A Book of Remarkable Criminals

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A BOOK OF
REMARKABLE
CRIMINALS

BY
H.B. IRVING

TO MY FRIEND
E. V. LUCAS

"For violence and hurt tangle every man in their toils,
and for the most part fall on the head of him from whom
they had their rise; nor is it easy for one who by his
act breaks the common pact of peace to lead a calm
and quiet life."

Lucretius on the Nature of Things.

Contents

INTRODUCTION

THE LIFE OF CHARLES PEACE:

I. HIS EARLY YEARS
II. PEACE IN LONDON
III. HIS TRIAL AND EXECUTION

THE CAREER OF ROBERT BUTLER:

I. THE DUNEDIN MURDERS
II. THE TRIAL OF BUTLER
III. HIS DECLINE AND FALL

M. DERUES:

I. THE CLIMBING LITTLE GROCER
II. THE GAYE OF BLUFF

DR. CASTAING:

I. AN UNHAPPY COINCIDENCE
II. THE TRIAL OF DR. CASTAING

PROFESSOR WEBSTER

THE MYSTERIOUS MR. HOLMES:

I. HONOUR AMONGST THIEVES
II THE WANDERING ASSASSIN

PARTNERSHIP IN CRIME:

I. THE WIDOW GRAS
1. THE CHARMER
2. THE WOUNDED PIGEON
II. VITALIS AND MARIE BOYER
III. THE FENAYROU CASE
IV. EYRAUD AND BOMPARD

A BOOK OF REMARKABLE CRIMINALS

A BOOK OF
REMARKABLE CRIMINALS

Introduction

"The silent workings, and still more the explosions, of human
passion which bring to light the darker elements of man's nature
present to the philosophical observer considerations of intrinsic
interest; while to the jurist, the study of human nature and
human character with its infinite varieties, especially as
affecting the connection between motive and action, between
irregular desire or evil disposition and crime itself, is equally
indispensable and difficult."--_Wills on Circumstantial
Evidence_.

I REMEMBER my father telling me that sitting up late one night
talking with Tennyson, the latter remarked that he had not kept
such late hours since a recent visit of Jowett. On that occasion
the poet and the philosopher had talked together well into the
small hours of the morning. My father asked Tennyson what was
the subject of conversation that had so engrossed them.
"Murders," replied Tennyson. It would have been interesting to
have heard Tennyson and Jowett discussing such a theme. The fact
is a tribute to the interest that crime has for many men of
intellect and imagination. Indeed, how could it be otherwise?
Rob history and fiction of crime, how tame and colourless would
be the residue! We who are living and enduring in the presence
of one of the greatest crimes on record, must realise that trying
as this period of the world's history is to those who are passing
through it, in the hands of some great historian it may make
very good reading for posterity. Perhaps we may find some little
consolation in this fact, like the unhappy victims of famous
freebooters such as Jack Sheppard or Charley Peace.

But do not let us flatter ourselves. Do not let us, in all the
pomp and circumstance of stately history, blind ourselves to the
fact that the crimes of Frederick, or Napoleon, or their
successors, are in essence no different from those of Sheppard or
Peace. We must not imagine that the bad man who happens to
offend against those particular laws which constitute the
criminal code belongs to a peculiar or atavistic type, that he is
a man set apart from the rest of his fellow-men by mental or
physical peculiarities. That comforting theory of the Lombroso
school has been exploded, and the ordinary inmates of our prisons
shown to be only in a very slight degree below the average in
mental and physical fitness of the normal man, a difference
easily explained by the environment and conditions in which the
ordinary criminal is bred.

A certain English judge, asked as to the general characteristics
of the prisoners tried before him, said: "They are just like
other people; in fact, I often think that, but for different
opportunities and other accidents, the prisoner and I might very
well be in one another's places." "Greed, love of pleasure,"
writes a French judge, "lust, idleness, anger, hatred, revenge,
these are the chief causes of crime. These passions and desires
are shared by rich and poor alike, by the educated and
uneducated. They are inherent in human nature; the germ is in
every man."

