The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 06, April, 1858

A severer blow could scarcely have fallen upon him. He sought not for honor, he asked not for fame or worldly renown; he had only desired to be useful, to do good to his fellow-men; and now, just as his hopes were budding into fruition, just as some results of his faithful labors were beginning to appear, all were cut off by the keen breath of adversity.

It was while suffering from depression, at his unjust exclusion from the duties of his calling, that his attention was first directed to the unfortunate class to whom he was to be the future evangelist, or bringer of good tidings. Bébian thus relates the incident which led him to undertake the instruction of the deaf and dumb:—

"He happened one day to enter a house, where he found two young females engaged in needlework, which seemed to occupy their whole attention. He addressed them, but received no answer. Somewhat surprised at this, he repeated his question; but still there was no reply; they did not even lift their eyes from the work before them. In the midst of the Abbé's wonder at this apparent rudeness, their mother entered the room, and the mystery was at once explained. With tears she informed him that her daughters were deaf and dumb; that they had received, by means of pictures, a little instruction from Father Farnin, a benevolent ecclesiastic of the order of "Christian Brothers," in the neighborhood; but that he was now dead, and her poor children were left without any one to aid their intellectual progress.—'Believing,' said the Abbé, 'that these two unfortunates would live and die in ignorance of religion, if I made no effort to instruct them, my heart was filled with compassion, and I promised, that, if they were committed to my charge, I would do all for them that I was able.'"

It was in 1755 that the Abbé de l'Épée thus entered upon his great mission. Six years before, Jacob Rodriguez de Pereira had come from Spain, and exhibited some deaf and dumb pupils whom he had taught, before the Academy of Sciences. They were able to speak indifferently well, and had attained a moderate degree of scientific knowledge. Pereira himself was a man of great learning, of the most agreeable and fascinating manners, and possessed, in a high degree, that tact and address in which the Spanish Jews have never been surpassed. He soon made a very favorable impression upon the court, and led a pleasant life in the society of the literary men of the age. During his residence in France, he taught some five or six mutes of high rank to speak and to make considerable attainments in science,—charging for this service most princely fees, and at the same time binding his pupils to perfect secrecy in regard to his methods, which it was his intention to bequeathe to his family. This intention was thwarted, however, soon after his death, by a fire which destroyed nearly all his papers, and to this day his method has remained a secret, unknown even to his children. It is certain, however, that he made no use of the sign-language, though there is some evidence that he invented and practised a system of syllabic dactylology. Of this, the only successful effort which, up to that time, had been made in France, to teach deaf-mutes, it is obvious that De l'Épée could have known nothing, save the fact that it demonstrated the capacity of some of this class to receive instruction. It is, indeed, certain, from his own statements, that, at the time of commencing his labors, he had no knowledge of any works on the subject. He had somewhere picked up the manual alphabet invented by Bonet in 1620; and in subsequent years he derived some advantages from the works of Cardan, Bonet, Amman, Wallis, and Dalgarno.

It was well for the deaf and dumb that he entered upon his work thus untrammelled by any preconceived theory; for he was thus prepared to adopt, without prejudice, whatever might facilitate the great object for which he labored. "I have not," he said, in a letter to Pereira, in which he challenged an open comparison of their respective systems of instruction, promising to adopt his, should it prove to be better than his own,—"I have not the silly pride of desiring to be an inventor; I only wish to do something for the benefit of the deaf-mutes of all coming ages."

