莫尔格街凶杀案.docx

莫尔格街凶杀案.docx

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莫尔格街凶杀案

THEMURDERS

INTHERUEMORGUE

Therearemanyfamousdetectivesintheworlofbooks—PhilipMarloweinlosAngeles,VicWarshawskiinChicango,InspectoMorseinOxford,andofcourse,thegreatSherlockHolmesinLondon.Butbeforeandyofthese,therewasMonsieurAugusteDupininParsis.

Hewasnotapoliceman,andnotreallyadetectiveeither.Hewasaquietyoungman,wholovedbooksandreading.Buthewasclever,andhecouldunderstandmanythingsthatotherpeopledidnot.HetookacloseinterestinthehorriblemurdersintheRueMorgue,becausetherewerenoanswerstothemystery.Whomurderedtheoldladyandherdaughter?

Whywerethemurderssobrutal”HowdidtheMurderergetoutofthehouse?

SoManyquestions—andnoanwers.

‘Thesecret,’saidAugusteDupin,‘istoasktherightquestions.Thenyouwillfindtheanswers…’

1MyfriedAugusteDupin

ImetMonsieurAugusteDupinwhileIwaslivinginParisduringthespringandsummerof1839.ThisyoungFrenchmanwasfromanoldandfamousfamily,butthefamilywasnowverypoorandDupinonlyhadalittlemoneytoliveon.Heateanddrankverylittle,boughtnoclothes,andlivedverquietly.Bookswertheloveofhislife,andinParisitiseasytogetbooks.

OurfirstmeetingwasinasmallbookshopintheRueMontmartre.Wewerelookingforthesameoldbook,andthatishowourconversationbegan.Wemetagainandagain,andweresoonveryfriendly.

HeknewmuchmoreaboutbooksthanIdid.Conversationwithamanlikehimwasveryhelpfulformystudies,andafteratimeweagreedtofindahouseandlivetheretogetherforthetimeofmystayinParis.

WefoundahouseinaquietstreetintheFaubourgST.Germain.Itwasaveryoldhouse,andwasneitherbeautifulnorcomfortalbe.Butitwasrightforus,andourstrangewayoflife.

Wesawnovisitors,hadnofriends,andlivedonlyofrthenight.Whenmorningcame,weclosedalltheshuttersonourwindows,andinthishalf-lightwespentthedayreading,writing,ortalking,untilthetruedarknesscame.

Thenwewentoutintothestreets,andwalkedforhoursamongthewildlightsandshadowsofthecrowdedcity.

DuringthesenightwalksIlearnthowclevermyfriedwas.Hecouldthinksoclearlyandunderstoodsomuch!

Hecouldreadotherpeople’sthoughtsaseasilyaswritingonawall.Heoftensaid,withalaugh,thatpeoplehadwindowsintheirfacesandthathecouldseethroughthem.Sometimeshereadmythoughtsinwaysthatsurprisedmeverymuch.

OnenightwewerewalkingdownalongstreetneartheJardinduLuxembourg.Wewereboththinking,andforfifteenminuteswedidnotsayaword.Then,suddenly,Dupinsaid:

‘Hecannotwritetragedy,that’strue.He’smuchbetteratwritinghisfunnypiecesforthenewspaper.’

‘Ohyes,Iagreewiththat.He-’ThenIstopped,astonished.‘Dupin,’Isaid,‘Idonotunderstand.HowcouldyoupossiblyknowthatIwasthinkingabout-?

’Again,Istooped.DidDupinreallyknowwhoIwasthinkingabout?

‘AboutChantilly,’Dupinsaid.‘Youweresayingtoyourselfthathewasagoodwriter,buthecannotwritetragedy.’

‘Yes,that’strue,’Isaid.‘Iwasthinkingthat.Buttellme,please!

Howdidyouknow?

’

ThisChantillywrotforoneoftheParisnewspapers.HewroteaboutParisandParisiansinawaythatwasbothcleverandveryfunny.Butthenhewroteabook,alongstoryabouttheancientGreeks,andPhaedra,thewifeofKingTheseus.Itwas,everybodyinParisagreed,averybadbook.

‘Itwastheapple-seller,’repliedmyfriend.‘Theapple-sellerbeganthethoughtsthattookyouitoChantillyandhisbook.’

‘Theapple-seller!

’Isaid,astonished.‘ButIdon’tknowanyapple-sellers.’

Myfriedwashappytoexplain.‘Someminutesagowepassedanapple-seller,whowascarryingabigboxofapplesonhishead,takingthemtothefruitmarket.Hedidn’tseeyou,andyouhadtojumpoutofhisway.Therewerholesinthestreet,andyouturnedyourfootinoneoftheseholesandnearlyfell.’

Irememberedthisnow,buthowdidtheapple-sellertakeustoChantilly?

‘Youlookedaround,’myfriendwenton,‘andsawalltheotherholesandbrokenstonesinthestreet,andthenyoulookedup,alittleangrily,toseethenameofthestreet.Youwerethinking,Iamsure,thatitwasadangerousstreettowalkdowninthedark,whenyoucouldnoteasilyseetheholes.

‘ThenweturnedacornerintotheRueRacine.Here,thestoneswerenewandunbroken,andyoulookedup,pleased,tofindthenameofthisstreet.Thisnamebegananewthought.Yousmiledalittleandshookyourhead.ThefamousRacine,whowroteaplayaboutPhaedrain1677,wasabetterwriterthanChantillywileverbe.AndyourememberedthatwhenChantilly’sbookfirstcameout,thebookshopscalledChantilly“ThenewRacine”.Everybodyinthatyouwerethinkingofthatwhenyousmiled.Andwhenyoushookyourhead,IknewyouwerethinkingofpoorChantilly’sbook.’

