public 
papers immediately took up the theme, and the police were upon the point of 
making serious investigations, when, one fine morning, after the lapse of a 
week, Marie, in good health, but with a somewhat saddened air, made her re-
appearance at her usual counter in the perfumery. All inquiry, except that of a 
private character, was of course, immediately hushed. Monsieur Le Blanc 
professed total ignorance, as before. Marie, with Madame, replied to all 
questions, that the last week had been spent at the house of a relation in the 
country. Thus the affair died away, and was generally forgotten; for the girl, 
ostensibly to relieve herself from the impertinence of curiosity soon bade a 
final adieu to the perfumer, and sought the shelter of her mother's residence in 
the Rue Pavee Saint Andree.

It was about five months after this return home, that her friends were alarmed 
by her sudden disappearance for the second time. Three days elapsed, and nothing 
was heard of her. On the fourth her corpse was found floating in the Seine<3> 
near the shore which is opposite the Quartier of the Rue Saint Andre, and at a 
point not very far distant from the secluded neighborhood of the Barriere du 

The atrocity of this murder (for it was at once evident that murder had been 
committed), the youth and beauty of the victim, and, above all her previous 
notoriety, conspired to produce intense excitement in the minds of the sensitive 
Parisians. I can call to mind no similar occurrence producing so general and so 
intense an effect. For several weeks, in the discussion of this one absorbing 
theme, even the momentous political topics of the day were forgotten. The 
Prefect made unusual exertions; and the powers of the whole Parisian police 
were, of course, tasked to the utmost extent.

Upon the first discovery of the corpse, it was not supposed that the murderer 
would be able to elude, for more than a very brief period, the inquisition which 
was immediately set on foot. It was not until the expiration of a week that it 
was deemed necessary to offer a reward; and even then this reward was limited to 
a thousand francs. In the meantime the investigation proceeded with vigor, if 
not always with judgment, and numerous individuals were examined to no purpose; 
while, owing to the continual absence of all clew to the mystery, the popular 
excitement greatly increased. At the end of the tenth day it was thought 
advisable to double the sum originally proposed; and, at length, the second week 
having elapsed without leading to any discoveries, and the prejudice which 
always exists in Paris against the Police having given vent to itself in several 
serious emeutes, the Prefect took it upon himself to offer the sum of twenty 
thousand francs "for the conviction of the assassin," or, if more than one 
should prove to have been implicated, "for the conviction of any one of the 
assassins." In the proclamation setting forth this reward, a full pardon was 
promised to any accomplice who should come forward in evidence against his 
fellow; and to the whole was appended, wherever it appeared, the private placard 
of a committee of citizens, offering ten thousand francs, in addition to the 
amount proposed by the Prefecture. The entire reward thus stood at no less than 
thirty thousand francs, which will be regarded as an extraordinary sum when we 
consider the humble condition of the girl, and the great frequency, in large 
cities, of such atrocities as the one described.

No one doubted now that the mystery of this murder would be immediately brought 
to light. But although, in one or two instances, arrests were made which 
promised elucidation, yet nothing was elicited which could implicate the parties 
suspected; and they were discharged forthwith. Strange as it may appear, the 
third week from the discovery of the body had passed, and passed without any 
light being thrown upon the subject, before even a rumor of the events which had 
so agitated the public mind reached the ears of Dupin and myself. Engaged in 
researches which had absorbed our whole attention, it had been nearly a month 
since either of us had gone abroad, or received a visitor, or more than glanced 
at the leading political articles in one of the daily papers. The first 
intelligence of the murder was brought us by G--, in person. He called upon us 
early in the afternoon of the thirteenth of July, 18-, and remained with us 
until late in the night. He had been piqued by the failure of all his endeavors 
to ferret out the assassins. His reputation–so he said with a peculiarly 
Parisian air–was at stake. Even his honor was concerned. The eyes of the public 
were upon him; and there was really no sacrifice which he would not be willing 
to make for the development of the mystery. He concluded a somewhat droll speech 
with a compliment upon what he was pleased to term the tact of Dupin, and made 
him a direct and certainly a liberal proposition, the precise nature of which I 
do not feel myself at liberty to disclose, but which has no bearing upon the 
proper subject of my narrative.

The compliment my friend rebutted as best he could, but the proposition he 
accepted at once, although its advantages were altogether provisional. This 
point being settled, the Prefect broke forth at once into explanations of his 
own views, interspersing them with long comments upon the evidence; of which 
latter we were not yet in possession. He discoursed much and, beyond doubt, 
learnedly; while I hazarded an occasional suggestion as the night wore drowsily 
away. Dupin, sitting steadily in his accustomed armchair, was the embodiment of 
respectful attention. He wore spectacles, during the whole interview; and an 
occasional glance beneath their green glasses sufficed to convince me that he 
slept not the less soundly, because silently, throughout the seven or eight 
leaden-footed hours which immediately preceded the departure of the Prefect.

In the morning, I procured, at the Prefecture, a full report of all the evidence 
elicited, and, at the various newspaper offices, a copy of every paper in which, 
from first to last, had been published any decisive information in regard to 
this sad affair. Freed from all that was positively disproved, this mass of 
information stood thus:

Marie Roget left the residence of her mother, in the Rue Pavee St. Andree, about 
nine o'clock in the morning of Sunday, June the twenty second, 18-. In going 
out, she gave notice to a Monsieur Jacques St. Eustache,<5> and to him only, of 
her intention to spend the day with an aunt, who resided in the Rue des Dromes. 
The Rue des Dromes is a short and narrow but populous thoroughfare, not far from 
the banks of the river, and at a distance of some two miles, in the most direct 
course possible, from the pension of Madame Roget. St. Eustache was the accepted 
suitor of Marie, and lodged, as well as took his meals, at the pension. He was 
to have gone for his betrothed at dusk, and to have escorted her home. In the 
afternoon, however, it came on to rain heavily; and, supposing that she would 
remain all night at her aunt's (as she had done under similar circumstances 
before), he did not think it necessary to keep his promise. As night drew on, 
Madame Roget (who was an infirm old lady, seventy years of age) was heard to 
express a fear "that she should never see Marie again;" but this observation 
attracted little attention at the time.

On Monday it was ascertained that the girl had not been to the Rue des Dromes; 
and when the day elapsed without tidings of her, a tardy search was instituted 
at several points in the city and its environs. It was not, however, until the 
fourth day from the period of her disappearance that any thing satisfactory was 
ascertained respecting her. On this day (Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of June) a 
Monsieur Beauvais,<6> who, with a friend, had been making inquiries for Marie 
near the Barriere du Roule, on the shore of the Seine which is opposite the Rue 
Pavee St. Andree, was informed that a corpse had just been towed ashore by some 
fishermen, who had found it floating in the river. Upon seeing the body, 
Beauvais, after some hesitation, identified it as that of the perfumery-girl. 
His friend recognized it more promptly.

The face was suffused with dark blood, some of which issued from the mouth. No 
foam was seen, as in the case of the merely drowned. There was no discoloration 
in the cellular tissue. About the throat were bruises and impressions of 
fingers. The arms were bent over on the chest, and were rigid. The right hand 
was clenched; the left partially open. On the left wrist were two circular 
excoriations, apparently the effect of ropes, or of a rope in more than one 
volution. A part of the right wrist, also, was much chafed, as well as the back 
throughout its extent, but more especially at the shoulder-blades. In bringing 
the body to the shore the fishermen had attached to it a rope, but none of the 
excorations had been effected by this. The flesh of the neck was much swollen. 
There were no cuts apparent, or bruises which appeared the effect of blows. A 
piece of lace was found tied so tightly around the neck as to be hidden from 
sight; it was completely buried in the flesh, and was fastened by a knot which 
lay just under the left ear. This alone would have sufficed to produce death. 
The medical testimony spoke confidently of the virtuous character of the 
deceased. She had been subjected, it said, to brutal violence. The corpse was in 
such condition when found, that there could have been no difficulty in its 
recognition by friends.

The dress was much torn and otherwise disordered. In the outer garment, a slip, 
about a foot wide, had been torn upward from the bottom hem to the waist, but 
not torn off. It was wound three times around the waist, and secured by a sort 
of hitch in the back. The dress immediately beneath the frock was of fine 
muslin; and from this a slip eighteen inches wide had been torn entirely out-
torn very evenly and with great care. It was found around her neck, fitting 
loosely, and secured with a hard knot. Over this muslin slip and the slip of 
lace the strings of a bonnet were attached, the bonnet being appended. The knot 
by which the strings of the bonnet were fastened was not a lady's, but a slip or 
sailors knot.