We have already adverted to the great principle which lay at the foundation of his system of instruction. The corollary deduced from this, that the idea was substantive, and had an existence separate from and independent of all words, written or spoken, was a startling proposition in those days, however harmless we may now regard it. But, convinced of its truth, De l'Épée set to himself the problem of discovering how this idea could be presented to the mind of the mute without words; and in their gestures and signs he found his problem solved. Henceforth, the way, though long and tedious, was plain before him. To extend, amplify, and systematize this language of signs was his task. How well he accomplished his work, the records of Deaf and Dumb Institutions, in Europe and America, testify. Others have entered into his labors and greatly enlarged the range of sign-expression,—modified and improved, perhaps, many of its forms; but, because Lord Rosse's telescope exceeds in power and range the little three-foot tube of Galileo Galilei, shall we therefore despise the Italian astronomer? To say that his work, or that of the Abbé De l'Épée, was not perfect, is only to say that they were mortals like ourselves.

But it is not only, or mainly, as a philosopher, that we would present the Abbé De l'Épée to our readers, he was far more than this; he was, in the highest sense of the word, a philanthropist. While Pereira, in the liberal compensation he received from French nobles for the instruction of their mute children, laid the foundation of that fortune by means of which his grandsons are now enabled to rank with the most eminent of French financiers, De l'Épée devoted his time and his entire patrimony to the education of indigent deaf-mutes. His school, which was soon quite large, was conducted solely at his own expense, and, as his fortune was but moderate, he was compelled to practise the most careful economy; yet he would never receive gifts from the wealthy, nor admit to his instructions their deaf and dumb children. "It is not to the rich," he would say, "that I have devoted myself; it is to the poor only. Had it not been for these, I should never have attempted the education of the deaf and dumb."

In 1780, he was waited upon by the ambassador of the Empress of Russia, who congratulated him on his success, and tendered him, in her name, valuable gifts. "Mr. Ambassador," was the reply of the noble old man, "I never receive money; but have the goodness to say to her Majesty, that, if my labors have seemed to her worthy of any consideration, I ask, as an especial favor, that she will send to me from her dominions some ignorant deaf and dumb child, that I may instruct him."

When Joseph II., of Austria, visited Paris, he sought out De l'Épée, and offered him the revenues of one of his estates. To this liberal proposition the Abbé replied: "Sire, I am now an old man. If your Majesty desires to confer any gift, upon the deaf and dumb, it is not my head, already bent towards the grave, that should receive it, but the good work itself. It is worthy of a great prince to preserve whatever is useful to mankind." The Emperor, acting upon his suggestion, soon after sent one of his ecclesiastics to Paris, who, on receiving the necessary instruction from De l'Épée, established at Vienna the first national institution for the deaf and dumb.

A still more striking instance of the self-denial to which his love for his little flock prompted him is related by Bébian. During the severe winter of 1788, the Abbé, already in his seventy-seventh year, denied himself a fire in his apartment, and refused to purchase fuel for this purpose, lest he should exceed the moderate sum which necessarily limited the annual expenditure of his establishment. All the remonstrances of his friends were unavailing; his pupils at length cast themselves at his feet, and with tears besought him to allow himself this indulgence, for their sake, if not for his own. Their importunities finally prevailed; but for a long time he manifested the greatest regret that he had yielded, often saying, mournfully, "My poor children, I have wronged you of a hundred crowns!"

That this deep and abiding affection was fully reciprocated by those whom he had rescued from a life of helpless wretchedness was often manifested. He always called them his children, and, indeed, his relation to them had more of the character of the parent than of the teacher. On one occasion, not long before his decease, in one of his familiar conversations with them, he let fall a remark which implied that his end might be approaching. Though he had often before spoken of death, yet the idea that he could thus be taken from them had never entered their minds, and a sudden cry of anguish told how terrible to them was the thought. Pressing around him, with sobs and wailing, they laid hold of his garments, as if to detain him from the last long journey. Himself affected to tears by these tokens of their love for him, the good Abbé succeeded, at length, in calming their grief; he spoke to them of death as being, to the good, only the gate which divides us from heaven; reminded them that the separation, if they were the friends of God, though painful, would be temporary; that he should go before them, and await their coming, and that, once reunited, no further separation would ever occur; while there the tongue would be unloosed, the ear unsealed, and they would be enabled to enjoy the music as well as the glories of heaven. Thus quieted, with chastened grief came holy aspiration; and it is not unreasonable to hope that the world of bliss, in after years, witnessed the meeting of many of these poor children with their sainted teacher.

