This was a rather exaggerated view. Donellan was a gentleman. He had borne the king’s commission, and was a son of a colonel in the army. To haunt fashionable society in London and the chief pleasure resorts in search of a rich partie was a common enough proceeding, and implied self-seeking, but not necessarily criminal tendencies. He got his chance at Bath by doing a civil thing, and made the most of it. Lady Boughton was unable to find accommodation in the best hotel, and Donellan, who was there, promptly gave up his rooms. The acquaintance thus pleasantly begun grew into intimacy, and ended in his marrying Miss Boughton. So far the circumstances were not very strong against him. It was his conduct after the event that told, and, though there is an element of doubt in the case, most people, probably, who review the facts will come to the same conclusion as did Sir James Stephen.
MADAME LAFARGE.
One of the greatest poisoning trials on record in any country is that of Madame Lafarge, and its interest is undying, for to this day the case is surrounded by mystery. Although the guilt of the accused was proved to the satisfaction of the jury at the time of trial, strong doubts were then entertained, and still possess acute legal minds, as to the justice of her conviction. Long after the event, two eminent Prussian jurists, councillors of the criminal court of Berlin, closely studied the proceedings, and gave it as their unqualified opinion that, according to Prussian law, there was absence of proof. They published a report on the case, in which they gave their reasons for this opinion, but it will be best to give some account of the alleged poisoning before quoting the arguments of these independent authorities.
In the month of January, 1840, an iron-master, residing at Glandier, in the Limousin, died suddenly of an unknown malady. His family, friends, and immediate neighbours at once accused his wife of having poisoned him. This wife differed greatly in disposition and breeding from the deceased. Marie Fortunée Capelle was the daughter of a French artillery colonel, who had served in Napoleon’s Guard. She was well connected, her grandmother having been a fellow-pupil of the Duchess of Orleans under Madame de Genlis; her aunts were well married, one to a Prussian diplomat, the other to M. Garat, the general secretary of the Bank of France. She had been delicately nurtured. Her father had held good military commands, and was intimate with the best people, many of them nobles of the First Empire, and the child was petted by the Duchess of Dalmatia (Madame Soult), the Princess of Echmuhl (Madame Ney), Madame de Cambacères, and so forth.
Colonel Capelle died early, and Marie’s mother, having married again, also died. Marie was left to the care of distant relations; she had a small fortune of her own, which was applied to her education, and she was sent to one of the best schools in Paris. Here she made bosom friends, as schoolgirls do, and with one of them became involved in a foolish intrigue, which, in the days of her trouble, brought upon her another serious charge, that of theft. Marie grew up distinguished-looking if not absolutely pretty; tall, slim, with dead-white complexion, jet-black hair worn in straight shining pleats, fine dark eyes, and a sweet but somewhat sad smile. These are the chief features of contemporary portraits.
To marry her was now the wish of her people, and she was willing enough to become independent. Some say that a suitor was sought through the matrimonial agents, others positively deny it. In any case, a proposal came from a certain Charles Pouch Lafarge, a man of decent family but inferior to the Capelles, not much to look at, about thirty, and supposed to be prosperous in his business. The marriage was hastily arranged, and as quickly solemnised—in no more than five days. Lafarge drew a rosy picture of his house: a large mansion in a wide park, with beautiful views, where all were eager to welcome the bride and make her happy. As they travelled thither the scales quickly fell from Marie’s eyes. Her new husband changed in tone; from beseeching he became rudely dictatorial, and he seems to have soon wounded the delicate susceptibilities of his wife.
The climax was reached on arrival at Glandier, a dirty, squalid place. Threading its dark, narrow streets, they reached the mansion—only a poor place, after all, surrounded with smoking chimneys: a cold, damp, dark house, dull without, bare within. The shock was terrible, and Madame Lafarge declared she had been cruelly deceived. Life in such surroundings, tied to such a man, seemed utterly impossible. She fled to her own room, and there indited a strange letter to her husband, a letter that was the starting-point of suspicion against her, and which she afterwards explained away as merely a first mad outburst of disappointment and despair. Her object was to get free at all costs from this hateful and unbearable marriage.
This letter, dated the 25th of August, 1839, began thus: “Charles,—I am about to implore pardon on my knees. I have betrayed you culpably. I love not you, but another....” And it continued in the same tone for several sheets. Then she implored her husband to release her and let her go that very evening. “Get two horses ready: I will ride to Bordeaux and then take ship to Smyrna. I will leave you all my possessions. May God turn them to your advantage—you deserve it. As for me, I will live by my own exertions. Let no one know that I ever existed.... If this does not satisfy you I will take arsenic—I have some.... Spare me, be the guardian angel of a poor orphan girl, or, if you choose, slay me, and say I have killed myself.—Marie.”
This strange effusion was read with consternation not only by Lafarge, but by his mother, his sister, and her husband. A stormy scene followed between Lafarge and his wife, but at length he won her over. She withdrew her letter, declaring that she did not mean what she wrote, and that she would do her best to make him happy. “I have accepted my position,” she wrote to M. Garat, “although it is difficult. But with a little strength of mind, with patience, and my husband’s love, I may grow contented. Charles adores me, and I cannot but be touched by the caresses lavished on me.” To another she wrote that she struggled hard to be satisfied with her life. Her husband under a rough shell possessed a noble heart; her mother-in-law and sister-in-law overwhelmed her with attentions. Now she gradually settled down into domesticity, and busied herself with household affairs.