After the recognition of the corpse, it was not, as usual, taken to the Morgue 
(this formality being superfluous), but hastily interred not far from the spot 
at which it was brought ashore. Through the exertions of Beauvais, the matter 
was industriously hushed up, as far as possible; and several days had elapsed 
before any public emotion resulted. A weekly paper,<7> however, at length took 
up the theme; the corpse was disinterred, and a re-examination instituted; but 
nothing was elicited beyond what has been already noted. The clothes, however, 
were now submitted to the mother and friends of the deceased, and fully 
identified as those worn by the girl upon leaving home.

Meantime, the excitement increased hourly. Several individuals were arrested and 
discharged. St. Eustache fell especially under suspicion; and he failed, at 
first, to give an intelligible account of his whereabouts during the Sunday on 
which Marie left home. Subsequently, however, he submitted to Monsieur G--, 
affidavits, accounting satisfactorily for every hour of the day in question. As 
time passed and no discovery ensued, a thousand contradictory rumors were 
circulated and journalists busied themselves in suggestions. Among these, the 
one which attracted the most notice, was the idea that Marie Roget still 
lived–that the corpse found in the Seine was that of some other unfortunate. It 
will be proper that I submit to the reader some passages which embody the 
suggestion alluded to. These passages are literal translations from L'Etoile,<8> 
a paper conducted, in general, with much ability.

"Mademoiselle Roget left her mother's house on Sunday morning, June the twenty-
second, 18-, with the ostensible purpose of going to see her aunt, or some other 
connection, in the Rue des Dromes. From that hour, nobody is proved to have seen 
her. There is no trace or tidings of her at all.... There has no person, 
whatever, come forward, so far, who saw her at all in that day, after she left 
her mother's door.... Now, though we have no evidence that Marie Roget was in 
the land of the living after nine o'clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second, we 
have proof that, up to that hour, she was alive. On Wednesday noon, at twelve, a 
female body was discovered afloat on the shore of the Barriere du Roule. This 
was, even if we presume that Marie Roget was thrown into the river within three 
hours after she left her mother's house, only three days from the time she left 
her home–three days to an hour. But it is folly to suppose that the murder, if 
murder was committed on her body, could have been consummated soon enough to 
have enabled her murderers to throw the body into the river before midnight. 
Those who are guilty of such horrid crimes choose darkness rather than light... 
Thus we see that if the body found in the river was that of Marie Roget it could 
only have been in the water two and a half days, or three at the outside. All 
experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water 
immediately after death by violence, require from six to ten days for sufficient 
decomposition to take place to bring them to the top of the water. Even where a 
cannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days' 
immersion, it sinks again, if left alone. Now, we ask, what was there in this 
case to cause a departure from the ordinary course of nature?... If the body had 
been kept in its mangled state on shore until Tuesday night some trace would be 
found in shore of the murderers. It is a doubtful point, also, whether the body 
would be so soon afloat, even were it thrown in after having been dead two days. 
And, furthermore, it is exceedingly improbable that any villains who had 
committed such a murder as is here supposed, would have thrown the body in 
without weight to sink it, when such a precaution could have so easily been 

The editor here proceeds to argue that the body must have been in the water "not 
three days merely, but, at least, five times three days," because it was so far 
decomposed that Beauvais had great difficulty in recognizing it. This latter 
point, however, was fully disproved. I continue the translation:

"What, then, are the facts on which M. Beauvais says that he had no doubt the 
body was that of Marie Roget? He ripped up the gown sleeve, and says he found 
marks which satisfied him of the identity. The public generally supposed those 
marks to have consisted of some description of scars. He rubbed the arm and 
found hair upon it- something as indefinite, we think, as can readily be 
imagined–as little conclusive as finding an arm in the sleeve. M. Beauvais did 
not return that night, but sent word to Madame Roget, at seven o'clock, on 
Wednesday evening, that an investigation was still in progress respecting her 
daughter. If we allow that Madame Roget, from her age and grief, could not go 
over (which is allowing a great deal), there certainly must have been some one 
who would have thought it worth while to go over and attend the investigation, 
if they thought the body was that of Marie. Nobody went over. There was nothing 
said or heard about the matter in the Rue Pavee St. Andree, that reached even 
the occupants of the same building. M. St. Eustache, the lover and intended 
husband of Marie, who boarded in her mother's house, deposes that he did not 
hear of the discovery of the body of his intended until the next morning, when 
M. Beauvais came into his chamber and told him of it. For an item of news like 
this, it strikes us it was very coolly received."

In this way the journal endeavored to create the impression of an apathy on the 
part of the relatives of Marie, inconsistent with the supposition that these 
relatives believed the corpse to be hers. Its insinuations amount to this:–that 
Marie, with the connivance of her friends, had absented herself from the city 
for reasons involving a charge against her chastity; and that these friends upon 
the discovery of a corpse in the Seine, somewhat resembling that of the girl, 
had availed themselves of the opportunity to impress the public with the belief 
of her death. But L'Etoile was again overhasty. It was distinctly proved that no 
apathy, such as was imagined, existed; that the old lady was exceedingly feeble, 
and so agitated as to be unable to attend to any duty; that St. Eustache, so far 
from receiving the news coolly, was distracted with grief, and bore himself so 
frantically, that M. Beauvais prevailed upon a friend and relative to take 
charge of him, and prevent his attending the examination at the disinterment. 
Moreover, although it was stated by L'Etoile, that the corpse was re-interred at 
the public expense,–that an advantageous offer of private sepulture was 
absolutely declined by the family,–and that no member of the family attended the 
ceremonial:- although, I say, all this was asserted by L'Etoile in furtherance 
of the impression it designed to convey–yet all this was satisfactorily 
disproved. In a subsequent number of the paper, an attempt was made to throw 
suspicion upon Beauvais himself. The editor says:

"Now, then, a change comes over the matter. We are told that, on one occasion, 
while a Madame B–was at Madame Roget's house, M. Beauvais, who was going out, 
told her that a gendarme was expected there, and that she, Madame B., must not 
say any thing to the gendarme until he returned, but let the matter be for 
him.... In the present posture of affairs, M. Beauvais appears to have the whole 
matter locked up in his head. A single step cannot be taken without M. Beauvais, 
for, go which way you will you run against him.... For some reason he determined 
that nobody shall have anything to do with the proceedings but himself, and he 
has elbowed the male relatives out of the way, according to their 
representations, in a very singular manner. He seems to have been very much 
averse to permitting the relatives to see the body."

By the following fact, some color was given to the suspicion thus thrown upon 
Beauvais. A visitor at his office, a few days prior to the girl's disappearance, 
and during the absence of its occupant, had observed a rose in the key-hole of 
the door, and the name "Marie" inscribed upon a slate which hung near at hand.

The general impression, so far as we were enabled to glean it from the 
newspapers, seemed to be, that Marie had been the victim of a gang of 
desperadoes–that by these she had been borne across the river, maltreated, and 
murdered. Le Commerciel,<9> however, a print of extensive influence, was earnest 
in combatting this popular idea. I quote a passage or two from its columns:

"We are persuaded that pursuit has hitherto been on a false scent, so far as it 
has been directed to the Barriere du Roule. It is impossible that a person so 
well known to thousands as this young woman was, should have passed three blocks 
without some one having seen her; and any one who saw her would have remembered 
it, for she interested all who knew her. It was when the streets were full of 
people, when she went out.... It is impossible that she could have gone to the 
Barriere du Roule, or to the Rue des Dromes, without being recognized by a dozen 
persons; yet no one has come forward who saw her outside of her mother's door, 
and there is no evidence, except the testimony concerning her expressed 
intentions, that she did go out at all. Her gown was torn, bound round her, and 
tied; and by that the body was carried as a bundle. If the murder had been 
committed at the Barriere du Roule, there would have been no necessity for any 
such arrangement. The fact that the body was found floating near the Barriere, 
is no proof as to where it was thrown into the water.... A piece of one of the 
unfortunate girl's petticoats, two feet long and one foot wide, was torn out and 
tied under her chin around the back of her head, probably to prevent screams. 
This was done by fellows who had no pocket-handkerchief."

A day or two before the Prefect called upon us, however, some important 
information reached the police, which seemed to overthrow, at least, the chief 
portion of Le Commerciel's argument. Two small boys, sons of a Madame Deluc, 
while roaming among the woods near the Barriere du Roule, chanced to penetrate a 
close thicket, within which were three or four large stones, forming a kind of 
seat with a back and footstool. On the upper stone lay a white petticoat; on the 
second, a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief were also 
here found. The handkerchief bore the name "Marie Roget." Fragments of dress 
were discovered on the brambles around. The earth was trampled, the bushes were 
broken, and there was every evidence of a struggle. Between the thicket and the 
river, the fences were found taken down, and the ground bore evidence of some 
heavy burthen having been dragged along it.

