Before beginning our story, we must warn the reader
that it will not be worth his while to make researches
among contemporary or other records as to the personage
whose name it bears. For in truth neither Marie
Leroux, widow of Jacques Constantin, nor her accomplice,
Claude Perregaud, was of sufficient importance to
find a place on any list of great criminals, although
it is certain that they were guilty of the crimes with
which they were charged. It may seem strange
that what follows is more a history of the retribution
which overtook the criminals than a circumstantial
description of the deeds for which they were punished;
but the crimes were so revolting, and so unsuitable
for discussion, that it was impossible for us to enter
into any details on the subject, so that what we offer
in these pages is, we confess quite openly, not a full,
true, and particular account of a certain series of
events leading up to a certain result; it is not even
a picture wherein that result is depicted with artistic
completeness, it is only an imperfect narrative imperfectly
rounded off. We feel sure, however, that the
healthy-minded reader will be grateful for our reticence
and total disregard of proportion. In spite of
the disadvantage which such a theme imposes on any
writer with a deep sense of responsibility, we have
resolved to let in some light on these obscure figures;
for we can imagine no more effective way of throwing
into high relief the low morals and deep corruption
into which all classes of society had sunk at the termination
of the factious dissensions of the Fronde, which formed
such a fitting prelude to the licence of the reign
of the grand roi.
After this explanation, we shall, without further
preamble, introduce the reader to a little tavern
in Paris, situated in the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts,
on an evening in November 1658.
It was about seven o’clock. Three gentlemen
were seated at one of the tables in a low, smoky room.
They had already emptied several bottles, and one
of them seemed to have just suggested some madcap scheme
to the others, the thought of which sent them off
into shouts of laughter.
“Pardu!” said one of them, who was the
first to recover his breath, “I must say it
would be an excellent trick.”
“Splendid!” said another; “and if
you like, Commander de Jars, we can try it this very
evening.”
“All right, my worthy king’s treasurer,
provided my pretty nephew here won’t be too
much shocked,” and as he spoke de Jars gave to
the youngest of the three a caressing touch on the
cheek with the back of his hand.
“That reminds me, de Jars!” said the treasurer,
“that word you have just said piques my curiosity.
For some months now this little fellow here, Chevalier
de Moranges, follows you about everywhere like your
shadow. You never told us you had a nephew.
Where the devil did you get him?”
Copyrights
La Constantin from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
