letters curious for the heathen kind of heroism
expressed in them.

MY DEAR FRIEND,—No one avoids his fate. I
shall be legally assassinated. But at least I shall
meet my death with the courage which ought
to be expected from such a man as I. I send
thee my hair. When thy children have grown,
divide it among them. It is the only inheritance
which I can bequeath them."

To the unknown he wrote, causing his letter to
be published in the various journals of the time:

"You in whose stead I must die, be content
with the sacrifice of my life. If ever you fall
into the hands of justice, remember my three
children covered with shame, remember their
desolate mother, and do not perpetuate the
miseries caused by our most fatal resemblance."

In another letter, to a friend, he expressed his
conviction that some day the truth would be
known, adding, "I die, the victim of a
mistake." But a mistake for which there was now
no remedy. On the ninth of Brumaire, Year Five
(October 30th, 1796), Joseph Lesurques laid
down his life, his youth, his brilliant hopes, and
his fair fame, upon the scaffold, because certain
thick-witted country people were over positive,
and because a murderer had chosen to disguise
himself in a flaxen wig. He came to the place
of execution dressed in white in token of his
innocence. And as they stood together on the
scaffold Courriol again cried out to the crowd:
"He is innocent! I am guilty!"

Seven days after this judicial murder, the
magistrate Daubanton, who had lately had great
misgivings, and who, to do his memory justice,
was afterwards one of the most energetic defenders
of Lesurques' innocence, had proofs of the
existence of that Dubosc hitherto considered
fabulous, and of his habit of disguising himself
as a fair man, when out on his errands of crime;
for, M. Jarry, justice of the peace at Besançon,
had arrested him for robbery; and thus one of
the disputed points in this tangle of persons
and events was cleared up. And soon after
this, the man Dutrochat, who had booked
himself as a through passenger from Lyons under
the name of Laborde, was also taken; and,
under examination, gave as the names of the
assassins those which Courriol had given,
namely, Courriol, Vidal, Rossi, Dubosc, and
himself. Of Lesurques he had never heard
speak among them; but Dubosc, who had
planned the whole matter, was he who wore the
silver spurs, one of which, fastened with twine,
had been lost on the road; and it was he who,
disguised in his flaxen wig, had been the "fair
man," and the handsomest of the party.
Dutrochat was condemned to death, having first
betrayed to justice his special friend and mate,
Vidal. Vidal and Dubosc were confined
together, waiting their turn for trial; but they were
both determined men and capable men, and not
inclined to remain in prison a moment longer
than they were obliged; so they set to work
and managed to break through two thick walls,
besides overcoming other obstacles, and were
making off, when Dubosc fell and broke his leg.
Vidal got clear away for the moment, and, when
his leg was cured, Dubosc followed his example.
They were eventually recaptured, though not
directly—Dubosc remaining at liberty for some
years and both suffered the extreme penalty
due to their crimes. When taken before the
various witnesses—Santon, Grossetête, and the
others—who had been so positive of the
persons of Guesno and Lesurques, they all
confessed their mistake: Vidal was the man for
whom they had mistaken Guesno, and Dubosc was
Lesurques.

But it was too late now. The deaths of
Vidal, Dubosc, and Rossi, the real murderers,
could not bring back the innocent victim to life,
nor restore the happiness and honour of his
house. His children were orphans and ruined,
his property was confiscated to the state, his
home was desolate, and his name dishonoured;
and the public shrugged their shoulders
pityingly, and said, "A case of mistaken identity,
and no one to blame!" It was a misfortune
which nothing could now repair, and let
the dead past lie, they said; why disturb its
grave? The fatality had extended to all
concerned. The mother of poor Lesurques went
mad on the day of his execution, and died two
years after, never recovering her reason; his
widow also went mad, and was insane for several
years, but finally came to herself before
she, too, died of shame and sorrow; his young
son, while still a lad, went into Bonaparte's
army and perished in the Russian snows; his
daughter, Madame Danjou, threw herself into
the Seine, in despair at a cold and brutal
expression of M. Meilheurat, who, embarrassed
by her prayers, said hastily, "We are not
certain, madame, that your father was innocent."

How to stem such a torrent of adverse fate?
Would it not be better to bend meekly to the
storm? A few friends of the Lesurques
family—notably Messieurs Mequillet and Henry
d'Audigier—object to this philosophical way of
accepting misfortunes. For very many years,
every effort has been made to induce the
various governments to rescind the decree
which pronounced Joseph Lesurques guilty of
the murder of the Courier of Lyons, to restore
his confiscated property to his family, and
formally pronounce him innocent, and condemned
by misadventure. Even now, at this moment,
Jules Favre, one of the clearest reasoners and
soundest lawyers in France, is employed to this
end: though only one daughter, Virginie
Lesurques, and Madame Danjou's children, remain
to carry on the war and benefit by the victory,
when it comes. As yet, but little positive way
has been made. Certainly Louis XVIII. and
Charles X. both restored a small portion of
the confiscated estates to the family, but the
great act of restitution and acknowledgment
has never been made; and Jules Favre and the
others say they will not rest until they have
accomplished this.

It will come at last. Justice, though slow,
is always sure in the end, and men are not