It strikes me that M. Duveyrier, the ingenious author of the Monomane, must work upon the same principle, and that in this piece he thinks he has put a magnifying-glass upon "une idée sociale."
But I must return to my analysis of this drama of five mortal acts.—After the execution, the real perpetrator of the murder for which the unfortunate victim of legal enthusiasm has innocently suffered appears on the scene. He is brought sick or wounded into the house of a physician, with whom the procureur du roi and his wife are on a visit. Balthazar sees the murderer conveyed to bed in a chamber that opens from that of his friend the doctor. He then goes to bed himself with his wife, and appears to have fallen asleep without delay, for we presently see him in this state come forth from his chamber upon a gallery, from whence a flight of stairs descends upon the stage. We see him walk down these stairs,—take some instrument out of a case belonging to the doctor,—enter the apartment where the murderer has been lodged,—return,—replace the instrument,—-wash his bloody hands and wipe them upon a hand-towel,—then reascend the staircase and enter his lady's room at the top of it; all of which is performed in the silence of profound sleep.
The attention which hung upon the whole of this long silent scene was such, that one might have supposed the lives of the audience depended upon their not waking this murderous sleeper by any sound; and the applause which followed the mute performance, when once the awful procureur du roi was again safely lodged in his chamber, was deafening.
The following morning it is discovered that the sick stranger has been murdered; and instantly the procureur du roi, with his usual ardour in discovering the guilty, sets most ably to work upon the investigation of every circumstance which may throw light upon this horrible transaction. Everything, particularly the case of instruments, of which one is bloody, and the hand-towel found in his room, stained with the same accusing dye—all tends to prove that the poor innocent physician is the murderer: he is accordingly taken up, tried, and condemned.
This unfortunate young doctor has an uncle, of the same learned profession, who is addicted to the science of animal magnetism. This gentleman having some suspicion that Balthazar is himself the guilty person, imagines a very cunning device by which he may be made to betray himself if guilty. He determines to practise his magnetism upon him in full court while he is engaged in the duties of his high office, and flatters himself that he shall be able to throw him into a sleep or trance, in which state he may par hasard let out something of the truth.
This admirable contrivance answers perfectly. The attorney-general does fall into a most profound sleep the moment the old doctor begins his magnetising manœuvres, and in this state not only relates aloud every circumstance of the murder, but, to give this confession more sure effect, he writes it out fairly, and sets his name to it, being profoundly asleep the whole time.
And here it is impossible to avoid remarking on the extreme ill fortune which attends the sleeping hours of this amiable attorney-general. At one time he takes a nap, and kills a man without knowing anything of the matter; and then, in a subsequent state of oblivion, he confesses it, still without knowing anything of the matter.
As soon as the unfortunate gentleman has finished the business for which he was put to sleep, he is awakened, and the paper is shown to him. He scruples not immediately to own his handwriting, which, sleeping or waking, it seems, was the same; but testifies the greatest horror and astonishment at the information the document contains, which was quite as unexpected to himself as to the rest of the company.
His high office, however, we must presume, exempts him from all responsibility; for the only result of the discovery is an earnest recommendation from his friends, particularly the old and young doctors, that he should travel for the purpose of recovering his spirits.
There is a little episode, by the way, from which we learn, that once, in one of his alarming slumbers, this amiable but unfortunate man gave symptoms of wishing to murder his wife and child; in consequence of which, it is proposed by the doctors that this tour for the restoration of his spirits should be made without them. To this separation Balthazar strongly objects, and tells his beautiful wife, with much tenderness, that he shall find it very dull without her.