The courts
soon became flooded with his voluminous and accumulated complaints
against judges, clerks, attorneys, jurors, editors, and, in fact,
everybody who had any connection with him, however remote, who refused
to listen to them and accede to his demands. By this course Moulin
attracted a good deal of attention, and an inquiry was suggested and
made as to whether he was _compos mentis_. The parties who made
the inquiry reported that he was not insane, but was actuated by
a fiendish malignity, a love of notoriety and the expectation of
extorting money by blackmail. For years--indeed until September,
1871--he continued to besiege and annoy the grand juries of the
United States courts with his imaginary grievances, until he became an
intolerable nuisance. His exemption from punishment had emboldened
him to apply to the officers of the court--the judges, clerks, and
jurors--the most offensive and insulting language. Papers filled with
his billingsgate were scattered all through the rooms of the court, on
the desks of the judges, and on the seats of jurors and spectators. It
seemed impossible, under existing law, to punish him, for his case did
not seem to fall within the class of contempts for which it provided.
But in September of 1871 his insolence carried him beyond the limits
of impunity. In that month he came to the United States Circuit Court,
where Judge Sawyer (then United States Circuit Judge) and myself
were sitting, and asked that the grand jury which was about to be
discharged might be detained; as he proposed to have us indicted for
corruption, and commenced reading a long string of vituperative
and incoherent charges of criminal conduct.
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