In 1887, Pranzini slaughtered three women with a “true butcher’s skill”. Frédéric Chauvaud studies the crime in its relationship with the society of the time and its imagination, but without mentioning the colonial context of the affair.
A specialist in the history of justice and crime, Frédéric Chauvaud has, in numerous works and articles, addressed most of the famous criminal cases of the XIXe And XXe centuries. In the tradition of the great judicial chroniclers of the past, he devotes a second book, after The Terrible Crime of the Papin Sisters (Larousse, 2010), to another famous criminal, Henri Pranzini, who fed the daily chronicles of the press from March to September 1887. The latter, abundantly cited in the work, constitutes, with the files of the police investigation and that of the criminal investigation, as well as the stories of the protagonists, one of the major sources mobilized to reconstruct the story of this “adventurer, Don Juan… and killer of women”.
The foreword sets out the choices made by the historian. Intended for a wide audience, the work aims to allow the reader “to understand the intensity of the emotions that the case had aroused” (p. 13). Frédéric Chauvaud considers that this criminal case, like others, enters “into correspondence with an era, its fears and its hopes” and that it lastingly shapes the “imaginary of an entire society” (p. 13).
Beyond the story of the “most fantastic and gripping legal drama” of the end of the XIXe century, according to the words of Marie-François Goron, former head of the Sûreté, in her Memoirs published ten years after the affair, the objective is to understand the crime in its relationship with the society of the time and its imagination. The approach is that of a sensitive story, placing itself as close as possible to the experiences and emotions of the actors, the contemporary protagonists of the crime.
The case
Hervé Pranzini, born in Egypt to Italian parents, a polyglot interpreter, adventurer, mopping up his gambling losses by theft and fraud, living off the money of his female conquests in the demi-monde, was sentenced to death on July 13, 1887 by the Assizes of the Seine for the triple murder of the rue Montaigne – Marie Regnault, alias “Régine de Montille”, courtesan of high gallantry, her lady-in-waiting and the latter’s granddaughter – committed on March 17 of the previous year.
Frédéric Chauvaud follows the chronology, starting with the night of the crime, the screams heard by the neighbors and the discovery, in the morning, of the three victims “slit with the true skill of a butcher”, according to the words used by the first doctor on the scene (p. 23): the photo taken at the morgue, published in the press, shows bodies that are almost decapitated, the head of the 12-year-old girl hanging only by a piece of skin on the trunk. The reader witnesses the autopsy of the victims as well as the first steps of the investigation led by a “bloodhound of the judicial police” (p. 36) and the investigating judge, these three main actors in the investigation – Professor Brouardel, Marie-François Goron and Adolphe Guillot – being the subject of pertinent biographies. A chapter is devoted to the world of the demi-mondaines, evoked by the description of Madame de Montille’s home and her biography closely linked to her lovers.
Pranzini’s arrest was the result of chance, as the Parisian police initially strayed onto the trail of a man described by the concierge of the building on Rue Montaigne as a “weakling”, seen in the building on the night of the crime. He was apparently a man named Geissler, according to some clues found on site. Since the murder was motivated by the theft of jewels, it was the discovery of some of them in Marseilles that greatly advanced the investigation, when a brothel owner brought the police some jewels (suspected of being the product of a theft in her eyes) given to one of her daughters by a traveller who turned out to be Pranzini.
Police officer Marie-François Goron has every right to make fun of his colleagues and the Marseille prosecutor’s office – repeating the clichés about the metropolis of the South, investigators who quickly tire of maintaining unhealthy relationships with the press – it is they who, by chance of the testimony of a prostitute, allowed the arrest of the presumed culprit. It is still necessary to be sure that the latter, caught on the fact of receiving stolen jewelry that he admits, is indeed the murderer, while he will deny it until his conviction.
“Oriental Don Juan”
Doubt in this regard accounts for the results of the investigation, which attempts to find a possible accomplice who would be the real murderer. This unknown person, described as a dark man by the press – the second elusive man – is the subject of an entire chapter. It is the Geissler trail that leads Goron to Germany, where he finally learns that under this name hides a poor devil arrested following a suicide attempt and incarcerated in Mazas prison.
As for the evidence against Pranzini, it is sought in his schedule, particularly during the night of the crime. Claiming to have spent it in the house of his mistress, Antoinette Sabatier, the latter’s confrontation with her lover is masterfully conducted by the investigating judge, playing on the element of surprise, but without decisive result: initially supporting Pranzini’s version of his presence at her home, then retracting, his testimony does not shake Pranzini. Until the end, he will claim innocence, claiming to have spent the night at the home of a society woman whom he refuses to name.
Two chapters present him at length, first as a “cosmopolitan adventurer” (p. 125). Born in Alexandria, a clerk dismissed from the Egyptian post office for theft, he exercises his talents as an interpreter in the service of the English army in different theatres of war or in the colonies. We come across him in Afghanistan, Sudan, India, before returning to Italy and France, first on the Mediterranean coast, attracted by the gaming tables. His resources? For the most part, apart from thefts and remuneration for various commissions, they come from the women he seduces: a gigolo, he “embodies the oriental Don Juan…. Carnally irresistible, Levantine, he personifies the seducer of a new kind” (p. 138). His conquests are thus presented to us through the letters that three of them address to their “magnificent darling”.
