Melbourne Observer. 121003C. October 3, 2012. Part B. Pages 21-44

Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, October 3, 2012 - Page 21www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

Page 22 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, October 3, 2012 www.MelbourneObserver.com.au


Victoria Pictorial Historic Photo Collection

●●●●● Cable tram car and dummy. 1892-93.●●●●● Elizabeth St, Melbourne. Near GPO. 1892-93.

●●●●● Elizabeth Street corner, Melbourne. 1892-93.

●●●●● Princess Theatre, Spring St, Melbourne. 1892-93. ●●●●● Law Courts, Melbourne. 1892.

●●●●● South Melbourne Town Hall, 1892. ●●●●● Bourke Street, Melbourne. 1892.

●●●●● Cable motorhouse, Melbourne tramways. 1892-93.


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Victoria Pictorial Christmas In MelbourneHistoric Photo Collection

●●●●● Father Christmas in a chariot pulled by RAAF personnel at asports carnival

held at Flemington racecourse. 1942

●●●●● Powerhouse Club members entertain children of personellserving overseas. Christmas Day 1943.

●●●●● Voluntary workers preparing Christmas dinner at theIndependent Hall, Melbourne. 1944.

●●●●● Serviceman’s wife gets help from women postal staffin sending parcels in Melbourne. December, 1943 ●●●●● Christmas dinner. Melbourne home. 1958.

●●●●● Mr W Gordon, ventriloquist, providing laughter at Christmascelebrations held at Albert Park. 1944.

●●●●● Sisters at ‘Heidelberg Military Hospital’ serving cool drinkson the wards during Christmas Day celebrations, 1944.

●●●●● Major D. V. Rogers distributing Returned Services League andMelbourne Sun newspaper Christmas parcels to Private W. A. J.

Underwood. 1954.



Lured by spirit of Amelia Earhart

Misconceptions of a good sherry

ObserverMelbourne

Travellers’ Good Buys

ObserverMelbourne Wines & Liqueurs

withDavidEllis

withDavidEllis

■ An oceanographic research shipslipped almost unnoticed out of Ho-nolulu on the 2nd of this month boundfor a miniscule dot in the ocean calledNikumaroro in little Kiribati, one ofthe tiniest island nations in the vastPacific.

Aboard was a team of scientistsand aviation enthusiasts keen to solvethe mystery that’s baffled research-ers for 75 years: whatever happenedto pioneering American aviatrixAmelia Earhart?

For most it was the seventh suchworking holiday for their group callTIGHAR –The International GroupFor Historic Aircraft Recovery – touninhabited little Nikumaroro.

In 1928 Earhart became the firstwoman to fly across the Atlantic ... orto be more precise ... the first womento be flown across the Atlantic: anaviator named William Stultz was atthe controls doing the actual flying.

But it made Amelia famous, and inthe next few years she set numerousaviation records.

However at the age of 39 she wasat the controls of a Lockheed Electratrying to fly around the world at theequator, when she disappeared withnavigator Fred Noonan after takingoff from Lae in New Guinea on July2, 1937, three-quarters of a centuryago.

A host of bizarre theories sur-rounded her disappearance: Sometheorised she was on a spy flight for

■ Sherry never springs to front ofmind when talk turns to wine stylesand varietals, and sadly sales here areminimal as a good drop is most re-warding.

Perhaps its purely ignorance: thereare those who simply know nothingabout it, others who link it to little oldladies in darkened sitting rooms, andothers who think it the choice of thosewho drink from brown paper bags onpark benches.

Sherry was in fact one of the firstwines made here from vines broughtout on the First Fleet, but because oftrade agreements with Spain and theEU we can no longer call our home-grown product “sherry.”

And one of our best local expo-nents today is Andrew Birks, who hasjust released a Birks Chip Dry Fino(Fino being Spanish for “fine”) that inone word can best be described as“fantastic.”

Andrew was one-time Chief Forti-fied Winemaker for Lindemans, laterhead of the Wine Science School atCharles Sturt University in WaggaWagga, and has done stints as a guestwinemaker and speaker in sherry’shome-country Spain.

And so passionate is he about it,he even set up a solera (sherry-mak-ing cellar) under his home in Wagga,his wines going on to win multiple in-ternational awards.

His Birks Chip Dry Fino is a greatdrop to enjoy really cold as an aperitifwith tapas such as olives, salted al-monds, oysters and seafoods, andeven mild cheeses; he’s made just athousand 375ml bottles at $25.

