The Mysterious Mr. Home
The Devils of Loudun
Loudun is a small town in France about midway between the
ancient and romantic cities of Tours and Poitiers. To-day it is an
exceedingly unpretentious and an exceedingly sleepy place; but in
the seventeenth century it was in vastly better estate. Then its
markets, its shops, its inns, lacked not business. Its churches
were thronged with worshipers. Through its narrow streets proud
noble and prouder ecclesiastic, thrifty merchant and active
artisan, passed and repassed in an unceasing stream. It was rich in
points of interest, preëminent among which were its castle and its
convent. In the castle the stout-hearted Loudunians found a refuge
and a stronghold against the ambitions of the feudal lords and the
tyranny of the crown. To its convent, pleasantly situated in a
grove of time-honored trees, they sent their children to be
educated.
It is to the convent that we must turn our steps; for it
was from the convent that the devils were let loose to plague the
good people of Loudun. And in order to understand the course of
events, we must first make ourselves acquainted with its history.
Very briefly, then, it, like many other institutions of its kind,
was a product of the Catholic counter-reformation designed to stem
the rising tide of Protestantism. It came into being in 1616, and
was of the Ursuline order, which had been introduced into France
not many years earlier. From the first it proved a magnet for the
daughters of the nobility, and soon boasted a goodly complement of
nuns.
At their head, as mother superior, was a certain Jeanne de
Belfiel, of noble birth and many attractive qualities, but with
characteristics which, as the sequel will show, wrought much woe to
others as well as to the poor gentlewoman herself. Whatever her
defects, however, she labored tirelessly in the interests of the
convent, and in this respect was ably seconded by its father
confessor, worthy Father Moussaut, a man of rare good sense and
possessing a firm hold on the consciences and affections of the
nuns.
Conceive their grief, therefore, when he suddenly sickened
and died. Now ensued an anxious time pending the appointment of his
successor. Two names were foremost for consideration—that of Jean
Mignon, chief canon of the Church of the Holy Cross, and that of
Urbain Grandier, curé of Saint Peter's of Loudun. Mignon was a
zealous and learned ecclesiastic, but belied his name by being
cold, suspicious, and, some would have it, unscrupulous. Grandier,
on the contrary, was frank and ardent and generous, and was
idolized by the people of Loudun. But he had serious failings. He
was most unclerically gallant, was tactless, was overready to take
offense, and, his wrath once fully roused, was unrelenting.
Accordingly, little surprise was felt when the choice ultimately
fell, not on him but on Mignon.
With Mignon the devils entered the Ursuline convent. Hardly
had he been installed when rumors began to go about of strange
doings within its quiet walls; and that there was something in
these rumors became evident on the night of October 12, 1632, when
two magistrates of Loudun, the bailie and the civil lieutenant,
were hurriedly summoned to the convent to listen to an astonishing
story. For upwards of a fortnight, it appeared, several of the
nuns, including Mother Superior Belfiel, had been tormented by
specters and frightful visions. Latterly they had given every
evidence of being possessed by evil spirits. With the assistance of
another priest, Father Barré, Mignon had succeeded in exorcising
the demons out of all the afflicted save the mother superior and a
Sister Claire.
In their case every formula known to the ritual had failed.
The only conclusion was that they were not merely possessed but
bewitched, and much as he disliked to bring notoriety on the
convent, the father confessor had decided it was high time to learn
who was responsible for the dire visitation. He had called the
magistrates, he explained, in order that legal steps might be taken
to apprehend the wizard, it being well established that "devils
when duly exorcised must speak the truth," and that consequently
there could be no doubt as to the identity of the offender, should
the evil spirits be induced to name the source of their authority.
Without giving the officials time to recover from their
amazement, Mignon led them to an upper room, where they found the
mother superior and Sister Claire, wan-faced and fragile looking
creatures on whose countenances were expressions of fear that would
have inspired pity in the most stony-hearted. About them hovered
monks and nuns. At sight of the strangers, Sister Claire lapsed
into a semi-comatose condition; but the mother superior uttered
piercing shrieks, and was attacked by violent convulsions that
lasted until the father confessor spoke to her in a commanding
tone. Then followed a startling dialogue, carried on in Latin
between Mignon and the soi-disant demon possessing her.
"Why have you entered this maiden's body?"
"Because of hatred."
"What sign do you bring?"
"Flowers."
"What flowers?"
"Roses."
"Who has sent them?"
A moment's hesitation, then the single word—"Urbain."
"Tell us his surname?"
"Grandier."
In an instant the room was in an uproar. But the
magistrates did not lose their heads. To the bailie in especial the
affair had a suspicious look. He had heard the devil "speak worse
Latin than a boy of the fourth class," he had noted the mother
superior's hesitancy in pronouncing Grandier's name, and he was
well aware that deadly enmity had long existed between Grandier and
Mignon. So he placed little faith in the latter's protestation that
the naming of his rival had taken him completely by surprise.
