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On the December 30,1921, an article appeared in Le Matin, a Parisian newspaper, stating the following:
"A tragedy is currently being played out in Tulle, with such passion on the part of the actors, such nervousness in all minds, that it is almost impossible to see the outcome. Can we expect a solution soon? This is the question posed with anguish by all those witnessing this terrible provincial tragedy. […] Many households are completely disunited as a result of the defamation that has befallen them. […] Shouldn't justice then increase its efforts tenfold to get us out of a situation that can only get worse as soon as possible?”
For five years the residents of a small French town had been terrorised by an anonymous poison pen letter writer, who exposed secrets and made allegations against the most prominent members of society. The rumour mill was churning at a diabolical rate – careers ended, marriages became strained and eventually a town clerk took his own life.
The letters were signed: ‘The Eye of the Tiger’. Who was this all-seeing eye, who was hell-bent on destroying the lives of the people of Tulle?
The year was 1917, and the Great War was raging on throughout Europe. The charming French town of Tulle, on the banks of the Corrèze river was not immune to the grim reality of war. Still, the community did their best to carry on, and tried to keep some semblance of normality. Keeping up basic social constructs, like a functioning town council, an active church community, and protecting the sanctity of marriage and family was essential to ensure the town’s wellbeing throughout the war.
With the majority of men away, fighting at the front, women were called on to take up positions that had traditionally been designated to men. Women entered the workforce at an unprecedented rate, embracing the opportunity. And jobs were not only in aid of the war-effort – many administrative jobs were up for grabs, like in local government. In France, the state representative’s office is known as a Prefecture. And a prime example of a well-functioning office was that of the Prefecture of Corrèze, located in Tulle, a city which – at the time – was home to 13,000 residents.
But then, between 1917 and 1922 things in the provincial town became less harmonious. A letter writer caused quite a stir, exposing secrets and making allegations. It all started in December 1917, when Jean-Baptiste Moury, a manager in the Prefecture’s accounting department, received an anonymous letter with the following statement:
“Do not marry Mademoiselle Laval who has intentions about you. She's a siren, a charmer, one that will make you unhappy.”
The woman referred to in the note was 32-year-old Angèle Laval, who worked as a secretary in the accounting department. She was a plain and non-descript woman, and despite her apparent crush on her boss, Jean-Baptiste, he was not interested in her romantically. Yet, the letter unsettled him and he felt he had to inform Angèle about the curious letter – it was the right thing to do. He showed her the letter, and much to his surprise, she presented a letter she had received the week before. It said:
“Beware of Monsieur Moury; he is an enemy; he vilifies you; he says your father was a snitch, he slanders you at his mistress’ house.”
Angèle was every bit as shaken up by the letters as Jean-Baptiste, and equally embarrassed, they decided to burn it in the accounting department’s fireplace and promised never to speak of it again.
For a couple of days they greeted each other with awkward smiles as both tried to forget about the letters. Then, Angèle received a second letter, calling her boss a womaniser. Again, Jean-Baptiste burnt the letter and pleaded with Angèle to keep the insulting allegations between them. She assured him the secret was safe with her. She did, however, tell her mother and brother, but swore them to secrecy as well.
Jean-Baptiste was rather unsettled about the letters. He wondered if another co-worker, Madame Mayrand was behind it. She once saw him visiting his mistress – was this perhaps her way of blackmailing him? He confronted her and she burst into tears, insisting that she would never do something like that. Jean-Baptiste was convinced, but still wondered who was out to get him.
In 1918, Jean-Baptiste employed 27-year-old Marie-Antoinette Fioux [few] as a shorthand typist. She was the daughter of a local hardware store owner and her family was well-known in Tulle. Marie-Antoinette was described as ‘young, modern and dynamic’. Soon, Jean-Baptiste realised that he had feelings for the blue-eyed brunette, and it was mutual. Their professional relationship changed into a romantic one, and everyone in the Prefecture was aware of it.