Convicts represent those wrong-doers who have taken to a
particular form of wrong-doing punishable by law. Of the larger
army of bad men they represent a minority, who have been
found out in a peculiarly unsatisfactory kind of misconduct.
There are many men, some lying, unscrupulous, dishonest, others
cruel, selfish, vicious, who go through life without ever doing
anything that brings them within the scope of the criminal code,
for whose offences the laws of society provide no punishment.
And so it is with some of those heroes of history who have been
made the theme of fine writing by gifted historians.

Mr. Basil Thomson, the present head of the Criminal Investigation
Department, has said recently that a great deal of crime is due
to a spirit of "perverse adventure" on the part of the criminal.
The same might be said with equal justice of the exploits of
Alexander the Great and half the monarchs and conquerors of the
world, whom we are taught in our childhood's days to look up to
as shining examples of all that a great man should be. Because
crimes are played on a great stage instead of a small, that is no
reason why our moral judgment should be suspended or silenced.
Class Machiavelli and Frederick the Great as a couple of rascals
fit to rank with Jonathan Wild, and we are getting nearer a
perception of what constitutes the real criminal. "If," said
Frederick the Great to his minister, Radziwill, "there is
anything to be gained by it, we will be honest; if deception is
necessary, let us be cheats." These are the very sentiments of
Jonathan Wild.

Crime, broadly speaking, is the attempt by fraud or violence to
possess oneself of something belonging to another, and as such
the cases of it in history are as clear as those dealt with in
criminal courts. Germany to-day has been guilty of a perverse
and criminal adventure, the outcome of that false morality
applied to historical transactions, of which Carlyle's life of
Frederick is a monumental example. In that book we have a
man whose instincts in more ways than one were those of a
criminal, held up for our admiration, in the same way that the
same writer fell into dithyrambic praise over a villain called
Francia, a former President of Paraguay. A most interesting work
might be written on the great criminals of history, and might do
something towards restoring that balance of moral judgment in
historical transactions, for the perversion of which we are
suffering to-day.

In the meantime we must be content to study in the microcosm of
ordinary crime those instincts, selfish, greedy, brutal which,
exploited often by bad men in the so-called cause of nations,
have wrought such havoc to the happiness of mankind. It is not
too much to say that in every man there dwell the seeds of crime;
whether they grow or are stifled in their growth by the good that
is in us is a chance mysteriously determined. As children of
nature we must not be surprised if our instincts are not all that
they should be. "In sober truth," writes John Stuart Mill,
"nearly all the things for which men are hanged or imprisoned for
doing to one another are nature's everyday performances," and in
another passage: "The course of natural phenomena being replete
with everything which when committed by human beings is most
worthy of abhorrence, anyone who endeavoured in his actions to
imitate the natural course of things would be universally seen
and acknowledged to be the wickedest of men."

Here is explanation enough for the presence of evil in our
natures, that instinct to destroy which finds comparatively
harmless expression in certain forms of taking life, which is at
its worst when we fall to taking each other's. It is to check an
inconvenient form of the expression of this instinct that we
punish murderers with death. We must carry the definition of
murder a step farther before we can count on peace or
happiness??{in}??this world. We must concentrate all our
strength on?? fighting criminal nature, both in ourselves and in
the world around us. With the destructive forces of nature we
are waging a perpetual struggle for our very existence. Why
dissipate our strength by fighting among ourselves? By enlarging
our conception of crime we move towards that end. What is anti-
social, whether it be written in the pages of the historian or
those of the Newgate Calendar, must in the future be regarded
with equal abhorrence and subjected to equally sure punishment.
Every professor of history should now and then climb down from
the giddy heights of Thucydides and Gibbon and restore his moral
balance by comparing the acts of some of his puppets with those
of their less fortunate brethren who have dangled at the end of a
rope. If this war is to mean anything to posterity, the crime
against humanity must be judged in the future by the same rigid
standard as the crime against the person.

The individual criminals whose careers are given in this book
have been chosen from among their fellows for their pre-eminence
in character or achievement. Some of the cases, such as Butler,
Castaing and Holmes, are new to most English readers.