The trial gives rise to pages that are more familiar to the historian, after reading the master book that the author devoted to the assize courts. We are therefore not surprised by the evolution of the “judicial drama” (p. 181) that is played out from July 9 to 13, 1887. For this “hearing of the great days” (p. 173), the wait is long for those who have obtained the invitation cards. Despite the warnings of the president Onfroy de Bréville on the conduct of the attendance, the hearing should not be confused with a theater, “laughter and small stifled cries” are not rare (p. 175).
Strong moments are expected and experienced by the public: Pranzini’s attitude, the demonstration of the accusation, the defense (Edgar Demange) and the confrontation – this time public – between Pranzini and Madame Sabatier, a last-minute testimony undermining the defense, but ultimately rejected by the public prosecutor. Despite the absence of the confession, Pranzini is found guilty of the triple murder.
His execution, on August 31, 1887, featured the “hamming it up with the guillotine” (p. 204) well known to historians: crowds of curious onlookers waiting several days in advance in front of the Grande Roquette prison, excesses scandalizing the authorities, preparations and execution of the execution were consistent with previous executions in the capital. The body of the tortured man, transferred to the School of Medicine, was autopsied and cut up for various analyses. The epilogue scandalized the press and public opinion: the assassin’s skin was used at Goron’s request to make two card holders… The revelation of this fact tarnished the image of the Parisian police, already badly mistreated during the investigation.
The book ends with the “memory of the crime”: from the impact of the affair on the journey of Saint Therese of Lisieux (Pranzini, having refused confession, kissing the crucifix before the execution, grants her prayer) to the television series In your soul and conscience by Pierre Desgraupes, Pierre Dumayet and Claude Barma, through the works of the great legal chroniclers. With its chronological arrangement, its writing happily borrowing the words of contemporaries, Frédéric Chauvaud’s work reads like a novel, firmly anchored to the achievements of research.
Crime, Society and Emotions
The historian may, however, wonder whether it fully meets the objective announced in the foreword, particularly with regard to the analysis of emotions. However, the judicial material, as has often been noted, offers a source of choice in this area, giving the witnesses a voice and therefore the expression of their feelings, even if the words collected are very much framed by the investigator. It does not seem that the depositions are used in this sense, Frédéric Chauvaud favouring the press in this area, which adds a lot to the sensationalism, when it is not questionable: when the verdict is announced, Pranzini is described as “discoloured” or “livid”, while Goron considers that he kept his cool (p. 202).
As for the protagonists, investigators and magistrates are used to controlling their feelings – Goron barely admits to a movement of recoil at the discovery of the bodies – and Pranzini, subjected to great ordeal, seems to follow the same attitude imposed by his strategy of denial. Only Antoinette Sabatier, through her tears during the confrontations, expresses her feelings without embellishment. Beyond the actors in the affair, the reactions of the population are only mentioned at the moment of the discovery of the crime (dozens of onlookers at the foot of Marie Regnault’s building) or during the final scene, in front of the Roquette.
Certainly, the evocation of enlightened people accusing themselves of the triple assassination can express the trauma caused by the crime, but we will agree that they constitute a very particular case. It is doubtless because of the lack of sources, the difficulty in using newspapers on this point, that the author must be content with rapid notes on the emotion aroused by this or that incident in this or that protagonist or in public opinion in general. It is also likely that, to take an example, an analysis of the fears aroused by crime would require going beyond the framework of a single particular case.
The role of the press
It would also require taking into account the social and political context, beyond the participants in the judicial scene. In this respect, the book supports Dominique Kalifa’s work on the press that became investigative after the Second Empire. The reporters literally followed the police, occupying the compartment next to Goron and Pranzini’s on the train back from Marseille, staying in the same hotels as the first in Germany. They prided themselves on getting ahead of the police by discovering new clues or testimonies, publishing reports taken from the information documents, to the point that Guillot ended up sending a call for witnesses directly to the press.
Opinion or not, the newspapers ridicule the police, particularly the head of security, Taylor, who is presented as incapable. In this rivalry, the final blow is delivered by the revelation of Pranzini’s tanned skin. Even if this scandal did not lead to legal sanctions, it is revealing of a climate whose political implications it would be interesting to follow. In a recent book, the American historian Aaron Freundschuh, working on the same criminal case, puts forward the hypothesis of a “revenge” by the police who would have let slip information fueling another scandal, that of the decorations, which led to the resignation of President Jules Grévy at the beginning of December 1887. Above all, this historian develops at length the colonial context of the Pranzini affair, situating it in a climate of rising xenophobia – very quickly mentioned by Frédéric Chauvaud – by putting forward the theory of an “imperial insecurity”, fueled by migrants from the colonies. Pranzini, the Levantine, the “rastaquouère”, would symbolize this new criminal figure.
Reading the fine legal chronicle by Frédéric Chauvaud invites us to extend the analysis of the imagination linked to the crime at the end of the XIXe century, placing it in its social and political context.