It is interesting to observe the humility of such a man. The praises lavished on him seemed not in any way to elate him; and he invariably refused any commendation for his labors: "He that planteth is nothing, neither he that watereth, but God, who giveth the increase," was his reply to one who congratulated him on the success which had attended his labors.

With one incident more we must close this "record of a good man's life." Some years after the opening of his school for deaf-mutes, a deaf and dumb boy, who had been found wandering in the streets of Paris, was brought to him. With that habitual piety which was characteristic of him, De l'Épée received the boy as a gift from Heaven, and accordingly named him Theodore. The new comer soon awakened an unusual interest in the mind of the good Abbé. Though dressed in rags when found, his manners and habits showed that he had been reared in refinement and luxury. But, until he had received some education, he could give no account of himself; and the Abbé, though satisfied that he had been the victim of some foul wrong, held his peace, till the mental development of his protégé should enable him to describe his early home. Years passed, and, as each added to his intelligence, young Theodore was able to call to mind more and more of the events of childhood. He remembered that his ancestral home had been one of great magnificence, in a large city, and that he had been taken thence, stripped of his rich apparel, clothed in rags, and left in the streets of Paris. The Abbé determined, at once, to attempt to restore his protégé to the rights of which he had been so cruelly defrauded; but, being himself too infirm to attempt the journey, he sent the youth, with his steward, and a fellow-pupil named Didier, to make the tour of all the cities of France till they should find the home of Theodore. Long and weary was their journey, and it was not till after having visited almost all of the larger cities, that they found that the young mute recognized in Toulouse the city of his birth. Each of its principal streets was evidently familiar to him, and at length, with a sudden cry, he pointed out a splendid mansion as his former home. It was found to be the palace of the Count de Solar. On subsequent inquiry, it appeared that the heir of the estate had been deaf and dumb; that some years before he had been taken to Paris, and was said to have died there. The dates corresponded exactly with the appearance of young Theodore in Paris. As soon as possible, the Abbé and the Duke de Penthièvre commenced a lawsuit, which resulted in the restoration of Theodore to his title and property. The defeated party appealed to the Parliament, and, by continuing the case till after the death of the Abbé and the Duke, succeeded in obtaining a reversal of the decision, and the declaration that the claimant was an impostor. Stung with disappointment at the blighting of his hopes, young Theodore enlisted in the army, and was slain in his first battle.

The Abbé de l'Épée died at Paris on the 23d of December, 1789, in the seventy-eighth year of his age. Had he been spared two years longer, he would have seen his school, the object of his fond cares, adopted by the government, and decreed a national support. But though this act, and the accompanying vote, which declared that it was "done in honor of Charles Michel de l'Épée, a man who deserved well of his country," were creditable to the National Assembly, and the people whom it represented, yet we cannot but remember the troublous times that followed,—times in which no public service, no private goodness, neither the veneration due to age, the delicacy of womanhood, nor the winsome helplessness of infancy, was any protection against the insensate vengeance of a maddened people; and remembering this, we cannot regret that he whose life had been so peaceful was laid in a quiet grave ere the coming of the tempest.

It is but justice, however, to the French people to say, that no name in their history is heard with more veneration, or with more profound demonstrations of love and gratitude, than that of the Abbé de l'Épée. In 1843, the citizens of Versailles, his birth-place, erected a bronze statue in his honor; and the highest dignitaries of the state, amid the acclamations of assembled thousands, eulogized his memory. In 1855, the centennial anniversary of the establishment of his school for deaf-mutes was celebrated at Paris, and was attended by delegations from most of the Deaf and Dumb Institutions of Europe.