Charles Peace is the outstanding popular figure in nineteenth-
century crime. He is the type of the professional criminal who
makes crime a business and sets about it methodically and
persistently to the end. Here is a man, possessing many of those
qualities which go to make the successful man of action in all
walks of life, driven by circumstances to squander them on a
criminal career. Yet it is a curious circumstance that this
determined and ruthless burglar should have suffered for what
would be classed in France as a "crime passionel." There is more
than a possibility that a French jury would have ?? ing
circumstances in the murder of Dyson. ?? Peace is only another
instance of the wreck- ?? ong man's career by his passion for a
??

?? bert Butler we have the criminal by conviction, a conviction
which finds the ground ready prepared for its growth in the
natural laziness and idleness of the man's disposition. The
desire to acquire things by a short cut, without taking the
trouble to work for them honestly, is perhaps the most fruitful
of all sources of crime. Butler, a bit of a pedant, is pleased
to justify his conduct by reason and philosophy--he finds in the
acts of unscrupulous monarchs an analogy to his own attitude
towards life. What is good enough for Caesar Borgia is good
enough for Robert Butler. Like Borgia he comes to grief;
criminals succeed and criminals fail. In the case of historical
criminals their crimes are open; we can estimate the successes
and failures. With ordinary criminals, we know only those who
fail. The successful, the real geniuses in crime, those whose
guilt remains undiscovered, are for the most part unknown to us.
Occasionally in society a man or woman is pointed out as having
once murdered somebody or other, and at times, no doubt, with
truth. But the matter can only be referred to clandestinely;
they are gazed at with awe or curiosity, mute witnesses to their
own achievement. Some years ago James Payn, the novelist,
hazarded the reckoning that one person in every five hundred was
an undiscovered murderer. This gives us all a hope, almost a
certainty, that we may reckon one such person at least among our
acquaintances.[1]

[1] The author was one of three men discussing this subject in a
London club. They were able to name six persons of their various
acquaintance who were, or had been, suspected of being successful
murderers.

Derues is remarkable for the extent of his social ambition,
the daring and impudent character of his attempts to gratify it,
the skill, the consummate hypocrisy with which he played on the
credulity of honest folk, and his flagrant employment of that
weapon known and recognised to-day in the most exalted spheres by
the expressive name of "bluff." He is remarkable, too, for his
mirth and high spirits, his genial buffoonery; the merry murderer
is a rare bird.

Professor Webster belongs to that order of criminal of which
Eugene Aram and the Rev. John Selby Watson are our English
examples, men of culture and studious habits who suddenly burst
on the astonished gaze of their fellowmen as murderers. The
exact process of mind by which these hitherto harmless citizens
are converted into assassins is to a great extent hidden from us.

Perhaps Webster's case is the clearest of the three. Here we
have a selfish, self-indulgent and spendthrift gentleman who has
landed himself in serious financial embarrassment, seeking by
murder to escape from an importunate and relentless creditor. He
has not, apparently, the moral courage to face the consequences
of his own weakness. He forgets the happiness of his home, the
love of those dear to him, in the desire to free himself from a
disgrace insignificent{sic} in comparison with that entailed by
committing the highest of all crimes. One would wish to believe
that Webster's deed was unpremeditated, the result of a sudden
gust of passion caused by his victim's acrimonious pursuit of his
debtor. But there are circumstances in the case which tell
powerfully against such a view. The character of the murderer
seems curiously contradictory; both cunning and simplicity mark
his proceedings; he makes a determined attempt to escape from the
horrors of his situation and shows at the same time a curious
insensibility to its real gravity. Webster was a man of refined
tastes and seemingly gentle character, loved by those near to
him, well liked by his friends.