A weekly paper, Le Soleil,<10> had the following comments upon this 
discovery–comments which merely echoed the sentiment of the whole Parisian 

"The things had all evidently been there at least three or four weeks; they were 
all mildewed down hard with the action of the rain, and stuck together from 
mildew. The grass had grown around and over some of them. The silk on the 
parasol was strong, but the threads of it were run together within. The upper 
part, where it had been doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and 
tore on its being opened.... The pieces of her frock torn out by the bushes were 
about three inches wide and six inches long. One part was the hem of the frock, 
and it had been mended; the other piece was part of the skirt, not the hem. They 
looked like strips torn off, and were on the thorn bush, about a foot from the 
ground.... There can be no doubt, therefore, that the spot of this appalling 
outrage has been discovered."

Consequent upon this discovery, new evidence appeared. Madame Deluc testified 
that she keeps a roadside inn not far from the bank of the river, opposite the 
Barriere du Roule. The neighborhood is secluded–particularly so. It is the usual 
Sunday resort of blackguards from the city, who cross the river in boats. About 
three o'clock, in the afternoon of the Sunday in question, a young girl arrived 
at the inn, accompanied by a young man of dark complexion. The two remained here 
for some time. On their departure, they took the road to some thick woods in the 
vicinity. Madame Deluc's attention was called to the dress worn by the girl, on 
account of its resemblance to one worn by a deceased relative. A scarf was 
particularly noticed. Soon after the departure of the couple, a gang of 
miscreants made their appearance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank without 
making payment, followed in the route of the young man and girl, returned to the 
inn about dusk, and re-crossed the river as if in great haste.

It was soon after dark, upon this same evening, that Madame Deluc, as well as 
her eldest son, heard the screams of a female in the vicinity of the inn. The 
screams were violent but brief. Madame D. recognized not only the scarf which 
was found in the thicket, but the dress which was discovered upon the corpse. An 
omnibus-driver, Valence,<11> now also testified that he saw Marie Roget cross a 
ferry on the Seine, on the Sunday in question, in company with a young man of 
dark complexion. He, Valence, knew Marie, and could not be mistaken in her 
identity. The articles found in the thicket were fully identified by the 
relatives of Marie.

The items of evidence and information thus collected by myself, from the 
newspapers, at the suggestion of Dupin, embraced only one more point–but this 
was a point of seemingly vast consequence. It appears that, immediately after 
the discovery of the clothes as above described, the lifeless or nearly lifeless 
body of St. Eustache, Marie's betrothed, was found in the vicinity of what all 
now supposed the scene of the outrage. A phial labelled "laudanum," and emptied, 
was found near him. His breath gave evidence of the poison. He died without 
speaking. Upon his person was found a letter, briefly stating his love for 
Marie, with his design of self-destruction.

"I need scarcely tell you," said Dupin, as he finished the perusal of my notes, 
"that this is a far more intricate case than that of the Rue Morgue; from which 
it differs in one important respect. This is an ordinary, although an atrocious, 
instance of crime. There is nothing peculiarly outre about it. You will observe 
that, for this reason, the mystery has been considered easy, when, for this 
reason, it should have been considered difficult, of solution. Thus, at first, 
it was thought unnecessary to offer a reward. The myrmidons of G–were able at 
once to comprehend how and why such an atrocity might have been committed. They 
could picture to their imaginations a mode- many modes–and a motive–many 
motives; and because it was not impossible that either of these numerous modes 
or motives could have been the actual one, they have taken it for granted that 
one of them must. But the ease with which these variable fancies were 
entertained, and the very plausibility which each assumed, should have been 
understood as indicative rather of the difficulties than of the facilities which 
must attend elucidation. I have before observed that it is by prominences above 
the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels her way, if at all, in her search 
for the true, and that the proper question in cases such as this, is not so much 
'what has occurred?' as 'what has occurred that has never occurred before?' In 
the investigations at the house of Madame L'Espanaye,<12> the agents of G–were 
discouraged and confounded by that very unusualness which, to a properly 
regulated intellect, would have afforded the surest omen of success; while this 
same intellect might have been plunged in despair at the ordinary character of 
all that met the eye in the case of the perfumery girl, and yet told of nothing 
but easy triumph to the functionaries of the Prefecture.

"In the case of Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter, there was, even at the 
begining of our investigation, no doubt that murder had been committed. The idea 
of suicide was excluded at once. Here, too, we are freed, at the commencement, 
from all supposition of self-murder. The body found at the Barriere du Roule was 
found under such circumstances as to leave us no room for embarrassment upon 
this important point. But it has been suggested that the corpse discovered is 
not that of the Marie Roget for the conviction of whose assassin, or assassins, 
the reward is offered, and respecting whom, solely, our agreement has been 
arranged with the Prefect. We both know this gentleman well. It will not do to 
trust him too far. If, dating our inquiries from the body found, and then 
tracing a murderer, we yet discover this body to be that of some other 
individual than Marie; or if, starting from the living Marie, we find her, yet 
find her unassassinated–in either case we lose our labor; since it is Monsieur 
G–with whom we have to deal. For our own purpose, therefore, if not for the 
purpose of justice, it is indispensable that our first step should be the 
determination of the identity of the corpse with the Marie Roget who is missing.

"With the public the arguments of L'Etoile have had weight; and that the journal 
itself is convinced of their importance would appear from the manner in which it 
commences one of its essays upon the subject–'Several of the morning papers of 
the day,' it says, 'speak of the conclusive article in Monday's Etoile.' To me, 
this article appears conclusive of little beyond the zeal of its inditer. We 
should bear in mind that, in general, it is the object of our newspapers rather 
to create a sensation–to make a point–than to further the cause of truth. The 
latter end is only pursued when it seems coincident with the former. The print 
which merely falls in with ordinary opinion (however well founded this opinion 
may be) earns for itself no credit with the mob. The mass of the people regard 
as profound only him who suggests pungent contradictions of the general idea. In 
ratiocination, not less than in literature, it is the epigram which is the most 
immediately and the most universally appreciated. In both, it is of the lowest 
order of merit.

"What I mean to say is, that it is the mingled epigram and melodrame of the 
idea, that Marie Roget still lives, rather than any true plausibility in this 
idea, which have suggested it to L'Etoile, and secured it a favorable reception 
with the public. Let us examine the heads of this journal's argument, 
endeavoring to avoid the incoherence with which it is originally set forth.

"The first aim of the writer is to show, from the brevity of the interval 
between Marie's disappearance and the finding of the floating corpse, that this 
corpse cannot be that of Marie. The reduction of this interval to its smallest 
possible dimension, becomes thus, at once, an object with the reasoner. In the 
rash pursuit of this object, he rushes into mere assumption at the outset. 'It 
is folly to suppose,' he says, 'that the murder, if murder was committed on her 
body, could have been consummated soon enough to have enabled her murderers to 
throw the body into the river before midnight.' We demand at once, and very 
naturally, why? Why is it folly to suppose that the murder was committed within 
five minutes after the girl's quitting her mother's house? Why is it folly to 
suppose that the murder was committed at any given period of the day? There have 
been assassinations at all hours. But, had the murder taken place at any moment 
between nine o'clock in the morning of Sunday and a quarter before midnight, 
there would still have been time enough 'to throw the body into the river before 
midnight.' This assumption, then, amounts precisely to this–that the murder was 
not committed on Sunday at all- and, if we allow L'Etoile to assume this, we may 
permit it any liberties whatever. The paragraph beginning 'It is folly to 
suppose that the murder, etc.,' however it appears as printed in L'Etoile, may 
be imagined to have existed actually thus in the brain of its inditer: 'It is 
folly to suppose that the murder, if murder was committed on the body, could 
have been committed soon enough to have enabled her murderers to throw the body 
into the river before midnight; it is folly, we say, to suppose all this, and to 
suppose at the same time, (as we are resolved to suppose), that the body was not 
thrown in until after midnight'–a sentence sufficiently inconsequential in 
itself, but not so utterly preposterous as the one printed.

"Were it my purpose," continued Dupin, "merely to make out a case against this 
passage of L'Etoile's argument, I might safely leave it where it is. It is not, 
however, with L'Etoile that we have to do, but with truth. The sentence in 
question has but one meaning, as it stands; and this meaning I have fairly 
stated, but it is material that we go behind the mere words, for an idea which 
these words have obviously intended, and failed to convey. It was the design of 
the journalists to say that at whatever period of the day or night of Sunday 
this murder was committed, it was improbable that the assassins would have 
ventured to bear the corpse to the river before midnight. And herein lies, 
really, the assumption of which I complain. It is assumed that the murder was 
committed at such a position, and under such circumstances, that the bearing it 
to the river became necessary. Now, the assassination might have taken place 
upon the river's brink, or on the river itself; and, thus, the throwing the 
corpse in the water might have been resorted to at any period of the day or 
night, as the most obvious and most immediate mode of disposal. You will 
understand that I suggest nothing here as probable, or as coincident with my own 
opinion. My design, so far, has no reference to the facts of the case. I wish 
merely to caution you against the whole tone of L'Etoile's suggestion, by 
calling your attention to its ex-parte character at the outset.

