The sick man’s sister had changed her clothes in an attempt to enter his room. Since she had been told that her presence would agitate Hippolyte, she had borrowed the garments of a servant maid; perhaps he might not recognize her. Doctor Castaing refused once more. Madame Martignon was obliged to remain outside, reduced to listening to the voice of a brother whom his friend claimed to protect.
This scene, recorded in the accounts of the trial, places Castaing from the very outset at the decisive juncture of the affair: between the dying man and the world. He possessed that twofold credit conferred by friendship and the art of medicine. Hippolyte Ballet had long suffered from a pulmonary complaint; to have an attentive young physician at his side was a comfort. The family could no more suspect a crime behind every closed door than a patient can verify every remedy administered to him.
Castaing had pursued his studies with distinction and taken his degree in 1821. His beginnings in practice brought him little profit. A liaison and children added to his charges; an old debt, underwritten for a friend, occasioned him pressing embarrassments. His mother sought delays from the creditor, while his father refused to repair his imprudences. Then, in October 1822, the man who had been unable to lay hands on a few hundred francs suddenly found himself in possession of one hundred thousand. After a second death, this financial metamorphosis was to assume an importance that no compliment paid to his devotion could ever efface.
Hippolyte and his brother Auguste had each inherited a fortune. The former, an invalid and of a more frugal turn, was troubled by the prodigality of the latter. A will had been contemplated, perhaps drawn up, in favor of their sister. When Hippolyte died, on October 5, 1822, no such instrument was found. The estate devolved essentially upon Auguste. An autopsy, in which Castaing took part, concluded that death had been natural. Nothing, at that moment, publicly opened the narrative of a poisoning.
Money, however, was set in motion. Auguste realized one hundred thousand francs and went to the Bank of France accompanied by Castaing. A few days later, the physician made a substantial investment, lent thirty thousand francs to his mother, and handed four thousand to his mistress. The total sum reconstituted with precision the money obtained by Auguste. It remained to be ascertained why Auguste had disbursed it, and under what guise Castaing had received it.
The prosecution advanced an explanation founded upon Auguste’s remarks and the testimony of his associates. Castaing, it was urged, had led him to believe that Lebret, an erstwhile clerk to his father, held a detrimental will and would consent to destroy it for a price. The funds destined to purchase this destruction never reached Lebret. A search among his effects revealed no trace of them; it led instead to the investments and payments made by the physician. Lebret thus became the putative intermediary in a transaction of whose very existence he was said to be ignorant.
To Castaing’s mind, the hundred thousand francs derived from another source: Auguste had merely wished to honor an intention harbored by Hippolyte in his favor. Yet his accounts varied, and several witnesses spoke of a suppressed will. The disappearance of the document had created a formidable advantage: any party could ascribe to it whatever terms best served his own defense. That which no longer existed henceforth governed the relations of the living.
Auguste, in his turn, made a will appointing Castaing his universal legatee. Friendship, however, appeared to cool; Auguste spent freely and voiced misgivings regarding his companion. At the end of May 1823, the doctor entrusted the testament to his cousin Malassis, a notary’s clerk. Thereupon the two men departed upon a brief excursion. They took a room with two beds at the Hôtel de la Tête-Noire in Saint-Cloud. Auguste had quit Paris in sufficiently sound health for those about him to remark upon his countenance.
The journey turned to illness. After an evening spent at the inn, Auguste suffered from pains and vomiting. Castaing departed at an early hour, repaired to Paris, made purchases at several apothecaries, and returned speaking of a morning walk. These acquisitions, which included a preparation of morphine, were brought to light by the judicial inquiry. The stroll had led the physician before shop counters where the vendors were able to remember him. He had left a sickbed only to return with a secret; the inquiry was soon to ask how this secret altered his duty as a healer.
Auguste called for a local practitioner. Doctor Pigache attended, noted an improvement, and was subsequently summoned again when the patient’s condition worsened abruptly. In the interval, Castaing had sent for the keys to Auguste’s writing-desk. Jean, the servant, mistrustful, chose to bring them in person. Within that chamber, the sickness and the inheritance advanced hand in hand: efforts were made to preserve a man’s life while his private papers were already becoming the object of design.
Auguste expired on June 1. Castaing made display of his grief, yet did not dissemble his status as heir. Pelletan, called to the bedside, found the circumstances sufficiently suspicious to demand a post-mortem examination. The findings did not confirm poisoning: no trace of toxic matter was detected. The doctor may have fancied that this conclusion would restore him to liberty. He remained under arrest. The investigation was to seek within his actions, his finances, and his contradictions that which the inspection of the body had failed to establish.
The trial opened in November 1823. Three matters stood joined: the death of Hippolyte, the destruction of his will, and the death of Auguste. They must be kept apart, for the notoriety of Castaing has frequently confounded them under the designation of a double poisoning. Regarding Hippolyte, the proof remained insufficient; that head of the accusation was abandoned in the course of the proceedings. Regarding Auguste, the absence of toxicological evidence became the battleground between the medical authorities, the prosecution, and the defense.
Orfila conceded that the symptoms might accord with poisoning, yet equally with a natural malady. Advocates Roussel and Berryer insisted upon this uncertainty. The prosecution replied with the totality of the circumstances: the purchases, the maneuvers surrounding the testament, the keys, the falsehoods, and the coin. Patients came forward to testify to gratuitous care and acts of charity. These recollections did not resolve the question of guilt; they compelled the court at least to consider a man whose life did not wholly resemble the deed laid to his charge.
The jury acquitted Castaing of the murder of Hippolyte, found him guilty of the destruction of the will, and, by seven votes to five, of the assassination of Auguste. The sentence of death was pronounced. His appeal in cassation having been rejected, he was executed on December 6, 1823. Subsequent chroniclers have at times written with an assurance greater than that of the verdict itself. The case nevertheless retains its perplexity: a web of suspicious acts had persuaded a bare majority, while science had failed to produce the material proof so earnestly sought.
At the beginning, a sister stood waiting behind a door, persuaded that she was barred from it for the well-being of her brother. At the close of the trial, the jurors were left to determine what that same professional credit had served to conceal. In the interval, the dead had left behind inheritances; the living, explanations that no longer agreed. And the vanished paper continued to exert its weight, though it no longer possessed even the substance of a leaf.