Consulting with his colleague, he coldly informed Mignon that
before any arrest could be made there must be further
investigation, and, promising to return next day, bade them good
night.
Next day found the convent besieged by townspeople,
indignant at the accusation against the popular priest, and
determined to laugh the devils out of existence. Grandier himself,
burning with rage, hastened to the bailie and demanded that the
nuns be separately interrogated, and by other inquisitors than
Mignon and Barré. In these demands the bailie properly acquiesced;
but, on attempting in person to enforce his orders to that effect,
he was denied admittance to the convent. Excitement ran high; so
high that, fearful for his personal safety, Mignon consented to
accept as exorcists two priests appointed, not by the bailie, but
by the Bishop of Poitiers—who, it might incidentally be mentioned,
had his own reasons for disliking Grandier.
Exorcising now went on daily, to the disgust of the
serious-minded, the mystification of the incredulous, the delight
of sensation-mongers, and the baffled fury of Grandier. So far the
play, if melodramatic, had not approached the tragic. Sometimes it
degenerated to the broadest farce comedy. Thus, on one occasion
when the devil was being read out of the mother superior, a
crashing sound was heard and a huge black cat tumbled down the
chimney and scampered about the room. At once the cry was raised
that the devil had taken the form of a cat, a mad chase ensued, and
it would have gone hard with pussy had not a nun chanced to
recognize in it the pet of the convent.
Still, there were circumstances which tended to inspire
conviction in the mind of many. The convulsions of the possessed
were undoubtedly genuine, and undoubtedly they manifested phenomena
seemingly inexplicable on any naturalistic basis. A contemporary
writer, describing events of a few months later, when several
recruits had been added to their ranks, states that some "when
comatose became supple like a thin piece of lead, so that their
body could be bent in every direction, forward, backward, or
sideways, till their head touched the ground," and that others
showed no sign of pain when struck, pinched, or pricked. Then, too,
they whirled and danced and grimaced and howled in a manner
impossible to any one in a perfectly normal state.
1
For a few brief weeks Grandier enjoyed a respite, thanks to
the intervention of his friend, the Archbishop of Bordeaux, who
threatened to send a physician and priests of his own choice to
examine the possessed, a threat of itself sufficient, apparently,
to put the devils to flight. But they returned with undiminished
vigor upon the arrival in Loudun of a powerful state official who,
unfortunately for Grandier, was a relative of Mother Superior
Belfiel's. This official, whose name was Laubardemont, had come to
Loudun on a singular mission. Richelieu, the celebrated cardinal
statesman, in the pursuit of his policy of strengthening the crown
and weakening the nobility, had resolved to level to the ground the
fortresses and castles of interior France, and among those marked
for destruction was the castle of Loudun. Thither, therefore, he
dispatched Laubardemont to see that his orders were faithfully
executed.
Naturally, the cardinal's commissioner became interested in
the trouble that had befallen his kinswoman, and the more
interested when Mignon hinted to him that there was reason to
believe that the suspected wizard was also the author of a recent
satire which had set the entire court laughing at Richelieu's
expense. What lent plausibility to this charge was the fact that
the satire had been universally accredited to a court beauty
formerly one of Grandier's parishioners. Also there was the fact
that in days gone by, when Richelieu was merely a deacon, he had
had a violent quarrel with Grandier over a question of precedence.
Putting two and two together, and knowing that it would result to
his own advantage to unearth the real author to the satire,
Laubardemont turned a willing ear to the suggestion that the woman
in question had allowed her old pastor to shield himself behind her
name.
Back to Paris the commissioner galloped to carry the story
to Richelieu. The cardinal's anger knew no bounds. From the King he
secured a warrant for Grandier's arrest, and to this he added a
decree investing Laubardemont with full inquisitorial powers.
Events now moved rapidly. Though forewarned by Parisian friends,
Grandier refused to seek safety by flight, and was arrested in
spectacular fashion while on his way to say mass. His home was
searched, his papers were seized, and he himself was thrown into an
improvised dungeon in a house belonging to Mignon. Witnesses in his
favor were intimidated, while those willing to testify against him
were liberally rewarded. To such lengths did the prosecution go
that, discovering a strong undercurrent of popular indignation,
Laubardemont actually procured from the King and council a decree
prohibiting any appeal from his decisions, and gave out that, since
King and cardinal believed in the enchantment, any one denying it
would be held guilty of lese majesty divine and human.
Under these circumstances Grandier was doomed from the
outset. But he made a desperate struggle, and his opponents were
driven to sore straits to bolster up their case. The devils
persisted in speaking bad Latin, and continually failed to meet
tests which they themselves had suggested. Sometimes their failures
were only too plainly the result of human intervention.
For instance, the mother superior's devil promised that, on
a given night and in the church of the Holy Cross, he would lift
Laubardemont's cap from his head and keep it suspended in mid-air
while the commissioner intoned a
miserere. When the time came for the
fulfilment of this promise two of the spectators noticed that
Laubardemont had taken care to seat himself at a goodly distance
from the other participants. Quietly leaving the church, these
amateur detectives made their way to the roof, where they found a
man in the act of dropping a long horsehair line, to which was
attached a small hook, through a hole directly over the spot where
Laubardemont was sitting. The culprit fled, and that night another
failure was recorded against the devil.
