The horse waited near the lake; its master lay in a well. Between these two points, in the environs of Bordeaux, the prosecution sought to trace a path that it would never succeed in making the jury accept. Léonard Goujon had left behind a homestead, a fortune unencumbered by known debts, and, so it seemed, neighbours who held him in high regard. He had also left behind two loose leaves whereon the handwriting visibly altered. The cord bound about his corpse possessed another end; the tale of his death, however, was to have several.
Goujon traded in wines and brandies at Les Gueynards, in the commune of Gauriaguet. On the 12th of February 1808, around seven in the morning, a local resident espied his horse tethered to a tree beside a lake, and his cloak laid over a bush. The merchant’s house stood a mere three hundred paces away. The beast and the garment were brought back. Goujon’s wife declared that her husband had departed for Bordeaux an hour before daybreak. Favereau, the servant who slept in the stable alongside the merchant’s son, corroborated the departure.
The mayor’s first thought was of a highway robbery. Since the mount had been found by the water’s edge, they dragged the lake for the body. Yet Favereau presently announced that a hat was floating in the well before the distillery building. It was there that Goujon was found. A rope held fast around him a sack containing two heavy stones. Initial medical examinations concluded that strangulation had taken place. A second inspection confirmed this view, though without discovering all the contusions recorded in the first report. Thus, the corpse itself had begun to invite divergent interpretations.
The members of the household recognized the sack: Goujon was said to have filled it with oats for the journey. They did not recognize the cord. Indeed, they asserted that nothing of the kind existed upon their premises. No enemy came to their minds; they spoke only of dogs barking in the night and a horse halting before the house. Such indications turned suspicion outward. Yet they explained neither the well, nor the stones, nor the proximity of the body. The examining magistrate, M. de Lafourcade, proceeded to inspect the premises.
The dwelling featured a gloomy passage, in the middle of which opened a cellar intended for wine and provisions. The magistrate noticed its door only on the day following his arrival. In a basket resting upon a wine cask, he came upon lengths of rope resembling the one hauled from the well. The severed ends appeared to correspond: several strokes of the blade had left irregularities that matched. Two rope-makers, being consulted, judged that the pieces had recently formed part of one and the same cord. This was the first discovery that directed suspicion squarely toward the household.
That evening, another item intervened to alter the course of the affair. Bonnecaze, the widow’s brother, brought forth two loose leaves which he claimed to have extracted, together with his sister, from Goujon’s ledger. They comprised four pages and appeared to foreshadow an intention of suicide. Bonnecaze explained their initial suppression by the wish to spare the family such a disgrace. What might have been a dying declaration became suspect through its tardy production: it was brought to light only after the discovery of the cord. Such a sequence might feed an assumption; it did not suffice to prove who had guided the pen.
The first pages touched upon a fire that had broken out nine months prior in neighbouring buildings. Near the end of the third page, the handwriting appeared to alter. It was in this portion that Goujon allegedly expressed his dread of a claim for damages, followed by his resolution to die. Twenty-one lines, divided into three entries, bore the date of the 12th of February and his signature. The disparity in the ductus of the script seemed especially marked in these passages. The widow, Bonnecaze, and Favereau were placed under arrest. A matter of penmanship now stood at the heart of a violent death.
Proceedings for forgery were instituted against the widow and her brother. The handwriting experts initially substantiated the suspicions. Yet the special court took the view that the document had been produced merely to fend off a charge of murder, and finding an absence of malicious intent to injure third parties, declined to commit them for trial on that count. This decision was upheld by the superior jurisdiction. The summary left by Champagnac does not allow one to reconstruct the entire legal reasoning. Above all, it does not permit one to assert that this ruling had authenticated the leaves: the question of their genuineness remained very much alive in the capital proceedings.
The investigators subsequently examined a man named Martin, who dwelt not far from Gauriaguet. Questioned first regarding certain thefts, and then upon the death of the merchant, he delivered statements that seemed to assign an actor to every gesture. According to him, Bonnecaze had enlisted him for money. He claimed to have assisted, alongside the widow and Favereau, in pinning down Goujon while the brother-in-law throttled him; the corpse was then allegedly dressed, carried to the well, and weighted down. Martin attributed to himself a lesser share in the violence, while admitting he had helped carry one of the stones. Lastly, he stated he had received bread, and later coin.
This incriminating narrative must not be transformed, under our pen, into an established scene. Even its date presents an anomaly: the version reproduced sets the meeting on the evening of the 12th of February, whereas the body had been discovered on the morning of that very day. Martin’s family, for their part, spoke of his absence during the night of the 11th. The chronicle does not resolve this discrepancy. The magistrates nonetheless sought corroboration: his wife and children stated that he had returned home drenched before dawn. This substantiated a nocturnal excursion; it did not reveal what he had done while abroad.
Martin reiterated his accusations before several magistrates and during confrontations with the accused. The other prisoners denied everything. Having fallen gravely ill, Martin maintained his story when a judge visited him at the infirmary. The public trial opened on the 16th of November. Everything appeared to point toward the scrutiny of a narrative repeatedly affirmed by its author. Yet the ordinary witnesses brought forward only peripheral details; none appeared to recount the murder from having seen it. Then, two handwriting experts revised their opinions, acknowledging the dates and signatures to be in Goujon’s hand. The contested document shifted in value at the very moment it fell to be judged.
At the third sitting, Martin recanted in his turn. He declared that he had done nothing, seen nothing, and learned nothing. His previous disclosures, he now claimed, had been wrung from him by the threats and promises of the magistrate of Blaye; he even spoke of eighteen sous having been given him. These allegations against the investigator were his own fresh assertions, not facts established by the record. The public prosecutor, conversely, argued for the sincerity of his initial confession and maintained that the remaining circumstantial evidence was sufficient. Between a confession and its denial, the case file no longer offered the coherence for which the prosecution had hoped.
On the 19th of November 1808, after four hours of deliberation, the jury declared unanimously that it was not established that Goujon had been strangled within his house. The accused were acquitted. Champagnac presents this outcome as the escape of crime from punishment, letting his own conviction of their guilt show through; we have no warrant to transmute that chronicler’s conviction into an opposite verdict. The cords, the leaves of paper, and the contradictory testimonies remained contested elements whose assembly had failed to convince. A man had been drawn up from a well. Justice had heard several explanations of his death; none had warranted the condemnation of those who stood before the bar.