"Having prescribed thus a limit to suit its own preconceived notions; having 
assumed that, if this were the body of Marie, it could have been in the water 
but a very brief time, the journal goes on to say:

All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water 
immediately after death by violence, require from six to ten days for sufficient 
decomposition to take place to bring them to the top of the water. Even when a 
cannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days' 
immersion, it sinks again if let alone.

"These assertions have been tacitly received by every paper in Paris, with the 
exception of Le Moniteur.<13> This latter print endeavors to combat that portion 
of the paragraph which has reference to 'drowned bodies' only, by citing some 
five or six instances in which the bodies of individuals known to be drowned 
were found floating after the lapse of less time than is insisted upon by 
L'Etoile. But there is something excessively unphilosophical in the attempt, on 
the part of Le Moniteur, to rebut the general assertion of L'Etoile, by a 
citation of particular instances militating against that assertion. Had it been 
possible to adduce fifty instead of five examples of bodies found floating at 
the end of two or three days, these fifty examples could still have been 
properly regarded only as exceptions to L'Etoile's rule, until such time as the 
rule itself should be confuted. Admitting the rule, (and this Le Moniteur does 
not deny, insisting merely upon its exceptions,) the argument of L'Etoile is 
suffered to remain in full force; for this argument does not pretend to involve 
more than a question of the probability of the body having risen to the surface 
in less than three days; and this probability will be in favor of L'Etoile's 
position until the instances so childishly adduced shall be sufficient in number 
to establish an antagonistical rule.

"You will see at once that all argument upon this head should be urged, if at 
all, against the rule itself; and for this end we must examine the rationale of 
the rule. Now the human body, in general is neither much lighter nor much 
heavier than the water of the Seine; that is to say, the specific gravity of the 
human body, in its natural condition, is about equal to the bulk of fresh water 
which it displaces. The bodies of fat and fleshy persons, with small bones, and 
of women generally, are lighter than those of the lean and large-boned, and of 
men; and the specific gravity of the water of a river is somewhat influenced by 
the presence of the tide from the sea. But, leaving this tide out of the 
question, it may be said that very few human bodies will sink at all, even in 
fresh water, of their own accord. Almost any one, falling into a river, will be 
enabled to float, if he suffer the specific gravity of the water fairly to be 
adduced in comparison with his own–that is to say, if he suffer his whole person 
to be immersed, with as little exception as possible. The proper position for 
one who cannot swim, is the upright position of the walker on land, with the 
head thrown fully back, and immersed; the mouth and nostrils alone remaining 
above the surface. Thus circumstanced; we shall find that we float without 
difficulty and without exertion. It is evident, however, that the gravities of 
the body, and of the bulk of water displaced, are very nicely balanced, and that 
a trifle will cause either to preponderate. An arm, for instance, uplifted from 
the water, and thus deprived of its support, is an additional weight sufficient 
to immerse the whole head, while the accidental aid of the smallest piece of 
timber will enable us to elevate the head so as to look about. Now, in the 
struggles of one unused to swimming, the arms are invariably thrown upward, 
while an attempt is made to keep the head in its usual perpendicular position. 
The result is the immersion of the mouth and nostrils, and the inception, during 
efforts to breathe while beneath the surface, of water into the lungs. Much is 
also received into the stomach, and the whole body becomes heavier by the 
difference between the weight of the air originally distending these cavities, 
and that of the fluid which now fills them. This difference is sufficient to 
cause the body to sink, as a general rule; but is insufficient in the case of 
individuals with small bones and an abnormal quantity of flaccid or fatty 
matter. Such individuals float even after drowning.

"The corpse, being supposed at the bottom of the river, will there remain until, 
by some means, its specific gravity again becomes less than that of the bulk of 
water which it displaces. This effect is brought about by decomposition, or 
otherwise. The result of decomposition is the generation of gas, distending the 
cellular tissues and all the cavities, and giving the puffed appearance which is 
so horrible. When this distension has so far progressed that the bulk of the 
corpse is materially increased without a corresponding increase of mass or 
weight, its specific gravity becomes less than that of the water displaced, and 
it forthwith makes its appearance at the surface. But decomposition is modified 
by innumerable circumstances–is hastened or retarded by innumerable agencies; 
for example, by the heat or cold of the season, by the mineral impregnation or 
purity of the water, by its depth or shallowness, by its currency or stagnation, 
by the temperament of the body, by its infection or freedom from disease before 
death. Thus it is evident that we can assign no period, with anything like 
accuracy, at which the corpse shall rise through decomposition. Under certain 
conditions this result would be brought about within an hour, under others it 
might not take place at all. There are chemical infusions by which the animal 
frame can be preserved forever from corruption; the Bi-chloride of Mercury is 
one. But, apart from decomposition, there may be, and very usually is, a 
generation of gas within the stomach, from the acetous fermentation of vegetable 
matter (or within other cavities from other causes), sufficient to induce a 
distension which will bring the body to the surface. The effect produced by the 
firing of a cannon is that of simple vibration. This may either loosen the 
corpse from the soft mud or ooze in which it is imbedded, thus permitting it to 
rise when other agencies have already prepared it for so doing, or it may 
overcome the tenacity of some putrescent portions of the cellular tissue, 
allowing the cavities to distend under the influence of the gas.

"Having thus before us the whole philosophy of this subject, we can easily test 
by it the assertions of L'Etoile. 'All experience shows,' says this paper, 'that 
drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water immediately after death by 
violence, require from six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take 
place to bring them to the top of the water. Even when a cannon is fired over a 
corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again 
if let alone.'

"The whole of this paragraph must now appear a tissue of inconsequence and 
incoherence. All experience does not show that 'drowned bodies' require from six 
to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to the 
surface. Both science and experience show that the period of their rising is, 
and necessarily must be, indeterminate. If, moreover, a body has risen to the 
surface through firing of cannon, it will not 'sink again if let alone,' until 
decomposition has so far progressed as to permit the escape of the generated 
gas. But I wish to call your attention to the distinction which is made between 
'drowned bodies,' and 'bodies thrown into the water immediately after death by 
violence: Although the writer admits the distinction, he yet includes them all 
in the same category. I have shown how it is that the body of a drowning man 
becomes specifically heavier than its bulk of water, and that he would not sink 
at all, except for the struggle by which he elevates his arms above the surface, 
and his gasps for breath while beneath the surface–gasps which supply by water 
the place of the original air in the lungs. But these struggles and these gasps 
would not occur in the body 'thrown into the water immediately after death by 
violence.' Thus, in the latter instance, the body, as a general rule, would not 
sink at all–a fact of which L'Etoile is evidently ignorant. When decomposition 
had proceeded to a very great extent- when the flesh had in a great measure left 
the bones–then, indeed, but not till then, should we lose sight of the corpse.

"And now what are we to make of the argument, that the body found could not be 
that of Marie Roget, because, three days only having elapsed, this body was 
found floating? If drowned, being a woman, she might never have sunk; or, having 
sunk, might have reappeared in twenty–four hours or less. But no one supposes 
her to have been drowned; and, dying before being thrown into the river, she 
might have been found floating at any period afterwards whatever.

"'But,' says L'Etoile, 'if the body had been kept in its mangled state on shore 
until Tuesday night, some trace would be found on shore of the murderers.' Here 
it is at first difficult to perceive the intention of the reasoner. He means to 
anticipate what he imagines would be an objection to his theory–viz.: that the 
body was kept on shore two days, suffering rapid decomposition–more rapid than 
if immersed in water. He supposes that, had this been the case, it might have 
appeared at the surface on the Wednesday, and thinks that only under such 
circumstances it could so have appeared. He is accordingly in haste to show that 
it was not kept on shore; for, if so, 'some trace would be found on shore of the 
murderers.' I presume you smile at the sequitur. You cannot be made to see how 
the mere duration of the corpse on the shore could operate to multiply traces of 
the assassins. Nor can I.

"'And furthermore it is exceedingly improbable,' continues our journal, 'that 
any villains who had committed such a murder as is here supposed, would have 
thrown the body in without weight to sink it, when such a precaution could have 
so easily been taken.' Observe, here, the laughable confusion of thought! No 
one–not even L'Etoile- disputes the murder committed on the body found. The 
marks of violence are too obvious. It is our reasoner's object merely to show 
that this body is not Marie's. He wishes to prove that Marie is not 
assassinated–not that the corpse was not. Yet his observation proves only the 
latter point. Here is a corpse without weight attached. Murderers, casting it 
in, would not have failed to attach a weight. Therefore it was not thrown in by 
murderers. This is all which is proved, if any thing is. The question of 
identity is not even approached, and L'Etoile has been at great pains merely to 
gainsay now what it has admitted only a moment before. 'We are perfectly 
convinced,' it says, 'that the body found was that of a murdered female.'