Get onto it quickly and orderthrough Bidgeebong Wines (02) 69319955 or [email protected]

●●●●● Amelia Earhart in the cockpit

the United States as World War II waslooming, and that she was capturedand killed by the Japanese.

Others suggested that tired of hercelebrity status, she “disappeared” onpurpose to live back in the UnitedStates under an assumed name –

Whatever, she certainly wasn’t ab-ducted by aliens, like the Close En-counters of the Third Kind suggested.TIGHAR members have always be-lieved Amelia’s aircraft ran out of fueland crashed and sank while trying toland on Nikumaroro.

This theory gained the support ofUS Secretary of State Hilary Clintonearlier this year after the release of a1937 British Navy photo showing whatlooks like a piece of Lockheed land-ing gear on the island.

And experts are also examining ananti-freckle cream jar just like Ameliaused and recently found on the unoc-cupied island.

Now while TIGHAR’s people con-tinue their search, divert to the littletown of Atchison in Kansas USA thatwas the birthplace of Amelia Earhartin 1897, and where later this monthlocals will celebrate their annualAmelia Earhart Festival that’s heldevery July, halfway between the an-niversaries of her birth and disappear-ance.

But it’s not just Amelia Earhart whodraws tourists to Atchison: the town’sreputedly one of the most haunted inthe world, luring devout ghost huntersfrom around the globe and the less-convinced to ghost tours of the pictur-esque town on a special trolleybus.

This includes the main streetwhere in the 19th century a womantravelling in a buggy lost control ofher horses and plummeted into the ad-jacent, freezing Missouri River. Herbody was never found, but today menwalking along the riverbank claimthey’ve heard a woman calling tothem to save her in the murky waters.

There’s also the Gargoyle Houseonce owned by a local politician whoallegedly did a deal with the Devil,and became very rich.

He erected the gargoyles as athank you to the Devil – all subse-quent owners of the house who triedto remove them have suffered freak-ish accidental deaths.

Jackson Park in the centre of townis also reputedly haunted, by the ghostof Molly, a college girl who hangedherself from a tree in the park after anargument with her boyfriend.

Or was it murder? Whatever, shekeeps appearing in the predawn hours….

And what about Sallie, a younglass who haunts a house in North Sec-ond Street and is said to lurk in wait-ing for unsuspecting men, beforegouging their eyes out?

Tourists are also encouraged tovisit Atchison’s Mt Vernon Cemeteryat night and make rubbings of inscrip-tions from the tombs as souvenirs oftheir visit – although they’re warnedthat some of the spirits of people bur-ied in the graveyard may subsequentlyaccompany them home…

And while Atchison has plenty ofghosts, Amelia Earhart is not one ofthem – her spirit’s said to still lay intranquil Nikumaroro.■ If you are interested in the currentsearch for Amelia Earhart, log on towww.tighar.org

- David Ellis

One For Lunch■ 2010 gave Coonawarra one ofits earliest and best vintages ever,and once again Katnook Estatecame up trumps with a Founder’sBlock 2010 Chardonnay from fruitthat enjoyed below average rain-fall and above average tempera-tures.

This wonderfully elegant drophas peaches and melons to the fore-front and nice Chardonnay“butteriness.” A great drop at $18with seafood in a creamy sauce.

Pictured

■ Forget the brown paper bag, thisis seriously good as an aperitif withtapas

■ Great match with seafood in anice creamy sauce.


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Les Misérables by Victor HugoObserver Classic Books

his head slowly from right to left and from left toright in the sort of mute and melancholy protestwith which he had contented himself since thebeginning of the argument. Two or three timesthe spectators who were nearest to him heardhim say in a low voice, “That is what comes ofnot having asked M. Baloup.” The district-at-torney directed the attention of the jury to thisstupid attitude, evidently deliberate, which de-noted not imbecility, but craft, skill, a habit ofdeceiving justice, and which set forth in all itsnakedness the “profound perversity” of thisman. He ended by making his reserves on theaffair of Little Gervais and demanding a severesentence.At that time, as the reader will remember, itwas penal servitude for life.The counsel for the defence rose, began bycomplimenting Monsieur l’Avocat–General onhis “admirable speech,” then replied as best hecould; but he weakened; the ground was evi-dently slipping away from under his feet.