The mystery that surrounds the real character of Eugene Aram is
greater, and we possess little or no means of solving it. From
what motive this silent, arrogant man, despising his ineffectual
wife, this reserved and moody scholar stooped to fraud and murder
the facts of the case help us little to determine. Was it the
hope of leaving the narrow surroundings of Knaresborough, his
tiresome belongings, his own poor way of life, and seeking a
wider field for the exercise of those gifts of scholarship which
he undoubtedly possessed that drove him to commit fraud in
company with Clark and Houseman, and then, with the help of the
latter, murder the unsuspecting Clark? The fact of his humble
origin makes his association with so low a ruffian as Houseman
the less remarkable. Vanity in all probability played a
considerable part in Aram's disposition. He would seem to have
thought himself a superior person, above the laws that bind
ordinary men. He showed at the end no consciousness of his
guilt. Being something of a philosopher, he had no doubt
constructed for himself a philosophy of life which served to
justify his own actions. He was a deist, believing in "one
almighty Being the God of Nature," to whom he recommended himself
at the last in the event of his "having done amiss." He
emphasised the fact that his life had been unpolluted and his
morals irreproachable. But his views as to the murder of Clark
he left unexpressed. He suggested as justification of it that
Clark had carried on an intrigue with his neglected wife, but he
never urged this circumstance in his defence, and beyond his own
statement there is no evidence of such a connection.

The Revd. John Selby Watson, headmaster of the Stockwell Grammar
School, at the age of sixty-five killed his wife in his
library one Sunday afternoon. Things had been going badly with
the unfortunate man. After more than twenty-five years' service
as headmaster of the school at a meagre salary of L400 a year,
he was about to be dismissed; the number of scholars had been
declining steadily and a change in the headmastership thought
necessary; there was no suggestion of his receiving any kind of
pension. The future for a man of his years was dark enough. The
author of several learned books, painstaking, scholarly, dull, he
could hope to make but little money from literary work. Under a
cold, reserved and silent exterior, Selby Watson concealed a
violence of temper which he sought diligently to repress. His
wife's temper was none of the best. Worried, depressed, hopeless
of his future, he in all probability killed his wife in a sudden
access of rage, provoked by some taunt or reproach on her part,
and then, instead of calling in a policeman and telling him what
he had done, made clumsy and ineffectual efforts to conceal his
crime. Medical opinion was divided as to his mental condition.
Those doctors called for the prosecution could find no trace of
insanity about him, those called for the defence said that he was
suffering from melancholia. The unhappy man would appear hardly
to have realised the gravity of his situation. To a friend who
visited him in prison he said: "Here's a man who can write
Latin, which the Bishop of Winchester would commend, shut up in a
place like this." Coming from a man who had spent all his life
buried in books and knowing little of the world the remark is not
so greatly to be wondered at. Profound scholars are apt to be
impatient of mundane things. Professor Webster showed a similar
want of appreciation of the circumstances of a person charged
with wilful murder. Selby Watson was convicted of murder and
sentenced to death. The sentence was afterwards commuted to
one of penal servitude for life, the Home Secretary of the day
showing by his decision that, though not satisfied of the
prisoner's insanity, he recognised certain extenuating
circumstances in his guilt.[2]

[2] Selby Watson was tried at the Central Criminal Court January,
1872.

In Castaing much ingenuity is shown in the conception of the
crime, but the man is weak and timid; he is not the stuff of
which the great criminal is made; Holmes is cast in the true
mould of the instinctive murderer. Castaing is a man of
sensibility, capable of domestic affection; Holmes completely
insensible to all feelings of humanity. Taking life is a mere
incident in the accomplishment of his schemes; men, women and
children are sacrificed with equal mercilessness to the necessary
end. A consummate liar and hypocrite, he has that strange power
of fascination over others, women in particular, which is often
independent altogether of moral or even physical attractiveness.
We are accustomed to look for a certain vastness, grandeur of
scale in the achievements of America. A study of American crime
will show that it does not disappoint us in this expectation.
The extent and audacity of the crimes of Holmes are proof of it.

To find a counterpart in imaginative literature to the complete
criminal of the Holmes type we must turn to the pages of
Shakespeare. In the number of his victims, the cruelty and
insensibility with which he attains his ends, his unblushing
hypocrisy, the fascination he can exercise at will over others,
the Richard III. of Shakespeare shows how clearly the poet
understood the instinctive criminal of real life. The Richard of
history was no doubt less instinctively and deliberately an
assassin than the Richard of Shakespeare. In the former we can
trace the gradual temptation to crime to which circumstances
provoke him. The murder of the Princes, if, as one writer
contends, it was not the work of Henry VII.--in which case that
monarch deserves to be hailed as one of the most consummate
criminals that ever breathed and the worthy father of a criminal
son--was no doubt forced to a certain extent on Richard by the
exigencies of his situation, one of those crimes to which bad men
are driven in order to secure the fruits of other crimes. But
the Richard of Shakespeare is no child of circumstance. He
espouses deliberately a career of crime, as deliberately as Peace
or Holmes or Butler; he sets out "determined to prove a villain,"
to be "subtle, false and treacherous," to employ to gain his ends
"stern murder in the dir'st degree." The character is sometimes
criticised as being overdrawn and unreal. It may not be true to
the Richard of history, but it is very true to crime, and to the
historical criminal of the Borgian or Prussian type, in which
fraud and violence are made part of a deliberate system of so-
called statecraft.