During this time, neither Jean-Baptiste, nor Angèle Laval received any more communication from the anonymous tormentor. But in August 1919, Jean-Baptiste’s sister, a teacher in a nearby village received an anonymous letter in the mail, expressing disgust in her brother’s choice of romantic partner. The letter called Marie-Antoinette a vulgar schemer with many lovers. None of this was true, but why would someone say that? In the months that followed, Jean-Baptiste’s sister received four more letters. In one, the writer suggests that Marie-Antoinette had fallen pregnant by Jean-Baptiste and they had terminated the pregnancy. In their devoutly religious community, abortion was unheard of and the allegation was very serious indeed. Again, it wasn’t true, but there was an element of suspicion: was the young couple lying? Or was it really only a rumour?
As time went on, more and more people received letters. All recipients were linked to the Prefecture – even the Prefect himself received a couple of letters. In today’s terms it would be like someone setting up a catfishing account on social media and trolling everyone at their workplace, by using not-so-subtle suggestion and insinuation.
Eventually more than one hundred 110 letters were distributed. Content varied: it was mostly allegations of questionable and depraved behaviour, but sometimes there were pornographic drawings too. The letters were left in unsealed envelopes, with the name of the intended recipient. For instance, an envelope would be left in the corridor of someone’s workplace. The letter contained information about another person or persons, ensuring the rumour will be passed on, at least to the individuals mentioned.
In one letter, a certain Michel Vaur’s grandfather is said to have died after losing his mind.
A prison guard, Antoine Vialle, was said to have lost his job because he was accused of rape. A less serious offense was that of Madame Favarcq, who was reportedly seen stealing butter from the local store. The language was vulgar and the statements shocking. There was no way of knowing what was true and what was false. The letters were deeply personal and hit people where it hurt. It exposed family secrets like madness, or extra-marital affairs. Even children weren’t immune to the slanderous campaign, like this letter written to a civil servant:
“Look carefully at your son. We tell you that he looks like his mother, it's true. But is his nose your wife's? Take a good look at it, it's the nose of your friend Z., with whom your wife often walked.”
The writer’s first target, Jean-Baptiste Moury, kept receiving letters. One letter suggested he broke off his relationship with Marie-Antoinette Fioux. Marie Antoinette received a letter naming Jean-Baptiste as a ‘player, cad and liar.’ She was also informed that Jean-Baptiste had had a child with his lover of many years, Geneviève – a fact Jean-Baptiste thought no one else knew about. He had gone through extreme lengths to keep his illegitimate child a secret from his elderly mother as well as from the Prefect and his colleagues.
By this time, Jean-Baptiste had risen through the ranks and was the head of the accounting department in the Prefecture. This kind of scandal could have harmed his career beyond repair. And when everyone around him started receiving letters, he grew increasingly worried. The writer exposed truths, but also made false allegations, and no one knew if something was true or false.
Towards the end of 1919, however, it seemed as if the anonymous letter writer had had a change of heart when it came to Jean-Baptiste Moury. In fact, together with Marie-Antoinette, he was spared any further humiliation, and instead, letters began painting him in a better light.
His secretary, Angèle Laval, was not so lucky. The writer accused her of wanting to break up Jean-Baptiste and Marie-Antoinette. At the beginning of 190, the Prefect received a letter about the alleged love-triangle. It read:
“This young lady had imagined that Monsieur Moury would marry her. Deceitful, hypocritical and a liar, she strikes fear into the administration. Tell Moury to get married and then have him file a complaint against the Lavals with the public prosecutor.”
In the wake of this, Angèle Laval resigned from her job, claiming that the letters have made people look at her differently and she could not stand her colleagues’ disapproving stares.
Jean-Baptiste was upset, and had the uneasy suspicion that his girlfriend, Marie-Antoinette could be the one behind the poison pen. Was it possible that she did all of this, simply because she wanted to force him to propose to her? Jean-Baptiste broke up with her, but before long, they worked things out and reconciled. In an attempt to triumph over the poison pen writer, Jean-Baptiste acknowledged his child and paid his ex-lover 5,000 francs. He then publicly announced his engagement to Marie-Antoinette and stated that they would get married on March.
After this, the Prefect received what was stated to be the last letter. In it, the author claims that the letters will stop, as revenge has been taken and the final goal has been achieved. However, four days after the wedding, letters began turning up all over Tulle, yet again.