Quotidienne and the Oriflamme; he attributed,not without some probability, to the influence ofthis perverse literature the crime ofChampmathieu, or rather, to speak more cor-rectly, of Jean Valjean. Having exhausted theseconsiderations, he passed on to Jean Valjeanhimself. Who was this Jean Valjean? Descrip-tion of Jean Valjean: a monster spewed forth,etc. The model for this sort of description is con-tained in the tale of Theramene, which is notuseful to tragedy, but which every day rendersgreat services to judicial eloquence. The audi-ence and the jury “shuddered.” The descriptionfinished, the district-attorney resumed with anoratorical turn calculated to raise the enthusi-asm of the journal of the prefecture to the high-est pitch on the following day: And it is such aman, etc., etc., etc., vagabond, beggar, withoutmeans of existence, etc., etc., inured by his pastlife to culpable deeds, and but little reformed byhis sojourn in the galleys, as was proved by thecrime committed against Little Gervais, etc.,etc.; it is such a man, caught upon the highwayin the very act of theft, a few paces from a wallthat had been scaled, still holding in his hand theobject stolen, who denies the crime, the theft,the climbing the wall; denies everything; denieseven his own identity! In addition to a hundredother proofs, to which we will not recur, fourwitnesses recognize him — Javert, the uprightinspector of police; Javert, and three of hisformer companions in infamy, the convicts Bre-vet, Chenildieu, and Cochepaille. What does heoffer in opposition to this overwhelming una-nimity? His denial. What obduracy! You will dojustice, gentlemen of the jury, etc., etc. Whilethe district-attorney was speaking, the accusedlistened to him open-mouthed, with a sort ofamazement in which some admiration was as-suredly blended. He was evidently surprised thata man could talk like that. From time to time, atthose “energetic” moments of the prosecutor’sspeech, when eloquence which cannot containitself overflows in a flood of withering epithetsand envelops the accused like a storm, he moved

the thief of the apples? that was a presumptionat the most, not a proof. The prisoner, it wastrue, and his counsel, “in good faith,” wasobliged to admit it, had adopted “a bad systemof defence.” He obstinately denied everything,the theft and his character of convict. An admis-sion upon this last point would certainly havebeen better, and would have won for him theindulgence of his judges; the counsel had ad-vised him to do this; but the accused had obsti-nately refused, thinking, no doubt, that he wouldsave everything by admitting nothing. It was anerror; but ought not the paucity of this intelli-gence to be taken into consideration? This manwas visibly stupid. Long-continued wretched-ness in the galleys, long misery outside the gal-leys, had brutalized him, etc. He defended him-self badly; was that a reason for condemninghim? As for the affair with Little Gervais, thecounsel need not discuss it; it did not enter intothe case. The lawyer wound up by beseechingthe jury and the court, if the identity of JeanValjean appeared to them to be evident, to ap-ply to him the police penalties which are pro-vided for a criminal who has broken his ban,and not the frightful chastisement which de-scends upon the convict guilty of a second of-fence.The district-attorney answered the counsel forthe defence. He was violent and florid, as dis-trict-attorneys usually are.He congratulated the counsel for the defence onhis “loyalty,” and skilfully took advantage of thisloyalty. He reached the accused through all theconcessions made by his lawyer. The advocatehad seemed to admit that the prisoner was JeanValjean. He took note of this. So this man wasJean Valjean. This point had been conceded tothe accusation and could no longer be disputed.Here, by means of a clever autonomasia whichwent back to the sources and causes of crime,the district-attorney thundered against the im-morality of the romantic school, then dawningunder the name of the Satanic school, whichhad been bestowed upon it by the critics of the