Shakespeare got nearer to what we may term the domestic as
opposed to the political criminal when he created Iago. In their
envy and dislike of their fellowmen, their contempt for humanity
in general, their callousness to the ordinary sympathies of human
nature, Robert Butler, Lacenaire, Ruloff are witnesses to the
poet's fidelity to criminal character in his drawing of the
Ancient. But there is a weakness in the character of Iago
regarded as a purely instinctive and malignant criminal; indeed
it is a weakness in the consistency of the play. On two
occasions Iago states explicitly that Othello is more than
suspected of having committed adultery with his wife, Emilia, and
that therefore he has a strong and justifiable motive for being
revenged on the Moor. The thought of it he describes as
"gnawing his inwards." Emilia's conversation with Desdemona
in the last act lends some colour to the correctness of Iago's
belief. If this belief be well-founded it must greatly modify
his character as a purely wanton and mischievous criminal, a
supreme villain, and lower correspondingly the character of
Othello as an honourable and high-minded man. If it be a morbid
suspicion, having no ground in fact, a mental obsession, then
Iago becomes abnormal and consequently more or less irre-

sponsible. But this suggestion of Emilia's faithlessness made in
the early part of the play is never followed up by the dramatist,
and the spectator is left in complete uncertainty as to whether
there be any truth or not in Iago's suspicion. If Othello has
played his Ancient false, that is an extenuating circumstance in
the otherwise extraordinary guilt of Iago, and would no doubt be
accorded to him as such, were he on trial before a French jury.

The most successful, and therefore perhaps the greatest, criminal
in Shakespeare is King Claudius of Denmark. His murder of his
brother by pouring a deadly poison into his ear while sleeping,
is so skilfully perpetrated as to leave no suspicion of foul
play. But for a supernatural intervention, a contingency against
which no murderer could be expected to have provided, the crime
of Claudius would never have been discovered. Smiling, jovial,
genial as M. Derues or Dr. Palmer, King Claudius might have gone
down to his grave in peace as the bluff hearty man of action,
while his introspective nephew would in all probability have
ended his days in the cloister, regarded with amiable contempt by
his bustling fellowmen. How Claudius got over the great dif-

ficulty of all poisoners, that of procuring the necessary poison
without detection, we are not told; by what means he distilled
the "juice of cursed hebenon"; how the strange appearance of
the late King's body, which "an instant tetter" had barked about
with "vile and loathsome crust," was explained to the multitude
we are left to imagine. There is no real evidence to show that
Queen Gertrude was her lover's accomplice in her husband's
murder. If that had been so, she would no doubt have been of
considerable assistance to Claudius in the preparation of the
crime. But in the absence of more definite proof we must assume
Claudius' murder of his brother to have been a solitary
achievement, skilfully carried out by one whose genial good-
fellowship and convivial habits gave the lie to any suggestion of
criminality. Whatever may have been his inward feelings of
remorse or self-reproach, Claudius masked them successfully from
the eyes of all. Hamlet's instinctive dislike of his uncle was
not shared by the members of the Danish court. The "witchcraft
of his wit," his "traitorous gifts," were powerful aids to
Claudius, not only in the seduction of his sister-in-law, but the
perpetration of secret murder.