In the halls of the Prefecture the atmosphere was unbearable. Everyone suspected one another. It was as if the very air people breathed had become infected with lies and distrust. No one was safe from slander – no matter one’s rank. A local priest was labelled a failure, while the Prefect, Paul Gervais, received this message in 1921:
“Your bitch of a wife has become a master in her art and an expert in satisfying the whims of her male clients. (…) If your kidneys weren't so worn out, your wife wouldn't have to resort to the services of the municipal sweeper!"
With every letter, the writer became bolder and more brutal. In 1921, the letters that upset the peace in Tulle had been circulating for four years. At first, all the letters were unsigned, anonymous, but in 1921, the anonymographer became a pseudonymographer, signing off the letters as ‘The Eye of the Tiger’. Long before this was the name of Survivor’s title track to Rocky III, and even longer before Katie Perry was roaring about it, the tiger’s eye was a symbol for the ‘all-seeing eye’. And the author was out of control, boasting by saying this in January 1921:
"Me the eye of the tiger, I fear nothing. Neither god, nor the devil, nor men."
And a year later…
"I am the Lucifer of Tulle."
The continuous, defamatory allegations poisoned the atmosphere in the entire Corrèze valley. It was believed that at least three people were driven to the brink of insanity because of these letters. Even when insinuations and allegations were untrue, it planted a seed of doubt, enough to make people wary of one another.
Curiously, this phenomenon was all the rage at the beginning of the 20th century. Hostile writings were reported in Europe, as well as in America and England. Like in Tulle, anonymous notes or letters circulated, exposing alleged secrets and scandals of the highest members of society. These notes were called poison pen letters often contained explicit language and were clearly driven by jealousy.
Police in Tulle were at a loss, they received multiple complaints, but had no idea where to start looking for the perpetrator. Some residents were too embarrassed to hand in their letters as proof, while others did what they could to assist police. The handwriting in the letters varied and investigators assumed the writer changed his or her handwriting to disguise their identity. But then again: was there perhaps more than one writer?
Police kept an eye on the post office, and mailboxes, hoping to catch the writer in the act. Aware of this, letters were not being mailed anymore. Instead they were dropped on sidewalks in the city centre, found their way into the washing baskets of housewives, were left on windowsills of homes or dropped in confessional pews in church.
In 1922, a letter appeared near the entrance of the Tulle’s theatre – which was located across the road from the courthouse. The letter alleged that no less than 14 prominent local residents were entangled in extramarital affairs. It was an accusation hit list, naming and shaming all the highflyers as well as their alleged lovers.
This time, the Tiger’s Eye had gone too far, and efforts to unmask the author were ramped up. Tulle police were not able to find any fingerprints on the letters. As if the author had an omnipotent presence, a letter was written, mocking police, saying that ‘The Eye of the Tiger wears rubber gloves.’
All is fair and well – spreading rumours and ruffling feathers... But in December 1921, a bailiff of the Council, Auguste Gibert died as a consequence of the poison pen letters. He had received two letters, the first informing him of his wife Marguerite’s supposed infidelity.
He was so distraught and became deeply depressed. Then the second letter arrived, taunting him, insinuating that his wife was actually the Tiger’s Eye. August was shocked, frazzled and in his state began hallucinating. In an attempt to save his wife’s reputation, he stepped forward, claiming to be the author of all the degrading letters. Then, stressed beyond belief, he suffered a stroke and died on Christmas eve.
After August Gibert’s death, news of the letters spread throughout France… Le Matin called the letter writer ‘the demon of slander’ who wreaked havoc in a quiet provincial town. Other publications tipped their hats to the gutsy author, calling him or her an "evil genius" and their work "a diabolical art" or "satanic science". Another report likened the letters to "a corrosive venom poured drop by drop".
This exert sums up the general vibe in Tulle at the time:
“…the streets are cesspools where we get bogged down to our ankles. To breathe the sadness of this small town, crushed between the hills…one better understands the affair of the anonymous letters.”
Pressure was on Tulle police to bring an end to the continuing verbal assault. Their prime suspect was someone who had not been slandered and was always portrayed in a good light. Marie-Antoinette Maury. People believed that she was also the only one with something to gain: a marriage to Jean-Baptiste.
