Still, nothing conclusive was forthcoming against the Calas. One or two witnesses declared that they had heard disputes, swore to piteous appeals made to the father by the dead son, to cries such as “I am being strangled!” “They are murdering me!” and this was all. It was all for the prosecution; not a word was heard in defence. The Protestant friends of the family were not competent to bear witness; the accused, moreover, were permitted to call no one. It would be hard to credit the disabilities still imposed upon the French Huguenots were it not that the laws in England against Roman Catholics at that time were little less severe. In France all offices, all professions were interdicted to Protestants. They could not be ushers or police agents, they were forbidden to trade as printers, booksellers, watchmakers, or grocers, they must not practise as doctors, surgeons, or apothecaries.
Although there was no case, the prosecution was obstinately persisted in, not merely because the law officers were full of prejudice, but because, if they failed to secure conviction, they would be liable to a counter action for their high-handed abuse of legal powers. As has been said, no pains were taken at the first discovery of the death to examine the spot or investigate the circumstances. It was all the better for the prosecution that nothing of the kind was done. Had the police approached the matter with an open mind, judging calmly from the facts apparent, they would have been met at once by an ample, nay, overwhelming—explanation. There can be no doubt that Marc Antoine Calas committed suicide. The proofs were plain. This eldest son was a trouble to his parents, ever dissatisfied with his lot, disliking his father’s business, eager to take up some other line, notably that of an advocate. Here, however, he encountered the prejudice of the times, which forbade this profession to a Protestant; and it was his known dissatisfaction with this law that led to the conjecture—and there was little else—that he wished to abjure his faith. At last Marc Antoine offered to join his father, but was told that until he learnt the business and showed more aptitude he could not hope for a partnership. From this moment he fell away, took to evil courses, frequented the worst company, was seen at the billiard tables and tennis courts of Toulouse, and became much addicted to gambling. When not given to debauchery he was known as a silent, gloomy, discontented youth, who quarrelled with his lot and complained always of his bad luck. On the very morning of his death he had lost heavily—a sum of money entrusted him by his father to exchange from silver into gold.
All this pointed to the probability of suicide. The Calas themselves, however, would not hear of any such solution. Suicide was deemed disgraceful and dishonourable. Sooner than suggest suicide, the elder Calas was prepared to accept the worst. One of the judges was strongly of opinion that it was clearly a case of
felo de se, but he was overruled by the rest, who were equally convinced of the guilt of the Calas. Not a single witness of the 150 examined could speak positively; not one had seen the crime committed; they contradicted each other, and their statements were improbable and opposed to common sense. Moreover, the murder was morally and physically impossible. Was it likely that a family party collected round the supper-table would take one of their number downstairs and hang him? Could such wrong be done to a young and vigorous man without some sort of struggle that would leave its traces on himself and in the scene around?
But the bigoted and prejudiced judges of Toulouse gave judgment against the accused; yet, although so satisfied of their guilt, they ordered the torture to be applied to extort full confession. The prisoners appealing, the case was heard in the local parliament, and the first decision upheld. Thirteen judges sat; of these, seven were for a sentence of death, three for preliminary torture, two voted for a new inquiry based on the supposition of suicide, one alone was for acquittal. As this was not a legal majority, one dissident was won over, and sentence of death was duly passed on Calas, who was to suffer torture first, in the hope that by his admissions on the rack the guilt of the rest might be assured.
The sentence was executed under circumstances so horrible and heartrending that humanity shudders at hearing them. Calas was taken first to the question chamber and put “upon the first button.” There, being warned that he had but a short time to live and must suffer torments, he was sworn and exhorted to make truthful answer to the interrogatories, to all of which, after the rack had been applied, he replied denying his guilt. He was then put “upon the second button”; the torture increased, and still he protested his innocence. Last of all, he was subjected to the question extraordinary, and being still firm, he was handed over to the reverend father to be prepared for death. He suffered on the wheel, being “broken alive”; the process lasted two whole hours, but at the end of that time the executioner put him out of his misery by strangling him. When asked for the last time, on the very brink of the grave, to make a clean breast of his crime and give up the names of his confederates, he only answered, “Where there has been no crime there can be no accomplices.” His constancy won him the respect of all who witnessed his execution. “He died,” said a monk “like one of our Catholic martyrs.”
This noble end caused deep chagrin to his judges; they were consumed with secret anxiety, having hoped to the last that a full confession would exonerate them from their cruelty. At Toulouse there had been a fresh outburst of fanaticism, in which more lives were lost; and now, the news of Calas’ execution reaching the city, open war was declared against all Huguenots. But a reaction was at hand, caused by the very excess of this religious intolerance. The terrible story began to circulate through France and beyond. The rest of the accused had been released, not without reluctance, by the authorities of Toulouse, but Pierre Calas had been condemned to banishment. Another brother had escaped to Geneva, where he met with much sympathy.