Novels in Three Lines by Félix Fénéon

read the intro

utterly fascinating. before you laugh, remember these stories are real.

A certain madwoman arrested downtown falsely claimed to be nurse Elise Bachmann. The latter is perfectly sane.

In political disagreements, M. Bégouen, journalist, and M. Bepmale, MP, had called one another “thief” and “liar.” They have reconciled.

In a café on Rue Fontaine, Vautour, Lenoir, and Atanis exchanged a few bullets regarding their wives, who were not present.

No more briar pipes. Their makers, in Saint-Claude, have stopped work until they are paid better.

“If my candidate loses, I will kill myself,” M. Bellavoine, of Fresquienne, Seine-Inférieure, had declared. He killed himself.

While thundering for the Republic, a 300-year-old cannon exploded in Chatou, but no one was hurt.

Scheid, of Dunkirk, fired three times at his wife. Since he missed every shot, he decided to aim at his mother-in-law, and connected.

His head injury was not serious, believed Kremer, of Pont-à-Mousson, who continued working for a few hours, then dropped dead.

Bonnaut, a locksmith in Montreuil, was chatting on his doorstep when the gangster called Shoe Face struck him twice with a knife.

At Saint-Mihiel, A. Caillet, orderly of Lt. Morin, threw himself out the window without saying why. His injuries are severe.

Through his ineptitude with fireworks, Hébré, a soldier of Saint-Priest-la-Feuille, Creuse, killed himself and injured his brother.

Once the fire in the Deschamps bakery in Limoges had been extinguished, it was determined that the baker had been burned alive.

Weighed down with bronzes, with china, with linens, and with tapestries, two burglars were arrested, at night, in Bry-sur-Marne.

Scratching himself with a revolver with an overly sensitive trigger, M. Édouard B. removed the tip of his nose in the Vivienne precinct house.

The French ditchdiggers of Florac have protested, sometimes with their knives, against the amount of Spanish spoken on their work sites.

A hanged man, there two months, has been found in the Estérel mountains. Fierce birds had completely disfigured him with their beaks.

Since the church in Miélin, Haute-Saône, has been barricaded, the faithful have been climbing in through the windows for services.

In Clichy, an elegant young man threw himself under a coach with rubber wheels, then, unscathed, under a truck, which pulverized him.

A young woman was sitting on the ground in Choisy-le-Roi. The only identifying word that amnesia allowed her was “model.”

The corpse of the sixtyish Dorlay hung from a tree in Arcueil, with a sign reading, “Too old to work.”

Napoléon Gallieni, a stonecutter, broke his neck falling down the stairs. He may have been pushed. In any case he was taken to the morgue.

M. Colombe, of Rouen, killed himself with a bullet yesterday. His wife had shot three of them at him in March, and their divorce was imminent.

Louis Lamarre had neither job nor home, but he did possess a few coins. At a grocery in Saint-Denis he bought a liter of kerosene and drank it.

At census time, the mayor of Montirat, Tarn, nudged the figures upward. His eagerness to govern a multitude cost him his job.

“Beware of drink and women,” General Privat told the 32nd Division in his demobilization orders.

Before jumping into the Seine, where he died, M. Doucrain had written in his notebook, “Forgive me, Dad. I like you.”

R. Pleynet, 14, of Annonay, has bitten his father and one of his pals. Two months ago a rabid dog licked his hand.

Formerly the magistrates of Toulon enjoyed interrogating Jeanne Renée about espionage, but nowadays the subject is opium.

Widowed customs agent Ackermann, of Fort-Philippe, Nord, was to have been married today, but was found hanged over the tomb of his wife.

In Brest, due to the carelessness of a smoker, Mlle Ledru, all dressed in muslin, was burned on her thighs and her breasts.

In the vicinity of Noisy-sur-École, M. Louis Delillieau, 70, dropped dead of sunstroke. Quickly his dog Fido ate his head.

Whether by suicide, accident, or crime, Dalmasso, a carpenter of Nice, fractured his skull falling from the fourth floor.

A European resident of Tunisia was kidnapped in Medjez by two lecherous Arabs. She was able to flee, still intact but already half naked.

At the station in Mâcon, Mouroux had his legs severed by an engine. “Look at my feet on the tracks!” he cried, then fainted.

As she left a Bordeaux hotel with M. Anizan, Léontine Cagnat was shot by the wife of that engineer.