She became a social pariah, and as she walked in the streets, people would turn their backs, close shutters and no one would serve her in local shops. One of the most outspoken people against her was Jean Laval, who also insinuated that her husband was in cahoots with her. The professional rivalry between Jean Laval and Jean-Baptiste Moury, and Laval’s jealousy of Moury’s career progression was common knowledge in the Prefecture.
Investigating magistrate, François Richard thought Jean Laval made a compelling case and appointed undercover investigators to keep surveillance on Marie-Antoinette. Jean-Baptiste and his young bride were desperate to shake the suspicion, and visited magistrate daily, professing their innocence. With no evidence against them, the investigation went nowhere.
Marie-Antoinette was eventually excluded from the investigation because she was in hospital from the 6th to the of January 1921, recovering from childbirth. During this time, multiple letters were left all around the city. How could she have done it? At the same time, another former employee of the Prefecture was not working and had ample time on her hands.
Jean-Baptiste brought it to the magistrate’s attention that his former secretary, Jean Laval’s sister, Angèle was in love with him many years ago. In fact, she made a move on him, and he turned her down. If anyone was out for revenge, it was her.
Jean Laval was forced to admit that Angèle had mentioned the content of the Eye of the Tiger’s latest letter (addressed to a shopkeeper in Tulle), before the letter was even discovered by its target. A local priest confirmed that he too had his doubts about Mademoiselle Laval. He told investigators that he had visited the Laval home, where Angèle lived with her mother, Louise. While he was there, he noticed a half-written, slanderous letter.
Louise Laval received one of the first letters back in 1917, in which the author called her ‘Big Dirty’ – assaulting her eyes with pornographic drawings and insults. Back in December 1917, Angèle was the first one to receive a letter. She claimed it had been left on her desk, and it warned her that her boss, Jean-Baptiste Moury was a womaniser.
A theory emerged that Angèle was still in love with Jean-Baptiste and her actions were born out of resentment and jealousy because he did not feel the same way about her. She lashed out at him and his girlfriend, who became his wife, Marie-Antoinette. The other letters were used as red herrings – the whole town was being slandered, but at least, she had a chance of driving a wedge between Jean-Baptiste and Marie-Antoinette She wrote letters to herself and her family so suspicion would not fall on her. If you recall one of the first letters addressed to Jean-Baptiste – it said:
“Do not marry Mademoiselle Laval who has intentions about you. She's a siren, a charmer, one that will make you unhappy.”
Was Angèle attempting to use reverse psychology – to make herself into a salacious femme fatale, so Jean-Baptiste would find her irresistible? When Jean-Baptiste took her into his confidence regarding the letter, it played right into her plan… She showed him the letters she had received, warning her against him and they destroyed it together. They shared a secret, a concern, together they were warding off a malicious accuser… If only Jean-Baptiste had realised it was exactly what Angèle had wanted: to get closer to him.
And as time went on, she changed tact, hoping to pin everything on Marie-Antoinette. She wrote flattering letters about the couple, and the people of Tulle lapped it up. One letter was addressed to Félix Richeaux, in charge of pensions at the Prefecture.
"I am beginning to have enough of your gossip and your gossip about Madame Moury. Madame Moury doesn't care about you and I beg you to leave her alone. Stupid, ugly old man, you would have liked to marry Marie-Antoinette Fioux. Madame Moury is a superior woman in intelligence and heart. Yes, you would have liked to marry her. Well no, poor idiot.”
With Angèle Laval in their sights, police gathered as much information about her as possible. She was an unmarried woman in her thirties, who lived with her mother. She was described as non-descript with dark eyes and pursed lips. Not unattractive, but altogether unremarkable.
Her father, a shoemaker, died when Angèle was only eighteen months old. But he left his family well-off, and the bourgeois Laval family, owned a historic manor near the cathedral, a prime location in Tulle.
Angèle dropped out of school at the age of 16, which was not uncommon at the time. She could read, write and was a capable secretary. Her older brother, Jean, worked as an office manager in the Prefecture. He arranged a job for her, as a secretary in the accounting department. Head of department, and Angèle’s boss, Jean-Baptiste Moury, in his forties, soon became the object of her desire, but he turned her down. Because of this, and the fact that Jean-Baptiste showed interest in another employee, the younger, brighter and more dynamic Marie-Antoinette angered the desperate Angèle.