CHAPTER IXA PLACE WHERE CONVICTIONS ARE IN

PROCESS OF FORMATION

Continued on Page 35

●●●●● Victor Hugo

In the face of this accusation, in the face of theunanimity of the witnesses, the accused ap-peared to be astonished more than anything else;he made signs and gestures which were meantto convey No, or else he stared at the ceiling: hespoke with difficulty, replied with embarrass-ment, but his whole person, from head to foot,was a denial; he was an idiot in the presence ofall these minds ranged in order of battle aroundhim, and like a stranger in the midst of this soci-ety which was seizing fast upon him; neverthe-less, it was a question of the most menacingfuture for him; the likeness increased everymoment, and the entire crowd surveyed, withmore anxiety than he did himself, that sentencefreighted with calamity, which descended evercloser over his head; there was even a glimpseof a possibility afforded; besides the galleys, apossible death penalty, in case his identity wereestablished, and the affair of Little Gervais wereto end thereafter in condemnation. Who wasthis man? what was the nature of his apathy?was it imbecility or craft? Did he understand toowell, or did he not understand at all? these werequestions which divided the crowd, and seemedto divide the jury; there was something both ter-rible and puzzling in this case: the drama wasnot only melancholy; it was also obscure.The counsel for the defence had spoken toler-ably well, in that provincial tongue which haslong constituted the eloquence of the bar, andwhich was formerly employed by all advocates,at Paris as well as at Romorantin or atMontbrison, and which today, having becomeclassic, is no longer spoken except by the offi-cial orators of magistracy, to whom it is suitedon account of its grave sonorousness and itsmajestic stride; a tongue in which a husband iscalled a consort, and a woman a spouse; Paris,the centre of art and civilization; the king, themonarch; Monseigneur the Bishop, a saintedpontiff; the district-attorney, the eloquent inter-preter of public prosecution; the arguments, theaccents which we have just listened to; the ageof Louis XIV., the grand age; a theatre, the templeof Melpomene; the reigning family, the augustblood of our kings; a concert, a musical solem-nity; the General Commandant of the province,the illustrious warrior, who, etc.; the pupils inthe seminary, these tender levities; errors im-puted to newspapers, the imposture which dis-tills its venom through the columns of those or-gans; etc. The lawyer had, accordingly, begunwith an explanation as to the theft of theapples,— an awkward matter couched in finestyle; but Benigne Bossuet himself was obligedto allude to a chicken in the midst of a funeraloration, and he extricated himself from the situ-ation in stately fashion. The lawyer establishedthe fact that the theft of the apples had not beencircumstantially proved. His client, whom he,in his character of counsel, persisted in callingChampmathieu, had not been seen scaling thatwall nor breaking that branch by any one. Hehad been taken with that branch (which the law-yer preferred to call a bough) in his possession;but he said that he had found it broken off andlying on the ground, and had picked it up. Wherewas there any proof to the contrary? No doubtthat branch had been broken off and concealedafter the scaling of the wall, then thrown awayby the alarmed marauder; there was no doubtthat there had been a thief in the case. But whatproof was there that that thief had beenChampmathieu? One thing only. His characteras an ex-convict. The lawyer did not deny thatthat character appeared to be, unhappily, wellattested; the accused had resided at Faverolles;the accused had exercised the calling of a tree-pruner there; the name of Champmathieu mightwell have had its origin in Jean Mathieu; all thatwas true,— in short, four witnesses recognizeChampmathieu, positively and without hesita-tion, as that convict, Jean Valjean; to these signs,to this testimony, the counsel could oppose noth-ing but the denial of his client, the denial of aninterested party; but supposing that he was theconvict Jean Valjean, did that prove that he was

CHAPTER IXTHE SYSTEM OF DENIALS

The moment for closing the debate had arrived.The President had the accused stand up, andaddressed to him the customary question, “Haveyou anything to add to your defence?”The man did not appear to understand, as hestood there, twisting in his hands a terrible capwhich he had.The President repeated the question.This time the man heard it. He seemed to un-derstand. He made a motion like a man who isjust waking up, cast his eyes about him, staredat the audience, the gendarmes, his counsel, thejury, the court, laid his monstrous fist on the rimof woodwork in front of his bench, took anotherlook, and all at once, fixing his glance upon thedistrict-attorney, he began to speak. It was likean eruption. It seemed, from the manner inwhich the words escaped from his mouth,— in-coherent, impetuous, pell-mell, tumbling overeach other,— as though they were all pressingforward to issue forth at once. He said:—“This is what I have to say. That I have been awheelwright in Paris, and that it was with Mon-sieur Baloup. It is a hard trade. In thewheelwright’s trade one works always in theopen air, in courtyards, under sheds when themasters are good, never in closed workshops,because space is required, you see. In winterone gets so cold that one beats one’s arms to-gether to warm one’s self; but the masters don’tlike it; they say it wastes time. Handling ironwhen there is ice between the paving-stones ishard work. That wears a man out quickly One isold while he is still quite young in that trade. Atforty a man is done for. I was fifty-three. I wasin a bad state. And then, workmen are so mean!When a man is no longer young, they call himnothing but an old bird, old beast! I was not earn-ing more than thirty sous a day. They paid me aslittle as possible. The masters took advantageof my age — and then I had my daughter, whowas a laundress at the river. She earned a littlealso. It sufficed for us two. She had trouble, also;all day long up to her waist in a tub, in rain, insnow. When the wind cuts your face, when itfreezes, it is all the same; you must still wash.There are people who have not much linen, andwait until late; if you do not wash, you lose yourcustom. The planks are badly joined, and waterdrops on you from everywhere; you have yourpetticoats all damp above and below. That pen-etrates. She has also worked at the laundry ofthe Enfants–Rouges, where the water comesthrough faucets. You are not in the tub there;you wash at the faucet in front of you, and rinsein a basin behind you. As it is enclosed, you arenot so cold; but there is that hot steam, which isterrible, and which ruins your eyes. She camehome at seven o’clock in the evening, and wentto bed at once, she was so tired. Her husbandbeat her. She is dead. We have not been veryhappy. She was a good girl, who did not go to theball, and who was very peaceable. I rememberone Shrove–Tuesday when she went to bed ateight o’clock. There, I am telling the truth; you