But sixty-eight years have elapsed since the death of this noble philanthropist, and, already, more than two hundred institutions for the deaf and dumb have been established, on the system projected by him and improved by his successors; and tens of thousands of mutes throughout Christendom, in consequence of his generous and self-denying zeal, have been trained for usefulness in this life, and many of them, we hope, prepared for a blissful hereafter. To all these the name of the Abbé de l'Épée has been one cherished in their heart of hearts; and, through all the future, wherever the understanding of the deaf-mute shall be enlightened by instruction, his memory shall be blessed.

WHO IS THE THIEF?

(Extracted from the Correspondence of the London Police.)

FROM CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE, OF THE DETECTIVE POLICE, TO SERGEANT BULMER, OF THE SAME FORCE

London, 4th July, 18—.

Sergeant Bulmer,

This is to inform you that you are wanted to assist in looking up a case of importance, which will require all the attention of an experienced member of the force. The matter of the robbery on which you are now engaged you will please to shift over to the young man who brings you this letter. You will tell him all the circumstances of the case, just as they stand; you will put him up to the progress you have made (if any) towards detecting the person or persons by whom the money has been stolen; and you will leave him to make the best he can of the matter now in your hands. He is to have the whole responsibility of the case, and the whole credit of his success, if he brings it to a proper issue.

So much for the orders that I am desired to communicate to you. A word in your ear, next, about this new man who is to take your place. His name is Matthew Sharpin; and between ourselves, Sergeant, I don't think much of him. He has not served his time among the rank and file of the force. You and I mounted up, step by step, to the places we now fill; but this stranger, it seems, is to have the chance given him of dashing into our office at one jump,—supposing he turns out strong enough to take it. You will naturally ask me how he comes by this privilege. I can only tell you, that he has some uncommonly strong interest to back him in certain high quarters, which you and I had better not mention except under our breaths. He has been a lawyer's clerk; and he looks, to my mind, rather a mean, underhand sample of that sort of man. According to his own account,—by the bye, I forgot to say that he is wonderfully conceited in his opinion of himself, as well as mean and underhand to look at,—according to his own account, he leaves his old trade and joins ours of his own free will and preference. You will no more believe that than I do. My notion is, that he has managed to ferret out some private information, in connection with the affairs of one of his master's clients, which makes him rather an awkward customer to keep in the office for the future, and which, at the same time, gives him hold enough over his employer to make it dangerous to drive him into a corner by turning him away. I think the giving him this unheard-of chance among us is, in plain words, pretty much like giving him hush-money to keep him quiet. However that may be, Mr. Matthew Sharpin is to have the case now in your hands; and if he succeeds with it, he pokes his ugly nose into our office, as sure as fate. You have heard tell of some sad stuff they have been writing lately in the newspapers, about improving the efficiency of the Detective Police by mixing up a sharp lawyer's clerk or two along with them. Well, the experiment is now going to be tried; and Mr. Matthew Sharpin is the first lucky man who has been pitched on for the purpose. We shall see how this precious move succeeds. I put you up to it, Sergeant, so that you may not stand in your own light by giving the new man any cause to complain of you at head-quarters, and remain yours,

    Francis Theakstone.

FROM MR. MATTHEW SHARPIN TO CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE

London, 5th July, 18—.

Dear Sir,

Having now been favored with the necessary instructions from Sergeant Bulmer, I beg to remind you of certain directions which I have received, relating to the report of my future proceedings, which I am to prepare for examination at head-quarters.

The document in question is to be addressed to you. It is to be not only a daily report, but an hourly report as well, when circumstances may require it. All statements which I send to you, in this way, you are, as I understand, expected to examine carefully before you seal them up and send them in to the higher authorities. The object of my writing and of your examining what I have written is, I am informed, to give me, as an untried hand, the benefit of your advice, in case I want it (which I venture to think I shall not) at any stage of my proceedings. As the extraordinary circumstances of the case on which I am now engaged make it impossible for me to absent myself from the place where the robbery was committed, until I have made some progress towards discovering the thief, I am necessarily precluded from consulting you personally. Hence the necessity of my writing down the various details, which might, perhaps, be better communicated by word of mouth. This, if I am not mistaken, is the position in which we are now placed. I state my own impressions on the subject, in writing, in order that we may clearly understand each other at the outset,—and have the honor to remain your obedient servant,

    Matthew Sharpin.