When the investigation into Angèle Laval began, police quickly learned about her unrequited feelings for Jean-Baptiste. Most people who knew Angèle also mentioned that she was accustomed to using vulgar language when speaking to anyone – it was as if she didn’t care what people thought of her.
Before Marie-Antoinette was in the picture, she had written letters only to Jean-Baptiste and herself, hoping to get closer to him. But when he became serious about Marie-Antoinette, Angèle was determined to ruin their happiness. This is when her letter-writing campaign started, or what she called, the ‘garbage’ she wrote. Soon she realised that she was upsetting many people. The power of it all that gave her a thrill. Once she realised the effect the letters had on her community, she couldn’t help herself, she had to continue.
The police requested a handwriting sample from Angèle Laval so they could compare it to the poison pen letters. Although the letters were written in varying styles, they were hopeful that something would give her away. According to reports, Angèle burst out in laughter when she learnt she was one of a few suspects but complied with investigators.
Investigating magistrate, François Richard enjoyed the media-frenzy that was reaching fever pitch in Tulle and played it up. He openly discussed his personal views about the case with journalists. Obsessed with spirituality, he employed a hypnotist to question the suspects, but did not get any information. An opportunistic journalist brought a medium to meet Richard. However, it was all a set-up as the journalist reported on the séance making the magistrate look ridiculous. His behaviour was duly reported to the Minister of Justice and he was removed from the case. He also lost his job and magistrate Henri Malrieu took over the case.
However, before stepping down, Richard okayed one last attempt to unmask the Eye of the Tiger. He enlisted the help of Dr Edmond Locard, founder of the first scientific police laboratory in Lyon. Locard arrived in Tulle in January 1922. Being the inventor of graphometry, Locard was the perfect person for the job. He set out to closely inspect the handwriting of several suspects, with the aim of identifying the culprit.
Eight women were called to the courthouse, among which were Marie-Antoinette Moury and Louise and Angèle Laval. Locard dictated a variety of text for the women to write. He also instructed right-handed women to write a section with their left hands and vice versa. It was obvious that Angèle Laval took a suspiciously long time writing a simple dictation – 12 minutes to write one sentence to be exact. According to Locard’s report…
“She returned to each letter, retouching, modifying, overloading each character.”
This made Locard believe Angèle was trying to disguise her natural writing. He analysed the language used in the letters and found consistent mistakes in terms of masculine and feminine form in the native French speaker’s use. Then, homing in on Angèle Laval, he made her write four pages’ worth of content, all in capital letters. The objective was to wear her out. According to Locard, only then did characteristics of the Eye of the Tiger’s handwriting begin to emerge.
And to Angèle’s detriment, Dr Locard was able to match her handwriting to several poison pen letters. He concluded that Angèle Laval wrote most of the letters, but it was also possible that her mother, Louise Laval wrote some of them.
Before Dr Locard had finalised his report, the press jumped the gun and named Angèle Laval as the malicious author. It is important to note that, up to this point, no one in Tulle really suspected her. Everyone thought she was too plain to have hatched such a sophisticated scheme. Besides, what was in it for her? Nothing.
But because there was no law against poison pen letters, police did not quite know how to proceed. The best option would be to charge her with defamation, but did they have enough proof? The people of Tulle demanded a trial, but at most she would have received a small fine. Besides, it was wartime, and in the greater scheme of things – what harm had really been inflicted?
But punishment comes in different forms. As soon as Angèle Laval was named as the Eye of the Tiger, she became the most hated citizen in Tulle. Her mother, Louise, was also ostracised and wherever they went, people shouted profanities at them, spat at them and threw mud their way.
The scrutiny became too much to bear and the mother and daughter made a pact: they would end their own lives. It was the only way out. On a cold early spring morning, they went to confession, drank a glass of white wine each, made their way Ruffaud Pond, took off their coats, tied their hands, kissed and said goodbye before walking into the water.
It was about midday when a group of men walked passed the pond and noticed a woman dressed in black, soaked to the bone, sitting under a tree, shivering. They went closer, but when she saw them, she jumped into the pond. The men pulled her out, and noticed it was Angèle Laval. The body of her mother Louise was floating nearby.