"Nor is this the sole instance, even in this division of the subject, where our 
reasoner unwittingly reasons against himself. His evident object I have already 
said, is to reduce, as much as possible, the interval between Marie's 
disappearance and the finding of the corpse. Yet we find him urging the point 
that no person saw the girl from the moment of her leaving her mother's house. 
'We have no evidence,' he says, 'that Marie Roget was in the land of the living 
after nine o'clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second.' As his argument is 
obviously an ex-parte one, he should, at least, have left this matter out of 
sight; for had any one been known to see Marie, say on Monday, or on Tuesday, 
the interval in question would have been much reduced, and, by his own 
ratiocination, the probability much diminished of the corpse being that of the 
grisette. It is, nevertheless, amusing to observe that L'Etoile insists upon its 
point in the full belief of its furthering its general argument.

"Reperuse now that portion of this argument which has reference to the 
identification of the corpse by Beauvais. In regard to the hair upon the arm, 
L'Etoile has been obviously disingenuous. M. Beauvais, not being an idiot, could 
never have urged in identification of the corpse, simply hair upon its arm. No 
arm is without hair. The generality of the expression of L'Etoile is a mere 
perversion of the witness' phraseology. He must have spoken of some peculiarity 
in this hair. It must have been a peculiarity of color, of quantity, of length, 
or of situation.

"'Her foot,' says the journal, 'was small–so are thousands of feet. Her garter 
is no proof whatever–nor is her shoe–for shoes and garters are sold in packages. 
The same may be said of the flowers in her hat. One thing upon which M. Beauvais 
strongly insists is, that the clasp on the garter found had been set back to 
take it in. This amounts to nothing; for most women find it proper to take a 
pair of garters home and, fit them to the size of the limbs they are to 
encircle, rather than to try them in the store where they purchase.' Here it is 
difficult to suppose the reasoner in earnest. Had M. Beauvais, in his search for 
the body of Marie, discovered a corpse corresponding in general size and 
appearance to the missing girl, he would have been warranted (without reference 
to the question of habiliment at all) in forming an opinion that his search had 
been successful. If, in addition to the point of general size and contour, he 
had found upon the arm a peculiar hairy appearance which he had observed upon 
the living Marie, his opinion might have been justly strengthened; and the 
increase of positiveness might well have been in the ratio of the peculiarity, 
or unusualness, of the hairy mark. If, the feet of Marie being small, those of 
the corpse were also small, the increase of probability that the body was that 
of Marie would not be an increase in a ratio merely arithmetical, but in one 
highly geometrical, or accumulative. Add to all this shoes such as she had been 
known to wear upon the day of her disappearance, and, although these shoes may 
be 'sold in packages,' you so far augment the probability as to verge upon the 
certain. What, of itself, would be no evidence of identity, becomes through its 
corroborative position, proof most sure. Give us, then, flowers in the hat 
corresponding to those worn by the missing girl, and we seek for nothing 
farther. If only one flower, we seek for nothing farther–what then if two or 
three, or more? Each successive one is multiple evidence–proof not added to 
proof, but multiplied by hundreds or thousands. Let us now discover, upon the 
deceased, garters such as the living used, and it is almost folly to proceed. 
But these garters are found to be tightened, by the setting back of a clasp, in 
just such a manner as her own had been tightened by Marie shortly previous to 
her leaving home. It is now madness or hypocrisy to doubt. What L'Etoile says in 
respect to this abbreviation of the garter's being an unusual occurrence, shows 
nothing beyond its own pertinacity in error. The elastic nature of the clasp-
garter is self-demonstration of the unusualness of the abbreviation. What is 
made to adjust itself, must of necessity require foreign adjustment but rarely. 
It must have been by an accident, in its strictest sense, that these garters of 
Marie needed the tightening described. They alone would have amply established 
her identity. But it is not that the corpse was found to have the garters of the 
missing girl, or found to have her shoes, or her bonnet, or the flowers of her 
bonnet, or her feet, or a peculiar mark upon the arm, or her general size and 
appearance–it is that the corpse had each and all collectively. Could it be 
proved that the editor of L'Etoile really entertained a doubt, under the 
circumstances, there would be no need, in his case, of a commission de lunatico 
inquirendo. He has thought it sagacious to echo the small talk of the lawyers, 
who, for the most part, content themselves with echoing the rectangular precepts 
of the courts. I would here observe that very much of what is rejected as 
evidence by a court, is the best of evidence to the intellect. For the court, 
guiding itself by the general principles of evidence–the recognized and booked 
principles–is averse from swerving at particular instances. And this steadfast 
adherence to principle, with rigorous disregard of the conflicting exception, is 
a sure mode of attaining the maximum of attainable truth, in any long sequence 
of time. The practice, in mass, is therefore philosophical; but it is not the 
less certain that it engenders vast individual error.<14>

"In respect to the insinuations levelled at Beauvais, you will be willing to 
dismiss them in a breath. You have already fathomed the true character of this 
good gentleman. He is a busy-body, with much of romance and little of wit. Any 
one so constituted will readily so conduct himself, upon occasion of real 
excitement, as to render himself liable to suspicion on the part of the over-
acute, or the ill-disposed. M. Beauvais (as it appears from your notes) had some 
personal interviews with the editor of L'Etoile, and offended him by venturing 
an opinion that the corpse, notwithstanding the theory of the editor, was, in 
sober fact, that of Marie. 'He persists,' says the paper, 'in asserting the 
corpse to be that of Marie, but cannot give a circumstance, in addition to those 
which we have commented upon, to make others believe.' Now, without readverting 
to the fact that stronger evidence 'to make others believe,' could never have 
been adduced, it may be remarked that a man may very well be understood to 
believe, in a case of this kind, without the ability to advance a single reason 
for the belief of a second party. Nothing is more vague than impressions of 
individual identity. Each man recognizes his neighbor, yet there are few 
instances in which any one is prepared to give a reason for his recognition. The 
editor of L'Etoile had no right to be offended at M. Beauvais' unreasoning 

"The suspicious circumstances which invest him, will be found to tally much 
better with my hypothesis of romantic busy-bodyism, than with the reasoner's 
suggestion of guilt. Once adopting the more charitable interpretation, we shall 
find no difficulty in comprehending the rose in the key-hole; the 'Marie' upon 
the slate; the 'elbowing the male relatives out of the way'; the 'aversion to 
permitting them to see the body'; the caution given to Madame B-, that she must 
hold no conversation with the gendarme until his return (Beauvais); and, lastly, 
his apparent determination 'that nobody should have any thing to do with the 
proceedings except himself.' It seems to be unquestionable that Beauvais was a 
suitor of Marie's; that she coquetted with him; and that he was ambitious of 
being thought to enjoy her fullest intimacy and confidence. I shall say nothing 
more upon this point; and, as the evidence fully rebuts the assertion of 
L'Etoile, touching the matter of apathy on the part of the mother and other 
relatives–an apathy inconsistent with the supposition of their believing the 
corpse to be that of the perfumery–girl–we shall now proceed as if the question 
of identity were settled to our perfect satisfaction."

"And what," I here demanded, "do you think of the opinions of Le Commerciel?"

"That in spirit, they are far more worthy of attention than any which have been 
promulgated upon the subject. The deductions from the premises are philosophical 
and acute; but the premises, in two instances, at least, are founded in 
imperfect observation. Le Commerciel wishes to intimate that Marie was seized by 
some gang of low ruffians not far from her mother's door. 'It is impossible,' it 
urges, 'that a person so well known to thousands as this young woman was, should 
have passed three blocks without some one having seen her." This is the idea of 
a man long resident in Paris–a public man–and one whose walks to and fro in the 
city have been mostly limited to the vicinity of the public offices. He is aware 
that he seldom passes so far as a dozen blocks from his own bureau, without 
being recognized and accosted. And, knowing the extent of his personal 
acquaintance with others, and of others with him, he compares his notoriety with 
that of the perfumery-girl, finds no great difference between them, and reaches 
at once the conclusion that she, in her walks, would be equally liable to 
recognition with himself in his. This could only be the case were her walks of 
the same unvarying, methodical character, and within the same species of limited 
region as are his own. He passes to and fro, at regular intervals, within a 
confined periphery, abounding in individuals who are led to observation of his 
person through interest in the kindred nature of his occupation with their own. 
But the walks of Marie may, in general, be supposed discursive. In this 
particular instance, it will be understood as most probable, that she proceeded 
upon a route of more than average diversity from her accustomed ones. The 
parallel which we imagine to have existed in the mind of Le Commerciel would 
only be sustained in the event of the two individuals traversing the whole city. 
In this case, granting the personal acquaintances to be equal, the chances would 
be also equal that an equal number of personal encounters would be made. For my 
own part, I should hold it not only as possible, but as very far more probable, 
that Marie might have proceeded, at any given period, by any one of the many 
routes between her own residence and that of her aunt, without meeting a single 
individual whom she knew, or by whom she was known. In viewing this question in 
its full and proper light, we must hold steadily in mind the great disproportion 
between the personal acquaintances of even the most noted individual in Paris, 
and the entire population of Paris itself.

