nfusing them or merging the two
individuals into one.

Charles Perrault, who, about 1660, had the merit of composing the first
biography of this _seigneur_, justly remarkable for having married seven
wives, made him an accomplished villain, and the most perfect model of
cruelty that ever trod the earth. But it is permissible to doubt, if
not his sincerity, at least the correctness of his information. He may,
perhaps, have been prejudiced against his hero. He would not have been
the first example of a poet or historian who liked to darken the colours
of his pictures. If we have what seems a flattering portrait of Titus,
it would seem, on the other hand, that Tacitus has painted Tiberius much
blacker than the reality. Macbeth, whom legend and Shakespeare accuse
of crimes, was in reality a just and a wise king. He never treacherously
murdered the old king, Duncan. Duncan, while yet young, was defeated in
a great battle, and was found dead on the morrow at a spot called the
Armourer's Shop. He had slain several of the kinsfolk of Gruchno, the
wife of Macbeth. The latter made Scotland prosperous; he encouraged
trade, and was regarded as the defender of the middle classes, the true
King of the townsmen. The nobles of the clans never forgave him for
defeating Duncan, nor for protecting the artisans. They destroyed him,
and dishonoured his memory. Once he was dead the good King Macbeth was
known only by the statements of his enemies. The genius of Shakespeare
imposed these lies upon the human consciousness. I had long suspected
that Bluebeard was the victim of a similar fatality. All the
circumstances of his life, as I found them related, were far from
satisfying my mind, and from gratifying that craving for logic and
lucidity by which I am incessantly consumed. On reflection, I perceived
that they involved insurmountable difficulties. There was so great a
desire to make me believe in the man's cruelty that it could not fail to
make me doubt it.

These presentiments did not mislead me. My intuitions, which had their
origin in a certain knowledge of human nature, were soon to be changed
into certainty, based upon irrefutable proofs.

In the house of a stone-cutter in St. Jean-des-Bois, I found several
papers relating to Bluebeard; amongst others his defence, and an
anonymous complaint against his murderers, which was not proceeded with,
for what reasons I know not. These papers confirmed me in the belief
that he was good and