Example 6 - LUÍS AND THE BOOT-STITCHER GIRL.

— For seven to eight months Luís G…, a journeyman shoemaker, had been courting a young woman, Victorine R…, whom he was soon to marry, the marriage banns having even already been published.

Things being at this point, they considered themselves almost definitively bound, and, as a measure of economy, the shoemaker came daily to lunch and dine at his betrothed's house.

One day, at dinner, a quarrel arose over some triviality, and, the two stubbornly clinging to their opinions, matters came to the point where Luís left the table, declaring that he would never return.

In spite of this, the next day he came to ask forgiveness. The night is a good counselor, as is well known, but the girl, perhaps prejudging from the previous evening's scene what might happen when it would no longer be in time to remedy the harm, refused the reconciliation. Neither protests, nor tears, nor despair could move her.

Many days still passed, Luís hoping that his beloved would become more reasonable, until he resolved to make one last attempt: — Arriving at the girl's house, he knocked in such a way as to be recognized, but the door remained shut; they refused to open it to him. New entreaties from the spurned man, new protestations, found no echo in the heart of the one he sought.

“Farewell, then, cruel one! — cried the poor young man — farewell forever. Go look for a husband who will esteem you as much as I do.” At the same moment the girl heard a smothered moan and immediately afterward the thud as of a body sliding down the door. From the silence that followed, the girl supposed that Luís had sat down on the threshold, and she resolved to herself not to go out as long as he remained there.

A quarter of an hour having passed, a tenant, passing along the sidewalk and carrying a light, let out a cry of astonishment and called for help. The neighbors quickly came running, and Victorine, then opening the door, gave a cry of horror, recognizing stretched out upon the flagstones, pale, lifeless, her betrothed. Each one hastened to assist him, but it was at once perceived that all would be useless, since he had ceased to exist. The unhappy young man had buried a knife in the region of the heart, and the blade had remained driven into the wound.

— (SPIRITIST SOCIETY OF PARIS, AUGUST 1858.)

To the Spirit of Saint Louis. — Does the girl, the involuntary cause of the suicide, bear responsibility? — A. Yes, because she did not love him.

Then, to prevent the misfortune, ought she to have married him in spite of the repugnance he caused her? — A. She was seeking an occasion to be rid of him, and so she did at the beginning of the relationship what she would have done later on.

In that case, does her responsibility arise from having nourished feelings in which she did not share and which resulted in the young man's suicide? — A. Yes, exactly.

But then this responsibility must be proportional to the fault, and not as great as if she had consciously and willingly provoked the suicide? — A. That is evident.

And is Luís's suicide excused by the derangement that Victorine's obstinacy brought upon him? — A. Yes, for suicide arising from love is less criminal in the eyes of God than the suicide of one who seeks to free himself from life out of cowardice.

— To the Spirit of Luís G…, evoked later on, the following questions were put:

What do you think of the deed you committed? — A. Victorine was an ingrate, and I did wrong to kill myself on her account, for she did not deserve it.

Then she did not love you? — A. No. At first she deceived herself, but the disagreement we had opened her eyes, and she even counted herself fortunate in finding a pretext to be rid of me.

And was your love for her sincere? — A. Passion only, believe me; 2 for had the love been pure, I would have spared myself causing her any grief.

And if by chance she had guessed your intention, would she have persisted in her refusal? — A. I do not know; I even think not, because she is not wicked. But, even so, she would not have been happy, and it was better for her that things happened in such a way.

When you knocked at her door, did you already have the idea of killing yourself if the refusal came? — A. No, I did not think of such a thing, because I was not counting on her obstinacy either. It was only at the sight of this that I lost my reason.

It seems that you deplore the suicide only because of the fact that Victorine did not deserve it… Is that truly your only regret? — A. At this moment, yes;

I am still troubled; it seems to me that I am still at the door, although I also experience another sensation that I cannot define.

Will you come to understand it later? — A. Yes, when I am free of this disturbance.

I did wrong; I ought to have resigned myself… I was weak, and I suffer the consequences of my weakness.

Passion blinds man to the point of committing follies, and unfortunately he understands this only quite late.

You say that you have a grief… what is it? — A. I did wrong to cut short my life. I should not have done it. It was preferable to bear everything than to die before my time. I am therefore unhappy; I suffer, and it is always she who makes me suffer, the ingrate.

It seems to me that I am always at her door, but… let us speak and think of it no more, for it troubles me greatly. Farewell.

Thus is seen once more a new confirmation of the justice that presides over the distribution of penalties, according to the degree of responsibility of the guilty. In the present circumstance, the first fault is the young lady's, who had entertained in Luís, in jest, a love that she did not feel. As for the young man, he is already more than sufficiently punished by the suffering that endures within him, but his penalty is light, since he merely yielded to an unreflecting impulse, in a moment of exaltation, and not to the cold premeditation of those suicides who seek to escape the trials of life. [Under this title, the case of Luís G… may also be seen in the Spiritist Review of September 1858.]