village of Gettein, where my parents lived on a little place belonging to my mother. I received my first communion with feelings of exaltation, which, however, soon gave place to a doubting and troubled mind. I went back to my solitary life and my gloomy forebodings."
Éliçabide then recounted his student days, his connection with the Seminary at Bayonne, the beginning of his love affairs with the Widow Anizat, his arrival in Paris, the difficulties he encountered while striving to find a position in the capital. The details conformed to those which the reader already knows. He continued thus:—
"A part of my effects found their way to Montde-Piete. Discouragement increased, and in spite of myself I showed my morbid feelings. I shut myself in my chamber, and could not summon the resolution to go out. I ate dry bread and drank water from the Seine. My head troubled me, I could not think; ideas seemed to have left me. After aimless walking I found, I do not know why, pleasure in visiting the morgue, even when the sight of the dead bodies made me sick. . . . In the midst of these feelings and the melancholy which accompanied them, the picture of all whom I held dear in the world—my family, Marie and her children—condemned to suffering, to privations and misery, presented itself to my diseased imagination. My soul was tortured. A constant inquietude bore me down with its dreadful weight. I was in this cruel state of mind, when one day, during a conversation upon the disappointments of life, one of those present exclaimed, 'Bah! any sensible person ought to rejoice to see the death of those he loves, if the objects of his affections are destined to misery and unhappiness in this life.'
"I cannot tell you the effect produced upon me by these words. It was the light from an infernal torch. To see die those whom I loved was a thought which from that moment took possession of my mind with all the power of a fixed idea, and from which I could not free myself by work or by mingling in society. The idea pursued me everywhere, and there were always times when I felt a horrible impatience to carry it out. My brain became more and more excited. I looked upon the world with horror. My thoughts were only thoughts of extermination."
Thus clearly Éliçabide pleaded a fixed idea, a fatality. He sought to reduce his crimes to the proportions of an irresistible impulse, to transform them into irresponsible acts. Let us follow him in this psychological study which he undertakes to make of himself:—
"Again and again I struggled to throw off the wretched thought which pressed upon me.
"I carried the cry of my distress from the palace to the dwelling of the actress. I invoked the princess, I supplicated the prelate, I knocked at the banker's door, I wailed before the great sentimental writer, I humiliated myself before the priest. It seemed to me that this was enough, and yet I went hungry.
"Since all my applications are in vain, let us try, I said to myself, a little charlatanism. But my face is too honest, my countenance too open. I conceived a project which must infallibly bring about happy results.
"I published a little prospectus of a school in the form of a circular. I stated that I could count upon some children who had been promised me; that was a lie. I must make the attempt cost what it might. I hired an apartment in the Rue du Richelieu, and hastened the arrival of Joseph.
"The unfortunate Marie wrote that she was much disturbed and troubled; that the mournful disposition of her son made her fearful of his future; that she should die of grief if he were kept from her long; that she passed her nights without sleep and in tears.
"I replied to these simple, tender letters in accordance with the effect they produced upon me. 'Be happy in your illusions and in your hope,' said I to her. 'I will bring you happiness in some manner or other.'
"I was sorrowfully occupied in giving a lesson to a young and interesting child, when the concierge brought me a letter announcing the arrival of Joseph by the diligence the same day. The news upset me, as if I had not been expecting it. My brain whirled. Joseph arrived! Poor child! what will be thy future? I have promised to be your father, your instructor, your guide in the path of life. . . . Life! . . . but at your age everything pointed to a bright and happy life for me. I was intelligent; tender and thoughtful friends watched over me. Later a good education gave me the right to demand of the world that it should not blindly crush my wretched existence. It is true