"But whatever force there may still appear to be in the suggestion of Le 
Commerciel, will be much diminished when we take into consideration the hour at 
which the girl went abroad. 'It was when the streets were full of people,' says 
Le Commerciel, 'that she went out.' But not so. It was at nine o'clock in the 
morning. Now at nine o'clock of every morning in the week, with the exception of 
Sunday, the streets of the city are, it is true, thronged with people. At nine 
on Sunday, the populace are chiefly within doors preparing for church. No 
observing person can have failed to notice the peculiarly deserted air of the 
town, from about eight until ten on the morning of every Sabbath. Between ten 
and eleven the streets are thronged, but not at so early a period as that 

"There is another point at which there seems a deficiency of observation on the 
part of Le Commerciel. 'A piece,' it says, 'of one of the unfortunate girl's 
petticoats, two feet long, and one foot wide, was torn out and tied under her 
chin, and around the back of her head, probably to prevent screams. This was 
done by fellows who had no pocket-handkerchiefs.' Whether this idea is or is not 
well founded, we will endeavor to see hereafter, but by 'fellows who have no 
pocket-handkerchiefs,' the editor intends the lowest class of ruffians. These, 
however, are the very description of people who will always be found to have 
handkerchiefs even when destitute of shirts. You must have had occasion to 
observe how absolutely indispensable, of late years, to the thorough blackguard, 
has become the pocket-handkerchief."

"And what are we to think," I asked, "of the article in Le Soleil?"

"That it is a vast pity its inditer was not born a parrot–in which case he would 
have been the most illustrious parrot of his race. He has merely repeated the 
individual items of the already published opinion; collecting them, with a 
laudable industry, from this paper and from that. 'The things had all evidently 
been there,' he says, 'at least three or four weeks, and there can be no doubt 
that the spot of this appalling outrage has been discovered.' The facts here re-
stated by Le Soleil, are very far indeed from removing my own doubts upon this 
subject, and we will examine them more particularly hereafter in connection with 
another division of the theme.

"At present we must occupy ourselves with other investigations. You cannot fail 
to have remarked the extreme laxity of the examination of the corpse. To be 
sure, the question of identity was readily determined, or should have been; but 
there were other points to be ascertained. Had the body been in any respect 
despoiled? Had the deceased any articles of jewelry about her person upon 
leaving home? If so, had she any when found? These are important questions 
utterly untouched by the evidence; and there are others of equal moment, which 
have met with no attention. We must endeavor to satisfy ourselves by personal 
inquiry. The case of St. Eustache must be re-examined. I have no suspicion of 
this person; but let us proceed methodically. We will ascertain beyond a doubt 
the validity of the affidavits in regard to his whereabouts on the Sunday. 
Affidavits of this character are readily made matter of mystification. Should 
there be nothing wrong here, however, we will dismiss St. Eustache from our 
investigations. His suicide, however, corroborative of suspicion, were there 
found to be deceit in the affidavits, is, without such deceit, in no respect an 
unaccountable circumstance, or one which need cause us to deflect from the line 
of ordinary analysis.

"In that which I now propose, we will discard the interior points of this 
tragedy, and concentrate our attention upon its outskirts. Not the least usual 
error in investigations such as this is the limiting of inquiry to the 
immediate, with total disregard of the collateral or circumstantial events. It 
is the malpractice of the courts to confine evidence and discussion to the 
bounds of apparent relevancy. Yet experience has shown, and a true philosophy 
will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger, portion of truth arises from 
the seemingly irrelevant. It is through the spirit of this principle, if not 
precisely through its letter, that modern science has resolved to calculate upon 
the unforeseen. But perhaps you do not comprehend me. The history of human 
knowledge has so uninterruptedly shown that to collateral, or incidental, or 
accidental events we are indebted for the most numerous and most valuable 
discoveries, that it has at length become necessary, in any prospective view of 
improvement, to make not only large, but the largest, allowances for inventions 
that shall arise by chance, and quite out of the range of ordinary expectation. 
It is no longer philosophical to base upon what has been a vision of what is to 
be. Accident is admitted as a portion of the substructure. We make chance a 
matter of absolute calculation. We subject the unlooked for and unimagined to 
the mathematical formulae of the schools.

"I repeat that it is no more than fact that the larger portion of all truth has 
sprung from the collateral; and it is but in accordance with the spirit of the 
principle involved in this fact that I would divert inquiry, in the present 
case, from the trodden and hitherto unfruitful ground of the event itself to the 
contemporary circumstances which surround it. While you ascertain the validity 
of the affidavits, I will examine the newspapers more generally than you have as 
yet done. So far, we have only reconnoitred the field of investigation; but it 
will be strange, indeed, if a comprehensive survey, such as I propose, of the 
public prints will not afford us some minute points which shall establish a 
direction for inquiry."

In pursuance of Dupin's suggestion, I made scrupulous examination of the affair 
of the affidavits. The result was a firm conviction of their validity, and of 
the consequent innocence of St. Eustache. In the meantime my friend occupied 
himself, with what seemed to me a minuteness altogether objectless, in a 
scrutiny of the various newspaper files. At the end of a week he placed before 
me the following extracts:

"About three years and a half ago, a disturbance very similar to the present was 
caused by the disappearance of this same Marie Roget from the parfumerie of 
Monsieur Le Blanc, in the Palais Royal. At the end of a week, however, she re-
appeared at her customary comptoir, as well as ever, with the exception of a 
slight paleness not altogether usual. It was given out by Monsieur Le Blanc and 
her mother that she had merely been on a visit to some friend in the country; 
and the affair was speedily hushed up. We presume that the present absence is a 
freak of the same nature, and that, at the expiration of a week or, perhaps, of 
a month, we shall have her among us again."–Evening Paper, Monday, June 23.<15>

"An evening journal of yesterday refers to a former mysterious disappearance of 
Mademoiselle Roget. It is well known that, during the week of her absence from 
Le Blanc's parfumerie, she was in the company of a young naval officer much 
noted for his debaucheries. A quarrel, it is supposed, providentially, led to 
her return home. We have the name of the Lothario in question, who is at present 
stationed in Paris, but for obvious reasons forbear to make it public."–Le 
Mercure, Tuesday Morning, June 24.<16>

"An outrage of the most atrocious character was perpetrated near this city the 
day before yesterday. A gentleman, with his wife and daughter, engaged, about 
dusk, the services of six young men, who were idly rowing a boat to and fro near 
the banks of the Seine, to convey him across the river. Upon reaching the 
opposite shore the three passengers stepped out, and had proceeded so far as to 
be beyond the view of the boat, when the daughter discovered that she had left 
in it her parasol. She returned for it, was seized by the gang, carried out into 
the stream, gagged, brutally treated, and finally taken to the shore at a point 
not far from that at which she had originally entered the boat with her parents. 
The villains have escaped for the time, but the police are upon their trail, and 
some of them will soon be taken."–Morning Paper, June 25-<17>

"We have received one or two communications, the object of which is to fasten 
the crime of the late atrocity upon Mennais<18>; but as this gentleman has been 
fully exonerated by a legal inquiry, and as the arguments of our several 
correspondents appear to be more zealous than profound, we do not think it 
advisable to make them public."- Morning Paper, June 28.<19>

"We have received several forcibly written communications, apparently from 
various sources, and which go far to render it a matter of certainty that the 
unfortunate Marie Roget has become a victim of one of the numerous bands of 
blackguards which infest the vicinity of the city upon Sunday. Our own opinion 
is decidedly in favor of this supposition. We shall endeavor to make room for 
some of these arguments hereafter."–Evening Paper, Tuesday, June 31.<20>

"On Monday, one of the bargemen connected with the revenue service saw an empty 
boat floating down the Seine. Sails were lying in the bottom of the boat. The 
bargeman towed it under the barge office. The next morning it was taken from 
thence without the knowledge of any of the officers. The rudder is now at the 
barge office."–Le Diligence, Thursday, June 26.<21>

Upon reading these various extracts, they not only seemed to me irrelevant, but 
I could perceive no mode in which any one of them could be brought to bear upon 
the matter in hand. I waited for some explanation from Dupin.