But such fiascos availed nothing to save Grandier. Neither
did it avail him that, before sentence was finally passed, Sister
Claire, broken in body and mind, sobbingly affirmed his innocence,
protesting that she did not know what she was saying when she
accused him; nor that the mother superior, after two hours of
agonizing torture self-imposed, fell on her knees before
Laubardemont, made a similar admission, and, passing into the
convent orchard, tried to hang herself. The commissioner and his
colleagues remained obdurate, averring that these confessions were
in themselves evidence of witchcraft, since they could be prompted
only by the desire of the devils to save their master from his just
fate. In August, 1634, Grandier's doom was pronounced. He was to be
put to the torture, strangled, and burned. This judgment was
carried out to the letter, save that when the executioner
approached to strangle him, the ropes binding him to the stake
loosened, and he fell forward among the flames, perishing
miserably.
It only remains to analyze this medieval tragedy in the
light of modern knowledge. To the people of his own generation
Grandier was either a wizard most foul, or the victim of a
dastardly plot in which all concerned in harrying him to his death
knowingly participated. These opinions posterity long shared. But
now it is quite possible to reach another conclusion. That there
was a conspiracy is evident even from the facts set down by those
hostile to Grandier. On the other hand, it is as unnecessary as it
is incredible to believe that the plotters included every one
instrumental in fixing on the unhappy curé the crime of witchcraft.
Bearing in mind the discoveries of recent years in the twin
fields of physiology and psychology, it seems evident that the
conspirators were actually limited in number to Mignon, Barré,
Laubardemont, and a few of their intimates. In Laubardemont's case,
indeed, there is some reason for supposing that he was more dupe
than knave, and is therefore to be placed in the same category as
the superstitious monks and townspeople on whom Mignon and Barré so
successfully imposed. As to the possessed—the mother superior and
her nuns—they may one and all be included in a third group as the
unwitting tools of Mignon's vengeance. In fine, it is not only
possible but entirely reasonable to regard Mignon as a
seventeenth-century forerunner of Mesmer, Elliotson, Esdaile,
Braid, Charcot, and the present day exponents of hypnotism; and the
nuns as his helpless "subjects," obeying his every command with the
fidelity observable to-day in the patients of the Salpêtrière and
other centers of hypnotic practice.
The justness of this view is borne out by the facts
recorded by contemporary annalists, of which only an outline has
been given here. The nuns of Loudun were, as has been said, mostly
daughters of the nobility, and were thus, in all likelihood,
temperamentally unstable, sensitive, high-strung, nervous. The
seclusion of their lives, the monotonous routine of their every-day
occupations, and the possibilities afforded for dangerous, morbid
introspection, could not but have a baneful effect on such natures,
leading inevitably to actual insanity or to hysteria. That the
possessed were hysterical is abundantly shown by the descriptions
their historians give of the character of their convulsions,
contortions, etc., and by the references to the anesthetic, or
non-sensitive, spots on their bodies. Now, as we know, the convent
at Loudun had been in existence for only a few years before Mignon
became its father confessor, and so, we may believe, it fell out
that he appeared on the scene precisely when sufficient time had
elapsed for environment and heredity to do their deadly work and
provoke an epidemic of hysteria.
In those benighted times such attacks were popularly
ascribed to possession by evil spirits. The hysterical nuns, as the
chronicles tell us, explained their condition to Mignon by
informing him that, shortly before the onset of their trouble, they
had been haunted by the ghost of their former confessor, Father
Moussaut. Here Mignon found his opportunity. Picture him gently
rebuking the unhappy women, admonishing them that such a good man
as Father Moussaut would never return to torment those who had been
in his charge, and insisting that the source of their woes must be
sought elsewhere; in, say, some evil disposed person, hostile to
Father Moussaut's successor, and hoping, through thus afflicting
them, to bring the convent into disrepute and in this way strike a
deadly blow at its new father confessor. Who might be this evil
disposed person? Who, in truth, save Urbain Grandier?
Picture Mignon, again, observing that his suggestion had
taken root in the minds of two of the most emotional and
impressionable, the mother superior and Sister Claire. Then would
follow a course of lessons designed to aid the suggestion to
blossom into open accusation. And presently Mignon would make the
discovery that the mother superior and Sister Claire would, when in
a hysterical state, blindly obey any command he might make, cease
from their convulsions, respond intelligently and at his will to
questions put to them, renew their convulsions, lapse even into
seeming dementia.
Doubtless he did not grasp the full significance and
possibilities of his discovery—had he done so the devils would not
have bungled matters so often, and no embarrassing confessions
would have been forthcoming. But he saw clearly enough that he had
in his hand a mighty weapon against his rival, and history has
recorded the manner and effectiveness with which he used it.