FROM CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE TO MR. MATTHEW SHARPIN

London, 5th July, 18—.

Sir,

You have begun by wasting time, ink, and paper. We both of us perfectly well knew the position we stood in towards each other, when I sent you with my letter to Sergeant Bulmer. There was not the least need to repeat it in writing. Be so good as to employ your pen, in future, on the business actually in hand. You have now three separate matters on which to write me. First, you have to draw up a statement of your instructions received from Sergeant Bulmer, in order to show us that nothing has escaped your memory, and that you are thoroughly acquainted with all the circumstances of the case which has been entrusted to you. Secondly, you are to inform me what it is you propose to do. Thirdly, you are to report every inch of your progress, (if you make any,) from day to day, and, if need be, from hour to hour as well. This is your duty. As to what my duty may be, when I want you to remind me of it, I will write and tell you so. In the mean time I remain yours,

    Francis Theakstone.

FROM MR. MATTHEW SHARPIN TO CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE

London, 6th July, 18—.

Sir,

You are rather an elderly person, and, as such, naturally inclined to be a little jealous of men like me, who are in the prime of their lives and their faculties. Under these circumstances, it is my duty to be considerate towards you, and not to bear too hardly on your small failings. I decline, therefore, altogether, to take offence at the tone of your letter; I give you the full benefit of the natural generosity of my nature; I sponge the very existence of your surly communication out of my memory; in short, Chief Inspector Theakstone, I forgive you, and proceed to business.

My first duty is to draw up a full statement of the instructions I have received from Sergeant Bulmer. Here they are at your service, according to my version of them.

At Number Thirteen, Rutherford Street, Soho, there is a stationer's shop. It is kept by one Mr. Yatman. He is a married man, but has no family. Besides Mr. and Mrs. Yatman, the other inmates of the house are a lodger, a young single man named Jay, who occupies the front room on the second floor,—a shopman, who sleeps in one of the attics,—and a servant-of-all-work, whose bed is in the back-kitchen. Once a week a charwoman comes to help this servant. These are all the persons who, on ordinary occasions, have means of access to the interior of the house, placed, as a matter of course, at their disposal.

Mr. Yatman has been in business for many years,—carrying on his affairs prosperously enough to realize a handsome independence for a person in his position. Unfortunately for himself, he endeavored to increase the amount of his property by speculating. He ventured boldly in his investments, luck went against him, and rather less than two years ago he found himself a poor man again. All that was saved out of the wreck of his property was the sum of two hundred pounds.

Although Mr. Yatman did his best to meet his altered circumstances, by giving up many of the luxuries and comforts to which he and his wife had been accustomed, he found it impossible to retrench so far as to allow of putting by any money from the income produced by his shop. The business has been declining of late years,—the cheap advertising stationers having done it injury with the public. Consequently, up to the last week, the only surplus property possessed by Mr. Yatman consisted of the two hundred pounds which had been recovered from the wreck of his fortune. This sum was placed as a deposit in a joint-stock bank of the highest possible character.

Eight days ago, Mr. Yatman and his lodger, Mr. Jay, held a conversation together on the subject of the commercial difficulties, which are hampering trade in all directions at the present time. Mr. Jay (who lives by supplying the newspapers with short paragraphs relating to accidents, offences, and brief records of remarkable occurrences in general,—who is, in short, what they call a penny-a-liner) told his landlord that he had been in the city that day, and heard unfavorable rumors on the subject of the joint-stock banks. The rumors to which he alluded had already reached the ears of Mr. Yatman from other quarters; and the confirmation of them by his lodger had such an effect on his mind,—predisposed, as it was, to alarm, by the experience of his former losses,—that he resolved to go at once to the bank and withdraw his deposit. It was then getting on toward the end of the afternoon; and he arrived just in time to receive his money before the bank closed.