2Themurders

Notlongafterthatnight,wewerelookingthroughtheGazette,aneveningnewspaper,whenwesawthis:

TERRIBLEMURDERS

Ataboutthreeo’clockthismornigpeoplelivingintheSt.RochQurterwerewokenfromsleepbyanumberofterriblescreams.ThescreamscamefromthefourthfloorofahouseintheRueMorgue,whichbelongstoaMadameL’Espanaye,andherdaughter,MademoiselleCamilleL’Espanaye.

Eightortenoftheneighbours,andtwopolicemen,rantothehouse.Therewasnoanswertotheirknocking,sotheybrokedownthedoor.Whentheygotintothehouse,thescreamsstopped,butwhiletheywererunningupthestairs,theycouldheartwoangryvoicesatthetopofthehouse.Whentheyarrivedatthesecondfloor,thevoicesstoppedandeverythingwassilent.Theneighbourshurriedfromroomtoroombutfoundnothinguntiltheycametoalargeroomatthebackofthehouseonthefourthfloor.Thisroomwaslocked,withthekeyontheinside.Theybrokethedooropenandsawintheroomsomethingwhichwasbothhorribleandastonishing.

Chairsandtableswerebrokenandlayinpieceseverywhere.Therewasonebed,andthemattressfromitwasnowonthefloorinthemiddleoftheroom.InfrontoftheFireplaceonthefloorwasarazor,withbloodonit,andsomelonggreyhair,withbloodontheend.Alsoonthefloorwerethreelargesilverspoons,andtwobags,whichcontainednearlyfourthousandfrancsingold.Asmallstrong-boxwasfoundunderthemattress.Itwasopen,withthekeyinthelock,andcontainedonlyafewoldletters.

Atfirsttheythoughttherewasnobodyintheroom,butwhentheylookedupthechimney,theyfound（horribletodescribe!

’Thedeadbodyofthedaughter,headdownwards.Itwasdifficulttopullthebodyoutbecausethechimneywassonarrow.Thebodywasstillwarm.Therewerdeepcutsontheface,andaroundtheneckthereweredarkbruisesandthemarksoffingers.

Theneighbourslookedinalltheotherrooms,thenwentdownintothesmallyardatthebackofthehouse.TheretheyfoundthedeadbodyofMadameL’Espanaye.Herneckwasverydeeplycut,andwhentheytriedtolifther,theheadfelloff.Therewereterriblebruisesalloverthebody.

Atthemoment,thepolicesay,therearenoanswerstothishorriblemystery.

3Whatthewitnessessaid

Dupinsaidnothingaboutthesehorriblemurdersthatevening,butIknewhewasinterested,becausethenextdayheopenedthemorningnewspaperatonce.Therewasalotmoreaboutthemystery.

THETRAGEDYINTHERUEMORGUE

Thepolicehavetalkedtomanypeopleaboutthisterribletragedy.Thisiswhatwitnesseshavesaid,butnothingsofarcanexplainthemysteryinanyway.

PaulineDubourg,washerwoman

‘I’veknownMadameandherdaughterforthreeyears.Idotheirwashingforthemandtheypayverywell.Peoplesaythattheoldladywasrich,butIdon’tknowaboutthat.ineversawanybodyinthehousewhenIwenttogetthewashingortotakeitback.Ithinktheylivedonlyonthefourthfloorofthehouse.’

Pierremoreau,shopkeeper

‘Ihavelivedallmylifeinthisquarter.ThehouseintheRueMorguebelongstoMadameL’Espnaye,andsheandherdaughterhavelivedthereforsixyears.Madamesometimescameintomyshop,butIdidn’tseethedaughterveryoften.Thetwoofthemlivedveryquietly.InsixyearsIneversawanybodygointotheirhouseexceptthepostmanandthedoctor.’

Manyotherneighbourssaidthesamething.Therewerenovisitorstothehouse,eitherfriendsorfamily.Theshuttersofthewindows,frontandback,werenearlyalwaysclosed,exceptforthelargebackroomonthefourthfloor.

IsodoreMuset,policeman

‘IwascalledtothehouseintheRueMorgueataboutthreeo’xlockinthemorning,andfoundtwentyorthirtypeopleatthefrontdoor.Thescreamsfromapersonorpeopleinsidethehousewereveryloud,buttheystoppedsuddenlywhenwebrokethefrontdoordown.IwasthefirstupthestairsandwhenIreachedthefirstfloor,Icouldheartwoangryvoices,arguingloudly.Onewasadeepvoice,theotherhighandshrill—averystrangevoice.ThedeepvoicewasthatofaFrenchman.I’msureitwasn’tawoman’svoice.Icouldhearthewords“diable”and“MonDieu”.Theshrilvoicewasaforeigner,perhapsamanorperhapsawoman.Icouldn’thearanywords,butthelanguagewasSpanish,Ithink.’

HenriDuval,aneighbour

‘IagreewithwhatIsodoreMusethassaid,exceptaboutthevoices.TheshrilvoicewasspeakinginItalian—I’msureitwasn’tFrench.No,Idon’tknowItalianmyself,butI’msureitsoundedlikeItalianwords.IknewMadameL.andherdaughter,anditcertainlywasn’teitheroftheirvoices.’

JanOdenheimer,kitchenworker

‘IwaswalkingpastthehousewhenIheardthoselong,terriblescreams,andIwasoneofthepeoplewhowentintothebuildingandheardthevoicesonthestairs.IamfromHollandanddon’tspeakFrench,butI’msuretheshrillvoicewasaman’svoice—aFrenchman.Icouldn’thearthewordsbutthevoicesoundedangryandafraid.Thed