"It is not my present design," he said, "to dwell upon the first and second of 
these extracts. I have copied them chiefly to show you the extreme remissness of 
the police, who, as far as I can understand from the Prefect, have not troubled 
themselves, in any respect, with an examination of the naval officer alluded to. 
Yet it is mere folly to say that between the first and second disappearance of 
Marie there is no supposable connection. Let us admit the first elopement to 
have resulted in a quarrel between the lovers, and the return home of the 
betrayed. We are now prepared to view a second elopement (if we know that an 
elopement has again taken place) as indicating a renewal of the betrayer's 
advances, rather than as the result of new proposals by a second individual–we 
are prepared to regard it as a 'making up' of the old amour, rather than as the 
commencement of a new one. The chances are ten to one, that he who had once 
eloped with Marie would again propose an elopement, rather than that she to whom 
proposals of an elopement had been made by one individual, should have them made 
to her by another. And here let me call your attention to the fact, that the 
time elapsing between the first ascertained and the second supposed elopement is 
a few months more than the general period of the cruises of our men-of-war. Had 
the lover been interrupted in his first villainy by the necessity of departure 
to sea, and had he seized the first moment of his return to renew the base 
designs not yet altogether accomplished–or not yet altogether accomplished by 
him? Of all these things we know nothing.

"You will say, however, that, in the second instance, there was no elopement as 
imagined. Certainly not–but are we prepared to say that there was not the 
frustrated design? Beyond St. Eustache, and perhaps Beauvais, we find no 
recognized, no open, no honorable suitors of Marie. Of none other is there any 
thing said. Who, then, is the secret lover, of whom the relatives (at least most 
of them) know nothing, but whom Marie meets upon the morning of Sunday, and who 
is so deeply in her confidence, that she hesitates not to remain with him until 
the shades of the evening descend, amid the solitary groves of the Barriere du 
Roule? Who is that secret lover, I ask, of whom, at least, most of the relatives 
know nothing? And what means the singular prophecy of Madam Roget on the morning 
of Marie's departure?–'I fear that I shall never see Marie again.'

"But if we cannot imagine Madame Roget privy to the design of elopement, may we 
not at least suppose this design entertained by the girl? Upon quitting home, 
she gave it to be understood that she was about to visit her aunt in the Rue des 
Dromes, and St. Eustache was requested to call for her at dark. Now, at first 
glance, this fact strongly militates against my suggestion;–but let us reflect. 
That she did meet some companion, and proceed with him across the river, 
reaching the Barriere du Roule at so late an hour as three o'clock in the 
afternoon, is known. But in consenting so to accompany this individual, (for 
whatever purpose–to her mother known or unknown,) she must have thought of her 
expressed intention when leaving home, and of the surprise and suspicion aroused 
in the bosom of her affianced suitor, St. Eustache, when, calling for her, at 
the hour appointed, in the Rue des Dromes, he should find that she had not been 
there, and when, moreover, upon returning to the pension with this alarming 
intelligence, he should become aware of her continued absence from home. She 
must have thought of these things, I say. She must have foreseen the chagrin of 
St. Eustache, the suspicion of all. She could not have thought of returning to 
brave this suspicion; but the suspicion becomes a point of trivial importance to 
her, if we suppose her not intending to return.

"We may imagine her thinking thus–'I am to meet a certain person for the purpose 
of elopement, or for certain other purposes known only to myself. It is 
necessary that there be no chance of interruption- there must be sufficient time 
given us to elude pursuit–I will give it to be understood that I shall visit and 
spend the day with my aunt at the Rue des Dromes–I will tell St. Eustache not to 
call for me until dark–in this way, my absence from home for the longest 
possible period, without causing suspicion or anxiety, will be accounted for, 
and I shall gain more time than in any other manner. If I bid St. Eustache call 
for me at dark, he will be sure not to call before; but if I wholly neglect to 
bid him call, my time for escape will be diminished, since it will be expected 
that I return the earlier, and my absence will the sooner excite anxiety. Now, 
if it were my design to return at all–if I had in contemplation merely a stroll 
with the individual in question–it would not be my policy to bid St. Eustache 
call; for, calling, he will be sure to ascertain that I have played him false–a 
fact of which I might keep him forever in ignorance, by leaving home without 
notifying him of my intention, by returning before dark, and by then stating 
that I had been to visit my aunt in the Rue des Dromes. But, as it is my design 
never to return- or not for some weeks–or not until certain concealments are 
effected- the gaining of time is the only point about which I need give myself 
any concern.'

"You have observed, in your notes, that the most general opinion in relation to 
this sad affair is, and was from the first, that the girl had been the victim of 
a gang of blackguards. Now, the popular opinion, under certain conditions, is 
not to be disregarded. When arising of itself–when manifesting itself in a 
strictly spontaneous manner–we should look upon it as analogous with that 
intuition which is the idiosyncrasy of the individual man of genius. In ninety-
nine cases from the hundred I would abide by its decision. But it is important 
that we find no palpable traces of suggestion. The opinion must be rigorously 
the public's own, and the distinction is often exceedingly difficult to perceive 
and to maintain. In the present instance, it appears to me that this 'public 
opinion,' in respect to a gang, has been superinduced by the collateral event 
which is detailed in the third of my extracts. All Paris is excited by the 
discovered corpse of Marie, a girl young, beautiful, and notorious. This corpse 
is found, bearing marks of violence, and floating in the river. But it is now 
made known that, at the very period, or about the very period, in which it is 
supposed that the girl was assassinated, an outrage similar in nature to that 
endured by the deceased, although less in extent, was perpetrated by a gang of 
young ruffians, upon the person of a second young female. Is it wonderful that 
the one known atrocity should influence the popular judgment in regard to the 
other unknown? This judgment awaited direction, and the known outrage seemed so 
opportunely to afford it! Marie, too, was found in the river; and upon this very 
river was this known outrage committed. The connection of the two events had 
about it so much of the palpable, that the true wonder would have been a failure 
of the populace to appreciate and to seize it. But, in fact, the one atrocity, 
known to be so committed, is, if any thing, evidence that the other, committed 
at a time nearly coincident, was not so committed. It would have been a miracle 
indeed, if, while a gang of ruffians were perpetrating, at a given locality, a 
most unheard–of wrong, there should have been another similar gang, in a similar 
locality, in the same city, under the same circumstances, with the same means 
and appliances, engaged in a wrong of precisely the same aspect, at precisely 
the same period of time! Yet in what, if not in this marvellous train of 
coincidence, does the accidentally suggested opinion of the populace call upon 
us to believe?

"Before proceeding farther, let us consider the supposed scene of the 
assassination, in the thicket at the Barriere du Roule. This thicket, although 
dense, was in the close vicinity of a public road. Within were three or four 
large stones, forming a kind of seat with a back and a footstool. On the upper 
stone was discovered a white petticoat; on the second, a silk scarf. A parasol, 
gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief were also here found. The handkerchief bore 
the name 'Marie Roget'. Fragments of dress were seen on the branches around. The 
earth was trampled, the bushes were broken, and there was every evidence of a 
violent struggle.

"Notwithstanding the acclamation with which the discovery of this thicket was 
received by the press, and the unanimity with which it was supposed to indicate 
the precise scene of the outrage, it must be admitted that there was some very 
good reason for doubt. That it was the scene, I may or I may not believe–but 
there was excellent reason for doubt. Had the true scene been, as Le Commerciel 
suggested, in the neighborhood of the Rue Pavee St. Andree, the perpetrators of 
the crime, supposing them still resident in Paris, would naturally have been 
stricken with terror at the public attention thus acutely directed into the 
proper channel; and, in certain classes of minds, there would have arisen, at 
once, a sense of the necessity of some exertion to re-divert this attention. And 
thus, the thicket of the Barriere du Roule having been already suspected, the 
idea of placing the articles where they were found, might have been naturally 
entertained. There is no real evidence, although Le Soleil so supposes, that the 
articles discovered had been more than a very few days in the thicket; while 
there is much circumstantial proof that they could not have remained there, 
without attracting attention, during the twenty days elapsing between the fatal 
Sunday and the afternoon upon which they were found by the boys. 'They were all 
mildewed down hard,' says Le Soleil, adopting the opinions of its predecessors, 
'with the action of the rain and stuck together from mildew. The grass had grown 
around and over some of them. The silk of the parasol was strong, but the 
threads of it were run together within. The upper part, where it had been 
doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and tore on being opened.' In 
respect to the grass having 'grown around and over some of them,' it is obvious 
that the fact could only have been ascertained from the words, and thus from the 
recollections, of two small boys; for these boys removed the articles and took 
them home before they had been seen by a third party. But the grass will grow, 
especially in warm and damp weather (such as was that of the period of the 
murder), as much as two or three inches in a single day. A parasol lying upon a 
newly turfed ground, might, in a single week, be entirely concealed from sight 
by the upspringing grass. And touching that mildew upon which the editor of Le 
Soleil so pertinaciously insists, that he employs the word no less than three 
times in the brief paragraph just quoted, is he really unaware of the nature of 
this mildew? Is he to be told that it is one of the many classes of fungus, of 
which the most ordinary feature is its upspringing and decadence within twenty-
four hours?