The case of the murder of King Duncan of Scotland by Macbeth and
his wife belongs to a different class of crime. It is a striking
example of dual crime, four instances of which are given towards
the end of this book. An Italian advocate, Scipio Sighele, has
devoted a monograph to the subject of dual crime, in which he
examines a number of cases in which two persons have jointly
committed heinous crimes.[3] He finds that in couples of this
kind there is usually an incubus and a succubus, the one who
suggests the crime, the other on whom the suggestion works until
he or she becomes the accomplice or instrument of the stronger
will; "the one playing the Mephistophelian part of tempter,
preaching evil, urging to crime, the other allowing himself
to be overcome by his evil genius." In some cases these two
roles are clearly differentiated; it is easy, as in the case of
Iago and Othello, Cassius and Brutus, to say who prompted the
crime. In others the guilt seems equally divided and the
original suggestion of crime to spring from a mutual tendency
towards the adoption of such an expedient. In Macbeth and his
wife we have a perfect instance of the latter class. No sooner
have the witches prophesied that Macbeth shall be a king than the
"horrid image" of the suggestion to murder Duncan presents itself
to his mind, and, on returning to his wife, he answers her
question as to when Duncan is to leave their house by the
significant remark, "To-morrow--as he proposes." To Lady Macbeth
from the moment she has received her husband's letter telling of
the prophecy of the weird sisters, murder occurs as a means of
accomplishing their prediction. In the minds of Macbeth and his
wife the suggestion of murder is originally an auto-suggestion,
coming to them independently of each other as soon as they learn
from the witches that Macbeth is one day to be a king. To Banquo
a somewhat similar intimation is given, but no foul thought of
crime suggests itself for an instant to his loyal nature. What
Macbeth and his wife lack at first as thorough-going murderers is
that complete insensibility to taking human life that marks the
really ruthless assassin. Lady Macbeth has the stronger will of
the two for the commission of the deed. It is doubtful whether
without her help Macbeth would ever have undertaken it. But even
she, when her husband hesitates to strike, cannot bring herself
to murder the aged Duncan with her own hands because of his
resemblance as he sleeps to her father. It is only after a deal
of boggling and at serious risk of untimely interruption that the
two contrive to do the murder, and plaster with blood the
"surfeited grooms." In thus putting suspicion on the servants of
Duncan the assassins cunningly avert suspicion from themselves,
and Macbeth's killing of the unfortunate men in seeming indigna-
tion at the discovery of their crime is a master-stroke of
ingenuity. "Who," he asks in a splendid burst of feigned horror,
"can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, loyal and natural in
a moment?" At the same time Lady Macbeth affects to swoon away
in the presence of so awful a crime. For the time all suspicion
of guilt, except in the mind of Banquo, is averted from the real
murderers. But, like so many criminals, Macbeth finds it
impossible to rest on his first success in crime. His
sensibility grows dulled; he "forgets the taste of fear"; the
murder of Banquo and his son is diabolically planned, and that is
soon followed by the outrageous slaughter of the wife and
children of Macduff. Ferri, the Italian writer on crime,
describes the psychical condition favourable to the commission of
murder as an absence of both moral repugnance to the crime itself
and the fear of the consequences following it. In the murder of
Duncan, it is the first of these two states of mind to which
Macbeth and his wife have only partially attained. The moral
repugnance stronger in the man has not been wholly lost by the
woman. But as soon as the crime is successfully accomplished,
this repugnance begins to wear off until the King and Queen are
able calmly and deliberately to contemplate those further crimes
necessary to their peace of mind. But now Macbeth, at first the
more compunctious of the two, has become the more ruthless; the
germ of crime, developed by suggestion, has spread through his
whole being; he has begun to acquire that indifference to human
suffering with which Richard III. and Iago were gifted from the
first. In both Macbeth and Lady Macbeth the germ of crime
was latent; they wanted only favourable circumstances to convert
them into one of those criminal couples who are the more
dangerous for the fact that the temptation to crime has come to
each spontaneously and grown and been fostered by mutual
understanding, an elective affinity for evil. Such couples are
frequent in the history of crime. Eyraud and Bompard, Mr. and
Mrs. Manning, Burke and Hare, the Peltzer brothers, Barre and
Lebiez, are instances of those collaborations in crime which find
their counterpart in history, literature, drama and business.
Antoninus and Aurelius, Ferdinand and Isabella, the De Goncourt
brothers, Besant and Rice, Gilbert and Sullivan, Swan and Edgar
leap to the memory.

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