He received the deposit in bank-notes of the following amounts:—one fifty-pound note, three twenty-pound notes, six ten-pound notes, and six five-pound notes. His object in drawing the money in this form was to have it ready to lay out immediately in trifling loans, on good security, among the small tradespeople of his district,—some of whom are sorely pressed for the very means of existence at the present time. Investments of this kind seemed to Mr. Yatman to be the most safe and the most profitable on which he could now venture.

He brought the money back in an envelope placed in his breast pocket; and asked his shopman, on getting home, to look for a small flat tin cash-box, which had not been used for years, and which, as Mr. Yatman remembered it, was exactly of the right size to hold the bank-notes. For some time the cash-box was searched for in vain. Mr. Yatman called to his wife to know if she had any idea where it was. The question was overheard by the servant-of-all-work, who was taking up the tea-tray at the time, and by Mr. Jay, who was coming down stairs on his way out to the theatre. Ultimately the cash-box was found by the shopman. Mr. Yatman placed the bank-notes in it, secured them by a padlock, and put the box in his coat pocket. It stuck out of the coat pocket a very little, but enough to be seen. Mr. Yatman remained at home, up stairs, all that evening. No visitors called. At eleven o'clock he went to bed, and put the cash-box under his pillow.

When he and his wife woke the next morning, the box was gone. Payment of the notes was immediately stopped at the Bank of England; but no news of the money has been heard of since that time.

So far, the circumstances of the case are perfectly clear. They point unmistakably to the conclusion that the robbery must have been committed by some person living in the house. Suspicion falls, therefore, upon the servant-of-all-work, upon the shopman, and upon Mr. Jay. The two first knew that the cash-box was being inquired for by their master, but did not know what it was he wanted to put into it. They would assume, of course, that it was money. They both had opportunities (the servant, when she took away the tea,—and the shopman, when he came, after shutting up, to give the keys of the till to his master) of seeing the cash-box in Mr. Yatman's pocket, and of inferring naturally, from its position there, that he intended to take it into his bedroom with him at night.

Mr. Jay, on the other hand, had been told, during the afternoon's conversation on the subject of joint-stock banks, that his landlord had a deposit of two hundred pounds in one of them. He also knew that Mr. Yatman left him with the intention of drawing that money out; and he heard the inquiry for the cash-box, afterwards, when he was coming down stairs. He must, therefore, have inferred that the money was in the house, and that the cash-box was the receptacle intended to contain it. That he could have had any idea, however, of the place in which Mr. Yatman intended to keep it for the night is impossible, seeing that he went out before the box was found, and did not return till his landlord was in bed. Consequently, if he committed the robbery, he must have gone into the bedroom purely on speculation.

Speaking of the bedroom reminds me of the necessity of noticing the situation of it in the house, and the means that exist of gaining easy access to it at any hour of the night. The room in question is the back room on the first floor. In consequence of Mrs. Yatman's constitutional nervousness on the subject of fire, which makes her apprehend being burnt alive in her room, in case of accident, by the hampering of the lock, if the key is turned in it, her husband has never been accustomed to lock the bedroom door. Both he and his wife are, by their own admission, heavy sleepers. Consequently, the risk to be run by any evil-disposed persons wishing to plunder the bedroom was of the most trifling kind. They could enter the room by merely turning the handle of the door; and if they moved with ordinary caution, there was no fear of their waking the sleepers inside. This fact is of importance. It strengthens our conviction that the money must have been taken by one of the inmates of the house, because it tends to show that the robbery, in this case, might have been committed by persons not possessed of the superior vigilance and cunning of the experienced thief.