A man of 30-some years committed suicide in a hotel in Mâcon. “Do not attempt to find out my name,” he had written.

M.O. Calestroupat met, in Parliament, a lady without airs. After a passionate night, a sodden awakening: she took him for 11,250 francs.

V. Petit, of Marizy-Sainte-Geneviève, Aisne, wanted to die happily. He drank two liters of wine and one of spirits and, in fact, died.

A virgin of Djiajelli, 13, subject to lewd advances by a 10-year-old, killed him with three thrusts of her knife.

At 20, M. Julien blew his brains out in the toilet of a hotel in Fontainebleau. Love pains.

Amorous hatred caused Alice Gallois, of Vaujours, to throw acid in the face of her stepbrother, and, accidentally, a passerby. She’s all of 14.

At Saint-Anne beach, in Finistère, two swimmers were drowning. Another swimmer went to help. Finally M. Étienne had to rescue three people.

Thinking he recognized, yesterday, the men who assaulted him on Monday, M. Liester, of Clichy, fired. Naturally he hit a passerby, M. Bardet.

The singer Luigi Ognibene wounded with two shots, in Caen, Madelon Deveaux, who was unwilling to let him monopolize her charms.

Lyons carter Marius Pâris killed himself, but being a finicky husband he first wounded his wife with three shots.

M. Husson, mayor of Nogent-sur-Marne, shot himself three times in the head with a revolver without fatal result.

At Troyes: M. M.C., a hide merchant, was run over by a train. One of his legs rolled into a ditch.

A dishwasher from Nancy, Vital Frérotte, who had just come back from Lourdes cured forever of tuberculosis, died Sunday by mistake.

Maître Tivollier, attorney of Grenoble, was hunting. He tripped, his gun went off, Maître Tivollier was no more.

To get back together with Artémise Riso, of Les Lilas, was the wish of romantic Jean Voul. She remained inflexible. So he knifed her.

Le Verbeau hit Marie Champion right on her breasts, but burned his eye, because acid is not a precision weapon.

Medical examination of a little boy found in a ditch on the outskirts of Niort showed that he had undergone more than just death.

At the Trianon Palace, a visitor disrobed and climbed into the imperial bed. It is disputed whether he is, as he claims, Napoleon IV.

There is no longer a God even for drunkards. Kersilie, of Saint-Germain, who had mistaken the window for the door, is dead.

Some drinkers in Houilles were passing around a pistol they thought was unloaded. Lagrange pulled the trigger. He did not get up.

Four times in one week farm servant Marie Choland set her employer’s farm on fire. Now she can burn down Montluçon prison.

On Rue des Poissoniers, Petit and Plançon, tired of yelling, let their guns do the talking. Plançon lies in Lariboisière hospital; Petit fled.

Married for three months, the Audouys of Nantes committed suicide with laudanum, arsenic, and a revolver.

Frédéric Pénaut, of Marseilles, has a wife and a brother. The two were in love. Or so he believed, and he wounded his rival with two shots.

The Englishman James, a suburban celebrity (athletic feats, rowing), cut his throat at Courbevoie; he feared becoming insane.

To ensure his place in heaven, Desjeunes of Plainfang, Vosges, had covered with holy pictures the bed where he killed himself with rum.

Too many people threaten, “I’ll cut off your ears!” Vasson, of Issy, made no such pronouncement to Biluet, but cropped him nevertheless.

At dawn, Mlle Eugénie Gilbert, of Redon, to whom love had been cruel, went off to throw herself into the Nantes Canal at Brest.

In order to see the world, Louis Legrand, Bedroux, and Lenoël, with a collective 36 years to go, escaped from the penal colony at Gaillon.

Jubert, day laborer of Le Mans, admits that he often substituted for his wife his daughter Valentine, 14, who was 8 when the practice began.

At the cemetery in Essarts-le-Roi, M. Gauthier had buried his three daughters. He wanted to have them exhumed. One corpse was missing.

With a cheese knife, Coste, from the suburbs of Marseilles, killed his sister who, also a grocer, was his competition.

Hélène Pook disliked being beaten. So she left Furth. But he encountered her at Porte d’Ivry and struck her this time with a knife.

Marcelle, of Sèvres, had the investor Weiss in her bed and in her closet Julot, who left it, armed with a stiletto, and pocketed the gold.

For the fifth time Cuvillier, a fishmonger in Marines, has poisoned himself, and this time was definitive.

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