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Observer Classic BooksFrom Page 35have only to ask. Ah, yes! how stupid I am!Paris is a gulf. Who knows FatherChampmathieu there? But M. Baloup does, Itell you. Go see at M. Baloup’s; and after all, Idon’t know what is wanted of me.”The man ceased speaking, and remained stand-ing. He had said these things in a loud, rapid,hoarse voice, with a sort of irritated and savageingenuousness. Once he paused to salute someone in the crowd. The sort of affirmations whichhe seemed to fling out before him at randomcame like hiccoughs, and to each he added thegesture of a wood-cutter who is splitting wood.When he had finished, the audience burst into alaugh. He stared at the public, and, perceivingthat they were laughing, and not understandingwhy, he began to laugh himself.It was inauspicious.The President, an attentive and benevolent man,raised his voice.He reminded “the gentlemen of the jury” that“the sieur Baloup, formerly a master-wheel-wright, with whom the accused stated that hehad served, had been summoned in vain. Hehad become bankrupt, and was not to be found.”Then turning to the accused, he enjoined him tolisten to what he was about to say, and added:“You are in a position where reflection is nec-essary. The gravest presumptions rest upon you,and may induce vital results. Prisoner, in yourown interests, I summon you for the last time toexplain yourself clearly on two points. In thefirst place, did you or did you not climb the wallof the Pierron orchard, break the branch, andsteal the apples; that is to say, commit the crimeof breaking in and theft? In the second place,are you the discharged convict, Jean Valjean —yes or no?”The prisoner shook his head with a capable air,like a man who has thoroughly understood, andwho knows what answer he is going to make.He opened his mouth, turned towards the Presi-dent, and said:—“In the first place —”Then he stared at his cap, stared at the ceiling,and held his peace.“Prisoner,” said the district-attorney, in a se-vere voice; “pay attention. You are not answer-ing anything that has been asked of you. Yourembarrassment condemns you. It is evident that

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sisting, that in default of Javert, the three wit-nesses Brevet, Chenildieu, and Cochepailleshould be heard once more and solemnly inter-rogated.The President transmitted the order to an usher,and, a moment later, the door of the witnesses’room opened. The usher, accompanied by agendarme ready to lend him armed assistance,introduced the convict Brevet. The audience wasin suspense; and all breasts heaved as thoughthey had contained but one soul.The ex-convict Brevet wore the black and graywaistcoat of the central prisons. Brevet was aperson sixty years of age, who had a sort ofbusiness man’s face, and the air of a rascal.The two sometimes go together. In prison,whither fresh misdeeds had led him, he had be-come something in the nature of a turnkey. Hewas a man of whom his superiors said, “Hetries to make himself of use.” The chaplainsbore good testimony as to his religious habits. Itmust not be forgotten that this passed under theRestoration.“Brevet,” said the President, “you have under-gone an ignominious sentence, and you cannottake an oath.”Brevet dropped his eyes.“Nevertheless,” continued the President, “evenin the man whom the law has degraded, theremay remain, when the divine mercy permits it,a sentiment of honor and of equity. It is to thissentiment that I appeal at this decisive hour. If itstill exists in you,— and I hope it does,— reflectbefore replying to me: consider on the one hand,this man, whom a word from you may ruin; onthe other hand, justice, which a word from youmay enlighten.