"Thus we see, at a glance, that what has been most triumphantly adduced in 
support of the idea that the articles had been 'for at least three or four 
weeks' in the thicket, is most absurdly null as regards any evidence of that 
fact. On the other hand, it is exceedingly difficult to believe that these 
articles could have remained in the thicket specified for a longer period than a 
single week–for a longer period than from one Sunday to the next. Those who know 
any thing of the vicinity of Paris, know the extreme difficulty of finding 
seclusion, unless at a great distance from its suburbs. Such a thing as an 
unexplored or even an unfrequently visited recess, amid its woods or groves, is 
not for a moment to be imagined. Let any one who, being at heart a lover of 
nature, is yet chained by duty to the dust and heat of this great metropolis–let 
any such one attempt, even during the week-days, to slake his thirst for 
solitude amid the scenes of natural loveliness which immediately surround us. At 
every second step, he will find the growing charm dispelled by the voice and 
personal intrusion of some ruffian or party of carousing blackguards. He will 
seek privacy amid the densest foliage, all in vain. Here are the very nooks 
where the unwashed most abound–here are the temples most desecrate. With 
sickness of the heart the wanderer will flee back to the polluted Paris as to a 
less odious because less incongruous sink of pollution. But if the vicinity of 
the city is so beset during the working days of the week, how much more so on 
the Sabbath! It is now especially that, released from the claims of labor, or 
deprived of the customary opportunities of crime, the town blackguard seeks the 
precincts of the town, not through love of the rural, which in his heart he 
despises, but by way of escape from the restraints and conventionalities of 
society. He desires less the fresh air and the green trees, than the utter 
license of the country. Here, at the road-side inn, or beneath the foliage of 
the woods, he indulges unchecked by any eye except those of his boon companions, 
in all the mad excess of a counterfeit hilarity- the joint offspring of liberty 
and of rum. I say nothing more than what must be obvious to every dispassionate 
observer, when I repeat that the circumstance of the articles in question having 
remained undiscovered, for a longer period than from one Sunday to another, in 
any thicket in the immediate neighborhood of Paris, is to be looked upon as 
little less than miraculous.

"But there are not wanting other grounds for the suspicion that the articles 
were placed in the thicket with the view of diverting attention from the real 
scene of the outrage. And first, let me direct your notice to the date of the 
discovery of the articles. Collate this with the date of the fifth extract made 
by myself from the newspapers. You will find that the discovery followed, almost 
immediately, the urgent communications sent to the evening paper. These 
communications, although various, and apparently from various sources, tended 
all to the same point-viz., the directing of attention to a gang as the 
perpetrators of the outrage, and to the neighborhood of the Barriere du Roule as 
its scene. Now, here, of course, the suspicion is not that, in consequence of 
these communications, or of the public attention by them directed, the articles 
were found by the boys; but the suspicion might and may well have been, that the 
articles were not before found by the boys, for the reason that the articles had 
not before been in the thicket; having been deposited there only at so late a 
period as at the date, or shortly prior to the date of the communications, by 
the guilty authors of these communications themselves.

"This thicket was a singular–an exceedingly singular one. It was unusually 
dense. Within its naturally walled enclosure were three extraordinary stones, 
forming a seat with a back and a footstool. And this thicket, so full of art, 
was in the immediate vicinity, within a few rods, of the dwelling of Madame 
Deluc, whose boys were in the habit of closely examining the shrubberies about 
them in search of the bark of the sassafras. Would it be a rash wager–a wager of 
one thousand to one–that a day never passed over the heads of these boys without 
finding at least one of them ensconced in the umbrageous hall, and enthroned 
upon its natural throne? Those who would hesitate at such a wager, have either 
never been boys themselves, or have forgotten the boyish nature. I repeat–it is 
exceedingly hard to comprehend how the articles could have remained in this 
thicket undiscovered, for a longer period than one or two days; and that thus 
there is good ground for suspicion, in spite of the dogmatic ignorance of Le 
Soleil, that they were, at a comparatively late date, deposited where found.

"But there are still other and stronger reasons for believing them so deposited, 
than any which I have as yet urged. And, now, let me beg your notice to the 
highly artificial arrangement of the articles. On the upper stone lay a white 
petticoat; on the second, a silk scarf; scattered around, were a parasol, 
gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief bearing the name 'Marie Roget.' Here is just 
such an arrangement as would naturally be made by a not over-acute person 
wishing to dispose the articles naturally. But it is by no means a really 
natural arrangement. I should rather have looked to see the things all lying on 
the ground and trampled under foot. In the narrow limits of that bower, it would 
have been scarcely possible that the petticoat and scarf should have retained a 
position upon the stones, when subjected to the brushing to and fro of many 
struggling persons. 'There was evidence,' it is said, 'of a struggle; and the 
earth was trampled, the bushes were broken,'–but the petticoat and the scarf are 
found deposited as if upon shelves. 'The pieces of the frock torn out by the 
bushes were about three inches wide and six inches long. One part was the hem of 
the frock and it had been mended. They looked like strips torn off.' Here, 
inadvertently, Le Soleil has employed an exceedingly suspicious phrase. The 
pieces, as described, do indeed look like strips torn off; but purposely and by 
hand. It is one of the rarest of accidents that a piece is 'torn off,' from any 
garment such as is now in question, by the agency of a thorn. From the very 
nature of such fabrics, a thorn or nail becoming tangled in them, tears them 
rectangularly–divides them into two longitudinal rents, at right angles with 
each other, and meeting at an apex where the thorn enters–but it is scarcely 
possible to conceive the piece 'torn off.' I never so knew it, nor did you. To 
tear a piece off from such fabric, two distinct forces, in different directions, 
will be, in almost every case, required. If there be two edges to the fabric-
if, for example, it be a pocket-handkerchief, and it is desired to tear from it 
a slip, then, and then only, will the one force serve the purpose. But in the 
present case the question is of a dress, presenting but one edge. To tear a 
piece from the interior, where no edge is presented, could only be effected by a 
miracle through the agency of thorns, and no one thorn could accomplish it. But, 
even where an edge is presented, two thorns will be necessary, operating, the 
one in two distinct directions, and the other in one. And this in the 
supposition that the edge is unhemmed. If hemmed, the matter is nearly out of 
the question. We thus see the numerous and great obstacles in the way of pieces 
being 'torn off' through the simple agency of 'thorns'; yet we are required to 
believe not only that one piece but that many have been so torn. 'And one part,' 
too, 'was the hem of the frock'! Another piece was 'part of the skirt, not the 
hem,'–that is to say, was torn completely out, through the agency of thorns, 
from the unedged interior of the dress! These, I say, are things which one may 
well be pardoned for disbelieving; yet, taken collectedly, they form, perhaps, 
less of reasonable ground for suspicion, than the one startling circumstance of 
the articles having been left in this thicket at all, by any murderers who had 
enough precaution to think of removing the corpse. You will not have apprehended 
me rightly, however, if you suppose it my design to deny this thicket as the 
scene of the outrage. There might have been a wrong here, or more possibly, an 
accident at Madame Deluc's. But, in fact, this is a point of minor importance. 
We are not engaged in an attempt to discover the scene, but to produce the 
perpetrators of the murder. What I have adduced, notwithstanding the minuteness 
with which I have adduced it, has been with the view, first, to show the folly 
of the positive and headlong assertions of Le Soleil, but secondly and chiefly, 
to bring you, by the most natural route, to a further contemplation of the doubt 
whether this assassination has, or has not, been the work of a gang.

"We will resume this question by mere allusion to the revolting details of the 
surgeon examined at the inquest. It is only necessary to say that his published 
inferences, in regard to the number of the ruffians, have been properly 
ridiculed as unjust and totally baseless, by all the reputable anatomists of 
Paris. Not that the matter might not have been as inferred, but that there was 
no ground for the inference:–was there not much for another?

<1> Nassau Street

<2> Anderson

<3> The Hudson

<4> Weehawken

<5> Payne

<6> Crommelin

<7> The New York Mercury.

<8> The New York Brother Jonathon, edited by H. Hastings Weld, Esq.

<9> New York Journal of Commerce

<10> Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post, edited by C. I. Peterson, Esq.

<11> Adam

<12> See "Murder's in the Rue Morgue."

<13> The New York Commercial Advertiser, Edited by Col. Stone.

<14> "A theory based on the qualities of an object, will prevent its being 
unfolded according to its objects; and he who arranges topics in reference to 
their causes, will cease to value them according to their results. Thus the 
jurisprudence of every nation will show that, when law becomes a science and a 
system, it ceases to be justice. The errors into which a blind devotion to 
principles of classification has led the common law, will be seen by observing 
how often the legislature has been obliged to come forward to restore the equity 
its scheme had lost."–Landor.

<15> New York Express

<16> New York Herald

<17> New York Courier and Inquirer

<18> Mennais was one of the parties originally arrested, but discharged through 
total lack of evidence.

<19> New York Courier and Inquirer

<20> New York Evening Post

<21> New York Standard