After losing everything: her mother, her job and her reputation, Angèle decided to leave the town of Tulle. As the story of her salacious letters spread throughout the rest of the country, however, she became somewhat of a celebrity. Offers of marriage rolled in and many people took her side, questioning her guilt.
The investigating magistrate realised he had to move quickly and issued a warrant for her arrest on March 20 1922. The case had evoked national interest, and journalists swarmed to Tulle on the 4 of December when Angèle Laval finally had her day in court. Up to that point, she had been kept in a lunatic asylum in Limoges where psychiatrists declared her mentally fit to stand trial.
She arrived, wearing black, still in mourning for her mother. Her aunt and brother arrived at the Palais de Justice with her – being the only people who supported her. Angèle denied any involvement in the letter-writing campaign, protested slightly, but it was clear that the once-was gutsy secretary felt defeated and depleted. A report in Le Matin stated that she sat in the dock “…like a poor bird who has folded her wings.” It was this image that earned her the nickname: The Raven of Tulle. She was arguably the most hated woman in France at that point in time. A report in the Telegram on January 51923 said:
“[The Raven] deserves to be tied to a pillory in a public square in Tulle and to receive spit in the face from each of its inhabitants.”
A psychiatrist report was read in court, stating that Angèle was of sound mind, but that she lacked judgement. They concluded that she was (what was commonly diagnosed in women back then) ‘hysteric’. She was a spinster, driven to neurosis because society never accepted her.
During the two-and-a-half-week trial, 23 witnesses were called to the stand. In the end, Angèle Laval was found guilty and handed a suspended one-month prison sentence and fined 100 francs for defamation and ordered to pay 200 francs in compensation.
Before her trial, she was seen as a femme fatale, a heartless shrew who was out to destroy the happy lives of everyone in Tulle. However, after witnessing the still-grieving, somewhat bewildered Angele Laval in court, people felt sorry for her. Was she perhaps insane? Or just tormented? A desperate spinster, hell-bent on preventing the man she loved from marrying someone else?
One letter was left in a confessional in a church in Tulle. Due to the sheer volume of letters and often false accusations, the letter almost went undetected. In it, she explained her motive for terrorising the town of Tulle. This is what it said:
“Monsieur l'abbé, haunted by remorse, my conscience tormented by the weight of my crime, I come today to confess and confess it to you. It is I, Angèle Laval, who am the author of this campaign of anonymous letters. I acted out of jealousy towards Madame Moury. I apologize to Madame Moury and to all my victims. […] Give this letter on my behalf to Monsieur Richard, investigating magistrate. And tell him that Madame Moury is innocent. I am a wretch, I acted out of hatred, jealousy and resentment. I'm crazy, crazy.”
Some people quietly respected her tenacity, calling her an evil genius, for sowing so much distrust, pressing buttons, pulling strings, hitting people where it hurt the most, using people to spread rumours written on paper. One article calls the event a “skilfully orchestrated fever” induced by “an artist who undressed her audience.”
Director Henri-Georges Clouzot filmed Louis Chavance’s screenplay about the affair, and recalling the article likening Angèle to a bird, named the film ‘Le Corbeau’ (or The Raven). The classic French film caused an uproar when it was released at the height of World War II in 1943. French nationalists considered the film to be Nazi propaganda, as it was done at the behest of Joseph Goebbels. Writing anonymous letters was how the French resistance communicated… Was the underlying message of the film that letters are dangerous and lead to bad things, even insanity and death. Because of this, Clouzot was banned from ever making a film again, although the ban was lifted after the war.
Angèle Laval appealed her conviction, but to no avail. Her reputation made it impossible to find employment, make friends or marry in the town of Tulle. She struggled to stand on her own feet and moved in with her brother at 11 Rue de la Barriere. Except for a brief stint in a psychiatric hospital after a nervous breakdown, she lived with her brother for the rest of her life. She lived a reclusive life until her death on November 16, 1967, at the age of 81.
In the end, Angèle Laval, once a love-sick and naïve secretary, went down in history as nothing more than an insane old maid, a spurned woman who wanted to make everyone as miserable as she was. Which proves the saying that the pen, especially a poison pen – is definitely mightier than the sword.
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