To Be Continued Next Issue

your name is not Champmathieu; that you arethe convict, Jean Valjean, concealed first underthe name of Jean Mathieu, which was the nameof his mother; that you went to Auvergne; thatyou were born at Faverolles, where you were apruner of trees. It is evident that you have beenguilty of entering, and of the theft of ripe applesfrom the Pierron orchard. The gentlemen of thejury will form their own opinion.”The prisoner had finally resumed his seat; hearose abruptly when the district-attorney had fin-ished, and exclaimed:—“You are very wicked; that you are! This what Iwanted to say; I could not find words for it atfirst. I have stolen nothing. I am a man whodoes not have something to eat every day. I wascoming from Ailly; I was walking through thecountry after a shower, which had made thewhole country yellow: even the ponds were over-flowed, and nothing sprang from the sand anymore but the little blades of grass at the way-side. I found a broken branch with apples on theground; I picked up the branch without knowingthat it would get me into trouble. I have been inprison, and they have been dragging me aboutfor the last three months; more than that I can-not say; people talk against me, they tell me,‘Answer!’ The gendarme, who is a good fellow,nudges my elbow, and says to me in a low voice,‘Come, answer!’ I don’t know how to explain; Ihave no education; I am a poor man; that iswhere they wrong me, because they do not seethis. I have not stolen; I picked up from theground things that were lying there. You say,Jean Valjean, Jean Mathieu! I don’t know thosepersons; they are villagers. I worked for M.Baloup, Boulevard de l’Hopital; my name isChampmathieu. You are very clever to tell mewhere I was born; I don’t know myself: it’s noteverybody who has a house in which to comeinto the world; that would be too convenient. Ithink that my father and mother were peoplewho strolled along the highways; I know nothingdifferent. When I was a child, they called meyoung fellow; now they call me old fellow; thoseare my baptismal names; take that as you like. Ihave been in Auvergne; I have been atFaverolles. Pardi. Well! can’t a man have beenin Auvergne, or at Faverolles, without havingbeen in the galleys? I tell you that I have notstolen, and that I am Father Champmathieu; I

have been with M. Baloup; I have had a settledresidence. You worry me with your nonsense,there! Why is everybody pursuing me so furi-ously?”The district-attorney had remained standing; headdressed the President:—“Monsieur le President, in view of the confusedbut exceedingly clever denials of the prisoner,who would like to pass himself off as an idiot,but who will not succeed in so doing,— we shallattend to that,— we demand that it shall pleaseyou and that it shall please the court to summononce more into this place the convicts Brevet,Cochepaille, and Chenildieu, and Police–Inspec-tor Javert, and question them for the last time asto the identity of the prisoner with the convictJean Valjean.”“I would remind the district-attorney,” said thePresident, “that Police–Inspector Javert, re-called by his duties to the capital of a neighbor-ing arrondissement, left the court-room and thetown as soon as he had made his deposition; wehave accorded him permission, with the con-sent of the district-attorney and of the counselfor the prisoner.”“That is true, Mr. President,” responded the dis-trict-attorney. “In the absence of sieur Javert, Ithink it my duty to remind the gentlemen of thejury of what he said here a few hours ago. Javertis an estimable man, who does honor by hisrigorous and strict probity to inferior but impor-tant functions. These are the terms of his depo-sition: ‘I do not even stand in need of circum-stantial proofs and moral presumptions to givethe lie to the prisoner’s denial. I recognize himperfectly. The name of this man is notChampmathieu; he is an ex-convict named JeanValjean, and is very vicious and much to befeared. It is only with extreme regret that hewas released at the expiration of his term. Heunderwent nineteen years of penal servitude fortheft. He made five or six attempts to escape.Besides the theft from Little Gervais, and fromthe Pierron orchard, I suspect him of a theft com-mitted in the house of His Grace the late Bishopof D—— I often saw him at the time when I wasadjutant of the galley-guard at the prison inToulon. I repeat that I recognize him perfectly.’”This extremely precise statement appeared toproduce a vivid impression on the public and onthe jury. The district-attorney concluded by in-

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Melbourne Observer. 121003C. October 3, 2012. Part B. Pages 21-44