be but sincere. Attempts to force people's
consciences only result in making hypocrites, who
end by being of no religion."

Calas, therefore, however unwillingly,
consented to the abjuration; but still he wished to
place his son, according to his own ideas and
his own resources, with a stocking manufacturer
at Nîmes, who, moreover, was a good catholic.
But Louis refused, on the ground that Nîmes
was infected with heresy, and insisted on
remaining at Toulouse. The archbishop intimated
to the parent that he ought to yield: adding, that
it was better to do so with a good grace than
compulsorily, or on an order from the minister.
Calas had to pay six hundred livres for debts
which his son had contracted—a heavy sum,
under all the circumstances—and besides, to
supply four hundred livres for Louis's
apprenticeship.

The wicked child was not satisfied with these
concessions; he had put the screw on, and he
would screw it tight. He wanted more, and
wrote a threatening letter to the effect that if
they did not make him a sufficient allowance he
would apply to the authorities to compel them
to do so. The wretched lad was as good as his
word; the father was obliged to make an annual
payment of one hundred livres for his maintenance.
The "deserter," as he was called, went
a step still further. The father, being short of
money, and neglecting to pay the quarter's
allowance to the day, was threatened by the son
with legal proceedings. In spite of all this, the
long–suffering parent still regarded the unnatural
child with unabated affection. Louis, having
requested his assistance to take an establishment
which suited his views, Calas offered him three
thousand francs in money and ten thousand in
merchandise. But the parents were stricken to
the heart. The son of a protestant who had
abjured his faith was prohibited from returning
to the paternal mansion. The mother wept
every time she saw her son pass the door
without entering.

If Marc Antoine were another source of
grief, it was not by open ingratitude. He
also longed for a higher position, but he would
not attain it by ruining his family. He hated
trade; he had artistical tastes, with a decided
inclination for luxury and dissipation. His
literary acquirements and a certain fluency of
speech turned his thoughts to the profession of
advocate. He consequently studied law, and, at
the age of twenty–seven, had taken his bachelor's
degree. He was about to pass his licentiate's
examination, when he discovered, somewhat late
in the day, that a certificate of Catholicism was
indispensable for further progress in his legal
career, and indeed in almost every other. Every
post, place, and office, nearly every profession,
was closed to protestants. Attorneys, bailiffs,
constables, sheriffs' officers, printers, booksellers,
physicians, goldsmiths, apothecaries, and
surgeons, must all be good catholics. Trade was
open, with sundry exceptions; a Protestant
could not be a grocer.

Marc Antoine, thinking to take the bull by
the horns, boldly asked the curé of the parish
for a certificate. The priest good–naturedly
shut his eyes, and was about to sign it, when
his servant exclaimed, "Why, all the Calases
are heretics!"

"If that is the case," said the curé, "I
cannot give the certificate until you bring me a
ticket of confession."

Marc Antoine returned sorrowfully back to
the shop.

"Why don't you do like your brother Louis?"
asked one of his acquaintance, who had obtained
his license to practise, that very morning.

"Never!" replied Marc Antoine. "One of
that sort is enough in a family."

From that time the young man, baffled in his
hopes, became taciturn and gloomy. He
associated little with his family, but spent the
greater part of his time with idle companions
at tennis and billiards, where he lost as much as
a louis d'or at a time—an enormous sum at
that time for a tradesman's son. He regarded
business, as a galley–slave regards his chain. He
grovelled in low orgies, in the company of
gamblers, declaiming poetry and singing loose songs.
His ruling passion was for private theatricals,
in which he played with applause Polyeuctes
and other tragic parts. Hamlet's soliloquy was
one of his favourite pieces. Anything relating
to self–destruction he recited as if it came from
his inmost heart. In short, Marc Antoine Calas
was not the first nor the last weak mortal whom
conflicting passions and insufficient self–control
drove to take refuge in suicide.

On the thirteenth of October, one thousand
seven hundred and sixty–one, a cry was heard
from the Calas's house. Jeanne, the servant,
rushed into the street screaming "Ah! my
God! Murder has been committed!"

The neighbours crowded in and found Marc
Antoine lying in the shop, with his head resting
on a bale of goods; his mother hanging over him
bathing his temples with Hungary water, and
trying to make him swallow a few drops; the
father leaning on the counter, sobbing in the
despair of grief. A surgeon's apprentice
examined the body, and found it quite cold, with
no discoverable wound, but with a black mark
round the neck.

Then came the authorities, making their
inquiries, and backed by the populace, who soon
found a clue to the mystery. Calas, the father,
had strangled his son to prevent his turning
Catholic, like Louis. Did not everybody know
that Huguenots condemned and put to death any
of their members who showed symptoms of
abjuring their errors? Marc Antoine had been
sentenced in some secret assembly, and had been
executed by his own family.

The family, conscious of their innocence, could
not comprehend that they were charged with a
crime. The capitoul titulaire, or head magistrate,
of Toulouse, David de Beaudrique, a fervent
exterminator of heresy, soon made up his mind.

"Could we not act a little more calmly, a
little less hastily?" asked another capitoul of
lower degree.